Jack Sparrow did not wake up smoothly.
Sound came first—muffled, distant, like waves crashing against the inside of his skull. Then sensation. A dull ache ran through his body, but most of it concentrated in his arms, a deep, bone-weary soreness that made even the thought of movement unpleasant.
And then there was a voice.
A woman's voice. Low, accented, irritated.
"Reckless fool," the voice muttered. "I bend paths, I twist fate, I point the compass exactly where it must go—and this is how you repay it?"
Jack tried to open his eyes. They refused.
He felt hands on his arms.
They were warm. Firm. Tracing over skin that felt… wrong. As if his arms were not entirely his anymore.
"How many times must I say it?" the woman continued, clearly not expecting an answer. "Haki is not a toy. It is not something you force through a body that is not ready. Look at this mess."
Her fingers pressed against his forearm.
Jack felt a sharp sting—then a strange cooling sensation, like cold water washing over burning skin.
Black receded.
The pain dulled.
The pressure eased.
"…I am breaking rules for you," she muttered. "Big ones. Old ones. And I will feel their eyes soon enough. But it does not matter. They are fake. All of them are and were fake. Imposters. "
Her hands moved again, slower now, almost gentle.
"You will meet the giants," she said firmly, as if sealing a promise Jack could not hear. "You must. This path ends badly otherwise. Take care of your arms, Jack Sparrow. I will not come running across deserts again."
Jack tried to mumble something. It came out as a faint groan.
The woman scoffed. "Useless. Sleep."
Darkness took him again.
When Jack finally woke up properly, the world was painfully bright.
He squinted, hissing as light stabbed into his eyes. White ceilings. Soft fabric. The faint smell of herbs and medicine.
His first thought was that he was in the dungeon again. But there should be no bed in a dungeon.
"Aha," Jack croaked. "Dead already, am I?"
"No," came a flat voice from his right. "Unfortunately."
Jack turned his head.
Van Augur lay beside him, wrapped in what could only be described as an excessive amount of bandages. His arms were pinned to his sides, legs immobilized, neck braced. Only his eyes and mouth were visible.
Jack's face lit up.
"Augur!" he said cheerfully. "You look terrible."
Augur stared at the ceiling. "You are not allowed to speak."
Jack ignored that. "You know, from this angle, you look like a very angry mummy. Did I tell you of my dream to find a mummy's corpse? I always wanted to ask them where does she go swimming."
"…Captain."
Before Augur could say more, Jack noticed another bed.
Ragetti lay there, encased in plaster like a poorly wrapped statue. Only his head and one shoulder were free. He was awake—and smiling.
"Captain," Ragetti said proudly. "You miss a lot when you're unconscious."
Jack blinked. "Last I remember, you were being punched by a walking mountain."
"Yes," Ragetti said. "Twice."
Jack stared at him. "And you're alive."
Ragetti frowned. "What do you mean by that?"
Jack opened his mouth, then closed it. "Never mind."
From the far side of the room came a scoff.
Pintel sat upright on his bed, wrapped in bandages but very much functional. "Don't be fooled," he said. "He's annoyingly hard to kill. Like a cockroach."
Ragetti turned his head slowly. "I heard that."
"You were supposed to," Pintel shot back.
They immediately began bickering, voices rising despite their injuries.
Jack sighed contentedly. "Ah. Music to my ears."
"Quiet!"
The single word cut through the room like a blade.
Crocodile stood near the window, arms crossed, cigar smoldering between her fingers. Bandages wrapped her torso, visible beneath her coat, but she stood straight, eyes sharp and irritated.
Jack grinned. "Good morning, Croco."
Her glare could have killed a lesser man.
"I told you," she snapped, "do not call me that."
Jack raised his hands innocently. "Force of habit. Crew thing."
"I am not—"
"You are," Jack interrupted smoothly. "Part of the crew. Bet's a bet."
Crocodile exhaled smoke slowly, the sound dangerous. Pintel and Ragetti wisely stopped talking.
"I hate you," she said.
Jack beamed. "You'll get used to it."
Before Crocodile could respond, Jack noticed a familiar figure standing quietly in the corner.
"Gibbs?" Jack said. "When did you get here?"
Gibbs froze mid-sip.
He slowly lowered the bottle, hiding it behind his back. "Recently."
Jack squinted. "Is that rum?"
"No."
Jack held out a hand. "Give."
Gibbs sighed and passed it over.
"I hitched a ride on camels," Gibbs added. "Missed most of the fun. Judging by the number of casts, that might be a blessing."
Jack took a swig and nodded thoughtfully. "Fair. Now I remembered something, what happened to Carragher? Did I knock him out or kill him?"
"You were the one who almost got killed." Someone answered in a low voice. (GUESS WHO)
The door opened.
A woman stepped in—short, sturdy, smiling warmly. She looked uncannily like Igaram, only softer around the edges.
Jack stared. "Iguana… you changed."
The woman blinked. "Pardon?"
"It's Igaram. And that's his wife," Crocodile muttered.
Jack's eyes widened. "How do you look exactly the same?"
Igaram's wife frowned. "The same as who?"
"Garam Masala," Jack said confidently.
"…What?"
"He means Igaram," Crocodile corrected through clenched teeth.
"Oh," the woman said, smiling. "Yes, that's my husband."
Jack leaned back, impressed. "Remarkable. Truly."
Crocodile lay back on her bed, staring at the ceiling. "How did my life come to this?"
Elsewhere in the palace, King Cobra stood amid reports and messengers.
Pirates captured. Fires extinguished. The Carragher Pirates broken. Survivors pressed into labor repairing what they had destroyed—an idea Igaram had suggested with visible satisfaction.
Marines were arriving. Aid from the World Government followed close behind.
For the first time in days, Cobra breathed easily.
And more than that—he smiled.
In a quiet chamber, his wife rested, cradling a tiny bundle of blue hair.
"Vivi," he whispered softly.
The world could wait.
Later, when Igaram informed him that the Caribbean Pirates were awake, Cobra nodded.
They had been trouble initially.
But they had saved his kingdom.
And his sister… was alive.
A reunion awaited. Just not the kind he had ever imagined.
That evening, the palace dining hall was chaos incarnate.
The Caribbean Pirates feasted.
Pintel and Ragetti shoveled food into their mouths with reckless enthusiasm, choking, drinking water, then immediately going back for more.
"Chew first!" Gibbs barked.
Ragetti ignored him.
Gibbs finally snapped, shoving an entire meat bone into Pintel's mouth.
"STOP."
Pintel muffled incoherent sounds as Ragetti tried to stop Gibbs from choking Pintel.
Augur ate calmly—until he reached for his rum and found it gone.
He looked up.
Jack smiled, bottle in hand.
Augur closed his eyes. "…Of course."
Across the table, tension crackled.
Cobra sat stiffly, eyes flicking toward Crocodile.
She noticed.
She leaned back and said flatly, "Not here."
Cobra swallowed. "Lily—"
"Not," she repeated, "here."
She stood. "We will talk. Privately."
Cobra nodded.
Jack sighed dramatically. "No entertainment."