Chapter 6

Colors.  Bright colors.  He smiled, staring at the blues and greens and yellows.  He put the stick in the yellow and stared at the end of the stick.  It was yellow now too.  He smiled and looked up at the dark man and showed him the yellow.  The man's hand closed around his wrist and pressed, making his stick touch the white square.  A yellow blot bloomed on the paper, and he laughed, loving this new game.

Hook smiled when he saw Peter's delight and relinquished his hold on the boy's arm.  Peter continued dabbing the brush onto the paper, and the Captain nodded in relief.  He'd hoped that by giving Peter some paints, he could make the boy focus on something, make him interact with his surroundings.  It seemed to be working quite well, his obvious fascination with bright things making it easier.  It had even attracted the interest of a few of the other children, so Hook had brought out more paper and brushes.  And, wonder of wonders, Peter seemed to be interacting with them too.  Tootles had actually gotten the boy to repeat the names of colors, and Peter could still identify them on his own.  Tootles was patient, and Hook decided to let him play with Peter more.

"Try a different color, Peter," Tootles suggested, holding out a brush with blue paint on it.  Peter dropped the yellow brush and took the blue one.  He made a few slashes on the paper, leaving green where the blue streaks crossed the yellow dots.  "See, Peter," Tootles smiled.  "Pretty."

"Priddy," Peter repeated, his eyes only for his paper.

Curly sat to Peter's left, while John was facing him, the four boys sitting in a circle on the deck.  John was painting a map of Neverland, Tootles a picture of Wendy.  Curly's picture was all blacks and reds – a stick figure Hook standing over a stick figure Peter, lying in a pool of blood.  Curly would whisper to a select few:  Wendy, Mullins, and Smee.  Tootles finally could stand to be away from Wendy, provided he was always with a Lost Boy.  John still wouldn't speak at all, and his eyes were still haunted.  But he liked to write, and Hook was impressed with the stories and poems the boy turned out.  When John wasn't having duty with Starkey, Hook let him sit in his cabin and write.

Satisfied that Peter would remain occupied for a bit, Hook turned to Smee, who stood at the helm.  "How much longer until we reach the island?"

"Few more hours, Cap'n, be weighin' anchor well afore sundown," Smee answered, glancing down at the cluster of boys and smiling. 

"Mr. Nibs?  What does it look like?" Hook called to the nest.

"I don't see any ships, Captain.  No people either," the boy called down.

"Curly!  Let go!  I want to use  the red!" Tootles yelled.  Curly just growled at him in response.

Hook looked down, frowning at the commotion.  Tootles had the small pot of red paint in his hand, and Curly had a grip on  the boy's wrist.  They tugged, fighting over the pot. 

"Gall and Brimstone, boys!" Hook snapped in irritation, "There's plenty to share!"  Both boys flinched at his tone and let go.  The post fell to the deck and the paint splattered on the wood, the paper, and the boys.

Curly looked at the paint on Peter's face and began screaming.  Tootles began crying, saying "I'm sorry!" over and over again.  John merely ripped up his map and walked away.  Peter stared fixedly at the pool of red, his face blank.

Hook closed his eyes a moment, forcing himself to calm, then called for Mullins to come get Curly.  The pirate was already on the way, and he picked his boy up, holding him close and went to take him below.

"No!" Curly yelled, struggling.  "Peter!  Peter's hurt!"

"He's not, lad.  Its just paint," Mullins reassured him.

"Peter!" Curly called to the boy.  Surprisingly, Peter heard him and looked up.  "Are you hurt?"

Peter stared at the little boy.  Blood… hurt… gone everything gone…. Curly's scared I'm hurt, he suddenly thought.  "Not hurt," he said softly, trying to focus.  He held up his stick and grinned.  "Blue!  Blue good, red bad!"

Tootles stopped apologizing and stared at Peter a moment, then smiled.  He pickd up the pot of blue and poured it into the pool of red on the deck, stirring the paints together.  "Blue and red make purple.  Purple is better."

Peter and Curly stared as the red turned to purple.  Then they both began to laugh.  Curly wriggled and Mullins set him down.  He ran to sit beside Peter and touched the paint with his finger. 

Peter liked the swirls of red and blue that remained in the purple.  He put his brush in the paint and smiled.  He touched the brush to Curly's nose, grinning at the purple spot it left behind.  "Purple bedder!" he repeated happily.

Curly grinned and smeared his finger over the red splotches on Peter's face.  "Purple is better."

Hook stepped back and ignored the free-for-all that followed.  All of the children abandoned their duties to join the little party, and Hook was too relieved at the avoided disaster to care.  They smeared their hands in the paints, heedless of the colors, and began painting each other with designs and patterns.  They rolled in it, giggling and wrestling… even Peter.  Hook didn't like the huge mess they were making, but he decided it was a fair trade:  Curly was speaking, Peter didn't mind the paint on his hands, and the twins were playing with the others.  Besides… he thought, they can clean it up later.

Later, after Smee had finished giving Peter a bath, Hook was having a hard time getting the restless boy to eat.

"A few more bites," Hook said, holding out the spoon for Peter. 

Peter shook his head and looked at the doors.  He could hear the sounds of the rest of the boys on deck, laughing as they cleaned up the paint and took their baths.  "Play!"

Hook sighed, but kept his voice calm as he got the boy's attention again.  "They have to finish bathing and eat supper too.  No more games tonight."

No more games, boy!  The memory flooded through him, glaring and vivid.  "The story is over," Peter said in Hook's voice, lost in the memory.  "Thus perished Peter Pan!"  He moaned and covered his face with his hands, remembering what happened next.

Hook quickly set the bowl aside and squatted before the boy.  "You're not dead, Peter.  You're alive and you're safe."

Peter looked at the man, and his eyes weren't as empty as they usually were.  "Peter hurt Hook… Hook hurt Peter… hurt me."

Hook nodded, taking the boy's hand in his own.  "I hurt you.  I'm sorry."

Peter struggled for clarity.  The tiny girl floated beside Hook, urging him to come back.  "Hard to think," he whispered.  "Empty inside," he moaned as he placed his hand over his heart.

"Try, Peter," Hook and the girl urged.

"Tinker Bell?" Peter whispered, finding the name for the tiny girl in the chaos of his thoughts. 

Hook frowned, but the girl brightened and smiled.  "Yes, Peter!"

Hook turned his head, looking around the room.  He'd almost heard someone, like a whisper.

"Neverland's gone," Peter moaned, tears building in his eyes.

"Aye, but your friends are still here, and they miss you," Hook answered.

"Hold on to him, Peter.  Let Hook help you," the pixie pleaded.  "You have to get better, so you can find your way back."

"It hurts, Tink."

"It will fade," she urged.  "Hold on to him, to anything you can."

Hook looked around.  He'd definitely heard something then.  "Tinker Bell?" he called. 

Tink glanced at the man, smiling as she realized he could hear her too.  "I can't stay Peter.  It tires us both.  But it's getting easier to reach you.  Keep fighting," Tinker Bell faded and was gone. 

But Peter's tenuous grip on reality didn't fade with her.  He looked at Hook, shaking with fear and confusion.  He remembered Hook cutting him, knew he'd died.  Everything after that was a maze of colors and sounds, with a few, surreal spots of lucidity.  And in those lucid moments he remembered Hook and Smee taking care of him.  "Captain!  Help me!" he whispered, tightening his grip on the man's hand.

"Anything you need, Peter.  Tell me how to help you."

Peter stared, trying to think.  The void inside him ached, and he'd give anything to make the emptiness go away.  "Hold me," he said quietly.  He didn't care who this was, he needed something solid to hold onto.  He reached for the man, wrapping his arms around Hook's neck.

Hook was surprised, but he let the boy cling to him.  He put his arms around the child and sat in a chair.  Peter cried softly, and Hook sat still, occasionally patting him on the back.  After awhile, the boy stilled, deeply asleep.  Hook carried him down to the brig.

Most of the children were asleep, but Wendy and Nibs were cuddled together, whispering.  If those two were a few years older, I'd have to be concerned.  He called softly, getting their attention.  When they sat up, he carefully stepped over the pallets and knelt beside them.

"Can you make room for Peter?" he asked.

"Is it safe?  He isn't going to wander off, is he?" Nibs asked in concern. 

"I don't think so.  He talked to me.  He's getting better, and I think it will help if he's around you more, now.  That empty feeling you have inside is worse in him, and he's just now letting himself feel it."

The girl and boy moved apart and lay on their sides.  Hook laid Peter between them and they put their arms around him, snuggling close.

"Thank you, Captain," Wendy whispered, "for bringing him back."

Hook nodded and pulled the blankets over them.  "Go to sleep.  I'll come for him in the morning."