Chapter 3

Smee boldly led the way into the healer's dwelling, with Starkey dragging a barely-lucid Hook immediately behind. Every table, chair, and mattress bore an injured villager - sometimes two - and more rested against walls, in the corners, by the hearth… each clutching their hurts while staring desperately at the lone figure dashing among them. The healer glanced up at the newest arrivals before snarling,

"No way in hell."

He resumed his bandaging without another word. Two less-seriously injured men dragged themselves to their feet, drawing weapons.

"Don't worry about these scum, Titus; we'll deal with them," growled one as they advanced. Starkey hastily cleared a bench of its occupant and dumped his captain there instead. Hook groaned, wincing at the shock to his wound. With both Starkey and Smee now free to engage their attackers, the two villagers hesitated. The bosun took a menacing step forward, cutlass flashing patterns in the lantern light, and the men shrank back, searching desperately for backup among their wounded comrades. None of the others appeared well enough - or, perhaps, willing enough - to join them.

Haughtily, Starkey nudged the door shut with his foot, saying,

"'Ere's 'ow this is to work, buckos. All of you who want to live will leave us in peace to deal with our mate 'ere. No one leaves until we do. Do we 'ave ourselves an understanding?"

The tip of his cutlass made a slow semi-circle as Starkey glared at each villager in turn. He ended with his scowl on the healer, Titus, who very deliberately finished his current task before meeting the pirate's gaze. Titus curled his lip disdainfully before shrugging.

"I'm not stopping you."

Smee was already sizing up the selection of tools and herbs at his disposal, but he turned back to Starkey with a hiss.

"We're trapping ourselves in here."

Starkey replied with a placid look. "With plenty of 'ostages. You just deal with the cap'n; I'll worry about our exit."

Hook panted against the wall, sweating, eyes screwed shut. The bluish-gray tinge around his lips sent a pulse of adrenaline through Smee, who quickly snatched some supplies and carried them with shaking hands to his captain's side. He set them on the bench and then unceremoniously wrenched the hook from its brace - for everyone's safety. Hook didn't so much as open his eyes.

"Captain, I need to see your shoulder. Are you able to help me get your coat off?"

At that, Hook's eyelids fluttered momentarily, and he blinked dazed recognition at his first mate. Smee tugged at the cuff of his right sleeve. Almost instinctively, Hook pulled his arm back until Smee could free it from the sleeve, then leaned forward slightly to allow its movement behind his back. As gently as he could, Smee tugged the coat out from under and behind the captain, then off the injured left shoulder and over the brace.

With the precious coat out of the way, Smee allowed Hook to rest back against the wall and set to work cutting away the dripping bandages. The air was heavy with the metallic scent of blood. Before pulling the last layer of dressings free, Smee tore the buttons from Hook's shirt as he heaved it open at the front. Then in one swift, brutal movement, Smee stripped all fabric from the wounded shoulder. Hook flinched and gave voice to a tiny whine as the bits of his shirt that had started sticking to the edges of the wound ripped away. He reached up and gripped Smee's wrist weakly.

"Where's'at rum?" slurred Hook, as Smee pressed a clean cloth against the leaking hole in his captain's shoulder. Blood left trails down Hook's chest, pooling at the gathered fabric near his waist. Smee fumbled for the flask in his pocket and then passed it to Hook. The pirate struggled the lid off and attempted to lift it to his mouth, but his hand trembled too much; his arm lacked the strength. The flask slipped from his grasp and fell to the floor with a splash. Hook swore softly and banged his head back against the wall, unable to prevent a few tears of pain from leaking out.

Starkey crouched to rescue the remaining brew, keeping a wary eye on the rest of the room. The pirates were being pointedly ignored for now, although the two men from earlier were nearby, keeping their own vigil. The bosun sat gingerly on the bench to Hook's right, setting his cutlass carefully within reach. Then he raised the flask to his captain's lips. Hook's eyes fluttered open and he accepted the mouthful of rum.

Smee hefted a flagon that was helpfully labeled For Cleaning Wounds, glancing at Starkey, who nodded grimly. Starkey forced more liquor into his captain's mouth, then cast about for something Hook could bite down on. He finally fished out a pair of leather gloves he occasionally used while performing his duties aboard ship. Selecting the left one, he offered it to the captain.

"Tear it up, Cap'n. You've always got one to spare, right, sir?"

Hook didn't appear to comprehend the joke. He took the leather between his teeth, apprehensive eyes darting to Smee's hands. Panting quickly in anticipation, the captain cringed back and turned his face away, squeezing his eyes tight. Starkey gripped his wrist and other shoulder to steady him.

Hook's anguished cry - muffled slightly by the glove - rang out as the liquid burned through his wound. Starkey held fast to the arm that instinctively fought to push away the source of the pain. Smee poured more of the strong-smelling solution over the wound; front side only, as the back was out of reach for the moment. Doing his best to ignore Hook's pitiful moans, Smee gently dabbed the rag at the wound's edges, trying to see within the hole before blood obscured his view again. Smee frowned. Without allowing a thought to the pain he was causing, Smee prodded one edge of the broken skin. Hook whined again.

"Sorry, sir," winced Smee, before gingerly pushing a finger into the hole. Hook howled and struggled against Starkey's grip. The bosun got to his feet and twisted to throw more weight against the thrashing captain, hissing as he did so:

"Bloody 'ell, Smee; you out of yer bleedin' 'ead?"

Starkey glanced behind them to make sure no one was approaching. Smee continued to probe grimly, grunting,

"There's a… splinter…"

Starkey shuddered. Hook's movements were weakening; his cries becoming hoarse whimpers. Pink-tinged foam coated the corners of his mouth, his tongue or cheek bleeding from where he'd bitten himself rather than the glove. Smee grimaced and shook his head.

"I can feel it, I just can't… But I can't leave it there…"

"You'll need these, I think," came a sullen voice from behind them. Starkey lunged for his cutlass and whirled; without the support, Hook toppled forward, limp. Smee just barely managed to catch his captain before he could slump to the floor.

Titus stood a few paces behind them, calmly holding up a pair of slender tongs. As Starkey eyed the healer suspiciously, Smee gulped and then whispered to his comrade,

"That… would be helpful. Probably."

Starkey took a step forward. "And you'll just… 'and 'em over?"

"I'm not using them," Titus pointed out carelessly. One of the villagers muttered an angry rant at the offer, but Titus paid it no heed. Keeping a sharp eye out for deception, Starkey stalked forward and snatched the tool from the healer's hand. He took two steps backward before turning around - just in case the healer had a hidden weapon.

Smee had finagled Hook back against the wall, where he sat shuddering with his head lolled forward and his hand clinging weakly to Smee's sleeve. The tooth-marked glove lay discarded on Hook's lap. Starkey passed over the tongs and gently pried the captain's fingers from their grip; Hook barely registered the change. Though he was drenched in sweat, his skin was clammy and deathly pale. Starkey rested a hand on his chest and murmured,

"It's okay to black out, sir. We've got it covered in 'ere. Though we thank you for yer concern."

Starkey tried a wink at Smee, who had paled a little himself now he held the metal tool in his hands. Smee lifted the rag and willed his fingers to steady.

Hook's eyes snapped open and he gasped a breath when he felt sharp metal penetrate the exposed flesh of his shoulder. Jerking backward only aggravated the knot in the back of his skull: the tongs continued their relentless torture, feeling like white-hot pokers inside him. With an anguished growl, Hook pulled sideways, writhing on the bench, but Starkey's bruising grip held him in place.

"I can't… see!" Smee complained tightly. Starkey glanced around the room, searching for the nearest lantern. It was in the hands of Titus… who was sidling closer. Starkey tensed, not wanting to release Hook while the metal still probed his wound, but unsure of the healer's intentions. The bosun eyed the cutlass at Hook's side.

"Give it here," commanded Titus in a bored tone. Smee glanced back.

"Excuse me?"

"You obviously don't know what you're doing. Let me."

Smee scowled, offended. "I have just as much experience as you; maybe more. I just need that lantern."

Titus rolled his eyes. He nodded at Hook, who now slumped between the wall and Starkey's restraint, too exhausted to do much beyond pant keening breaths, slack-jawed, and grip loosely at Starkey's arm.

"He should be lying down with his feet elevated. That bleeding needs to stop now, or you'll lose your dear captain."

Smee gently removed the tongs and covered the wound with his rag. Hook grimaced, shivering.

"If you haven't noticed, beds are at a premium in here," huffed Smee. Starkey added,

"And we need to watch yer door."

Titus hung the lantern from a hook on the wall, which accentuated even further the gray pallor to their captain's skin. Without seeming to worry whether he'd be run through by the nervous pirates around him, Titus grabbed Hook's coat from the floor, rolled it up, and placed it on the end of the bench to Hook's right. Then he ducked under Starkey and grasped Hook's boots.

"Move," the healer commanded boldly. Starkey stepped back as much as he could while still supporting Hook. Titus slunk under his arms and pulled Hook's legs up onto the bench, on top of the coat. The pirate captain grunted but did not struggle. Smee and Starkey helped lower his torso and head until he stretched full out on the narrow bench.

"Better," Titus announced. "Now his heart doesn't have to work as hard to get blood to his brain."

"I didn't think he'd fit," grumbled Smee. He glanced at the stripe of blood painting the wall where Hook had been leaning and shuddered. Titus unceremoniously snatched the tongs from Smee and knelt next to the injured captain. After another glance around the room, Starkey bent to hover over Hook as he grasped both of his wrists. At the head of the bench, Smee retrieved the lantern and held it closer to provide maximum light for Titus to work. Despite his protestations, he actually didn't mind leaving the job to a professional for once. And now he could keep an eye on their hostages too.

Hook could only shift feebly on the bench as Titus dabbed away some of the blood and then introduced the tongs back into the wound. The pirate's vocalizations were quieter, too; he appeared on the very edge of unconsciousness. After only a moment of careful manipulation, the healer successfully grasped the wooden splinter and slowly pulled it free. The dark crimson pool rose faster and began to drizzle and collect in the crease between Hook's pectoral muscles. Titus covered the wound, shaking his head solemnly.

"Were he my patient, I'd attempt internal cautery to stop the bleeding, though that's likely to lead to gangrene." He stood, leaving the rag resting gently on Hook's shoulder. "By the look of him, though, he's lost too much blood already."

Smee met his eyes with a determined scowl. "Well he's not dead yet; we're not giving up on him."

Titus walked away without another word, apparently done with the conversation. Smee took his place, handing the lantern to Starkey. The bosun still rested one hand on Hook's brace, but it was mostly to keep the wounded arm from falling off the edge of the bench. Clearly, Hook would be unable to resist anything Smee attempted from that point forward.

The first mate chewed his lip, indecisive. He'd had mixed results in his history with cautery. Titus was right: more often than not, it ended in serious infection, which could quickly become fatal. And it wasn't as if he could amputate in this case if gangrene developed. But if he only closed the outside skin, the internal bleeding would continue, and that couldn't be good, either.

Both pirates tensed at a ruckus outside and a pounding at the door. Someone shouted for the healer. Starkey got to his feet and readied his cutlass before pulling the door open.

The two newcomers hesitated briefly at the sight before them, but Starkey grabbed the nearest man and held his blade to his throat. He pulled him inside, and the other, leaning on the first due to a lacerated thigh, hobbled along. Starkey shoved them both toward Titus before pulling the door shut again.

"Need to get a move on, Smee," hissed the bosun.

That was apparent even without the reminder. Smee set his jaw and picked up a needle and thread, deciding to at least stop the blood from leaving the captain's body entirely, for now. If he needed to do more once they got back to the Jolly Roger, he could take his time and not worry about the threat of attack at any moment.

Hook barely flinched at the first stab of the needle, his faint grunt the only sign that he wasn't completely unconscious yet. But by the time the wound in the front was closed, he had stopped reacting. Concerned, Smee tapped his cheek, watching for any twitch of a muscle: nothing. He still drew shallow breaths, but his pulse was barely discernible.

Smee nodded at Starkey, who helped position Hook on his side. The pirate remained limp. Unconscious; no question. As Smee drizzled disinfectant on the slightly smaller hole in Hook's back, a shadow grew on the wall in front of him, and he glanced back over his shoulder. It was Titus again. Starkey had twisted around to watch the healer's approach, and he lifted his blade.

"I have it under control," Smee reported shortly.

"Yeah, looks like it," replied the healer, sarcasm barely evident in his voice. "But I have something that may help."

Starkey looked dubious. "And why do you 'ave any interest in 'elping us?"

Titus sighed. "Call it a weakness of mine. I see an injured man, I want to fix him. And…" He looked briefly to a bed in the corner before continuing. "Your captain spared my brother. I figure I owe him for that. Just don't tell Tyrian."

"Your brother?" asked Smee, quickly finishing the closure of Hook's back.

"From what I gather, he's the one responsible for the state your captain is in."

"Oh." The pieces fell into place. Then Smee wondered, "He's here? Your brother? And... okay?"

"His wound is not as severe as it appeared."

Smee snipped the thread and turned to face Titus. "Still. How is he here and patched up already? We came almost straight from his house." Smee looked Titus up and down appraisingly. "Do you have… magic?

Titus tilted his head, considering the question. Then he replied,

"Not me, myself. But I was… gifted a few enchanted items relevant to my calling."

"Whatever," hissed Starkey. "Tell us how you can claim to 'elp Cap'n 'ook."

The healer held up a leather pouch, saying,

"You'll be doing the helping, should you decide he's worth it."