I'm just going to say that I had no intention of writing this story. I was just laying in bed, proud that I was going to sleep early for a change when I thought of the title, and then a story that went with the title. Knowing that if I didn't write it down right then and there, it would never be written, I got up and wrote it.

Oh, and by the way I didn't mean to post this on Father's Day, that's just when I got around to it...

Disclaimer In my mind I always wondered if I was going to write and origins story for this series, I just didn't think it would turn out like this.

Sins of a Father

A Tale from the Castaways of the Flying Dutchman

Copenhagen 1619

The boy lay quietly against the wall, legs and arms held close to his body to preserve what little body heat he had. The boy was blond and had blue eyes that had long ago lost their shine. He was terribly thin, ribs showing through his torn shirt. His bed was made up of old sacks lying on the floor, propped against the wall that was furthest for the river, which was also the driest. Old bits of straw stuck out from underneath the makeshift mats; an old attempt to make the bed more comfortable.

The cellar wasn't very large, with only room for a short set of decaying stairs and few forgotten crates that smelled like rotting fish, despite them being empty. On the far side of the room, near the ceiling was a window that had long since had its panes kicked out from the street. The owner of the house, the boy's step-father, saw no purpose in having the window mended. A small amount of light from a nearby street fire illuminated the gap.

A cold nightly draft blew into the damp room causing the boy to shiver as he curled up tighter and tried to wrap one of the sacks around him. From outside there came a distant shout and a laugh, but the boy ignored it and tried to focus on falling asleep. Sleep was his only escape from this pathetic life, and it seemed like even that were being robbed form him.

Again came a shout, closer this time, and the boy was able to make out a few slurs that indicated that the owners were drunk. For a while there was silence and the boy felt himself beginning to fall to sleep when suddenly there was a loud chorus a drunken laughter that came right from outside the broken window. The youth let out a small grunting noise, the only kind of noise that he, a mute, could make.

It soon became clear that the men were gathered around the fire to warm themselves and had no intention of leaving any time soon. The boy screwed his eyes shut and tried to block out the conversation that came from outside. In the end, his tired body gave out and he fell into an uneasy half sleep. Outside however, sleep wasn't on the minds of any of the intoxicated men.

"Oi, Adriaan, quit hogging all the grog you wretch."

"Go buy your own, you got your wages same as I did."

"Aye, but I already spent it on some company. I got my priorities and needs."

This statement was followed by laughter from another man who had yet to speak, but then did so as soon as his laughter died down. "Benedict gots to spend his money on grog 'cause not even women with a price will bed him."

"That's not true!" protested the one called Benedict. "I get my share of wo. I just needed a drink t'night."

"Aye, a drink! And you always get a drink when we're in old Copen, I've noticed." Said Adriaan.

"That's because I was tellin the truth not a minute ago." Exclaimed the unnamed man. "Benedict here has a bit of a problem when it comes to women. Can't keep them from getting pregnant when he's done with them. That's why he's a sailor and not a husband."

"Aw, you make sound worse than it is." Slurred Benedict, who from the sounds of it had been drinking while the other man spoke. "Salin's in my blood."

"I'm not judgin, just stating the way it is. How many little yous are wandering around this town?"

"Dunno." Replied Benedict unashamedly. "When the last one was dumb, I figured it was time to call it quits round here."

"You mean you were kicked out of the brothels." Cackled Adriaan. "I'm not surprised you would have a dumb kid. Wait until I tell the boys waitin on the Dutchman that!"

Next came the sounds a scuffle, followed by a swear. "Hey, that's enough you two, we need to be getting back before the Captain skins us alive.

"I hear you Voguel, right behind you. "Coming Bene?"

"Aw, I'll be right behind you. Fire's almost out and I'm almost done with my grog."

"Well, don't be too long. Come on Adriaan."

For the first time in several minutes there was silence on the street. Then there was a sound of broken glass as a bottle crashed onto the street outside, snapping the boy out from his doze. Blinking sleep from out of his eyes, he could see a pair of feet standing outside of his window, positioned so that the owner would be facing the house, looking in at its dark door. The figure stood silently. The boy didn't know whether it was one of the drunken sailors or if that event had taken place hours ago. Finally, with a snort and a muttered curse, the figure turned and stumbled out of site, allowing silence to once again fill the streets.

Closing his eyes once more, the boy settled down to sleep, hoping that one day things would be different.

You would not believe the excitement I had when I had the thought of making Ben's father a sailor on the Flying Dutchman. I decided against make Voguel the father, though I considered it. I realize there are a couple of small plot holes, but that was the way I wrote it and I'd like the reader to fill the gaps with whatever they think is most plausible.