A/N: Hello! This is my first POTC fanfic. It' is A/U, but certainly, in my opinion, a believable outcome to the story. Feel free to comment on anything you see that doesn't look right, or on something that you do like about the fic. Only constructive criticism please, as flames serve no practical purpose.

WARNING: This fic is probably not for the overly faint of heart. I won't say any more, but don't expect a Disney ending, no pun intended.

I don't usually have much free time, and am in fact swamped with homework to do but I'm avoiding it to write. I'm sure I'll be sorry later. So in brief, this'll be a rather short fic. I'm expecting the max to be 4 chapters, most of them probably relatively short. Most likely I will go on and write more right now, and post a new chapter each day or so until completion, if the fic is received well.

Disclaimer: Not mine, Disney's. Don't sue, I'm but a poor student who has naught but Cup-O-Noodles with which to pay lawyer fees.

Now without further ado... I give you:


By Blood Repaid: Chapter 1

Silence filled the room. A single gunshot rang out into the stale, salt-tinged dusk that surrounded them. Captain Barbossa staggered back in surprise.

"Ten years ya carry that pistol, and now ya waste yer shot." Barbossa smirked at Captain Jack Sparrow.

"He didn't waste it." Standing in a cave on the Isle de la Muerta in an open room filled with treasure of immeasurable value, Will Turner sliced his palm with the blade of a dagger, and dropped the last coin of the cursed gold of Cortez into the waiting chest below. The blood was finally repaid.

"I feel... Cold..." Barbossa whispered. The look on his face then was one of shock. Suddenly he felt-- after ten years of numbness and despair-- alive. He felt, warmth, air, pain and finally, cold. His expression changed to one of horror, and then anger, as he realized that he was bleeding from a gunshot wound to the chest. The curse had been lifted.

He looked ahead, the smirk fading from his lips, into the kohl-lined eyes of the man who dealt him the mortal blow, Barbossa's eyes questioned "why?"

Jack Sparrow returned the look with a steely gaze, bereft of nearly all pity, as if to say "you've had this coming, mate."

The barrel of Barbossa's gun, formerly trained on the stock-still form of Elizabeth Swann, swiveled shakily to face Jack. The malicious gleam returned to the dying mans eyes, one last time, and he pulled the trigger with a trembling finger.

Jack staggered backwards as Barbossa slumped to the ground, the apple he'd held moments earlier rolling away down to the waters edge, forgotten.

Jack stood for several more moments. His hands traveled quickly down to his abdomen, and then away, covered in blood. The mans face twisted in a grimace of pain, and he dropped to his knees, breathing hard, arms outstretched for support. He'd never suffered a gunshot wound before. Many a sword had nicked and scathed his body during his career as a pirate, but never, until now, had a bullet caught him.

Will and Elizabeth rushed to his side, gently easing the pirate onto his back so they could better see what damage had been done.

"It's not a chest wound--" Elizabeth said, breathless with relief.

"But at this rate he'll bleed to death before we can get him back to the Dauntless." Will interrupted, tearing a wide strip of cloth from his own sleeve and applying hard pressure to Jack's wound in an attempt to slow the profuse bleeding.

At this Jack hissed in pain, "Bloody 'ell, Turner! Are ye tryin' to kill me?" He tried to rise, but was easily restrained by Elizabeth's gentle hands.

"Do you think you can walk, Jack?" Will asked.

"Not by me onesies..." Jack paused, thinking aloud, "Oi, what I wouldn't do for some rum."

Carefully Will and Elizabeth got Jack to his feet, and the three of them hobbled back to the waiting dinghy, stopping several times when Jack could go no further.

"Easy Jack," Will spoke softly into the other mans ear after he'd stumbled for the third time, "It's just a little ways now."

The pirate captain nodded vaguely, his head drooping. He clutched his stomach, steeling his resolve, and allowed himself to be hauled the last few yards to the waiting craft.

He gasped sharply in spite of himself as he was maneuvered into the boat. The pain had only grown worse with movement, and the whole front of his dingy linen shirt was soaked and fair dripping with blood. He lay on the floor of the craft, dark head resting in Elizabeth's lap, his kohl-darkened eyes shut against the pain as she dabbed the sweat from his brow with her own kerchief and spoke soothing words.

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A/N: Questions? Comments? Suggestions? Please review to let me know! More to follow soon.