SPOILER CRACK FIC: "Gone to Hell, Back Later" (post-DH crossover crack, gen)
Title: Gone to Hell, Back Later
Words: 900
Rating: G/gen
A/N: Just suspend your disbelief at the door, k? Yes, I KNOW this is ludicrous. CRACK, y'all.
Characters: Snape and some pirates.
Summary: It was a chance, and there hadn't been enough of those in his life these last ten years.
Gone to Hell, Back Later
Severus woke with a start, drawing in a gasping breath as the rough floorboards moved under him.
…What?
He opened his eyes, then immediately closed them again. The sky was moving, too. Which made little sense; the Shrieking Shack had windows, but they were boarded over and filthy.
He opened them again.
Still moving.
Ugh.
He rolled to the side with a groan and managed to get to his hands and knees on the pitching floor, then lowered his forehead into his hands with a whimper. The best he could work out, he was still dead, he was somehow conscious of his body and the miserable weakness of blood loss, and Hell somehow involved a ship. Which was, to his way of thinking, reasonable enough; he'd never been on a boat he didn't hate.
Finally he managed to get more or less upright, grabbing onto a rail and a rope to keep from being flung overboard. He looked around.
It wasn't just a ship.
It was an old ship. "Where the hell am I?"
No one answered. The torn sails fluttered and flapped creepily overhead.
Severus observed they matched his robes, then scowled as he reluctantly realized more clearly than ever before that yes, black flapping cloth did look rather batlike.
"New to the whole thing, are ye?"
He turned. "Were you addressing me?"
The man, who was missing several teeth and whose clothes were if anything more old-fashioned than Severus's (and dirtier) peered around him. "Ain' no one else here, is there, guv?"
"I had thought not, but then you arrived, so I was forced to re-evaluate."
"Eh?" The man frowned briefly, then gave up. "Anyway, 's all new t'ye, then?"
"Quite. Perhaps you could direct me to someone in a position of authority?" Severus wasn't entirely sure whether Hell Boats were captained by some sort of dark lord--and if by unhappy coincidence they were and this one was piloted by Voldemort, he was bloody well throwing himself overboard--but he certainly wasn't getting anywhere with a sailor who appeared to be the unlikely offspring of Black and that house-elf of his and was likely too dim to boil water.
"Y'll wan the cap'n." The man pointed toward what Severus realized, on blinking, was a rather off-kilter door into the body of the ship. Perhaps. Or a door deeper into hell. Possibly these were the same thing.
"Excellent." He took a step toward the door, then realized this was going to involve letting go of the railing. Bugger. Well, he'd had to do worse, in his life. He resolutely squared his shoulders and marched toward the door, though he was fairly certain the effect was ruined by the way he slipped on the floor--deck, he supposed--and had to flail his arms for balance. Finally he reached the little door, which he had to stoop to go through, and yanked it open. "Where the bloody hell am I?'
A young man, not so very much older than Potter and his cronies, looked up, startled. "When did we pick you up?"
"What? I materialized on your…" Severus pointed. "Over there. A few moments ago."
"Really? That's odd." The boy reached over his head and plucked a chart off the wall. "Oh. Oh." He took his feet off the desktop and stood. "I'm Will."
"Fascinating. Where. The bloody. Hell. Am. I."
"It's a bit of a story. Good news and bad news, that sort of thing."
"Perhaps you might tell said story?"
The boy sat back down, propped his feet back up, and waved toward the other seat. "Short version: This is the Flying Dutchman and you've a term to serve."
"That's absurd. The Flying Dutchman discontinued service in the early eighteenth century."
"Ah, but there's the thing."
"There's what thing?"
"That hasn't happened yet."
"Hasn't… That's absurd. Unless you're… oh bugger. You're Will Turner."
"I am."
"The first of the ten-year captains."
"First in a bit of a line, I hope."
"The one that struck the deal with Calypso."
"Not a deal, really. It's more just that I know her, and so does Elizabeth."
"Of course. And you need a replacement."
"It's ten years next week, and I'm ready to go."
"Of course. So you cast out through time or some bloody thing to find someone suitable."
"Sorry. Still, you were dying. It's as good a second chance as any, you know. And I was looking for someone who died with redemption and remorse in mind. They're both quite useful to understand, in this job."
Severus groaned. "And after ten years?"
"You'll be free to go, and Calypso can put you back where she got you, if you like."
"Do you suppose I'll ever be free of controlling entities running my life?"
"This is your death, not your life. But honestly, are any of us?"
"…Apparently not."
The boy handed him a thick book. "Here. You'll want to learn the ropes, so to speak."
"I hate boats."
"Oh. That's a bit of a problem. I can try again, have her send you back. Of course, then you'll die."
"I hate dying more than boats."
"I thought so. Welcome aboard, Captain…"
Severus sighed. It was a chance, and there hadn't been enough of those in the last decade. "Sn...Evans."
The boy looked at his chart and pursed his lips, but didn't argue. "Welcome aboard, Captain Evans. Ready to meet your crew?"
Words: 900
Rating: G/gen
A/N: Just suspend your disbelief at the door, k? Yes, I KNOW this is ludicrous. CRACK, y'all.
Characters: Snape and some pirates.
Summary: It was a chance, and there hadn't been enough of those in his life these last ten years.
Gone to Hell, Back Later
Severus woke with a start, drawing in a gasping breath as the rough floorboards moved under him.
…What?
He opened his eyes, then immediately closed them again. The sky was moving, too. Which made little sense; the Shrieking Shack had windows, but they were boarded over and filthy.
He opened them again.
Still moving.
Ugh.
He rolled to the side with a groan and managed to get to his hands and knees on the pitching floor, then lowered his forehead into his hands with a whimper. The best he could work out, he was still dead, he was somehow conscious of his body and the miserable weakness of blood loss, and Hell somehow involved a ship. Which was, to his way of thinking, reasonable enough; he'd never been on a boat he didn't hate.
Finally he managed to get more or less upright, grabbing onto a rail and a rope to keep from being flung overboard. He looked around.
It wasn't just a ship.
It was an old ship. "Where the hell am I?"
No one answered. The torn sails fluttered and flapped creepily overhead.
Severus observed they matched his robes, then scowled as he reluctantly realized more clearly than ever before that yes, black flapping cloth did look rather batlike.
"New to the whole thing, are ye?"
He turned. "Were you addressing me?"
The man, who was missing several teeth and whose clothes were if anything more old-fashioned than Severus's (and dirtier) peered around him. "Ain' no one else here, is there, guv?"
"I had thought not, but then you arrived, so I was forced to re-evaluate."
"Eh?" The man frowned briefly, then gave up. "Anyway, 's all new t'ye, then?"
"Quite. Perhaps you could direct me to someone in a position of authority?" Severus wasn't entirely sure whether Hell Boats were captained by some sort of dark lord--and if by unhappy coincidence they were and this one was piloted by Voldemort, he was bloody well throwing himself overboard--but he certainly wasn't getting anywhere with a sailor who appeared to be the unlikely offspring of Black and that house-elf of his and was likely too dim to boil water.
"Y'll wan the cap'n." The man pointed toward what Severus realized, on blinking, was a rather off-kilter door into the body of the ship. Perhaps. Or a door deeper into hell. Possibly these were the same thing.
"Excellent." He took a step toward the door, then realized this was going to involve letting go of the railing. Bugger. Well, he'd had to do worse, in his life. He resolutely squared his shoulders and marched toward the door, though he was fairly certain the effect was ruined by the way he slipped on the floor--deck, he supposed--and had to flail his arms for balance. Finally he reached the little door, which he had to stoop to go through, and yanked it open. "Where the bloody hell am I?'
A young man, not so very much older than Potter and his cronies, looked up, startled. "When did we pick you up?"
"What? I materialized on your…" Severus pointed. "Over there. A few moments ago."
"Really? That's odd." The boy reached over his head and plucked a chart off the wall. "Oh. Oh." He took his feet off the desktop and stood. "I'm Will."
"Fascinating. Where. The bloody. Hell. Am. I."
"It's a bit of a story. Good news and bad news, that sort of thing."
"Perhaps you might tell said story?"
The boy sat back down, propped his feet back up, and waved toward the other seat. "Short version: This is the Flying Dutchman and you've a term to serve."
"That's absurd. The Flying Dutchman discontinued service in the early eighteenth century."
"Ah, but there's the thing."
"There's what thing?"
"That hasn't happened yet."
"Hasn't… That's absurd. Unless you're… oh bugger. You're Will Turner."
"I am."
"The first of the ten-year captains."
"First in a bit of a line, I hope."
"The one that struck the deal with Calypso."
"Not a deal, really. It's more just that I know her, and so does Elizabeth."
"Of course. And you need a replacement."
"It's ten years next week, and I'm ready to go."
"Of course. So you cast out through time or some bloody thing to find someone suitable."
"Sorry. Still, you were dying. It's as good a second chance as any, you know. And I was looking for someone who died with redemption and remorse in mind. They're both quite useful to understand, in this job."
Severus groaned. "And after ten years?"
"You'll be free to go, and Calypso can put you back where she got you, if you like."
"Do you suppose I'll ever be free of controlling entities running my life?"
"This is your death, not your life. But honestly, are any of us?"
"…Apparently not."
The boy handed him a thick book. "Here. You'll want to learn the ropes, so to speak."
"I hate boats."
"Oh. That's a bit of a problem. I can try again, have her send you back. Of course, then you'll die."
"I hate dying more than boats."
"I thought so. Welcome aboard, Captain…"
Severus sighed. It was a chance, and there hadn't been enough of those in the last decade. "Sn...Evans."
The boy looked at his chart and pursed his lips, but didn't argue. "Welcome aboard, Captain Evans. Ready to meet your crew?"