Ageless Bill Turner's Journal

“You SHOT me!” Yelled Bill, looking down at his smoking torso, where the already-healing bullet hole went through his stomach. “After fifteen years, all y’have to say to me is “Aye” and you SHOOT me?!”
“Had t’make sure it was you, mate.” Jack said as he holstered his pistol and swayed with a furrowed brow.
“And you SHOOT me?!” Bill said, nonplussed. “You could’ve asked m’name, or done somethin’ a little less drastic.” He said, pressing his stomach with the flat of his palm.
Jack wouldn’t have, in retrospect. He was always one for making sure at any cost that his eyes weren’t failing him, that he was really in the clear on things.
“Aye, I could have, but then I wouldn’t have been sure if it was you or your son standing there. Will would’ve fallen right over and bled. Looks just like you, I swear it.” The dark-rimmed eyes of the captain bulged with the second statement as he nearly tipped over, but righted himself once more.
“My son?” Spoke Bootstrap, looking up from his stomach, his attention officially grabbed. “You’ve seen my son.”
“Aye.”
“An’ I suppose you’ve got stories for that, as well.” Said Bill, having gone to fretting about the new holes on either side of his ragged shirt. He had been shipwrecked on the island for somewhere near a month, living off of the critters that inhabited it, and his clothes were in less-than-impeccable condition.
“I do.” The dreadlocked, swaying captain replied. “But what’re you doing here?”
“Well, I was looking for you, but y’see, apparently y’cant trust a greenhorn crew like the ones I had not t’lead you into a storm and get capsized.” He said, running a hand through his sandy hair, staring out into the blue water that surrounded him. “I see y’got the Pearl back.” Spoke Bill, as he turned to face the ship with the black masts. It had been his home for most of his childhood and adult life, and a good chunk of his unlife, as well. “How’d you manage that? Barbossa didn’t seem too likely t’give it back t’ye in life or death.”
“Ah, that all ties in with the story I’ve got about your son. Come aboard, Bill, I’ve got stories to tell, and you likely have some of your own.” Jack had somehow snuck up and gotten closer to Bill, offering his arm to his once-first-mate. Bill took it as if nothing had happened, because to fret about what had just happened with Jack was like trying to talk a cat into coughing up a canary. Useless.

It had been fifteen years, give or take a few months, since the two had seen each other. Bill had been dropped off the bow of the Pearl, fastened to a cannon. This would’ve killed any normal man, but Bill wasn’t a normal man by any means.
It was several months previous to the ill-fated sailing to the Isle deMuerte that Bootstrap had found a rather deeply covered secret of Captain Jack Sparrow.
“Did I ever tell you about the time I got my throat slit in Singapore?” Asked the rather inebriated captain. He told the story, and Bill rather didn't believe it until it was proven firsthand.

And of course, this spurred Bill into thinking about it. An accord was made after a few weeks of overthinking, and the rest of that story's been told over and again.

A few months (and one talisman against sunlight) later, they were headed to the Isle deMuerte. And the mutiny occurred. Bill had bad feelings about renouncing his position as first mate for the voyage, from the beginning, but Jack had told him that his intuition was probably just a nagging bit of discouragement for leaving the captain alone that time.
He did sail though, and ended up seeing Jack stranded on an island, before he himself was plunged into the water with a cannon fastened to the straps of his boots.

He wriggled free from his boots and found his way to an island, to be picked up by the same rum runners that had picked up Jack a week or so previously. They had left Jack in Tortouga, and since then, Bill had been chasing after the captain, who was chasing after his own ship. It was really what they’d call a wild goose chase.

And so it was for fifteen years. Fifteen LONG years, from Bill’s account. The Pearl was as much his home as it was Jack’s. Perhaps not as sentimental, but still, the only home that Bill had was the Black Pearl, and he felt bad about being the captain of his own vessel. It was only a few weeks from the time that Jack had gotten his first love back that Bill had gotten shipwrecked. And that’s where we started the story.

“So, that’s all you did was chase after me like some sort of lost puppy?” Jack said with an indignant snort.
“I couldn’t very well allow you to get yourself into harm’s way, now.” Said the first mate, puffing on his pipe with a scowl on his face. He was still sore that Jack thought it was funny.
“Harm’s way is the street I walk, boy, understand that. Getting me off of it would be the tricky part.” Spoke the captain as he unlashed the wheel of the ship and leaned against it. Bill had busied himself by taking up his usual chore of checking the wind, the sails, and all the other little fiddly-bits that made the ship ready to go.
“Still couldn’t let you go off an’ get into more trouble than y’could handle on your own lonesome, hm?” Spoke Bill.