I hate being in a dead fandom, yet here I am!

Fear men.

Fear them when they're old and fear them when they're young. Fear them with their smiles and fear them with their shouts. It does not matter. Old or young, men are something to be feared.

Peter learned this at a very young age. He had learned this from watching men on the street watch his mother with eyes that glowed too hot. He learned this from listening to their mutters of his mother being...trash. No husband, no income and a child. Did she even know who the father was? Was she one of those women on the streets? All those cruel accusations and yet no one offered to lift a finger to aid her. Peter learned very quickly, the cruelty of men.

His mother's death had not been of illness or anything explainable like that. Her death had been filled with such violence and such cruelty that Peter would never forget it. She had been working so many odd jobs while trying to support herself and Peter. Some of these jobs went down slippery slopes and the wrong sort of people began to know her name. One evening, after Jenny had finished with her work, she had walked through the quiet wintery streets with Peter tucked in her arms. He was trying to stay awake, but his eyes were growing heavy and mother's gentle humming was always so quick to put him to rest. Home was not too much further, just over the bridge. She hummed against his ear, lips curled into a kind smile as she walked down the street. Peter could feel snow landing against his cheek and he peeked his eyes open to watch the flurries dance around their heads. That was when he noticed the shadow in the distance. The child lifted his head, blinking away sleepiness as he processed that it was a man following not too far behind them. Content with this, Peter lowered his head again and closed his eyes.

Jenny murmured into her child's ear and he lifted his head off her shoulder to smile at her, entranced by her words and the stories she would tell him. Stories of knights and princesses and happy endings. Stories that made Peter feel safe and secure. Peter was three. Stories always made him happy. He glanced once away from her, looking over her shoulder to see the same man walking in their direction. He was closer now, with his head lowered and his hands stuffed in his pockets. He must have felt Peter's eyes on him for he looked up and his eyes met Peter's. The man smiled. Peter smiled back, uncertain but still a smile. There was something about this man...he could not name it, but something about him made Peter feel too hot and too cold all at once. Jenny had not noticed him, still smiling at Peter with adoration. She had stopped walking so she could look at her child. She quickly noticed his attention was elsewhere and she turned to see what her boy was looking at.

Jenny had felt the same feeling Peter had. Her hands had tightened around Peter and she turned to walk forward, steps quicker now. The man did not stray from his path. Jenny's steps were quick as she moved to cross the street, holding Peter close. Peter wrapped his arms around his mother's shoulders, not understanding her sudden change in pace, but still the man followed. He crossed the street, footsteps leaving imprints in the snow.

"Mama," Peter whispered, little fingers lightly reaching to touch his mother's hair. Jenny's arm lifted up, one still securely holding him and the other stroking his cheek. "the man..." He did not look away, staring into the eyes of the man. They were dark. Darker than Peter had ever seen eyes being, nearly black. It was like staring into the starless night sky and it left Peter feeling suddenly ill.

"Hush, darling." Jenny murmured. Suddenly, the man began to move quicker and Jenny broke into a desperate run. She raced forward, red curls bouncing as she practically flew down the road. The man did not speak and it seemed as if he was slowing down a bit. Jenny did not stop to check. She managed to get some distance between them. It was late and it was only the three of them outside. The man had yet to stop in his pursuit and Jenny turned to the nearest door, shifting Peter into one arm as she desperately banged on the door.

"Help, please!" She cried out, glancing over her shoulder as the man continued forward, now at a relaxed pace. It was as if he was toying with her. She turned, banging on the door. No one answered. Peter was silent, holding onto his mother as she released a noise from between her teeth and turned to run again. The man continued on. Jenny approached the next house. Peter could see him yellow lighting through the window. They were awake. Again, Jenny pounded on the door, calling out for help. The shadow within the home moved, bouncing off the walls and Peter heard his mother's hopeful breath. He glanced over her shoulder, watching the man's approach. Then the lights went out and no one came to the door. No one was ever going to come. Jenny's breathing was ragged as he realized this. She moved again, taking the stone steps as quickly as she could, stumbling on the last one and nearly falling. Peter cried out in surprise as Jenny caught herself, righting him against her chest and running again. Peter could see the outlines of the bridge as the snow fell heavily against them. Jenny saw it too. Their home was just over that bridge. She released an elated breath. The man would not dare follow her there. She only needed to get to that door.

Peter looked up again, blinking away the snow gathering in his eyelashes. His brows furrowed as he stared out into the now empty street. The man was no where in sight. The snow continued to blow hard, but the street was deserted. "Mama, he's gone." Peter whispered and Jenny turned hesitantly, releasing a weak noise of relief when she too noticed that they were alone. Her hand lifted, cupping Peter's cheek and he practically felt her sag in relief.

"Oh, thank God." She breathed, turning Peter's face towards her and stroking a gentle thumb down his brow. "I'm sorry, Peter. You must have been scared." She mused fretfully, the same worry crease appearing in between her brows that Peter had.

"No mama." He was quick to assure her. How could he truly be afraid when she was with him? Jenny offered him a small smile, pressing a kiss to the tip of his chilled nose.

"It's cold," She murmured. "Let's get you to bed." Peter nodded at this, arms winding around her shoulders once more and his eyes closing, content and already forgetting about the strange encounter. Home was close. Home meant safety. Jenny turned back towards the bridge, heart still hammering as her feet crunched through the snow. Her movements remained quick. Her hair had fallen from its bun and it was now tangled around her head, wisps of red at the corner of her eyes. She felt Peter's hair tickle her cheek as he lifted a tiny hand to touch her curls. Their home was in sight. Jenny began to hum again.

Then she heard footsteps in the snow just behind her. She turned on her heel, Peter lifting his head in curiosity. Jenny saw the snow falling around her, the darkened building with snow covered steps. She saw Peter's dear little face as he looked out and a flash of silver whipping through the night. Then Jenny was gurgling, a spout of red splattering around the snow and those black eyes stared at her. She stumbled back, legs failing and her arms nearly giving out. She managed to hold onto her boy as she fell, hearing Peter's cry of confusion. The man spoke. Turning as if to proceed with Peter, but stalling for a moment, staring at the child. He said something to the boy. A taunt or an apology, Jenny did not know. Those eyes vanished as quickly as they came, footsteps fleeing into the night. Peter scooted forward, listening to those awful noises coming from him mother. He called out to her.

"Mama." His voice nearly lost in the wind. Jenny's eyes moved to look at her son. His eyes matching hers, wide and confused. She tried to lift her hand, fingers twitching as she coughed. Scarlet was suddenly spotting her son's face and she weakly attempted to wipe it away, only managing to leave a smear of blood with the tips of her fingers across his mouth. She could not speak words of comfort. He could not understand what was happening. She tried to reach out again, her little boy staring down at her with those doe eyes of his. So much of his father was in him, but more still of her. He was speaking, voice high and warbling.

'He's just a boy...'

His dear little hands tried to wipe the blood from her chin, upset at the blood that now coated the ground, saturating the once pure snow. He did not seem to notice that his hands were covered in blood, too focused on trying to make his mother better. He was crying, nose cold and running and eyes shining with fearful tears.

"Pe-Pet..." The words were barely audible, but her boy met her gaze, seeming to understand that she would not be getting up from this. Her poor sweet boy...no father...now no mother...what a cruel world he would live in. Peter spoke again, hysterical by this point. His face was the last thing she would ever see. The snow continued to fall, curling through the air and leaving a little boy crying in the night as his mother breathed her last.

Peter was found the next morning, curled into the arms of his dead mother. He had not left her side, even as she stopped moving and even as her eyes stared blankly up at the sky. He had tucked himself against her, mumbling for her with his voice thick and eyes filled with tears. He was too young to truly understand, but he knew enough that she was not waking up. She was not moving. Where else could he go? He had no ability to think of finding shelter. No, he wanted his mama and so he stayed with his mama, not moving until he heard the scream of a witness as they spotted the carnage.

It took the witnesses several moments to realize he was even alive. His lips were blue and he was covered in gore, but he was alive and unhurt. They came at him with blankets. 'Lucky' They said. Lucky that he was not killed as well. Lucky the cold did not claim him in the hours he spent lying in the snow. Peter did not feel lucky. He felt cold and tired and was waiting for mama to wakeup. They took him away from her, despite his howls to let him go. He felt so weak and heavy, but even then, he did not want to leave his mother. He was too weak to put up much of a struggle and he was lifted up into the arms of a kindly man with a curling ginger beard. Peter wailed at the sight of them man, sluggishly trying to push away. They took him from his mother and he never saw her again. He quickly lost consciousness, waking periodically, but never remaining so. He could remember bits and pieces of the day, but nothing that remained solid, as if it were all cast in shadows.

When he next awoke, he was no longer a son, but an orphan and he was alone. Mother never came for him and it was that day he realized she never would come for him again.

Peter was eventually given to a workhouse where he could 'make himself useful'. There was controversy surround his 'situation'. The child of a rumored 'street walker' that had been butchered in the street. No one wanted a child with that sort of story. So, he was sent to work. Peter did as was expected of him because he did not know what else to do. It did not mean anything went smoothly. He was a troublemaker, always had been. From the time he was five until he was eight he remained in this warehouse. The man there were cold and uninterested and left Peter on edge. Adults were filled with cruelty. Men especially. If anyone asked, his mother died of an illness. There would never be the mention of the man with black eyes or the morning after with Peter drenched in scarlet. Those were stories for nightmares. Nightmares Peter never wished to think of again.

He was eight when Jimmy came for him. Jimmy was a man. A man just like those that had insulted his mother and like the man who had taken her away. Yet, Jimmy was not like those men. Jimmy was not cruel and he did not look at Peter like he was something disgusting. He looked to Peter as if he was important. Peter grew to like this man.

Jimmy carried him like his mother did. His arms were as safe as hers and his voice as soothing. He took care of him and the other boys. He took in what was broken and discarded and made them a home. Jimmy made Peter believe that maybe he did not have to fear men. This man was good. There might be bad men out there, but if there were men like Jimmy, then there was no need to fear. This man would not hurt him. Peter would have followed that man for the rest of his life.

Until Neverland.

"I see through your innocence just as I saw through his!"

Jimmy smiled at him, stroking a large hand through his hair and Peter smiled back, feeling warm.

"Oh, there were no hard feelings, once I cut him open like a Christmas goose!"

Jimmy watched Peter leap across the rooftop, lips curved into a proud smile. "That's my boy."

Jimmy Hook.

He chose Bonny and the pirates over Peter and his boys.

James Hook.

He allowed Fox's murderer to stand at his side.

Hook.

He killed Peter's father, acting as if Jenny was an object to be owned. As if he owned her.

Captain Hook with his hooked hand and mad eyes. Jimmy hook was dead...or never existed. Like the man with the black eyes that robbed him of him mother, Hook had robbed him of two fathers. The one he never met and the one who guided him from that warehouse. Hook was a murderer. A cruel man, worse than the ones on the street that stared with their heated eyes. Worse than the one that turned off the light, leaving Peter and his mother to their fate. The back eyed man had followed Peter in spirit. Now standing shoulder to shoulder with Hook, like some specter that only Peter could see.

There were good men in Neverland. Kaw Chief was good and Fludd had been good. Yet the bad outnumbered the good.

Peter learned to fear men again.

Jimmy's final lesson.

If this was growing up, Peter never wanted to become a man.