Work Text:
Will had never in his life before hated a person with such fueled anger. He turned his already rather marked back, marked from work and life, to his father and refused to acknowledge him in any way. Nor would he give Davy Jones the satisfaction of letting him see how it hurt, to be betrayed thus badly by his own blood. By a father who Will had thought dead for the past few years. He was still trying to process the shock of seeing his father in the flesh. He was overcome with conflicting emotions. At the one hand he was overjoyed to find out that his father was still alive, on the other hand he was sure he would rather prefer his father to have died all those years ago, opposed to the fate his father had given himself. As soon as the first lashing was handed out, Will was sure of his resentment towards his father. His back bowed unwillingly and he felt betrayed by his very own body to have allowed Davy Jones to see this sign of weakness, of vulnerability, of mortality. Above the roaring waves he could have sworn he could hear the man who dared to claim to be his father bite back a cry, however Will was certain he had imagined this during the heights of pain as the second lashing struck down unforgivingly on his skin. He could feel it fray at the edge and split, tear and rip open and apart.
He could feel, among the caressing and yet plundering waves that crashed over the ship and the crew, thick, warm liquid trickle down his back and stain not only his clothing but also his memories with both pain and blood. He did not know what hurt more, the betrayal of his father's deceased self that suddenly had not been claimed by the sea at all, or the very fact that his father was currently giving him forty lashings, even if it had been in command of a higher power. He did not understand why his father- no, Bootstrap Bill, had voluntarily offered to hurt his very own flesh and blood. Was that how little Will meant to him? His very own son? His flesh and blood? The little boy in William grew even more cold-hearted than he already was, which he had grown to be after watching his father leave his mother millions of times and not even daring to look into his direction.
William Turner did not know if the salt he tasted on the tip of his tongue was from the unrelenting waves that threw themselves to their death against the side of the ship, or the silent tears that ran down his face. He was grateful of this unruly weather as he could hide another sign of weakness from all prospectors and could, just for a short moment, find a brief reprieve. As the lashing continue to bore down on his back, he allowed his mind to briefly wander to other places, kind places where he felt safe and loved and cherished. He imagined his love's arms around him as he pressed her against the wall in a deserted alley where no-one would, nor could, disturb them as they shared a brief embrace and harshly whispered declarations of undying love for one another. He called to mind his love's wonderful brown eyes, the ones who managed to stare straight into his soul and capture him, though was it capture if he was completely willing and so very ready to surrender his all to her? Her honey browned skin that appeared to be so frail and delicate, but turned out to be strong and comforting and welcoming, he still marveled at every part of her skin she was willing to reveal to him, how she showed no shyness or discomfort as she had allowed him to take off her dress and stood in front of him, wearing nothing but a simple, sheer, white chemise. How his hands and mouth had made their way down her stomach, and how he had pulled back, even though the two of them were heaving and ready. How he had pressed another lingering kiss on the space between her ribs, right over her heart that beat to the same melody as his own, and told her he would wait until their wedding, since he had no ill intentions of ruining her reputation among those high up in society. He remembered every sound she had made as he made his way nearly all the way down her body, how her lithe fingers had wound up in his hair and how her breaths kept forcing themselves out of her chest in a most harsh manner. How low her voice had sounded when she had called out for him and pushed forth wanton sounds from her deep within , that showed him her love. He had reveled in every sound that had willingly and unwillingly escaped her lips. He imagined his fingers trailing down her stomach, all the way down, he imagined the sounds she would make then, when his fingers found a different kind of mouth. He imagined how she would wrap her arms around him as he led her down a path of marital bliss. Her hair falling over shoulders and his chest. How her luscious lips would fall open and whisper her love for him, among his name. He reminisced about how her full, rosy lips felt against his own.
As the whip came down on his back once more he truly felt stupid that he had wanted the both of them to wait until the wedding night. They should have gone further and beyond, he was an absolute idiot for stopping when she had wanted him to so badly, and had been ready to accept him so fully. He cursed himself for being such a decent man, for this first and only time in his life. He truly feared that he would never see his most beloved Elizabeth again and that thought alone drove him mad with grief.
A sudden moment of clarity from the sound of the whip lashing out at his back. The thunder that roared overhead and the crack of teeth that gnawed and grinded amongst one another. In this moment he knew he had and would do whatever it would take to be reunited with his lady love again. He also knew in this moment of sobriety through a dazed pain that this had been his fortieth lash, that it was over now. He willed himself not to slump down as he was released and tried with all his might to remain upright. The other crew members and Davy Jones himself, disappeared within seconds, now that all the 'fun' was over. They returned to their stations and posts and continued on as if nothing had happened.
The back of his shirt was open and the salt water that rained down on him from the skies and all sides, over the sides of the ship, stung his open back and he managed once more, to remain upright. His father turned to him and opened his mouth before closing it again. He almost looked sorry for him, but Will pushed that thought away.
He had learned after all, that his father did not care for him, he had vowed to Elizabeth on the very day he had asked her to be his wife and join their lives together for the rest of time, that he would be a much better father to any of their children than either of their fathers had been.