Hullo, everyone! It has been...oh my, nearly a year since I've updated anything here? Not that I haven't been writing...but school and my original fiction call more than old anime-based stories...anyway, enough of that. It's come to my attention in reviews that good ol' Cap't Will, romantic and softie extrordinare, seems to come off as a bit cruel in my little drabble.
I'd just like to state--no, I never picture Will as cruel. But a Captain has got to keep control of his crew, right? If he ran about gently asking people if they wanted to die or not, what sort of ship would he run? And he DID have his heart cut out, mind you, so he's going to be rather unsympathetic...more on that at the bottom, eh?
Generations
There were several things that the heartless Captain William Turner hoped never to see turn up on his rounds. The first was Captain Jack Sparrow—bloody lunatic that the man was, Will prayed every day that he would never have to give him the option of joining his crew…because that would turn out badly for all accounts. He'd found Jack lost at sea a few times, in search of what he claimed was the Fountain of Youth, and Will usually provided whatever stores the man needed to keep him happily alive and away from the Dutchman.
The second was Elizabeth. Even though she desperately wanted to join his crew, William knew, he would never be able to stomach taking her aboard. Once every ten years was hardly enough, of course, but he didn't want to ferry her about in the land of the dead, either. She hadn't handled their last trip very well, and he doubted that she would last long working there. Elizabeth's heart was too warm to pass all the souls on their way to the World's End and not attempt to help them...and then his ship would be packed with useless hands and families and children, and where would that get them?
The third, he never realized he dreaded coming to see until he did come to see it. Captain Will Turner never wanted to offer his son a place in his crew—but the day came all too soon when he had to.
He found the boy in a washtub off Elizabeth's island, a good way out to sea. It was just dusk, and his crew raised the alarm, drawing him away from the charts in his cabin to ask the necessary questions of the recently departed soul.
Captain William Turner's heart would have leapt into his throat as he laid eyes on the familiar brown curls and tri-peaked hat, if it hadn't been beating blissfully unaware on the island just over the horizon.
"Pull it all out of the water," he commanded sharply, waving the men around him towards the aft of the Dutchman.
Will Turner III tumbled out of his washtub as it was hauled onto the deck, landing on his hands and knees and coughing up sea brine. He wasn't a day over twelve years of age—Captain William had seen the boy all too recently to be reunited with him again. The child pushed his hat back onto his head and rolled onto his back, taking long, deep breaths of the salty night air.
"Is this a dream?" he asked no one in particular, staring up at William's crew with wide brown eyes. "Have you rescued me?"
Captain William stepped forward, scattering his crewmen and unsheathing his sword. Will's eyes grew even larger as he saw his father, his mouth falling open. Before the boy could speak, the Captain growled, "William Turner. Do you fear death?"
There was silence throughout the ship. One or two of the crew members looked at each other, questions on their faces. Captain William ignored them all, staring down at his son and waiting for the answer to his question.
The boy's eyes traveled up the length of the blade, his small body beginning to shiver. "What?" he whispered, tears beginning to form as the question sunk in. "No. No—mama's going to murder me."
Some of the crewmembers laughed at that. Captain William did not crack a smile, but rather, answered the child's frightened realization. "If I don't do it first for your stupidity, boy. You must answer the question—do you fear death, William?"
Ever so slightly, the child's chin drew up. He licked his chapped lips, still staring up at the sword. With a barely perceptible nod, he whispered, "Yes."
Captain William jammed his sword into its sheath, walking towards the overturned washtub to see the boy right side up. He was shivering desperately now, tears falling down his cheeks. Will's eyes traveled over the crewmen, hovering on Clanker and Hadras. They returned to the Captain, and the boy pushed himself up with his elbows, his brows drawing together into a frown.
"One hundred years before the mast," Captain William Turner ground through his teeth. "One hundred years of servitude, to escape that which you fear. Will you take it?"
Again, it was barely perceptible. The child nodded, standing unsteadily now. "Aye," he said, his voice still high with youth. "I'll take it…father."
The crew's mutterings were too loud for William's liking. He glared around and yelled, "Silence, the lot of you! Or I'll have you all keep Jones company in the locker to remind you of your places!" They grew instantly silent. Captain William rounded on Will, the boy still shaking madly, perhaps even more after the shouting. "Boy, you'll address me as Captain on this ship. A hundred years—a long time for a whelp. I wonder…will your mother follow next?"
Will shook his head, taking off his hat. "Mama doesn't know I'm gone…Captain. I was playing pirate—sometimes Captain Jack lets me use his boat, but the washtub is all we've got regularly—and the water pulled me away from the shore."
Captain William crossed his arms, frowning. "She knows you're gone, I'm sure, boy. Playing pirate…you'll not be playing any longer, Willie."
The boy smiled slightly. "Aye, Captain. But…do you have a bit of food? Or water? It's been ages since supper."
William Turner II's heart would have gone out to the child, if it had been there. Instead, he sighed in resignation and looked about to the crew. "Quittance. Ratlin. Wyvern. Get these boys moving. We've other places to be, this boy has wasted a good amount of time. If we take too long, Calypso may find it fitting to place the old curse upon us, and you dogs look forward to it less than I."
Immediately, the men scurried around the ship to make way again. Captain William felt no qualms about putting Elizabeth's island behind his rudder—it'd be another eight years, but he was certain he'd be seeing her soon enough anyway. Turning, he began to cross the deck towards his quarters. There was no echo to his footsteps. "Boy," he said, not looking back at the child. "I'm not your serving maid. If you want food, your legs will have to carry you to it."
William III chased after him promptly, running across the deck to fall into step just behind him. Captain William opened the door to his cabin, hearing the boy close it. Without a hospitable air, he gestured to the table.
"May I eat whatever I like?" Will asked, his eyes lighting up.
Captain William dropped into his chair, one leg strewn over the arm. "May I eat whatever I like…?"
"Sir?" Will added sheepishly, smiling a bit.
Captain William did not smile in return. "Aye, boy."
The child began to dig into his meal, tearing chicken apart and drinking down water as though he'd not had a drop in days—which, Captain William realized, was probably the truth. There was silence in the cabin for a time, until there was a faint knock at the door.
"Enter," Captain William called, still watching his son eat.
He was unsurprised to see his first mate enter the cabin, his brow creased. "William—is it true? We've collected your son? My grandson?"
Willie looked up from his meal, his mouth falling open. Bits of chicken were still on his tongue, forgotten as Bootstrap crossed the room. Captain William's face finally softened, something like regret creasing his own brow. "Aye, father. We've collected my son."
Will stood up, remembering himself. His mouth snapped shut and he swallowed thickly, holding out a hand. "Hello, grandfather Bootstrap. Mama's told me about you before. Were you really made of coral?"
Probably not the best question to introduce one's self with, Captain William reflected. Bootstrap's eyes flashed, perhaps with tears. He took the boy's small hand and shook it. "Aye, boy. And you'll be called…?"
"William Turner the III, grandfather."
"Willie," said Captain William at the same time. "Won't do any good to have the crew shouting Turner left and right and distracting the three of us."
Bootstrap didn't ask permission to sit, but took it all on his own, looking at Willie with sorrow on his face. "But how did you lose your mother, boy? Did she not look after you?"
Willie shook his head. "Oh, no, grandfather. Mama kept a weather eye on me every moment of the day. But the dinghy was getting re-tarred, so she couldn't chase me to sea once she knew I was gone."
Captain William sighed. "I assume that this means Elizabeth will be quick to follow your path, once the dinghy has been up-righted."
Bootstrap looked at him sharply. "But who will guard your heart, William?"
The Captain shrugged. "Perhaps she'll be as cheeky as she always is and bring it along with her. Best to keep an eye on it, rather than leave it about for land-dwellers to find." He paused, frowning in thought. "She wouldn't trust Jack, I'm sure."
Willie's face brightened. "You know Captain Sparrow, sir?"
Captain William's face darkened. "You have no idea," he replied dryly. "Now, to business. Mr. Turner, does this lad look able-bodied to you?"
Bootstrap looked him over with a critical eye, taking in the thin arms and the un-calloused fingers. "Able enough, Captain Turner, but hardly hearty enough to work in the scullery. I wouldn't place him as anything other than a lookout or cabin boy."
Captain William nodded, looking over Willie as well. The boy's hands had begun to shake again—obviously, he'd gathered from his cold welcome that this would not be a pleasure cruise. A hundred years was a very long time. A hundred years, and ten days on land. Captain William brushed that thought from his mind.
"Aye, I agree. Willie boy, you'll serve your hundred years as cabin boy to the Dutchman. I expect that you'll learn your place soon enough," he mandated.
Willie nodded, his little smile growing across his face. "Aye, Captain, I'll work as hard as I can."
Bootstrap snorted, laughing mirthlessly. "You'll not want to pledge that, Willie. You've no idea what you've committed yourself to."
But business was taken care of. Captain William sat up straighter, putting both his feet on the ground. "Willie. Son," he did not smile, as he would have had his heart still beat below his ribs. "You are dead, boy, you know that?"
Bootstrap's frown was directed towards the Captain then, a question in his eyes. Willie nodded hesitantly, his face growing pale. "Yes…pa, I know that."
Captain William's mouth quirked in a cold, wry smile. "Starving must not have been a good way to go, Willie. I expect you'll keep a better head on your shoulders, now that you've been given your second chance."
"Better than dying as you did, William," Bootstrap countered for the boy. "I don't envy anyone the fate you've been given."
Captain William did smile, truly then. "Ah, yes, father. It is quite dismal, looking after this cowardly lot and praying that Calypso favors our sails. So long as we do her bidding, I'm sure that our fates will not grow any worse than this."
But while he spoke with Bootstrap, it seemed that his statement to Willie had sunk into the boy's head. His shivering had returned, and he let his food drop from his fingers onto his plate. Tears pooled in his eyes once more, and he turned to Captain William and asked, "Shall I look after souls, too?" his voice trembling.
It was no longer the time to impose the boy's place upon him. Captain William stood, kneeling next to Willie's chair and stroking his hair out of his face. "Yes, Willie boy, you'll be looking after souls with me, for as long a time as you wish."
The tears began to pour down his face, and the boy threw his arms around Captain William's neck. "Mama!" he wailed, as Captain William Turner closed his arms around the boy in return. This never should have happened, not so soon. Will had expected that the boy would ultimately put out to sea--it ran in their blood, yeah? But to find his child as a hand on his ship before he even reached adolescence...Captain William wondered sometimes if the gods were still punishing him for Davy Jones' crimes.
"Elizabeth," he whispered against Willie's hair, holding the boy even closer. So that the child could hear, he said, "I'll look after you, Willie, I promise."
Bootstrap ran a hand over the boy's head, patting him in comfort. "We'll both look after you, boy. The time is far gone for tears, though. You must show the crew that you're made of the same stock as your father and I. Turners are strong, Willie. You'll manage—souls and all, I'm sure."
William sniffled and wiped his face on his sleeve, pulling his hat back onto his head. "Aye, grandfather."
The boy turned back to his food, staring at it for a moment. The tears drying on his cheeks, he picked up an apple and looked at it, like he was seeing it for the first time. Willie hummed a snatch of tune, so quietly that Will almost didn't hear it at all. Recognizing it instantly, his eyebrows raised in surprise. Elizabeth had sung it constantly when they were children. "Yo ho, yo ho..." Willie muttered quietly, still staring at the apple. "A pirate's..." he paused, then laughed without humor, looking up at William and Bootstrap. "Afterlife for me?" he grinned.
In what would soon become a frequent occurrence, William wondered just how much time the child had spent with Jack.
A/N: yeah...I guess William was a bit cruel...but he hugged Willie eventually, yeah? Not really cruel to the kid...but he couldn't run about giving the boy teddy bears and lollipops, it just wouldn't suit.
In my pondering of a sequel to that rather fulfilling yet fanfiction-positive ending, I just wanted to see William Jr. come aboard the Dutchman...
...and what WOULD happen when Elizabeth found out that the kid had joined William's crew? Who would she turn to? What would she do with Will's heart? I've several little ideas, but I need a bit more incentive to put them into writing, yeah? ...please review!