Fic: Scars (1/1) (original) (raw)

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Thank you to vireydamagodaly for making it clear that the finish date was the 16th and that stories should be posted before that date. I wasn't quite sure, so thank you for clearing that up :)

With that out the way, here's the "Jack sees Will's scar" story for ref_1985.

Author: Alilacia

Rating: PG

Disclaimer: Pirates of the Caribbean belongs to Jerry Bruckheimer and Co, and the Mouse. Jack Sparrow belongs to Johnny Depp. I'm only borrowing the names, faces and places for a while and promise to give them back afterwards. No money is being made from this small little story.

Warnings: Alternate Universe. Because there's no way that this happened after they got back on the Pearl after finding (and losing) the Dead Man's Chest.

Any mistakes are my own.

Quotes from PotC: DMC are entirely from memory and therefore could be incorrect.

The Pirates Code was taken from this site.

Notes: Written for ref_1985 who asked for someone to write a scene where Jack sees Will's scars that he gained from being aboard the Dutchman.

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Scars

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He'd been a bit distracted at the time but he still recalled how even in his unconscious state, William Turner flinched as he hit the side of the boat.

He'd covered his surprise with a glib remark as Elizabeth ran to Will's side. The pressing of the Dutchman's crew was a little more demanding of Jack's attention than this new revelation involving the whelp.

Opportune moments and all that.

Jack Sparrow was certain that this certain opportune moment would come, eventually, given time. If he stayed out of Jones' slimy clutches long enough that was.

*~*~*~*

Fate, Providence, or maybe whatever Luck that had dogged Jack's steps of late had prevailed again. Lady Luck was indeed favourable at the moment and Jack sent a quicksilver grin up to the clouds and steepled his fingers quickly with a bow.

"Thankee, luv," he whispered as somewhere below him Elizabeth Swann fussed and pottered around Turner and generally made herself a nuisance.

Jack grimaced. That girl was a nuisance. A rum-burning, fast-talking, good-looking, idealistic nuisance. A lot like him really, only without the idealistic part. And there'd be no rum-burning, not even to escape from any god-forsaken spit of land. The grimace spread as he recalled the state of the supplies down below. The last of the bottles of rum was in the hands of his crew, those that were left, and seeing as there was miles of open ocean between him and the nearest friendly port - with friendly in this case meaning a town or village where one Captain Jack Sparrow hadn't managed to do something to annoy the locals in any way, shape or form. And Jack maintained still that the whole dockside warehouse explosion a few years ago hadn't been his fault. He had been nothing more than an almost innocent bystander - there was little chance of seeking important provisions.

"Bloody barnacle encrusted sea-pirates and that horrible beastie," Jack cursed quietly, casting a nervous look out at the ocean that surrounded them. Indecision gripped him. The irrational fear that had settled deep within was surging to the forefront again now that the heart was in his possession. The compass was pulled out with deft fingers and the Captain of the Pearl sighed as the needle continued to swing, never settling in one place for long. Now he had the heart he could technically speaking control Davy Jones and call off the terrible beastie that was so intent on swallowing his beloved Pearl whole.

And this lead to the crux of his problems and why the blasted compass didn't want to work for him. At first he'd thought it was because he had the Pearl and with everything he'd been working for 11 years to possess back and willing under his seaworthy hands, why should he want for anything else?

But now, after all the bad luck that had shadowed him, he knew that it was so much more than that. How after all could he expect the compass to work - and take him to what he wanted most - when what he now wanted the most was to go to the person he never wanted to see again?

The motion of Turner twitching out of the corner of his eye brought Jack out of his musings and he strolled down the steps, stowing the compass away before his arms caressed along the railing as he walked.

He missed what Elizabeth said to the prone man and otherwise blanked her. At that moment he was more interested in the groggy blacksmith who was shaking off the effects of the blow he'd been dealt.

Not so nice, is it mate? Jack thought with a smirk, recalling when he'd been felled by a similar strike. Payback's a bitch.

"Mister Turner," Will blinked up at him before levering himself to stand upright. Jack didn't wait for Will to steady himself and span to face his Quarters. "A word."

Sparrow turned to face the younger man as soon as Turner closed the door behind him. "Now son, we have a lot to talk about, you and I. By rights I should 'av you flogged for turning your sword on your Captain."

Technically speaking that wasn't actually true. The actual ruling in the Pirates Code (which was either obeyed or ignored depending on situations that arose) was that 'If a man should strike another, whilst these Articles are in force, he shall receive Moses's Law (that is 40 Stripes lacking one) on the bare Back.' And William hadn't actually laid a hit upon him. Still, what William didn't know shouldn't hurt him. Mostly Jack just wanted to see Will's reaction to the threat.

Will's eyes flashed and he didn't think twice before speaking. "That might be true were I actually a member of your crew. And you turned your sword on me first, remember. Is a crime now to pull steel in response to a direct threat?" Will's brows were tightly knitted. The anger over being blindsided and taken down shone in his eyes and his tensed countenance spoke volumes. "I signed no articles with you, and made no agreement, save my word to retrieve your bloody key."

"That's true, whelp," Jack uttered with a tragic sigh. "Pity really," he continued, abandoning the previous thread of conversation as easily as he would discard an empty bottle of rum. "I always said Pirate's in your blood. You'd make as good a Pirate as old Bill if you had the right teacher, savvy."

"Don't you dare speak of my father!" Will's hands flexed near his waist like he wanted to grasp a hold of that weapon again and draw it. But common sense won out over the anger that was fanning through his blood like the steady fires of the forge. Sometimes he wished his anger could be tempered as easily as the metals which he crafted under his strong hands. But to wish that would mean he would be broken. Will's resolve hardened and he fixed Jack Sparrow with a glare. He would never be broken. "Because of you my father is still under Jones' hold and trapped on that ship. I swore to save him and I will see this dagger pierce Jones' heart. Unlike you Jack, I always keep my promises."

Jack stared at the dagger and a sigh spilled over inwardly. He recognised that dagger, how could he not, when he'd watched the hands of Bootstrap Bill Turner use it to slay those in his path or any man that threatened his captain.

He wondered if William would be so keen on keeping it if he knew that more than sea-water and barnacles had clung to the now dulled edges.

"Son," the sigh did now spill over his lips and Jack sashayed forwards until he invaded William's personal space. The blacksmith leaned backwards and his hips bumped against the edge of Jack's bookcase. Will scowled when he tensed against the unexpected barrier and fled further into the cabin and away from Jack. Jack for his part allowed the retreat long enough for Will to reach the edge of his desk before the pirate advanced again, stopping just close enough that he could feel the heat rolling off Will's body.

"Like I said, s'alot you don't know 'bout Davy Jones. What's to say that if you kill him there will be no more Flying Dutchman..." Jack waited for Will's cautious affirmative and nodded, almost sagely, "but without the Dutchman, and a Captain, how can there be a crew?"

Will paled slightly under his tan. He'd forgotten what Wyvern had uttered during his time on the Dutchman. No, don't stab the heart! For without the heart there is no Captain, and without the Captain there is no-one to have the key.

"I won't accept that!" Will cried and he flung the dagger point first into the wood of Jack's desk. The handle shook for a few moments before lying dormant.

"William. It's not about what you can and cannot accept. It's about the things a man can, or cannot, do if the situation calls for it." Jack sidled past Will and pulled the dagger from the splintered wood. "For instance, you can get as angry as you like and face up against Jones, and risk loosing everything. Or maybe the situation calls for a little diplomacy, a little discretion, and a little planning of our own, savvy?" Jack held the dagger handle first towards the blacksmith, the blade resting against his scar. He wondered if Will remembered when they had willingly bled for each other.

Will still looked distrustful but grudgingly nodded. To go in without a plan was suicide. He was almost certain that discretion was a foreign concept to the pirate but he couldn't deny that Jack always had a plan. They didn't always work, but he always had a plan.

He glanced down at Jack's hands that gripped the dagger lightly. The ramifications of accepting the dagger from Sparrow flickered through Will's mind and he ignored them all. Jack's fingers flexed away from the crusted blade as soon as Will's fingers touched the worn handle.

The fires of Will's anger were slowly ebbing and he didn't know whether to fan the flames or to let them die. Distrust still burned brightly in him and anger flared hotly every time Will remembered how Jack had first stopped him from opening the chest and then how he'd clubbed him with that oar. The head wound still throbbed and he resisted the urge to press against it.

He'd be damned if he'd show any kind of weakness in front of Jack Sparrow.

"'you're wounded?"

"Pardon?" Will said, blinking at Jack. He'd missed the beginning of Jack's words, that much was clear, and while he had a fair idea of what Jack was saying... Will clenched his jaw. Jack had caught him unawares in the past and Will resolved Jack was not going to find another weakness to exploit here and now.

"Tell 'ol Jack where you're wounded," Jack cajoled when he saw Will clam up. He was still a little angry with the whelp over various issues but he couldn't argue that Will had fulfilled all the promises he'd made. William Turner did keep all the promises he'd made, he was nothing if not a man of his word and honour, and Jack wondered just what promises Will might have made - been forced to make - while in residence on the Dutchman.

As the Captain of the Pearl it was his duty to maintain the health of all the people - crew or not - on board. Like it or not, William was in his territory now, and eventually he would acceede to Jack's request. They all did in the end.

The furrow on Will's forehead deepened and he clenched his jaw tighter. "You bloody well know where I'm injured Jack, you dealt the wound yourself!"

"Pirate," Jack said, raising an eyebrow along with the index finger of his right hand. "If I recall you dealt the same wound to me yourself once."

"You were using me as leverage," Will hissed. "You seem to like doing that."

"Pirate," Jack repeated again, "take all you can-"

"Give nothing back," Will finished, clasping his arms around his waist. "I know. I did hear you talking to Gibbs. I'm not a simpleton Jack, despite what you believe. I'm not just a whelp who is good for nothing but standing there and looking pretty," Will's tone of voice implied he'd heard that said to him before and Jack's curiosity was sparked. But he knew to bide his time and filed that information away. "You knew who I was as soon as I mentioned my name. Just as you knew my father was on that ship."

"So then you'll know that as Captain nothing escapes ol' Jack's watchful eye," he demurred, not wishing to get into another argument with the lad about his father. Why was it even cursed and under Jones' hold Bootstrap still managed to come between him and a good-looking lad? "I've received my fair share of injuries and dealt them out as well. Show me what you're hiding."

Will tensed, wrapped his arms tighter against himself, and stepped backwards only for Jack to follow again.

"Fine," Jack said with an easy smile, "if you don't want me to look, I'm sure Elizabeth-"

"No," Will finally muttered, shaking his head. If he didn't want to be seen as vulnerable and weak in front of Jack then he definitely didn't want to in front of Elizabeth. She could protect herself, that he well knew, but some part of him still wanted to be strong for her. His pride would settle for nothing less.

Jack's smile - much reminiscent of the cat that ate all the cream - unsettled Will but he still made himself slowly shed all the outer layers of his clothing until finally the shirt bunched under nervous fingers.

He'd not undressed in the company of others since the night the wounds had been dealt and he almost didn't want to ever see them again. It was just another scar that had been left for the world to see because of his father. Will resisted the urge to pull everything back on and wrenched the shirt off in one movement and span around before he lost his nerve. If Jack wanted to see them then see them he would. After all - indirectly or not - it was because of Jack that he had these scars marring his back.

He felt more than heard Jack's exhalation as the older man stepped forwards. "William..."

"The Bo'sun prides himself from cleaving flesh from bone," Will repeated his father's words hollowly, his mind cast back to pounding rain and the stinging kiss of the whip. The tentative touch of calloused hands on his back didn't even make him flinch; he was so lost in the memories of that night.

Jack remembered the Bo'sun. A frightful looking thing - they all were - and he could well imagine the cruelty those hands could inflict upon the innocent.

"But it wasn't those hands who wielded the whip that night."

Whose then? That hammer-head? The strange thing with a conch shell for a head? Jones himself? Jack's mind raced.

"Jones took the whip at first. And then handed it to my father."

Bill? No...

"I didn't know who he was at first," Will carried on. "I only knew that as I looked at him, there was something familiar about him. It wasn't until he called me his son that I knew for sure. I only had to look into his eyes to know he was telling the truth."

Jack's eyes flickered shut for a moment. Bill could be a taciturn as the stoniest pirate but then swing to emotional and passionate the next. It was one of the things that Jack soon began to like about Bill Turner. Young William shared this notion, but his passion sparked brighter than Bill's ever had.

And thus with this knowledge he could easily imagine Bill, in the shock over suddenly seeing his son, revealing the one thing that would give Jones more power over him. A leverage that had never existed until Jack sent him there.

Will didn't say the words, just clenched his fists at his side, the muscles in his back flexing, making the scars twist and contort. He didn't have to say the words. Just as if he had been there himself, Jack knew without a doubt that Jones would not only have handed Bootstrap the whip but also ordered him to deal the punishment himself.

Jack was rendered speechless. Again in so many days, he didn't know what to do or say. What could he possibly say to the boy who had been whipped by his father, seconds after their first meeting in years no less?

The rings glinted in the light as Jack's fingers traced down the longest scar. The longer scars were still tinged with red while the smaller had healed to leave their permanent reminders. But it was the longest that captured Jack's attention. It traced from his shoulder blade and stopped just shy of the top of Will's breaches. He had moved almost halfway down when Will jerked and stepped forwards. In jerky movements the young man pulled the shirt over his head and gathered up the rest of his clothing.

It was the quickest Jack had ever seen someone get into their clothing in a long time and was left standing as Will fled from the cabin without saying a word.

Fin.