Disclamer: I don't own any of the people that you recognize. If they were all my own people, this wouldn't be fanfiction. I own the people that you don't, but I don't really care. They do what they want. They all do.

Jack Sparrow watched the ship crawl slowly over the vast stretch of endless ocean. Waves crashed lightly against the sides of the hull, and Jack lounged uncomfortably in the prison below deck. The ship was a large one, topped with three billowing white sails that danced over the gleaming rails. In contrast with the ship, the crew were greasy, dirty men, with long knotted hair hanging limply from their heads like rotting strands of seaweed. It had been six days since he had been captured, but so far, he couldn't tell where they were going. He could hear muffled voices coming from above him, but no matter how he strained to listen, he could hear nothing. It was rare that anyone should come down to see the pirate captain staring through the iron bars, but at that moment, Jack heard heavy footsteps working their way toward him. A wooden cup was thrust into his hand, and water splashed over the sides. Jack licked it from his grimy hand, wincing as his chapped lips cracked. He could taste blood. The water was fresh, and as clean as one could expect on a pirate ship.

"Thank you." Jack croaked, trying to find the strength to say something amusing, but his mind came up short. "What do I owe the pleasure of yer visit to?" He asked, drinking the rest of the water quickly. The man grunted, hatred flashing in his dark eyes.

"Yer worth money, Sparrow." He growled. "Alive. But nobody said how alive you have to be." His fist collided into Jack's stomach, making the imprisoned man gasp for air as he writhed on the floor. He retched, but nothing came out; there had been nothing in his stomach to begin with. The man laughed, leaving Jack doubled over on the grimy floor as he walked back up to the deck.

Jack sat up, clutching his stomach. So that was what they wanted. A reward. If he hadn't been in so much pain, Jack could have laughed. The rocking of the ship made his normally strong stomach churn, and as he curled up into the fetal position in the corner of the cell, his mind floated back to his capture.

The morning had dawned red, and Jack knew that blood would be shed that day. He stood on the deck, shouting orders to the crew, only half expecting them to get done. The Pearl was in top condition since he had taken over the wheel, and he looked up at the mended black sails and smiled. His thoughts were interrupted by a shout from the crow's nest.

"Captain, Sails ahead!"

Jack looked out to the horizon, and sure enough, a set of white sails cut through the air as the ship sailed toward him. Jack watched as the distance between his, and the other ship shrank quickly. He pulled himself from his daze, and shouted "Hoist the sails! Quickly! Man The decks! We'll outrun this devil. Raise our flag!" The black, grinning skull and crossbones flew upward, dancing above the highest mast, as Jack's orders were obeyed. Jack whispered a silent plea, before he took the large, wooden steering wheel in his hand, and steered The Pearl thorough the choppy water. He picked up his spyglass and gazed onto the other ship, noticing a similar pirate flag flying from above the other ship. Jack called out for the oars, but no matter how fast the Pearl went, the ship continued to gain on them.

"They've caught our wind." Jack muttered. "Bloody pirates. This is impossible, we're the fastest ship in the Caribbean." But there was nothing that the captain could do except watch the ship grow closer and closer, until soon the ships had pulled up next to each other, and the cannons began to fire. Jack retaliated, and splinters of wood was flying from both ships. A splinter crashed into Jack's upper thigh and stuck. The pain was immense, but Jack had felt worse. Blood poured freely, staining the dirty brown pants that Jack had always worn. He was unaware of the figure standing behind him, until Anamaria spoke

"Cap'n, yer hurt. Are you okay?" Jack winced and nodded, but as the blood kept flowing, his head began to spin, and the next thing he knew, Jack had blacked out, one hand still clutching the wheel of his beloved Pearl. When he came to, Jack was in the prison. His leg had been bandaged, but crudely, and he could tell that it would become infected, unless it was cleaned properly. He hoped that he would be sold soon, before he would have to lose his leg. He didn't know what had happened to his crew, or to his ship. He was bruised, and he was fairly certain that at least one of his ribs had been broken. He was dehydrated, and a constant pain lanced through his head, but at least he was alive.