I'm having some dark thoughts again. Thus this came out. It's really just a look into Pan's mind while he's dehydrated and delusional. Trying to get an actual chapter out very soon.

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His mouth was so dry. He wished he had pushed his pride aside and licked the water off his skin the last time Jones had thrown it at him.

"Drink up, boy," he'd laughed, throwing a glass of the tainted-smelling liquid into his face, going on and on about how easy things would be if he'd just talk.

About what?

By the time the son of a bitch had retreated back upstairs, the water had absorbed into his skin and hair and he was licking desperately at pipes for just a drop.

His whole body was weak, infections settling in his more intimate areas. But it was the back and forth going on in his mind that homed his true agony, the uneven wavelengths of consciousness and unconsciousness bringing him nausea as death played his lifeline like a harmonica.

He remembered hearing once—maybe in school or from someone else—that the brain could exist up to ten minutes after the body dies, and it spends its final moments replaying memories that somehow stayed rooted.

But what he saw as his body—painstakingly slowly—shut down was not memories, but blurry forms of his existence.

Laughter. Felix in a hospital room. Tink forcing a coffee on him with a sharp smile. Lily winking at him as she designed the newspaper.

And then the sight of Wendy's mass of curls, as bright and as blond as the sun itself.

She slowly turned to him, her features sharp, and smiled at him. He didn't deserve that.

He was surrounded by darkness but glided through it effortlessly. He heard sounds, small whispers not unlike the wave lapping at the sides of the ship.

And then—

Stillness.

A flicker.

Where—

A voice.

Many.

Where am I—

"Isn't it obvious?"

Pan tensed. Oh yeah, he was dead. He was in pure hell.

"What are you doing here?" Pan hissed as the last person he ever wanted to see faded into the shadows before him, the glint from the golden cane in his grip overwhelming.

Gold—Pan's unfortunate half-brother—tilted his head. Pan caught the glint of glee in his whiskey eyes. Or perhaps that's what he thought it was. All he knew from experience was that Gold enjoyed watching him suffer.

"Your body is shutting down and your mind is fading rather quickly with it," Gold relayed evenly.

"You're a fucking genius," Pan spat. "And let me guess, your somehow able to get one last go at me before I'm out for good?"

Pan could still feel the pressure of anger that was constantly raving in his core, but as he imagined Gold's response, his drying brain firing out various sceneries, he was desperate for some kind of comfort, some kind of assurance, that this man before him held something equivalent to empathy for his only blood relative.

Yet Pan couldn't push such a scenario forward.

"Pan!"

Pan gasped, feeling nauseous once more and dropping to knees. The sound of waves lapping against the ship was becoming clearer again.

The head of Gold's hard came smacked him hard on the side of the head.

"Pay attention or you're done for," the older man hissed.

Pan glared up at him, anger brewing in his gut.

"So now you want to help me? Now you give a shit?"

At least he could imagine the frown.

"I don't need you! I can do this shit on my own so easily!"

To Pan's surprise, that dry line stretched into something near-inhumane. He leaned in and Pan could see his own face in Gold's dark, soulless eyes.

No, they weren't Gold's.

"No," Pan breathed, pushing the ghost of the man farther back.

The image of him—blessedly—stayed crushed in Pan's subconscious. It was still Gold who knelt before him, who's breath was burning hot on his face.

But it was his father's voice who spoke through his brother's mouth.

"I'm not the one who's dying."

The ground gave in under Pan and he yelped as he plummeted into nothingness.

"And…"

Pan struggled to breathe as the darkness caved in around him.

"I'm not the one who's dying alone."

Pan hit something soft, the force of his landing shooting the air back into his lungs. With the intake of oxygen came a wave on pine and dust. He blinked and he was blinded by light.

Was he—

"You must have a death wish."

Pan looked up, watching in fascination as August drank from the coffee mug he'd gifted him. He looked down at his own. Pitch blackness met him and there was a twisted sense of terror in the core of his heart.

"What do you mean?" Pan returned as he glanced anxiously out the window. It was just after 6 a.m., he recalled. The town had wrapped up its search for Jekyll and clearer heads had prevailed. Pan personally had drove him away. He knew he was long-gone, but Pan had the sickening feeling he might just return.

"Who invites a random guy into their apartment?" August chuckled.

One who is terrified to be alone, Pan thought.

He didn't voice this however, rather turned a sharp, fake smirk on the man curled up on his couch.

"One that sees something they like."

Yet the scent of pine faded and the back and forth of waves returned, August's surprised intrigue fading.

Pan felt himself falling again, but the descent this time was calmer. He felt safe, but his heart was still heavy.

He was curled into a tight ball, the scratchy plastic of Felix's spare sleeping bag hissing has he struggled not to cry any more than he had.

He heard the bedroom door ease open as Felix made a careful return to his room. His parents would call Gold if they knew he was here.

"Here."

Pan looked down to see a wet towel in Felix's hand. He could feel the warmth coming off it.

He sniffled, snatching it from his friend and scrubbing the dry, salty tears from his face.

Felix tilted his head, trying to pinpoint who had the wild boy he'd grown so acquainted with in such a state.

Pan did.

"I don't get it," Pan seethed as hot tears poured down his cheeks. "I knew her first. I loved her first. Why did she choose him!"

Felix flinched, concerned that Pan's yelling would attract his parents' attention.

"Maybe it's not what you think," he suggested, completely lost. "Maybe she—"

"NO!" Pan spat, his eyes—his very heart—hardening to coal. "I don't care! Fuck them! I can do this on my own!"

He threw himself back, intending to bury himself in the sleeping bag and forget, but the floor gave way, the comforting space of Felix's childhood bedroom began to fade around him.

He hit something hard and cold, the overwhelming terrifying smell of chemicals slapping his senses.

Pan struggled to sit up—to run as fast as he could—but he was shackled down by homemade restraints.

Nonononono…

"It's okay," Jekyll's harrowing grin relayed as he tightened another belt around Pan's wrist, the headboard pressing painfully into Pan's back.

He could feel the leather's burn against his skin and Jekyll's tainted breath on his neck and cheeks.

Fuck the investigation. Fuck those dead girls. He wanted out.

He tried to open his mouth—someone in the inn would hear him—but Jekyll already had something stuffed in his mouth.

"You'll like it."

Pan squeezed his eyes shut, willing the nightmare around him away.

The heat was still there.

Jekyll's putrid smell.

Maybe this was Hell?

Somehow the noise faded, like the sound of waves lapping against the sound at low tide.

Pan was so tired when he opened his eyes again.

But he was blessedly alone.

Cursedly alone, too.

It's just a burn.

"It's just a burn."

Pan's hand were shaking as he drove Tink to the hospital. This was his only chance to catch Jekyll once and for all. Tink was his type. She'd be at his mercy, and unbeknownst to her, Pan's protection.

But, she didn't know that last part yet.

He stayed with her until a nurse began to lead her into the infirmary.

"I'm sorry."

The words slipped out. A flash of conscience?

"What?"

"Nothing."

Blackness…

A tapping sound began to fill his senses once more.

Pan arched his neck back, glaring at the source of the sound.

"You don't want to do things alone, do you Paney?"

Pan looked up, only able to see the glint of gold underneath a pair of perfectly folded hands.

"Yet you still shove away anyone who gets too close until they resent you."

He struggled with the restraints as the familiar tapping of the gold-handled cane came closer, the sound as loud as thunder with each step.

As screaming.

"Perhaps…"

Pan froze, glaring at the man above him—the man who he unfortunately shared too much DNA with.

"Your subconscious is trying to tell you that you simply cannot fathom intimacy in any form—"

"Shut up! Just shut the hell up!"

"It's okay."

He looked up as tears streamed down his face.

Belle smiled back. Calm. Warm. Loving.

"It'll get better soon," she said. "I'll talk to Gold."

Pan broke away from the figments, scrambling desperately away.

He never wanted to hurt them.

He just…

"It's okay,"

"I'm…" Pan pulled back, ashamed that his body had betrayed him, that he couldn't give Lily what she wanted. She was kinder than she thought, more than she'd ever been to him at school.

"Hey, really," she said, back in her underwear. "It's okay."

Pan gripped the sheets under him. He hadn't been able to stop shaking. Her touch was soft. She could help him. She would, if he told her.

But his broken parts were sticking out. He pushed her back, willing to impale her with them.

They broke a part, Pan feeling more complete, but he was the one to leave this time.

And again, and again, until he saw the hurt in her eyes. He did nothing to amend it.

I just—

"I don't think we should see each other anymore."

"Fine."

"You're a bastard."

"And?"

He slipped, the weakness of his body crashing down on him like a tsunami wave against a lighthouse.

You can't fathom proper intimacy.

But.

"But you crave it all the same."

He pulled himself up on shaky arms. Before him were all the people who had some significance in his life. Felix, Tink, August, Lily. Behind them, but less in focus, Jekyll, Glass…and Belle.

Gold was in the forefront, staring at him with this dark blankness his companions shared. Hating him.

There was someone missing. Pan knew this but as his mind slipped away he couldn't place just who.

One by one they turned from him, vanishing into the darkness.

"Wait."

"It's too late," Gold sighed, the barest air of sympathy in his voice. "You pushed them away, and now you've lost them for good."

Pan struggled to push himself to his knees, to glare at Gold one final time.

"You really never knew how to love anyone, did you?"

Pan bowed his head, the numbness he felt in his heart blessedly swallowing him.

"Just go."

He could hear Gold respond to his demand, could hear the tell-all clinking of his cane as he too slipped away.

He truly was alone. He always hated the quiet, as always hated he small pitches of laughter that followed him. Hated its mocking embrace, promising him companionship just as empty as it.

He hadn't wanted to die alone but maybe this was right.

He wasn't good at loving people, even those he liked. He didn't really know how to be…

Normal.

He'd successfully pushed away any and all people that might have cared about him. It would be an impressive feat, he thought, if the circumstances were different.

Pan curled into himself. Death wasn't so frightening when you knew what to expect.

"Do your worse."

"Peter?"

That voice…

Pan looked up. In the depths of the darkness was a ray of golden light.

No.

Not light … hair?

"Pan!"

Dead at him.

W—

"Wendy."

I—

She too began to disappear into the dark, her light being smothered by the thick acidic shadows.

"Wendy wait!" he screamed, bursting painfully forward. Trying to grab her.

"Peter—"

Just there. Just out of reach. Just grazing her skin.

She turned and he could see her eyes.

His fingers grazed her. He could feel her.

"Wendy—"

Her hand snatched up his hand, gripping it so tightly it stung.

"I'm coming to find you."

"Boy."

Pan coughed, his mind and body bolting back into the physical world the second he felt the cool water on his lips. He drank it greedily, not caring about the man who was giving it to him. He coughed, nearly choking, but the water kept coming until his stomach hurt from it and his lungs burned.

Jones finally pulled back and took a seat on a barrel as Pan continued to come to. He could feel his kidnappers eyes on him, but the devil-may-care cockiness he'd stay firm to suspiciously missing.

In fact, he looked rather nervous. Pan, as the signals in his brain began to reactivate, that perhaps Jones was caught and his days—hell, the next few minutes—were numbered.

But why would Jones give a doomed man water? Why wasn't he attempting to end him?

Jones stayed quiet for a while, slowly rubbing his hands together, his glassy blue eyes staring into the dark.

Pan shook his arms to get movement back in them, his brain heavy.

Jones leaned back, staring up at the ceiling.

"She's really something, isn't she?"

Pan tensed, knowing good and damn well who he was referring to.

"Where is she?" Pan rasped.

And there it was. That damn fucking smirk.

"Fast asleep," he replied, the spirit of a wink in his voice. "She needs it."

Pan sudden felt like he'd swallowed a vine of thorns. "What did you do to her?"

Jones laughed, the sound wet and sultry, like the air after a storm.

"Oh, what I did to her," Jones hummed as Pan's eyes narrowed.

He knew that look. He'd seen it more times than not. Had it on his own face once or twice.

Pure, non-concentrated lust.

Those sounds he heard earlier, could it have possibly been Jones…and Wendy.

Pan had to jerk his head away, unable to look at him as he processed the thought.

"You sick fuck."

Jones' smirk vanished with a sharp twitch, his eyes darkening.

"Does she know anything?"

"I have no damn idea what you're bloody talking about!" Pan hissed, pulling against the rope.

Jones rolled his eyes. "I'm tired of this—"

"I know shit and so does she!" Pan spat, his annoyance of the situation and hate for Jones bringing him a dose of adrenaline. "I don't know what batshit idea you have about me, her, any of this fucking shit but his has nothing to do with us! Now let me out of this shit so I can properly beat you motherfu—"

Pan was silenced with a swift slap to the face. His whole body jerked to the side.

He panted lightly, the force having drained him once more. He could blame his weakness on his dehydration and captivity, but in truth, he was in shock.

Wendy…with Jones? Why would she? How could she?

Why did he care?

Jones scrubbed a hand over his face, yanking Pan back to attention.

"You swear she knows nothing?"

Pan glared at him, no longer able to speak on his or Wendy's defense.

Jones' eyes narrowed and he stood.

"Very well then."

Pan tensed.

"No wait—"

"Enjoy the quiet boy, it'll be the last thing you ever hear."

"Don't—"

"And," Jones said as he headed up the stairs, that god-awful smirk returning to his tone. "No hard feelings on Miss Darling?"

Pan grit his teeth, fighting the urge to scream.

No one would hear him.

The darkness Jones left behind seemed so much deeper now.