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Izzy was in trouble. He knew it. And he was looking for it, so he can’t be too surprised when Stede points at him from across the deck and shouts at him. “Israel, that’s enough. Cabin. Now.”
So he goes. And yes he shouldn’t have yelled at Ivan, he shouldn’t have hit Black Pete over the head, but he wanted to get in trouble. So he quirks an eyebrow at Stede and walks to the cabin, hands crossed behind his back.
It doesn’t take long for Stede to walk back to their quarters, and Izzy still has a quirked eyebrow, a small smirk on his face. Stede isn’t happy, and that means good news for him. “Don’t look at me like that, Israel. Strip. Now.”
Izzy does so, tossing them onto the chair. When he’s finally naked he goes back to holding his hands behind his back, waiting.
“Corner. You’re kneeling until I think you’re finished.”
Izzy scoffs with a roll of his eyes, and that only gets him more of what he’s looking for. Stede marches over and grips the back of his neck, walking him over to the corner. When they get there, Izzy starts to fight, but for an entirely different reason.
“Wait, wait, sir,” he stammers out, trying to get the hand off the back of his neck. “Stede!”
It doesn’t work, he’s still gripped tight, being pushed down onto the floor, the microscopic flecks of glass rushing up to meeting his knees. He grunts and it turns into a whine, pain sparking through his legs as he tries to shift, get as little glass beneath his skin as possible.
“Sir,” he tries again, shifting like there’s a way to get away from the fine grains, only to find a bigger piece that buries itself under his skin. It steals his breath and he curses himself for not paying more attention to the shards when Ed dropped a bottle last week. “Fuck,”
That gets Stede’s attention, his hand gentling against the back of Izzy’s neck. “Starling? What is it?”
“The... the glass from the bottle Ed dropped. There’s still some here.” His words are halting, his voice and breath caught in his throat. He hates the feeling of glass under his skin, always has, and he hopes that this is enough of a punishment for Stede because he can’t take this for longer than this moment.
Stede’s face is white as a sheet when Izzy looks up at him. He reaches down to get his hands under Izzy’s arms, lifting him just as quickly as he put him down. “Oh, my love, I’m so sorry, I didn’t notice. I thought you were just— well.”
“It’s alright, I’ll be fine. Just… help me so I don’t get blood all over the place,” Izzy says, reaching out to grip Stede’s biceps, doing his best to step over the finer bits, to keep them out of his feet.
He can feel a bit of blood running down his shin and he does his best to not look down at it. But the smallest flecks feel like they’re burrowing their way to his muscles and tendons, like if he moves wrong they’ll stay there forever, his skin growing over them.
“Just sit here at the table, darling. I think I can figure this out,” Stede directs before he buzzes around the room, grabbing this and that before making his way back over, setting things on the table and getting to his knees in front of Izzy.
He goes for the biggest piece, the source of most of the blood, first, dabbing it as clean as he can with a soft strip of cloth. Izzy flinches, the piece still definitely there, but once Stede’s able to see, the worst part comes. He pushes on either side of the cut, forcing the shard of glass out and Izzy nearly bites clean through his tongue trying to keep from screaming.
“I know, sweet love, I’m so sorry, but it’s out now. Just take a deep breath,” Stede soothes, one hand running up his calf, and it does ease the tension under Izzy’s skin.
“The nearly invisible pieces are going to be worse,” he cries, squeezing his eyes shut.
“I know, I’m so sorry. I didn’t think.”
Izzy nods, not trusting his voice as tears start to fall from his eyes. He can see the guilt on Stede’s face through his swimming vision, and he knows he’s genuinely sorry, and Izzy forgot in his panic to use the word meant to make everything stop.
He doesn’t say that for now, just keeps his eyes closed so he doesn’t have to watch Stede guide sand-fine shards of glass out of his knees. He can feel a slight difference between two cloths, one that Stede uses to carefully dab away the glass, the other staunching the blood. Two separate pieces. So he doesn’t accidentally wipe the glass back over the wounds.
“How is that, my love?” Stede asks, pressing a bit harder against his knee. “Does it feel like there’s any more in this one?”
Izzy focuses hard on the way it feels, but he can’t feel anything anything under the scape-kneed ache. “No, sir,” he says, falling back into his headspace because if he’s honest with himself, the pain drowns everything else out on a normal day, he’s just used to being in control of it.
He gets lost in his thoughts as Stede goes about cleaning the other knee, and when he asks the same question, there’s still a bit more, but once it’s all out, he feels so much better, lightheaded from blood loss or submission he’s not sure, but he doesn’t even pull away as Stede dabs some whiskey over the cuts, disinfecting them.
“They aren’t bleeding as much now, darling,” he says, running his hands over the outside of Izzy’s thighs. “Would you like me to bandage them or leave them?”
“Hm?” Izzy hums, genuinely unable to hold onto the questions.
“Eyes open for me, love.” Stede’s hands are on his cheeks, turning him to face him. His eyes open like they’re moving through molasses, but they open. “Bandages. Would you like some?”
Izzy looks down at his knees, the fresh scrape pink of them, but there’s no blood, so he shakes his head. “‘S just… keep an eye on ‘em.”
“Oh someone’s down far.”
“The pain,” Izzy says simply. “Washed out my brain a bit.”
“That’s alright, love,” Stede says, standing and reaching a hand down to Izzy. “I really am sorry, Izzy.”
“‘M sorry, too. Should’ve white flagged. Forgot on account of glass.”
“I should have noticed. You never call me Stede when I’m about to punish you. Call it even?”
Izzy nods and lets himself be led across the room to the bed, lets Stede lay him down and curl around him. It’s a welcome feeling, the way Stede just holds him and hums, one hand smoothing over his chest. The panic has washed out like the tide. It was an accident. Stede took care of him and by the feel of it will stay plastered to his back until Izzy tells him he doesn’t want it anymore.
But for now, he wants it. Holds Stede’s hand and lets himself fall asleep.