Title: Pulling Teeth
Pairings/Characters: Jack/Mercer, Jack/Norrington
Disclaimer: I don't own POTC; all belongs to Elliott, Rossio...
Warnings: violence/abuse, rape
Summary: Accidents will happen, but this time he can't get up.
A/N: Inspired by Green Day's "Pulling Teeth," which the title came from as well and summary based closely off a lyric in it. I couldn't resist another plot bunny to beat up Jack a little. Gets a little fluffy at the end though...
It had been a few weeks since the hellish man discovered him and already his face was battered beyond recognition. He would most likely not be identified by those who knew him. No longer did he wear his breeches or anything else – they were always removed when the time came. And even though his shirt reached almost to his knees, he still pulled on it in an attempt to stretch it to cover more of himself.
The tan skin was marred with contusions ranging in color from purple, to black, to blue, to green. Cuts covered him from head to toe. His left wrist flopped about, making him hold it to his chest numerous times throughout the day. The fingers on both hands pointed every which way from being displaced. His cheeks were swollen from the fractures; his right ankle was sprained. The musty atmosphere and dust of the gloomy, upper-room dwelling aggravated his eyes and caused them to produce more tears of suffering.
He weakly crawled to the single window on the opposite side of the area and looked down at the street below. It was crowded with people bustling about on their daily routine. He had given up calling for help; no one heard. No one knew he was locked in the attic of the man's house, abandoned. He could only cry in solitude.
The footsteps sounded before he heard the key turn in the lock. Hurriedly, he attempted to creep back to his designated space, but failed to do so before the man entered. Nothing was said – just the noises of distress stemmed from the vicious kicks to his beaten frame. He was soon where he was supposed to be, sprawled out helplessly and bleeding once again.
The resemblance between a mercenary and Mercer was growing apparent to him with each waking moment.
The captive's shirt was hoisted upward to his torso, revealing the famished abdomen and bony body of Jack Sparrow. He had lost hope in fighting his captor off. Instead, he simply laid on his back, allowed his legs to be lifted and parted, and for Mercer to position himself over him.
He bit his lip as a whimper emitted itself from him the instant Mercer powerfully penetrated him. Tightly, he shut his eyes and attempted to eliminate the grunts from above from his ears. He trembled and breathed heavily as the propulsions within him grew more intense and relentless. It always felt as if Mercer was trying to rip him from the inside out. More crystal tears trickled down his dirty, flushed cheeks. He detested the utter humiliation that engulfed him from being degraded horribly.
Mercer pounded into him with tremendous force, and Jack could not ease the pain from being shoved upward with each thrust. The rough wood floor scratched his fragile skin and put unwanted pressure on several of his sensitive bruises.
At last Mercer climaxed inside him, and it created a feeble moan to escape Jack's swollen, busted lips. He was left lying on the floor alone, entirely exhausted. It was all he could really do; he was too drained to move.
"Save me," he whispered pathetically. "Please, someone."
A week passed, finding Jack hunched in a corner nursing his wounds. He glanced over the many injuries and at his snapped wrist. The sensation of it being on fire had subsided since he acquired it, but it still agonized him. The ankle swelled immensely. In addition to the rest, he had a new wound to worry over. His right shoulder had been bashed and abused to where it came out of its socket.
He wished that he could slip into unconsciousness.
Footsteps could be heard coming up the stairs toward the door. He inhaled a rattling breath and mentally prepared himself for the maltreatment that was to come.
However, it was not Mercer who walked into the darkened space.
He watched with intense suspicion as the person treaded to him. Once the man was closer, Jack realized him immediately.
"Don't worry. I will get you away from here. My name is James Norrington; I'm an Admiral in the Royal Navy. We'll get you help."
Jack's lips quirked into a faint smile. "I know you."
James' expression morphed into slight shock. "Do I know you then?"
The pirate nodded. "Yes. Hello, Jamie."
James' mouth dropped open and he was silent for a brief period. "Jack? Jack Sparrow?"
"Not lookin' me best, am I?"
"Oh Lord, Jack. What…..How did you get here?"
"He found me in Tortuga and brought me here in shackles. Said he was goin' to finally make me meet my end. I thought he meant the gallows. Never even crossed me mind he would' take matters in his own hands."
The Admiral's features softened even more as sympathy twisted him. "Jack…..Even I wouldn't be this cruel. I hope you know that."
"I do. You're a good man, James. Just a bit of a stiff, that's all." He attempted to wink, yet his eye was swollen too much.
James grinned and he brushed Jack's hair away from his face. "I'll take care of you. I promise."
"It's good to hear. I'm yours to track down anyway. No one else's."
A chuckle came from James before his gaze met the pirate's shoulder. The light cheerfulness vanished as worry swept over him. Jack followed the path of his eyes and stared at him dejectedly.
"May I take a look at it?" the Navy gentleman inquired.
Jack pulled the upper right portion of his shirt lower to reveal his displaced bone. Fingertips ghosted over the area as James studied it.
"I have an idea, but it is going to hurt."
Jack let go of the fabric and said hoarsely, "Let's do it."
Jack obeyed and James took the man's right hand in his. The Admiral gripped the forearm securely and placed his palm on Jack's back.
"Brace yourself, all right?" he spoke warily. "On the count of three. One. Two."
James tugged strongly, making Jack practically scream in misery. The bone did not resituate itself.
"I'll have to do it again."
Jack was gasping for air and tears trickled from his eyes. But he nodded in agreement.
"One. Two. Three."
James repeated his action more fiercely. Jack wailed boisterously. It popped into place.
"There. It's done."
James released the hand from his grasp and waited patiently as Jack composed himself. The pirate moved to face his company once more and curled up against his chest. It caught James off guard, but he did not refuse him.
"My fingers, Jamie," Jack stated almost inaudibly. He held up his hands and winced from the appalled gasp that came from James.
"Do…..do you want me to now?"
"Just get it over with," he said desperately.
The knuckles were grotesquely out of their proper places. James took hold of the left wrist and clasped the index finger.
"Are you ready?"
Jack nodded and shut his eyes.
A cracking noise was heard followed by a muffled shriek. It sounded four more times before a period of stillness crept over the room. James cradled Jack to him and comforted the man as he wept. He was not sure that Jack would be able to handle having the right fingers corrected at that time.
"It's all right, Jack. You're fine. I'll take care of you," he whispered into the pirate's dark mane.
"Please don't leave me, Jamie," Jack forced out between his fierce sobs.
"I won't. I promise. I promise."
James wanted to laugh at the irony of the situation – embracing and tending to a pirate, someone he vowed to have brought to justice – but he refrained due to the severity he found Jack in. He did not wish such horrendous treatment on this captain or anyone. In addition he had grown fond of the pirate and the contest between them. Jack was right.
Captain Sparrow was his to chase and his alone to have.