A/N: This takes place in DMC obviously and I hope you enjoy it.
Disclaimer: I do not own POTC or any of the characters in this story, but I'm pretty sure you already knew that.
Into Oblivion
"It's after you, not the ship. It's not us. Don't you see? This is the only way." She had paused, her blue eyes gazing into his then flicking away. "I'm not sorry." Then she had left him, the heavy steel of the manacle binding him to his fate. He had been alone, the deck of the Black Pearl littered with debris and bodies. The ship smelled of smoke, tipping slightly under his feet. A loose cannon rolled by the mast and all seemed too quiet to be real.
Elizabeth's condemning words still rang in his head, even as he freed himself and faced the tentacled monster. His wrist was red and bruised, burning from the hot oil. The black spot consumed his palm.
The kraken opened its giant maw and roared. Globs of saliva spewed across the deck, infecting the mast, the torn black sails. The creature's breath smelled of a thousand rotting corpses.
A tricorn hat fell from its mouth to land at the pirate's feet. He bent to pick it up, flicking the saliva from it in a long, thick tendril, and deftly placed it on his head, the bold face of calm.
It was almost as if the beast were staring at him though he wasn't sure exactly where its eyes were located. Those cold, dead eyes.
A defiant grin split his face. "'Ello beastie," Jack said and drew his sword. It did not glint in the hidden sunlight, obscured as it was by the leviathan's looming shadow.
Tentacles reached out, wrapping around the entire ship, smashing the deck as the maw bore down on him, toward the tip of his blade. He saw the gruesome beast, heard a vast roaring, and was engulfed in the black, oncoming tide…
The warm steel was deadly under a hazy sun, aimed at his chest. Jack Sparrow took a step back to avoid it.
"Off you go," his first mate Barbossa said, a sneer on his face. The crew behind him closed in. Except for Bootstrap, who remained passive, not aiding the mutinous pirates, yet not coming to Jack's defense either.
"You know," Jack said in an attempt to forestall the inevitable. "Legends tell of a curse on the Aztec gold, that if one so much as takes but a single piece, you'll be doomed to an eternity of living hell, to live forever but with a high price."
"Then we shan't worry of the East India Company comin' to take us to the gallows for what immortality's worth," he snickered and then laughed. After a moment, the rest of the crew joined in, leaving Jack to wonder what was so funny. Then they fell silent, serious again. "Come, you know as well as I the story's but a pirate legend, a myth, nothing more."
The last rays of hope withered and died, like a parchment curling and blackened under a hungry flame. "But before I allow you to condemn me to my very unpleasant death, I shall require my pistol."
Barbossa's eye twitched. "Very well, you have you're pistol," he said and, receiving it from the Bo 'sun, shoved it at Jack's chest. "But the good it'll do ye is not much, even if ye do make it to shore."
"I thank ye kindly," Jack replied sarcastically and with a mock bow, he turned and dove into the sea. There was no way he was going to suffer the indignity of being shoved from the plank.
The water was bearable, though the salt stung his eyes, and he kicked out toward the island. He moved with the ease of a dolphin, pushing the water away and behind him, parting it before him and slipping through the crevasse.
Then eventually the toe of his boot collided with something soft that immediately gave way under his weight, crumbling rocks and sand. He lunged forward a few more feet and then could stand and wade through the shallows.
He stumbled up onto the beach, dropping to the ground. Grains of sand clung to his wet clothing. He was facing the ocean and could do nothing as the ship, his beloved Pearl, sailed away from sight, disappearing beyond the horizon.
In his mind, he saw the ship, the same one, consumed by flame and sinking into the ocean's depths. Clouds of smoke wafted into the air, the wreckage littered the sea, the result of many cannons' fire. She died in near silence, her black sails waving and then collapsing in mournful farewell.
And Jack, exhausted, had escaped on a bit of wreckage, wet wood that was barely afloat. He hadn't found any survivors. And now he didn't even have a ship. He would do anything to get the Pearl back.
"Would ya make a deal with the devil?" Davy Jones had asked him, tentacles writhing on that inhuman face. "Would ya doom yerself to a hundred years of servitude aboard the Dutchman for yer precious Pearl?"
On the deck of the Flying Dutchman, Jack had considered. He decided he would. Of course, there had been a horribly mutated, slimy fish-sailor holding a knife to his throat at the time. Better captain of the Black Pearl for thirteen years than captain of solitude for an eternity in Davy Jones's Locker.
So before his eyes, the sea churned. It bubbled in froth, creating great waves that spread out to lap at the Dutchman's hull. Something penetrated the ocean surface, growing larger, wooden and trailing black canvass. It rose from the sea like a phoenix from the ashes and the bow fully emerged.
The Black Pearl was restored to its former magnificence. No longer was it an empty hulk, the dead remains of a once beautiful sea creature. There was no fire, no smoke, no punctured hull. The sails were whole and filled out.
"Thirteen years," Jones hissed in his ear. "But the price you pay is steep. One hundred years aboard the Dutchman. Do not forget."
Jack wouldn't forget. He didn't as he sat on the shore, watching his ship vanish with sun...
Then the ring of a drawn sword, thrust forward in the dim light of a blacksmith's shop.
"You're the one their hunting," young Will Turner had accused. "The pirate."
"You seem somewhat familiar," Jack said. "Have I threatened you before?"
"I make a point of avoiding familiarity with pirates."
"Ah, well, then it would be a shame to put a black mark on your record. So, if you'll excuse me?" Jack turned on his heel to leave. The ring of a sword stopped him and he reacted quickly.
"Do you think this wise, boy?" Jack questioned, intimidating. "Crossing blades with a pirate."
"You threatened Miss Swann."
Jack allowed a sly grin. "Only a little."
Then he lunged, sword flashing. William countered his blow and they engaged in what must have appeared as a deadly dance in which one slip would prove fatal. Each of their attacks was parried, each blow countered.
"You know what you're doing, I'll give you that," said Jack. "Excellent form. But how's your footwork?"
Will seemed irritated, but never let his guard down.
"If I step here," Jack said as if he were instructing a student. "Very good. Now I step again." Will avoided Jack's blade, skipping to the side until he faced the door.
Jack's plan was working. "Tah," he said in farewell, sheathed his sword, and made his way for the door. A blade appeared a mere inch away from his face, wobbling where it connected with the wood. Jack gripped the hilt and tugged, but to no avail. It wouldn't budge.
He spun around, stalking forward. "That is an excellent trick. Except once again you are between me and my way out. And now you have no weapon." He drew his sword.
Thinking fast, Will pulled an incomplete sword from the forge, its blade glowing white hot. Sparks flew when their weapons collided and they maneuvered around the shop.
"Who makes all these?" Jack mused, noticing the many swords adorning the place.
"I do," Will replied, swinging his sword. "And I practice with them three hours a day."
"You need to find yourself a girl, mate," Jack dodged Will's attack. "Or perhaps the reason you practice three hours a day is that you've already found one and are otherwise incapable of wooing said strumpet. You're not a eunuch, are you?"
"I practice three hours a day so that when I meet a pirate, I can kill it!"
The battle continued fiercely, managing to spread to the other side of the room. Neither the pirate nor the blacksmith paid much attention to where the fight was leading. Will thrust his sword at Jack's wrist, catching the manacle and propelling it up into the wooden rafters. Jack, unable to do much with his hand hanging useless above him, tried to free himself, only to fall and propel Will upward.
Up to the rafters they fought, leaping from beam to beam and struggling to regain their balance. A quick maneuver sent Jack's sword flying away from him and they both dove from the rafters to the ground below.
A cloud of dust, a hazy drawing of a new weapon, and the battle ceased. Will paused, hammer upraised, staring into the barrel of a pistol.
"You cheated," Will accused.
"Pirate," Jack reminded him. Will moved to block the exit.
"Move," Jack ordered.
"No."
"Please move," he tried again, a hint of pleading in his voice when the sound of the pursuing officers reached his ears.
"No, I cannot move aside and let you escape."
Jack cocked the pistol. "This shot is not meant for you." He could only see the slightly confused look on Will's face before a sharp something smashed into the back of his skull.
He fell and only jerked to a stop when his boots hit a wooden platform. The rough rope scratched his neck. A hangman's noose. The snare drums sounded a consistent rhythm as the officer read the charges to the gathered crowd.
"Jack Sparrow, be it known that you have…"
"Captain," Jack murmured. "Captain Jack Sparrow."
"…for your willful commission of crimes against the crown. Said crimes being numerous in quantity and sinister in nature, the most egregious of these to be cited herewith," the official read. "Piracy, smuggling…"
He could see Elizabeth in the back with her father and Norrington. There was also someone else back there, but Jack couldn't see the man's face for he was speaking to Elizabeth and his back was turned. All Jack could see was that enormous feathered hat.
"…impersonating an officer of the Spanish Royal Navy, impersonating a cleric of the Church of England," the official continued. "Sailing under false colors, arson, kidnapping, looting, poaching, brigandage, pilfering, depravity, depredation, and general lawlessness. And for these crimes you have been sentenced to be, on this day, hung by the neck until dead. May God have mercy on your soul."
The drums changed rhythm, a fierce roll that sounded like thunder on a clear day. The masked executioner moved to pull the lever. The man with the ridiculously large hat turned and shoved his way through the crowd, brandishing a sword. Jack could see it was Will.
The lever was pulled.
The sword was thrown.
Jack plummeted through the open door toward the ground below. There was a sharp tug and he was sure he was dead when the world flashed white.
He saw himself as captain of the Black Pearl, sailing with confidence. The sun sank below the horizon toward where his compass led him on. He saw himself as chief on Pelagosto Island, awaiting his unpleasant fate.
He saw Tia Dalma in her hut, handing him a jar of dirt. Then the wreckage of a ship. The ghostly Flying Dutchman emerging from the depths. Davy Jones and his horrendous crew. Norrington, a penniless drunk in Tortuga. Isla Cruces. The still beating heart locked away in a chest. The kraken unleashing the wrath of its master. Then Elizabeth pulling him into a kiss, deceiving him, sealing his inevitable fate. He had been trapped, condemned, and then –
The black tide was near.
– he had drawn his sword and –
The black tide. Unavoidable.
– he jerked awake of the deck of the Pearl.
No sound. No scent. No wind. No one. He was completely, utterly alone, not a crewman in sight. Just him and the Pearl.
He stood and gazed at a vast desert of nothing, spreading on forever. An eternity of solitude and nothingness that was Davy Jones's Locker.
"Oh, buggar," Jack said.
The end and I hope you liked it. Please leave a review before you go and thank you for taking the time to read this.