Chapter Four: Detached Hope
"There are many different kinds of bravery." - Peter Pan (2003)
"This might hurt," Henry said, his eyebrows pinching as he looked down at Peter, his back rigid against the table. Peter's nails skitted across the stone as he clenched and unclenched his hands.
"I trust you, Henry," Peter managed between his clenched teeth, as tight as his fists against the sweaty fur that clung to his bare back.
Henry slipped a shred of cloth between Peter's teeth, telling him to bite down. Peter oblidged, doing so on a pained gasp, his teeth grinding down on fabric instead of his molars.
"Okay. Ready?" Henry asked, his hands growing numb with anxiety. Peter jerked a nod, closing his eyes tightly and biting down on the cloth; Peter's body tensed, his muscles seizing, awaiting the pain that would come next.
"Curatio somnium vulnus," Henry said, pressing a hand to the wound above Peter's hipbone. Peter let out a muffled cry, his face contorting; he tried to keep from moving his body, but his instinct was to pull away from the pressure of Henry's hands down on his side.
"Curatio somnium vulnus," Henry repeated; he could feel the warm blood of Peter's wound against his hand. Henry could practically feel the pain Peter was in, could feel the poison it entailed, even with several layers of skin between the poison and his blood. An edge came to his voice as Peter whimpered on a practicularly pitiful wince: "Curatio somnium vulnus."
Henry stared down at his hands, one atop the other, plum-black syrupy blood oozing between his fingers. Henry brought his hands away, glancing back at his family. "It isn't working," He said, desperation lacing his voice.
"You have to concentrate," Regina advised him, though she felt even worse for her son. He didn't deserve to be put on the spot like this; he might've have done magic, but nothing as demanding as extracting liquid death.
"I'm trying," Henry said, locking eyes with Peter; Henry felt extremely guilty then and repositioned his hands against the wound, applied pressure. "Curatio somnium vulnus," He said again.
Henry wasn't sure what he should've been expecting; a spark of light? The poison to just up and disappear? He didn't know but he sure hoped it would work quickly; he didn't like the fact that each of Peter's current grunts were his fault.
"Try ... concentrating on a feeling," Regina told Henry; she shared a glance with Emma across from her. "Any feeling, any emotion ... A strong one. Any one."
Henry thought hard. What sort of feeling should he go with? He didn't dislike Peter; no, Peter was his only friend in Neverland - his only friend anywhere, really. He liked him, sure; he didn't want Peter to die, that was why he was going to heal him. Peter had given him the locket; Henry owed him a good night's sleep, didn't he?
Peter spit out the cloth, knowing he'd have to give Henry a hint. He was only eleven; what had Peter expected, for the kid to know exactly how to heal him and how to do it quickly but enough so that he wouldn't rush and only temporarily pause the poison? Peter sighed rather painfully, his breathing ragged, but he sucked in a breath and said, "Belief."
Henry met Peter's gaze. "What?" He asked, staring down at Peter who clenched his teeth down tightly again in pain as his wound gushed.
"Belief," Peter gasped out in a sharp breath. "Henry, you need to believe."
Henry looked down at Peter's wound; the candlelight reflecting from the oily blood seemed to glare up at him, taunting him. You can't do this, Henry could hear his mind counter. You can't heal Dreamshade; you're too weak, you haven't got enough confidence, not at all. You haven't got enough belief, Henry; The Truest Believer, a coward, scared of a little scratch - a scratch that could bring down the mighty Pan?
Henry's nostrils flared; he had to do this, just to prove that voice wrong - to prove to Peter that he was The Truest Believer, to prove to his family that he was magic and that he could control it, without using it for ill purposes as his mother and grandfather had.
Henry, in a spurt of something he didn't know he had, placed his hands down on Peter's wound and pressed down, hard, this time. Peter clamped his lips down, muffling the worst of his groan as Henry said the incantation with a type of fiercity that actually caused the hairs on Peter's arms to stand on end; "Curatio somnium vulnus!"
Blinding light exploded from the bottom of the palm Henry had placed against the gushing wound; the flow of black blood seemed to quicken until red blood seeped between Henry's fingers. Henry glanced up, letting out a laugh of relief as he watched the colour flush back to Peter's orginally pale face and the light reignite in his once-pained eyes.
Peter relaxed his head back against the soiled fur blanket that had been placed beneath him; he thought for a fleeting moment of how he barely had enough blankets as it was, without one of them being ruined due to him allowing weakness - he pushed the thought aside, promising himself that they would make-do with what they had until he had time to search for a new one.
He looked up and met Henry's relieved gaze; Henry could see the clouds in Peter's eyes diminish when he looked at him. "I knew you could do it," was all Peter said as he began to push himself from the blanket and the table, but he glanced back to catch Henry's eye to give him a thankful grin that would've been missed if one hadn't been watching the two closely which the family had, until Peter diverted their attention from Henry to himself, as he proceeded to push himself from the table.
"Whoa, kid," Emma said, holding out an arm to stop Peter from moving further. "You're still bleeding."
Peter glanced down at the fierce flow of red tainting his skin, a lot more human than the putrid poison that had been flowing in his veins. He shrugged, not sounding at all concerned as he said, "I s'ppose." He grabbed a silk wrap with his bloodied hands, trying to remove the sticky filaments from his fingers. He looked up, meeting Emma's eyes with his own furrowed brow. He held the patch out to her. "Would you mind ... ?"
Emma, after a second of thought, took the silk patch from Peter, though after looking at the splotches of poisoned blood his fingers had left, grabbed a cleaner one to put against the boy's wound. She grabbed it, picked up Hook's bottle and dabbed the damp nose of it against the patch, which she then placed against the warm blood of his partically healed wound. Peter's expression faltered but other than that, he kept a poker face towards the family watching him closely. Emma kept her hand against the silk bandage, wondering what she was going to use to hold it in place.
"There's leather cord on that table there," Peter said, as if he'd known what Emma was thinking. He jerked his head to Killian, who was the closest to it. "Could you hand it over, Killy?"
Killian narrowed his eyes. "First he takes me rum, then has the bloody audacity to boss me around ...," Even so, he grabbed a bundle of leather from the cluttered table, about to hand it off to Emma, when his eyes caught sight of a glimmer. Being a pirate, he'd always had quick eyes; being a Captain of such a vessel as The Jolly Roger, he'd also become accustomed to finding treasure which this definitely was. Killian stopped, letting the leather fall from his hand as he jumped forward, pulling the glittering gold-and-silver sextant from the clutter of the table. He stared down at it, at the golden emblazoned Pegasus among the constellations and the stars and Killian gaped down at it, turning around as he sputtered accusingly, "M-my ... You stole my sextant!"
Peter let out a scoff. "Even I wouldn't go pecking in your pockets, pirate. Although you should probably start checking them to make sure you've still got a hold of your valuables before you carelessy set off, without even a proper farewell."
Killian's jaw popped from the force he exerted against his teeth. "Oi, bite your tongue - "
"I'd rather not bleed more than I have already," Peter snapped, inching his fingers to push Emma's away from his wound, which was already pinking the silk. Peter stood and walked forward, to which he bent down painfully and grabbed the cluster of leather. He straightened and met Killian's accusitory gaze. "You lost it, idiot. It showed up here, on the shore, as every Lost thing does. I found it and recognised it, brought it back here. Knew you'd have to come back for it - although you would've had to have been aware that you'd lost it, wouldn't you? So I kept it; go ahead, take it. It's not like I ever had a care for it, anyways."
Peter turned away, dropping the leather again on the soiled blanket as he grabbed more silk, his hand still pressed to his wound. He grabbed a long strip of silk and put it beneath his pink fingers before wrapping it along his side and around his body. He did this several times before he grabbed a leather cord and tied it along his middle before knotting it off, leaving the ends hanging. He turned, catching them all staring at him. "What? Never expected me to know how to dress a wound?" He asked, turning his back on them once again to begin folding up the soiled blanket.
"All this time?" Killian asked, gazing down at the sextant. "You kept it?"
Peter glanced over his still-poisoned shoulder. "Yeah, well, it meant something to you; it meant someone to you," Peter mumbled before adding quickly, "It wasn't like I was about to let the bloody Sirens get their fins on it - never would've gotten it back."
" ... Thank you, mate," Killian said and for once since Lee's death, the two met one another's gaze, not an ounce of scorn in their eyes on either side.
"Yeah," Peter said, nodding. "Your shoulder," Killian pointed out.
Peter tried to look down his shoulder at the poisoned cut near the jut of his shoulder blade. He shrugged, looking down at it. "It's not too bad," He said, "just a knick. I can handle it."
"C'mon, kid," Emma spoke up. "You're not invincible."
Peter's eyes seemed to cloud over, as if he were thinking hard. His face scrunched and he looked up, not really at anyone in particular.
After a long while, he turned to Emma and blinked. The pain in his shoulder only seemed to prove the point that Peter was vulnerable, that he'd gotten no where from the frightened orphaned boy of his youth. He was still the same old Peter Piper; he could still be brought down - killed.
He sighed, glancing over to Henry. "Alright then," He said, pushing himself up so he could sit on the edge of the stone. He looked expectantly to Henry.
Henry blinked. "You want me to heal you again?"
"Yeah," Peter said, shrugging. "You can skip the spell this time, don't really need it."
Regina placed a hand on her son's shoulder, the scar on her lip giving an involuntary twitch. "Excuse me?"
"The spell. It's not exactly needed," Peter said, shrugging. "This wound isn't nearly as bad as the last one. Anyway, Henry's belief should do the trick enough. That's how powerful he is, if you haven't noticed; his faith and his belief are strong enough without a string of stupid words."
"Then why did you ask for an incantation if you didn't need it?" Regina hissed.
Peter's eyebrows furrowed for a second, as if he were trying to figure why he did it as well; then he shrugged and simply said, "It would've seemed funny without it, wouldn't it of?"
...
Neal turned to his father, after they'd materialised several yards from where they'd been ambushed by Felix and The Lost Boys. Rumple looked to him, glancing to Neal's empty hands. "You left it, then?" He asked, meeting his son's gaze.
"Yeah," Neal said, holding out his left palm. "Do you mind?"
Rumple took a step forward, placing a crooked finger down so that the nail dug slightly into Neal's palm. Rumple whispered quickly under his breath, his teeth clinking as many dialects left his tongue.
Light blazed over Neal's pink flesh, painting a map over his skin. Blue light dipped in an outline of the lagoon, teal tails flickering like incandescent lighting. The island was lined with a dark green; the Caves a mottled purple; the Tree a red-brown; the abandoned native tee-pees a blood-red; Dead Man's Peak a dark forbidding grey. A large ruby-red X was slashed between the native camp and the Dark Forest, at the upmost corner of the map. Neal pointed at the X. "That's where he is," He said. "That's where Henry is and where Henry is, Pan follows."
Rumple glanced at the map, at the X near another white-sand shore, near the bottom-most corner of Neal's hand. "But ... He's there, by the sea shore," He said, confusion thick in his voice. Rumple pointed to the X. "Isn't he?"
Neal furrowed his brow. "What are you talking about?"
Rumple stared at the X he saw, at the rippling image of The Jolly Roger bobbing in the water upon the underside of Neal's hand. "It's right there. Don't you see?"
"But ... The X is here," Neal pointed to his own X, Rumple's finger supposedly pointing to the blank spot of shoreline etched in his hand with pulsing golden light.
Rumple shook his head. "No, it's here, Bae."
"No, Papa, it isn't," Neal insisted. "Don't you believe me? It's here, between the encampment and the Forest! I've been here before, Papa, I know!"
"You think I haven't been here before, Bae? I have," Rumple spoke, his voice thick with emotion; his tone seemed to fray at the seems, "When I was young, this was where I'd come. Until one day ... I was too old. I wasn't allowed back." Bitterness flashed in Rumplestiltskin's eyes. "I wasn't allowed back because I'd grown up and found something Pan didn't understand - love. A family, I had a family, dreams of one with Mela. I had you, Bae, and I couldn't leave you to come here."
Neal stared at his father in the brightening sky poking through the trees. "You came here willingly, Papa; I was forced to. I never would've if I had the choice. It was better me than those Pan had set out for."
Rumple stared at his son. "Who?"
"A girl," Neal looked away, saying quickly, "that doesn't matter anymore. She's dead; she'll always be dead."
There was something in Neal's voice that Rumple recognised, as it had formerly been in his own prior to his Darkening. Neal's voice was laced with detached hope, broken by the crack of his throat and the flick of his tongue, but still there nonetheless.
He had grown up, and no matter how much Rumple convinced himself otherwise, Bael - Neal had grown up without a father, without a mother, without any family whatsoever. His mother had chosen her coward husband and son over a pirate with as much a thrist for adventure as there was a thrist for alcohol; his own father had chosen magic - the Darkest of all - over his own son. He had abandoned Bae when he'd needed him most; he'd let him go to the nonmagical world alone and because of Rumplestiltskin's failure to act (for the second time), he had lost his son, just as the Seer foretold.
He wouldn't let himself fail to act again, not with his son back. He would reunite his grandson and Neal and show his son he meant no harm; he merely wanted them to rekindle their family while Henry was still young.
Youth never lasts forever, Rumple was sure to know. Unless, of course, you were Peter Pan.
...
Peter didn't feel youthful at all, mind. He was exhausted, despite the fact that he rarely tired. His wounds, magically healed, still stung and bled against the silk bandages; even Peter knew when magic was enough, as he'd given up explaining this to the adults, whom didn't understand why Peter insisted on letting the inflictions finish healing manually.
Peter also was amiss a blanket and it was obvious the adults and Henry were growing hungry; Peter himself was a bit peckish but he wouldn't of admitted it. He pulled his shirt and vest back over his bandages before grabbing an anbandoned spearhead and wooden bucket, turning to Henry and his family. Peter held the bucket up. "Well, aren't you all hungry? We've got food to catch."
...
After somewhat reluctance, the adults gave in at their growling stomachs and followed Pan through the Forest, trying in vain to keep up with his stride. Henry kept in between the two sides, glancing over his shoulder to keep his family in view before turning back to watch Peter push past leaves. When Peter would stop to glance back, he would comment on how slow the nonmagical world had made everyone but he'd meet Henry's gaze and he'd shrug and tell him he wasn't like the rest before continuing through the foilage.
"Where," Emma panted, "are we going this time?"
"The encampment," Peter said. "There's a spring there and plenty of boars come about. Any of you hunted before?"
Snow nodded. "Used to."
"Good," Peter said. "We'll need someone other than me with experience."
Peter suddenly threw up a hand, crouching on his knees slightly; his outfaced palm stopped Henry short. "Listen," Peter said quietly. "Hear that?"
Indeed, there was a noise, softly muffled by the thick foilage and brush, the loose dirt and aromatic breeze. The noise of snuffling, of ferns rustling, horns scraping, hooves digging; the sound of wild pigs going down the path.
Peter turned to glance to Henry, to his family behind him. "Don't get too close if you haven't got a plan of escape," Peter said, his voice barely above a whisper. "Now. Who'd like to play bait?"
"'Bait?'" Charming asked, furrowing his eyebrows.
"Yes," Peter said, slightly irritated. "Does that mean you a volunteer then?"
"Wait," Snow said, "you said nothing about bait."
Peter rolled his eyes, standing up straight. "How else are we going to get food? Do you think we can just walk out and steer them by the horns to the fire pit?"
Regina quirked an eyebrow. "Maybe we can."
Peter shot her a sharp look. "No, we cannot. We can't use magic to kill the boars; it's prohibited."
"I thought you were King on this island, Pan," Regina countered. "Why would you make a rule like that?"
"I didn't," Peter snapped, his voice raising a hair. "We have to kill them manually. If we kill them magically, it is unfair. Now. Who will be bait?"
No one answered Peter; he observed everyone with intense narrowed eyes, his lips pinched. He glanced at Henry and Peter closed his eyes for a long moment, as if thinking. He opened them and sighed, before saying, "Alright, fine, I have a plan. I'll be bait, the rest of you can do the fun bit."
Charming had a bad feeling this would be as fun as fighting his first dragon. He just wished he'd be able to fight off a couple pigs easier than he had single-handely against a fire-breathing reptile.
Ugh my feelings
I do most of this to myself.
Expect a boar fight next chapter and an explanation for the X's (perhaps in a few chapters) just
... This fandom will literally be the death of me and I'm not even regretting it yet but I know I will, you feel
