FIC: Born Upon the Tide, Part 2/2
Born Upon the Tide, Part Two
Like usual, Jared’s first thought upon waking is Jensen. Unusually, however, it’s not accompanied by a rush of lust or amusement or affection; this time, Jensen’s name kindles a small fire of unease in his belly, and he doesn’t remember why until the sun hits his eyes and the scent of blood and burnt flesh finds his nose. Oh, god. They’ve got Jensen.
He rolls to his side and throws up, bile burning up his throat as his stomach cramps and clenches. He isn’t sure if he’s sick because of the blow he took to the back of the head, or the memory of Jensen being dragged away by a half-dozen pirates, kicking and yelling obscenities and screaming threats.
When his stomach quiets, Jared staggers to his feet. He knows that he should alert the Royal Navy, so that they can muster sailors and prepare to pursue the pirates who have kidnapped the Governor’s son, but he can’t leave it to them. He just can’t.
So he does the only thing he can think of to do; he goes to find a pirate.
*
Jared had heard the rumors about Captain Collins last night, and had thought to take Jensen on a clandestine visit to the jail with the skeleton key he’d made for the jailer. The one he’d kept a copy of. Jensen never really got over his inexplicable obsession with pirates, and Jared thought it would be a nice surprise. This morning, there’s a huge hole in the jailhouse wall, stone and mortar crushed to bits by a cannonball, and he doesn’t need his key.
“Collins!” he bellows as he clambers down the rough stone stairs. Jared expects the pirate has gone the way of his fellow prisoners and escaped in the chaos of last night, but Collins is his only line to Jensen, so he can’t let himself believe he’s going to find an empty cell when he gets to the bottom. What he does find has him skittering to a stop, and pinching himself to make sure he’s awake. “What are you doing?” Jared asks, momentarily forgetting his purpose and his urgency, struck by perplexity. A single cell remains undamaged, and it holds the Captain. The man is bent into an unnatural shape, with his head between his legs and his legs over his shoulders.
“Escaping, obviously. But since you’re here… would you mind providing assistance?”
“Certainly,” Jared says. The man smiles, beatifically, and unwinds himself from the ridiculous pose. His a plain cotton shirt and canvas britches are filthy, but he still manages to project an air of serene confidence. “On one condition.”
His blue eyes, emphasized in shape and color with thick lines of kohl, seem to glow as he presses up against the bars. “Only one?”
“Answer a few questions,” Jared says easily, dangling the key from the end of his finger. “And I’ll let you out.”
“Is my release predicated on correct answers? Because I can’t guarantee one hundred percent accuracy. For example, if you were to ask me the alchemical properties of boot leather, I would not be able to tell you.”
“Fine,” he grits out.
Collins’s teeth are startlingly white in the dim cell. “Alright then. Ask away.”
“You’re familiar with the Black Pearl?”
“Yes, you could say I’m familiar. If by familiar you mean the Captain of it. Why do you want to know? Do you want to be a pirate when you grow up?”
Jared resists the urge to press a hand to his head, which is throbbing much worse now than it was. The man is literally more dizzying than a blow to the back of the head. “No! They took.” Jared pauses, suddenly unable to speak with the weight that fills his chest. “They took a friend of mine.”
Collins’s eyebrows arch with interest. “A lady friend?” He watches Jared’s face closely, eyes piercing and sharp, and the corner of his mouth twitches after a second or two. “Ah, no, not a lady friend. How very salacious.”
Jared almost growls. “Would you just-Would you just tell me?”
“What’s my incentive to do that? This is much more fun.”
“I’ll leave you here to rot,” Jared says, practically spitting the words. He means it. To his bones, he means it.
Collins frowns. “I don’t like the sound of that.”
“Then just! Answer my questions!”
“I’ll do you one better, Mr...”
“Stanton. Jared Stanton.” Collins’s eyes seem to blaze at that, but it could just be a trick of the light.
“Well. That’s a very fine name indeed. How about this? If you spring me from this cell I swear that I will take you to the Black Pearl and assist you in rescuing your bonnie lass. Err. Handsome beau.”
Jared takes a deep breath. “He’s not my- Nevermind. It’s not important. Deal.”
*
White fluffy clouds float across the sky in lazy patterns, and the water stretches out as far as the eye can see, sparkling in the sun like a woman’s diamond necklace in firelight, but Jared doesn’t register the beauty of the view. The Royal Navy is scurrying to ready their ships in pursuit of the Pearl and their red jackets make them look like ants from Jared’s vantage point on the bluff. He squints into the sun then squints at Captain Collins, who has rescued his gun and sword and hat from the jailer’s stores. He looks a lot more like a pirate than he did before, but he still reminds Jared more of Jensen’s first tutor than the cruel, violent men he’d fought the night before.
“You’re going to steal a ship,” Jared says, with a little bit of disbelief. He’s not as averse to the idea as he once would have been. Jensen is out there, in the hands of pirates for God knows what reason, and that’s changing Jared’s moral code fairly quickly.
“Unless you have a ship we can use?” Collins asks. He seems serious, and seems to be expecting a response.
“Um. No. I don’t have a ship we can use,” Jared says, and Collins nods, as if this is the answer he was hoping for.
“Stealing it is then. Don’t worry,” he says with a smile over his shoulder. It makes him look slightly deranged. “You only have to find a crew. Have them here by noon.”
*
The gun barrel digs into the tender skin of Jared’s scalp, and the sound of a hammer being slowly pulled back makes his throat go dry but not so dry that he can’t plead, “Please don’t shoot. Please. I’m not looking for trouble, I just need to find Danneel Harris.”
“You’ll have to forgive my caution, mister. After last night, a girl can’t be too careful. What do you want with Danneel Harris?” a feminine voice murmurs in his ear, and Jared realizes that he’s probably already found her. Or rather, she’s found him, due to his bumbling, fumbling efforts to seek her out in this utterly unfamiliar environment of seamen and seawomen.
He doesn’t want to die on the filthy floor of a tavern, so he hurries to answer. “Jensen told me that if I ever needed help, to come to you.”
“Oh,” she says, a soft exhale of sound. The cold metal disappears. “Oh, shit. You’re Jared. That means... that stupid mother fucker!” she curses, and Jared jumps. “That moronic, love struck idiot.”
“Um. What?”
“Gibbs!” she yells. “Get the crew together! We’re shipping out. Now!” Jared finally sees her face as she runs around him to gather her things from the rack behind the bar. She is stunning, with high cheekbones and a full mouth and sparkling eyes. She doesn’t look like a killer even though he knows she is, and she has freckles that remind him of Jensen’s. She stops in front of Jared and flicks her eyes from the tips of his toes to the top of his hair with a frank appreciation that makes him blush. “Well, I can certainly understand what all the fuss is about,” she says. “Tell me you have a ship.”
His knees loosen with relief. She’s going to help. “Definitely, I have a ship. Probably. Maybe. I hope.”
*
Jensen swallows painfully. His mouth and throat ache with thirst, and his neck and shoulders frequently cramp from having his hands bound behind him. Apparently, living blood doesn’t necessarily mean happy and healthy blood. He hasn’t had water for twenty-four hours, or any food at all since he was brought on board. He’s actually come to look forward to the occasional blows to his mouth by passing crewmen, because when his lips bleed there’s some moisture, at least.
He starts to drift, the motion of the sea lulling his exhausted mind and body, when someone slaps his face sharply. “Rise and shine, beauty. We’re getting close to the Isla de Muerta. Time to hold up your end of the deal.”
Island of Death, Jensen translates, and laughs, a rasping sound like crumpling paper. He honestly hadn’t thought they were going to kill him... well, he hadn’t thought at all, really. The only room in his head was for Jared, and keeping Jared safe, and that was all that mattered. It’s still all that matters, regardless of what happens to him.
That doesn’t mean he’s going to make it easy on them, though. Not at all.
He smiles, and his chapped lips crack open and bleed, and that’s just fine. Less for them.
*
Jared squints into the sun, nothing but endless blue above and below, as far as the eye can see. He wills something to appear on the horizon, to manifest the shape of a sail or a hull, but nothing does. It’s been three days. His hands are red and raw from handling the ropes that guide the sails, his face and shoulders and back are sunburnt and peeling from constant exposure to the weather, and he is absolutely, disgustingly filthy.
None of that compares to the almost constant desperation that races through his bloodstream faster than the hull of the Dauntless cuts through the waves. Together, Collins and Danneel are pushing the ship and its crew to their limits, speeding through the water like the devil is on their tail, but it’s not enough for Jared. Nothing would be enough. Jensen is his first everything: his first memory, his first friend, his first teacher. He had his first fist fight with Jensen, his first drink of alcohol and his first cigarette, his first taste of cake with sugar frosting, his first talk about girls and his first time jerking off. Jared feels like part of him - the most important part of him - has been excised, and if he doesn’t get it back he’s going to fall apart, just start dropping pieces of himself that will never be put back together.
He grips the wooden guardrail until splinters embed in his skin, holding onto something, and lost in his mind, so the lookout’s shout doesn’t register at first.
“Ahoy!”
His head snaps up. There. A small speck so far away that it doesn’t appear to be moving, and beyond it, a stretch of green interrupting the endless blue water. They’ve caught up to the Black Pearl.
Collins appears at his side, practically vibrating with energy. As little faith as Jared had in the man, he’s proved his worth, steering them unerringly in the right direction. Danneel had told Jared about the gold, warning him that Collins’s motives were less than pure. Jared doesn’t care. As long as he gets Jensen back, Collins can have the bloody treasure all to himself.
“So,” Collins says. “I think perhaps it’s time to formulate a plan.”
“Good idea,” Jared says.
“I’m glad you agree. But before we begin, there’s something you should know.” Collins pauses, rather dramatically, in Jared’s opinion.
“Yes?”
“You’re a pirate.”
*
They wait until dark. They watch as an advance party of twenty men in two boats, row to the beach. Jared imagines that he can see Jensen’s head among all the others. He knows Jensen is on one of those boats because he has to be.
The moon is still low. According to Collins, the magic that guards the treasure is precise, and can only be successfully kindled with the stars and moon in exactly the right position. They have time.
The landing party scatters on the beach, and disappears into the thick canopy of palm trees minutes later. Jared looks at Danneel, and she nods once, her eyes glittering in the dark.
They drop into the water like diving seagull. Fifteen men and one woman, more than enough to subdue the skeleton crew left on the Pearl. The sound of their movements is disguised by the rush of the tide, and they’re upon the ship in minutes.
Jared has a dagger clenched in his teeth and his sword on his belt, and he can’t wait to use them. He has a hard time believing everything Collins told him about his parentage and his life before Port Royal, before Jensen, but he thinks maybe the proof of it really is in the blood.
*
It’s pitch-dark under the thick canopy of leaves, dense jungle that doesn’t welcome the light of the moon. Jensen can’t see anything, but he smells fresh water nearby, underneath the common scents of the forest, damp earth, growing things, and rot.
Jensen stumbles over nothing and his escorts yank impatiently at his arms as he pretends to struggle back to his feet. He’s done his best to make a nuisance of himself and delay the inevitable since they’d reached the shore, and his captors are starting to get impatient with his efforts.
They walk for what could be hours or could be minutes. Jensen has no way to measure time with the stars obscured, and it stretches and contracts in weird bursts of placidity or panic. His feet ache, but it’s a welcome pain; as long as they’re moving, Jensen keeps breathing.
A shout from the front of the line has the group coming to a stop, crowding together and pushing forward to see, a crush of odorous bodies and sharp objects. Jensen is dragged to the front, all eyes fixed on him and the sensation of being watched crawls across his skin like spiders.
Barbossa and his first mate are in a large clearing thinned of trees, a stream bisecting a large rock face to the north creating a small waterfall. The moon is visible from here, and Barbossa frames it with a thumb and forefinger, measuring its location. Over his shoulder, a gigantic boulder marked with symbols Jensen can’t identify blocks a fissure in the rock face; Jensen assumes the treasure is behind that behemoth, and he understands why magic is the only thing that will remove it - the rock could not be moved even with fifty men and a series of pulleys.
Barbossa places his hand on the rock and turns to face the group. “We’ve waited a long time for this moment, my friends!” The men shout in agreement, yars and ayes and unintelligible roars. “Bring ‘im up!”
Jensen drags his bare feet as he’s hauled into the clearing, heels literally digging in to the soil, and the crowd laughs at the futility of it. He’s thrown to the ground in front of Barbossa and gets a mouthful of dirt. He spits as he gets to his knees and his head rocks to the side from the force of Barbossa’s blow. His balance is off with his hands tied behind his back, so he falls again. He’s getting goddamn sick of it. “Don’t be getting feisty now, cully. We had a deal, you’ll recall.”
“I didn’t agree to die,” Jensen says, shaking his head, trying to clear it.
“You didn’t negotiate not to,” Barbossa replies. “That’s your own fault.”
Jensen’s heart sinks as he realizes Barbossa is right. Absolutely, horribly right. For a fraction of a second, he thinks of telling the Captain that he’s not Jared, that he’s got the wrong guy, that his blood won’t do anything but get them all really messy, but he dismisses it instantly. He’s pretty sure that they won’t know; they’ll think something went wrong with the spell and Jared will be safe. There’s a final, desperate point to make, so Jensen tries it. “I’m useless to you,” Jensen says. “You need my blood, and yours, and Collins’s. Collins isn’t here.”
Barbossa shows his teeth, a slow grimace-grin that Jensen has grown to hate. “Don’t be so sure, pretty, pretty boy.” His eyes shift to the east, and Jensen looks in time to see Captain Misha Collins emerge from the jungle, the consummate pirate from the triangular hat to the cotton shirt, short britches, and boots to the gun jammed into his belt.
“Barbossa,” he says, smiling pleasantly as he approaches. “Let’s retrieve our treasure, shall we?”
*
Jared crouches in the ferns, straining to hear what Collins is saying. He’d agreed to Collins’s plan, but he isn’t sure that he trusts the man; he’s a pirate, and that means he’s a liar and he’s greedy - if it comes to a choice between Jensen and the treasure, he’s bound to pick the treasure. Jared’s mind has been working furiously, trying to figure it out, piecing things together from the story Collins told and what he’d managed to gather from Danneel. Why would Barbossa dump Collins on the island if he needed him to complete the ritual? According to Collins, Barbossa had marooned him so that he wouldn’t get a chance to take back his ship, and then he planned to pick Collins up on the way back from Port Royal. But even if that’s true, and somehow Barbossa didn’t know Collins was found by the Navy and jailed in the Port Royal, he would have discovered Collins missing on the return trip, and set about searching for him out of necessity. It seems to Jared that Barbossa was expecting Collins to show up.
He creeps closer, as quiet as he can be, and bites into the inside of his cheek to keep from crying out when he sees Jensen. His friend is beaten black and blue, dirty with mud and blood, kneeling in the dirt by all appearances about to have his throat slit. Jared doesn’t know whether he is proud or humbled or furious that Jensen is going through all of this on his behalf; probably all three.
It’s an exercise in discipline to watch Barbossa draws something in the soil with his cutlass, some kind of occult symbol, as he places a chalice at the head of the circle, his words nothing but a murmur from Jared’s vantage point. Collins stands with his hands on his hips, staring up at the sky like he’s got all the time in the world. Jared’s uneasy feelings amplify.
Barbossa finishes his preparations. He says something to Jensen, and Jensen shakes his head, gently at first, then with increasing desperation. Three of Barbossa’s men approach at his gesture and grab Jensen’s arms. He’s strong, and he struggles, but he’s outnumbered and bound. They have him upright and inside the circle in less than a minute. Jared stands up. This isn’t right. He starts to run, crashing through the underbrush with no regard to noise. He alternates between watching his feet and watching the awful tableau in the clearing. A scream erupts from his chest as Barbossa raises an ornate knife to the tender skin of Jensen’s throat.
“Stop!” Jared shouts, stumbling into the clearing. “Stop! I’m the one you want. I’m Jared Padalecki!”
Everyone freezes, looking back and forth between Jensen and Jared, Barbossa and Collins. Collins narrows his eyes at Jared and mouths that wasn’t part of the plan before saying out loud, “Clearly, that man is insane. We’ve got Jared Padalecki right here!”
“No!” Jared says. “I’m Jared Padalecki.”
“He’s lying,” Collins says.
“I’m not.”
Barbossa cocks his head, fixing Jared with a considering stare that makes the hairs on the back of his neck stand on end, finally hissing with displeasure. He drops Jensen, who crumples to the ground in a heap. “I should have known. This filthy mutt doesn’t look a thing like your bastard father. You’re a spitting image. Get him, boys!”
Twenty pirates draw their swords and face Jared with vicious, eager expressions. He holds his ground long enough to watch Jensen struggle to his knees before Jared turns tail and runs into the jungle.
*
Barbossa and the rest of the crew pursue Jared in mad rush. Collins sighs. “Your boyfriend is very stupid,” he says to Jensen.
“He’s not my-“
“Whatever. I told him the plan,” Collins says. He picks up the ceremonial knife, and approaches Jensen. “I don’t understand why he’d do a fool thing like that.”
Jensen licks his lips and glances up, unsure of what Collins is going to do with the knife, if he’s friend or foe. “I think perhaps he was under the impression that you were going to let them kill me to get to the treasure.”
“Ha!” Collins says, scoffing. He tests the sharpness of the blade on his thumb, and sucks it into his mouth when it bleeds from the slightest pressure. His words are muffled as he speaks around the injured digit. “Eee old ishn imin in mer.”
“Pardon?”
Collins releases his thumb with a pop. “I said, the gold isn’t even in there. It was never there in the first place.” He brings the knife down with a quick motion, and the bindings on Jensen’s wrists fall away. “You can’t trust anybody these days.”
*
Sand sprays as Jared falls onto the beach. He scrambles to gain his feet, and draws his sword. The first and fastest of the pirates explodes from the jungle in the same graceless manner as Jared. He beckons to the man, but he just smiles a toothless grin, and stands at the perimeter, waiting for reinforcements.
“Coward,” Jared spits out, hoping to goad him into an attack. He can take any of these guys one on one, two on one, maybe even three on one; after that, he’s done for.
“Yar,” the man says, and Jared’s window of opportunity closes as another three men catch up. Still, they hang back, either waiting for even better odds or waiting for Barbossa. He gets his answer a few minutes later. The gathered group stands aside as Barbossa makes his way through. He’s wheezing, with his hands on his knees trying to catch his breath, and Jared hopes that the pirate’s black heart doesn’t give out before he has a chance to kill him.
“I’m going to enjoy killing you, boy,” Barbossa says, echoing Jared’s thoughts.
Jared hits the ground as musket balls fly.
*
Jensen puts on a burst of speed as the sound of arms fire fills the jungle. Collins is right behind him, dogging his heels, but they both skid to a stop as they see the scene on the beach. Barbossa and his men are prone on the sand, easily held by a hundred Royal Navy soldiers.
“Oh, shit,” Collins mutters. He attempts to run, but his shirt is caught by a nearby sentry and he’s soon laid out like the rest of them.
Jensen expects, and hopes, to stay on his feet for the first time in a long time, but he, too, is tackled, brought to the ground by a familiar weight. Jared’s long arms wrap around him, and his lips brush Jensen’s neck as he murmurs, “Jensen. Oh, my god, Jensen.” Jensen’s hands are trembling as he cups the back of Jared’s head - relief that they’re safe, that Barbossa has been caught, collides with the irrational fear that Jared is going to hate him for his lies and the gratitude he feels at finding Jared unharmed.
“Mr. Ackles,” says the Colonel, his voice dry. Jensen looks up at him from his place on the sand and notices that his wig still perfectly placed. “We’ve been looking for you for a long time.”
Jensen shakes his head, his hand unconsciously petting Jared’s hair. “How?”
“We received a tip,” he says, finally smiling, nodding toward at Jared.
Collins gasps. “Hey! You sold me out,” he accuses, though he sounds unaccountably pleased.
“Get him out of here,” the Colonel says, disgusted.
Collins shouts the rest of the way down the beach. “I’m proud of you, Jared! Your father would be proud!”
Jensen buries his face in Jared’s shoulder and holds on tight.
*
Jensen and Jared stay behind with Danneel on the Black Pearl, anchor raised and sails set for an easterly course with Danneel at the helm, keeping a fair distance from the Royal Navy fleet ahead. The clouds have parted and the moon and stars paint the deck in silver.
Jared can’t keep his hands off Jensen, and Jensen seems to be having the same problem. They’ve been brushing thighs and hands and arms almost constantly since they were reunited, reassurance and happy-to-see-you and something else, something new that Jared is afraid to name because he’s afraid to hope.
When all the urgent business of the ship has been taken care of, Jared and Jensen offering their help where needed on different parts of the ship, Danneel places a hand on Jared’s shoulder. “Why don’t you take him into the Captain’s cabin and get him cleaned up?”
Jared looks at Jensen, really lets himself look at the dark circles under his eyes and the cracked lips and bruised cheekbones, blood crusted on his jaw line and rope burns on his wrists that Jared’s been ignoring for the sake of his sanity. Jared nods and says, “Thanks.”
*
The Captain’s quarters are plain - a desk piled with navigational tools and maps, a small table for serving food, and a bare, narrow mattress with minimal bedding - but clean. There are candles and a pitcher of fresh water and a washing basin. It will do.
Jensen stands against the door with his arms crossed over his chest while Jared lights the candles, pours waters into the basin, and moistens a cloth in silence. “I’m sorry,” Jensen says to Jared’s back. “I’m so sorry.”
“You don’t have anything to be sorry about,” Jared says.
“I-” Jensen gasps as Jared presses the cold cloth to his skin, dabbing at a cut over his eyebrow. His eyes are golden-green, reflecting the flickering candlelight. “I lied to you, all this time.”
Jared keeps his eyes on his task, trying not to notice the heat of Jensen’s body pressed so close or the fullness of his mouth as the cloth drags against it, washing away the horror of the last few days. “Jen. You were just a kid. A scared, smart kid. You probably saved my life by not telling anyone.”
“I should have told you. When we were older, I should have told you.” Jared is finished with Jensen’s face, which is spectacularly bruised with purples and blues and yellows, and Jensen is so caught up in his self-recrimination that he doesn’t protest as Jared pushes the shirt over his shoulders to check for further injuries. “But I just didn’t - I didn’t even think. It’s your life, Jared, and I had no right to keep it from you.”
“You’re my life,” he says, without thinking, and they both stop breathing. Jensen’s shirt hangs from his wrists by the cuffs, his hair is standing in wild spikes, and the cuts and bruises on his face and body only emphasize the strength of his jaw, the graceful arch of his brow, the shape and tension of his muscles. He’s so goddamned gorgeous, and Jared loves him, and he wants. So, he shifts, such a small movement that could have such large consequences, and takes.
When he feels the brush of Jensen’s tongue on his bottom lip, when a soft moan of assent vibrates against his mouth, Jared gives in.
*
Jensen groans and welcomes Jared’s tongue into his mouth. I never thought, I never knew, I never dreamed, I always hoped, he thinks, before he isn’t able to think anymore at all.
Jared’s huge hands come up to cradle Jensen’s jaw, and Jensen growls with eagerness, not caring who overhears or what he sounds like. His hands settle at Jared’s hips, gripping and digging into the muscle and bone, touching the places he’s always wanted to but never dared to. Jared is hard against him already, and Jensen pushes into it, letting Jared feel his own straining cock, making them both moan.
They stumble across the room, hitting the bed and crashing onto it, crushed chest to chest. Jared’s legs open immediately, and Jensen settles in between like they’ve done this a hundred times, a thousand. Jensen wants to take his time, wants to map every inch of Jared’s beautiful body with his mouth and hands, but Jared rolls his hips and licks gently at the cracked skin of Jensen’s bottom lip, and he knows that he can’t. Next time, he promises himself.
Their knuckles brush, fumbling with trouser buttons and skidding across as much skin as they can reach in the process. Jared hisses and throws his head back as Jensen gets his fingers around that thick, hard length, and Jensen kisses and bites up the long line of his neck as he pulls, marvelling at how good it feels to make Jared fall apart like this. Jared’s leaking all over Jensen’s hand, and it’s enough to get him wet, to get Jensen wet, and he presses them together, head to head and shaft against shaft, the friction of his hand almost secondary to the knowledge that they’re doing this, that he’s touching Jared.
“Jensen,” Jared gasps, his breath against Jensen’s neck. He sinks his teeth into the tendons straining in Jensen’s neck, and Jensen loses himself in Jared, hot skin and hard muscles and the amazing feeling in his chest that’s better than anything.
By the time it’s over, Jensen has fresh bruises from Jared’s hands and teeth, and Jared has his own to match. Jensen knows now that Jared laughs when he comes, and Jensen falls into an exhausted, sated sleep with a smile on his face, his back to Jared’s chest, their fingers locked together.
*
One week later, at Fort Charles in Port Royal, the sky is a cloudless, unending blue and the air is warm with a fresh spring breeze carrying the salt water scent on the air. It’s perfect weather for public hangings, and after the pirate attack on the town two weeks prior, the citizens are eager to take in the spectacle of Captains Barbossa and Collins having their necks popped. The crowd jeers as Collins is escorted up the gallows staircase by two masked gaolers. He seems rather pleased to be going first, if the smile on his face is any indication.
Seagulls circle over the gallows, waiting for a meal, and Jensen sucks in a fortifying breath. “Sure you want to do this?”
Jared tugs the triangular hat lower, shading his eyes. “He saved our lives and I got him caught. We owe him.” Jensen watches as the rope is looped around Collins’s neck. The famous Captain sticks out his tongue exaggeratedly and rolls his eyes into the back of his head, and the crowed titters, uneasy with someone who is clearly so at ease with the prospect of his own death. “Besides - he’s the only one who knows where all that gold is stashed.”
Jensen smiles. “God, you really are a pirate, aren’t you?”
Jared grabs him around the waist and kisses him, thoroughly and deeply. “Going to plunder you, later.”
Jensen rolls his eyes. “Oh, Lord. Please.”
Jared gives him one last kiss and pulls back, the grin on his wide mouth spreading to his eyes, dancing with excitement. “Are you ready?”
“Let’s do it,” Jensen says.
The gaoler pulls the hatch, just as Jensen and Jared draw their swords - a matching pair.