Disclaimer: Rights to Pirates of The Caribbean, Kim Possible, and every character from these magnificent franchises go to Walt Disney Company. This story and changes I've made to the Curse of The Black Pearl script belong to me solely.

Chapter 8: Rationality and Disbelief.

I'm dead.

That was Ron Stoppable's first initial thought as he finally aroused, groggy and in pain as the throb inside his head beat in time with his heart, like a pounding drum attempting to kill him with every strike. Despite his efforts, Ron kept his eyes shut, trying to filter out the soreness.

And if that was the truth, if he really was dead, then he had certainly not landed himself in Heaven. There was the feeling of terrible heat on his face, the ground was dirt and ash beneath his fingers, the sounds around him were bustled and hardly welcoming, and the rotten smell of death loomed in the air. This was not at all how the priests had described the afterlife.

He feared looking, because just the idea of meeting eyes with some demon, or even the Devil himself, was too much for Ron to bear. Death had terrified him in general, and he wasn't even sure how he died!

What was I doing anyway? He seemed to have earned himself a good case of amnesia from whatever had caused his death. That could explain the headache. Or did this happen to everyone after their death? Did they all just forget everything about their recent lives? Probably made the aftermath a lot easier, no one to miss, no one to worry about while you're gone...

There was suddenly a strange sensation on his face; something moist and rather fuzzy ran across his cheek. The sudden feeling of a short breath froze Ron in an instant. Hellhounds, he kept thinking with paralyzed fear, they'd probably come to eat his soul!

As he braced for his ultimate fate, there was another strange sensation that faced him, and it was above his head this time. There was a pulling and gnawing at the tips of his hair. As if his headache wasn't bad enough, now this thing was just gonna make it worse!

Wait a minute, he suddenly thought in a break between the fear, dogs don't chew like that. Then was then that he realized that the creature (whatever it may be) had breath that stunk of regurgitated grass, like a cow's.

And as if timed by the Gods themselves, there was a loud baaing in Ron's ear. Hardly melodic, but defiantly not the sound of a hellhound.

At once, Ron opened his eyes.

He was beautifully greeted by the bright light of a yellow sun set at high noon and a sea of milky blue skies, both framed by the familiar rooftops of his neighbors and passing faces of busied people, running past him quickly as they set about for their destinations. Home! He was home, in Port Middleton! No death, no hellhounds!

He could've cried with joy, had tears not already come streaming from his eyes due to the gustily smell of the creature that was 'attacking' him, which quickly turned from chewing at his hair (realizing it was not hay), and looked Ron dead in the eyes.

Bleating again, the small horned goat gave the young blacksmith the full extent of his breath before walking off in search of a more edible source. Ron forced back the urge to throw up as he began to gather his thoughts.

Okay, he was on the ground in the middle of town with a massive headache, and a goat. He was pretty sure he'd had nothing to drink the night before, but something had happened that had ended him up here. He hoped he hadn't worried anybody in his absence, or done anything he might have regretted in his better mind.

But try as Ron might, he couldn't seem to will a single memory of the events of yesterday.

"'Eh buddy! You okay? You've been layin' there all night!" the unfamiliar voice coaxed Ron to sit up and locate the source of the almost concerned words.

His range of vision fell on a gangly old sailor sitting on a barrel not but three feet away with a flagon of rum in his hand, his gray hair twisted like brambles, his clothes weather beaten and tattered, and his face dark red with sun burn. It took Ron a moment to recognize a few stray cuts across his cheeks and chest, the matching tears in his shirt were stained with blood.

Ron rubbed his head again, massaging the spot where it hurt most. There was a prominent and sore lump where his fingers touched and he winced in pain. The old sailor hoarsely laughed at the sight.

"I imagine that smarts. Great blighter conked you right on the noggin', he did. Bloody unfair fight too, seein' as you had your back turned, mate."

Even without the peppering of slang, Ron had no idea what the man was talking about. But from what he made out, he had been attacked and knocked out from the back by somebody. Maybe it was best to ask for more information.

"Yeah, hey, um… you didn't happen to see what happened last night, because I don't have a clue," the blacksmith asked awkwardly as he propped himself up on one knee and began standing.

The sailor seemed shocked, but quickly smiled again. For the first time, Ron noticed he was missing most of his teeth. "Forgot a little, did ya? Well, here's a recap. Pirates tried to ransack the town, we all teamed up to try and stop 'em, you got whacked on the head, and we scared those nasty thieves outta town!" He let out a celebratory holler at this and took a long swig from his flagon.

Ron couldn't help but smile as his memories returned. That was right, there was pirate invasion, and he had helped fend them off… well, until he was put out cold. At least the town wasn't destroyed, and those men were gone, probably for good! It almost made him want to take a long drink of rum himself.

"Yep, the day was ours," continued the sailor in a more slurred speech pattern as he finally lowered the flagon. "Too bad we lost a couple men in the battle."

"Oh man, I'm sorry to hear that," Ron said with a look of sympathy in his eyes.

The sailor waved passively, still smiling. The drink was obviously getting at him. "Oh, it's no biggie! I mean, not as bad as the Governor's loss anyway!" He was almost to the point of laughter, but now Ron was concerned. That was his best friend's father he was talking about!

"What happened with Governor Possible?"

The sailor hiccupped several times before answering. "Not the Governor, his daughter!" Another hiccup and he smiled. "They're sayin' she got taken by the pirates." His last word was gargled as he drowned himself in another swig of rum, but Ron heard everything with perfect clarity as the last of his memories flooded back.

"She was taken by…" he muttered, every inch of his body shaking suddenly. He looked to the skies with fear.

"Kimberly!"

As a great man would say, years from now, in a very young and war-raging America, "there are no sure things in life except for death and taxes." This statement holds a valued truth, but is also incomplete. It should say, "There are no sure things in life except for death, taxes, and irony."

At least, that's how Kimberly Possible would've said it as she slumped in a gold decorated, purple velvet throne, her skirts draped over the arm of the chair and her eyes heavy as she drifted in and out of sleep. She hadn't rested, but her nerves and distrust of this ship had kept her awake for the most part.

She looked awful, her red hair was massively tangled, and her nightdress was dirty from the journey here. Here, locked inside the treasure hold of the Black Pearl, with all her family heirlooms and neighbors' various items, tricked by her own good will into being held prisoner by the manic Captain Barbossa and his equally insane crew, forced to face a no doubt gruesome fate.

What would they do with her? Force her to become a servant on the ship? Sell her into slavery? Use her as ransom to barter Port Middleton from her father? Or would they just kill her as soon as they could?

Her worries, and nap, was suddenly interrupted by the room's double doors opening. Her eyes shot open and she swung to her feet, forcing the sleep from her expression and trading it for a far more serious look. Defenselessness doesn't count for anything on a pirate ship, she thought.

From behind the opened door, a young man slipped into the room. She hadn't seen this member of the chew thus far. He was tall, with black hair that was held in a tight braid, and paled skin, an odd trait to find on a pirate, as most were tan from their days at sea. His clothes were mismatched and patched up with scrapes of brown, black, and green fabric.

But when he turned around, something threw Kimberly off, even more than his skin tone. And she wasn't sure what, or why, but something wasn't right about him. He didn't look like an actual… man to her, much less a seafaring pirate. Crewmembers of any ship were often muscular and large, but this one… he was as thin and bony as she was. That made little sense; a boy of his age should be much bigger, especially considering his choice of profession.

"Alright," said the young man, and even his voice didn't sound right to Kimberly, even with the mild British accent he seemed to have, "do you want this breakfast, or have women started starving themselves in Port Middleton now?"

It was only then that the young redhead noticed the plate of food held in his hands. There was a fresh apple, a few slices of bread, and what Kimberly could only assume was some sort of oatmeal.

She also noted that she had not eaten since the night before, and that already felt like a long time ago. His snide comment had put her temper, and hunger, on thin ice, but she hardly trusted these men yet, much less trusted that nasty food they were trying to feed her.

She crossed her arms over her chest and stuck out her chin with arrogance. "No thank you, I'm not hungry."

Just then, her stomach gave a profound grumble. The young pirate smirked at her, causing Kimberly to bite her lip tightly.

He laughed maliciously. "Typical aristocratic behavior, you're really all the same!"

"No we're not!" Kimberly snapped. "I just refuse to eat such- wait…" she stopped. All of his words had just sunk in. "What did you just call me?"

He smirked again, placing the plate on a nearby table. "You heard me. I saw you last night, and no actual housemaid," he made air quotes with his fingers as he spoke the word 'housemaid', "would seriously act that democratic and pompous, much less a child of Bootstrap Stoppable, which I don't think you are!"

Kimberly's mind buzzed with this new information. Bootstrap, the name she had heard the night before. But now with a full name, and if that was the case, then he must've been… no, she wasn't to reach any conclusions until she knew for sure.

She put her hands on her hips and scoffed. "I'm sorry to say that you're mistaken, my dear sir. I may have a certain refining to my attitude, but I am by no means an aristocrat."

The young pirate glared at her, obviously unconvinced. He twisted his mouth around and narrowed his eyes at her, as if trying to pry into her mind and find the truth.

Again, something made Kimberly question the actual masculinity of this boy. Perhaps something in his green eyes looked far too… femanine to her, and it was buried deep, hidden beneath the years and bitterness, but it was there, whatever it was.

His snide laugh broke the young woman's wonderings suddenly; she shook off her curious expression and broke into a cold glare. He snickered again.

"Well, suit yourself, keep up this charade. But a fair warning; whoever you're covering for is hardly worth the trouble you've gotten yourself into, girl," he spoke with coldness, but honesty, and that sent chills down Kimberly's spine.

She tried to ignore the feeling, and continued her arrogant attitude. "What do you know? You're a pirate." A stupid thing to say, she knew that, but it was her best cover.

A now familiar smirk appeared on the young man's face as he opened the doors again, turning to her one last time. "And that very statement is why I don't think you're related to Bootstrap in the slightest."

Kimberly's eyes widened, now noting what her words had just given away.

"Well, until next time, princess." And with that awful smile on his face, he slipped through the doors, locking them as he left Kimberly in worried silence.

It was very quiet in the Commodore's lavish office, and that made things very unusual and awkward for everyone who had joined Mankey in there to help with plans.

Especially for Governor James Possible, the poor man who was suffering from lack of sleep, as well as horrid worry. After a frightening night of hiding in this very room, he had returned home by the light of dawn, only to find his house in shambles, and the residents, family and servant alike, missing.

In a race of panic back to the battered fort, he ran into what remained of his staff, and thankfully his wife and two sons. They had all run for cover in light of the attack… and then he asked about Kimberly.

Anne, with tears in her eyes, explained that she was supposed to be right behind them, but never showed up when they reached safety. And then she told him about what several townspeople had seen…

And he knew she spoke the truth, his beloved daughter, Kimberly Anne Possible, had been taken by pirates.

Mankey had taken the news with calm and quick action, telling everyone to go to his office and begin finding a solution, but James could tell he was just as worried, if not more. His own wife-to-be, kidnapped on the night of his proposal. The Governor was not sure he could fathom what fear was going on in Mankey's mind, but if it was anything like what he was feeling, it had to be truly sickening.

The young commodore sat at his desk in silence, scanning over a large, yellowed map of the world with his icy eyes as though it was a crystal ball that could tell him Kimberly exact location.

And no one spoke, not Mankey, not James, not the two soldiers, Hector and Martin, who guarded the entrance. It was sheer, uncomfortable silence.

That was, until a familiar blonde burst through the double, mahogany doors, frantic and covered in dirt. He didn't stop until he ran, gut-first, into Mankey's desk. Everyone reeled back in shock, Josh most of all, who jumped back in surprise, standing from his chair.

"Stoppable!" he shouted. "What the Devil are you doing here?"

Ron braced himself against the desk, attempting to catch his breath, as he had run all the way here. Once he had regained some energy, he began explaining himself.

"The pirates… bombs… gold… and Kimberly!" His words were choppy between his heavy breathing, but the group understood where things were going.

"They took her," he said more clearly, "we have to do something!"

Mankey remained steadfast in controlling his emotions. "And we shall, Mister Stoppable! But first we must find these treacherous seadogs…"

"And how long will that take?" Ron interrupted, suddenly sounding more angry than frantic. "By the time you locate the ship, they could be halfway across the Caribbean Sea, and Kimberly could be-"

"Not another word, Ronald!" it was James' turn to interrupt, coming out of his sadden quietness. He approached Ron with toughness in his voice. "We will find my daughter and she will come home safe. Anything is possible!"

"But just standing here won't get us anywhere!" the blacksmith snapped back.

"And I'm not going anywhere until I know what I'm up against, Mister Stoppable!" Mankey continued, seating himself again.

"The Black Pearl."

The words came unexpected and from a previously unheard voice, forcing the three men to stop arguing and look toward the source of the strange words.

Caught in the gaze of the group, Martin gave his brother, Hector, a glare, and the elder of two nervously grinned back. He knew he should've just kept his mouth shut, but Lady Kimberly's life was in danger, and she was always so nice…

Hector coughed awkwardly before continuing. "I heard it from the escaped prisoners while we rounded them up, sir. They said it was the famous Black Pearl that attacked us last night!"

As he finished his explanation, he could see the fear striking through the eyes of the commodore and governor, and the confusion hitting the young blacksmith.

"So, let's go after them!" Ron stated simply.

Mankey looked as though he wanted to smack him. "You don't just go after the Pearl, Stoppable. Now more than ever, we must plan an attack. Going in without one would be suicide!" He suddenly became quiet again, studying the map and tracing the Caribbean Isles with his index finger.

"If only we knew more about her and what her patterns were…" he mumbled, more to himself than anything.

But nevertheless, Hector again had the answer to the commodore's every wondering.

"I'll bet Jack Sparrow could tell you," he stated, almost confidently. "He seemed to know something about the ship! Talked about it to us!"

"Mentioned it, actually," Martin suddenly added with thought.

Normally, a soldier ranked at the same level as Hector and Martin would have been slapped for talking to a commanding officer without being spoken to, but this information proved to be the exception, at least to Ron it was. He turned back to Mankey with a hopeful smile.

"Talk to him, maybe he knows more than he's saying!" As much as Ron despised Sparrow, he cared more about Kimberly's safety at the moment. And if the pirate could help…

But Mankey didn't seem as enthusiastic about the idea. "If Sparrow really was in league with the pirates of the Black Pearl, they would've freed him during the attack," he spoke plainly, as if talking over a cup of tea. "He is still in his cell, ergo, he is not an ally of theirs."

"But-" Ron began, trying to argue the point as best he could, even though he knew he couldn't.

"Enough, Stoppable!" the commodore held up his hand, forcing him to stop. "Now, if you are quite finished, the Governor and I have some important planning to do, one that doesn't involve irrational behavior and stupid decisions!"

Mankey's words cut like a blade, but they spoke the truth. Ron knew in his heart that he could not just go after a pirate ship with no plan, but what then? Every moment he spent arguing with these two was another of Kimberly's time gone, time that could be running out. Although these men had great intentions, they wouldn't be getting very far very fast at this rate.

There was only one option here as Ron could see it, and by far, it was the worst option. But is it meant helping get Kimberly back…

The blacksmith took one final huff, and then strode tightly out of Mankey's office, a determined look in his eye. The commanding men, Josh and James, took one last, sad look at the boy before switching to matters at hand.

As Ron made his way back out onto the fort, his thoughts raced. For the most part, he now had a plan, but he wasn't sure how bright it was, or even if it would actually help. But he trusted the words of the Go brothers, Hector and Martin, and if they were right, then there was only one person in town who could possibly help.

As much as Ron hated to say it, he had to go speak with Jack Sparrow himself.

Thanks to reviewers Darth Comrade, The Real Sidekick, Josh84, Invader Johnny, spedclass, Boris Yeltsin, Arya MageFire, CMY, Ace Ian Combat, snakeboy33, reader, and Silent Amethyst.

Alright, we're back from the dead! Between my recent video making splurge and the Fannie Awards, I was just drained of all writing inspiration. But it's back, in a short chapter, but back, and more kickin' than ever! Expect many updates from me in the coming months, folks!

Also, an extremely fond thank you to those who voted Possibles, not only a finalist in the Fannie Awards, but the top nominee in the first round! Couldn't do this without you guys!

Next Chapter: Deals are made between a boy and a pirate (I still have to come up with a title, so sue me!)