The Captain was tired. Strong limbs felt as if they were moving against a current, slave to the rough waters of the very hurricane that had doomed him to this island. Why did he feel so weak? So...

Old.

His head throbbed when he heard the crow. That insufferable crow... Never had anything grated his nerves like that horrendous sound.

"You aren't even putting up a fight today, old man!"

Except for the urchin that horrendous sound came from.

Captain Hook strained to shake the fog in his mind, "You'll not be wanting for a fight when I'm done with you, brat!" Despite the clear anger, he could hear the fatigue in his own voice, and he hated it.

Peter Pan cackled, kicking over a bucket of soap water set out on the deck before flying several circles around the Captain, dodging the blows of his sword with ease and swooped back across the deck. Hook snarled, dragging himself toward the gloating boy. He caught his reflection from the corner of his eye, and his stomach dropped. His skin sagged from startlingly gaunt features. Dark bags drooped beneath his tired eyes, and extra skin hung from a thin neck. How long had he been like this?

"Feeling a little inadequate, Captain?!" The boy was directly behind him, "Understandable when you have to compete with me!"

His frustration redirected at Peter, he hacked wildly, muscles straining to lift his heavy sword. This couldn't be happening. Had senescence crept upon him so suddenly?

To further drive home his helplessness, Peter hovered well within a sword's reach of the Captain, easily evading his pitiful attacks.

Peter made a show of yawning loudly, "I'm bored, Codfish...I think this game is over."

Hook was barley able to get his bearings before Peter had kicked him in the back of the head, sending him toppling off the plank that he had somehow suddenly been standing on. Absolute terror overtook him as he careened head first toward an open set of jaws, and he heard Pan's crow before the tearing of flesh and bone.

Captain Hook's heart pounded as he jolted awake. It took him a moment to realize he had been dreaming. His breath heaved as he tried to calm himself, at the same time noticing that he and his sheets were covered in a layer of sweat. Heart still hammering, he reached up to feel that his face was not the frail, thin one he had seen in his dream. He held his remaining hand in front of his face, relieved that it as well was still healthy and strong.

Relief didn't last long as another crow rang from outside his cabin. Captain Hook groaned, "Peter Pan…" he spat, disgusted by the taste the boy's name left in his mouth. He sprang from the silken sheets of his bed and put on his many layers of clothing at an impossible speed, hastily splashing water onto his face from the washbowl on the mahogany table set across from the foot of his bed. He stormed out of his cabin, gripping his sword so tightly his knuckles turned white beneath his glove.

"Ready Long Tom, you dogs! And blast that accursed boy to kingdom come!"

The crew of the Jolly Roger bounded across the deck, not daring to hesitate at their Captain's orders.

"I'm not exactly sure where kingdom come is," Peter Pan laughed, hovering just a touch out of Hook's reach, "but it'll take more than the likes of you to blast me there, Captain Kipper!"

"Gall and brimstone!" Hook clawed at him angrily, "Your day will come soon, Pan! By Queen Anne's Revenge, I swear it will!"

Peter Pan chuckled playfully, taking a reclining position in the air, "You shouldn't swear to promises you can't keep, Admiral Anchovy. Not very gentlemanly of you!"

"Perhaps you'd like a pirate rather than a gentleman, you puerile little urchin! FIRE!"

Billy Jukes smirked, lighting Long Tom's fuse and the cannon fired, just barely missing Pan's head as he ducked at the last second.

"Reload, Mr. Jukes, and SHOOT ME THAT WRETCHED WHELP!"

"There 'e goes, Jukes!" Mason bellowed, pushing Long Tom around with little effort. He grabbed the torch from the young gunner before he could protest and lit the fuse.

"NO, Alf Mason!" Jukes cried, "It's aimed right at—"

Splinters of wood darted over the ship as the mast crashed to the deck, crushing several barrels as it landed.

"Have fun cleaning that up, Codfish!" Peter laughed as he flew toward shore and out of sight.

Hook snarled, burying his sword furiously in the fallen mainmast then glancing over to his crew, who were staring dumbfounded at Peter's shrinking form, "Stop yer gaping, you miserable mullie-morts! Fix that mast before I plunge this into your gizzards!" he flashed his hook toward them, and his men scattered, knowing better than to upset the captain when he was in such a foul mood.

"Aye, Pan," Hook hissed, plucking his sword from the mast as if it were nothing more than a flower petal, "it matters not how many times you escape me. It will make it all the sweeter when I finally rend ye in two."

~*~*~*~

"Ha ha haa! Did you see the look on their faces, Tink?" Peter Pan darted in and out of the narrow spaces between the trees of the thick Neverforest, "I thought Hook was gonna explode! His face turned three shades of purple when that mast fell!"

"Sure, Peter," Tinkerbell yawned, lagging behind him a bit, "I just want to get back home and go to bed."

"Go to bed?! But, Tink, we're just getting started! I've got so many more pranks to pull on ol' Codfish today, and I need you for all of them!"

"Tin tops and copper bottoms, Peter! First, we almost get gobbled up by O'Look, then we almost get trampled by Never-Beasts... We've been up all night! Don't you think knocking down the mast is enough for one day?!"

Peter laughed as if what Tink had just said was the most absurd thing he had ever heard, "Of course not, Tink! You know we can't let Codfish go the whole rest of the day without a few more inconveniences!" Peter sped up, quickly disappearing into the trees, "Now let's go! We don't have much time!"

"Peter!" Tink sighed, "…oh! That boy will be my undoing!"

~*~*~*~

By noon, the Jolly Roger's mast was almost completely repaired, mostly due to Hook's threat of sixty lashes to anyone caught lollygagging. Hook now patrolled the deck, a predatory glint in his forget-me-not eyes.
His rage at the boy reignited the frustration at the dream-Pan from that morning, and in turn stoked the anger at the real Pan even further. The boy would never see the day that Hook was too run down to put up a proper fight. One of them would die first.

"Robert Mullins!" he called up to the newly erected crow's nest, "Any sign of those air-born blighters?"
"None yet, Cap'n!" Mullins answered, "That island's been as dead as the River Styx! Suspicious, I'd say!"

"Let the brat plot his plots..." the Captain growled with a glower, "One of them is bound to land him belly-side down on my hook."

"Peter, this is ridiculous!" Tink complained through a yawn, "I do not want to do this!"

"Oh, come on, Tink! It'll be easy!" Peter handed her a tiny blue sack only about the size of a ping-pong ball, "All you have to do is drop these into Hook's supper! Just a few of these will make even the most appetizing food taste like pond scum."

"That isn't nice, Peter Pan!"

Peter turned with a frown toward Wendy, who now stood at the entrance to the chute that led outside, "Not nice at all!"

"Oh come on, Wendy," Peter replied cheerfully, "since when was I ever nice to Hook?"

"Those could make Captain Hook sick!" she said, hands on her hips, "Then he wouldn't feel like fighting with you anymore."

"Oh, they won't make him sick! At least, not for any longer than a few hours..." Peter chuckled, "Besides, a little stomach ache never hurt anybody that bad."

"Well you had best be careful. You could never forgive yourself if something happened to Tink… or to Hook, for that matter."

"Hook?!" Peter chuckled, "Why should I care what happens to Hook?!"

"Oh, admit it, Peter. You don't really want anything that bad to happen to him. Then who would you fight?"

"That's true," he said thoughtfully, "If I'm going to kill Hook, there are much more fun ways to do it than by poisoning him."

Wendy sighed, rolling her eyes, but she decided against pressing the matter further.

"Besides," Peter explained plucking one of the tiny green balls from Tink's pouch, "these aren't poisonous; it's only filled with Neverswamp water."

Tink sighed, "If I do this, can I please go to bed?"

"Of course, Tink," Peter said apathetically.

"Fine, then. I'm going," Tink said quickly as she tied the bag shut and flew hastily from the Underground House.

~*~*~*~

Tinkerbell peeked from over the side of the Jolly Roger to the scattering of pirates on board. Mullins and Mason were reclined in coils of rope, Billy Jukes lied fast asleep on his stomach atop Long Tom, and Starkey sat at the other end of the ship, lazily picking at his fingernails with the tip of his rapier.

"Alright," she yawned, "now to get this over with so I can get some sleep."

She took one last glance across the deck, then darted through the rigging and down to the hatch that led below, peeking through a crack between the planks of wood. Cookson's voice echoed through the hall beneath her as Tink spotted him carrying a large bowl of scraps up the stairs from the galley. She quickly darted behind a barrel just as the old Greek sea chef hobbled out the door singing something badly at the top of his lungs, Tink couldn't tell exactly what. As soon as she was sure he was far enough away, she fluttered below decks and into the galley.

She began rummaging through the numerous pots and pans strewn across the counter, first coming to a large pot filled to the brim with something viscous and green. The thick film that had formed on the top made it look very much like the scales of the Croc. Tink took a great whiff of the substance and retched.

"Ugh! That's definitely the crew's food. How anyone can stomach this filth every day is beyond me!"

Tink quickly placed the lid back over the offending contents and continued exploring the other pots and pans, coming across several other undesirable dishes, until she came upon another pot of soup. This soup was a creamy, almost white color, and its smell was relatively tolerable compared to the other dishes.

"This has to be Hook's supper; it at least bears a resemblance to food."

But before Tink could finish the job, she heard the creaking of heavy footsteps coming down the stairs and Cookson's off-key singing.

She yelped and ducked into a large, empty cabinet that sat on the floor next to the counter, "I'll never get out of here now!"

She sat for a moment, her head resting in the palms of her hands, "Great… how will I—OH!" she sat up with a start and plunged her hand into the bag she carried at her side, a puff of glittery powder floating from the brim, and retrieved a handful of the shimmering particles, "I almost forgot about the special dust I got at Small Monday Island yesterday!"

She tossed the purple and blue dust in front of her, and it sparkled in the dark cabinet, then glistened white and grew into a small, round opening in thin air just big enough for her to fit into. Daylight shone in from the other side.

"Peter will have to come up with some other prank," Tink mumbled, "I'm going home and getting some rest."