The deck of the Black Pearl creaked softly as the ship drifted just beyond the reach of the chaos behind them.
Gibbs stood near the railing, one hand shading his eyes as he squinted toward the island. Even from this distance, the glow was unmistakable. Veins of magma crawled down the island's slopes, smoke coiling upward into the sky. Every so often, the earth shuddered, and another dull boom rolled across the sea.
Gibbs sucked in a breath through his teeth.
"Maybe," he said slowly, carefully, "we should head back."
Crocodile didn't answer immediately.
She had a spyglass pressed to her eye—where she'd gotten it from was a mystery no one dared ask—and her gaze was fixed on the beach. Through the lens, the scene was brutal. Bodies lay scattered across the sand, some human, some beast. Blood darkened the shoreline, mixing with ash and seawater. The herd had torn through everything in its path before scattering.
She clicked her tongue in irritation and lowered the spyglass.
"No need," she said flatly. "Look at the beach. That man's probably seen the boat we left for him."
Pintel, standing nearby, cupped his hands around his eyes and squinted dramatically at the horizon, as if that might somehow function as binoculars. He nodded gravely, despite clearly seeing nothing.
Then he glanced at Crocodile, guilt flickering across his face.
"Uh… maybe," he ventured, "we should've waited for the captain?"
Crocodile's eyes slid toward him.
Pintel snapped to attention like a chastised recruit.
"Wait for Jack?" she repeated. "And face magma meteors? Not to mention the herd—led by Gibbs and Augur, no less."
Gibbs bristled.
"Don't drag me into this," he protested. "It was Augur who made them angry by shooting at their leader."
Augur, leaning against the mast and adjusting his glasses, didn't even look up.
"Don't drag me into this," he replied calmly. "I came to save you."
Gibbs spun on him. "Then who was the one who ran the moment his bullets didn't work?!"
Augur finally glanced over, expression unreadable. "Thanks for reminding me. I need to find a way to make my bullets hit harder."
Gibbs spluttered. "Thank you—WAIT! That was not the intention of that sentence! You left me and ran!"
Augur adjusted his glasses again, unfazed. "It's not my fault you're slow."
That did it.
Gibbs lunged, fist raised, only for Ragetti to grab him around the middle.
"Let me go!" Gibbs roared. "That boy deserves a spanking! I've seen plenty of young men disrespect their elders just like that—after a good spanking, my son always called me sir!"
Ragetti strained to hold him back. "I don't think this is the right time for parental reflection!"
Crocodile sighed deeply and turned back toward the island, pointedly ignoring the scuffle. Smoke was thicker now. The magma had reached the beach, molten waves hissing as they met the sea.
Pintel shuffled closer, peering past her.
"Do you… see the captain?"
Crocodile lowered the spyglass again and frowned. She scanned the shore once more—broken trees, crushed sand, fleeing shapes—but no sign of Jack. No boat either.
"No," she admitted. "But even if I don't want to admit it—Jack's strong. He'll find a way out."
As if summoned by her words, a hand suddenly slapped onto the railing.
"Hah!" came a familiar, breathless voice. "I have finally reached my ship!"
Jack Sparrow hauled himself up over the side of the Black Pearl with deliberate, almost ceremonial slowness.
His boots hit the deck with a wet squelch, ash and seawater dripping down onto planks. His coat was scorched at the hem, his hat crooked, his hair tangled with soot and salt. He straightened inch by inch, rolled his shoulders, adjusted his hat until it sat just right.
He straightened, adjusted his coat, set his hat properly on his head—and looked at the crew.
His lips twitched.
The deck went silent.
Gibbs blinked. Once. Twice.
Jack stood there, unmoving.
A dangerous silence.
Finally, Jack exhaled, brushed invisible dust from his sleeve, and spoke in a tone so mild it was almost polite.
"…Right."
He took a slow look around the deck. The sails. The rigging. The crew. His crew.
"Excellent little jest," he continued. "Very droll. Sail away dramatically. Leave the captain behind on a volcanic island infested with homicidal wildlife. Builds character. Team spirit. Trust."
Pintel opened his mouth. "Cap'n—"
Jack raised a finger.
"A moment," Jack said. "Just… appreciating the symmetry of it all."
He stepped forward, boots leaving damp prints on the deck, and paused in front of Ragetti.
"Ragetti."
"Yes, Cap'n?"
"You screamed."
Ragetti was confused, "I did?"
Jack turned to Pintel.
"You screamed louder."
"I was emotional," Pintel said weakly.
Jack hummed, then looked past them to Augur.
"And you," Jack said, voice softening dangerously, "watched the shoreline through a scope."
Augur adjusted his glasses. "I was calculating the probability of your survival."
Jack nodded. "Ah. Mathematics. Always there when loyalty falters."
Gibbs cleared his throat. "Cap'n, we left you a boat."
Jack stopped walking.
Slowly—painfully slowly—he turned his head.
"A boat."
Another pause.
"And where, pray tell, was this boat when I was negotiating with the local fauna and reconsidering my stance on coconuts?"
Pintel coughed. Someone muttered something about "the other side of the cove."
Jack froze.
Slowly—very slowly—he turned his head.
"The other side."
Silence stretched.
Then, perfectly calm: "You left the boat… on the other side."
He nodded thoughtfully, as though absorbing a deep philosophical truth.
"Which implies," he continued, pacing a step closer, "that you expected me… to look for it."
He leaned in toward Gibbs, lowering his voice conspiratorially.
"Gibbs, I am a man of instinct. Of improvisation. Of flair. I am not, as a rule, a man of… practical shoreline inspections."
A snort escaped Pintel. Jack's eyes flicked toward him.
Pintel stopped breathing.
Jack straightened and began pacing, hands clasped behind his back.
"You know," he said lightly, turning away, "for a fleeting, deeply poetic moment, I believed I had been betrayed. That the Black Pearl—my Pearl—had cast me aside like a poorly bargained deal."
He gazed toward the horizon, dramatic as ever.
"It was tragic," he added. "Stirring. I nearly wrote a song. Would you like to hear it?"
Then he snapped back.
"But then," Jack said, clapping his hands once, "I realized—this was not betrayal."
The crew leaned in, hopeful.
"But no. Not betrayal. Merely incompetence."
Gibbs bristled. "Cap'n—"
Jack held up both hands. "No, no. I understand. Panic. Smoke. Explosions. Large elephants. These things distract the mind."
He leaned casually against the rail.
"Of course," he added mildly, "had I been marooned intentionally, there would have been consequences."
A beat.
"Creative consequences."
The crew stiffened.
Jack smiled brightly.
"But since you did leave me a boat—hidden like treasure, apparently—I shall consider this an educational exercise."
He stepped toward the helm, reclaiming space without effort.
"And what have we learned?"
No one answered.
"That if one intends not to maroon one's captain," Jack said, tapping his temple, "one might consider shouting—'Captain! There's a boat on the other side!'"
He clapped once, sharp and decisive.
"Communication. Vital to piracy."
Jack stepped back, rolled his shoulders, and sighed.
"Right! Rum. Someone fetch it. I have rowed a considerable distance fueled entirely by resentment and stubbornness."
As the tension eased and movement resumed, Jack leaned closer to Gibbs and muttered just loudly enough:
"For the record, if I ever do maroon you, Gibbs… there will be no boat."
A wink.
Not angry. Not forgiving either.
Just reminding them.
Once rum had been procured and order restored—loosely—Augur stepped forward, glancing between Jack and the horizon.
"So, Captain," he asked, "where to now?"
Jack rested his hands on the rail and stared out at the sea, thoughtful for once.
"Let's get the rest of our crew back," he said. "Let's head to Drum Island."
Augur nodded.
Crocodile raised an eyebrow. "There's more crew? And Drum Island? That's a kingdom of doctors."
Gibbs frowned. "That's all well and good, but we don't have a Log Pose for it."
An awkward silence followed.
Ragetti raised his hand halfway, hesitated, then lowered it again.
Jack smirked.
"Aha!"
He patted his coat and pulled out his compass, flipping it open as the needle spun wildly before settling.
"That," Jack said, eyes gleaming, "is how we'll get there."