Okay, let me explain: I do NaNoWriMo, have been for 5 years. And this year, I was bored and had no idea what to write. So I asked a fellow Wrimo.

Her answer was rather simple: Davy Jones/Bootstrap Bill and tentacles. It was supposed to be smutty but I can't exactly work the tentacle sex out when I am writing.

Summary: Bill Turner just got ditched into the sea courtesy of Barbossa and ends up on the Flying Dutchman. And in the company of Davy Jones.

The story is centred on Bill - the italics are... whatever it is, I took it as Davy Jones's possible thoughts or something of the kind. Since he is not so human anymore, I went with the notion that maybe he could communicate through his music and answer unvoiced thoughts that way.

Warning: Implications - notably one-sided Bill/Jack. Non-descriptive Davy Jones/Bill Turner - but I guess you can turn a blind eye on this as well. Angst.

Notes: The lyrics are mine. And I did no attempt at imitating their speech from the movies because: 1. I watched it in French. 2. I can't transcribe accents even if I wanted to. So instead of making a fool of myself by making a mess, I just kept things in modern english.

It was not what he had expected. Not how he thought it would end. As soon as the water hit his body and he was falling into the sea's cold embrace, he knew that it would not be the end. He had made a bargain with the devil at this time, though he had no idea exactly what kind of devil he bargained with. When the Dutchman appeared, he thought it would have been another illusion but it proved to be the same kind of illusion as that of the Black Pearl, an illusion created by men's mind to protect them from themselves. From their inner fears. And so it was.

He was lost in this world on which he had strictly no grasp whatsoever. It was a nightmare and he just found the strength to pray for his son to be alright and safe from Barbossa's clutches.

His first time seeing Davy Jones, the legendary captain of the Dutchman was a moment he would never forget, the daunting appearance of this man who was not a man anymore, either beyond human and beastly in one. He was not the kind of person he was willing to cross. When he found himself on the deck, sputtering salted water, his clothes weighing him down as a leaden cloak. He had trouble breathing, his sight turning all into shades of blue and green – sickly colours like the bottomless sea. Everything was surreal, the mariners' appearance that of monsters from the deep. Terror rose in his guts, making his stomach lurch. Faces he thought he had seen once or twice, thought their owners to be blanched bones cleaned by fishes in the ocean. And there they stood, jeering at him, as though he were but the animal in a freak show. A bear for a show he was not sure he wanted to partake in.

"You know not what you asked for, Bootstrap Bill." The slightly lisp, the wet sound of this voice – it was something that was well enough to make him shudder. It was running across his back, like the prick of needles, ice on his already damp back. He looked up to Davy Jones, wondering somehow how he ever came close to bargain with him. He should have known – bargaining with Barbossa had been a mistake but so was bargaining with Davy Jones. Because such oaths could not be broken until the Dutchman turned back to what it was supposed to be, a ghost in the fog, a dream skimming the waters in search for new souls to take. It was the devil who was talking to him, the devil himself whose hands took his arm.

The touch of the tentacles on his skin made his stomach squirm, he wanted to wrench his arm away but it was not as though he could do anything. He was trapped and antagonizing Jones was the most unwise thing he could do – and he had had enough of the sea for now. His lungs... he did not feel them – was he dead already? It was as though his organs had gone into a sort of sleep. One so close to death, but one that allowed him to live on.

And so, Bill let Jones take him inside, to the bottom of the ship – a ship that was so imposing it felt like a whole city sailing under the dying moonlight.

"You will stay here, but tomorrow, you will go to the deck to serve on the ship. The changes should occur soon enough." And with that, Jones left him to his own devices, without guards, which was enough to give Bill pause. If Davy Jones did not bother to tie him, or even place him under lock and keys, it clearly meant that he could not escape. Trying would mean death and he recalled this oath. On his vows rested the life of his very own son and there was no way for him to risk William's life for a bargain. His life was done. He had a fleeting thought for his former captain. How would Jack survive through the ordeal of that island? Surely enough, the man was resourceful but there was little to no chance that he would be saved unless a ship passes him by. His thoughts were broken by beautiful organ music. It was a music that seemed to right from the ship itself, reaching deep into the water like tendrils of darkness. It was haunting, and he had heard about it. But he did not dare to move. He knew about it. He knew it was Davy Jones playing. Therefore he was well aware that interrupting was like disrupting the devil in his own amusement. Only it felt like mourning.

Davy Jones was in mourning and the lyrics of that song arose from his memories. It was a song known to all mariners, all the pirates and corsairs who had a beloved whom they lost. It was something that did not need to be learned – it was instinctual. It could not be described into words, it was so sad that it would make stones cry if only they were given the gift to cry. And instead, all Bill could think off was his wife. She was so beautiful, otherworldly now that he was not part of her mortal world any longer. Bill knew it. It was a song that would haunt him until the end, and suddenly the prospect of an eternity on that ship felt like torment beyond words. There was no way in the seven seas that he ever could be relieved of this burden that he had had set upon himself. And instead, he was lying down on this damp bed, waiting. Worry gnawing at his insides at his recalling of Jones's words. The changes. He would become like those shipmates – half-men, half-sea creatures. He did not want to dwell on it but he could help the fear that threatened to make him bolt for the door, but he could not do it. He was tied to that bed, though without bonds. The bond was this music that would not stop, the hatred and deep sorrow of a man who had chosen to love the sea, the sea in the form of a woman. Losing his heart, his humanity, his everything. He did not need to be told what Davy Jones was feeling because he had just lost everything – his last chance to ever see his wife again. And his little boy.

He had not heard the music stopping, nor the heavy footsteps coming his way. He did not even notice the tall silhouette in the door-frame – the light not enough to allow him to see anything but shadows darker than others. He was seeing without observing, as though he was a witness to a dream in a dreamless state.

"Why the tears, Turner?" Oh, but he knew why. Davy Jones knew what his music did to others and sometimes, he would play not only for himself but to recall his 'slaves' that they were alone. Utterly alone and lost in a sea that had no bottom and no end. The endless expanse of watery depth, holding as many secrets as a womb of an ancient goddess giving birth to storms and typhoons and unnamed beasts. Monsters like the Kraken that was here solely as a guardian, the spawn of untold horrors. All that was dark in the heart of men found a justification in the deep. The devil's realm and the lair of Davy Jones himself.

"I have lost as much as you have, Captain."

"I am no captain of yours, man. Not yet but that would change. And you can't have lost as much."

"Your heart is in a chest under lock and a key that you guard. Mine I gave and never took it back. Now it would only grow into dust." And I will never be free again.

He heard a low, joyless chuckle. The sound was foreign in and by itself. "And it is supposed to make me feel sorry for you? You who are still human."

"Not for long, you told me."

"Oh, but there can always be arrangement made between a man and a fiend."

"No bargain that I want to strike more than I already have." He was growing colder, he was feeling it creeping it in his bones. The sea was mounting, it was a pervading his skin, his marrow. And still, the distant sound of waves threatening to overtake him. Arguing with Davy Jones was most unwise, such was the message of the sea. Shanties heard under moonlight, dutch, spanish, english, french – languages mixing in an eerie song that threatened as much as entertained.

Davy Jones seemed to consider him for a moment before approaching him. Bill wondered – how did a man because fiend? A man who had once be considered one of theirs, a good fellow, and a captain respected? A handsome man who may have been the only one to ever come close to the Sea's own embodiment? His eerie appearance made for a stark contrast with the heaviness of his steps and his gait was oddly reminiscent of that of Barbossa when he was advancing on deck. The pace of a man who could kill and laugh the next instant. A pirate as few were. A pirate as Bill was not.

Unaware that he was doing so, Bill got up, maybe to get away, maybe because he could not stand the thought of lying down when towered over by the master of the Dutchman. He found himself facing Jones, with half a mind to throw himself into the sea.

"I cannot allow you to leave that ship. Such is your curse, your own end of the bargain." He had spoken in a wishful tone, as though he was not really talking to Bootstrap Bill but to himself. It made Bill feel as though he was seeing something that none was supposed to ever see, the captain doubting. He knew for a fact that a doubtful captain never lasted long – Jack Sparrow himself was known for his changing moods and this was part of the reason why it had been so easy for Barbossa to take over.

Bill was acutely aware of the captain's presence – it was hard not to. His appearance so daunting – and yet, it was hard to call him a monster. For all his beastliness, he had once been a man. Bill knew from the tales that he would grow into one of these half-men soon enough. He was staring into a sight so horrific it was spawned by drug induced nightmares. He only then became aware of the tentacles reaching for his face. It made his stomach churn with unease, he had to get away. But as it was on the deck, he could not. He felt... it was like recognizance – the knowledge that they were not so different. Had his wife not departed for England, would he have followed Jack on his last, insane errand? No. He might have been able to resist the call of the sea.

"The call of the sea, as you think. It is not something you can refuse." Believe me, I tried. I tried countless times. The rest of the sentence went unsaid but both men were aware of its presence.

Bill had this sudden urge to do something. Anything. But if he were to spend an eternity of woe on that ship, he did not want to do it without having a good reason to go through it. He shook himself, as hard as he could. Where did that come from? Still, he let himself be touched, knowing that any rash move could spell his instantaneous demise. He eyed the large claw worn by Jones, it did not make him feel better in the slightest. And he had thought Barbossa to be a hard man.

Strange feelings that he had thought were buried. Things better left hidden under layers of tar on the belly of a sunk ship. Bill stared up at Jones, and gazing into his eyes, understood something that must have had escaped many. The captain was a man like them and he suffered the way they did. The music was a way to find comfort, a way to ward off the despair he must be feeling. His heart was sealed under lock and keys but the person to whom he wanted to give it – she had rejected that gift. That she could not be the woman of a single mariner on sea.

"Come with me chap."

And he followed, his feet etching in the imprints of the captain's unsteady walk. Not human anymore. And he followed deep into the belly of the ship – to the room where none was ever allowed except if invited to enter. There, was a huge organ, the kind that was rarely seen elsewhere than in churches. It seemed to rise like weeds under water, graceful curves and cold metal. The keys yellowed by time and used, ivory grown green. Jones went to sit on the stool and soon, he was playing. A mournful piece, the kind that would have struck the most heartless man. And heartless, Davy Jones was rumoured to be. Bill just stood there, unable to turn away. From stiff, unreachable and calculating, the captain seems graceful in his movements, the notes wrapping around him and changing the atmosphere, from damp and unwelcoming into a place made for remembrance. He was standing there and watched, entranced. He knew this song, without having heard it before. It spoke of a selfish love, a love that was not possible – a love that spelled doom to the one partaking in it. A curse laid on the neck of man – the axe of the executioner. Oh, did he not know it. A face flashed in his mind, but to his surprise it was not that of his wife. The visage of another. That of a man. A man he never thought of in such a way. But he was no fool – he knew the devil's music would ensnare men and lead them to do the unthinkable. It was wrong to ever think that way. He did not recall closing his eyes but suddenly, he was in a different place. He was back on the Pearl, the cheerful, insane captain Jack Sparrow going about in a flourish. It made him smile, such youthful energy amongst men so jaded. It had been a gift and for a time, it had made them the most intrepid crew. Because their captain was unlike any others, and because this ship was the most marvelous one to sail the seven seas by day, otherwise that in a sickly fog. And there it was again.

He had warmed your heart, Turner. He had made you forget your life on land and you never knew. He was the one to betray you – you followed him to your death. You followed and now you pay for his errors. He had made a bargain too – and you are paying for it. But he knew better. Jack was foolish and self-centered – it never occurred to him to do harm. He just wanted to save his own skin and there was little Bill could do to vlame him for this very human reaction.

Again, it was most probable that Bill himself had gone crazy on his own. You are no different from me. I followed her.

The sea is calling – she has called

She is still screaming merciless

The witch that enthralled hearts

Never bow your head – mariner

Lost is your heart in the darkest pits

Lost in the sea – never find shore

Your life forfeit – willingly dying

For the sake of a love that never cared.

It was not the kind of things he wanted to think about but the words occurred naturally. Nothing like a sea shanty or any other mariner's song. It was not natural – but what was natural on that ship? Still Davy Jones was playing. And still the thoughts came, unbidden. Shame made him lower his eyes. You had wanted him, Bootstrap Bill – your loyalty was a fraud. You think I haven't seen but the devil knows all. My curse is greater than ever was thought. And you are falling. My music is a spell and you are bound in my nets. There is no way out. He had a vision, fleeting – of someone whom he thought to be a young Davy Jones. With a woman beautiful enough to kill. The sorceress of the deep, daunting Calypso – their lady to all. No different. But he was still human. Humanity is forfeit on this ship. And in truth it was – they were no men. If that was the case, what was that feeling that threatened to make him keel over? The companionship, the knowledge that he was not alone? The music had stopped again. This time he did not resist it – he kept his eyes closed for a while, his mind retaining the image of the youthful captain he had served, respected – loved, even. He did not acknowledge the tentacles on his skin – the clammy, cold breathing of this man turned creature of the deep. He could feel it – lips on his own – not the one he expected. It nearly made him fall backward, had a strong arm – claw – caught him. Humourless chuckle reminding him in whose company he was.

"I will ask nothing of you, endless service is your curse. I cannot make it worse, even if I could wish it so. Such is her demand and I obey still." You are bound in the pain of your own betrayal and no solace will be offered to you, man.

The cruelty of the implications made Bill wince. The foreign taste of Davy Jones lingering on his lips, in his mouth. Sickening, and much like the sea itself. The tentacles rose to his cheek, a fleeting caress – reassurance, or a semblance of it. He knew not. He leaned in slightly, despite his better judgement. And he let himself fall. Again and again – into the deep – once again. Without attach, a puppet on strings cut in a typhoon. He had no power over himself, over his surroundings. He was lost and maybe, that was better that way.

Only the next day, as he awoke to a lightless night. On his arms, scabs and scratches – skin growing harder in places – his face too. It felt like a disease growing, turning him into stone. Davy Jones was nowhere to be seen – only the music could be heard.

Alone, he clutched his knees to his chest, body heaving. He felt sick. Sicker than he had in his whole life. He felt used – and yet, it was only normal. He had been used, and in a way, it was a just payback because this way, he had ridden himself of his attachment, of his grief. It had given him a way out of the helpless clutches of his past. Bill 'Bootstrap' Turner was no more – but a crew member of the Flying Dutchman, sailing endless seas under the command of the dreaded Davy Jones.