a/n: We've seen plenty of 'Reaver comes back and finds Sparrow in his manor' fics, but this one is going to be a bit...different. I wanted it to be based solely on a humorus situation, one which puts the Pirate Lord in a peculiar position. The Sparrow I've created for this story is male, sacrificed himself at the shadow court, and chose the 'for the many' wish in the spire. It's not completly obvious yet, but he's not quite...shall we say, all there. Poor Reaver, his life is about to get royally fucked up.

Disclaimer: I don't own anything recognizable, etc. etc.

Chapter 1:
Welcome Home, Reaver

The peculiar stench that was Bloodstone wafted up to him as the ship docked, salty and wholly unwholesome. It was the scent of home, and Reaver was glad to be back. Oh he'd had a marvelous time in Samarkand, yes, but there was something that only this particular city could give to him. And it was his town, every filthy inch of street, every unwashed body and near derelict shanty bowed to him.

He cast a bored gaze over to his first mate and all-around man-servant. "Jess, have the men bring my things up in the morning, hm? I think tonight their efforts would be best spent making the rear harbor properly accessible." He'd be damned if he kept his new, prized ship docked amongst those of the riffraff at the main harbor. He'd had his own made for a reason after all.

"Aye, captain!" The one-eyed blonde moved swiftly off to relay the orders, and Reaver turned his attention back towards the town.

His gaze lifted up towards his mansion where it stood sentinel above all the others. A welcome sight indeed, after the long journey. A hot bath, a warm body(or three), and he'd be set for the evening. Yes, it was good to be home.

The sinking sun cast the shadow of the great house far out into the courtyard, but Reaver didn't mind. The blasted orb had been assaulting his eyes the entire trek up through the town. He paused only momentarily to look about the garden, noting with a critical eye that it didn't look anywhere near as wild as it probably should have. His hand automatically drifted towards the butt of his gun as he eyed the property before him. There was no 'for sale' sign in sight, but that didn't really surprise him. There was the slim chance that someone had been foolish enough to actually buy the place, but it was more likely that it was simply a sign that none dared mess with the Pirate Lord's estate.

Still, he'd been gone for a long time so far as most would be concerned, and so it was with wariness he mounted the steps to the door. The door opened at his touch, and Reaver walked slowly inside, shutting the thing as quietly as he could. It was warm, and the scent of disuse was nonexistent. Yes, there was definatly someone taking up residence in his home.

He prowled further inside, the eerie feeling of being watched making the hairs on the back of his neck stand up. It was dark, but not so dark that he couldn't see, his gaze sweeping over furniture and floor. Movement in the corner of his eye caught his attention, hand drawing his pistol both slowly, and pointedly. "Come now, all this skulking about is really very unseemly. Why don't we settle this like gentlemen?" He twirled the Dragonstomper lightly for emphasis.

He was answered with silence, which didn't really surprise him. Although it would have been most welcome to him to get the confrontation over and done with. The sooner he made the bloodstain, the sooner it would be cleaned up, after all.

More movement, a shadow flitting across his field of vision all he needed. He squeezed off a single round, the flash of the muzzle giving him a split second glimpse of his opponent. The visage before his eyes didn't have time to register to him beyond a vague 'what the hell'-esque feeling before a great weight slammed into him. The wind rushed from his lungs and his back hit the floor with a crash, sound just barely muffled by the still echoing noise of the gunshot.

His wits pulled themselves back together, and he realized that whatever had hit him was not only substantially larger than him, but had his arms pinned. And it was growling. Reaver blinked a few times, realizing as the world came back into focus, that his skull had probably met the hardwood in a rather harsh way.

The face peering down into his own registered in his mind, fear instantly stilling him and making him take stock of his position. Mainly, where the hell his gun was, and if he'd be able to angle it just so…Eyes never leaving those of his assailant, he raked his fingers over the area near his immobile hand. Nothing. The creature cocked it's head, glittering eyes looking him over. The fact that he hadn't been mauled yet, while a plus, was beginning to unnerve him. He'd be damned, however, if he showed it. If he was about to have his face ripped off, he would do so with an air of calm distaste, even if the only witness was the great white balverine currently sitting on his chest.

"Well, are you going to do something, or are you just going to keep staring at me? Hm beastie? I know I'm marvelous to look at, but really, this is most uncomfortable."

"Reaver?"

The balverine lifted it's gaze to the doorway, and Reaver, despite himself, did as well, surprise momentarily overcoming his self preservation instincts. He had to tilt his head back to do so, leaving his neck exposed and turning the world upside down. "Sparrow?"

The figure in the doorway moved forward, squatting down onto the balls of his feet in front of the pirate's head. Reaver couldn't make out the face looking down at him very well, the angle and the man's long hair getting in the way, but he recognized the voice well enough. The gypsy twang and all.

"I was wondering when you'd come back, Pirate King." Sparrow rested his chin in his hand, seemingly quite unphased by the situation at hand.

Reaver, however, was still very aware of the three hundred some pounds affixing him to the floor. "Are you aware that there's a balverine not two feet from that pretty face of yours, or have you gone the way of that seeress in my absence?"

Sparrow chuckled, free hand reaching out to scratch behind the monster's ear. "Aye, Reaver."

The pirate lord stared in disbelief as the creature lent into the caress, as opposed to using the opportunity to have itself a snack. The world, it seemed, had lost it's mind.

"And why is it in my house?"

Sparrow cocked his head, pausing in his ministrations to stare down at the prone man. "Your house?" The hero laughed, once, before continuing. "He is in my house, pirate."

Reaver scowled, deciding that the discussion on who exactly the manor belonged to could wait until he had full use of his limbs. "Why?"

"Because if I left him to sleep in the garden, I'd have to listen to the townsfolk complaining about 'Tha' righ' bloody monst'r wot's watchin' 'em'. Again. Not to mention who knows what would become of the flowers…or what I'd find on the doorstep in the morning…" The last bit came out in a faraway sort of tone that was both whimsical and troubling.

"I'm sorry, but are you serious?" Reaver looked back at the balverine, noting a string of saliva that was dangerously close to finding it's way under the collar of his shirt.

"What's the matter Reaver, don't approve of my choice in pets?"

"'pets'. A pet, my dear boy, is something soft, compliant, and utterly defenseless."

Sparrow dropped his hand from the balverine, resting it next to Reaver's face before leaning over to look his 'guest' straight in the eye. "Just because you refer to your whores as your 'pets' doesn't mean they are, you know. Even if they do constantly whine about you being gone."

Reaver scoffed and Sparrow smirked before moving back to his feet. "Now, if I let you up, are you going to behave?"

Reaver rolled his eyes. "Come now, 'behave' is such a relative word…"

Sparrow shifted the sack-strap on his shoulder (which Reaver noticed for the first time) before setting his hands on his hips. "I mean it Reaver. No violence. Not towards me, or Sergeant Smiley here."

"Sergeant Smiley? You named it as well?" He was seriously beginning to doubt the sanity of the legendary fourth hero.

"Of course I named him. Now, do we have an agreement? Or would you rather stay as you are until Smiles gets bored?'

Reaver eyed the brute above him, not having to put too much imagination into what would happen with a bored balverine on his chest. Oh how he wished for his gun. "Fine." He replied tersely.

Sparrow nodded. "Good. Now…" The hero of Bowerstone looked around for a moment, before walking out of Reaver's line of sight. "Ah ha!" The gypsy's face appeared over the balverine's shoulder. "Just in case, I think I'll hold onto this." He brought up his hand, revealing the Dragonstomper .48.

Reaver shoved the murderous feelings down, keeping his face as impassive and agreeable as possible. "If you must."

Sparrow nodded, then patted the beast lightly on the shoulder. "Alright Smiles, let him up. There's a good boy."

Sergeant Smiles did as he was bid, one easy movement and Reaver found himself free. He took a moment to enjoy the full use of his lungs and limbs before climbing as elegantly to his feet as he could. Adjusting his clothes, Reaver eyed the pair warily. The balverine stood passively next to his master, towering over the gypsy despite his hunching posture. And now that Reaver could get a proper look at him, he noted the balverine looked far cleaner than any other he had encounted. Not to mention he was sporting a bloody collar, of all things.

Sparrow had unslung the sack from his back, cooing to his pet as he undid the strings holding it shut. "Dinner time Sergeant!" Sparrow upended the sack, contents falling to the carpet with a sick thud. The pile of meat was raw, the smell of blood strong enough to beg the question of where it'd come from. Or who it'd been.

Needless to say, Reaver was quite concerned for the state of his carpets. Between the balverine and his meals there was a good chance they'd be quite unsalvageable. Reaver sighed, and again lamented for his poor, poor manor.

Sergeant Smiley fell on his meal, and Sparrow tossed the sack over the back of a chair. The hero moved over to the large fireplace, toeing the wood there for a moment before lighting it with a wave of his hand. "There, much better."

Reaver almost wished he hadn't lit the blasted thing, the sight of a balverine crunching on what looked like a femur of some sort not a pleasant one. His eyes fell to the carpet and he cringed inwardly at the sight of blood and flecks of slobber adorning his once pristine crimson carpeting. No amount of cleaning would get that out.

"Care for a drink?"

Reaver ripped his eyes off the disgusting sight playing out before him to fix on Sparrow. "My dear boy, I would love one."

xxxxx

Reaver settled into his favorite chair, glass of cognac in hand. Sparrow had lit the study's fireplace, which cast the whole of the room in a brilliant golden hue. From it, Reaver could see that little to nothing had been changed since he'd departed, for which he was glad.

Sparrow sat across from him, their relative positions to the firelight allowing Reaver to finally get a good look at the man who was the savior of Albion. The gypsy still bore the signs of his sacrifice at the shadow court all those years ago; long hair white as snow and eyes as red as the embers crackling merrily in the fireplace. And yet the visage was not wasted, not old and broken as all the other sacrifices had been. Just as the night Sparrow'd returned to him, victim of the pirate's selfish and manipulative ways, Reaver marveled on how youthful the gypsy looked. The tanned skin contrasting beautifully with the light hair, red eyes adding an ethereal aspect, giving the man a unique beauty that couldn't be bought or sold.

"My, my, my dear little Sparrow how do you do it? That pretty face of yours hasn't aged a day since last I saw you! You haven't been making any…unsavory deals now, have you?"

Sparrow snorted. "Hardly. It's the will of Avo that I've retained my youth. Or so I've been told anyway."

As he'd spoken, the Sergeant'd slunk silently into the room, curling up next to his master's chair. Sparrow offered him a light pat on the head, the balverine making a contented noise before dropping his head to the floor.

"And does the 'will of Avo' have anything to do with that particularity?" Reaver motioned towards the aforementioned creature with a light wave of his free hand.

Sparrow shrugged. "No idea. But I'd like to think it's my will. I've had enough 'divine intervention' for three lifetimes."

Reaver smirked as he remembered the blind seeress and the tale of purpose and destiny she'd spun for him. He'd had his fill of her within the first few minutes of meeting her; he couldn't fathom living with that for as long as Sparrow had.

"And speaking of lifetimes…" Sparrow's eyes narrowed, surveying the pirate lord. "I can see by those lines by your eyes that you're here to appease a certain trio of lovely gentlemen, yea?"

Reaver felt his eye twitch in outrage, but managed to control his emotions. In response he merely raised his now almost empty glass, not quite trusting his voice at the moment. Not to mention the words that might sneak out before he could stop them. He'd already had the pleasure once that evening to see eye to eye with the man's pet, and once was quite enough.

Sparrow nodded, looking thoughtful. The room fell into silence for awhile, the crackling of the fire and the deep whoosh of the balverine's breaths lulling Reaver into a far calmer state then previously.

"I suppose I'll have to accompany you…" The words were soft, but pulled Reaver from his contemplative state none the less.

"Oh?"

"What, you think I'd let you wander out there weaponless? You may be, well, you, but that doesn't mean I'd throw you to the banshees so readily. And since I'm not stupid enough to just hand you back your gun and send you on your merry way…I'll have to be the one to keep you from being horribly disfigured by the charming things that haunt Wraithmarsh."

"I'm perfectly capable of taking care of myself, thank you very much." This of course was true, although the idea of dredging through the marsh without his Dragonstomper was a dispiriting one.

Sparrow waved a hand as if to dismiss the pirate's statement. "Oh I'm sure you can. But see, thing is, I don't trust you as far as I could throw you."

Reaver sighed. "Of course not. And I suppose it would be foolish of you if you did." He threw the gypsy a little smirk, despite the ire rolling around in his gut.

"Now tell me, how did you acquire such a…peculiar pet?" He remembered vaguely that the man had had a dog the first time they'd met, which at the time had seemed so…barbaric, but now, well….

"He was terrorizing Westcliff, so of course the townsfolk sent for me. I found him at the blacksmith's shop when I got there. Turns out he'd been the man's apprentice, and during a trip to sell the man's wares, got infected and was left for dead. Apparently he still held a grudge." Sparrow chuckled good naturedly before continuing. "I didn't manage to stop him from killing the man, but I did chase him out of the town. When I was making my way back home, I realized he was following me, and somehow or other managed to win him over to me. I think my sparing his life may have had something to do with it. Or the fact that I fed him the entire way back to Bowerstone…"

Reaver just looked between the two. Figures, the ever-good Sparrow would do such a thing.

"The people of Bowerstone, of course, were against my bringing him to live with me, kicked me out right proper they did." Sparrow laughed at the memory, taking a sip of cognac. "So I had to find someplace where I could keep him, and realized there was no better place than Bloodstone. Oh sure, people still complain, but there's no real backing to their threats. I think they've more or less gotten used to him by now…and certainly the butcher enjoys the amount of gold I spend to feed him."

"How fascinating. Especially since you decided that the best place to keep him was my manor."

Sparrow sighed. "It's my manor, Reaver. I bought it, fixed up the lovely damage Lucien's goons caused, and even planted more flowers. If you didn't want to lose it, you shouldn't have left."

"Finders keepers hm? I was under the impression we were marginally older than five."

Sparrows laughter filled the room, Sergeant Smiley looking between his master and the pirate before rolling over to a more comfortable position.

"Yea, well, as you would say Reaver, semantics." Sparrow stood, stretching. "It's late. I'm going to bed. We can debate in the morning. Come on Pirate Lord, I'll show you to the guest room."

"Guest room?"

"Well yes. Would you rather sleep here on the floor with Smiles?"

"I'd rather sleep in my room, thank you."

"Well, my dear, being that it's now my room…Tough shit."

Reaver sighed, and begrudgingly stood to follow his host. He threw a scowl at the back of the hero's head. He was seriously regretting coming back without his men armed to the bloody teeth.

"Night Smiles!"

Reaver cast a glance back over his shoulder at the creature responsible for his dilemma.

"Bloody balverine."

a/n: Oh how I wished throughout every single Fable game that you could make the monsters(mostly the balverines) your pets. Unfortunatly for Reaver, Sparrow shares my sentiments. Next up: Reaver, Sparrow, and Sergeant Smiley go visiting at the shadow court. Wraithmarsh ahoy!

deadpan riot