Title: Island
Disclaimer: I do not own Peter Pan. I do not own Hook. I do not think I should take any more breaks in this thing, as I tend to lose my train of thought.
Notes: Valentine's everything ate my weekend, and most of my week. I thought I would be industrious and use my ginormous break to write. I didn't. Oops. Thank you thank you thank you to everyone who still reviews, it gives me so much encouragement!
Chapter Fifteen: Confrontation
'What are you doing here?' Peter Pan's voice was low.
Rufio had not fallen asleep, and his eyes were opaque. His hand rested on his bound wound. A slight discoloration marred the pale fabric, but his blood had not seeped to the final layers. When at last it seemed as if he was truly seeing Pan, he regarded him for a time in silence before speaking. 'Waiting for you.'
'You don't care about me,' Peter hissed.
'No, I don't.'
'You care about Wendy.'
'Not like that.'
'Liar.' Peter's hand was on his blade. Rufio rose, but did not touch his weapon. His face remained impassive.
'If you must do that, don't do it in here.'
An order. Peter's lips smirked awfully. With a quiet, perverse glee he disobeyed, stepping closer to Rufio and resting his blade at the side of the boy's neck, just below his jaw. 'Why not?' His eyes were emerald flames.
'I don't want trouble, Pan,' said Rufio, steadily.
'Afraid I'll wake Wendy? What might she do? Your Wendy?'
'Your Wendy, Pan. Don't be stupid.' Rufio found himself monitoring his breath. The look in Pan's eyes was decidedly unsettling.
'She'll leave, you know.'
'What are you talking abou-'
'Why should she stay for you? She didn't stay for me.' There was something wounded beneath the manic heat of his words. Wendy was murmuring soft, familiar things in Rufio's head, things about this boy. He spoke with the utmost caution.
'She hasn't left yet.'
Peter's eyes flicked downward, and then up again. The blade pressed ever so slightly against Rufio's jugular. 'She do that for you?'
Rufio sucked in air through his nose, afraid to jar the blade with an easier intake of air. If he lied, Pan would know it, and he'd end up with something Wendy couldn't fix. 'Yes.'
Peter Pan was silent for a long time, staring at Rufio with his mad eyes, his free hand trembling on the hilt of his dagger. Rufio met his gaze with impossible stoicism. Peter found no forgiveness in that black, and something in him snuffed out. He lowered his blade, his eyes hollow. 'She'll leave, you know.'
'Pan-'
His eyes darted up, hot and wet. He did yell this time, the boy Pan, the careless Pan, the motherless Pan. 'She'll leave you too!' He turned and ran from the tree, hand on his dagger, his sword forgotten.
Wendy stirred, and Rufio ran after him.
'Pan,' he called. It met the night carefully, and the trees were dark and silent in reply. The stars were winking out, turning their backs or falling to sleep in the predawn haze. Rufio plunged into the slumbering forest, and found that he was quite ignored by everything, Pan included. He tried again. 'Pan!'
Rufio was in a clearing now, and his cry was echoing unhelpfully back at him. He searched vainly among the veiled stars and shadowed trees, yielding naught. And then he turned, and there was Pan, dagger hanging in his lax fingers. Rufio moved toward him and Peter tensed, shying back. He was muttering, and the nearer Rufio drew, the more coherent the words became.
'Take her, take her, take her,' he said endlessly.
'Pan, stop.'
'Take her!'
'She doesn't want me!' If Rufio had remembered how to swear, he would have, but it was one thing that Neverland had been able to leech away. He reached out to the boy, attempting to still him long enough to show him sense.
'Of course, you know what she wants!'
'Yes, I do!'
'Then give it to her!'
'I can't!'
'You can't?' A mocking light was kindled in his eyes.
'Pan,' Rufio growled.
'Ha! You can't! You can't!'
'Pan!' The boy continued his inane crowing, and Rufio was forced to yell over him. 'You know very well what she wants! You're the only one who can give it! Listen to me! You're a selfish fool, Pan! You're smarter than this, but you can't look past yourself for more than a second. Would you cut that – listen!'
Peter's taunts were cut off promptly. The boy stood, hunched over, his arms holding his stomach. He was wheezing softly. Rufio stood before him with narrowed eyes, his shoulders rising and falling noticeably. His right hand was still balled into a fist.
It took Peter Pan a long moment to realize that he had been punched, quite hard. As soon as he had gathered up the shards of his breath and his dignity, he raised his head and looked at Rufio, his brows slowly knitting above chaotic eyes. His breath grew audible, and then with a terrible roar he ran at Rufio, tackling the other boy by the middle.
Rufio gave a cry of pain – he could feel the wound tear anew beneath the bandages – but his swimming vision was soon eclipsed by the clarity of adrenaline. This was a fight, and a fight with Peter Pan, no less. It did not take long for the boy to pour every ounce of negative feeling into his gripping and flailing arms; into the contempt of Pan and other things long buried.
There was something of an equilibrium for a long moment, but the madness of earlier was brighter now in Peter Pan's eyes, and by this sheer force he was able to overpower the slightly larger boy. Rufio was reeling from the unforgiving contact with the earth, and Peter Pan was above him, atop him, monstrous beside a glint of steel. He pressed his dagger to Rufio's throat.
'I'll kill you! I'll kill you!'
Rufio believed him, and did not breathe.
'I'll kill you,' it came softer, and something receded. Peter fell forward, a palm against the earth, fingers clawing. There was no force behind his dagger, but it rested still at Rufio's throat. Peter's eyes were staring, and one could not know exactly what he saw. 'I'll kill you,' he murmured. And Rufio was there, eyes full of fear and something else. Peter Pan saw him. 'Then you'll never leave.'
At one point Wendy had cried out. Her frantic footsteps and her protestations were muted in the strange void of the two boys, but riotous sound came bleeding back when she tugged Peter off of Rufio. His dagger fell harmlessly, and his body crumbled into her accepting arms.
Peter was quiet for a long moment, wearing the pallor of a victim of shock. Wendy rocked him mindlessly until a great tremor shook him, and with a gasping sob he began to feel again. He clung to Wendy, who moved less and cooed more, running her hands through his hair. 'I'm here Peter,' she said, over and over again.
Rufio watched, his hand pressed to the soaked bandage. 'I'm – we're here. We're staying here,' he said, clearly numb. He continued, knowing his words were needless now, and that Pan probably couldn't hear them. 'I told you. She only wants you.'
He knew a weight should have lifted, but it didn't. Rufio turned from them, driven back to the tree solely by the omnipresent need to leave. Once inside the hollow, he collapsed, too exhausted to feel heavy; to realize that Wendy had watched him go.
Wendy was lying still in the clearing, firmly surrounded by the arms of Peter Pan, simply because he was too big to be adequately held by her. His breath was steadying against her back, and with a last waking movement he took her hand.
Neverland rested, and the sun rose late that day.
Disclaimer: I do not own Peter Pan. I do not own Hook. I do not think I should take any more breaks in this thing, as I tend to lose my train of thought.
Notes: Valentine's everything ate my weekend, and most of my week. I thought I would be industrious and use my ginormous break to write. I didn't. Oops. Thank you thank you thank you to everyone who still reviews, it gives me so much encouragement!
Chapter Fifteen: Confrontation
'What are you doing here?' Peter Pan's voice was low.
Rufio had not fallen asleep, and his eyes were opaque. His hand rested on his bound wound. A slight discoloration marred the pale fabric, but his blood had not seeped to the final layers. When at last it seemed as if he was truly seeing Pan, he regarded him for a time in silence before speaking. 'Waiting for you.'
'You don't care about me,' Peter hissed.
'No, I don't.'
'You care about Wendy.'
'Not like that.'
'Liar.' Peter's hand was on his blade. Rufio rose, but did not touch his weapon. His face remained impassive.
'If you must do that, don't do it in here.'
An order. Peter's lips smirked awfully. With a quiet, perverse glee he disobeyed, stepping closer to Rufio and resting his blade at the side of the boy's neck, just below his jaw. 'Why not?' His eyes were emerald flames.
'I don't want trouble, Pan,' said Rufio, steadily.
'Afraid I'll wake Wendy? What might she do? Your Wendy?'
'Your Wendy, Pan. Don't be stupid.' Rufio found himself monitoring his breath. The look in Pan's eyes was decidedly unsettling.
'She'll leave, you know.'
'What are you talking abou-'
'Why should she stay for you? She didn't stay for me.' There was something wounded beneath the manic heat of his words. Wendy was murmuring soft, familiar things in Rufio's head, things about this boy. He spoke with the utmost caution.
'She hasn't left yet.'
Peter's eyes flicked downward, and then up again. The blade pressed ever so slightly against Rufio's jugular. 'She do that for you?'
Rufio sucked in air through his nose, afraid to jar the blade with an easier intake of air. If he lied, Pan would know it, and he'd end up with something Wendy couldn't fix. 'Yes.'
Peter Pan was silent for a long time, staring at Rufio with his mad eyes, his free hand trembling on the hilt of his dagger. Rufio met his gaze with impossible stoicism. Peter found no forgiveness in that black, and something in him snuffed out. He lowered his blade, his eyes hollow. 'She'll leave, you know.'
'Pan-'
His eyes darted up, hot and wet. He did yell this time, the boy Pan, the careless Pan, the motherless Pan. 'She'll leave you too!' He turned and ran from the tree, hand on his dagger, his sword forgotten.
Wendy stirred, and Rufio ran after him.
'Pan,' he called. It met the night carefully, and the trees were dark and silent in reply. The stars were winking out, turning their backs or falling to sleep in the predawn haze. Rufio plunged into the slumbering forest, and found that he was quite ignored by everything, Pan included. He tried again. 'Pan!'
Rufio was in a clearing now, and his cry was echoing unhelpfully back at him. He searched vainly among the veiled stars and shadowed trees, yielding naught. And then he turned, and there was Pan, dagger hanging in his lax fingers. Rufio moved toward him and Peter tensed, shying back. He was muttering, and the nearer Rufio drew, the more coherent the words became.
'Take her, take her, take her,' he said endlessly.
'Pan, stop.'
'Take her!'
'She doesn't want me!' If Rufio had remembered how to swear, he would have, but it was one thing that Neverland had been able to leech away. He reached out to the boy, attempting to still him long enough to show him sense.
'Of course, you know what she wants!'
'Yes, I do!'
'Then give it to her!'
'I can't!'
'You can't?' A mocking light was kindled in his eyes.
'Pan,' Rufio growled.
'Ha! You can't! You can't!'
'Pan!' The boy continued his inane crowing, and Rufio was forced to yell over him. 'You know very well what she wants! You're the only one who can give it! Listen to me! You're a selfish fool, Pan! You're smarter than this, but you can't look past yourself for more than a second. Would you cut that – listen!'
Peter's taunts were cut off promptly. The boy stood, hunched over, his arms holding his stomach. He was wheezing softly. Rufio stood before him with narrowed eyes, his shoulders rising and falling noticeably. His right hand was still balled into a fist.
It took Peter Pan a long moment to realize that he had been punched, quite hard. As soon as he had gathered up the shards of his breath and his dignity, he raised his head and looked at Rufio, his brows slowly knitting above chaotic eyes. His breath grew audible, and then with a terrible roar he ran at Rufio, tackling the other boy by the middle.
Rufio gave a cry of pain – he could feel the wound tear anew beneath the bandages – but his swimming vision was soon eclipsed by the clarity of adrenaline. This was a fight, and a fight with Peter Pan, no less. It did not take long for the boy to pour every ounce of negative feeling into his gripping and flailing arms; into the contempt of Pan and other things long buried.
There was something of an equilibrium for a long moment, but the madness of earlier was brighter now in Peter Pan's eyes, and by this sheer force he was able to overpower the slightly larger boy. Rufio was reeling from the unforgiving contact with the earth, and Peter Pan was above him, atop him, monstrous beside a glint of steel. He pressed his dagger to Rufio's throat.
'I'll kill you! I'll kill you!'
Rufio believed him, and did not breathe.
'I'll kill you,' it came softer, and something receded. Peter fell forward, a palm against the earth, fingers clawing. There was no force behind his dagger, but it rested still at Rufio's throat. Peter's eyes were staring, and one could not know exactly what he saw. 'I'll kill you,' he murmured. And Rufio was there, eyes full of fear and something else. Peter Pan saw him. 'Then you'll never leave.'
At one point Wendy had cried out. Her frantic footsteps and her protestations were muted in the strange void of the two boys, but riotous sound came bleeding back when she tugged Peter off of Rufio. His dagger fell harmlessly, and his body crumbled into her accepting arms.
Peter was quiet for a long moment, wearing the pallor of a victim of shock. Wendy rocked him mindlessly until a great tremor shook him, and with a gasping sob he began to feel again. He clung to Wendy, who moved less and cooed more, running her hands through his hair. 'I'm here Peter,' she said, over and over again.
Rufio watched, his hand pressed to the soaked bandage. 'I'm – we're here. We're staying here,' he said, clearly numb. He continued, knowing his words were needless now, and that Pan probably couldn't hear them. 'I told you. She only wants you.'
He knew a weight should have lifted, but it didn't. Rufio turned from them, driven back to the tree solely by the omnipresent need to leave. Once inside the hollow, he collapsed, too exhausted to feel heavy; to realize that Wendy had watched him go.
Wendy was lying still in the clearing, firmly surrounded by the arms of Peter Pan, simply because he was too big to be adequately held by her. His breath was steadying against her back, and with a last waking movement he took her hand.
Neverland rested, and the sun rose late that day.
