A/N: Here it is, I finally got around to uploading it! Here's the beginning of my first attempt at writing a POTC multi-chapter fic - set around two months after the end of AWE and going on to ignore OST (yep, they're off to the fountain of youth!). Fortunately I already have a good chunk of it written so I have a good idea of where it's going to end up, and that means fairly frequent updates too!

Though one very important thing to mention: while this is a Sparrabeth fanfiction (yay!), it will be a bit of a wait until the Sparrabethness actually happens as my main focus with this story is creating a decent plot and then weaving the romance into it (because this is my first time writing any kind of romance whatsoever). I hope you guys don't mind! It will also be a long one, folks, I'm currently clocking up over 60,000 words and I'm only just reaching the half-way point! :)

Disclaimer: I do not own POTC or any of its characters, which unfortunately includes Captain Jack Sparrow *sadface*

Please let me know what you think! :D

The rain pelted the deck relentlessly, with no mercy for the unfortunate crewmen forced to work into the night to ensure the Black Pearl reached her destination in time. Captain Barbossa wouldn't appreciate slackers, and even though he'd stormed off to his quarters just under an hour ago, his crew knew that to even risk angering him by shirking duty was the equivalent of angering a fierce and bloodthirsty hound. Now was not the time to challenge his orders. Ever since their... altercation with another ship earlier in the day, he had worn an expression of barely concealed fury and irritation for the quest they had been assigned by said ship.

They'd left him over two months ago, high and dry (though not absolutely desolate, to the dismay of the captain) on the island of Tortuga. While certain members of the crew were shocked by Barbossa's deceit and mutiny (a loose definition, the crew agreed, since he hadn't actually deposed of the last captain, just failed to mention to him that he was setting sail with no plans of taking him with him), they had had no choice but to continue in their initial plan to seek out the Fountain of Youth. However, once it had been discovered that they were no longer in possession of the map to the fountain, their plans had changed considerably.

Until now, that is.

Now they were on their way back from whence they came, back to the island of Tortuga to find the very man they had left there those two months ago.

If he was still there, that is.

But nobody knew, nobody had heard of his whereabouts since their departure from the island. He could be dead (which would solve all of their problems, Barbossa had argued fervently), or he may have moved on (very unlikely, they all assumed), or he may be elsewhere, in futile pursuit of the Black Pearl in the hope of taking it back for himself.

But they could only hope that he was there, for if he wasn't, well Barbossa didn't even want to contemplate the consequences of that potential fact.

So they all agreed that they needed to find him, or else risk a fate far worse than death. For once in his life, Barbossa had to admit that Jack Sparrow was vital to his own survival.

...

Every day passed in a similar sort of manner. And while it did get repetitive, Jack certainly wasn't complaining. Spending the whole day in a tavern surrounded by beautiful women and a plentiful supply of rum was enough to take his mind off other, less savoury, things.

Two things, in fact - or was it three? The rum was making it difficult to keep count - but at least it is taking me mind off things enough for me to not remember how many things were on me mind in the first place, he thought in amusement.

There was the loss of his beloved Pearl, which had hit him particularly hard given the track record for how long it usually took to retrieve it from the cold, dead hands of his mutinous first mate (ten years was the last record, and it didn't seem likely that there would be any improvement on that this time around).

And then there were the... side-effects of his time in the Locker. That was the only real way to describe them. They would appear at any time, day or night, and were frighteningly realistic. Once he had almost fainted (no, not fainted, he had just been overwhelmed by how true to life the vision was, that's all) in the aftermath of an episode, and it had nearly cost him his reputation as a bloodthirsty, notorious, brutal, deceitful, cruel, murderous, cutthroat pirate. Almost. Fortunately, he was Captain Jack Sparrow and he was intelligent enough to blame the incident of the ludicrous amount of rum he'd had to drink. And being Captain Jack Sparrow, everyone had believed him without question.

But the fear of another hallucination still haunted him. Whilst sailing back from World's End they had been mildly useful, each new version of his dashing self willing enough to help out and act in his best interests - telling him that up equalled down and that sunrises set for instance. But since his return from the Maelstrom and battle with Davy Jones, some versions of himself had defected and become quite sinister. Not only that, but other people had also started to appear in his visions, many of them those old friends that he just loved to receive visits from.

Therefore, when Jack found himself staring at his ship just offshore from Tortuga, in bright daylight, the ship on display in front of the whole port, he merely believed it to be a figment of his overactive imagination. And when Barbossa and the rest of his crew graciously disembarked the Black Pearl and casually strolled over to him, he had no reason to believe that they were real - after all, what possible reason would they have for coming back for him now, two months after they had left him here in the first place?

Jack eyed his ship with intense suspicion as he drew nearer, it being the first time that the Black Pearl had ever made an appearance in his hallucinations. But it was a welcome relief to see his ship again, even if it was only a result of his delirium, and as his eyes traced the outline of the hull and the mast and the stern and the helm a strange calmness overcame him. Usually when faced with the prospect of having to listen to visions berate and criticise him, Jack would feel nervous, maybe slightly panicked, but there was an air of nonchalance about him when he finally turned to face the vision of his enemy and his faithful and deceitful crew.

"I must admit we were expectin' a more hostile welcomin' party than we're presently bein' offered," Barbossa taunted remorselessly, his eyes locking onto Jack's with concentrated fury.

"Hector," Jack greeted pleasantly, extending his hand to his former first mate, who merely chose to stare in confusion at Jack's outstretched arm before narrowing his eyes at him, "How've ye been?"

"All the worse fer seein' ye here." Barbossa returned graciously, not entirely sure where this conversation was going.

"Good," Jack exclaimed, happy that this vision of Barbossa had not yet made any threats of violence towards him, "I thank you for gracing me mind with yer presence."

Barbossa exchanged uncertain looks with several members of his crew before realisation dawned on him and a sinister smile flickered across his face, "And I thank yer mind fer its hospitality," all of a sudden he pulled out his pistol and fired at a nearby house, the bullet piercing the glass of the window and causing a panicked female scream from inside.

Jack squinted at the house, trying to work out how a figment of his imagination was able to perforate the real world. He then turned back to face Barbossa, whose pistol was now pointed in his direction, "Oh. Not friendly then," he concluded disappointedly.

Barbossa sneered and cocked his pistol, "Ye might want to be reconsiderin' yer initial conclusion."

Jack opened his mouth to speak but stopped, his eyes drawn back to the 'vision' of his ship that was docked only a short distance away. Was it real - was the Black Pearl really here, in Tortuga? Jack wrinkled his forehead in bewilderment, before his eyes were drawn to a nearby crate on the dock, filled to the brim with exotic orange fruits. On a spur of the moment, he quickly made to grab an orange from the crate and threw it at his ship. Rather than travelling straight through the Black Pearl, which should have been the case if it had been a hallucination, it bounced off the hull and fell straight into the water. Satisfied that he was staring at a real Black Pearl floating offshore, Jack turned back to face Barbossa, his dark eyes carefully inspecting every inch of the pirate's broad figure for any signs of realness.

"That observation wasn't worth wastin' a perfectly good orange on, I assure ye." Barbossa noted in amusement at the rapid recognition appearing on Jack's face. His expression changed from confusion, to surprise, to bitterness and anger in the space of a few moments.

After a moment, a dark smile flitted across his face "What are ye waiting for?" Jack provoked, gesturing towards the pistol pointed in his direction, "You might as well finish the job while ye're in town."

"Or start anew, as it were," Barbossa countered, lowering his pistol and putting it away.

Jack narrowed his eyes cautiously at him, still expecting him to do something violent such as drawing his sword and running him through with it, "And what reason would ye be having for that, I wonder?" for the first time his gaze shifted to his crew, his eyes roaming over every individual crew member that had apparently been content enough to leave him behind, "And what makes ye think that I'd accept yer proposal to start anew, given that ye've now stolen my ship a grand total of two times?" he paused as his eyes settled on what must have been two relatively new crew members, but Jack could have sworn that he'd seen them both before somewhere.

The two crew members in question, Murtogg and Mullroy, shrunk nervously under Jack's questioning gaze (the former nudging the latter for keeping eye contact with him), fearful that he had seen through their pirate attire and worked out that they were the two Royal Navy officers he had encountered all those months ago in Port Royal.

Before Jack had a chance to question the two crewmen, Barbossa spoke up exasperatedly, "Fer the record I did not steal yer ship, I merely set sail on my ship and conveniently left ye behind."

Jack frowned and raised his hand, ready to disagree with Barbossa's statement, "Actually, I think ye'll find the Black Pearl's my ship, and I'd reason that yer decision to leave me behind was not mutually agreed by my crew, therefore your leaving me behind was deliberate and most certainly hindering to yer endeavours, not convenient."

"Only 'cos ye stole my charts!" asserted Barbossa angrily.

"Did not," Jack denied hastily, "I just tampered with them to make them unusable."

Barbossa rolled his eyes, "Are ye going to listen to me proposal or should I just shoot ye now and save meself the bother of explainin' it t'ye?" he reached for his pistol again, waving it at Jack furiously.

"But then I wouldn't be alive to accept or decline yer proposal," offered Jack helpfully.

"Aye," Barbossa conceded through gritted teeth, "But I'll be needin' some rum first."

...

Fourteen years ago

It was like no other place Jack had ever visited. There was a ghostly chill in the air, criminality piercing the fabric of the streets and the houses and the people. Raucous music and drunken singing could be heard from a multitude of narrow passageways, most likely radiating from rowdy and unruly taverns that littered the town. Scandalous young maids wandered the streets, latching onto the nearest man they could find and dragging him inside one of the grubby houses, laughing gaily all the while. All manner of fugitives roamed the area; from lowly pickpockets, to thieves, looters, pilferers, philanderers, murderers and the worst of them all, pirates.

Never had he seen and been able to recall such a gathering of pirates in his life. And every time the thought crossed his mind, his hand was absentmindedly drawn to his arm and to his newly imprinted brand.

Nothing could have prepared him for the sheer agony as the brand collided with his skin. Pain seared up his arm and engulfed him in its tyrannical embrace, his eyes stinging with tears. He could hear nothing and see nothing, the blazing metal's deadly lick removing all sensation apart from its own. The smell of his charring flesh was nauseating and it took all of his nerves just to keep from retching. All the while his persecutor stood, smiling demonically to himself, revelling in the suffering as he continued to force the brand into his assailant's arm.

Jack tried to move his arm away from the heat but it was firmly held in place by two guards, whom also held his tense body in place to prevent him from writhing too much - it needed to be a clean 'P' imprint on his arm after all. Any screaming that erupted from his mouth was rendered completely inaudible to him by the burning sensation of the iron.

After what seemed like hours of endless, everlasting, indescribable pain, the brand was lifted from his skin and the guards released their hold causing Jack to collapse to the floor, his body trembling. His breaths became heavy and laboured with the fear that every intake of air could be his last. After a moment, he opened his eyes and looked up at his enemy, the man who had succeeded in ruining his life.

"I do hope that this lesson has taught you the value of loyalty, and the consequences of betraying it, Jack Sparrow." Beckett admonished cruelly, as his aide, Mr Mercer, and several other East India Trading Company guards shoved the newly branded pirate roughly to his feet and began to shackle his wrists together, "You can take this newfound knowledge all the way to the gallows, where you belong."

"Go to hell," was all Jack could offer in response before he was led forcefully out of Beckett's office and towards his cell.

The mark was still fresh and sore, and it was a wonder that it had not become infected in the time it had taken for Jack to escape from his cell in London and stow away on a charter ship to Tortuga, in the middle of the Caribbean. It had been his only option, to run from the country he had once considered his home and head to the only 'known' (though there were many others) pirate port in the world in the hope that he could...

Well, he wasn't really sure what to do now that he'd actually arrived. His immediate thoughts had consisted solely of reaching Tortuga without further incident that would threaten his safety, which was a feat in itself given the number of East India Trading Company ships that patrolled the area, and he had given little concern to his actions once he arrived.

And now he was here, the full reality had hit him. This was it; he was officially classed as a pirate, an outlaw, a thug, a bandit... and any other criminal-related noun he could think of. He'd spent so many years trying to escape his past, to make a name for himself and to live his life as morally and law-abidingly as possible.

Now all of that was gone. He was no longer Captain Jack Sparrow, the merchant sailor. He was Captain Jack Sparrow, the pirate. All because he'd done something right by his moral code - and by acting in a morally justified way he'd been branded an immoral, self-serving pirate. Jack would have laughed at the irony of it all if it wasn't so tragic.

It's the way the world works, mate. You should know that by now.

Beckett never liked him anyway - that was abundantly clear from the outset, given that the East India Trading Company official had taken great liberty to discover that Jack was descended from pirates and since that date had always treated him distrustfully. He'd deliberately set him up with that... cargo (if it could be called such a word) in the hope that it would show him to be dishonourable, before putting the last nail in the proverbial coffin by blaming the entire EITC's corrupt dealings on him. And being descended from pirates meant that he was immediately seen as guilty, with no chance of clearing his name.

Descended from pirates... always there to bloody screw me over, aren't you Dad?

He could always go out and seek out his father, he supposed, even though he'd not seen or heard from him in years - which he guessed was to be expected, given that he was one of the most notorious pirates to ever live and therefore had to take particular care of his safety (which included staying away from those who could be used as leverage against him). He couldn't even really remember what his father looked like, since the last time Jack had had any real contact with him was as a young boy, when he lived at Shipwreck Cove, and back then he had not really taken much notice of the man's attire. All he could remember was that there was a lot of hair. And beads. And other assorted paraphernalia embellishing his hair.

Though surely somebody here would know the whereabouts of his father, since he was supposedly one of the most infamous pirates in the world and there certainly wasn't a lack of people to ask around here. If he was as notorious as he seemed to make out then there must be somebody on this rock that knew where to find him. But then there was the small issue of what Jack would do then - how would he introduce himself to a man he'd not seen in years? And how would Teague react to meeting his long lost son? Perhaps he'd be feeling benevolent enough to offer him some paternal advice about how to live an effective life as a pirate, because Jack had no idea where to begin - his ship was somewhere at the bottom of the ocean, his crew... were gone, and he had no money to his name.

Not a great start to pirate life, eh?

Or his father might refuse to speak to him, excommunicate him or... worse. He was a pirate, after all, and that didn't exactly scream ideal father material. Plus, they had never really shared a particularly close father-son relationship.

So instead of dying to the gallows, I'll be stabbed in the gut by my old man. Well, it would be a memorable way to go, that's for sure.

That was it, then. He had to somehow find his father. An honourable, if not slightly foolish quest, Jack thought to himself. With no option but to start asking around for the name of Edward Teague, Jack adjusted his tricorn hat (the only possession he'd managed to retain hold of throughout his recent ordeal) and headed inside one of the noisy taverns.

A/N: Just as a heads up, for the first ten chapters or so the story will be split between two timelines (one in the present and the other fourteen years in the past, just after Jack is branded a pirate by Beckett but before he sells his soul to Davy Jones to raise his ship - none of the plot is canon, just my interpretation of how Jack's past may have played out) :)