author: lisa roquin

rating: 15+ ?

fandom: Angel/Pirates of the Caribbean

disclaimer: all copyrighted characters and their "universes" belong to their respective authors, writers, creators, production companies, producers and long lists of people that are so very much not me. Quite simply, if you recognize it, it isn't mine. No profit made, no harm intended, just having fun.

summary: Prophecies are evil things. Barely recovered from the debacle that cost him his job, his friends and landing his friend's infant son in a hell dimension, Wesley discovers a book about a pirate named Bootstrap Bill. Of course, the book is enchanted, a bored ghost, curses, and pirates ensue.

author's note: For Dana, for the TtH Movie ficathon. The request was Wesley and Humor, or at least not heavy duty angst and violence. Hopefully Jack has kept Wes from getting too angsty.

author's note 2: timeline-AtS baby Connor is in Qurtoth, Wesley is recovered and on the outs with the AI crew. PotC- roughly one month after the movie.

wordcount: 7633

Wesley lugged the bag of groceries up to his flat. He hoped he hadn't missed the delivery from DeRivier's. "I'm here!" he shouted at the young man in front of his door with a heavy crate of books. "I apologize, traffic was dreadful."

The young man, with maroon and yellow eyes nodded. Part demon then. Not surprising for DeRivier's, and it did go a way in explaining how such a skinny young man could manage the crate roughly the size of a sea trunk, filled with books, so easily. "No problem. You got here before I left."

"Could you set it inside for me?" Wesley asked as he slid the key in the lock.

"Sure thing, man"

Delivery boy tipped well and sent on his way, groceries quickly put away, Wesley went to the huge crate. Where was his crowbar? Ah yes, there on top of the shelf with demonic dictionaries. He pried the lid off the crate and began sorting through the texts inside, comparing to the invoice neatly placed on top. There had to be some way to get Connor back. It was Wesley's mistake, and one he would rectify if he could. He truly had thought he had been doing everything for Connor's protection, but...

No, he couldn't dwell on what was done, or he'd spend another month or two in the bottom of a whiskey bottle. He was once again a rogue demon hunter, fighting darkness all on his own, and gods, he really had been a pompous twit when he'd left Sunnydale and pronounced himself just that. No matter. He'd changed, and he was a demon hunter. He wasn't qualified for much else, save to teach demonology or mythology at University level and the thought of being trapped in a lecture hall filled with bored Xanders, Willows, Buffys, Ozs and Cordelias. (Or at very least, Cordelia as she had been when she graduated highschool) He'd rather face a pack of rabid werewolves armed with a silver toothpick.

Wesley frowned. He hadn't ordered this. The book was dark blue, leather of some sort...a bit scaly and a bit slick. Certainly not leather made of cow-hide. The pages were....well not human skin with that pale blue color that held a faint glow, but some sort of skin. He frowned, this was written in English? The words on the cover were at the very least.

Wesley checked the invoice. No, it wasn't on the invoice. He reached for the phone.

"Ah, no laddie, you have th' book so yer the one that's going to be breakin' m' curse. Two hunnert and some odd years been waitin for someone ter get that book that could do somethin' about the curse an' it's you."

Wesley's head snapped up.

In front of him was an apparition of a very human looking man, tall and broad of shoulder, lean and fit. His clothes rather little more than rags that had once been dark breeches and a blue shirt, scarf tied about his waist with a sword hanging from it. There were knife handles peeking out of the top of each leather boot. His hair was dark and long, unruly curls with some gray at the temples, loose strands escaping whatever it was tied behind his head with.

Bearded with gold hoops in his ears, and deep crows feet around his eyes. Even in this ghostly form his skin was deeply bronzed and weathered.

"Who are you?"

"Me? I'm Bootstrap Bill."

"Surely there is someone else that could break your curse. I'm rather busy with other matters, and if you waited two hundred years..." Despite the weapons, the apparition did not feel that fearsome, nor did it trip off any of the numerous wards woven about Wesley's apartment. The fact that the wards were untroubled by the ghost's presence said that this, whoever, whatever he was, was fairly harmless and had no ill intentions.

"Now you listen to me. It's you. You wouldn'ta got the book if it wasn't."

"How can you be certain of that, prophecies and curses are notoriously tricky and often enough slipshod, they have a habit of being so twisted in translation, or having so many loopholes that one can never be sure."

The apparition frowned. "You've blood of the Pearl's crew, though can't rightly say which or who, you are able to do magic an' you can use a sword. Think that gonner happen in another two hunnert years? Most don' even know how to hold a sword properlike now!"

"Likely not, but stranger things have happened."

"I just want to bloody go home to the Pearl and see me boy! Talk to him proper like! He been on his own since his mum died and I got cursed. Can only get back to the breaking of the Pearl's Curse but still, I'll get to see him, be with me boy e'en if he is grown then!"

Wesley closed his eyes as if the words had been a physical blow. He couldn't deny the apparition. Not when that was what he wanted, he'd taken Angel's son from him. It seemed some sort of cosmic justice that he was saddled with a ghost that wanted to go back to his own son. "I'm stuck with you, aren't I?"

"Aye, so th' sooner y' get me home, the sooner y' can get on with whatever's got ye so busy."

"I need to put these away, have something to eat, then I'll get started on the research."
"Research! Just do it!"

Wesley pinched the bridge of his nose. "I've no idea what the curse is, where you belong, when you belong, how to begin to break the curse, what sort of magics were involved in the curse, if I have the necessary spells anywhere here, or the components for the spells..."

The ghost looked crestfallen. "How come it was so bloody easy getting cursed if it's going to take all that to sort to get me uncursed!"

"Because it would be far too bloody simple otherwise" Wesley shot back.

~*~

"Ye slept long enough yet?"

Wesley groaned and looked at the clock on his bedside table. Two bloody hours. Two bloody hours of sleep! That's it! TWO! "NO!" he bellowed and threw a pillow. It went sailing through Bootstrap's incorporeal form, but the pirate's ghost got the message and took himself back to the living room. Ten minutes later Bootstrap was back. "Can y' turn on the picture box fer me? So I've something to look at?"

"Fine." Wesley snarled, got up and turned on the television in the living room. A bit of flipping through channels he came upon of movie station, which played little more than soft porn with a plot at this time of night. Naked women, car chases and explosions ought to entertain a bored pirate ghost enough for Wesley to some sleep.

~*~

"It's been three bloody weeks."

"I know," Wesley muttered as he double checked the translation. Truthfully, other than the fact that Bootstrap didn't need to sleep, the pirate ghost was rather decent company. The curses were rather tricky though, more than tricky and involving gods and sea-demons that Wesley had never had contact with before, nor even heard of. Though if the sea-demons lived at the bottom of the Caribbean and had no contact with the surface world nor interest in eradicating the human race, there really was no need to hear of them.

Bootstrap was impatient about getting the curse broken. That was understandable, if slightly aggravating while Wesley was trying to read or sleep. His tales of his life as a pirate were quite entertaining, though a bit distracting from research.

The Aztec gods had cursed the gold Cortez had been after. That curse, evidently, had been broken. During the time that Barbossa and the crew of the Black Pearl had been cursed, Bootstrap Bill had been at the bottom of the ocean living with sea demons. He'd somehow managed to save the daughter of the merdemon's chieftain from some deep sea predator which sounded rather like an iridescent green holdover from the Jurassic Era.

That wasn't out of the realm of possibility, the immense pressure at sea levels that deep left much of the ocean unexplored even in this day. Wesley had been rather distracted by the descriptions of life under the sea. The creatures Bootstrap described were beyond fascinating. Man knew more about the surface of the moon than he did the surface of the sea floor. Bootstrap wasn't interested in paleontology, planetary eras, evolution nor about the fact that someone was crazy enough to make a machine to go to the moon when there was nothing there, not even breathable air. He just wanted to go home.

Ten years Bootstrap had resided with this tribe of mer-demons, then the Pearl's curse had been broken and brought the man back to life at the bottom of the sea. The mer-demons managed to 'catch his soul' as his body got, well, his body didn't hold up long what without breathable air and the pressure of the depths he was at. His soul had been tied to the book and the book sent to the surface. How it managed to end up in a Los Angeles bookseller's shop that specialized in demonic and magical texts was a mystery. Bootstrap had a recollection of time passing and vague impressions of the changing of the world but never manifested as a ghost until his book arrived in Wesley's apartment.

"You truly read all of this?" Bootstrap waved his arm about indicating the books that Wesley's flat was practically overran with.

"Most of them. A few I haven't gotten too. A couple it's best not to read. Those are tucked away though. There's one or two about that will only allow themselves to be read if the person trying to open them meets the requirements to be allowed to read them."

"Never learnt to read me. Jack taught me enough of me letters to write me name. Jack could read well, just could never sit still to do it."

Wesley made a noncommental noise as he double checked the translation. "I've got it! I'm sure of it!" he said at last. By all descriptions Jack, whoever he was, had the attention span of a flea.

Bootstrap grinned. "Well let's get on with it, I'm ready to get home!"

Wesley landed with a thud. Wood, not concrete. That was something at least. He'd been tossed, slammed and fallen on both often enough he could tell the difference. Even so he was winded and dazed by the landing, and quickly closed his eyes against the bright sun directly overhead.

"I'm still a ghost!"

"Bugger off," Wesley groaned.

"I'm supposed to not be a ghost!"

"I'm not supposed to be on a wood floor"

"It's a deck, you landlubber!"

The strangely dressed man appeared in thin air some ten feet above the deck and landed flat on his back with a painful thud that made all who witnessed it wince.

"Bugger off," he groaned.

Anamaria frowned, she'd never seen trousers like that, nor shoes, nor anything like the thing upon his wrist, which seemed to be a combination of clock and bracelet. He had spectacles, she'd seen those before, but even those seemed odd.

"I'm not supposed to be on a wood floor." he growled.

He was out of his mind, or talking to someone who wasn't there.

"JAAAAACK!" Anamaria bellowed staring at the man who landed on the deck.

~*~

"Jack?" Bootstrap looked about. "We're on the Pearl lad! We're on the Pearl. Jack! As I live and breath, it's Jack Sparrow."

"At the moment you neither live nor breathe and you're too bloody loud--shut UP!" Wesley growled.

"Squawk!" a bird let loose a loud call of irritation.

"Aye! I'm with Mr. Cotton, Cap'n!"

"Me too! No good can come of this."

"What did Mr. Cotton say?"

"Bloke there's obviously cursed. We ought to get rid of him, feed him to the sharks and be done with it."

"Jack, Jack it's me...Bootstrap."

Wesley groaned and sat up, then waited for the spinning sensation to stop before he opened his eyes. "Lovely way to top off the evening--a bloody concussion" he muttered. He looked about. He was on a ship, nothing but clear blue water as far as he could see. The motley group looking at him as if he were some sort of dangerous creature to be quickly dispensed of was unnerving. A light skinned black woman dressed in men's clothing. A handful of men anywhere between thirty and sixty, an inordinate amount of missing teeth, one with a parrot on his shoulder and a distinct lack of hygiene Wesley decided as the breeze picked up just a little.

Bootstrap was in the face of one of the men. A scarlet bandanna around the man's hair, which was long and rather ratty where not tied up in beaded braids. His goatee was divided in two and rather ridiculously braided as well.

"Oh will you shut up! He obviously can't see or hear you and my head hurts. I'm trying to think what went wrong, the spell was done correctly. It should have brought you here--living--and left me in LA!"

~*~

"Aaaaawk!"

"What did Mr. Cotton say?" Jack frowned.

"He brought spirits with him!"

Jack tilted his head. "Rum?"

"AWWWWK!"

"Ghosts!"

"Pity that. I'm low on rum." Jack shrugged.

"Mr. Cotton is the parrot?" the stranger that landed on the Pearl's deck frowned.

"No, the parrot is on Mr. Cotton's shoulder. Mr. Cotton no longer has a tongue, so his parrot does the talking for him." Jack explained as if that was the most reasonable thing in the world.

The man blinked. Shook his head. "That makes just as much sense as anything else in my life these last years so why not?"

"Are you cursed?"

"It certainly seems that way, the way my life goes, but if you mean am I under a specific curse, no I'm not. I was endeavoring to end a curse on a friend of yours, Captain Sparrow, but things didn't quite turn out as they should have, seeing as I am still here and Bootstrap is still a ghost and cursing quite soundly about that fact." the man looked at a place just past Jack. "Will you let me have a chance to say three words. Yes, I'm sure he's aware about Cortez' gold. He has his ship back now doesn't he?...Bootstrap wants to know if his son is alive."

"Aye...Bootstrap's really here?"

"Right next to you."

"Really?"

Wesley nodded.

Mr. Cotton's parrot squawked again.

Wesley and Jack both looked toward the parrot, then toward the crew.

"Mr. Cotton wants to throw him overboard anyway, bringin' a ghost on board is bad luck. Even if it is a friendly ghost."

"Mr. Cotton, would you like to be turned into a toad?" Wesley glared. His head hurt and he was on a bloody pirate ship over two hundred years in the past. A tongueless man and his parrot who seemed only to squawk, yet the parrot was saying what Mr. Cotton wanted said and the crew seemed to understand it...

"Can you do that?" Jack asked.

"I was born in the year nineteen hundred seventy. I have studied the Occult since I was a child and just transported myself and a ghost over two hundred years into the past--from my perspective."

"Yeah, but you were meanin ter send Bootstrap back alive..." Jack cocked his head.

"Man-to-toad spells only require Ancient Latin for the spell work. I'm quite proficient at all forms of Latin. This spell was in a demonic language I'd never seen before and had to sort through eight different language dictionaries to translate the words were and then guess at the pronunciation."

"Mr. Cotton, he can turn y' into a toad, savvy? An' he brought Bootstrap with him. He meant well." Jack decided. "You a Watcher?"

Wesley blinked.

"Oh I know about Watchers and Slayers and demons and the lot. Savvy?"

"I parted ways with the council some years back but yes, the Wyndham Pryce family has been Watchers for fifteen generations."

"Wyndham Pryce?"

"Wesley Wyndham Pryce"

"Captain Jack Sparrow, and this is the Black Pearl."

"I rather sorted that out myself already."

Wesley wasn't sure what to make of the Pearl or her crew. As ships went, she seemed nice enough he supposed, he had no real frame or reference. The Pearl was well cared for and well attended by her rather motley crew. Mr. Cotton had found some carving down in the hold, evidently done by one of Barbossa's cursed crew. Mr. Cotton's parrot squawked so loudly and thoroughly that even Anamaria blushed and she seemed as shockable as Faith or Cordelia. She was also rather frightening--like Faith and Cordelia.

Mr. Bertram knew a bit of Voodoo, as he called it. It didn't seem to be true voodoo but a rather simple protection spell, and a vampire disinviting spell. Handy spells to know, but rather useless in this case. Anamaria's grandmother had been born in Africa, and her grandmother's mother had been a witch or priestess or something. It was as good a starting point as any. No one had a clue where to find spell books and demonic dictionaries or any magical components for spells, so they set course for the island where Anamaria's grandmother lived.

At least the book had come with Wesley and Bootstrap. The story of Bootstrap was in English, the spells and information how to get Bootstrap set to right was in the language of whatever the mer-demon race that found Bootstrap was. Wesley's notes were tucked safely in between the pages of the book. What he'd sorted out as a tentative alphabet of thirty-seven letters. As well as the fact that Bootstrap's tale altered from English to demonic, each line seemed to have it's equivalent in the mer-demon language beneath the English sentence. It wasn't impossible even with only Bootstrap's Book. It was merely nearly impossible. Aggravating. Frustrating.

He wished he could remember a spell to silence a ghost. He knew they existed, he knew he had read at least a handful. He'd concentrated on banishing ghosts, and never bothered to do more than note that there were spells to take away a ghost's voice for varying periods of time.

Bootstrap was bored. And there wasn't a 'picture box' to watch. Jack was...well, Wesley wasn't sure if Jack was bored, curious or merely insane. Jack fluttered about while Wesley tried to work. Either one made his attempts to translate nearly impossible. The two of them together were maddening.

Bootstrap, of course, was right there, yammering away about how Wesley had to tell Jack all about the lovely 'picture box', which thanks to a rather enterprising neighbor who owed Wesley for getting rid of a vampire stalker had the deluxe cable package--including just about every movie channel in existence and a handful of 'adult' channels rather than just the basic package Wesley ordered so he had the news channels and BBC America for the rare occasions he watched the thing. Bootstrap had enjoyed the 'picture box' even more when he learned that the majority of the channels were 'pirated'.

Bootstrap had pestered Wesley so much about that fact until the Watcher had lost all patience and shouted an explanation of television, cable channels, porn and the plot line of the Fast and the Furious at Jack, liberally spotted with insults at Bootstrap and sharp recriminations that he was going to remain a ghost if Wesley couldn't bloody well get the book translated completely. The two pirates, both the corporeal one and the non-corporeal one, were still and silent for a full hour as they watched Wesley work after that rather stunning tirade.

Anamaria's grandmere Calla was quite thrilled to see her granddaughter, though less than pleased when Wesley and Jack followed Anamaria into the house.

"You...you being trouble an you you'se don' belong here" Calla glared at Wesley.

"No I don't but I have to break a curse on a ghost before I can go home."

Calla snorted. "Dat a sorry lookin one." She stared directly at Bootstrap. "Purdy, but sorry. Why not jest go home and let him be?"

"Because he didn't quite deserve the first curse and the second curse was meant to give him a chance at living again. A reward so to speak, though the ones that did it certainly could up with something better. That and with my luck, he'd merely follow me back and irritate me into the grave."

Calla snorted again, her dark eyes glittered with a rather unnerving intensity. "De boy is de key. Dat much I c'n see of it."

Anamaria groaned. "We'll be hung if we go to Port Royal."

"Ana-luv," Jack began wheedling his hands fluttering in front of him. Wesley resisted the urge to slap Jack's hands. Wesley had known people who tended to 'talk with their hands' but the overblown gesturing Jack was prone to was beyond anything he'd seen before. There was an almost hypnotic quality to Jack's weaving that Wesley wasn't sure if it was deliberate or not, merely distracting or somewhat intentionally hypnotic, nor if Jack Sparrow was somewhat magical or simply a very lucky lunatic.

"You can see me?" Bootstrap stared, which distracted Jack from his attempt to convince Anamaria going to Port Royal was the best idea in the world.

"Aye, c'n see you. Been seein' de spirits all m' life. Same as my mother. Same as m' girl. Gift done passed Anamaria by. Girl's to stubborn to see what in front of her. Her sista got it."

"I've enough trouble wit' th' living. Want no part of th' dead." Anamaria grumbled. Her grandmother snorted and wagged a finger at her, which by the face Anamaria made it seemed the family "gift" was a bit of long-standing contention between the two.

Wesley idly wondered if Anamaria could see Bootstrap and was pointedly ignoring him. It certainly was possible. Of course, after two weeks at sea with Bootstrap and Jack making his work on further translating and re-translating the cursed book, Wesley could possibly be convinced to agree the sky was green the two pirates had him so distracted. If it shut the two up for any reasonable length of time, Wesley would declare the sky yellow and the sun black.

That seemed to be the limit of Calla's ability to help. Other than providing a delicious meal and giving her granddaughter a rather thorough dressing down about the infrequency of visits and being stubborn, she had no more to offer.

"You. Trust yourself. You know de words" Calla pointed a long bony finger at Wesley when they left.

"We'll be in Port Royal tomorrow night." Bootstrap informed Wesley unnecessarily.

Wesley didn't look up from the page he was working on. The book seemed to have all the directions for breaking the curse, but for all the sense what he'd translated made he had to wonder if the Merdemons weren't somehow related to Jack Sparrow. He'd come across spells to be used to turn shark hide into some sort of leather, and instructions for jewelry made out of shark teeth and shells. This particular list seemed to...well it rather seemed to be a recipe for barbecue sauce if Wesley was translating it right.

This made no sense. None of what he'd translated so far made any sort of logical sense.

But perhaps it was some sort of test? If the accursed be worthy of the effort then those seeking the curse's end must do these things.

Perhaps it was a test. It had to be. See how far into the dangerously absurd those trying to break the curse would go. Because after all, it required the catching of at least two large sharks to begin to fulfill the things listed. The shark-fishing the test of courage and skill. The absurd directions of what to do with the sharks tests of patience and fortitude perhaps.

Bootstrap was going on about seeing his son again.

Wesley wondered where they were going to get the ingredients both for the four consecutively used spells to cure the shark skins and for the barbecue sauce.

If Calla was right with her parting words to Wes, then these were some very odd demons. Or perhaps just some very bored demons.

Wesley walked through the streets of Port Royal with a scowl on his face, his eyes squinted of necessity, though it looked like anger. The sun was glaring and his glasses were left aboard the Pearl with Mr. Cotton. His watch also left in Mr. Cotton's care, after thoroughly terrorizing the man with threats of Wesley having frog legs and fried parrot for a meal if anything happened to it. Mr. Cotton would of course be the frog supplying the frog legs for the meal. A simple, and rather worthless glamour spell murmured and Wesley's eyes flashed burning red. Nothing more than a parlor trick, and a rather over the top ridiculous one at that, but it quite terrified Mr. Cotton and his parrot, and all of the Pearl's crew who'd seen the little drama.

Even Jack would think twice about fiddling with Wesley's watch or glasses and perhaps breaking them. Or mucking about with the book Bootstrap was bound to and Wesley's mess of papers from translating it and losing a sheet of paper or spilling ink on the lot.

"We need to get m' boy and get gone!" Bootstrap said for what had to be the thirtieth time.

Wesley had sent several bushels of sun dried tomatoes back to the pearl with Anamaria and Mr. Gibbs who had came into port with Wesley on one of the Pearl's rowboat/lifeboats. By the time they returned it would be nightfall and they could get Will Turner and be gone from Port Royal. Which, if luck was with them, would work out nicely.

Wesley was attempting to sort out exactly what was being sold around the stalls and shops by the docks. He was having more luck than he had expected but still had only found about a quarter of the things they needed, even if he'd had hopes for barely a tenth.

"I am busy," Wesley hissed, which gained him more than one odd look.

Will Turner wandered through the streets near the docks wanting to see if there were any ships carrying silver. Sir Carrington wanted a silver lion head on the hilt of his sword. Rather useless, ridiculous and honestly, Will could likely melt down some of the late Mrs. Brown's tea service and her drunken husband would not notice. That was the only silver Will had ready access to, after all. He could also likely fashion something out of Iron and plate it in silver which would do just as well in Will's opinion and be less likely to be damaged quickly. Sir Carrington went through an inordinate amount of weapons... for his daughter. Sir Carrington was also quite picky about the weapons, even if a good number were...odd.

The carpenter, Mr. Barrows claimed that Sir Carrington must be a very religious man he had numerous crosses and for some reason wooden short swords and knives.

Will frowned at the man who must have come in on one of the ships, he was dressed rather raggedy in clothes that were either too big or too small, rough and patched. Barefooted, and he seemed less than pleased by that as he stepped carefully through the streets.

He carried himself completely wrong for the clothes that he wore. Too straight, too...something. He spun and glared at empty air beside him.

"Do you mind? I am trying to find the appropriate ingredients for this blasted farce so I can go home. Now will you be silent? You know very well we can't go there yet so just drop the bloody subject!"

Will hurried on, unsure if the man was drunk, mad or cursed. He'd had enough of curses for quite some time after his adventures with Jack two months before and was not in a hurry to repeat such madness.

Will awoke the instant a hand clamped roughly over his mouth. A body had settled on his chest and knees pinned his arms to his sides.

"Hold the torch closer."

"It's him" a vaguely familiar voice said.

"I want to be sure. If I am going to abduct an innocent I am going to be bloody certain I have the correct innocent." the raspy voice said irritably, a rather educated sounding accent.

Will squinted and attempted to twist his head away as a torch came far to close for comfort.

"You look remarkably like your father. You are William Turner the second? Not some other child that the obnoxious ghost forgot about."

Ghost?

"That's him" the familiar voice said. A little closer, a little louder. Female voice. Anamaria? Yes, he saw the hand holding the torch. Calloused and rough but slender and long fingered. Not a man's hand, and far too rough and worn for a boys.

The man on him turned his head to look at the side of the head of the bed. "Oh, for the love of every god and goddess that ever was...Will. You. Shut. The. Bloody. Hell. Up. Two minutes. Just two minutes of silence would be good about now."

"Argue with Bootstrap later, Wes, we gotta get out of here before..."

"Hello Will!" That was Jack's voice.

Anamaria growled.

"You were to..." Wesley hissed.

"Now don't get in a tizzy, luv." Jack interrupted.

"Bootstrap!" Wesley snarled.

"Will, there's a good lad, get your things. Old Bootstrap's a cursed ghost, savvy and we need you to break the curse. So up with you and let's get going." Jack cheerfully ordered.

"My father is dead. Barbossa's men said they killed him."
"He touched the gold, savvy? But then he stumbled his way into another curse when the first ended..."

"Let's go! We don't have time for this!" Anamaria snapped.

"This is worse than Sunnydale." Wes muttered.

~*~

Dawn found Will Turner standing on the deck of the Pearl as she hurried away from Port Royal. "I'm amazed you weren't spotted..." Will shook his head. The Pearl had been anchored, bold as could be, not far from the main docks of Port Royal. Which, knowing Jack, wasn't all that surprising.

"Glamourie Spell. She looked like a fishing tub." Wesley offered.

"WHAT!" Jack shouted. "You do not go making the Pearl look like--"

"Well should we have let the Royal Navy spot her and--"

"It's just not done, savvy? No magic on me ship!" Jack said. "She's the Black Pearl. She's--"

"Not riddled with cannon holes now, so do shut up. And you as well. We need to find the Dead's Isle--"

"Aw, bloody hell. Did you at least get some rum while you were there?" Jack whined.

"No!" Anamaria snapped.

"You know where this isle is?" Wesley said hopefully.

"La Isla de la Muerta."

"Squawk!"

"It's cursed going to an island that's cursed."

Wesley glared at Mr. Gibbs. "Is there anything that isn't bad luck"

"Awwwk!"

"Mr. Cotton says we shouldn't go near the Island," Mr. Bertram spoke up.

"We don't have a choice if we want to get Bootstrap uncursed and myself back to my time."

"Time" Will frowned.

"What's wrong with now?"

"I don't belong here."

"You really want to go to La Isla de la Muerta"

"I lived for a year on La Boca del Infierno, certainly that was far more hazardous."
"The what?" Will frowned.

"La Boca Del Infierno translates literally to the Mouth of Hell, the Hellmouth."

"Awwwk!"

"Mr. Cotton says you got to be crazy to go to a place like that!"

"It was my job!" Wesley shot back.

"Awwk Awwwk Awwk!"

"Mr Cotton wants to know why don't we get the sharks first?"

Wesley blinked, he didn't think he'd said anything about the sharks to the crew...but then he argued loudly enough with Bootstrap often enough, that one might have heard. "Because we have to find the correct location on the Island. Have everything readied, several potions, spell component and...what I believe is barbecue sauce readied before we begin. If the sharks rot while we're doing all that then we will have to go and catch fresh sharks. I don't know about you but I'd rather not go shark fishing twice."

"What's...barbecue sauce?"

Wesley groaned. He half wished he had been forced to walk the plank when he had arrived.

"We can stop in Tortuga and get rum on the way to La Isla de la Muerta." Jack declared. "Mr. Gibbs set course."

For once Wesley didn't roll his eyes at the rum comment. He could do with a bloody bottle of rum just now. Or a dozen.

~*~*~*~*~

The crew of the Pearl were quite relieved none of them needed to actually set foot on the island. Only the ones involved in the spell could enter the cave, if they actually found it. Which also meant that it would be left to Jack, Will, Anamaria and Wesley to haul the two sharks to the cave, skin them, spell the skins and then char the shark carcasses and coat the charred carcass with the final "potion" which, the more Wesley studied it was nothing short of barbecue sauce, then summoned the merdemon to break the curse.

Anamaria was muttering darkly and letting Jack know just how much he was going to pay for all his crimes against her. First he stole her ship, got it sunk, then the whole mess with Barbossa's cursed crew, now this. She was going to have her grandmere Calla curse him if he brought anymore trouble.

"I am not de-cursing you." Wesley said.

"Why not?" Jack cocked his head at Wesley.

"I won't be here."

Jack pouted.

~*~*~

"I know where the cave is!" Bootstrap burst out suddenly.

"Why the bloody hell didn't you say so earlier!" Wesley snarled. He was hot, tired, mosquito bitten, had played the interpreter for twenty questions between the Turners and then there was Jack trying to wheedle Anamaria back into a less surly and homicidal mood, which of course was making the female pirate even more surly.

"What?" Will asked.

"Yes what?"

"Bootstrap think of something?"

"He thinks he knows where the cave is."

"I am going to gut him when he's alive again! Why didn't you say something sooner, you dumb pirate!" Anamaria growled.

"I just thought of it."

"He just thought of it" Wesley said disgustedly. Then turned to Bootstrap. "Well, where is it."

"This way I think"

"We just came from that way!" Wesley shouted.

"I just remembered."

"I am going to help her gut you!" Wesley snapped.

The cave entrance it turned out wasn't far from the series of caves that had held Cortez' treasure, though not connected. Anamaria muttered about someone collecting every cursed cave in the Caribbean and glueing them together to make the abominable rocky isle.

"This is amazing!" Will said gawking around the tiny cave that opened into a tunnel. Phospherent stalactites and stalagmites made it bright even with their few torches, reflecting the light easily, which was a very good thing considering the treacherous footing of the long winding passage. The heart of the cave was a massive cavern with a pond in the middle of it. Salt water pond. Jack had declared. Wesley began searching the perimeter of the cave for a water mark. Jack laughed at him and informed him it was currently high tide. Likely just a hole in the cave when the tide was out. Wesley snapped at the pirate, more than a little annoyed. He was not a sailor, he was not familiar with the tides of the Caribbean and had lost track of the time during the past what seemed like hours wandering through the labyrinth like tunnel to reach this particular cave. He was not looking forward to somehow getting the sharks into this place.

"Little ones. Even if it takes eight. We're getting little sharks!" Anamaria said firmly. None of the men, not even Bootstrap whom she wouldn't have heard anyway argued with that declaration.

~*~*~

"Can't you go any faster?"

"No I can't go any faster, and if you wish to stay alive longer than a nanosecond once you are corporeal you will cease acting like a four-year-old on a long car trip." Wesley snapped as he worked on assembling the pit to char the sharks in. There was no way to dig into the stone of the cave floor, so they had spent the last two weeks gathering rocks from where ever they could find even remotely suitable loose rocks around the island, gathering the firewood necessary and preparing the cave as best they could, while Anamaria had taken the Pearl in search of a few more items needed, her grandmother, and the mortar which Jack had mixed to thin and Wesley was having the devil's own time of getting to hold the rocks in place.

Will and Anamaria were attempting to construct the frames needed for the shark skins. Anamaria cursing like the pirate she was and will wide-eyed and blushing. Bootstrap was eyeing Anamaria appreciatively.

"I bet she's a hellcat betwixt the sheets"

Wesley looked up from his work and glared at the ghost. "I ought to tell her you said that, and I just might if you do not cease distracting me!"

Bootstrap glared right back. "Do you know how frustrating this is!"

"Yes I have a clue. I'm here as well. I don't belong in this time."

Bootstrap seemed to wilt a bit. "Sorry"

"Please, just try to not distract me. I'm hot, I'm tired, my back is killing me and the sooner all is done, the sooner we can break the curse."

"Why the hell can't gettin' uncursed be as easy as gettin' cursed."

Wesley sighed. "Because you're supposed to suffer."

Bootstrap snorted, but ceased his repeated "Aren't you done yet?" and "Can't you go faster?" questions for the rest of the day.

~*~*~

Some eleven weeks after Wesley had landed on the deck of the Pearl, fourteen weeks after the arrival of the book and Bootstrap in his living room they were dragging the carcasses of a half dozen sharks down into the cave to do the spells to release Bootstrap's curse. The actual catching of the sharks had gone far to easily. Mr. Gibbs of course decided it had to be some sort of magic, magic was evil and therefore bad luck. Anamaria had threatened Mr. Gibbs with her knife daring him to call her grandmere's good luck charms evil and bad luck again. Mr. Gibbs kept himself on the opposite end of the ship from Anamaria for the rest of the short voyage back to La Isla de la Muerta. Wesley was uncertain if it was fear of magic or fear of Anamaria's knife and pistol but at least they were spared further pronouncements of why just about everything under the sun was bad luck on a ship.

Jack 'supervised' the butchering of the sharks with a bottle of rum after stumbling and badly spraining his knee while they hauled the sharks down to the large cavern. Anamaria saw to the butchering and burning of the carcasses, with a good deal of vicious muttering. She seemed to be pretending that the sharks were Wesley, Bootstrap and Jack as she carved them up. Will was put in charge of making the barbecue sauce, with Jack's "help".

"YOU CAN"T PUT RUM IN IT TO IMPROVE THE TASTE BECAUSE THEN WE"LL HAVE TO BLOODY WELL DO THIS ALL OVER AGAIN! THESE THINGS ARE EXACT! IF THEY ARE NOT DONE CORRECTLY THEY DON"T WORK!" Wesley shouted at the pirate captain who hobbled back to the corner and sat himself down and pouted with his now-half empty bottle.

The crate of shells and ivory, the spools of wire and the bucket of sharks teeth were placed in front of Jack along with a long-handled 'punch' to work the holes into the items to string them on the wire. Grumbling, pouting and drinking as much as working, Jack started in on the necklaces that were to be made.

Bootstrap paced nervously, though thankfully silent until Wesley had cast all the spells on the shark hides to cure them into a sort of magical leather.

"Are you sure this is going to work?" Bootstrap asked when the shark hides were finished.

"It has to," Wesley said simply, then began painting the necessary runes and symbols in shark blood about the cave. Then went to help Jack with the teeth, shells and beads.

The necklaces were finished, the shark meat all nearly charcoal and sat next to the side of the...pit in the center of the room, it currently being low tide. The barbecue "potion" poured over the meat, the necklaces sorted into piles by design, the cured shark hides stacked up.

Everything was set. Now they merely had to wait for high tide and summon the Merdemons.

~*~*~*~

The pit was once again a small pool. Wesley directed Will, Anamaria and Jack to the proper runes to stand on. "Ahk ta cha nee kah leh bar nehkt cha!" Wesley shouted from his spot, and waited.

"That's it?" Jack frowned.

"Yes,"

"I thought it would be..." Jack's hands fluttered in circles in front of him "Bigger."

Wesley ground his teeth together. Bigger. After sailing about the Caribbean for two months, gathering what was needed, shark fishing, butchering sharks. A lot of back breaking work and untold frustration trying to get what was needed not to mention translate the book...And Jack wanted a flashy summons spell? Wesley was on edge as it was. Summoning demons was always tricky, perhaps these weren't friendly demons after all and were simply waiting for the right bait for someone to release them from the sea bottom. He couldn't help that pessimistic thought, it was how he was trained to think after all.

The water began to bubble.

Wesley's hand slid just a bit closer to The borrowed sword on his hip. Just in case. He noticed Will, Anamaria and Jack doing The same.

The creature that emerged was strangely amusing. Balding, thinning blue hair forming a very long fringe around his head and caught back in some seaweed-tied twists that weren't exactly braids. The same not-quite braids in his long blue beard these bound with sea weed and shell. His skin was pale and slightly glowing green, his lower half more fish than man, what should have been legs was a long fish tail.

The creature grinned showing a mouthful of shark like teeth in The not-quite human face. He looked around and laughed which made his huge belly jiggle.

"It is good to see you have succeeded, my friend." The creature looked directly at Bootstrap. "Ah cha kana tah!!" he pointed his spear in Bootstrap's direction and The ghost instantaneously became flesh and bone man. "And you have done well."

"You speak English?"

"My people are skilled with magic, a simple translation spell is not difficult."

Wesley ground his teeth, not wanting to anger The merdemon by demanding why The bloody hell The book couldn't have been in English!

"Why all this?" Jack asked.

The Merdemon looked around and grinned. Then splashed to The far side of The pool and grabbed a chunk of charred and sauce coated shark meat. "Mmmm" he groaned and garbled out something in his own language and took a bit of The meat, now five humans staring at him in disbelief.

"What? You think we have proper fire three miles below The sea? Magical fire yes, but a proper fire no."

Wesley was shocked. He had been right. Barbecue sauce, or a rather strange equivalent of one that had included diced palm leaves and rose petals.

Wesley cleared his throat. "Do you have a spell that will allow me to return to my proper time?"

"Oh that, yes, gather up what you need to take back with you. You did a fine job little wizard."

Wesley bit his tongue at being called "Little Wizard"

"Can we move from our marks?" Will asked.

"What? Oh yes." The Merdemon was chewing on a second peace of charred shark meat and inspecting The necklaces.

Will rushed to Wes and gave him a hug. "Thank you, for returning my father to me"

Bootstrap was there and grabbed Wesley in a bruising hug. "Aye, lad, thankee"

Jack made a bow, complete with his overly exaggerated arm movements. "Safe journey home, lad."

Wesley nodded and bowed at Anamaria, "Thank you, Anamaria, for all your help, and for not killing Jack before we got this done."

Anamaria grinned.

"Ready" The merdemon said around a mouthful of meat.

Wesley nodded.

Wesley landed with a thud on The carpeted living room floor of his flat. Three books popped out of thin air and promptly dropped on him. The Curse of Bootstrap Bill, First Mate of The Black Pearl was The first book.

Tales of The Black Pearl was The second. The History of Poseidon's Children was The third.

The Curse of Bootstrap Bill was now completely in English. The Tales of The Black Pearl was quite thick, and each chapter biographied The life of one of The crew members, plus detailed lineages of Anamaria's family, Jack's family and The Turners.

According to The morning paper, he'd been gone all of twenty four hours. His suntan and sore back a testament to The time spent in The past, as were his dirty clothes. "Shower, bed, then books" Wesley groaned as he got to his feet. Very glad to be home.

~fin~