Chapter Text
Midsummer had come again, bringing with it balmy days filled with golden sun and fair winds, and nights that were deep and star-washed. And the only thing that could compare with the vastness of the wide diamond speckled sky above, as the mysteries that lurked in the blue fathoms beneath it.
Not far off the coast of St. Martin’s, a mid-sized frigate was drifting on calm waters. The night was still humid from the day’s earlier intense heat, and though it was well past midnight now the air had not cooled as much as one would hope, as there was only the faintest of breezes on the water.
Still, the crew made themselves merry enough. Those who were still up and about on deck, sang and drank and whittled away the hours on watch with the usual tales; treacherous and gallant pirates, noble naval officers, monsters that lurked in dark depths between distance shores and ghosts of sailor’s long past, who never found their eternal rest.
Hobbes was the bosun of ship; a broad shouldered, middle-aged man who had sailed these waters most of his life, he felt he had heard all the stories a thousand times over. Though he had to admit that in recent years, new stories had started to emerge…or perhaps the old ones were just getting stranger and stranger…and more specific.
Hobbes was not a man of imagination and so, did not much care for any of this. All he wanted was to get to St. Martin’s and pick up his next cargo and the rest of his pay so that he could spend a few well-deserved nights in a brothel with a pretty girl or two.
But his company that evening, did not share his ‘practical’ tastes. He was a much younger lad, brown hair, knobby knees, neck like a giraffe. And overall, awkward, gangly youth who was still a little too starry-eyed about a sailor’s life. He and a handful of other men were sitting close, swapping stories of the wild and weird things they’d seen on their journeys, each trying to top the next.
“Come off it, Toby! You never saw any such thing!” the boy, named Joshua quipped, though it was clear he hoped he was wrong.
“I did too! Hand to God and strike me blind! I’m telling you, the whole damn crew, everyone of ‘em dead, not but bits of skin and bones, standing there plain as you please in the moonlight with their swords and their guns, ready to tear us all to shreds! I was just one of the lucky ones to survive, the way they crept up on us!”
“Yer drunk,”
“So what if I am! I told you all before, ye don’t know the weird things that go on in Port Royal. That place is cursed…has been, ever since the day that ruddy pirate showed up!”
The group of sailors laughed quietly at their friend’s familiar rant, for it was a tale they had all heard well enough before. The adventure of Captain Jack Sparrow and his cursed ship The Black Pearl, and how he fell in love with the governor’s daughter…or was it a blacksmith? It seemed different every time Toby told the story.
“If you ask me, I think they just made that story up about pirates to cover the fact that their officers were completely incompetent. One small ship, no matter how fast, no matter how clever it’s captain, should be able to take on such a well fortified place as Port Royal, and yet it’s happened not once, but twice!”
“Aye!”
“Yes well, count your blessings that you’re not part of the King’s navy and needn’t subject yourselves to such nonsense,” Hobbes replied, lighting his pipe, the orange glow of which briefly illuminated his face in the dark. “Pirates aren’t anything mystical or magical to be whispered about like they were children’s ghost stories. They’re not but outlaws and cast offs, leeching off the life-blood of the rest of the world. They’re a disease to be sure, but they’re mortal. And that’s all there is to it.”
“What about them skeletons? Or those rumors about The Flying Dutchman?” Joshua asked.
“Superstitions made up by idiots like yourselves to make children cry and piss themselves.”
“Captain Jack Sparrow isn’t a superstition,” the boy said then, very plainly and firmly, staring down the older man. “Last I heard, him and that other captain, the one that was once his rival, Barbossa, have been prowling the Caribbean Sea, plundering ships where they like. They’re neigh unstoppable, and even the British Navy itself won’t take ‘em on.”
The rest of the crew around him grew quiet. Hobbes eyed the boy sharply in the dark. “That so?”
“Aye, sir. I’ve seen their ship once. A great treasure gallon with blood red sails.”
“Yer a liar.”
“It’s true! Say what you like, but the tales of Jack Sparrow are true! His cursed ship, the battle with Davy Jones and the East India Trading Company, that he was killed by the Kraken, only to return from the dead!”
“That’s enough,” Hobbes grumbled, standing up then, looking as if he’d beat the boy for telling such bold-faced lies. He grabbed him by the front of his tunic and dragged him up from the deck, giving him a shake. “You’d best grow up quickly, lad, or you’re not going to survive this life long. Next thing you’re going to be telling me is that stupid tale about Sparrow and the mermaids!”
There was a splash then from the starboard side of the deck, which caught their attention. The crew looked round at each other in confusion for a moment, and then Hobbes moved closer to the rail and peered over in the dark.
Land was in sight, but they were still miles from shore and there was not another ship, nor even a smaller boat out upon the water that evening, save for themselves. The ocean was calm and dark below them, but they watched, sure something was there.
Then a new noise, soft in the distance interrupted them. They turned towards the bow of the boat, the group of them following along the rail one after the other, until Joshua, who as in the very front, spotted it.
“There! Look there! A man in the water!”
Sure enough, there was a man in the distance, clinging to cluster or rocks jutting up from the ocean floor. He was calling out to them, waving his hands, trying to get their attention.
“Where did he come from?” one of the other sailors wondered aloud in astonishment, “I swear we’ve been drifting in these waters for hours, no sign of him until now!”
“Maybe we just couldn’t see him in the dark. Call the Captain, ready a row boat!”
It was Toby then who looked harrowed and pale in the moonlight who shook his head. “Belay that. Leave that man be.”
“What? Sir, he’s obviously been shipwrecked, we need to rescue him!”
“You see any ‘wrecks’ around here, boy?” the older sailor said. Behind him Hobbes was looking increasingly annoyed with the situation and put his hand on Toby’s arm.
“Lay off. Ye’ve had too much to drink tonight, Toby. Ye wouldn’t let a man drown, just cause yer drunk and superstitious.”
“I’m telling you,” Toby hissed. “That’s not a man. Have ne’re any of you listened to my tales? Or any tales of the ocean that caution you against things such as this! Some comely creature appearing from no where, beckoning ships to their doom upon unseen rocks below, or pulling them down to the depths to meet Davey Jones himself!”
Hobbes knocked him aside as they made for the rowboat.
By the captain’s orders, a group rowed out towards the rocks, the lantern hanging from the head of their ship swaying faintly in the dark.
As they drew closer, they saw it was indeed a man, who was huddled up on the little dry space the rock allowed him, completely naked. “Oh thank God…thank God!” The man called, looking tearfully enthusiastic towards them. “Please, please help me!”
“We’ve got ya man, take my hand.”
The shivering man upon the rock climbed awkwardly inside the small rowboat with the other two sailors, who were quick to put a blanket around him and allowing him to warm and cover himself.
“Thank you! Oh thank you, sirs, I thought I was finished…”
The man was somewhere in his late twenties, with a head of black hair that dripped down his head and touched the nape of his neck, the longer bits pulled back in a stubby ponytail while the longer bits hung inky tendrils across his forehead. His skin was tan and had an odd sheen to it in the moonlight if anyone looked very closely.
“Steady there, you’re safe now. What’s your name, son?”
“Theodore,” the man answered. “Theodore Groves.”
They returned to the boat in short order and helped the shipwrecked survivor aboard the frigate. The Captain, a stalwart man with stern features and a large black mole above his right eye gazed back at him.
“Welcome aboard The Mariner good sir. Name yourself, and tell us what brings you to drifting in the middle of these waters.”
“Calls himself Groves, sir,” Joshua said, standing next to the man, eyeing him in vague fascination.
“I’m grateful for your help, Captain.” Groves said, voice a bit clear and sure now that he was on deck again. He glanced around at the crew as if searching for someone. “I had fallen overboard from own vessel some time ago, and I’ve been trying to make my way toward land. Alas, I’m not a very strong swimmer and the tides last evening were rather intense. I took refuge on the rocks, but no one has come until you came. I’ve been two days without water or food, I was certain I was finished.”
Hobbes patted him on the back, feeling a rather firm bit of muscle upon the younger man’s frame. “Count your blessings, lad. It would have been all too easy for us to pass you in the dark on a night like this.”
“Where was your ship headed, Mr. Groves? Perhaps we could escort you, or take you to port where you might find passage elsewhere.” The Captain offered.
“Port-Au-Prince, Captain.”
“That is not too great a journey from here. You are lucky you were spotted.” He looked the man up and down. “What happened to your clothes?”
Groves wrapped the woolen blanket a little closer around him, “As I said sir, I’m not a strong swimmer. They were weighing me down.”
Toby, the Captain and Hobbes all looked at the man suspiciously, but it was Toby who raised his sword to him.
“Now that’s not exactly the truth, is it?”
Theodore blinked back at him, cautious of the blade but not exactly afraid of it. “I’m sorry?”
“Theodore Groves…well, I certainly admit I wouldn’t have recognized you just from looking at you. It’s been a long time since the last time I saw your face. Thought you’d been killed on that ill-fated voyage to the Americas.”
At this Groves studied the man a little closer, and Toby smiled back at him in a wily manner. “Coming back to you, is it?”
“Tobias Finch…yes, I remember you. You were new to Port Royal when we served under Commodore Norrington.”
Toby, or rather Tobias, chuckled. “Seems our fortunes have changed quite a bit since then.”
“Indeed. You’ve given up service and become a merchant sailor.”
“And you a pirate.”
The rest of the crew grew very quiet then.
It was Joshua who spoke up then, though his voice cracked. “Come on now, Toby…there’s no reason to think…I mean just because—“
But Toby wasn’t swayed and kept his sword pointed at Grove’s neck. Slowly, the black-haired man just smiled. “Ah, Tobias. I always did like you. But after our little adventure aboard The Dauntless, I’m afraid you’ve gotten the wrong idea about some things.”
“I don’t think it’s me who has the wrong idea about things,” Tobias replied. “What are you really doing out here in the middle of the water on a rock? You didn’t fall off any ship.”
Groves sighed then, letting the blanket fall from his shoulders and stood there starkly in front of all of them. “You’re right. I didn’t. But I do indeed require your help. You see, I’m looking for someone. Captain Barbossa and Captain Jack Sparrow, last seen on a return voyage from Whitecap Bay. Now you remember them, don’t you?”
At this, much of the crew skittered further back from the man, seeming very nervous indeed. Even Joshua took a step back then. “What ye be wanting with the likes of them scoundrels?” Tobias laughed.
“Well, as you so eloquently put it yourself…pirate.”
Toby lunged, meaning to slice the man at the neck, but Groves easily dodged the blow, grabbed the man by the hilt of the sword, threw a hard punch into his face and knocked him flat upon the deck. Other sailors moved forward to subdue the man, only to meet the same rough treatment. Groves was a surprisingly agile fighter, and even stronger than he looked. They came at him by the handfuls, but he would not be put down.
Hobbes managed to grab him from behind then and began to wrestle him, trying to pull him down to the deck. Groves let out a noise that was something akin to a hiss, which startled the old sailor, but not enough to let go.
Groves struggled, and in the tussle the two both went right over the rail of the ship, plunging down into the water below.
The surf hit Hobbes hard across his back and his shoulders and he barely had time to hold his breath before salt water was surging up his nose and burning his eyes. He coughed and struggled, and finally let Groves go as he struggled back up towards the surface.
He broke, hacking and sputtering, eyes burning. He looked around, hearing shouts from the ship above him, expecting the pirate to surface beside him. Instead he felt something large swimming next to him, a long tail slithering between his flailing legs.
Hobbes shrieked and looked around wide-eyed. “What was that?!”
“Hobbes! Where is he!? Where’d he go?!” The men above him shouted, but the wide-eyed sailor barely heard them.
He could feel the current created by whatever was circling him, feel the brush of a long, muscular form and scales brushing up against his skin. He shrieked again, trying to get closer to the boat as a life line was tossed down to him. “Get me up! Get me out of here! There’s something down here!”
No sooner had he grabbed the life line than a long fish tail, unlike any he had seen before in his life, surfaced from the water and with a mighty swing snapped the line from his hand. Hobbes shouted as something rushed him and pushed him through the water, grabbing him from below.
Then, quite abruptly, he was hurled upwards, propelled by a great force as he watched the man who called himself Theodore Groves erupt from the waves, dragging him upward with him as he leapt in a wide arch towards the deck of the ship.
Hobbes gawked, forgetting to breathe. The man was no man at all, but rather a supernatural creature of the deep, a merman. Gills were now visible on the sides of his throat, and scales edged the sides of his face, so fine and thin that they blended seamlessly into his skin. They glittered pale gold in the moonlight.
Together they slammed down upon the deck, Hobbes landing with a wet thud, while the half-man, half-creature beside him reared upwards, propping himself up on his hands as he glared back at the crew. His fish tail was nearly twice the length of his torso, the glittering scales beginning below the dip of his naval, standing out like bright copper coins that tapered down into sleek, dark blue and green. It lashed back and forth across the deck, threatening to strike anything and anyone that came too close to it, the large fan of the tail smacking against the wood of the deck.
Tobias stared back at him, white as a sheet. “I told you! I told you!!”
Groves glared back at the men who surrounded him, fangs bared, webbed and clawed fingers raking across the deck. “Alright, gentlemen,” he muttered. “The choice before you is simple;” he looked directly at Tobias. “Tell me where I can find The Queen Ann’s Revenge, and I’ll let you go about your business. If not…I’ll sink this ship.”
The Captain made to shoot him, but Groves’ tail rose and cracked across him like a whip, curling around the man before heaving him over the side of the boat and sending him crashing down into the water below.
“Anyone else feeling brave?” he hissed, eyes narrowed.
“The Queen Ann was last seen off the coast of Cuba!” Joshua cried then. Groves turned his head and fixed the boy with a careful look, seeing him shake as he gazed back at him.
“Thank you, lad. At least one of you has some brains.” He nodded gratefully and turned, long tail slashing around in front of him, colliding with the sailors that were closest to him and knocking them off their feet as he took hold of the rail and threw himself overboard again.
The remaining sailors rushed across the deck, some firing pistols and harpoons into the water, but there was hardly so much as a splash where Theodore had disappeared below the dark blue surface of the waves.
Joshua had drifted away from the others, staring across the keel of the ship, seeing what the thought was the flash of a luminescent blue-green tail briefly surfacing before vanishing again. Then, as he looked closer still, he thought he saw several more following it, in colors of gold and green and silver.
He rubbed his eyes, hardly daring to believe what he had just seen. It seemed like he would finally have a tail to tell that would even top Toby’s next time they came into port.
**
But the merman was far from the only one out on the water, hunting for the same infamous pirate lords.
Not so many miles away, creeping along the dark waters edging towards Puerto Rico, a small ship creaked and groaned on the waves, it’s patched and torn sails at half-canvas, drifting through the water at a presently unhurried pace. Aboard it was one man, the sole crew member of the aging and derelict vessel.
Bootstrap Bill Turner stood at the helm, his eyes burning somewhat with tired determination as he looked again at the stars above him to determine his course. Clouds obscured the sky in patches here and there, but the wind was blowing quick and sure that night, moving them along at a steady pace. And above these, the moon was high and bright with a deep orange cast to it.
Bill did not like the look of it; it had an ill omen about it. But the blood moon that it foreshadowed would not be at its full completion for several more days yet. Bill figured he had until then to make it to his next port.
He had been sailing for months, drifting in and out of ports along the Bahamas and the Caribbean, searching everywhere for one man and one ship; Jack Sparrow, and his fabled Black Pearl. This, and this alone, had been Bill’s all-consuming thought for some time now, ever since he’d taken leave of The Flying Dutchman and his son, whom was the ghostly ship’s new captain.
When Will had become Captain, Bill had felt a sense of relief. He had nearly lost Will in the battle, and it was only by Jack’s quick thinking that the boy had been revived and given a second chance at life. Though it wasn’t much of a life he lived now.
Bound to The Dutchman and it’s duties, Will’s fate had taken a difficult turn, one that hurt Bill to see. True, he had his son again, and as long as he was captain he would never fear for his life or safety for no mortal thing could harm him, and there were fewer immortal beings who would dare. But it was not the life he wanted for Will. And over the months that had turned into years, Bill watched helplessly as his child languished in this new role as farrier of souls, separated from his own wife and child.
Bill had not been a proper father to his son in the past. He had selfishly forsaken all of that to run off with a man he barely knew, to chase a dream of adventure, riches and love…real love. Or so he had thought.
Nothing had quite turned out as old Bootstrap had planned, or he would not be standing here on a half-rotted ship, sailing alone through the night, hunting down the only man he thought he could help him; the one who had begun this whole bizarre journey for him; Jack Sparrow.
Bootstrap sang softly to himself in the night wind, trying to keep himself awake as waves thunked against the helm and rolled the warped deck under his feet. His days were long, lonely and desperate and the only thing that kept him moving forward, rather than succumbing to madness was thinking about his goal; find Jack. If he could find Jack, it would all come together, somehow, someway. It had to.
In the far distance, he noticed a cluster of jagged rock formations, jutting up from the water like shards of black glass, sharp and perilous. Bill eyed the formation for a time, for it felt oddly familiar. He could not be certain that he had ever passed this way before…not while he had been a mortal man, anyway.
He felt himself drawn towards the rocks, almost subconsciously, so fascinated by their ominous appearance that he for a moment forgot himself. As he drifted closer, close enough now to see what looked like a narrow arch way through the rocks, leading into some unknown shadowy cave, Bill suddenly regained control, turned the wheel sharply and steered away from the looming cliffs. The spell had been broken, at least for the moment.
High above him the moon was shining still more brightly on the water, casting more shadows below. Bill shuddered. His long servitude upon The Flying Dutchman had provided Bill Turner to a certain sensitivity to magic and things imbued with the supernatural and otherworldly. This place, whatever it was, was definitely that.
He felt another cold shiver pass through him, a tremble in his fingers despite the humidity in the summer air. Something was stirring in the dark, something foul. Bill turned his rudder, but found that the wind had died and his ship would do little more than drift lazily on the water, which had gone eerily still.
He found his attention drawn again and again to the rocks, but refused to stare at them, instead hurriedly busying himself with the sails, trying to catch any breath of air he could to pull him away from here. It was as he was tugging at the lines that he noticed movement in the water below the ship, a faint glimmering of something passing just below the surface.
Bill stopped and stared at it, wondering if his eyes were playing tricks on him. But as he leaned closer, a figure broke the surface and clung to the side of the boat. “Help me!” he gasped.
Bill shouted in surprise, falling backwards onto deck, before collecting himself in a hurry and looking over the side again at the man attempting to climb aboard. “Please! Please, can you throw me a line! Please, I’m so tired!”
“Alright!” Bill called back, grabbing a rope and tossing it hurriedly over the side, knotting it the stair rail leading up to the helm and bracing himself as he began to tug the man up the side of The Dying Gull.
Once he was within reach, Bill grabbed his arms and tugged him over the side, surprised to find the man starkly naked, and allowed him to sprawl upon the deck.
“Oh thank you, thank you…” he rasped, seemingly exhausted. Bill pulled off his coat and tossed it over the man’s shoulders to cover him.
“Bloody hell, man, what are you doing--?” he began, looking the young man over. But it was as he knelt there, close enough to touch the shivering figure, that he sensed what was really going on. His concern changed at once to skeptism, and he reached for the knife concealed in his boot.
“Who are you?”
The man, dark haired and dark eyed blinked back at him, as if taken off guard by the question.
“My name is Theodore Groves. I was knocked overboard—“
Bill presented the dagger and held it lightly at the man’s throat. “Ah, ah. The truth now, mate.”
Groves hesitated, falling mute for a moment as he blinked between Bill and the dagger clutched in his hands.
“Yer not human, that much I can tell,” Bootstrap continued quietly when his unexpected guest gave no immediate answer. He glanced down at the man’s legs, which looked paler than the rest of him, the flesh oddly smooth and slick, almost like it was new. “So what are you?”
“I don’t mean you any harm,” Groves said softly. “That is the truth.” He looked Bill squarely in the eye as he spoke this, and after a moment of careful consideration, he withdrew the dagger and sat back on his heels, admiring the man before him.
“Alright then, Theodore Groves. What is it a poor sailor like myself can do for you?”
Groves gathered himself inside the coat, relaxing slightly. “Forgive my intrusion and my deceptions, sir. I find people are much more apt to be helpful to a drowning man, rather than one who is…and unusually good swimmer, lets say.” Bill nodded slowly and Groves continued, “I’m looking for a ship, and the pirate Captains that command it. Have you heard of Captain Jack Sparrow, or Captain Barbossa by any chance?”
Bill stiffened and said nothing at all for several seconds, studying Groves’s face with his sad, watery blue eyes. “You seek Jack Sparrow?”
“Yes. Yes!”
“And what is your intent upon finding said Captain?”
“I’ve been searching for the Captains for some time, you see. I was an officer of the royal navy, serving under then Admiral Barbossa on an exposition to the Americas in search of The Fountain of Youth. I became separated from him and Sparrow in the course of a battle, and am desperately trying to find them again. Any information you could give me—“
Bill held up a hand to quiet him. “Steady man, no need to try to get it all out at once. I too am looking for Jack Sparrow. Last I heard, he was destined for a port north west of the Haitian coast, towards Grand Turk. That’s where I’m heading.”
Groves looked momentarily elated, as it had been days since his last encounter in St. Martin. It was good to know he was at least headed in the right direction. “But that’s days away, even with fair winds.”
“Aye, but that’s my course, all the same.”
“How is it you know Jack Sparrow?” Groves asked then.
Bill stood up, helping the other man as well, as his legs seemed a bit weak and unsteady upon the deck, a fact that made Groves flush faintly with embarrassment. “Jack’s an old friend of mine. One who owes me a debt.” He answered.
Groves raised a dark brow. “What sort of debt?”
“That’s my business, Mr. Groves.” He looked over his shoulder, back towards the rocks, which they had gained a bit more distance from now. But they were still far too close for his liking. “Well, will you continue on with me aboard this old bulkhead, or shall I put you back overboard where I found you?”
Groves glanced back at the surf below them and shook his head. “I think I will stay aboard, if you’ll have me…sorry, I didn’t get your name.”
“Bill Turner.” The long-haired man answered, taking the helm again.
Groves blinked in surprise. “Turner, did you say?”
“Aye?”
“I feel as if I’ve heard that name somewhere before…” Groves thought back to days nearly forgotten now, when he was a wide-eyed youth with dreams of glory and honor, following the law to the letter, blissful in his ignorance of the world. My, how much had changed since then…
Bill paid his words no mind however, focused again on the rocks behind them on their port side. Theodore turned to look at the too, sensing a disturbance there. The moon seemed to be right over the formation then, it’s eerie light gleaming upon the jutting lines of the stones that stretched upwards towards the heavens, casting a red pall upon the water, turning everything vaguely bloody.
“We need to leave this place,” he whispered, feeling terror grip him. He turned hurriedly towards Bill. “We need to leave!”
“She’s at a dead stop, the wind has all but died!” Bill barked back. Suddenly, there was a loud crack from behind them. Both men startled, looking at the rocks again to see that the arch way and the upper most cliffs of the stones had begun to crumble, tumbling downward into the sea.
The two men watched, transfixed by the strange sight as little by little, the cluster of stones dissolved into nothing, vanishing into the ocean and revealing, much to their growing dread, a rather ghostly looking vessel.
At first it appeared to be more shipwreck than actual ship, but little by little, it began to move, slowly gliding upon the waves, traveling towards them at a speed that should not have been possible.
Bill reached forward then and clutched Groves’ shoulder. “Get in the water.” He urged.
Theodore blinked in confusion, but Bill didn’t appear to have misspoken. He looked at the former navy lieutenant with the utmost seriousness. “I know what you are, and you’ll be safer in the water. At least one of us should go on, find Jack.”
“But I can help—“
Bill shook his head, shoving him towards the rail, as the ghostly ship was nearly upon them. “Go!”
Groves abandoned Bootstrap’s coat and dove over the side, vanishing into the water below with barely a ripple. Bill turned and braced himself as the ship approached him, standing far taller and grander than his own limping sloop.
A gaggle of dark figures gathered along the side, making a great clamor of shouts and jeers, and as they grew closer, Bill saw to his horror that they were not of the living, and that in fact many of the men were only fragments of what they must have been in life. The ashen and blackened shapes stared back at him with white, gleaming eyes, waving cutlasses and broad swords.
Bootstrap remained rooted to the spot where he stood, hands firmly upon the wheel, knowing there was no escape for him, but finding that he was not overwhelmed by this reality. After enduring a life of torment as he had, unable to die, knowing only want, loneliness and suffering; death had lost some of its power over him.
Movement on the lower deck finally pulled his gaze away, and he gasped as he saw the same ghostly figures that towered over him suddenly materialize aboard his own vessel. They rushed him, making no sound at all and Bill reached for his sword to defend himself, only to be seized and tossed backward against the deck, where his arms were dragged behind his back and pinned there, blades that seemed to burn with cold hovering from his milky pale skin.
There came the soft thudding of boot falls, as well as something artificial and heavy, slowly climbing the stairs to the helm. Bill watched as a new figure appeared in the moonlight, this one more terrible and intimidating than those that had seized him.
He came forward at a limp, in one hand, he clutched a cane, which hammered down upon the deck with a distinct thunk that rung in the air. His figure was hunched, and each movement he made seemed deliberate and calculated. He was broad shouldered, bearing a uniform that Bill did not immediately recognize due to its blackened and ruined nature, yet still distinguished as that of a high ranking officer, perhaps a Captain. A mass of black hair drifted and swayed across the man’s haggard and bowed head, and as he neared, Bill realized that it seemed to be floating as though submerged in water.
At last the man came to stand before him, lifting his bowed head to look at Bill plainly. And Bootstrap had to bite his tongue to keep from crying out at the sight.
The man’s face, devoid of pigment save for the cold whiteness of a corpse, appeared…cracked. His flesh split and splintered across his face in dozens of jagged lines that raced across his forehead, cheeks and jaw.
His lips were blackened and cracked, and from them seeped thin trails of thick black blood that dripped down the man’s chin. Bill shuddered and tried to shake free of his captors, but it was no good, he was held firmly in place.
“Hola,” the apparition before him spoke, his cracked lips opening into a blackened, hideous smile, burning, dark eyes lighting up as he looked Bill over. “Tell me, senor…are you the only man aboard this ship?”
Bill nodded swiftly. “Aye.”
“That makes you Captain, I suppose.” The man before him chuckled softly, and the men gathered around him joined in kind. “Well then. One captain to another, shall we speak? You see, it has been some time since my men and I were out upon the open ocean and we could use some assistance.” He grinned again, and the blood continued to dribble from his lips.
Bill winced mildly in disgust. “Not sure what help I could be to you, Captain. You and your crew…appear far beyond any of help.”
“Ah, but you assume too quickly. Tell me, my good man…do pirates still infest these waters?”
Bill tensed, but kept his expression cold. “Pirates have always been.”
“Ah, indeed. A fact I mean to remedy. Beginning with the architect of my misery. Do you know of a pirate whom calls himself…Sparrow?” His eyes grew wide and bright upon saying that name, seeming to savor the taste of it on his tongue and at the same time spitting it out as if it were vile poison.
This time, Bill’s expression betrayed him, even if it was only the most subtle of changes. The specter before him had seen the way his pupils had shrunk, had sensed the tension in his muscles, the soft exhale and the skipped beat of his heart.
“Ahh…” he sighed, face continuing to distort with hellish delight. “You have heard the name before then, si?”
Bill nodded slowly, knowing there was no use in denying it now.
“Will you deliver a message for me?” the captain before him asked, looking maniacal in his eagerness for Bill’s response. Ice filled Bill’s guts, and he remembered what fear was, what dread was. Not since Davy Jones himself had he felt these things, but looking at the ghost before him now, he saw madness, he saw doom, illuminated under the bright bloody moonlight, reflected back at him with those burning, dead eyes.
The ghost leaned close then, clasping Bill’s shoulder with one icy hand, fingers digging into his flesh and taking hold before speaking softly in the shell of his ear. “Tell him that Captain Salazar is coming for him.” He laughed softly and Bill felt more the thick, black blood drip upon his shoulder, splattering upon his neck above his collar. “Will you do this for me?”
Bill nodded mutely, cold sweat beading his face.
“Good, good. Gracias…”
The figures holding him vanished abruptly then and Bill stumbled, finding his knees weak and dropped to the deck, gasping and shaking as Salazar and his crew returned to their ship, leaving his in their wake.
“Jack…oh Jack, what have you done this time?”
It was a long time before Bill could move again, but what brought him from his stupor was the feel of warm, if not damp hands upon his shoulder, gently replacing his coat. He whirled and turned to see that Groves had returned to his side, looking at him with harrowed features in the now fading moonlight.
“Can you take us to port, Mr. Turner?” he asked.
Bill nodded, slowly regaining his wits. “Aye. As quickly as we can muster.”
He got to his feet and reached for the wheel, relieved to see that the breeze had returned and was already carrying them further away from the cursed spot upon the ocean.
For a time, neither of them spoke, until Bill moved from his place at the helm, and darted into the cabin below and returned with a bundle of clothes. “Here, put these on. Can’t be standing about in naught but your skin.”
Groves nodded gratefully and began to nervously dress himself. “Who was that creature?”
Bill’s face was a cold mask. “An old enemy of all who sail under a pirate flag. Jack told me about him once. There was a time when he was the single greatest threat to the Brethren upon the ocean…but he was killed in a battle with them. Jack was there, he helped orchestrate it.”
“Apparently not well enough.” Groves muttered. He was beginning to see a disturbing pattern attached to his almost-lover; that the man had left a trail of vengeful enemies in his wake, all whom would seemingly do anything to exact revenge upon the brash pirate. Even defy death, apparently.
***
Miles away, in much calmer waters…
Hector stood before a collapsed wall of stone, from which water poured down, slowly filling the tide pool he was standing in. He dug at the rocks, fingers bloody with the effort, flinging them away again and again and again, only to have more and more reappear. He could never reach the other side, and all the while the water continued to pour, rising higher and higher around him. But he didn’t give up, he didn’t stop even though he was aware it was useless.
A voice from the other side of the wall begged him for help, wept and screamed for Hector to save him. Barbossa kept shouting back that he would, he would get Groves out of that dark tomb if it was the last thing he did. But he couldn’t. His hands were bloody and his arms and back throbbed. The water was getting higher and higher until it had finally reached his neck. Still, he didn’t stop. He screamed and pounded against the caved in wall, shouting his lost lover’s name over and over, until water filled his nose and his mouth and submerged him completely.
“Theodore! Theodore!”
The name was still on his lips as he came awake, trembling and slick with sweat. He sat up in the bed, peering around at the dark room, where the only light was that of the rising dawn outside, which was still cold and pale through the window panes.
There was no sound save for his own heavy breathing and the distant roar of the ocean as it crashed against the rocks outside beyond the cliffs. Barbossa scrubbed his hand across his face, finding it wet with tears and cursed softly as he kicked the blankets off himself and reached for the crutch by his bed.
Jack was not in the room, and Hector wondered how long his lover had been missing. He hobbled to the bedroom door of the old house he, Sparrow and the young cabin boy Shandy had occupied for months now stepped out into the tall, narrow well that contained the creaking steps that lead up to the higher loft of the old stone lighthouse they occupied.
There were two small windows that let a meager amount of light into the otherwise black corridor, and Hector could see that Shandy’s door was cracked, but that there was no sound or movement from beyond it. The lad was no doubt still asleep. Satisfied with this, he moved through the cloistered stairwell into the main room of the house. It appeared wider and empty in the dark with little furnishings, save for a table, a few chairs, heavy chest that was pressed against the wall behind the front door, and several other trappings. He expected to find Sparrow seated near the stone fireplace, passed out with a bottle of rum or toying with the cursed bottle containing his ship, as Hector often found him on sleepless nights.
But Jack wasn’t here either, and the fireplace had gone out a long time ago, leaving the hearth cold and full of ash. Barbossa moved through the silent, empty house towards it, took the heavy cast-iron tea kettle off the hook over the hearth and poured himself some water from it, knowing it could be cold and clean.
His fingers were still shaking faintly as he held his cup, and he was grateful Jack wasn’t there to see it. Too often in these last long months since their adventure, Jack had to witness his night terrors and comfort him in the dark. His lover had done all this without complaint of course, for Jack loved him deeply, but Barbossa knew it weighed on him. He swallowed hard, tasting not water, but guilt at the back of his throat. He had Jack, his real and truest love at his side again. He was grateful beyond measure for this, and yet it did not slake his grief. He had loved Theodore Groves, as much if not differently than Sparrow, and his loss had left a terrible heaviness in his chest.
He looked out the window then at the horizon, seeing the sun slowly appearing over water beyond turning the black-grey sky faintly blue and pink. Upon the wide swath of green grass that stretched out from the old hovel, Hector spotted Jack, walking up the rocky path from the beach below. The man was singing to himself, and as Barbossa watched him, he noticed the familiar uneasy sway of his feet as walked.
A few moments later the man crept into the door, hissing at the squeaky hinges for making so much noise as he entered.
“Jack,” Hector sighed, startling the dark haired man and making him whirl to see his lover sitting there by the hearth. “No use in slinkin’ about, luv. You’ve been discovered.”
“Ah, so I have,” Jack replied, stumbling towards the table, looking faintly sheepish. “I couldn’t sleep, so I thought I’d take the sloop and nip over to port for a drink or two.”
“Plenty of rum in the cellar,” Hector answered.
“Yes, well…I didn’t want to wake you and the boy. Besides, Gibbs had an interesting proposition for us. Or so he claimed; turned out to be a waste of time, but a good use of drink.” He quipped, then stepped a little closer to Hector, looking at the deep circles under his eyes and the paleness in his skin. “Though it doesn’t appear I need’ve worried about waking you.” He stepped next to him, tilted Hector’s head back and threaded his ringed and bejeweled fingers through his hair. “Dreaming about him again, darlin?”
Barbossa just sighed and let his head fall against Jack’s torso, smelling the fresh air and salt water on his skin and clothes. “I wish I could put it from my mind. Alas, I’m at a loss.”
Jack knelt in front of him so that they were eye to eye and leaned in to kiss him. This was not the first time he’d found Hector this way, weary and distraught from a nightmare about their last moments in the caves where Groves had met his untimely end trying to defend them from the treacheries of Blackbeard. The night haunted Jack too, but it was Hector who seemed to bear the brunt of the suffering.
“I’m sorry, m’luv. Ye must think me ungrateful, pining for what I’ve lost when I have ye right here in front of me.”
Jack gave him a sympathetic smile but didn’t answer. “You have to let him go, luv. Groves died an honorable death, and I can’t imagine he’d be pleased to know that the stalwart Captain Barbossa had withered away to nothing over his loss. We owe it to him to continue on, don’t we?”
“Aye. You’re right of course.”
“Aren’t I always?” Jack grinned.
“Don’t push it, Sparrow.”
Seeing a shadow of his former smirk reassured Jack that however much Hector was struggling that he would come out the other side of this darkness as he always had. Jack felt his heart swell with admiration for the man then; there were few people in the world that could inspire such strength and courage than his very own Hector.
“Let’s take you back to bed,” he offered, standing and pulling the taller man up as well, but as Hector stood, Jack swayed and the two tangled themselves together to keep from falling, each laughing faintly at the other’s clumsiness.
“Still haven’t gotten yer land legs? Or did ye drink the tavern dry again?”
“Only half dry,” Jack offered with a giggle of his own. “I had Gibbs with me, remember?”
Arms slung around each other, they made their way back to their bedroom at the foot of the stairs. Barbossa helped Jack shrug out of his clothes and pulled him down into bed with him, the cinnamon skinned and heavily tattooed man lying on top of him, leaning over to leave a trail of rum stained kisses on the paler man’s neck. “Since it seems neither of us can sleep, what say we make better use of our time?” he purred.
The other pirate only chuckled as Jack twisted the chain of his pendant around his fingers and pulled him up for another kiss, Hector reaching down to pull the man flush against him. “That be a tempting offer, I admit,” he replied. “’Cept yer very, very drunk. I wouldn’t want to think I was takin’ advantage of ye.”
“Hush will you? Busy those lips elsewhere.”
Hector’s eyes suddenly brightened and he sat up, pulling himself up against the headboard. Jack blinked at him, confused by the sudden change in position that left him wanting for contact. But the redhead beckoned him forward and pulled Jack over him again, forcing the man to straddle him. He kissed his way down Sparrow’s chest and stomach, pulling open the buttons of his pants and pulling the man more upward so that his hips were flush with Hector’s face. “Will this do?” he grinned before pulling the man closer and licking him teasingly.
Jack shuddered, gripping the headboard. “Oh yes, luv…like that. Ah!”
Things grew quiet between them for time, the only sounds in the small room being the faint sighs and muttered oaths from Sparrow as Hector lost himself in pleasuring him, happy for the distraction.
Jack’s darkly tan skin was flushed dark pink as Hector brought him achingly close to orgasm at a slow and steady pace that was almost too good for the pirate to handle. But Hector always did know how to completely undo him.
“Mmmmh! H-Hector please…”
Barbossa sucked him hard, swirling his tongue over the head of his cock before pulling back and gazing up at the man with a mischievous smile, “What was that Sparrow?” he cooed. “Something ye wanted?”
Jack tried to nudge the man’s head back down but Hector resisted, nipping at his hipbone instead while feeling the tension in Jack’s thighs as he hovered on the edge of release. Jack whimpered pitifully.
“Ah, you old bastard! Don’t tease me like—“
“Captain Jack?”
Both men stopped dead at the sound of a third voice in the room, and Barbossa reflexively grabbed Jack’s hips and yanked him forward, hoisting up his pants and pressing his face against Jack’s belly as Sparrow whipped his head around, thick braids and dreads flying as he looked over his shoulder at Shandy the cabin boy standing in the doorway, looking rather sleepy and vaguely confused.
“Bloody fuck, lad! It’s courtesy to at least knock before you stroll in on a man when he’s…sleepin’!”
The young man, who was now roughly fourteen, blinked tiredly between the two men. “But you aren’t sleepin’. And I’m sorry to disturb your, um…romancing with Captain Barbossa, but it’s getting light out now and I was up in the tower just now and saw the ships coming into the cay. Thought you ought to know.”
“Aye, the ships,” Hector sighed, sitting Jack back and letting him cover himself with the blanket, ignoring his silent protest as he reached for his crutch again. “It was good of you to alert us, lad, but lest you want to see something that can’t rightly be unseen next time, knock.”
“Aye, sirs.” He smirked a bit to himself and slipped out the door again, shutting it behind him once more.
“That boy concerns me.” Hector sighed.
Jack wrapped his arms around him from behind and tried to pull him back into the bed, “I’ll have a talk with him, but with influences like Scrum and the others around, the damage has been done. Now…come back to bed.”
Hector kissed his cheek and lifted himself from the mattress instead. “Sorry, Jack. When the ships arrive, ye know I must attend them. Or else they might think that their captain has lost interest, and that can lead to a host of dangerous things.”
“Come on, luv, just another minute, I’m nearly—“
The other man turned and pressed him down into the bed, kissing him until he was breathless, but didn’t touch him otherwise. Jack moaned as his lover pulled away, running his finger over his swollen lower lip. “Think about me while you finish.”
He grabbed his coat off the hook and smirked to himself as he hobbled out the door, leaving Sparrow tense and aching on the bed, left with no recourse but to finish himself off. “Dammit Hector,” he moaned against the man’s pillow, wrapping his own hand around his cock. But truth be told the whole thing sent a renewed thrill through him, reminded that whatever their troubles, the spark was far from gone.
**