A Family Affair
So, I started writing this, and never finished. It's present day. It's a oneshot. It's Will Turner becoming a man like Davy Jones, and chaos ensues! Enjoy!
He stared out from the helm of his ship, guilty, and filled with grief, as he now realized everything he had, was truly gone. Everything he loved had perished. He was no longer what he was hundreds of years earlier. He had discovered that he had become just what his killer was, a part of the sea.
Port Royal was not what it used to be. It had recently been an industrialized metropolis, but in the past century, it had fallen to decay.
As had he.
He raised his hands and examined the flesh which had grown aquatic and wrinkly. The hair beneath his bandana had become like kelp, and the fragments of his clothing were inhabited with barnacles and assorted sea-life. He turned, examining the wreck his ship had become, his neck making a strange cracking noise, similar to the noise his father's ancient bones made, before he had been reabsorbed into the ship. He had shortened his father's sentence, just because he wanted a life with his father, and his father wanted a life with him.
He motioned for a nearby crewmember, to take the helm, while he would depart and visit beneath the deck. The stairs creaked as he went below, snapping at crewmembers to get to work. This was not the man he used to be. He was once a warm hearted man, who was noble and heroic, having had vowed to save his father from the bond that held him to the Flying Dutchman.
He sighed, placing a hand on the wall, where the encased face of his father remained in place in the walls of the ship. He came here often to apologize to his father, knowing full well, that this was the person he dreaded becoming.
No one was left, not his father, not Jack, not his own son or Elizabeth. Especially Elizabeth. He felt as if he was cursed when he stabbed Davy Jones' heart, and that he would too face the same pain. The one he loved wasn't there when he returned to land. His son wasn't there either. He returned to the island once, for every ten years he visited and could step upon land, but never once did he find Elizabeth waiting for him. He thought, perhaps he had just arrived at the wrong part of the island. But, no. Elizabeth was never there.
Strangely enough, the organ room of the original Flying Dutchman was still in tact, and had not changed an iota. He found himself there, sitting at the organ, understanding the pain Davy Jones had inside him, and wishing the pirate had never died, and that way, he'd know there was some source of life, or afterlife in this case, that knew this pain.
Jones' locket, the same one that had been shared with the goddess Calypso, remained on the organ, the music box within it, having broken ages ago.
He ran one of his fingers, which had been webbed with a thin layer of skin, along the engraving in the locket. His eyes were tightly shut, and he cried out in anguish. He was almost willing to retrieve his heart from the island, and hand it to the first human he saw and tell them if they were willing to be immortal, to stab his heart and free him from this prison. Life was a prison cell to him, and he wanted to just pass on now.
Like Jones, one of his hands was entirely changed, this one, was almost like Jones' beard, all tentacles, like his goatee, which had two long tentacles from it. He hated what he was.
His father's body was encased near the organ, and he stared at him, wishing the delirium included in being part of the ship never had occurred with his father. He sighed, leaving his father and the organ behind.
He clunked up to the deck, and started roaring at the crew to dive under, and head off to Isle Mourir. The island which he promptly named so after losing Elizabeth.
"Cap'n." one of his men asked, as he stood upon deck, watching everyone hustle about.
"Aye?" he asked darkly, hiding the pain that had built up within himself.
"Why is it that ye want to retrieve the chest?" he asked. He looked at his crewmen.
"Because I want to remember the William Turner I once was." He sighed, knowing that that William Turner would never be uncovered.
ooo
As he sailed, just below the seas surface, the strange, metal ships were skimming over head, dark, black smoke billowing from them, with people, men, women, children, even the elderly. Mostly the elderly. He hated how the world had advanced, and left him behind in the dust. The soggy, dissolving dust of the sea.
Isla Mourir, however, was the small sandbar, where he had left Elizabeth and his son, William III and began to visit them…But today, it wasn't as it should. A metal monstrosity was just off its shores, and people were riding in a smaller, but still hideous metal machine to the island.
It pained him, and so, he had the Dutchman rise from the ocean, alerting the people that the island was not to be touched. But he saw then, they were children, perhaps only fourteen or so. Three of them, two girls and a boy, who was probably about ten or so…
Turner stood at the edge of the ship, looking down at the kids, whose boat had stopped. "You there!" he shouted hoarsely. "What do you think you're doing here!"
There was no response from the kids. Turner looked at the men of his crew, and ordered them to invade the large ship the children came from, they were close enough that a swim over to it was all that was necessary
"Our family owns it!" One of them, a girl, apparently the oldest. "We come here every year!"
"Really now?" Turner asked. "I was quite sure that Isla Mourir belonged to me."
The kids began to argue that it was indeed, their family's island. Turner was clearly displeased in the arrogance of teenagers now. They were rude, misbehaved, and couldn't hold their tongue.
Instead, he decided to teach them a lesson. He vanished, and was aboard the small boat. The girl who spoke first pulled out a peculiar looking gun, and pointed it at him. "I'm not legally allowed to use this, but I will if I have to." She snapped.
"Go ahead and shoot me!" Turner laughed at her. "Won't kill me!" The girl gave him a strange expression, and lowered the gun. "What's your name, girl?"
He noticed the youngest child, the boy, hiding behind the girl. "Elizabeth." She said quickly. "Elizabeth…Turner."
He laughed. "No doubt named for one of your grandmothers, eh?" Turner laughed, reminding himself about how he sounded like Sparrow, who had said something practically identical to him centuries earlier.
"Why would it matter to you?" the girl asked, sounding rude, and obnoxious.
Turner bent down, so he was eyelevel with who could've possibly been one of his descendants. "Tell me, has your family always owned this island? Say, for the last few centuries?"
"Yes." She said. "My great-great-great-great grandfather was born here." She muttered something along the lines of not sure how many great it was. "William Turner III, his mother was the first Elizabeth Turner."
"Boy." Turner said, smiling at the child. "Your name William, as well?"
He nodded. "William VIII."
"Why do you keep asking?" the other girl, perhaps twelve, asked. "It's not like you care? You're probably going to kill us…Any man, whose ship rises from the ocean would probably want to kill us."
"You want to know why?" he asked darkly. There was a strange sensation around the boat, almost seeming to teleport the four back to the Dutchman. The three children huddled around each other, as they noticed the scenery change and the deformed crew.
There was a suddenly crack out in the ocean, and the three kids screamed, as the large yacht the rest of their family was on, suddenly collapsed within itself and began to sink.
Turner leaned down next to the kids. "It's because…" he began, reaching his hand up to the oldest girls face, revealing a large tentacle, like Davy Jones' and ran it along her cheek. "We're family."