Power: This story has appeared in at least one fanfiction I've read, and I I've been itching to write a fanfiction focusing on this subject myself, so here goes. Pulled the title from one of Davy Jones' lines in DMC. Seemed fitting. :D Bootstrap Bill and this version of Davy Jones © Disney. To The Depths
He was a man who did not need to eat, drink, or sleep. He did not need to breathe. . . and he could not die. But he screamed when they threw him over the side. Fought desperately against his bonds as the water enveloped him. The cannon sank, pulling him down with it.
The light filtering through the water began to fade. Darkness rushed up to meet him.
When he stopped struggling, he was still sinking.
Then he began to feel it: the pressure finally rising, beginning to crush him.
Bones breaking, organs rupturing, healing, the cycle starting over. Trapped in a world of pain, he began struggling again. He could not feel the clothes on his skin or the water clogging his lungs, but he could feel pain. The Gods who had placed a curse on the Aztec gold had had malicious minds indeed.
If there was anything he could do, any way at all to end the pain, he would do it. Without hesitation. Whatever the cost.
And still he was sinking.
Bootstrap focused hard, blocking the pain from his mind. As long as he could distract himself he could do it, enough to be able to think coherently. He began to turn his mind to the stories, myths and legends of the sea. If the legend of Isla de Muerta was true, surely there was a chance that the other stories could be too. . .
There was one. One that could grant him freedom from this new life, but the legend also told of the cost. A grim fate indeed.
And as he turned away from that option, he reminded himself that he would do anything to escape. After a few minutes of deliberating with himself, he had made up his mind. He would call Davy Jones. . . But how? He was sure there was a particular rhyme or verse that was believed to call the captain Flying Dutchman. A summon used by the non 'dead or dying' individual. It was thought that Jones was open to deals from the living. . . If you believed in that sort of thing.
It came to him at last.
"Davy Jones, a summon for ye,
A proposal in mind, I have for thee,
If this summon is heard, then answer me!
Without meaning to, he'd shouted it.
There was no answer. Bill was not sure what he had been expecting. A voice in his head? The rational side of him pointed out that Jones might take a while to get to him. So he waited, angling his neck around to look in all directions, watching for some sign of the Flying Dutchman. It was pitch black; he couldn't even see the end of his nose. One thing he was certain of was that he was that he had stopped sinking.
He squinted into the darkness to his right. He was sure those were the lights of a ship. A ship? Underwater? Was this the legendary Davy Jones at last? Well of course, there was not anyone else it could be.
As the lights got closer, the ship became more defined, at least what was illuminated by the lanterns. It glided through the water, silent as shark, just as deadly. It came to a stop right in front of him. He could see a flurry of activity on the deck in which lanterns were removed from where they were hung. Then a voice met his ears. Bootstrap was surprised that he could it so clearly.
"An escort won't be required. I'll handle this alone." He could not yet place the accent, but it sounded Northern. A figure then appeared at the side of the ship, backlit by the lanterns, his features obscured. All he could make out was the hat, shaped like the horns of the devil himself, and the crab or lobster-like left hand. Claw was the more appropriate word. Then the figure was handed a lantern, which he grasped in his right hand and he was able to see the Captain's face. He did not like what he saw.
Bootstrap watched as Jones simply stepped off the edge of his ship and then, once his feet had touched the bottom of the ocean, limp over to him. The lantern was suspended a few inches away from his face for Davy Jones to get a good look at whom he was addressing.
"I heard your summon." There was a trace of amusement in his voice when he added, "Loud and clear."
"Scottish." He muttered, finally placing the accent, "You're Scottish."
Jones smirked. "You weren't expecting an Englishman were you? What's your name?"
"William Turner. But most know me as Bootstrap or Bootstrap Bill."
"You're a pirate, then." He looked him up-and-down and paced around him. "Tied to a cannon and sent to the depths of my Locker. There be no point in asking, "What can I for you?" then. May enquire as to how you are still. . . alive?"
"I'm not," Bill replied truthfully. "I'm not among the living, yet neither am I dead. I'm cursed."
"Cursed?" he asked, looking genuinely interested. "You must have committed a terrible act to become cursed, Mr. Turner."
"I took a coin from the chest. A piece of Aztec gold from the Isla de Muerta."
"The stories are true then," he gave an amused. "Huh." Then focused his attention back on Bill. "I suppose you'll be wanting an end to your suffering?" The briefest flash of jealously flicked through Davy Jones' ice blue eyes, but Bootstrap caught it.
"The stories say you're cursed too. A tormented spirit doomed to Captain the Flying Dutchman for eternity. What "terrible act" did you commit to bring that down on you?"
There was a long, drawn out pause. Jones' expression was unreadable. Just as he was beginning to regret asking, the Captain finally answered. "I cut out my heart, Mr. Turner and lived; a defiance of nature."
Turner's eyes lit up; he saw chance to learn more about the reality of the 'mythical' Davy Jones. He wondered how far he could push this. "And there's no escape for you?"
"But of course. Death."
Bill shook his head. "What keeps you going, Jones? Have you no desire to end it?"
Another pause crawled by. Bill stared, unflinchingly into Jones ice-cold glare and saw his answer. Love. And hope. He had carved out his heart to escape from it, but he had not forgotten. And although he would never admit it to anyone, he had hope, that one day Tia would accept him. "That does not concern you, Mr. Turner."
"My apologies, Captain. I did not mean to be so obtrusive."
"Back to the matter at hand then. 100 years before the mast, Mr. Turner. Will ye serve?"
"I will serve."
Jones smiled. "Grand."
Power: I made up the rhyme myself, on the basis that there should be some sort of way to draw Jones' attention if you're alive and willing to make a bargain, other than deliberating wrecking your ship, or encouraging the Kraken to attack you. XD A sort of division, if you will, between people who want a deal, and those who don't/have one forced upon them. Everything regarding this scene and some 'facts' about Davy Jones is pure speculation on my behalf.
Feel free to use it without permission.