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by Linaelyn


Fandom:  PoTC   Rating: R    Pairing: Jack/Will    Full Header


Will Turner couldn't shake the dream, the dream of himself, together with Jack, and Jack undead.

He no longer slept easily or well, for fear of the arms of Morpheus. He had tried the remedy that Old Brown preferred, but drink only worsened the nightmares. No, he would find no solace in rum or gin or whiskey.

Even when the dream did not haunt his nights, wakening him repeatedly, he startled at the slightest sound, found himself looking over his shoulder. Flinching at the slightest clang was not a habit of great use to one who worked a smithy, and Will had several injuries and minor burn scars to show for his jittery nerves.

The sleep deprivation was making the situation worse. He had woken too many times, shuddering and sweating in terror, and...

...and in need of a good fuck.

And his dear wife was frankly sick of it.

He needed to take action, to do something about it, or die in the trying. He was being killed by this obsession, slow or quick, and quick was a less painful way.

Will knew he shouldn't. But as everyone said, Turner was rash. Even a few more years behind him, a bit more maturity, and a happy and affectionate marriage to a good woman had not been enough to "settle" the young blacksmith.

So when the nightmares woke him once again that dawn, he kissed the still slumbering Elizabeth, and went out. Pirate again, he was; he'd pay reparation upon his return. When he returned.

If he returned. The boat was rather small.


Will had heard their names...Quetzalcoatl and Yacatecuhtl, Teoyaomqui and Ometecuhtl.

The tiny boat bobbed on the sea, and the island shrank behind it, creeping gradually below the cerulean horizon. Will knew he had no hope of finding Jack is this vast expanse on his own, but he had seen it firsthand; the Heathen Gods were just as real as the One worshiped more openly in the Colonial Caribbean. They held powers that the priests said they could not.

Will had no idea how this sort of thing actually worked, had not experience of any of the murky devil-worship practices carried on in the vicinity of Port Royal. He had been christened, baptized and married in the Church of England. But his prayers to the Lord and His Divine Son had gone unanswered. His nightmares gripped him more strongly than ever. He was a desperate man.

And so he called on them, Quetzalcoatl and Yacatecuhtl, Teoyaomqui and Ometecuhtl.

Lashing the tiller and cleating the sail, Will set his attentions to his task. He took a small bowl, a broken piece of a wine cork, and a steel needle from his pocket. Dipping the bowl over the side, he filled it with water, and set the cork to float in it. Then he took the needle and sliced it across his palm.

Damn. His hand was too calloused. He couldn't draw blood.

He tried further up his arm, but then hesitated. He remembered Jack. Jack and his Sparrow. On his arm...right about *there*. Will thought of Jack, his hair, his scars, his eyes, his smile...

His bones, bare of flesh, immortal, hungry, ever lusting, never sated.

Will stabbed. Blood welled. He coated the needle in the red fluid, saying, "Blood. My Blood. Seeking Jack. Seeking to find him, wherever he be."

He set the needle on the floating cork. "Bring me to Jack. I have need of him. And he of me."

The needle and cork spun for a moment, then came to rest in a single direction. West Southwest. Just the direction in which Isla de Muerta lie, Will could feel it. He sailed on, under cloudless skies. The wind quartered, shifted, and drove the little boat forward to its requested goal.


The spars and masts of the ships' graveyard hove into view. Supernatural doings seemed fitting in this foggy, desolate location. Would he find peace in finding Jack? Or did merely damnation of a different flavor, a new texture of Hell await him here?

The midday sun beat down on Will. Was this truly insanity? He scanned the water for other vessels. There was no sign of the Black Pearl, and Will wondered if his mad dash across the sea had been in vain. The winds died in the little sails, after rounding the rocky headland at Isla de Muerta, and the heat became oppressive. The blacksmith removed his shirt, exposing to the sunlight the recent scars of his inability to calm himself at the forge.

Will paddled the tiny vessel into the sea-cave, awash with emotion: fear, excitement, wariness, anticipation, hope...and sheer abject terror. But which did he fear more, he wondered to himself, the possibility of meeting Jack again, or of finding the cave empty and all his efforts come to naught?

Will had not long to agonize over the paths through the various futures. The Pirate Captain's voice called to him as soon as the oar's splashing was within earshot of the treasure cave.

"Will! What kept you, mate? I've been calling for nigh on a year to get you in that boat!" Will redoubled his efforts. Soon, Jack's hands grasped the gunwale and the little ship was pulled up the rocky scree to rest on the shore.

Will's heart leapt into his throat at the sight of the pirate, as if the intervening years had never occurred. Jack was just as Will had pictured him, practically unchanged by the years that had passed since he had sailed away that day on the Pearl. The way his dark eyes glinted, the way his hips swayed when he walked on land, the flamboyant hand gestures, the way the gold glinted in his teeth...unhidden by any lips or skin.

Jack was undead.

And just as in his dream, Will closed his eyes, pressed his body against Jack's, felt the cold hands trace over his skin. He felt Jack's ribs beneath the shirt, touched hair and familiar beads and headcloth.

Will kissed the lipless mouth deeply, pushed warm tongue past icy gold-bedecked teeth, slaking a long-held passion in those skeletal arms surrounding his torso.

One thing was different from his dream, he realized after a moment. He opened his eyes, and looked into Jack's.

And Jack's beautiful black eyes stared back.

A boney hand left his back, and rose to the cadaverous cheekbone. "Oh, these?" said Jack. "Aye, I'm still getting used to seeing out of them again. Just got 'em back, after ages of wandering blind. They returned to me when you set sail from Port Royal, as near as I can figure. Now, the way I see it, our next step is to figure out what it will take to get the rest of me back. Now I've got me peepers again, I'm missing having eyelids." Jack's head did a little bob and twist, as if he were winking, but the lack of skin on his skull made the motion a travesty. A painful reminder of what Jack had once been.

Suddenly, it dawned on Will. It was midday. They stood in a darkened cave, but there was certainly no moonlight to be seen. "Jack? What manner of curse is this?" Will was baffled by this shift in circumstance.

"Oh, you thought this was that thing with the Cursed Gold of Cortez?!? What do you take me for, lad, an imbecile?" Jack laughed, and the sound echoed deep in his hollow chest cavity. Will shivered slightly. "No, no, I ran afoul of a madame whom I will not term a lady, in a brothel in Nassau. She and I, we had a bit of an altercation over whether her charges were free to give away their favors voluntarily." Jack chuckled and his teeth parted at the memory. "The curse was delivered in Portugee Language, and I only managed to catch about every third word, but it clearly involved something about becoming the 'walking dead' and 'finding what was lost' or perhaps it was 'what went missing.'" Jack seemed unbothered by his status as one no longer among the living. Perhaps he had had plenty of time to become accustomed to the situation.

"What went missing?" Will struggled to make sense of this new information. What had Jack lost? He'd regained the Black Pearl, what more could he need?

Jack continued with his tale. "And also some weird bit about 'affection without any conditions placed upon it' that I didn't quite understand. What woulds and coulds and shoulds have to do with this, I fail to see."

Slow understanding grew within the blacksmith. Affection. Without condition.

The silence stretched between them. How much affection did this curse call for, to break it? A curse made in a brothel? Will thought he probably had an inkling what sort of affection was necessary.

Will examined Jack, looked him straight in the eye. "Why did you call me, then?" Did Jack really not understand the nature of this curse? Was he really that na´ve, when it came to matters of love and curses? Will thought it, rather, Will knew exactly why he was here.

"I missed ye, mate!" Jack was all cheer and goodwill.

"And glad I am to hear it." Will smiled genuinely. Jack really didn't know. This wouldn't be so hard, he reassured himself. He could manage this. Even if he had to live with the nightmares the rest of his days, he could do this, give this gift to Jack.

Will entwined his fingers in Jack's hair again, the most life-like aspect of this wasted corpse-like body. Again, he brought his mouth to Jack's, and drank in the cold and hard and lifeless passions that coursed through them both. He had to admit it, if only to himself; the thought of touching Jack was incredibly arousing, even in his current state.

Oh well. He was probably already damned to Hell for his earlier prayers to the Heathen Gods.

Gooseflesh rose on Will's skin at the thought of what those skeletal fingers might feel like on certain, very sensitive portions of his own anatomy. He also wondered if Jack even still possessed...No. Best not to think too hard at this point.

Could he do this? Could he do this, even for Jack? He could, he decided. Will could give Jack this gift. Give him back his life.

"Come." Will took Jack's metacarpals and carpals and phalanges in his own. One hand, robed in warm flesh, the other not. "Show me how much you've missed me," and so as not to be mistaken in his meaning, he gave Jack his best leer, and licked his lips. Then he raised one of Jack's fingerbones to his mouth, and passed it within, sucking, pulling, warming the calcified part until it nearly reached the temperature of natural skin.

And he felt the change.

And the love became flesh, and it dwelt among them and between them and beside them, and then...remained.

Jack rocked back on his bootheels for half a second; then he fairly skipped, leading Will back to a more secluded and comfortable corner of the treasure cave.

Will suppressed a sigh. He hoped Jack would be willing to help him erase these memories, when the totality of flesh returned and the curse had lifted. But the curse only required Will to provide unconditional love to Jack, not the other way 'round.

Jack could easily choose to leave without providing Will with the more pleasant distractions he would need to survive the years ahead; the years ahead with memories of this event rattling around in the chambers of his mind.

This had better work, damn it all to Hell, thought Will.


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