A/N:Disclaimer: I do not own Jack Sparrow, or any characters thereof from Disney's Pirates of the Caribbean. Since I'm not doing this for a commercial purpose and this site clearly states it's for fanfiction, I'm not sure why we have to say this but there you go!
Supposed to be a "deleted scene" from my One Depp Too Many: In the Underground fic, but I haven't got this far in the story yet! I guess I have a bit of a warped imagination, but somehow this has still turned out rather PG in content...so far. I apologize profusely to Jack for doing this to him, don't gut me! I apologize to the readers for not always having such an 'innocent' frame of mind, muahaha. I intended this to be a one-shot but it got too tempting not to show you what I've been up to.
This is not intended to be slash. Hopefully everyone is pretty much in character, I mean...who knows what a nasty octopus man who's spent years without his love, or any other woman for that matter, might dream up. I'll shush now so you can read it if you can bear what it might become.
Chapter 1
"Enough of this flimflamming, hag-wench," the pirate scoffed. "Nothing in your tricks can be so much as an idle fright."
"Care to wager on that?" the Goblin Queen hissed, a black cloudy orb growing from her palm.
He didn't bank on it being a rhetorical question. Jack gave out a yell of surprise as he felt himself tumble into the stormy depths. He fell until the sky turned from night into day, until he saw familiar waters and familiar people – until he fell into himself.
As though inside an over-ironed shirt, he had to adjust to the body he inhabited. At last he was truly there, sensing everything: a fluttering of his heart, elation and fear. Why? He found he was standing at the bulwarks of his beloved ship, looking out over the sea to another ship that had drawn alongside. He swallowed. There, towering opposite him on the other deck was a very angry octopus man. Jones had caught up with him, and for some strange reason Jack was holding a jar, of what looked suspiciously like dirt, above his head.
The unimpressed captain of The Flying Dutchman barked an order and the dreadful cannons slid out, intending to shatter Jack and his beautiful Pearl into a thousand fragments.
"Hard to starboard?" he whimpered.
He should have escaped. Somewhere deep inside he knew that was what was supposed to happen. They outran the Dutchman and then…and then things got a bit hazy. But nothing happened. That is to say, the Pearl did not move; the Dutchman's cannons did not fire. Slowly he turned, lowering the dirt jar as he did so, and faced his crew. All of them, even Will and Elizabeth, even Mr Gibbs, glared murderously.
"Gibbs? Turner? What's the meaning of this?" he growled in what he hoped was one of his best captain voices. "I want movement! I want to see these sails as tiny little specks on that horizon. To hell with any mutinous lobster who does otherwise!"
A chorus of swords sang from their sheaths. The only person not pointing a cutlass at him approached to speak in soft but less than apologetic tones.
"He's not after us, Jack," said Elizabeth. "Without you, we can be free. You have to understand that." She unclipped the compass from his belt and stepped back.
For a moment all he could do was stare. Betrayal was never unexpected but so much at once was painful even to him. Not again. He pulled himself together as best he could.
"I understand, love," he replied.
Then he leapt onto the bulwark, drew his pistol, hurled the jar into the air and shot it, showering the crew in eye-stinging granules. Jack dove into the ocean, not quite knowing what he planned after that. He swam deeper still, deeper and deeper, his lungs near bursting, the surroundings becoming so dark he could hardly see.
A lattice pattern hit him in the face as a great net tumbled about him. A hand like a clam clubbed the back of his head and all went black.
Jack Sparrow slowly opened his eyes and immediately regretted doing so. They stung with salt and his body ached with cold. He shuddered and coughed up water until his throat was sore. Droplets clung to the braids of his beard and his tousled dreadlocks. His blurred vision made out the greeney-brown pallor of a ship's brig slimed with seaweed and over-run with barnacles. Only one ship in this state could possibly be seaworthy.
He attempted to get to his feet but something was caught on his right foot and he fell to his knees. Rolling onto his back he then sat up and inspected the cause. An iron shackle was clamped firmly about his ankle. The chain leading from it was bolted into the cell wall at such a short distance that it was near impossible for him to stand.
Vainly, he tugged at the metal hoop, even trying to slip his foot from his boot but to no avail. He scrambled to the wall bolt and yanked with all his might but only served to blister his fingers. Just when he was giving in to despair, he heard a sound that made his flesh crawl.
CLUNK – step – CLUNK – step – CLUNK! – step.
Louder and louder, until the hulking silhouette of the Dutchman's captain loomed in the doorway to the abnormally large prison cell.
"Hwell naow," said Jones, darkly. "Hwhat have ai here, but a wee birrd, half-drrowned in a cage?"
"You survived then," Jack replied.
Jones' beard tentacles twitched with an annoyed confusion. "Explain…"
"That jar of dirt I shot. Was meant to 'ave your heart inside as far as my addled memory serves. We dug up that old chest on Isla Cruces and found a box what contained the beatin' lump. I stuck it inside the jar, hid it in the dirt. Shootin' it should've blasted you to hell."
Jack was surprised at the words that had tumbled out. The so-called 'memories' were alien to him, slotting into place as he spoke. Jones was clearly shaken by the news.
"If hwhat yew say is trrue, and someone has hold of mai hearrt, then ye may well be rrid of me sooner than ye think. But foor naow, Jack Sparrra, yew have failed and your soul belongs to me. One hundrred yearrs of serrrvice begins today."
Jack gulped. "Do I get my old life back after?"
"Yew will not age, but seldom can anyone rrememberr who they once werre hwhen their time is done. The Dutchman becomes everryone in the end."
"Well," said Jack, forcing enthusiasm. "I'd better get started on that service, aye? Get me out of this room an' I'll join the rest of the crew. How's about it?"
Jones' laugh was sickeningly eerie. "Ai am afrrraid mai crew is full."
"Ah." The pirate's face fell. "So you'll be takin' me to the Locker, then?"
Clunk –step– Clunk –step– The captain moved closer, shadows fleeing across his demonic hat.
"That ai could do, but 'twould be a shame tae let a man worrth a hundrred souls go tae waste."
Jack's eyes narrowed, he felt his hackles raise. His blood ran cold.
"Of crrrewmen ai have plenty," Davy Jones continued, "but hwhat we lack is varriety in shall we say…enterrtainment."
For a moment, Jack's jaw dropped in shock. Then gradually, when he thought he could see a smirk upon the fishy face of his captor, he broke into a grin. "Ha! You almost 'ad me there, Jones. Interesting induction to a man's crew, makin' him think he'd have to work as a slave. Ten, nay, eleven out of ten for the horror story."
"Ah, but Sparrrow, that is exactly hwhat we had in mind."
Jack bowled onto his back and planted his feet on the cell wall, having found renewed energy in rattling the bolt trapping his chain. So this was the price of immortality – madness and a warped craving for depravity.
"Enough!" he yelled up to the decks. "You win! Get me out! No one can do tricks better, all right? Don't leave me here!" But his pleas went unanswered. He panicked as Jones drew closer still. "Throw me in the Locker!" he cried. "Let me rot there. I'll not be anyone's bit of frippery."
A flicker of flame lit up the captain's face. Wisps of smoke brought the smell of pipe tobacco to the room. Jones crossed the boards, stopping only when his wooden peg slammed down millimetres from Jack's head. The great monster reached down with his crab claw and lifted the powerless pirate to face him.
"Yew will do hwhat yew arre told. Ai'd hate foor yew tae be spoiled by the Boatswain's nine-tails so soon." He drafted from the pipe and exhaled the smoke into Jack's eyes, adding to the stinging of the salt. "So, Sparrra, do yew still fear death?"
Sparrow looked up at eyes filled with triumphant mirth.
"Ask me again in an hour."