Chapter Text
He’s played this game a dozen times by now, chasing Morph around and searching him out when he decides to hide as something innocuous. It should be near impossible, with how good the mimicry is, for Jim to find the blob at all, but Morph has a bad habit of peeking when he thinks Jim isn’t looking and often gives himself away.
Stalking through the empty galley is not how he’d ideally like to spend his morning, but it’s better than his chores by a long shot. Jim checks all Morph’s favorite spots first, using his peripheral vision more than directly looking. A barely audible giggle sounds from a few feet away, and he sneaks toward the sound until he’s peering into the nearly empty barrel that had once held a journey’s worth of purps.
One of the fruits cracks an eye at him, and Jim yells as he dives for the shapeshifter.
He underestimates the depth of the barrel and ends up falling entirely inside, crashing against the floor and scrambling to catch Morph before he can flit off to hide somewhere else. The space is more than enough to house him comfortably, and he takes a moment to tickle the little imp before he tries to clamber out.
The sound of someone descending the stairs makes him take pause, at first because he’s not keen to be found hiding in a barrel should one of the less than charitable crewmembers spot him. More footsteps fill the room, and Jim frowns to himself and peers curiously out of the tiny airhole in the middle of the barrel.
Several of the crew have gathered and are talking among themselves. He can’t make out what they’re saying at first, but soon the gravity of the situation hits him, the fact that there’s something wrong here, and that he’s the unintentional witness to all of it.
“There’s only three left.” One of the crew points out.
“We are wanting to move.” Another adds, and it’s now that Jim realizes how impatient they all sound.
And then Jim’s heart stops. He didn’t even realize Silver was in the room, but when he speaks it’s like a punch to the gut.
“We don’t move ‘til we have the treasure.” He growls, baring his teeth at the crew.
Jim tries not to breathe as a hiss sounds from above.
“I say we kill them all now.” Scroop sneers, and when he slides into Jim’s view he’s grinning vindictively enough to make the boy shudder.
Silver whirls on the spider and catches him by the throat. He snarls in his face, threat and menace clear in his tone.
“Disobey my orders again like that stunt you pulled with Mr. Arrow and so help me you’ll be joining him!”
The entire crew flinches as one as Scroop is thrown across the room and slammed against the purp barrel, and Jim claps a hand to his own mouth to keep from yelping.
“Strong talk.” Scroop says while righting himself. “But I know otherwise.”
The entire crew turn to him, intrigued, and Jim thinks he sees a flicker of fear on Silver’s face. He schools his expression to neutral too quickly for anyone else to notice, but when he replies it’s in a tone too casual to be anything but false.
“You got something to say, Scroop?”
The grin on his face when he turns around is downright venomous, even from behind where Jim can see. He’s holding a purp past its prime, rolling it in his claws delicately.
“It’s that boy.” He says, enunciating every syllable clearly to the room.
Jim feels his blood run cold.
“Methinks you have a soft spot for him.” Scroop continues, stabbing the tip of his claw into the fruit as if to illustrate his point.
Jim shakes his head mutely, fear and heartbreak threatening to overtake him. He knows what’s coming, what Silver is about to do, but knowing an injury is impending does nothing to soothe the pain when it hits.
“Now mark me, the lot of you!” Silver snaps at the nearest crewman. “I care about one thing and one thing only.” He stabs a finger into the table to make his point.
“Flint’s trove! You think I’d give it all up for the sake of some, nose wiping little whelp?”
“Oh, what was it now?” Scroop sneers, disbelief and condescension in his voice. “Oh, you got the makin’s a greatness in ya.” He mocks.
“Shut yer mouth!” Silver growls, and Jim flinches at how quickly and easily he denies it. “I cozied up to the kid to keep him off our scent.”
The dread that’s been creeping up on him all morning hits like a blow to the chest, leaving him breathless and silent with agony. Because Silver may have lied to him, but Jim was foolish enough to believe it, and that’s what hurts so much about this. Not the betrayal, but knowing that he’s once again just some dumb kid who dared to think someone might care about him.
Jim bites his palm to keep quiet, to keep from making noise as tears are sliding down his cheeks.
“Oh, yes, I’m sure the two of you got very cosy after all those nights together.” Scroop hisses, a smirk clearly audible in his voice.
He hears the way Silver’s breath hitches on a sharp intake, and Jim just barely forces himself to peek out the hole in the barrel again to watch. He doesn’t know why he does it, maybe some hopeless desire for Silver to take it all back, maybe just a masochistic need to watch his own betrayal happen before his eyes.
The crew are silent, watching Silver very carefully, and the look on his face is as close to frightened as Jim has ever seen it.
“Tell me, Captain,” Scroop sneers with false honey in his voice. “Did you have to force the boy to suck your cock, or was he so eager to please that it was his own idea?”
Silver’s chest rumbles with another low growl, and Scroop continues the jeering all too gladly.
“I’m sure he was good enough, for a first-timer. There is something so sweet about a virgin’s mouth, isn’t there? Though, I’ll wager the crew are more than willing to teach the boy some proper manners.”
A ripple of cruel laughter filters through the crowd, and Jim watches with stinging eyes as Silver’s expression goes from nearly murderous to cool and unaffected in the blink of an eye.
“You want him? Use him for whatever you like.” He says to the crew at large, who appear stunned by this heel-turn. Silver takes two large steps to be in the middle of the room, squared off against Scroop who is still grinning like this was his plan all along.
The grin is abruptly wiped off his face when Silver picks him up and slams him chest first into the floor.
“After he’s shown us where the treasure is.” He snarls, eye flashing red and Scroop gasping like he’s had the wind knocked out of him.
A call from the crow’s nest draws every eye in the room, and within seconds all the assembled crew are rushing out on deck to be the first to set eyes on their destination.
Jim feels like his heart has been cut out of his chest. He gasps and gulps for air, clawing at his shirt and fighting back tears. Why, why did he have to follow Silver that night? He knew from the start that he was being lied to, why did he let it happen?
Because he’s in love, and he thought (prayed, hoped ) that he was loved back.
Clambering out of the barrel feels like walking to the gallows, which, Jim supposes, isn’t far from the truth. He’s under no illusions about what will happen to him if he’s caught by the crew, not anymore.
Despite everything, despite the fear and adrenaline telling him to run, flee, go, Jim allows himself a moment to grieve. His exhale is shuddery with the threat of tears and he stumbles, supporting himself on the table and taking a few heaving breaths that will turn into full body sobs if he stays here much longer.
He dashes for the stairs, intent on sneaking past the crew while they’re distracted. The ship’s approach is likely to keep them occupied for some time, he reasons, but the sooner he moves the better.
It turns out he doesn’t get that far.
He freezes with his foot on the bottom step, staring up at the shadow that has fallen over him. He’s shaking, the faintest tremble present in his hands, but he doesn’t notice. His mind has gone flat. The terror of seeing Silver, this man who he thought he understood in a new and terrible light wars with the instinctual blanket of comfort that his presence provides.
He wants to try and dodge around the older man, to sprint for the Captain’s cabin or die trying, but his fight or flight has stopped working.
Somewhere in the back of his mind, Jim recognises that Silver looks stunned to see him as well. The older man’s eyes flicker back to the crew on deck, a flash of panic coloring his gaze before Jim startles away as he takes a step towards him.
He backs up into the galley, trying to keep his front to Silver and walking backwards in the process. Silver is stalking after him, herding the boy into the shadows of the galley with an utterly unreadable expression. Jim stumbles as he clips one of the tables, turning to catch himself and ending up pinned in place as the pirate advances slowly.
He’s approaching like Jim is a skittish animal, body language calm but the coiled tenseness in his muscles is telling; he’s ready to catch the boy if he makes a run for it.
Jim’s hand bumps against something where it’s scrambling over the table desperately, and his palm closes around the small crescent blades of a pair of wire clippers. He tucks it close to his back, hoping Silver hadn’t noticed him grab it and glancing at the stairs. Even gauging the distance he knows he’s fucked. If he had made a run for it quicker then perhaps he could have slipped by, but Silver is closing in on him with such deliberate slowness that Jim knows he’s cornered.
He sucks in a painful lungful of air and readies himself. If he can dodge Silver grabbing for him then he can sink the clippers in and he’ll have a tiny opening to run for it. It won’t be easy, but it’s possible he could make it to the Captain before the rest of the crew catch on.
Except he flinches at the idea of stabbing Silver in the metaphorical back like that. Even though the older man has already done the same to him, even though he’s likely fighting for his life, Jim can’t bring himself to find the thought anything but upsetting.
Silver finally steps within arm’s reach of him, and Jim studies the look on his face closely. It seems genuine, concern warring with the need to comfort, but in the light of his recent revelation he doesn’t believe a moment of it. The first contact between them makes the younger man flinch. It’s barely a brush of fingers against his shoulder, but he still jumps away as if struck, and in his hyperaware state he registers the devastated look on Silver’s face, as if he has any right to be hurt by the younger man’s reaction.
Jim almost doesn’t believe his eyes as Silver takes a step back. He doesn’t even want to trust his own senses anymore, and the sight forces a flicker of suspicion to slip in among the fear and hurt. Silver doesn’t even say anything, like he already knows it’s useless. Jim won’t ever trust him again, and the resigned look on his face says he’s all too aware of that fact.
A small jerk of his head towards the stairs is all the indication Jim gets, and he’s not about to let that opportunity pass him by.
The adrenaline is still thundering in his ears as he races up the galley stairs, not even daring to look back. He’s not sure what he wants to see if he does, and what will make him run faster or stop altogether. The crew turn to face him as he sprints across the deck, but by the time they’re mobilising he’s already inside the Captain’s cabin.
Amelia and Doppler appear to be having a nice quiet conversation when Jim bursts into the room. They’re both surprised to see him, and he notices Amelia start to scold him before she sees the obvious panic on his face and all the blood drains from hers.
“Mister Hawkins?” She asks, standing up and sending her chair screeching backwards.
Jim locks the door behind himself and collapses against it, shaking and fighting not to break down into desperate sobs. Morph is cooing and floating around him, confused.
“Pirates, the crew- they’re-” He gasps and shudders, utterly destroyed by this revelation. He’d finally opened up, finally decided to trust again, and now this. Fuck he’s an idiot.
“We need to leave.” Amelia says, striding over to the cabinet and collecting a few of the weapons stored within. She reaches for the box holding the map and opens it, silent with shock when it isn’t there.
Jim pulls himself together just long enough to grab the map out of his pocket and hold it up to her. She stares between it and him with a grim expression, and he just looks back with blank misery.
“If we survive this, you and I are going to be having a few words.” She says, austere as ever.
Jim nods mutely and tucks it away, taking one of the weapons from Amelia. She hands the other one over to Doppler, using her own rifle to bore a hole in the floor. He jumps away from the door as sparks begin to fly from it, snapping his head to watch with growing horror as the lock slowly begins to turn red from the heat.
Amelia grabs him by the scruff and drags both men into the makeshift trapdoor after her, racing down the hall towards the launch bay.
There are still tears flowing down Jim’s cheeks in fits and starts. He trips over one of the crates lining the hall, nearly overbalancing in his rush to correct. Behind him there’s the sound of someone giving chase, heavy breath and thundering footfalls. The adrenaline is enough to keep him going, and Jim tumbles down the stairs as Amelia slams the door after him. Doppler and the Captain are loading into a lifeboat, and Jim scrambles for the door control. He has to put all of his strength into forcing the lever up, and then he’s running for the catwalk as the little skiff wheels out over the launch bay.
Morph, who had been beside him the whole time, suddenly launches across the room, map in his mouth. Jim turns on his heel to follow the shapeshifter, chasing him down just as the door slams open and a barrage of gunfire echoes through the small space.
The sight of the crew trying to edge their way into the room makes him even more desperate. Morph spots the approaching danger and drops the map, and Jim falls to his belly, catching it just inches before it rolls off the catwalk and out the bay doors below. He struggles to his feet, taking cover behind a crate as the crew notice his presence and start firing on him as well. One of the shots zips past the normally unshakable Morph, and Jim watches as he turns himself into a copy of the map in panic.
The catwalk in the middle of the room collapses, and Jim watches his only chance of boarding the ship fall into the void, taking a few crewmembers with it. At the same time the longboat suddenly stops it’s movement, instead jolting in place before beginning to move backward, the bay doors closing beneath it.
He catches Amelia’s eye from across the room, and he sees the dread on her face. She could drop the lifeboat at any time, but she knows if she does Jim is doomed. She’s resigning them all to a grim fate, and Jim feels his heart clench in fear.
And for all his selfish tendencies before, Jim finally finds the strength to do something recklessly, stupidly, selfless. He takes the map in his hand and hurls it as far as it will go, watching Amelia catch it in her fist by pure impulse. He pulls out his gun and aims, noting with some hysteria that his hands are shaking.
The line wheeling the skiff out snaps when he shoots it, and the sudden increased load on the other cable takes it shortly after. The longboat drops, hitting the edge of the door before sliding down and out. He catches a glimpse of when the sail opens and the tiny vessel shoots into the distance, and then the bay is closed with a final sounding thud.
Jim hopes he lives long enough to give them time to escape.
It’s clear when the men grab him from his hiding spot that the way they were acting before was playing nice. Even with all the spite they held towards him before, the tacit irritation at his mere presence is worlds better than the crew taking their hostilities out on him openly.
Jim grunts and pulls as he’s dragged roughly from behind the crates. Fighting them is only going to make it worse, but he can’t help it. It’s second nature at this point, to fight with all his strength. When he’s wrestled to his knees on the floor the abuse finally stops, and then Jim wishes he was back to getting beaten, because this is worse.
He’s kneeling in front of the crew, with Silver at their head. It’s clear who the leader is, and who orchestrated this whole thing. His mouth twists in disgust, in knowing that it was all going on right under his nose and he had no clue. The fact that Silver was probably only using him is almost secondary to the pain of knowing this is his fault. He didn’t even have to be manipulated into it, every step of this was his idea, right down to nearly handing over the map. Anger bubbles up to replace the grief and Jim holds onto it, seething and forcing himself to direct the rage at Silver for getting him into this mess, because if he falters even for a second all that anger will collapse back down into sorrow and fury at himself. Because he knew, almost from the start, that Silver was bad news. He knew something was deeply wrong, and he still allowed himself to get close. Every step of this journey was a mistake, but nothing more than getting attached. Silver lied to him, yes, but more than anything he lied to himself.
Jim wants to be sick.
It’s like staring at an entirely different person. The man he’s known for the past few months is nowhere to be seen, and Jim struggles to hide exactly how much that particular twist of the knife hurts him. He pulls against the crew holding him up, purely to feel like he’s doing something and not as helpless as he really is. The men either side of him are strong and don’t even waver as their captive fights with all his strength.
Jim tenses up when a hand grabs him by the chin. Not because the touch is unfamiliar, but because it is painfully, achingly easy to remember the last time this happened under different circumstances, and how good it felt to have the breath kissed out of him. He looks up when Silver tilts his head back, if only grudgingly. The anger in his eyes is palpable and intense, but Silver just looks like he’s thinking.
“Where’s the map, lad?” He asks in a low, dangerous voice that might have been appealing to Jim, a few hours ago.
He doesn’t answer. There aren’t words to express how angry he is, and even if he says them the crew will just beat him for it.
One of the men holding him slams a fist into his stomach anyway, barking an order to answer the Captain as Jim tries not to gag from the pain. He curls into himself, and would have collapsed completely if the men weren’t still holding him up.
He glares when his head is yanked back by one of his handlers, hard enough to make his neck ache. Silver is still just staring at him impassively, like he couldn’t care less this is happening.
“The map, Jim.” He says. His voice is still even, but Jim can hear the ghost of a growl underlying the words, and it’s enough to make his stubborn streak rear its head.
“Fuck you.” He snaps, jolting forwards to get in Silver’s face. He doesn’t know why he’s doing this, provoking this man he knows for a fact is dangerous.
The crewman to Jim’s left hits him in the gut again, knocking the wind out of him and making him wheeze sharply.
Jim doesn’t even notice Silver leaning down until he’s close enough to grab the boy by the scruff. He tenses and tries to fight but a warning squeeze is enough to make him go still.
“Make this easier on yourself, lad.” He whispers.
He hates the way he shudders when the words reach him. It’s half a plea, the tone sharp enough for the men overhearing to mistake it for a threat but the words and the unspoken “ please ” get the message across.
Jim turns his eyes to meet Silver’s and glares, terrified out of his mind but unwilling to bend.
Yet another blow to the stomach and tears spring to his eyes. He hopes vindictively that Silver witnessing this is even a fraction of the pain he’s currently experiencing. He hacks, half expecting a tinge of red when he spits. His abdomen certainly hurts enough for it, and it would serve them right, if they killed their only means to the treasure.
Jim wants to continue fighting, a part of him morbidly curious how far Silver is willing to go for the map. The pain in his middle is already enough to make him wince just standing on his knees, and he’s not sure he can take much more. Praying that Amelia and Doppler have made it somewhere safe, he hangs his head in defeat.
“Front pocket.”
Instantaneously the crew either side of him are digging through his clothes, one of them pulling out the sphere with a triumphant sound.
Jim can’t help the bitter smile when the crew makes a collective noise of confusion. He’s staring at the floor, unwilling to let them see how scared he is. The silence afterwards is short lived, and Jim finally lifts his gaze just in time for the crew to turn their eyes from the now unaltered form of Morph to the boy who’s tricked them.
He tries to dodge away but a blow is already aimed for his face. The first hit connects with a sharp crack and Jim cries out, feeling pain blossoming over his cheek even as the other crew are tearing into him with equal vigor. He falls, no longer supported by the men and with enough hits to disorient even a seasoned brawler. For Jim, young and inexperienced as he is, it brings him to the floor in seconds. He struggles, of course he does, but something wraps around his neck and squeezes and he realises that they’re actually going to kill him as he’s pulling at the appendage to no avail. The airflow is cut off slowly but surely, and Jim panics as his vision starts to go black and fuzzy and his limbs feel too heavy to lift.
“That’s enough!” Silver roars, loud enough that even Jim can hear him through the haze of terror and oxygen deprivation.
The crew scatter, leaving Jim gasping and coughing on the floor. The violent vitriol in the room is still thick enough to cut, but the crew aren’t willing to disobey their Captain, at least not yet. When he finally pulls himself together long enough to look, Jim finds Silver standing over him and looking only mildly irritated. Never before has the power imbalance been so stark. Just like that he’s a cabin boy again, nothing and nobody and his life in someone else's hands, and he hates it with all his strength.
Silver kneels, leaning down and grabbing Jim by the collar, and he flinches. It’s old instinct, to shy away from the danger.
“Where’s the map, Jim?” Silver asks again. His voice is even and untempered by rage.
Jim is not so unaffected. He grits his teeth and whips to stare the other man in the face, anger bubbling over into one final fuck you.
“Long gone by now.” He growls. He’s not sure what he hopes to see, looking into Silver’s eyes. Regret, maybe? Apology? Some sign, something to indicate it isn’t what it looks like.
He doesn’t get one. Even in the face of defiance Silver remains stoic and unaffected. The only indication of emotion is the long exhale he lets out.
Silver doesn’t even address Jim, instead turning to one of the crew and indicating the boy with a jerk of his head.
“Take him on deck.”
Jim grunts as he’s hauled upright and dragged towards the stairs.
The trip through the ship’s inside is a blur. Jim is angry, vitriol and unchecked rage simmering just under the surface. He feels numb, and only notices that something isn’t right when a heavy, coarse rope is tightened around his wrist.
He struggles, refreshed terror and fear of what they’re going to do revitalizing his energy, but between the two strong crewmen Jim’s scrawny frame is barely an obstacle. His other wrist is bound, and then his arms are lifted above his head, tied against the main mast and baring his back to the deck, where some of the crew have gathered and are whispering among themselves.
He has just enough room to twist his head around to look, and he spies when Scroop walks, sneering, out of the shadowy hold. The spider isn’t leering at him, but his gaze is full of malice none the less. He hisses to another crewman, something low that Jim doesn’t hear, but that sends the man scurrying away with an ominous smile.
He approaches Jim, and though he wants to keep the spider in his sight, his position won’t allow it. Jim jerks away when the spider’s claws grab his shirt, writhing in his restraints and fighting against what he knows cannot be good.
The air is cool where it hits his back, and Jim shouts in indignant fear as Scroop rips the article to reveal his spine and shoulders working frantically to try and escape.
“Now, now, cabin boy.” Scroop hisses. “It will be less painful if you stay still.”
The words don’t give Jim comfort. He twists his neck as far as it will go and catches a glance of Scroop’s face, and the treacherous grin there chills his blood.
The spider steps back, and Jim sees the crewman from before has returned, handing a coiled rope to Scroop. The boy jumps when a sharp crack slices through the muttering of the crowd. The low simmering fear crystallizes then, freezing him as he realizes it isn’t a rope Scroop is holding. The navy has never looked kindly upon corporal punishment, Jim knows, but then, this isn’t the navy. He shouldn’t feel surprised that the pirate crews are more ruthless. Eyeing the whip, he can see the long tail coiled like a snake across the deck.
Silver is the last one on deck, and the crew’s eyes jump to him when he notices the scene and goes still.
Jim is still staring at the whip, tense and thinking of all the horror stories he’s heard from spacers passing through the Benbow over the years. As his tunnel vision fades he eyes Scroop as well, and is surprised to not catch the toxic yellow eyes reveling in his terror. Despite being the apparent object of his aggression, Scroop isn’t looking at Jim. Instead his malicious grin is centered squarely on Silver, who is taking in the scene with a look of muted anger.
Scroop cracks the whip again, almost lazily, and Jim flinches before he can stop himself. The sadistic grin from the spider says that he’s playing the part excellently, and Jim can’t stop himself from the anger that rolls off him for being so weak, for letting himself be used to hurt Silver. Because this isn’t about him, he knows that now. He’s the one tied to the mast, but this isn’t Scroop’s revenge on him. This is about Silver, about the crew putting their wavering Captain in his place, about forcing the man to choose between Jim or his crew.
“Well, Captain, now that you’ve led your lamb to slaughter, how would you like to proceed?” He sneers mock sweetly.
Jim glances at Silver just in time to see the older man’s eyes change from staring at the boy to meeting Scroop’s challenge with a glare. He hates himself for wanting to see fear in his eyes, for hoping that he would drop the part already and tear the spider apart for daring to threaten Jim.
“You’re not harming that boy.” He growls.
“No?” Scroop looks intrigued. “And here I thought he meant nothing to you.”
“He’s our best bet at the treasure, you kill him now, the map is useless.” Silver snarls, taking several steps until he’s standing toe to toe with Scroop, who rises on his legs to compensate for his height.
“The map is already useless, if it’s not with us.” He hisses back.
“The map can be bartered for, and like it or not our best play right this moment is keeping him alive and healthy.” He stabs a finger at Jim.
Scroop makes like he wants to retort, but then Silver is back in his face, snarling and posturing and deadly as he’s ever been.
“If you hurt that boy before he can lead us to the treasure, I’ll see to it yer left on this planet to rot.”
He gives one final snort and turns away, and Jim finally turns his aching neck from the confrontation.
The snap crack of the whip sounding tenses him right back up, and he nearly pulls his shoulder out of it’s socket in his hurry to look.
The whip has been stopped midair, wrapped tightly around unaffected metal and the end coils tangled around Silver’s hand. Scroop is still holding the end, staring with challenge in his eyes up at his Captain, who looks nearly murderous. Scroop tries to pull on the weapon but Silver tears it from his grip before he can react, dragging the spider forward and wrapping his other hand around his skinny throat. Scroop scrambles for purchase for a half second before he’s thrown sideways across the deck, rolling several times before hitting the rail with a crash.
Silver bares his teeth and roars, a deafening sound that cows the crew and makes them all look nervous to even be present for this confrontation. Jim feels a tiny bloom of hope, that Silver is protecting him from harm, but it’s squashed just as quickly. This is just another ploy, he’s just a means to the treasure.
Jim sees the mutinous glare Scroop sends to his Captain before he’s preoccupied by Silver advancing on him. The restraints are untied roughly and the cabin boy struggles as Silver hoists him by the collar and half drags him into the nearest room.
The lieutenant’s quarters are barebones, but Jim doesn’t have the time to give it thought as he’s shoved inside and the sound of the door locking echoes through the room. It’s spacious, and Jim stumbles a few steps before he regains his balance. He turns at the far wall, putting the bare skin of his back to it and staring uneasily at Silver.
The comfort that comes with his proximity isn’t completely gone, thought Jim wishes it was. He watches Silver rub the bridge of his nose, and he’s so completely overwhelmed by the familiarity of the motion it almost makes the entire last hour feel like a strange nightmare.
Jim tenses when he sees the whip, coiled and still held loosely in Silver’s hand.
The older man follows his gaze and sighs, looking at him sadly before throwing the whip to the floor in the corner of the room. He spreads his hands as if to say “unarmed”, but Jim doesn’t dare relax yet. Silver takes a tentative step towards him and Jim leans away from him. He looks so dismayed that Jim wants to run into his arms and be held, just let himself be comforted, but he can’t see past the anger and betrayal.
“I’m not gonna hurt ye, Jim.” He rasps.
Jim scoffs without intending to.
“You don’t expect me to believe that, do you?” He whispers back. Tears spring to his eyes and his throat closes against the urge to cry.
Silver doesn’t flinch, but Jim knows he’s hurt by it.
He takes another step, closing the gap between them inch by inch, and Jim doesn’t object, but he turns away and crosses his arms over his belly in a passive, closed off posture. A brush of a hand against his shoulder makes him jump, and he flattens himself to the wall with a noise like a struck dog.
Silver pulls his hand back and Jim remains tensed. The silence reigns for a long moment of held breath, neither of them knows what to say.
“Don’t touch me.” Jim says through clenched teeth. He’s scared to death of Silver right now, he’s never revoked his consent like this, and he’s already unsure of where the older man’s limit is. He’s very aware of being in an enclosed space with a man who could easily overpower him.
The sadness in his eyes stings, but he takes a step back and allows Jim some space to breath.
“You hurt?” He asks in a murmur.
Jim shakes his head mutely, refusing to look at Silver. He is, he’s bruised and battered and will likely have all manner of colors marking him in the next few days, but he’ll survive, and more than that he’s not willing to take help from the older man right now.
Silver sighs, and he sounds for the first time Jim has ever heard him, totally exhausted. The part of him that’s still pining yearns to touch him, but the hurt is still too powerful. Jim goes to fiddle with his shirt collar, only to nearly tear the thing off of himself with even the slightest motion. The rip down the back has left him bare skinned and vulnerable, and he wishes privately for the extra he keeps in his bag.
He looks up at the feeling of eyes on him, and sees Silver staring at the shredded cloth. It’s funny, he’s never been shy about being naked in front of Silver before, but now he can barely stand to have his shirt off.
“Can I have my other one to wear, or are you gonna make me walk around like this now?” Jim asks while indicating his ruined shirt, trying to keep his tone sharp instead of scared.
Silver meets his eyes and looks so sad it almost makes Jim regret his words.
“You’ll get to change before we leave.” He rasps, like it hurts him to speak.
A flicker of doubt enters Jim’s mind, the idea that Silver could have taken the map at any time last night and Jim wouldn’t have been able to stop him, but he shakes the thought away. He can’t think about that. Because if he thinks for even a second that Silver could have meant it when he said he loves him, then he’ll forgive him, and Jim isn’t ready for that.
The long moment of introspective silence is broken as one of the crewman shouts through the door for Silver. Jim is dragged along with him as they pass through the ship to the prepared longboat, stopping just long enough for Jim to change his shirt before heading down to the docking bay.
As soon as they leave the room Silver’s demeanor changes. He turns stony and stoic, pushing Jim more roughly and handling him like a disobedient puppy rather than a nearly grown adult. Jim tries to shrug him off and glares venomously when Silver holds fast. He doesn’t even look like he noticed the attempt at freedom, and the boy mutters a mutinous curse to himself. The crew are staring at them, and Jim struggles again just out of spite. They pass an open door on the way to the bay and Jim peers in to see Scroop cradling a bloody cloth to his face. The spider looks enraged, and Jim shudders with the lethal anger he can feel pouring off of him.