Post by Meluivan Indil on Jul 10, 2006 14:03:01 GMT -5
Disclaimer: I do not own Pirates of the Caribbean. It is owned by Walt Disney Pictures. The lucky sots. I intend no infringement on rights here and am collecting no monetary gain.
Warning: Serious spoilers for Dead Man’s Chest. Ye be warned. Arghhhhhh!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
Summary: A short one shot concerning a scene from Dead Man’s Chest that deals with both Will and Bootstrap’s private thoughts and emotions.
Author’s Note: Okay as a warning, I have only seen Dead Man’s Chest Once so some of the lines might be messed up, but they are as I remember them. I will make corrections once it is out on DVD and I can watch it over and over again (Which I most certainly will do). The emotions are the important part of this little fic anyway, so sit back and enjoy.
“Five lashes each.” The Bosun Mate ordered gruffly.
Bootstrap Bill turned from the sight before him shutting out the image of his son being held against the Main Mast. How had this happened? He had left William with his mother and warned her never to tell him of his father’s colorful past. His son was not supposed to be a Pirate. And his son was most certainly not supposed to be on the Flying Dutchman pressed into hard labor by none other than Davy Jones himself. No that was Bootstrap’s fate and one he had accepted long ago, but not William, not his son.
“I’ll take them all,” Bootstrap answered pressing close to the Bosun as if daring the man to refuse.
“Such an apparent willingness to sacrifice yourself. Makes me wonder what has gotten into you, Bootstrap.” Came the voice of Davy Jones himself walking up behind the Bosun Mate his tentacles swaying around his pale squid-like face.
Bootstrap looked his Captain in the eyes knowing this was the one time in his life that he must remain strong, for his son’s sake. “Captain, my son,” he answered motioning towards Will and then in a stronger voice. “He’s my son.”
Will twisted around to face the man who had uttered those words. He had seen something in the man’s eyes while they were up in the rigging, something that had startled him causing them both to fumble the cannon they were trying to pull up above. It was a deep recognition of your own. Yes he knew deep inside that this thing had once been his father. But now what was he? He was certainly not alive, at least not in the condition he was in. His skin was that pasty color of a corpse who had been rotting in the sea for oh so long. And growing from one side of his face were carbuncles and god knows what else was scattered throughout his deformed body. But was he still the man that had been Will’s father?
A deep laugh of sarcasm rolled from the Captain’s mouth as he took in the irony of the situation. “Well then it would only be fittin’ for the lash to come from your own hand.” Came the reply as his hand fell on a whip that was secured near the mast.
Bootstrap’s eyes widened in horror at the thought of what the Captain wanted. His head began to waver back and forth as his mouth became dry and his hands began to shake. “No, I couldn’t.” The idea of harming his own son made him want to be sick. He had remained sick for most of the years he had been aboard the Flying Dutchman. Sick of the conditions they were made to survive. Sick of the rot and stink surrounding them. Sick of the killing. Sick of what he was slowly becoming. But the sickness he felt at that moment went beyond any he had ever felt. His eyes beseeched the Captain not to make him do such a thing. ‘Please’ they begged silently.
Captain Jones could see that Bootstrap did not have the strength to do as he was ordered and the smile grew larger on his evil visage. “It will be done, whether it is you or the Bosun Mate. Now do you want that?” He warned pressing the whip towards the man who resembled a hammerhead shark beside Bootstrap.
Bootstrap knew what that meant for his son. The undead that he was could survive the Bosun, but Will was among the living. His body could not withstand that. He would die. Bootstrap was certain of it. He moved closer to the Bosun and ripped the whip from his hands giving his Captain a scathing look. Then he turned looking towards his son.
Two of the crew pressed Will tighter against the Main Mast as another ripped his vest and shirt from his back. There were shouts of glee all around at the anticipated lashing. Bootstrap stared at his son’s unmarred back and let a thought pass through his mind as he drew back the whip for his first strike. ‘I wish it were me. Please forgive me, Son.’
Strike One
Will held his breath waiting for the first strike. He bit down into his lip, tasting the blood as the strike came. He would not scream. He would not give Jones the satisfaction. Pain ripped through his back as he felt the lash bite his flesh. How had things gone so wrong? He was happy, not so long ago. He was supposed to marry Elizabeth. They were going to be together forever. He had won her heart. Him, a lowly blacksmith had won the heart of the most wonderful woman he had ever known to live. But now look at him. Trapped, abused, ashamed. Ashamed of the man who was inflicting pain upon him. The man who he had held above all others in his mind for so many years. His father. Where was the man he had imagined? Gone, but had he ever really existed?
Strike Two
Bootstrap could feel the lash hitting his son’s back reverberating through his arm and going straight to his heart. It felt as if someone was stabbing him with every stroke gnawing at his insides, tearing him apart. The tears streamed freely down his cold face mixing with the rain that was pummeling the ship. He did not move to brush them away. He was not ashamed of them. He wanted the others to see that he was not like them. He wanted them to see that he was not a monster but still was a man. He did not care if they knew the pain he was feeling.
Strike Three
Would everyone he respected and care about betray him? Will bit back the scream that threatened to leave his lips. He wanted to scream. He wanted to let it all out. But not just the physical pain, he could withstand that kind of pain. But the emotions at being betrayed by his father and by being betrayed by Jack, who he had trusted with his very life, were too hard for him to withstand. Had he not learned from Jack himself not to trust anyone? Everyone was out for their own selves. Their own self-preservation. Why had he not learned?
Strike Four
Bootstraps arms were trembling now. He wanted to just collapse where he stood. He wanted to just sink into oblivion and pray that none of this was real. He had managed to keep a tremulous hold on his sanity through the last thirteen years that he had served upon the Dutchman, but that hold was failing him now. He had eighty-seven more years to serve. How would he face those years to come knowing what he had done to Will? How would he ever be able to face his son again?
Strike Five
That was it. Five lashes. Five reminders of the fact that life was not fair. That life was not easy. There were no real Fairy Tales and not everyone could live happily ever after. Will fell hard unto the deck below as he was tossed away by the two who had held him. He rolled over and managed to get to a standing position leaning upon a crate, wrapping one arm around his tossing stomach and looked up to see his father coming near him. The feeling of anger and hatred filled his gut as he looked into that compassionate face.
“I guess you see what you did as compassion,” he spat out in anger his breathing coming in hard gasps.
Bill could see the anger in his son’s face and knew he deserved that anger. He deserved so much worse. How could he make Will understand when he could not understand himself what cruel trick of fate would cause him to have to do such a thing? How could he explain that no other form of gruesome punishment could have been more torturous to his soul, than to have to mark his own son permanently with the lash? But convince him, he must try. “Aye, lad, it was. You see, the Bosun Mate, he prides himself upon his use of the lash and the fact that he cuts the skin to the bone. He cuts the skin to the bone with every lash.”
Will swallowed hard with those words imagining his flesh falling from his body. He had not realized what the alternative to his father handing out the punishment would have been. Will let his anger fade as he concentrated on the look in his father’s eyes. Those eyes did not lie to him. They held many emotions but not trickery. They held pity, compassion, guilt and most of all self-loathing. Had what he had done affected Bootstrap that much? Will then understood what a tortured soul his father had become and just how much he must truly care for him and what this punishment had done to the man’s fragile soul. He nodded slightly and leaned towards his father who wrapped him in a coat sheltering his wounds from the elements and even though he still felt the pain and agony of the lash he also felt more protected and at peace than he had in a long time. A part of himself that he hadn’t even realized he was searching for was finally slipped into place and for once he felt contentment in himself.
Immediately his mind locked upon one thought. There had to be a way for them both to make it off that ship alive and no matter what it was he would find it and never would he let his father believe that he blamed him for the pain he had suffered.
Warning: Serious spoilers for Dead Man’s Chest. Ye be warned. Arghhhhhh!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
Summary: A short one shot concerning a scene from Dead Man’s Chest that deals with both Will and Bootstrap’s private thoughts and emotions.
Author’s Note: Okay as a warning, I have only seen Dead Man’s Chest Once so some of the lines might be messed up, but they are as I remember them. I will make corrections once it is out on DVD and I can watch it over and over again (Which I most certainly will do). The emotions are the important part of this little fic anyway, so sit back and enjoy.
Torture of a Dead Man’s Soul
“Five lashes each.” The Bosun Mate ordered gruffly.
Bootstrap Bill turned from the sight before him shutting out the image of his son being held against the Main Mast. How had this happened? He had left William with his mother and warned her never to tell him of his father’s colorful past. His son was not supposed to be a Pirate. And his son was most certainly not supposed to be on the Flying Dutchman pressed into hard labor by none other than Davy Jones himself. No that was Bootstrap’s fate and one he had accepted long ago, but not William, not his son.
“I’ll take them all,” Bootstrap answered pressing close to the Bosun as if daring the man to refuse.
“Such an apparent willingness to sacrifice yourself. Makes me wonder what has gotten into you, Bootstrap.” Came the voice of Davy Jones himself walking up behind the Bosun Mate his tentacles swaying around his pale squid-like face.
Bootstrap looked his Captain in the eyes knowing this was the one time in his life that he must remain strong, for his son’s sake. “Captain, my son,” he answered motioning towards Will and then in a stronger voice. “He’s my son.”
Will twisted around to face the man who had uttered those words. He had seen something in the man’s eyes while they were up in the rigging, something that had startled him causing them both to fumble the cannon they were trying to pull up above. It was a deep recognition of your own. Yes he knew deep inside that this thing had once been his father. But now what was he? He was certainly not alive, at least not in the condition he was in. His skin was that pasty color of a corpse who had been rotting in the sea for oh so long. And growing from one side of his face were carbuncles and god knows what else was scattered throughout his deformed body. But was he still the man that had been Will’s father?
A deep laugh of sarcasm rolled from the Captain’s mouth as he took in the irony of the situation. “Well then it would only be fittin’ for the lash to come from your own hand.” Came the reply as his hand fell on a whip that was secured near the mast.
Bootstrap’s eyes widened in horror at the thought of what the Captain wanted. His head began to waver back and forth as his mouth became dry and his hands began to shake. “No, I couldn’t.” The idea of harming his own son made him want to be sick. He had remained sick for most of the years he had been aboard the Flying Dutchman. Sick of the conditions they were made to survive. Sick of the rot and stink surrounding them. Sick of the killing. Sick of what he was slowly becoming. But the sickness he felt at that moment went beyond any he had ever felt. His eyes beseeched the Captain not to make him do such a thing. ‘Please’ they begged silently.
Captain Jones could see that Bootstrap did not have the strength to do as he was ordered and the smile grew larger on his evil visage. “It will be done, whether it is you or the Bosun Mate. Now do you want that?” He warned pressing the whip towards the man who resembled a hammerhead shark beside Bootstrap.
Bootstrap knew what that meant for his son. The undead that he was could survive the Bosun, but Will was among the living. His body could not withstand that. He would die. Bootstrap was certain of it. He moved closer to the Bosun and ripped the whip from his hands giving his Captain a scathing look. Then he turned looking towards his son.
Two of the crew pressed Will tighter against the Main Mast as another ripped his vest and shirt from his back. There were shouts of glee all around at the anticipated lashing. Bootstrap stared at his son’s unmarred back and let a thought pass through his mind as he drew back the whip for his first strike. ‘I wish it were me. Please forgive me, Son.’
Strike One
Will held his breath waiting for the first strike. He bit down into his lip, tasting the blood as the strike came. He would not scream. He would not give Jones the satisfaction. Pain ripped through his back as he felt the lash bite his flesh. How had things gone so wrong? He was happy, not so long ago. He was supposed to marry Elizabeth. They were going to be together forever. He had won her heart. Him, a lowly blacksmith had won the heart of the most wonderful woman he had ever known to live. But now look at him. Trapped, abused, ashamed. Ashamed of the man who was inflicting pain upon him. The man who he had held above all others in his mind for so many years. His father. Where was the man he had imagined? Gone, but had he ever really existed?
Strike Two
Bootstrap could feel the lash hitting his son’s back reverberating through his arm and going straight to his heart. It felt as if someone was stabbing him with every stroke gnawing at his insides, tearing him apart. The tears streamed freely down his cold face mixing with the rain that was pummeling the ship. He did not move to brush them away. He was not ashamed of them. He wanted the others to see that he was not like them. He wanted them to see that he was not a monster but still was a man. He did not care if they knew the pain he was feeling.
Strike Three
Would everyone he respected and care about betray him? Will bit back the scream that threatened to leave his lips. He wanted to scream. He wanted to let it all out. But not just the physical pain, he could withstand that kind of pain. But the emotions at being betrayed by his father and by being betrayed by Jack, who he had trusted with his very life, were too hard for him to withstand. Had he not learned from Jack himself not to trust anyone? Everyone was out for their own selves. Their own self-preservation. Why had he not learned?
Strike Four
Bootstraps arms were trembling now. He wanted to just collapse where he stood. He wanted to just sink into oblivion and pray that none of this was real. He had managed to keep a tremulous hold on his sanity through the last thirteen years that he had served upon the Dutchman, but that hold was failing him now. He had eighty-seven more years to serve. How would he face those years to come knowing what he had done to Will? How would he ever be able to face his son again?
Strike Five
That was it. Five lashes. Five reminders of the fact that life was not fair. That life was not easy. There were no real Fairy Tales and not everyone could live happily ever after. Will fell hard unto the deck below as he was tossed away by the two who had held him. He rolled over and managed to get to a standing position leaning upon a crate, wrapping one arm around his tossing stomach and looked up to see his father coming near him. The feeling of anger and hatred filled his gut as he looked into that compassionate face.
“I guess you see what you did as compassion,” he spat out in anger his breathing coming in hard gasps.
Bill could see the anger in his son’s face and knew he deserved that anger. He deserved so much worse. How could he make Will understand when he could not understand himself what cruel trick of fate would cause him to have to do such a thing? How could he explain that no other form of gruesome punishment could have been more torturous to his soul, than to have to mark his own son permanently with the lash? But convince him, he must try. “Aye, lad, it was. You see, the Bosun Mate, he prides himself upon his use of the lash and the fact that he cuts the skin to the bone. He cuts the skin to the bone with every lash.”
Will swallowed hard with those words imagining his flesh falling from his body. He had not realized what the alternative to his father handing out the punishment would have been. Will let his anger fade as he concentrated on the look in his father’s eyes. Those eyes did not lie to him. They held many emotions but not trickery. They held pity, compassion, guilt and most of all self-loathing. Had what he had done affected Bootstrap that much? Will then understood what a tortured soul his father had become and just how much he must truly care for him and what this punishment had done to the man’s fragile soul. He nodded slightly and leaned towards his father who wrapped him in a coat sheltering his wounds from the elements and even though he still felt the pain and agony of the lash he also felt more protected and at peace than he had in a long time. A part of himself that he hadn’t even realized he was searching for was finally slipped into place and for once he felt contentment in himself.
Immediately his mind locked upon one thought. There had to be a way for them both to make it off that ship alive and no matter what it was he would find it and never would he let his father believe that he blamed him for the pain he had suffered.