(Disclaimer: Pintel, Ragetti, and POTC are not my creations.)

Just the Way it Should Be

Ragetti's guilty misery stayed with him for the rest of that night, and lingered on through the next morning. Now it was late afternoon, and the scrawny pirate still felt no better about his words than he had twelve hours ago. However, all of that forlorn time had given him a chance to think, and he'd just realized something a few moments ago. Warily, Ragetti lifted his head to watch Pintel.

The older man was seated in front of the bars at that hour, now tossing today's meager meal to the dog. In Pintel's mind, he wasn't angry enough with his younger cellmate to completely give up escaping again—he certainly had no intention of rotting in this cage when there was a way out—and there was something vaguely pleasing about seeing that pooch scarf down the bread it was offered. Besides, Pintel was far too proud of his clever plan to let it go unfollowed.

Ragetti continued to observe his bald companion for another tense moment, nervously rubbing his wooden eye, then finally worked up the courage and stood up from his bench. He made his way over to Pintel and carefully sat down beside him, clearly showing his remorse in his eye. The other pirate stared at him with detached acknowledgement, looking him up and down distastefully. Ashamed, Ragetti lowered his head slightly and inched back.

"I figure I'd still be standin' in the dirt in Tortuga if it wasn't for you bringin' me along wif you all them years ago."

Pintel knew precisely what Rags was talking about. "You wouldn't even be standin' today," he grumbled matter-of-factly.

Ragetti nodded, grimly agreeing, then glanced up at the ceiling. "…It's just this place. Y'know? It does fings to people." He looked sheepishly but sincerely at Pintel. "Makes 'em change sort of."

Pintel squinted oddly, trying to figure him out. "Wot're you getting' at?"

The younger man leaned away and dropped his gaze again. "I didn't mean to say all that stuff b'fore. …Didn't mean to call you what I did…" He swallowed hard and met his uncle's eye once more. "'M sorry, Pinters."

The apology was heartfelt and genuine enough, but Pintel still wasn't entirely convinced. "You're just sayin' that 'cause I found a way out!" he scowled.

But Ragetti shook his head firmly at this, facing his accuser directly. "No. No I'm not." He looked down then as he gathered his words, and for the first time in his life, a scrap of intelligence could be seen on his muddy face.

"I'm sayin' it 'cause it's the truf'. …When I was a kid, you taught me 'bout stupid blighters. And you told me what kinda person a stupid blighter was." Ragetti paused, then looked up at Pintel once more. "You ain't a stupid blighter, Pinters. You never was."

Pintel plainly hadn't expected to hear this, and dropped his gaze in thought. Again, he knew exactly what the younger fellow was talking about, as he'd also recently recalled their first encounter, and the old pirate also knew what person Ragetti was officially contrasting him to. Pintel's disgust faded into an expressionless face, and he nodded to himself as he then thought back to his previous conversation with Rags.

"Eh." He flicked his hand dismissingly. "It was just a hypothetical insult anyway."

Ragetti forced a relieved smile at these quiet words, and Pintel glanced up to see it. A mutual understanding shown in both of their eyes.

That set aside, the pair then turned look at the dog.

The skinnier of the two tilted his head thoughtfully. "Y'know, Pinters," he said, still watching the animal. "If givin' the dog a piece of bread'll make 'im like us, wouldn't givin' 'im two pieces make 'im like us more?"

Pintel whipped his head around to stare strangely at Ragetti, but he soon latched on to this apparent idea. "…And get 'im to trust us faster?" he chimed in hopefully.

Something sparked in Ragetti's eye when this was said, and he silently reached into his pocket and retrieved his own measly lunch. Then he reached through the bars and threw it to the dog as well.

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It took them over a week to get that hound to come to them, but after all the countless hours of watching and waiting without a crumb of food in their own stomachs, their patience finally paid off. Pintel and Ragetti had been dropping the bread a little closer to their cell every time, prompting the hairy key keeper to cross that agonizing distance more and more, and on the very last night, they'd had only to sit the bait right outside the bars.

Seeing the two white morsels, the dog eagerly got up, and without any hesitation at all, it trotted up to the cell and began sniffing them over. The two pirates quickly scooted back, giving the animal its space. There was a pause that felt like ages as it sniffed at the food, jingling its keys all the while, but sure enough, the dog was enticed. It readily wolfed down the first piece—and sat the keys down right before it did so.

Pintel saw his chance. He looked like a ghost, sitting there in the moonlight and slowly lifting his hand, but he felt very much alive and determined as he glared down at his overdue freedom. His fingers passed silently through the iron barrier, inching ever so carefully across the stone floor…

Clink!

The dog jerked its head to the right and blinked. Pintel immediately froze, nervously bulging his eyes. His fingertips were resting right on top of the metal ring. Beside him, Ragetti had an identically tense gawk on his face. The pooch stared calmly at the apparent theft unfolding next to it, but then turned its attention back to its offering and began gulping down the second piece of bread. It didn't care about the keys.

And so Pintel heartily claimed them for himself.

"Got 'em!" he hissed. Ragetti scrambled over to see for himself, completely in awe of their success. He was about to add his own gleeful comment, but Pintel anxiously turned away to search for the right key, jamming each one into their cell lock. Not knowing what else to do, Ragetti reached outside again to half-heartedly rub the dog's head—to distract the mutt from barking.

Pintel grinned as he continued testing the keys.

"Man's best friend," he mused to himself.

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Finding the right key was no chore at all, and once that filthy cell door was nudged open with a final creak, Pintel returned the ring of trinkets to its rightful owner. Ragetti was less than a step behind him, and as soon as the two were out, they went to their right and crept cautiously down the shadowy hall to a waiting passageway. Neither one of them did more than glance back at the cells of their five fellow crewmen. Let the sots figure it out for themselves.

They came close to running into a guard only once, but the sound of the young soldier's boots gave him away long before he appeared, and the two jailbirds were able to duck inside a nearby storage room before he ever caught sight of them. As it turned out, this near disaster couldn't have come at a better time, because a second after those heavy footfalls died away, Pintel peered over his shoulder and discovered where they were.

Apparently, the soldiers of Port Royal never disposed of the weapons they confiscated from prisoners; they just threw that array of swords, pistols, and other nasty tools into this very closet. Less than a minute later, the pair emerged from the storage room with a handful of suitable replacement cutlasses and guns. Pintel poked his head out through the doorway to scan the coast first, and seeing that it was all clear, motioned for Ragetti to follow. His lanky mate complied, but right before he stepped out of the crowded compartment, one more item caught his eye.

Curious, Ragetti reached down and snatched up the object—a thick, leather-bound book that'd fallen on the floor—then stowed it inside his jacket for safekeeping.

The next doorway he and Pintel found led them outside. The two were grateful that it was still night out, as the darkness gave them extra cover, but security was hardly an option that either of them could afford right now. They had to get out to sea right away, and so they followed the moon's glow right down to the docks, where its silver rays reflected beautifully against the waves. Once there, they had no trouble finding a rowboat and oars.

Pintel squatted down to position their escape vessel in the water, thinking. Tortuga was about one day away, as a full-sized ship sailed. Two men in a rowboat would probably reach the island in…well, maybe now wasn't the best time to dwell on that. Leaving Port Royal would be a good start at any rate. Perhaps there were some other, unaccounted islands on the way to Tortuga that would suffice for a rest spot.

A dull jingling sound suddenly interrupted the man's thoughts, and he turned to give Ragetti a silencing glare. When he looked behind him though, he saw the real cause for the sound and stopped. Maybe the other crewmen weren't going to figure out the same escape for themselves after all.

Pintel blinked. "Wot're yeh bringin' the dog for?"

"I ain't," Ragetti grumbled. "The stupid mongrel won't leave us alone. I fink all that bread's gone to 'is thick li'l 'ead."

The older pirate couldn't help but frown a bit at these honest words. It seemed like prison had left Ragetti with some scars that even freedom couldn't heal. Even so, this minor setback was still the least of their problems right now, and Pintel turned his attention back to the boat.

They had a brief argument then, in which Pintel demanded he do all the rowing for now and give the oars to Ragetti when he got tired, while Rags argued that it would take Pintel twice as long to get tired if they each rowed one side. In the end, they agreed that rowing together was impractical because they would both get tired at the same time and have no one else to take over, and so Pintel got his way.

The aging buccaneer edged into the rowboat, glancing up at his younger companion after the vessel had stopped bobbing. Free or not, the gangly man's imprisonment had definitely changed him in more ways than one. His blonde hair had grown longer from the months without a sword to cut it, and it cast an extra shadow over his thin face, seeming to add years. Pintel was pretty sure that Ragetti would hack it all off again when he found the time, but there was something else there, another difference that lay deep below the surface. The taller pirate was quicker than he'd been before, more straightforward and less hesitant in his movements, and when he glanced down at his companion, a clear sharpness could be seen in his one good eye. He was no longer afraid.

It was then that realization dawned on Pintel, and he quietly watched as his nephew climbed into the boat after him. Ragetti had become a real man in prison. He was no longer the half-audible child who followed his guardian around and did whatever he was told without question; he had grown more intelligent, or at least had learned how to harness intelligence now. Pintel no longer had the same control over Ragetti that he once did.

The bald man averted his gaze slightly. It was probably going to take him a while to get used to that; he had a feeling they'd be having a lot more arguments in the future. Ragetti thought like a human now—more so, he thought like his uncle. And Robert Pintel knew from experience that such a characteristic could only mean inevitable confrontation.

A faint smile passed over Pintel's set lips then as he took up the oars and pushed the boat out towards the waves, stopping to let the third member of their little renegade band hop aboard.

Good. Just the way it should be.

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The End

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YES! I finished my story before "At World's End" came out :)

Just for the record, that book Ragetti found in the jail was the Bible. We all know where that plotline goes!

Anyway, thank you so much everybody for reading this story and giving it so many excellent reviews! It's really meant the world to me!

…And never fear. I think some of the old Rags is coming back too. We all saw him grabbing onto Pintel's arm when the Flying Dutchman popped up near the end of DMC, after all.