This is my first Pirates fanfic published here! I hope you'll all enjoy it.

Disclaimer: I do not own Pirates of the Caribbean, Peter Pan, or either work's characters. I own Amy and nothing else.


The way out of trouble is never as simple as the way in.

-Edgar Watson Howe


The boy wasn't quite sure where he was. He also wasn't sure why a band of native youths had attacked him, nor was he sure of what had happened to his clothes. Hell, at this point he wasn't even sure of who he was.

He was sure of whom his father was, though. He had only met his father once, but once was enough. His father was William Turner, captain of a ship his mother had always claimed to be a myth.

The boy's mother was a bit of a mystery. For nine years and some months, she had been Mrs. Turner, the respectable widow of a man lost at sea, too distraught to remarry. But then those men came; pirates, the boy was sure of it now. Rather than do anything to stop them, the boy's mother had sent him to bed and spent the night talking to the villains.

The boy came to what looked like a safe place: a shack with stairs leading down to the river. Through the window, the boy could see someone in the first suitable dress he had seen since stowing away on the ship.

He knew not to talk to strangers, especially when he had already been attacked once that night, but he was desperate, and he could smell something delicious from inside. Besides, what more could happen to him? He'd already been beaten half unconscious and had his clothes stolen. He climbed the stairs, took a deep breath and knocked.

The door opened to reveal the prettiest young woman the boy had ever seen. She looked down at him, then nodded and stepped back from the doorway. The boy looked up at her. She sighed impatiently.

"Well come in. And hurry up. I'm expecting company.


"Here," the woman handed the boy a shirt and a pair of trousers, "They may not fit right, but they'll do."

The boy stuttered his thanks.

"Would you like some stew?"

The boy nodded quickly. He watched as she ladled the warm stew into a wooden bowl. The woman, though just as pretty as when she opened the door, didn't seem quite as young. When he first saw her, she had been in the middle of fixing her long brown hair and a bit of it was covering up her now apparent eye patch. More than just her tired blue eye told the boy she was older than she seemed. There were no wrinkles on her face, and she looked youthful, but there was a tiredness in her arms as she held the pot that the boy saw in his mother's stance whenever she looked at him.

"Do you have a name?" the woman asked, putting the bowl on the table along with a bit of bread and cheese.

"Turner, Ma'am," said the boy.

"Don't call me ma'am. Do you have a first name?" When the boy stayed silent, she sighed gently. "Then I guess I'll have to come up with one for the time being, won't I?" She looked at him gingerly eating his stew. "Slightly. Yes, that will do."

"I like it very much ma—miss."

"Yes, well," the lady smiled, "My name is Amy, Slightly." She walked into the other room, calling behind her, "Clean up when you're done, and I'll show you the rest of the house." Slightly watched her with a new fondness and continued his supper.


Slightly was lying in the bed Amy had provided in a small room when he heard a knock on the door. Through the partly-open door to the small room, he could see Amy straightening her skirt as she went to the door.

"You're very late," he heard Amy say as she opened the door.

"You're very old," responded a man whose voice Slightly knew he had heard somewhere before.

"Don't make me change my mind." Amy and two other people came into the house. Amy's blue skirt and two pairs of very old, very dirty boots came into view.

"You haven't changed this place much since she left," the man who had spoken earlier commented. He sounded a bit surprised.

"It's not mine to change."

"She won't be needing it, and you can't be very pleased with how it looks now."

"I know, but you see, I can't change a house that isn't mine more than I absolutely need to. It's bad form."

"Isn't it bad form for ye to live in another's home at all?" the other man said, speaking for the first time.

"Of course, Hector. But it's better form to borrow someone's home than to live on the streets or, God forbid, sail all the time. What kind of person would prefer that to—"

"I see," said the man Hector, cutting Amy off.

"Very Well," Slightly could hear something different in Amy's voice, as if she was smiling. "On to business: How many people are drinking from the fountain?"

"Well, the two of us obviously," said the first man.

"Aye, and Pintel and Ragetti, who've been on the Pearl almost since yer brother called it up," added Hector.

"Gibbs, Marty the Midget…"

"Aye, and Mister Cotton."

"Oh, and Elizabeth Turner," It was then that Slightly realized where he had heard the two voices before. These were the pirates who had called on his mother so late that night, and who had been on the ship he stowed away on.

"That isn't the same Elizabeth Turner who married William Turner now, is it?"

If Slightly had known Amy better, he would recognize that tone of her voice. As it was, he could only wonder at why the first man sounded suspicious when he said, "Of course."

"Tell me, does Mrs. Turner have a son?"

"Aye."

"And is her son coming too?"

"No, she didn't want him too."

"What?" Amy's voice began to escalate. "Do you mean to say that this woman wants her son to face his mortality while she and her husband sail about for all eternity?"

"That's the idea, yes."

"What the hell kind of mother condemns her son to death while she gets to live forever?"

"This kind." The man called Hector's voice sounded sharp. "Ye can't expect every mother to want her child."

"I can bloody well expect every mother to love her son, whether she wanted him or not."

"Such language," Slightly could see the first man's legs move closer to Amy's skirt, "It doesn't suit you, love. Will you take us or not?"

"I don't suppose I have much choice. After all, I can't go back on my word. "'Twould be in bad form."

"You're truly a gem, love," the first man said.

"I know. Oh, and I may bring along a lad to help me. That won't be a problem, will it?"

"Ye can't just –"

"Or I could not come," Amy quickly broke of Hector's complaint.

"Fine, but only one. Be at the edge of the wilderness by noon tomorrow. Amy led the others out of Slightly's view, and he heard the door open.

"It's been a pleasure doing business with you gentlemen." The pirates left quickly, as if glad the experience was over.

Amy let a smile flit across her lips before looking at the partly open door to the spare room holding Slightly. She softly walked in. "Slightly?" Her voice sounded soft, concerned.

"Y-yes, Miss Amy?"

"Did you hear all of that?"

"I-I think so. But I don't understand it all. What's the Fountain?"

Amy sat down on Slightly's bed. "The Fountain of Youth is a magical fountain. Whoever drinks from it becomes immortal. It's a long journey, but the reward is great enough to make up for it."

"But who were those men? Why were they talking to you about it?"

"Those people were Captains Hector Barbossa and Jack Sparrow of the Black Pearl. They want to drink from the Fountain. They came to me because it's my job to take people to it."

"And about that Mrs. Turner…"

"What about her?" Amy's eyes grew wide. "Oh. She isn't your mother, is she?"

"Well, yes."

"I can't believe I said such things about her," Amy said contritely, "I'm sure she's a lovely woman, even if she doesn't care much for you."

"Well, I know that if I had a chance to live forever, I'd want my son to live forever too. I've not met a loving mother who wouldn't."

"But she must have a reason."

"Of, of course she does. Every woman who doesn't truly love her child has a reason, but that doesn't change the fact that she wants to live while you die."

"Do you really think so?" Slightly's voice faltered. He never thought such a thing was possible, but why would Amy lie?"

"I once had a son, you know. He ran away when he was very young and, though I spent years searching, I never saw him again. There isn't a day that goes by that I didn't wish I had done something differently so he could be with me today. He'd be about your age now."

"And most mothers feel the same way about her children?"

"But of course." Slightly felt a lump rise in his throat at this. Was it possible his mother didn't care for him? They had never been close, and she sometimes seemed more concerned with whom he associated himself with than that he enjoyed himself, but she offered him a home and a warm bed, and what more could he ask for from, her?

Amy watched Slightly as he thought, and finally she spoke again, saying, "I don't suppose you'd like to travel to the Fountain with me?" Slightly's voice suddenly felt lumpless.

"Do you really mean it?"

"Why not? I'm sure there are plenty of people on the Pearl who could use a lad like yourself's help. What do you say?"

"I'd like that very much, Miss Amy." Amy smiled in the darkness.

"Good. Now, get some sleep. I want you to have enough energy for tomorrow.


I hope you all enjoyed! Please Review!