Disclaimer: I don't own PotC, Teague or not even Brannigan, 'Quick Draw' and Teague's mama! They were all mentioned in the Jack Sparrow series, so you can thank dear old Mr. Kidd for their appearances! The only ones I own from this chapter are Evelyn, Charlie… and the rest of the un-mentioned kids!

Author's Note: Here it is, as promised… a story about the lovely Captain Teague, which has nothing whatsoever to do with the song! Applause, please! ;)
Ah, yes, and I don't know Teague's first name… it's either Grant or Edward… I'm going with Edward for now, but if anyone knows it, tell me and I'll change it! :)

Madagascar,
17th July, 1704

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Chapter I
No Place Like Home, eh?
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"'Ey! Get back 'ere! Little bleedin' thieves, get back!"

Of course, they didn't turn back. Oh, the Teague children had been brought up well enough to know the rules of pickpocketing; never, ever, ever run backwards. Only forwards. Even though they were yet to be as professional as their dear old Da', they had memorised this rule. They knew it off by heart, some might say.

It wasn't long before their footsteps became uneven, pulling them ever so gradually to a regrettable slow, their lungs leaked of all the oxygen once within them.

It was thankfully hidden inside a dark alley way when the littlest of the young figures collapsed against a cobbled wall, sweat teaming and sticking to her prickly forehead. Yes, this thief – criminal if you wish – was a girl; a young woman in other words.

Her panting was ridiculously unsteady, the lump gathering in her narrow throat just suffocating her further.

The tallest of the three – the only one that didn't seem visibly tired at all – reached into his flowing jacket and directed a leather flask at her. She cupped it into her tiny feeble-looking hands and brought it to her thin lips, letting the sweet liquid trail down her oesophagus without a second thought.

"Let's… never… do that… again…" she wheezed, grappling her cloaked arms tightly around her knees.

"Or the next time we could just not get caught," chimed in the second of the lads, rising from his bent position and outstretching his spine, a charming smirk plastered across his face.

The girl shrugged, dark locks bobbing far past her shoulders. "That too," she mumbled, impassively.

"A'right. Let's go home," the tallest announced, snatching back his flask from her tapping fingertips. All three children outspread their limbs as they stood straight, no support provided by the cobbled wall.

The tallest walked on first; he was visibly the eldest of the three, though there was no telling whether he was the most sensible. He ruffled his large fingers through the light brown locks ordered unevenly on the top of his head. His dark eyes were large and unmoving; they didn't flitter about and hardly seemed to blink. They just focused on the path ahead, as his proud smirk extended.

The local's would recognise this lad without a doubt as Brannigan; the eldest of the seven children in the Teague household. The fellow pickpockets and thieves of the town would distinguish him as 'Ace' Brannigan, for a reason neither he nor any of them could even begin to remember.

The young girl followed him, her steps quick yet somewhat graceful. Her name was Evelyn. Never Eve and most certainly not Evie. Just Evelyn. Evelyn Teague. Her dark, thick hair curled untameable and long, almost three-quarters of the way down her back. Her eyes matched, just like the rest of her siblings; deep chocolate brown and her thin eyelashes occasionally blinked over them, hardly making a difference to her young looks until they did so.

Her thin lips turned up into a grin. She enjoyed her freedom; and, as she had recently discovered, pickpocketing was the way to feel alive. For her first time, she had done pretty well, even if she was the only one to admit it. Well, maybe she had been spotted… and yes, maybe it was her who had knocked over an apple cart on their escape… but it was also her who led her big brothers into safety.

Funny old world, ain't it?

And what of the last of them, I hear you ask?

Well, he was Edward. Edward Teague.

Although, never a day in his life was he called by his first name. It was simply just 'Teague'. Teague Teague, some of the immature kids used to joke. But as far as he and his family saw it, it was reasonable.

Being the second eldest of the children, when born, his mother was out of name ideas; Brannigan had been named after their father and his parents weren't really the imaginative lot. So, to make the old salt happy, his mother named him Edward after her own father. Though, truth be told, the name had never suited him and never will.

Therefore, he was Teague. Just Teague. Though someday, he hoped, it would be Captain Teague. Yes… that suited him much better. Much, much, much better…

As the three of them trailed swiftly back to their small home, Teague continued to smirk; there wasn't a day he didn't think about his freedom, his ship and even the all important loyal crew; oh, yes, he had it all covered.

The sharp breeze tugged roughly at his tangled shoulder-length dark hair, his chocolate eyes wincing as it bit away at his cheekbones. Yet it didn't wipe the smirk from his young face…

The siblings shared no word on the swift walk through the quiet alleys of their Madagascan town; it hardly seemed to cross their minds the alerted townsfolk would be on the hunt for three young pickpockets sharing their exact looks and dress sense.

They paced through rather slow, considering their situation, and unlike most, didn't stop to admire the views; lush green trees and bright pink flowers, growing out and tall behind the crumbling houses and even the occasional lemur leaping gracefully past their feet.

All three kept their heads low, concentrating on the movement of their footsteps and the grey cobbled ground, taking the time to intermittently kick a large stone into a nearby wall.

Eventually, they paused at a decent sized detached house slightly far from the others. Well, maybe the windows were slightly smashed, the walls crumbling and the wooden door practically gnawed right through by the pesky woodworms, but this was were the Teague children could call home… at least until they were old enough to make their 'own way' in the world, as their mother had previously explained to them.

Brannigan carelessly rattled his fist against the half-eaten door, squinting infrequently through tiny bullet holes produced by their practicing over the years.

"Come in," a young voice ultimately answered, a voice the young pickpockets didn't recognise as that of their Ma's.

It made no difference, however. Brannigan shoved at the door, ramming his booted toes at the stuck bottom corner which had flexibly trapped itself in the rotting old door frame until it swung open, revealing the darkened atmosphere of the kitchen.

"Oh, lord, Charlie, open the curtains at least!" Brannigan cussed at the teenage boy smashing his knife through carrots in a damp corner, resting his weight on one of the dilapidated counters.

"No can do," muttered Charlie, the third eldest and one of the most vulnerable of his six siblings, "Mum an' Auntie 'Quick Draw' are down the tavern, again… she said to shut the drapes… said Evelyn was bound t' bring a crowd after you… first time pickpocketin' for her an' all."

Evelyn shot her tongue out at her sniggering brother.

"Aw, give her some credit, mate; she did lead us away from 'em!" Teague defended her, whipping out his green bandana from his deep pocketed coat. He tightened it around his forehead before slipping it back up over his dark hair. "It was a long chase, though… Got any rum in?"

"Nah… Why else would Mum go to a tavern?" Charlie mumbled, toppling his chopped carrot chunks into a boiling pot over the grubby stove.

Teague raised his eyebrow, suggestively. "The social gathering?" he ridiculed with a mischievous grin.

Charlie merely rolled his eyes.

It wasn't a long wait for the four children lingering in the kitchen; there were soon noisy footsteps and hot-tempered arguing taking place outside their home. In fact it only took a moment for there to be a scratching sound tuned into the merciless melody.

"Mum," chimed the four teenagers, each of them rolling their twin pairs of deep chocolate eyes.

In hardly any time at all, their decomposing front door was flung open, bouncing back and forth on its rusting bronze hinges. In stormed a woman with untameable brown hair, twisting down to her shoulders like straw. She fumed past them, raving curses beneath her breath.

The children glanced down to their hands, feet or activity, forcing themselves to avoid eye contact with an angry 'Quick Draw' McFlemming. They had before experienced the anger and unforgivable temper of their auntie and, truth be told, it was not pleasant.

The siblings kept their eyes on the ground; Teague began to twiddle his thumbs, scrappily as Evelyn twirled a piece of derelict string around her fingers. However, as soon as they heard the old front door crash shut, it was their cue to glance back up.

And there she stood; their mother, Marie Teague. Her looks matched those of their Auntie, yet only a little older. Her deep brown hair was beginning to grey and her height seemed to be shrinking by the day. She had to have been slightly shorter than Evelyn by now. Her shirt was stained with rum and fading as well as torn and her itchy brown skirt had been ripped over the years of wearing it.

"Perfidious little wench," she muttered. "Let's hope ye take after yer mother and not yer Auntie," she said pointedly to Evelyn, who froze, her eyes widened.

Brannigan snickered slightly at the expression on his younger sister's expression. He stopped, however, once he spied his mother glaring daggers at him whilst she gradually took her seat at the circular table.

"Alright," she announced, beckoning her children around her. "Let's see what ye got."

Evelyn took this opportunity to outshine her brothers, though they had been pickpocketing longer than her and, in all fairness, had done a much better job. Nevertheless, she had conducted a plan of her own.

"Here," she proclaimed, dangling twelve or so chains in front of their mother, whose eyes were now glittering with delight.

"Oi!" Brannigan suddenly spluttered out. "More than half o' them are mine!"

Evelyn smirked, flexing her tanned hand in front of her eldest brother's bewildered face. "Pickpocket," she reminded him, proudly.

"So, I believe ye've come home empty handed?" his mother jeered, winking at her sniggering daughter.

"No!" argued Brannigan. "I've come back… robbed…"

This was his mother's cue to howl with laughter. She had to be drunk, the merely sniggering children – and scowling Brannigan – figured. Bad mother Marie Teague may seem, but truth be told, she would never laugh at the misfortune of her children… unless having recently taken a blown to the head or consumed a great amount of alcohol.

Brannigan huffed, turning himself abruptly to the open area of their reasonably sized lounge, heading directly to the crooked wooden stairway. Marie and her eldest children listened intently as Brannigan's heavy footsteps stomped into the room directly above their kitchen.

Their mother rolled her eyes. "Bloody five year old," she muttered on the subject of Brannigan's temper tantrums. However, she altered her glower into a thin smile as she engaged her glance on Teague;

"What ye got, lad?" she queried him, the sparkle returning to her dark eyes.

Teague smiled a grin unique to him only, concurrently reaching into his deep pockets. He hurled out a variety of silky handkerchiefs bundled over shimmering gold rings.

"Wow…" mumbled Evelyn as she and her mother leaned in over Teague's collection. Her eyes gleamed up at her big brother, "did you take 'em right off the fingers?"

"Er… aye," Teague lied. In all honesty, he had taken the rings right from an unguarded jewellery stand… but, oh, it was so more impressive this way. And besides, it was technically still stealing…

"Pretty impressive, I gotta say," Charlie piped in, peering over his mother's shoulder at the sparkling pile on the table.

"Aye…" Marie agreed, examining the stunning ring in between the tips of her fingers. She slipped it down to her knuckle, squinting at the glimmering emerald orb. "Well done, lad. Bet ye're pretty proud, eh?"

Teague shrugged it off, reflexively. "Thrilled," he answered, forcing his sarcasm unsuccessfully aside.

However, he wasn't fine. Sure, it felt good when his family congratulated him, but Teague had more ambitions in life… and becoming a professional pickpocket was not one of them. With a short sigh, he turned himself away, examining his filth ingrained fingernails, uninterestedly.

Marie exhaled with one glance at her son. He was unhappy, even she could see that. Could it be… was her Teague ready to go at life his own way? Oh, she couldn't let him go; he was her best pickpocket; he supported the family; he looked out for her when ever she needed him…

But this was his freedom, wasn't it?

And, from experience, she knew nothing meant more to a young Teague than freedom…

"Kids, could ye give yer brother and I a minute?" she breathed, pointedly to Charlie and Evelyn.

"Aye," her third son nodded, with no suspicion at all. "But… what about the stew?"

"Never mind about that!" their mother snapped with a wave of her hand, dismissing them from the kitchen, "I just need to talk to yer brother alone."

Teague glanced up, his eyebrow raised up into his forehead, inquisitively. Evelyn shot him a perplexed glimpse, which he could only shrug at for a response. She matched his previous action, shaking it off as she trailed after Charlie into the next room.

Marie paused until she heard the clank of their footsteps and Brannigan's now-calm voice tune into the beginning of a conversation. She took this as her indication to begin, rising gradually from her seat and edging towards her baffled son.

"Look, lad…" she began, placing a hand over her his shoulder. Teague crouched down slightly so she could reach his ear in which her plan was clearly to whisper into.

"Ye're old enough now, I think. Ready to go yer own way."

Teague paused. Freedom? His much deserved freedom just out of reach? Surely she wasn't serious?

"R-really?" he stammered. His mother nodded, a smile coming to her thin lips. Teague's chocolate eyes brightened and smirk returned to his youthful face. "But… what about Brannigan?"

His mother snorted, submissively. "Teague, Brannigan's an adolescent oaf!" she exclaimed. "Yer much more mature than he is, lad. If I let Brannigan go 'is own way, he'd be caught by the Navy within a day, and I don't want ye defending him on that!"

He grinned possibly the biggest smile known to the household. His dream? His dream coming to reality? His freedom? Was it really possible? Would his mother just… just let him go like that? He couldn't believe it, really.

"So…" he stumbled over his words, "I can… go?"

"Bloody hell, lad, 'ow many times do ye want me to say it?!" his mother rolled her eyes with a slam of her fist against the dilapidating table.

Teague smirked. "At least once, Mum."

"Fine, ye can go soon, Teague! Tomorrow if ye so insist! Yer ready to go yer own way, for the last bleedin' time!" she ranted, throwing up her arms, dramatically. "Happy now?!"

He nodded. "Thanks, Mum," he smiled at her, equivalent to a sign of affection – a hug or even a kiss – for the Teague family.

"Alright, alright, no need t' get all soft on me or I might reconsider!" Marie grumbled, trudging back to her seat, stiffly.

Teague straightened his face, immediately. This was his freedom now; his future, even... And nothing would result in it being taken away from him… Not even one of his mother's pointless little threats…

Author's Note: WOOOOO! FINISHED! AT LAST! LOL!

I rushed it slightly at the end; I just wanted to get it done! I think I did a pretty good job… hopefully… And I guessed the name of their Mum… she's just 'Grandmama' in the books! :) Although it took me ages to find a name… I just settled with 'Marie' out of boredom of looking!

So, what do ya think? Any suggestions? Oh, and I also need three boys names for the other three little Teague children! Poor Evelyn… I feel sorta bad for making her the only girl… but oh well… :)

I have a feeling I've left some stuff un-answered… I'll reply with anything you want me to answer, okay? Unless you wanna know some sort of genius science question… I suck at science! :)

Oh, crap, now I gotta get back to My Name is Jack! See ya in chapter two! :)