FicWad

He didn't fully remember the day, would never be able to say with certainty how much time had gone by. Hours and hours, it must have been, it had to be. Years, it seemed, he'd drifted on this scrap of planking, only just big enough to lie or sit on and not capsize. Lord alone knew what had become of the rest of the crew. Up in the rigging at the time he'd tumbled along with the mast when a cannon shot had split it near the bottom. Other scraps of wood and canvas had come hurtling down afterwards into the churning sea with a splash. Only half-conscious from the impact, he'd clung to the chunk of ship for dear life. When he opened his eyes, he was alone.

Alone on the open ocean, miles from shore without food, without water, without shade. For hours. Days. The nights had been a welcome respite from the blistering Caribbean sun. The heat was bad enough but with the bold, bright sun burning white-hot down on his head... Never had Jack regretted more having dark hair. He drenched his coat and hat in the salt water in attempt to stave off the sun's scorching stare and drifted in the water beside the improvised raft until he grew too weary to hold on. The water was warm, but less so than the blistering rays of daylight, less so than his reddening limbs. Submerging himself only worsened the sun damage but he didn't care. He was already lobster-red but while the water worsened the burning, it also eased the sting. It was either that or dry up on the raft like a landed starfish.

Three nights. Three all too short periods of cooling darkness. The humidity was still stifling, the heat weighing cruelly on his blistered skin. His tattoos had been reduced to dark, green-blue splotches, his mouth had gone sand-dry and a sort of haze of heat seemed to surround him like a second skin. Vainly he wiped his face at the sensation of sweat, but his fingers came away dry. Things began to go black here and there. Distantly Jack tried to tell himself to stay awake, that falling asleep was surest folly, to do so would be to either shrivel up under the ruthlessly hot sun or slide off the raft and drown in the undrinkable, azure depths. Dammit, why did the ocean have to have so much salt in it?

His fingers did eventually slip from the coarse wooden planking. With nothing to hold onto he lay floating on his back, face to the sun, feeling its rays slowly smoldering away the layers of his skin, searing down through muscle to toast his very bones. He had only energy enough to fill his lungs with air, keeping himself feebly afloat. Soon he'd become too tired even for that. No food, no water, scarcely any sleep, all that outweighed and unnoticed under the pain of the stinging sun. Mustering what strength he had left, Jack turned his back to the sun, floating face-down in the warm, salty swell. If he was going to die, even a stupid and disappointing death like drowning, he may as well greet Davy Jones face to face. The burn of salt water in his eyes went unnoticed, trivial compared to heat and sunburn. The blurry ocean depths were lovely in their way, fish darted about, no more than clusters of bright color. Larger, darker splotches appeared below the jewel-like fishes and Jack thought with a bubbled sigh into the water that this was it. The spots swimming before his vision meant he would surely pass out, breathe in the sea water, and sink to the bottom stone dead. He turned his head to get another breath in before the blackness overtook him. He had to be seeing things now. The spots were growing larger but less dark. Hell, now he was feeling things. They were all around him, on every side, touching him with paddle-like limbs that felt strangely soft and smooth with glossy scales. One particularly huge spot rose right up underneath him and Jack found himself clinging to a tough, patterned shell. Instinctively he clung to the moving surface, sputtering slightly as his head broke through the water and back into the open air. Blinking salt water from his eyes he noticed the spots were not black but green and brown in color. A head, round and scaly with wise, yellow eyes turned and looked sagely back at him. Sea turtles. Trunks*. A whole heard of them.

"Thanks, mate," Jack rasped, weakly patting the creature on its armored shoulder. "Anywhere there's land would be nice." Actual spots and not more turtles were beginning to creep into his vision. Hooking his arms before the beast's fore-flippers, he lay his head down on its leathery back before he could black out. The spots scattered then gathered and descended again like seagulls over prey. Too tired to care, Jack let them swarm. He couldn't have fought them if he wanted to.



It was cool, blessedly so, and dark. Another blessing. Stiffly, Jack tried to move and regretted it instantly. His skin felt tight, as if it were several sizes too small, every movement sending horrible, fiery prickles throughout his body. It took several moments for him to realize the agonized moans echoing in his ears were his own.

"Mister?"

That wasn't his voice.

"You awake, Mister?"

With supreme effort, Jack forced open eyes almost too swollen to obey. The light was dim and bluish, lit by a flickering source he could not see. A girl, dark-skinned and slim, knelt close by. She leaned and peered at him with eyes dark and sharp.

"How you feelin'?" she asked, her accent clipped and smart. Caribbean. Although her dress was European, she had to be a native.

"Been better..." Jack somehow managed to grunt, moving his lips as little as possible.

"Drink this," she told him, putting a waterskin to his lips. Jack was only too glad to comply and drank greedily.

"That's enough," she said, removing the skin entirely too soon, "you drink much more you'll only bring it up again."

Jack couldn't fathom why that would be and spent several minutes trying to puzzle it out, his roasted brain finally dredging the memory. The battle. He'd been set adrift for...three days at the very least. After that, memory faded.

"What happened?" he croaked, face protesting at the movement.

"You washed ashore," the girl told him. "The turtles makin' their journey to the Tortugas brought you to the beach. I brought you here."

"And where is that, Love?"

"In general or specific?"

"Both."

"You're on the near island off the coast of Florida in a cave on the southern shore. You have sunstroke and it's cooler here than anywhere else. You been ravin' in your sleep for the past two days."

Tortugas? Florida? Good Lord, he'd drifted a considerable distance in just three days then. Wait, sunstroke? That would explain the horrid prickling in his skin. He tried lifting his head a fraction in order to inspect the damage himself but even that slight movement set every nerve on fire, stinging with heat no human was meant to hold.

"Lie back," the girl told him, gently pushing him back, fingers pressing into his hair rather than touching skin. Thoughtful girl.

"What's your name, Darling?" he panted.

"Anamaria," she answered, "and you?"

"Jack. Captain Jack Sparrow."




/* Trunks - An archaic term for the Leatherback sea turtle. Leatherbacks, as their name implies, do not have hard shells but tough leathery pads on their backs. Common to the Caribbean area, Leatherbacks are the largest of all sea turtles, reaching up to 7ft in length and 5ft in width once they reach maturity. Curiously, Leatherbacks have no fear of man and like dolphins will sometimes approach a human to see what they're doing or to steal a bit of food. This coupled with their immense size and strength actually supports Mr. Gibb's seemingly wild tale about Jack taming sea turtles and then riding away on them!/