Author's Note: Struggling a little bit with my muse here. I know where this story will reach its peak, and I know where it will end, but the next chapter promises to be quite difficult and fight me every step of the way. Suggestions on where to go from here would be great. I think this chapter is the closest to genuine fluff in the whole story, but I think it's important fluff. I appreciate hearing the good, the bad and the ugly, so please review.

That night he slept fitfully, if at all. Sometimes he'd smell the sulfur of cannons and feel the sway of the deck beneath his feet. His ears rang and he could feel the icy pain of his wounds with perfect clarity. Other times he was on the island, the magic flower wilting beneath his hand, his comrades falling, slain, and Pan's wild laugh filling the air. Despite the flurry of dreams, it seemed like he only slept for a breath or two each time before Cooper shook him awake, wild eyes glinting in the moonlight, telling Killian that he must have been struggling or crying out. The lieutenant would steady his breath with an effort and reassure Cooper that all was well, and as the man shifted back to his post. Then Killian would hear the faint notes of a pan flute somewhere in the distance and ask, "Doesn't that devil ever sleep?" as he faded back into a restless sleep.

Dawn was seeping into the world when Killian next woke. He blinked and tried to bring bleary eyes to focus, finally identifying Liam kneeling in front of him. "Good morning, brother," the older man said, then frowned. "You look like perdition."

"Feel like it too," Killian ground out.

Liam leaned forward and untied his bonds, frown deepening. They'd tied him gently enough, being friends and comrades, but his wrists were heavily chafed. "More dreams?"

"How's our man fairing?"

He gave a sigh. "Not as well as we'd hoped. You did a jolly good job of patching him up, but his wound's festering."

"Bloody island." It hadn't taken long for sailors in their many travels to recognize that wounds in warm, muggy climes spelt painful, gangrenous death. Knowing that information did nothing to lighten the blow; however, when a comrade fell ill. Doubt filled him and he found himself muttering, "Perhaps we should head back to the ship... get him to the surgeon..."

"He'll be right as rain once we get that flower. Now come on, let's get you cleaned up and fed so we can find this cure."

Killian climbed to his feet stiffly and followed his brother. While he ate a cold, thin breakfast, he scoured his mind for any ideas. The simple truth was that he had no idea of how to navigate this. Give him stormy seas, give him war, just don't give him a villainous adolescent with unnatural power. He snorted even as those words formed in his mind. Telling others about the 'game' was not an option, and Pan had made it abundantly clear that there was no way for Killian to simply eliminate the boy from the equation. He would have to play by Pan's rules: either his honor, or his crew, and already both had suffered. Supposing that he could choose one over the other, how could he convince his brother to disobey a direct order with their country and their oaths both on the line? Especially now, that his sanity was so plainly in question? But perhaps that was just the thing. Perhaps even Pan couldn't think of a way of removing the sailors barring wholesale slaughter, and so he left it up to Killian to devise a way.

Brother, let the queen and the infant die, this island holds a darkness and we must leave. Brother, I think we should really stop this mission and go home now, tails tucked, for reasons I can't explain. It was never going to work. If anything, Liam was more stubborn about honor and duty than he was. It would take far more evidence than Killian could provide to dissuade his brother, and did he even want to? What about the sailor he'd shot? What were his chances if they turned around now and brought him back to the boat? Perhaps the surgeon would enable him to fight off death. But as Liam had noted, this flower could guarantee the man's good health. Wasn't that alone worth struggling for?

But at what cost?

His head was beginning to ache and he jabbed his fingers into his temples, trying to burry the pain.

"Killian, speak to me. Tell me what thoughts are on your mind. You shouldn't have to go through this alone," Liam pleaded beside him, every inch of him bursting with concern.

A frustrated growl escaped the younger man before he could stop it, but he regained his bearing quickly. "It's nothing, brother. I'm just trying to plot the course ahead."

"Don't keep me out, Killian. I'm here for you. It's my job to take care of you-"

"I'm bloody well trying to take care of you for once!" Killian roared, then clacked his teeth together. "I'm sorry. I'm sorry. I'm just... so tired."

"I know."

'No you bloody don't!' he thought, but this time he managed to lock the words inside. There was no sense in torturing his brother so. Not when there was nothing Liam could do to help his predicament without knowing, and no way of informing him without Peter's wrath landing heavily on them. "Please, can we just go back? Forget this bloody island ever existed?"

Liam smiled and rested a big hand on his shoulder. "You know we can't. King and country, Killian, king and country. But once we've reached that flower we'll see to our man, and once we get home we'll both take some leave. I'll get Marry and Liza, and we'll go north for a season, to the cottage on the cliffs. We'll hunt, fish, and go to country dances where the eligible ladies are starved for the sight of a roguishly handsome officer such as yourself. We'll drink the finest ales and play whist every night!"

"You mean that?"

"On my honor... so long as you stop cheating at whist."

"I never cheat at wist!"

"Oh yes you do!"

"No, you just can't take a trick to save your life!"

"That settles it then, we'll have to let Marry be our mediator and discover who is the better player once and for all."

"Or we could just play on the same bloody team..."

"That too."

Their conversation dissolved into low, feeble chuckles, but even that struck Killian. Somehow his older brother had managed to interrupt his morbid thoughts and magic that faint grin on his face. There weren't many ways in which Killian considered himself particularly fortunate, but the luck of having such a dear brother was one. They nodded in mutual understanding, then Liam stood, calling for the remaining men to build a stretcher for their wounded member.

Killian glared furiously at the ground in front of him. Somehow, he had to figure out a way to save all of them, but the means continued to escape him. And as the men readied themselves and started down the trail, Killian stood and followed, determined that if he could not stop his brother from completing their mission, he'd attempt to help him complete it as quickly as possible. Perhaps there was some chance that speed would put Pan at a disadvantage.