Chapter Two: Clever Adults
"Oh, the cleverness of me!" - Peter Pan
Collecting spider silk was grieving work, Emma decided; she now understood why using just plain magic to heal was much more effective - time-wise, at least.
She tried futilely to pull the sticking strands from her hands; the more she did so, the more it seemed to cling close to her skin. She rolled her eyes and let out an exasperated huff, abandoning that task for the one she was supposed to focus on; she grabbed a large clump of white silk and dumped it on the stone table with the rest of the spider silk they had collected.
She turned to see Peter near her shoulder; in the candlelight, she could finally see how much blood had soaked through his vest. She couldn't imagine the pain he was going through; she wanted to make him sit down and stop making that pained wince everytime he pulled on his shoulder or took a step forward. She wasn't even exactly mad at him for taking Henry, at least not at the moment in time - she couldn't be, not when he wasn't posing a threat. He looked small and fragile when he wasn't smirking, when he wasn't trying to pose as someone authoric.
She watched him side with her son from across the room; by her son's facial expression, it was obvious he was worried for the boy. Henry tugged on his sleeve to bring him closer; Peter lowered his head so that he could hear him. Peter shook his head, smiling gently; he said something under his breath, causing Henry to take a breath of relief and to smile lightly. Peter then seemed to hop at the chance to change the subject; he grabbed a golden locket from the table of objects they were facing. Peter held it up and handed it to Henry; Henry took it, smiling genuinely. The two smiled at each other for a moment before Peter nodded his head quickly, taking a step back slightly and glancing across the room to lock eyes with Emma. He turned and resumed in collecting silk instead of conversing with her son, who wound the locket around his throat before tucking it beneath his scarf, turning to his own section of spiderwebs.
"I never would've pinned you as that type of mother, Swan," Killian mused, trying to unwind silk from his silver hook with his good hand, smirking bemusedly at the back of Emma's blonde head.
She turned to him, furrowing her eyebrows. "What's that supposed to mean?"
"Well," He said, "really, it's whatever you perceived it to be. I think it's kind of cute, actually, you getting all riled up."
Emma quirked her eyebrow, her eyes narrowing dangerously. "'Riled up?'" She tried hard to ignore the fact that Killian had just complimented her.
Killian smiled, perhaps to lessen the intensity in her deep blue eyes; it only seemed to make them spark up. "Well, you know, watching him like that; making sure your boy is alright," Killian stumbled over his words, a bit surprised that that was what Emma was glaring at him for and not his slip of tongue of her looks. "It's honourable, your love for him, is what I'm trying to say."
She stared at Killian longer than he would've liked, although he wasn't entirely not in favour of having such a view of her; he liked how her eyes reminded him of his sea-dog days, like a hurricane about to brew, and how they would soften just as the sea would when he had expected it to swallow him and his ship whole. Her eyes did just that and she glanced away then right back at Killian as she muttered, "Thanks, I guess."
He nodded. "Don't mention it."
The two stood in premature awkward silence; Hook actually missed the splash of the waves and whistle of fierce wind that would've usually droned out this discomfort. He watched as Emma pursed her lips before turning away; his fingers inched to his bottle as he stared at her receding. His fingers wound themselves around the body of his bottle but he sighed and resisted a draught, hearing Emma's voice in his head; Is rum your solution to everything? He gritted his teeth and steeled his resolve, bringing his hand out from behind his coat. He turned quickly on his boots to a new corner and set to work, not turning to look at Emma who had glanced back to him.
From a corner of the little house, Regina had seen the same exchange between her son and Pan; it made her fingers twitch subconciously and her stomach flip. She knew Pan would have made it his goal to become close to her son after thieving him, but even so, she wasn't happy at all that the two were still in such close proxmitity. She'd resisted from using her magic to heighten the pain in his wounds lest the magic be fresh and point the signs to her, so instead, she'd used a bit of it to listen in on their conversation. She hadn't expected Pan to use such a gentle tone with her son and to give him a gift - that locket; she couldn't bring herself to believe it was just a gift, as he could've easily used foul play. She didn't trust the boy; all she wanted to do was protect her son and go back home with him in one piece. She could do that without Pan being so friendly towards him.
Peter glanced over at the stone table, feeling Regina's eyes hot on his skull; he walked over to the table and pulled a clump of the soft mass of white into his hand. He flattened it down with his hands, trying to create a sort of padding. He did this several times with other scraps of silk until he had multiple wraps; as he worked to formulate a roll of it, Charming took to dumping his and Snow's silk on the table. Peter glanced at it and nodded in acknowledgement, focused on his making of the padding. Charming thought for a moment, remembering how Peter had tried to convince Hook to kill him and decided against giving the boy a hand in the creation of the substitute for guaze, turning back to where Snow was.
Peter felt a sting in his side, a jab; his face contorted as he tried to bite down his gasp of pain, his nails digging into the silk he'd been moulding. His body shook as he tensed; the poison shouldn't have been affecting him so quick, hadn't he still a few hours before it would?
Peter cursed loudly, catching the adults' attention as well as Henry's. Peter dropped the silk patch, trying to undo the belt lashed across his stomach; he did so, throwing it to the dirt floor before he unceremoniously tore his vest and shirt off in one swift movement. Peter gave a cry as the air assualted his wounds; plum-black blood coated his fingers as he pressed his hands futiely against his side. Peter glanced up, real fear dancing in his eyes like the candelight dancing fluidly across the wet blood dripping down his shoulder blade.
Killian swore, rushing forward; he caught the boy under the armpits as his knees buckled. Killian barked orders as if he were aboard his vessel; that was the best place he'd been able to handle pressure, he knew. He used his hooked arm to push aside the silk patches; at his request, a fur blanket was placed over the stone. He laid the boy upon it, ordering for water - any water. He then looked down at the lad, who stared up at Killian in pained disbelief; he gave a single nod, writhing in agony as more plum-black blood bubbled from his side wound. "Have you any idea what you're doing?" He asked through tightly clenched teeth.
Killian shrugged, grabbing a silk patch. "Not a clue."
Emma rolled her eyes and pushed Killian aside. "I've got this," She snapped, ripping the silk patch from Killian's hand. She looked over her shoulder swiftly. "We need water!"
"We can't find any in this place," Charming answered, having run from the side of the room that had been cut off by a hide curtain.
"Well, who would be stupid enough to lose water?" Peter asked through his teeth.
Emma gave him a sharp glance, turning to Hook. "The bottle," She demanded. "Where's your rum?"
Killian's eyebrows jumped sharply. "My rum? Why have we got to bring my bottle into this?"
"It's the only thing we have to clean this," Emma snapped. "Unless you want his death on your head, I would suggest you hand it over."
Killian seemed affronted, nonetheless, he grudgingly handed her his bottle to which Emma uncorked and titled so that a gold stream of liquid came down like a tantalizing waterfall. Killian watched his rum go to waste, biting down on his own teeth to not make a pitiful noise of indignation; he wasn't sure Emma would've heard it over Peter's horrible yowling though he wasn't about to chance it. She winced at the noise, bringing the bottle upright before dribbling some of the rum into Peter's open mouth to which he choked upon; she grimanced slightly, realising she probably should've given him some rum to ease the pain with drunkeness before just pouring it downright into his wound, which was hissing and foaming.
Snow and Charming watched as Emma worked; she tried to ease the bad blood out with the rum, using her other hand to wipe away the poison that would then collect on Peter's spiderwebbed skin near the open infection. Emma bit the inside of her cheek, working furiously; when she'd gotten as much of the poison as she could, she glanced over at Regina and asked, panic constricting her voice, "Aren't you going to help?"
Regina blinked, taken aback. "Me? It looks like you're handling it just fine."
Emma glared at her. "This is no time for your arrogance, Regina; get over here and help."
"You sure told her," Peter groaned, writhing painfully. He looked up and caught Regina's eye. "Although, I wouldn't want the Queen's help even if she offered it."
Regina raised an eyebrow and gestured to Peter with an outstretched hand. "See? He doesn't even want my help, so why should I give it?"
"But, I do know who can heal this," Peter spoke up past his teeth, which he'd bit down. "Henry can."
Emma stopped what she was doing and stared at Peter's face; Killian looked down at the boy as well, his eyebrows dipping nearer than usual. Regina took a step forward, suddenly feeling defensive for her son; he shouldn't do magic - he couldn't do magic -
Henry pulled away from Snow's hand on his shoulder; he walked from his grandparents to look at Peter through the space between his mothers. "Me?"
Peter nodded, although it pained him. "The son of two sorcerers and The Dark One Junior; why not?"
Henry looked up, feeling his mothers glance at him in unison. Emma met Regina's gaze. "It makes sense," She said, shrugging.
Regina stared at Emma in revulsion. "It makes sense if you're completely deranged," Regina snapped. "Henry doesn't know magic! He's never used it in his life!"
Henry scratched at the back of his neck. "Actually," He started.
Regina turned her head to stare at her son. She blinked. She asked a single word: "When?"
"I was still pretty little," Henry said, shrugging. "Remember that magic kit you got me one year for my birthday? The one you told me was just a fake, but you bought it for me anyway because it was all I asked for?"
Regina's mouth grew dry as she nodded numbly.
"Well, one day when you were out watering your tree," Henry recalled, "I was playing with it. I'd dug it out from under my bed and placed it on the dining room table. A lot of the pieces were missing - mainly the cards, since I could never figure out how to shuffle them right - but I still had the wand. I took it out and flicked it and said a bunch of words from that book you'd left on the counter - the really cool leather one I wasn't supposed to touch, remember?"
Regina's eyes narrowed slightly. "Yes, I remember."
"Yeah, well," Henry continued quickly, "anyway, it didn't work, not even with your book. So, I just got really frustrated and thought about everyone who told me it wouldn't work - you, the kids at school, the salesman - and I thought, well, I thought ... I thought about how much I believed in it and how much I wanted it to happen, how much I wanted magic to be real and to work, and then it did. A spark flew out of the wand and it was just awesome. Until it broke one of your vases, then it was less awesome, but still awesome."
Regina stared at her son. "You told me the cat knocked down that vase! That's why we got rid of it!"
Peter rolled his eyes, speaking up. "Look, I'm still sort of in pain here, so can you just give Henry an incantation so I can get off this table - which is really smarting at the moment - and continue your lovely yelling match at another time?"
Regina pursed her lips, infuriated at Peter's intrusion in her conversation with her son; she realised, however, that the rest of his family - her family now - were staring at the two.
"How do you not realise your son's magic?" Killian questioned, arching an eyebrow.
Regina shot Killian a fierce glare. "Shut up!"
"Mom," Henry said, "please tell me a spell to help him."
Regina stared at her son, annoyed highly; she blamed Pan and the charm he must've used to brainwash her son. "I thought I wasn't supposed to do magic," She said; Emma rolled her eyes as she shouted, "You've got to be kidding!"
"Mom, you aren't the one using magic, I am," Henry retaliated. "You have to trust me, okay?"
Regina met her son's gaze. "I do trust you, Henry."
"Then show me that!" Henry said, desperation leaking in his tone as Peter let out another cry he tried, without success, to muffle.
"Fine," Regina said, the incantation at the tip of her tongue. " ... Fine."
...
A group of at least ten Lost Boys followed Felix through The Dark Forest, each armed with a spear or a bow of some kind, some with swords and knives and knotted clubs. They didn't ask questions, merely followed, as they always had with Peter; with Peter, they knew he had a game in store - Felix, though, made the Boys strangely anxious, nervous. They didn't feel as safe as they orginally had, not with the bruises still blueing on their bodies and the sight of Peter being run from his very own camp still fresh in their minds.
Felix stopped moving; he held up a hand, signalling for the lot of them to come to a stop. They did, their hands gripping their weapons; their bodies tensed, awaiting a signal to attack, to play - they hadn't expected Felix to walk between two trees and disappear in the foilage, out of view of the rest of the Boys. They glanced in confusion at one another, a few of them standing tall to try to see into the leaves.
Felix looked down at the path before him, at the two adults standing below his feet on the mulch cliff. He bent down, trying to listen in on their conversation; he could feel the power radiating off the both of them, but he was unsure as if he should attack the two now or wait to see if he had more lads to jump them.
Even before the two talked, Felix could feel the connection between them; father and son. He smirked, gazing at the back of Baelfire's head; he watched Rumplestiltskin try to convince his son of their plan to get Henry back.
Felix had to fight himself not to laugh; seems word hadn't gotten to The Dark One and The Truest Believer's father. He watched Neal (what was he going by nowadays?) pull a scrap of tan tattered paper from the folds of his shirt; he unfolded it and pointed at the red X, in the topmost bit of the island. Felix's eyes widened; how did he get a map of Neverland?
"The X moved," Neal said, exhasperation heavy in his tone. "They moved him again - half way across the island, even!"
"We'll find him, Bae," Rumple said, though his voice was weighed down the same as his son's. "I assure you, we will."
"Finding the lost isn't very easy," Felix cut in, "'specially in a place such as Neverland."
Neal stiffened and Rumple turned, eyes hot like coals. Felix had enough of a mind to figure he had found that Belle had been merely a shadow; this didn't exactly concern Felix, not in any way, but he knew it ought to concern Peter.
Pan, his mind countered. It ought to concern Pan.
Felix smiled, though it didn't look an ounce friendly what with his diagonal scar. "You know," He said, "I could be of help."
Neal turned, anger contorting his face. "Why the hell would I want your damn help?" He snapped, glaring at Felix.
Felix raised his eyebrows. "Why, to catch Pan. You don't think I agree with the way he's been running Neverland? It's been horrid, him at the lead. The lads all follow him because that's all we can do. We don't listen to him, we get sent to either the Caves or the Tree, and neither of those are very fun." Felix pulled his knee up to better look out at the two. "You catch Pan, you get Henry; simple as that."
Neal shook his head. "You're loyal to Pan; you wouldn't cheat him."
"If I had the chance, I would," Felix countered. "I always would. The Boys deserve better and you lot deserve to go home. It was unfair of Pan to take your boy, to take any of these Boys. Here," Felix hopped down, "let me take a look at that map of yours."
Neal held the map just out of reach. "I can read maps, kid."
Felix's scar twitched, his hand outstreched. "I just want to help, Baelfire."
Neal glowered at Felix. "Since when did you have a heart?"
Felix chuckled. "Funny you should ask. Now, would you kindly hand me the map or will I have to simply take it from you, Baelfire? Like old times?"
Rumple took a step before his son. "You won't get that map," He said sternly.
"So sure, are you, 'Stiltskin?" Felix countered. "I believe it's time to humour you, then. Lads!"
The Boys came down from behind the curtain of foilage; Neal and Rumple took up a defensive stance.
"Why hasn't Pan come out himself?" Neal demanded, his hands tightening into fists. "Why is making his own Boys fight his fights?"
Felix blinked. "He isn't; they volunteered."
"Who in their right mind would volunteer to death?" Neal growled.
"I guess that's the difference between us Boys and the rest," Felix said, "we aren't frightened by such a primitive thing as death."
"I know what you should be frightened of, though," Neal said, sharing a look with his father. "It's called losing. You might want to tell Pan of it; he'll feel it soon enough."
The two, father and son, were there one moment and gone the next; Felix and the rest of the Boys searched frantically for them, anger burning Felix's skin. He'd always been told by Peter that he got too cocky among adults; it wasn't his fault they were just large idiots.
Apparently clever idiots, Felix's mind murmured, they sure fooled you.
Felix had half a mind to want to punch the owner of that horrid voice and another half to tell him it wasn't real, just his imagination - his Madness.
There was a call among the lads; Felix shoved himself to the front, to the Boy clutching the scrap of map. Felix grinned, taking it from the lad; he held it up so that the first rays of light came through the weathered parchment. His eyes went to the X, the mark of treasure; the mark of Pan, himself, where he was hiding.
Felix chuckled darkly, knowing he would need to get to the camp. The adults really were old fools! This was fantastic to Felix; he now knew whereever that imp, Peter, was.
The game was about to get interesting.
so because the writers are assholes
- (adorable assholes that I respect) -
I now need a backstory for what Nealfire and Rumple are doing.
So. Here it is.
They're looking for Henry on their own, yadda, yadda; they think they can cover more ground that way but then Felix runs into them and screws everything up
- (and since Captain Swan is one-sided now, you don't get that fluff. You get awkward, then the loss of Killy's rum, which doesn't even heal Peter, it just gets him really snarky)
oh yeah and Henry's done magic before and I guess they had a cat emphasis on had
and they dropped the map (are they really that dumb, you ask; no, I answer, they is not)
yesterday's episode hurt a lot and that commerical for next week.
Henry cannot leave. Okay. I forbid it. So does Peter. Just.
Who's idea was it to give writers power?
