Attack

Wesley sat on the edge of a lumpy cot as he looked down at the frail form of his little sister. He reached out with a cloth already damp with her sweat and dabbed at the perpetual sheen across her skin. She was sleeping, or perhaps unconscious, but whichever it was, he hoped it provided her with some reprieve from her illness. Shivers wracked her body with the same ferocity as the sweat, making it impossible for Wesley to choose between keeping her warm and cooling her down. He was no physician, and his family was in no financial position to afford one, which meant the only thing he could do was pray for a miracle.

Somewhere in the deep recesses of his mind, Wesley knew he was dreaming. The edges of his vision were blurred and the images before him were distorted from reality, but recognizable enough to be accepted in his sleeping state. Waverly had not drawn a breath in years, but she seemed so real in that moment.

An untamed strand of her dark brown hair was plastered to her moist skin, and Wesley was quick to tuck it behind her ear and pat the area with the cloth. He hated to see his sister hurting when he was so helpless to make it better.

"Where's mama?" her voice was a faint mumble, but to Wesley's trained ears, the words were unmistakable.

"She'll be back soon," he assured her in the most soothing voice he could muster. In truth, he wasn't sure when she would return. With their father gone, their mother was forced to work almost every hour of the day just to provide for her children. Wesley had started working down at the shipyards at a young age to help, especially given his sister's condition, but he was a young man now. He was well seasoned in the ways of trade and of ships, and though he had finally secured himself a spot upon a merchant vessel, he was reluctant to leave. He would be gone for months, and he feared that if he left now, his sister would not be there upon his return home.

"Your ship leaves soon," her voice floated to him in the stagnant air between them. It was brittle and dry. Weak. It broke his heart a little more every time the words themselves cracked in her throat.

"I can stay a while longer," he assured her, taking her hand.

Even though the location wasn't quite right and even though he couldn't actually feel her hand in his, he knew this was much more than a dream. It was a memory. The last he had of her. It was bittersweet to relive it, but he was thankful that he couldn't smell the bile he knew had turned the air in the room sour. He felt the familiar ache in the back of his throat that preceded tears. Waverly noticed.

"I'll be all right, Wes," she smiled weakly at him, giving his hand an almost imperceptible squeeze in reassurance. "I'm stronger than you, remember?"

Wesley smiled sadly, recalling all of the competitions she'd forced him into when they were younger. He had let her win most of them just to see the gleeful confidence it ignited in her. He missed seeing her that way. She used to be as radiant as the sun, but now she was cold and pale like the moon. "I remember."

"It'll be your turn to be strong soon."

He was not ashamed of the silent tears that slipped down his cheeks.

"I don't want to be strong."

She squeezed his hand again.

"You should go."

Wesley knew she was right. The ship would be leaving soon, and if he wasn't on it, he'd be out of a job. Reluctantly, he leaned forward and kissed her forehead.

"I love you," he whispered. "When I come back I'll have all sorts of tales to share with you."

"You better hurry back then," she teased, though Wesley did not find it funny. Her smile slowly faded as she took in her brother's morose expression. "I love you, too, Wes. I will count the days until I can hear your stories."

"As will I," he exhaled his words. "Tell mother I will miss her too."

"I will."

The scene faded before Wesley's eyes. He wasn't quite conscious of how he got from one place to another, but one moment he felt as if he was floating in water and the next he was standing on the deck of a ship.

It was a merchant ship. The one he first worked on. The details weren't exactly right, though. It seemed bigger and the layout wasn't the way he remembered it. For some reason Castor was there, retying some of the rigging into clean knots at the anchor points. Wesley's mother was there too, swabbing an aft portion of the deck. Other familiar faces speckled the area, but Wesley didn't bother to try to make sense of them. Instead he moved to do his duties. He had to work in order to provide for his family, and he would not dally in doing so.

He was so focused on getting to work that he didn't notice the hard body until he slammed into it, losing his balance. The world spun until arms wrapped around him, and he looked up to meet a pair of brilliant lavender eyes.

"Captain," he found himself saying, stepping back and assuming a formal stance.

"Falling for me already, Wesley?" a smooth, deep voice sent shivers through him. A devilish smirk was painted across the captain's face and Wesley couldn't take his eyes off of it. Wesley's heart beat faster as the man leaned forward, and just before their lips touched, he woke up.

----+------+----

Wesley's eyes flew open as a heavy weight fell atop him and calloused hands squeezed painfully at his throat. His own hands instinctively moved to the ones at his neck and desperately tried to pry them away. He couldn't breathe. His airways were being crushed under the pressure. He tried to scream, but only a dull wheeze escaped.

With all his strength, Wesley forced his fist upward to connect with his assailant's face. At first, he thought it was Valentine, but as he made contact with bushy facial hair and heard the frustrated growl that followed, he knew this was someone else.

Wesley managed to flip them over, but the attacker used his momentum against him to keep them rolling until they ended up in a similar position that was equally as unhelpful for the merchant. The stranger removed his choke hold long enough to throw a few punches at Wesley's face before returning to his throat. Wesley reached for a knife only to realize that Valentine had them all.

The merchant gasped and sputtered under the unrelenting pressure from the attacker's fingers. Dark tendrils were creeping into the edges of his vision and his limbs were feeling weaker by the moment. He tried to call for Valentine, but he couldn't make a sound. He struggled desperately against the assailant, but all he could do in that moment was press a hand to the man's face and push him as far away as possible. Unfortunately his arms weren't long enough to make his own neck out of reach of the other man. Black dots along with tiny light blue glowing spots filled his vision with false constellations. He was about to lose consciousness completely when the stranger was tackled off of him.

Wesley gulped in air greedily, despite the pain it caused, and blinked rapidly to regain his vision. He looked over just in time to see Valentine plunge a dagger into the violent man's chest and Wesley regretted looking very much. He wanted to throw up at the sight of yet another dead man, but he refrained since his throat was already on fire.

Valentine was breathing heavily as he wrenched out his weapon and turned his lilac irises to Wesley. He stumbled closer before dropping to his knees beside the merchant.

"Shit," he cursed under his breath as he eyed Wesley's neck. It was angry and red, signs of bruising already beginning to form. Valentine reached out as if he wanted to touch the wounded area, but thought better of it and frantically looked around, searching the immediate area for any more threats.

"What the fuck just happened?" Wesley wheezed painfully, his voice sounding strange and strained even to his own ears.

"I don't know," Valentine admitted, running a hand through his hair.

"I thought these islands were uninhabited."

"They are," Valentine said. "He must've been marooned here or something."

Wesley was surprised as Valentine took his hand and pressed the hilt of the bloody dagger into it. The merchant took it, albeit hesitantly since it was just used to murder a man, and watched as Valentine returned to the fresh corpse. The pirate searched the man, finding a few odds and ends as well as a pistol in his coat. After a moment of examination, Valentine determined that there were no shots within it.

"He must've tried to use it for hunting," Valentine muttered. Wesley looked confused by his words so he explained. "When someone is marooned somewhere, it is customary to give them a pistol with one bullet so that they may end themselves before they die of starvation or succumb to insanity." Valentine lifted the man's shirt to reveal an unhealthily concave stomach and ribs so prominent Wesley could've mistaken him for a simple skeleton. "It looks like our friend has encountered both problems."

"Why did he..." Wesley couldn't finish because of the burning pain.

"He either wanted to kill us and steal our food for himself, or he wanted to kill us and eat us," Valentine said with dead seriousness.

Wesley shuddered.

"Shite."

"Are you okay?" Valentine asked, genuine concern evident in his voice.

"I'll live," Wesley croaked, lightly prodding his neck to assess the damage.

Valentine nodded, seemingly satisfied with that answer before looking around again.

"From now on, we're sleeping in shifts," he told the merchant. "I'll take first watch since my eyes are better in the dark."

Wesley wanted to object, thinking he would not be able to sleep after such an encounter, but even as he thought it, exhaustion hit him hard. It felt as though there were weights hanging from his eyelids, forcing them to close. He could feel his mind numbing with sleep as he agreed tiredly and settled back into the sand.

Wesley wanted to be alert. He wanted to say he couldn't trust the man watching every shadow just a short distance from him, but he couldn't.

Knowing Valentine was awake and ready to protect him from any threat made Wesley feel safe.

That safety soon bled into sleep.

And Wesley's last conscious thought was that Valentine had finally given him a knife.

----+-------+----

A/N

If you could have any eye color, what would it be?

See you Thursday,

-Mora Montgomery