Pintel watched him, though he pretended not to as he scrubbed the mop across the deckboards. The moon was hidden away behind a bank of clouds, the only reason Pintel dared to look up at all.
Finally, tired of working alone while the idiot stood there with the mop just looking out at the water, he plunked the tool into the bucket and joined the younger man at the railing. "What is it?"
Ragetti's eye was on the water's surface, staring past it.
Pintel waited, but not very patiently.
"I was jus' thinkin'."
"You don't say."
"About drownin'."
". . ." Pintel looked at Ragetti, flatly. Talking about suicide wasn't like the lad at all. No matter what had happened.
"'Bout Bootstrap."
Oh for fuck's sake. Pintel kept his temper, knowing how that had affected Ragetti. "What about Bootstrap, mate?"
"I'm scared of drownin', you know that, right Pint?"
"Aye, and scared of heights too." That earned him a scowl. "And gettin' hit. And Barbossa. And striped socks. And women wit long fingernails. And monkeys. Anythin' else?" Ragetti was glowering at him. Pintel relented. "What's the purpose, lad? You ain't gonna die anytime soon."
"I ain't scared of dyin', Pint. I'm scared of drownin'. Dyin's what happens after drownin'. That's hows you escape it," Ragetti said heatedly. He went back to staring at the ocean, at a man they'd long since left behind, leagues deep. Pintel thought for a moment he saw a glimpse of sinking black hair in the water, and he pulled back shuddering.
"Don't do it to yourself, lad. Bootstrap asked for it. Think he'd be wonderin' about your welfare if you was the one strapped to that cannon?" Pintel spat, not liking to be spooked.
"Naw, I ain't feelin' guilty for him," Ragetti muttered defensively. "I'm think' o' what he's doin' down there in the deep."
"Drowning," Pintel growled, resuming his chores. He paused, and looked at Ragetti closely. "Oh."