Continues from A Sorta Fairytale.

He'd followed the Hero Formula to the letter:

STEP ONE: ORPHAN
Abandoned by his father's disappearance and his mother's death, Will Turner had started early fulfilling the path some self-righteous god with a sense of humor had laid out for him. True to form, he'd grown up poor, honest, hard-working, and largely unnoticed.

STEP TWO: CHANGELING
The boy's formative years had been filled with back-breaking work, which he alternated with learning blades and his letters. He found the object of what would become his Heroic Quest, an outspoken young lady born too high for him. This meant, of course, that he would eventually have her, only having to traverse Hell's borders and back—and her father's disapproving stare—to get her.

STEP THREE: HERO
Having found his hero's feet at last, Will had moved in them swiftly, but never quite shook off the clay anchoring his soles—which might have explained why they slowed and, eventually, mired to such degree that he had to slip out and run for his very sanity.

STEP FOUR: _____________

Bitterly, Will stared at the page, the harsh black line he'd drawn and traced over several times. There was no such thing as a fourth step, it seemed; this was why all the stories ended at the good place.

Slamming the journal shut, he set his jaw and nodded when the serving girl signaled for another ale. While he hadn't quite taken up Gibbs's level of imbibing, Will Turner had finally learned the value of alcohol and partook regularly. He forced a smile as she brought it over, shyly setting the overflowing tankard before him, trying to force eye contact before his reticence and dismissive posture—and a coin—sent her away.

*****

Not thirty minutes later, Will pulled on his coat and stepped out into the blustery night. Unlike everyone else dodging sparse snowflakes, he paused, turning his face up into the cold. Too long he'd existed in that Caribbean hell, melting beneath the sun and humidity; here in the Colonies, he was relearning the pleasures of winter, anonymous and sharply painful. Already he was forgetting everyone's faces.

That night, he treated himself to a bath in one of his few indulgences, a spacious tub which he'd bought with a space beneath for heated rocks. First, he washed out his clothes piece by piece, hanging each over the clothesline above his anvil, then he slid into the tub and took advantage of the mostly-clean water, which had cooled enough by that time to be bearable on his skin.

He was half asleep when some jingling and the rustle of fabric made him crack an eye to his left. Will supposed he ought to be surprised to find Jack standing there, but he was less jarred than annoyed. "What," he said simply, curtly, closing his eye.

"You know how dif'cult you are to find, mate?"

Will ignored the way that rumbling, gravelly voice made his skin prickle all over. "If I wanted to be found, I'd have put out a shingle," he answered. "You're awfully far off course. Don't you turn into a snowman below seventy degrees?"

"I've been looking for you for three years."

"Congratulations. There's some rum in the cabinet. Take it, get out."

A soft, yet harsh, chuckle. "You don't make it easy on a man, do ye?" Will ignored the comment, hoping his silence conveyed his contempt.

But Jack got something else entirely from it. "You've tucked yourself away here all this time," he began. "Avoiding the real world. Avoiding any of us."

"Figure I'm entitled to what I want, seeing as I'm the reason you're all still alive and going your merry ways," he snapped, unable to keep the bitter edge from his words. "I'd really like you to leave."

"Can't do that, mate." He felt a presence, and cracked his eyelid again as Jack settled on his knees next to the tub, peering over the side. "Didn't come all this way t' take orders from you." He paused. "Came t' save you."

"I don't need saving," Will automatically answered, weary. "Didn't then; don't now. Can do it myself if I do. Goodbye."

The pirate sighed. "Aren't you just a bit tired of bein' the strong, silent type who rides in to ever'one's salvation? Wouldn't you rather be interesting?"

"Jack, get the fuck out of my home." Will's words were hot. "It's not much, but I've had enough of you making little of it."

"Get up and throw me out." Jack waited quietly; Will could hear only the in and out of his breathing. "You won't do it. You're too proper an' mannerly to do that. You couldn' even do what you should've, and either hit me or told Lizzie to screw off, or both. So, you left without a word, hidin' yourself."

Will leaned his head back against the tub's lip. "You got your ship back, Norrington got his life, and Elizabeth got out from under society's thumb. Even Father got to move on," he murmured, remembering how relieved the elder Turner had been to simply die and accept whatever place he was due in the afterlife. "I'd say everyone came out just dandy, Jack."

"You like this life? This minimalist, isolated, lonely existence?" Will tried to ignore him. "Enough that you won't even take a bit of company from a serving girl when she's practically jumpin' into your lap?"

"Get out." Will moved quickly, gathering his feet and standing almost as fast as he could speak. "I want you gone, Jack." When the man backed up only a few paces and stopped, staring, Will scowled. "What?"

Slowly, Jack raised his eyes, raking Will's body, and paused at Will's fierce gaze. "Just enjoyin' the view, love."

Will narrowed his eyes sharply, then his expression relaxed. "Ahh, I see," he nodded, stepping out of the tub and reaching for the towel to swipe at his skin. "Everybody wants to fuck Jack Sparrow, right? Nobody escapes the legend." Tossing down the towel, he used his body to back Jack against a post. "Well, tell me, then; how was she?"

"Huh?" He was highly pleased to note Jack looked uncomfortable; apparently the Hero wasn't allowed to find and use his own (admittedly ambiguous) sexuality, even if the Damsel could.

"Since I didn't get to fuck Elizabeth and you did, you tell me how she was." Will ignored the heat rising in his own body, the way the cuffs of Jack's coat brushed his chest as the man's hands lifted as if to ward off the blacksmith. "Was it good? Did she come all over you?"

"William—"

"Better, you can show me." He covered that damned incessant mouth, pushed at Jack's greatcoat, and nearly laughed with contempt when he found no resistance.

*****

Each morning, Will woke with Jack pressed to his back, or his face in Jack's neck or hair. He never inhaled deeply, never woke the man for lovemaking, and never lingered beyond what it took to come to full alertness. Too much work to do, largely for himself. He didn't know what Jack did during the day—he'd leave the shop, come back, sit somewhat hunched over some parchment or foolscap and a quill or charcoal, unmolested by Will until such time as one of them took a notion to fuck.

The smith didn't consider it odd, what they did, nor what they didn't do. His fiancée's little liaison with the pirate hadn't inspired in him the urge to beat the shit out of Jack, after all—he expected the man to seize opportunity at every turn, to be loyal as the moment suited him. After all, as he himself had pointed out, Captain Jack Sparrow was a legend to be added to, to be known briefly and then talked about for years after. Will was simply playing satellite to Jack's star, and he knew as much.

After a few weeks, Jack broached the idea of Will joining his crew. Will shrugged, then went back to his work—this, too, would pass.

A few days after that, little gifts began to crop up. First, Will found a rather good likeness of himself at work, the paper tucked beneath a project he'd been finishing up for the constable's eldest son about to be commissioned. Other sketches would appear, as would small objects such as tools and small gems, or a bit of candy.

One night, as he buggered Jack, he leaned over the man's shoulder, into his ear. "Quit stealing from the townsfolk," he gritted, hands hard on Jack's hips.

"Didn' steal ... a thing," the pirate responded, gripping the edge of the tabletop.

"Oh, so stuff just wanders in here on its own?"

"I work for it, you arse," Jack snapped mildly, more interested in pushing his back onto Will. "Trade art ... Jesus buggery, anyhow. Not stupid 'nough to pilfer from me own back yard."

Will believed him. It would be too easy to prove him wrong, and as yet, nobody had showed up with pitchfork and torch demanding Jack's head on a pike. In fact, he'd been disconcerted with just how well the citizens of this small burg had taken to Jack. The few with whom Will had had contact since Jack's arrival thought the pirate—newly bathed and more subtle in appearance than his usual high-seas countenance—was an eccentric relative staying with the blacksmith, a vastly amusing uncle from the Old Country or some such. Good thing I keep the shop door latched, he mused, recalling the time he'd insisted Jack bend him over his own anvil.

"So," he mused aloud some time later, when they were both staring up at the ceiling on Will's bed, "why all the gifts, then?"

The other man was quiet a moment. "Why does one usually present gifts to a prospective mate, hmm?"

"Are we monkeys, Jack?"

"Don't mention simians." The quick comeback made Will laugh, for more than a few seconds, the first time in an awfully long stretch of time. It felt good, to say the least. Jack waited until the smith was quiet again, then repeated, "Why would I give you gifts, William?"

"You want me to go with you when you leave." There'd never been any question about whether Jack would stay—this was land, after all, and cold at that.

"Aye, and you sort of shrugged a' me." Jack turned onto his side to look at Will. "Never gave an answer."

"Why does it matter, anyway? She's late getting back, by what you told me when she'd be here." Jack said nothing, and it was Will's turn to swivel his head toward him. "Right?" He wondered if something was wrong; Jack claimed to be able to listen to the blessed (literally) ship, and while Will hadn't believed him, he secretly wondered if there was something to it. "Is Pearl alright?"

Jack kept studying him a few seconds longer, then answered. "Made port a week ago. Told Gibbs to set sail again, come back in a month."

Will nearly asked why, but was quieted by the intensity of those onyx eyes. "You ought to've said something," he chided.

"I've no desire to have someone by force, love. Persuasion's fine, but 's got to be the pleasant kind."

Something in his voice made Will shift to his side to face him. One time, Jack had offered to talk about Elizabeth, but he'd had no desire—or, rather, he'd quashed it. "Tell me what happened with her," he sighed. "All of it."

"Lass told ye the truth." He recalled that Jack had been standing not far in the background the last time he'd seen his ex-fiancée. Elizabeth had been by turns angry and resigned, oddly resolute as she'd confessed everything done to ensure Will's safety, to avenge him.

"Maybe you have a right to be angry," she'd finally nodded. "I'm not perfect; I did what I could think to, at the time."

Will had laughed more harshly than he intended, biting off each word as he'd faced her. "By resorting to sex?" He'd shaken his head. "Why did you want to learn the sword and pistol, and dagger, if you were just going to fall back on the tricks every other woman has?"

"That is precisely it!" she'd snapped. "Because I have them—"

"Doesn't mean you should always use them!" he'd finished.

She'd narrowed her eyes. "You have no idea what it's like being a woman."

"Rather glad of that," he'd retorted, "if it means I'll never have to rub up against someone to get my own way!" Before she could speak, he'd shaken his head. "No, Elizabeth ... just, no. I've done everything for you, and now I'm the one who'll lose everything. You have a father to go back to, a country—for you, this life is a whim, a choice. For me, it's a certainty, now. That's the difference between us that you've never understood." He'd glanced between her and the pirate standing several feet in the background, pretending to find his own dirty fingernails fascinating. "Or you can go with him. Sure Jack can always use another able-bodied hand."

The last thing he remembered of Elizabeth was that expression of consternation at his double entendre as he turned away—even then, he'd known her archest desire wasn't a supporting role or to have Jack Sparrow. He hadn't actually addressed his real source of anger about the whole fiasco: Shackling Jack to his own ship like prey food for a dragon. Jack was an obfuscating son of a bitch, but never one who'd deliberately left either of them for dead. "You expect me to believe that."

"Have I ever lied t' you under direct questioning?"

"Did you or did you not have relations with my fiancée? Wait—" Will shook his head. "Let me rephrase: Did you, or would you have, if given better opportunity?"

"Unfair questioning tactics," Jack grumbled, and Will had half his answer. "Didn' do a thing with the strumpet that couldn' take place above decks in full view of God and ever'one."

Will turned onto his back again. He was still just naïve enough to admit he'd hoped Jack would tell him there'd been no feeling between him and Elizabeth, but this was Jack, after all. And Elizabeth had always been restless. And had he really been surprised at that kiss? "All right; I'll go." Truthfully, he'd been getting restless, wondering what the rest of the world was up to in his absence. "On the condition that I get my own space for a forge—you savvy?"

"Think we might be able t' find a spot for ye," Jack assented, tucking closer to Will's side.

"I mean it, Jack. I'm not a bloody cabin boy."

"Aye, love," the older man chuffed, something like fondness in his rumbling tone. "How well I know."

*****

STEP FOUR: _____________

Will stared at the creased page in his journal the next morning, sitting up in bed with a mug of tea next to his new captain, still asleep. Carefully, he filled in the blank: Being human.