Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Will can’t stop shaking. 

He tires. He wishes, wills himself, begs, prays, for it to stop, but it doesn’t. Shaking, yet numb to every sensation. Elizabeth looks upon him with narrowed, concerned eyes, as do Cotton, Marty, and the rest of what is left of the crew. After going through everything Will has, having his life uprooted by Jack Sparrow just as the rest of them did, nothing is supposed to shake him. Moments of fears, breaths of terror, sure. But not… not this. 

Gibbs is the only one who does not look at him with concern. Will does not quite know what the look is, but he thinks it might be pity. 

He goes limp as Gibbs and Cotton haul him off the Pearl and into the longboat. Despite the violent burbling of the sea below as the Kraken prepares to rise again, the shouts of the crew as they escape, all he can hear are Jack's last words. See the soft and fond expression on Jack’s face. Almost… 

Almost as if he really cared. 

Will drops down next to Elizabeth, his blood cold and frozen, unable to look any of them in the eye. He wonders if this is what true shock feels like. He is the only one who does not watch- no, is unable to watch as the Kraken reaches its long tentacles up and over the Pearl, dragging the ship and her captain down into the watery grave below. His stomach turns over and over. He tries to look back, to get one last glimpse of it all, but he cannot. 

The ghost of Jack’s touch lingers on the side of his face. Not all treasure is silver and gold. Will has- had never heard Jack sound so… sincere. It is- was something he thought Jack was incapable of. Jack, who spent his whole life as a pirate, so well-practiced and perfect in the arts of lying, cheating, and deceiving, sounding truthful and genuine. 

It’s a lie. It has to be. Why wouldn’t it? Trickery is the only thing Jack knew how to do properly, and it is the only thing he has ever done to Will. Will had never been more than a means for Jack to get what he wanted. Just another pawn in his chess game, easily manipulatable and disposable when the moment called for it. 

Treasure. Will’s heart thunders in his ears, threatening to burst from his chest. Jack had known the truth about Bill Turner, that he was not Will’s real father, and he jumped at that opportunity. One last cruel trick, one final way for him to have the upper hand against Will. To always have Will under his spell, to eternally torment him. For Will to believe that no matter what, Jack knows more and knows better than Will himself ever could. 

Treasure. The lash marks on his back twinge, barely heard, torn open from their fight with the Kraken, fresh and raw. Treasure. He runs a thumb over the brand on his wrist. Beckett had seemed particularly gleeful when he had pressed the hot iron against Will’s skin. As he had watched Will fight against the strong grip of the soldiers like a wild animal caught in a trap. Treasure. He thinks back to everything Jack did to get the Pearl back.

Treasure. He wants to scoff at the notion. Dismiss it. It’s just another lie. 

As the longboat floats further and further toward the shore, the group settles into an uneasy silence. The prison dog rests his head on Will’s lap, letting out a soft sigh. 

It’s a lie, Will tells himself, laying a hand on the dog’s head, hoping to steady the quaking. It’s what Jack does best. It’s just a lie. 

He stays silent as their motley group prepares for the trip back up river. They have nowhere else to go. Tia Dalma is their best bet to remain safe. The others do not press for many words from him. Few are exchanged between anyone on their journey back to the swamps. In the moments of silence, he can almost pretend everything is normal, that what he knows about himself is not some elaborately constructed fabrication. Weakness isn’t something anyone surrounded by a world of piracy can afford. 

Weakness. Maybe that is it. Maybe that’s the reason for Jack’s whole sham. Maybe that’s why Gibbs looks upon him with pity. All torn up about someone who only saw him as a weakness. 

There isn’t much time that Will gets alone with Gibbs. Gibbs must sense the way Will follows him with questioning eyes and does his best to avoid him, Will. However, when they are in the thick of the forest surrounding the path to Tia Dalma’s, Will manages to slide to the back of the longboat beside Gibbs. 

“Did you know?” he demands without pretense, voice scratchy from disuse. 

“Know- ?” Gibbs’s words cut off. He opens and closes his mouth, resembling a fish gasping for air, as he searches for the right words. “Is this really the best time, Mr. Turner?” 

Gibbs has never called him that. It has always been Will or William. Will tests the name Turner in his mind. It doesn’t quite feel right. 

It should. It has to. It always has. 

He keeps his intent eyes on Gibbs, boring holes through the man, begging for an answer. 

Gibbs sighs and shakes his head. He rests a hand on Will’s shoulder. “You- you better be careful, Will.” 

“Why?” 

The pity in Gibbs’s eyes turns into what Will can only describe as genuine sadness. “Because you look just like him. I won’t be the only one who notices it.” 

Jack had wished Will had looked more like his mother. 

Who cares what Jack wished? Will scolds himself. You shouldn’t. 

Gibbs is no good at lying; Will knows this. Gibbs also has a mind of his own. He does not always follow what Jack says. As if Jack would tell him to keep this sham up. Will would not put it past him. 

Elizabeth watches him with worried eyes. She refuses to let Will out of her sight for more than a few seconds. He knows why she is concerned, but that does not mean it does not bother him. A few times, she dares to ask him if he is okay, what is wrong, anything to start a conversation. 

He never reciprocates, afraid that if he starts speaking, it will all spill out. This isn’t her burden to bear. She shouldn’t even be here. She should be somewhere far away from all this, from pirates and Jones and Beckett and Jack. Somewhere safe. Besides, everyone has their own shaky relationship with Jack, including Elizabeth. She doesn't need to be worrying about him.

It frustrates her, that much she can tell. Elizabeth has always been good at hiding her emotions, but Will has always been able to tell what she is really feeling. The clench of her jaw, a hardening in her eyes, the way she stops looking Will in the eyes when she speaks to him. She turns slightly to the side and does not even face him. 

Will tries to tell himself that it does not bother him.

Tia Dalma knows. When they arrive at her shack, she looks at him the same way Gibbs does. During their first and only interactions, he remembers her eyes darting between him and Jack every-so often. He wonders just how many people knew. 

Too many for it to be more than a trick. 

A pit settles deep in his stomach and refuses to pass. 

What’s left of their crew sits in her shack, uneasy silence passing between them. Tia Dalma hands him a hot drink. His stomach turns at the thought of eating or drinking anything. He isn’t sure he would be able to keep it down. 

The dog slides down next to him, letting out a long sigh as he rests his head on Will’s leg. Will’s hands shake around the mug, and he sets it to the side, afraid of spilling the hot drink. He clasps his hands together tightly and holds them in his lap. More questions and thoughts fill his head in the silence. Jack must have known from the moment he learned Will’s name. That was the only reason he had agreed to help Will in the first place. Had he planned on keeping it a secret forever? On sailing away with the Black Pearl once Will had fulfilled and outlived his usefulness? 

Perhaps Jack thought it would have been kinder. He nearly scoffs aloud at the thought as it comes to him. Jack would have never done anything out of the kindness of his own heart, if he even had a heart left. 

Not all treasure is silver and gold. 

The words echo in his mind again. Will begs them to stop. 

Had Jack meant it that way when he said it to Will back on the Isla de Muerta? Had he cared, even back then? Had he ever actually cared? Of course he didn’t, who is Will kidding himself. So many times, over and over, Will was just a tool for him. He had left Will – another burden, something to keep him tied down – with another family, another man to call his father, to pursue his own life and wants. 

Another man who had left to pursue a life of pirate too. Someone else who had turned away from Will. 

Maybe he can forgive Bill Turner. What he had done on the Flying Dutchman had made up for the abandonment. Maybe he can forgive Bill Turner, for really and truly protecting him. As a father is supposed to do. 

Protect. That’s what Jack claimed he was doing by lying and leaving Will behind. He was protecting him. 

It’s Gibbs who breaks the silence, catching WIll’s attention. A toast – to Jack. Calling him a good pirate. A good captain. A good man. 

Jack would be horrified at being called such.

Will is the only one who does not make the toast, unable to unclench his shaking hands.  

“Will?” Gibbs asks. 

Will shakes his head. “He can’t be gone.” He hates how small his voice is. 

Out of the corner of his eye, he sees Elizabeth reaching to put a hand on his shoulder. “Will- “she says softly. 

“No,” Will interrupts, jerking his shoulder out of her range. “He can’t be gone. He- “ he owes me answers” - he has unfinished business in this world. Jack wouldn’t want to leave it that way.” 

“The Kraken took him and the Pearl,” Pintel says. “No one survives that.” 

“I did,” Will replies firmly. 

“By some divine intervention,” Pintel fires back. 

“What are you suggesting?” Gibbs says, interjecting himself into the conversation. “That we… bring him back somehow?” 

No sooner has the last word left Gibbs’ mouth that Tia Dalma says, “Would you?” 

The unease in the room sharply shifts into anticipation as Tia Dalma explains that there is a way to return a soul from the Locker. Easy? No. But possible? Yes. 

Their motley crew comes to a quick agreement about their next course of action – that they have to retrieve Jack Sparrow and the Black Pearl from Davy Jones’ Locker. Yet, even though Will agrees to it, he cannot help but slip back into unease. About how quickly had Tia Dalma been able to procure that response, almost as if she had been desperately waiting for someone to bring it up. A strange hunger in her eyes, the kind of hunger Will had seen in pirates on a treasure hunt. The unease grows when Tia Dalma informs them that they will need a guide, someone who has charted the waters of the other world before. 

“So, tell me,” the resurrected Captain Barbossa asks, “what’s become of my ship?”

They stand in silent shock as Barbossa takes inventory of their crew. “Two of my own with such wavering loyalties,” he says, in reference to Pintel and Ragetti. “Three hopeless cases dedicated to an even more hopeless one.” To Gibbs, Marty, and Cotton. “One girl far too mischievous for her own good.” To Elizabeth, who glares daggers at him. He comes to a stop in front of Will, looking down at him with his head cocked to the side. “And one lost little fledgling.“ 

Before he knows what he is doing, Will shoots straight up to his feet, standing eye to eye with Barbossa, his gaze unwavering. Distantly, he hears the others in the room stand up.

He knows, the rat bastard. Of course, he knows, because Will is the only person who isn’t allowed to know things. 

To his surprise, Barbossa is the first one to back away from their standoff. He turns to Tia Dalma. “They’ll do.” 

“They’ll have to,” Tia Dalma snaps back. “You have no other option.” 

As Barbossa turns back, Will’s chest suddenly feels as though it is about to burst open. He turns and leaves the shack. 

The swamp has very little land, but there are enough thick tree roots and branches protruding from the water for him to get through. Just enough for him to get away from the stuffy little hut, from the crew, from Barbossa, from the prospect of bringing Jack back from the Locker. The chittering, chirping, and buzzing of the surrounding bugs and wildlife fills his ears and his head, temporarily washing away all thoughts of everything else. 

He finds a small divot in a large tree, where he settles out of view. The sun is beginning to rise, peeking through the few holes and cracks in the layers of foliage above. For a brief moment, the thoughts were gone. But now that he is still, they are back. 

Not all treasure is silver and gold. 

Treasure. How laughable. He scoffs aloud, ignoring the small break in it. Jack never cared. Here Will is, in pieces over someone who barely even saw him as a person. Ready to partner with a resurrected man who was- is- might be an enemy to venture into the unknown and retrieve his soul from the other world. 

Perhaps it is another scheme. Jack did nothing without a plan for the future. He had to have known it was possible for him to be returned to the land of the living. Jack may have been telling the truth for once, that he really is- was Will’s father, and only revealed it at the most opportune moment. When it was best for Jack that Will knew, so that Will would be guilt-ridden or curious enough to come back for him. 

And yet, all he can see in his mind’s eye is that soft, fond smile. The kind that cannot be faked, no matter how many years of practice. Maybe he’s a fool for wanting to believe it was real. 

“Will?” 

He snaps himself out of his own thoughts. Elizabeth has appeared – she must have followed him. She lowers herself into the space beside him in the tree. “Will, what’s wrong?” 

And it all spills over. 

Chapter Text

Jack isn’t quite sure what he would have expected to see on the other side. 

He would have liked to think it was something good, even if he had done nothing in life to deserve such. Hell, he would have even taken a peaceful black void. But this is… well, it is certainly something different. 

He catches movement out of the corner of his eye, up high on one of the ship's   masts. “You best be careful up there,” he calls. “Hate to see you fall and have your brains spill all over the deck. 

“And?” The boy sitting atop the horizontal spar of the mast, legs dangling over the side, leans forward, head tilted. “If that were to happen, what would you do?” 

“ I would be doing nothing.” Jack leans against the mast, meeting the boy’s familiar dark eyes. “You’d be the one cleaning it up.” 

“Hard to do that if I’m dead.” 

Jack cannot help but chuckle as he makes his way to the   bow, pulling out his spyglass. “Well,” he begins, looking out over the unending horizon, “I would hope you would not be stupid enough to do that.” 

He waits for a response but none comes. Jack turns back and sees the boy has vanished. Had he ever even been there in the first place? He comes and goes, yet never gets too close. Close enough for Jack to tell if he is real. 

He has a ship. A ship marooned on a white expanse of sand. The sounds of crashing waves and cawing gulls echo in his ears, the faint salty smell of sea air in his nose, and the light ocean breeze ghosts over his skin. If he closes his eyes, he can almost believe he is out there, on the water. Sometimes, he forgets, and he hurries to pull the anchor, lower the sails, and bark orders at a crew that does not exist. 

He walks away from the ship a few times. Perhaps, if he goes for long enough, he can find the seas that have been taunting him from afar. However, no matter how far he goes, he never gets anywhere. His ship remains the same distance out of his view as it always does, just a small blip on the horizon. He walks quite far one time but gets terrified of losing the ship and turns right back. 

Luckily, it is right where he left it. 

(Not that he expected it to move, at all). 

The sun is bright, and the sky is an eerie, ghostly color of blue. For as long as he has been here, he has never seen a cloud. There is no wind, despite the phantom sea breeze. Despite the bright sun, no matter which way he turns, where he squints at in the sky, he is unable to find it. The mystery sun never sets. He has seen no stars, no deep blue nighttime sky, since he came to this place. 

Time does not seem to pass here, yet he feels as though he has been here forever. The memories of… oh, what was it again? Why was he here exactly, wherever here might be? On the occasion he can recall a name or an image of his last moments. Of someone called Jones and a great terrible beastie he believes might have been the cause of all this. Yet, the longer he is here, the more those memories seem to fizzle away. 

However, the one thing he knows is that where he is, he is alone. 

Jack tries to recall things about himself. Who he was, where he had been, anything. Aside from his own name, there is nothing. He tries to remember names and people, some who might have been important to him. Friend or foe, he does not care. If he can put a name to a face, he considers it a success. 

But the names are hard. There are people for sure, but Jack is not sure who any of them are. For a time, there are feelings associated with each of them. There’s an older round-faced man he feels something that might be trust for, something comforting and kind. Another man, not much older than Jack, taller and cocky, something red hot and fiery that could be anger. A young woman far too clever for her own good. Now that feeling might either be mild annoyance or amazement or something in between. No names, though, despite his best efforts. 

There are few he remembers better than others. Few that could never be driven from his mind. He sees them sometimes, his only hints and hopes that he is not alone in this world. 

His hat is suddenly stolen from his head, and he turns to grab it from whoever would dare do such a thing, on guard, ready to threaten a life- 

“So, is this what has become of you?” the woman asks as she fixes the hat on her head. “You finally have what you want. You finally have it all.” She struts around the main deck of the ship   as if she owns it, as if she were her captain rather than him. “Captain Jack Sparrow,” she says with a theatrical air, swinging around one of the masts, “of the dreaded, legendary Black Pearl, fastest ship on the seas. Pirate Lord of the Caribbean.” 

The Black Pearl. So that is what the ship is named.

But that hardly matters to him. She has taken his hat, and that is quite the punshiable offence.

Jack catches up to her, reaching for his hat, and she swings around the other side, dodging him, with a small smile playing over her lips. He swings around the mast as well, but she continues to evade him, over up to the Pearl’ s bow. “And yet, it’s still not enough, is it?” 

Jack finally catches up to her, stopping just a few feet away. 

“You have to have more, don’t you?” she asks. Jack does not respond, and she tilts her head, clearly waiting for one. 

You’re beautiful, he wants to say, rather stupidly. He thinks this is what she might have looked like if she had gotten the chance to get older. Slight wrinkles around the corners of her eyes, smile lines along her cheeks, and soft sun-tanned skin. 

“It’s never enough for you, is it?” She offers him a closed-lipped smile as she takes the hat from her head and places it back on his own. “I was never enough for you, Captain Sparrow.” 

It is a statement rather than a question. Yet, it is the resigned and understanding tone of her voice that gets him. He would rather she be angry with him. She had only ever become angry with Jack once, their only argument, in which Jack decided that it would be best for his own safety to let her be right all the time. 

He reaches out to cradle her face, to take the risk and tell her how wrong she is, to say everything, but he blinks. 

She is no longer there. 

She never was. 

She comes and goes, never stays for too long. Sometimes, no matter how close he gets, she seems to get farther away, just like the Pearl. He can never reach out and touch her, as she disappears the moment he tries. He hears her voice calling to him, but he can never find her. Whenever she speaks, whenever he sees her, the sounds of the sea seem to grow stronger.  

It isn’t always her, though. Sometimes, it’s the young boy who sits on the masts or railings of the Pearl. Sometimes, Jack finds him horribly endearing, and others (well, most of the time really), he is far more horribly annoying.  He likes to argue with Jack and question everything he does and says. Question everything about any and anything about everything. Questions, questions, questions. Must be all he knows how to do. He never seems to tire of the interrogation. However, despite an existence he likens to a petulant pest, Jack never minds his presence. The annoyance is… endearing, he supposes. 

She asks about him, the boy. Jack never has much of a response for her. She tells him what she thinks he might be like, who he might have ended up as. Someone great, she says, with a happy and fulfilled life. Someone who had more than they ever did or could have ever had. 

Jack likes to think she is right. He likes to believe that the boy has grown into a good man. A better man than Jack is- was- oh, whatever the situation may be. Jack has no reason to believe it other than it simply feels right. 

He never sees them together. Only ever her, or only ever him. Maybe they were never meant to be together in the same place. Maybe Jack can only have one. Or rather, the illusion of one. 

On the occasion that the invisible sun’s blistering heat gets to him, Jack sees a figure in the distance. Despite his fear of losing his own ship, he will dare to venture away from it to try and see who it is. Perhaps it is someone he knows, who can help job memories as to why he is here. Yet, just as with everything else, no matter how close Jack gets, the figure only seems to get farther away. He flips open his compass and lets it spin, hoping to find the path to figure, but the needle wheels around in every direction and radial aimlessly. 

None are ever there at the same time, always separate and sporadically. They leave him alone, desperate for the sound of their voices, for their presence, for anything. Anything other than to be left with his own mind. 

***

By the time Will and Elizabeth arrive back at Tia Dalma’s hut, Barbossa has already decided where they need to go next – Singapore. “There’s a map that can lead you to the Farthest Gate, to World’s End,” the old captain explains at Will’s questioning expression, “but they be in the hands of Sao Feng, Pirate Lord of Singapore. Getting the map from him won’t be easy.” His yellowed eyes unerringly meet Will’s. “I’m sure any Sparrow worth his salt should have no problem getting them.” 

Will holds his look, jaw clenching. “I won’t.” 

Barbossa shoots him an amused grin. 

Will has no idea what Barbossa and Jack’s relationship might have been before Barbossa turned on him. It is something he would rather not waste the time imagining, as there are far more important things to be worrying about. However, knowing what he knows about Jack, Will is left to wonder if the relationship is the same, just with the roles reversed. 

Jack liked to bother people. Get rises out of them. Enjoyed seeing the unflappable flapped and the cool and composed all flustered and ashamed. Hell, he had done it enough to Will that Will had considered pushing him off the deck of the Black Pearl and dealing with the consequences rather than put up with it. It did not matter who you were, whether you were someone under his command or whatever Will was to him, you were an equal target for aggravation. 

He imagines Barbossa was in no different situation. Probably worse, considering how harsh Jack could be to Gibbs. And Jack actually liked Gibbs. Maybe… Will was never too sure with Jack. The whole “betraying-his-captain-and-leaving-him-on-an-island-to-die” thing aside, Jack had only ever seemed to just tolerate Barbossa. 

Which now results in the unfortunate situation Will finds himself in now. Barbossa does not just delight in tormenting Will. No, he relishes it. He spends just as much time finding ways under Will’s skin as he does ordering people around, his priority as a pirate captain. Barbossa never misses the chance to refer to Will by his new nickname that he has become oh-so fond of, tacking it on to the end of sentences as if it were a royal title. There are too many bird-related puns and idioms thrown into his words when he speaks to Will, too many to even be possible for a language to have. He enjoys the tightening of Will’s jaw, the hardening of his eyes, and the angry glare he fixes him with. 

“You could stop rising to it,” Elizabeth suggests. “You know that is the only reason he does it.” 

He does know it. And I wish it were just that simple. As unhelpful as the advice may seem, she is right. He should know better by now, that arguing with Elizabeth gets him nowhere. If he stops showing a reaction to it, then perhaps he will never have to see that winning, mischievous twinkle in the pirate’s yellowing eyes. 

This is Barbossa, he reminds himself. The man who came back from the dead. Nothing with Barbossa is ever simply going to go away. 

Barbossa manages to find their motley crew a ship that will take them to Tortuga. From there, they can find passage to Singapore. A few days and nights on the ship, close to Barbossa who continues to torment him, close to Gibbs who stares at him with mournful and teary eyes, and Elizabeth, who looks torn between wanting to comfort him and shaking some sense into him, he believes he might send himself plummeting off the rails of the ship. If only for a moment’s peace. 

He sleeps little on the voyage to Tortuga, instead choosing to spend nights out on the open decks. Away from everyone else. There, even if for a short time before Elizabeth inevitably tracks him down, he can allow himself to think about it. 

“You can quit wallowing in your own self-pity.” Barbossa’s voice startles Will from his thoughts as he hobbles up to where Will is standing close to the bow. “Won’t do you no good.” 

“I am not wallowing,” Will fires back. He crosses his arms and refuses to face the old captain. “Just thinking. I have to.” 

Will stays busy in the daytime, constantly moving around the ship, talking to people, helping out the crew where he can, to avoid just that. Elizabeth encourages him not to sink too deep into his own thoughts, afraid of what drowning in them might do, but he has to think about it at some point. Pushing them aside, shoving them down, will help nothing. 

Look where it got Jack. Taken by the Kraken, somewhere far beyond the mortal realm, having left Will with no answers to his many questions.

“Of course.” Barbossa scoffs. “Just thinking. Doing too much of that will get you killed.” 

“I am in no mood.” 

“Mood for what, fledgling?” 

Will schools himself, but he must make some reaction to the name. Out of the corner of his eye, Barbossa grins. “Exactly that.” 

“Your old man did it to me. S’only fair I give it back. What goes around comes around, eh?” 

Will goes silent for a moment. Those words… they don’t sound right. “He isn’t ‘my old man.’ He isn’t my- “he stops. No, those words do not feel right either. How can he say them when they are wrong? When they have to be a lie? Even if he is surrounded by lying, cheating, thieving pirates, that does not mean it has to affect him that way. That lying has to become easy, become second nature. 

“He’s not what?” Barbossa presses. His head tilts forward, trying to meet Will’s eyes. “Your father?” 

He hates those words, but not fully. They are nonsensical, but they make sense. They are a lie, but somehow also the truth. Nothing more than a fib from a silver-tongued pirate captain with honest eyes who looked at him as if he were the most important thing in the world. 

Treasure. 

Jack’s want had always been treasure. 

Jack’s wants had changed with the wind. 

Jack called him that. 

“You look like him,” Barbossa says, “give or take twenty years. Oh, yes, I remember what he looked like when I first met him,” he adds when Will glances over to him. “Even got the matching brand on the wrist.” 

Suddenly self-conscious about it, Will tucks his right arm under his left. 

“No shame in hiding it,” Barbossa says. “We’ve all got one, of a sorts.” 

“But we don’t all wear it proudly, do we?”

Another scoff from Barbossa. “You, maybe not. Some of us have chosen to accept this noble profession and realize we are no good for nothing else.” 

Noble profession. Had he been in any better mood, Will might have laughed at the statement. “Do I look like him that much?” he asks instead. 

“Eerily,” Barbossa replies without pause. “Best be careful with it, too. Jack had enemies. Enemies that, should they find out, will be finding you soon.” 

“Jack is dead. What use would there be in punishing me for his sins?” 

Barbossa laughs loudly, startling Will. “Well, that is just it, isn’t it? As a pirate, it’s only fair that you want more. But, the world’s unfair and never always gives you what you want. Sometimes, you just have to get close enough.” 

“I’ll keep that in mind,” Will mutters, having no intent to do so. What helpful advice. 

“Wasn’t just that, though,” Barbossa continues as though Will had not spoken. “He mentioned you once.” 

Will’s heart jumps a beat. 

“Night a lot like this one.” Barbossa glances around. “No one else on the deck. Clear skies, calm winds. Nothing but the sounds of the sea to keep you company. Most far gone I had ever seen him, going on and on about regrets, things he should have done, things he should not have done. Figured it was just the drink bringing up some old memories and making them worse than they really were.” 

“What did he say?” Will asks, quite suddenly finding himself interested. 

Barbossa’s mouth opens, then closes. He hums and tilts his head. “Can’t say I remember.” Tilts his head the other direction. “Left some memories on the other side. I’ll have to go about getting those back… “he shakes himself and clears his throat. “Anyway, I’d thought your mother was some common wench he convinced himself he was in love with, and you were- “ 

“I see the picture,” Will interrupts, internally wincing. Some common wench. Jack had called his mother beautiful. Wished Will looked more like her. 

“I never forgot that,” Barbossa finishes. “Jack denied any knowledge of such when I asked, but I always kept my eye out.” He pauses. “You don’t like me, do you?” 

Will throws an annoyed look back at him. Like is far too strong of a word. Tolerate does not even accurately describe it. More of that Will has no other choice now. 

Barbossa shrugs. “Forgive and forget, as they say. Out here, you never know when your enemies become allies and allies become enemies.” 

And that is it. Barbossa is a pirate, as he has so continuously reminded Will. Pirates never do anything because they want something. A pirate like Barbossa would never freely share the information Will so clearly and desperately wants without a reason. 

“What do you want from me?” Will asks. 

The mischievous twinkle shines again. “Finally caught on, have you?” Barbossa chuckles. “What do I want from you? Simple – I want you.” 

“Me?” That could mean a thousand different things, not all of them- well, really most of them – good. 

Barbossa nods once. “Yes, you – you be the key to this all. You want answers, young sparrow, answers no one on this side can give you. You’re going to the greatest lengths to get them. No matter what happens, this will all end with your wants satisfied. What else might you do, where else might you go, to get what you want?” 

“I am not that greedy,” Will argues. I’m not like you. “I wouldn’t be doing this if he were alive.” 

Barbossa laughs. “No, and I wouldn’t be standing here neither.” 

“That is not what I meant. Jack owes me answers.” 

“Oh, so this isn’t about you, but him instead?” Barbossa challenges. “What about any of this makes you think he owes you? Maybe he had a good reason for leaving you.” 

“I don’t care about that.” 

Barbossa raises an eyebrow. “Your words say one thing, eyes say another.” 

Will searches for some retort to shoot back, to put himself back on the high ground in the conversation, but he fails to find one. It is the ugly question that Will has been avoiding asking himself, but it will be the first question he asks Jack once Will finds him. 

Why did you leave me? Was he not good enough for what Jack wanted? Why all of a sudden act like he cares about Will just before he dies? Was Will nothing more than another treasure, another object, to him that he would abandon when something shinier glimmered in the distance? Had Jack truly ever cared for Will and his mother, or was that all another lie so someone would have reason to miss him once he was gone? 

Wrong as the word sounded, the truth that Jack was his father is indisputable. Too many knew, that had never been a trick. The trick comes with everything else surrounding it. Jack was his father; it meant nothing and everything at the same time. 

“You won’t be much good to anyone with that brand on your wrist when this is over,” Barbossa says. “Anyone other than me.” 

“I don’t want to be a part of your pirate crew.” 

The captain laughs. “Deny being a pirate all you want,” Barbossa leaves him with, “but you’ve got the makings of a damn good one.” 

Deny it. Run from it. Sit and wallow in it, making no progress to actually accepting it. 

Will pushes his sleeve back, exposing the brand on his wrist to the cold sea air. It is just beginning to heal. For a time, he had wondered what he would do if he returned Jack’s compass to Beckett. Beckett’s reasoning for branding him had seemed entirely selfish. Perhaps Will could have somehow convinced him to drop the charges.

It would do nothing for the brand, but he would have been desperate enough to carve it off. 

For now, maybe he could stand to keep it.

Chapter Text

They land in Tortuga. Barbossa takes enough time away from bothering Will to secure them passage to Singapore. “Gather up what you need here,” he orders the crew. “We won’t be stopping for a long time, I feel.” 

“You’ll be good to go on your own?” Gibbs asks as Will steps onto the dock with Elizabeth. 

“Why wouldn’t I be?” 

Gibbs opens his mouth and stops. “Best if I keep that to myself. Tread with care, William.” 

All of a sudden acting like he cannot take care of himself. “Let’s go,” Elizabeth says, as if sensing what he is feeling. She grabs his arm and leads him off the dock and into Tortuga’s crowd, the dog padding after them. 

Tortuga is even more crowded than ever, a feat Will did not believe was possible. The last free port in the entire Caribbean, out from under the control of Cutler Beckett and the East India Trading Company, it has become a safe haven for anyone who called themself a pirate. Will finds himself pressed up against numerous different strangers, unable to see over their heads, and spectacularly failing to finesse his way through the crowd. Elizabeth tightens her grip on him. 

They come to an open space by an empty market stall. Elizabeth suddenly gasps. “Wait here,” she says quickly, her hand sliding out of his as she is overtaken by the crowd. Will calls after her, but she does not respond. 

“Just you and me, then?” Will looks down to the dog at his feet, keys in his mouth, wagging tail. 

Keys? Since when did he have those? 

The dog goes rigid, tail wagging ceasing. It jumps to its feet, then bolts off through the crowd. 

“Hey- “ he lets out an annoyed sigh, then hurries after it. Elizabeth had asked him to wait, but he does not worry about that as much. Should she be alone with this many so-called pirates? Anyone else might have said no, but recent experiences have taught him that it is the pirates left alone with Elizabeth, not the other way around. 

The dog, however, he does quite worry about. A few sailors on the journey here made comments about wanting to eat him. There is also the possibility he could be trampled or toppled over by drunks. As much as Will hates to admit it, he has become rather attached to the mutt. The dog has a special talent that all dogs do – they never disappoint the way humans can. 

He cuts through after the dog, dodging around drunks tumbling over each other, knocking away unskilled pickpockets reaching for anything they hope he has, and side-stepping a few shady con men trying to sell faux magical trinkets to him. He spies the dog’s tail end slip into the tavern Jack had taken Will to. 

His first venture to the port had been quite overwhelming. Such a vast change of pace from quiet, quaint Port Royal, where most everyone still had some semblance of manners. Now that he is not overloaded by the… everything that is Tortuga, he glimpses a rickety sign hanging off the tavern’s door by a single, rusty nail. 

The Faithful Bride, it reads. Will lets out a harsh chuckle. Irony seems to be the brand of humor pirates enjoyed the most. 

He pushes the door open, and all his senses are immediately assaulted by the happenings of the tavern. The sharp smell of alcohol and unwashed bodies hits his nose, loud laughter followed by shattering glass reaching his ears, and an almost unbearable raise in the ambient temperature. Despite the general humidity outside, the tavern’s fires roar on ever-so faithfully. 

A wet nose nudges his hand. The dog is once again standing next to him, tail wagging. 

“I was looking for you.” Will takes the risk of dropping to one knee, of being lower than everyone else’s eye-level and potentially being trampled. “You can’t be running off like that- “ 

The dog whimpers, then scurries off through the tavern. 

“ -here,” Will finishes. He pushes back up to a stand and starts after the dog. He follows it over to the back corner of the tavern. The dog weaves through the crowd’s legs over to a bearded figure hunched over a table, lightly strumming a guitar. How he could even hear the music in such a loud, raucous place as this escapes Will. He registers the large, wide hat and overcoat, both of which strangely remind of Jack. 

Pirate captain, then. Between Jack, Barbossa, and Jones, Will has yet to see another pirate with such an attachment to such extravagant hats as a captain.  

The captain stops strumming the guitar as the dog approaches. The dog places the front paws on the man’s leg, presenting the keys to him. 

The pirate laughs lightly. “Finally brought those back, did you?” He scratches the dog’s head as he takes the key ring from his mouth. 

“Is he yours?” Will asks. A foolish part of him desperately hopes the man says no. Most would scoff at being so attached to something they would see as expendable in this world. But if Will is to exist in a world of pirates, then he can stand to be selfish every once in a while

The captain’s eyes turn up to Will. He pauses, frozen in place. His face may remain passive, but there is something almost like amazement in his aged eyes. 

Will knows that look, but he pushes down the annoyance. “Is he yours?” 

“Heard you the first time, don’t waste your breath,” the pirate grunts back. “The keys?” He holds up the ring. “Yes, they are.” His eyes narrow, and he turns one over. “Might be. Close enough,” he decides. “But the dog?” He shrugs. “He can be yours if you want him. He’s got this terrible habit of running away.” He gives the dog a light shove off his leg. “I have grown weary of dealing with it.” 

Will slowly lowers himself to one knee as the dog trots back over to him. “So… he’s not yours?” 

“Take him if you want him. I don’t.” 

“If he’s yours, then I don’t want to- “Will stops himself before more words can fall out of his mouth. Before he can look any more stupid and naive than he already does. 

“Word of advice, William.” Will freezes. “Good pirates don’t ask. They just take.” 

Will keeps his own face steady, hoping his own shock is expressed nowhere. The captain’s dark, familiar eyes watch him intently. He has seen them before. Younger, familiar, eyes that had perhaps seen too much to care. Eyes that he had only ever seen true honesty in once, a memory forever burned into his mind-

Will stops himself. Maybe he is the one becoming obsessed, driven by his own desperation for answers. Seeing Jack, of all people, everywhere. Of course this man would remind him of Jack. A pirate captain in the same tavern on Tortuga. The very same person Jack had been, the very same place Jack had taken him to. Of course, he would see things that perhaps were not really there. 

But only perhaps… if he gauges the age correctly… 

“Captain Teague, to most,” the pirate introduces himself, “but I’ll make an exception for you. Call me Edward.” He motions to the seat across the table. 

Edward Teague. The name sounds strangely proper for a pirate. “You’re Jack’s father.” 

“Guilty as charged.” He dips his chin toward the other seat, looking at Will expectantly. His face is still passive, but Will wonders if the intensity behind those eyes is enough to kill should Will say no. 

He really has no time for this. By now, surely Elizabeth will have finished with her errand. He could try to excuse himself, claim someone is waiting for him. The morbid curiosity threatens to get the better of him, and that is just the problem. The choice of whether he should choose to live in ignorance or take the chance to learn more and maybe just end up more confused than he originally was. With Jack, it was always a gamble. Teague may be no different. 

Against his better judgement, Will slides into the seat. The prison dog hops up into his lap less than a breath later. “Did Jack get to call you Edward?” 

“No,” Teague answers without missing a beat. He motions to one of the servers, then goes back to strumming his guitar. “Place is getting crowded these days.” The server places a large tankard in front of him. “East India is getting bold, sailing around as if they own these waters, encroaching on ports that should be ours- “ 

“Your son is dead,” Will blurts. 

Teague’s fingers still on the guitar strings. 

“The Kraken took him, and the Pearl too, not long ago.” Teague’s hooded eyes flicker up to Will. He feels himself wilt under the look. “I thought you had a right to know.” 

“Failed to honor his bargain with Jones, hm?” The captain shakes his head. “Such dealings are dangerous, even for a pirate who fancies himself as lucky as Jack Sparrow.” 

“I’ll keep that in mind,” Will mutters, the harsh words settling over him. “You don’t seem too upset.” 

“Why would I be?” Teague once again starts up the song on the guitar. “As I said, dealings with devils are dangerous for us pirates. We struggle to uphold our ends of the bargain. You have to be better than them to survive.” 

The words hit Will like a slap to the face. “Your son- “ 

“Your father. ” 

Will grits his teeth. “Your son is dead,” he reiterated, “and you don’t- “ 

“Stop saying things over and over, waste of breath, boy,” Teague interrupts harshly. “And now you have me doing it. I don’t have many left to waste. Shouldn’t I care more, you were going to ask? Shouldn’t I care at all? Shouldn’t you be listening to the lesson I’m trying to teach you?” 

“I did not come here to be taught anything by you. I didn’t come here for you at all.” 

“Ah, but you ended up here, being taught a lesson by me, did you not?” Teague’s grin eerily reminds him of Barbossa’s. “Your father may be dead, but I doubt he will stay that way for too long. Oh, yes. I have an idea of what you plan on doing,” he adds. “You don’t run around with Hector Barbossa without people talking. Jack liked to brag about finally putting that one down. What is it that you get out of all this?” 

“I get what your son- “ 

“Your father.” 

“Fine, have it your way,” Will snaps, “since you have never had what you want in life. What do I get out of all this? I get what my father was never able to do for me, almost as though he were horribly allergic to it, and that is to tell the truth. Is that enough for you?” 

“Nothing is ever enough,” Teague replies. “There’s always more out there to want.” 

Will lets out an amazed scoff. “Now I know where Jack gets it from.” He pushes out of the seat, nudging the dog so that he jumps down. “This was a waste of time,” he says, stepping away. 

“There’s a point where satiating that greed isn’t worth it,” Teague calls after him. 

Will stops and turns back. “What?” 

“What are you willing to sacrifice to have it all, William?” 

“I don’t want it all- “ 

Teague laughs. “Of course you don’t. Of course you don’t… “ 

Teague’s son, Will’s father, whatever Jack was, no one wants to take responsibility for him. Jack was dead, and Teague hardly seems to care. Was it even worth it, to go through all the trouble just to learn the same information from Jack? 

A waste of time. That all it has been, and that is all it will ever be. He’s a fool for believing it could be anything other than such. A fool for naively believing that Jack had ever cared. That some part of him, some part Will had never known, could have been different. He knows Jack. Why waste so much effort trying to change that? 

“Miserable old codger,” Will comments to the dog once they are outside The Faithful Bride. “The glory of it all has to get to you at some point… “ 

The dog barks in agreement. With a yip, he sprints forward to an alleyway entrance. He growls, hackles raised, just a hand reaches out of the alley and snatches him. 

And that’s why I didn’t want you running away, he thinks to himself, hurrying toward the alley, hand reaching for his sword. As he steps in, the dog growls again, followed by the sound of a man yelping. Will stops just a few feet in. 

From the dim light, the dog trots back up to him and plops down at his feet. He looks up at Will with a wagging tail, expectant eyes waiting for a reward. 

“Keep that mangy cur on a leash,” a voice from the alley says, presumably the man who had attempted to snatch the dog, “or someone will put him down.” 

“He likes to run off,” Will replies. The voice is familiar. “Nothing I can do about that. Perhaps, have you tried- Commodore?” 

He does recognize the voice, and the man who steps forward into the dim light of a flickering lantern. The last time Will had seen him had been the Isla Cruces, and he had looked worse for wear then. Unshaven, unkempt, a bedraggled excuse of a man who once called himself James Norrington. Now, the  mess of hair that had covered his hair and face is still there, but it had been groomed. For a moment, he looked like the man Will remembered, minus the powdered wig. 

“You’re alive,” Will says rather stupidly. That much is quite obvious. But how? Elizabeth had told him Norrington had run off with the chest to distract Jones’s crew during their escape from Isla Cruces. Jack had thought the heart was in the jar of dirt, and the chest had been empty. Jones’s crew surely would have killed Norrington after they learned that fact, if not before to get the chest. And yet, he walked away, looking better than before. 

“Turner.” Norrington takes a step forward- 

Will draws his sword, holding it level with Norrington’s chest. The commodore stops, the warning clear. “Where is it?” 

“Where is what?” 

“The heart. What did you do with it?” 

“What heart?” Norrington replies. 

“You were the only one who could have taken it. It wasn’t in the chest. That’s why Jones followed us. Jack didn’t have it either.” He might already know the answer to the question, but a part of him wants Norrington to admit it aloud. 

Norrington says nothing, hesitation visible in his eyes. 

“I’m not going to ask again, Commodore. Don’t make me waste my breath.”

“Put the sword down, Will,” Norrington replies. “I came here not to argue with you, but to- “he pauses, a pained expression falling over his face. “But to join you.” 

Although intrigued, Will does not move. He searches the commodore’s face for any sign that this may be a trick. James Norrington is no liar, too far above it on his high moral horse, but he sees nothing that would give it away. 

However, a wave of utter pettiness comes over him. “Maybe if you say please, I will consider it.” 

Norrington’s mouth thins into a line. “Are you going to waste my time and- “ 

The dog growls. 

Norrington sighs in annoyance, shifting his weight from foot to foot. “Is it necessary to- “he sighs again, this time in defeat. “Please.”  

“Please what?” 

“Please put the sword down, Will.” 

Will considers it. “No. Why do you want to join me? What do you think I’m going to do?” 

Norrington hesitates. “You- you were right.” He winces, the words oh-so painfully hard to say. “I did take the heart. I gave it to Lord Beckett, but it wasn’t enough for him. Not to repeal the charges, the ones you and I both have. Lord Beckett said the time for the pardon had passed. He has no use of it anymore.” 

“So you ran.” Will’s eyes search for any sign of the brand on Norrington’s wrist, but if it exists, it is concealed beneath his sleeve. “Why are you here? To start a new life, out on the seas?” 

Norrington nods slowly, as if admitting such is a physical pain. 

Will lets out a disbelieving scoff, sheathing his sword. This place is going to eat Norrington alive. “Do you believe it is that easy? Do you think I wanted or asked for any of this?”

“What are you doing with Barbossa?” He must make some kind of facial expression because Norrington continues, “I saw you get off his ship. You’re traveling with him.” 

“And who are you, so quick to judge whose command I sail under? There aren’t many pirate captains left these days.”

“He is supposed to be dead,” Norrington says. “He tried to kill you. He tried to kill Elizabeth. What does he have that you could want?” 

“Nothing important,” Will replies, “to you that is.”  

Norrington stares at him silently, in disbelief. “Is this what has become of you, Will Turner? Just another pirate willing to make the sacrifice to get what he wants?” 

Nothing is ever enough. There is always more to want. 

“Isn’t that what you’ve done?” Will fires back. 

Norrington freezes, mouth open, words stopped on his tongue. “I lost everything to Jack Sparrow,” he eventually says, “and you did too. Neither of us have much of a choice now.” 

“You’re right, I don’t.” Norrington pauses, eyebrows raising at the words. “No choice in this matter. That’s for Barbossa to decide.” He turns and starts out of the alleyway, the dog trotting along beside him. He does not look back, but he knows Norrington is following him. 

At the edge of the dock, Will stops and kneels down next to the dog, who plops down in front of him. “Go back to your master.” The dog’s head cocks to the side, dark eyes wide and confused. “Wherever I’m going, it’s no place for you.” 

He suspects that if the dog could argue, he would. Will places a hand on his head, and the dog leans into his touch. He offers Will a parting bark before scurrying back through the crowds of Tortuga. 

He catches Elizabeth and Gibbs at the base of the gangplank. Both pale at the sight of Norrington. “James?” Elizabeth asks. 

“Forgive me,” Gibbs says, “shouldn’t you be- “ 

“Found a stray, have you, fledgling?” Barbossa asks, striding down the gangplank. “And what might be your name?” 

Norrington freezes, mouth slightly agape. Will elbows him in the side. “James Norrington,” he replies weakly. 

“Norrington?” Barbossa hums. “Welcome aboard, Commodore.” He offers Norrington a mocking grin. “Mind showing him around, Mister Gibbs?” 

Norrington glances between a dumbstruck Elizabeth and Will, eyes pleading for help. Will holds his look and shrugs, wondering what exactly Norrington expects him to do. After another moment’s hesitation, Norrington steps up the gangplank, Gibbs in tow. 

“Enemies and allies,” Barbossa tells Will as he and Elizabeth step aboard. “Besides- “he lowers his voice” -I have no doubt he will make an excellent sacrifice.” 

Will and Elizabeth share a look. “Will we need a sacrifice to get into the Locker?” Elizabeth asks. 

“No, but it is always good to have one just in case.” Barbossa winks at them. “Keep an eye on him, fledgling.” 

“I thought he was dead,” Elizabeth whispers to him as Barbossa steps away. “Surely he should be. “ 

“He should… “Will agrees, finding that just this once, he may take an order from Barbossa. 

But Norrington shows no suspicious signs on their journey to Singapore. If anything, he is quite out of step and almost too… docile. Subservient, yet driven. As if he has something to prove. For someone who so openly despised pirates before, he seems far too enthusiastic about his new life. The order of a pirate crew is far different than the order of a royal navy ship, especially considering Norrington isn’t the one in charge anymore. The sailors of the ship hardly seem to mind him, treating him as one of their own. A few of their motley crew enjoy poking and prodding and bothering him while the rest eye him warily.

One night, Will stands farther away from Norrington as Pintel and Ragetti approach him. He sees words exchanged between them, then watches the former commodore blanche and stumble back as Ragetti hands him his wooden eye. The two pirates shake with barely controlled laughter. 

“Desperate times and desperate measures.” Tia Dalma comes up beside him. Out of all his traveling companions, she is the one he has interacted with the least. 

“Right,” Will says with an unsure nod. They stand in silence for another moment before a question that has been nagging at him pops into his head. One that she has to be the best person to answer. “What kind of map can take you to the world of the dead?” 

“A map only intending to get you lost.” As if it is as simple as that.

No straight answers from anyone. 

“Death is the one thing no pirate can escape,” she continues. “No amount of pillage and plunder, no gold nor silver, no bargain or deal. It comes for all. A cost for everything.” She pauses. “For what we want most, a cost must be paid in the end.”  

Unsure of how to respond, he awkwardly excuses the conversation, not missing how her eyes trail after him questioningly.

“What exactly are we going to Singapore for?” Norrington asks Will one day as they near the port. Several days into the trip, and no one had thought to inform Norrington where they were going or what they were doing. 

“Charts.” 

“Of course,” Norrington says snidely. “Charts. Something you can get anywhere if you know where to look. What’s special about them?” 

“And here I thought you were a slow learner.” Norrington makes a face. “If I told you the truth, you wouldn’t believe me.” 

Norrington scoffs. “I have stabbed and shot men who stood right back up as if it were nothing more than a minor inconvenience. Two of them are standing on this ship now and are insistent that I care for a wooden eye as if it were a pet. I have held the beating heart of Davy Jones and been chased by the mutated crew of the Flying Dutchman . You would be surprised at what I can believe.” 

Will studies Norrington, debating on what he should say next, wondering what would push his buttons. Wondering what might be something Jack would say at this moment. 

He pushes the last thought away. Why does it matter what Jack would say or think? 

“I’ve been on the Dutchman,” Will replies. “It is not that impressive when it’s a shared experience.” 

“It’s not a competition, Turner.” 

“Then why are you making it so?” 

“I’m not- “his words cut off in a frustrated noise, and Will bites back a grin. Maybe he sees the enjoyment in messing with Norrington. 

“Charts past the Farthest Gate,” Will answers, remembering what Barbossa called it. “Past World’s End, to retrieve a soul from Davy Jones’ Locker.” 

“Jack Sparrow.” Norrington pauses. “Somehow, that still is not the strangest thing in my life. That would be the undead pirates.” He surveys their motley crew bustling around the ship’s deck. “After all he did to these people, all he did to you, and you want to bring him back. Why?” 

That isn’t something Norrington needs to know. By now, Will has learned that every pirate has their own reason for doing something even when united by a single goal and tangential want. Will’s reason is not something he needs to broadcast to everyone, even if they all already know.

But how much would it freak him out? a nagging voice asks in the back of his head.   

“Because he owes me answers,” Will tells him simply. “Because he’s my father.” 

Norrington freezes. Still as a statue. “What?” he whispers weakly. “How- “

“You ran off with the one thing that could have saved him,” Will interrupts. If Jack could act like he cared when it was convenient to him, why should Will not do the same? 

“I want my life back, Turner,” he replies, a strange intensity in his dark eyes Will has not seen since the days of Port Royal. “There are certain things I must do, however unpleasant. Were you not planning on running away with it yourself? To betray your own father to fulfill your selfish desires?” 

He has already gotten what he wants from Norrington, but now Norrington is trying to turn it back on him. There were so many things he could say – that is hardly the point or he had not known until moments before Jack died. How Norrington now acted like he should have some loyalty to Jack. How everyone acted like that. Jack had never shown that to him, so why waste the time reciprocating it? 

“As I said, Jack owes me. I owe him nothing.“ He nods to where Cotton and Marty are watching them. When Norrington glances over, they quickly resume their tasks. “Do you know what pirates like to do?” 

Norrington lets out an annoyed sigh. “What?” 

“They like to talk. Just remember I’m not the one who came away from Jones’s crew unscathed. You got their ship destroyed. You almost got them killed.” 

“Not necessarily- “Norrington’s eyes narrow. “Are you threatening me?” 

“Am I?” Will replies with a shrug, stepping off. Norrington, so desperately fighting for something he claims he can never have back, yet so apparently throwing himself into a new life. Two seemingly different people. A nagging feeling, the thought that something is not quite right, trails in the back of his mind. 

He wonders if he should tell Elizabeth, as she is the only other person on the ship Norrington is mildly comfortable interacting with. Yet, Elizabeth almost seems to lighten up whenever they talk to each other with a spark in her eye Will has not seen since Port Royal, before the Pearl and before Jack. He would hate to be the reason that spark is doused. 

If Elizabeth notices anything is wrong, she says nothing, only eyes him warily. Not to mention that Barbossa watches him expectantly, as if he is entitled to whatever information Will has because he told Will to watch Norrington. Not for the first time and certainly not the last, tired of all the eyes watching him, Will weighs the consequences of pitching himself over the ship’s railing for a moment’s peace. 

Barbossa assembles their crew just before they arrive in Singapore. He explains that the port is now under the control of the East India Trading Company. “Whatever you do, avoid her eye. Hate for this all to go to waste because of one foolish mistake.” 

The Pirate Lord Sao Feng may sometimes carry the charts with him as to protect them from harm, but they are not always on his person. The crew whispers about a temple tended to by Sao Feng’s uncle, the supposed true hiding place of the charts. Their plan is quite simple, to send someone in to steal the charts from the temple. However, the question remains who. 

“I’ll go,” Will volunteers. 

Something that might be hesitation flickers in Barbossa’s yellowed eyes. “Anyone else?” He turns away from Will and surveys their group.

“Send me in,” Norrington offers. “I’m expendable, aren’t I?” A few of the crew shuffle awkwardly at the comment. “You lose nothing if you lose me.” 

Will cannot get another word in before Barbossa makes the executive decision to send Norrington in. They formulate their plan, and Barbossa decides that Will is going to be with him without much explanation to the crew why that is the case. When the group splits, Will corners him. 

“I told you the sacrifice would come in handy,” Barbossa says before Will can speak. 

“You can’t trust him to get the charts. He has no idea what he is getting himself into.” 

Barbossa chuckles. “And I suppose you think you do? As the commodore so graciously worded it, he is expendable. I can stand to take my eye off him.” But not you, hovers in the air. 

Oh, he’s no fool to believe those words come from a place of genuine care. He would believe it from Jack quicker than he would ever believe it from Barbossa. 

Singapore is warm, humid, and muggy. Norrington goes out first before the rest of the crew does, having been thoroughly briefed on the temple and the map’s location. They do not hear from him before the others move out. 

Before parting, Elizabeth passes to him a variety of sharp blades and pistols. When he asks where on earth she would have gotten these, she shrugs and replies that Tortuga is truly a place of wonders. 

The group splits off, Will going with Barbossa. They start through the streets of Singapore. “Have you heard from Norrington?” Will asks.

“I trust he will acquire the charts.” A drawn-out way of saying no. “And I trust you to remember your place in the presence of Sao Feng.” 

“Of course,” Will replies bitterly. Barbossa shoves him to the left into an alleyway as a patrol of soldiers passes. “Unexpendable leverage.” How exactly, there are too many answers that make sense to choose just one. But what else could Barbossa be using him for? 

“Who says I’m using you as that?” Barbossa grins at him. 

Will shoots Barbossa a dark look. And he thought Jack was annoying. “Is he really that terrible?” Barbossa had spoken little of what the man was like, nothing more than a few comments here and there about his rather awful reputation. 

“He’s much like myself,” Barbossa says as they emerge from the alleyway, “but absent my merciful nature and sense of fair play.” 

“So, he’s a halfways decent pirate, then?” 

Barbossa’s lips flatten into a thin line. Will bites back a grin of his own. Small victories where he can take them. “Careful, fledgling. That mouth you’ve acquired is going to get you into trouble. Be sure it stays shut.”

They are eventually met by some of Sao Feng’s men, who tell them their captain is waiting for them. The rest of their journey is silent as the men lead them to Sao Feng’s bathhouse. Although Singapore is already hot and muggy, the temperature is only exacerbated inside the bathhouse. The heat weighs heavy on his chest. Too long in here, and he might smother. 

The enforcers at the door require them to leave their weapons. Upon greeting Sao Feng, Barbossa gives a large, almost-mocking bow. He elbows Will in the stomach, and he doubles over in some semblance of a bow. 

“Captain Barbossa,” Sao Feng greets, stepping out of the steam, “I understand that you have a request to make of me.” 

“More of a proposal to put to ye,” Barbosa replies. “I’ve a venture underway, and I find myself in need of a ship and a crew.” 

Sao Feng hums, eyes narrowing. “It’s an odd coincidence.” Another hum. 

“Because you happen to have a crew and a ship you don’t need?” Will tries, which earns him another elbow in the stomach from Barbossa. 

Sao Feng shakes his head. “No, because earlier this day, not far from here, a thief broke into my most revered uncle’s temple and tried to make off with these.” He motions to one of his men, who hands him a set of rolled-up charts. Will’s stomach sinks. “The navigational charts. The route to the Farthest Gate. Wouldn’t it be amazing if this venture of yours took you to the world beyond this one?” 

Barbossa looks as though he might laugh. “It would strain credulity at that.” He tosses Will a look as if to say I told you so. 

Sao Feng steps back and studies them for a moment. He nods over to where two of his men hold each end of a wooden pole sitting atop a tub of water. The two men lift the pole, revealing a mostly-drowned James Norrington, hands bound to the pole by rope. He coughs out water, eyes focused, as they find Will and Barbossa.  

“This is the thief.” Sao Feng steps over to him and grabs his hair, forcing his head up. “Is his face familiar to you?”

Norrington’s eyes focus just enough to fix the two of them pleadingly. Out of the corner of his eye, Will sees Barbossa shake his head. 

Sao Feng unsheathes a polished, pointed wooden stake. “Then I guess he has no further need for it.” He turns, stake aimed at Norrington’s throat. 

“Wait, don’t!” The words slip out of Will’s mouth before he has the chance to stop them. 

Sao Feng grins, sheathing the stake. As he steps back over to them, his eyes latch onto Will for a moment, then back to Barbossa, who throws his own glare at Will. “You come into my city and you betray my hospitality.” 

“I assure you,” Barbossa tries, “I didn’t know- “ 

“That he would get caught!” Sao Feng yells. The bathhouse’s inhabitants jump to their feet. “You intend to attempt the voyage to Davy Jones’ Locker.” His voice returns to its normal volume. “But I cannot help but wonder… why?” 

Barbossa tosses something to Sao Feng – a small silver coin. Sao Feng holds it up to his ear, listening for something WIll cannot hear. “The song has been sung,” Barbossa says. “The time is upon us. We must convene the Brethren Court. As one of the nine Pirate Lords, you must honor the call.” 

Sao Feng pauses. “There is a price on all our heads. It seems the only way a pirate can turn a profit anymore is by betraying other pirates.” Strangely enough, his eyes seem to trail over to Norrington when he says it. Will glances back, but Norrington is still too out of it. 

“We must put our differences aside,” Barbossa continues. “Wait for the signal. The First Brethren Court gave us rule of the seas, but that rule is now being challenged by Lord Cutler Beckett.” 

Sao Feng considers this. “Against the East India Trading Company, what value is the Brethren Court? What can any of us do?” 

“So what?” Will says. Barbossa shoots him a warning look, but Will is far past the point of caring. Barbossa has never been in control of him, no matter what the captain tells himself. Running – Sao Feng was running. Running, hiding, finding the simple solution, just as Jack had tried to do. “Everyone else is fighting against Beckett, fighting to protect the seas. And all you’re going to do is sit here cowering in bathwater because selling out is easier than fighting?” 

Sao Feng’s eyes find him again, studying him for a moment. He steps closer. Will holds his ground, refusing to step back. “You are one to talk of cowering, Will… Sparrow? If you call yourself that?” 

He knows. No surprise. Of course, he knows, because everyone knows. Jack really must have been that bad at keeping it a secret. Will must show some sign of discomfort on his face because amusement falls over Sao Feng’s. “Who is it you seek from the Locker?” Sao Feng asks. 

“I think you know that.” 

The amusement sharply falls into fury. “The only reason I would want Jack Sparrow returned from the land of the dead is so I can send him back myself!” 

“Jack Sparrow holds one of the nine pieces of eight.” Barbossa steps between Will and Sao Feng, pushing the other man back. “He failed to pass it along to a successor before he died. We must go and get it.” 

Sao Feng glances over to his left. “So you admit that you have deceived me. Weapons!” 

Water splashes across the floor as the inhabitants of the bathhouse lunge out at them, swords and daggers and blades raised. Will finds himself reaching for his own before foolishly remembering he had been forced to surrender them at the door. 

“I assure you, our intentions were truly honorable!” Barbossa pleads, wild yellow eyes darting between the angry pirates. Will could almost laugh at hearing the word honorable be associated with Barbossa’s intentions. 

Of course, Barbossa is immediately proven wrong when swords jump up from the cracks in the floorboards below. Two land in Barbossa’s hands, and one lands in Will’s. 

Barbossa looks at the swords as if he has no idea where they came from, then offers Sao Feng a sheepish grin. 

The world explodes in a flurry of movement, light, and gunshots, as the scene dissolves from there. The bathhouse is raided by soldiers from the East India Trading Company. In the midst of the chaos, Will hears a click and spins. A man stands in the middle of it all, eerily still and calm, pistol pointed at him. 

He recognizes him. He had been there, when Beckett had seared the brand into his wrist. 

Someone barrels into Will just as the man fires. A body hits the floor behind Will just as he does. A moment later, he realizes it was Norrington. 

“Elizabeth would be mad if I let you die,” he hisses in Will’s ear.

“Repaying the debt already?” Will asks as Norrington pulls him to his feet. Norrington gives no reply. 

They’re off running, the whole crew, through the docks and streets of Singapore. The world outside explodes in fire and light as wells, charges and fireworks placed earlier by Tia Dalma and Elizabeth. Will gets separated from Norrington and reunited with Elizabeth. What is left of their crew is back together by the time Norrington reppears, having somehow successfully gotten Sao Feng to help them, a crew, and a ship to take them to the Farthest Gate. 

The nagging feeling returns. It’s too easy. It’s too easy, and they all should know that. 

They sail. Will has no idea long for. No idea where they are. Where they are going. No one on the ship seems to be able to make rhyme or reason of the charts. Barbossa knows something – Will can see it in his eyes – but he remains tight-lipped about it. They sail through waters treacherous and smooth, through wind and rain and snow. Days and nights run together. Maybe they will all be on this ship long enough to go mad.

“Did you tell him?” Will asks Barbossa. “Sao Feng?” 

“No,” Barbossa admits. “Perhaps he already knew.” But his tone tells Will that Barbossa knows that is not true. 

They sail through a sea of endless stars, water so clear that it reflects the boundless night sky. Good and lost, Barbossa calls it. Lost enough to find a place that can’t be found. 

Famous last words before their ship goes tumbling over a waterfall at the edge of the world and into the endless nothing.

Chapter Text

The rock refuses to leave him alone. 

Said rock is the first companion Jack has had who does not try to endlessly torment him. The rock is different from her, who always stays just out of his reach. From the little boy, who is only just so far away. From the distant figure on the horizon, who torments him from a distance, who he could never even hope to reach. 

It takes some time (however long, Jack is not quite sure, but it does take time, that is for sure) for him to work up the courage to once again step foot off the Pearl . He lands in the white sands, the only stretch of anything for miles in this place. A smooth white rock lays on the ground a few paces away from the Pearl. 

He picks it up. Turns it over. There is nothing special about it, so he tosses it away. 

A few steps back toward the bow of the Pearl. Through the wiggling waves of heat, the figure stands on the horizon, leering with possibility. Its appearance is the reason his courage returned in the first place. He thinks he might be starting to understand her and the boy. Maybe they had both been important to him. But whoever the figure is he has yet to figure out. The need to know has overcome the need to stay with the Pearl. 

He has to know. 

Jack stops when he feels eyes boring holes into his back. Turning slowly on the heel of his boots, he sees it – the white rock has returned. 

He waves his hands at it. “Shoo.” 

The rock does not reply. Nor does it comply with his wishes. 

Jack turns back, takes two steps, then whips around. 

The rock is still there. 

Being followed by rocks, he thinks to himself as he picks it up and spins it over in his hands again. Never had that happen before. He hurls the rock away, watching it bounce across the sands and come skidding to a stop. 

Then, something quite peculiar happens. Something he is not quite sure rocks are capable of doing. 

It pops out legs, then scuttles back toward him. 

Jack lurches a few steps back, knocked off balance by shock. Why should anything surprise him anymore in this place? The only thing that makes sense is that nothing does. 

The rock with legs comes to a stop several paces again. Up close, he can see it has also sprouted claws and two beady eyes, like a crab. It plops down in the sand and blinks at him. 

Unsure of its intentions or quite what it is, he shrugs it off. Continues around to the front of the Pearl where a rope limply hangs from the bow. He tugs on it, wondering if he can pull it off. He tugs again, and again, and again, but the rope only seems to grow in length. 

The crab watches him, each eye blinking at once. 

Jack finally reaches the end of the rope. He gives it one final tug, just to be sure. It might be his imagination, but the Pearl seems to move. 

Another yank on the rope. The Pearl moves again. 

In the distance, the figure still stands on the horizon. Some part of Jack decides that it would much rather chase the figure than remain here with a stalking crab. He gathers up as much rope as he can and starts toward the horizon. 

But either the Pearl is only moving a miniscule distance with each step or not at all. It does not matter how much he pulls and tugs, it refuses to budge much. 

After exerting more than enough effort, he finds himself on his back on the ground, staring up at the invisible sun in the sky. Perhaps he should just accept his fate by now. His fate to be stuck in this mad place, to be tormented by the sounds and smells of the sea, by her and the boy, by the figure on the horizon. To have them always there, but just so out of his reach that he will never be able to be in their company. To remain alone, alone, alone forever, drowning in his own self-pity, his own confusion, his own doings… 

A shadow passes over him, and he sharply sits up. 

The Pearl is moving.

The Pearl is moving. 

Jack scrambles to a stand as his ship passes by him of her own accord. Beneath her barnacled planks, he sees that the crab rock has called its mates. They are moving the Pearl, without his approval and without him. Jack may not be able to reach the horizon, the figure, and the distant sea, but the Pearl will. 

He shakes himself, then scurries after it. 

***

Will is going to kill Barbossa. 

He certainly is not the first person to think this, and he will not be the last. They fell for some time, and he is not quite sure how long they fell, but he knew that he would be dead by the time he hit the water. And that it would not be a slow, easy death. No, this one would be quite very painful. 

Of course, at some point, he is not tumbling through space, bombarded by water on all sides, anymore. Instead, he is sinking through inky black water. When he finally comes to his senses, he rights himself. He can see nothing around him other than a dim layer of light above. So, he pushes for it. 

He surfaces on the shore of a white beach. Other surviving crew members splash to the sand all around, each looking as bedraggled, drowned, and waterlogged as he feels. Smashed and splintered wood have washed up around them. With a sinking realization, he recognizes them as bits and pieces of their ship. 

The crew has survived the tumble over the waterfall, but their only way out of here has not. 

To his right, Barbossa emerges from the waves without a sign of struggle, shaking the water off himself. 

“Bastard,” Will spits at him as he passes Barbossa. “You could have gotten us all killed.” 

The captain laughs, flashing his yellowed teeth. “Can’t kill what’s already considered dead. We were done for before we reached the waterfall.” 

“So, we’re all dead?” Norrington asks, coming up beside Will. 

“No, not all.” Barbossa grins at him. “Just you.” As the captain moves forward, Norrington shoots Will a confused look. 

Will shrugs. 

“I’d have half a mind to leave him here,” Norrington mutters. 

“And I’ll add to the other half,” Will adds. 

“This is truly a godforsaken place,” Gibbs comments. Or at least, Will thinks he does. Enough water flooding in his ears that all he can hear is a persistent ringing. 

Once he adjusts to the unnatural lighting, he sees what Gibbs means. The sky is a bright, pale, pale blue, almost white, but there is no sun lighting the day. The white sand beach stretches on for miles, its only features being hills and dunes. No trees, no mountains, nothing else. The usual smells of salt and sea air are notably absent. The only splash of color comes from the dulled blue of the ocean. 

There is nothing alive here. Somehow, Will knows there has never been. 

Except us. Unless they were all actually dead. With the considerable amount of water currently rattling around in his head, the fact would not surprise him. Even if they were not already so, they will likely die here without a shot to escape with. 

“I don’t see Jack,” Elizabeth says, eyes scanning the eerily still horizon. “I don’t see anyone.” 

“He’s here,” Barbossa replies with a confident air. “Davy Jones never gave up that which he took.” 

“And does it matter?” Will steps up next to him. Elizabeth is right – there is absolutely nothing in this wasteland. This place must be the embodiment of hopelessness. “We’re trapped here by your doing. No different than Jack.” 

From his right, Tia Dalma laughs. She lightly strokes the back of a white crab in her hand, the only other sign of life that exists here. “Witty Jack is closer than you think.” And with that, she turns and gives the horizon a pointed look. 

From over the dunes, a mast pokes out into the sky, followed by the rest of the ship cresting over the sand as if it were a massive ocean wave. Somehow, someway, the Pearl has survived her trip into the Locker. Their crew watches in bewildered silence as it continues smoothly cutting over the sand as if it were the sea, out to the shore, and into the shallows. 

“Boat,” Ragetti says, pointing to the Pearl. Under any other circumstance, someone may have snapped that of course, it’s a bloody boat, I’m a pirate, I know what one looks like, you dumb- 

But despite being around a crew of crude, bully pirates, none of them call him out on it. For once, they all agree on something, and that is the utter bewilderment at what they are seeing. 

This can’t be real. The thought is only exacerbated when he sees a figure drop off the ship’s mast down to the deck, then into the shallows, and start over to them. An always teetering gate, striding across the beach like nothing had changed since they last saw him. 

“It’s the captain!” Gibbs announces as what remains of their motley crew rushes over to him. Cotton’s parrot gives a comment of “Hide the rum!”  The Singapore pirates follow behind more warily. People move around Will, but he finds himself planted firmly in the sand. 

Jack looks… fine. Completely and utterly unharmed. As if he had not been dragged through the depths, through time and space and reality, to somewhere beyond it all. Will expected at least a scratch or bruises here and there, some sign of what had happened off the shores of the Isla Cruces. 

But Jack is unblemished and unbothered as ever. As if nothing had happened. As if none of it had been real nor none of it mattered. 

Out of the corner of his eye, he notices Norrington watching him. At least learn to hide it. He steels himself, then moves forward as well. 

“Mr. Gibbs?” Jack asks as the motley crew files into a line shoulder-to-shoulder. Jack sounds just as bewildered as they feel. As if he almost cannot believe that Gibbs is standing in front him. 

Gibbs stands to attention, the ever-faithful crewman. “Aye, cap’n?” 

Jack looks him up and down. He reaches out a hand, then draws it back. “I expect you’re able to account for your actions, then.” 

Gibbs blinks. “Sir?” 

“There’s been a perpetual and virulent lack of crew upon my vessel,” Jack continues, oblivious to Gibb’s confusion. “Why? Why is that? Is it not your job to acquire those under my command?” 

Gibbs shifts from foot-to-foot, then glances down the line at the rest of the crew. “Sir, you’re in Davy Jones’s Locker. There’s no one here but you.” 

Jack lifts his head, but his eyes seem to go blank for a breath. “I- I know that. I know where I am.” Thinly veiled hesitation sits behind the faux confidence. 

He hesitated. Jack had hesitated. 

The rest of the crew notices it as well, sharing side-eyes with each other. Barbossa, ever the attention hog, steps forward out of the line. “Jack Sparrow.” 

The slight hint of confusion on Jack’s face shifts to disgust. “Oh.” Then disappointment as he strides down the line toward Barbossa. “Hector. It’s been too long, hasn’t it?” 

“Aye. Isla de Muerta, remember?” Jack’s eyebrows raise. The barest hint of bitterness flashes across Barbossa’s face. “You shot me.” 

Another confused blink. “No, I didn’t.” Before Barbossa can speak, he is off again. “Tia Dalma, out and about, eh? You add an agreeable sense of the macabre to any delirium.” 

For the first time, confusion crosses Tia Dalma’s face as well in the form of a smile. 

Next to Will, Norrington lets out a scoff of disbelief. “He thinks we’re a hallucination.” 

Jack’s attention snaps to the former commodore. “Why else would you be here, then? In this land of nonsense and madness as opposed to the comfortable and posh reality of an office on a ship of His Majesty’s royal navy?” His dark eyes narrow, and he tilts his head as if remembering something. “And you should be dead, shouldn’t you? Victim to some horrible yet so well-deserved fate at the hands of Jones’s crew?” 

“I would be if you didn’t give me the credit I’m owed,” Norrington replies. 

“Ah, there it is. I give you no credit for anything whatsoever, owed or not.” And finally, his eyes find Will. 

He expects recognition, maybe. Perhaps guilt. Confusion, even. He would prefer anything. Instead, he sees nothing in Jack’s kohl-lined eyes. 

But, once again, he hesitates for a moment. 

“Should we slap him?” Pintel suggests from somewhere up the line.

“William, my boy.” Jack takes a step closer to him, reaching out a hand. “It would be very much appreciated by myself and myself alone if you would cease to- “

His hand lands on Will’s shoulder, and Jack stops. Quickly reels back his hand, then puts it back. Reels back once more, then gives Will a rough poke in the chest. When he goes in for a fourth time, Will slaps his hand away. 

He hesitates a third time, horror slowly coming over his face. 

“This is real, Jack,” Elizabeth says, pushing through the line to come up next to Will. “We’re here.” 

The abject horror only grows. He scrambles back up the line to Gibbs. “The Locker, you say?” 

“Aye.” 

“We’re here to rescue you,” Elizabeth adds. 

Jack spins back around. “Have you, now? That’s very kind of you. But it would seem that as I possess a ship and you don’t, you’re the ones in need of rescuing, and I’m not sure I’m in the mood.” 

“I see my ship.” Barbossa points out toward the horizon. “Right there.” 

Jack narrows his eyes, raising a hand to shield them. “Must be a tiny little thing hiding somewhere behind the Pearl.” 

Oh, for God’s sake. “Jack.” Jack flinches at the sound of his own name as Will breaks from the line, stepping between Jack and his view of the Pearl. Jack leans around him, stubbornly keeping an eye on the ship. “Cutler Beckett has the heart of Davy Jones. He controls the Flying Dutchman.” 

The words seem to snap something into Jack. He leans back, finally having the courage to look at Will. 

“He’s taking over the seas,” Elizabeth says, stepping out as well. Jack’s eyes dart away from Will over to her. 

“The song has been sung,” Tia Dalma adds over his shoulder. Jack lurches back from her. “The Brethren Court has been called.” 

Jack waves his hands, batting them away as if they were nuisant flies. “Leave you alone for a minute, look what happens. Everything’s gone to pot.” He steps away from them, but most of the group eagerly follows. 

“All that trouble,” Norrington mutters from somewhere behind Will. 

“Might be easier to just take the Pearl and go,” Pintel says. 

“And do all this for nothing?” Ragetti fires back. 

“The world needs you back something fierce,” Gibbs calls ahead. 

“And you need a crew,” Will adds. “Do you really want to stay here alone?”

Jack stops midstride. “Alone?” He strides back over to them, stopping in front of Will. “You are one to talk. Do you really believe I have been here alone all this time? Horizons, William,” he adds with a flair of desperation. “Horizons.” 

“So, what?” He cannot stop his own bitterness from creeping into his voice. After everything, Jack is once more going to throw him away as if he were nothing. Will’s own dogged persistence that Jack owes him is for nothing. “You sail away and leave? Turn your back on the shore again?” 

Jack opens his mouth, then closes this. He does this several times, like a fish gasping for air. It is a low blow, but there is no level in which Will is unwilling to sink to at this point. He steps forward from the group, closing the distance between himself and Jack. “You owe me. I don’t intend to leave here until that is repaid.” 

Jack’s lips press into a thin line. Mild approval passes through his eyes. “You come. You and your distressing damsel, but them?” He nods to what remains of their motley crew. “Not them. Too many who have tried to kill me, not good for morale- “ 

“Since when have you cared about crew morale?” 

“Since several of them tried to kill me. Not crew morale – my morale. Not good for escaping the land of the dead, so, not them.” 

“None of them succeeded. You are not here by their doing.” 

Jack considers this. “No, not directly.” 

“Then, they go,” Will decides, “or I leave you here.” 

Jack opens his mouth, then stops. “You wouldn’t,” he challenges. “You came all this way for me. You won’t leave unless you have what you want.” 

“And how do you know what I want?” Is he really that easy to read? 

Jack shrugs. “Perhaps I do. Perhaps I don’t. But I do know you would not have done all this- “he gestures around” -and worked with that- “he gives a pointed jut of his chin in the direction Barbossa is no doubt standing” -unless you were desperate. Desperate for something to do with me.” 

Will could almost laugh. He smiles grimly. “Always about you, isn’t it?” 

“Isn’t everything?” 

“Then how about I make this decision easier for ya?” Barbossa appears behind Will. He startles when Barbossa slides an arm around his shoulders. An almost friendly and supporting gesture. At least it would be if someone other than Barbossa was doing it. 

Whatever effect Barbossa is hoping it has, it works. Jack bristles, like a cat with its hackles raised, eyes darting between Barbossa and the arm on Will’s shoulders. 

“You need a means of navigating out of this wasteland,” Barbossa says, “and we you so desperately want to leave behind have that means.” 

Jack shakes himself. “I have that means myself.” He pulls the compass out and flips it open. “I- “his face falls. 

Barbossa laughs. “I’m sure you do.” 

And with little more argument, they are off. All of them, loaded off the desolate beach, back to the Pearl who will once again set sail across the ocean. It should feel odd to be aboard a ship that was last seen being dragged into the depths by the Kraken. That should be nothing more than wreckage sunk to the floor of the sea, miles and miles beneath the wild waves. Yet, somehow, it is the only sense of normalcy he has felt in a very long time. 

They are out on the open seas by the time he gets the chance to catch Jack again. Having it out in front of the crew is not an experience Will wants to relieve again, but maybe he can find Jack somewhere they can have a more private talk. After the incident on the beach, the crew’s eyes follow Will wherever he moves, staring intently if he gets less than five feet away from Jack. Jack, who has also noticed this, takes to avoiding Will. 

So, Will finds him when he is distracted. Up toward the Pearl ’s bow, staring out over the endless horizon. Jack had said something about horizons earlier, but like most things Jack said, it made next to no sense. 

“Jack,” he says, coming up behind him. 

Jack tenses, then turns slowly. He stares at Will for a countable three breaths, eyes wide, before wheeling and quickly starting down to the main deck. 

Oh, for God’s sake, Will thinks for the second time that day. “Jack!” he calls after him. The crew’s attention snaps to them as he follows Jack across the deck. Jack shows no intention of stopping, weaving between Marty and Cotton, then around Gibbs and Pintel. Before Will can call his name a third time, he disappears into the captain’s office. 

Will stops in his tracks. After coming all this way, he’s just going to slam a door in my face? Perhaps he should have learned long ago to not take offense to any of Jack’s actions. But this still stung more than he is willing to admit. 

He knows the crew’s eyes are on him, that they are waiting with bated breath for what will happen next- 

Barbossa suddenly barks an order, and they scramble back to work. Before they can become distracted from their tasks, Will starts forward for the office- 

Tia Dalma catches his arm. Will pulls against her, but her grip is firm. “This place comes with a madness. You will force him further into it.” 

With a second sharp tug, he slips away. “No more madder than he already is, I’m sure.” She glares at him as he continues forward and pulls the door open. 

He hears the sound of annoyed muttering, of things being moved around, from the far side of the cabin. He steps fully inside and pushes the door shut. From behind the table, he can see movement digging around through the shelves, haphazardly letting miscellaneous items fall to the floor. On the table itself sits Jack’s compass, open, resting next to a knife with its blade driven into the wood. 

Will steps closer. He picks it up, grip light, afraid it might shatter into a thousand pieces at his touch. The needle whirs and spins aimlessly, pointing in every and all directions.  

“Ah, here it is!” Jack fully stands up, a bottle of rum in his hands. He uncorks it and peers inside. His face falls as he flips it over and nothing comes out. He tries it two more times to receive the same result. “Place of nonsense,” he mutters. 

It is only then does he notice that someone else is in the room with him. “Ah!” He catches sight of the compass in Will’s hand. He places the bottle down, then shuffles around the table. “Paws off!” He snatches the compass from Will and snaps it shut. “You’re worse than that pestiferous monkey. I could have swore I raised you better than that.” 

Absurd. A heartless laugh escapes him. “I wasn’t aware you raised me at all.” 

Jack does not acknowledge the statement. Will wonders if he even heard it. 

“Jack,” Will tries again. 

“No, no!” Jack holds up a hand, starting for the office door. “No. I am done listening to the delusions this place tries to force upon me. I am not easily fooled, especially by this trick you insist on playing upon me.” He spits the word like a filthy slur and motions to Will. “Even by my standards, it’s cruel.” 

His hand reaches for the doorknob. Will reaches behind himself and pulls the knife from the wood. Before Jack can open it, he hurls the knife forward. 

It thunks into the wood next to his hand. Jack freezes, and someone lets out a shocked shriek on the other side. Beneath the crack between the door and the floorboards, two shadowed figures scramble away. 

“I am not a delusion,” Will asserts. 

Jack spins. “And now I can admit, which makes everything more difficult. You are not a delusion, and that is the worst possible outcome for this situation.” He gestures with his hands as he searches for the right words. “Why are you here? You aren’t supposed to be here.” 

“I came back for you. You owe me.” 

“That was the whole point,” Jack continues as if Will had said nothing. “The point of all this. So you wouldn’t feel like you were owed something. So I wouldn’t… “he hesitates once more. The words so clearly want to burst from him, but they are already on testy ground. Anything more could shatter the thin ice they stand on. 

“Have to explain yourself?” Will tries. 

Jack’s lips press into a thin line, and Will’s gut sinks. “Part of it,” he tries to cover, “only part, remember that.” 

“You don’t care,” Will says quietly, finally accepting the words himself. “I don’t think you ever did.” 

“No, no, no, don’t say that.” Jack starts away from the door toward him, something almost like fear in his eyes. “No, please don’t say that.” 

Please. Jack has only ever said please to him once. When he did not want to hurt him, when he desperately needed him to do something. 

Before he knew who you were, a nasty little voice whispers in the back of his head. Before he knew Will was someone he could easily manipulate – Turner or Sparrow. 

Jack’s hands hover around him, like he wants to touch him but is not sure if he can. “I do care. I care so much.” 

It hardly sounds sincere. Like a quick lie the old Jack would tell to try and get the upper hand on the situation. “You have a very funny way of showing it,” Will deadpans, moving to push by him. 

Jack steps in his way. “Don’t say that,” he repeats. “Please, don’t.” Will moves to the other side, and Jack intercepts him again. “William, please- “ 

“You didn’t want anything to do with me, and now you won’t let me leave. Which is it, Jack?” 

Jack suddenly grabs him by the shoulders. “I need you to be real!” 

Will goes ice cold. For a moment, the only sound breaking the silence between them is that of the creaking Pearl as she rocks on the waves. A breath passes before Jack’s eyes widen in realization. His grip loosens on Will’s shoulders, but he does not let go. 

Madness. Tia Dalma said the Locker came with it. 

Jack lets out a shaking breath. “You are here, and you haven’t vanished, but you could. You could be just another delusion. Another facade from the heat. You could be lying to me.” 

“I have no good reason to lie to you,” Will replies. Not now. Had he lied to so many people that he assumed everyone was lying to him? “I’m not sure you had a good one to lie to me either.” 

“It wasn’t. It never was.” 

Perhaps the Locker has driven them all mad because Jack has just admitted the truth to him. And he has half a mind to believe the honesty this time. 

His eyes drop from Will’s. “I haven’t done a single thing to deserve really having you. If you are not real, then that makes sense. But if you are, then… “

His hands fall away from Will’s shoulders. Will takes a step back, feeling as though the touch had branded him. “Then maybe there’s- “

His eyes go blank again, as they had on the beach in front of Gibbs. Jack shakes himself, then steps around Will as if he is not in the room at all. He flips open the compass and moves toward the map sitting on the table. 

Madness. They have to get out of this place. For all their sakes. 

He leaves the office without another word. As soon as Will opens the door, he almost runs headlong into Pintel and Ragetti jumping out of his way. 

They freeze, then give him identical sheepish smiles. 

Will closes the door and leaves them behind. He needs to find some sense in this place of nonsense, so he goes looking for Elizabeth. 

***

This place – the Locker, Gibbs had called it, as in the Davy Jones’s Locker – is going to get the best of him, whether he admits it or not. 

The farther they sail from the shore, the lower the invisible sun sinks over the horizon. Gradually, the sky darkens, and stars blot the night sky. The crew slowly settles down for the evening as they sail over smooth waters. 

A part of him fears that this will all disappear before his eyes. Disintegrate into sand, leaving him alone with nothing else but his own terrors and madness. No, he is certainly not fond of most of these people, but at least they were familiar. Their voices had been enough to jog his memory, and now more of it is rushing back to him. The last few moments in the fight with the Kraken, the tentacles wrapping around the Pearl and dragging it and himself to the depths. 

Not all treasure is silver and gold, persistently and stubbornly echoes through his mind. It refuses to leave, much like its petulant subject which followed him around the Pearl’ s deck. Which risked life and limb to follow him here. 

You shouldn’t be here, screams through his mind. Has been since Jack realized that he was actually here. Painfully knowing that he is real and physical, not just another manifestation. 

That had been the whole point. Whoever he had been before the Kraken took him was a fool. Some starry-eyed idiot who thought dying without having his William know the truth had been an unbearable reality. Imminent doom has a way of clouding the mind unlike anything else. His past self thought it would be a brilliant idea to have his son know the truth and pass into the next life without ever knowing how William felt about it. His past self, who would never get the chance to truly call William his own, but what did it matter then? He could die with no regrets, with the last image his mind ever conjuring being the only two people he has ever cared for. 

But now, present Jack has him back. Really has him back. His William is real, not a shimmering mirage of his child self, nor the distant figure Jack had stared at the horizon for. Present Jack can have everything his past self would have died for.

Yet, without the looming threat of the Kraken and death’s long-fingered claws waiting to whisk him away to the other side… well, every decision he had made in the moment seems quite stupid now.  It does not matter what he wants to say and do. Because he is sure that his William hates him. 

( Why wouldn’t he? the rational part of himself argues. He has every reason to, and you know it. )

Well, maybe hate is a strong word. He is certainly capable of feeling that, but Jack has a hard time admitting that said feeling is directed at himself. 

It would be easier if none of this were real. If it were all just another mad illusion sent to torment him with the possibility of escape from this hellhole.

It isn’t a reality Jack would want to exist in. 

Instead, somehow, this reality is worse. No longer is his William the young, naive blacksmith from Port Royal, the one who was ashamed and terrified of the pirate’s brand on his wrist. Instead, something hardened to and angry at the world has taken his place. 

Something I never wanted you to be. 

Hard as it is to admit, Jack has no one to blame but himself. His William did not come looking for him out of any selfless desire. Not as he had for Miss Swann all those years ago. No, rather unintentionally, he had learned something from Jack and done this for a reason as opposed to none. Really, what else would Jack expect? 

He stands alone in the office now, his only companions the flickering lantern flames. He flips open the compass, and it continues to spin aimlessly. Nigh useless for navigation in the Locker. Curse Barbossa for actually having a reason to be here, to have the maps and their only chance of escape. Curse Barbossa for having the upper hand on Jack. In navigation, on Jack’s ship, over Jack’s son. Slimy bastard had known exactly what kind of reaction it would elicit from Jack if he were to have any influence or contact over his William. 

“Still searching the horizon?” 

Jack spins. She stands behind him near the office door. “You know you aren’t going to find him there.” 

Jack snaps the compass shut. “Now, I know you aren’t real.” 

She puts a hand to her chest, mouth dropping, in a show of mock offense. “Oh, come on, Jack. That is not the kind thing you say to a lady.” 

“I can never have what I have already lost.” 

“But you can what you haven’t,” she replies, giving him a soft smile. While Jack would have much rather had his William inherit everything about her, at least he got that. She steps forward into the cabin, glancing around. “I am surprised she floats. The sailor of a sinking ship seems to be your speciality.” 

“It was one- “he stops, considers the statement. 

She laughs, and her voice is more beautiful than the music of the crashing waves of the sea. “It was more than one time, Jack.” She hoists herself up onto the table, aimlessly kicking her legs. “You could have reached that horizon if you had left her.” 

The Pearl, she means. “I will have no horizon without her. It is unbefitting for a captain to be without a ship of his own.” 

“And yet, I wonder if you are really her captain.” 

Jack spins. “Despite Barbossa’s insistence, might I remind you as well as everyone else on this ship when I get the chance that it was him who mutinied against me, and that- “ 

She laughs again, holding up her hands in surrender. “I know, I know. She is your ship, and perhaps you should think of her that way.” 

Jack raises an eyebrow in question. 

“You said you will have no horizon without her?” She shrugs. “Maybe the horizon understood that and came to you instead.” She smiles sadly, reaching out. To his surprise, her warm hand brushes against the side of his face. “It gave you a chance. A choice. Don’t make the wrong one.” 

Her hand pulls back. He reaches out himself, but in a blink, she has vanished. 

He stands alone, staring at the stop where she had just been. Maybe he could stay here. Sink further into his madness and own self-loathing, if only he could see her one more time. Is that not what the Locker would want? The whole reason he is here, to be punished and driven to the brink forever? Is that not what he deserves? 

A chance. A choice. 

Jack shakes himself, scrubbing a hand over his face. He has not found the horizon, but it did find him. And it is going to drive him even more mad than he is now. 

Maybe he will not mind it then.

He starts for the office door and swings it open with grandeur. 

Gibbs stands on the other side and nearly leaps out of his skin. He quickly then snaps to attention. “Cap’n?” 

Jack narrows his eyes. “How long were you- “ 

“Not long, sir.” He averts his eyes from Jack. “I heard voices and wondered- “ 

“Well, keep wondering.” Jack pushes by him. “And stand down before you strain something.” Anyone else, at ease might bother him, but Gibbs is a special case. 

At the other end of the main deck, he spies his William and Miss Swann. They have the map spread out on an old barrel lid, sitting side-by-side, shoulder-to-shoulder. He senses Gibbs is about to make a comment and quickly hurries up to the ship’s wheel. Gibbs scurries behind him. 

Cotton stands behind the wheel, offering Jack a curt nod at his approach. Jack steps up to the railing, and his eyes once again stubbornly find his William. 

You grew up, Jack tells his son silently. You grew up, and I wasn’t there. Someone else had gotten that joy, that blessing. The great deity in the sky knew that was something Jack had never been worthy of and passed it off to someone else. Someone deserving of it. 

“Mind me asking a question more on the personal side, Jack?” Gibbs moves up next to him. 

Jack hesitates. He is no fool – he had it out with his kid in front of the entire crew. Even if no one knew then, they certainly do now. Once again, Gibbs has always been a special case. He knew more of Jack’s personal business than anyone else had. Even then, his William remains a subject Gibbs tiptoes around like the plague. 

“Oh, why not,” Jack decides before he can regret. 

Gibbs jerks his head toward the other side of the deck. “Did you talk to him?” 

“I did,” Jack answers stiffly. 

Gibbs grimaces. “And I take that reaction to mean it didn’t go well.” 

“Your astute powers of observation never cease to amaze me,” Jack deadpans. “Do tell, where did you get them from?” 

Gibbs’s lips press into a thin line, the only sign of annoyance from him. “He’s not a pot of gold or chest of jewels, Jack. You can’t treat him like one.” 

Jack has no reply. If only it were that simple. 

“Cutler Beckett has the heart, you say?” Jack asks instead, and Gibbs nods. “Controls the seas?” 

“Aye. Not safe for any man who calls himself ‘pirate’ anymore.” 

“And the Brethren Court has been called?” 

“Just the same.” 

Jack shudders. 

“Problem with that?” 

“Potentially. I believe I might owe them all a lot of money.” He is not sure if he should chalk this up to his fuzzy memory or just from owing several people an unfeasible amount of money. 

Another flicker of movement catches Jack’s eye as the one and only formerly Commodore Norrington comes up on the main deck. His gait is hurried and quick. Jack’s question as to why is answered a moment later when Pintel and Ragetti appear on deck as well, Jack the Monkey held out in front of them. 

“I think they’ve taken a liking to him,” Gibbs comments, eyes following the scene too. “Although I am worried they might start treating him more like a pet than a person… “ 

“Uh-huh,” Jack agrees. “And how did he end up here?” Last Jack could recall, the former commodore had taken off into the jungle with the Dead Man’s Chest in his hands. By all accounts, James Norrington should be deader than Jack or Barbossa had been. 

“William found him, sir. Tortuga.” 

“Tortuga?” 

Gibbs nods. “Tortuga.” 

Interesting. Tortuga is a common place for supposedly dead men to wash up on. Supposedly dead men with a vendetta, that is. Norrington had already done so once. Who is to say he would not do it again? “And you just… let him aboard?” 

“Not my choice.” Gibbs shrugs. “Barbossa’s. Thought a sacrifice might come in handy if we needed one.” 

“A sacrifice?” 

“Yes, sir.” 

Jack hums. “If we get in a pinch and Tia Dalma happens to need one, he’ll be more than acceptable, I am sure.” 

Gibbs narrows his eyes, fixing Jack with a questioning look. But Jack is hardly paying attention to him, does not notice when he steps away. His attention is instead fixed on his William at the other end of the deck. 

The world he was going back into is very different from the one he left. Cutler Beckett, who apparently now goes by Lord and perhaps something even more now that he has Jones and all the oceans under his heel. The man who had branded Jack himself for daring to be a more decent human being than Beckett himself, even if it meant breaking the law. The cretin who had branded his William for a reason Jack had yet to determine. Beckett, now in control of it all. 

Jack had once dreamed of such. Of taking the heart and the Dutchman for himself. For a time, he might have even imagined doing it to create a safer world for his William, should he be forced into the life of a pirate. 

For what has to be the hundredth time, he flips open the compass and lets it spin. The needle lands on the other end of the deck. Try as Jack might to think of the Dutchman, of living forever and how much he could desire that, the compass has made up his mind for him. 

An eternity on the Dutchman would be an eternity away from him. The whole plan is rather foolish in hindsight. Jack curses his past self for being impulsive. There are other ways to protect him – ones that do not involve infinite separation. 

His William may drive him madder and madder by the breath, and it will change absolutely nothing. 

Maybe Jack did owe his son. Well, not maybe, it is more of a well-established fact at this point. What exactly his William thinks Jack owes him, Jack has yet to fully suss out. His little freakout in the office has certainly driven his kid away from him for a time, until Jack can reestablish that connection again. 

And it may never be. Jack had done too much for him to truly ever want something like that. His William has a father, and it isn’t Jack. 

(It won’t ever be.) 

Yet, the impossible has never stopped him from trying.