Bloody Jack Sparrow -- Pirates of the Caribbean
Author's Notes: This doesn't have any particular timeline. Though, I think it'll be from the GBA game for fun. He'll be on the Wench. It was just a rabid little plotbunny that attacked me while I was in the shower. :shrug: I just like blood. It's going to heal fast, because it's Disney Magic. (Though if that were the case, there wouldn't bee as much blood as I put into it…)
Another Note: I have another Pirates fic going that deals with the capture of Jack Sparrow. Written on a tablet of construction paper for purely ADHD purposes, of course… Who knows, maybe I'll do a whole series… :shrug: This one doesn't happen to be very descriptive, because I figured we all know who everyone is and what everything looks like, since the Wicked Wench is essentially the Black Pearl.
Disclaimer: It all belongs to the great Jerry Bruckheimer! Bow down and worship!
Explosions rocked the air, bringing with them the smell of spent gunpowder and the coppery scent of blood. The sound of splintering wood came from both ships as cannonballs punched holes through the decks and railings.
Currently, Jack's ship, the Wicked Wench, was under attack. The British ship, the HMS Hand of Justice, was close by. So close, the Marines had begun to lash the railings together.
"Secure those lines!" roared Captain Jack Sparrow, through the barrage of gunfire and clashing metal or swords. He shot a glare to Cotton. "Get a group and take out those ropes! Make sure they don't get the ships tied off!"
A few of his crew mates scrambled to follow his order. In a few moments, the main sail stopped its violent flapping and stilled. The Marines, however, did not. Cotton and his men
The decks of the Wench were littered with bodies; pirates and Marines alike. Blood stained the wood. Stains that would take forever to wash out.
'If we live that long,' though Jack, absently. He parried a wild swing of an enemy's sword and sunk his own blade deep into the other man's gut.
The corpse fell to the ground with the consistency of a sack of rocks. Jack jerked his blade out and immediately slashed through another Marine in one swift motion.
"They're reloading the deck cannons!" Jack yelled, seeing the enemy out of the corner of his brown eyes. "Mullroy! Get your squad together and do the same! Everyone else, when the cannons start firing, take cover!"
Jack decimated four or five more Marines before the cannons began. He ducked behind a section of undestroyed railing, just as the top of it splintered. A cannonball hit the deck, with just enough momentum to crack it. In twisted way, Jack was glad it hit the railing first. He brushed bits of wood from his dreadlocks and stood up to check the progress of his crew and the Marines. A lone rifle cracked through the air.
There was suddenly fire in his guts. Jack staggered back, a hand automatically covering his right side. He looked down and saw scarlet leaking between his fingers and into the crevices of the various rings he wore. He wondered dimly how difficult it would be to get the blood off them.
"Oh, you've got to be joking," he murmured. He looked up and saw the shooter. The bastard was actually smiling. "Oy! You! Yeah, you! Ya whelp!"
With a shaking hand, Jack sheathed his sword. He reached behind him and slowly drew his pistol. The Marine looked on smugly as the pirate captain struggled to remain upright. Then, quicker than he could follow, Jack raised the pistol, took aim, and squeezed trigger.
Suddenly, the Marine was no longer smiling. He had a blank look on his face as a newly planted hole between his eyes spurted blood.
"Smile now, you mangy git," muttered Jack, sinking to his knees. The gun fell to the deck with a clatter. It felt like his ears were stuffed with cannon wadding, and then Jack wasn't far behind his pistol.
XXXXX
Cotton looked to his friend for further orders. Instead, he saw Jack with a bewildered look on his face as a hand covered a spot below his ribs. Blood followed. Jack yelled an insult to someone on the other ship, sheathed his sword and drew his pistol. Cotton glanced at a particularly smug-looking Marine in time to see blood, bone, and brain explode from the back of his skull. A thin trickle of red was the only thing to be seen from the front.
The First Mate saw Jack's lips move silently. He went down on the deck after he dropped his pistol. He slumped over and didn't move.
"The bleeding sods got the Captain!" Cotton roared over all the noise. "Get 'im below!"
Instantly, the crew's demeanor changed. Instead of fighting to merely survive the Marines' attack, they were now fighting for their beloved Captain.
The pirates pushed the Marines back onto their own ship with almost inhuman force and the last of the lines holding the two sea vessels together were cut. Some of the crewmembers cheered when the last Marine was herded back to the Justice.
"Right then! Palmer, take on the wheel! The rest of you, get on deck! We need to put as much distance as we can between us and those Marines! Get in the sea and push her if you have to!" Cotton yelled from the upper deck.
The men scrambled to do as they were told. Out of the corner of his eye, Cotton saw someone carrying Jack's limp form to his Quarters. The old sea dog made his way down the stairs gripping the rail as the Wench lurched forward.
"Make sure to stay on their starboard side! We're faster, we all know it. Now prove it!"
The crew cheered and went about their orders. In a matter of moments, they were already putting distance between the Wench and the Justice.
XXXXXXXX
The first thing Jack was aware of was the deafening silence. The second thing he was aware of was that it hurt to breathe. It was like the ocean closed over his head and wouldn't let him come up for air.
"Capt'n?"
Maybe he wasn't underwater. He knew that gravelly voice.
Jack forced his eyes opened. That was about the only thing he could do. The rest of his body felt sluggish and unresponsive.
He found that he was laying on top of his desk in his own Quarters. Cotton and a few other members of his crew looked down at him.
"'ello, darling," he said faintly. "Did we win?"
"Aye, sir, we drove 'em back to their own ship," Cotton replied. "They're not far behind us yet, but I think we managed to wound them greater than they did us."
"Good, good. Very well done, all of ye."
Feeling seemed to be returning to Jack's limbs and his bloody hand made it's way back to his wound. He winced when he even thought of sitting up. Instead, he wisely remained laying where he was. Jack raised his head a few inches off the desk so he could look around.
He groaned when he saw sunlight shining though the walls where it shouldn't be. The buggers. He'd have to repair this place. Again. Bloody Navy…
"Capt'n, you were shot during the battle, you know."
"Of course I know that. I'm currently very aware of that painful little detail."
A ghost of a smile passed over Cotton's lips. Jack couldn't be that bad off if he could still be sarcastic. The smile faded and was replaced by a somber expression. This, Jack noted.
"What?" he asked.
Cotton shifted his weight from one foot to the other, looking uncomfortable.
"The Doc was killed in battle, sir," he said finally.
Ah. Great.
"Well, the bullet has to come out somehow," Jack sighed, grimacing.
"Aye, sir."
"You," Jack said, looking at one of the crew in the room.
He was a young lad, not much older than he himself had been before he set foot on a ship. He pushed sandy blonde hair out of his eyes, apparently a bit startled at being addressed by the Captain himself.
"Aye sir?"
"Go fetch a bottle of me best rum."
"And the Doc's kit," Cotton added, eyeing Jack and wondering why he hadn't asked for that as well.
The boy raised a knuckle to his brow in salute and was off. Jack let a smile play at his lips and he lowered his head back down.
"Cotton."
"Aye sir?"
"Fancy playing doctor?"
Cotton began shifting again, this time wringing his hands.
"I suppose, but--"
The door to the Captain's Quarters swung open, letting in more light. The lad was back with the rum.
"Mister Cotton, I have complete faith in your abilities," Jack favored him with a rakish smile, showing off his gold teeth. Cotton nodded, returning the grin.
"Aye, Jack."
The boy pushed the bottle of rum into Cotton's hand. He looked pale, almost green.
"Capt'n, p-permission to speak?"
"Granted."
"I'm no good with blood. I'll be a hindrance more than I can help."
"Understood, lad. You can go."
"Thank you, sir."
With that, he was gone. Jack's unbloodied hand reached for the bottle of rum. Cotton let him.
"Isn't that to clean the wound?" he asked.
Jack uncorked it between his teeth and took a long swig. The warmth spread from his chest, all the way to his fingers and toes.
"When I'm through wiv it, mate."
He took a few more pulls and set it down.
"You turn, mate."
Cotton took a steadying drink, and put it down. His hands didn't shake as he undid the thick leather belt around Jack's waist. He slid it out from under him gently. Next came the sash. The vest followed until he was wearing only his simple, white shirt.
He examined it before announcing that they would haven to cut it off. He unsheathed the small dagger from his boot and went towards the neckline.
"You'll do no such thing!" Jack exclaimed, slapping Cotton's hand away. "The shirt stays in one piece, even if I have to take it off meself."
"Fine, fine. I guess we'll manage. John, prop 'im up." Cotton sighed at how obstinate his captain could be.
They got the shirt of with little difficulty and soon, Jack lay on the desk bare-chested and still leaking blood. The wound was just a ragged, bleeding hole.
Cotton opened the stiff leather bag, rummaged through it and pulled out a stick about a half an inch in diameter and six or seven inches long. There were deep bite marks in the otherwise smooth wood. He looked at Jack and Jack shrugged. He opened his mouth an accepted it when Cotton put it near his lips. He bit down and made sure it was comfortable before nodding his go ahead to his first mate.
The old sea dog looked grim when he pulled out a set of long nosed pliers.
"Jack, are you ready?" he asked, putting them to the edge of the wound.
The Captain nodded, and the pliers went in. Jack grunted around the stick in his mouth. The new metal in him moved around, seeming to hit every possible wrong nerve it could. A cold sweat broke out on Jack's bare skin, but he remained still.
They knocked against the bullet and Jack groaned again, biting down on the wood to keep from yelling. He kicked out with one leg and stilled again. The pliers opened up and Cotton managed to grip the bullet.
He pulled it out. Jack couldn't quite stop the scream from escaping him. Nor could he stop himself from arching up from the desk. Cotton tossed the pliers aside and held Jack down by his shoulders.
"Easy, easy. It's out, it's over," he lied gently.
"I bloody know it's out!" Jack spat out the stick to yell. He bit down on his tongue to keep from adding anything on. He took a steadying breath and made himself appear calm. "It's not over yet either."
Cotton didn't move far from his captain to grab the bottle of rum. Without warning, he poured a liberal amount onto the wound. Jack hissed when it began to burn. The darkness that had begun to line the edges of his vision threatened to take over and Jack wished it would hurry up and make up its mind.
It did, and soon, Jack found himself floating towards unconsciousness.
XXXXXXXX
When Jack awoke, he was laying in his own bed instead of on that damn desk. He was still shirtless, but a generous wrapping of bandages covered most of his stomach and chest. He didn't see the need for so much, but hey, he wasn't the one playing doctor this time.
"Jack, can ya hear me?"
"Aye, I can hear you," he said.
"How're ya feelin'?" Cotton asked.
"Not bad, considering…" Jack replied. "Damn decent job you did, Mister Cotton. I owe you me life."
"Aye, it's just yer turn to do the patchin' up next time."
"Understood." Jack smiled.
The End.
((I know it's abrupt, but I'm tired and I don't think I want to work on this anymore now that the blood and stuff is done and over with. Please review and tell me what you think!))