Whatsername (st_minority) wrote in twogoodmen,

Fic - "Captivity"

I started this a while ago, but never got around to posting. I really need to get back to it. :)

Title: Captivity
By: St. M
Rating: R
Characters/Pairings: Jack/Bootstrap, OC
Disclaimer: I don't own POTC; all belongs to Elliott, Rossio, etc.
Warnings: mentions of violence and rape
Summary: How much before he breaks?
A/N: I guess this would be a bit AU. It's got young!Jack and Bill; pre-Pearl and all that. WIP

The human body can endure the most horrible situations for a great period of time if the will is strong. Mind over matter, the mental state is of utmost importance. Once the stubborn, proud aspect vanishes, the traumatizing emotions of shame, humiliation, and worthlessness thrive wildly. How is it determined how much one can take?

The days were nothing more but a trivial occurrence. In fact, he had wholly lost all sense of time; everything blended together. It felt like forever ago when he first stepped foot on the ship; it would certainly be somewhat of a surprise to learn that merely a year and a half had passed.

What were once elegant and smooth hands were now dotted with blackish spots and grime. They were stained with blood, though he had hardly caused injury on another. His wrists were swollen from the heavy iron cuffs around them; he was chained to a leg of the bed. The emaciated body was battered tremendously, had survived despite the excruciating pain and use. But he was broken. The surface had been scratched and was ripped wide open in little time. There was absolutely nothing for him beyond the closed doors, and he intensely believed that there was nothing for him to be but what he had been. A victim. A captive. A slave. A future could not possibly exist.

He shifted his hands as if hoping that the chain would come apart and set him free. The brown eyes no longer held any defiant, animated fire. Instead, they housed disgraced tears, which splattered down his wounded face like a solemn baptism.

“Somebody, please,” he whispered more to himself than to anyone who may be in earshot. No one would come. No one ever came. To save him, that is.

He was deaf to the sudden canon blasts and gunfire. He learned how to drown out the world around him, yet it did not always work. The sound he did notice was the firm footsteps of the captain coming toward the quarters. His fragile, naked frame shook uncontrollably. It was too soon. The aches had not ceased enough. He was not ready for him again.

Captain Normick burst through the entrance and stomped to his prisoner. He snatched a handful of the young boy’s dark hair and yanked on it harshly, arousing a whimper from the lad.

“Don’t you dare think of makin’ noise, ya hear?” Normick hissed. “Ain’t nobody that’d want to save ya anyway, Jack.”

He threw the hair from his grasp and exited. Jack breathed shallowly and quivered; the chaos beyond the doors would swallow his pleas for help even if he could muster the energy to do so.

All at once, his heart sped and his mind demanded action. An epiphany.

Vigorously, frantically, he started to pull his arms back in an attempt to free his wrists from the shackles. With teeth clenched, tears flowing, and desperation taking hold, he twisted his hands about within the cuffs. He prayed that the lack of food had shrunk that part of his body as well.

Everything became still the instant he fell backward onto the floor. His wrists were liberated. He was liberated. But his rational side snapped him to reality quickly.

He scrambled to the chest of drawers and searched furiously. At last he found the pistol he knew was always kept there.

The loud clang of the door sounded, causing him to fall to the floor. Normick stopped his advancement upon seeing the firearm aimed up at him. Jack tried to steady his trembling grip as he kept it pointed at the captain.

“Don’t move,” he choked. “Don’t come closer.”
“Jack,” Normick stated calmly. “Jackie, ya aren’t goin’ to shoot me. Ye don’t have it in ya.” He took a step forward.
“Stay where you are. Please.”
“You’re too frightened to kill someone. You’re too weak. You’d be just as bad as me if you pull that trigger.”
Jack’s face softened in guilt and he faltered.
“Give it to me, Jack.”

The boy shook his head as Normick crept to him and spoke almost inaudibly, “I’m sorry. I can’t.”

He screamed at the boisterous shot that filled the space. The bullet had lodged itself in Normick’s chest, making him drop to the floor. He was dead within seconds.

Jack’s breath came in short rasps as he stared with dilated eyes at the lifeless body. The frenzy outside had ceased, and he looked toward the entrance. Dare he move?

Suddenly, the door crashed open and a tall, lanky man entered. He was prepared to fight, but once he spotted Jack with pistol aimed, he sheathed it and raised his hands in the air.

“Easy boy,” he said in a deep, slightly husky voice.
“Stay away,” Jack replied sternly through his sobs.
“I’m not gonna hurt ya. Just put it down-”
“Shut up! Shut up! Please.”

His arm fell limp and the gun dropped from his grasp. The man hurriedly ventured to Jack and got him to his feet. His blue eyes roamed over the frail boy’s frame, taking in the grotesque bruises and injuries. It was very apparent that this lad was not a part of the crew.

Quickly, he shrugged off his coat and wrapped it around Jack. He felt the younger male quivering immensely, causing him to ease an arm across the bony shoulders in a comforting gesture.

“Shhh……shhh……You’re alright now. You’re safe. We’ll get you away from here. You’re goin’ to be alright,” he spoke gently. “What’s your name?” he inquired as he leisurely began to lead the boy to the entrance.
“Jack Sparrow,” was the choked answer.
“That’s a beautiful name, Jack Sparrow. Mine is William Turner. I’ll take care of ya.”

Jack stumbled and his eyes rolled back. William caught him before he collapsed to the floor unconscious.
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