Deep water {willxjack }

twelve

A/N

Hey guys. Another chapter woohoo! Thanks for reading and ilysm dears and I hope yall enjoy this. Ilysm.

Trigger warnings ahead.
-violence
-torture
-blood
-pain

Third person pov

The soldiers circle Will like a pack of rabid dogs, and he can almost see them foaming at the mouth. They start taunting him, jeering and shoving him around but he waits for them to strike, not willing to fall into the trap that he attacked them, although by the end of this, that'll be how they spin it.

That's when he feels a foot connect with the back of his knees, kicking his legs out from under him. Before he knows it he's on the floor and their blows are falling all over his body. He thinks that maybe they'll get bored, maybe they'll leave him alive but then four of them grab an arm or a leg and pull him until he can't move, can't defend himself, can't even curl up into a protective ball.

His eyes widen when he sees the crudgel as one of them raises it, squeezing his eyes shut as it comes down on his chest to the distinct snapping sound of his ribs breaking. The next blow hits the air right out of him but luckily the next few don't break anything.

The cloying, metallic scent of blood fills the hot air of the smithery as the sound of fists and boots connecting with flesh carries to the silent, heavy, morning air outside of the still sleeping town.

Will is barely conscious when they leave, his body feeling like someone had thrown him into a sea of molten lead. He tries to move but his muscles spasm in protest and he decides to stay there on the ground for a little while longer.

He blacks out for a while, he doesn't know how long, his head hurts too much to look out of the window and see the sky, but he can hear the incessant knocking and hammering of the people building the gallows where Jack is to be hung later on and he knows that he has to wake up.

He crawls over to his basin that is thankfully full of fresh, cold water. He strips off his bloody shirt and pants, stepping out of his boots, leaning against the cool, stone wall.

His bruises are colouring by now, and the dried blood on his chest and face is beginning to itch along with the dull throbbing in his nose and head, but the worst of the pain is in his chest.

Every breath hurts and moving is torture in itself but he has to do this, can't live with himself if he doesn't at least try to save Jack, knowing that Jack would do the same for him.

He uses the cloth in the basin to wash away most of the blood and grime that had accumulated on his skin over the last few days, but some parts were just to difficult to reach with the stabbing pain in his chest.

If there had been such a thing as X-ray technology, he'd have seen that his ribs were not, in fact broken, but there were hairline fractures running along his lower ribs. Also of he had a mirror, he'd see that he looked absolutely awful, he's bleeding from his nose, lips and from a small cut just above his eyebrow, he has a black eye and another boot shaped bruise along his cheekbone.

And that was on his face alone. The rest of his body was more bruised than not but in his adrenaline charged state, he feels none of this.

He bandages his chest tightly, which actually does prevent him from actually breaking his ribs as he dresses in a formal pants and shirt, easing himself into a jacket, to conceal as many weapons as he's strong enough to carry, which turns out to be three of his best swords and a few daggers.

He stumbles away from the sword rack and decides to rest for a few moments. He didn't want to go there too early and get taken away before the time.

They gallows aren't finished yet and he decides to leave the smithery once the hammering stops.