Author's Note: I... I'm sorry. This is a "what if...?"-fic that all started out with the joke that Rorschach's not really dead, he's just enjoying a vacation in the Bahamas. Yeah. That led to "ooooh, let's stick him in the Caribbean!" and "he should totally hang out with Captain Jack!" and "I don't know if he would hate this place or if he would love it!"

Yeah. Anyway. This was essentially a crack idea, but Ruin convinced me to write it so here I am. Hopefully this is amusing enough to make up for the brain hemorrhaging you might suffer from reading this. Please don't kill me.

DISCLAIMER: I do not own Watchmen, Pirates of the Caribbean, or even the entirety of this idea. (That credit goes in part to my wonderful brain-twin, RuinedBloodShed. ^^)

And without further ado...

The Retribution

There was a great whipping and whistling from the sails as the Lady Sphinx traveled under the Caribbean sun. Captain Bellefleur raised a hand to his hat, steadying it against the sudden gust of wind. It was good weather for the early days of their voyage, he decided: pleasant without being maddeningly dull.

The captain and his crew had been docked in Tortuga for two weeks before, enjoying the taverns and wenches with the coin they'd come into as of late. Two weeks was more than a long enough break from what they did best. Rumor had it a Spanish galleon – the Santa Philipa – was carrying gold to the New World, which would require a stop in Havana after six weeks of no provisions. Captain Bellefleur intended to have his crew, ah, liberate the goods. He grinned. Soon enough, he'd be rolling in riches. All it would take was a little firepower, a little luck, and a little skill – things each of his crew had in excess. The Lady Sphinx had been only three days at sea, yet her crew was already prepared to intercept the Spanish ship. It would be only another day, possibly two, before they would have her in their sights.

Of course, now that the Santa Philipa was so close, there'd be more competition, especially thanks to rumors' tendency to spread like fire through Tortuga. Not many pirates would pass up such a prize. Already, Bellefleur had led his crew into battle against the Spaniard de Cervantes, sinking his Adriana and sending her crew to Davy Jones' locker (but not before plundering her stores, of course.)

"Captain Bellefleur!" The voice coming from the crow's nest startled the man out of his thoughts. He looked up to find Sheppard pointing at something across the water. Sheppard continued, "There be somethin' I think ye need ta see off the starboard side!"

The captain pulled his spyglass out from under his coat and aimed it in the direction the lookout had indicated. At first, he saw nothing, but after a moment, there it was – a good-sized ship in the distance, sailing towards the Lady Sphinx with an unsettling sense of purpose. She was too far for the captain to get a good look at her colors, but she was close enough for him to be wary of her.

Bellefleur narrowed his eyes at the ship. He shouted upwards, "Keep a sharp eye on her, Mister Sheppard!" Then, to the crew, "The rest of ye scoundrels, prepare ta fight if she sails too close!"

There was a chorus of "aye"s from the crew before they scattered to their stations. It might have been somewhat premature to ready the men for battle so soon, but Bellefleur wasn't going to take any chances. The catch of a lifetime was waiting, and if Lady Luck saw fit to grant his crew another go at piracy before the big show, so be it. The crew could use the practice at least, Captain Bellefleur figured.

For several long moments once the crew was ready, the only sounds heard on the ship were the sloshing of the waves and the whistling of the wind. It was as if the world had seen fit to take a deep breath and wait for a time before letting it out. Bellefleur kept a close eye on the horizon as the ship continued her approach. It felt like another age had passed before Sheppard again called out from the crow's nest.

"S-sir!"

It was the shakiness of the man's voice made the Captain worry. He called up to the man, intent on returning him to his senses, "Speak up, Mister Sheppard! What is it ye see?"

"Sir... She be the Retribution!"

And that announcement shot the entirety of Captain Bellefleur's confidence straight down to hell. Along with half of the crew's. Already there were panicked sideways glances and faces turning pale around him, whispers and turned heads. Bellefleur knew things would get very chaotic, very soon, if he didn't do something to calm them down.

"Ye be absolutely positive about that, Mister Sheppard?"

"Unless me eyes deceive me, Captain!"

Damn it all, Bellefleur thought. He lifted the spyglass to his eye to get a better look now that the ship was closer. The angle was all wrong at first, and he couldn't get a clear look at the flag. But as the ship's crew raised her flag, there was no mistaking it. She was the Retribution, the current bane of piracy. Bellefleur had heard tales of her told in Nassau and Tortuga – tales of the young ship's pirate-hunter crew. They were indiscriminate in their destruction of pirate ships, bounty or no bounty. Simply whatever was available at the time. Her captain was ruthless and driven by the sole desire to send pirates to the locker.

And of course, there was the demon, rumored to be as heartless and cruel as the Retribution's captain. No one knew for sure where he'd come from. As far as those rare survivors could tell, he was a man-like creature, but invulnerable, with a black, soul-revealing gaze. From the growing number of tales, he was also the last person Captain Bellefleur ever wanted to meet.

The flag was at that point raised high on the Retribution's mast, stark white against the sky and blackened by precise, perfectly symmetrical runes. It was the mark of the ship the pirates of the Caribbean had learned to fear, and that ship was swiftly devouring the distance between her and the Lady Sphinx.

"Captain!" Bellefleur turned and faced First Mate Sanders. The man wore a grim look on his face. "Your orders, sir?" He had to admit, it was an excellent question. One he had an excellent answer for.

"Gents, I believe it's high time we embraced the oldest and noblest of all pirate traditions," Bellefleur announced. Most of his crew understood. For those who didn't, "Get the wind in our sails, men! This be a fight not worth havin'!"

Again they scattered, previously enthusiastic "aye"s sobered by fear. There was an ill feeling about the ship, filled with the tense air of underlying panic. Bellefleur would be able to tell were he blind or deaf: it was so palpable he could almost taste it. "Oh, good Lady Luck," he muttered, facing the incoming threat, "please don't fail us now."

But the Retribution continued her approach, gaining speed and making her intent more than clear. Even the crew could see the tell-tale flag if they had the mind to look hard enough, which only made those who did realize just how high the stakes had grown. It would be all their lives on the line if they couldn't lose her, and Bellefleur resigned himself to the possibility that escape might not be an option. Battle was the only other choice, but it was also one that he could barely consider when it came to facing the Retribution. At this point, though... We're stuck, he knew, There be no easy way out o' this one. Worst-case scenario had become reality.

The time for flight had passed long before, Bellefleur realized with sudden clarity. He sighed and turned to his first mate. "Mister Sanders... Should we not meet again in this life, it was an honor to have ye sailing by me side." He paused. "God help us all." He clapped a hand on Sanders' shoulder, and then turned toward his crew. "End of the line, men. Time for us to stand and show our mettle! Prepare to battle – today we die like men, not like dogs!"

They understood. It was down to do or die, so they must do. Quartermaster Briggs barked orders and got the men to business, Sanders following along at his back. The captain observed his crew. Some were panicked, scared out of their wits, with wide eyes searching for a way out that would never appear. The pessimists had accepted their fate, ready to answer Davy Jones' call if they must, and the optimists still saw adventure on their horizon despite the Lady Sphinx's inevitable doom. Poor fools, all of those. If only, if only. But their fate would be in Lady Luck's uncaring hands, and she was their only hope.

It felt like no time had passed at all when the sounds of the first guns firing filled the air, deafening blasts fogging up the deck with the stench of smoke and gunpowder. The time for boarding was almost upon them, but already the battle looked ill-favored from Bellefleur's side.

The Retribution had a stunning array of weaponry, he was sorry to notice. And each of her crew – from the aged men who looked like they belonged six feet under, to the young who looked like they had yet to touch a razor – had grim expressions of cold, unyielding determination chiseled onto their faces. It was decidedly eerie, and Bellefleur knew it was a disheartening sight for his crew.

They still had some semblance of hope though. If the crew could get the Lady Sphinx in the right position quickly enough... It was possible that they could take out a good chunk of the Retribution's gun deck before boarding had a chance to begin.

Captain Bellefleur made a few split-second checks before making his final decision and called out to Petersen at the wheel, "Hard to starboard, Mister Petersen," and to the rest of the men, "You lot! Get the Sphinx turning! If we can get her going hard and fast, we'll still have a chance!"

The order echoed across the ship with impressive speed, the crew heartened by the newfound opportunity. It was a long shot, true, but it was better than being a sitting duck in the water and just waiting to be killed.

The Lady Sphinx swerved as the wind caught, veering towards the Retribution. The Jolly Roger waved proudly on the Sphinx's mast, the lovingly carved Egyptian woman who decorated the bowsprit leading the charge with a regal drive. Wind billowed in the white sails, whipping ferociously in the strengthening gusts.

And suddenly, they had it – the position Bellefleur had hoped for! It would be a close shave, but hopefully just close enough for the Lady Sphinx to get one-up on the Retribution. He stood at the bow and looked down at his crew, shouting so that he would be heard below, "On my mark, gentlemen!" The wait at this point was almost unbearable, but the maneuver had to be timed just so... "Ready... and...!"

The captain's orders were cut off by a sickening gurgle as a blur suddenly appeared, pulled out a fist, and punched him solidly in the throat. Bellefleur had only the time to see the face of the demon he'd heard tales of – the ink-splattered face with blotchy eyes, eyes that you knew by sense and not sight could see through you as if your body and soul were made of glass – before the first fist was followed by a second, this one aimed for his nose, and then a powerful upward jerk of the demon's knee crushed his stomach. Bellefleur was unconscious before he hit the ground.

The man standing next to him had only the time to stutter out a, "Wha-?" before he too was felled alongside his captain. The crew had a chance to get a good look at him now – the demon was all they had heard and more. He was fast – faster than the shots of their pistols – and he was unforgiving. He took any opening they gave him, inky eyes reading their movements which he swiftly counteracted and subsequently beat them to the ground with startling efficiency. It was no longer a battle – only a massacre.

By the time First Mate Sanders organized the living, conscious crew members left and got them in a position for organized fighting, it was too late. The Retribution's crew was already beginning to board. Shots blasted and cutlasses glinted in the sun as the battle wore on. But it had been obvious from the moment the demon had boarded the Lady Sphinx and taken down Captain Bellefleur that the Retribution had won.

And the demon fought on, incapacitating the crew while those of the Retribution quickly took control of her prey. Within minutes, the battle was over. Lady Luck had not favored her pirate charges.

The survivors were rounded up, the unconscious roused and grouped with their comrades, then escorted down to the hold of the Lady Sphinx. Sanders, sporting an impressive variety of scrapes, cuts, and bruises, supported the barely-conscious captain as they descended into the belly of the ship, guided by the grim-faced crew of the Retribution. The occasional grunts and groans of the captured crew were the only sounds that interrupted the silence – the musket barrels pointed at them saw to that.

Then he appeared – the captain of the Retribution himself. He was a tall man with a weathered face, with eyes that had looked upon the sea for many a year. He wore a wide-brimmed hat on his head, topped with a feather, which shaded his bearded face. The beard was short and well-kempt, revealing a smug grin of yellowed teeth. His open coat offered a glimpse of the sword at his waist and the pistol by his heart behind the blood-red curtain of fabric.

"Well, well," he sneered, "What do we 'ave here? Eh? Pirates by the look of ye scurvy dogs." He practically spat the word "pirates", as if it was unworthy of even being mentioned. Had Sanders doubted the gravity of their situation, he might have rolled his eyes. As it was, he stayed perfectly still. The captain continued: "I'm sure ye lot 'ave heard of the dear Retribution, by the looks of ye, eh? Eh?" he repeated, receiving the few muttered "aye"s he'd been fishing for. "Well I be her captain, Captain Richard Joseph. Now that we've all been properly introduced," he said, cruel grin decorating his features, "it be my pleasure to send you all off to good Davy Jones' Locker."

As if on cue, there was a sudden explosion of dust and wood as a cannon ball shot by, piercing the sides of the Lady Sphinx. The first blast was followed by another, two more, and again – until the ship was thoroughly battered.

Captain Joseph seemed to think for a moment before saying, "Hmm... From the sounds of it, I'd say ye have twenty minutes, a half-hour at most, to pray to whatever god is to yer liking before this bucket sinks. We'll be making our exit now and Godspeed to ye." With a bow and a flourish of his hat, he left, taking his crew and the spoils with him.

Sure enough, the Lady Sphinx was soon engulfed by the sea. Davy Jones would be bolstering the crew of the Flying Dutchman that day.

It was a good while past dark when there was a knock at the door. It was a strong knock, meaning that it had to be Captain Joseph on the other side. The other crew members always had a lighter, tentative way of making their presence known. He answered with a gruff, "Come in."

The door opened. It was Joseph, of course. He'd removed his coat and sword – the sword cumbersome and the coat too heavy for Caribbean summers, even at night – but he still had the commanding air of a natural leader. "Evenin'," he greeted, inclining his head to the man, "Saw ye got sliced pretty nicely earlier today, thought I'd better check up on ye."

"Flesh wound," was his terse reply. He held up his stitched arm to prove it. Joseph cringed inwardly, knowing that the man had sewn up the long red gash himself. It wasn't unheard of for a man to do so, but even the captain knew that the man did it with such efficiency that he had to have been doing it for most of his life, or at least a good chunk of it. He shook his head, "Ye really should let Doc Harris get a look at it sometime."

"No need. Good enough," the man answered in a this-discussion-ends-now tone.

Captain Joseph sighed but let it drop. Who was he to pester him? He knew so little about the man who had inspired him to take up this path. He was anything but loquacious. Perhaps some doctor had wronged him horribly in the past and made him unwilling to see another as long as he lived. Who could know?

The stretching silence grew awkward. Time for a change in subject.

"Ye know, the remembrance ritual's beginnin' soon, if yer interested in goin'." The remembrance ritual was a time when, after a victory over a pirate ship, the men would gather and toast to the loved ones they'd lost to pirates over the years. Each man and child had lost someone dear, dear enough for them to seek vengeance. That was why the Retribution existed – to give men a chance to fight back against the powers that had robbed them and to clear the waters of the rats that plagued the seas. They weren't simply pirate hunters – their job was personal, and they carried out their duties with grave determination.

And the man sitting before Captain Joseph was the one who had planted the idea in Joseph's head in the first place. Retribution against the lawless, immoral dogs of the Caribbean – that was how the ship had been named. And for that, the captain always felt obliged to ask the man to join them. It was a suggestion Joseph knew the man wouldn't take him up on, but he always asked anyway. Just in case.

He watched the mask carefully. He was starting to get better at understanding what the shifting blots meant in regard to the man's state of mind, creepy as it was, and tonight it looked the same as any other night. He knew what the answer would be. "Just thought I'd let ye know," Joseph continued after a moment of silence, "I'll leave ye be fer now."

The man nodded, and said, "Good night, Captain Joseph."

"Night, Rorschach."

And Captain Joseph left to join the men on deck.

Rorschach's Journal, August 9th, 1719.

Today sent another ship of scum to the bottom of the sea. This time is filled with immoral scum, dogs of the sea who plunder, rape, and burn their way into infamy. Is sickening. But the upright citizens, the good men who still believe this world should be a better place, still exist. Easier to fight, for there are more who are willing to do so. Was this Manhattan's intention all along? Remove the problem to the place he no longer can be a problem and keep him from ever returning? Would investigate, but unable to. Have yet to decide whether Manhattan's action was a blessing or curse.

Fin.