The brig of the Flying Dutchman was half under water. The wood was warped and swollen, the bars rusted and barnacle-encrusted. Yet both held strong despite Will's best attempts to free himself.

He was still not entirely certain how he had ended up back on the ship in the first place. The last he remembered was being on a beach with Jack, utterly exhausted and water-logged, but none the worse for wear. Desperate as he was to free himself, Will was likewise concerned for Jack who was no longer with him. After all, Jack was the most likely candidate to be locked up in the Flying Dutchman's brig.

Unless Davy Jones had killed him.

Jack's death was not something Will particularly wanted to contemplate. Jack had been alive the last time Will had seen him and Will hoped that he remained so.

"You're a lucky one, whelp."

Will flinched at the name even though it was not Barbossa's voice that spoke it.

"The captain has plans for you that don't entail becoming a part of the ship."

Will could not see who spoke, but that in itself was not a strange thing. It was entirely possible that the man was already well on his way to becoming a part of the wretched vessel. A fate that Will was desperate to save his father from. He wanted his father to be able to find peace at last.

"What are his plans for me then?" Will said into the darkness, not entirely certain that he would receive a response.

There was a pause during which time the ship gave a mighty groan.

"Bait."

Will snorted mirthlessly as he sloshed about in the small confines of his cell. "Bait? Surely not meant to lure Jack in. The damned pirate already sent me here once to pay his debt. He won't bother to come after me now when he's free and clear."

"He's already on his way."

The words stopped Will in his tracks. He could not fathom the idea that Jack would do anything for him that would put his own life in jeopardy. Jack's first goal was always self-preservation and stepping on board the Flying Dutchman went in direct contradiction of that. It made no sense that Jack would come after him.

"How can Jack get here if that beast of Jones' destroyed the Pearl?"

This time there was no response from whatever section of warped and deformed planking had once been a crewman. Frustrated, Will kicked at the bars and let out a stream of multi-lingual curses he had picked up from ten years of living in a port city and one night of drinking with Jack. All of his cursing and stomping did him no good and only succeeded in making him wetter than he had been to begin with. Though he doubted very much that Jones would send the Flying Dutchman under water while he was on board—there would have been little point in keeping him alive if that was the case –spending so much time in a half-drowned cell could not be good for one's health.

Stopping his pacing, Will leaned against the far wall of his cell, watching for any of Jones' misfit crew. He wasn't entirely convinced that he was to be used as bait, but the possibility remained for him to be used as sport for the crew. Barbossa had threatened as much the year before after he had given himself up to free Elizabeth. Will had been told, in vivid detail, just what could be done to a man without actually killing him. That crew, at least, had been men. Will shuddered to think of what the monster who crewed the Dutchman could come up with. Death could very well be a far preferable fate.

"Jack won't come for ye."

Will looked up, somewhat surprised to see Bootstrap standing on the other side of the bars. He'd expected Jones to keep him and his father apart after what had happened the last time he'd been on board.

"What makes you so sure Jack won't come?" Will asked, keeping himself on the far side of his cell.

"You mean beyond the fact that the Pearl is once again at the bottom of the ocean?" his father chuckled wetly. "Jack will never give up his life for another. If he can't find a way to talk himself out of this mess then he'll run. But no way is he coming for you."

"That's not a very high opinion you have of him considering you once risked your own life to save his," Will pointed out, watching as his father twitched about nervously on the other side of the bars.

Bootstrap paused in his pacing to look at him. "That night was a choice between Jack and Barbossa. For all his faults, Jack is a far better captain than old Hector could ever hope to be. But when it comes to lookin' after his own hide, no one does that quite so well as Jack Sparrow. You should know that well as anyone."

"I'll not deny that Jack's concerns often go no further than himself," Will consented. "But he has saved my life. More than once. And it has not always been to his advantage."

The barnacled pirate nodded his head slowly and turned towards the stairs that led out of the brig. "Then you know a side of Jack Sparrow that I do not."

Will was not entirely sure whether to take comfort from his father's words or not. Simply in terms of time spent together, he and Jack had known each other for barely a fortnight while his father had sailed with Jack for years. Will had vague memories of his father telling him stories of "Mad Jack" when he was a child so the two men had certainly been friends a long while. Bootstrap would certainly be better acquainted with Jack's habits.

It seemed more likely, then, that Jack would not be coming after him.