Chapter Text
"Captain! Captain!"
The First Lieutenant's voice was breathless and terrified as he came running up to the quarterdeck. His face was pale and his eyes looked as though they were about to pop out of his skull. This wasn't an uncommon look for him, but today he looked even more frightened than usual.
The Captain of El Fantasma Blanco lowered his spyglass, with which he had been searching the horizon in front of them, and surveyed the Lieutenant coldly. He did not approve of emotions on his ship; he had, in fact, expressly forbidden them, and for his senior officer to disobey his command so brazenly was an absolute outrage. He was just contemplating a fitting punishment, whether the cat o' nine tails was enough or if this called for more drastic measures, when the man continued, "Captain, the lookout has caught sight of a ship off the starboard stern. It looks like The Impala, sir!"
All thoughts of whipping and keelhauling were driven out of the Captain's head by those words, along with every drop of blood. The Impala! The most infamous pirate ship to hunt these haunted waters, the stuff of nightmares for any Spanish sailor. Captained by the most ruthless man in this hemisphere and crewed by men as immoral and bloodthirsty as he was, it preyed on Spanish trade ships and war galleons alike, slowly bleeding the profits and the honour out of the Spanish navy, drop by agonising drop. No ship caught in its inexorable sights had ever escaped and few had survived its scourge.
At least no ship had escaped as of yet. The Captain of El Fantasma Blanco squared his shoulders against the cold grip of terror that clutched his stony heart and made a decision. There was no point in running. The black sloop now visible to the naked eye as a shadow cleaving through the waters in their wake was one of the fastest ships in the Caribbean. Able to cross shallows as well as depths it could cut through shoals that would founder the larger, heavier war galleon. No, if they ran, they would only prove an easier target.
No other choice for it then but to, "Stand and fight!" the Captain concluded aloud.
The First Lieutenant stared at him as if he'd lost his mind. "Captain?" His voice quivered with uncertainty and an unmistakable hope that he'd heard wrong. If they did survive this, the Captain decided that the first thing he would do would be to have the man thrown overboard to the sharks. Either that or leave him stranded on one of the many still deserted islands in this area. Perhaps he could find some friendly tribe of cannibals willing to entertain a guest for dinner.
With an evil smirk that caused the First Lieutenant's face to turn an ashen grey and his lower lip to tremble, the Captain repeated slowly and clearly, "We're going to stand and fight! Turn the ship around! It's time we rid these waters of this infernal plague."
*****
"I think they're turning around!" Sam's voice was amused and he grinned behind the spyglass pressed to one of his eyes. Dean was happy to see that his brother had finally learned to take pleasure in their job. The first year that Sam had spent on-board The Impala, his sad puppy-eyes and wistful smile whenever anyone mentioned port had made it clear that he still longed for the "normal" life that he had been forced to give up.
Now, three years later, Sam was almost as eager to hunt down enemy ships as Dean was. The hunt was in his blood and there was no resisting its lure. The rush of adrenaline, the crews' shouts and jeers, the cannons firing, the ships crashing together, the ringing of steel against steel as swords were drawn... It was the biggest thrill in the world!
Of course, it only became better when the other ship decided to face the odds and fight against their inevitable fate. No true hunter found pleasure in killing a sitting duck. No, it was in the challenge of slaying a fierce predator that the honour lay and this time, it looked as though they'd cornered themselves a lion.
"All right, men!" Dean called out. "It's high time to ready to those cannons!"
His command echoed along the deck and the already busy crew almost fell over themselves, hurrying to obey. Dean turned to Sam. "Ready, Sammy?"
His brother nodded, still grinning widely and for once not objecting to the nickname. Walking over to the stairs that led down from the quarterdeck, he made his way onto the main deck and began navigating smoothly among the bustling crew, overseeing their work. Dean remained standing on the quarterdeck, keeping a watchful eye on his crew and calling out the occasional orders.
"Rufus, round shots to begin with. We don't need to spare the ship. This one is going down."
"Aye, aye, Captain!"
"Bobby, get those kegs moving before I stuff you in one and throw it overboard!"
"I'd like to see you try - erm, I mean, aye, aye, Captain... Idjit... Sir!"
"Gordon, I keep telling you: Save the bundle shots for when we're closer! Listen to Rufus!"
"Aye, aye, Capt'n!"
"Ellen, you keep telling me you can steer this ship as well as any man! Now prove it!"
"Aye, aye, Captain! Then will you ask your giant of a brother to stop breathing down my neck?"
"Only when you get your fool daughter out from under our feet! Get back down below deck, Jo! I've no time to protect your cute little behind!"
"Aye, aye, Captain Pig!"
"Bad luck to have a woman on-board, Captain, let alone two!"
"Don't I know it, Ash! You want to try throwing them off?"
"Hell no, Captain, sir!"
"Didn't think so! Keep up the good work, men!"
"And women!"
"Joanna Beth!"
"Aye, aye, Mum! I'm going!"
Satisfied that everyone knew what they were doing, Dean stood back and watched his crew work. He knew that his last-minute orders were largely unnecessary. After all this time that they had served together, the crew was highly autonomous. Still, he liked to be among them at the beginning of a fight, making himself seen and heard. Years of watching his father run a ship had taught him that few things heightened crew morale as having their Captain present and active when going into battle. It was why they followed him, because they knew that he would always be the first one into the fray and the last one to retreat.
His musings were suddenly interrupted by a loud boom and a shout, "Cannon fire!"
Hurriedly raising his eyes, Dean saw the black balls soar through the air towards them, but before he even had time to react, The Impala swerved, deftly slicing through the waves as though she were a part of them, until they were no longer in the line of fire.
"Nice sailing, Ellen! Men, our friends over there have offered us their salute. Are we really so rude as to not return it?"
Grins broke out across the ship as the men recognised his order to engage. Rufus's cry of "Fire!" echoed through the air, swiftly followed by the roar of their own cannons.
*****
The battle that followed was swift, bloody and devastating - at least for the Spaniards. When it was all over, the Spanish Captain, a cowardly fellow who'd done his best to stay hidden during the fighting and who had then tried to abandon ship, knelt at the point of Sam's cutlass. His First Lieutenant, who had displayed far more honour and bravery, knelt at his side with Bobby's flintlock pistol aimed at his head. What remained of the Spanish crew had been surrounded and were sitting in a shuddering huddle in the middle of their main deck, awaiting their judgement. Some were weeping, others glared defiantly at their conquerors, while others still just stared blankly in front of them.
Dean knew what they were expecting, knew his reputation for leaving no survivors. He had helped cultivate it, after all, knowing that notoriety was a pirate's best weapon. How many ships had surrendered as soon as they recognised the sleek, black sloop and read the name on the escutcheon? Contrary to rumour, however, Dean was definitely one of the most merciful pirates ever to sail the Caribbean and the crew had but little to fear from him. Those who would not join his own crew would be set adrift in lifeboats along one of the main trade routes, where another ship would be sure to find them.
As for the Captain and his First Lieutenant, however, that was another matter entirely. Dean was so tired of seeing crews like these, beaten down and worn out, driven to work beyond their limits through fear and pain. It always seemed to be the same on all the ships they boarded, regardless of size or nationality. The royal navies would find some sadistic megalomaniac to captain their crews, then turned a blind eye on the atrocities committed on-board their ships, as long as they produced results. Then they wondered why some of their crews mutinied, when the real wonder was why so many of them did not. If Dean had tried to captainThe Impala with anything resembling "navy discipline," he'd have been walking the plank long ago.
Looking down at the snivelling mess of a man that posed as Captain of El Fantasma Blanco, Dean was filled with nothing but contempt. The snivelling coward had actually tried to run, leaving his crew behind. Sighing heavily, Dean turned towards his men and called out, "Gordon!" When Gordon came up to him, Dean gestured towards the Captain. "Have fun!" he said.
The Captain, while unable to understand the words, plainly understood the gesture, which was emphasised by Gordon's widening grin and cruel gaze. Casting aside any shred of dignity, he threw himself at Dean's feet, sobbing and gibbering in terror. This was the bit that Dean hated. It always made him feel weak. He raised one hand at Gordon, who was evidently expecting it, since his grin had transformed into an aggravated frown.
"Wait!" Dean told him.
Hesitating, he turned to look at Sam, who gave him a complicated face involving eyebrow-wriggling, lip-quirking and nose-twitching, as well as a number of other things Dean could not begin to define. The message seemed to be, "You're my brother and I will always stand beside you. You are also our Captain and the decision of what to do with this vermin belongs to you. However, I would like to remind you that we should not lower ourselves to his level." Sam had a very expressive face. He also had a very annoying habit of concurring with that pesky little voice in Dean's head that he had labelled "Conscience! Do not open at risk of appearing human!" With an even heavier sigh, Dean waved a growling Gordon away and turned to his Quartermaster.
"Bobby," he said. "You wouldn't happen to have any job befitting a former Captain of the Spanish Navy, would you?"
Bobby twirled his grizzled beard contemplatively. "You know, now that you mention it, Garth has mentioned something about needing a hand peeling spuds. I think that might do well to begin with."
Dean shrugged. "It'll have to. All right, men, gather them up and bring them over to The Impala. Bobby, take some men below and see if there's any loot worth keeping. Sam, have a look at The Impala and let me know what the damage is. Also, tell Ellen to plot a course of Port Royal. I think we've deserved a bit fun after this, don't you?"
Hearing his words, the crew let out a loud "Huzzah!" and hurried to comply with his orders. While overseeing their work, Dean allowed himself to get lost in ideas of his less pleasant prospects once they reached port. It was time to see Governor Zachariah again and report on his progress. These meetings were definitely the downside of having obtained a Letter of Marque.
Still, if he was lucky, Anna would be there. The Governor's beautiful niece and ward took pleasure in shocking the stuck-up prigs that made up Port Royal's aristocracy and she had made it a habit to invite Dean along to their balls whenever he came into port. Dean did not particularly enjoy dancing, but he did enjoy the looks on those powdered and rouged faces when they saw him among them, especially since they could not openly object. He was there by Anna's invitation and an insult against him was perceived as an insult against her, which was something that no one who wanted to keep well with Governor could afford. Sometimes Dean loved the intricate games of polite society, specifically when he could use them against its players.
Smirking to himself, Dean went to help his crew carry the barrels of fine wine that they had found in El Fantasma Blanco's cargo hold over to The Impala.