Chapter 2

It wasn't as easy a prospect as he'd made it sound. Utterly ransacked, deathly quiet except for the crackling of dwindling flames, the village appeared to have lost the interest of Hook's crew. The pirates were likely all back aboard the ship, taking their ease and celebrating the victory, unknowingly leaving their wounded captain to the dubious protection and assistance provided by Smee.

The duo rounded the corner one scant block from the dwelling, both thanking the fates the street was clear - for now. One shaky step down the cobblestones and Hook suddenly lurched sideways, his fall broken by an unfortunate collision between the nearest wall and his injured shoulder. He released a grunt of agony and struggled to keep to his feet, eventually ending with his upper back contacting the rough wood as he shuddered through his anguish.

Smee was at his side in an instant, apprehension apparent on his features. He gently grasped the prized book.

"Let me take this for you, sir," Smee offered as he wiggled the tome from its position trapped between brace and torso. Hook cursed when the movement jostled his shoulder.

"Bloody hell," he moaned, unable to harass or even reprimand his first mate for the pain he was causing. Smee tucked the bloodstained book into his satchel, turning his attention to Hook's shoulder. The bandage was soaked through; blood ran in crimson rivulets down the captain's vest and decorated the cobblestones at his feet.

"We… may need to get you help here in the village," Smee stammered shakily. "I'm not sure you'll make it to the ship."

"Your worst idea yet," wheezed Hook. He pressed his hand to his shoulder, closed his eyes, and let his head drop back against the wall. His left arm had gone almost entirely numb by that point. But the shoulder… well, the shoulder howled with even the slightest twitch of a muscle.

Smee pulled out another bandage and moved Hook's hand aside to press it on top of the red cloth already there. Hook grimaced at the contact.

"If we can at least find the surgeon's place of business, he'd have the tools for me to stop the bleeding."

"Aye, and probably a dozen guards as well, as he tends to their wounded. We'd not get within ten meters of the place."

Smee began to wind the last of his bandages tightly around the new padding, causing a weak cry of pain from Hook when he had to lift the arm slightly to wrap beneath it. Pausing in his work, Smee passed his canteen of water to his captain. Hook could barely manage to grasp the item.

"Drink it," Smee ordered. "All of it."

The injured pirate struggled to obey through his labored breaths, pausing once to grumble,

"What kind of pirate carries water into a pillaging?"

"One that's currently trying to save his captain's life," Smee shot back, stress and anxiety inspiring a sharp tongue. Hook choked down the rest of the water just as Smee tied a firm knot on the new bandage. The captain grimaced again and then plastered on a brave face, his eyes just slightly unfocused.

"Stow the mother hen act. I can make it; easily."

Hook pushed off the wall and immediately listed so badly to the side that he ended up falling heavily to the ground; unable to catch himself completely, his right arm only slowed his progress before he landed flat on his face.

Both pirates swore colorfully. Hook's pain had ratcheted impossibly higher, and he took a moment to hiss quickly through his teeth, eyes watering. Smee dropped to his knees next to the captain.

"Easy, huh?" he asked cynically. Hook choked back his anguish and snarled,

"Watch it, mate."

He made a weak attempt to raise himself to his knees, then flopped back down with a groan, spent. Smee gripped his good shoulder in an attempt to coax him up.

"Just need a moment…" Hook mumbled, eyes closed.

"We can't stay here, sir," Smee insisted. "The next village will have seen the smoke. Reinforcements could be here at any time."

As if to prove him correct, they both heard heavy footfalls approaching from around the corner. Panicked, Smee practically dragged Hook up to his knees. Hook moaned but unsheathed his cutlass, gripping as tightly as he could manage. Smee fumbled with his dagger, quaking with fright. Hook forced himself to his feet; he only managed to remain upright when Smee held a steadying hand against his back. The captain cursed in frustration as Smee looked back the way they'd come.

"Retreat?"

Listening intently, Hook shook his head, nearly losing his balance again as a result. "No time. And it's only one."

They waited a tense moment more, then both wilted in relief when a familiar figure rounded the corner.

"Starkey!" exclaimed Smee. "Thank Heavens it's only you."

Smee sheathed his dagger as the bosun jogged closer. Hook raised an eyebrow in a shadowy parody of his normal cocky attitude.

"What brings you our way, mate?" the captain inquired hoarsely. Starkey's gaze jumped from Hook's wound to Smee's anxious face and up to meet Hook's eyes.

"Figured I ought to see what's keeping you, sir," Starkey responded carefully. "The crew's keen to put out to sea, with the nearby villages and all."

"How'd we make out?" Hook wondered with false cheer; Smee couldn't believe the time he was willing to waste to protect his image.

"Grand 'aul, Cap'n. You'll be pleased." Starkey again studied Hook's bandaged shoulder. "All right there, sir?"

"Fine, mate," Hook scoffed, but Smee shook his head.

"No, he's not; he can hardly keep his feet anymore. Have you seen the village healer anywhere?"

Starkey looked taken aback for an instant before nodding. Over Hook's feeble protests, he pointed in the opposite direction from the ship. "Few blocks thataway. Last I saw, the man still drew breath, though that could well 'ave changed since then."

"All I need are his supplies," Smee retorted.

"Got any rum, mate?" Hook interrupted, realizing he was about to get outvoted. Starkey produced a flask, which Hook accepted with a trembling, blood-coated hand.

"Who was it bested you, Cap'n? Blaggard must have been an 'ell of a swordsman."

"Bloody sorcery, more like," Hook corrected untruthfully, taking a long pull from the flask. He didn't bother to correct the assumption that his attacker was dead. To admit otherwise would imply mercy, and that wasn't what happened. Not really. Hook wasn't sure what it was, but it certainly wasn't mercy.

Meanwhile, behind his back, Smee signalled frantically at Starkey to hurry it up. The larger man rolled his eyes and then moved closer, cautious of wounding his captain's carefully-cultivated pride.

"Need an 'and, sir?" winked Starkey. Hook smirked.

"Kind of you to notice."

The familiar cruel joke made it somehow okay for Hook to accept help. Starkey stepped even closer and wormed his way under Hook's right arm. Even as he leaned heavily on his bosun, the captain made the obligatory disdainful protest.

"Bloody hell, mate; you know I despise coddling."

"Aye, so you do."

Starkey made no apology, instead taking a slow step forward and observing Hook as he stumbled along with him. Smee snatched the flask from Hook to afford him a better grip on Starkey's arm, and Hook growled his displeasure.

"I'm going to need that, Smee."

"You probably will, but right now the only thing that would happen would be a waste of good rum all down your front."

Hook scowled, even though he knew Smee was right.

"I'll keep it safe for you," Smee promised, more gently.

Just then, Hook stumbled on a protruding stone, winced, and was forced to concentrate on his feet. The pitching of the earth's surface was causing Hook's stomach to rebel, his eyes fluttering closed every so often; snapping open again when he felt his head begin to loll forward. Cold sweat prickled his face, and he felt as if he were slowly suffocating - his heart and lungs working overtime, yet unable to propel enough oxygen through his heavy limbs. He could hear a whispered conversation taking place between Smee and Starkey, but despite their proximity, he couldn't make out one word through the roaring in his ears. A small spike of dread snaked its way up his spine.

Hook didn't fear death. He would welcome it, if it meant the Dark One would cease to be. But to go now, before his chance at vengeance… when he'd just found such a vital clue…

...Would actually be right in line with all of the other misfortunes plaguing his seemingly cursed life.

Hook released a growl of frustration, which Starkey misinterpreted as pain. The bosun shifted his grasp, murmuring,

"Almost there, Cap." Starkey stared down the street ahead of them, adding under his breath, "Think it's this'un…"

Smee had his dagger out again, recognizing that he was their first line of defense in case of ambush. Hook wouldn't be much help, and it would take Starkey precious seconds to extricate himself and draw his own weapon. Thankfully, they had yet to encounter anyone in the desolate streets of the devastated village. But that was about to change.

They could hear raised voices in the distance. Not anger: fear, pain. Grief. Starkey glanced over at Smee, whose determined mask shivered at the edges. At the next corner, Starkey slowed, Hook staggering to a stop with him.

"Wait 'ere," commanded the bosun, and he ducked out from under Hook's arm. Smee helped settle the captain against the wall with cutlass in hand, his knees desperately locked in the struggle not to collapse. As Smee backed away, he held up his hands, as if trying to support Hook from a distance. Hook gave a jerky, impatient nod, indicating he was all right for now. Then both Smee and Starkey charged around the corner.

Trembling with exhaustion and pain, Hook listened to the clash of steel as his own weapon sank lower and lower until the point rested on the ground. He'd be useless if anyone accosted him at that moment. Still, he kept a wary eye out for approaching villagers. Maybe the adrenaline of the moment would give him strength, if it came to that.

A short while later - though still too long considering Hook's rapidly fading power to stand - his two crew members returned, panting and sweating, but apparently victorious. Hook let his cutlass clang to the cobblestones and instead slapped his hand against the wall. It wasn't much help. Smee clicked his tongue as he retrieved the weapon; Starkey resumed his place at Hook's side.

The pirate captain all but collapsed against his bosun, uncharacteristically silent. Wordlessly, the trio rounded the bend, picked their way past the bodies of several villagers, and headed for a wide-open door halfway down the street. The occasional moan still wafted out into the night air, accompanied by the distinct odors of wounded flesh and healer's poultices.

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AN: Starkey is the bosun in this story; I don't know if there's any canon list of ranks aboard the Jolly Roger, apart from Smee being the first mate. It's just easier to keep track of who's who if they have a distinct rank, so I don't have to use their name every single time.