Disclaimer: Really, they all belong to the Mouse, much as I enjoy tormenting them.

Protector of Life

Part 9

It was a stupid thing to do, really. He didn't know if the windows were real, and even if they were real, if you could walk through them—suspected, given Benigno's condition and Diego's tale of literally seeing hell, but didn't know. Even if it did work, when he wanted to get back, he'd have to find a way to convince his less-than-cooperative new pet to open the door.

Ana-Maria would never forgive him for just disappearing like that. Come to it, neither would Gibbs, even if the reason he disappeared was because he couldn't watch the older man get gutted and do nothing, other world or not. He had a bad time of it watching anyone die senselessly if he could help it, really; it was a bit of a character flaw that had gotten him both into and out of more scrapes than he'd care to remember.

The trip was fast. A brief sensation of formlessness, a flash of icy fire, and he was stumbling across the deck of the battle-torn ship. All the sounds that had been missing before flared to sudden, intense life, as though making up for lost time.

"How… how did… you…" The sailor who had just seconds before been intent on skewering Gibbs from behind gaped at him with open mouth and wide eyes.

"Sorry, mate." Only a twinge of guilt tugged at his mind as he shot the man. He didn't know this world, didn't know what was happening, but anyone who wanted to kill one of his friends should know they had a short life expectancy.

"Jack."

His name was barely a whisper, almost a whimper. Turning to the other pirate with his trademark grin, he found himself rushing forward to block a sword-stroke that would in all likelihood have severed the older man's jugular.

"Focus, Gibbs!"

The older man still continued to stare at him, face pale, sword hanging loosely at his side.

"You're dead." The same dull, whisper-whimper of a monotone was all Gibbs seemed capable of. "I watched you die. We both did. We… we put you over the side and… Jesus, is this hell?"

The pirate captain couldn't answer, focusing first on taking down the swordsman in front of him. The other sailor had obviously been fighting for quite some time, and the fatigue showed in his movements. Jack's own body was still recovering from the jaguar's failed attempt at direction, though, and if he wanted to land more than one blow he had to fight switch. As it was, he could feel the stitches in his right arm tearing open and blood beginning to trickle down his arm.

Then Gibbs was at his side, and the poor bastard in front of them didn't have a chance.

"It's really you then, Jack?" There was more than shock in the other pirate's voice now—hope, foremost, and joy just underneath. "It's really you, in the flesh?"

"Really me, mate. Alive and wel—relatively well, at least."

"Jack." Without warning Gibbs crossed the step that separated them and drew the younger man into a tight embrace. "Oh, lad, I don't know how you did it, but it's so damn good to see you again."

"Good to see you, too. However…" A sharp tug brought them both stumbling out of the way as three combatants stumbled by. Jack didn't recognize any of them; given the fact that all three seemed intent on hacking the other two to pieces, they obviously didn't recognize their own crew, either. "I believe there's a situation here that needs our more immediate attention."

"Aye." Gibbs drew back abruptly, drawing himself up, face settling into the hard lines of command that Jack had come to recognize. "Spanish navy. Doing a sight better'n normal on our poor girl. They were flyin' false colors. Had her done up real nice and pretty like a prize, and we fell for it. Over half our crew's already down."

A sharp hand motion had Jack jumping to the side as Gibbs rushed forward to exchange brief sword-strokes with what was apparently one of the enemy. Before Jack could move in to offer a hand, the older man had already landed a killing blow, moving faster, harder, with more ferocity than the pirate captain had ever seen in him.

"Is Ana-Maria—"

"Lass stayed aboard, aye. She's captain at the moment. As to where she is—" Gibbs stepped aside, allowing Jack to return his favor of moments before. He waited until the younger man was facing him again before continuing. "I don't know where she got off to once they boarded. Been a bit hectic."

"I've noticed." Transferring his sword to his right hand, he used his left to probe gently at the wound he had received from Benigno. Definitely torn wide open, which wasn't surprising between the ruddy cat and running around like this. The amount of blood he could feel pouring down his arm, see starting to stain the cuff of his shirt, was disturbing, though.

"You're hurt." Anger twisted the features of the older man's face, an anger that Jack recognized as redirected fear.

"Just a cut from yesterday. Nothing to worry about. Once you've control of your ship again, we can patch my arm and yours up."

A slight grin tugged at the corner of Gibbs's mouth as he nodded, reaching one hand up to his own shoulder.

"Now, I'd suggest we go find Ana-Maria."

Turning smartly on his heel, Jack wove his way back into the shifting mass of swords and guns, eyes scanning the mêlée for any evidence of his first mate. Gibbs followed behind, stopping every few steps to provide aid in one of the scuffles Jack carefully bypassed. He finally found her right where he'd hoped she wouldn't be, in the thickest part of the mess, being pushed back closer and closer to the railing. Even through the lingering haze of cannon fire he could see the splinters of wood small arms fire was kicking up all around her and what was obviously a small remnant of her crew.

There wasn't any question about what to do, not really. He managed to kill two of them and Gibbs a third before they'd even realized he was present.

Ana-Maria herself didn't notice until almost a full minute later, only a brief hesitation and then a renewed fury, almost desperation in her fighting style giving her away.

They weren't much, so far as cavalries went, himself, Gibbs, and a half-dozen or so men that the older pirate had saved and then rallied along the way, but they were far more than the flagging remnants of the Interceptor's crew had anticipated. Galvanized, already desperate, scared and blood-hungry, they redoubled their efforts. More than once Jack found himself losing track of who was friend and who foe, wishing one of the crew's would have been kind enough to mark themselves. He eventually contented himself with following Gibbs's lead as to who was fair game, though even the other man's sloppy seconds were beginning to try on his exhausted body.

When the invading crew finally began to retreat, he fell back to Ana-Maria's side, an exhausted but welcoming grin firmly in place.

She didn't slap him. She didn't embrace him.

He felt the grin falter slowly as she merely continued to stare at him, something half-way between cold fury and aching hurt shining from her eyes.

"You promised me."

"I'm sorry." The words were horribly inadequate, even dragged as they were from a barrenly honest place in his heart. He didn't know what he'd promised, though from the way she was watching him, he could hazard a guess. To plan it out so that, as impossible as it would seem, he'd have an escape route; to survive, against incredible odds, when his heart wasn't really in survival anymore. Their world had little enough room for promises as it was; ones between friends that would knowingly be broken…

If he ever met the Jack Sparrow of this world, in Hell, say, he'd be sure to work the bastard over but good for the grief and guilt and depthless rage he had put in Ana-Maria's three soft words.

"You were dead." A mirthless smile pulled at her lips. "Of that I am quite certain."

"It's really me. Alive and in the flesh." He wanted to move to her, offer comfort, but the conflicting emotions in her eyes, with rage so prevalent, prevented it.

"Oh, don't worry. I've little doubt that it is you. Demons and specters usually lack the intelligence to add injuries, or to fight switch once they do." Her eyes moved past him, staggering over the Interceptor's battered crew.

He could see the moment she realized there weren't enough left standing to either crew the ship or repel another wave of boarders.

"I'm afraid you've caught us at a bad time, Jack." A casual flick of her sword sent blood spattering to the side, across the deck. "We're in the middle of being slaughtered."

He never got the opportunity to respond, to decide whether false bravado about getting through it would simply earn him a faster death and ticket to Hell than already seemed his destiny. The first shot caught her high in the chest, spinning her around to face away from him. He caught her before she could fall, held her as the second shot kicked up splinters by his boots.

The third tore through her neck before scoring a deep, burning line across his right shoulder. Blood coated his hands as he released his hold, instincts recognizing the reality of death even as his mind still railed against it.

Gibbs was pulling on his arm then, trying to drag them both back to a semblance of shelter when the next shot from their almost-preternaturally-accurate enemy caught him in the knee. He didn't even have a chance to contemplate asking to be left behind before the older pirate fell, a look of mingled horror and confusion on his face as blood ran from his mouth like water.

Jack's eyes scanned the other ship for the sharp-shooter, face a rigidly impassive mask as his blood dripped onto the deck. If he was going to die here, he would at least know the face of the lucky, over-talented bastard that brought him down. It didn't take him long to find the man, balanced easily in the rigging of the navy ship, a team of two boys passing a steady stream of muskets up to him. A small grin flickered across the pirate's face, and he grudgingly gave the captain of the other ship points for intelligence. If you had a boy who could shoot like that, don't waste any of his time.

Still, it was almost disappointing that he didn't recognize the boy's face.

He tried to scramble to his feet as the man sighted again, but with one arm and one leg all but incapacitated, it was a losing battle with gravity. Icy hot pain, far too familiar, bloomed in his chest, and he collapsed fully, trying to decide whether breathing was really necessary.

The feel of teeth sinking into his shoulder temporarily dimmed the burning agony in his chest, allowing him to draw a handful of quick, painful breaths. That part of his mind not busy trying to process and counteract his seemingly swift-approaching demise wondered why it had taken the cat so long to decide to mete out its justice.

"Foolhardy, Sparrow." There was a deep strain, what he would almost deem pain, in the jaguar's voice. "So foolhardy. Never has prey willingly run to the slaughter. Always do they flee, my claws raking them from behind, driving them to their hell."

The difficulties breathing around a partial mouthful of blood and a chest-full of hurt entailed made it impossible to answer.

It also meant he couldn't embarrass himself by doing more than whimpering as the icy fire spread, enveloping his entire body.

He knew where he was even before the cold fire re-centered itself in his chest. He could see only darkness, whether because his eyes no longer functioned or simply due to an inability to open them, he couldn't tell, and he didn't care enough to find out. No other ship in the world moved like, felt like this one, though. His hands flattened against the deck of their own accord, putting as much of his body in contact with the ship as he could.

His Pearl. How fitting that he died here, on his ship, cradled in her arms.

How abnormal, for his killer and tormenter to grant him this dignity.

"Little bird?" There was worry in the cat's tone, what he would almost call grief, and a very obvious pain. "Your injuries are grave. I do not think your people can help you."

No, he sincerely doubted they could help him right about now. It had been a miracle when he survived the last time he was shot in the chest; banking that hard on Lady Luck seemed destined to end less-than-favorably. Even if he did survive, Ana and Gibbs were going to kill him. What were they doing with his ship, anyway? She was tugging hard, striving to pull into a favorable position with the wind and the tide, but not to run. To fight. Surely they wouldn't pick a fight now? It was…

"Focus, little bird." A rough tongue flicked across his face, once, twice, three times. The creature's panting breath rolled across him for a moment afterward. "Do you plan on dying quickly?"

No, not particularly. He'd actually rather just skip the whole dying part entirely, but it didn't seem that he was being given many options there.

"I do not wish to help him. He is not of my people." The jaguar's words were a low, angry roar, the tone changes betraying the fact that it was pacing next to him. "Yet he is in possession of the image, and my lady created it for… Are you certain you won't die quickly, Sparrow?"

He somehow managed to shake his head in a very firm affirmative, suppressing a hiss of pain as the great cat nosed at his chest. Anything that could get Billy this worked up had to bode well for him.

"It will hurt us to have him fade slowly, but it will not be an unbearable pain. Perhaps we might even—"

A paw landed with vicious force less than an inch from his head, and Jack could almost swear he could hear the creature's claws sheathing and unsheathing.

"No. No matter what else, we cannot betray the Lady. We cannot kill him."

That was good… and interesting. It would probably be far more interesting when breathing wasn't such a problem, but at least he was aware enough to file the words away for future use.

The sound of a paw slicing heavily through the air reached his ears.

"I have not the power of healing. Such was already long fading before your Man came. Though I cannot reach so far as once I did, if you will not die quickly, if you will fight for your life, then I am duty-bound to give you a chance."

So Billy was going to help him… when it should be rejoicing, its quest for his death and damnation nearly over, it instead saw… duty? He would have grinned save for the fact that it would probably hurt. That was why Benigno had looked the way he had. The cat had tormented him, driven him to kill, scarred him, led him to a land of fire that would be Hell in his reeling mind… but it hadn't killed him. Driven him insane, to madness, possibly suicide, but not actually killed him.

It hadn't left him to die until there was literally no chance of survival whatsoever.

Teeth sank into his shoulder once again, drawing blood, though he recognized the relative gentleness in the movement now. This creature could crush a skull with those teeth; what it was doing now was simply ensuring it didn't lose its grip.

"You will eventually choose death, little Sparrow." The cat paused for a moment to readjust its grip. "They all do eventually, even those who learn that I cannot choose it for them."

There was no warning before he was dragged through the window again, cold flames enveloping his body. On top of everything else, it was far more than body or mind was willing to handle, and he welcomed the numb solace of unconsciousness.

Greeting yet another new nightmare world could wait for a time when he could actually see it.