Arthur let a large smirk cross his face as he devilishly tipped his black pirate hat up to reveal his emerald eyes and shaggy blonde hair to his older brother. Allistor, decked in a Scottish uniform he 'borrowed' from his dad, confronted the pirate with a proudly brandished wooden sword. His red hair was messy and unkempt from the battle so far. Then the littlest one, who was only ten years of age, Cailean, hid under the bed with a toy pistol aimed at the pirate. It seemed the captain was cornered and out gunned- seeing as how he was only armed with a rusty piece of metal piping for a hand and backed into the window. But Arthur was the dreaded pirate that was captain of the most notorious ship in all the seven seas, this was nothing to him. He was fearless. He was mad. He was rotten to the core. Such a deadly combination Captain Pipe possessed that could only be contested by the pure naivety of an innocent child like the one facing him now.

"Jones," Arthur spat out excitedly in an over done barbarous tone. "You have not won this round. This night will be mine yet." A wicked grin crossed his face as his thick southern English accent returned. "For you see, Captain Pipe had a terrible trap waiting. He had lured Alfred Jones into the Black Castle with a plan. Above their heads lay something so vile, so unutterably evil which not even the great hero himself could stand a chance against." he recited from the numerous stories in his head. Snippets of the great adventures children had with wild savages and bloodthirsty pirates.

Cailean crawled out further to ask the burning question as Allistor stared down his opponent, staying in character as Jones to keep up the suspenseful mood."What was above them, Artie?" he queried in his pre-pubescent voice. Such guiltless curiosity.

Instead of answering right away, Arthur turned away from them and stood stagnant for many moments. The air was tense around them. Allistor was about to attack to keep the damn story going when Arthur spoke in a severely soft voice. "Jones' greatest asset, his eternal youth, was also his largest flaw- his Achilles heel. Pipe knew this and delighted in his imminent victory. For what hung above them was the single most powerful force against anyone. It could rebuild cities, or level entire countries." His eyes flashed dangerously as he spun around on his heels to lock eyes with the enemy. His mesmerising gaze caused the elder boy to forget for a moment that it was all a game as he felt compelled to slowly look up to the ceiling of their playroom. "It was not Red Knives or Mama Redemption waiting to ambush the hero. No, the doom that was looming over Jones' unsuspecting head was—"

"Boys, have you seen me uniform? It seems to be…" they all froze as their father came in with his cigar hanging haphazardly out of his mouth. He looked long and hard at each of his sons; one holding a pipe, another with a wooden plank, and a third with a gnarled branch. All of their faces flushed a deep red at being caught. The tell-tale saccharine smile crossed Mr Kirkland's features and they regretted not running away immediately. His sandy blonde hair was swept back and his suit was clean pressed, creating an imposing figure in pure disappointment. "Allistor, Arthur, I thought we had this talk last week. You boys are almost adults; you need to act more mature. How will the tutor react when he gets here tomorrow and my children are acting like a bunch of…" here his voice dropped in disgust. "Dirty barbarians and thieves? Like uneducated street urchins with silly fantasies filling their heads?"

The two older boys hung their heads in shame. Arthur took his hat off and let his brother speak up for them. He was always the first to respond. "We were only trying to tire Cailean out for bed, Da. We Dint mean to upset ya. Honestly, we're sorry." Allistor defended in his thick Scottish accent.

Mr Kirkland straightened up and shook like a turkey at that remark. "You do not need to be filling your brother's head with such tales and distasteful grammar." He reproached stiffly.

"Oi, lay off. The boys dint do nothin' wrong." Interrupted another thick Gaelic voice. Their mum stepped up next to her husband in her beautiful green party dress that made her red hair shine brightly. "Let them go t'sleep before we're late for this party, deah."

He looked back at her sternly. "But Eily-" He started.

"Nay a word from ye, let's go. Ye can get them later." Mrs Kirkland smiled at the children with a wink before dragging their father out the door with a strong hand on his shoulder.

"I better see that uniform back in my closet when I get back." he called out quickly. "This is the last time these childish acts will go unpunished!" and with his final ultimatum issued, he was out of the house to his fancy business party. All adults did that on weekends. Right boring old stuff, really. Who wanted to go talk to prudish old bankers?

The boys solemnly glanced around at all their toys with a sense of impending maturity. Starting tomorrow it was all over… No pirates, no stories, no fights, no battles of good and evil. Just British history, maths, and politics.

"Wanna finish that story, Artie? For old time's sake." Allistor smiled sadly.

Arthur shook his head to reject the idea. "No, father is right. No more childishness, Allistor" Cailean looked heart broken. "Let's get to bed, alright?" Besides, it's less painful to simply give it up now. To draw out the forfeiture of childhood would only be too agonizing.

Both his older and younger brother looked at him with profound loss. Nevertheless, both boys headed to their respective beds and made no move to remove their play costuming. Their faces were pale and disappointed as they began to dress in their pyjamas. Arthur, too, felt awfully sick thinking about this grim future father had laid out for them. It was too cruel to be so easily accepted, but he had to pretend. He had to be strong in father's words in front of his unruly brothers to set an example.

He was so engrossed in his depressing thoughts that the sound of the bedroom window opening did not faze him. Even when soft footsteps fell on the carpet behind him, he did not take notice. He was simply staring at his hat as a leaf-clad boy with sparkling blue eyes and a messy mop of filthy blonde hair waltzed up behind him and put a large hand on his shoulder.

"Why do you have to grow up?"

The man framed in the window sighed heavily as he looked out his quarter's windows at the frozen gulf. His ship was iced into a rather awkward angle that he and the crew had gotten used to. The man himself was of an intimidating stature from his form one could see in the dark room. Broad shoulders were decked with an elaborate red coat and thick black boots covered large feet. The bits of hair visible around his nape were strangely ashen as if he were an old man, though he was still quite young to the eye. The hat covering the rest of his head was a matching crimson with great billowing feathers over the back to his shoulder blades. Only one hand, the left, was visible as it gently traced the window sill as if it were of value to him. His quarters held both an office to consult with his sailors and a partitioned bedroom, along with a gold accented piano and a number of book shelves filled with both volumes and mementos from past conquests. The room looked dreadfully grim and dusty at the moment and even uncharacteristically dirty with empty vodka bottles lying around, but it was usually a well-lit and immaculate room.

The island he watched off in the horizon was covered in snow. This depressed him and, vicariously, his small crew that were ambling about nervously on the desk. They had only just repaired the immense damage from the last attack from the insufferable brat of a child they were cursed with holding a long-standing feud with. The mast had to be completely rebuilt from wood they scavenged off the island called America. That had caused the crew to get shot in the behind by a pack of Savages led by the brat's boys. That was another incident that had set the crew on edge with the Captain's temper. But none of those could compare to the utter darkness that descended upon the Jolly Roger when the Captain saw the first traces of winter. Jones was nowhere to be seen but the Captain was as unstable as a hostage on the end of the plank. No one dared approach him.

Except for the young brunette first mate whom had the terrible luck of having to see him thrice a day. Mr Toris was a man with a demure expression, perfect for encountering the murderous man. In public he was only known as Mr T, a man that had to be crazy to endure all the torture he was put through on a regular basis. Yet here he was again with the Captain's dinner in hand to bring it into his quarters. The whole crew watched him enter the room each day with sincere pity.

"Captain?" Mr T called out as he shut the door behind him. He walked in with only a calculating glance at his superior before setting the trey on the large wooden desk. "Your dinner, sir."

"Thank you, T." the captain replied slowly. Both men stood there in silence for a moment. He had not dismissed his first mate, so he must have wanted to say something else. Toris simply let him take his time. Rushing the violent man would be dangerous, likely even lethal. Even he, who knew the captain better than anyone, could never tell when he was in the mood to go all the way. "T?" he asked quietly.

"Yes, captain?"

The captain shuffled uncertainly on his feet, feeling insecure in his rare moment of weakness. "Do you… Think Jones will come back soon?" he continued, keeping his Russian accent low.

He misses him again. Toris smiled reassuringly at the towering form. "He will bring back the Spring soon, I would think. He cannot leave his boys alone for long. They are only children, after all." Toris answered safely.

The Captain nodded his head before turning around. His other hand came into view before his face. Toris tried not to look at the metal faucet pipe in place of his captain's hand, but he was lucky to be able to mask his glances when the light reflected off it. The captain's round face came out of the shadows, showing melancholic violet orbs above a facetious smile. "T, did I not ask for you to call me Ivan when we were alone?" he grinned sweetly.

Toris jumped. "yes, Ivan. I am sorry, I had forgotten." He replied quickly.

Ivan Braginski, Captain of the Jolly Roger, the man dubbed Captain Pipe after his amputation replacement, smiled as if he were chastising a child and waved his first mate away. "Go about your duties, T. Thank you for bringing dinner."

"Yes, Ivan, sir." The Lithuanian stuttered before retreating back onto the frozen deck.

Inside, Captain Pipe turned his head to look out the frosted window once more at America. White flurries were still falling over the solidified ocean, giving no indication that winter would be letting up anytime soon. "Where are you, you dirty little shit…?" Ivan whispered with a malicious grin plastered across his pale face.

Dmitri:

Just a quick 1998 word introduction to my new story, Stay With Me. This will be a 'don't wanna research anything' fic where I will accept crack requests. If you have not yet guessed 1. Where was your childhood? 2. Yes, this is based off of Peter Pan. Only very loosely, I want space for stupid antics to take place. Allistor and Cailean are Scotland and Ireland, if you were wondering. Alfred and Arthur are Peter and Wendy, and Ivan and Toris are Captain Hook and Mr. Smee.

Well, tell me how you like it! Bacon goes to all reviewers~~~~