Discalimer: I, of course, don't own much of anything. Not Pirates of the Caribbean, not the Beatles, no any of the characters associated with this film. I would love to though.


Note: This is really angsty. And I know that I'm always over-angsty, but lets just say there was an incident with some soup that was supposed to be my dinner, and ..... nevermind. It's much too painful. So I'm ashamed to admit that this story was inspired by my loss of my soup. So there. And Beatles songs.

Anyway, on the more normal note, I wrote this story instead of doing my Anthropology paper. That's right, I did TWO chapters instead of the paper that was due the next day. Silly me. ^_^ But then the internet shut down and I couldn't post thsi anyway, and the paper got done. So thank you for everyone who continues to review!


Edit: Thanks, Auggie, for reminding me to not to put the disclaimer in italics! And about these flashbacks, no worries. Chapter 5 is going to be the LAST flashback as far as I'm concerned. So you can all rest easy. Then again, maybe not ^_^ I guess we'll all just have to wait to find out.



Part the Fifth:


Hell was real, and Jack no longer doubt of that. He was living it. The night air was cool and breezy, the sky clear. Even at such a time, Jack found himself looking up at the stars out of habit. Always the stars were the same. Each season they moved on their path, always echoing the same patterns they had for millennia. The North Star shone as always, pointing the way. Jack looked to them now. They had always helped him before when he was lost, and they and never failed to bring him home. But now they held no answers, no advice on which way to turn. He was utterly alone.

Jack stood straight, surrounded by his crew, hands tied behind his back, stripped of all his pride. He held his head high as he could, trying not to show his true feelings. Outside he would play the hero, but inside he felt betrayed, and afraid. Jack Sparrow was never afraid.

In the crowd, he would see the faces of his crew in the moonlight, the faces he had grown to know and love as if they were a family. He was their captain, and therefore it was his duty to protect them with his life. And yet here they were, turning on them. Greed won out over friendship.

In the crowd, he saw one face that made him lower his eye contact, a face that threw him off of his act of bravery. It was the one face he could not deal looking at, not knowing what act it's owner had committed. But he had no choice as his first mate... no, his former first-mate Barbossa roughly lifted Jacks' chin to look out over the crew.

"That's right, Jack, take a look at your precious crew. Look at each and every one of them. You thought you knew us, eh? Thought you had us all figured out? Take a look at the men you called "friend" for the past years, Jack. They don't need you anymore. We used your skill to get us where we need to go, your knowledge to get the information we needed, and now we're done with you."

Bootstrap was there in the crowd. In the midst of what was happening, for some reason Bootstrap was all Jack could manage to focus on. Bootstrap had been his friend for years going on eternity. The person who, when Jack was young, had befriended him and drawn him out of his shell, making him into who he was today. The betrayal stung far beyond any pain he had ever felt. How could Bootstrap turn on him after all these years? Jack could have understood maybe how the others in the crew would turn on him just for some more gold, but never Bootstrap.

"William!" Jack yelled. "William, why are you doing this!?" he finally had the courage to scream, seeing Bootstrap's face among his enemies proving too much to handle. Tears came unbidden to his eyes, and he tried his best to hold them back. He would give Barbossa no satisfaction of seeing him ruined. But Bootstrap... how could he possibly do this to him? His very soul felt as if it were being ripped from his body. "William, you coward, answer me!" But Bootstrap only looked away, unable to hold the pain-filled gaze of his best friend.

"You know what your problem is, Jack?" Barbossa said softly, running his knife over the lines of Jack's jaw. Jack didn't flinch, didn't pull back. He wouldn't give the older man that satisfaction. Instead he stared unblinkingly into the face of his former-first mate. But he wondered if even this emotional mask could hide the fear he felt climbing in his chest. His hands were tied behind his back, and he felt utterly helpless. Jack had NEVER felt utterly helpless, and he loathed it. "You're too soft-hearted," Barbossa continued. "Too trusting." The last word was spit in his face, and it hit Jack deeply. He had trusted too deeply. He had made the mistake of trusting Barbossa. But if one couldn't trust his own crew, what was left in the world?

It hit deeper than it should have. Once, long ago, Bootstrap himself had said just the opposite. He had met Jack when he trusted no-one. Jack's past had made it impossible for him to trust others, to get close to anyone. But Bootstrap had changed all that. It had been Bootstrap who had helped open him, to see that while once he had been hurt, not everyone was looking to befriend him for the soul purpose of letting him down. It had been Bootstrap that encouraged him to trust. And so Jack had learned to see the best in people. When the crew had asked for more of the plunder, he had agreed. He wanted them to be happy, to be fair. It had all backfired now, and Bootstrap had all been part of it.

Had it all been a lie? Had Bootstrap lied to him through all these years? Had the friendship been nothing more than pulling the wool over Jack's eyes, laughing at him silently behind his back? Jack, in a moment of sudden defiance, looked Bootstrap right in the eye. Though he tried to look menacing, he was sure the true question could be seen in his eyes. The fear in the window of the soul. Bootstrap saw the fear in the eyes of the supposedly fearless Jack Sparrow, the hurt, anger, and despair, and lowered his own eyes, unable to keep the contact. All Jack wanted was an explanation. A word that Bootstrap was no part of this, but none came. The pain suddenly filling Jack's chest was unbearable.

"Untie me at once, you miserable bastard. How dare you...." he tried. Barbossa gagged his mouth, shaking his head sadly, in mock regret. Then he leaned in very close to Jack.

" I'm sorry, Jack, but you're not in charge anymore. This here is a mutiny, and I'm the new captain...."

* * *


Jack struggled vainly against his bonds, but realised with a sick feeling in his stomach that it was hopeless. Completely and utterly hopeless. He stood on the plank looking out over the water, black in the night, and at the island in the distance. He turned and looked back at the crew, watching silently, waiting. Barbossa smiled his disgusting smile, and put the captain's hat on his head. Then he bowed mockingly.

"Farewell Captain Jack Sparrow," he said, drawing the word 'captain' out as long as he could. He handed Jack something in the darkness, and Jack reached out with his hobbled hands, grasping it with difficulty. It was his few belongings; his compass and a gun. The gun he didn't understand, but it was the compass that confused him. Barbossa had no clue the significance of what he had just handed the man, how well it only made the lesson harder. The compass had been a gift once. From Bootstrap, years ago. It didn't work, never pointed North, but Bootstrap had bid him to keep it. As a symbol of their friendship. What had Bootstrap said that warm day, after their Captain had died and Jack, still grieved, was granted the Pearl?

"Fate may lead you off course now and again, Jack," Bootstrap had said gently, handing him the old compass. Jack opened it, and then looked up to meet Bootstrap's eyes in confusion.

"It doesn't work," he said dully. Bootstrap took it from Jack's hand and smiled.

"No, it doesn't point north, but our fates will lead us off course every once in awhile. Life is unexpected, Jack. Sometimes the easy route isn't always the right one."

"William, I'm not sure I understand," Jack said slowly. Bootstrap smiled that funny smile he had.

"Just take it, Jack. Maybe one day you'll understand."


Jack had been young then. Bootstrap had lived on the sea longer than he, knew the lonely life of a sailor far better. Only years later did Jack understand why the compass was important.

Of course now that was all gone. Jack looked up to see what Bootstrap's reaction was, and in the crowd Jack could see him, but he wasn't looking anymore. Jack knew he'd seen the compass. Jack wondered too if he remembered the promise he'd made to Jack all those years ago. How they had been brothers. Barbossa laughed, misunderstanding Jack's silence.

"Oh, Jack. You don't understand anything, do you? That island," he said with a point of his finger, "is where you're going. We're not going to kill you. No, it'd be far too easy. Too easy for you, that is. We want you to suffer, Jack Sparrow. We want you to die slowly, knowing that your crew betrayed you. And that gun has one single shot. Just one. And let me tell you something, young one, that one shot is going to look like salvation to the likes of you. You pathetic creature."

"You will pay, Barbossa," Jack said through clenched teeth. Barbossa laughed.

"If you plan to come back from the dead to haunt me, then by all means, do so, Sparrow! You're but a child, not meant for the responsibility of Captain of the pearl. No, once I was in line to be captain, wasn't I, Jack? I was first mate to your dear Captain Blake. But when he died, did I get what I deserved after years of toil? No, some mere child takes over. Captain Blake leaves the Pearl to a boy! Why you? You who had only been on a ship for under three years! You wormed your way into the Captain's favour and I was left to serve under some whelp!"

"The Captain didn't trust you," Jack said softly, calmly, his voice hard and dangerous. "He wondered about your loyalty as first-mate. Captain Blake never trusted you, and he would never have let you take over in his place. I took pity on you, because I knew you loved your life under Captain Blake as a pirate, and I let you stay."

"You trust too much," Barbossa sneered with a glint in his eye. The knife went back to Jack's throat. " Too bad you have to die so young...," he said, his voice obviously indicating otherwise. "Die knowing you were betrayed, Jack."

The Fearless Jack was filled with terror. If there was one thing he hated, it was feeling powerless, and he was filled with a terrible anger he had never known himself capable of. Jack was pushed to the end of the plank. Clutching his gun and compass close to him, he jumped. The last thing he saw was Bootstrap's face watching him.