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Title: Fracture
Author: Miss ‘Drea
Rating: NC-17.
Pairing: Jack/Will
Warnings: Rape, non-con, dub-con, angst, very dark
Summary: Five years after Will becomes the Captain, he finds himself lost of waves of stars. Jack’s the only who can bring him back now.


Will opened his eyes watching the water flow simply past his face as the Dutchman surged under the waves. He’d long since yanked out the dripping out of tune organ from his Captain’s cabin, freeing up space for other things. It had been enough years -almost five, by his count - and he could control The Flying Dutchman with a mere thought. Slowly the massive ship rose into the air, water running out of broken windows and door frames.

Clinking slightly with shining scales, Will made his way down to the Brig, where a man hung loosely from his wrists. The man didn’t move, except to sway with the motion of the waves. Will waited in the doorway until the dark head lifted. Equally dark eyes met his, and Will took sadistic pleasure in the fear that filled the tan face. “Hello,” Will told him caustically, grinning when the body flinched.

“Day?” rasped the almost corpse.

“You’ve been here a week,” Will answered him mildly, slipping into the cell and closing the door behind him. The man, naked and wet, shivered as the cold of Will’s body got close enough to touch. “Have you given thought to my request?”

The man nodded. “Do you what you will,” he rasped, hanging his head in shame. “I will not fight you.”

With a grin that didn’t reach his eyes, Will began to strip off his clothes, baring his body to the early morning sunlight. He glittered as he did so, the iridescent scales catching and reflecting light all over the cell. Will’s grin turned predatory. “You’re staring,” he reminded pleasantly, standing proudly naked.

Eyes dropped away and closed. “Sorry,” muttered the prisoner. “Scales surprised me.”

Brushing a sensual hand down his chest to cup his burgeoning erection, Will smirked. “These? Yes, I do find them passing strange but I cannot help but enjoy the sensation.” Lips parted on a moan as Will continued to stroke his cock, smooth, slick scales over his fingertips.

The almost broken man in front of him, licked his lips and struggled for the first time in his bonds. It was with the growing humiliation of getting hard that Will struck. Lips on chapped lips, hands covering protruding ribs, and hard cocks in line with each other. The almost-corpse gasped and cried out, rutting against the Captain of The Flying Dutchman as much as his bonds would allow. “Please,” he cried out, “please!”

“Begging now?” Will asked, delightfully amused. “If you insist...” He pulled away from his captive and took position behind him, rubbing his painfully hard erection against smooth globes. “What do you want?” he asked, dancing his fingers over the clenching opening.

“More!” begged the prisoner, pressing back wantonly.

“More what?” Will taunted, pressing the tip of his index finger into the ass of the man in front of him.

“You!” he cried, sobbing in relief as Will’s whole finger slipped into him. “Yes!” he cried out, thrusting back without abandon. “Oh God, please, more...” he begged quietly, his mind slipping into the place he created the first day of his capture on the Dutchman. He would never be able to disregard the sensations coursing through his body, so he fabricated, he dreamed, and he hoped that someday the act being impressed upon him would happen in a more comfortable setting.

Will forwent the rest of his fingers, the week long teasing no doubt had his prisoner on the very edge. Without any further ado, he pressed violently into the willing body. Hot, tight heat enveloped him and Will didn’t pause. He continued to thrust, rubbing a scaled palm over the erection of his partner.

Will felt his prisoners balls draw up, and he stopped, listening with pleasure at the pained gasps and moans from the man below him. “What do you want?” he asked again.

“Let me come, Will, please, god...” begged the broken man. “Just please, no more.”

The Captain’s lips turned up in a smirk. “As you wish,” he promised, and squeezed just once. Jack Sparrow came with short harsh sobs of Will’s name, falling limp into Will’s arms when he was finished.

Will pulled out, still hard, and dressed quietly, arranging himself carefully. “Will,” Jack cried out as he moved to leave. “Why?”

For the first time since their encounter, Will’s face gentled. “Try not to worry Jack,” he offered instead of an answer, pulling his face up. “There is a place for you here.” He bestowed a gentle kiss on his former friends lips. “You are, after all, the first to give in. I suppose you never found that immortality. Poor Jack...”

Jack looked up, a mere shadow of his prior self. “What do you want from me?” he cried.

Will opened the door to the cell and closed it softly. “Love,” he responded, and exited the hall.

The pirate captain stood straight in his bonds, looking around for the first time since he regained consciousness. Across the way to his cell was another, this one empty. But to his left, chained to the wall was a bloody and broken Barbossa, his head hanging at an unnatural angle that bespoke of death, but his chest rose and fell.

To his right was a pristine Norrington, the man clothed and sitting on a cot with his long legs tucked up to his chest. He was nonsensical, rocking minutely to the waves, murmuring under his breath. Just past the insane ex-Admiral, was Beckett, the man in much the same state as Barbossa.

The ship shuddered and began to lower. And Jack, as the water closed over his head began to dream again.


He spread his legs willingly enough, allowing Will between his shaking thighs. He had graduated from his cell to the Captain’s bed, though some of the more cruel crew members joked that others had been there and didn’t last long. Some of the less cruel told him that the cell across from his, the empty one, had once housed two of the Naval Officers, though no one could come up with their names. Jack figured they meant Gillete and Groves.

A particularly sharp pinch of his scrotum dragged his mind back to the present. Will’s dark eyes glittered up at him from his knees. “Still with me, Jack?”

Swallowing hard, Jack reached down with one hand, searching for one of Will’s. The Captain allowed him to clasp his hand, twining their fingers together. “Always,” he choked out, squeezing hard. “Please!”

Will’s smirked looked better on a shark but he leaned back down and restarted the careful sipping of his erection. One hand in Will’s, and the other buried in the sheets, Jack twisted and cried out, fully present with the happenings on the bed.

It was a rare treat for his hands to be free during such an occasion, though his ankles were always bound to the heavy metal frame. He spent days where some sort of infraction required him bound and aroused for hours at a time, his body strung as tightly as his chains. He was rarely allowed to touch back.

He’d long ago stopped dreaming.

Will slithered up Jack’s body, leaving light nipping kisses. “Your turn,” Will breathed against his lips and Jack surged into movement, relishing the freedom. He twisted them so he was hovering above Will, though his legs were oddly angled due to the chains. Avoiding Will’s lips, for the time being, he zeroed in on the shining scales on Will’s neck.

The Captain’s breathing hitched, as Jack’s lips glided from scale to scale, his fingers tracing them reverently, and touching them gently with his tongue to taste the difference between damp skin and shining scale. With each kiss and nibble and touch and worship, Will’s breathing got more and more ragged. By the time that Jack reached his Captain’s raging erection, Will was at his limit.

He flipped them, scrambling off the bed in a flurry of movement that caused Jack to whimper in disappointment. He reached out for Will who paused and took Jack’s free hand. “Sorry,” he said, leaving a kiss on Jack’s knuckles.

“No worries,” Jack whispered, not moving. Will looked at him for a long moment before taking a key off the bureau and unlocking the manacles around his ankles. “Will...?” Jack breathed, not moving even after being freed. Will licked his lips, nodded once, and left the room.


Jack stood, dressed for the first time in weeks and hating it, in front of Barbossa’s cage door. Barbossa, his head angled on correctly again, glared at him through hate filled eyes. “Puppet,” Barbossa spat through mangled lips. “Sodomist!” Jack didn’t flinch. “You owe me, Jack Sparrow, you owe me your life. Get me out of here.”

Jack shook his head, but didn’t respond.

“Has he fucked you into submission? I can hear, I have eyes!” Barbossa strained against his chains. “More, please, god, Will, you, more,” he mocked in a high pitched imitation. “You make me sick, though you always have, Jaack...” Jack’s jaw clenched at the old elongation of his name.

When Jack didn’t respond other than that, Barbossa’s eyes narrowed in anger. For what seemed like minutes, the insults rained on, and finally Jack fled the brig, up the stairs and out onto deck, moving sluggishly through the water. Panicked and not understanding why, Jack sought out William and half-bolted, half-swam into his arms.

Will looked shocked to see him but closed his arms around the shivering form. With a though, the Dutchman raised itself out of the water. “Jack, what is it?” he asked, jerking his chin to Ana Maria to go down to the brig. Jack just shook his head and held on tighter. “Jack,” Will warned, a note of steel in his voice.

“Went to go see Barbossa,” Jack muttered sullenly into Will’s shoulder. Something struck Will, something he hadn’t felt since dying, and Will allowed himself to tighten his hold on Jack. “Said I was broken,” Jack continued, digging his chin into Will’s collarbone. “Not true. Not broken.”

Will gently shushed him, leading the broken man to the Cabin. He gently undressed the former-pirate, light touches and gentle kisses, as Jack stood a little shell-shocked at the attention. Will bit roughly at Jack’s neck, holding him up when Jack’s knees got weak. When Will’s mouth moved away, there was a scale matching his. “William!” Jack gasped, when he felt it, and came.


Will watched Jack sleep, the moonlight playing over his face and body. The man was sleeping peacefully, the first time since he arrived on the boat. The coldness that seeped over his soul was gone, for now, and William pressed a kiss to Jack’s shoulder before he slipped out of bed and went down the stairs to the brig.

He stood impassively at the door to Barbossa’s cell, and waited until Hector met his eyes before he raised a hand in a half-wave. The old pirate never saw it coming, as his body flowed away like water, sent back to the ether in which souls come.

Next, he destroyed Beckett, and entered Norrington’s cell. The man sat on the cot still, rocking back and forth, back and forth, back and forth, never blinking or speaking. Will laid a hand on his head, wincing when James flinched and cried out in pain. Then he too, was gone.

Making a swift decision, he made his way back to his cabin and curled around Jack. “I’m sorry,” he whispered into Jack’s hair. “Please, find it within yourself to forgive me.”

Jack turned in his arms. “Will?” he asked, desperately, reaching for him. Will laid a hand on his head. “Will? No, whatever it is...don’t...please, don’t send me away,” he begged, pressing himself closer.

“Do you love me?” Will asked fiercely.

The clouds covered the moonlight. “Yes!” Jack cried out, pulling Will’s head down with scrabbling fingers. “Yes!”

“Say it!” Will shouted, scales crawling their chill across his spine.

“I love y–,” Jack began, and faded away before he could finish his sentence. Will lay alone in the bed, silver scales covering smooth flesh until nothing but pain remained.


William didn’t show up for his second day on land in twenty years. He had no reason to, and he couldn’t bear to face Elizabeth with the scales and spinal fin that adorned his body. Ana Maria who had never once commented on his new features took his decisions all in stride, running his personal errands as her body remained clear of the damning curse. When asked, she just shrugged. “I never fell in love,” was her response and Will could never meet her eyes after the sentence.

Several days after he missed his day on land, he ceased being able to wear a shirt, the spinal fin long and large against his tapering back. It was Ana Maria who soothed his fevered sleep, shushing his cries with her willing mouth, and blissfully ignored the name dropping from his lips.

It went on for years, the ebb and flow, and nothing changed. It wasn’t until the crack in Will’s soul became and rend, and the rend became a fracture, and the fracture became a large gaping hole that Ana Maria did something.

She called Calypso.


Ana Maria stood on the shore of an abandoned island, the same (though she didn’t realize it) island that Jack had been marooned on almost half a century before. She laid a hand flat in the water and opened her soul to the driving force of the ocean. For a long time, nothing happened. Her knees locked, her back ached, and her hand grew cold but still she waited. She could feel the pull when Will tried to find her, and she sent back a reply and his prodding ceased.

It was only then, that Calypso appeared. Crabs crawled up towards Ana Maria, stopping within inches of her bare feet. The built on each other, melding and molding into a yellow taffeta dress, and dark skin that matched the woman in front of the budding Goddess. When her face appeared, she was smiling, the very image of a pleased God. Ana Maria bowed her head, pulling her fingers out of the ocean.

“You may rise,” the Goddess said, her voice echoing like many waves. “I require no homage from the likes of you.”

Ana Maria slowly stood, her muscles protesting at the movement. “My Lady,” she said, “I have a boon to ask you.”

Calypso laughed and the world shook. “A boon? To ask of me?” She laughed again, and the waves rolled a little higher. “What could I possibly do for you?”

Ana Maria licked suddenly dry lips. “Bring back Jack,” she requested solemnly. “That is what I ask.”

The smile faded from the Goddess’ face. “Ahh...that one...his soul was given to me freely by William Turner,” she intoned. “What say you for why?”

“Will...broke, my Lady Goddess. He...he loved Jack, I think, because he didn’t break until after Jack had gone.” Ana Maria dared look up into Calypso’s swirling black eyes. “Will broke Jack for love, and Jack broke Will by leaving.”

Calypso chuckled again, causing ripples in the water by her feet. “And why should you ask me this, and not my dearest Captain?” she asked, amusement coloring her voice. “Why not William?”

Ana Maria’s chin raised. “Because I have no other love but the sea. And I am the only one unaffected by the Dutchman’s curse. Because if I don’t...who will?”

The Goddess regarded her for a long moment. “I will give you what you ask,” she said at last. “But you will owe me,” she added dangerously. “When you choose to leave the service of my Captain, and I shall let you decided when that shall be for you have loved my domain well, you will owe to me the rest of eternity.”

Ana Maria nodded sharply. “I understand.”

“Then consider your request done,” Calypso said, and vanished in a sparkling pool of water. Wondering for a moment how the rest of it would pan out, Ana Maria stepped into her doom and she too melted away, avoiding Will’s questions.

She continued to wait for a sign, any sign that Jack had returned. She was disappointed however, when more years flew by and Jack never appeared. Not alive, not dead and certainly not where she could see him. So she kept comforting Will with her lips and her body, devoting the rest of her eternity to his sanity and his comfort.

She never knew what Calypso had in store.


Captain Jack Sparrow woke one morning on the shore of Nassau, fully clothed, and more sober than he could remember being ever. A few quick checks of dates, names and the rest of the information he seemed to be lacking, found it several -more than several!- years into the future he never would have seen.

Elizabeth was dead, he found out, though he did speak to a man who claimed to know her son, the old William Jack, who owned a blacksmithing shop in Kingston. Norrington, Beckett and many of the crew that he once knew were also dead, and the Legend of the Black Pearl was just that - a legend.

Finding no sign of anyone he might have once known, and no memory of how he lost so much time, Jack continued to live his life going from one name to the next, one style to the other, and continued to hunt for immortality. (After commandeering a ship, he found that La Isla De Muerta still had its gold, and he didn’t have to work, just kept raiding its old stores.)

It wasn’t until he reached a port city south of the coast of Africa that the trouble started. He ran into Pintel and Ragetti.

They blinked at him, and somehow in death Ragetti seemed to have regained an eye, and Jack blinked back, equally as stunned. “...Captain?” Ragetti asked, his jaw quivering.

Jack’s expression softened. Before the bout with Barbossa, Charles Ragetti had been a very good deckhand and better friend to him. “Aye, Charlie,” he said evenly. “It’s me.”

Ragetti jerked but Pintel held fast to his arm. “You’re supposed to be dead,” Edward Pintel spat out.

“Where have I heard that before?” Jack asked mildly, crossing his arms over his chest. “Now, if you don’t mind my asking gentlemen, how is it that you’re alive, when so many years have passed?”

“The...other Captain,” Ragetti choked out. “Will Turner. He took us in.”

“Ah,” Jack said. “Then we’ll be keeping this between us, won’t we?” he asked pointedly, glaring fiercely at his two former crewmates.

Ed nodded slowly. “Not a word,” he said. “Now it’s our turn. How are you still alive?”

“That,” Jack said, pursing his lips, “is a very good question.” He offered a hand to Ragetti, and the other to Pintel. “Shall we discuss it over a drink?”


When Charlie and Ed returned to The Dutchman, they were smiling widely. Will gave them an odd look (made more so by the scales on his face) and Charlie’s eyes widened and he turned to Pintel urgently. “Ed!” he hissed, when they got out of hearing range of Will. “Ed, on The Captain’s neck!”

“Which Captain?” Pintel grunted, uninterested and used to his friends yammering.

“Our Captain!” was the predictable response.

Rolling his eyes heavily, Pintel replied with: “Our Captain is which Captain that’s ours now?”

Ragetti paused for a long moment to figure out exactly what his friend had said. “Jack!” he hissed finally and Pintel turned to look at him, glaring patiently. “When we was drinking, he had a mark on his neck. Did you see it?”

“Aye,” Pintel said, dragging the word out. “So what? It looked like one of...” he trailed off, comprehension dawning in his face. “ of Captain Turner’s.”

“But how...?” Ragetti began before the two friends exchanged identical looks. “Annie,” they chorused and raced into the fos’cle where Ana Maria had set up shop.

And somewhere Jack looked over the water and swore to the Goddess he now served that he’d find a way to get there.


Jack stood with Charlie and Ed on top of the mound of gold where the Cursed Aztec coins gleamed dangerously. “You sure you want to do this, Captain?” Ragetti asked, chewing on his lower lip, “you’ll be miserable.”

Pintel smacked him on the arm. “Shut up, idiot. The Captain knows what the Captain wants!”

Rolling his eyes, Jack stepped onto the gold pile, slipping on a crown once before regaining his footing. With a hand that trembled finely with longing - or nerves - he pushed at the cover on the box. It opened with a hiss, and Jack took out one finely made coin.

Cold wind blew, and Jack smiled, his teeth far to white in the sudden light.


When Calypso began to laugh, Will convulsed with pain he didn’t have a reason for. The spinal fin rippled causing mini waves against the surface of the water. Scales burst and moved around his throat, dancing over bronze skin. He continued to shake even ask the water formed protective arms to cradle him. “Calyspo,” he gasped out.

“Aye, William,” she responded her voice melodious. “I am with you.” The water cascaded like thick jelly over his body, suspending him in sensation. “I have something to show you.” Her voice faded away and the world around him followed closely behind.

When he next opened his eyes, he was chained to the wall. Rolling his eyes, he pulled at something in his chest waiting for the world to dissolve. When it didn’t happen, he realized two things. The rushing in his ears was not water, and he was panting for breath. He watched, a prisoner in his own mind as a man wearing his face and speaking with his voice took Gillete and Groves and forced them to lay together, their fingers clumsy and ill-prepared for what he was forcing on them.

Gillete broke first, Groves’ fingers knuckle deep inside of him, his cock hard and leaking against his will. He began to sob, begging, pleading, as Groves continued to drive four fingers in and out at a maddening pace, his face impassive in the darkness. After his sixth or seventh orgasm, Gillete went limp, and stopped responding to anything. He leaned against the wall, his head lolling, his eyes glazed, and Groves too went mad from his friend’s catatonic state.

Both of them became part of the ship long before anyone realized they were broken. Next was Beckett, his body burned and broken. The man wearing William’s face tortured him as he had tortured others, shaping a P brand in a forge of his own making. By the time that he was released into the ether, Beckett didn’t have a single smooth patch of skin left to his name. All he ever was, all he’d ever be, was branded on his body.

Next was Norrington, still as scathing as ever, his pretty face sneering insults at the already irate shadow of Turner. With a roar, William watched himself go liquid, his hand losing definition as it slammed into Norrington's forehead. He remembered the feel of wet, squishy brain and he twisted, grasped and squeezed. Something popped, someone screamed, and the memory stepped back to allow Norrington to crumple to the floor, grasping his temples and whimpering.

Then Barbossa, when he finally died, a bullet between the eyes, and the phantom masquerading as William Turner allowed his crew - at least the ones he’d rescued from Jack’s original crew - free reign over his old adversary’s body. They tore him to shreds and when Barbossa begged, the shadow laughed, and let them do it again.

Finally, Jack. Dear Jack who let himself be used. And William, chained to the wall of his own memory, collapsed to his knees, tears streaming down his face.

“Now you understand, William Turner,” Calypso breathed into his inner ear. “You have broken what is mine by rights. He is mine, just as you are mine. Bring him back to me, Captain Turner, and I will grant you the boon of death.” The dark shade that haunted his thoughts turned and looked at the man in the cell. He stepped through the bars and into Will's body. He struggled, pushing against the invasive presence and finally, with all his strength screamed for help. No one came and he continued to battle his own mind for what seemed like days but was only hours. With one last effort, William threw himself into the darkness.

And he lost.


Ragetti and Pintel sat with Jack in a tavern off the coast of Peru. Jack drank less than usual and the two dead pirates pretended not to notice. “Tell me about them,” the undead one of three said suddenly. “Has the curse claimed any?”

“Only some,” Pintel offered. “It’s claimed a few of the ones from Barbossa’s lot. Twigg, Grapple, Dog Ear. Bootstrap left years ago, and he remained free of the curse until then. Annie’s fine too.”

“Annie’s fine,” echoed Ragetti into his drink causing Jack and Pintel to both roll their eyes.

“And so are you by the looks of it,” Jack commented, making the innocuous seem loaded with intention.

“Gibbs has only ever loved the sea, as has Annie,” Charlie said before Ed could answer. “They’re fine too.”

Jack’s dark eyes glittered over the top of his mug. “And you two?”

Blushing, Ragetti shrugged leaving Pintel to pick up the slack. “Only ever loved each other,” he muttered gruffly. “Not like that’s ever changed.”

Lips quirked. “Ah.”

Stumbling over his embarrassment, Ragetti looked up. “Captain Turner’s worse for wear, Jack,” he offered softly. “He...he...” Charlie looked to Pintel for help and Ed reached over to push Jack’s shirt out of the way, revealing the scale.

“He is covered with those.”

Jack reached up and brushed the bit of almost metal. “I don’t know how I got this,” he told them truthfully. “I don’t remember anything passed dying the first time. Was I...there?”

“No,” lied Pintel, kicking Ragetti under the table. “But you two are marked.”

“Marked, bound and drawn,” added Charlie ominously, looking out to sea. “Find a cure fast, Jack,” he added. “Things are coming to a close.”

Gold glinted under sunlight. “Always does, Charlie, always does.”


William woke in his own bed, the Dutchman floating in her favorite home, between Bermuda and Trinidad. No ships would pass by there. Will rubbed a hand over the railing, feeling her push against his mind like a cat against his leg.

“Annie,” he said when he felt the mulatto’s presence near. “Where are the boys?”

“On land,” she answered. “Said they had some errands to run.”

Will nodded, drawing in an unneeded breath of salt air. “Something’s changed,” he said.

Annie nodded. She placed a careful hand on his shoulder, avoiding the dorsal fin. Darkness flashed in William’s eyes and she tightened her grip. It was always calm before the storm.


A rough hand squeezed the root of his cock mercilessly, tightening when he gasped in pain, and loosening when he made no noise. The lesson was hard learned but he soon figured out that the less noise he made the better he felt in the end. His low hanging balls were tied tightly against his skin, and every touch was an orgasm without the release of coming. Lips moved, begged, pleaded but the sensation never ended.

It was usually just as pleasure tingled and burned at the base of his spine that all touches stopped, though when he made a keening noise of displeasure it continued past the point of pleasure and fell forward into agony, as hot thick fingers slipped easily into him, rubbing tormentingly gentle at that place inside. Usually he passed out, but on the rare occasion, he lasted until his tormentor grew bored, or pleased, or something that Jack couldn’t read on his known and handsome face.

On the third day of the same treatment, Jack stopped making noises altogether.

And then, he’d wake up. He’d wake up hard, wanting and desperate, whining under his breath. But something inside him kept him from resting hand against his cock and taking care of the problem. He lay there for long moments, panting still, but unmoving - vastly disappointed when time made his erection flag and the desire pounding in his veins faded into a mere memory. He hadn’t fucked since waking without memory on the beach. Before that. His blood yearned for something without a name, and that was when he knew that something had to be done.


Scales shimmered even under black skies, the only light coming from the water around them. It was cold, but the spinal fin kept William from ever wearing a shirt. Slowly, ever so slowly, he felt the changes in his body, but most of all, he felt the changes in his mind. Darkness lay behind his ken, a great broiling smoke of illusions and half-truths.

He could feel himself slipping - down, down, down, spiraling down even past where Ana
Maria could save him. The cavernous emptiness inside him was yawning for more, and finally - one day - the fracture cracked.


And broke.

William couldn’t even find the heart to scream, as the Darkness washed over him in waves of erotic touches, painful memories, and the haunting feeling of despair. When Annie woke him from his seizing, the warm chocolate eyes of William Turner were gone.

Inside the place where his eyes had once been were the black sockets of a fish. Glossy black from lid to lid. The smile on his face was not encouraging. They were out of time.


For years people will tell the stories of the day the sea went rogue. Waves upon waves of roguish and hellish battering claimed port cities around the world. They would later say that the Goddess of the Sea took a lover, a man as evil and black as hell itself.

When Charlie and Ed dragged themselves up the shore to Tortuga and Jack, they were half dead, wet, and Charlie had clearly been crying. Neither Ed nor Jack made any mention of the small weakness. “We’re out of time,” Ed said gruffly. “Cure or no cure.”

Jack licked his lips. “I’m ready,” he said. Slowly, ever so slowly across the table he slid a small glass vial of red liquid. It was clearly blood. Next to it, he placed the gold medallion. When the two dead men would come out the door in the morning, Jack’s body would have washed up on the surf.

A look of peace on his face.


The not-William looked at the dead body of his former Captain. “This is impossible!” he roared, tossing the unconscious man into the brig. “I killed him!” Annie refused comment, standing ever so slightly in front of the impassive Pintel and the nervous Ragetti. “Well, looks like you found away around death after all, Jack,” the captain purred. “Lesson the second.”

When Jack woke, he found himself bound in a cell he only half remembered. At least, this time, he was clothed. But just like his haunting dreams, he was bound, alone, and hard. Then William slipped into the cage, and like that - Jack remembered.

God how he remembered...


Jack’s mind went numb at the possibilities that ran through his head. Images played out behind his eyes, springing tears in their wake. The feeling of nothingness settled in his bones and he went limp. Will’s flat black eyes stared him down without emotion. “I...” Jack murmured between frozen lips, but the dead captain laughed.

“Shut up, Jack,” he purred, and Jack found himself completely unable to open his mouth after that.

He breathed sharply through his nose, repeating I remember over and over in his head like a mantra. Hoping, hoping, hoping that Will would hear - nothing. His eyes or what was left of them gave noting away.

“Now that we’ve got that out of the way...” Will said, his voice low and husky. “I think we need to remember where we left off...” Jack was only able to stare at him in undisguised horrified arousal - he remembered exactly where they’d left off so many years before.

Will began dancing his finger tips over Jack’s exposed body, melting away the clothes with each touch. When everything had vanished, Will paused, staring at the side of Jack’s neck. “This is mine,” he breathed, brushing a thumb over Jack’s small shining scale. “This makes you mine.” He pressed harder and Jack let out a little note of needy sound. “Are you mine, Jack?”

Jack nodded wordlessly, gasping through the small space between his lips. He tilted his neck to the side to give Will more access as he thumbed the small blueish green scale. Cool lips covered it and Will’s hand swept down Jack’s muscular arms to link around his wrists.

“Are you?” he repeated, against sweaty skin. Jack’s head fell back and Will’s fingers dug into his flesh.

Burning licked up his arms where Will’s fingers left furrowed trails. Jack turned his head and gasped as a smattering of Will’s signature marks painted up his muscles. The old burnt brand was entirely covered by a ring of blue and green.

The Dutchman’s captain painted his palms down Jack’s chest, leaving behind more of his marks.

Even when his hands ceased their damning strokes, the scales slid over his skin like sinuous tattoos, giving him a pattern of ownership.

Jack pulled at his restraints desperately until Will took notice of his struggles. “You may move,” he allowed.

Immediately Jack twisted around to face him. “Will,” he said urgently. “I remember damn it!”

Though the fish eyes showed no emotion, his face registered surprise. “Do you?” he asked flatly.

“Yes!” Jack shouted. “I love you, daft fool man!” Somewhere inside him he felt a twist and the restraints fell away. “Don’t you ever send me away again.”

Dark eyes blinked, cleared, blinked again. “I broke you, Jack.”

Jack waved his words away. “Whatever,” he growled, pulling Will into his arms. “Shut up, Will.” He just stood there without responding to Jack’s embrace. Not discouraged, Jack kissed him on the side of the neck, the same place Jack had his own first scale. “Put away the Jones impression, Turner.”

That drew a reaction. “I am nothing like Jones,” Will hissed, pulling away.

“Tell that to the fin and scales,” Jack said mildly.

When Will shot him a wry look over one shoulder the darkness in his eyes was a shade or two lighter. “I don’t need you,” he told Jack fiercely.

Though he knew somewhere that the broken man Will last remembered had lived a whole other life and had changed for the better, he also knew that the Darkness that lived inside The Captain of the Flying Dutchman was much older and wiser than he could ever be. He had to outsmart him.

That had never been a problem for Jack.

“Bull shit,” he told Will evenly. “You need me more than you know.”

Will scowled at him. “Clearly you’ve forgotten more than you let on. I think a night alone in here will remind you of the things you knew better than to do.” He let the door go the cell swing closed.

Jack could feel the lost presence of the water in his blood and he could hear Tia Dalma’s rich Creole laughter skating through him. Before William’s astounded eyes he stepped through the bars. “Rules have changed...William.”

Black eyes with white outlines stared at him in shock. “So they have,” he agreed. “So they have.”


Calypso smiled to herself as she watched her two favorites in the water pool she sat beside. It was only a matter of time.


Clothes were left haphazardly on the floor when they hit the bed. Fingers glided over skin, over scales alike, sweat pooling and rolling over heated flesh. “Jack!” Will cried out softly when his partner bit his collarbone hard enough to mark and bruise.

They came together - not quite passionately, but eagerly, hands already knowing the way and bodies remembering the forgotten dance.

Will came first, his eyes turning brown with each thrust. “You’re mine too,” Jack grunted at him, pressing their foreheads together. “Mine.”

“Yours,” Will breathed out.

The Dutchman herself shuddered with her master and scales jingled like coins on the floor of the cabin.


There were times that William realized that no matter how things had changed, Jack would never quite be fixed by the things that he broke. Jack would flinch whenever the rigging snapped in the wind the sound of a whip against flesh, or the way he would tense when an unknown hand would fall on his shoulder hands biting into skin.

He functioned, more or less, without help, and the crew accepted him readily as a second in command, even Ana Maria who smiled a little instead of firing off her hot temper at the news. With William’s loss of Jones’ syndrome, the men who had followed him either chose to move on to what lay on the other side of the sea, or lost the scales and starfish.

But Jack was a changed man. He could only call upon the power that Calypso gave him in times of great need, and without the comfort of always being able to escape, Jack would shrink in on himself, only a little, but to Will it was noticeable.

What was worse, was the unJack-like qualities the pirate possessed. Gone were the swaying hips, the coquettish grins and the pet names. Though the accent was still thick and prevalent, Jack was no more Jack than Will could be.

And it hurt. It hurt to watch the once animated man turn into a cold shell, a shell that opened during sex but closed so immediately after that it left the sex stifled and stilted. Once the act was over, once Jack had came and Will had released into him, Jack would pull away and curl up into a ball, never touching Will and jerking when Will would try.

He never initiated the sex, and Will began to feel like he was raping his old friend, and soon even that stopped. For weeks after Will stopped kissing Jack, he would catch the pirate giving him longing glances, and Will tried to encourage Jack to make a move - any move. But Jack merely would slip into the bed, under the covers and curl up into the tiny, pitiful ball.

“What do I do?” Will asked of Ana Maria miserably.

“Do you love him?” she answered back, her voice even.

Closing tired, tear damp eyes, Will nodded slowly. “Yes, God help me. I have no right to feel this way, Annie. I have no right to be hurt by his rejection. I broke him, I raped him, I practically murdered him.”

“And yet you are bound to him,” she said softly. It was not a comfort.

“I am bound to him,” Will agreed.

Ana Maria closed her eyes against the sadness in his tone and felt the sharp, amused tug of her patron goddess. Calypso planted the idea firmly and while Ana Maria knew it for the trap it was, she let the words spill from her mouth. “Will, where is your heart?”

One eyebrow lifted up, the crease found there deepening in confusion. It was such a face of the old William Turner that she stifled a gasp. “Buried with Elizabeth per my instructions. Why?”

“And the key, William?”

“Tell me why first, Ana Maria.” His voice was hard and the expression had gone.

“Because I have an idea, idiot. Where is the key?” Wordlessly Will turned and looked over at the still and silent Jack. Without her conscious consent, Ana Maria’s hand flew to her lips. “You gave it...he has it, now?”


That one word, and Will was gone, flowing into the cracks of the deck. It gave Ana Maria time to plan.


She knelt in the sandy dirt of Elizabeth’s grave, the key clenched tightly in her hand. It had cost Jack something to give it to her, and she had nearly begged, telling him it was by Will’s request.

The fear and panic in Jack’s eyes nearly broke her resolve, but there was nothing else she could do. Her actions and ceased to be hers over a hundred years ago.

It was a small price to pay. She unlocked the old sea chest, and pulled out the beating heart, holding it close to her body in a grotesque hug. She faded away with a shimmer, leaving the chest on the edge of the water to be washed away. It’s old letters and mementos scattered by the tide.

Reverently she presented the gruesome appendage to Will whose lips turned up in a slight grin. “I see it still beats. Surprising, that,” he mused.

The heartbeat seemed to echo slightly in the cavernous cabin, but Will didn’t seem to notice. “I’m sorry, Captain,” she said though from here it meant nothing.

He grinned again, the smile unpleasant. “Leave me, Annie.” She turned to go before his voice stopped her at the door. “For what its worth,” he called over, “thank you.”

Ana Maria half turned to look at him. “For what?” she asked.

“Everything, though that doesn’t even cover it.” He stood, leaving the heart beating on the desk. “For being there, and for keeping me together before I fell. And even after.”

She crossed the room again and hugged him tightly. “Be safe, Will,” she whispered, tears in her eyes. “You only have a short time.”

“I know,” he breathed into her dark hair. “Take care of them for me.”

She nodded into his shoulder. “I will.”

He let her go and she left him, and in doing so missed the moment he stabbed his own heart through with the blade he kept at his waist. She missed the cringing pain on his handsome face. And she missed the sorrow that filled it when the single scale he’d kept fell to the ground in a gleam of blood.


“Jack.” The word was enough to stop him, mid motion, like a cat. It was something Will had only begun to notice in the later years of their time together. Jack was still a predator in his own way, it was though every muscle just ceased moving.

It was hard to hold himself upright, but he managed. Jack turned, one eyebrow raised. “Aye?” he asked neutrally.

“A word in your ear?” Will asked gently, making it a question, holding open the door to his cabin.

Jack nodded and gracefully slipped into the room, never once brushing against Will. He glanced around the room as was his habit but saw nothing amiss. “What is it, Will?” he asked, as Will leaned heavily against the corner of the desk. “Are you ill?”

“No, I’m...I’m not ill,” he said and there was a load of humor behind his voice. “I just...had a question for you.” He was breathing a little too deep and Jack felt worry begin to grow in the pit of his stomach.

“Ask,” he offered, taking a step back as though to escape the wrong-ness of the situation he was in.

Will licked dry lips. “Would you kiss me, Jack?” he asked, “of your own volition and want?”

The worry was replaced with an uncomfortableness that Jack failed at hiding. “Whenever I kiss you it is at my own volition,” he answered carefully.

Somehow Will found it within himself to be amused. “Nicely answered, Jack, but while it’s of your own volition, you didn’t say you wanted to. You only do it because you think I want you to.”

Drawing in a deep, painful breath, Jack murmured, “aye.”

Resigned, Will nodded once. “I thought so. I do love you, Jack,” he said softly. “And I can never make up for what I did to you.”

“It wasn’t you,” Jack protested. “It was the curse!” He took two steps forward into Will’s personal space. “I told you! Things have changed.” He poked Will in the chest.

The Captain of the Flying Dutchman caught Jack’s questing fingers. “No, they haven’t. Not really.”

Jack didn’t pull away. He tilted his head to the side instead, gazing at Will with new eyes. “What’s wrong, dear William?” he asked with growing dread.

The head tilt, the words, they were all so essentially Jack that Will felt the last piece break inside of him. A tear slipped down his cheek and Jack gasped. “Kiss me Jack,” Will begged. “Kiss me and mean it.”

Confused, terrified and wanting, Jack rose up on tip toe and pressed his warm lips to Will’s cold ones. They kissed, the motion chaste and unassuming, until Jack made a ragged noise and deepened it. When they broke for air, mouths hot and red, Will smiled.

“Thank you,” he murmured, leaning his forehead against Jacks. “And...take care of her for me.”

Still touching, Jack opened his mouth to reply, and suddenly Will just...wasn’t there anymore. Water dripped down the desk side, and trickled away like it had never been. Jack cursed and raced up to the deck, gazing out searchingly over the star studded water.

There was a single candle in a boat, and Will lay in it, floating away to the other world, disappearing into the mists.

Jack adjusted his hat, he turned to a silent Ana Maria and didn’t get two words out before something broke in his chest. A deep racking sob tried to force its way out of his throat and he ruthlessly squashed the sound down.

“Weigh anchor,” he said instead. “We’re going topside.”

“Aye-aye,” she said, “Captain Sparrow.”

With one last thready beat, Jack could feel his heart stop.


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