Damnation, Salvation, Fire and Steel
Trolls in the Dark
4/4
Minutes ticked by. Hours passed. Still no sign of Peter, Nibs, or Slightly. Wendy could almost feel her throat constricting as terrible visions danced in her head, things she feared had happened to her boys. She had long ago stopped pacing and now sat in her rocking chair, eyes staring into the fire as she knotted her hands up in her skirt. Dimly, her mind registered she would have to do some laundry soon.
Michael was asleep in his basket, snoring lightly. As concerned as he was about the missing boys, he was still a child himself. And though he protested to stay awake, Wendy had insisted he at least take a nap. He agreed, but only when she swore to wake him when Peter and the others got back. He didn't want to miss the telling of an adventure.
John and Curly were curled up in bed, snoozing now and then. Neither wanted to sleep but both were tired, so they slipped in and out of dreams, waiting for Peter's return. The dark Twin sat on the floor, fiddling with a small contraption he and his brother had conjured up earlier on. The light Twin had gone to relieve himself while Tootles sat in a corner, daydreaming about foodstuffs he had nibbled on earlier that day.
No one really noticed when the light Twin returned, his face bearing an odd, vacant expression. Sensing his other half's return, the dark Twin looked up and smiled—though the smile faded quickly as he noted the odd look on his counterpart's face.
As the lighter of the Twins walked toward him—actually, stumbled probably would have been better to describe it—the dark boy felt a sense of fear. He couldn't feel his friend's thoughts as he usually could. For once, he didn't know ahead of time what the light Twin was going to say, or do. He stiffened as the boy stopped in front of him.
The boy swayed a little on his feet, staring down with blank eyes on his brother. A slow smile began to spread across his face—a smile that only served to frighten the dark boy instead of comfort him. As the lighter Twin reached out, laying his hand on the other's shoulder, the taller boy saw something horrible.
A black, pulsing, bulging THING was slipping down his brother's arm, leaving a trail of slug slime in its wake. It pooled down to the white Twin's hand, before lightly touching the darker boy.
The dark Twin only had the briefest of moments to shriek at the top of his lungs before his mind was coated in darkness, and he became a slave to the slugs.
Wendy shot up from her chair, dress whirling wide from her speed. Curly and John jerked into awareness, leaping into the air to shout queries. Michael started from his basket and began to wail.
The Twins turned, once again in sync with each other, and leapt upon Curly and John. They pinned the two boys to the wall, smiling blank smiles as the two Lost Boys shouted at them angrily.
"I say!" John snapped, trying to pry the white Twin's hands from his shoulders. "Just what is the meaning of—"
Curly screeched. Something black and ugly was crawling its way out from under the light Twin's shirt, and he saw it creeping towards John. The dark Twin grabbed Curly by the throat to shut him up, and smacked his head against the wall.
"Twins!" Wendy cried, rushing towards them to help her brother. She skidded to a stop as the slug that had been hiding in the white Twin's shirt shoved its pulsing, bloated body onto John's shoulder, effectively taking the boy captive. Her eyes darted to Curly to see another slug, which had somehow snuck in from one of the tree house's entrances, drop onto Curly's head with a sickening plop.
All four boys, now slaves, looked at her. Wendy gasped as they all began to smile blankly. From his place in the basket, Michael called,
"Wendy?"
"Get out of here, Michael!" Wendy cried out, right before the Lost Boys pounced upon her and pushed her to the ground.
"Wendy!" Michael squealed, lifting up from his bed to fly towards his sister. "Hey! Leave her alone!" John's hand lashed out, snatching Michael from the air. The boy shrieked. "John!"
It didn't take long before it was all over. For some reason Wendy was left with a free mind, though she was swiftly tied up with rope from around the house. She cried and protested to the boys, not being able to understand just what exactly was going on. The boys, however, gave no answer.
As she was dragged away, something began to nag at the back of her mind. Something was missing…
Lady Luck must have been in the Underground House that night, for Tootles, still in the corner, had seen the whole thing. But ahh, cautious Tootles hadn't stepped forward and of the children in the house that night, only he remained of free mind.
He didn't know whether he ought to feel ashamed or pleased with himself. As it was, when the tree house fell silent and not even a cricket chirped, Tootles fled, sobbing, into the night.
A loud snarl bounced through the clearing as bushes at the base of a small, stony hill rattled angrily. Chunks of twigs and leaves flew wildly about as a hulking figure burst out of a hidden crevice, waving its arms and throwing pieces of the poor shrubbery in all directions. It stomped and growled, head swinging heavily from side to side as it scanned the area.
"No enemy here," Honkers said, looking back towards the crevice. "Brother can come out now."
An ugly face peeped out of the darkness. Shankers stared around mistrustfully, his face a mask of woe. "Is brother sure?"
"Brother is positive," Honkers snapped back. "Stupid twin come here now! Must go quickly."
Shankers frowned. "If safe then why brother say hurry?"
"Because stupid twin do what brother says and brother says we must go now!" Honkers almost roared as he snapped his hand out and grabbed the scrawny troll's ear. He began dragging Shankers into the woods, unmindful of his brother's whines and yelps of pain as his ear was continually yanked upon.
They didn't get very far before a low growl rumbled from somewhere nearby. Honkers paused, canting his head to the side. His brow drew together and a scowl swept across his face as he turned to stare at Shankers, who was trying to wear an innocent look. The odd growl came again; Honkers scowled some more and Shankers looked apologetic.
"Sorry," Shankers said meekly. "Me hungry."
"Brother always hungry," Honkers retorted. "When was last twin ate?"
"Ate baby moose when sun went up," the smaller of the two said. He rubbed his stomach as it started growling again. "Am hungry again."
Honkers sighed. "Stupid twin spend all day in treasury, talking to self. Why stupid twin not come home for dinner? Would not be hungry now."
"Home?" Shankers' eyes began filling with tears. "Home gone now. Home gone…"
Realizing that at any second his brother was about to burst into loud, wailing sobs (and not wanting to draw the enemy's attention if he did), Honkers tugged on Shankers' ear again, albeit more gently. "Dumb twin hungry, so brother find dumb twin food. Come. Think about home later, after brother smash heads."
"Mumsy…" Shankers sniffed. "Mumsy make good food…"
"Well, stupid twin must deal with brother's cooking now." He began walking, then turned to look back. "Hurry up, if twin so damned hungry."
"Is!" Shankers said hotly as he followed Honkers. "What brother think he find? Spirit-sword say everything gone yucky."
"Spirit-sword…pah!" Honkers snorted derisively. "Brother and spirit-sword, should marry each other. Brother find something for stupid twin to eat. Have no faith in brother?"
"Have faith in brother," Shankers said quietly as they continued walking into the shadows of the woods. "Just not have faith in Neverland no more…"
Despite this lack of faith in the world around him, however, he put complete trust into his brother, whom he followed quickly so as not to lose him. Shankers had lost quite enough as it was, in his own simple-minded opinion.
Above them the skies continued to broil, around them the trees moaned softly, whispering to each other of dark things. Not an animal or bird was in sight and, for some reason the scrawny troll couldn't explain, he was rather glad for it. Though his belly growled for fresh food (preferably a large animal with a lot of meat or, even better, a human), the sense of foreboding he felt couldn't be ignored.
There had been many times in Shankers' life that he wished he wasn't a troll. That was part of the reason his year-mates shunned him. Growing up, Shankers had often imaged he was another type of creature; a bird that could fly, or a bear that could sleep all winter long. At one point he wished he were a tea-pot, though nobody had known why. He had once even imagined himself as a human, but when Honkers found out about that he had thumped Shankers over the head hard enough to knock him unconscious.
Even though at times Honkers mistreated his brother, Shankers felt he had his best interests at heart (though not in so many words). Though he didn't understand why it was such a bad thing to wish to be human, he trusted Honkers' judgement when he was snarled at not to tell anyone of this fancy. Honkers always did know more about what was good and bad for them than Shankers did, so the smaller of the two did as he was told until he forgot. Thankfully, though, he didn't forget that warning.
Something about the way Honkers had said, "Tell no one, brother! Stupid twin not know consequences!" had struck the moronic troll to the core. Something about it had felt almost dangerous. For years he tried to figure it out, and even though he didn't realize it, he had come upon the answer a number of times.
He was a troll. Trolls eat humans. And if Shankers were to have voiced his fancy to his brood, they would have set upon him in a fury, as differences weren't well accepted amongst the troll's species.
This was one of those times Shankers wished he and his brother were human. The tramping of their heavy feet seemed far too loud in the grimly woods, the heavy breaths his brother took seemed to echo, and he knew that their size would be a disadvantage if they were spotted by enemies. They couldn't hide behind a rock or a tree, or vanish into the mist like fairies.
So lost was the young troll in his thoughts (as senseless as they sometimes were), he didn't notice when Honkers abruptly stopped, and ended up slamming into his brother's back. He was surprised when Honkers didn't yell at him and smack him over the head; then he noticed his brother's stance. Shankers' ears pricked up.
Honkers stood tense, eyes widened and pupils dilated. His nostrils flared as he sniffed the air, and his ears wiggled about as he listened. Then one eye rolled in Shankers' direction, and a wicked smile played at Honkers' face.
"Brother hungry?" he whispered.
Shankers nodded.
"Then follow brother, quiet-like." And so saying, Honkers set off into the darkness.
Pausing only for the briefest of moments to wonder what his brother was after, Shankers quickly followed suit, padding as softly as possible through the underbrush and between trees. Soon he came to a clearing, and looking around, noticed Honkers' bulk hunched behind a tree. Shankers slipped close, poking his brother on the arm.
"What brother find?" he asked.
"Food," was Honkers' reply.
Frowning, Shankers looked in the direction his brother's eyes were locked on. He blinked in surprise.
A human, between six or eight years old, lay curled up against a rock, crying. He had a panda cap on his head and brown overalls. He looked awfully lonely.
"He not look like food to me," Shankers whispered, looking towards his brother. To his even greater surprise, Honkers was gone. The troll glanced around frantically for a moment, before he spotted Honkers moving towards the human boy. He squawked. "Brother! What doing?"
The human looked up just as Honkers' giant hand came down to scoop him up, and he let out a wailing cry as the huge troll turned to his brother, grinning triumphantly. "Food," he said simply.
The boy continued to cry. Shankers stared at him. "What is it?"
"It food," Honkers said, starting to get annoyed.
"It look like man-cub but has furry ears." Shankers scratched his head. The human continued to cry and the troll felt a strange twinge in his heart. "Why its face raining?"
Honkers scowled. "Who care? Brother eat!" and he thrust the boy towards his brother in an attempt to get Shankers to take it and eat it.
Shankers took the child, but didn't eat it. "Why you raining?" he asked.
The boy sniffled, looking up at the troll with tear-streaked cheeks and glistening eyes. "W-Wendy is gone!"
"Who W-Wendy?"
"Mother Wendy! Monsters came and…and they made my friends take her!" Trembling in Shankers' grasp, the boy, Tootles, felt his lip quivering. "Are…are you going to eat me?" he whispered.
Shankers' lip also began to quiver. "You…lost your Mumsy too?"
Tootles nodded sadly through his tears. "You…won't eat me, will you?"
Honkers had, by this point, had enough. "Stupid twin!" he snapped, causing Shankers to jump in surprise at the sudden harsh tone. "Brother find and get stupid twin food and stupid twin not eat it!"
Shankers whined. "It lost its Mumsy too…" His jaw stuck out firmly all of a sudden. "Not eat man-cub! NOT EAT IT!" And with that, he clutched Tootles protectively to his chest. "It lost its Mumsy! Me not eat! Me lost Mumsy!" Tears began filling his eyes again and Honkers had to restrain himself from punching his brother's lights out.
"Stupid, stupid twin!" Honkers said harshly, though he seemed a bit taken aback. He stomped his foot, then scowled. "Fine! Keep man-cub! It too shrimpy to eat anyway. Me not care!"
"Good!" Shankers snapped back, sniffling. "Me make man-cub troll brother! Me feed him and take good-good care of him!" In the troll's arms, Tootles could only stare up at Shankers in awe, not completely understanding what was going on.
"You aren't going to eat me?" he asked timidly.
"No, no," Shankers crooned. "Me make you ornerary troll brother! Troll not eat kin; man-cub now kin to brother Honkers and Shankers!"
"Honkers…Shankers?" Tootles looked from one troll to the other, blinking. Honkers was still scowling, his arms crossed. Shankers was grinning. "Those are your names?"
"Yes-yes!" said Shankers gleefully. "What your name?"
Tootles finally smiled a little. "My name is Tootles."
"PAH!" Honkers snorted. "Shit name for troll kin," he muttered. Then, looking more closely at Tootles, "Too damn small to be troll kin!"
"Me not littlest troll no more!" Shankers squealed. "Toot-less is Shankers littlest brother now!"
Staring at his brother as he danced (for lack of a better word) around and swinging Tootles into the air, Honkers felt a little put-out. Jealous, even. Here he was, the big strong brother, and his twin – who was supposed to be looking up to him and paying attention to him – was completely preoccupied with some little man-cub thing that had, through sheer luck or coincidence, managed to become a named troll kin.
But then, Honkers thought to himself as he watched his brother laugh and tickle this Toot-less creature, if it keeps him happy then who's to say naming it troll kin was such a bad thing?
Hook was beyond vexation at this point.
His pacing had come to naught, his roaring at the men had been no different, and the fact that Pan still hadn't awakened from a mysterious near-death slumber was causing him to fantasize about crawling up the walls in fury. Behind the thudding of his boots on hardwood, he could hear Smee wringing out another damp cloth to wipe Peter's forehead with, the man muttering small assurances to the unconscious youth as though Pan could hear him.
For all Hook knew, the boy could. But being the brat he was, he may very well be ignoring Smee and playing some stupid dream-game in his head. That thought made Hook growl, inwardly and outwardly.
"Smee!" he shouted. "Has that infernal hellion still not awakened?"
Smee looked up from where Peter lay on Hook's bed – something else the captain really wasn't pleased about – and shook his head. "Nay, Cap'n Hook sir, he's out as a broken lantern e' is."
"What in the name of the Bard is going on?" Hook snarled, mostly to himself. The skies had calmed a bit since they brought Pan into his cabin, but the seas hadn't. The mermaids that had survived the Croc's earlier attack now swam in vulture-esque circles around the ship, gnashing their teeth and cat-calling the crew to come down for a bite to eat. Several of them had even tried climbing up the Jolly Roger's sides, but had quickly been beaten down with spears and – thanks to Mason's ingenious idea – dumping the remnants of the previous night's dinner upon their heads, effectively taking them out.
The men themselves were growing uneasy with every second that ticked by. Hook could hear them muttering to themselves about dark times and evil – well, Mullins was and half the men had to agree with him, considering the circumstances – as they sharpened their swords and waited for the next bit of excitement. He also heard talk of his gunner, Bill Jukes, and Hook himself had to agree that he was concerned for the fate of the boy.
Not because he liked him, per se, but the lad was a fine gunner – if a bit over the top head-wise – and he would hate to lose a valuable crew member.
Of all of them, Smee was the only one who remained calm. The eye of a storm was Smee, who continued to see to Pan's well-being and remaining as blissfully ignorant of everything else as he could. Which wasn't really all that hard, Hook thought with a snort. This was Smee he was talking about.
Smee's calm demeanor and patience were the only things keeping Hook from snapping at this point. If the bosun – a stupid, bumbling fool – could be calm and unaffected at times like this, then why couldn't he, James Hook, do the same? He could, but seeing Pan lying there in his bed, dead to the world and vulnerable, was making his hook itch something fierce. But to kill the boy like that wasn't really his plan. He wanted to kill the boy in a duel, one on one, when they were both at their best. And now was not the time.
"Cap'n, sir," Smee said suddenly, quietly. "Th' lad's wakin' up."
Hook's eyes widened, and then narrowed maliciously. Swift as a cat the captain was at Smee's side, staring down at Peter as the youth's eyes fluttered briefly, and his lips moved.
"Pan," Hook growled. "Wake up."
Peter moaned softly, his brow creasing as he struggled to open his eyes. His fingers twitched a bit, and beneath dark eyelashes both pirates could see a dark shade of red where white ought to have been. Hook frowned.
"Pan!" he repeated, more harshly. "Open your eyes, you lily-livered backwater scum infestation! Open those blasted orbs before I cut them out of you and use them as bullets!"
"Cap'n Hook sir," Smee said cautiously. "I think there be somethin wrong w' the lad's eyeballies." And so saying, his thumb and forefinger pried open one of Peter's eyelids.
Hook stared in shock as he was met with the sight of exploded veins and crusted blood. Where once was white, was now a deep, ugly red. Splotches of broken vessels dotted the boy's eyes as a fat droplet of crimson liquid squeezed out and dribbled slowly down his face.
"Odds, bobs, hammer and tongs!" Hook hissed.
"C-Codfish?" Peter's lips moved, crusted blood snapping and falling away. "…you?" His body shifted a bit and he moaned softly in pain. Smee took his fingers from the boy's eye as the lids quivered and opened, one eye a mirror of the other – busted, bloody and blind.
"Yes, it is I, Pan," Hook replied after a moment. He seemed stuck for words as he stared down at his worst enemy, unsure of what to make of this.
"Wh'm I doin 'ere?" Peter slurred as Hook's voice registered in his mind – about ten seconds after he had spoken.
"Ach, he's soundin a bit Irish ta me, 'e'll be fine." Smee said brightly. Hook resisted the urge to smack him.
"You fell from the sky several hours ago, Pan," Hook said, realizing Peter's injuries had robbed him of recent memory. "Smee has been in charge of your recovery."
"Fell…?" Peter blinked again, his brow creasing further. "'Fish?"
Hook scowled at the name. "What, Pan?"
"I can't see…"
"Well, a'seein' that yer eyes are all full o' blood, lad, 'tis no wonder!" Smee said, wringing out another cloth and wiping Peter's face with it. The boy jerked back, hissing.
"Wha…!"
"The blood vessels in your eyes seem to have exploded and left quite a mess, Pan," Hook said, glaring at Smee. "However, it may look worse than it already is. Smee?"
"Aye, Cap'n Hook sir," the bosun said cheerfully. "'Tis nothin that can nay be fixed with some time an' healin. Just keeping yer eyes clear of dirt and dust bunnies, laddie, and ye should fix up again soon." He wiped Peter's face with the cloth, clearing away some more dirt and fresh blood that fell like tears down his cheeks. "Or ye can get yer pixie friend ta cast one o' them spells she's got and fix ya sooner n' that." He glanced up at Hook. "When d'ye think the Lost Boy an the pixie are gonna show up, Cap'n?"
"It had better be soon, Smee," Hook retorted. "My patience is running thin and I gave that brat ample warning."
Peter began to tremble ever so slightly. "Where…where did he go?"
Smee blinked. "Who now, laddie?"
"Him."
Hook's eyes narrowed. "What cozening is this? Pan, what in the blazes are you talking about?"
"Him," Peter repeated, his voice lowering to a hiss. "The monster."
"What monster, boy?" Hook pressed.
"The one that's killing Neverland…the one that's killing me."