I had this idea. It wouldn't go away. It started to niggle at me. With the new canon about Killian's past we got in Season 5, I realized that there needed to be a new kind of LD fic, one that included his time as an indentured servant. The idea grew. I realized I really wanted to see what would happen if a young beaten and broken Killian met a lonely, frightened Emma. And this was the result. I tried to keep it in canon as much as possible, and this story will included a slight spin on the events of Season 1. It's also a Jones brothers story, as their relationship is so crucial to who Killian is. I hope you enjoy!

Big thanks also to Mryddinwilt for her help beta'ing and to Whoknowsheregoes for her support!

As always, I love to hear from you. You can respond here or on my Drowned-Dreamer tumblr account.

Pairings: CS/LD, Jones Brothers, eventual Daddy!Killian

Warnings: Mentions of abuse, panic attacks

Ch 1: The Servant

He awoke before dawn, as he had done for many years now. With a muffled groan, he stretched out in the too small hammock, his long legs swinging over the edge with the sway of the ship. Lately, he'd noticed that it seemed like every night he went to sleep as a dwarf and woke up as a giant. (Though he had just turned fourteen, Liam kept saying not to worry about the way his body was changing, even if some of the changes seemed very strange.) While he was glad to nearly match his brother in height, soon he knew that he'd need new trousers and shoes requiring coin that neither of them could spare. Maybe if he got lucky at the next port, he'd be able to trade off a day's labor for some bigger clothes.

Next to him, he could hear Liam's soft snores; his sleep always easier than Killian's own. He couldn't begrudge his brother what little respite he could find, though. He had earned so much more than that for having to take care of his sorry self. Maybe one day, Liam would wise up and leave him behind. It would be best for everyone that way, despite how many times Liam had told him that he would never, ever leave his side.

Unlike his thoughts, at least the waves were calm this morning, as Killian slipped from his bunk and began to go about his duties. The Osprey's captain, a leathery-faced old man called Pike, liked hot tea ready for him when he woke, which would be just after the sun had tipped the horizon. But first, Killian needed to face the worst task of the morning—of the whole day, really-cleaning out the officer's chamber pots. He could only hope they hadn't been drinking too heavily last night. Nothing was worse than cleaning up those messes.

He knew from experience that it was best to eat beforehand, as his stomach never took kindly to food afterward. Killian gnawed on his morning ration of hardtack and pulled a ladle of watered down rum before he steeled himself for his task. The rum had the added effect of making everything feel distant and remote, and he was loathe to admit that he was starting to wish it was a bit stronger.

Thankfully, the hideous chore didn't take him long to finish, and he had already washed up and started the boiling the water for the Captain's tea as the first rays of sun lit the flat sea. Taking a moment before the rest of the crew awoke, Killian watched it rise, hoping that today would be an easy day. He didn't dare hope for a good day.

"Boy!" The Captain called out, shaking him from his stupor. "Where's me tea?"

Killian stumbled from the galley, down the dark and narrow hallway, splashing boiling hot water over his nervous hands, worried about what might await him inside. "Here, Cap'n," he replied meekly, as he pushed open the door to the Captain's quarters. After handing the old man his tea, he ducked back into the corner until he was needed, just as he had been taught when he and Liam's contract had first been sold off to this ship. If the Captain wanted anything, he would say so. He didn't need to be reminded of the gangly teenager standing awkwardly in the shadows.

As usual, Captain Pike ignored him while he sipped his tea and looked over his charts and maps. Killian's mind started to drift with boredom, catching himself just in time for the Captain's signal to help him dress. Quickly and efficiently, he turned to the small closet, retrieving the man's breeches, vest, and boots. He laid the clothes out neatly on the bunk, and pulled off the scarf from around his neck to give the boots a hasty polish. By the time he was finished, the old man was dressed and sitting at his desk with his socked feet extended out. Killian hoisted the boots under his arm and knelt to fit them on.

He heard the man sigh as he struggled to get the stiff leather to slip past his rigid ankle and heel. "Worst investment I've ever made. Don't know why I bother keeping you around," Pike grumbled.

Though it wasn't the first time he had heard the Captain say such things, Killian found his palms starting to sweat anyway; the boots threatening to slide out of his hands. At the last moment, though, they gave way and slipped into place with a little 'twock.'

Pushing Killian out of the way so he could stand, the old man straightened his vest and said, "Fetch Parsons and get me some biscuits to go with this tea, boy. Then you and that brother of yours need to scrub down the forecastle. Think you can at least manage that?"

"Aye aye, Cap'n," Killian mumbled, rushing out the door in relief, and sending up prayers that First Mate Parsons was in a good mood that morning. Dealing with that man when he was in a temper was never pleasant. (Although dealing with him in a good mood wasn't pleasant, either.)

He found the First Mate top side, shouting orders to the sleepy men. Though Parsons was younger than the Captain by a couple of decades, they could almost be twins. They both shared the same build, same straggly brown hair that more often than not fell out of their tie in the back–though the Captain's did have more grey in it–and they both shared the same strict, no-nonsense attitude about how to treat their crew-actually, Parson's far exceeded Captain Pike in his severity of command. He was the type of man who delighted in his power over others and made sure they all knew who was in charge. That was why Killian hesitated to approach the man at first, especially when he already seemed to be in one of his 'moods.'

"What is it, boy?" Parsons snapped, spinning on his heel to glare at him. "Stop gawking and spit it out."

Perhaps it was the condescending tone, or the sneer he always wore, but there was just something about that man that seemed to bring out the worst in Killian. He clenched his jaw tight to keep from saying something he'd regret, knowing from experience that any outburst would do nothing except gain him another scar on his backside. "Cap'n Pike wants you, sir."

The man gave him a withering glare and looked away. "Tell him I'm tending to this lot of lazy arseholes and I'll be there shortly," his tone brokered no argument.

Biting his lip, Killian looked back at the stairs to the Captain's cabin, unsure what to do. If he didn't come back with Parsons, Captain would no doubt box his ears. If he argued with the First Mate, he'd be lucky to get off with a box about his ears.

"Why are you still standing there like a stunned mullet? Didn't you hear what I told ya? Or are you too stupid to understand what I said?" The man was standing so close, Killian could smell the reek of rot from his breath and struggled in vain not to pull away. Wanting to appear tough and unafraid.

"No, sir. I mean, aye, sir," Killian answered, his voice cracking out.

Parson's shook his head, and locked his hands behind his back, like he was getting ready to teach a lesson. "You're absolutely worthless. You know that, boy? Why the Captain took pity on you and decided to buy your contract with your brother's, I'll never understand. But never you fear. Soon I'll be Captain of this ship and your life will belong to me. And I have no use for stupid, lazy children who can't even string two sentences together." He stopped pacing and turned with a vicious smile, his cold brown eyes daring Killian to fight back.

Parsons' glare turned to disgust when there was only silence as an answer. "Well? Run along and relay the message to the Captain before I have to remind you how to follow orders on this ship." He stood up his full height, the implied threat hovering in the air between them..

However, the First Mate's words had already done their job, and in their wake, Killian faltered. His mind flashed back to a vision of being much younger and feeling frightened of a storm. Father towered over him, bringing with him a sense of safety and love. Only now those memories were corrupted. Father had not only left, he'd sold them off.

Suddenly, it was as if his mind had decided to replay all his failings one by one. Father didn't want him. He didn't love him. No one could. He wasn't worth it. He was a scrawny, clumsy, stupid kid who couldn't even follow the simplest of orders without messing them up. Not like Liam. Liam was strong and capable and he always knew just what to do. Maybe someday Liam would tire of taking care of his wretched little brother and cast him off to like the dead weight he was. Then he'd truly be alone.

The thoughts kept coming, racing faster than his galloping heart, and though he knew Parson's was still staring at him, he couldn't slow them down. The feeling of helplessness strangled him, crushing him beneath its weight. "I—" Killian suddenly flailed, his heart stuttering in his chest and his breath coming in great wheezes. He couldn't swallow. Couldn't breathe. Couldn't…

"I'll do it, sir," Liam called out, as he miraculously appeared at his side. Not giving the man a chance to react, he tugged on Killian's sleeve, breaking the thrall he had been in. Hastily, Liam pulled him along the stairs, as the First Mate's eyes followed them both with unconcealed loathing.

"What's wrong with you?" Liam asked when they were below deck, worry lacing through his voice.

With a hand clutching on to his brother's arm no doubt hard enough to bruise, Killian swiped at the sweat sliding down his brow with his other hand. Though he wasn't fully back to himself yet, there was something calming about his brother's presence. Not knowing how to answer, he could only shake his head.

Liam pressed him up to the side of the hull, checking to make sure they were out of sight of any of the crew, and took a long look at him. Killian could see the genuine worry in his brother's eyes, and it made his heart feel like the moments after a squall, when the dark clouds parted and the sun burst through the cracks.

No, he scolded himself. Liam wouldn't leave like Father. It was the only sure thing he knew and he clung to it as a drowning man clings to a buoy, scraping with his nails and trying to find purchase in any way he can.

"I'm sorry, Liam," Killian stammered, his breath slowing and becoming steadier. "I don't know what happened."

Liam's look softened as he nodded, tugging at Killian's neck affectionately. "I believe you. I think you were just frightened."

"Was not!" Killian cried, his sense of pride momentarily overwhelming his other feelings.

With a smile, Liam pulled back and ruffled his hair. "It's okay. I won't tell anyone."

"Shut up, Liam," he grumbled, running his hand through the dark strands in a fruitless attempt at getting them back into place. Suddenly recalling why they were here, his head shot up. "Cap'n's going to kill me. I was supposed to fetch Parsons, but Parsons wouldn't come."

Taking a moment, Liam nodded to himself and scratched at his ear. "I'll handle the Captain. Was that the only order he gave you?"

"No," Killian said, trying to recall the orders, "he…he wanted some grub...and then we were to scrub the forecastle."

"Alright," Liam agreed. "You go along and start the cleaning. I'll pass along Parsons' message,"

Killian opened his mouth to argue, but Liam gave him a little push along the hallway. "And Killian," he added, calling out just before he ducked into the Captain's quarters, "whatever you do, don't piss off Parsons any further."

"I didn't!" Killian argued.

With a tired look, Liam sighed and said, "I know, but you know he likes to try and goad you into things, and he'll no doubt be holding that little display out there over you for weeks. Just…"-he paused and ran his hand down over his face-"try to stay out of his way, little brother."

Anger flared in him, but one arched brow from his brother quenched it before it could spark to life. Begrudgingly, Killian nodded his agreement. "Alright, brother. As you wish."

…

Most of the wood on the starboard forecastle was scrubbed down by the time Liam returned. What should have taken his brother only minutes, had taken most of the morning, and when he saw the tousle-haired head of his brother rising from below deck, the nervous ball in his stomach had settled into a dead iron weight at its bottom. His worst fears were confirmed the moment Liam approached. There was a new bruise above his brow that hadn't been there that morning. Killian squeezed his brush so tightly at the sight of it, his knuckles went bleach white. Inside, he was roiling with a mix of anger and guilt.

Liam gave him a sharp look that clearly meant, 'Don't say a word,' and snatched a second brush from the pail. Then, he went to the other side of the deck and began to work with more vigor than was necessary.

Killian couldn't help but sneak glances at his brother while he worked, not wondering about what happened so much (that much was obvious), but about the anger he saw in Liam's eyes. Was he mad at him? Did he blame him for the way he froze up earlier? Did he hate him for taking a beating that would have been meant for him?

By the time his part of the deck was clean, he had just about worked up enough courage to say something to Liam, even though he had drawn blood with how hard he had been biting his lip. Looking up, he saw that Liam was still scrubbing vigorously, his back turned away. In fact, his posture was so tense and he was swishing his brush around with such force, that he was surprised there wasn't a hole right through the deck. "Brother?"

Liam turned, the anger from earlier now replaced by a deep sadness Killian could never remember seeing before. The clear blue of his eyes were rimmed red and his cheeks were wet, and if Killian didn't know his brother better, he would have said he had been crying. But that would have been impossible. Liam never cried. Never. He was brave and strong. And clever. And…

"Killian, I'm sorry." Liam said sadly, barely above a whisper.

Killian scooted over on his knees, his linen trousers soaking up the scummy water. "Why are you sorry? You've nothing to apologize for." He was confused. Shouldn't he be the one apologizing? This had been all his fault. Shouldn't Liam be angry with him?

"I do," Liam declared firmly. "I have failed you. It's my job to protect you and I can't get us out of this…"

"Liam?" Killian asked, feeling very young and unsure. He didn't like this one bit. It wasn't like his brother to be this way. It made him feel as if the world he knew might not be real, and that was somewhat terrifying. "I don't understand. How have you ever failed me?"

"We're stuck here, Killian," Liam sobbed, running his free hand up into his curls and tugging tightly in order to ground himself, looking so much younger than Killian could ever remember his older brother appearing. "I don't know how long. And they can do whatever they want to us, because they own us," he spat out venomously, waving his brush towards the helm and the officers milling around. There was such a fire in his eyes that Killian flinched back at the sight of it. The movement must have startled him from whatever dark place his thoughts had taken him, because when he turned back, his look had softened into his usual caring gaze. "I hate it, brother! I hate our father for leaving us like this. I hate being a servant to those bastards who treat us like dogs. And I hate that I can't make a better life for you."

"Hey," Killian said, drawing closer and placing his hand gently on Liam's arm, sensing that this sudden outburst was probably a long time coming. After all, he felt that way all the time. Was it really that much of a surprise that Liam should as well? He knew then, that he needed to fix this, he needed to make him feel better, just as his brother had done for so long. "I hate it, too. But it's like you always say. Everything will be alright as long as we're together, right? You and me." Liam nodded at this and offers him a faint smile. Killian ducked his head, and in a smaller voice, he added, "Maybe if I just stop making things so hard for you, it wouldn't be so bad."

Suddenly, Liam grabbed his wrist. "No, Killian," he stated firmly. "This is not your fault. Yes, you're a bloody stubborn git sometimes, but you're just a kid."

Killian shrugged. "So are you."

There was a moment of silence then, when the weight of it all seemed to finally bottomed out. And it was there, at the bottom, where they could either stay in the darkness and flounder, or rise back up again to the light, that the true bond between the Jones brothers would always be strongest.

Liam took one long look at his brother and cracked a slow smile. "I'm almost eighteen, little brother. That's nearly an adult."

And Killian was floating again, far away from his troubles. Without fail, Liam always managed to bring him out of the darkness.

"Aye," Killian acknowledged with a nod. "Yet I'm nearly your same height, old man, so that's younger brother to you, if you please," he replied with a confident smirk.

"Oh ho!" Liam chuckled, leaning back on his heels, pushing his brother in the arm hard enough to unbalance him. "There's the little git I remember. About time he reappeared."

Killian swept the hair out of his face and resisted the urge to dump the wash bucket over his brother's head. "And there's the arse I remember."

They stilled for a moment to just grin stupidly at each other, each feeling the world shift back into its proper place.

Until the world decided it had other plans for the brothers Jones.

As they sat smiling, the daylight turned a strange vibrant green and a curious wind blew over the deck. Suddenly, Killian could hear the men scampering and shouting orders, but when he turned to look for the source of the commotion, he was arrested by the sight before him. Just ahead of the ship-where moments before was a calm blue sea-a giant swirling fissure had opened up in the sky.

Spiraling shades of greens and yellows encircled a deep black hole so dark it seemed to draw the sunlight in. It was nearly half the size of the ship itself already, and only appeared to grow larger as the ship sailed nearer. Killian couldn't look away, transfixed by the violent hues. At his side, Liam uttered in a hushed awe, "Bloody hell! It's a portal."

A portal? Here? Killian could scarcely believe it. They were the stuff of stories and legends; rumored to be a kind of powerful magic that could take one to whole new realms where anything might be possible. Although he had witnessed real magic a few times in the ports they traveled, most of it was of the everyday variety-imps and fairies playing in the trees, charlatans trying to catch out the unaware, healers and witch doctors selling their potions and spells. But he had never seen anything quite like this. And as rare as they were, he never thought he would see one in his lifetime.

Behind them, they could hear the men straining to turn the ship under Captain's orders, and Killian tore his eyes away in order to look down and see the wake coming off the new curve of the bow. Slowly, the ship began to slide past black mass. Luck seemed to be favoring them as it looked as though the ship would be remaining clear of the portal's draw. Killian, however, felt a profound sense of disappointment at the thought. Even though the thought of traveling to another realm was terrifying, he couldn't help but wonder what life would be like in some other world. In fact, he suddenly found himself longing for it with all his heart.

"Brother, come—" Liam began to say, and that's when it happened. The ship lurched, the starboard side dipping suddenly down towards the ocean, as if the portal had reached out somehow and pulled the ship back. Killian, who had been at the rail, grabbed on tightly to keep from tumbling into the freezing sea.

Liam wasn't so lucky. As the ship tilted, he lost his footing entirely and went somersaulting backwards, right off the side towards the ocean below. Shouting in terror, Killian reached out for him as he fell past, somehow managing to grab him with his one free hand.

The portal was hovering right above them now, pulling Liam not towards the sea, but upwards towards the strange blackness at its center. Liam's legs floated above his head, and Killian could feel the pull of the portal trying to snatch his brother away. Circling winds whipped at them, the sound of it turning everything into one giant pounding roar.

"No, no, no! Hold on!" Killian cried, straining under the combined effort of holding the rail and his brother's hand, and shaking in terror from the thought of being left alone. "Liam!"

"I—I can't. My hand is slipping!" Liam called back, eyes frantic and legs kicking out at the sky, as if somehow he could swim his way back down through the air.

In a moment of rashness and impulsivity, Killian tore his eyes from their joined hands and looked hard into his brother's eyes. He saw terror there–terror at the thought of leaving his brother behind–and suddenly, Killian knew exactly what he needed to do.

He let go of the rail.

Immediately, he felt himself be lifted from the side of the deck, flying upward to the mouth of the portal. Though he was afraid, Killian felt a strange sense of calm come over him, as he tightly gripped onto his brother with both hands. The blackness closed around them, and the whirling rush of wind began to pummel them senseless.

Just before everything went dark, Killian caught his brother's eye and an unspoken thought passed between them-it didn't matter where this portal would take them, as long as they were together.