This chapter just did not want to be written. I really hope you guys like it, it took me days to be happy with it. I think it turned out alright, but please tell me what you think. I was really surprised that no one could guess my plot twist, but if you can pick it now, I'll still write a scene of your choice! And to the reviewer who said Phillip was OOC, I find it harder in general to write him, since I'm giving him his own backstory, something he didn't get at all in the movie. That will inevitably impact the way he behaves, so I'm trying my best, but he might be a little bit twisted in order to fit the whole plot. I hope that's okay with you guys! PLEASE review!

-Han

Soft wind made smoke curl around a sun-browned face, lines around coal eyes spoke of tension he tried not to communicate as he rested lazily on his back leg, his soot-stained fingers reached for the hilt of his sword, blood boiling beneath his skin and his heart beating with the intent to kill. Mutiny. A word pirate captains abhorred with the same potency missionaries despised the Devil. The notion that men, filth he picked up from the side of the road, the dirt beneath his boots, could turn against him, demand him to step down or be killed, was insane. It was like telling a bird it couldn't fly.

It just wasn't done.

But here he was, forced out of the warm confines of his cabin for the first time since they left London in the dead of night with two kidnapped pirates and a new crew in tow. His eyes narrowed against the glare of lanterns, warm light mixing with the dead-silent air and he resisted the urge to grin. He didn't think they were even breathing, too struck by the terror he held sway over, the darkness he carried with him.

The swish of his black clothing in the wind was the only sound, as his eyes roamed the deck. Men were frozen in place, hands slack around the ropes that bound his creations, his perfect workers. The bodies he'd reanimated were loyal, were unflinchingly faithful to their master. The others, dirty and bleeding, were stopped in what might have been victory, smiles dropping from their faces as quickly as they had risen, dropping behind a horizon faster than the sun ever could have. Fear dilated their eyes and made their palms sweaty and he loved it. Cherished it.

Blackbeard's gaze found his daughter, slipping from her bonds with the same grace her mother had, the grace that captured the famous pirate's eye and drawn him to her. It was inevitable, and he didn't regret it. His daughter was beautiful, a Spanish flower plucked from in between the cracks of cobblestone, salvaged from the dirt and the stone and the pain and the hatred of the world around her. She was quick and loyal and a pirate. And she might just save his life. That was a better consolation prize than he could have ever considered. A daughter tied him down, no matter how beautiful, but at least she might be useful.

He turned back to face the helm, catching slow movement in his peripheral as the two Angelica had drugged and taken took slow steps towards the stairs. He addressed his crew with a small smile and a warming assurance, like everything would be okay.

"Gentlemen," he said quietly, pausing to take a swig from his bottle with a lightheartedness he hoped was communicated to the men. He swallowed, amber liquid burning a pleasant trail of fire down his throat. His grip on the bottle tightened and when he threw it to the deck, it shattered in fragmented pieces of glass, ones he'd make his men pick up by hand later, scraping the insides of their palms, drawing lines of blood that would remind them of their servitude. "I be placed in a bewilderment."

Jack and Anna had reached the stairs, taking slow, barely visible steps down in an attempt to put distance between themselves and Blackbeard, Edward Teach, the most feared pirate to roam the seas. Her hand gripped the railing, using it to steady her shaky legs, her body rolling in the aftershock of battle as the adrenalin left her body. Jack was doing the same just behind her, his shoulder brushing hers when they stopped as one and started up again, to not attract attention. Their eyes were on the Captain, rapt on him as he spoke in a tone somewhere between comfort and danger. They didn't like the combination, and something was about to happen. They just didn't know what.

"There I were, resting," Blackbeard continued as Angelica came into view. "And upon a sudden, I hear an ungodly row on deck." He reached down with dirty fingers to caress the jeweled hilt of his sword, black eyes watching the rigging shift, as if in powerful wind when the night was nearly dead. "Sailors abandoned their posts, without orders, without leave." His tone had turned deadly, icy cold and piercing and men swallowed audibly in the night.

Blackbeard's face was still carefully blank, revealing nothing. That was the most disconcerting thing about him, and Anna leaned away, bumping up against Jack and reveling in the touch, the reminder that there was something safe here. Something that wouldn't hurt her.

"Men, before the mast...taking the ship for themselves." The ropes snaked their way across the deck, catching Jack and Anna's eyes as the twisted cord slithered across red and black planks towards the sailors. Jack had always hated snakes. He moved slowly, tugging on the back of Anna's shirt when she didn't move with them, as they side-stepped the rigging come alive. "What be that, First Mate?" Blackbeard asked his daughter.

"Mutiny!" She shouted, her voice echoing off the water around them until it was in the heads of every man, ringing around their heads until they could feel it in their bodies. It was a part of them now. They were branded for it, the word was singed into their skin and they all knew what happened to mutineers.

"Again?" He requested with a hand cupped around his ear as if he didn't understand.

"Mutiny!" Angelica shouted louder, her Spanish accent making the word sound like the beginning of a song, a poem, something lyrical and graceful. It wasn't.

"Aye...mutiny," Blackbeard said softly as a rope slithered its way towards the flesh of an ankle, once it met skin, it would tighten, bruise, cut off blood flow and pull. It would hurt. That was its job, to make people hurt. "And what fate befalls mutineers, now we know the answer to that...do we not? Mutineers. Hang!" He shouted, gripping his sword and raising it into the air, his blade cutting the silence.

The ship surged forward, knocking the crew off their feet. Anna's head hit the deck hard, her body wracked with repercussions as she struggled to make sense of the pain thundering through her skull. Before she could stand, her body was ripped away from the ground and from Jack and vaulted into the air with bruising force. She swallowed a scream, trying to remain strong as ropes wound themselves around her legs, digging into the soft flesh with no remorse.

Her blue eyes caught men being strangled, dragged up the stairs with purple faces, eyes bugging out as the body attempted to pull in air fruitlessly. She struggled, turning her body in midair with her writhing body. The ropes held strong, and her eyes caught the Cabin Boy, drawn out by the noise. His little body was wrapped in cord, squeezing too tight and his eyes were blown wide with terror.

Sailors tried to jump ship, vault themselves into the night sky and let their bodies be enveloped by the calm waters, the comforting touch of the ocean. Anna wished she could do that, could let her body slip beneath the waves, let Calypso take her where she will. She winced when the crewmen's bodies were caught, reeled in with agonizing quickness, jerked back over the deck until their limbs were twisted, disfigured, ripped out of their sockets. Blood spotted the deck, and the wood seemed to absorb it, drink it in, like it was thirsty. Anna swallowed, forcing herself to reach up, her clumsy fingers pulling futility on her bonds, trying to get free. They tightened, cutting off all circulation to her legs, as they snaked further up her waist.

Upside down, the ship moved her as its will, her arms were heavy, hanging past her hair and her hair brushed her elbows. Blood rushed to her head and suddenly she hated gravity, it won't leave her alone and it's weighing her down, bringing her closer to that deck, the ship that wants to witness her bleeding. The night is cold on her skin, and the rope crushes her stomach, feeling so much stronger than the corset that served as her brace. Her ribs hadn't fully healed and the agonizingly tight hold the ropes had on her sent shocks up pain up and down her spine.

Jack could see her face twist in anguish as the ropes constricted visibly around her ribcage, crushing her lungs, straining her injuries. He winced in sympathy as they were dragged closer together, the rough movements of the rigging crashing their bodies together. He could hear her gasp of breath, could tell she was trying not to scream. He wriggled uncomfortably in his own bonds, feeling the heat from Anna's body as their backs bounced against each other in repercussion. She winced each time and Jack pretended like he couldn't hear it.

The sounds of screams around them had dulled, but the panic was rising. It could only get worse from here, and they all knew of Blackbeard's reputation. He killed and he did it violently, agonizingly, brutally. He wanted you to suffer.

Anna felt her body being lowered towards the helm, her body pressed against Jack's. They were back to back again, dangling like caught game before the hunter, Blackbeard stared emotionlessly back at them. She swallowed and slathered on a fake grin, something that looked sickly in the lantern-light. She felt fake, scared, hidden away in a small corner where nothing would harm her.

She at least wanted the chance to fight back, but he was too cowardly, too afraid. She wanted to tear and rip and slash and project anger that would consume like a flame and would push the pirate Captain before her down into the deepest pits of Hell, and she would stand over him and laugh. She felt like a pirate, in that moment, she felt as taken with rage and bloodlust as people assumed bandits to be. She felt swept up in winds of hatred and seas of fury.

Jack's body heat brought her back to earth, made her remember where she was and who could hurt her and the impending possibility of her death. Blackbeard would not hesitate to kill her, and no one would stand up for her. Angelica didn't need her, she had Jack, and the other crewmembers didn't like her by any means. Jack was in the same place as her, no one would listen to him. She was alone in this.

That fake smile was back, cocky and sarcastic and the mask was impenetrable to everyone but Jack. Even from the corner of his eyes, he could tell that the glass was about to shatter, crumble around her body and then he would be there to pick up the pieces. Because she didn't expect him too. She thought she was alone and sometimes it took him by surprise. He'd thought he'd been there long enough to prove to her that she had someone to lean on.

Softly, he allowed his shoulder to brush hers, an intentional commutations through touch he prayed she understood. The little grin she gave was a bit more real, as she tipped her head to rest on his shoulder upside down.

"Captain, I wish to report a mutiny," Jack said with a carefully stoic face, twisting his body until he faced Blackbeard, the force that drove him to mutiny, that could end his life.

"I can name fingers!" Anna shouted, wriggling again until both of them could look at the enemy at once.

"And I can point names," Jack said seriously, no hint of doubt in his dark eyes.

"No need Mr. Sparrow, Ms. Windsor. They are sheep," he said calmly, gesturing to the expanse of crewmen tangled in the rigging. "You their Shepard."

Xx

When their feet found the ground again, Jack took her hand in his. In a singular moment of silence, Jack managed to tell her everything she needed to hear. He was there and he wasn't leaving and she should stop thinking so. This was getting out of hand. She grinned in response and tugged him towards the stairs. Blackbeard was beginning to descend them, Angelica trailing behind like a lost puppy. They hurried to catch up, only retracting their joint hands at the last possible second.

"Have we mentioned, sir, what a lovely ship you have?" Anna asked in what she hoped was a flattering voice. The Queen Anne's Revenge was as far from lovely as you could get, it seemed like its own category of monster, a new breed of Leviathan. It looked evil and it looked ready to kill.

Blackbeard turned on a dime, faster than his older body seemed able to, and Anna found herself facing the barrel of a pistol, the fine detailing on the handle catching her eye. "A fitting last sight for a doomed soul," he growled, his finger itching to pull the trigger.

"Perhaps you've forgotten, mate?" Jack asked condescendingly. "You need her."

"What need do I have of her when I have you?" Teach countered, waving the pistol for emphasis. Jack smirked, gold caps shining in the candlelight.

"Who says I know it all?" Jack asked quietly. "Who's to say we don't both know half. Who's to say we haven't planned for this?" Jack was lying. He knew it, Anna knew it. She couldn't be prouder of him.

"You're bluffing," Angelica spat, moving into view with a glare thrown their way. "You're always have to have all the cards. This is no different."

"Really? So sure, are we, Angelica?" Jack taunted, a grin firmly in place. "Why don't we see and find out? It would just be terrible if you were wrong, though, wouldn't it?" Silence enveloped them and Blackbeard's hand wavered for a moment, before stilling again, steel in his eyes. Jack stared down the barrel of the gun with less bravado than he had a moment before.

"If I don't kill a man every now and then, they forget who I am," Blackbeard reasoned with a cunning glare.

"Coward!" The rough voice caught Jack off guard and he almost looked skyward towards the mast. But he's let Phillip down himself, and now the missionary was shouting at the most feared pirate ever to roam the seas.

"Hmm?" Blackbeard looked up to see the tanned and strong missionary he'd taken alive glaring at him from across the deck as he marched his way towards their small group.

"They do not forget! Your crew sees you for the miscreant you are! A coward! No matter how many you slay!" Phillip bellowed, his voice swept up in a power Anna didn't understand, like God was speaking through him. Her eyes were drawn to him as if he were a puzzle she couldn't put together, sea-green eyes imprinted in her memory like it was something she should remember. Something important.

"Twice in one day, I find myself in a bewilderment," Blackbeard commented dryly as the Quartermaster held out a sword to keep the missionary back.

"You are not bewildered, you are afraid," the young man sneered. "You dare not walk the path of righteousness, the way of the light." When people spoke like that, they'd been saved from something horrible. Anna knew that. She could only guess what horrors he had seen to make him so devoted to his faith.

There was once a time when she believed, when she was young and unsure and running about London without permission and praying for forgiveness to make it better. She used to believe angels watched over her, guarded her like the angelic warriors they were painted to be, wings casting protective shadows over her body. And then she saw the pain on the underside of London, a little boy ready to be executed in the streets, a burning city, a violent prince. If there was a God, he didn't care. She'd much rather place her faith in those who answered.

"No, sir, the truth of it be much simpler than all that. I'm a bad man," Blackbeard said tauntingly, a smirk hovering over his usually emotionless features.

"That too," Phillip amended.

"I might have to kill you too, catechist," Blackbeard muttered, turning the pistol onto him, lined up with his handsome face. His arm was pushed down a moment later.

"No!" Angelica shouted, the need to save her father's soul was pulsing through her veins and she couldn't let a sin so grave be cast upon him. His last chance was the out-spoken missionary in front of them.

"Oh, Latin blood, like her mother!" Blackbeard joked, the ties to the church were annoying and consuming and they got in the way of his wrongdoings.

"Father, I beg you!" Angelica pleaded.

"Ah, there I be again, forgetting why the missionary was here. My daughter fears for my soul, what's left of it. You truly wish to save me, my child?" he asked, stroking her cheek with a gentle hand, his fingers like sandpaper over her soft flesh.

"Every soul can be saved," She whispered softly, brown eyes warm and open for the first time since Anna met the other woman. She felt like she was intruding.

"Be that true, young cleric?" Blackbeard asked, flicking his eyes to the young man. The eyes of rolling seas had calmed, his breathing had slowed.

"Yes. Though you I see as a bit of long shot," he admitted with a small smile hovering around the edges of his lips. Anna stifled a chuckle alongside Jack, and wondered again why he seemed so familiar. "Still, I pray for every unfortunate soul on this hellbound vessel," he said with such conviction that Anna believed her soul to be safe.

"You disarm me with your faith," he said quietly before turning towards the crew again. "Eight bells! Which of you unfortunate souls stood watch?"

"I did! I stood watch." Anna and Jack shouted at once, praying to save the crew they had coerced into mutiny. The others didn't deserve this. They couldn't let them die.

Blackbeard chuckled and looked to Gunner. The zombie looked up pointedly to the cook, a spindly older man with kind eyes and a warm face. Anna winced and turned away, her fists balling.

"You?" Teach asked the Cook with calculating eyes. The man nodded from his position in the rigging, tangled and caught like a fly in the spider's web. "Aye, the Cook. Perfect. Lower the longboat!"

The men moved in silence, lowering the boat as the Cook took an uncertain hold of the oars. Anna shook her head, turning away from the activity with broken eyes. She met Jack's gaze.

"This isn't right," she whispered, allowing Jack to place his hand on her shoulder. The comfort was endless and she needed it.

"Things rarely are these days," he answered softly. When Blackbeard walked towards the bow, they followed, everyone did, steps slow and halting. They felt like mourners. The Cook rowed unevenly, trying to put as much distance between himself and the ship as he could.

"We have to help him," she whispered, and she distantly realized Phillip was standing beside her, his anxious eyes rapt on the older man, lips open in a silent expression of prayer.

"What's he going to do?" The young man asked, flicking his eyes to the pirate woman's and freezing, recognition lighting in his eyes before he forced himself to dim it. He didn't have time to think.

Angelica was trying to fight for him, something Anna could at least appreciate, but Blackbeard wasn't having it. His orders were clipped and clear and he believed that mutiny should be punished, an example should be made. Angelica's words held no impact.

"So, you," he addressed Phillip, brushing off his daughter completely. "Now... A chance to show the worth of your prayers. Pray he be delivered from...evil?" The end was a question, a grin worming its way onto his features.

"Stop! Give that man a chance!" Phillip screamed, his face twisted in a soul-deep agony.

"Oh god," Anna whispered, and she was going to be sick. She was going to be sick. Jack gripped her hand tightly in his, not caring who could see them. She needed the comfort. Anna leaned against him, her head resting on his shoulder just long enough to make up her mind. Before he could stop her, she bolted forward, gripping the edge of the railing and praying the man in the longboat had enough strength to follow her directions. "Flip the boat! Use the pocket of air to breathe, and flip the boat! Quickly! Please!"

It was too late.

Torrents of Greek Fire ripped through the night and engulfed the small longboat. She was pulled back roughly by Gunner, her forearms bruising with the force of his hold. She kicked, a feral grief in her eyes that every crewmember felt. Heads lowered in respect, some crossed themselves. Jack watched in silent sorrow, the reflection of fire playing across his coal eyes, bouncing off the black water, lighting the night with its destructive light.