Chapter 114: Heal What Has Been Hurt

Sarah Hawkins watched the moon. An eternity passed as it crawled through the sunset and over the Wishing Star, dragging nighttime behind it. Moonbeams checkered the hallway. And a silver gleam buttered the nurse's office door. The closed door. The door withholding parents from their children.

Sarah did not move. She hardly breathed. Parents shifted around her, pacing, sighing, frowning, and crying before breaking away. It was too much. They couldn't stand to wait. They could not suffer the insanity of waiting.

But Sarah could. She could wait. She could wait in this cold, icy hallway. She could wait while parents left wearily for a cup of comfort and coffee. She could wait. After all, she had been waiting for years.

Sarah stared at the moon. Waiting. It was ironic – she used to be like Jim. Almost exactly. Impatient with the pace of the world and restless as the wind. One foot out the door and middle finger in the air, Sarah had been ready to rattle the stars and throttle any challenge that came in her way.

Then…she met a boy. A boy from the Otherland. A boy irascible with authority and wide eyed with the world as she. A boy that was wild as the ocean, cocky to a fault, and very, very handsome.

Sinbad. Sailor of the Seven Seas. Outcast of the Otherland. Lover. Husband. Betrayer.

Sarah looked into the moon. She loved Sinbad the moment they met. The very moment – like magic. She loved him because he ran ahead of the crowd and for the horizon. She loved him because he could bring her adventure. She loved him because he wanted to be her hero. She loved him for his good. She loved him for his bad. She loved him effortlessly and unconditionally.

And when he kidnapped her, brought her out to sea, knelt down, and asked for her hand in marriage…she told Sinbad yes. And…disappeared into the aquamarine.

She'd only been sixteen. But, she had not questioned. She had not thought. She only acted in defense of love.

Then. She had a child. A baby boy. Jim. And just like that – one, two, three snap! – it all ended. No more thrills. No more unknowns. No more chasing the horizons. No more adventures. No more.

Sarah ended it. She ended it all. But because her child was Sinbad's, Sarah was not scared. She was happy. Deliriously. Because all her life there was one thing Sarah wanted more than the adventure.

She wanted a family.

But Sinbad…did not. He left. He left without looking back. He left…leaving her with one reason to live.

Sarah blinked. And looking into the moon, she realized she was crying.

"Oh my God." Sarah touched her cheeks. Tears wet her fingers. She started to shake. "Oh my God. Please. Please let him be all right. I can't lose him. I can't! I can't! Jim…Jim…Jim…"

"Mom."

Sarah turned. And before she could dry her tears to see, Jim was there, hugging her with all his might.

Mickey and Dr. Sweet smiled as Sarah laughed and cried through her bewilderment. Mickey allowed them the longest moment he could, but the night was fast escaping. Time was running out.

"Mrs. Hawkins. Sarah. Jim. Really, we are sorry. But Dr. Sweet and I need you both. Tonight. Mrs. Hawkins – if you'll go with Dr. Sweet? And Jim, if you'll come with me?"

Sarah held Jim's shoulder. "Headmaster. Not now. Jim's hand. It's still hurt. He needs rest. And I – "

"—Sarah. I understand. I do. Jim's hand will always have that scar. Red as wet blood." Mickey leaned forward, speaking before Sarah could protest. "But…George Darling is dead. And there is a little boy inside…that doesn't understand."

Sarah gasped. "Dead? Oh. Oh my…how could – who is it? John? Michael?"

"The youngest." Dr. Sweet looked painfully at the door. "Michael. He just woke up. Upset. Scared. John and Wendy are still unconscious – "

Jim flinched. Mickey noticed, but remained silent as Dr. Sweet spoke.

"— but John's meds will kick in soon. He'll be up any second and...well." Dr. Sweet laid a hand on the door. He gestured to Sarah. "You know those kids, right? Pretty well?"

Squeezing Jim's shoulder, Sarah nodded.

Dr. Sweet sighed. "Sarah, they need a parent. An adult. Someone strong. And with Wendy out…" Dr. Sweet pushed open the door. Tired and overwhelmed he gazed at Sarah."…they need a mom. And I need a another pair of hands. Could you do that?"

Sarah nodded. Brushing Jim's bangs, she crossed the hall. "I'll be here Jim. I'll be right in here if you need me."

"Oh he's coming back." Dr. Sweet assured. Stepping aside, he spoke at Jim over Sarah's head. "Still want to monitor some nasty cuts on the head and stomach. And…that hand."

Rummaging through his white coat for stethoscope and disinfectant, Dr. Sweet glared at Jim. "Gotta take care of it. So just hear what Headmaster Mickey has to say then get right back to sick bay. That hand's been cursed and I don't want your fingers falling off. Okay Sarah…this way."

Jim stiffened. Clutching his right hand, he turned to Headmaster Mickey. "Fall off? Was that a joke?"

Headmaster Mickey did not answer. He regarded Jim solemnly, almost… distrustfully.

"Well?" Jim demanded, panicked by the headmaster's silence. "Was it or not? I can't lose a hand – I'd rather lose both legs."

Headmaster Mickey was silent. Then, watching Jim fist his palm, he held up his own hand. The white glove glowed in the moonlight. "Hand up."

Jim obeyed. The scar practically screamed cherry red off his hand. The incision puckered his skin, pulling his fingers slightly inward. It hurt, but Jim stretched the fingers straight, concentrating on Mickey.

Headmaster Mickey flexed his wrist. "Bend your wrist. Back and forth."

Jim did it. No pain. No problems. He looked at Headmaster Mickey.

Mickey gave no indication of satisfaction or displeasure. Eyes never leaving the red scar, he continued to demonstrate the hand motions while Jim mimicked. "Now chop your wrist side to side – like a windshield wiper. Now oppose your fingers. Oppose – as in opposition. That means touch the tip of each finger to your thumb. Fast. Right in a row. Now splay your fingers. Now palm up. Now palm down. Now…"

Headmaster Mickey stepped forward. Jim jumped, having not been paying attention to keep up with the headmaster's orders.

"Hold my three fingers in both hands." Headmaster Mickey lifted both hands, one for each of Jim's. "And squeeze. As tight as you can."

Doubtfully Jim took the headmaster's three fingers. He squeezed. Hard. Then…

"OW! Shit!"

Jim lashed back. He seized the right hand. "Shit! That hurt!"

Headmaster Mickey looked at him calmly. "What did you feel?"

Jim shook the right hand, trying to stop the pain. "Burning. A burn! Like a hot pins up my arm and behind my ear. Shit!"

He turned to Headmaster Mickey, massaging the hand and waiting for an explanation. "Well? What does that mean?"

Headmaster Mickey looked. His eyes flickered to the red scar. "It would appear…that your hand is working exactly as it should." Gravely, Mickey passed Jim, striding into the dark hallway. "For a pirate."

Jim froze. It was as if Headmaster Mickey slapped him.

"Hey." He said, turning into the hallway. Anger rising, he ran after the little headmaster. "Hey! Hold it! Hold it one fu – "

"— If you have something to say." Headmaster Mickey interrupted, an edge in his soft voice. "Please keep your voice down. After all…your classmates are trying to heal."

Jim swerved in front. "If I have something to say? You're the one calling me a pirate – "

"—you're the one with Captain Hook's mark." Headmaster Mickey returned coolly. "The brand of a pirate."

"Are you kidding me?" Jim held up his hand. "It's called torture!"

Headmaster Mickey paused. Snow glittered behind his stern eyes. "How do I know you are telling the truth?"

Jim started to shout. Then, catching himself, he lowered the hand. The scar was blood red against his skin. "I get it. You don't."

Headmaster Mickey gazed into Jim's glower. Painfully he sighed. "Walk with me, Jim."

Jim did not immediately follow. It was only when Headmaster Mickey called back, "You've been vouched for." did he ensue.

"Vouched?" Jim rubbed the scar. Striding beside Headmaster Mickey, he glanced down. "By who?"

Headmaster Mickey stared ahead. Rounding a corner, he lead Jim down a flight of icy steps. "Mulan. Merida. Robin. Rapunzel. Flynn. Peter."

"Pan?"

"Yes."

Jim raised an eyebrow. "Anyone else?" he asked, still dubious to the last.

Headmaster Mickey eased down the last step. Across the main hallway, Olaf was skating to an irresistibly upbeat tune. Heading for a second stairwell, he answered gently. "Mr. Silver."

Jim stopped. Darkly, he followed Mickey. "No wonder you were suspicious. Headmaster, I – "

"You fought bravely. You took control of the danger and custody of your friends, with a clear head and giving heart. You learned that there is great power in giving orders, but also in trusting others to fight the battles you cannot. You have suffered. You have sacrificed. You have loved. You have lived. And you will feel the repercussions of all these things for the rest of your life."

Jim was struck. Abashed, he descended the steps as Headmaster Mickey spoke.

"But…" Tiny icicles broke as Headmaster Mickey slid his hand down the railing. "…that does not change the fact that you wear the pirate's brand. And – as you are aware – I have been fooled before. Mr. Silver was cafeteria cook for years. Years. And because I was trusting…"

Headmaster Mickey paused. He looked at Jim. "I cannot ever, fully trust you. Do you understand?"

Jim stared. He felt like he was freezing into the snow. Heavily, he sunk onto the bottom step.

"Yeah." he whispered, fisting his palm. Heart aching, he thought of Wendy. "Yeah. I do."

Headmaster Mickey sighed. Just as wearily, he joined Jim. "I don't know what happened to you Jim. And I know I never will. But…"

Lightly, Headmaster Mickey blew an icy breath. Snowflakes swirled as he spoke. "…but I know that you are scared much deeper than the one on your hand. And it will re-open, every time someone doubts you. Hates you. Calls you a pirate. Sees that mark on your hand."

Jim flexed his fingers. Slowly. Back and forth. A bee sting prickled up his wrist. "Why did it hurt? When I gripped?"

Headmaster Mickey scraped his foot across the snow. "What do pirates fight with?"

"Swords. Guns."

"And how does a pirate handle those weapons?"

Jim lifted his head. He understood. "Gripping."

Headmaster Mickey nodded. "Yup. It's part of the curse. A reminder, so to speak, from Captain Hook to his crew. Whenever they fight, they feel the sting. It's very much like whipping a horse. You whip the horse. The horse feels pain. The brain roars into flight or fight. The horse runs faster. Same with a pirate fighting a battle."

Jim rotated his wrist. "That happens…forever? Even with Hook dead?"

Headmaster Mickey scoffed. "I very much doubt Captain Hook is dead. True – he was capsized under the ocean and into the whirlpool. But…" a sardonic glower pulled Mickey's brows. "...magic is tricky. And black magic is trickier. All we can do is wait and see. But, as for your hand…"

Ignoring the horror in Jim's face, Mickey gesterured to his red scar. "Yes. As far as I know…you will feel that forever. Unless the magic can be reversed, but reversing magic can be dangerous. Very dangerous. Wouldn't recommend it. However, it is interesting – typically the pirate mark is placed on the left hand. To coincide with Captain Hook's hook. But…your scar is on the right hand."

"Is that good?"

Headmaster Mickey shrugged. "Just interesting. Different. Regardless – still the mark of Captain Hook's pirate crew."

Jim scowled. He clenched his fist, as if to disprove Mickey's theory. Wincing, he cursed as the pain radiated up his arm.

"A hand for a hand. The stinging grip. Boy oh boy." Headmaster Mickey's nose twitched. "It's actually brilliant. In a sick, twisted, dark way. Hook knew all the tricks. Did the same thing with rum – fed it to his crew. Made them wild, fearless, violent…"

Jim rubbed his palm. "Is that what happened to…Wen's – I mean…" Jim cleared his throat. "…George Darling?"

Headmaster Mickey stared at Jim. Then he nodded. "Yes. I believe so. Wendy has not woken, but Mr. Pan's report points to that. Magic rum. Mixed with a broken heart. Lethal combination."

"Is she okay?" Jim asked abruptly. His voice skipped. His hands shook. He turned, trying to hide his fear. "Wen?"

Again, Headmaster Mickey stared. "I'm not sure what you mean." he finally said.

Jim turned. Mickey met him with a penetrating gaze. It was…haunting.

"Forget it." Jim glared. Snowflakes glittered across his gaze. "Forget it. Okay. So why'd you want to talk?"

Mickey tilted his head. "Do you have the map? Billy Bone's map?"

"No. Why?"

"It appears to have vanished."

Jim crunched his brain, trying to remember. "I…lost it in the whirlpool. When I…" suddenly Jim turned. "How did I survive? The whirlpool?"

Headmaster Mickey smiled. "That's the other thing I wanted to see you about. Your hand okay?"

Perplexed, Jim frowned. Nevertheless, he drummed his fingers in air. "Other than the burn. Yeah. Why?"

Headmaster Mickey stood. Pointing, he nodded at an icy, broken doorframe. "I think you'll find everything you need in there."

Jim turned. The doorframe was smashed. Iced. And…guarded.

Jim squinted. It was the kitchen cafeteria door.

Frustrated, he turned to Headmaster Mickey. "What –?"

He stopped. Headmaster Mickey was gone.

Jim shook his head. "One good mouse trap…." he muttered, ducking past the guards and into the kitchen.

It was grey. And it was cold. A herd of Lord Fergus' warriors watched Jim from the doorway as he picked through the broken dishes and utensils. Vaguely, Jim noticed the magical broom and bucket Headmaster Mickey had used to create the magical wall. They were shoved in a corner, dull and unexciting as a regular broom and bucket.

"Can't just tell me what to do…" Backing from the broom and bucket, Jim turned for the door. "…have to be mysterious. Can't anyone be blunt?"

"JIMMY!"

Jim stopped. "Oh no."

"JIM!"

Two lime green eyes slammed into his chest. Jim staggered. B.E.N.

"B.E.N.! B.E.N! Come on –" Hopping over bent cutlery, Jim twisted against the robot. "B.E.N!"

"I know! I know! I know you don't like touching!" B.E.N. sang, strangling Jim's stomach with glee. "But get ready for a hug, big guy, 'cause l gotta hug ya!"

"B.E.N!" Jim careened backwards as the guards laughed. "B.E.N.! Whoa!"

Dishes and pots rolled as Jim and B.E.N. crashed. Pushing upright, Jim massaged his head. He'd hit something long and hard. "Okay, B.E.N., okay. I'm happy to see you alive too."

B.E.N. nearly fainted with joy. "Really?"

"Yeah." Sitting up, Jim shook his head. Remembering how B.E.N had saved Michael Darling from the pirate ship, he half smiled at the robot. "Yeah. Really. You did good back there. At the battle. And you got me out of the Underworld. Thanks."

Oily tears eeked from B.E.N.'s pixel eyes. Heaving twice, he sniffled back the tears. "Oh I promised myself I would cry! Gah!"

Jim smiled. Shaking his head, he rose on one knee. "Nutty robot. Okay B.E.N., what's up with the guarded…door…Morph?"

Jim leaned. Morph peeked back from B.E.N.'s copper skull. His pink globs shivered as Jim extended his hand.

"Morph! Morph, you're alive! Come here. Come on boy." Cradling Morph against elbow, Jim stroked the shivering little creature. "What are you doing down here in the…cold…"

Suddenly Jim saw it. Behind B.E.N., locked behind magical iron bars, was a frozen block of man and metal.

Long John Silver.

Jim stared. Snowflakes drifted over his eyes, silent as ghosts. Rigidly, Jim walked to the bars. Stiff as stone, he stared inside the ice prison.

The cyborg had been dumped inside like metal scrap. Prosthetic parts had rolled away into crumpled corners. Gadgets and gears hung from his frozen flesh like bizarre metal parasites. And black, gritty oil smeared his eyes. Both the robotic and biological. The only indication that Silver was alive, was the dim tick…tick…tick…of a metal heart.

Finally Jim breathed. "What happened?"

Morph cried. Jim touched the bars as B.E.N. spoke. "Whirlpool. Water's murder to robots. His cyborg parts…" Sadly, B.E.N. touched the compass on his chest. "…didn't stand a chance."

Jim's chest was tight. He gripped the frozen bars. Pain burned down his fingers.

"He dead yet?"

B.E.N.'s eyes constricted. "Aren't…Jimmy…I thought…" Tentatively, B.E.N. leaned forward. "…aren't you gonna…save him?"

Jim thrashed. "Save? Save? I – I – "

Jim struck the bars. Violently. "I hope he dies!" Attacking the bars, Jim clenched until his hands burned and head screamed. "I hope he dies! DIES! Do you hear me? DO YOU? I HOPE HE…he…he…"

Slowly, Jim sunk. Forehead on the bars, he sobbed. Because, despite the hurt and despite the hate…he knew none of it was true.

Then, a voice, one he did not recognize, whispered in his ear.

"You were worth it. For Silver. This future. Was worth it. For you."

Jim turned. He looked.

No one was there.

Had he imagined it?

Again, Jim turned. He stared through the icy bars. He stared at the broken cyborg.

Did…did it matter?

"B.E.N.?"

Eagerly B.E.N. looked up. "Yes?" he asked, squeezing Morph anxiously. "What is it Jimmy?"

Jim wiped icy tears from his cheeks. "Think you can still get spare parts from the Underworld? Through the magical oven?"

It was all B.E.N. and Morph could do to not explode into fireworks. "Aye! Aye! Capn' Jimmy! Aye! Aye! Spare parts for a cyborg! Here we come!"

Jim nodded. Heart heavy, he headed into the prison…and knelt at the cyborg's side.

And through the night, he hammered and healed.

Hammered and healed Silver…and his soul.

sultal's note: split this chapter into 2 - next chpt will again be Jim.

And as for Sarah - wanted to give her a little history. I think that if I were to play any character (if TF was made a movie) it would prob be Sarah (adding years to my age). So, I take it back - if I could play a young Sarah Hawkins, I would. Anyway...#SarahHawkinsneedsmorelove.