Disclaimer: Everything from Once Upon A Time belongs to ABC and Disney. This is a work of fanfiction shared without profit or intent of copyright infringement.

Warning: This contains rape, abortion, violence, rude language. You have been warned. Also contains (consenting) sadomasochism, and (consenting) non-heterosexual relations.

Notes:

Squaw mint exists in our world, too, also known as Pennyroyal or Mentha pulegium. It is a potent abortifacient and induces menstruation, it tastes pleasantly of lemon and mint so it makes a good flavoring for fish or pudding...and it's, uh, fatal to ingest. I wonder how that works out.

Granuaile is a pirate queen of Irish legend and history, at least as historical as Hua Mulan. The first sea shanty in this story is very, very loosely based on the traditional Irish song of rebellion that mentions this figure (Óró, sé do bheatha abhaile) in that the tune was the same one I had in mind-but the original is more patriotic than feminist.

J.M. Barrie, author of the stageplay and novel Peter and Wendy, was a contemporary and close friend of Robert Louis Stevenson who authored Treasure Island. The crossover is canon to Barrie's novel, where Long John Silver is always referred to by his nickname, Barbecue.

MUTINY ABOARD THE JOLLY ROGER

Chapter 1

Captain Jones would not have recognized his successor, and not only because Liam Jones was dead and in no position to recognize anything. Killian Jones had taken to piracy like a river salmon to the sea. Victory had taught him to swagger, death had taught him to flirt, and sacrifice had taught him to be ruthless.

Raids were simple. Those aboard most of their target ships would know that these had become dangerous waters, and wouldn't lay their lives down for shiny treasures even if they could fight off the pirate crew. The real adventures would be when Killian caught sight of the King's ships. If they didn't open fire, he would take that time to shout to the other ship's crew that they served a liar and a murderer—and he should know, as he was once one of them. If they didn't join his cause (and they never did, being less receptive to Killian's great speeches than Killian's own) then he would save them from experiencing the king's betrayal by cutting them down there and then.

These opponents fought not only for their lives, but for their kingdom; they would be loyal, passionate, and organized—and Killian would return to The Jolly Roger, not only victorious, but without a scratch on him. At first, he tried to remember every face, to feel the loss of every life weighed against his grief and fury—but when it became clear that his swordsmanship equaled that of a dozen men at least of his selfsame build and training, why, who wouldn't swagger? Who wouldn't preen at the title of dread pirate, and coat himself in black and scarlet, and forget he was ever a dead man's little brother?

Once, two of his men laid claim to the same booty and began to fight for it. Captain Jones threw it overboard and declared that there was plenty to go around and no such petty skirmishes would be needed. No glint of danger shone in his eye, no rough word about how a petty skirmish would not be tolerated either. He had done it almost as a cruel jest—and his entire crew laughed along. So he learned to do the same with words, spite and glee like two edges of a blade, and his men would carry on in high spirits, which the young captain took to mean that he was doing right.

Other pirate crews did not take well at first to this young upstart, whose crew still carried the airs of a proper navy—not even privateers. When the first ogre wars reached inland of Muirias, Killian declared that to raid shipments of rationed goods for civilians inland would be bad form. Pirates who didn't agree to his terms either fell to his blade or sunk with their ships—for which the King's navy would never thank him, not that he wanted them to.

Three notable exceptions to Killian's slaughter of the pirates within his reach: The Jolly Roger's first mate Flint, who had previously been captain of a pirate ship by the name of The Walrus; second mate Mullins, who had previously been a spy aboard The Walrus; and quartermaster-cook-captain Barbecue of The Walrus, who had usurped Flint, crossed swords with Killian, and survived to complain. Loudly. And in detail, not all of which were even true. No, Barbecue did not join Killian's crew.

Reputation turned out to be more effective than swordsmanship. After the formidable Barbecue's complaints had made their rounds, pirates left the ration shipments well alone. That is, until Killian discovered that by "rationed" the royal family meant, "re-sold to those who could afford to also cover the tax". That should have soured his taste for politics, and he said it did—seafaring and landlubbering politics alike—but the burden of being a rebel with standards would follow him until he sailed alone to entirely new other worlds. Even relaxing his standards, to put it kindly, relieved the burden none at all.

At a pirate's port, Killian encountered another captain who rivaled his own title as dread pirate. Captain Jones won the duel, but Captain Roberts won the drinking game, and in the morning they dressed and left the inn with an agreement to both be dread pirates of different territories. Killian remembered that night well, if not fondly, for Westley had been a handsome fellow despite all his pining over some lost love or other (Marigold? Daisy? What was her name?)—but he retained a definite preference for women.

Most of his men spent their treasure first on women, whenever they docked, wherever they docked. Killian alternately brooded up a storm, and celebrated the painful deaths of his enemies with thunderous laughter. Such a temperament left no room for lust, romance, or sentiment.

Once—this was after the awful mess with the crew of The Walrus, but before the duel with Captain Roberts—they set the anchor down by a harbor town for a fortnight: an encounter with a sea monster had left the foremast and starboard side in need of repairs. The young Captain Jones had been so elated at the fact that he and his surviving crew had, well, survived that he thought to seek a particular kind of company to share his elation.

A courtesan—not a whore, for it wasn't that kind of town after all—was impressed by his good manners and the force of his personality, and she took him in as a lecturer to the men of her guild. In exchange, her guild would use their connections to discourage the town's law enforcers from actually enforcing law upon these pirates while the ship remained anchored in their bay. All other guild services required payment.

Killian was landsick for most of it, but at the end felt he had learned far more than he had taught.

Flint, who upon disembarking had told Killian that there was no reason to stay if The Jolly Roger wouldn't—or "was in no condition to"—race Barbecue to Bones-with-the-treasure-map, had re-joined the crew at the end of the fortnight. He elected himself First Mate once more, claiming to have seen the bright side of the nasty rumor that Barbecue had spread of Flint's undignified death. Flint and Mullins said they were both ready to stand by their captain, even in the face of another sea monster, and Killian had believed them.

Among pirates, the title of First Mate was honorary rather than honored. The real power on the ship was held, obviously, by their charismatic Captain; and then by the Quartermaster, whose name was Teyente.

Teyente hailed from the Moorlands, and had graduated from the same school as Killian the same year as Killian himself. He was as good a swordsman as Killian, perhaps better, because whenever they sparred the Moor would insist upon holding the sword in his left hand when he was right-handed. He only switched the sword to his right hand when he thought it was time to win. Killian said that he would rather his own left hand be lopped off before he ever resorted to such a dishonorable trick, and they wouldn't quite be friends again until after that very event had come to pass.

Their Boatswain had another birth name, but named himself Blackbeard upon becoming a pirate. This amused Killian because the Boatswain was clean-shaven and bald.

Thomas was the name of their Surgeon, Richards the name of the Master Rigger, Harrison was their Helmsman, Nigels their Navigator; young Jack could do anything and everything (but not quite as well as the people assigned to those tasks,) and young Simons could only do very simple tasks (but he performed them exceedingly well.)

Below deck labored Murphy the Master Gunner, who spoke very pessimistically about everything, his assistants Chekhov and Foggerty, who listened; and Cookson, neither of whose parents were cooks, although he himself was one. The ship's Carpenter was named Bill Jukes.

Killian would listen, even if he didn't look as if he were, even if his crew weren't talking to him, when they spoke about where they wanted to explore, or what rumors of new trade routes that would be worth pursuing. When he gave the commands for where they'd set sail, his crew would cheer…or not, or one or two would grumble as they brought up the anchor—but they would be over with it once the wind was in their sails.

It was a pirate's life for all of them. This was, thought Captain Killian Jones, how to lead free men.

It all changed the day that they raided the Maimie Mannering. Someone had set it on fire. Killian later supposed that it had been set by a crew-member of the Maimie and not from the Jolly Roger, and that was an unusual response to a raid. His own crew retreated from the thousand searing flags with nothing to show for their efforts. At least, that's what Killian thought as he brushed the ash off his boots and shouted for the crew to move on.

They returned to their merriment, louder than usual, even—and their captain, ready as he ever was to make merry, even after a setback such as this, was instantly suspicious. His crew crowded the deck, with their backs to him, shouting with a focused exhilaration that struck him as sinister. Then their prisoner cried out, and Killian's blood froze in his veins. It was a woman's voice.

"Move aside," he commanded, but for the first time his crew hadn't heard him. He unsheathed his sword, and the hiss of his blade caught their attention. They quieted, and nudged the crewmen around them into silence, and backed away from their Captain as he approached, making a clearing around their prisoner.

The figure in black tried to back away without going near anyone, which of course meant that she had nowhere to back away. She trembled, visibly, as she sank to sitting on the deck, and she pressed her tear-streaked face to her knees. The inside of one ankle had a streak of blood.

"What have you done," breathed Captain Jones, to nobody in particular, because he knew very well what had been done. He strengthened his voice and addressed everyone. "Who took her?" Nobody replied. "None of you? Someone did. All of you?" He walked around, looking at every face. Some looked down. Others gazed past him, even sulking a bit as if he had ruined some fun that they had a right to. "All of you. Against one unarmed girl. One of you against her would have been a most grievous dishonor!"

"Captain," said Harrison the Helmsman, who had stayed aboard during the raid. "You did say the men share the spoils." A murmur of agreement spread amongst the crew.

Killian's voice was colder and more cutting than his blade. "Whomever she names, or recognizes as her attacker, shall be made to walk the plank." He sheathed his sword as he said this, an act that diminished the danger of his fury not one bit. "Perhaps the rest of ye scugs will remember the difference between a thing to be shared, and a bloody person. Aye?"

The crew stayed silent as their captain dropped to one knee before the maiden—and she was a maiden still. Rape didn't count. The black she wore, Killian couldn't help but notice, could have been a mourning dress—

"Did you hear me, lass?" He asked.

She lifted her head.

"Whatever they've done, whoever did so, it's over—and won't happen again. I give you my word that no harm shall come to you here." He meant it, but he added, with a hint of levity, "No more harm, in any case." And when she continued to stare at him, he reached out to stroke her hair.

He'd meant to put her at ease, but he'd only learned one way to do that, and it was entirely wrong. His expression was entirely wrong. The maiden made a frightened sound, pushed herself to her feet, and then she half-stumbled, half-ran to the side of the ship, looking out at where the Maimie still burned in the distance. She climbed up the side and began shouting in a language that Killian didn't understand.

"None of that!" He exclaimed, as he pulled her back onto the deck. "Your ship's burnt up. It's gone. There is no land anywhere nearby, and I won't have you drowning yourself—!"

A few crew members burst into laughter—relieved, no doubt, that none of them would be made to walk the plank, although their captain had said it often enough and none of them ever had. Killian, it must be confessed, took the maiden rather roughly by the arm and led her below deck, though she twisted and kicked and shouted with shrill desperation. "Swab the decks of this mess," he ordered, and though the crew laughed, they did as he said.