I don't own Pirates of the Caribbean or Peter Pan

A smart girl leaves before she is left

-Marilyn Monroe

There had been something in the air since the voyage had begun; Slightly could feel it. At first he had thought it was just excitement at the prospect of an adventure cutting into his previously dull life, but now he wasn't sure. Now it felt more like something sinister was afoot. Or perhaps, something sinister had always been afoot, and Slightly was only now realizing it. But who was it who had the sinister intentions? The only people on the ship Slightly actually trusted were his mother, about whom he knew very little, and Miss Amy, about whom he knew even less.

Miss Amy, she was something bizarre. She was very clearly childless, yet she seemed to care for Slightly like she would a son. It was strange. She was strange.

"You know, you're a bit strange," said Amy that evening.

"Strange? How so, Miss Amy?" asked Slightly.

"You don't act like most children. Most children want to be young forever, yet you seem to want to grow up as soon as possible."

"Is that wrong, Miss Amy?"

"Not wrong; it's just… strange. You should try to enjoy being young while you can. The world is so much less magical when you're a grown-up."

"It's not so magical when you're young neither."

Amy smiled. "I suppose much of the magic is only in your memories. Bult Slightly, there are wonders in this world far beyond the imaginations of any adults." She looked at him with a strange kind of intensity. "Don't stop looking for those wonders, or something very bad will happen."

"What? What happens to people who do stop?"

"They get… well, they get bitter. They care less for joy and more for money, and they lose sight of what's important. Or sometimes they lose sight of who's important."

"Why aren't you bitter, Miss Amy?" She laughed.

"You're kind to say I'm not bitter. I am, of that I have no doubt. Yet I'm not as bitter as some, for I still look for joy even in the least wonderful of places. I don't need Neverland to feel amazed."

"Wot's Neverland, Miss Amy?"

"'What's Neverland?' My dear boy, surely you know about Neverland." Slightly shook his head, feeling rather foolish. "It's an island. It's different for everybody, but it's always an island. Not a large one, quite small, and it's nicely crammed so there's hardly any space between one adventure and another. And, of course, that's where Peter lives when he isn't going to bedroom windows to snatch stories, or leading children who have died partway."

"Peter?"

"Don't tell me you ddon't know of Peter Pan. The boy who never grew up? Leader of the Lost Boys?"

"My mother told me that he was a fairy tale."

"But you know who he is?"

"I suppose so," muttered Slightly. "Who are the Lost Boys"

"They're children who get separated from their mothers and nurses when they aren't being watched carefully enough. If nobody claims them in seven days, they are sent to Neverland to join Peter's band.

"And what do they do?"

"Well, you know, they play and fight and pretend, and act like all boys."

"Who do they fight?"

"Whom. They fight the Redskins and the pirates, and sometimes each other. But when they fight the pirates, they have to let Peter face Hook."

"Hook? Captain Hook? He's real too?"

"Of course. But I'll have to tell you some other time; stories about him aren't the kind you tell in the dark. You should get to bed anyway."

"Alright." Slightly then did something Amy didn't anticipate, which is saying something, because she ususally would anticipate everything. He hugged her tightly around the middle. Then Amy did something that surprised her even more.

She hugged him back.

Perhaps she was getting soft. Was that even possible? Could she, after hundreds of years of hard coldness, be letting someone in angain? It must be a possibility; she had been softer many years ago, but she had been quite determined to not put herself in that position again. So why was she letting that boy get under her skin so? Something clearly had to change.

The next morning dawned bright and neat-looking, as if it was a perfectly normal day. But it was so far from perfectly normal.

It started with Hawkins. Now, Hawkins was by all appearances, a perfectly normal sailor. He was of average height and build. He was not so adept a crewmember that he stood out or wasx popular, but he was not so incompetent that he was only kept around for comic relief. On that morning, however, there was something that set him apart from everyone else:

Hawkins was dead.

It was not quite clear what had killed him. He was just found lying on the deck, dead as a doornail. There was no sign of struggle, and Hawkins had always seemed healthy, although nobody cared enough to bother to find out if he really was.

The signs seemed to point towards poison, but as far as anybody knew, Hawkins had no enemies. Interestingly, that was precisely why Hawkins had been chosen.

Regardless, a man was dead, and with deaths at sea comes a great ship, a ghost ship some call it. Usually, the ship would just take the body as it fell to the depths, but the captain had many connections to the Black Pearl, and he couldn't ignore the opportunity to see ever link to land he had. Such sentimentality always serves the clear-thinking.

William Turner was a handsome man, a kind man, a skilled swordsman, but not an altogether wise man. If he was, he wouldn't have appeared on the deck of the Pearl without any protection knowing, as he knew, that Amelia Jones was present. As it was, he was just as shocked as everyone else to see her come up to him with Turner's son in her arms and a loaded pistol pointed at the boy's head.