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It was the longest night of his life. The worst night.
He could feel the cold water seeping into his bones, feel the dull, agonizing throb in his back.
The weight of Jack's compass in his hand, the dead body tied to the barrel he clung to. The distant cry of the seagulls circling above him, waiting for him to falter.
And he nearly did.
His hands burned with exhaustion, raw and numb from clinging to the slick wood. The pain in his back flared anew, sharper and crueler than before every time his muscles tensed to keep his grip on the barrel.
There were moments where his strength wavered, where the temptation to let go became almost unbearable.
A vast abyss of the sea was calling to him. Offering him no more pain. No more suffering. No more fighting battles he could never seem to win.
And perhaps that would’ve been easier. Perhaps it would’ve been simpler to just let go.
But he couldn’t.
He had to survive. For his father.
His father, bound to the Dutchman for eternity, a fate worse than death. He had been ready—so ready—to drive a blade into Davy Jones’s heart and take his place, to free his father even at the cost of his own freedom. But Jack had given him an alternative, a sliver of hope, and Will had clung to that promise because there was nothing else to cling to.
And for her.
For Elizabeth.
Even the thought of her sent a pang through his chest, sharper than any physical wound. The last time he had seen her—just a day ago, but it felt like a lifetime already—she had walked away from him, resolute and distant, boarding Sao Feng’s ship without a backward glance.
He had lost her.
The cold and the pain in his body were nothing compared to the cold and the pain in his heart.
He had never felt more alone.
But even if she wanted nothing to do with him anymore, even if she never forgave him, none of it mattered.
Her safety mattered.
He had to survive, had to get to the Endeavour and strike a bargain with Beckett, had to ensure that she was safe, no matter the cost.
So he held on.
With all the pain and doubt and heartbreak, he had held on.
He held on as the night stretched into eternity. As his muscles ached, as his body trembled, as exhaustion clawed at him, urging him to give up. He held on because he had no other choice.
The hours went by, and with them, the weight of despair pressing down on him, crushing him.
No rescue in sight. No guarantee that rescue would ever come. No idea if the Endeavour would find him before the sea claimed him.
He was slowly losing his grip.
On the barrel. On his hope. On everything.
His fingers were slipping, his strength fading, the darkness beneath the waves calling to him with the promise of rest and peace.
And just when he was finally ready to surrender, to let the sea claim him...
"Will."
A voice. Soft. Warm. Familiar.
"Will, wake up."
Hands on him. Gentle, grounding, real.
He gasped awake, heart pounding, still expecting to feel the saltwater closing in around him. But instead—warmth. Sheets. A bed. And her.
Elizabeth.
Leaning over him, her face filled with concern, her hands cradling his face, thumbs stroking soothingly over his cheeks. She must have felt him shaking, heard his uneven breaths, known something was wrong. Of course she did. She always knew.
“It's ok,” she repeated again and again, pressing her forehead to his, her breath warm against his lips. “You’re safe. You’re here, with me.”
"I know," he murmured, his voice raw. "I know..."
He exhaled, long and shaky, and pulled her in, clinging to her with everything he had - to remind himself that she was here. That he had survived. That they both had.
And she held him in return.
She didn't ask questions, didn't push him to speak. She just held him close, grounding him in the present.
And with that reality finally washed over him, and he felt the nightmare slowly starting to fade.
His breath was getting steady. His body started to relax. The weight of that long, terrible night, the sharp ache in his back, the distant cries of seagulls - it was all dissolving like fog in the morning light.
The nightmare still lingered at the edges of his mind, but it had no power here. Not anymore.
He was here now. Not in the cold water, not clinging to a barrel, not fighting to survive.
The sea hadn’t claimed him that night.
He was in their bed. He was safe.
He was not alone.
Not anymore.
His back wasn't aching the way it had been back then—it was healing now. The cold was gone, replaced by the soothing warmth of Elizabeth pressed against him, her arms around him.
She hadn't been there that night. She couldn’t have been. But she was here now. She was always here.
He hadn't lost her. He had her now.
He had a future.
His father was free. The Dutchman was no longer a looming fate, but a distant shadow in his past. He was healing. His body, his heart, his very soul—she was healing him.
Will tightened his arms around her, let himself sink into her warmth, into the comfort she offered so freely.
He pressed his face into her hair, breathed her in, and felt the remnants of his nightmare fade away.
Even now, even with everything they had, some nights the past was still reaching for him. There were still moments where he felt the cold wrapping around him like it had never left.
But that was okay.
What mattered was the present. That she was here, holding him like she would never let go. That they had survived, that they were together now, building something beautiful out of all the pain they had endured.
That night—the worst night of his life—would never happen again.
The horrors of the past were finally behind.
And tomorrow, he would wake up to her once again.
Just like today. Just like yesterday.
Tomorrow.
And every day after.