Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Stede comes home, unlocking the door while balancing three takeaway coffee cups with their own restaurant logo. It’s been half a year, but it still makes him giddy to look at it, to see how far they have come.  

The apartment is quiet. He opens the bedroom door to find Ed and Izzy napping in bed, curled around each other under the covers. He sets the coffee down on the bedside table and the small noise makes Izzy open his eyes.

“Is it our shift already? Eddie needed some rest. Tweaked his back a bit last night.” He shoots Stede a knowing look. All three of them are pleasantly sore today - they had shared a bottle of red after locking up and things had developed from there.

Stede runs a soothing hand through Izzy’s hair. He looks excited, “You still have two hours. The staff can manage alone till the dinner rush. I just wanted to show you this new recipe I came up with! It’s a seasonal coffee special.” 

Ed is stirring now, waking to the buzz of his partners’ voices and the pleasant smell of spiced coffee. He stretches and groans a bit, testing the mobility of his spine. 

“Better?” Izzy asks, sounding a touch worried.

“Lots! Just needed a nap. You two are gonna be the death of me,” he chuckles.

Stede gives Ed a kiss on the temple and shoves one cup into his hand and another into Izzy’s. “Here, try this. It’s got a special syrup with cloves, cinnamon and nutmeg. Perfect for fall! Ed, yours has extra syrup. Izzy, I made yours with oat milk.”

They both hum and smile in appreciation as they try the hot, sweet drink. It really does taste like fall. 

“This feels like we’re all on a little coffee shop date. Never been on one of those, I think,” Ed muses, a bit of milk foam on his lip that Stede promptly kisses off. 

“Yeah well, organized crime rarely happens over frappuccinos…” Izzy counters drily.

“Well then I’m glad we can make up for it now. Oh, I also brought cinnamon rolls.” Stede smiles warmly and kisses them both on the cheek before getting up to bustle around in the kitchen. 

“Should we really let him believe he invented the pumpkin spice latte?” Izzy asks, eyebrows raised. Ed tries to suppress a laugh.

“Yeah, just for a little bit. It’s so fucking cute!” 

Chapter Text

“Darlings, coffee’s ready, up you get!” Stede calls over from the kitchen, sounding like a housewife from some ridiculous 50s commercial, like he does every morning. Normally, the smell alone makes Izzy sit bolt upright in bed, but today Ed is the first to throw off the covers.

“C’mon, Iz. We need you to go from grumpy bastard to grumpy, awake bastard. You got the lunch shift today.” Ed nudges Izzy in the ribs to elicit a groaning mumble that sounds an awful lot like “No coffee.” Ed cocks his head at this new and alarming development. 

“Shit, Iz, what’s wrong?”

Izzy replies with a weak little cough and sniffle into his pillow. When Ed sneaks a hand under the oversized hoodie Izzy stole from him to use as a nightshirt, that just confirms his suspicion. He feels abnormally hot skin and goosebumps at the same time, the muscles in Izzy’s back are trembling.

“Aww, mate. Caught a bug, have you?” He runs a hand through Izzy’s hair - it’s damp with sweat. 

“S’nothing,” Izzy lies - he’s hot and cold, his throat hurts, he can feel every single one of his joints with painful accuracy and the mere thought of food makes acid bubble in his stomach. 

“Right, you seem perfectly healthy,” Ed teases, giving Izzy a last gentle pat on the head before joining Stede in the kitchen.

“You’re not gonna like this, but I’m taking care of it, ok?” Ed tries to sound calming, which seems to do the opposite, judging by Stede’s worried look. 

“What’s wrong, dear?”

“Izzy’s sick.”

Stede goes a bit pale and swallows, resisting the urge to check his own lymph nodes for swelling. He’s never been particularly good with germs. 

“You don’t have to go in there,” Ed reassures him. 

“But I do want to help,” Stede squeaks, sounding guilty.

“You can tell me where we keep the ginger.”

A few minutes later, Ed brings a steaming mug of ginger tea with a generous spoonful of honey to the bedroom. It’s still too hot to drink but Izzy finds the smell already helps to settle his stomach a bit. He tries to shift onto his back but Ed holds him down by the shoulders.

After warming them on the hot mug, Ed slides his hands under Izzy’s clothes and lets his palms rest on his lower back. Izzy sighs and melts into the mattress. Ed is no stranger to nasty joint pain when he’s sick, and he’s known Izzy long enough to be familiar with his weak spots.

Izzy starts to squirm and grumble after a bit - he’s already let this go on far longer than he usually would, a clear sign of high fever. Ed lets him up and hands him the teacup. 

“Jeez, mate. You look like shit,” Ed comments, taking in Izzy’s pale skin, dark-rimmed eyes and red nose.

“Thanks. I feel bloody radiant though,” Izzy scoffs into his tea, voice even more raspy than usual. 

“Wanna try and eat something? Stomach only gets worse if you don’t.” Ed brushes a few scraggly strands of graying hair from Izzy’s burning hot forehead. Izzy shrugs, then nods.

“Stede, we got any applesauce?” Ed finds his other partner still hiding in the kitchen, hoping to avoid the plague. Stede rummages through the cabinet to produce a large glass jar with the paper label diligently peeled off. Humiliation be damned, Bonnet Farms is still better than the store brand, after all. 

“Why applesauce, exactly? I could make him some soup. Aren’t you supposed to eat soup when you’re sick?” Stede rambles on.

“It’s all he can keep down in that state, always has been. And canned corn, for some reason.” Ed shrugs, pouring some applesauce into a bowl.

There’s something like confused admiration in Stede’s eyes as he watches Ed top the bowl with a sprinkle of cinnamon and sugar.

“Please don’t take this the wrong way, but… you two are always rather callous with each other. I wouldn’t have expected you to be so… caring.”

“We’ve been through a lot of shit over the years, Iz and me. Kept each other alive as much as we hurt each other.” Ed’s mouth sets in a thin line as he adds a small spoon to the bowl. “Well… mostly it was me hurting him. So, guess this is the least I can do.” He blinks rapidly.

Stede hugs him from behind, the crack in Ed’s voice pulling him in more strongly than the fear of catching Izzy’s sickness repels him. 

“You’re doing amazing, darling. You both are. I know you’ve had some rough times in the past. But you’re trying to be better now and it’s working, isn’t it?”

Ed puts down the bowl so he can turn and hug Stede back, resting his chin on his shoulder. 

“Yeah, I guess. It’s been over a year since anyone got shot or stabbed. And he only called me a twat twice this week.” Ed sighs into Stede’s hair. “Shit, I love that little freak. And I love you, too.”

Leaving a slightly teary-eyed Stede behind in the kitchen, Ed returns to Izzy’s bedside with applesauce and a bucket (just in case). He gets back in bed so Izzy can lean against his chest as he nibbles tiny spoonfuls, cautiously waiting for it to come back up after every bite.

“Stede’s scared to come in, huh?” Izzy tries hard not to sound mocking and almost succeeds.

“Yup,” Ed takes the now empty bowl from his hand and puts an arm around Izzy’s shoulders.

“Think he can cover my lunch shift?” Izzy asks, and Ed’s mouth falls open in earnest.

“Who are you and what have you done to Israel Hands?” Ed asks, wide-eyed.

“Last I checked, spreading germs was still a fucking health code violation,” Izzy counters as drily as his sniffles let him. “Tell him to stay out of my bookkeeping though. Make him bring the folder home.”

“Ah, there he is!” Ed snuggles Izzy closer and places a kiss on his hot, sticky temple.

“Fucking twat,” Izzy replies, sinking back against Ed’s chest.

Ed mentally sets the twat counter to three.

Chapter Text

6 months earlier 

Stede shoves the bowl away across the counter with a defeated sigh and wipes his sweaty brow with a dish towel. 

“Still not right. Ed, will you please be a dear and get me more shrimp?”
Ed takes Stede’s hands into his own, not minding the remnants of mayo on his fingers.

“It’s just shrimp salad, mate. I’m sure it’s fine.” 

Stede pulls his hands away in a huff. “We open in two days. Two days, Edward. Fine is not good enough!” 

“Jeez, Bonnet, calm your tits,” Izzy drawls from the chair where he’s busy picking at his fingernails with his knife.

Ed shoots him a look past Stede’s shoulder, mouthing a silent plea for help. Izzy gets up with a dramatic groan, takes a spoon from the drawer and tries a bite from the bowl. He tilts his head, thinking, fingers tapping on the counter. 

From a clay pot in the row of herbs on the window sill (because of course Bonnet has those), Izzy snips off a sprig of dill, plucks it apart and sprinkles it in the bowl. He stirs and shoves it back towards Stede.

“There. Better?”  

Stede takes a bite and his eyes go wide. 

“So that's a yes? Great. Can we go now?” Ed is already pulling on his leather jacket, buzzing with impatience.

“Yes darling, we can. I wouldn’t want to miss movie night. Izzy, care to join us?” Izzy scowls as Stede locks up. They always ask him, to be polite. He always declines.

But the days are getting shorter now, dry leaves already rustling and crunching under their feet as they make their way to the pier. It might be the last night warm enough to sleep out on deck, the last time they ask in a while. Izzy swallows his pride.

“What are you watching?”

“Godfather 2,” Ed says with a smirk.

“Oh for fuck’s sake, Eddie.” Izzy rolls his eyes so intensely it hurts a bit.

“I found the first one quite educational,” Stede pipes up on Ed’s other side.

“Ugh, whatever, ok,” Izzy groans and Ed wraps an arm around his shoulders in a sideways hug. He doesn’t entirely hate it. 

They set up a pile of cushions and blankets on the deck of the Revenge, Stede’s tablet mounted on a tripod on the floor. It’s a bit awkward, they all have to sit close together to see the tiny screen, but Stede opened up the good brandy and the sea breeze feels just right.

Half an hour into the movie (and Izzy’s scathing commentary), Ed starts squirming in his spot between the other two. 

“Alright, dear?” Stede asks, concerned.

“Knee doesn't like me sitting cross legged too long,” Ed stretches and winces at the pain.

“I keep telling you…” Izzy sighs.

They shift around so Ed can lie on his side, his head in Stede’s lap, Izzy sitting next to them. The brandy is strong and it’s getting late so neither Stede nor Izzy realize when they slump sideways and their shoulders touch, first hardly brushing, then fully leaning against each other.

The movie is winding down and Izzy has to bite back a sniffle. Damn it if the ending doesn't get him every single time, Michael all alone like that… At some point his hand must have wandered because he is now absentmindedly playing with Ed’s hair on Stede’s thigh.

He flinches when another set of warm, gentle fingers meets his own in the tangled mass of silver waves. One pinky hooks into another. He looks up, meets Stede’s eyes. Stede holds his gaze, open, inviting. Something warm and fluttery joins the burn of liquor in Izzy’s chest. 

“Glad you came along today?”

Izzy nods and Stede smiles, leaning in ever so slightly. His breath is warmer than the autumn night. He smells like the kitchen and sea air and brandy and Eddie’s aftershave. Izzy doesn’t move away, doesn't want to move away and oh, this is new. 

Their lips meet just as the credits roll. It’s chaste, tentative, but that’s ok. They have time. Ed grins into Stede’s lap. Izzy has a sneaking suspicion that his knee never even hurt him that much at all. 

Chapter Text

20 years ago

Ed looks at the display case of animal skulls - predators, wolves and lions, all sharp canines and bleached bone. The air smells like old wood and mothballs. His gaze stops at the glass, fixed on the reflection of the room behind him. Windows, security guards, cameras, a familiar face. 

“Eddie? It’s been a while. Didn’t think you were a museum guy.” Izzy is just as short and snarky as five years ago. His voice is more raspy, just like his father’s - hours of screaming at the fish market every day. 

“We can’t all be as cultured as you,” Ed laughs, slapping him on the back. “How are things?”

“Old man kicked it, finally. Can’t wait to sell the fucking joint. Is it true? You with Ben’s gang now?” Izzy looks straight on, meeting only the eyes of Ed's reflection. 

“Not for long. This is the last job and then I’m out. Fucker’s gone mad, got something nasty coming his way.”

“You should do your own thing, Eddie. Never were the following type.” 

If Ed didn’t know any better, he would think there was something like reverence in his childhood friend’s voice. 

“Yeah, could do that. Means I might be hiring soon.” He smirks, giving Izzy a nudge. “Gotta split now or that guard’s gonna remember my face.” 

“Be careful out there, Eddie.” Izzy finally looks at him, just for a moment, before that cocky grin and those black curls and dark eyes can make him feel all woozy like they always have. 

“You too, mate. See ya ‘round.”

2 weeks later

It’s a deserted road in the middle of nowhere, corn fields on both sides, just winding enough for a bit of a thrill. Ed likes to take his bike for a spin there, now that he finally has the freedom to do whatever the fuck he wants. At the next curve there’s a car, halfway stuck in the corn.

A slight figure is leaning against the trunk, face illuminated by an orange glow as he lights a cigarette. The man looks familiar. Ed pulls over, takes his helmet off. 

“Iz, what the fuck happened? Are you ok?”

Izzy looks surprised to see Ed, otherwise annoyed but uninjured. 

“Cat ran across the road. Didn’t hit it but missed the turn. Already called the tow truck but it’s gonna be a while.” He takes a drag and exhales smoke.

“Fucking cats, man…” Ed offers, leaning against the car next to Izzy.

“I kinda like them. They don’t take shit from anyone.” 

Izzy drops his cigarette butt and grinds it into the earth under his heel. The night air is cool and he’s shivering a bit. Who knows how long he’s been out here? Wordlessly, Ed takes off his thick leather jacket and drapes it across Izzy’s shoulders. It’s way too big but Izzy doesn’t complain.

“So, how did the museum job go? Didya steal a T-Rex? Mammoth?” Izzy teases.

“Never happened. Old Ben ended up with a knife in his gut the day after we met.”

Izzy can’t tell if Ed sounds relieved or bitter about it. Bit of both, maybe.

“Your knife, or…?” Izzy asks, apprehensive.

“Only ever killed one man, Iz. Wanna leave it at that.” He pats his jeans pockets, searching for something. Izzy pulls the bottle of pills from the leather jacket, hands it to Ed.

“Do they still help?” 

“Sometimes.” Ed shakes out two, swallows them dry.

They shift closer together, hands in their pockets to protect them from the cold. Ed stares out at the night sky, stars twinkling above the endless rows of corn. Izzy stares at Ed. 

“Iz, I think I’m ready to be someone now, like actually build something for myself. You still need a job?” 

Chapter Text

Ed’s hoodie is soft, the fuzzy inside tickling Izzy’s oversensitive skin. He’s swaying a bit so he sits down on the couch, tucks his knees under the big sweater as Bonnet chides in the background about the dangers of mixing cocaine and wine. Not like he and Ed are exactly sober.

The fish curry sits warm and filling in his belly, the chardonnay is doing its part as well. The smell of the apartment reminds him of something distant, almost forgotten. It’s cozy. When the fuck was the last time anything felt cozy? Ed settles down next to him, a tipsy glint in his eye. 

An arm wraps around Izzy’s shoulders and he lets his head sink against Ed’s chest. They used to sit like this all the time, but it’s been a while. Bonnet sits down on Ed’s other side and Izzy half expects Ed to move away. But he stays - warm, solid, there. Izzy’s eyelids grow heavy.

The exhaustion of the day is catching up with him - the drugs, the breakdown, the fucking therapy… But the evening wasn’t so bad. Bonnet is pompous and annoying but a decent cook. And he makes Ed happy. A restaurant is still a crazy idea but those were always Ed’s specialty. 

He’s half asleep when they start talking - that stage whisper of drunk idiots who think they’re being quiet. 

“Is it ok if he stays the night?” Ed points his chin at Izzy in his arms. 

“Yes, of course,” Bonnet answers, almost too quickly.

“Admit it, he’s kinda cute when he’s sleeping.” Ed chuckles, his body twitching under Izzy’s cheek. Bonnet doesn’t answer, takes another gulp of wine. 

“It’s fine, Stede. I saw the way you looked at him. At us.” Ed’s voice is lower now, a quiet rumble.

“I was not looking. Well… I was trying not to look. But I’ve got eyes, haven’t I?” He sounds positively exasperated. Drunk, reluctantly horny Bonnet seems entertaining. Izzy hides a grin against Ed’s chest. 

“Nothing’s happened in years, Stede,” Ed soothes. Bonnet sips more wine. 

“I wouldn’t mind,” Bonnet’s voice is small, meek almost. “I want you to be content. Both of you. All of us. I’ve already tried the traditional way of doing things and failed miserably, so…”

Ed leans over, shifting Izzy a bit as he cuts Stede off with a kiss.  

“Stede Bonnet, you’re a constant source of surprises.” Izzy can hear the smile in Ed’s voice, feels his arm tighten around him just a bit - protection and claim. 

“Let’s figure this out when all three of us are awake and less hammered.” 

“Right, right. I’ll set up the couch.”

Bone tired as he is, Izzy lets himself be manhandled by four strong arms until he’s laid out on the sofa, soft pillow under his head, a warm blanket tucked around him. 

“Sleep tight you crazy bastard.” Ed’s beard tickles his cheek as he places a little kiss on his temple.

And maybe he’s already starting to dream, but he could swear there is an unfamiliar, softer hand running through his hair, just for a second, before sleep pulls him under for good.

***

“Mr. Hands, welcome back,” 

Dr. Ziegler smiles warmly down at him. Izzy is lying on her velvet couch, blinking at the orange glow of the desk lamp. His cheeks feel wet.

“These hypnosis exercises can be quite intense. I asked you to go back to a time when you felt safe. Anything you would like to share?”

“I, um… I remembered something. Bit weird, but… good, I think?” Izzy’s thoughts feel scattered, it’s still hard to talk. “Always wondered what actually happened that night… guess now I know.”

The therapist looks annoyingly empathetic, as always. “Excellent work, Mr. Hands.  

Izzy blushes at the praise, sits up and wipes his face with a tissue from the conveniently placed box next to the couch. 

“I’ve sent Mr. Teach a reminder for his appointment on Wednesday. And I’ll see both of you together in two weeks.”

“Thanks, Doc. Have a nice evening.” Izzy leaves the office, knowing he is the last client because that’s how he likes it. Being messed up in the head is bad enough without an audience. He steps outside, the fall air cool on his damp cheeks, thinking of Ed and Stede and home. 

Izzy gets back late. He likes to check on the restaurant after his therapy sessions. The walk home helps him clear his head, start to come back to himself. 

The apartment is warm compared to the autumn chill on his skin. It smells like spices, there is a pot left out on the stove. Ed and Stede are already at dessert - vanilla pudding cups, still Ed’s favorite, despite Stede’s objections. The pill organizer sits in the middle of the table and Stede passes it to Izzy when he comes in. It’s become their ritual every night after dinner, so none of them forget their meds. 

“Twinsies!” Stede giggles, the way he does every time since finding out he and Izzy are on the same SSRI. Izzy rolls his eyes and knocks his back with a swig of Ed’s whiskey while Stede takes a sip of lavender-mint tea. Ed still thinks it’s so funny he almost chokes on his lithium. 

“There’s still veggie stew, in case you want some,” Stede offers, knowing Izzy is often too tense to eat much on therapy days.

“Mm, not hungry. Gonna take a bath. It’s cold out.” His mind is not fully back inside his body yet. The hot water usually helps - and those damn silly soaps Stede introduced him to.

“Want some company?” Ed smirks. There is a reason they got that huge triangular bathtub installed. Might as well use it. 

“Sure,” Izzy nods. It’s as much enthusiastic consent as he’s capable of giving right now, but something in his chest warms and unravels at the prospect.

Stede runs the bath and adds the mysterious concoction of oils and salts nobody but him can get quite right. Izzy strips and sinks down, melting into the fragrance and heat. Wordlessly, Stede slots in behind him, cradling him to his chest, stroking damp fingers through his hair. There’s a rattle on the door knob and a frustrated grunt from Ed.

“Dickfuck, door’s stuck again. And the damn tool box is still at the restaurant. I’ll be back in half an hour, you two don’t be twats to each other when I can’t watch, ok?”

“Don’t worry, darling. We’ll find something to keep ourselves occupied,” Stede calls towards the door with a chuckle. They hear the apartment door shut behind Ed with a click. 

“Did you really wanna jump my bones the first night I came here?” Izzy asks matter-of-factly, leaning back into Stede’s chest and closing his eyes.

Stede makes a shocked little squeaking sound but doesn't exactly deny it. 

“I would prefer not to use that term… Did Ed say that?”

Izzy shifts upwards a little, far enough to nuzzle playfully at Stede’s neck. 

“Hmm… turns out therapy isn’t actually total bogus. Who knew?” 

Chapter Text

“I understand the restaurant opening has led to some additional stress for both of you?” Dr. Ziegler asks calmly, eyeing the two men shifting on her couch, slightly uncomfortable in freshly dry-cleaned suits, crisp and black.

“Brilliant observation, Doc,” Izzy spits, scowling at his bandaged hand.

“Excuse him, he’s a grumpy little bitch today. Should be taking pain meds for that burn,” Ed apologizes, looking exhausted. 

“Can’t have my fucking stomach acting up too now, can I? Not with the two of you actively trying to kill us all. Fucking useless, incompetent…”

“Now Mr. Hands, let’s keep our language respectful in here.” The shrink meets Izzy’s murderous glare with a quiet serenity that makes him want to jump straight through the first floor window. “Some perspective work has always been helpful in these situations. Please, gentlemen.”

They’ve done this before. It’s fucking stupid. The stupidest thing about it is that it actually works for some reason. Izzy rolls his eyes as they both get up and switch seats on the couch. They settle into approximations of the other’s typical position - Izzy sprawling out, Ed taut as a bowstring.

“Mr. Teach, what do you think Mr. Hands feels like right now?” Dr. Ziegler starts the exercise.

“I dunno… Fucking stressed, probably? Tense, and maybe scared. Yeah… scared. Of everything going to shit. Of losing control. Of being… left out. Again.” Ed swallows, his stomach clenching. 

“And Mr. Hands, how does Mr. Teach feel about what happened?” She waits patiently until Izzy can wrench actual words from his guts. She always does.   

“Bit guilty, I guess. He started the fucking fire, after all. Guilty and… yeah, also scared. Scared of getting worse again, of hurting someone.”

“Very good. We can work on feeling scared.” Dr. Ziegler puts on a pleased little smile as they settle back into their original seats, a bit closer to each other. While she leads them through the rest of the session, she can’t help but be proud of how far they have come in just a few short months.

When they get up to leave, Ed turns to fix Izzy’s tie - emerald green satin, a nice contrast to his own purple - Izzy’s injured hand made it hard to get the knot the way he likes it.  

“Fancy night out, then?” the shrink asks, touched by the rare display of softness between her clients.

“Going to the opera with Stede!” Ed beams, almost vibrating with excitement.

“It’s a fucking community college production of Jesus Christ Superstar, Eddie.” Izzy scoffs, but with a smile.

“Well, you both look dashing. Have a pleasant night - and go easy on the arson from now on.”

The town assembly hall is a far cry from the posh venues Stede is used to, but Frenchie taught his students well and the musical is pleasant enough. The characters remind him of something he can’t quite put his finger on. After the show, they visit Frenchie by the piano to congratulate him. While Stede talks to his friend and former teacher, Izzy avoids conversation by picking at his bandage. Ed’s focus latches onto the piano keys, transfixed and bright-eyed as a kid at a candy store. 

“Stede tells me you and Izzy both play?” Frenchie finally indulges him. 

“Eddie’s mom tried to teach us on that off-tune old thing they had. I always sucked at it.” Izzy starts reminiscing as Ed settles on the stool, fingers hovering eagerly.

“Bullshit, Iz, we were an awesome duo. Ooh I know! You only need your left hand for this one, anyway!”

He starts up the melody to Pachelbel’s Canon in D - slow and dragging at first. Izzy sits next to him with a groan and lets muscle memory take over as he plays the same succession of eight notes again and again - a hypnotic, steady foundation to Ed’s increasingly complex tune. 

Stede applauds, then opts to drive them home, knowing Ed and Izzy must be exhausted from the events of the past days. It’s the least he can do after dragging them into this, his dream the cause of their fatigue and pain. Patrons are still rare this first week, he can manage tonight alone. 

In the back seat, Izzy lets his head rest on Ed’s shoulder. Stede finally forced a painkiller into him - it eases the sting in his hand but makes him feel all fuzzy and slow. As he’s dozing off, his fingers are still unconsciously tapping across Ed’s thigh, playing the old, familiar sequence. 

Chapter Text

“Do you need help cutting that?” Stede asks, eyeing Izzy’s failing attempts at holding a knife in his bandaged right hand. 

“‘m fine,” he grumbles. “Fucking bizarre to celebrate with steak of all things, anyway.”

“Needed a break from all the fish,” Ed says through a mouthful of potatoes. 

“And what are we celebrating, exactly? That the place only almost burned down during our first week?” Izzy scoffs, clearly in a mood from the pain in his blistered palm.  

“Well, now at least we know not to leave dish towels on the stove,” Ed offers. “C’mon, let me help.”

Ed leans over toward Izzy’s plate, steak knife in hand. For a brief moment, Izzy sees his own reflection in the blade, just the sliver of his cheek where the little black cross sits. The knife’s edge glints dangerously, Ed comes closer, looming - something catches in Izzy’s chest. He pushes himself back from the table, away from Ed, away from the knife, heart pounding in his throat. His clothes feel too tight, too hot, he tugs at his tie with a trembling hand, skin tingling all over, his lungs refuse to fill, blood rushing in his ears. Fuck, fuck, fuck. Away, away, away.

“Izzy? What’s happening? Are you ok?” Stede watches helplessly as Izzy goes pale and rigid, gaze fixed, shrinking back from Ed as though… oh. “Edward. The knife.” There is steel in Stede’s tone. Ed drops it on the plate with a clatter that makes Izzy jump. 

“Shit, Iz. I’m so sorry. Didn’t think…”

Ed wants to wrap Izzy up in his arms, tell him it’s ok, he is safe, but he knows that might only make things worse now. He sits down on the floor next to his chair instead, making an effort to sound calm, unthreatening.

“Hey, shh, it’s fine. Just breathe. Remember what Dr. Ziegler taught us. Four in, eight out.”

They sit like that for a few moments, inhaling and exhaling together, Ed on the carpet, Izzy now slightly less bolted to his chair but still visibly shaken. Ed just wants to give him a fucking hug. 

“Is it ok if I touch you?”

Izzy jerks his head side to side.  “Not yet.” It still hurts him to tell Ed no.

“What about Stede?” Ed suggests, seeing his - no, after recent events more accurately their - partner already prepared with a thick quilt in hand. Izzy nods - a tiny, tight motion. 

“You wanna take something? We got the emergency valium…” Izzy shakes his head again.

“M-mh, makes me fucking nauseous. Just need…”

Stede steps closer and drapes the blanket around Izzy’s trembling shoulders. It’s soft, warm, surprisingly heavy. The weight of it coaxes Izzy’s rattled soul back into his body. The next breath feels deeper already, less shaky. Izzy reaches for Stede’s hand and holds it tight - hot against his clammy skin. 

His other hand throbs under the bandage - it hurts, but it’s oddly grounding, too. He is not back there under that switchblade. He is here. Ed is better now. All of them are better now. They are here, they are safe. 

“Eddie?” 

It’s little more than a pleading whisper but Ed is up from the floor as fast as his aching joints will let him. Ed wraps his arms around Izzy and pulls him to his chest, resting his chin on Izzy’s head the way he did when they were boys, hiding from their drunk bastard fathers behind a crate on the docks.  Ed holds him so tight he’s afraid Izzy’s ribs might crack, but more afraid of letting go. He murmurs soft words of apology into Izzy’s hair. A few minutes pass before Izzy’s breath is more even, his hand steady now, still clutching Stede’s. He lifts his head from Ed’s shoulder, meeting his eye. 

“It’s ok. We’re ok.”

“Would you like to stay here tonight? I can imagine it’s not always pleasant - sleeping over there, where it happened…” Stede squirms, struggling to find the right words for where Ed almost cut the skin off your fucking face because I decided not to text or call him for a week.

“Yeah, might sleep on the couch…” Izzy suggests but Ed interrupts him.

“The fuck you will. You’re such a tiny little shit you can fit in bed with us just fine.” 

“Oh fuck all the way off, Eddie.” Izzy groans as Ed pulls him flush against his chest again. 

“Been thinking, it’s kinda weird that you’re still living at the warehouse. You’re over here most days, anyway,” Ed is careful, like he’s still trying not to spook him.

“Creature of habit, I guess…” Izzy replies into Ed’s curls. “Gonna get out of Jim’s hair soon, rent my own place.”

“I don’t think that’s what Ed was asking you to do, darling.” Stede squeezes Izzy’s hand again, prompting him to meet his eye. 

“Stede and I talked. You could stay here with us. If you want to, that is,” Ed says with all the confidence of a high-schooler asking his crush to prom.

Izzy’s gaze flits between the two of them, like a deer sizing up two wolves, like there must be a trick, a trap here, somewhere. He opts for cool pragmatism.

“Would make scheduling shifts easier, I suppose,” he shrugs. Ed’s face breaks into a wide grin.

“We’ll pick up your stuff tomorrow, then.” 

With that settled, Izzy lets Stede cut up his steak but swats at Ed like an angry cat when he tries to feed him. Even huddled under a blanket, face wet with tears, he still has some dignity left. His mood improves somewhat over two servings of dairy-free chocolate mousse and a glass of brandy.

An hour later, Stede returns from the shower to find Ed and Izzy already curled up in bed. Izzy is snoring softly, face nestled into the crook of Ed’s neck, looking more relaxed than Stede has ever seen him. Stede settles on Ed’s other side, careful not to nudge either of them awake. He smiles at the synchronized rise and fall of their chests. All three of them are safe and content, at least for tonight. This is progress.

Chapter Text

Stede hears a key in the door and glances up from his book in surprise. He isn't expecting Ed till after the lunch shift. But peering in from the hallway instead is Izzy, holding a paper bag and looking slightly lost.

“Everything alright? Ed is at work if you need him.”

“Not looking for Ed,” Izzy replies curtly. That’s new.

He steps into the living room and stands in front of the couch, glaring down at Stede who still has Treasure Island perched open in his lap. Izzy looks like he’s about to faint. With a deep breath, he reaches into the bag. He produces a small potted cactus and shoves it at Stede, who hesitates to take it.  

“For me? Thank you, Izzy. It’s… prickly.” Stede smiles, trying to hide his confusion.

“Gets pink flowers if you treat it right. You like flowers.” Izzy mumbles, looking at the carpet.

“I do. But may I ask what the occasion is? You’re hardly ever home when Ed is not around… Sometimes I wonder if you would even like me if Ed and I weren’t a package deal.” Stede tries not to sound pathetically insecure. He fails. Izzy finally looks up at him, scowling.

“You’re an insufferable twat, more neurotic than me and more stubborn than Eddie.” 

“But…?” Stede pries, hope fighting humiliation.

“But nothing. That’s why I fucking… like you or whatever.” Izzy grumbles, forcing the cactus into Stede’s hand. Stede’s face breaks into that stupidly bright smile.

“Ah, Izzy, ever the romantic.”

“We work and live together, we fuck, what more could you possibly want, Bonnet?” Izzy groans as Stede pulls him in by the lapel. He reaches up to push Stede’s reading glasses onto his forehead, getting them out of the way just in time before they kiss (Stede hates it when they get smudged).

When they break apart, Stede’s knowing grin reminds him a little too much of Ed for comfort.

“Now, Israel, the real reason you’re here.” It makes Izzy squirm. Damn the perceptive bastard.

“Jim called. Some asshole tripped and shot himself in the face. They need to borrow the boat.”

“Oh dear.” Stede goes a bit pale. “Well, I suppose, if you promise to clean up…”

“No stains this time. I’ll make sure of it myself.” Izzy fixes his rumpled shirt, nods curtly and starts to leave, then turns back. “Guess I kinda came free with Eddie, too. Could ask you the same thing.” 

Stede grabs his hand, pulls him back down towards the couch and plants another kiss on his blushing cheek.

“Silly question. Why on earth would I be naming my cactus after someone I don’t like?” 

Chapter Text

20 years ago 

“Iz, c’mon, get up here. I really wanna show you the place!” Ed is brimming with excitement as he holds out the battered black helmet, beckoning Izzy with a gloved hand. 

“On that deathtrap?” Izzy hesitates. Not just because Anne (Ed’s rusty Harley) is older than both of them.

But the sight of Eddie in his leathers, the thought of climbing up behind him, of wrapping his arms around his waist to hold on as he commands her effortlessly between the honking cars… Izzy’s knees feel like jelly. He is Ed’s business partner. His friend. No need to make a mess of it.

He takes the helmet with a sigh and straddles the seat as Ed kicks her into gear. He can just about clutch at Ed’s jacket to keep from sliding off as he starts weaving through the traffic. The scent of leather, Ed’s hair in his face, warm back pressed flush against his stomach, the vibrating engine… None if it is helping. At all.

They arrive at the building and Izzy gets off, legs shaking, jacket mercifully big enough to hide his predicament. This is silly. They’ve known each other forever. Ed listens to Queen for fuck’s sake, has a Freddie poster and everything. Fuck it.

“Doesn’t every real mob boss need a pretty wife or something?” It’s stupid. Izzy feels stupid. But Eddie is laughing when he takes the helmet off.

“You proposing or what?” He punches Izzy’s shoulder, stills when he sees the odd glint in his eyes. “Iz, you ever seen me with a girl?” Ed is more serious now, looks intently for something in Izzy’s face.

“S’ppose not,” Izzy holds his gaze until Ed breaks it, shrugging. 

“Don’t go blabbing about it, though. Opens us up for all sorts of shit.” Ed unlocks the heavy door and slides it open to reveal a vast, filthy space. Focused on the dustmotes swirling in the gloom, Izzy swallows, steeling himself.  

“‘S not just you, Eddie.”

Ed turns to him, eyebrows raised, a whole storybook of emotions flitting across his features. His face settles on a smile that broadens into a familiar, maniacal grin. He throws an arm around Izzy and plants a sloppy kiss on his cheek. Izzy squirms, blushing.

“Look at us, Iz! Two gays doin’ crime!” Ed cackles.

Arm still resting on his shoulders, Ed leads him through the door into the warehouse beyond. It’s grimy, cobwebbed, littered with junk. Scurrying between old car parts and stained mattresses, Izzy swears he sees a giant rat, or maybe a possum.

It’s a shithole. But it’s theirs.

Chapter Text

“Hey Iz, I thought we all agreed to dress up?” Ed leans over the bar to get a good look at Izzy, who is busy stirring the bowl of bright orange punch on the counter and setting out glasses. He is wearing his usual black suit and tie, more fit for a business meeting than a Halloween party. When Ed gets closer, he lifts his head and pulls back his upper lip with a snarl, exposing a set of cheap plastic vampire fangs. Ed tries to hide his startled flinch backwards by running a plastic hook-hand through his hair. A summer spent on Stede’s boat really rekindled his boyhood pirate obsession. 

Although Stede would happily have dressed up as Peter Pan, Ed’s initial idea for a throuple costume was shot down as soon as Izzy suspected he would end up as Tinkerbell. He spent half his life disposing of evidence and corpses for Ed. He drew the fucking line at fairy wings.

“What are you on about, Eddie? That bloodsucking twat is not even Izzy. I’m Izzy.” Jim saunters up to lean next to Izzy by the bar, dressed in an almost identical suit, hair slicked back, complete with fake tattoos and beard. Ed giggles and passes them a glass of punch. They sniff.

“It’s not fucking poisoned,” Izzy grumbles around his fangs. 

“Worse. It’s virgin.” Jim grabs a bottle of rum from behind the counter and adds a generous shot. 

“It’s good to see our patrons are feeling right at home here.” Stede emerges from the kitchen, raising an eyebrow at Jim.

While Ed stuck to his beloved Captain Hook costume, Stede has opted for full Godfather regalia (which possibly annoys Izzy even more). With his pinstriped suit, hat and fake cigar, he looks remarkably like the cartoon lobster they elected to be the star of their restaurant logo. 

The door jingles behind them and they turn to see Mary, Doug and the kids, mouths all agape at the sheer amount of fake cobwebs, streamers, jack-o’-lanterns and various skeletons Stede has decorated every nook and cranny with. Mary shakes her head a little, smiling at the excess.

“See, Iz? Coordinated costumes are awesome!” Ed gestures admiringly at Mary’s green-faced witch, flanked by Doug as a scarecrow, Alma as Dorothy and Louis as Toto.   

Stede greets them warmly - after a relatively amicable divorce, they are nearing something close to friendship . 

Uncle Eddie, as Louis calls him, hoists the boy up on his shoulders so he can touch one of the spider skeletons dangling from the ceiling. Ed mostly bought them to tease Stede and came to regret his decision ten minutes into an hour-long lecture on accurate invertebrate anatomy. 

Alma, meanwhile, joins Izzy by the punch bowl, leaning against the counter with a well-rehearsed, prepubescent eye roll. She gestures at her pleated blue dress with a sigh. 

“I wanted to be something scary. This sucks.” 

“Can’t even disagree on that one, kid,” Izzy sympathizes. He digs into his pocket to produce a spare set of plastic fangs. Alma’s face breaks into a wicked grin. She looks a lot like her father whenever he has one of his unhinged ideas, which is quite often. Popping them into her mouth, she is off, soon followed by her little brother’s startled scream. 

Mary comes over to the bar, setting her pointy hat on the stool beside her. She looks around at the walls, where her own paintings depict various nautical scenes and sea creatures. 

“A whole year, huh? Did you ever regret it?” She addresses Izzy, who looks up from his punch duty. 

He plops out his fangs so they can talk. They don’t see each other that often but conversations always feel easy with Mary, like they share some unspoken connection. 

“Wasn’t easy. But you know how Stede is… stubborn bastard. And Eddie is even worse,” he replies fondly.

“Oh, I can imagine.” Mary chuckles, gratefully accepting a glass of spiked punch. They both look toward the corner, where Stede and Doug are animatedly discussing fish and wine pairings. She turns back to Izzy. 

“Funny how we came up with such different solutions to the same problem.”

“Hmm?” Izzy isn’t quite sure he follows.

“I know what it’s like, watching someone slowly fall out of love with the life you share. And well, seems like Stede improved both our lives by stumbling out of mine and right into yours and Ed’s. How is Ed, by the way?” 

“Good. Better.” Izzy smiles over at the tall, hook-handed pirate pretending to tremble in fear of the terrifying Vampire-Dorothy now jumping up to lunge at his neck. 

Stede grabs his glass and dings a spoon against it to announce his speech. Izzy adds more rum to his own punch.

After five minutes of sappy reminiscing and thanking everyone for coming, Stede grabs Ed by the non-hook hand and they both come to flank Izzy who is still trying to hide behind the bar.   

“…and these are the two men who have been by my side through all of it.” Stede’s voice cracks. 

“Alright, mate, enough of that sentimental shit.” Ed jumps in to save him from public embarrassment. “Buffet is open, go grab some zombie shrimp fingers, frankenburgers and whatnot. Cheers!” Ed raises his glass and the crowd echoes his toast before descending on the spooky entrées. 

“Nice to see you and Mary getting along.” Stede brings a plate of food to stand beside Izzy, glad to be away from the crowd for a bit. 

“Bonnet?” 

“Hmm?” Stede munches on a pickled onion that looks remarkably like an eyeball. Izzy looks at him sideways. 

“Thanks. For stumbling in.”