Title: Island

Disclaimer: I do not own Peter Pan. I do not own Hook.

Notes: None of my chapters are beta'd, simply because I am too lazy and or impatient. Please tolerate the grammatical errors, because I know there's probably quite a few. If anyone wants to beta for me, I'd be very happy. I've been spitting out chapters pretty fast, but it ebbs and flows. No more chitchat! Chapter four. There will be more Wendy and Peter next chapter.

Chapter Four: Lost Boy

All of the Lost Boys were huddled in the Nevertree, playing games until the storm ceased. There were more than the usual six, and they gave forth a terrible din when trapped inside together. Thankfully, the spelled bark of the tree kept every peep within, for otherwise the pirates would not believe the myth that the tree was deserted.

Peter always thought it terribly amusing that the pirates searched all of Neverland, save that silent tree.

The new Boys were certainly different. Gone was the endearing lilt of the British tongue, for all of these boys were American. It seemed the country was much more adept in the matters of dispensing unwanted children.

Gone too were the animal skins that set them apart from Pan. They were hardly needed, for each boy wore a distinct personality like a particularly large scarf.

There was Pockets, who prowled Brooklyn's streets as a pickpocket before the fairies took him. His dark hair was his greatest vanity, and he wore a comb at his belt.

Ace, a once well-to-do boy who lost his parents and staged multiple escapes from his New England orphanage. He was tall, with a shock of blond beneath his bowler hat.

Thud Butt, a dark boy who earned his name from the sound made when he seated his rather large girth. Don't Ask, who asked too much, and always had something or another thing stuck in his mop of orange curls. No Nap, too tall, too silent, and far too fond of sleeping.

The smallest were Latchboy and Too Small. The first never laughed aloud, the second laughed at everything. There were a few others, who earned new names every day, for there were simply too many for Peter to keep track of. They didn't mind.

The clamor of their combined forces within the tree drowned any thought, and any ability to recognize that one of their number was not among them. Tinker Bell, the only one who might see, was in her little house with a pillow clamped over her dainty head, praying for Peter's return and the end of this wretched snow.

Rufio's absence was not noted, and for that the boy was grateful. He sat upon the snow-covered sand, an arm over his knee, studying the curve of a frozen wave. The tip of his sword rested in the snow, his hand twirling the blade idly, boring a hole into the earth. Light played off the steel in slow bands, but Rufio's eyes were on the motionless water.

The snow did not cling to him. It hit, then slid off promptly as rain, puddling around him. Rufio only saw this as a small annoyance, and so dismissed it.

The strange behavior of the snow was not all that set him apart. His appearance, certainly, was different. All red cloth and black leather, with a hairstyle that rivaled any parrot's plumage. He wore a necklace of teeth and shells that whispered stories, a chain of feathers hung from an ear, and his hands were gloved. But these things were trivial, and merely interesting to look at.

Rufio's greatest difference was his silence. It was not the bewildered kind, nor the respectful kind, nor the wondering kind. He would be no different from other quiet boys if that were so. No, Rufio's silence was a brooding silence, for his heart had fought the bewitching pull of Neverland ever since the fairies had set him, coughing up water and weaponless, on her shores.

He had lain there on the sand for a day at least, drying and watching the water. It was too blue, and it laughed at him. Peter found him soon after and pronounced him pirate. He seemed quite the normal boy, and so Rufio merely raised a brow and stood, calmly challenging his authority. They seemed the same age, he noticed. Rufio was just past sixteen.

Peter Pan stepped into the sky and hovered, and Rufio planted the seeds of a jealousy he silently harbored. He asked Pan his name, but the boy continued to flit about his head and call him every disreputable synonym for pirate. Pushed to the brink, Rufio's cool finally slipped from his fingers, and he shouted up to the boy.

'My name is Rufio! Got that? Rufio. Rufio. Ru-fi-o!' Pan merely smirked, and Rufio bristled. Peter flew up to him, his body horizontal in the air, his nose irritatingly close. Dancing light, timeless earth, and every laugh that ever echoed. That was all this boy was, and his voice cut merrily when he spoke.

'Must it always be said like that? Rufio. Rufio! Ru-fi-ooooooh!' Peter crowed and turned a back flip in the air. Next to the seeds of jealousy, Rufio planted the seeds of intense dislike. As the two grew they twisted together until Rufio could not pick one apart from the other. His black eyes were narrowed on Pan's acrobatic form.

'Rufio, or nothin',' he spat, glowering. Pan crossed his legs and sat, midair, before him.

'Well, Rufio or nothing, I have a proposition.' He twirled his blade, and Rufio watched it. If he kept his eyes on Pan's complacent grin he knew he would not be able to quell the urge to rip him apart. Pan continued, nonplussed by the rage that rushed from the boy like heat.

'Since you say you are not a pirate, and you cannot be an Indian, you can only be a Lost Boy. You are too old, but that is what you must be.' Peter, apparently, did not take his own size into account. But it was known fact that the other boys must be smaller than him. 'Take a sword from a pirate, and I will make you one of us.'

Rufio said nothing, but Peter did not care. He had flown off already, and Rufio could not help but watch him go, listless for a moment. He resolved to find the sword. It was not to be a part of Pan's entourage, for he would never be subservient to this boy. It was merely the challenge that must be obeyed, and nothing else afterward. He would not be smaller than this boy, however high Pan flew.

Hardly three days later Pan left. Rufio had a pirate's sword. He walked to the shore, leaving a trail of melted prints. Sitting, he watched frozen sea and gray sky, waiting for Pan's return.