#jack getting attacked with the trident more serious than it is in the film lmao

[trickstercaptain]

POSEIDON’S TOMB  /  ‘YOU CUT ME YOU CUT THE BOY’ DRABBLE

tl;dr; here i am torching the entire canon version of this scene nearly four years later. it’s actually been a creative urge of mine for a while to revisit this part of dmtnt, but i finally got around to it after a little nudge from @lighthouseborn and therefore this is specifically dedicated to hannah <3

                                                               ~ ~ ~

          If Henry uncharacteristically barrelling towards the two of them hadn’t been the first sign of something being amiss, then there were two others: the boy’s speed, and his stance. Henry’s tuition with the blade was something of a patchwork of several different influences back on Shipwreck, one of which being Jack’s own ( whenever the boy wasn’t more content to scrappily solve an altercation with his fists, which was always his go-to preference ). While not being the superior swordsman himself, and having adapted his form and bent the rules of the engagement over the years to suit his own whims, Jack knew the boy’s approaching stance right now was one of somebody who had been schooled in the art of precision fencing for years ---- more akin to the boy’s father or even the man with whom Henry shared a name. It most certainly was not, could not, did not belong to the lad who he’d had to chastise on several occasions for holding a sword more like a blunt instrument than a tool --------------

          No, Jack knew who this was. He didn’t know how it was possible ( when did he ever? ), but he knew.

          The next few seconds passed by in a blur. Jack could only remember drawing his own blade, shoving Carina aside, and throwing himself forward ( in a rash move that would no doubt win him both Henry and William’s approval ) to meet Henry’s first strike with a shattering clash that rung out throughout the length of Poseidon’s tomb.

          The fact of the matter was that Captain Salazar was a much better swordsman than him. He also had the benefit of years on Jack if he was indeed using Henry as some sort of vessel, as well as a seething, roiling anger at the supposed injustice dealt to him that would see his stamina extend further than it might have done otherwise. These were all the things that Jack was sizing up as he went through the motions, parrying each blow as it arrived, trying to figure out his strategy to buy Carina enough time to get herself over to the trident and solve the final part of her diary.

          And then there were the things not to size up, but to swallow down and put to the back of his mind. That this was Henry staring him down with the look of a man who had wanted him dead for decades. That this was a familiar, always warm, always loving set of brown eyes now regarding him with such contempt. It was difficult to meet them and not contemplate the less rational questions of the moment. How Salazar had accomplished this. How Jack might even start to think about reversing it. Whether there was a chance in Hell that the Trident might in fact help matters, not make them worse.

          How he was planning to live with himself should the unimaginable happen.

         The last question was enough to re-align his thoughts like tacking a sail back to windward. Emotion made you vulnerable to mistakes and sloppiness. Much like Salazar’s anger exposed his own weak spots. And, as Jack raised his blade to block another blow and, in doing so, push the boy away from him, he spotted the opening.

          It was a mere flesh wound, a nick across the boy’s cheek in the hope that it would enlighten him as to the limits of this particular brand of magic. But perhaps that in itself had been too great a risk to take given the potential consequences. Perhaps it was too reckless. Too callous. Particularly when the halt in Salazar’s counter-strike, and the words he levelled back at him made the blood turn to ice in his veins.

                  “ You cut me, you cut the boy, Jack. ”

          Jack faltered, and Salazar advanced. With every frantic block and step backwards, all he could focus on was the way his freshly-inflicted cut blended in with the mottled, cracked flesh on the side of Henry’s face. On the side of Salazar’s face. Despite the confirmation that was lodging itself somewhere in the levelheaded part of his mind that the two of them were now one, now connected, the conclusion he subsequently reached of this making the Spanish captain human was meaningless. Not when he could see that fresh mark on that face, and could feel the revulsion rising in him that he was the one to put it there.

         Jack didn’t care how fallible this made him. Not when the fallibility was Henry’s. So, that left him no choice but to try a different approach, and summon up the guile from somewhere to make it convincing.

        “ Shame that he won’t let you kill me. ” Said with much more confidence than he felt as he planted his feet and met Salazar’s blade with another loud clang. Leaning towards the gap between their crossed blades, Jack lowered his voice. “ He’s still in there, Capitán, Kicking and screaming and attempting to thwart all that you’ve fantasised about for years. ” At least, he hoped that Henry was in there still. If he was, then he most certainly was fighting, and perhaps that meant that this assumption wasn’t entirely --- well, an assumption. “ Reckon that makes it two against one, and I don’t fancy your odds on this one, mate. ”

         It seemed to anger him. Salazar --- or rather, Henry ---- pushed Jack away with his blade and, with a cry of frustration, renewed his offensive. The back of Jack’s boot came into contact with a coral rock, and as he carefully stepped around it, he only just managed to parry the force of his opponent’s next blow. “ Did he make me do this, Jack Sparrow? ” He swung again, with even more power this time --- and for the first time Jack caught sight of the man’s crew at the ocean’s edge, waiting on both sides of where it had parted to reveal Poseidon’s tomb. “ Or this? ”

          The distraction was the first time Jack had let his guard down. It took a moment for the injury to register: a slash from just below the nape of Jack’s neck to his collarbone, but when he spotted the blood soaking through his shirt and waistcoat the potential severity of it became clear. How many times had he aimed for the same area, hoping to sever the vein that would swiftly put an end to a fight? Of all the people to think of in that moment, Jack saw Robby Greene’s face in his mind’s eye, and the warning he’d given him after his first duel to the death.

          If that had gone an inch or two deeper, you’d have been lying there dead, right beside Christophe.

         Was this how he would come full circle? Certainly, in this case, he very much hoped that it hadn’t gone any deeper ---- and for now, the adrenaline was stopping the wound from doing little more than stinging at the spray from the rushing ocean beside them. The more concerning matter at present was his own laboured breathing, in comparison to Henry who was barely breaking a sweat. He was half-tempted to glance over his shoulder and verbalise his frustration at being the only one here to pull his weight. Has Carina not worked the bloody thing out yet?

           Whatever was going on behind him, Jack was running out of options for the problem in front.

           “ Then why make it a fight at all? ” He noticed that Salazar’s ( or was that Henry’s? ) gaze was, for the moment, preoccupied with the growing bloodstain on his shirt, giving Jack enough space to briefly catch his breath. To glance around him. To look down at the lightly bloodied sword in his hand and debate his next choice. One that he should have made hours ago, when the Pearl had first encountered the Silent Mary and Salazar’s crew. One that, until now, he’d been too cowardly to make. “ All you’d have to do is let Henry go and I might just stop resisting altogether. ”

            “ No, no no no, Jack, don’t you see? ” There was a peculiar softness in the way the words were spoken, an intimate whisper between the two of them that was the most he’d sounded like Henry since this had started. Salazar didn’t raise his sword to strike again. Instead, he crossed the scant distance between them, and pressed his ( Henry’s ) hand into his blood stained waistcoat. Jack hissed, and fought against the black dots dancing around in his vision, but otherwise didn’t say a word. “ Don’t you see? ”

           Jack might have been forgiven for thinking that there was something kind in Salazar’s expression, then, but it didn’t last. The look on Henry’s face quickly morphed back into rage, and a hand tightened with surely supernatural strength around Jack’s throat.

           As things went, it wasn’t the first time that someone had tried to strangle him, but having had experience of such things never made it easier to resist the urge to struggle. Ringed fingers rose in a desperate attempt to claw the hands ( Henry’s hands ) off of his neck and release his airway, but it ended up not being his efforts at all that spared him. Instead, it was the loud, rushing noise of the Trident being released from its perch; loud enough, and promising enough, it seemed, for Salazar to momentary abandon any desire he may have had to finish Jack off.

            Besides, it wasn’t as if Jack was in much condition to resist being finished off even if he’d wanted to. As the air rushed back into his lungs, so too did the sea floor rush up to greet him. And only when he’d finally pulled himself up into a sitting position, using one of the rocks on the seabed as an aid, could he finally turn his gaze on the commotion at hand: Captain Salazar picking up the Trident, and Henry seeming to slide out of his control and physically collapse at his feet.

          Carina was nowhere to be seen, but he knew where, or indeed whom, the focus of the Trident’s ire was about to be directed towards. He also knew that, physically speaking, he was just about spent.

          He could have rushed to Henry’s aid, but he didn’t fancy his chances of being intercepted before he got there. Or whether he’d even like what he found.

          All he could do, really, was wait. And it took but mere seconds before Salazar’s eye was once again trained on him ---- though this time, more importantly, looking much more reassuringly like his unnervingly ghostly self.

          Jack steeled himself. You’d better have a bloody plan, Carina. He drew a deep breath, carefully pulled himself to his feet, and had just enough time to slip the girl’s diary under his waistcoat. Just below the bleeding wound. Just above his breastbone.

           One final gambit.