Legends of the Treasure Child : Demon Spawn

They stood gathered around the wheel of The Black Pearl, and those who’d been too late, had to stand in the stairway up to the helm, jumping up and down to get a glimpse of the door to the captain’s cabin. They talked and whispered, all awaiting the result of the ungodliness taking place behind locked doors. Ragetti and Pintel covered their ears, squeezing their eyes shut in the process, as another scream of pain emerged from behind the door. Even Mr. Gibbs, who stood guard in front of the door, squeezed his eyes shut in empathy, wishing it all would be over soon. He gazed around to the crew’s glowing faces, watching them make bets and slap jokes about the outcome, chuckling at Morty’s imitation of Captain Jack Sparrow as they tried to guess what was going on behind the closed doors. Mr. Gibbs gazed over to the neighbouring ship, the Flying Dutchman which lay anchored up just next to the Pearl. It was a beautiful day with blue skies and sea gulls in the skies. Sea gulls and bloody warrior arch angels. They floated around in the air above them, flashing to and fro with lighting as they came and went from one dimension to another. They would hover in the air, all clad in armour and flowing clothing, with spears, shield and sword in their hands. And then the wings. Their enormous white wings flapping, cutting through air with the sound of heartbeats, beating heavily, slowly, loudly. The Thyrion was also there, and he would, to everyone’s distress, touch down on the roof of the cabin once in a while, and screech at the angels. There was obviously a quarrel going on between him and the angels, yet for the moment no one resolved to open conflict, just sticking with verbal abuse. And that suited just about everyone.

They all turned to stare as Captain William Turner tore the cabin door open, propping his head out so no one could see what went on in there, but he failed to hide the blood on his fingers. He immediately shouted:

“A bottle of rum for the captain! On the double! And more hot water! Now!” he barked. People immediately scrambled to obey, but they all froze and turned as they heard Jack scream anew. His scream ended in a moan which then evolved to sobbing, and before the crew could get their heads around and ask, Captain Turner disappeared behind the door again.

They put the casserole of hot water by the doorway, along with the rum and fresh linen clothing. Mr. Gibbs cleared his throat, eyed his men and then knocked on the door, preparing for the worst without knowing what to quite expect. Everyone’s eye focused on the door, and soon, Captain Turner opened it. Jack’s scream was the very first thing to reach their ears, and as Captain Turner bent down to pick up the casserole, they all stood on their toes, stretching their necks to peer inside. And what they saw, made several of them, all weathered, stronghearted and bold men, go faint and fall backwards, some tumbling down the stairs.
Captain Jack Sparrow sat on the floor, on cushions, his legs apart, his modesty preserved only by a long night shirt of which the latter half was drenched in blood and goo. He was holding on to the wooden legs of the desk behind him, breathing hard, his eyes half way shut veiled by pain and torment, his face grimy with sweat, and tears pouring down his cheeks and his mouth drawn up in a snarl. The unruly hair was arranged over one shoulder, kept in place and out of the way by his red bandana. Jack shut his brown eyes hard once more, as he felt another push coming on.
John Sparrow sat next to Jack, and stroked his hair and talked reassuringly to him, coaching him through it all like an experienced midwife, all thanks to the accumulated hereditary knowledge from his demon father. He turned to stare at the gawking crowd outside for a moment, before he said: “Shut the door now, Mr. Gibbs, we’re almost there.” He spoke with calm authority

Mr. Gibbs eyed Captain Turner as the young captain of the Flying Dutchman took a serious mouthful of the rum, then wiping his mouth with his sleeve, cocking one eyebrow at Mr. Gibbs as realization sat in.

“Oh, you thought the rum was for Jack?!” Captain Turner said, smiling to Gibbs as he shut the door, leaving the crewmembers to their frights. It was corroborated then. Jack was indeed giving birth. Mr. Gibbs shuddered as Jack screamed again, and crossed his arms on his chest as he placed himself in front of the door again, trying to appear confident. All of this had to be bad luck.

After some time, they couldn’t bear it any longer. All, including Gibbs himself stood listening with one ear to the face of the door. They heard Jack moan again. He was pushing hard, and John had raised his voice, urging for Jack to push harder, come on now, just a little more you’re almost there. Will Turner was also encouraging Jack, telling him how great the former pirate was doing. Then Jack moaned relieved, and soon, the sore cries from an infant reached their ears, and a ‘there you go, Jack, one down one to go!’ One more? Jack had to go through one more? Some of the crewmembers couldn’t take it, shaking their heads on Jack’s behalf, others fainted again. They heard Jack grunt, then push again. Minutes later, Jack began to push, again screaming and toiling. Then there was a clear and loud “GIVE ME THE BLOODY BOTTLE, TURNER, BEFORE I TIE YOU TO A CHAIR AND FEED YOU THE BLOODY PLACENTA!”
They heard John speak as well, saying ‘Whatever, just give it to him, Turner. Let him have it, he’s so tired.’

Silence.

Again, Jack pushed and groaned, and all of the sudden there was another infant’s cry. The crew, to their own surprise started clapping and jumped up and down like they were children on Christmas Morning. Then they all hushed each other before leaning on the door again, straining to hear what happened next. There wasn’t a third now, right? Wood groaned and squeaked, and the hinges suddenly gave in, and the door fell inwards with six or seven crewmembers on top and Mr. Gibbs on the bottom. It landed on the deck with a great boom, and they all looked up to see Jack sitting on the floor, his back cushioned, with two small bundles in each arm. John and Will were in the process of cleaning up the blood on the floor, and they stared open-mouthed at the sudden commotion. John stood immediately, pointing a red finger at Mr. Gibbs.

“Mr. Gibbs, this is intolerable! Get this bunch and your self out of here right now! We had an agreement!” He started towards them, and they scrambled to get up and out faster than lightning. John Sparrow was not someone to trifle with, especially since he was a half demon and all. They couldn’t help though, to cast one last glance at Jack, who was sitting limp in a pool of his own blood, smiling happily at two small infants wrapped in clean, white linen and cotton clothing, their small black feathered wings sticking out from between their shoulder blades.