Old, Alone, Done For
It was an icy wasteland.
There was no leader for the lost boys anymore, who now spent their days wandering about in the woods, waiting for a boy who would never return. The Piccianies Indians hadn't been seen since Pan left, and the mermaids had disappeared underneath inky waters to hibernate elsewhere.
The only indication of life in the world was the ship called "The Jolly Roger," that had haunted the place since the beginning of time. And of course, whose leader was none other than the most fearsome sea captain that ever was. The only man that Long John had ever feared, in fact. Yes, tales of his bloodthirsty vengeance and his nightmarish glower still haunted the minds of all like an evil spirit.
But the truth was, this certain pirate was still a mere man. A very distraught one, at that.
He resided within the largest room of his ship, which looked as if a violent tempest had shredded through it the night before. And there had been, but not a literal kind. Almost every surface was littered with empty beer bottles and shards of broken glass. Furniture had been overturned. Books and been hurled out from the shelves. Clothes had been thrown about and shredded to tiny pieces. Walls and floors were scarred with old and new splintery wounds, adding to the quiet, still chaos.
In the midst of it all, the perpetrator rocked in and out of slumber like how the ship sloshed about on top of the frozen waves. Wild, matted curls sat upon the figure's head. He was slumped over the large desk, and he was still dressed in the same clothes from the past three days. His ragged breathing caused his torso to heave up and down, and even while unconscious the captain wore a nasty scowl on his face.
The reigning silence was interrupted by the faint creak of the bedroom's door, followed by an old head that peeped inside. He scanned the ransacked room before opening the door further and allowing his fat form to slip inside. He tip-toed over. For a man so stubby and old, he moved without a sound and was able to dart around broken bottles until he was in front of the desk.
Before Smee could wonder if the captain would get up today or not, a guttural growl stopped the old boatswain right in his tracks.
"Capt'n?"
"You worthless dog. Haven't I told you to never enter my quarters unless summoned?" He spat the slurred words out as if they were poison. The mess of hair shot up, revealing a snarling face with a pair of blood-shot eyes. Smee gulped, but did not flinch or even blink. After all, this had been his everyday greeting.
For the past twenty years.
"Good morning Capt'n. Shall I get you some breakfast?" Despite knowing the answer was no, Smee still listened carefully for his response.
James Hook shut his eyes once more whilst groaning, and the look of bloody murder in his sharp features vanished as suddenly as it came. He brought up his good hand to clutch his forehead that creased between the brows, before speaking up again in a more human voice.
"Smee. Fetch some tea. Now."
"And some toast and jelly, sir?" Hook snapped his head at Smee, his gaze burning a hole into the older man.
"Just shut that flapping mouth of yours and go!" After the poor old man scrambled backwards and sprinted out the room, the sea captain sighed while sitting up straight.
A series of pops crackled down his spine, and he released another groan when soreness exploded all across his right side. He had slept with his leather contraption holding his hook all night long. His skin was splotched purple and red where the straps remained secured. An excruciating migraine pounded at his head, and numbness exploded down his limbs.
There was absolutely nothing that the captain hated more than being conscious while sober. Because being awake meant having to think, and having to think meant having to remember.
Remember him.
"Die, dark and sinister man!" The boy had giggled with pure bliss and glee. Twinkling green eyes glowed with immense joy, as if he had received the best Christmas present in the entire world. Hook remembered how the cocky, callous shell of a human had pointed and laughed while he, a living, breathing soul, fell closer and closer into the open, snapping jaws of a crocodile.
Although Hook himself was no saint, and his hand was stained with the blood of many, he had never enjoyed killing any of his victims. And he certainly never celebrated their gruesome deaths.
"Hook is a codfish!" Pan crowed, unable to contain his excitement over his enemy's demise. The other children joined in, and in unison they added a tune to Peter's very original chant. They were swaying as their arms swung over one another's shoulders.
"Hook is a codfish, a codfish, a codfish!" Hook had grit his teeth as the tiny children sang on. He couldn't tell if they were too young and ignorant to know what death meant, or if they simply didn't care.
The insolent youth met his gaze, before jutting his sharp chin out further than it already was.
"Old, alone, done for." He had uttered the words in a low voice, but the captain had still been able to catch them before plunging into darkness.
A crash of glass jerked Hook out of his daze. After blinking, he realized that an empty bottle had been broken. Or rather, he had smashed it against the table with his hand. Shards dug into his calloused skin, slicing through and causing thick, black blood to ooze out from the open cuts.
But before he could fully process what had happened, Smee returned.
"Capt'n, I have some...Oh my goodness! Capt'n! Yer bleed'n!" The Irishman placed the tray onto the bed before rushing over to Hook's side.
"Oh my my my...Let go of the bottle sir." James complied, and the clucking hen of a man next to him immediately started to pluck out the broken glass embedded in bleeding flesh.
"Smee, it's fine. It's only a-"
"I can't believe it Capt'n. Already the third time this month. Oh my my my..."
A long sigh from the leader. He blocked out the winded voice of his only companion, before pressing his cold hook against his burning forehead.
It was absolutely unjust.
He had simply abandoned Neverland and his crew of loyal followers behind, not caring if they starved or froze to death. He was happy with a woman who overlooked or forgave all of his trespasses, terrible traits, and the lives he had slain. He probably had children of his own. A family that completed him, gave purpose, and that gave him an endless amount of pure, unconditional love.
Pan had grown up, and could never return to Neverland again.
"Fate is cruel, Smee. Fate is cruel." A dry laugh from Hook broke the spell of silence.
Smee had finished wrapping Hook's hand with a cloth before remembering the breakfast tray he had forgotten at the bed. He scuffled his way to serve it again to his beloved captain. Smee returned and began to pour a cup tea, and tried shifting the topic before Hook would begin a melodramatic rant about how unfair everything was.
"Would you like soup for lunch sir? We followed yer orders and looted Black Bird's supplies. Now there's plenty of fruits too."
"I thought I made it clear that I don't have an appetite."
"Capt'n, you best eat something or you'll be sick." Smee pushed the cup in front of him, and Hook froze.
Sick. Sickness. Old age was the worst sickness.
"Smee." The Captain's face remained still.
"Aye sir?"
Pan had grown up. He was aging. He was getting old. Dying.
"I believe I've just had an epiphany." James said with a smile.
"An apostrophe, Capt'n?"
The smile vanished as soon as it came, and Hook shot a look that could cut through steel.
"Smee?"
"Aye sir."
"You are a supreme idiot."
"Aye sir."
A sigh from the ruthless leader, who fixed his focus on something that wasn't there.
"Quite a lot of time has passed, has it not?"
"Yes Capt'n. Tis almost spring, the water is safe enough to sail."
"No, I mean of Pan marrying Wendy."
"Aye?"
"He must be old now."
"I suppose so... Capt'n, with all due respect, I think it's time you forgot the boy."
"Oh no Smee. He is not a boy anymore. He is a man." Hook whipped his head to give his full attention to his loyal boatswain. "And there's nothing more precious to a man than his family."
It was the perfect plan. The best plan. Why hadn't he thought of it before?
"I'm afraid I don't understand sir."
"Fetch that foolish fairy who was infatuated with Pan."
"Tinkerbell? Why sir?"
"We are going to England, that's why. Now go."
"Right now sir?"
"Are you deaf?! Go!" He swung his arm, sending the remaining bottles flying from the desk and shattering to the ground. Jerking back like a cat splashed with water, Mr. Smee scrambled backwards and out of the room as fast as he could, leaving Hook alone once more.
He smiled for the first time in years while leaning back in his chair, and allowed a beautiful vision to enter into his mind.
A vision of Pan sitting alone by a dead fire, surrounded by empty bottles of alcohol. He is wrinkled and white-haired, and shivering quite violently inside a lonely room. There are pictures of his wife and children surrounding him, but that is all his family is now. Pictures. Memories. They have been gone for years now, and they will always be gone, leaving Pan all alone.
Old, alone, and done for.
Dearest Reader,
This story has been inspired by many film adaptations and of course, the original masterpiece itself by J.M Barrie. I will incorporate many similar elements to the other existing movies surrounding this story while trying my very best to give this story my own flare as well. I thought I should mention that some chapters will be longer than others, and this form of writing in the third-person is quite new to me. I apologize ahead of time for any grammatical mistakes and typos, and if updating a chapter takes longer than you would like it to.
All support is appreciated and reviews will definitely speed up the progress of the next chapters, and small compliment or two will dramatically increase my low, teenage self-esteem. I thank you for checking out this very lowly story that serves the original tale no justice, and hopefully you will find it tolerable enough to stick with it until the end. I will try my hardest not to disappoint and probably fail, but I shall write this story anyway.
-StrangelySilentSoul