Hook grinned when he saw Pan step into the clearing. He clamped his hand tighter onto Wendy's mouth and waited for the right moment. He and his men surrounded the area, hidden in the brush and behind the trees, and the Lost Boys waited like good little bait where he'd left them. Go help your friends, boy.
Peter didn't notice anything was wrong at first, too intent on keeping his balance, his exhaustion making him clumsy and weak. Tink also was preoccupied, worrying about the boy she loved so much. But when he stopped walking, noticing finally the strange silence, he saw that his boys were bound and gagged in the middle of the clearing.
Quickly, Peter drew his dagger and rushed to his friends, nearly tripping on the way to them. He was so alarmed that he didn't even take the time to get a sense of the danger than was thick around him. Had he been his normal self, he would have known better. "Nibs! What happened?" he gasped as he cut the boy's gag off.
"Run, Peter, it's a trap!" Nibs gasped, then fell silent at the cruel laughter.
"No, Pan, running would be very dangerous for Miss Wendy and young Michael," Hook chuckled. He stepped into the clearing, holding the struggling girl to him, his hook at her throat. "I've got you now, boy."
Peter froze as cold fear flooded his body. He had only seen Hook in his dreams for the past week, and the man had been more terrifying in one dream than in all the real encounters they'd had rolled into one. Now the man was really here, and the cold laughter and threatening tone made the boy's heart skip in his chest. Images flashed through his head, all the horrors of his dreams, and through it all he heard Hook's laughter.
"Pan!" Hook snapped when the boy didn't turn or respond. "Are you deaf? Turn around and face me!" His smile faded when Peter complied. The boy was pale, his face drawn with exhaustion, the circles under his eyes dark and ugly. The boy wore an expression of pure terror, a look Hook had never seen on the child's face. Except in my dreams.
"Are you sick, boy?" he asked frowning.
"Yes, he is!" Tink answered, flying between the Captain and Peter. Peter needed her, and she wasn't going to flee without him. "He's very sick, so just leave him alone and let them go!"
Hook set Wendy down and handed her to Mason. He advanced on Peter slowly, but still the boy didn't move or speak. "Peter?" he called softly and watched in alarm as the child's eyes rolled up and he fainted, collapsing onto the ground in an awkward heap.
"Peter!" the pixie screeched and flew down to see if he was alright. She screeched again when Hook's huge hand closed around her.
"What is wrong with him?" Hook growled, hiding his concern. He'd come looking for the children, intent on a refreshing fight with Pan, but he'd had no desire to harm any of them. Last night he'd been unable to use his gift properly. Instead of creating a new dream, he'd had to experience ones he'd had previously. Nothing he did could divert the path of the dream, and he'd been rather uneasy watching them the second time around. They were too real, too detailed… things he'd noticed when he wasn't as wrapped up in the creation of the dream were disturbing to him now. He had thought that it was perhaps because he'd gone so long without seeing the boy; it had been a week since their last clash. He'd actually been wondering if perhaps Smee had hit him harder on the head than they'd thought. He'd hoped today that a fight with Pan could give him focus, allow him to again find the anger and hate that he used for inspiration in his dreams. He'd come looking for a fight, and Pan's reaction was a far cry from anything he'd ever expected.
"Please, leave him alone," Wendy yelled, trying to shrug off Mason's hand.
Hook glared at her in annoyance. "Take the whelps to the longboat. I'll bring Pan and the pixie shortly. Smee, stay with me." When the pirates had dragged off the bound boys, he turned his attention back to Peter.
"Let him go," Tink cried, "He's sick and he needs help. I have to get him to Small Monday Island."
Hook ignored her as he stared at the boy. "If you value his life, you won't escape," he growled, and showed her the blood on the grass beside Peter. When the pixie nodded, he let go of her and carefully rolled the boy over.
Peter had fallen on his knife and the blade had bitten deeply into his hip. Quickly, Hook and Smee removed the boy's clothing, and the Captain found himself silently praying that Peter hadn't given himself a mortal wound. I still haven't decided how I really want to kill him… I've been playing with the gift; I'd never actually do any of those things to him. Finally Smee got the boy's shorts off and studied the wound intently.
"Deep, but it won' kill 'em. Just cut through 'is muscle," Smee observed. He pressed a cloth to the cut to staunch the bleeding and bound it there with some cloth.
"Oh, thank goodness," Tink sighed. She landed on Peter's chest and tried to wake him, calling his name softly. She gave a small yelp when she found herself in Hook's grip again.
"Let the boy sleep, he looks like he could use the rest," Hook said quietly, watching while Smee redressed Peter. The boy was out cold, and not even Smee's jostling was enough to evoke the slightest moan.
Tink's first instinct was to protest, but then she took another look at Peter. He wasn't crying out, he wasn't thrashing. He's not dreaming, not yet at least. Let him rest while he can, and pray that he sleeps well. I just have to keep Hook from hurting him, somehow. "You're right. Please don't hurt him, he's suffered so much since you last saw him."
Hook let the pixie go again and tilted Peter's face towards him, trying to get a better look. The pain was etched so deeply there that even sleep didn't soften it. "I won't hurt him. Perhaps when we get to the ship, you can tell me what's wrong with him. He's not sick, he doesn't have a fever."
"Cap'n?" Smee spoke up. He pointed to Peter's arm. "Wonder what did that," he mused, staring at the dozens of shallow cuts of the back of his forearm, crisscrossing from wrist to elbow.
"Peter did that to himself," Tink answered, but she refused to say anything more on the subject.
Hook shook his head and picked the boy up. Peter finally did react, whimpering a bit as his face drew up into an even tighter frown, but beyond that there was nothing. Together the two pirates and the fairy made their way to the longboat.
"Wake up, boy," the voice called softly. Peter tried to ignore it and stay in the numb blackness, but the voice persisted. It pulled him on, back towards consciousness, and Peter groaned as his tired body and mind protested. "Peter, you need to eat," came Hook's voice.
Peter's eyes flew open as the realization of who was speaking to him hit home. The first thing he saw was the face of Captain Hook and felt the man's hand on his chest, shaking him awake. He screamed in terror, panic overriding his thoughts as he thrashed about, desperate to get away. He howled when something kept a grip on his feet, preventing him from kicking and crawling, and he lashed out blindly, terrorized beyond reason.
Hook fell back in alarm at the wholly unexpected response from Pan. "Boy!" he called, trying to get the child to calm. "I'm not going to hurt you boy! Quit yer catawauling!" Peter's screams intensified, and the man backed away to his desk, where the small cage with the pixie in it sat.
"Captain," the girl called, "let me go to him, and I promise I won't escape. He needs me right now!"
Hook frowned as he considered, and watched Pan intently. The boy managed to crawl away in the other direction, where there was slack in his shackles, leaving his pallet and cramming himself into the corner. He was openly crying, which Hook marveled at. He'd never seen Pan actually shed tears. The boy was terrified. "Why are you afraid of me?" Hook mused softly. "You've never been afraid of me before." When Peter began clawing at the shackles on his leg, Hook made up his mind. He was acting like a wild animal, tearing at the flesh around the iron in an effort to free himself. "Calm him down, fairy, and keep your word," he growled as he opened the cage. "That claptrap is getting on my nerves!"
Peter looked around wildly, not relieved in the slightest that Hook had backed off. He was in Hook's cabin! Chained up! Alone with Hook! Run… he's gonna hurt me! Not again, no more…He drew his knees up, trying to reach the metal cuff on his leg, and he gasped at the pain in his side.
"Peter," Tink called as she flew to him. "Calm down, I'm here. You're safe."
Peter glanced wildly from her to Hook. She's with him, like the dreams! He wailed and covered his face, hopelessness added to his fear.
Tink continued to talk to him soothingly, with a patience she only possessed for this boy. This was like any other time Peter had awakened, panicked beyond reason. It had taken patience and reassurance to calm him then, it would take the same now. She just hated that Hook was here, his presence wasn't helping at all. But he didn't seem to be dreaming, he was quiet for hours. I wish Hook had just let him sleep a bit longer! "Peter, I'm here. Hook isn't going to hurt you right now. Please Peter, trust me. I love you. You're safe with me."
By degrees, Peter's cries subsided and he calmed, coherencey returning to his thoughts. "Safe?" he echoed. "Hook has me. He'll kill me." Suddenly Peter laughed, a hysterical edge to the sound that frightened the fairy girl and made Hook's scowl disappear, to be replaced by outright concern. "Maybe I should let him."
"I have no interest in killing you right now, boy," Hook snapped. He forced himself to speak more softly when Peter jumped at his tone. "Tinker Bell informed me that you haven't eaten for days, so I had Cookson make you some broth and bread." He had qualms about giving a sick child any of the cook's fare, so he'd had Mason watch the man to make sure he used fresh meat in the pot, and only added salt to the broth. As upset as Peter was, anything more than that would make him sick.
Peter looked at the pallet he'd awakened on, and saw the bowl of liquid, roll, and the glass of milk sitting there. There were also bloody bandages lying nearby, and tentatively he touched his aching side. "Let me go," he whispered, confused.
"Peter," Tink settled on his knee, "you were resting so we let you sleep. Please, eat and try to go back to sleep… get some rest while you can." She saw Peter's hand covering his wound. "Leave it alone, Peter. The wound isn't bad, but it's bled a lot. You're too weak right now, you need food and rest."
"Wound?" Peter frowned. Hook wounded me?
"You fainted," Tink continued to explain, "and you fell on your dagger. Hook and Smee took care of it."
Hook and Smee treated my wound? Peter mused as he touched his side. This wasn't the same man that haunted him in his sleep. That man would have poured salt in the wound, or completed the cut and eviscerated him. But it was so hard to remember what was real and what wasn't. The dreams were so vivid, they were becoming as real as memories to him. More real. Peter stared at Hook in desperation. "I'm sorry, Captain. I'm sorry for every bad thing I ever did to you. Please don't hurt me." He began to cry again, the swirls of emotion too much for him to bear.
"Calm down, boy," Hook said, "you still need to eat." But Peter's cries continued and the pixie was flitting about fretfully, also trying to soothe the child. The sobs and wails grated Hook's nerves and he left the cabin, deciding to give the boy some space and to get away from the upsetting sounds.
Once Hook was gone, Peter was able to calm down, letting the bad memories recede without Hook's presence to keep them vivid. He hiccupped, his stomach unsteady from his crying, and wiped his face dry. "Tink, let me out of these," he pulled at the leg iron. "We have to escape."
Tink shook her head. "I would, Peter, promise or no promise, but Hook has the others too. You're in no condition to escape right now, and he might hurt them if you leave them behind. Besides," she frowned, thinking, "for some reason you slept dreamlessly here. I don't know why, but you need to take advantage of it. Eat and sleep, Peter. I've seen how he's treated you since he brought you here, and he isn't going to hurt you right now. Even Hook's not so cold blooded he'd kill you while you're obviously sick." Keeping up her reassurances, she finally got Peter to come out of the corner and eat. Once his stomach was full and he lay back down, it was only moments before his exhausted body overrode his fear and he fell back into sleep.
A few hours later, Hook returned to find the boys asleep, his pixie sitting on his chest deep in thought. He noted the empty bowl and nodded, pleased. "What in perdition is wrong with him, Tinker Bell?" he asked as he knelt beside the boy. Peter had given himself some rather nasty scratches on his ankle, so Hook remove the iron and doused it with whiskey before wrapping it in some clean cloth.
"He's being attacked by something… an evil fairy," Tink answered absently, still trying to think. Something's different right now. What is it? Is it Hook himself? Being over the open water? They have to use something to get to him like this, perhaps that something is on the island… I don't know! She had no intention on telling Hook anything specific, fearing the man would do something to make it work. She had told Peter Hook wouldn't hurt him, to calm the boy… in reality she trusted Hook about as far as she could throw him.
"Next time he wakes, I'll transport him and his friends to Small Monday Island," Hook told the pixie as he wetted a cloth and wiped Peter's face. "If something evil is attacking my nemesis, I want it stopped. I will kill Pan, and I don't want anyone else harming him." He was having a hard time finding his usual anger for the boy; instead, feelings of pity and concern were replacing the anger and hate he usually held for this brat. Growling in disgust at his weakness, Hook stood and went to his bed. "I won't chain him back up, perhaps he won't awaken so panicked next time if he's not fettered. Don't let him do anything so foolish as to escape… I doubt he'll get far in his condition."
Tink stared at Hook, smiling abit in relief. "Thank you, Captain. You're not as bad as you pretend to be."
Hook sneered, taking the comment as an insult. "Oh I am much worse than I pretend to be. I want Pan fit when I defeat him, I want to prove that age triumphs over youth. I will show once and for all that I am the better man, and I will have my revenge. Cold comfort it will be if I kill him when he's being undermined by something not of my own doing." Ignoring the pixie, he got ready for bed and turned in for the night. The Pan of my dreams will be better sport, even if it is another repeat of an older dream.
