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They stab the heart together.
Jones didn’t notice them putting their swords through each other’s hearts. He couldn’t hear their gasps over the wind and rain and his own pride.
He notices this.
He turns, unbelieving, and they glare up at him, triumphant despite Will’s body and their panting, desperate breaths. Their hands shake, fingers curled around Will’s limp grasp. Jack smirks and Elizabeth sneers and Jones’ gaze turns faraway. A gust of wind staggers him backwards, and he whispers Calypso’s name one last time before toppling over the rail, into the maelstrom.
They turn to each other. The Dutchman is tilting, wind howling and rope snapping. The depths are calling.
“Jack . . .” Elizabeth breathes.
Sparrow musters up a wink that turns into a pained grimace. “See you on the other side, love.” He glances down at Will and pulls a face. “Loves,” he amends. He gasps and falls back on his elbows.
Elizabeth reaches out a trembling hand to press against his heart, careful not to jostle the blade that pierces it. Jack looks up at her, the light in his eyes fading, and haltingly slumps down on the deck beside Will. She keeps her hand pressed against him all the way down. Even in sleep, the Sparrow has never looked so still.
He should never look so still.
A part of the railing snaps off as the ship jerks to the left, and she clutches her breast as Jack’s splintered sword moves inside of her. She’s panting, dizzy.
“Part of the ship, part of the crew.”
She looks up, vision fading, and the last thing Captain Elizabeth Swann sees in her mortal life is the glint of Bill Turner’s blade.