{Fic} Ocean Soul 8/18 | Will/Jack
Ocean Soul
Part 8 of 18
By Clarity Scifiroots
Standard disclaimers apply. This AU plot rules parallel to the first movie but isn’t quite the same. By a fan, for fans.
Rating: Ranges from Teen to Adult/Mature.
Pairing: Jack/Will
Summary: An AU tale that weaves a rather bleak past for one Will Turner. When the young blacksmith apprentice stows away on the Interceptor to get away from abuse, he didn't expect it to be taken over by pirates led by the most famous (or is it infamous?) Jack Sparrow.
Warnings: Sexual harassment, abuse, and recovery from such
Edited January 18, 2008
Eight
It was fortunate that Jack need not face anyone but himself at the moment given that he was in no position to deny that he had some sort of feelings developing towards the boy. His intake of breath had been drawn quickly, an almost silent gasp of shock at the sight that lay before him.
Will hadn’t secured the blanket around him before falling asleep. Hours later, the blanket covered next to nothing, draped over the curve of skin where knee and thigh connected. He lay mostly on his side, his upper body twisted to rest more on his back; his knees pointed towards Jack. Chapped lips parted in relaxation. The day’s wicked, red sunburn contrasted the otherwise milky-pale skin, making it painfully obvious where clothes usually covered him.
Would that the sunburn be the worst and only problem.
For the first time Jack could study Will without barriers, physical or otherwise. Laying bare, he looked far more mature than his years - unusual, as Jack typically found that when he watched lovers sleep, they looked much younger. Not so with Will. Maybe because of all the marks scarring what should have been beautiful, unblemished skin; or maybe because Will really hadn’t been a boy for some time.
Jack’s gut clenched, giving rise to a bitter, dull ache. He didn’t feel sickened by what he saw, he felt ill at ease because this young man had a name and familiar face and a body that had not exposed itself to others voluntarily. Wounds on this body were not souvenirs of battle but abuse, and it was detestable.
In addition to the bones still protruding far too much for Jack’s liking, yellow-tinged bruises and streaks of near-white scars decorated much of Will’s body. A scattering of fading bruises spread across Will’s lower torso, hips, and even a couple on his thighs - the apparent result of harsh hands and searching prods. Building trepidation left a bitter taste in Jack’s mouth.
An old scar, perhaps three inches in length, ran like a silver tear from near the right nipple and downward at a slant. Decorating the inner arm of Will’s left forearm were precise, patterned white scars. While they hadn’t occupied his mind moments ago, it was what made Jack move from his prone position a few feet away.
The pirate captain -obviously far from heartless - strode forward and crouched beside the bed. He gently took in hand the bare arm and studied the old and somewhat faded scars of past cuts. Calloused hands, wind-blown and rough from years upon years at sea, turned gentle, and Jack stroked the soft skin with an unfamiliar tenderness.
He had no idea how long he crouched there staring blankly at the wounded arm. There was only a quick twitch of muscle in warning before Will erupted into wakefulness. Loud, jumbled words ran together as Will scrambled backward in panic and yanked the blanket around him.
It took a few moments for Jack to fully break away from his trance. He stared, blinking in bewilderment at the boy cowering on the opposite corner of the bed.
-----
Will hated that he had accidentally cornered himself in his sudden panic. His mind couldn’t quite comprehend what had happened. He had slowly come out of the darkness of a deep sleep because of the strange feeling of a touch akin to one he had not felt since childhood when embraced by his mother. Only after he managed to open his eyes and other senses did he realized where he slept and that the person touching him was definitely not the mother from his dreams.
Jack stood abruptly, waving his hands in quieting motions. “You tryin’ to bring the whole crew up ‘ere? I ain’ done nothin’!”
In the moment of calm, Will realized that his cheeks had become sticky with tears that still blurred his vision. His breathing evened off a bit as he stared at Jack, still frightened and very confused. Noticing that Jack looked bewildered as well, he tried to recall what he had said bare moments ago. He realized it was a lost cause, he hadn’t really been forming anything more than wordless protests.
He looked down at his trembling body - the visible evidence of tension causing every muscle to quiver. He feared that even if he tried, he would never be able to unfurl from his position. His fingers would forever clench the blanket, masking his body so no one could see. No one could ever see. If they did, it would lead to terrible, terrible things.
“Will...”
The quiet tone pushed gently into his daze. He slowly raised his eyes to study Jack’s face. He stopped shuddering as confusion filled him. Will couldn’t be sure how to describe the expression on the pirate’s face, but suffice to say it wasn’t what he expected when someone had just been staring at him and touching him so sensuously.
Jack’s dark eyes clouded, portraying a sense of loss. The muscles near his mouth twitched in a familiar way- the struggle between giving a brave mask while inside the soul quaked uncontrollably in terror. He couldn’t understand why Jack looked like that.
“What were you doing?” he asked in a hushed tone. Jack looked just as surprised as Will himself at the words. He quickly closed his mouth, not taking back the words, but blocking any others from escaping. Why didn’t he scream? Why did he not tear out of the cabin and lock himself away in some relatively safe, secluded spot?
His muscles weren’t nearly as tense as they had been minutes earlier. He felt the blanket gently slip down his arm to bare more skin and although his heart beat quicker in minor fear - or was it apprehension? - he made no move to replace the fabric. He didn’t feel so naked anymore.
Jack didn’t answer and Will felt too nervous to try and speak again, not sure what else may escape his lips. It looked like it would be a silent standoff , but eventually the pirate’s lips twitched and he said,
“I saw th’ scars on yer arms.”
Silence again, waiting for some sort of prompt from Will. Any sort of reaction: relieved, angry, frightened... anything but the blankness that left open interpretation. Will didn’t know what he wanted to give back. He sat in silence, stare locked on the pirate’s face.
“They’re unlike th’ others. Did you make ‘em yerself?”
Inside him came a wash of sadness, like a gentle tide brushing over a sandy shore. Will could feel pain in the sadness, but not the type that splintered or stabbed or burned, only a discomfort dulled somehow because of the sense of warmth following it. Will’s face contorted, lines pinching together skin and muscles in the confusion over the emotions invading him. His eyes fell away from Jack, his vision blurring more than before, and his body shifted. The blanket fell completely forgotten and got tangled between his legs as he rounded his body into a tight curl and rocked gently. Shuddering breaths heralded the first release of tears in a long, long while.
A strange sense of peace now accompanied the pain. The cries that eventually tore harshly through clenched teeth made his ribcage ache with freedom. His tightened jaw unhinged and senseless syllables fell from his lips. The tears scalded, warm from body heat and then inflaming the painful sunburn covering his face. Hiccups interrupted his breathing, jarring his body and reawakening dull aches.
The sting of crying is the key to unlocking all other pain, baring it to the world and begging for it to be taken away. Somehow amidst the tears, the buildup of saliva, and jolts of hiccups, some of that pain begins to fall away. Healing can finally begin.
All it needed was a little help.
Will didn’t know when the outer comfort of warmth first curled around him; he didn’t care about anything beyond the fact he couldn’t remember ever having it. In his desperation for this new sensation he reached his arms out, curling around the warmth and clutching it close to his body. He buried his head in its salt-, rum-, and sweat-scented, dirty shoulder. His fingers dug into the fabric covering the firm body of it, and even then he didn’t feel as if he could get close enough. He sobbed in frustration, wanting to be completely encompassed by this feeling of comfort so foreign that it could be the embodiment of heaven - but he had never even dreamed of going there. Now that it lay before him, he could not let it escape.
He cried: for pain; in relief; from frustration; for the death of his mother; his helplessness against protecting himself; for the twist of fate that he had been handed. He cried for the touch that had awoken him and the voice that had struck upon the truth and the body that held all he could never manage to dream of.
In every level of being, his soul and body cleansed itself through shed tears and released sounds that could translate into a tale of human misery that far too many experienced. Crying is always the first step. With the dam removed, it was time to look at the source of what had created the river of pain that had been blocked.
-----
TBC
-----
I just realized that as I’m editing this (again in January 2008) that I wrote part of this chapter in an English class at the beginning of my junior year in high school. Four and a half years later here I am! This is the longest running fic I’ve written and probably the most re-edited piece as well. And if I ever manage to finish this I’ll want to do some real revisions/reworking. O___o
Part 8 of 18
By Clarity Scifiroots
Standard disclaimers apply. This AU plot rules parallel to the first movie but isn’t quite the same. By a fan, for fans.
Rating: Ranges from Teen to Adult/Mature.
Pairing: Jack/Will
Summary: An AU tale that weaves a rather bleak past for one Will Turner. When the young blacksmith apprentice stows away on the Interceptor to get away from abuse, he didn't expect it to be taken over by pirates led by the most famous (or is it infamous?) Jack Sparrow.
Warnings: Sexual harassment, abuse, and recovery from such
Edited January 18, 2008
Eight
It was fortunate that Jack need not face anyone but himself at the moment given that he was in no position to deny that he had some sort of feelings developing towards the boy. His intake of breath had been drawn quickly, an almost silent gasp of shock at the sight that lay before him.
Will hadn’t secured the blanket around him before falling asleep. Hours later, the blanket covered next to nothing, draped over the curve of skin where knee and thigh connected. He lay mostly on his side, his upper body twisted to rest more on his back; his knees pointed towards Jack. Chapped lips parted in relaxation. The day’s wicked, red sunburn contrasted the otherwise milky-pale skin, making it painfully obvious where clothes usually covered him.
Would that the sunburn be the worst and only problem.
For the first time Jack could study Will without barriers, physical or otherwise. Laying bare, he looked far more mature than his years - unusual, as Jack typically found that when he watched lovers sleep, they looked much younger. Not so with Will. Maybe because of all the marks scarring what should have been beautiful, unblemished skin; or maybe because Will really hadn’t been a boy for some time.
Jack’s gut clenched, giving rise to a bitter, dull ache. He didn’t feel sickened by what he saw, he felt ill at ease because this young man had a name and familiar face and a body that had not exposed itself to others voluntarily. Wounds on this body were not souvenirs of battle but abuse, and it was detestable.
In addition to the bones still protruding far too much for Jack’s liking, yellow-tinged bruises and streaks of near-white scars decorated much of Will’s body. A scattering of fading bruises spread across Will’s lower torso, hips, and even a couple on his thighs - the apparent result of harsh hands and searching prods. Building trepidation left a bitter taste in Jack’s mouth.
An old scar, perhaps three inches in length, ran like a silver tear from near the right nipple and downward at a slant. Decorating the inner arm of Will’s left forearm were precise, patterned white scars. While they hadn’t occupied his mind moments ago, it was what made Jack move from his prone position a few feet away.
The pirate captain -obviously far from heartless - strode forward and crouched beside the bed. He gently took in hand the bare arm and studied the old and somewhat faded scars of past cuts. Calloused hands, wind-blown and rough from years upon years at sea, turned gentle, and Jack stroked the soft skin with an unfamiliar tenderness.
He had no idea how long he crouched there staring blankly at the wounded arm. There was only a quick twitch of muscle in warning before Will erupted into wakefulness. Loud, jumbled words ran together as Will scrambled backward in panic and yanked the blanket around him.
It took a few moments for Jack to fully break away from his trance. He stared, blinking in bewilderment at the boy cowering on the opposite corner of the bed.
-----
Will hated that he had accidentally cornered himself in his sudden panic. His mind couldn’t quite comprehend what had happened. He had slowly come out of the darkness of a deep sleep because of the strange feeling of a touch akin to one he had not felt since childhood when embraced by his mother. Only after he managed to open his eyes and other senses did he realized where he slept and that the person touching him was definitely not the mother from his dreams.
Jack stood abruptly, waving his hands in quieting motions. “You tryin’ to bring the whole crew up ‘ere? I ain’ done nothin’!”
In the moment of calm, Will realized that his cheeks had become sticky with tears that still blurred his vision. His breathing evened off a bit as he stared at Jack, still frightened and very confused. Noticing that Jack looked bewildered as well, he tried to recall what he had said bare moments ago. He realized it was a lost cause, he hadn’t really been forming anything more than wordless protests.
He looked down at his trembling body - the visible evidence of tension causing every muscle to quiver. He feared that even if he tried, he would never be able to unfurl from his position. His fingers would forever clench the blanket, masking his body so no one could see. No one could ever see. If they did, it would lead to terrible, terrible things.
“Will...”
The quiet tone pushed gently into his daze. He slowly raised his eyes to study Jack’s face. He stopped shuddering as confusion filled him. Will couldn’t be sure how to describe the expression on the pirate’s face, but suffice to say it wasn’t what he expected when someone had just been staring at him and touching him so sensuously.
Jack’s dark eyes clouded, portraying a sense of loss. The muscles near his mouth twitched in a familiar way- the struggle between giving a brave mask while inside the soul quaked uncontrollably in terror. He couldn’t understand why Jack looked like that.
“What were you doing?” he asked in a hushed tone. Jack looked just as surprised as Will himself at the words. He quickly closed his mouth, not taking back the words, but blocking any others from escaping. Why didn’t he scream? Why did he not tear out of the cabin and lock himself away in some relatively safe, secluded spot?
His muscles weren’t nearly as tense as they had been minutes earlier. He felt the blanket gently slip down his arm to bare more skin and although his heart beat quicker in minor fear - or was it apprehension? - he made no move to replace the fabric. He didn’t feel so naked anymore.
Jack didn’t answer and Will felt too nervous to try and speak again, not sure what else may escape his lips. It looked like it would be a silent standoff , but eventually the pirate’s lips twitched and he said,
“I saw th’ scars on yer arms.”
Silence again, waiting for some sort of prompt from Will. Any sort of reaction: relieved, angry, frightened... anything but the blankness that left open interpretation. Will didn’t know what he wanted to give back. He sat in silence, stare locked on the pirate’s face.
“They’re unlike th’ others. Did you make ‘em yerself?”
Inside him came a wash of sadness, like a gentle tide brushing over a sandy shore. Will could feel pain in the sadness, but not the type that splintered or stabbed or burned, only a discomfort dulled somehow because of the sense of warmth following it. Will’s face contorted, lines pinching together skin and muscles in the confusion over the emotions invading him. His eyes fell away from Jack, his vision blurring more than before, and his body shifted. The blanket fell completely forgotten and got tangled between his legs as he rounded his body into a tight curl and rocked gently. Shuddering breaths heralded the first release of tears in a long, long while.
A strange sense of peace now accompanied the pain. The cries that eventually tore harshly through clenched teeth made his ribcage ache with freedom. His tightened jaw unhinged and senseless syllables fell from his lips. The tears scalded, warm from body heat and then inflaming the painful sunburn covering his face. Hiccups interrupted his breathing, jarring his body and reawakening dull aches.
The sting of crying is the key to unlocking all other pain, baring it to the world and begging for it to be taken away. Somehow amidst the tears, the buildup of saliva, and jolts of hiccups, some of that pain begins to fall away. Healing can finally begin.
All it needed was a little help.
Will didn’t know when the outer comfort of warmth first curled around him; he didn’t care about anything beyond the fact he couldn’t remember ever having it. In his desperation for this new sensation he reached his arms out, curling around the warmth and clutching it close to his body. He buried his head in its salt-, rum-, and sweat-scented, dirty shoulder. His fingers dug into the fabric covering the firm body of it, and even then he didn’t feel as if he could get close enough. He sobbed in frustration, wanting to be completely encompassed by this feeling of comfort so foreign that it could be the embodiment of heaven - but he had never even dreamed of going there. Now that it lay before him, he could not let it escape.
He cried: for pain; in relief; from frustration; for the death of his mother; his helplessness against protecting himself; for the twist of fate that he had been handed. He cried for the touch that had awoken him and the voice that had struck upon the truth and the body that held all he could never manage to dream of.
In every level of being, his soul and body cleansed itself through shed tears and released sounds that could translate into a tale of human misery that far too many experienced. Crying is always the first step. With the dam removed, it was time to look at the source of what had created the river of pain that had been blocked.
-----
TBC
-----
I just realized that as I’m editing this (again in January 2008) that I wrote part of this chapter in an English class at the beginning of my junior year in high school. Four and a half years later here I am! This is the longest running fic I’ve written and probably the most re-edited piece as well. And if I ever manage to finish this I’ll want to do some real revisions/reworking. O___o