A/N: Hello again! I found time to write! Yay me! This has been something that has been plaguing me for sometime now, so I decided to go with it. Since this one contains musician!Killian it will contain songs, none of which are mine. I will only mention the song and artist as part of someone in the story saying the name and artist or through the name of the chapters, since I can't actually put the lyrics on this site. But they will be included on my Tumblr versions (deadmen-tell-notales), if you wanted to read it with the lyrics.

That being said I do not own any of these characters! That belongs to Adam and Eddy and ABC.

I don't know how long this will be so... yeah, let me know what you think. As always criticism is always welcomed. I would like to develop as a writer.

Holding tightly to the helm of the ship, he barked orders to his crew. The storm gave the pirates an unexpected turn of events; they were sailing smoothly across the oceans, exhausted from their most recent adventure but buzzing with excitement about their hefty haul, treasure that would accommodate each sailor for months to come—assuming they could survive the damned storm, of course.

"Captain, we can't hold on much longer!" a crewman yelled over the sound of the waves pounding against the side of the ship.

"You must, and you will! That's an order!" the captain roared over the deafening wind, expertly steering the Jolly Roger away from the storm. "Any who dare show any cowardice will walk the bloody plank when we escape this storm." He glared at his crewmen, "And we will out run this bloody storm."

At their captain's threat and confidence, the crew held on tighter and went about their tasks with more will. The captain maneuvered the ship with great skill and speeds, leading the men out of the storm's reach. The pirates let go of the railings and ropes they used to anchor themselves with and took a moment to collect their bearings. Mr. Smee, the ship's quartermaster, lifted his fist in the air and yelled, "To our captain!"

The other men joined in as they raised their own fists in the air, "To Captain Hook!"

The captain watched the men all preparing their second round of shouting. Instead of their boisterous cheer, a shrill ringing tore from their lips.

Henry's head snapped up from his desk, the blatant ringing signaling the end of his last class of the day. He watched the rest of the students file out of the classroom in a sleepy haze before realizing where he was.

"Planning on staying here, Henry? I'm sure Leroy would appreciate the help," Mrs. Blanchard—now Nolan—his biology teacher (and aunt) mused while he hurriedly stuffed his binder in his backpack.

"Uh, no," he replied with an embarrassed chuckle. "Sorry for falling asleep in class. Won't happen again, promise," he continued as he stood and swung his backpack over his shoulder.

"I'll hold you to that promise. Maybe you should stop playing your video games and go to sleep at a decent time," she scowled playfully.

The truth was that he and his mother stayed up late eating ice cream and watching movies. It was their thing, watching Disney movies until one of them fell asleep. He'd fallen asleep watching Peter Pan, which explained his dream. He'd never admit that to his teacher/aunt though. "I don't know what you're talking about," he replied instead.

"Uh-huh," she shook her head with an amused smile. "Remind Emma about dinner tomorrow, will you?"

"Sure thing. See you later, Mary Margret."

"It's Mrs. Nolan at school!" she yelled behind him as he made his way through the mostly empty school hallway.

Henry only laughed softly to himself. He's known Mary Margret—or rather, Mrs. Nolan since he was still in the school building—most of his life. She was married to his uncle, David Nolan. David didn't find Emma or Henry until Henry was eight years old, having been looking for his long lost sister for years. After his mother finally felt comfortable enough around her brother—and only after she verified they were actually related—things had gotten incredibly lighter. It wasn't just him and his mom anymore. They had people who cared about them and loved them unconditionally, and his mother was all too happy to open that possibility to Henry. Ever since then, they'd been an unbreakable family, growing with the friendships they'd made along the way—friendships that grew to the point that they were just as part of the family as David and Mary Margret. Although he was young at the time, Henry still remembered how his mother struggled to provide for him and make sure he'd never feel alone, but now he had more family than he knew what to do with.

A sudden honk from a car broke Henry from his thoughts. He looked up to see his mother's car parked right in front of the school with his mother waving him over, trying to catch his attention.

"Hey, kid, need a ride, or are you just going to float on those clouds of yours?" she asked him as he slid inside the car; she obviously noticed his wandering thoughts.

"I think riding with you would be far safer," he laughed. "Wouldn't want to run into a tree or anything."

Emma shook her head with a smile as she put the car in gear and drove away from the school. "At least this time you weren't consumed by your phone."

"Says the mom who is always consumed by her phone," he fired back with mock annoyance.

"I don't know what you're talking about," she smirked. "How was school?"

"It was alright. Got an A on my Algebra test and I finally figured out what to write about for Uncle Booth's class," Henry sighed resting his head on the back of his seat, as if the mere brainstorm for his English assignment seemed exhausting. "He's you best friend mom, couldn't you just tell him to make this easier, for everyone?"

Emma laughed at her sons complaining. "He does it on purpose. Wants you guys to find your authorial voice or something. He's especially hard on you because he thinks you got a talent for writing. And I agree with him, you're great at writing," she said proudly.

"I don't mind the writing, it's the coming up with something in the first place that gets me."

"Well, you said you figured it out, so what's it going to be?" she asked intrigued.

"Pirates."

Emma looked over at Henry, a knowing smirk playing at her lips. "Peter Pan?"

"Something like that," he said sheepishly. "But like I said coming up with where to start is the hard part."

"Well, how about you take a break from your meticulous brain storming and we go grab some pizza. We could eat by the docks?"

Henry looked over his mother and smiled excitedly, "Our spot?"

"Duh. Where else?"

"Two dollars? That's it? Look I know my stuff is cheap but not that cheap. Take those somewhere else, a shelter perhaps," the man sneered, shooing Killian away as if he were merely a dog.

"Look mate, I'm not one to beg and I haven't eaten since yesterday, this is all I have. I am willing to work for it. I'll clean dishes if you'd just—"

"Work here? You'll scare away my customers. I said no, I ain't feeding no street rat. Now get the hell out of my restaurant!"

There was a ding from the door, announcing someone's arrival behind him. Killian grabbed his two single dollars from the counter and stuffed it in his pocket.

"Right then, have a good evening," he mumbled as he turned to leave.

"Street rat," he heard the man breath in annoyance behind him. Killian grabbed the guitar case and the duffle bag by his feet, not looking up as he walked by the customers that had arrived. Instead, he rushed out of the restaurant, his stomach growling harder as he went.

He made his way down the street, turning into the darkened alleyway he called home. The one way alleyway seemed like the more practical option when he arrived more than a month ago. It provided him with protection all around him, only having to worry about what was going on directly in front of him.

He sat on the hard damp concrete, thinking what his next move should be. He had to keep moving. He'd hoped to find a new beginning in the town of Storybrooke, but after weeks of trying it was clear he had overstayed his welcome. Most of the shop owners knew he was homeless and denied him any chance at employment. He'd taken to play his guitar to earn some money, but even that had dwindled down in the weeks he'd resided in the small town. He'd only earned two dollars from an elderly couple that day, no one else paid him any mind.

How could he be so delusional in thinking that this time would be different? Every town, every city, and every state he traveled to only brought him the same fortune—or rather lack thereof. He'd learned that people thought of him as a villain of sorts, believing that he committed terrible mistakes and crimes that lead him to the life he has. It seemed easier to think the worst of someone than believe them a good person. Not that he'd say he was a good person.

Getting up from his spot on the floor, he stowed away his duffle bag in a concealed spot high off the ground away from curious eyes and grabbed his beaten guitar case. He walked the three blocks to the docks, a place he had frequented throughout his stay, his grip on the case tightening with every step. Ever since he was young, he found a certain comfort in the ocean; the sound of the waves crashing with the shore and the salty air of the sea never failed to calm him or help him work through his emotions.

Killian walked towards what had become his usual spot by the boats but stopped short when he saw it was already occupied. He turned quickly, not wanting to interrupt their own time of relaxation, choosing to sit on a ledge that overlooked a sandbar instead. The view was just as breathtaking and just what he needed. He breathed in deeply feeling his muscles instantly unwind. He went on to open the guitar case, holding it open for a moment as he collected his thoughts. He set the notebook that laid on top to the side and took out his guitar. He took another breath as he adjusted the instrument high on his chest as he molded to it. It was the only thing that he still owned of his old life, a life where he had a roof over his head and at least two meals every day but the same emptiness he felt every day. The guitar used to be his brother's, a gift from their mother when he turned fourteen. It became his prized possession when Liam died, the only thing that kept him from losing himself completely sometimes.

He began to strum the strings with practiced skill forcing his memories away as he tightened his grip. Images of his brother, lifeless and bloodied, assaulted Killian's thoughts as he sang softly, the song digging up old memories he wanted to keep buried. His voice became thick with emotion as he allowed himself to grieve for just a single moment. His fingers danced along the strings as he played a soft melody that increased in intensity as he kept singing, his tone becoming almost angry and sarcastic as he shook away the self-pity. Each strum on his guitar became more insistent as he sang louder, letting his emotions run through him unchecked as he submerged himself completely into the song.

He counted to ten after he strummed the last notes of the song, breathing in twice before opening his eyes, not knowing when they had shut closed. He missed his brother terribly which was why he knew he had to fight harder, look further. He needed to put his life back on track before he lost himself irrevocably. He would not go any further, he would stay in Storybrooke and begin his life. He survived for himself, now he needed to find something to live for.