There is a tiny cottage in a clearing in the woods, located far from the village. Logs burn in the hearth, lighting the room up with a warm orange glow. The sound of wolves howling, the wind whistling, and the popping sound of sparks in the fire surround the abode. It is the home of a broken family, but a family, nonetheless.
A man with a rich dark mustache and crinkled eyes sits in a chair beside the fire. A small and dark-haired boy of striking resemblance sits on the floor beside his father's feet, staring up at him with the same bright blue eyes.
"More, more, tell me more!" he crows, wiggling his small fingers in the air.
"Okay, okay, one more story," the man sighs, feigning a reluctant surrender. He places his hands underneath the boy's arms to lift him up and place him on his knee.
He clears his throat and gestures exaggeratedly. "Once upon a time - "
"Is this a fairy tale?!" The boy interrupts him, wrinkling his nose and sticking out his tongue in disgust.
"All great tales start with 'once upon a time,' my boy," he explains, rubbing his son's messy dark hair. "Be patient."
He resumes his story.
"Once upon a time, there was a pirate named Jack Butler. They called him..." he widens his eyes and lowers his voice an octave, ominously whispering, "...the Hangman."
The boy's eyes, rimmed with impossibly dark lashes, widen dramatically. "Why?"
"He was quite a bloodthirsty pirate. Killed nearly any man who got in his way. He was wanted by the king, dead or alive, for an amount of money you and I cannot even begin to fathom, my boy. And then, one night, his ship was attacked, after years of escape and constant success, and by a woman, no less."
"A woman?" The young boy sticks his lower lip out in seeming confusion.
His father clicks his tongue. "Never underestimate the power of a woman, lad. They may seem like delicate creatures, but they are far stronger than we believe. Perhaps even stronger than us."
When he pinches his son's cheek, the boy pushes his hand away impatiently. "So then what happened to him, Papa?"
His father bites his lip to suppress a laugh and immediately straightens up. His voice drops back into that low and entrancing murmur. "They took him to the palace, where the king waited, excited and anxious. The guards ripped the bag off of the scalawag's head, and there he finally was. The Hangman. But of course, it wasn't until that night that he received such a moniker. The palace guards set up a gallows, where a thick rope and a bucket lay. They hanged him in front of the entire kingdom, a huge chanting and cheering crowd. After he was blue in the face, confirmed dead, the king ordered his guards to leave the body there as a reminder to all as to what happens when they dare to steal from royalty. But by dawn, the body was gone."
The boy's pink lips form a perfect O shape as he lets out a gasp.
"By nighttime that same day, the king's armada was attacked by a ship none other than that of the pirate now forever known as the Hangman."
The man stops in a dramatic fashion. When his son claps his hands together, he bows theatrically.
"I wish I could be a pirate," the boy exclaims. He sighs happily, and his eyes mist over as he imagines what could be.
His father reaches to lift him, groaning in feigned exertion as he does so, and carries him to the window. He sits the boy down on the ledge, opens the shutters, and points up at the dark sky. It is dotted with millions of tiny stars, as if behind the dark velvet sky were diamonds, and someone had poked through the soft black material with a tiny knife.
"Wish upon a star, Killian. Any star." His eyes crinkle in affection as he watches the innocent young boy's eyes widen in wonder.
The boy sticks his head out of the window and his hair rustles in the wind. He clasps his small hands together and gazes at the bluest star in the sky. Though there are many, only two shine so brightly. He glances at the second one on the right and closes his eyes.
When he is done, he opens his eyes and hops off of the ledge. Looking up at his dad, Killian pulls his sleeve and suggests, "Papa, let's be pirates together!"
"Aye, that we shall," his father agrees, a glint in his eye. "We'll travel the seven seas, all the realms of this world. We'll be the most dangerous pirates this kingdom has ever set eyes on!"
And so twelve years passed. Even as Killian grew too big for his clothes, he never grew out of his dream. He constantly badgered his father for more stories of the seas, listening in rapture even when his father repeated a tale. His papa grew older, his beard grayer, the crinkles in his eyes deeper. Yet the family duo never gave up their dream. Killian stood by the window and wished upon that star on the right every night for as long as he could remember.
The boy is now sixteen years old. His hair is pitch-black and messy, barely grazing his blue eyes, which are just as piercing and mischievous as ever. There is a dark shadow on his jaw and chin which makes him appear older than he really is. He walks through the village stalls, striding along the cobble path confidently. He doesn't have to look to know how the village girls stare at him. This makes the corner of his lip curl up in a seemingly permanent crooked smirk. He reaches the merchant's stall where an old sailor by the name of Peter now retires himself to selling tapestries.
"Ahh, my boy!" The old man's face lights up when he recognizes Killian. "Come for more tales of the sea, Captain Jones?"
Killian runs a hand through his dark hair sheepishly and nods, grinning. "You do have the best stories in town, sir."
"Well, sorry to break it to you, lad, but I have no more tales to tell you." Peter reaches behind his stall and pulls out a dark leather coat. He places it on the surface and traces the sleeve nostalgically. "It's your turn to tell me stories."
He grabs the coat and thrusts it suddenly at Killian. "It's the very coat I wore when I was a sailor on me own pirate ship. A little something for you on your new adventure."
Killian furrows his brows questioningly.
"I'll tell you this, lad. There's a ship just landed on our docks. I've stopped by and talked to them, you see." Peter's eyes begin to sparkle, and his voice lowers into an excited whisper. "The captain says they've a few spots open for some landlubbers."
When he doesn't respond, Peter nudges him, "Well, go on then, say something, my boy!"
When Killian realizes what is happening, he struggles to find the words to speak. He finally clears his throat and asks, "When do they set sail?"
"Hurry, Papa!" Killian is all but running, a single sack of his possessions in his hand and slung over his shoulder.
"The ship isn't going anywhere, lad!" His father is laughing and walking at a leisurely pace. "At least, not yet! We're hours early."
Killian ignores him and, after taking a deep breath, walks onto the ship. The sailors are busy, walking back and forth from the deck of the ship to the dock, their hands occupied with ropes and white fabrics which can only be sails. One of them nods at Killian in acknowledgment, which sends a thrill of excitement through him. He attempts to contain his emotions and nods back coolly.
He makes his way toward the edge of the ship that points toward the ocean. The sunrise has cast its pink and yellow light onto the rippling waters, which reflect the warm colors. He drops his sack onto the wooden deck and places both hands on the ledge. He closes his eyes and breathes deeply, the smell of the sea and salt, so strange and yet so familiar.
He hears footsteps approaching and opens his eyes when he hears his father speak. "Your wish, my son. Has it come true?"
Killian smiles and turns his gaze to his father. "Yes, Papa. It has."
He shifts his body back toward the sunrise. He stands there until he hears shouts and the sudden sound of fabric unfolding. He whirls around and watches in irrepressible delight as sailors shout orders at each other, tie thick ropes into complicated knots, and pull to stretch out the sails. The ship lurches and then begins to move.
Killian pulls Peter's leather coat closer to his body and inhales the smell of leather and rum. Watching the dock become smaller and smaller, Killian has never felt happier to leave home.
The first day on the ship passes by in a blink of an eye. Killian spends nearly the entire time on deck, even when the night air grew chilly. He stayed along the edge of the ship, watching the ripples in the water and the fins of the dolphins that make their home in the sea. He can hardly believe this is happening to him.
That night, he slips into his nightwear and whispers to his father, who lies in the bed across from him. "Papa?"
His father grunts sleepily in response.
"I think this is my...what did you call it? My once upon a time."
The last thing he hears before he falls asleep is the familiar sound of his father's warm chuckle.
Early the next morning, he wakes up to the sound of frantic shouting.
Excited to see what the fuss is about, Killian scrambles out of bed, pulls on his leather coat, and runs outside without glancing around the room. He sees uniformed palace guards and the crew shouting at each other. Not wanting to be seen, Killian immediately hides behind the wall and leans slightly to stay within earshot of the chaotic conversation.
"We have reason to believe a wanted criminal is stowaway on this ship." The voice is deep and formal. It must belong to one of the royal guards. "We will search this ship in every corner. If we find the fugitive, you all face punishment. Perhaps even death."
There is an uproar. The crew spits and hisses. Cries of "this is ridiculous!" and "who the bloody hell do you think you are?" fill the air.
Suddenly, a sailor in the distance shouts, "Our emergency canoe is gone!"
Killian chooses this moment to run back to the sleeping quarters. He approaches his father's bed and exclaims, "Papa, you'll never guess what's happening!"
His father is still under his blankets. Impatiently, he says, "Wake up!" and tears the sheets away from the bed. Chills run over his entire body and seems to freeze him, for underneath is not his father's body, but a few lumpy pillows shaped to look like it. There is a small note peeking out from the corner of the pillowcase. With shaking hands, the young boy picks the paper up.
There are only two words on it: I'm sorry.
Killian stares at the paper. His heart seems to beat faster and faster, as if it is threatening to burst out of his chest. His eyes begin to well up with tears, tears of anger and disbelief, and he furiously crumples the note in his hands. Suddenly, there are loud footsteps behind him, and a hand grabs his shoulder, violently pushing him out of the room. Two pairs of hands grab either side of his arm and began to pull him toward the top of the deck, where a man dressed in a leather coat and ridiculously adorned hat stands. There is no doubt about it. This must be the captain.
"Who was foolish enough to let a fugitive on board?" His voice snarls and his eyes flash dangerously. "Are you to tell me that one of our passengers was a wanted pirate? Do you understand the dangers we could have faced if he was found on our ship?"
He whirls around to glare at the sailors. Spit falls from his lips. "We could have all been killed!"
The two sailors on either side of Killian forcefully let him go, which makes him stagger. He falls on his knees directly in front of the captain's feet.
The captain proceeds to kick him swiftly in the stomach, which makes Killian lunge forward and gasp in pain. He clenches his eyes shut and grits his teeth. He hears sharp metal rubbing against leather - the sound of a sword being brandished. His eyes fly open when he feels the cold and sharp blade against his throat.
The captain uses the blade to lift Killian's chin, making eye contact unavoidable. He growls, "Are you his son?"
"Whose son?" Killian struggles to keep his face passive.
"Are you the son of Jack Butler, the fugitive pirate who sought shelter on our ship?"
For a few seconds, Killian stares blankly up at the man. But as realization suddenly strikes him, he lowers his eyes before anyone can see the understanding that has just colored them. It finally dawns on him. (Or perhaps, he finally refuses to continue lying to himself.) The reason why his father had so many tales to tell. The reason why their home had been so isolated in the woods. The reason for the note under the pillowcase.
He feels as if someone is clenching and mercilessly squeezing the life out of his heart. He feels his face harden. When he darts his gaze back up, he stares directly at the captain, his eyes burning with hatred and betrayal.
"I was no son of such a coward," he spits. "But alas, I cannot deny that I did know him."
The captain roars in anger and with a movement so swift and unexpected, cuts open Killian's cheek with his sword. The boy winces, but refuses to make any sound at all. The vision in his right eye begins to blur and he feels sharp pain inching toward every cell in his body. Blood drips down his cheek and neck, covering his face and clothes in a sticky dark red mess.
"From this day on, you are a servant on this ship," the captain orders, his voice shaking with anger. "You will wipe off every inch of blood and sweat on this deck and obey mine and the crew's every demand, lest you walk the plank."
He walks up to him and hisses, his spit landing on Killian, who dares not flinch. "You're lucky to live, boy."
The captain's hand grabs something near his neck, almost instinctively. Killian's gaze falls there, at the base of his throat, where an odd object hangs on a thin leather string. It is white and yet shines of a million colors, shaped curiously. Almost like a bean.
Any sign of innocence and hope that had once lived inside of the boy was now snuffed, as would any abandoned child whose dreams had been shattered. The light in his blue eyes were gone, replaced by an emptiness, which is much more dangerous than anger or pain.
Killian is on his knees, scrubbing the captain's cabin floor for the fifth time that day. The captain is at his desk, asleep, his head on the mahogany surface. He quietly stands up and approaches the table (wrinkling his nose as he does so, for the captain reeks of rum) to organize the maps that are scattered messily on top of it. However, he finds himself distracted, once again, by the captain's necklace.
Warily, he takes the bean gingerly in his hands. He wonders why such a powerful man treasures this tiny object as much as he does. In a moment of great desire for revenge, he takes a small knife out of his pocket and uses it to snap the leather string around the captain's neck in half. He holds the bean gingerly between his fingers, and then proceeds to pocket it.
It is time for bed, but Killian cannot sleep until he finishes washing the dishes. He sits at the bottom of the deck, surrounded by dirty and rusting bowls and utensils. He holds a dirty sponge in one hand and a pan in the other. He suddenly remembers the captain's necklace in his pocket and drops the sponge. Killian puts his hand in his pocket, his fingers toying with the bean, which feels cold and hard, almost like glass. And in a blinding moment of fury and frustration, he stands up and stomps outside, toward the very ledge where he had told his father so many dawns ago, that all of his dreams had come true. Killian Jones stands there now, one hand clenched around a soapy pan, and the other in his pocket, clutching the bean.
Hesitating for a second, he closes his eye and throws the bean into the ocean.
Right as he is about to walk away, a strong gale of wind stings his face and a blinding green light seems to surround him. Gasping, he throws the pan over his face to protect himself. When he hears a curious sucking sound, he cautiously peers from behind the cooking ware and is shocked to see what looks like a black hole in the ocean.
He knows it sounds crazy, but he can hear a curious singing from this whirlpool. It hypnotizes him, almost lures him in. But Killian glances at the night sky and his fears wash away when his gaze lands on that familiar bright star, second to the right - the only constant thing in his life. And as he gazes at it, he wishes so hard, so very desperately, that he will never grow up to be a man like his father.
"Oi, you!"
When Killian turns around, he sees the captain running furiously toward him. His eyes are flashing, even more sinister-looking in the green light, his voice shaking with uncontrollable anger. He brandishes his sword swiftly and lunges toward Killian, who blocks the blade with the pan. Wasting no time, he takes a deep breath, and immediately climbs onto the wooden ledge of the ship.
He turns toward the captain and salutes him mockingly. "It's been a great journey, Cap'n," he says, and narrowly avoiding the captain's grab for his foot, jumps as far as he can into the hole.
When he finally lands, the last sound he hears is the song which had lured him into the hole. He lifts his head toward the source of the noise and then falls, unconscious. The last thing he sees before blackness takes over, is that same brilliant star, the sparkling diamond in the sky, second to the right.
When Killian wakes up, he immediately hears splashing. He lifts himself up slowly, groaning and clutching his head when it begins to throb painfully. Wincing, he looks around confusedly and realizes he is lying on cold and flat rock beside a pond that seems to lead into a larger lagoon. The waters reflect the sunrise in the sky above.
He hears another splash and a giggle. A high-pitched voice sings, "He's alive!"
Killian whirls his head toward the voice, but sees nothing. He raises an eyebrow. "Who's there?"
More giggling.
Before he can do anything, a woman's head pops up out of the water, which makes him jump back in shock. Her hair is white blonde and her eyes an impossible shade of violet, her shoulders bare and glistening with beads of lake water. Just as he is about to utter something inappropriate for a young lady's ears, more women suddenly emerge beside her.
"What - who - are you?" he asks, bewildered.
"We're mermaids," the redhead closest to him responds. She bats her hazel eyes at him. "We don't really like humans, but we made an exception, just for you."
Killian smirks slightly and suddenly wonders if he has the same effect on mermaids as he does on the village girls. He slowly licks the corner of his lips and then winks. "I'll make sure you don't regret it, lass."
The white blonde mermaid swoons and there is a chorus of giggles. Killian suppresses a grin and then immediately clears his throat.
"How long have I been lying here?" he asks, rubbing the dark shadow on his jaw.
The brunette near his feet plays with his toes, as if fascinated by them. "You landed here last night. And as any first-time visitor does when they fall here, you slept all through the night and straight on 'till morning."
Killian's eyebrows shoot up. He mutters, mostly to himself, "Is that right?"
"What's your name, handsome?" A blue-haired mermaid with matching eyes asks him, swimming up to him and reaching up to place her hand dangerously close to his inner thigh.
The name Killian Jones tickles his lips, but he holds it back. His eyes harden as he remembers the long and hellish months aboard the damned ship, his dashed dreams, his papa, who was brave enough to steal from the king and narrowly escape death, but not brave enough to stay with his son. But this is a new land, a world where he may not have to grow up to be a father, a place where he can start anew.
"Peter," Killian replies finally, remembering the merchant who had so supportively encouraged his dreams of traveling the seas, the only pirate in his life who had never abandoned him. It is the first name he thinks of. Pulling the leather coat closer to him, he looks around rapidly until his gaze lands on the pan he had brought with him from the ship's kitchen. He murmurs inaudibly, "Pan."
His voice grows more confident and he raises his head, his blue eyes flashing fiercely. Light in his eyes flickers so slightly, it could have been imagined. "Peter Pan."
"Well, Peter Pan," the mermaid croons his name in a way which can only be described as seductive. "Welcome to Neverland."