Goodness, I didn't think this would turn out to be this long. Ah well. So I took a few liberties, bent a few rules... but it was all in the name of entertainment. Enjoy reading and please leave a review!
Warning: AWE spoilers.
Rated T: The following chapter contains passages which may be disturbing to younger or sensitive readers. Reader discretion is advised.
Disclaimer: I own nothing.
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For a moment, all seemed to be still except the spattering of rain on the groaning form of the Flying Dutchman. The blade Jack Sparrow held in one hand rested lightly on the surface of the heart he held in the other. Blood trickled from the pulsing organ and ran down his arm, mingling with the spray of the tempest.
"You're a cruel man, Jack Sparrow..." Davy Jones all but spat the hateful words onto the deck. The sword quavered in his grip.
Jack responded with the same ridiculous collectedness only he could ever tap into, "Cruelty is a matter of perspective, mate."
"Is it?" Jones turned in a sodden flash, sword poised and bearing down toward the chest of William Turner. Elizabeth screamed. Jack had a split-second to act.
Will tried to move, too late. He felt the steel penetrate his skin, scrape against what he thought must have been a rib, and stop. Gasping, he gripped the blade, heedless of the edges grazing his palms. He could feel the bigger man making ready to plunge the sword straight through to the deck. Will closed his eyes; this was it...
But the death-stroke never came. Through squinted eyes he looked up into Jones' face.
In the eyes that met his gaze something was wrong. He saw confusion there, and anger, despair... he saw fear. Jones' grip on the sword-handle trembled; the tentacles wreathing his face began to twitch. Will felt the pressure against his chest lessen as the captain of the Flying Dutchman took a heavy step backward and turned to face Jack with a snarl. "You..."
Will shifted his gaze to where Jack stood. The heart had been impaled on the blade; it pumped frantically against the hilts.
With a grunt Jones lurched exhaustedly toward Jack. The sword came free as its wielder inched toward the new target. The tip, now a brilliant crimson, left Will's body, and he was hit with a fresh pang of agony. His hands pressed against the spot, trying to staunch the flow of blood.
"Will!" The voice belonged to Elizabeth. She was at his side in an instant. "Will are you all right? Will look at me! Look at me!" One hand held his face while the other swept down over the wound.
"It's not—it's not deep," Will shivered, forcing himself to ease the pressure of his hands and allow for Elizabeth's searching fingers.
"Oh no—no—" Elizabeth choked as she felt hot blood from the puncture-wound. "Will, I–I..."
"I'm—I'm fine, I'll—Augh!" Will winced. "Don't! Don't touch it, don't touch it there please!"
Flustered tears spilled down her face. "Oh Will I'm sorry! I—"
"Sparrow..."
Davy Jones took one more halting step toward where Jack stood against the railing. Jack stood still, finding himself in one of the rare moments for which had no comment. His dark, unreadable eyes locked with the bitter blue gaze that approached him. Jones raised his sword defiantly. Jack returned no such satisfaction. The heart on the blade he held pumped once more, and again... and stilled.
With a groan and a curse, the captain of the Flying Dutchman pitched forward to the deck. The rain softened as it coursed over his quieting features, the name of a goddess on his lips.
Jack at last seemed to relax a little. He regarded the broken heart in his hand for a moment before flinging it off the blade and over the side. "That's Captain Sparrow to you, mate," he said.
Will, to his own surprise, gave a laugh, and then immediately wished he hadn't as the tremor raked through his chest.
"Will!" Elizabeth gasped, her eyes wide with worry, her hand straying to the wound.
Will looked at Elizabeth. "My father—he's... he can finally be free," he said. Hearing the words, the actual words cross his lips, knowing they were true... the thrill of it ran up and down his spine. He let his head fall back in relief. Jones was dead; his father was safe; and Elizabeth—his bride—they could be together now... He turned to gaze lovingly into her eyes. At last, everything would be—
A terrific snapping noise was heard from above. The mast of the Black Pearl broke away, the dark ship wheeling to escape from the pull of the vortex.
At almost the same instant, Bill Turner stirred from where Will had left him slumped against the railing. He pulled his old knife from the wood and slowly made his way in Jack's direction. "Part of the ship," he murmured. The focus had gone from his eyes, and he moved as one in a waking dream.
A heartbeat later, the rest of the dark and twisted crew of the Flying Dutchman seemed to emerge from the very woodwork. "Part of the crew, part of the ship, part of the crew, part of the ship..." The eerie chant filled the air as the ghostly figures moved across the deck, seeming to home in on one spot...
Jack looked shiftily from side to side at the approaching horde. "Oh bugger..." he said, "this can't be—whoa..."
The ship gave a sudden lurch; the helmsman had left his station and joined the other crewmen in their cryptic mantra.
"Elizabeth, the helm!" Will shouted. Elizabeth ran, dodging around the lumbering crewmen as Will achingly hoisted himself to his feet, swaying dangerously. "Jack! The ship needs a captain—you have to take control and get us out of this!" he gestured at the towering sides of the enormous whirlpool. The Flying Dutchman was drawing perilously close to the center.
"Well that much I figured," said Jack, "I just didn't think—oh..." he nervously eyed Bill Turner as the older man offered him the knife.
"Part of the crew, part of the ship..." the chant grew louder, ever more intense as the crew pressed in around Will and Jack.
Jack accepted the knife as it was thrust roughly into his hands. "Er... thanks mate... Then... So it's me that has to do it, eh?" He regarded the crusty old blade with wide eyes.
"Jack..." Will breathed. He shook his head in a dead-ended plea. There was no way out of this...
Elizabeth drove her hands into the violently spinning spokes of the wheel, barely managing to stop it from turning further. Widening her stance, she threw every ounce of her weight into forcing the helm back to starboard, to little avail. She cursed her lack of strength. If only Barbossa were here... heavens she would have settled for Mr. Cotton! If she could just have a little help... anything...
As if in answer to a prayer, Jack the Monkey skittered down from the rigging, screeching the ugliest protests at all the elements and madness, to where Elizabeth stood. How he had gotten on board the Flying Dutchman Elizabeth could only guess. Seeming to sense her plight, the little animal set his tiny paws against the wheel and pushed with all his infinitesimal might.
Elizabeth didn't know whether to laugh or cry. Little Jack's efforts did nothing to check the pull of the helm, but in some small way, the mere gesture was heartening enough. She stood firm for a moment more. It was all she could do to just hold on, to try to steady the ship just a little longer, just until Jack could...
She spared a glance in his direction. "Jack you have to cut out your heart!" she yelled, "Put it in the chest!"
"Easier said than done, love," Jack muttered under his breath.
"Part of the crew, part of the ship..." the ceaseless drone demanded.
"Jack do it now!" Elizabeth shrieked over the din of the maelstrom.
Two of the men came closer, holding the dead man's chest open and ready. "Part of the crew, part of the ship..."
"You have to, Jack, it's the only way," Will panted. He struggled to keep from doubling over.
Jack eyed the chest wildly, his lip curling in sudden panic. "Is this really necessary?"
"Jack!" Will grabbed his shirt.
"Part of the crew, part of the ship..."
The hand Jack held the knife in trembled. "My heart's not in it, mate..."
"If you don't get your heart in it we're done for!" Will shouted into the other man's face. The strain of the outburst hurt his chest and made his head spin, but there was no time to care.
"Part of the crew, part of the ship..."
Jack stared mutely at nothing, his jaw muscles twitching. Cutting out his own heart... How could he do it? How could anyone do it?
He lifted the knife to his sternum, fumbling for words, "I—I can't..."
"Do it or I will!" said Will. His hand closed around Jack's.
The vortex of water raged around them.
"Jack!" Elizabeth screamed.
Jack felt the knife ripped from his grasp, felt tired arms shoving him down to the deck. Part of him knew he could easily resist, but another part knew it wouldn't help a whit. It didn't make sense. Nothing made sense.
"Part of the crew, part of the ship..."
Bodies leaned in close around him from all sides. He was on his back, his face open to the tempestuous skies above. He felt his shirt pulled and torn aside, the rain dripping on his exposed chest, felt his breaths coming quick and shallow. He heard his own voice say, "Make it quick, eh lad?"
For a second their eyes connected.
Will raised the knife high. "I'm sorry Jack," he said.
The knife came down.
The Flying Dutchman pitched and bucked and rolled like a thing possessed. Jack the Monkey had given up his briefly intrepid stance against the wheel and had moved to Elizabeth's shoulder. He perched there screeching in agitation, clinging to the woman's hair for dear life.
This did nothing to help Elizabeth. The ship quaked beneath her, helpless in the roiling seas. She felt her grip weakening as she strove desperately to maintain her footing. They weren't going to make it out...
A terrible scream pierced the roaring air.
Jack.
Elizabeth strained to see through the pervading mist. All she could make out were the lingering forms of the entranced crew, huddling near where she had last seen Will. Their unnerving chant still echoed through the storm.
A second cry joined the first, borne more of terror than of pain. It was Will. Both voices rose ragged and terrified above the howl of the wind. Though shaken by fear and ghastly, untethered imaginings at the sound, Elizabeth was suddenly relieved she could not see whatever ungodly events were unfolding near the railing. She focused everything she had into holding the wheel. Just a few moments more...
Torrential surges of water crashed onto the deck. The walls of the whirlpool were too close now. The Flying Dutchman gave a mighty heave and Elizabeth was thrown off her feet, Jack the Monkey frantically clawing to escape the tangle of her hair.
The spokes slipped from her grip and the helm spun out of control. The ship groaned, threatening to capsize at any second. Elizabeth clung tightly to whatever she could find as another wave rolled across her body, pulling her, dragging her, hungry to tow her down to the depths.
The foam briefly subsided and she gasped in the precious air.
Everything was spinning. The world began to tilt.
Elizabeth crawled back and attached herself to the wheel hand and foot. It was all up now. She took a deep breath, heard one more ear-splitting shriek from Jack the Monkey, and was finally overwhelmed by a last crush of seawater.
In a second the world was draped all in a dark iron-gray. A turbulent buoyancy bore Elizabeth up as the twisting currents played havoc with her now dangling legs. She opened her eyes, hoping and wishing to see any sign of Will. But she was met with only a swirling cloud of bubbles and a darkness beyond. Up and down lost all meaning in the tumbling blackness. Her ears felt near to bursting and she knew her lungs would soon start to burn.
She prayed Will would be safe. Somehow. Could he have gotten away? No that was impossible. The thought still crossed her mind to let go and swim for it, but she knew that would only mean losing herself in the maelstrom. But where was Will? The question tied knots in her stomach, her nerves so tight she nearly screamed her remaining breath away when a steady arm came around her waist.
Elizabeth was pulled from the wheel and pressed tightly against the body the arm belonged to. Even in the dimness she could see the wild, dark mane of matted locks waving about the figure's head.
It was Jack.
"Hold on tight, love," his voice came across as clearly as if it had been spoken through the air.
But there was no time to wonder about it. As soon as she had a firm grip around his shoulders, the arm released her and joined the other arm at the helm.
The wheel turned effortlessly in his hands, the ship responding smoothly, evenly. The Flying Dutchman immediately began coursing toward the surface, the rush of the water dragging at Elizabeth's clothes and hair. She trailed in the water behind Jack, one arm over his shoulder, the other under his other arm. Where her hands met in front she could not help but feel the thick, jagged ridge running down the skin of his chest. A fresh scar.
Her thoughts drifted to Will, to his own injury. "Not deep," he had said... She hoped beyond everything...
Her fingers lingered over the spot for only a second before she was met with a sudden blast of the open wind. The Flying Dutchman breached the surface in one powerful surge, nearly clearing the waves as it vaulted out of the blue.
Wood began to splinter; entire planks snapped off from the hull, splashing into the water and disintegrating into nothing. Though its mass seemed to lessen, the ship seemed to strengthen, seemed to grow younger. The tone of the wood became a little darker, the shades a little deeper. The Flying Dutchman transformed to accommodate its new master.
Tons of water sluiced off the deck as the ship slowly stabilized, bobbing evenly on the sea. Jack remained stiff and motionless where he stood behind the wheel. No longer weightless, Elizabeth slid down his coat and sank to her knees, sputtering and coughing, a very bedraggled Jack the Monkey still clinging obstinately to her left boot. She blinked hard at the sudden brightness of the calming sky. A promising sun shone brightly as the last vestiges of the whirling maelstrom seemed to dissipate far astern of the ship.
There was nothing to stop her now. "Will!" In an instant Elizabeth was on her feet, Jack the Monkey squeaking his irritation at the sudden jostling. He leapt affrontedly aside as Elizabeth tore down to the lower deck. "Will!"
"Elizabeth...?"
She saw him. He slumped huddled against the capstan, one arm wrapped up in a tangled lashing among the bars. His other arm held the dead man's chest. A splash of red still tainted his clothing. But when Elizabeth's gaze at last drew up to his face, when she finally perceived the relief in his eyes at seeing her own, the rekindling of a broken hope, the fervor and longing...
Strong certainty deluged her thoughts and she let out a breath she didn't know she had been holding. Before she realized she had moved, she found her fingers to be caressing his face once more, his free hand stroking the back of her head, losing itself in the dripping tangles of her hair. And his mouth, those sea-sprayed, smiling lips just begging to be kissed... She leaned in closer—
"Agh! Don't don't don't! Don't touch it! Please, that hurts!" Will bared his teeth at the smart.
"Will! Oh I'm so sorry! I didn't—I mean—"
"No it's—it's all right... I'm all right, I just—"
But his words were cut short by Elizabeth's second, more mindful attempt.
Bill Turner looked at his hands. The crusted salt and briny deposits seemed to slough away. Mollusks fell from his face and neck; chunks of coral cracked as they hit the deck. He flexed his fingers, wondering at the new smoothness of his palms... It seemed so foreign and strange and yet... so familiar. The warmth, the color...
Even as the dead material was shed from his skin, a fog seemed to lift from his mind. The haze of wood and sails and rigging cleared from before his eyes. He was William Turner, Bootstrap Bill, the man, the individual. Crewman of—he looked about him—this was where he belonged. He was part of the crew of the Flying Dutchman.
That was his debt. He remembered now. The clear knowledge felt so exquisite, so delicious to his senses. Yet somehow it still bore a heavy sadness. He was bound. Bound to this ship, bound to its captain. Bound to Davy Jones.
But no, that wasn't right, something was different... A different heart... A different pulse... Something had happened...
He turned toward where he somehow knew his captain would be. But the familiar silhouette was gone. In its place stood a very different figure, someone Bill had seen before. "Jack..."
A soft murmuring whispered among the crew as they came back to themselves, their cruel weapons clattering to the deck, their contorted bodies melting away to reveal the backs and arms of men, their human faces shining with wonder in the daylight.
The sight of the transformation briefly broke Will's gaze from Elizabeth's face. "Jack?" he said.
Elizabeth's only answer was a quick glance in the direction of the helm. She helped Will out of the lashing and they both made their way up the stairs, the dead man's chest between them.
On the higher deck, Will stopped to lean panting against the railing. The view was foreboding. "The Pearl can't stand against the Endeavor, Jack," he said, "We have to get over there, now."
Jack did not move.
"Jack?" Elizabeth leaned in front of him to see his face.
Jack stared straight ahead, hands still on the wheel, a slight grimace curling his lip ever so slightly. "That was conceivably the second-most unpleasant thing that's ever happened to me," he said.
Elizabeth stood firm. "Jack we need to help them."
Jack's eyes lowered; he seemed to nod his head a little in agreement. "There's a truth." He finally turned as if noticing Will and Elizabeth for the first time. One of his eyes gave the slightest twitch as his gaze passed over the chest. "Mr. Turner," he began loudly, his wonted composure regained.
"Jack?" said Will.
"Aye sir?" said Bill from the lower deck.
Father and son turned at each other's voices.
Jack continued, "Thank you for your... assistance, earlier, but right now could you possibly take that thing," he gestured at the dead man's chest, "and stow it somewhere... where it'll be... secure... for now... hallo...?"
Bill looked proudly upon his boy, untold gratitude brimming in his eyes. And for the first time, Will looked upon the true human visage of his father. He was finally free of Davy Jones. He was free. Will had known it before, but seeing it, seeing his father's humanity restored... the joy of it, the hope of the endless future pushed everything else from his mind.
"Elizabeth, darling, looks like you'll have to do it," said Jack.
Elizabeth only looked at him, willing him with her eyes to hurry. But Jack had already turned to face his waiting crew.
"Ready the cannons, lads! Your management's just had a change of heart."
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Author's Notes:
Whoa, okay, was anybody else having flashbacks from Speaker for the Dead? Good book; read it.
This was originally intended to be a series of oneshots, with a different person stabbing Davy Jones' heart each chapter, the genres ranging from the dramatic to the ridiculous. However, I think this first chapter makes a smashing oneshot just by itself. So I'm wondering whether I should just leave it as is. But I do still have plenty of plans for the other characters. So, if you'd like to see some of the other folks take a crack at the heart, just say so in a review!
Thanks again for reading! Please leave a review!