Summary & Notes: I decided to write up this little one shot because the idea has not been leaving my mind ever since I rewatched a dead man's chest. For this idea to work I will let James have a bit more time before the inevitable so that he can reach the chest. It's not as good as I would've hoped but for starters it's something so please do enjoy.

Warnings: Mention of injury, mention of blood, mention of the thought of death.

A New Captain.

James watched in worry as Elizabeth ascended upon the ropes, which connected the Dutchmen to the ship that now belonged to her, and began to climb back to it. He could still feel the ache of having to let her go for what felt to James like the hundredth time, yet he knew she would be safe and whatever happened to him was something he could overcome.

Raising his sword to the crew member to give Elizabeth and her crew more time he knew it was useless, he had already alerted the rest of his men. So with a pained expression on his face he aimed his pistol up to the robe and with one shot he watched helplessly as she fell into the water, as the Dutchmen created more space between them. Just as he was to turn around and tell the man to go back to his post he could feel a searing pain radiate through his entire body. He stumbled back, his sword falling to the wooden floor of the Dutchmen, the pain so severe he couldn't even hear Elizabeths scream for him. His knees buckled and soon enough they met the cold hard floor. He held his hand to where the flog had pierced through him.

Was this how he would end ? On board a pirate ship, surrounded by no one he knew nor wanted to know ? Was this truly how his story was supposed to end? He shook his head as if to get the thoughts to stop. No this wouldn't be how he ended. With the last bit of strength he could muster, he began to raise back upon his feet. He stumbled forward having to lean against the railing to not lose his footing again. He ignored the burning pain shooting through him, he ignored the warmness of his blood pooling in his own hand.

If the myth had been true his only chance to survive would be to stab the heart of Davy Jones, become Captain of the Flying Dutchman and sail for all eternity through the seas and be blessed with the possibility of walking land again every 10 years. Yet that sounded much more appealing than his certain death if he did not hurry.

With a shuddering breath he stumbled into the private quarters of Davy Jones, the large piano glooming over him as his mens eyes widen at the sight of the Admiral. "Open.. the chest.." he brought out and at first his men just glanced at each other, unsure of what to do. Go against Cutler Beckett and watch the Admiral die in front of them, or do as he said and hope that whatever plan he had would safe his life ? But before he had to repeat himself once more, one man opened the chest and two more helped him over. They did not know what his plan was and maybe that was for the better. Thump. Thump. The rhythmic beat of the heart felt like a sirens call to a soul that was on the edge of death.

He let go of the men who had helped him walk over, he felt his body lose it's strength rapidly, so without waisting any time he grabbed the knife from his belt and rammed it into the heart. He fell back as the ship made a stop, as if offended of what had just transpired. It felt as if time was standing still. No one dared to move, no one dared to breathe. James looked down at his wound, the bleeding had stopped entirely, with one deep breathe he pulled the log with all his might out from his boy which healed the second the foreign item had been removed entirely.

His eyes widened as he touched the area where his life had been flowing out of him just moments ago. It had actually worked. He was alive.

It had been three years now, three years as the Captain of the Dutchmen and it's crew. The souls that had been lost to the sea had been safely transported into the afterlife just like the goddess had told him to. James was a man of high honour and a sense of responsibility so when Calypso had visited him in a dream to bestow him with the same task that had created the monster before him, he had made sure that the very next day the Dutchmen set sail to take care of the unfinished business Davy Jones had left behind.

The souls were in good hands and so was the crew, the ship had given way to its state before Davy Jones had turned his back to the goddess and had cursed himself and every one around him.