Chapter Text
The Isle is no place for kids.
Jay has always known this, but he experiences it firsthand when he’s eight years old, getting beaten by a stall owner for stealing bread. It is the first time he’s been caught stealing and the last time he’ll ever be so careless about his thievery. But one look closer at the stall itself shows Jay the two kids huddled together underneath a dirty cloth, looking thin as bone and staring up at Jay with mournful eyes.
The stall owner lets him go, leaving Jay with red welts on his hands that last for days. Evie sneers at him when he tries to complain about the pain. Mal sneers at him when he tells her about the kids.
Rule one of the Isle: Kill or be killed. Steal or be stolen from. It’s survival of the fittest here.
The Isle is no place for kids, which becomes ever clearer as Jay grows. It’s a miracle he made it past age 6, a miracle he didn’t end up as just another frail body lying lifeless in some back alley. There’s too many ways a kid can die here. Starvation and disease are the most common, but kids can’t take a beating as well as teens or adults. A run-in with the wrong person can leave a child bleeding out in an alleyway, even if the person didn’t aim to kill. To make it worse, hypothermia is common in winter.
The deaths aren’t helped by the common practice of abandoning children.
Some parents think it a rite of passage. Throw your kid out at the age of six and if they live another few years, take them back. Jay used to have older siblings. An older brother and sister, kicked out when they were young and killed by the cold. Jay’s glad his younger brothers fared better. He learned to be smarter. When he was young, it was easy enough to steal or beg by just looking too pitiful to be a threat. He survived three years before Jafar took him back and put him to work in the shop.
Jay wouldn’t have survived those years without Mal and Evie.
The Isle is no place for kids. And there’s no better proof of that than the frail, blue-haired girl who is the only other inhabitant of the alley Jay is sheltering in. He would be scared, if she didn’t look half-dead.
To this day, Jay’s not sure why he shares his own loaf of bread with the girl. Maybe because it’s clear that it’s her first night on the street. Maybe because allies are always useful. Maybe because her pinched cheeks and mournful expression reminded him of himself. But that’s how he and Evie become a team.
Mal finds them a year later, when they’re all seven years old and used to surviving alone. She gets them out of a pinch with some scrappy older boys and flat-out tells them they’re in an alliance now.
Rule two of the Isle: Trust no-one.
They find a hideout to live in, atop an old staircase. They practise fighting together and use that to defend themselves and their new home. And one by one, their parents accept them as worthy and allow them home. First Evie, then Jay and finally Mal.
Jay is ten years old when Cruella joins the alliance between Jafar, Evil Queen and Maleficent. Though she does not keep a kid in tow, Jay and Evie overhear her talking about her son’s banishment.
Evie had two years to prove herself. Jay had three, as did Mal. Cruella’s son is expected to survive for five years on his own.
“He’s probably dead.” Evie mutters, sighing. Jay nods in agreement.
“Poor kid.”
“Yeah.”
After that, they all but forget about Cruella’s son.
The Isle is no place for kids, Jay thinks. He’s eleven years old and has just cornered a thief.
The boy is short, with a face sporting a constellation of freckles and bleached white hair with black roots. And he’s just stolen from Jay. People don’t steal from Jay. He has too much a reputation. Yet here the boy is, pockets full of money Jay took only hours earlier.
He’s cornered. Jay has him against a wall, towering over him. Part of him wonders why he hasn’t done anything to the boy yet. But really, he knows.
Because the boy is stick-thin. His clothes are in tatters. His ribs are visible. His belly hollow.
Sure, Jay’s seen plenty of malnourished kids before. But most of them are already dead. This boy is on the verge of death and Jay knows that if he takes back the money and beats up the kid like he’s supposed to, he’ll be condemning the kid to death.
Rule three of the Isle: Kindness is weakness.
Jay steps back and, after a moment’s hesitation, throws the kid an apple he has in his pocket. Coming back empty-handed will mean a beating from his father but Jay can’t bring himself to care.
“It’s not poisoned.” Jay rolls his eyes at the kid, who is eyeing the apple with suspicion.
The boy throws him a look of distrust and Jay grabs the apple from him with more force than is necessary.
“I’ll prove it.” He says, taking an agressive bite from the apple. “See? Not dead. Now eat the fucking apple.”
The kid grabs it back and takes a very cautious bite. When he doesn’t instantly start convulsing in pain, the kid devours the apple. His eyes flick over to meet Jay’s.
“Go.” Jay hisses. “And don’t steal from me again.”
The boy is gone the moment Jay finishes speaking.
Carlos De Vil returns to his mother the next week. He’s introduced to Mal, Evie and Jay the next day. Evie and Jay exchange a look while Mal quizzes the boy on his skills. Carlos’ voice is hoarse as he explains to Mal that he’s good at making things.
“What sort of things?” She narrows her eyes at him.
“I could make a better entrance to this hideout. A secret one.” He suggests, raising his eyebrows at Mal. She shrugs as if it doesn’t matter to her, but Jay’s known her long enough to see the interest in her eyes.
“Do that and you can join us.” Mal says. She and Carlos shake on it.
Five days later, they have a sign that will open the door if a rock is thrown at it and a new member of their gang. Carlos De Vil is a good thief because people underestimate him. He’s a good fighter because he’s fast. And he’s a good negotiator because he’s smart. Those are the skills that would have kept him alive for his five years of banishment.
Evie and Jay ask him about it one day, while Mal is off negotiating with Uma and her pirates. Carlos only grins and tells them he has his ways.
The Isle is no place for kids, Jay thinks as he tugs Carlos’ shirt off to treat his wounds.
They’re thirteen years old and are fresh out of a fight with Uma’s pirates. Mal and Evie are off negotiating terms of a truce, while Jay looks after Carlos. Carlos, who is covered with scars that look too deliberate to be from fights- rounded burns and faded knife marks tattoo his chest. Jay can’t help but inhale sharply, running an involuntary hand over a particularly large scar. The smaller boy shivers at his touch and glares at Jay.
“Just get on with it.” He hisses, reluctantly allowing Jay to clean the knife wound he’s received in the side of his stomach.
Usually they treat their own injuries. But Carlos could barely move, let alone get back to the treehouse to patch himself up. So Jay had picked up the boy and told Mal he was taking Carlos back to the treehouse. Carlos struggled all the way home, insisting to Jay that he could do it himself. Jay’s only response was to place his hand over Carlos’ mouth to shut him up.
Rule four of the Isle: Asking for help is weakness.
“I can’t believe you bit me.” Jay grumbles, examining the faint bite marks on his palm as he begins to unroll bandages.
“You deserve it.” Carlos glares back.
“You’re like a rabid little dog, you know.”
Jay doesn’t miss the way Carlos flinches. “No I’m not.”
“No.” Jay hums. “You’re too small.”
“Shut up.”
“Not a chance, pup.”
Carlos hits Jay with a dirty glare, grabbing the bandages. “I can take it from here.”
“No you can’t.” Jay says calmly, taking the roll back. But his mouth curves into a grin as he observes the disgruntled expression on Carlos’ face.
“Tell Mal I did it myself.” Carlos demands as Jay begins to wrap the bandage around his midriff.
“Relax, Mal won’t care. Anyway, it’s not like you asked me to do this.”
“Exactly. So just-” Carlos broke off with a wince and a glare at Jay. “Be careful.“
“Yeah, yeah.” He rolls his eyes at Carlos. But he does try to be more gentle as he bandages the boy up.
Mal and Evie return to their hideout in high spirits, having negotiated new borders with Uma’s pirates.
“I hate that girl.” Mal grumbles as she begins to clean her own wounds. “Stupid Shrimpy.”
Jay hums in agreement as Evie glances over to the couch where Carlos is asleep.
“Is he okay?” She asks Jay quietly. He hesitates before nodding.
Carlos De Vil has never mentioned his alley encounter with Jay. They both know it was a moment of weakness. They both know never to speak of it again.
Jay is prone to moments of weakness. He’s also prone to moments of complete stupidity, which is why he’s currently getting cornered by Harry Hook and his lackeys.
The most Jay can take in a fight is three at once. And that’s when he’s not got a knife in his shoulder. Jay has nearly died a few hundred times, but he thinks today is finally the day. He’s paid his dues and now his time is up. Fifteen years old, not even an adult, and he’s going to die. That doesn’t stop him from drawing his sword as the men prepare to attack him though.
But before he gets a chance, two of the pirates are down. They fall forward, allowing Jay to see the knives embedded in the men’s backs.
Jay lets a small smile twitch across his lips, lunging at Harry Hook with his sword.
“Fuck you.“ Harry growls, clashing his own sword with Jay’s and beginning to fight. From the corner of his eye, Jay can see a blur of white and red fighting with the other man and feels a laugh bubble up from his chest, giddy all of a sudden.
“Was that an offer?” Jay quirks an eyebrow at Harry, drawing a cackle from the pirate.
“Maybe if you weren’t such an arse.” He grins, drawing closer to Jay. He’s not sure why, but he doesn’t back away, just lets a flirtatious smile spread across his lips.
“Hmm, I thought you’d be into that.”
Harry’s eyes flick over Jay. “I might be.”
“Jay, stop flirting with the enemy.” Carlos grumbles, watching the other man flee and turning to face Harry. He points his sword at Harry, the threat clear in his eyes. The son of Hook, raises his hands and turns lazily, sauntering away from the pair.
The Isle is no place for kids.
Because it’s fucked that they’re fighting other teens in alleyways. Because it’s fucked that support, something all kids need, is seen as weakness. Because it’s fucked that Carlos and Jay have known how to treat wounds since the age of eleven.
Jay could probably stitch up his own shoulder, but Carlos insists.
“See it as me returning the favour.” Carlos tells him and Jay doesn’t know whether he’s referring to the time Jay helped Carlos with his stomach wound or the alley incident four years ago.
He lets himself relax, lets Carlos pull out the knife and clean the wound. The hideout is empty. So maybe that’s why Jay doesn’t stop himself from leaning back against the couch and closing his eyes. Losing himself in the rare quiet as Carlos focuses on taking care of him.
“I'm surprised you aren’t fighting me on this.” Carlos murmurs, his voice full of mirth. Jay cracks an eye open to meet his friend’s eyes and offer him a warm smile.
“Too tired.” Jay responds, watching Carlos pull out a needle and thread.
“This might be easier if you’re unconscious. Stitches hurt.”
“I know, idiot.”
“I know you know, asshole.” Carlos sighs. A moment later, Jay winces as Carlos begins stitching him up.
Once Jay’s wound is stitched and bandaged, Carlos joins Jay on the couch. They sit together in comfortable silence.
Rule five of the Isle is that weakness will get you killed. But sometimes, Jay thinks it’s nice to have someone who won’t hurt you as soon as you let down your guard.