Author's Note: I know, I know, this stupid little chapter took forever to get up. And, once again, nothing happens. I'm really sorry, and I don't even have a good excuse. Truth is, I'd kinda given up on this story for a while, so I had to write something to get back in the groove. Hopefully after this, I can get back to the point.
Sorry about this, just please stick with me!!
CHAPTER 11 – IT'LL BE FUN!
The heavy door slammed shut, leaving Will alone to tend to Jack. Lange had left a small torch with them this time. "At least we have that to be thankful for," Will said, more to himself than the unconscious Jack.
He dragged himself to the pirate's side and tried to decide what to do with him. He had been burned rather brutally, that much was obvious. Working in a blacksmith's shop for years had given Will his fair share of burns, albeit none this severe. He knew he needed cold water and gauze to ease the pain and prevent infection, neither of which was to be found in their little prison. Jack had quickly finished off all the rum they had been given with their pathetic meals, and the rancid water gathering in the corners of the dank cell would probably just make any infection worse.
Will sighed. "I guess we'll just have to make do," he muttered, taking off his dirty white shirt. He knew he'd have to tear it into shreds to wrap Jack's chest, but he wasn't happy about it.
"You know who gave me this shirt, Jack? My wife. My beautiful, brilliant, perfect wife, who I should be home with right now," he complained as he destroyed the once-beautiful gift. "I should be snuggled up with her in our cozy little house in front of a warm fire, but NO! I have to be here with YOU! I'm bruised, I'm sore, I'm covered in blood, and I feel like I've been beaten with a sledgehammer – which actually isn't that far off if you consider that I was being pummeled by bloody giants!
"And it's all your fault! 'You need a vacation, whelp,' you said. 'Come to Tortuga with me,' you said. 'It'll be fun!' you said. Now, I know you and I have different definitions of 'fun', but this is not fun! Any way you slice it, this is not fun." Will finished tearing the shirt and looked at Jack. "I blame you."
He stopped ranting as he wrapped the makeshift bandages around the pirate's torso, careful not to make them too tight. Jack winced and whimpered softly in a very unpirate-like fashion as the cloth touched his burnt flesh, but he remained unconscious.
Will gently rubbed the smeared kohl away from his eyes and sat back to studied his friend. He realized he couldn't really be mad at Jack, not for long, anyhow. In the dim light radiating from the torch, he looked rather innocent; not very much like a notorious pirate captain. If it hadn't been for his ragged breathing, he would've seemed deceptively peaceful, relaxed almost. He reminded Will of a sick child, and the blacksmith had to fight the sudden urge to comfort him.
Will jumped to his feet and began pacing the small cell, talking to himself to occupy his wandering mind. "He put you here, remember, Will? That is not a sick child lying there, that is a pirate who pillages and plunders and drinks far too much rum! He's tough, he'll be fine. Stop fretting over him and be mad! You're supposed to be mad at him!"
Glancing back at Jack, Will could almost hear his slurred voice. "Ya know, it's not a good sign to be talkin' to yerself, whelp. Too much time in the sun. Maybe you should start wearing hats. I'll even buy ya one! A big one!"
Will stood over Jack and squinted down at him, wondering if he had really spoken or if he had imagined it. Sadly, the pirate was still unconscious. "Maybe I really am losing it," he muttered. "Probably is too much sun. Or maybe too much Jack."
He sunk to the floor and held his head in his hands. There was nothing more he could do for Jack for the time being, and he was in pain and utterly exhausted. He curled up near the pirate and fell asleep in minutes.
Jack felt nothing. There was no pain, no sensations of any kind. He was numb. A second ago, his world had been dark. Now it was filled with a familiar image.
He was in William Turner's blacksmith shop, sitting atop a very bitter donkey. "You need a vacation, whelp! You work hard all day, toiling away in this pit, being all respectable, only to go home and be nagged all night by that pretty young wife of yours. Come to Tortuga with me!" It was funny, he thought, that he could hear himself speaking the familiar words but heard Will's voice echoing them at the same time.
"I have work to do here, Jack. I just don't have time to go running off to Tortuga."
"Oh, trust me, Will, you need this. Have I ever given you reason not to trust me? It'll be fun!"
As the comforting image faded and an intense pain began to creep up on Jack, he had the sudden notion that he had been drastically wrong.
Thanks to everyone who's reviewed this thing so far! And to everyone who actually sat through this pointless chapter. I'll try to get more up soon, as long as people are still interested.