Chapter 2

"Peter," Hook called again.  To say he was off balanced and confused would be a serious understatement.  In the last five minutes, his entire reality had been turned upside down, and he couldn't find his footing.  I have my hand.  Pan was dead.  How can he be screaming when he's supposed to be dead?  In addition to Peter's screams, he could hear the other children's cries.  They were still in shock.  Wendy and Nibs still had enough of their wits to look a bit relived at Peter's unexpected animation, but there was only confusion and terror on the faces of the other children.

"Take them to the brig and untie them," Hook called, looking at the obviously shaken gunner.  "Jukes, stay with them and keep watch.  No rough-housing, I want them calmed."  He turned to look at his bosun, "Smee, bring me water and washcloth.  Cookson, clean up the blood.  The rest of you, get this ship under control and sailing steady!"  When the men jumped to obey, he turned back to consider Peter.

The boy's cries continued, but they were softer now, his voice becoming ragged.  He kept staring at the blood, looking from the pool to his hands, occasionally touching his throat.  He ignored Hook as the man approached; instead he began trying to wipe the blood off himself.  The effect was that he just smeared it over more of his skin, which seemed to panic him further.

Hook put his hand on Peter's arm, but the boy slapped it away and continued his futile attempt to clean himself.  The captain stared at the bloody handprint on the back of his hand.  Its so small…he mused.

"Here's th' water, Cap'n," Smee said softly, setting the bucket down and kneeling beside  the man.  Hook reached for Peter, grabbing his arm tightly this time.  Peter slapped his hand again, but when Hook refused to withdraw it he went wild.  He howled in panic, jerking his arm and trying to pry the fingers loose.  He kicked and writhed, and the man finally released his hold, realizing that Peter was becoming more violent.

As soon as he was free, Peter scrambled back further, stopping only when his back was pressed against the mast.  Once there, he went back to trying to wipe the blood away.

"I believe th' wee lad's lost his wits," Smee muttered.

Hook looked at the man, then back at Peter.  "I believe you're correct, for once," he answered.  Peter's single-mindedness in trying to clean himself, even when he obviously wasn't doing any good, was a testament that the boy wasn't reasoning.  Is he merely panicked or has he truly gone mad?  He considered what it may be like, having your throat cut and dying, only to suddenly awaken alive and whole in a pool of your own blood.  "Smee, see if you can calm him down and clean him up.  He's rightfully terrorized of me."

Peter didn't notice Smee as the man sat beside him again.  Tentatively, Smee put his hand on the boy's shoulder.  He sighed in relief when Peter continued to ignore him.  "Lemme help ya, lad," he said softly, pulling a wet rag from the bucket.  He gently took Peter's wrist and began washing away the blood on his hand and arm. 

Peter's sobs and cries subsided and he became still, staring at his hands while the man worked.  When both his hands were clean, he looked up at Smee, his eyes wide.

"Better lad?" the old man asked softly, meeting the boy's stare.  "Jus' hold still, now, and I'll get the rest off'a ya."  Peter kept staring as Smee wiped his face, not making a sound or flinching.

Hook stayed still, watching as the bosun calmed Peter and got the blood off of the boy.  He didn't want to spark the panic again so he remained where he was.  He began to feel better when Peter's face was clean – the mask of blood had been hard to look at.  I don't understand any of this.  Perhaps the pixie can explain it.  Tinker Bell had been locked in a jar and placed on a shelf in his cabin.  He was content to wait until Pan was secured again before he questioned her.

Smee kept talking softly to the boy, keeping him calm as he continued to clean him.  Peter let the man move him around, even standing while Smee removed his clothes (though he leaned heavily on the man for support).  Once he wore only his undershorts, he sat back down and let Smee get the last vestiges of blood off of him and out of his hair.

"All clean, lad," Smee said cheerfully when he was done.  Peter just watched him, so Smee turned to Hook.  "Whatcha want me ta do fer 'im now?"

Carefully, the Captain walked to them and squatted beside Smee.  "Pan?" he called, trying to find a spark of recognition in the boy's eyes.  There was none.  How did he heal?  How did I heal?  Did it ever really happen?  Frowning, Hook gently touched the boy's neck, seeing now that the blood was gone the thin white scar across his throat.  At the contact, Peter finally looked away from Smee and stared at Hook.  He began giggling, the sound hesitant at first but gaining momentum quickly.  Soon the giggle became a hysterical cackle, which was even more alarming because tears were pouring from his eyes.  Peter drew his knees up and wrapped his arms around them, but he kept his gaze locked on Hook.

"He's insane," Hook whispered.  Smee merely nodded.