Black Wings of Fate
Summary: For every fiftieth human born into the world, there is one guardian born for them, their souls connected by a single gem. Others have gems and guardians they can't ever see or meet. But James Norrington was born with a black pearl in his hand and a guardian so opposite to him that they could never be.
Jack hissed in pain as he crash landed on the deck of his beloved Black Pearl, feeling light headed and very, very disoriented. He had no idea what he had just done or how he had done it, but he had somehow achieved a speed he had never heard of before outside of a deity's skill set. He could feel every single feather in his wings and he sort of ached all over and he swore he was seeing double for a few seconds before he could focus again.
Now if only his head would stop aching.
The shouting of his crew and the whelp were not helping matters at all.
"Git outta de way!" Ah, you could always count on Tia Dalma. She easily maneuvered the others away and into silence as she and - judging by the nails - Barbossa helped him sit up. Jack couldn't quite hold back a groan as he rubbed at his temples. He was pretty sure he ached more from the landing roughly - twice - than the strange type of travel itself. And he was soaking wet, too. Again. Bugger. And there was something lying on his left wing and it hurt.
Memories of what had happened rushed back to him when the one lying on his wing lurched to their feet and ran for the railing, his sea-creature covered self scaring the living daylights out of his crew as they scrambled away from the frantic William Bootstrap Bill Turner. He must have been feeling the call and pull of the curse, because he made to jump overboard, but Jack was on him faster than a cheetah, pinning him down and doing his best to avoid being hit with flailing limps.
"Gibbs! Prepare the brig! Tia Dalma, you know what I need, there's some in my cabin. You lot, help me tie him down and drag him to the brig!" When the crew remained rooted to their spots while Gibbs and the voodoo witch went to do as told, Barbossa barked for the pirates to move it while bringing over some sturdy rope and tying Bootstrap's legs while a weary Marty came over to do the same with his wrists.
"No!" Will decided to jump into action right then, indignant at his father's treatment. "I won't let you do this, Jack!" He lunged, some rusty old knife in hand and buried it deep into Jack's already hurting left wing. The guardian cried out in pain that momentarily had a wide eyed Bill stopping, scared eyes clearing up a bit in recognition before the curse dragged him back down under. Before the man's son could do any more harm or make the difficult situation any worse, Swann of all people clobbered him over the head with the butt of a surprised Ragetti's pistol and Will crumbled to the ground like a puppet without strings. Ragetti and Pintel then dragged him away while Cotton came to help move the mostly immobilized cursed pirate just as Tia Dalma came out of the captain's cabin with some strange looking and foul smelling red powder in a silver jar with a dragon drawn on it. She followed the men bellow deck and stood aside to let Ragetti and Pintel lock up Will into one of the remaining good cells.
Across from it, Jack and his group lowered Bootstrap onto the floor and had to restrain the squirming and trashing man while Jack knelt down before him, grimacing in pain at the state of his wing. He waved Tia Dalma over as he plucked yet another feather - three in a row in just as many days; if he keeps this up, he'll be unable to fly and resemble an oven ready turkey - and she poured sea water into a cup before adding two spoonfuls of the red powder. Jack added his feather and let her do her magic as she made it boil in her bare hands. At her nod, he plucked a hair from the still struggling Bill, making him yelp, and handed it to her before sitting back to wait. The spell was soon over with a strange incantation Jack pretended not to understand before the cup was given to him, bubbling and steaming and yet somehow cold as ice. He knew, from experience, that the bubbles and the steam were scalding hot, so he very carefully took it from Tia Dalma before approaching Bill just as Will came to and tried to interfere.
"Let 'im do it," Tia Dalma commanded with a surprisingly strong grip on his elbow, stopping him in his tracks. "Dis be de only way."
"What?" The confused younger Turner asked. Tia Dalma nodded to where Barbossa - also knowing the shtick (don't ask how or why; he's had a lot of experience with certain curses and that's all you need to know) - was now forcing Bill's head still and his mouth open as Jack straddled the older Turner in order to keep him down and get a good shot at his mouth.
"De only way yer father will walk a free, livin' man." The only woman aboard replied before her penetrating gaze focused on Jack as he finally managed to start pouring the suspicious looking liquid down his throat. Will watched as well, worriedly observing how his father spluttered and almost choked a few times but drank almost greedily whatever that red stuff was. "Brace yerselves." She warned when the last of the liquid was gone.
There was a long moment of stilled, tense silence before the older Turner started screaming his throat raw and Jack suddenly went limp as a doll. Bootstrap broke away from the restraining hands and Hector only just barely managed to get Jack off of the wildly trashing man as death, sea-creatures and the curse were ripped out ans off of him none too gently and life started seeping in. Will watched in fascination and fear and anguish as his father was slowly returning to him, hope and happiness filling his being until noth-
"He's not breathin'!" Barbossa's call snapped his attention to the too still, too pale - too lifeless - form of Jack Sparrow as the Caspian Pirate Lord tried to shake, slap, yell, talk the other up, the younger man propped up against his chest, his own tanned chest open as if on display with his shirt barely hanging on to his hips. Panic shot through Will and the rest of the men as Tia Dalma cursed and fell down by Jack's side. "It's the bloody wing wound! We 'ave ta treat it, now!" Guilt shot through Will at that and it was soon followed by both shame and fear. What had he done? Why couldn't he just trust Jack?
"Wot's goin' on?" Marty asked in a strangely panicky voice for the midget man. Despite his size, he was a ferocious fellow and didn't scare easy. And yet here he was, panicking because the Captain he had chosen to follow even to the Locker and edges of death was now dying and it was all Will's fault.
"A complicated spell dat usually 'as no such effect on Witty Jack." The voodoo sorceress said as she ripped off a piece of her skirts and set them on flame with what seemed barely a thought, pressing the flamed cloth to the wound. Jack didn't so much as flinch but his feathers turned to steel to protect themselves from the fire as it cauterized the wound immediately. She then sprinkled some of the red powder over the closed wound and they watched it heal until it looked as though nothing was there at all. "It purges 'vrythin' dat don't belong from de body, but it takes energy ta do so from a host. An' only a Curatrix can survive ta be de host. Only Witty Jack can survive bein' de host. But he's weakened."
"Must be th' Locker." Gibbs reasons and no one disagrees. Jack said he had hauled the Black Pearl across miles upon miles of land all by himself. For a year straight, without pause for longer than a few hours nap. He had then fought a fallen angel not long after and then did that ... strange disappearance-reappearance thing and had returned with Bill seemingly out of nowhere. That's quite a lot to do, no matter how you slice it.
"Nay. It's the wound. Ya don't go injuring a Curatrix just b'fore they're 'bout to attempt something this dangerous and taxing!" Barbossa snapped in Will's direction, glaring at the younger Turner, who could only look away in shame. Jack still wasn't breathing and Tia Dalma was staring to worry. She was contemplating giving him some of the red powder to drink, too, when he suddenly gasped and sprang up, nearly knocking both her and Hector over, huffing for breath.
He stared at her with incredulous eyes, as though he had read her thoughts. "Dragon mane is not to be wasted for such simple things, no matter how much Shin-Ching Mao owes me."
"Would ye rather ye die?!" She snapped back at him before shaking her head. "Lie back down, ya fool. Ye need rest."
"An' that's not up fer discussion. Yer father's already goin' to have me head. I'd like for it to at least be quick." Barbossa groused and pulled Sparrow back until he was resting against the older Pirate Lord again. "I'm too old fer yer crap, Jack. And ye're too old to be doin' things like that, too."
"Nonsense," Jack slurred in pure exhaustion. "'M Capt'n Jack Sparrow. I can d' 'nythin'."
"Ye're an idiot is wot ye are, Capt'n," another exhausted and raw - probably from the screaming - voice cut in before anyone else could say anything and they all whipped around to stare at the barely awake but decidedly not cursed Willian Turner Senior as he propped himself up against the wall of the hull with shaking arms. "Wot got inta yer 'ead ta do somethin' stupid like that?"
"Yer own fault, mate." Jack quipped back with a tired golden grin. "Ye 'ad ta go an' open yer big mouth, aye?"
"Aye. 'Twasn't right, Jack, an' I stand to that to the day I die." Bill said with a determined nod. "Should've said somethin' right away, warned ye at least, stopped th' mutiny. I landed right where I belonge-"
"Finish tha' sentence and I will come over there to kick some sense into ye. Savvy?"
"Aye, Capt'n."
"Good." Jack nodded and promptly fell asleep against Barbossa, who only rolled his eyes heavenwards and then snorted when he saw Bootstrap do the same.
"Jus' like ol' times, aye?" Pintel and Ragetti commented to each other, thinking back to the good old times when Bill and Hector would go to great lengths to ensure Jack didn't spend all night at the helm, Bootstrap usually falling asleep as soon as Jack's eyes closed while Barbossa was left with watched over them both and never seeming to mind. It seemed like a lifetime ago and yet it had been barely thirteen years.
"I'll get the whelp to 'is bed." Barbossa groused, lifting Jack up with almost the same ease he used to do it when the man was a decade younger. Then again, Jack had always been and stayed on the skinny side while a sailor's life kept Barbossa in shape, so not much has changed there. The old habits seem to have stayed as well, despite all that was now between Captain and once first mate.
"I don't need to be put to bed," Will snapped at Barbossa, who only gave him a confused look.
"Not you, ya bilge rat." Was all he said before carrying the Curatrix off, struggling only a little up the stairs to the deck. Will stared after him until Pintel and Ragetti gestured back to his cell.
"In ye go." Was all the shorter, rounder pirate said with a malicious grin and Will frowned at him, but both he and his partner had guns pointed at him, so Will conceded and did as he was told. He could escape later, anyway. "We'll put ol' Bootstrap in his old hammock." The man called after Gibbs, who nodded as he followed after the two Pirate Lords and Tia Dalma.
Only to come to a stop by the pile of bodies Will had been tying to barrels and leaving to float like a breadcrumb trail, no doubt for Beckett to follow. He went bellow deck. "Marty, keep a weather eye on that traitor. He's been leadin' Beckett t' us this whole time!"
Judging by the scowl on the short man's face, if Will tried anything, he'll be getting it from Marty and getting it good. Gibbs doesn't pity him at all.
"How's he doin'?" Gibbs asked as soon as he entered the captain's cabin, finding Jack laid to rest and covered by a blanket, Barbossa sitting on some chest and drinking rum while Tia Dalma hovered over the Curatrix. Jack looked too still, too small, too fragile in his current state. He reminded Gibbs more of his twelve year old self in his sleep than Gibbs would ever willingly admit to his Captain. The man might just try not to sleep at all if he heard something like that. He knew Jack well enough that he could not tolerate to show any kind of weakness in front of others, no matter how close or dear a friend they might be. It had very little to do with the mutiny and all to do with his upbringing. Who he was, who he was to become, needed him to always put up a strong front for others.
He too often forgot that just because he pretended that he was more fey and invincible than human didn't diminish the fact that he was human, even if only partially.
He too often needed to be reminded of that fact.
"He'll be fine wiff some rest." The woman replied with a tired sigh, sitting down by Jack's hip on the bed. "'E'll be sens'tive an' tired, but Witty Jack will wake come mornin' an' be fine." Gibbs winced. Jack did so hate to be that kind of sensitive. The simplest brush could arouse lust in him despite him not being in the mood at all. The wings of a Curatrix were a part of their very soul that transcends into the physical world. While taking a feather didn't exactly hurt, it wasn't all that pleasant either.
"How long could he do that ... " Barbossa flailed one hand around, searching for the right words. "That teleportation thing?"
"Aye, that's a new one, ev'n fer me." The current first mate stated as he sat down on another random crate and took out his flask. It was already half empty, much to his annoyance.
Tia Dalma only shrugged. "Not even I or Witty Jack know wot 'e can and can't do. We tested and experimented, but we nev'r got de chance ta reach a limit dat says 'e can't do no more."
"Is that why he so often returned from yer hut more tired than when he went?" Both of Jack Sparrow's first mates asked, exchanging a narrow eyed look when they realized it, too. Barbossa didn't have anything particularly against Gibbs and Gibbs himself only really hated Barbossa for the near madness he had caused his Captain and friend. Everything else was normal pirating business so they didn't hold it against each other. That didn't mean they agreed on many things, either way.
"Could be," she smiled secretively at them both before standing up and making shooing motions with her hands. "We should let Witty Jack rest. Tomorrow will be a long day. Fer all of us." The two men exchanged looks at that but did as they were told when she glared at them. It was not worth dying to displease Tia Dalma, that was for certain. Besides, she was right. Sparrow would definitely need some rest. It will be the first real rest he gets in a long time. He more than deserved it.
"Think he'll be up fer the Crossing?" Gibbs asked uneasily and Barbosss grimaced. The Crossing was no topic any sailor wants to contemplate. It's the most dangerous passage on water that is actually survivable. The shipwreck yard at Isla de Muerta was like child's play in comparison and there was only one person aboard the Black Pearl that could make the Crossing one hundred percent safely.
"We better hope. I may know how to make it in theory, but I've never done it on me own before. If he ain't up to it, though, that'll be our only option." And Barbossa would rather not have to do it. The Crossing had a way of sending shivers down his spine on a good day, when he was just standing back and Sparrow was doing the stirring. He wasn't sure if he could keep it together under the stress. The Crossing of bigger ships lasted for hours and if the captain is not good at maneuverability, the crew might as well jump to the sharks on their own. The Crossing was no joking matter. The only ones who could joke about it as they easily maneuvered through it were the constant inhabitants of Shipwreck Cove themselves. Especially those born in it. The Crossing is a part of their upbringing and everyday lives.
Just another reason Jack was the best choice.
"Let's 'ave some faith in 'im." Tia Dalma said with a smile before heading to the forecastle to rest for the night.
The two men had no choice but to follow and hope for the best.
