(Disclaimer: Pintel and Ragetti aren't mine.)

Just the Way it Should Be

Pintel awoke to serenity.

He paused for a second to let the fuzziness leave his eyes, then lifted his head and glanced oddly around, trying to take in his new situation. He was sitting up against the rail at the ship's bow, alongside a groggy Jiminy and a third crewman who hadn't come to yet; the crew must have put all the unconscious men here for safe keeping. Pintel could see the rest of the group ahead of him on deck then, all absorbed in a lifeless array of tasks—bandaging wounds, picking through debris, fixing the rigging. To his surprise, the half-coherent buccaneer didn't see a single person fighting anymore. Realizing this, he snapped his head over to the right and stopped. The Vasudeva's Folly was gone.

No more battle. It was all over. Pintel blinked hazily. What'd happened? Where were the other pirates? Where was Scarborough? There was no sign of the enemy ship anywhere. After blacking out in the ghastliest moment of the fray, suddenly finding himself in this peaceful aftermath made the Scotsman's disappearance seem like nothing short of sorcery to Pintel. However, the stocky pirate would later learn that Wood had played a major part in the issue. It was the young Irishman who'd encountered the dreaded captain after swinging on board his ship, and it was that same young man who'd been forced to fight him when no help came afterwards. In the end, Wood and Scarborough's daunting duel had led them to the edge of the vessel, where Nequom had then aimed one of the Urchin's cannons and fired, killing the demonic figure in an instant. Apparently, Scarborough's own forthcomings had done him no good as well.

For now though, Pintel knew nothing. The initial pain from the poker's blow was gone, but his head still ached unpleasantly and sported a small lump from the mishap. His thoughts were swimming in a confused jumble, and for a moment, the events leading up to his blackout were forgotten.

And then all of a sudden, they came back.

"Ragetti!"

Pintel tipped forward, breaking his fall just in time and stumbling to his feet. Where was the boy? Where was Ragetti? He'd been lying by the mast the last time the older man had seen him, right underneath the ratlines in a pool of blood… Was he still there? Pintel didn't dare to answer the question in his head, and simply staggered over to the towering mast instead. When he got there, he stopped dead in his tracks.

The kid was gone. Disappeared. Pintel stared down at the deck in shock. There was the blood, festering and reeking in a massive, stagnant puddle, but with no Ragetti in sight. At first, this discovery left the worried pirate stunned, but his frozen mind slowly formed a sickening possibility. The boy had been completely motionless, dead motionless, and Pintel knew what happened to men who died at sea…

He shuddered and forced the thought away, grimly tearing his eyes from the slimy red pool. But as he did so, another, much smaller patch of blood suddenly caught his eye nearby, and he stopped. It was a handprint. And it was far too small to be an adult's.

Pintel dropped to one knee and studied the mark urgently. A second of confusion passed, then he cautiously looked up to stare forward. Sure enough, he spotted another handprint just ahead of the first, and beyond that one, he noticed still a third and a fourth. The sight of the tracks made his grimy face light up anxiously, and without another thought, he scurried after them like a nervous crab.

It was a trail. A bloody trail of palms that that led away from the mast and towards the stern, growing thicker and filthier as it went on. Pintel was practically on all fours by now, and the only thing going through his mind in that single agonizing moment was the fear of what he might find at the end of the foul red path.

Finally, he lifted his wrinkled brow once again to see for himself. The blood led straight back, all the way to the stern of the Urchin, where it then turned and disappeared under one of the staircases leading up to the quarterdeck. Pintel felt a choking lump rise sluggishly in his throat as this registered. Then he swallowed it back as best as he could, dragged himself across the final barrier of space, and hesitantly stooped down to peer inside the dimly lit alcove.

At the sound of his breathing, Ragetti inched further away from the opening and drew his legs tighter against his chest.

An immense wave of relief hit Pintel just then, and he exhaled shakily as his heavy shoulders sagged. The kid was alright.

"I oughtta' string you out for the sharks, you mangy little runt," he scolded, still breathless.

The harshness in his voice made Ragetti shrink even tighter into a whimpering ball, and Pintel quickly raised a reassuring hand. "I—I don't mean that. Just…just come out from under there."

But the lad didn't move.

"Look, there's no more point in yeh hidin'," Pintel stated gruffly. "The whole bloody crew knows you're 'ere now."

But Ragetti ignored him, remaining huddled in the shadows with his hands over his face.

Pintel noticed a trickle of blood running between two of the boy's fingers then, and thought of the sticky red trail that he'd followed to find him in the first place.

"Y'got an injury there?" he asked indifferently. "Here, lemme sees it."

As he reached out slightly to motion the youngster closer, Ragetti suddenly sparked to life and scrambled back further, sitting up with his back against the splintery opposite wall.

Pintel sighed impatiently, slouching and rolling his eyes. The stupid little mongrel. Making all this fuss over a miserable cut. He leaned closer, edging his broad shoulders through the tight entrance. "I said lemme see it. Put'cher 'ands down."

When Ragetti refused to comply, Pintel inched closer and reached out to make him. Still whimpering, the youngster jerked away again, only making the other even angrier in his attempts.

"Turn this way. Come on, just move your—oh, for the devil's sake, lemme sees it!" the older man growled. His patience at its end, Pintel finally reached forward with both hands, grabbing a fistful of Ragetti's dirty blonde hair with one and yanking the boy's hands away with the other.

And then everything stopped.

Pintel stared, his eyes horror-struck. And Ragetti returned the look with a frightened, infinitely heart-rending gaze.

But he only stared back at his captor with a single eye.

Blood covered the entire side of the boy's face, streaming out from the now empty socket where his right eye had once been. The eye itself had been completely torn free, exposing the fleshy bone behind it.

Stunned, Pintel finally released his hold on the poor lad and leaned back heavily. He never took his eyes off of the hideous wound though, and Ragetti made no attempt to cover it up again. A dreary understanding had been reached between them.

The stare-down continued for nearly a minute, until Pintel clenched his jaw tightly shut and briefly lowered his gaze. In turn, Ragetti placed his right hand back over the bloody mess and sniffled pathetically. He looked like a dog that'd been kicked too many times, so wary and sad, and Pintel felt sick as the boy sent him a glance suggesting that the scruffy pirate was wearing iron boots.

Without a word, he climbed to his feet and motioned for the lanky youth to follow him away from the scene. Ragetti swallowed hard but obeyed, reluctantly crawling out from his makeshift-hiding place and rising unsteadily to his feet. Pintel flinched slightly as one of the blood-caked hands latched onto his sleeve then, but he made no attempt to pull the lad off; he was too afraid to touch him now. Lifting his head glumly, the stocky man lifted a stubborn foot and walked stiffly forward.

It was a long journey to the crew's quarters, and the prying stares of the other crewmen made it feel even longer. Ragetti inched closer to his companion as they walked, clamping his free hand firmly over his bare socket all the while. Pintel just stared forward and tried to ignore the holes that his former comrades' gazes were burning through him. The shameful march went on for two unbearable minutes, then abruptly ended when the despondent pair disappeared below deck.

Pintel led Ragetti over to his hammock and listlessly motioned for the boy to take a seat in it. His charge fearfully cooperated, shuddering as he brought his other bony hand over to help cover the bleeding again. After an indecisive pause, the pirate gathered his nerves and carefully sat down beside him.

"'Ere…" Pintel murmured. He glanced briefly around for a suitable bandage, then finally reached down and ripped a piece of cloth from the hem of his shirt. Ragetti quietly accepted the strip and stuffed it inside his socket, trying to absorb the blood before it came out. He didn't dare look at the older man.

Pintel, however, couldn't stop watching the miserable child, and his throat tightened horrendously. How could he have done this? How could he have brought Ragetti onto this ship and let this terrible thing happen? Was half this boy's sight really the price he'd had to pay to prove that he, Robert Pintel, had made one better choice than his lousy, good-for-nothing sister?

Suddenly, for the first time in his wretched, dishonest life, Pintel felt the stinging tightness in his chest and temples that men called guilt. And for the first time ever, he truly meant his next words.

"Kid, I'm sorry." He was struggling to hold back the anguish that welled inside his throat.

Ragetti looked up at him with a confused expression. "What for?" he asked in a small voice. "You didn't stab me eye out."

"No, I knows that," Pintel said quickly. "I knows. It's just that… I didn't stop that other fellow from doin' it, yeh know?"

Ragetti wasn't understanding. "But your arm was stuck."

"I'm just sayin'—" Pintel started, but his impatience suddenly died away in mid-sentence. He didn't even have the energy to yell at the lad anymore. In a calmer voice, he went on.

"I'm just sayin', I was there. That's all. I was there, I was the one fightin' wif 'im, I was the one that got in a tight spot…" He shook his head sadly. "This shouldn't've 'appened."

He had to look away. He just had to. Playing the scene over again in his head, seeing the boy flailing about on the other pirate's back, hearing that horrible scream…Pintel just couldn't bring himself to stare at the trembling figure beside him with both eyes. The clumsy pirate had walked away from his own battle perfectly intact and unharmed, and he was utterly ashamed of it.

Weariness gripped him as he tore his sight away from Ragetti. The youth, however, continued to stare timidly up at the older man.

Pintel shook his head again as he focused on the floor. "That's all," he repeated. "It ain't your fault, I ain't mad at yeh. …I'll jus' try 'arder to stay on my feet next time."

He met that fearful gaze once more, very briefly, then stood up and made his way to the stairs.

Ragetti watched him leaving. "Where y'goin'?" he called out hesitantly.

"Just—" Pintel spun around with his hands raised anxiously. "…Stay 'ere, alright? I 'ave to go back up. Just stay 'ere."

He turned and left then. Ragetti listened to the creaking of heavy boots on the steps until the sound died away, and then the boy realized just how cold he was. He was in pain, unimaginable pain, and he was completely alone once more.

Ragetti felt another shiver ripple his rail-thin body then, and with nothing else left to do, he curled himself into a dejected ball and lay down in the hammock, just trying to ignore the blood that wouldn't stop seeping from his eye socket.

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