A/N: This is firmly jennifercarolyn and sssoto's fault for the enabling, but mostly jennifercarolyn's for the very cool prompt. I have a vague idea as to where this is going, so welcome to whatever this is!

Title is from 'Devil's Backbone' by The Civil Wars because of course it is.

A month after the pirate rebellion failed and everyone Billy had ever called 'friend' or 'brother' had either died or disappeared, Billy finally raised his head out of a bottle.

With swollen eyes and a horrible taste in his mouth, he looked around the room he'd fallen asleep in the night before. It was dirty, dingy, and even worse, in the middle of Savannah in the summer and mosquitoes swarmed around his wrists and ankles. Halfheartedly swatting at them, Billy got to his feet and stumbled to the basin in the corner. The water had possibly been considered fresh a week ago, but he splashed it on his face nonetheless. His head stayed bent over the cracked basin and he closed his eyes while his stomach churned. His balance came back to him slowly, as did his awareness of the world outside.

He heard people talking and going about their business, shop-owners hawking their goods, but above all that…he heard the sea. At least the sea remained. Waves still crashed on the shore and birds still flew in the sky.

There wasn't anyone left. Not really. Some had fallen in battle, some had just…disappeared. The image of Silver laughing flashed behind Billy's eyes and he shuddered. The man had never really forgiven Billy turning him into the great villain and Billy wondered how that would come back around to him someday. If Silver survived, that was. Hell, of course, he survived. Wherever the fuck John Silver was, he was alive, that much Billy was certain of.

He opened his eyes and lifted his head, and after he looked around the room once more, grabbing his belt and pistol that had no powder, he left without looking back.

Billy made his way passed other sailors on the landing and made no eye contact with any of them as he walked down the stairs and into the pub.

The desire to have a drink was a painful, aching thing in his chest, but he kept walking; only to stop when he saw a familiar figure at the end of the bar.

Billy felt the nausea in his stomach return with an added dose of pure anger, but he just gritted his teeth and went over to the man.

It took him standing beside the slumped figure before he looked up at Billy.

Flint squinted at him, then sighed before he said in a voice as dry and worn as an old track, "It's done, Billy. You won."

"No one won," Billy countered, his voice just as scratchy from drink and disuse. "And fuck you."

"Indeed," Flint said grabbing his drink and grimacing when he realised it was empty. "Fuck you, too."

"Going to just sit here and drink?" Billy asked, getting angrier and angrier by the second, but at what he couldn't really say. Sure, the old hurts were a part of it (god damn it, Gates), but there was something about seeing Captain fucking Flint drunk and maudlin that made Billy's blood boil.

"That's precisely what I'm going to do," Flint said. "I've gone to war, several times over, I've tried for peace, I've tried every single fucking tactic under the fucking sun, but I have not simply sat in a fucking tavern drinking fucking piss and I'm going to see if that fucking changes anything because nothing else fucking has."

He delivered his monologue in the most even tone that Billy had ever heard from him and something in Billy snapped. He grabbed Flint by the collar and slammed him against the bar.

"You're Captain Flint," Billy said between gritted teeth.

Flint's eyes rose to Billy's and Billy nearly flinched at the bleakness he saw there.

"No," Flint said. "Not anymore. Captain Flint has returned to the sea."

Billy let him go and took a step back, feeling unmoored and too tall and too god damn much of everything.

"And if you're in the mood to accept advice from a dead man," Flint said sitting back down. "Let Billy Bones do the same."

Then without another glance, he turned on his chair, his back to Billy.

For a moment, Billy envisioned killing him. Running the bastard through with his sword. For Gates. For the lives of the men Flint had used and thrown away. For all of it.

But the moment passed and Billy turned on his heel and walked out of the bar.

He went straight to the sea and stared at the waves, then looked at the harbour and the ships that anchored there.

Scratching a hand over his jaw, he felt a month's worth of beard on his face and huffed a laugh. Christ, what he must look like. A beggar-man, at best and at worst, a madman. Truth of it was, he was halfway to being both; he had very little coin left and his wits were foggy from the drink and the sorrow and the failure.

He headed towards the harbour, thinking he'd get on the first ship out, but his eye was caught by a familiar form leaning against a tree, the man's gaze also fixed on the harbour. Billy changed his direction and walked towards his former crewmate.

"Billy," Joji said as Billy approached.

"Joji," he replied.

"Done with the drink?" Joji asked, rubbing his thumb across his chin as he stared at the harbour.

"Think it's done with me," Billy answered. "Heading out?"

"Maybe," he said nodding slowly. "Been some time since I saw the south seas. Perhaps they're in better condition than this place."

"God willing," Billy said squinting at the horizon.

"And you?"

Billy paused. "I don't know."

"Yeah, you do," Joji said clapping a hand on Billy's shoulder. "You're the man with the words. You know."

"I'm not sure that man exists anymore," Billy said slowly.

"Then who are you?" Joji asked.

"Fuck if I know," Billy said rubbing his forehead.

"At heart, you're what you always were," Joji said, picking up a small satchel. "You're a sailor. Find a ship. Go to sea."

"Yeah," Billy said taking Joji's hand. "Fair winds, my friend."

"Fair winds, Billy." With a firm clasp of his hand, Joji nodded and then walked away.

Billy watched him go and felt the vestiges of his life tremble around him, slowly fading away. Eventually, as the sun rose in the sky and the heat of the day pounded down upon him, Billy's anger faded. It didn't go away, just receded some. While he strove for the ideals that had been explained to him as a child, at the end of the day, he was a practical man. He had to eat and he had to live.

But not here, he thought as he looked around him with distaste. He couldn't stand another minute of Savannah and he decided to head north. Maybe make it to just south of Cape Hatteras, there was bound to be something heading to sea up there. Heading anywhere. Just away from here.

He took the long way around the town, skirting the shops and people. Just when he reached the road heading north, he stopped to fill his water skin at an outside well. He filled it and splashed some on his face and neck, thinking he'd shave once he reached his final destination.

As he attached the skin to his belt, a voice asked, "Hey, aren't you Billy Bones?"

Billy looked over at a tall, lean man who was crouched in the doorway of an empty house. His hair was wild around his face and his eyes were a dark brown. He stared at Billy intently and a smile started to curve on his face.

"Yeah," the man said. "You're Billy Bones. Aren't you?"

Billy stood up straight, glanced at the town and the sea in the distance. He thought of Flint, of Silver, of Joji and all his brothers. And then he thought of the way blood had splashed on the sand and the grit of dirt in his mouth and the sting of the sun.

"Nah," Billy said, staring at the sea. "I'm not him. Not anymore."

And without another word, he headed north.

The brown-eyed man watched the man known as Billy Bones walk north, heading to God knew where. When Billy disappeared into the horizon, the man stood up and stared at the empty road.

He looked north and then south, back towards Savannah and the sea; then once again, he fixed his gaze on the northern horizon.

But then, with a funny quirk of his mouth, the man turned and headed south, back into Savannah.