Disclaimer: I don't own PotC, and I have come to the disturbing realization that I never will. The only item in this story that belongs to me is the plot, which I hope you are enjoying.

A/N: You are going to absolutely love this chapter. I promise.

Dedicated to: Lizzi who has had a terrible day. *GLOMPNESS* Take care, hun….I love ya.

Pirates of the Caribbean: The Winds of Change

What Hell is Like

Elizabeth prayed that Jack knew what he was doing.

The pirate always had an uncanny ability to worm his way out of even the stickiest of situations. Granted they were sometimes coincidental or just plain luck, but then again, Elizabeth would take both chance AND good fortune, considering the circumstances surrounding her.

As she sat in the corner of the brig, her legs drawn tightly to her chest and her arms wrapped around her knees, listening to the water swish its way across the hull, she tried to avoid looking at her husband who had been staring at her for the past hour at least. Her emotions writhed and squirmed within her mind…how could she love him? He was a mere puppet, his brain being contorted and twisted into a perfect mold to benefit the heathen gods…he was unpredictable, he was unsteady, he was unsafe…

…but she loved him still. How could she not? The man she had loved since the day she met him, the man she was destined to be with, the man she would give her life to…the man who was the father of her child…

A sudden pause in the movement of the ship shook Elizabeth from her thoughts. She stood up slowly and noticed that no longer was the ship sailing on the seas…apparently, from the feel of the gentle rocking beneath her feet, it had thrown anchor.

Frowning in worry and overall confusion she made her way towards the front of her cell, grasping the rusty bars, trying to look past Will towards the stairs that led up to the deck of the ship. Expectantly, she heard two voices coming down the stairs and there emerged Pintel and Ragetti, bickering about something or another.

"'Ello, Poppet," smiled Pintel. Elizabeth rolled her eyes and kept quiet as he opened Will's cell with a chain of old keys. "Yer off ter see the cap'n, Turner," he added, grabbing Will roughly by the shoulder and heaving him out of the cell. Her heart jolted as she saw her husband look back at her; she could have sworn he saw a look of sad regret and realization in his eyes. Suddenly extremely upset with herself for ignoring him considering he was laden with the curse, she shouted, "Where are you taking him?"

"To meet a chest of gold," Pintel replied as he marched Will up the stairs.

"Meet a chest of gold," Ragetti repeated idiotically.

"Take me with! I demand you let me out!" she screamed desperately, pulling on the bars in vain.

Pintel laughed. "You're in no place to demand anything, poppet."

"No!" she screamed, panic stricken.

"Elizabeth," Will whispered, pausing on the steps and looking into her eyes. She longed to run to him, to hold him, to never let him go… "I love you," he finished, and Elizabeth knew that look he had in his eye…the look of a man who was accepting death.

 Pintel chuckled and pushed him up the stairs, slamming the door behind him. It left her in complete darkness, standing helplessly, desperation rising in her throat. A single tear traveled down her delicate face as she quietly whispered words Will would never hear again.

"I love you too."

~*~

"Ah, 'tis Mr. Turner," grinned Barbossa as he stood at the wheel, petting Jack the monkey who stood perched on his shoulder. "How has that stay in the brig of yourn been?"

Will said nothing as his hands were bound behind his back with old rope, irritating his wrists. He knew he should have never told Barbossa that Jack was alive, he knew he should have never let the curse play upon his worst fears and deepest secrets, leading him to believe Jack was a coward, a traitor, an untrustworthy, greedy pirate…

But he was.

If Will could tear the voice from his mind and beat it to death, he would. An incensed rage took over his body and he shuddered, desperately trying to control the urge to go on a murderous rampage.

Now, now, Will, don't ye deserve to die?

No, he answered firmly, barely aware of the words Barbossa was speaking to his crew with a wide grin on his old face.

Think about it, Will. Elizabeth hates you, Jack is marooned because of you, and now, thanks to that blood of yourn, Barbossa and crew will be alive to wreak pain and suffering upon the innocent souls that spent the trinkets. You've ruined more lives than is feasible right now, Will Turner. You deserve to die.

Reluctantly he realized that the voice spoke true. He had condemned Jack to that island, he had abandoned Elizabeth, accusing her of vicious actions that he knew, in his heart, she had not done. And he would be ruining millions of lives when the curse was lifted, leaving Barbossa and his crew the opportunity to get revenge for the gods. It was all his fault…

"Those ears of yourn are still working, aren't they, Mr. Turner?" asked Barbossa loudly. Will turned to look at him and realized that the captain must have been talking to him. Will made no move to answer him; he merely stared into the beady eyes of a man who had seen too much but gained too little.

"Well obviously your mouth isn't."

Again, Will did not answer.

You deserve to die, Will Turner.

"Take him to shore," came the quick order, and he felt rough hands grab his arms, lead him onto the row boat, and sit him down, his arms still bound behind his back.

As they rowed to shore about a mile off, Will surveyed his surroundings and noticed, to his shock and surprise, he recognized the island they were destined for. Unsure of how he gained his familiarity and fairly alarmed by it, he ransacked his brain for the answer…unfortunately, he could find none.

The crisply clear waters turned lighter shades of blue as they approached the sandy shore. The slight breeze brushed against his face, creating an ethereal yet faux sense of relaxation and calmness. He looked up into the sky and saw that a line of dark storm clouds were heading their way, slowly yet surely sliding to cover the sapphire sky and warm golden sun.

The small boat hit the sand with a thud and Pintel heaved Will to a stand, dragging him onto the hot, white surface of the island. He looked around, searching in vain for a reason he found this place so recognizable…once again, he could find nothing.

"Move," came the gruff voice and he was pushed forward, apparently instructing him to walk ahead of the rest of the crew, who had just arrived in their own boats. He walked up a sharp incline of sand to where there was a circle of palm trees, creating a tempting shade from the heated sun. Tufts of grass sprouted about randomly and, in the middle of the oval-shaped shade, stood a chest.

The chest of Aztec gold.

Will's heart began to pound and his breath caught in his lungs as he eyed the chest. It looked the same as he last remembered it as if it were ageless. He saw, from his left, Barbossa approach it, running his long, dirty fingers along the embossed ornate design, grinning madly at Will.

"I don't think we thanked ye yet, Mr. Turner," he smiled. The rest of the crew laughed. "Go on, lads, thank Mr. Turner." The men cheered and roared their appreciation mockingly, their eyes wide with anticipation. Will kept his eyes on Barbossa, refusing to let the voice in his head become more prominent.

You deserve to die, Will Turner.

"Now, let business be business," he continued, the smile fading from his face. "Bring him ter me." He felt himself being shoved once again on the small of his back, towards the chest of gold, Barbossa kicked the chest and the lid flew open, revealing all of the tokens in their false splendor and glory. They shone brightly due to the sunlight, reflecting in Will's eyes so that he had to squint due to the brilliance of them. He was brought around to face the trunk and his neck was forced over the gold, just like he had been last time. Barbossa pulled out a knife, a different one this time, and whispered, "Let me take this opportunity to personally thank you, Mr. Turner. We couldn't've done this without ye." Will struggled against the hands pushing him downward, twisting and writhing in hopes of getting free, until he felt a heavy blow to his already bruised stomach, knocking the air completely from his lungs.

"Begun by blood, by blood undone…"

Will struggled to inhale air to keep himself conscious. His mind raced, his blood pulsated throughout his veins. He knew he was going to die; they would cut his throat, they would finally be free to bestow havoc upon all who had been unfortunate enough to come into ownership of those forsaken tokens…

He saw Barbossa raise his knife to slice Will's throat…

You deserve to die, Will Turner…

He heard the crew chanting like wild men, their faces expectant and anxious…

You deserve to die, Will Turner…

He closed his eyes and thought of Elizabeth. How he was going to miss her…

You're going to die, Will Turner…

He felt a sharp pain travel across his neck, followed by a warm rush of blood down his chest. His head felt light, his body grew weak, and a warm blanket of darkness drew itself over him, perhaps never to be lifted.

~*~

Jack felt a stab of pain in his heart so severe that he gasped, clutching his chest, falling to his knees. He squeezed his eyes shut against the now-spinning deck of the HMS Conquest, and vaguely heard shouts of surprise followed by running footsteps in his direction. He breathed deeply but slowly, trying to avoid another pain like the one he had just experienced. It had attacked out of no where, and Jack wondered to himself whether he had a heart attack…

I can't have a heart attack, he thought, annoyed with himself. I'm dead.

"Jack…Jack?" He looked up into the worried face of the Commodore, who stood over him, peering at him concernedly. "Jack, are you alright?"

"Aye," he mumbled, struggling to his feet. He felt hands steady him as he stood warily, facing Norrington. "I don't know what that was…"

You know what it was, Jack Sparrow.

Bloody hell! He exclaimed, gritting his teeth. Since when does my brain talk back to me?

"What was the problem?"

Jack shook his head, then replied, "A terrible pain in my chest…nothing of importance," he added quickly upon seeing the inquiring look of the commodore.

"A severe pain such as that should not be taken lightly," he responded slowly, narrowing his eyes in thought. "Come to my quarters and have a rest." He ordered the rest of the crew to continue masting, then led Jack into the captains lodgings and closed the door behind them.

"Sit," he gestured, and Jack did as he was told, feeling the pressure in his chest ease. Silence ensued, and Norrington stood behind his desk, as if searching for the right words. Then he asked, "What are you hiding from me?"

"Sorry?" Jack asked, looking the commodore straight in the eyes.

"You heard me plain and clear. What are you hiding from me, Jack Sparrow?"

The pirate knew he had to tell Norrington…it would only be a matter of time before he found out anyway. Jack stood up straight, the usual mysterious twinkle gone from his eyes, his usual drunken swarthiness absent. He opened his mouth to speak –

BAM.

The ship pitched and rolled so violently  that Jack was thrown from his secure pirate-footing across the room, and slammed into the hull of the ship. He groaned in pain as he felt a cut above his eye split open, spilling blood over his face. He stood up too quickly and fell backwards again as the ship rolled viciously towards the other side, throwing him against an upturned chair. He smacked the back of his head against it and felt a bump start to rise. The throbbing in his head increasing, he called, "Commodore? Commodore!"

There was no answer. As he attempted, once again, to stand up to find Norrington, another huge wave struck against the ship again, throwing him against the door face first. He struck hard and saw stars before his eyes as he fell backwards onto the floor again. He felt his face and was shocked to discover that he was, indeed bleeding.

How in the blazes am I bleeding? he wondered to himself, alarmed. If I'm bleeding, then I'm alive…

WILL.

The ship turned violently again, and Jack rolled across the cabin, smacking into the commodore's heavy, wooden desk. He felt his shoulder snap and a sharp pain travel down his arm, but took no notice as he was thrown across the cabin again.

But Will's not the last of Bill's bloodline! Elizabeth is pregnant…

Is she, Jack?

He heard the voice in his head again but had no time to contemplate its origins as he laid his eyes upon an unconscious Norrington, spread eagled, a gash across his forehead bleeding profusely. He hurried over towards the commodore when the ship rolled again, keeping him from reaching Norrington by heaving him against the side of the cabin again.

Panting in desperation and overall confusion he struggled to stand up when suddenly the ship rolled, pitched, and then turned completely over, capsizing. Jack was thrown once more and felt his cut sting as the salt water rushed in, filling the room at an alarmingly fast rate.

"Commodore! Commodore!" he roared against the rushing water and huge waves still pounding the HMS Conquest. There was no answer.

He pushed aside drawers and furniture, searching frantically for Norrington. He suddenly spotted him, floating face-up, clearly unconscious. Jack heard another wave approaching and knew this one was huge; he could tell by the way the water in the cabin receded all to one side…the wave was a tidal wave, and would send them all to a watery grave if they stayed in the ship any longer.

Jack reached for Norrington, grabbed him by the collar, and dragged him towards the front of the cabin. The door wouldn't open, no matter how hard Jack pushed against it. He screamed in aggravation, but knew it was too late: the wave was upon them.

With a roaring that filled his ears, a rush of water, and a force that smacked against him rendering him useless, Jack wondered, for the first time, what hell was really like.

~*~

See you next chapter.