AN: Everyone's reviews were really, really, lovely. Thank you so much. I guess this chapter is partially your fault :P
It really was supposed to be a one shot, but well… this kind of wouldn't leave me alone. I'll keep the overall thing set as complete… but I'm not ruling out the possibility of other chapters popping up… Sorry I can't be more informative than that… Anyway, I hope you enjoy this other little creepy look at Pan :P
~O~
Hmm. It seemed he really hadn't thought this through.
Henry's unwillingness to cooperate, while fun and breath taking in its innocence, was mildly irritating. It shouldn't have been; the time it would take to sway the boy's loyalties would be insignificant in the greater scheme of things. Time was ever so fluid and infinite—yet something about him, the resistance boiling behind dark irises so reminiscent of another, burrowed its way deep under Pans skin. The need to lash out, to use older—tried and tested—methods, to sway the youngsters mind was almost tangible. He could almost taste the fear he could inspire.
Years previous Pan had brought the very Dark One to his knees, and once again even more recently with little more than a child's toy to remind the old man of his place; knelt in the dirt at Pans feet.
But Henry was different; breaking him would serve little purpose. He didn't need any more broken toys—though the downward spiral, exquisite in its destructive glory, was almost too tantalising to resist. Pan could almost picture the boy's eyes as the obscene sparkle diminished with each passing day, as Neverland latched onto the bright shining beacon of light and sucked it dry.
He forcefully shook his head. No, no matter how tempting—he had other plans for dear Henry… what's the point in extinguishing a fire, if its warmth only serves to remind you how cold and gloomy and hopeless the darkness can really be. After all, it is the shadows that inspire terror… or so Pan would presume, shadows had long been simply an extra reflection to him; exposing the side watery mirrors couldn't quite seem to capture.
So instead of indulging in childish whims; urges to tease, and taunt and hurt and break, he turned to his other interest. Relishing in the unexpected spikes of pleasure that surfaced each time one of his lost boys reported her movements, or mentioned her name, or even when—in the moments just before dawn—the island; free of most distractions, fell silent, each movement diluted by sleep—he could feel her. Clear as day, and as intoxicating as their first encounter.
A quick glance; no one was around. He leant forwards, out over the rippling surface, eyes glued to the smooth skin at his throat. Only his unnatural balance kept him from face-planting the water as he stretched further, lowering his face as he inspected his doppelgänger. A wave of disappointment swelled within him. His encounter with Emma was so vivid and fresh in his mind—yet his body no longer held any physical reminder. The cut—barely more than a scratch, the more realistic part of his mind added—had enthralled him for days.
It had been so long since he'd had any tangible proof of his mortality and as such, the line, pink and hardly visible held a perverse sort of fascination. Fingertips brushed the skin, no longer marred with an imperfection… perhaps he should have plucked at the skin as it attempted to heal, delaying the process—prolonging the exquisite itch; the constant reminder. Maybe, had the thought arisen sooner he could have picked and itched long enough to guaranty a scar, a line so thin and undetectable it would have been a secret all of his own.
Not that he lacked for want of secrets, but this could have been one on display, further heightening the high as he wore it for the world to see. Would anyone have even noticed? Idly he pondered whether his lost boys would say anything even had the mark drawn their gaze—they certainly hadn't commented when he returned, more roughed up than he ever allowed them to view him, fingers probing… stroking… remembering.
The boy had noticed, he hadn't said anything, but the way his eyes danced, pride and knowing glittering in those depths…
Peter had of course retaliated, relaxing his shoulders, arching his neck almost obscenely, a nail tracing the mark and exhaling. Henry's look of confusion had felt a lot like collecting a vial of fairy dust. It felt like winning.
But now the mark was gone, and all he could think about was how to obtain another… something more permanent; a mark with intent. He wanted her. He wanted to be the complete focus of her world, even if it was just for a few precious seconds, as rage—white hot and consuming—shoved all thoughts of family, and love and Henry straight out of her head. He wanted to feel the icy kiss of her blade again, for her to want to hurt him the way he ached to break her. This time it wouldn't be enough to simply have the blade at his throat, the sting caused by his own smugness as he smirked and taunted and pressed back into the knife.
This time he'd get her to spill blood, his blood, as her deliciously concealed fury—at him, at the world, at herself—caused her to forget her restraint, nudging her into a spectacular free fall into the darkness…into the shadows.
"Boy's." He drawled quietly, no need to raise his voice. All those who were lost were his and they would come when he called. "I'm in need of entertainment."
Their answering grins, dark and full of promise as they assembled around him, quickened his blood. He had found them, he had made them. "Let's test out our foes."
~O~
Separating them was easy, hardly worth mentioning as the ex-queen and the star crossed lovers stumbled off after their own separate forms of torment—oblivious to the frantic cries of the poor little lost girl as she hesitated; eyes darting between their separate paths.
Who to follow? He crooned in her ear, the wind carrying his vicious message for her and her alone. The ex-queen…? The Charming Prince…? Or the fairest of them all…?
Almost immediately her expression hardened and she pivoted slightly on the spot, eyes darting up into the shadows until they rested confidently on him. The heat of her glare was like dragon fire, consuming and intimate in its intensity. His skin prickled as he dropped from his perch in the tree, bending at the knees to absorb the impact of the landing before straightening. He allowed a boyish grin to settle over his face. Let her see how pleased he was, let her see his confidence. She'd found him easily, even his boys couldn't spot him amongst the tree's—Neverland was his, he wasn't found unless he allowed it. Further proof that she was his—lost and hiding an inner darkness.
Time and time again she continued to show she was different, that she was worth his interest….now it was time to push her further. He leant backwards, arching against the tree, his posture casual, confident and unconcerned.
Briefly he flicked his eyes over the pirate. The man certainly didn't disappoint, he remained as alert and wary as he did years ago, when he'd fought tooth and nail to escape Neverland, and the games Pan played… but Peter didn't like how the pirate had edged closer to Emma, almost protectively. Pathetic, Emma didn't need protecting she needed to be challenged.
Pan raised an arm up above his head and rapped his knuckles back against the solid wood.
Instantly out of the foliage sprang the lost boys, with a pointed nod they worked to separate the two. A small group surrounded Emma, circling, keeping her from aiding the pirate as some of Pans more skilled boys subdued the man; abetted greatly by Neverlands tendency to draw the fighting spirit right out of those Pan felt unworthy of a fair fight. Pan ignored the scathing look the pirate sent his way.
When Pan was confident the pirate—thief—wasn't going anywhere, arms bound behind his back, eyes spitting fire and curses dancing on his lips, Peter turned his full attention on Emma—noting with pleasure, that her gaze; whilst weary remained locked on him and not the pirate. It felt a little like bit like victory.
He held up a hand, splaying his fingers, "Five minutes. Survive."
Her quizzical look faded as one of the boys stepped forwards, drawing a small sword; ironically similar to the blade Emma herself carried. He liked that she didn't hesitate as long as he'd thought she would before she drew her own sword, levelling it cautiously at the smaller boy before her. "Don't do it kid, I don't want to hurt you." She muttered, and he felt a surge of want at the way her eyes occasionally darted back to him, like she acknowledged he was the real danger here, and wanted him in her sights.
He donned one of his more charming smirks.
"But I will if I have to. Come on kid, don't be stupid." She continued, addressing the boy circling her. A valiant effort he supposed, but pointless.
The lost boy lunged and—
…hit the dirt?
Rolling his eyes, he signalled another, more experienced boy forwards. The fight lasted a little longer, but it seemed Emma was more experienced than he'd first imagined, and once again the boy ended up on the floor.
Intrigued Pan stalked forwards. It seemed without seriously—or really even injuring the boys at all, Emma had dropped them all in the dirt. Interesting. It was then, of course, that Pan caught the look in her eyes. The fire in his stomach roared to life. She was breathing hard, but stood confident, ready and waiting, her eyes alert but what drew his attention was the small glimmer of excitement. Whatever she said, whatever she told herself, all the lies and denials and masquerades, none of it mattered to Pan. He could see her; saw how when push came to shove part of her relished the feeling of empowerment gained by standing tall as your opponent stared up at you, utterly defeated.
Maybe she noticed. Perhaps she saw the way his eyes ran along her quivering limbs; trembling with adrenalin, or how he, himself, was poised on his toes, eyes bright and wide with a readiness to throw himself forwards, to test his own reflexes against hers.
She threw the sword down. "Five minutes are up." Confident and challenging, daring him to go back on his word…
He laughed, loud and exhilarated. Just being in her presence filled him with a buoyant energy he just couldn't quite find anywhere else…it was intoxicating. But she was right; she had lasted the full five minutes. Her competence at defending herself would need revisiting however; he flicked a glance at the pirate, preferably without a distraction.
"Boys," He called, grinning as they immediately broke the circle, whistling and whooping as they darted back into the forest.
"Hurry up and work out how the map works," he drawled, dancing a few steps closer to Emma, brushing through her almost palpable distaste.
"Oh yeah, why…?"
He leant closer until his skin blistered from the warmth of her, "So you'll know where to find me."
