Chapter 3 – What Have I Done?
“What have I done?” Hook whispered in horror. He looked at the blood on Peter’s face and chest, then at the blood on the tip of his hook. “I hurt you. I – I didn’t mean to hurt you…” but he knew that, however much he regretted it now, he had meant to hurt Peter. The hate and anger that had consumed him earlier was gone without a trace, as if it had never been. In its place was a sick guilt and self-loathing for what he had allowed himself to do.
“I… you need to be treated. You’re still sick. You’ll be better with some rest and medicine.” He realized that he was starting to panic and forced himself to calm down. I can’t trust myself around him. I will NOT hurt him anymore than I have already. Someone else needs to see to him. He laid Peter on the deck and covered his naked body with his cloak. He pulled it over Peter’s face to keep the rain from falling onto it.
Hook stumbled to the hatch and removed the bar that had held it shut. Warily, his men climbed out. They didn’t like the look in the captain’s eyes, and wondered what could have affected him so. They had heard the screams and shouts and dreaded what sights they might see.
Mason was the first to see the covered body. “Cap’n!” he gasped, “you killed Peter Pan?” The others followed Mason’s gaze and stared dumbstruck at the sight.
“No, Mason. He still breathes. He’s badly hurt. You and Smee, go to my quarters and find out what happened to Cookson. For his sake he had best be dead. The rest of you, tend to the boy. I want him to have proper care… anything he needs. He’ll not be resting in my quarters. Clean up the brig, have a lantern put in there, and make him something comfortable to sleep on,” Hook ordered and hobbled back to the wheel. His leg pained him, but he was content to wait until Smee was back before seeing to it.
Mullins walked to Peter and pulled back the cloak. He lifted the boy up and wrapped the cloak about him better, then carried him to the galley and laid him on the table. Jukes and Starkey followed him down. They unwrapped him, expecting to see broken bones, maybe even some claw wounds. They were relieved to see the damage was minimal, and would be relatively easy to care for.
“What happened to him?” Jukes wondered.
“Looks like the Cap’n smacked ‘im, throttled him pretty good, and gashed his chest. Awful lot of screamin’ fer so little wrong with ‘im,” Mullins replied. He looked thoughtful, then added, “Billy, go get the brig ready like the Cap’n said. Put up a hammock for ‘im to sleep in, but put a blanket in it fer ‘im to lay on. He’s still got a bit of fever, and layin’ in the rain sure ain’t helped it. He’ll prob’ly be in that sling fer a few days more recoverin’. Starkey, get me some water and a rag. Some towels too. I’ll keep an eye on ‘im in case he wakes up.”
The other two left to do what was needed, and Mullins stared at the boy thoughtfully. There’s something else goin’ on here. I’ve never seen the Cap’n look like that before. Looked like he’d done somethin’ he was ashamed of, and wouldn’t look at the boy when he told us what to do. What could he possibly have done that would make a man as cold as Hook feel guilty? Considering everything Hook had done with a smile, there wasn’t much that Mullins could conceive of that would be even a remote possibility. But there was one thing, and if it turned out to be what happened, Mullins was going to kill Hook. He didn’t care if it was Pan or not, no-one deserved that. But still, that was a serious charge, and he wasn’t going to make it lightly. Starkey returned with the water and cloths, and he put aside his musings and set to work.
Mullins took the wet cloth and began washing the shoulder wound to see how deep it was. When most of the blood was gone, they perceived the mark Hook had placed on the boy.
“It looks like he decided to brand him!” Starkey observed when he saw Hook’s crossbones design.
Mullins inspected the wound carefully, “Ay. It’s not very deep, but it’ll definitely leave a scar. I don’t know if it needs stitchin’ or not. But I guess if Cap’n Hook wants it as a brand, then it won’t get stitched.” When they had cleaned it, they wrapped Peter’s shoulder in some bandages and wiped the blood off of his face. There wasn’t much they could do for the ugly purple bruises forming on the boy’s throat, except put some cold cloths on it and hope it didn’t swell enough to cut off his breath. They dried him off, wrapped him in a warmed blanket, and carried him to the brig.
When Jukes had the hammock ready, they laid him in it and made sure he wasn’t going to roll out. They hung the lantern outside the cell, and closed and locked the doors, securing Peter in his new quarters.
Hook stared straight ahead and tried not to think, but the ache within him wouldn’t allow it. Pan had driven him to that same crazed, manic rage that he usually did, but this time the boy couldn’t get away. Hook had been beyond thought, but he remembered everything that he had done with painful clarity. He remembered also that he had thoroughly enjoyed what he was doing, though the memory now made him sick.
Hook had killed before, and was no stranger to causing or receiving pain. His pleasure in torturing Peter wasn’t anything new. The sick feeling and guilt he was experiencing now was. He had been so frightened that he had killed Peter… nothing but the croc had ever frightened him so much in his entire life. But both fears paled in comparison to the fear growing within him at his inability to feel Peter. It wasn’t that the contact had been blocked or cut off. Peter simply wasn’t there anymore. It was like the difference between not feeling your hand because it was asleep, and not feeling your hand because it had been amputated. He wanted to go below and check on Peter, to wake him up and ascertain that he was okay, but he didn’t trust himself around the boy. I hurt him, and this happens. What will it feel like if I were to actually kill him? I nearly did… he wasn’t breathing… thank God he started breathing again. Twice now he’s nearly died when it wasn’t my intention to kill him. Again the guilt engulfed him and he shook his head, trying to clear it.
“What’s wrong with me?” he whispered.
“Cap’n?” Mason’s voice came from behind him. Hook turned. Mason was standing there, supporting an unconscious and bloodied Cookson. “Looks like he got beaned with a bottle. Smee’s cleaning up the glass on yer floor. We got some bigger pieces out of Cook’s head. He’s out, but I think he’ll be all right.”
“Take him below and see to him. Send someone up to relieve me,” Hook answered.
A few minutes later, Starkey took over. Hook said nothing to the man, he just turned and walked to his cabin. Smee was inside, and helped him remove his wet clothes. Blood ran down his injured leg, and the bosun cleaned him up and bandaged the wound. When he was done, he left his captain alone and went below. Hook climbed in his bed and tried to sleep. He stared at the empty cot Peter had occupied the last time he had slept. He tried to reach out with his thoughts as he did before, to find where the boy’s presence had gone. He found no thoughts, no emotion, nothingness. Still trying to reach out, Hook drifted off to sleep.
When Cookson awoke the next day, he had no idea why his head hurt so much. When he was told about Peter’s actions, he wanted nothing more than to give the boy a measure of what he himself had received from the child.
“Leave him alone, Cookson!” Jukes fussed, but the angry chef just pushed him out of the way.
“Dat boy hurt me, I vill hurt him!” he swore as he stormed to the brig. He unlocked the cage door and approached the hammock. He pulled up short when he caught sight of the boy’s bruised face and throat. “Boy?” he called, and prodded Peter to wake him. There was no reaction, and the cook thought the child had died in his sleep.
“Get away from ‘im, cook,” Mullins said from behind him.
“Boy is dead,” Cookson said shocked.
“No, he’s not. He won’t wake up. The Cap’n did somethin’ to ‘im, but we don’t know what. He doesn’t move for anythin’. I’m bettin’ that if we set fire to ‘im right now, he’d sleep through it without stirring. Leave ‘im alone, go back to yer kitchen.”
Cookson tried to scratch his head, but thought better of it. “Vell, I vanted to get Petey-boy back, but Cap’n he has gotten boy back for me. I leave him ‘lone and go make him good soup. Make boy strong again and vake up.” He left and Mullins relocked the cell door.
On his way back to the galley, Cookson found himself face-to-chest with the captain. Hook smiled at him, which made the cook nervous. He was fairly certain he was in trouble.
“Ah, Cookson. So nice to see you up and about after last night’s ordeal,” Hook said softly. “How is your head?”
“Is fine, sir, very fine. Little sore, but is okay now. I vas checking on boy, going to make him some soup,” Cookson stammered.
“Is he awake? I trust you haven’t let him escape again?”
“Boy sleep like de dead.”
Hook frowned but nodded, “Now, explain to me how a sick, injured child was able to best a strong healthy man like yourself.” The captain knew that Cookson didn’t stand a chance against Peter. Hell, the boy had caught Hook himself off guard and nearly managed to jump ship. But he needed to make a point with his cook that failure was not to be tolerated.
“Not sure. I gave boy vater ven he voke. He dropped cup, so I go to get it. I think he hit me vith bottle ven I try to pick up cup.”
“Ay, he hit you with it. Good thing there’s nothing in that ugly head of yours to damage. Once he bested you, the brat tried to kill me and jump ship. If I didn’t need every one of the few men I have, I would string you up from the highest yard-arm! Now get back to your duties before I change my mind!”
“Ay, ay, Captain sir!” the cook shouted as he scrambled back to the galley.
Hook didn’t give the cook another thought. He had someone else more important to tend to. He had just entered the brig when he found Mullins standing in the way.
“Afternoon’, Cap’n,” the pirate greeted. “What brings you to the brig?”
“I’m here to see to the boy, Mullins. It’s none of your concern!”
“What did you do to him?” Mullins asked darkly.
Hook sneered, “You yourself tended him last night. Are you so thick headed you can’t figure it out?”
“Ay, I tended him. And I know that what I saw in the way of injuries in no way accounts for ‘is present state. A vegetable has more activity than he does. I’ve seen two things that do this to a person. A bad blow to the head, one that breaks the skull, can leave a man alive but never-wakin’. He weren’t hit that hard. The other’s worse. I seen a boy once, he wasn’t asleep all the time, but he did nothing of ‘is own accord. He was treated to an insult that damaged ‘is mind to the point that it decided to take a leave of absence. He was raped and tortured, and the proof of that was easy to find. I didn’t find such proof on Peter here, but I know nothin’ else that would turn this boy into a livin’ corpse.”
Hook was livid, “You… suspected that I would do something like that – to anyone? Much less to a child? Are you MAD? I should have you keel-hauled for even entertaining such a notion!” He brought his hook up, threateningly, but Mullins stood his ground.
“No, I never figured you for that type of monster. But I had to make sure, ‘cause if you were, I wasn’t gonna tolerate bein’ on the same ship as you any longer. And Billy and I were gonna have a long talk once ya were gone,” he replied calmly.
Hook glared for a moment longer, then lowered his weapon. “You and I often disagree, Mullins, nor do we much like one another. But I’ll not fault you for considering every possibility. I, too, need an explanation for what happened. I remember every detail of our clash, but nothing that explains his absence.” Hook sighed, and said candidly, “I’m worried. I did not intend to go so far, but the insufferable boy drove me mad. I have to know what happened if I am to find a way to undo it.”
Mullins nodded and unlocked the cell for Hook. “Just to be safe then, I’ll keep you company while you visit.”
Hook ignored the barb, instead concentrating on Peter. He remembered when he had held Peter while the boy cried. Then the bond had felt so much stronger. He thought that perhaps physical contact would give him a feel, however tenuous, of Peter’s mind.
“He don’t wake. He don’t toss in ‘is sleep. He does nothing when you jar ‘im or subject ‘im to pain… I tried pricking ‘is finger, but he didn’t flinch or make any noise. I tried to get ‘im to drink some water, but ‘e don’t swallow. It’s like ‘is mind is dead, but ‘is body don’t know it yet.”
“Yes, Robert, I know. His mind is gone, and I know not where,” Hook murmured softly, touching the boy’s face gently with his bare hand. He checked the earring, to make sure it hadn’t come off and caused this, but it was intact and in place. But… Hook moved the lantern to see the stone clearer. The diamond was changed. Instead of the red hue the spell had given it, it was black. There was no sparkle; the stone was as dead as a rock. He looked at the bandage on Peter’s shoulder and suppressed a shudder. I didn’t rape him… but I feel that I violated him in some way. I don’t understand.
“Peter,” he called, “wake up.”
Peter’s eyes opened suddenly and stared at nothing. Mullins and Hook were surprised, and exchanged hopeful glances.
“Peter?” Hook called again, but the boy didn’t move. He didn’t even blink. “Peter, say something. Anything.”
“Something. Anything,” Peter repeated in a monotone, still not moving.
Mullins swore softly. Hook felt dread grow inside him once more. “Peter, look at me.”
Peter’s head turned slightly until his eyes rested on Hook.
“Do you know who I am? Tell me who I am,” Hook ordered.
“Master,” Peter replied.
Hook was shocked by that answer. Peter Pan would never name James Hook master. He wouldn’t even call him Captain without a mocking tone to his voice, and it was usually followed by the name Codfish. The only address Peter gave him with any sincerity was Hook, probably because it was easier to yell out in warning. He recalled his words from last night: You have yet to realize that I am your master now.
“Who are you? Tell me who you are,” Hook prodded. But Peter said nothing, just stared at him with blank eyes. Nothing. That’s who he is now. There’s nothing in his eyes or his voice. He’s gone and left his body behind.
“Give me the water-flask, Mullins,” Hook ordered. He took the flask and poured some of the water into Peter’s mouth, saying, “Swallow, Peter.” When Peter had drunk some of the water, Hook handed the flask back to Mullins and wiped a few stray drops from the boy’s lips and chin. “Peter, from now on, if anyone gives you food, I want you to eat it. If they give you drink, then swallow it. You will listen to and obey Mr. Smee.” Peter gave no indication that he heard or understood. “Go back to sleep,” Hook ordered, and the boy’s eyes closed again.
“Cap’n?” Mullins queried as they left the cell. Neither man bothered to lock the door, knowing that Peter wasn’t going to do anything without permission now.
“I think it’s the magic. Something happened, the spell did something wrong. His earring… it’s not blood-red anymore, it’s black. It was still red yesterday. I need time to think. Have Smee feed him, and whatever else the boy needs. I have to figure out what went wrong with the spell.”
“I knew somethin’ bad would come from using fairy magic. Do ya have a way of fixin’ this without fairies around, Cap’n?”
“I may… I don’t want to use it, but I may have to. See to it no-one bothers me,” Hook turned and quickly made his way to his cabin to think.
Hook thought all night. He never got any nearer to finding an answer, but he knew how he could go about finding one. He stared at the ring sitting on his desk, the opal glittering in the dim light. But he dreaded what the answer might be, and he didn’t feel ready to explain himself to the witch. He remembered her warning to him when they had made their pact: you will not torture him, and you will not destroy him. He had done both, and he worried that she may be able to exact retribution through the power in the ring. She had claimed its powers were limited to giving them the mental link to answer his questions, but he doubted that that was completely true.
He slept, and dreamed. It was more a memory than a dream, a memory of what had happened that night. But in his dream, he was also aware of his connection to Peter, and he saw and remembered what had passed between them. He saw what he did to Peter when he took control of the boy’s body and made him stop. That in itself was violation enough, but the things he had subjected the child’s defenseless mind to afterwards were inexcusable. It didn’t matter that he hadn’t realized he was doing it.
Hook awoke later in the morning than he usually did, and his head ached. He remembered his dream, though, and knew that he had no choice. He had to consult Shimi. If she decided to punish him, he would not complain. Whatever price she demanded, whatever action she required, he would gladly do if it brought his boy back. He’d do anything to fill the emptiness inside. He ate the breakfast Smee had left for him, dressed lightly, without cloak or coat, and went below to get Peter. Smee was with the boy, giving him the last of his porridge. Peter ate what Smee put in his mouth, but his eyes remained closed.
“Cap’n Hook, sir! Are ya here to check on the boy, then? He’s no different, ‘ceptin’ he eats now.”
“No, I’m here to try to cure him,” Hook snapped and pushed the bosun out of the way. He wanted no interruptions to give himself time to change his mind. Hook lifted Peter out of the hammock and slung him over his shoulder, blankets and all. He knew he didn’t have to carry Peter – he could just order the boy to follow him and Peter would dog his steps even if the captain were to jump overboard. But the thought of doing that disgusted him, and he gave it no consideration.
On deck, he found himself facing Mullins.
“Taking the boy somewhere, Cap’n?” the man asked, a hint of a challenge in his tone.
“To my cabin, Mr. Mullins,” he replied. Mullin’s eyes narrowed a bit, and Hook explained further, “I may know how to help him, but I don’t know what it will cost me. I wish to be left alone. If I require anything, I will call for it. If the effort kills me, and the boy remains this way… finish him off. ‘Twould be a kindness.”
Mullins nodded and Hook brushed past him. When he reached his cabin, he closed the door and picked up the ring from his desk. He sat on his bed, settled his back against his pillows, and laid Peter across his lap. He watched the boy for a moment longer, and then put the ring on his finger.
How do I help him? he questioned the ring. There was no response, but he felt a building anger and … concern? … from the creature he was thinking towards.
Shimi, please. Something happened… something that I did to him. I cannot feel him anymore. Help me fix it.
*Fix it? You think you can fix this? Do you have the slightest idea what you’ve done?* came the reply, cold as ice and filled with scorn.
I think I remember what I did, but I do not understand the result. I hoped with some time he would recover, but there is no change.
There was a pause, and he felt a tingle. Somehow he knew that Shimi was using his mind to reach towards Peter. He disliked the sensation, but endured it to allow her to assess the damage.
There was a sigh, and she withdrew. *We may be able to save him, but it will require much of you. What will you be willing to sacrifice for him?*
I’ll do whatever you require. I never thought I’d ever care, but strangely I can’t stand seeing him like this. The emptiness with him gone is intolerable. I’m ready, Lady. Instruct me.
*Look within, as you did when you bound him. See with my guidance, and understand what you have done.*
Hook looked and again saw nothing. Shimi guided him, redirecting his thoughts, and Hook realized that it wasn’t nothingness he saw. He saw Peter’s essence, like a wispy, tangible cloud. It was dark, and still. He looked at himself, and saw that he also was cloudlike, but his mind glowed with life, and the fog of his mind swirled and roiled with the activity of his thoughts. Peter’s cloud was small and dead, and it was connected to Hook by a tenuous, glowing tendril.
What caused this? Is his mind dead then?
*No, he is neither living nor dead. He exists. His memories, his thoughts, his very soul, have been shattered. He exists, and each small piece is connected to you still, but not to one another.*
Hook looked around and saw several more glowing tendrils – the connections he had forced upon Peter. At the end of each one was another small blot of darkness.
*You would have done this sooner or later. You started it when you bound him. You would not heed me. You were supposed to replace Neverland. You were supposed to fill the void within him, and create a mutual bond between him and yourself. He needed someone to replace what was lost, to save his sanity. Had you done as I wished, you both would have created connections, exchanging small parts of yourselves. A bond of acceptance would have been created. That was the only way you could have kept him. His spirit is too strong, too free to be caged and enslaved. It must be tamed with friendship, not broken to your will.
*But that is what you tried to do. You forced yourself within him, cruelly. He recoiled from you, and could not give a part of himself back. You forced connections that you wished, and rendered useless those you did not. You sought to dominate him, and gave yourself the ability to control him like a puppet. When you attacked him, you poured your anger and hate and cruelty straight into his soul. Because of the one-sided way you bound him, he had no defense, and no outlet for the evil you forced within him. He couldn’t fight back. You broke his spirit and shattered his mind. You wanted a trophy, a puppet, you have it. Put him on your mantle and just remember to feed him. He’ll do any tricks you want.*
The anger and scorn in her thoughts were scathing, and Hook reeled at the naked contempt she felt for him. I was wrong. Can it be undone?
*Do you hate him still?*
No. I did… but it’s gone now.
*He holds all your hate within the fragments of his mind. That’s where it went. That’s why you are sick with your guilt; you have no more hate for him within you to cloud your humane feelings. You will have to change yourself much before you are worthy to have Peter again. I helped you for my own vengeance, but I actually hoped that with the binding the two of you would accept one another and live in happiness. If I had foreseen how you would change things, I would have had my trees kill you, and kept your Billy for myself. But that is past, we must move on. The longer we wait, the more difficult this will be. You must do exactly as I say, and do not waver or stray in the slightest.*
It took hours, but Hook was unaware of the passage of time. He gathered the remains of Peter’s mind together and wrapped himself around the pieces to hold them one to the other. He carefully pulled at one of Peter’s severed connections, one that he had closed off before, and drew it into himself, giving Peter an outlet back to Hook. He only joined one; the others that were required would come later, at Peter’s own doing.
He thought of things that he loved - things that had made him happy. He felt a bit saddened when he realized how few ideas came to mind. He avoided those thoughts that came associated with evil things, such as killing, robbing treasure, frightening his men. He thought of his mother, and how much he loved her. She had been a hard woman, but only a hard woman could have endured his father. But she did love her son in her own way, and sought the best for him that she could give. He remembered Cecilia, the woman he had loved and would have wed. He thought of his music, the joy of playing the harpsichord, of listening to the opera, the singing of choirs. He remembered passages of Shakespeare, the verses that moved him to such emotions he could never otherwise reach in his own life. These things, the few innocent joys he had in his life, he concentrated on. The love, and happiness, and contentment these things evoked within him he allowed to go to Peter.
Slowly, the darkness began to lighten, and a new glow kindled within the child’s mind. The glow strengthened, and the fragments began to merge, healing the rifts within themselves and becoming whole again. Swirls appeared as Peter’s mind responded to the positive emotions being focused upon it. It awoke, but there was still much left to do. When he was sure that the mind was whole, and would not fly apart again, Hook unwrapped himself from around it. As carefully and as painlessly as he could, he removed the connections he had thrust within the boy, except for the one single connection he had made that was correct. He floated silently, waiting for the other to respond, the two spirits connected by two fragile threads.
But, as the light went from man to boy, the darkness crept back along Peter’s connection to Hook, and the anger and hate within the child began to return to the one that it belonged to. Gradually, the darkness began to tinge his thoughts, and his happy thoughts became bittersweet. His mother, even though she loved him, never gave him the affection he needed so desperately. Now he himself was unable to show affection to any living creature, for fear that it could not be reciprocated. Cecilia, he had loved her so much, but they both had been unbending creatures. He had taken up pirating as a means to make his fortune, and to give her the life she deserved. She had discovered his true line of work, and refused to marry him unless he gave it up. But he had become enamored of his new life, and greed consumed him. He in his foolishness and arrogance had let her go without even trying to keep her. His music and playing the harpsichord were lost to him now. Stranded in Neverland for long, he was out of touch with the theaters and concert halls he had loved to attend. He had not heard true music in so long that it left bitterness in his mouth. He could not even content himself with playing his precious harpsichord, because Peter Pan had cut off his hand, rendering him forever unable to do that which he had loved best. At the memory of his loss, his hate and anger once again moved to the forefront.
*That’s enough!* Shimi’s thought came to him sharply. *Do not focus it towards him. You won’t be able to overpower him again, but he’s still fragile now. There are many more connections that must be made, but those will have to come in their own time. Leave him be. Let him heal on his own now; you’ve seen him through as far as you are able, and I hope that it’s been far enough.
But Hook had noticed something odd. When he quit reflecting on his past, he had looked again at the boy’s mind. He noticed that there was a strange, blue glowing sphere nestled within the cloud. He asked the witch what it was, because he saw that he himself did not have anything like it within his own mind.
*It’s the memory spell. I told you of it before. All of his memories from before its casting are gathered in that sphere, separated from the rest of his memory. If you notice, it isn’t very well made. Peter fought it and the spell was damaged. When he dreams, the memories often seep out and trouble him as nightmares. Rarely will he ever remember in waking, but it happens at times, to his pain. Far more often, recent memories become trapped behind the spell, so that he forgets things he shouldn’t. Leave it be. Despite its imperfections, it would be dangerous if that spell were to ever fail. Return to your own self now, and let the child heal.*
Hook withdrew, and slowly awoke to find himself in his own room again. He looked at the boy upon his lap for a long time. He was still connected, but it was a lighter contact. It was still better than the void. He didn’t feel the heart wrenching guilt anymore, but he did feel some remorse for his actions. He still felt anger at Peter, and knew that he carried a healthy portion of hate and contempt for the irritating child. But… he also felt pity and a kind of affection growing for the boy. It was confusing, and his head hurt when he tried to sort through his emotions. There were too many conflicts.
*That’s how it’s going to be for awhile, I’m afraid. If this had been done right, as I had wished, you both would have overcome your hatred and distrust and come to understanding fairly quickly. Now you are in-between, and will have to find your own ways. You still harbor ill-will for him, and he will harbor the same for you. But you also will find it easier to tolerate him, and find the patience you lack. He’ll be more receptive to you, and will allow you to get close if you don’t bite. You are going to have to win his trust… he’ll not forget how you hurt him. But if you can find a way to forgive him for the wrongs he has inflicted upon you, then he will be able to forgive you for what you have done to him. I can help you no more. You must find your own way. You are leaving Neverland’s borders now, and my reach does not extend further than that.*
Thank you, Lady. I wish now that I had not done this thing, and instead left the boy on the isle. But I am committed, and I promise he will grow to be a man, in good spirit and health, if he wakes from this ordeal whole. I’ll not punish him worse than I’ll give any other man of my crew, and I will use restraint.
*Good. Neither Peter nor yourself will ever be able to return here, no matter how much you may try. Neverland is shut to you forever, only the fey can bring you back. And they won’t because they believe you killed Peter.*
And with that, Shimi was gone.