So guess what…
THIS BITCH FINALLY GOT A JOB AND HER OWN PLACE TO LIVE!
HELL YEAH!
So slight negative note on that: that kind of means updating is going to be REALLY slow for a while. The place I moved to, while really nice, is kind of out of my budget and I pulling as many hours as possible to pay for it and such.
On top of that, the place doesn't have internet and I'm trying to see what my budget will look like after I pay bills so I can consider getting my own (which I really need as a writer and as a journalist).
So just know, I'm not giving up on any of my stories. I've just started a new chapter of my life and have to let the ink dry before I can pick up my old interests.
Anyway, here's Papers and Sleuthers…
-,-,-,-,-,-,-,-,-,-,-,-,-,-,-
Wendy half-heartedly checked that she had her notepad full of her old notes before she locked up to head to Peter's. If he started acting up she could use her lack of supplies as an excuse to slip out. She truly hoped it wouldn't come to that. She wanted this week to be a sort of awakening for them, a chance to finally pull the hatchet away from each other's throats.
She was linked to him now in the worse way. They'd been through hell together so many times but it hadn't done anything to shift their relationship into a more stable light. Perhaps if they took the chaos out of the equation something would change. Things really needed to.
She found herself checking her hair as she exited her apartment before she chastised herself. This was an after-hours investigation, not a date!
Wendy scoffed as she locked her door. Her and Pan on a date? What a nightmarish thought!
She grimaced when she reached his door, the unpleasant memory of confronting him the day Mother Superior died still vividly fresh.
"Tosser," Wendy muttered, wanting to call him something much crueler. However learning to tolerate him now that they were going to be in close-proximity for an unknown amount of time might be beneficial.
With that, she took a deep breath and knocked softly on the door.
There was a light thud behind the wood before it opened, a wild Pan greeting her with a sharp once-over.
"You're wearing that road-kill?" he scoffed, pointing harshly at her feathered sweater that had been more than appropriate for the weather.
So much for patience.
"Shove it," Wendy hissed, pushing him into his trashed living room.
"The hell happened in here?"
Pan circled her, not answering, and pulled a giant marker board from the kitchen.
"I've started putting some notes together," he said, adding a picture of Cruella de Vil on the board.
"Um…" Wendy started, her heart speeding up at the site of their own nemesis. "Where are we starting?"
Pan pondered at the start of his chaos. "From the beginning. The devil woman is our best bet. Somehow she set all of this off."
"How do you figure that?" Wendy inquired.
Pan passed a folder over his shoulder to her, eyes still trained on the board.
Wendy shifted through its components, her gut dropping at the various photos of the dog murderer.
Her brow wrinkled in thought as she went through de Vil's information. Exact date and location of birth unknown, though her last address was in Manchester…with her now-deceased husband. Wendy whistled at the rap sheet of her marriages. Four times, all but her last ending in death (the last abruptly ended in divorce following a major arrest of the husband.)
There was a scan of her passport as well, signifying that that she had been in the country at least six months before she kidnapped Storybrooke's dogs.
"Why here?" Wendy wondered aloud. "Why Storybrooke, and why dognapping? It's such a cartoonish villain move."
"Except in cartoons the villains wouldn't bleed the dogs out and turn their skins into coats," Pan muttered, back still to her.
"Coats?" Wendy gasped, the mental image making her stomach twist.
"Last page in the file,"
Wendy balanced the folder to find the page, and blinked at the printed out copy of a news article before her.
MANCHESTER WOMAN CHARGED WITH 13 COUNTS OF ANIMAL CRUELTY
Wendy gulped at the picture of the drunk-looking mugshot of de Vil, her intense eyes seeming to stare right at Wendy, as if blaming her for her past crime.
A local woman is being charged with the kidnapping and death of several dogs.
The dogs, all of Dalmatian and mixed Dalmatian breeds, were taken out of the Manchester and Liverpool areas within a three week period, according to authorities.
The woman, identified as 39-year-old Cruella de Vil, was apprehended at an abandoned windmill outside of the Liverpool area where over 20 dogs were being kept. Upon her arrest animal control discovered the mutilated remains of eight dogs. The remaining five dogs very rushed to the Wrightsville Veternarian clinic for emergency treatment, and are expected to survive.
De Vil is being held at the Wrightsville Police Station without bail.
This story will be updated as more information becomes available.
Wendy checked the date of the incident to find that Cruella committed her first act three years ago. She shifted to Pan's slightly cleared off counter to spread out the devil woman's file and located an additional article.
MANCHESTER DOGNAPPER TRIAL UNDERWAY
The trial Manchester dognapper Cruella de Vil will begin Monday morning.
De Vil was charged with 13 counts of animal cruelty following the torture and murder of several dogs in January.
De Vil's lawyer originally declined to comment of her client's state for her case, but De Vil stated to the press before being led to the jail: "I'm not worried, Darlings. Who would sentence a woman in diamonds?"
Wendy snorted. Now that was quality journalism! She flipped to the next article.
'DEVIL WOMAN' CRUELLA DE VIL EXPOSES PLOT FOR DOGS DURING TRAIL
Manchester dognapper Cruella de Vil stated during her trial that she abducted the Dalmatians with the purpose of using their pelts for 'the perfect coat'.
De Vil continued to go into great detail about how she mutilated the dogs 'when it was their time', much to the disturbance to the court.
"I took one pup by his stringy little tail and hoisted him up," de Vil, who was clothes in an elaborate gown and furs, detailed, "The little bugger wouldn't stop squealing, even after I slashed his throat open."
Evidence shows that De Vil had dozens of sketches for coats not just for the Dalmatians she abducted, but also for poodle and Shi zu breeds. The sketches also showed plans for various muffs, boots, and glove items.
When asked what she was going to do with all the coats, De Vil said, "Why, wear them of course! I'll be the envy of every bitch at the social club."
De Vil criminal record includes dozens of speeding tickets and two cases of vehicle homicide attempts. Records show that De Vil was acquitted for both cases and never paid off the tickets.
De Vil's sentence trial will be held in October. Until then De Vil will be held in Manchester Sanitarium for the Mentally Unwell for further observation.
Wendy sighed in exhaustion. What a story! How could someone so heinous be so close to her neck of the woods?
The other articles were faded from an obvious lack of printer ink, but Wendy was able to make out enough from the headlines to guess what happened next.
De Vil was sentenced to two years in a different sanitarium that specialized in disorders like her. She was deemed "cured" after a year and released due to a special project. She left for America right afterwards for a "fresh start".
"Oh she stared fresh alright," Wendy commented.
"Great," Pan said from the board. "You're where I was thirty minutes ago. Let me know when you get where I'm at now."
Wendy resisted throwing De Vil's folder at his head.
"I don't think there's anywhere else to go with this one," Wendy pointed out. "She went crazy, killed a bunch of animals, ran here and started all over again. That's really it."
"But the motive!" Pan growled, looking her dead in the eye. Desperate. "There had to be something else. Maybe she was working for someone or trying to start a multi-dognapping franchise here or…"
Wendy edged back at the desperation in his voice. He was grasping at straws, but there were none left for him in this case.
"Pan," Wendy tried carefully, "There's nothing left,"
"How the hell would you know!" He shouted.
"Because sometimes people are just bad," she shouted back. "Sometimes they do a few terrible things just to do them! There doesn't have to be a reason or a great scheme behind their actions! They just cause chaos and kill over!" with a spike of adrenaline, she stepped up to him, feeling his hearted pounding in the buzzing air.
"Don't they?"
Pan twitched, glaring at her with a raw sense of hatred.
Wendy thought for a moment he might throw her out, and she really didn't want him to. Pan had to see logic, had to stop filling his mind with information that just wasn't there, and she couldn't just run off and leave him to fill in such non-existent gaps.
He's scared. He's frustrated. He needs to be kept busy.
With a deep breath, she stepped back to locate one of the other boxes on the couch, tensing a bit when she saw Jekyll's name on the cardboard.
"We can start with him now," she said, pulling out a folder.
In a flash, Pan slapped it out of her hand.
Wendy gasped and brought her stinging hand to her chest where a shallow papercut was surfacing, staring at Pan.
"I didn't mean to do that," he said, looking just as surprised as she did.
It was closest thing to an apology she would get from him, she knew, and she expected it, but it still did not stop her from hating him.
"What is your problem!" she yelled as she sucked the blood from her stinging cut.
"Nothing," Pan defended, though he was tenser than a tightly wound spring.
Wendy looked him over, trying to pinpoint the root of his harsh mood. Of course going through their old cases was certainly stressful, with the memories that surfaced as they saw photos of their former nemesis faces…
Ah.
She stared at Jekyll's case box where the corner of his photo was just peeking out, turning Wendy's stomach.
Gods know what the site of him was doing to Pan.
The journalist stepped away, twisting to pick up de Vil's box.
"What about her lackey's?" Wendy inquired, picking through her file. She didn't meet his eyes as she dug through the very scarce information. "We don't know how they play into all of this outside their association with de Vil."
Pan looked at her, his expression solid and unreadable, but Wendy swore she saw a glint of something in his eyes.
Gratitude?
No, Peter Pan didn't thank anyone for what they did, for him or otherwise.
Good thing Wendy didn't expect it from him, or anything else for that matter.
They began adding Horac and Jasper's notes to de Vil's board, though a now were quick glance told Wendy it wouldn't add much. They were jailbirds on and off as far back as the records could show, became acquainted with de Vil sometime after their most recent parole hearing, and thanks to her and Pan were tucked safely in a Boston prison until they could be moved to one in London. Nothing more, nothing less.
But Pan wasn't ready to accept that, so Wendy pretended to stay busy until she commented on ordering from the Chinese menu on Pan's fridge.
Half an hour later they were sitting silently in his living room, munching on greasy eggrolls as they stared absently at the evidence before them.
Fuzz the cat made a lazy trail from Pan's bedroom to where they were eating, plopping himself next to Wendy.
The blonde smiled, charmed by the odd-looking cat, and reached out to pet him.
Pan readied a warning. Fuzz was known to scratch first-time visitors to bleeding shreds, but with a flash of naughtiness, decided to let the little bird find that out for herself.
However, Fuzz the cat purred in delight at the attention and collapsed next to Wendy, hungry for more.
"You…slut!" Pan hissed at his sorry excuse of a cat.
Wendy's eyes widened. "Excuse me?"
"The damn cat," Pan barked, turning back to his food to begin another round of silence.
Wendy shrugged and quietly offered him another eggroll, which he took with no additional fuss.
It was strange, this quiet domesticity. No violence, no fighting, no apprehension of what was to come.
It would have been peaceful if it weren't for the wave of uneasiness Pan was letting off.
His leg was shaking with antsiness, and he kept making small sounds to break the silence.
I suppose it's better than him yelling, Wendy thought. Might as well attempt conversation.
"So…" she begun, earning a questioned glare mid-chew. "I…ran into someone today,"
Pan looked up at her, looking slightly bored.
"And?" he shrugged, mouth full.
Wendy shrugged. Of course it was a stupid thing to bring up. Pan probably knew everyone in Storybrooke, and he had little interest for all of them.
"It's nothing," Wendy responded. "Just thought he was…" She searched her vocabulary for the word to describe the man with unsettling charming manners.
"Different,"
Pan's eyes flickered at that.
Wendy Darling was smitten.
"Sounds like a scoop," Pan smirked. "Let's go find him."
Wendy coughed on her fried rice as he stood. "What?" she laughed, truly mystified.
"Let's go meet this mystery man,"
Wendy blinked trying to comprehend his shift in emotion as he put on his coat.
"Pan, it was dark out, I didn't get a good look at him," she explained. "I don't even know his name!"
"It's Storybrooke," Pan waved her off. "We'll find out who he is in an hour."
"This is insane," she barked with a laugh.
Pan wadded up her jacket and threw it at her, earning a yelp.
"Well I'm bored. Are you coming or not?"
She stared at him, wondering just how high up the cliff of insanity he had already climbed. Boredom was making him scattered-brained and seeking action in the tiniest occurrence.
It was sad, like watching an animal trying to chew its way out of a trap, but also fascinating.
Pan needed her, whether he would say it in words or in action. He needed her to keep him from jumping off that cliff, especially when they had no way of knowing what was waiting for him at the bottom.
With an exhausted sigh, she unraveled her jacket and followed him into the icy night, missing his satisfied smirk as he closed the door.
.=.=.=.=.=.=.=.=.
Wendy was having trouble keeping on his heels. It was dark and cold and he was the only one who really knew where they were going.
If he even knew himself.
Pan was all over the place tonight, and Wendy was starting to get dizzy from his back-and-forth.
She was practically having to skip to keep up with him. It was like he was forgetting that she was with him. Already he was trying to focus on something else.
Her loud cobbling seemed to echo through the street of Storybrooke, and in the dim night she felt a wave of paranoia run up her spine. It sounded like there was someone behind them, following them.
"Do you hear that?" she asked Pan.
"No, here we are,"
He stopped so suddenly Wendy ran into him, her face hitting him square in the spine. She gained her balance and glared at him before she stepped to his side, staring into the bright building ahead as it spilled vibration into the night.
"What is that?"
"The Rabbit Hole," Pan smirked. "Sleaziest place in town."
Wendy snorted through a shiver. "And you thing the well-polished man I ran into tonight is in there?"
Pan shrugged. "Maybe. Either way I want a drink. Come on,"
Wendy followed him with a sigh. At least she would get out of the cold.
Her ears began ringing as soon as she entered the nightclub, her eyes cloudy from the flashing lights.
"I don't know about this," she shouted, her voice lost in the sound.
This time, Pan took hold of her sleeve and pulled her through the cluster of tipsy people.
"Good thing it's not a work day," Wendy muttered to herself as Pan pulled her to a cluttered table.
She swept bits of food off the sticky surface, wincing at the music and hard chairs. Across her Pan was staring out into the crowd, his eyes glistening bright as he watched the gyrating bodies.
"You…come here often," Wendy joked, feeling claustrophobic and savagely out of place.
"Once or twice with Tiger Lily," Pan shrugged, somehow able to hear her over the music.
"And you're not deaf?" she shouted.
"It's not loud enough. It never is."
"Huh?"
Pan looked up from the dancing sin to stare at her. Really stare at her. Truly look at her for the first time in days.
Her hair was growing out more evenly, her curls had even started to come back.
But the bags under her eyes were darker, hollower. She was tired, and he knew it was his fault.
"You want to dance?"
Pan looked as shocked as Wendy was when he looked back up at her.
"Did I…did I hear you right?"
Pan's bright red face was hidden by the flashing strobe lights. The fuck did he say that?
"You're not deaf yet are you?" he smirked, standing. "Let's go."
Wendy glanced out onto the dance floor. "I…think I'm overdressed."
Pan glanced out at the half-clothed bodies and chuckled. He slipped off his jacket and undid the first two buttons of his shirt.
Wendy's heart leapt and her throat tightened.
"You're turn."
Wendy shot from her chair, her clothes suddenly feeling stuck to her skin.
"Oh don't be so damn modest," Pan cackled, easing out into the dance floor. These little outbursts were giving him some energy.
Wendy shivered, feeling naked under her multiple layers.
Damn it! Why the hell did he have to get under her skin so easily!
She clutched her sleeves, watching as he began to get swarmed by dancers.
Yet…strangely enough…he was still waiting for her. As if he actually wanted her to come out there with him.
Keep him distracted. Keep him busy.
And he was actually smiling!
Well…leering, but he wasn't as threatening as usual.
With a groan, she shed her feathered coat and eased out into the crowd, instantly getting sucked into the vortex of sweat.
She reached out for stability, hoping she wouldn't accidentally grope anyone. Out of the sea of graters a hand grabbed her wrist and—thankfully or unthankfully, she wasn't sure yet—she fell into Pan's chest.
"Bet you didn't do this kind of dancing in your London prep school," Pan snarked against her hair.
Wendy detached herself from his chest, getting some much needed space between them.
"I went to a public school, thank you," she barked, a smile tugging at her lips. It was hard to find a balance with so many people crushing them together.
"What do we…how…" she yelled, desperate for just an inch for space.
She felt Pan's laugh rumble against her chest, the feeling much more put-together than the vibrations in the air. His hands snaked up her shoulder and gave them just enough space so that they could look into each other's eyes.
"Just do what I do." He said.
I already do.
He took her hands and helped her sway in their tiny space. Wendy could have fainted from the heat and the shock of the situation. Here she was dancing with the biggest arse in the entire world! She must be as mad as he was bored!
Her heart pounded as she copied his movements, almost afraid to let him go. So many people were brushing and bumping into them. She could easily be trampled, and something told her she wasn't leaving the bar tonight without at least a cracked rib.
She looked up to find Pan watching her. He looked strangely human. Less territorial and ready to fight.
Like he was actually…enjoying himself.
"Okay," he instructed, pulling her arm over her head. He began twisting her wrist and Wendy caught on quickly, letting her twirl her until spots flashed before her eyes.
But he didn't stop, and she kept going, catching the light in Pan's eyes each time she spun back to him.
And before Wendy knew it, she was laughing, the sound much more soothing than the trash flowing through the intercoms.
For a moment Peter Pan and Wendy Darling weren't small-town reporters who got into too much trouble far too often.
They were just two normal adults who were have a fun, random night.
Wendy couldn't remember the last time she did something like this. Perhaps back in college…when she wasn't as dark, before the bloodshed and the grittiness of the world became part of her daily routine.
And it was nice to be having this fresh taste of life with the person who had drug her into it.
"Not bad, Wendy Bird," Pan teased as she grabbed on to his shoulder to stop the dizziness.
"Same to you, Peter Pan,
He scoffed, covering the hand on his shoulder and grasping this one.
"Let's make you fly."
With that, he pushed into the crowd, anchoring her with the hold on her arm. She spun back into him naturally, howling like a fool.
"Don't let go if you're going to do that," she laughed.
"I promise, I won't."
Wendy had to admit, she rather liked this fun side of him. Sure, he was really just distracting himself from his current issues, but he was doing it in a constructive way that was keeping them both out of harms way…mostly.
She nearly slammed into a dancer during her second twirl. When she spun back to Pan she was ready to tell him to try something else, but he looked so…happy.
She couldn't do it…and had he had said he wouldn't let her get hurt.
And she was safe…
Thank you.
Until he spun her out again…
Time to fly.
And let go.
He was gone in the blink of an eye and she stumbled out into the crowd.
The more drunkard dancers shoved her away and she stumbled to find stable ground.
"Pan!" She called out, drowning.
She was wedged between so many people, blind and hot.
"Pan!" She yelled again, feeling for him. "Where are—"
Someone's elbow pounded into her lip and she flew to the sticky ground. Blood filled her mouth in seconds, and she stopped caring if she found Pan or not and started searching for a way off the dance floor.
Pan had taken them too far out. She had no idea where she was. People were stepping on her like she was nothing. On her hands, her hair.
She was going to die here. Had Pan done this on purpose? Had he really hoped her death would somehow entertain him?
She was going to die and no one would know until the club closed, or morning at least.
She was going to die…
"I got you lass!"
She was picked up effortlessly and drug from the crowd, the person clutching her moving through them like Moses through the parted sea.
A savior, it would seem.
Before her brain truly recognized what was going on, her savior had her outside, away from the noise and her unintentional murderers. Her lungs painfully filled with fresh, icy air and she started coughing up blood from her wound, very uncaring how disgusting she looked to her companion.
"There you go, love," the savior—a man?—instructed, patting her back. "Get the sin out of your lungs."
Love…
Wendy brushed her bangs from her eyes and met the haunting blue eyes of her earlier savior, the very man her and Pan had set off to find.
"You!" she gasped, nearly laughing with the insanity of it. "I…we…hi!"
He chuckled. "Hello again."
She tried to catch her breath as she went back and forth with the odd coincidence and Pan's disappearance.
Disappearance…or abonnement?
Wendy's stomach flipped when the idea passed through her mind. It seemed almost too cruel for him to do, yet it seemed like something that he would do.
He was all over the place tonight, jumping back and forth like a frog on a scorching lily pad.
But really, he was always like that, she just hadn't accepted it yet.
And now he had left her to be trampled to death in a night club, wondering off to gods' knows where.
And he didn't care. He just didn't care.
"Are you alright?"
Wendy blinked, not realizing that her eyes had been misting.
"Yes, of course," she breathed deeply and stood. "I just…I need to get home." And get a club, she added to herself.
"I'll walk you," he offered immediately.
"Thank you, but I'm fine."
The man chuckled. "Each time you say that I find you in peril,"
Wendy made a sound, not wanting to be rude but really not wanting to stick around much longer. "Really I'm fine. But thank you." She nodded at him and began walking away, the raging fire in her heart melting the ice in her bones.
"Killian Jones."
Wendy paused and glanced back at him. "What?"
He smiled, at pearly whites and charm. "My name. I think it's about time, you learned it."
Wendy worried at her lip, letting the name rest on her mind. It suited him somehow. An old world name for an old world charmed man. It was an interesting combination.
"I see. Well then, thank you, Killian Jones." She said with a nod, picking back up her step.
"Wait."
Wendy halted, slightly aggravated. If he turned out to be a maniac like Jekyll she'd bash his lights out with a chunk of ice.
He stepped forward, his hands resting in his pockets, showing he meant no harm, posed no threat.
"Would you like to get a drink sometime?"
Wendy laughed, her face burning. "That's…forward."
Jones chuckled with a shrug. "With your track record, the next time I may see you is in a hospital."
Wendy shrugged that was true. She gave him another look over. Mysterious creature of the night.
She had learned already that trusting people was too dangerous, especially the kind who lurked in the dark.
She didn't know him, and he, despite his multiple rescues, didn't know her.
"Why on earth would you want to have a drink with a perfect stranger?" she inquired aloud.
Jones cocked his head, his eyes gleaming with intentions Wendy couldn't trace.
"To get to know you, of course."
Wendy stiffened, her anxiety rising.
"That's not a good idea," Wendy gasped, desperate for space. "I have to go find…" she shook her head, her mind to cluttered to find a definition for her current view of Pan.
"If you change your mind," Jones called after her. "I'll be waiting. Tomorrow at the diner."
Wendy increased her speed, making a direct line to Pan's apartment.
She was going to kill him. She'd made the threat many of times before but this time she meant it.
He left her.
He pulled her into all of this madness, and then just released her to break her neck without him.
Where had he gone? What temporary rush was he following now?
Why hadn't he taken her with him?
She found his apartment the same way they had left it: locked up and dark. She searched for a spare key in the places anyone else would, but Pan wasn't like everyone else and thus wouldn't think to leave a spare key.
Out of aggravation, she picked up a lose brick, check over her shoulder, and hurled it into the glass.
It was a exactly something Pan would do, and Wendy couldn't help the small flame of satisfaction that came with damaging his property—which she had to plan to fix thank you very much.
She stormed in, flicking on lights and opening doors to find him. Fuzz the cat ran out of the bedroom as she checked behind checked in his closet.
"Pan!" she howled, her hands shaking.
Why?
"Where are you?"
Pan wasn't there. He hadn't returned to hide from her or even to continue their work. He had vanished completely with no warning for her.
With a stiff sob, she collapsed on the couch, feeling right at him with the shattered remains of his home.
"Peter…"
He left you.
"He left me."
-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.
He wasn't sure when or where he was.
But it was bright there, and surprisingly warm. It couldn't be a memory of his childhood. Those were always dark and cold.
But he was somewhere…at least he thought it was him. There was glass in front of him, well-made and clean, and big enough to cover an entire wall.
But he couldn't see his reflection…
Nor anything outside the window.
That's why when the little bird flew closer, it terrified him.
"Stop…" he tried to scream just as the bird hit the window.
A loud bang…
It landed at his feet—
Its neck was broken.
He startled into consciousness, his fuzzy mind going into an automatic death mode.
Someone had grabbed him…he thought.
One second he was throwing Wendy out—letting her fly just enough from him—and then she was flying out of his grip while he was being pulled further from her.
He wasn't sure what happened after that, but now he was tied up in some sort of dark room, his hands above his head on some kind of meat hook, by the fill of it.
Something equivalent to a lantern was in the corner, giving him just enough light to keep him from going into a state of complete panic.
Jekyll's prisons were always to bright.
A noise indicated he was no longer alone. A second later a door in the corner opened, and a man stepped in, the light behind him silhouetting him just long enough for Pan to get a good idea of him.
"Good to see you again," the man said as he pulled a chair up and straddled it.
"Again?" Pan scoffed. "Go to hell you wanker."
"That's captain to you, boy," he returned firmly. "Captain Killian Jones, if you don't mind."
"I don't care, and know, who the fuck you are."
"I don't expect you to," Killian said casually.
"I tend to forget people who aren't worth remembering," Pan smirked, his face warmer for trail of blood leaking from his temple.
Killian chuckled, charmed. This was going to be the most fun he'd had in a while.
"I suppose it won't matter anyway," he sighed. "Not with you knocking on death's door."
Pan licked his lips. A challenge at last!
"Oh really?"
"Yes," Killian said. "You see m'boy, I've been sent by someone who really wants you dead."
"You'll have to be a bit more specific," Pan winked.
"No one you'll need to worry about," Killian alluded. "Just know that you've caused enough trouble that it warrants a very clean—and if you behave yourself—very quick one."
Pan scoffed. "If I'm scheduled to die, know that I'll make my last days your worst,"
Killian seemed unphased by Pan's threat, and while Pan wasn't yet worried about it, it did make his gut turn just enough to be noticed.
Then, Killian laughed, and tapped his fingers on the back of the chair.
"You know, you actually gained our attention after that boy with the scar inquired Henry Jekyll's files,"
Ice…the blood can't move.
"Oh…I can't quite remember his name…"
You have to keep count of the spasms…you have to know where the blood is going…
"That's his benefit I suppose," Killian smirked, watching as the blood drained from his face.
Felix…oh Felix I'm sorry…
"After all, it'd be a shamed if that poor boy succumbed to one of his little fits in the privacy of his own home one afternoon…"
Pan bolted against the restraints, blood raging and teeth desperate to break skin.
"You fucking go near him I'll kill you!"
Killian grabbed Pan by the jaw and forced him into the wall, pressing his knee into his stomach.
"I'd love to see you try," Killian husked, his ice blues evenly hitting Pan's forest greens. "I'd love to see you help any of them. Him, that pixie of a girl who hates you more than life itself…" his grin widened. "And that pretty blonde distraction you brought into this whole bloody mess."
"Wendy…" the word left his lips before could stop it.
He didn't know how to protect her the way he did the others.
"Such a pretty name," Killian gloated. "Such a pretty girl at that. And she's so desperate to find you, even after to abandoned her on a dangerous dance floor,"
Pan glared at him. "You bitch,"
Killian released him and made his way to the door.
"I'll take no pleasure from killing her, m'boy." Killian said, surprisingly quite truthfully. "However, this is as much to do with her as it does with you."
Pan dug his nails into the cloth binding his wrists, trying desperately to stare a whole through Killian's heart.
"How quick or how slowly she goes depends on what you can do for me within the next few days,"
Pan winced.
"Goodnight," Killian winked, turning off the light and enclosing Pan in a blanket of darkness.