veronica_rich (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
veronica_rich) wrote2007-10-06 04:46 pm
veronica_rich) wrote2007-10-06 04:46 pm
New POTC fic: "Small Comforts"
Small Comforts
Rating: G
Characters: Will, OFCs (original furry characters)
Disclaimer: Not mine, I just like playing with them. No profit being made.
Summary: Will gets some help in his job as the Ferryman from an unlikely source.
A/N: Thanks to suggestions from betas![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
gryphons_lair, yoiebear, and metalkatt. Any mistakes are my own, and con crit (as long as it's civil, as always) is appreciated.
It started with a cat.
One single, lousy, scrawny cat, hunched up and perched on the broken yardarm of the fifth shipwreck Will attended (well, he'd actually attended several, but it was only the fifth one he hadn't caused with his presence).
Straw wasn't even a cute enough cat to garner the crew's sympathy right away. A dirty-yellow tabby, his meow sounded like ground-up nails, his legs were too long for his body, and his tail was half-gone. But Will took all survivors aboard the Dutchman, including - by necessity, not long after Straw joined the ranks of the mostly-dead - rats.
Pretty soon, Straw grew sleek and muscular, choosing to while his non-social hours in the Captain's cabin. One of his other favorite haunts was the helm itself - he liked to visit his favorite crew members when they manned the wheel, hopping up on a lower horizontal spoke just long enough to claw his way higher and perch at the top. The helmsman who failed to scratch his head immediately ... well, they didn't exist. It seemed years, sometimes decades, at sea without their loved ones had rendered even the most ardent dog-lover willing to pet a cat for affection.
One night about six months later, with the rain falling in a monotonous sheet, Will surfaced his ancient ferry alongside a small merchant ship. Upon boarding, he learned a brigade of pirates had attacked, taking supplies and leaving the crew and the two traveling families dead or dying. Will ground his jaw; he knew what side he'd chosen, but all pirates were not as benevolent as Gibbs, nor as smart enough not to leave wanton carnage as Jack Sparrow.
After an hour, he knelt to face a young woman leaning against a broken crate, breathing rapidly, shallowly - she'd been in the least serious condition, and though Will worked as quickly as he could, he found many on the seas still required extensive convincing he was not Davy Jones. "Do you fear death?" he asked, tipping his chin down to meet her eyes.
She shifted uncomfortably, gasping for air, and he realized how very young she was. One of the small children he'd already escorted to the Dutchman was hers but she seemed younger than Elizabeth. As she was about to speak, her frightened eyes glanced past him and down, and he saw some of the fear dissolve. "Your c-cat?" she managed.
He looked back as Straw approached, head down and bobbing slightly, surveying the new person. After so long aboard the Dutchman, he'd been submerged so often he'd grown impervious to water (though Will knew he'd catch the feline on his bunk later, licking his fur dry). It still amazed Will that a living creature aboard the ship could survive submersion, but part of him realized it was necessary to allow the ferrying of survivors to the nearest shore as soon as possible, which was not always on the ocean's surface. He turned back to the woman. "Aye, he is."
Straw approached and stood just in range of her hand, if she would lift it and reach out. "Is h-he ... dead, too?"
It was a common assumption Will must be dead, and he let it go for simplicity's sake. "No - he keeps refugee rats at bay." He added a smile, having long since learned it somehow had the power to soothe.
She coughed, and he could hear thick fluid in her throat; she wouldn't live much longer. "I have to get you aboard," he explained, reaching for her to dissolve back to his ship.
"Wait!" It was the most energy she'd shown, and she shook her head, gasping. "Our d-dog - my girl's. He's here." She took a deep, harsh breath, and yelled, "Mushroom!" The effort made her cough madly, and it went on enough that Will put his palm on her soaked upper chest, temporarily easing the pain; something else he'd learned he could do, quite by chance, on his second wreck.
"We really-" He saw movement in the corner of his eye and glanced over to see Straw loping across the deck. He paused partway and raised his head, and let out a plaintive meow, audible even in steady rain. Hesitantly, he approached some wreckage, head bobbing again, and lowered his front shoulders enough to peer under a fallen board. Will could've sworn the cat looked in his direction, but as he rose halfway to go over and see if it were a person he'd somehow missed, he saw something partly white inch out from under the board. It wasn't long before he realized it was a dog's muzzle.
"Mush." It was the first clear word the woman had said, and Will knelt again.
"We must go, Sarah Taylor." He didn't point out it was nearly too late.
"He's ... 'live." She smiled weakly as the dog timidly weaseled out from under the board toward Straw, who had only moved to take a couple of steps back out of the animal's way. Looking to Will, she nodded. "All right."
He sighed in relief; he hadn't done this long enough to yet be used to the harsh methods he had to employ to budge a dying person who didn't want to leave. Touching her arm, he concentrated, eyes closed-
-and opened them a few beats later back aboard the Dutchman, he still kneeling and Sarah still sitting. He stood, waiting as she recovered her breathing and realized she'd shed her mortal injuries, examining her arms and hands and stomach with wide eyes. As he helped her up, the small girl he'd taken earlier ran at Sarah and hugged her leg fiercely. "Mama!"
Will turned away from the reunion; his job wasn't finished. He returned Bill's nod as his father approached the woman to explain what would happen next, and dissolved again, back to the other ship.
The dog had pulled itself mostly out by this point, but its hindquarters were still trapped, and its head rested on its paws. It whined pitifully as Straw sat next to its side, somewhat pressed up to the dog, legs tucked under and ears alert as though he were resting on Will's bunk. He knew immediately the pet was nearly dead, and hunkered down to get his hands behind the dog's front legs and gently pull him the rest of the way out from under the wreckage. "Do you fear death?" he asked, chuckling at his own absuridity.
Oddly, Straw meowed, loudly, making Mushroom open his eyes. The cat did this a few more times, progressively softer in tone each time, until Mushroom let out a soft "whuff" and put his head back down.
"What, you handle the animals and I get the people?" Straw returned his gaze calmly, and Will scratched his own chin. "Well ... all right, let's go, then." Still squatting, he scooted over a bit and put a hand each on the dog and the cat, willing them all back to the Dutchman.
*****
As the last of Will's ferries descended the gangplank to the only green shores he was allowed to approach this closely, he watched from the rail, nodding to each and saying little as they left. It looked very like a certain patch of a lush island he'd once seen from the deck of the Interceptor, but Will knew this place was nowhere near the Caribbean; there was quite a good chance it was nowhere near Jack's map-scratchings, or even the very Earth upon which he and his ferries sailed. If he saw Calypso again, he would ask where, exactly, Dutchman took them when he pointed the ship down and through an all-too-brief submersion to break back into open sea and air. He wondered if she would let even her Ferryman in on the secret.
Sarah and her girl, Kate, started down. A few steps along, Kate turned, looking behind. "'Ere's Moosh?" she asked in her small, struggling voice, before looking up at Will. He glanced around. "MOOSH!" the girl called. "MOOOSH? C'mon, Moosh!"
A few seconds later, the hale-looking white dog appeared on deck, trotting toward the gangplank with Straw close behind. He stopped at the top, however, and only looked at his masters. "C'mere, Moosh," the girl cajoled, patting her knees with her small hands.
Mushroom took another step on the plank - then backed off. He looked up at Will, wagging his tail, then back at his masters - then back at Will. He let out a couple of quick barks and sat, looking over at Straw, who'd sat to lick his paws and clean his nose as if he couldn't care less. The dog whined a little, and Straw favored him with a quick, level look before going back to cleaning.
"Sweetheart, I think Mush wants to stay." Sarah put a hand on her daughter's shoulder.
"But - no!" Kate's lip trembled. "He's my dog! I w-wan' him to come!"
Sarah bent and pulled Kate into her arms. She resisted at first, then acquiesced, turning to bury her face in her mother's shoulder. "He gets to go where he wants, just like you want to do," she explained quietly, glancing at Will. "Shhh ... we'll see him again." She kept her eyes on Will, and he nodded. Nothing was bound to the Dutchman forever - except, quite possibly, him. "We'll see him again, I promise. It'll be like he wasn't even gone; we won't even notice." She turned slowly and started back down the plank, comforting her daughter quietly, as Mushroom watched them leave, head cocked and seeming puzzled, but making no move to chase after them.
As a couple of crewmen retracted the gangplank, Will went over to stand by the two animals. "Guess you charmed him into staying, eh?" Straw ignored him, but Mushroom stood on his hind legs, pawing at Will's thigh. "Oh, now you too." He reached down and scratched behind the dog's ear. "Just stay off my bed, all right?" The dog answered with a short yip, and Will shook his head. "I expect you'll listen as well as he does. A hundred years of wet dog smell in my bedclothes ..."
Rating: G
Characters: Will, OFCs (original furry characters)
Disclaimer: Not mine, I just like playing with them. No profit being made.
Summary: Will gets some help in his job as the Ferryman from an unlikely source.
A/N: Thanks to suggestions from betas
gryphons_lair, yoiebear, and metalkatt. Any mistakes are my own, and con crit (as long as it's civil, as always) is appreciated.It started with a cat.
One single, lousy, scrawny cat, hunched up and perched on the broken yardarm of the fifth shipwreck Will attended (well, he'd actually attended several, but it was only the fifth one he hadn't caused with his presence).
Straw wasn't even a cute enough cat to garner the crew's sympathy right away. A dirty-yellow tabby, his meow sounded like ground-up nails, his legs were too long for his body, and his tail was half-gone. But Will took all survivors aboard the Dutchman, including - by necessity, not long after Straw joined the ranks of the mostly-dead - rats.
Pretty soon, Straw grew sleek and muscular, choosing to while his non-social hours in the Captain's cabin. One of his other favorite haunts was the helm itself - he liked to visit his favorite crew members when they manned the wheel, hopping up on a lower horizontal spoke just long enough to claw his way higher and perch at the top. The helmsman who failed to scratch his head immediately ... well, they didn't exist. It seemed years, sometimes decades, at sea without their loved ones had rendered even the most ardent dog-lover willing to pet a cat for affection.
One night about six months later, with the rain falling in a monotonous sheet, Will surfaced his ancient ferry alongside a small merchant ship. Upon boarding, he learned a brigade of pirates had attacked, taking supplies and leaving the crew and the two traveling families dead or dying. Will ground his jaw; he knew what side he'd chosen, but all pirates were not as benevolent as Gibbs, nor as smart enough not to leave wanton carnage as Jack Sparrow.
After an hour, he knelt to face a young woman leaning against a broken crate, breathing rapidly, shallowly - she'd been in the least serious condition, and though Will worked as quickly as he could, he found many on the seas still required extensive convincing he was not Davy Jones. "Do you fear death?" he asked, tipping his chin down to meet her eyes.
She shifted uncomfortably, gasping for air, and he realized how very young she was. One of the small children he'd already escorted to the Dutchman was hers but she seemed younger than Elizabeth. As she was about to speak, her frightened eyes glanced past him and down, and he saw some of the fear dissolve. "Your c-cat?" she managed.
He looked back as Straw approached, head down and bobbing slightly, surveying the new person. After so long aboard the Dutchman, he'd been submerged so often he'd grown impervious to water (though Will knew he'd catch the feline on his bunk later, licking his fur dry). It still amazed Will that a living creature aboard the ship could survive submersion, but part of him realized it was necessary to allow the ferrying of survivors to the nearest shore as soon as possible, which was not always on the ocean's surface. He turned back to the woman. "Aye, he is."
Straw approached and stood just in range of her hand, if she would lift it and reach out. "Is h-he ... dead, too?"
It was a common assumption Will must be dead, and he let it go for simplicity's sake. "No - he keeps refugee rats at bay." He added a smile, having long since learned it somehow had the power to soothe.
She coughed, and he could hear thick fluid in her throat; she wouldn't live much longer. "I have to get you aboard," he explained, reaching for her to dissolve back to his ship.
"Wait!" It was the most energy she'd shown, and she shook her head, gasping. "Our d-dog - my girl's. He's here." She took a deep, harsh breath, and yelled, "Mushroom!" The effort made her cough madly, and it went on enough that Will put his palm on her soaked upper chest, temporarily easing the pain; something else he'd learned he could do, quite by chance, on his second wreck.
"We really-" He saw movement in the corner of his eye and glanced over to see Straw loping across the deck. He paused partway and raised his head, and let out a plaintive meow, audible even in steady rain. Hesitantly, he approached some wreckage, head bobbing again, and lowered his front shoulders enough to peer under a fallen board. Will could've sworn the cat looked in his direction, but as he rose halfway to go over and see if it were a person he'd somehow missed, he saw something partly white inch out from under the board. It wasn't long before he realized it was a dog's muzzle.
"Mush." It was the first clear word the woman had said, and Will knelt again.
"We must go, Sarah Taylor." He didn't point out it was nearly too late.
"He's ... 'live." She smiled weakly as the dog timidly weaseled out from under the board toward Straw, who had only moved to take a couple of steps back out of the animal's way. Looking to Will, she nodded. "All right."
He sighed in relief; he hadn't done this long enough to yet be used to the harsh methods he had to employ to budge a dying person who didn't want to leave. Touching her arm, he concentrated, eyes closed-
-and opened them a few beats later back aboard the Dutchman, he still kneeling and Sarah still sitting. He stood, waiting as she recovered her breathing and realized she'd shed her mortal injuries, examining her arms and hands and stomach with wide eyes. As he helped her up, the small girl he'd taken earlier ran at Sarah and hugged her leg fiercely. "Mama!"
Will turned away from the reunion; his job wasn't finished. He returned Bill's nod as his father approached the woman to explain what would happen next, and dissolved again, back to the other ship.
The dog had pulled itself mostly out by this point, but its hindquarters were still trapped, and its head rested on its paws. It whined pitifully as Straw sat next to its side, somewhat pressed up to the dog, legs tucked under and ears alert as though he were resting on Will's bunk. He knew immediately the pet was nearly dead, and hunkered down to get his hands behind the dog's front legs and gently pull him the rest of the way out from under the wreckage. "Do you fear death?" he asked, chuckling at his own absuridity.
Oddly, Straw meowed, loudly, making Mushroom open his eyes. The cat did this a few more times, progressively softer in tone each time, until Mushroom let out a soft "whuff" and put his head back down.
"What, you handle the animals and I get the people?" Straw returned his gaze calmly, and Will scratched his own chin. "Well ... all right, let's go, then." Still squatting, he scooted over a bit and put a hand each on the dog and the cat, willing them all back to the Dutchman.
*****
As the last of Will's ferries descended the gangplank to the only green shores he was allowed to approach this closely, he watched from the rail, nodding to each and saying little as they left. It looked very like a certain patch of a lush island he'd once seen from the deck of the Interceptor, but Will knew this place was nowhere near the Caribbean; there was quite a good chance it was nowhere near Jack's map-scratchings, or even the very Earth upon which he and his ferries sailed. If he saw Calypso again, he would ask where, exactly, Dutchman took them when he pointed the ship down and through an all-too-brief submersion to break back into open sea and air. He wondered if she would let even her Ferryman in on the secret.
Sarah and her girl, Kate, started down. A few steps along, Kate turned, looking behind. "'Ere's Moosh?" she asked in her small, struggling voice, before looking up at Will. He glanced around. "MOOSH!" the girl called. "MOOOSH? C'mon, Moosh!"
A few seconds later, the hale-looking white dog appeared on deck, trotting toward the gangplank with Straw close behind. He stopped at the top, however, and only looked at his masters. "C'mere, Moosh," the girl cajoled, patting her knees with her small hands.
Mushroom took another step on the plank - then backed off. He looked up at Will, wagging his tail, then back at his masters - then back at Will. He let out a couple of quick barks and sat, looking over at Straw, who'd sat to lick his paws and clean his nose as if he couldn't care less. The dog whined a little, and Straw favored him with a quick, level look before going back to cleaning.
"Sweetheart, I think Mush wants to stay." Sarah put a hand on her daughter's shoulder.
"But - no!" Kate's lip trembled. "He's my dog! I w-wan' him to come!"
Sarah bent and pulled Kate into her arms. She resisted at first, then acquiesced, turning to bury her face in her mother's shoulder. "He gets to go where he wants, just like you want to do," she explained quietly, glancing at Will. "Shhh ... we'll see him again." She kept her eyes on Will, and he nodded. Nothing was bound to the Dutchman forever - except, quite possibly, him. "We'll see him again, I promise. It'll be like he wasn't even gone; we won't even notice." She turned slowly and started back down the plank, comforting her daughter quietly, as Mushroom watched them leave, head cocked and seeming puzzled, but making no move to chase after them.
As a couple of crewmen retracted the gangplank, Will went over to stand by the two animals. "Guess you charmed him into staying, eh?" Straw ignored him, but Mushroom stood on his hind legs, pawing at Will's thigh. "Oh, now you too." He reached down and scratched behind the dog's ear. "Just stay off my bed, all right?" The dog answered with a short yip, and Will shook his head. "I expect you'll listen as well as he does. A hundred years of wet dog smell in my bedclothes ..."