Legends of the Treasure Child

”I will know what to do when I see him, but not a minute before. The right solution always presents itself at the opportune moment” John said to the bystanders.

“So that’s how the ‘opportune moment’ works” William mockingly said, gazing at Jack.

“Aye”, Jack replied, catching Will’s drift, “there are those who are born with a talent for exploiting it, and then there are those who aren’t” he nodded towards Will, smiling briefly, reminding him of the time in the cave on Isla De Muerta when they’d been looking to save Elisabeth from Barbossa.

“It won’t matter what he does, I‘ll just burn him to cinders anyway. Alive or dead, it doesn’t matter.”

“But what if he traps you, what if he gets to say the words before you can kill him?” Jack wouldn’t let it go.

“I don’t have all the answers, Dad, I really don’t. Father Irons, when you gave Teague the incantations, what kind of instructions did you give him?”

“Instructions?” Father Irons replied, frowning. Bootstrap sighed heavily next to him, stirring, gazing out on the horizon. Something was on his mind.

“Instructions, like, before reading it you have to draw a circle in which the person to be spellbound must stand, and the symbols around it must be this and this…?! No?!”

“Not from me, no. I could have but I didn’t, and he didn’t ask once I gave it to him, so he probably didn’t know he needed it. That is, unless he’s getting them from somebody els—“

“—come to think of it, Father Irons, why are you still here? Why haven’t you moved on to greener pastures like the rest of ’em dead folks?” Bootstrap asked, arching an eyebrow. Father Irons made a point at staring everyone in the eye, being really upset.

“Mister Bootstrap!” he spat back, “If you’re trying to incriminate me by implying that I am on Teague’s side, I would ask of you to once again observe the rope around my neck here, and please do make a mental note to your person that it was Teague himself that hung me, and which therefore I have no intention whatsoever to aid that son of a cocksucking whore—!“

“—enough with the language!” William interrupted sternly, shooting Bootstrap a what-do-you-know-that-I-don’t glance

“—aye, but do explain again why it is that a priest such as yourself would resort to such a foul language and have so much inside information on the Treasure Child, MY son , if I might add? Fascinating reading you said about those ancient manuscripts, well to me it’s beginning to sound more and more like an obsession!” Jack took a few steps to stand side by side with Bootstrap.

“What are you saying, captain? Are you implying that I’m mad? A crazy person?”

“Nay, a crazy priest. Maybe a fanatic, deranged soul with plans of his own—“

“—aye, I hear ye on that one Jack”, Bill cut him short, “get Teague to immobilize the whelp and then take control yerself. Smart. What say ye, son? Lets’ throw this charlatan over board. Good riddance.” Bootstrap looked to John for a reply. They all turned their heads to stare at John.
John was sitting on the deck next to them, resting against a barrel. His chest was bare, covered in pearls of sweat glistening in the hot sunlight. His eyes were shut. He was enjoying the sun, enjoying its warmth. It reminded him of Jack’s body, his warm skin when John huddled close to him at night for some comfort. It could be difficult to maintain the balance some times, for the need for comfort, feeling Jack’s flesh against his own often made him horny beyond reason. It often took great amounts of willpower not to take Jack, to force himself on him there and then. He felt himself grow hard just comparing the two, Jack and the sun. He ignored the squabbling men behind him; only peaking up at Jack now and then to study his naked torso. His nipples were jutting out; stimulated by the salty cool of the ocean Jack had just been swimming in. The breasts were barely visible. Jack had almost no milk left, only enough for John to have a sip at during the evening after they’d gone to bed. John would crave it to such a degree that he had difficulties going to sleep if nursing from Jack’s nipples were denied him first. He’d twist and turn and huff and puff and complain until Jack grew sick of it and gave in. John would grasp his torso triumphantly, force Jack down into the bed and then carefully caress each nipple with the tip of his nose until they responded to the stimuli, bringing forth the milk, easing its passage through Jack’s breasts. And while he suckled on the tits, dominating Jack, Jack would be twisting underneath him, hot and bothered, struggling to keep still, suppressing the need to grind his pelvis against John.
It was in John’s nature to dominate, but at the same time he had tremendous respect for Jack as the senior, the one who birthed him into this world, and therefore he never forced himself on Jack, uhm, too much anyway. He never crossed the line, and never felt the need to. For him it was a natural way to behave, quite natural to have that kind of level of intimacy with his own father, not thinking of it as morbid or unnatural in anyway. And Jack? He simply did what Sparrows do best, which is to ignore the troublesome little voice in the back of his neck telling him it was wrong. Ignore and voila, gone!
John had proven that he could be trusted. He took good care of his old man, made sure he ate, got his sleep and showed interest in the stories Jack told him about his life before John. Before the demon.
Jack Sparrow was content to be looked after, and he felt protected, gladly submitting to John, and he embraced the moments at night when John would crawl up to him, all naked and smelling of sleep, inching his way to Jack’s body, getting as close as possible, skin against skin. Then he would find his nipple and carefully stimulate it, only occasionally and by accident scratching them with his fangs once in a while.
He had a demon son. And it dominated him. John was in many ways older than Jack, his knowledge of the occult exceeding Jack’s beyond comparison. A killing machine, precise and swift, not needing Will or anyone to practice with. He just needed to see them demonstrate how it was done, and he would copy it perfectly seconds later. John would often ask Will to go in a specific direction, then dive off the Dutchman, leaving Jack in torment. Hours later John would show up again, hauling another chest worth of gold and jewels on board, giving it to Jack. The plan he had in his mind about John’s future now seemed realistic and within grasp. It was calm all around them. Not a breath of wind. The sea was at peace, quiet and sparkling blue, the sun stood hot and high above them on a cloudless sky. Despite this, the Dutchman was making good speed, her sails at top mast, filled with winds that weren’t there and which couldn’t be felt.
The quadruplet, Captain Turner, Captain Sparrow, his son John and Bootstrap Turner had fixed her up to the unrecognizable, mending the sails, bleaching them in white colours, cleaned up the hulls and rearranged the decks. Will would often stop and stare at their handiwork, laughing to himself, knowing that Davy Jones, really being dead and all, was turning in his grave multiple times at the moment, knowing that Will, the new captain, had turned his ship inside out, probably going something like: “Damn that whelp! He’s turned me boat into a proper ship! Woe to all Turners!” He he. Don’t come and say Will didn’t try his best keeping his mind off Elisabeth. Focusing back at the discussion at hand, Will folded his arms, awaiting John’s reply.

“You should all get off Father Iron’s case. His quarrel isn’t with you lot, but with God.”

“Thank you John. There you go. Sinners the lot of you! Hatred and jealousy is festering in your hearts—“Father Irons pointed his index finger triumphantly at them.

“—Father Irons!” Will stopped him short, his brown eyes narrowing to slits, “do not forget that you are a mere passenger on board my ship! Give us a reason to distrust you and I’ll be the first one to toss you overboard and thereby condemn you to forever walk in shadows with the rest of the nitwits—“

“—Like Norrington—“Jack coughed.

“Jack, please”, Will sighed trying to appear like an authoritarian captain instead of crumble in laughter, “you are forgetting, Father Irons, that we only want what’s best for John. We all want him to stay safe and out of harm’s way so no one will exploit him. His gifts are…extraordinary. And they must not be misused, for if they were, I think it could turn John into something he doesn’t want to become—“

“—like Beckett!” Jack coughed again, apparently having caught something severe in his throat. He moved out of reach of Will’s sword arm, seating himself on the barrel next to John.

“We’re coming up on another wreck” Bootstrap suddenly said, peering at something in the horizon.

“Why can’t people go and die someplace else but at sea for once, so I can have a moment’s peace?!” Will barked, turning on his heel to join Bootstrap. They both stood for a long time just gazing. Will couldn’t quite believe what he saw at first, but the closer they came, the more obvious it was.

John got up also, and put on his shirt and black west, then finally tying his hair back with a bandana much like Jack’s, only in black and gold. Standing next to Jack, they looked frighteningly alike, as if they were twin brothers, the youngest darker in clothes and aura than the other.

“It’s the Black Pearl! She’s burning!” William exclaimed, turning towards Jack. Jack hopped down and leapt over to the railing next to the wheel, eyeing the black smoke rising in the distance.

“Buggering Hell! Me ship’s in flames!” he exclaimed, waving with his arms.

“And the crew is dying” John added, “for Teague is forcing them to walk the plank, then he shoots them. This is the showdown, Dad. And the battleground will be on The Black Pearl.