Full fathom five thy father lies;
Of his bones are coral made;
Those are pearls that were his eyes:
Nothing of him that doth fade
But doth suffer a sea-change
Into something rich and strange.
----- The Tempest
Will stumbled back into the clutter. Beneath James, Tia Dalma lied on top of another blanket, her locks and limbs sprawled over everything. Her eyes closed and mouth agape, all Will's attention fell on her skin, supple in sweat. She was still clothed, her multi-colored skirt bunched up around her hips in a cotton cloud.
"Get out!" James hissed at him, scrambling to his feet while at the same time buttoning his trousers.
"You're mad!"
"Out! It's not finished."
"By the looks of things, I'd say it is," Will blurted, blushing at his own vulgarity. Tia Dalma remained in a motionless stupor. It would be like lifting a ragdoll, no effort at all to toss her overboard and let her drown, let her become what she was meant to be.
"Down here!" they heard someone roar behind them. Will ran right to the two soldiers, taking both of them out with his sword before they could even draw theirs up to their chests.
"Go! Go now!" Will ordered James, shaking his head at what he had just allowed. James scooped Tia Dalma up, her limp arms brushing against his knees, and hustled to the stairs. Will continued to provide cover for them, all the while cursing himself. There was no use in trying to predict what Calypso would have in store for all of them, he decided. He would find out in a matter of minutes. At last they made it to the Pearl's railing. Drawing in one last inhale, James curled his biceps up and then let her spill into the dark water.
Elizabeth hurried down into the Flying Dutchman's brig, maiming one of the crewmen with starfish plastered all over his almost-human body. Prying a key from his rough fingers, she panted her way down the short corridor.
"Bootstrap? Bootstrap Bill? William Turner?"
"You know my name," she heard. A face emerged from the bulkhead, glassy heavy-set eyes staring at her in wonder. It pulled itself out enough for her to see what was still a long black coat thrown over the form's back.
"Yes. Yes, I know your son," she said.
"William! He's all right!" Bootstrap laughed. Salt water dripped down the corners of his pale mouth.
"Listen to me, I'm here to get you out." She stuck the key into the lock. "There are a lot of people who want to help you." The door swung open with a loud creak but Bootstrap remained in his spot. "Please. Jack's trying to get the key to the dead man's chest right now and needs our help!"
"Jack?"
"Yes, Jack Sparrow."
"He survived," Bootstrap said to himself, turning his head just enough for Elizabeth to see the half of his face covered in a sea anemone. Gasping, she jumped back, her fingers clenching the cell door. "Who are you?"
"I'm his wife. Please come out. Will wants to see you. My name's Elizabeth." She rolled her eyes at her last statement. Precious little it would do.
"William? He's all right! He's come to save me. He promised me he would."
Her nostrils flaring, she stepped into the cell and pulled him from the bulkhead, the crunch of it nauseating her. She considered leaving him, but if she could just reach past the sea, past all the changes and into his mind, into his heart, it would be another swordsman to secure the key. Underneath her fingers, the sponge-like texture of his arm hardened.
"Bootstrap, when we go up on deck, you're going to have to fight. Do you understand?" She led him up the stairs with one hand, her sword in the other. Looking back, she saw him nod. "Good. Try to help us get the key." Unsure if letting him out would really help Jack at all, Elizabeth released him and sliced into the crewman nearest to her, her goal to make it just underneath the mast to wait for what she hoped would be a falling key.
In the back of Jack's mind, he kept wondering where the Endeavor was hiding in spite of the fact he knew all too well Beckett was just waiting in the wings, letting anyone do his dirty work for him. The thoughts couldn't linger for long, though, or else Davy Jones would impale him in an instant.
"Ye won't be settin' your hands on this any time soon," Jones taunted him, producing the key with one of his tentacles.
No, I won't be, Jack smirked, his sword severing the tentacle from his massive beard. He hardly had time to follow it down with his eyes to see where it went, the sky darkening and taking on a greenish hue. Perfect time for a squall, he thought.
Screaming, Davy Jones lunged his claw right into Jack's sword, snapping it in two. Wide-eyed, Jack reached for a rope and slid down onto the deck at the same time lightning cracked against the horizon, thunder booming right on its tail. The raindrops felt like pincers cutting through his skin, squeezed from the swirling black clouds above them. The ship lurched, sending Jack reeling back into the railing, the Pearl broad-siding them.
"More speed!" Barbossa yelled down to the crew. "Haul your wind and hold your water! Ha ha ha!" He kicked aside one of Davy Jones' crewmen, keeping both hands on the helm. Will and James hurried back into the fray, swords brandished with a primal fervor.
"Man the guns!" Gibbs shouted over it, his voice catching Will's chin and tilting it back up to see his father on the Flying Dutchman, close to Elizabeth. She bent down and for a moment, he thought she had been struck, but he exhaled at seeing her jump back up, the shine of something metallic in her hand. The key.
"Norrington! Norrington, you can take Jones' place if you wish!"
"What?" James disarmed the crewman fighting him.
"Stab the heart! Be captain of the Dutchman! Free the world of Jones," Will heaved, managing to unsheathe the sword of a soldier and wield both of them against the rest of the onslaught. "Swing over with me. Elizabeth's outnumbered!" James ran down into the hold and returned with the chest.
"If yer gonna go, then go!" Barbossa shouted down to them, steering the ship even closer to the Dutchman, the heavy winds interlocking the masts together. Through the pouring rain, the two swung onto the other ship.
"Elizabeth!" Will shouted. James remained next to him, the chest under one of his arms, his sword at the ready. "Throw us the key!"
The key about slid right through his soaked fingers, but he clapped his palms together, the key sandwiched between them. Kneeling down, he stuck it into the chest and turned the lock. The lid clicked open, revealing the heart thumping at a rapid intensity. James pointed his sword down, ready to stick the blade right into the organ, when from the side, Bootstrap took hold of him by the waist and tackled him to the deck.
"Father! Father, let go of him!" Will latched onto his back to disjoin the two, but Bootstrap sent him off with a jerk.
"Must help…get…the key," he recited.
Jack had no time to catch up to Davy Jones, inches away from the opened chest. Pulling out his pistol, he closed one eye and hit the lid, clamping it shut.
"That was a might stupid thing to do, Sparrow," he growled, turning back to him. Ah, Jack thought, quickly remembering the downside to distracting Jones. Letting out a scream, he picked up the broken, jagged end of his sword, still long enough to be used for a knife. Behind Jones, Jack could see Elizabeth gather the chest up in her arms, the key still in the lock. He let a grin form on his face. She was running it back to Will and James when one of the crewmen plunged himself from the rigging right on top of her. Her surprised and pained grunt accompanied with her thud to the deck knocked the air out of him for a brief second. Hurry back over to them, love, he thought, blocking that relentless claw coming at him. Hurry back to them and it will all be over. The claw knocked what was left of his sword out of his hand and to the other side of the deck.
Laughing, Davy Jones turned his attention back to the chest, several feet from Will.
"Father! Stop!" Will produced the knife his father gave him and pinned him to the deck with it. "It's going to be all right. This will all be over shortly. Norrington!" Before he could kick the chest over to him, Jones took his sword and lodged it into Will's thigh. Slapping him with enough force to knock him down, he pressed the tip of his sword against Will's chest.
"Mr. Turner, brave young fool," Jones sneered. "Did ye really think ye could best me twice?"
"And then some!"
Jones turned his neck ever so slightly, just enough to see Jack holding the heart in the palm of his hand, blood and rain washing down over it.
"You're a cruel man, Jack Sparrow," Jones spat at him.
"Cruel is a matter of perspective," Jack countered, sidestepping to James, coughing and staggering to his feet like a newborn fawn. Elizabeth hurried over to him and threw his arm around her, supporting him just enough to try and meet Jack halfway.
"Is it now?" Jones jerked around and rammed his sword straight into Will's chest, twisting the blade in even deeper.
Will couldn't scream, couldn't cry out any last scalding curse at his murderer. All he could feel was his body sinking back onto the railing, along with the hot, piercing sensation emanating from his chest. It seemed to course through his body, rendering his legs limp. It climbed into his ears and muffled every sound, like he was underwater.
"William. My son," he thought he heard, but with icy rain stinging his eyes, his vision dulling, he couldn't be sure of anything except it was too late. He'd made a promise he wouldn't live to keep. A panicked voice echoed around him, cold fingers tapping his cheeks, but it all hazed together into a black and green fog, every corner of his brain trying to remember how to breathe.
A flash of white ran over his eyes, followed by a touch so feathery and light it made him think of kissing Mary. Mary. Another one's freedom denied all because he lay here, wet and distant, fighting just to inhale.
"Will?"
"Will?"
"Will, look at me. Stay with me."
"You're all right. It's going to be all right."
Every sensation was dulled except for a rough hand on top of his own, wedging something cold into it. It felt so familiar. The hand tightened around his, forcing his fingers to curl around the object. Too late. Whatever he did, it would be too late…
A/N: Do not own POTC. Please leave a review!