AN: A few warnings: I am very much a Killian whumper. And frequently, the only way I can make myself write a scene is to add whump. Or painful medical treatment. Just so you know. Also, I like the headcanon of Hook as Pan's (unwilling) sex slave. There won't be anything explicit, but plenty of references and some of the emotional effects. "M" rating is for violence, language, and implied sexual activity.

Flashbacks will have a location and approximate timeline; current events won't. Hopefully you'll be able to follow okay.

Story title comes from the "Pirate March" song from 2014's Peter Pan Live: "You'll do as he wishes or sleep with the fishes, the terrible Captain Hook!" Chapter titles will be song lyrics or quotes from different versions of the Peter Pan musicals, the film Hook, or occasionally OUAT.

Chapter 1: A Glimmer of a Plan

"Next round of drinks, on me!"

The men gathered around the table cheered. Smee grinned, feeling like a part of the group for once. Until his feet got tangled and he inevitably tripped forward, flinging the drink-laden tray as he went down.

The participants in Killian's bachelor party all leapt to their feet as they were splattered with alcohol; all except Killian himself, who was drenched in it. He simply sighed.

"I see you haven't changed much."

Smee scrambled to his feet, turning all shades of red and stammering,

"I'm sorry, Captain! Oh, wow, you're… soaked. Oh, I'm so embarrassed. Here, let me help…"

Smee fumbled a handkerchief out of his pocket and stepped forward to dab frantically at Killian's wet clothing.

"I'll go find some paper towels," offered Walter.

"And I'll get the drinks," added Leroy.

"Mister Smee. While I appreciate the effort… perhaps you would be so kind as to remove your boot from atop my toes?" Killian requested acerbically. Smee looked down, at first not registering his meaning.

"So sorry Captain!"

Killian waited with strained patience. "No harm done."

Smee hopped backward, stammering apologies… immediately into the path of a heavily-laden busboy. There was another crash as dirty dishes went flying. Killian ducked this time, but wasn't fast enough to avoid a tumbling steak knife. The tip glanced off his jawline, leaving a small gouge in its wake.

"Bloody hell, mate, you are determined to be the death of me this evening!" Killian exclaimed as the ruckus subsided. He pressed his palm against the cut and scowled at Smee. "Remind me again why I kept you around all these years?"

"Comic relief, sir?" Smee tried with a weak smile.

"It's my understanding, for that to be true, that one must actually be amusing."

Smee's face fell.

"Is everyone all right? Hook?" David broke in.

"I'll live. No thanks to this oaf."

"Please, let me help, sir," Smee practically begged. "I swear, none of this was intentional, and I don't think I'm jinxed…"

He moved forward with the intention of assisting his captain. But his foot lost traction with all of the alcohol, grease, and broken dishes on the floor. He did a very impressive stationary sprint, arms windmilling, before ending in a faceplant in Killian's lap.

The pirate stifled another curse before shoving Smee roughly off of him.

"Eager to have my hook in you, Smee?"

Smee shook his head miserably.

"Then perhaps you should sit this one out."

"Th… that's probably a good idea, sir."

Smee carefully picked his way past the mess, then he stopped and turned. Head hanging, he mumbled,

"Sorry for ruining your fun."

When Smee had exited the Rabbit Hole, David got up and retrieved the first aid kit, courtesy of the busboy. He skirted the attempts to begin cleaning up, stepping gingerly to Killian's side. "Mind if I take a look?"

Killian tilted his head to give David better access to the still-oozing slash on his jaw. "Well, at least we smell the part, eh mate?"

David ripped open some Neosporin and dabbed it carefully onto the wound. "Poor Smee. Has he always been that clumsy?"

"Aye. But it does tend to get worse when he's in the spotlight." Killian gazed at the door, sighing as David used Steri-strips to pull the edges of the cut together.

"Must be rough."

"Look, mate; if you're trying to make me feel bad, it's a wasted exercise. I can do that well enough on my own."

"Oh, no; that's not it at all!" David patted Killian's shoulder as he straightened up. "This is your night- you're supposed to be having fun. Come on. Let's find a clean table and have another drink."

As drinks were consumed and fun was had by all, the incident with Smee was largely forgotten.

But not by Killian.

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The hull of the Jolly Roger cut effortlessly through the open sea. The sun shone. Sea birds quarreled as they watched for any sign of fish in the ship's wake. All in all, a perfect day at sea.

But Killian was angry.

He couldn't remember why he was angry. He just knew he was furious.

He needed an outlet. And soon, the perfect scapegoat presented himself: Mister Smee, babbling away as he always did. Bloody oaf.

In no time at all, Smee was tied to the mast, shirtless, wailing even before the first crack of the whip. Killian shed his flamboyant...red?... overcoat for better range of motion, the feather on his wide-brimmed hat casting a wispy shadow on the deck.

In her leather Pirate Queen dress, Emma watched the first lashes fall. The men, well-trained to keep their distance from her, laughed and jeered from the other end of the deck. "It's always so much more satisfying when he hasn't done anything wrong, isn't it, Captain?"

"Aye," came his gruff reply, accompanied by a puff of exertion. His curled mustache tickled his cheeks. And he lay all of his aggression and rage into his task.

Smee's screams faded, inexplicably becoming the ticking of a thousand clocks. Hook shrugged into his coat, his long ringlets cascading down his shoulders. Their surroundings were vaguely familiar, but he couldn't quite place it.

Smee held the lash now, still shirtless, still bleeding. Hook watched calmly as his first mate began to systematically demolish each clock on the wall, using the butt of the whip's handle. Blood dripped from the tip of each cord, splattering the floorboards. With every blow, Smee released a cry of anger, frustration, and pain. Broken glass and clock parts littered the shop. Hook tilted his head in contemplation. Why was Smee so outraged? And was this bizarre form of therapy helping?

Emma woke Killian with a gentle kiss; one which he happily returned before he even knew what reality was. Killian opened his eyes to behold his lovely new bride, wrapped in their bedsheet and not much else. His brief disorientation must have been apparent, for when they paused for breath, Emma teased,

"What? Did I interrupt something?"

"Nothing, love. Too many movie nights with Henry is all."

She claimed his lips again. And his last lucid thought before giving himself entirely to her was that he knew what he had to do.