Tags: Threats of sexual assault against a minor, Physical abuse of a minor


Killian shivered violently, curling in upon himself and drawing his feet as close to his body as he could, his thin, woolen blanket stretched tightly over him. Whimpering, he reached beneath and tried to massage some warmth back into his toes, wincing at the pain that shot upwards with the merest touch. He'd spent the better part of the day knee deep in bilge water trying to remove debris that had clogged the sieve of the main pump, but the colder his fingers grew, the more difficult it had been to make them work, and the back of Silver's hand had reminded him once more that he was useless and hardly worth the scraps he was given. Digging his toes into the meager, hay-stuffed pallet, he trembled against the solid core of ice in his body and waited for Liam.

Exhaustion rose with each rock of the ship beneath him, the small lantern flickering wildly and casting shadows. It was just as his eyes were slipping closed that he heard the telltale creak of planks that meant either one of two things.

Killian hoped it would Liam returning and not the other.

There were dark nights when the men grew drunk and listless, the cold biting them more sharply than usual and making them long for land and the revelries they could find there. There were several of them – though Killian was careful never to meet their eyes above deck – who would sneak down into these darker recesses of the ship in search of a quiet corner.

There had been one night when Silver kept Liam on deck later than normal, and Killian had been lying in his berth, just as he was now. He'd seen the shadows of two men pass, carrying on into the hold where they were unlikely to be disturbed, and then he'd heard the sounds – the rough curses and grunts, and the slap of flesh. He was a boy, but he understood what they were doing, and he listened with some instinctual tremor of fear as they headed back toward the ladder. One of them had paused in front of the open doorway to his sleeping cabin, the planes of the man's face lit only briefly enough for Killian to see his feral grin.

"Ye keep yer mouth shut, slave – or it'll be yer turn next."

The voice and the warning it carried, he never forgot.

Killian held his breath as the creaking fall of footsteps grew closer, only releasing it as the familiar silhouette of his brother darkened the narrow doorway.

"Liam," he whispered hoarsely, the words drawing a ragged cough from his chest, "I waited for you."

"You shouldn't have done that, little brother," Liam chided, though the typical humor of his voice was dulled with exhaustion, and something else. He reached back to extinguish the oil lamp swaying in the hall, drawing a soft word of protest from Killian.

"Please, can we leave it on tonight? Silver won't know..."

"Aye," Liam sighed, his fingers dropping back to his side as he limped stiffly into the room. "Now close your eyes, you need your sleep."

Killian frowned, the chill he couldn't quite dispel from his feet forgotten as Liam groaned and dropped heavily to the floor beside his berth. His brother let his arms cushion his head, breathing heavily at the exertion moving seemed to cause.

"Liam, what's wrong?" Killian whispered, but as he sat up and saw the red stripes that had bled through Liam's shirt, he knew. "Why?"

"You know the Captain. He doesn't need a reason, little brother." Liam sighed, giving his brother's leg a squeeze. "You're freezing from being down there all day. I'm surprised you've got any fingers left at all. Come here, lie closer to me and shut your eyes."

"You're not going to sleep?" Killian asked, his eyes flickering to his brother's small sleeping berth. He knew from experience that sleeping was not the most pleasant after one of Silver's lashings, but Liam would need it to get through the day tomorrow. He didn't know why Silver went after him so often, sparing Killian more often than not.

"I don't think sleep would come to me if I begged it," Liam laughed, "but I'll be fine here. I'll watch over you and you'll sleep a bit warmer."

Killian fought the heaviness of his eyes as long as he was able, but the weight of his brother's arms against his body was warm and comforting, and though his feet still tingled with cold as he slipped away, he dreamed of the sun burning hot on white sand, and a mother's face he could scarcely remember.


"Out the way," a harsh voice growled, his words fading, "before yer brother takes another lickin' for ye..."

Killian gasped at the brunt of a foot connecting with his leg, the gunpowder he'd been scrubbing from the deck darkening his arms as he skidded forward and rolled into the rails. He scrambled to gather his rag and pulled his bucket protectively against him as the boatswain stormed past with a man from the harbor, heading toward the helm where Silver stood.

"Killian, come – now's not the time to be on deck," Liam hissed, eyes darting toward the Captain's glowering face. He lifted his younger brother to his feet and gathered his bucket. "There's rope to be shredded below. There's a quarrel with the harbormaster and you'd be best off out of sight."

"But Harper spilled gunpowder," Killian started to protest, still trying to process the words the boatswain had muttered in passing. "Liam, what did he mean, the bosun?"

"It's nothing to worry over, little brother. You know how Silver likes to mete out what he considers justice. Take no heed."

"Were you whipped yesterday because of something I'd done?" Killian asked, horror lacing his words as Liam heaved him along toward the hatch, hurrying him past the few crew members looking at them curiously. It did no good to rouse anyone's curiosity aboard this ship. "Was it because the pump clogged?" Killian's voice had risen in pitch, wavering as he tried to swallow the fact that his brother had suffered because of him. "I swear I cleaned it when I was supposed to – I don't know how it clogged so quickly again..."

"Killian," Liam sighed, the tension in his shoulders eased once they were both below deck and far from whatever was currently occupying Silver. "It was nothing – a few more lashes won't break me."

"But they were meant for me," Killian insisted, his face twisted with guilt. "It was my fault."

"No pain of mine will ever be yours to bear, little brother," Liam scolded, drawing Killian in for a tight hug. "We must do our best here so that we can work off our debt and earn our freedom. Once we do, we'll have the whole world ahead of us. Perhaps we'll even sail with the King's Navy."

"I'd like that," Killian whispered, but it was a dream that seemed nothing more than just that – too far and too bright to hold onto and look upon.

That night when he slept, he dreamt of a white, sandy shore that warmed his feet, and jungles as deep as the eye could see – the promise of magic whispering in its canopy, and shadows sweeping into the sky, blacker than the night itself, but so familiar beneath the grip of his desperate fingers.