the Dalaverse

Alrighty, hear you go. A totally cracktastic undead modern-day AU crossover with the Superman universe. I'm using "Superman Returns" as a reference for characters, but this fic contains no spoilers and the movie's not a prereq. All pairings between Jack, James, Elizabeth and Will implied (at least if you've ever read any PotC fic, which Superman clearly hasn't).

Did I mention it's INSANE?



A Life Less Ordinary


Superman doesn’t hear many distress calls coming from the Caribbean region. He’s learned to sort out the voices of easily startled tourists from the real troublemakers. Privately he always thought there might be some native peace in the sun and sand and waves keeping nastier folks at bay – even this fellow seems relatively harmless, for all that he’s waving a gun around.

“Now just hear me out, mate,” says the man with the dreadlocks and darkly tinted eyes. His light voice vacillates closer to a British accent the more he talks. “The passengers’re all locked in their cabins, safe as houses –”

“You must have employed some kind of force in order to secure the bridge,” says Superman mildly.

Teeth flash in a grin, with a sparkle of gold here and there. “Let’s just say I can be very persuasive when need arises.” Superman frowns and blinks, unable to shake the image of Errol Flynn slashing his way down a billowing sail. This man looks more like a classic Hollywood pirate than any of the actual twenty-first-century pirates he’s encountered, for all that he's dressed in jeans and a t-shirt. Also, Superman suspects the man is flirting with him.

“Well, you’ve certainly earned the attention you crave, Sparrow,” drawls a voice from the door. A tall man with dark brown hair, wearing a blue shirt and khakis, steps onto the deck. When he shades his eyes against the sun, they become a startlingly clear green. He nods politely to Superman and moves to stand near the first man – Sparrow – with one hand on the gun hanging from his belt.

Sparrow plants a fist on his hip, using his weapon to gesture. “Don’t you roll your eyes at me, Commodore. ‘F I’m to go out, I’ll be goin’ out the man I always was. No need for rash action, son,” he says without taking his eyes from the newcomer.

Superman pauses in flexing his fists. He can see and hear that the two men haven’t actually hurt anyone onboard, and for the first time in a long time, he’s curious to know exactly why they’ve planned this sloppy theft.

“Indeed,” says the green-eyed man in a cool voice, fixing Superman with a level gaze. “Please believe me when I say I admire the work you do, and that we intend to let every soul on this ship go free – and leave the ship itself, whole and undamaged, once it has taken us where we need to go.”

“And if that don’t impress you,” adds Sparrow, “have a look at this.” He aims his gun at his own chest, closes his eyes, and is abruptly flummoxed to find it in Superman’s grasp.

Commodore chuckles and Sparrow glares at him. He holds out a hand for the weapon, dark eyes imploring. “C’mon, give that back now…”

Superman raises an eyebrow and crushes the weapon, letting it misfire into his own palm.

With a sigh, Sparrow turns to Commodore. “Please, James?”

“Oh, very well,” the man grumbles as he shoots his companion in the calf. A clean leg wound isn’t likely to be fatal and this whole shooting incident might put an end to their Laurel and Hardy routine, so Superman merely catches Sparrow as he falls.

Sparrow draws a stuttering breath and Commodore’s fingers slide past Superman’s to close on the spot where neck meets shoulder. Superman looks at him, surprised by the flash of emotion in those green eyes, before he examines the hole in Sparrow’s jeans. As he watches, the bloody gash closes and the torn skin stretches over it. He reaches around to find the exit wound, which is just as cleanly healed, then wordlessly stands up and backs away from the two men.

Sparrow scowls, flicking the bloodstained bullet across the deck. “I forgot how much I hate it when you shoot me.”

“You did ask,” James points out reasonably. Superman wonders, in a haze of wondering, if he really is a commodore. He only realizes he’s said it out loud when both men look at him, distracted.

“I was,” James replies with a twist of the mouth that looks half amused and half bitter. “Long retired.”

“That’s the honest truth.” Sparrow stretches up to be pulled to his feet, and Superman notices the tattoo on his arm for the first time – ancient-looking, inked in thick black lines. He sharpens his sight to make out the design: a bird at flight over a sunset sea.

His eyes scan their bodies. Though they appear to be perfectly human apart from the accelerated healing, their hearts beat so sluggishly they might be comatose, and the blood throbs through their veins at far too slow a pace.

“What are you?” he whispers, meeting first Sparrow’s darting black eyes and then James’s more reserved gaze. He wills himself not to step back as Sparrow comes forward to clap a hand to his shoulder.

“Son,” says Sparrow, brushing his mustache with deeply tanned fingertips, “let me tell you a story.”



“So that’s it, then? You sail back to this uncharted island, return the gold, and – and what?”

Jack shrugs elegantly, the movement carrying through to his weaving frame. “We’re not rightly sure ourselves. Could be we’re returned to the strictly mortal in the same condition we left, or could be…” He trails off, exchanging an unreadable look with James, who picks up narration like – well, like the two of them have been at it for centuries and know each other’s minds so well they’re only speaking for Superman’s benefit.

“We have lived unnaturally long lives and seen much – some of it wonderful, some of it terrible,” James says softly, his eyes lingering on Jack before he turns back to Superman. “The circumstances which drove us to our choice were lamentable, and this state of being has proven…difficult.” Superman thinks of Jack turning the gun on himself, and suspects it must not have been the first time. “We are ready for whatever the breaking of the curse may bring.”

“What dreams may come,” Jack murmurs, looking off the starboard rail to the sinking sun and the lights of the land beyond it. He squints and leans forward. “But here – the children have made it after all.”

They are hardly children, Superman notes; they appear to be in their late twenties. The woman is slender and pretty, with shoulder-length brown hair bleached golden by the sun; the man is handsome, broad-shouldered, and keeps brushing his dark curls out of his eyes. They both have the slowed systems and shadowed eyes of the two men beside him.

The sun has sunk even lower by the time Will and Elizabeth are aboard and introductions made. Wondering if he might be going a little crazy from the constant cycle of rescuing and brooding and playing pretend, Superman keeps an eye on the controls while the four load passengers and crew onto lifeboats and point them in the direction of Kingston. He tells himself that any number of things could go wrong with the pre-set navigation system, and that he is not in fact hiding.

When they return, Jack pulls a face at the switchboard. “Doesn’t seem right, does it?”

Will squeezes his forearm with a half-smile. “We’ll take what we can, Jack.”

“And give nothing back,” Elizabeth declares with too much brightness from her perch on James’s knee. Superman stands back, uncomfortable amongst their closeness and unused to having his presence forgotten.

“We’re nearly there,” says James, a casual grip on her waist. “I can –“ He shakes his head. “I can almost feel it.” Elizabeth lays her hand over his.

“Bugger this,” says Jack with sudden ferocity, disabling the automatic pilot. “Y’can’t sail this passage with a damned computer. I’m for the helm.” He stalks off, and it is James who follows him. Superman catches the ghostly shimmer out of the corner of his eye as they pass under bright moonlight, and averts his eyes. Elizabeth and Will stay to make nervous conversation, talking over one another in long familiarity and a bit in awe of him. He notes this with some degree of pride, guessing that they haven’t been awed by much over the years.

The moon is hidden behind clouds as they drop anchor just offshore. The four of them politely decline his offer to fly them over the breakers, so he waits at the mouth of the cave for their boat to reach the shore. The whole island gives off an eerie chill that has nothing to do with the tropical temperature. Jack, James, Elizabeth and Will are all subdued and quiet when they step onto the sand. Will stumbles over a piece of driftwood; James catches his arm and keeps light hold of it.

“Well, Mr…er, Superman,” says Will, clearing his throat. “Thank you for your understanding and your escort.”

“It was a pleasure to make your acquaintance, lad,” says Jack with some degree of warmth. His skin is likewise warm when he shakes Superman’s hand, although in all logic it shouldn’t be. Will and James shake his hand as well, both grips strong, and Elizabeth stands on her toes to kiss his cheek. She smells of salt air and gardenia shampoo, not rot or death.

He remains outside, but he can’t quite keep himself from following them with sight and sound. They step close together, looking gravely at the damp walls and undisturbed sand. The great chamber in the center, which Jack described with such vivid detail, is now empty of all but a few bright flashes and one battered stone chest.

They gather around one side and heave the lid off, staring at the winking gold for long moments before fishing in pockets for the four missing pieces. Will produces a Swiss army knife and flips it into the air once before snapping out a blade.

Elizabeth holds her coin on its chain up to the shaft of moonlight, her wrist- and finger-bones stark white in the gloom. “Do you think it will hurt?” There is no sorrow or fear in her voice; it’s a strange mixture of interested, resigned and wistful.

“It didn’t hurt before,” Jack remarks, head cocked to one side and against Will’s shoulder as he rubs a thumb over a grinning skull. “But then, of course, I din’t have three and a half centuries between theft and reparation.”

James looks at him in such a way that Superman is certain that he knows, somehow, these will be the last drops of blood they shed together.

He returns his focus to the silent sea, so quickly and forcefully it gives him a second’s twinge of headache. An hour passes before he can bring himself to enter the cave.

There is nothing left but the chest and the gold. Superman stares at it and concentrates on heat until the gold melts and the stone cracks with a boom that echoes in the empty cave. Then he soars out and up, blasting the cave until it collapses into rubble.



“Pirates, Clark?” Lois leans over his shoulder and snorts. “August is usually a slow news month, but this is a little extreme, don’t you think?”

Clark clicks the window closed, leaning away from the dark curtain of her hair. The rough, imperfect sketch of Captain Jack Sparrow’s face lingers in blackness when he closes his eyes. “It’s not for a story. I just –”

She raises her brows, and he puts a false smile on his face and continues, “I thought I might be a pirate for the office Halloween party this year.” He fidgets with the things on his desk.

“But that’s months away,” Lois points out.

“Well, the early bird and the worm, and all that,” he says, dropping a stapler in his lap.