Lord Knows I Can't Change

Chapter Five

            "Enough deferment!" The man yelled irately; the crew's various shouts immediately ceasing, as well as his captain's abortive attempts at some form of a negotiation. "This be your punishment for being such a simpleton, Jack, it's the right thing to do. Such trusting people as ye'self aren't worthy of life, nor a ship fine as this." His mouth turned upward into a most deceitful smirk as his eyes bore into the pirate captain. As he was opening his mouth to holler at Jack to jump, a familiar, yet not allied, voice stopped him.

            "This is wrong, Barbossa, and you know it."

            "You forget your place, William," his voice was literally soaked with the hate that he had for the man before him. Bootstrap simply shook his head, his eyes going from Barbossa to Jack and then back at Barbossa.

            A small secure smile played on his lips as he said, "No, Barbossa, you forget your place." Barbossa merely stared at him, at that small secure smile and forcefully back handed the man across the face. Caught off guard, Bootstrap stumbled backwards where several of the Black Pearl's crew grabbed him and held him firmly in place, away from Barbossa and away from Jack. Bootstrap quickly recovered, shaking his head, stopping and raising it and looking directly at Jack. Jack returned his gaze.

Bootstrap's heart crumbled.

Jack's eyes were full of fear, something he had never seen in the young captain's eyes before. Never. 

            "Barbossa don't do it!" He called out in spite himself, knowing full well that it wouldn't work, that Barbossa wouldn't listen. The man did nothing but start to walk towards the plank where Jack stood at the end, helplessly bound by both the wrists and feet. Trying to escape would prove meaningless. Bootstrap shook his head roughly from side to side, lurching forward and grunting in aggravation when the crew held him back "You thoughtless son of a bitch!" To Bootstrap's surprise, Barbossa stopped in front of the plank and turned to look at him. Bootstrap's struggles halted as he returned his uncanny gaze.

            "Don't." Bootstrap whispered as a final effort to save his best friend. "Don't do it, Barbossa. Even you couldn't live the rest of your life with a fellow crew member's blood on your hands." Jack rose his eyes from the water and looked at Bootstrap's. Barbossa simply turned around to look at Jack momentarily before looking back at Bootstrap, that same deceitful smirk dancing on his lips.

            "Fortunately there are ways to cope." He slammed his foot down on the rim of the board and Jack fell off, screaming in a mixture of both fear and fury. Bootstrap's voice soon over powered his, though. He screamed and shouted at the newly-made captain, lurching forward and trying to break free of the three or so people that were holding him back. His body quivered with rage and his fists clenched up in hate.

Silence fell over the crew as one of the people that were holding him back clubbed him over the head with the handle of their sword and he fell to the deck completely unconscious.

* * *

He hastily blinked the aching memory away. There were more important things to attend to, other things that needed his attention.

His current situation was one of them.

The same situation he had been in for two years. Two long years with his only companions being the voices in his head, mocking him and laughing at him each time he turned up empty handed; each time he failed.

And failed he had countless times over.

            He sighed and peered out over the endless sea, watching as it sparkled with a nonchalant twinkle in the mid-afternoon sun. The tiny boat cut through her like a dancer would their routine, gliding with the grace of a bird and with a silence of the deceased. It was eerie to him. He had spent the last twelve years of his life alone, and the silence was still always so eerie to him. It didn't seem real, it didn't seem silent. Even if there was no noise, he always heard noise; he always heard the voices in his head and the mocking laughter of his grief-stricken yesterdays. It was never anything more or less than the eerie silence. That was the one thing he had always been able to count on.

            Port to port, country to country… -He had spent the last two years searching for what he lost twelve years ago, for who was taken from him twelve years ago. Little information was attained from the people he asked in the various ports and countries, and the information was always something he had been told before, or of very little help. He had gone through numerous crews and numerous ships, each varying in size and in kind. Now he sailed alone on a small trading ship that he had commandeered from a port in Nevis.

As he was watching the sea shine, the memories once again trampled across his mind, beckoning him.

* * *

After the mutiny, the Black Pearl set course for Isla de Muerta, home to the cursed treasure of Cortés.  

Barbossa knew the tales, had heard the stories of the gold being under a terrible curse, but he had disregarded them. Greed beat out good judgment, as with the rest of the Black Pearl's crew.

Save for one, that is.

            Around dawn the next day Bootstrap awoke only to find himself locked in the brig. After screaming, shouting and cursing at Barbossa and the back stabbing crew with no avail, he gave up with a punch to the rigid wall and a groan of frustration. He slid down the barred door and leaned his head back. His mind wandered off to Jack, to his best friend, to that look of utter fear that had been shining in his eyes. Bootstrap couldn't even start to imagine all of what Jack was feeling when he was standing on that board. Betrayal, remorse, anger, fear, pain, confusion… and the list went on. Sighing again, he shut his eyes tightly, trying to block off reality. He hadn't saved him; all he had done was stand there and watch as Barbossa condemned him to his own personal hell.

His eyes snapped open.

The treasure, the cursed treasure of Cortés, the treasure that made you not among the living and so you could not die, but neither are you dead.

His mind flashed to the image of a little boy back home in England, and then to the fact that to be affected by the curse, you had to remove a coin from out of the chest.

Bootstrap grinned.

            Being that neither Barbossa nor the Pearl's crew believed the curse to be true, Bootstrap would have no trouble condemning them to their own personal hell. He would convince Barbossa that he was indeed on his side and go ashore with them when they reached the island. There he would take but only a single piece of gold and, upon reaching the first place that they would stop to spend their fortunes, he would send it off to his son, William Turner.

He frowned. Not only would Barbossa and the crew be immortal, but he would be as well.

He shook his head. Bootstrap knew that to break the curse, all of the gold pieces had to be returned to the chest, and that if William had his, and none of the crew knew about it, they would be condemned to hell for eternity. His mind was made up.

He would get revenge for the death of his best friend.

* * *

The Heathen Gods had failed to mention that along with all of the gold restored, to break the curse, the blood had to be repaid.

            Probably some kind of ill-mannered booby trap, he thought to himself with a grim expression as he opened his eyes. He couldn't exactly remember how he had come to learn that, but he had, and in doing so, being that no one had come after him, they had gone after his son; after Will. Two years ago, on the day he found out that the curse had been broken, he packed what little belongings he had and set sail to try to find his son, to make sure that Barbossa and the Pearl's crew hadn't killed him.

After two years and 730 days of nothing but disappointment after heart wrenching disappointment, he was slowly starting to lose hope.

But he wouldn't give up.

            Bootstrap stood to his feet and narrowed his eyes at the approaching island, an island that he knew all to well, the one where this had all begun twelve years ago.

Isla de Muerta.

To Be Continued…

AN: Woohoo! A slight cliffhanger! I hope that this is making sense, and I hope that now everyone sees where this story is going. I know that you guys probably have a billion questions racing through your mind, and I'm sure that the main one is, "Wait, how the bloody hell is Bootstrap alive?!", and I promise that they will all be answered in the upcoming chapters! This will all make sense in the end (I hope).

Being that I start school tomorrow, I don't know when chapter six will be up. I might start on it tonight, though.

Thanks to everyone's reviews on this and my other two stories! I'm so glad you guys are (hopefully) enjoying my stuff!

I will update as soon as I can, promise!

Please review on your way out. :)