Chapter 4 – Recovery
Hook lifted Peter out of his lap and put him on the bed. He slowly got up, his muscles cramped and sore from sitting still for too long. He took a moment to stretch; trying to work out the stiffness, then went onto the deck. It was night of the same day, and Hook was starving. He sent Smee to tend and watch Peter, and got his own food from the galley. When he returned to his cabin with his supper, he informed Smee that caring for Peter was his new duty, and the bosun was to see to the boy before doing anything else, unless the safety of the ship was at risk.
Peter slept on, his mind recovering from the trauma. He didn’t know when existence began again (really, he never truly knew existence had for awhile ended for him), he just floated without thought. By degrees he became aware of emotion: happiness, joy, love, warmth… feelings that drew him, and gave him a sense of well being and wholeness. He basked in the light of these feelings, and slowly his mind and soul healed. After awhile, the flow of good feelings subsided and stopped, but it didn’t matter. He was warmed, and the darkness had abated to a tolerable level. Slowly he began to remember things, beginning with his birth, his life coming to him again in flashes. Most of these memories came and went quickly, hidden away from him. But that wasn’t important. They left an impression upon him, and he began get his own feelings back. Existence, memory, emotion, these were the steps he took over time. Finally, awareness came, and all the pieces fell together.
Peter slept through the night and into the next day. Smee tended him faithfully – changing bandages, stitching the cut on his chest, keeping him clean and giving him food and drink. Every once in awhile, Peter’s eyes would open, and it seemed as if he tried to speak. But soon afterwards, they would close and he would sleep again.
“Sleep lad, rest will do ya a world o’ good,” Smee would tell him when he saw Peter looking at him. Smee had been in favor of tossing the troublesome Pan overboard after he had seen the injury he had given his Captain. But as he tended to him, he felt an affection growing for the “wee lad”.
Eventually, Peter became restless in his sleep, and would cry out at times. That night, Hook was awakened a couple of times by the boy’s outbursts. He would give Peter a sleeping draught, and put a cloth on his brow. When the boy calmed, he went back to sleep. All the next day it continued with growing frequency, and during the night, Hook himself had a nightmare.
He was in Neverland. There were bodies lying all around, bodies of children. They were of all ages, even one that looked to be three or four. They were dead, some of them horribly wounded. This image was replaced by a woman with a sword, fighting a hideous monster that had him in its grip. The monster’s teeth and claws were biting and tearing into him and he cried out in pain and despair – for himself and for the woman when she fell. The old monster died, and a new one came – a dark man with a single silver claw. The dark man pursued and hunted and finally captured him. He screamed in pain again and hopelessness as the dark man ravaged him, wracking his body with insult and injury. He spun, helpless, into darkness as he felt himself die.
Hook awoke with a cry and listened to its echo in the dark. He shook himself, trying to regain his balance. “Echo?” he muttered, and then he heard the cry again. He fumbled at his nightstand and lit a candle. “Peter?” he called and heard moans in response. He went to the boy’s cot and knelt by its side. Peter was drenched in sweat, thrashing in the throes of the nightmare. Hook tried to give him more of the sleeping draught, but Peter choked it back up.
Nightmare. I saw his nightmare. Dear God, is that what he’s been dreaming these past two days? Hook lifted Peter up and held the boy close, sitting on the cot while he tried to calm him. Peter fought, trying to escape, but Hook held him closer. After a few minutes, he calmed and the nightmare left him. Soon, he was breathing peacefully and lay still in the captain’s arms. Hook continued to hold him, reflecting on the dream.
Everything I saw, everything he saw, actually happened. I remember those events from the were-hag’s history lessons. But this was from Peter’s perspective, how he perceived things. To him, I’m a monster on par with the thing that murdered his mother. He sighed. I don’t want him to see me as his enemy. I want him to accept his life here, and become a member of my crew.
“I’m sorry, Peter,” he whispered, “I’m sorry. I don’t want to hurt you. Please don’t make me anymore. You’re mine, and I don’t want to lose you. Please, wake up soon.”
Still holding Peter in his lap, Hook drifted off to sleep.
Peter, however, lay awake for awhile, listening to Hook’s beating heart and deep, even breaths. In his hand, he held the broken bottle neck he had hidden under his pillow. He had awakened in Hook’s arms, confused and disoriented. He knew he had had a bad dream, and as usual couldn’t remember it. But he wondered why Hook was holding him. For some strange reason, he felt safe. He had feigned sleep, slowly reaching under his pillow to retrieve the weapon he vaguely remembered putting there forever ago. He knew he couldn’t kill Hook, but he wanted desperately to hurt the pirate, to hurt Hook as badly as Hook had hurt him. Maybe even get the pirate so angry he would kill him and end all this. He had finally gotten the glass, and had been about to drive it into Hook’s back, when he had heard the man speak. Not only his words, but the feeling of true regret and grief behind them gave Peter pause. Through that strange connection, he knew the man meant what he said.
Hook is sorry? How can he be sorry? He’s evil, and he likes to hurt me. I felt him like it when he hurt me. Peter thought for awhile, and then realized something was different. The thorn in his mind was gone, and the pain and unsteadiness in his thoughts were gone with it. Were it not for the physical aches, he would say he actually felt good. He could still feel a connection with Hook, but not as strongly as before, nor as unpleasant. He lay in turmoil for awhile, torn by his desire to try to escape again and his curiosity at these new circumstances, and gradually realized the man was asleep. He didn’t want to die; he had just wanted to end the pain. But now it was gone. He also wanted to go home, but he knew somehow that it was impossible now, that they had passed beyond Neverland’s reach. Until his link to the isle was restored, he would not find his way back – regardless of whether or not they were still with the fey realms.
I can’t go back, but I can still escape one day… just not now. Wait and see, maybe the chance will come up. For now, I’ll play his game like he played mine, and I’ll end it when I’m ready. He gently placed the glass back under his pillow, and let himself drift to sleep to the tempo of his enemy’s heart.
Peter woke again just before dawn. He was lying on the cot and he could hear Hook a few feet away in the other bed, snoring softly. He lay still for a few minutes and enjoyed just being alive and whole again. Gradually, the sun rose and the room lit up as the dawn shone through the window.
I’m bored. I need to get up. He sat up quickly, and then lay back down even quicker as a wave of dizziness overtook him. When the room steadied, he sat up again, slowly this time, and felt relieved when the room didn’t dance. He looked down at himself and took stock of his situation. Where are my clothes? Oh, I remember.
He felt soreness in a lot of places and probed himself to find out what hurt and why. His cheek was a little achy, but easy to ignore. His throat, on the other hand, was very painful. Swallowing was difficult and he thought it might be a bit swollen. For some reason, his shoulder and chest were bandaged, and when he touched the place where a little blood had seeped through, he felt a sting. Hook caught me trying to escape. Did he stab me? I don’t remember him doing this. He decided to leave it alone and find out about it later. His leg felt better and only ached when he poked at it. He wondered how it could heal with the threads Smee had put in it, but it was still wrapped and he didn’t want to aggravate it.
When he finished his own inventory, he looked at his surroundings. He watched Hook for awhile as he slept. The man lay on his back, but his face was turned towards Peter. Peter tried to feel angry at what the pirate had done to him, but failed. He’d had enough of those feelings for awhile, and he didn’t think he had enough energy for it anyway. Hook actually looked peaceful, and didn’t seem so sinister now that he wasn’t frowning and glaring and promising to kill him.
Peter turned his head to look around, and felt an odd sensation as his hair caught on something strange. He reached up and touched his right ear, and found the earring there. He frowned, confused at first, then remembered: his birthday present from Captain Hook, on the last day he ever saw Neverland. He tried to sort through the jumble of memories. He remembered that day, but what happened just after Hook pierced his ear was blurred and vague. He remembered being in the dark place. He remembered Hook waking him and having his leg tended (he was going to get Jukes for that Peg-leg Pete crack). After that things were blurred again, until he awoke and tried to escape. The last thing he remembered before last night was Hook sitting on him, yelling. There had been a lot of pain, then confusion.
Hook apologized. He said he was sorry for hurting me, and he didn’t lie. He knew you were supposed to accept an apology if it was sincere, but he didn’t want to. Then he thought of Tink, and of how she had refused to forgive Curly. That had started this, when she had remained angry, and then Peter had gotten angry, and she got angrier and tried to get them back for hurting her feelings. I could stay mad, and hate him, and try to get him back. But when will it stop? It won’t – we’ll keep hurting each other until one or both of us are dead. I’m tired of hurting. I miss home.
He saw an object across the room that made him catch his breath. His pipes were on a bookshelf beside Hook’s desk. He felt a longing to hold something familiar, something from Neverland. He eased out of his bed, placing all of his weight on his good foot. He shivered in the morning air and wrapped the blanket around him. He tested his wounded foot gingerly, and was relieved to find that it would hold his weight even though it began hurting again. Quietly and slowly, he limped towards the shelf. Halfway there, his strength failed him and he fell to the floor. He cried out as he landed on his bad leg and rolled off it, swearing in fey.
Hook leaped out of the bed, alarmed at the commotion. He held his hook at the ready for any attackers. He glanced at the cot and felt a jolt when he saw it was empty. Then he heard Peter’s voice coming from the foot of his bed.
“…damned dust-sniffing son-of-a-TROLL!” the hoarse voice said quietly but vehemently. Hook strode to the end of the bed and saw Peter lying on his side, holding his leg and looking up at him.
“Morning, Codfish,” Peter croaked. It not only hurt to swallow, it also was difficult to make sounds without his voice cracking.
“Pan. What are you doing?” Hook asked. It annoyed him that the brat was still calling him Codfish (he made a note to teach Peter again to address him properly), but he was too relieved to get upset. As good as it was to see Peter awake and active after these last few days, he remained mindful of the last time the boy had awakened. He didn’t trust Peter’s intentions.
“I wanted my pipes,” Peter said, pointing towards the shelf. “I tried to be quiet, but I fell and hurt my leg.”
Hook held out his hand for the boy to take, but Peter shook his head. “I don’t want your help,” he snapped.
Hook felt a surge of irritation, but he fought it down. Don’t let him goad you. He’ll learn later. “It doesn’t matter if you want my help. You need it. Let me help you,” he replied and kept his hand extended.
Peter hesitated, and then grabbed the offered hand. Hook pulled the boy to his feet, then picked up the blanket and draped it over Peter’s shoulders. “Thanks,” Peter mumbled. He turned and tried to limp onwards to the shelf. Suddenly, he was lifted up and carried to the bookshelf.
“I admire your self-reliance, Peter, but don’t be stubborn. You’ve been sick ever since I brought you aboard, and you’re weak. Give yourself a chance to get better,” Hook admonished. They reached the shelf and Peter took his pipes, hugging them tightly to his chest. Hook carried him back to the cot and set him on it.
Peter stared at his pipes with shining eyes, and gently traced the flowing script that decorated the pieces. Hook let him be and went about getting dressed. He had slept later than he usually did, but he felt well-rested and in good spirits, so he didn’t mind. He stuck his head out the door and called for Smee to bring them breakfast, then sat at his desk and watched his boy. Peter had finished examining his pipes, and placed them to his lips. He looked like he was going to play, but he stopped and lowered them. He sighed softly and laid them on his pillow.
“How do you feel?” Hook asked.
“Why do you care?” Peter retorted. Hook’s eyes flashed angrily, but he didn’t reply. Peter shook his head, and added, “I – I don’t know how I feel anymore. I’m lost. I know I’m tired of being in this bed. I’m tired of being sick. I’m tired of being afraid and hurt. I want to go home.”
“I won’t return you,” Hook said sternly.
“You couldn’t if you wanted to. We’ve left Neverland, and we’re in the fairy-realm between the isles. You don’t find Neverland, it finds you… that’s the way with all of these islands. If the fairies knew I was alive, they never would have let us go. But until they find out the truth, I’ll never find my way back. So, I’m stuck with you for now. There’s nowhere for me to go,” Peter’s voice cracked and quavered, and a deep sadness filled him.
Hook crossed the room and squatted down before the child. He touched Peter lightly on the forehead, noting how the boy flinched at his touch. At least the fever was completely gone. “Things will go easier for you if you quit fighting me. I don’t want to hurt you, but if you defy me, you will be punished,” he said softly.
“You don’t want to hurt me?” Peter asked incredulously, “you seemed to enjoy it well enough before!” Absently, Peter’s hand reached up and touched his shoulder.
Hook took Peter’s hand and gently pulled it away from the bandage. “It’s best not to touch it. Let it heal. Smee put in some stitches, finest job he ever did. It will leave a scar, though, but it shouldn’t be too bad.”
“A scar? What did you do?” Peter asked, frowning.
“You don’t remember?” Hook asked, surprised when Peter shook his head. “What do you remember about your escape attempt?”
Peter thought for awhile, and then he smiled, “I had you beat.” He giggled at the look on Hook’s face and continued, “I did! I could have killed you, but you cheated and made it so I couldn’t. And I still almost got away, but you cheated again…” Suddenly he stopped and stared wide-eyed at the man. “You made me stop. Can you still do that to me? I don’t feel you inside like I could then – it doesn’t hurt now – but you’re still there. Can you still make me do things I don’t want to do?”
“I don’t know,” Hook said guardedly. He didn’t think he could, and even if he could, he had no intention of doing it ever again. But he didn’t want to show the boy all of his cards. Maybe Peter would cooperate more if he thought Hook could make him do things against his will.
“Please don’t. Don’t ever, not again,” Peter pleaded. “My head hurt so much, and it scared me when I couldn’t move.” Hook said nothing, but nodded his head. “I remember you grabbed me. You were angry; I thought you were going to kill me. Then… I don’t know. I hurt. Everything disappeared, except for the pain. Then… nothing. What did you do?”
Hook sighed. He didn’t want to explain to Peter how he had attacked the boy’s mind. He didn’t think he understood it well enough anymore to even begin to try to explain. If Peter remembered later, he would discuss it with him. But the wound on his shoulder required explanation… and sooner would be better. Hook went to his desk and retrieved a hand-mirror from a drawer. He handed it to Peter, sat next to the boy, and carefully began to remove the bandages. While Hook was doing that, Peter looked at himself in the mirror. He saw the large, yellow-brown bruise on his right cheek. There were dark circles under his eyes, and his skin looked paler than usual. He thought he looked horrible. He saw the ugly bruises on his throat, and wondered again what had done that. He was about to ask when he caught sight of the earring in his right earlobe. The stone was blood-red, and flashed brightly. He stared at it for a while, and decided he liked it. He felt an attachment to it, and he thought it gave him a delightfully wicked look.
“Thank you for the earring. I like it. I don’t think I’ve ever gotten a birthday present before.”
Hook paused, stunned by Peter’s words. He thanks me? He likes it? Does he not remember that it’s the reason he’s cut off from Neverland? Perhaps not, I never told him what it was for and the event was traumatic. He obviously doesn’t realize its role in the spell. That’s actually a relief. “You’re welcome. It’s the best diamond I had. Jukes and I spent a lot of time making it for you.”
“Diamond? I thought diamonds were clear, like ice.”
“It’s a special, very rare diamond,” Hook replied smiling, “so take care of it. You can’t take it off, so make sure you don’t rip it out.” He removed the last of the bandage and pulled it free. “Take a look,” he told Peter.
Peter looked down, realized his neck was too sore to bend the right way to see it, and looked at the wound in the mirror. He gasped in shock at the symbol inscribed in his flesh, the skin red and puckered around the two slashes that formed Hook’s trademark, dozens of small precise stitches crisscrossing it. It looked just like the crossbones on Hook’s hat. It wasn’t large, he could easily cover it with four fingers, but it was plain to see it was a mark of ownership, even to a child like him. He lowered the mirror slowly and stared at Hook. “I hate you,” he said without venom or malice. He sounded extremely sad and tired.
Hook had expected those words, but the tone cut him to the quick. He nodded and went back to his desk, “I know Peter. Sometimes I hate me, too.”
A few minutes later, the heavy silence was broken by Mr. Smee. He bustled in, carrying a tray with breakfast for two. He set it down by Hook and gave the Captain his bowl of porridge and a cup of coffee. Then, he set up the nightstand where Peter sat on his cot, and placed another bowl of porridge and a cup of coffee on it.
“Mornin’ laddie. Good ta see ya up! We was beginin’ ta think ya would sleep forever,” he greeted cheerfully. He saw Peter’s exposed wound and clucked disapprovingly. “Now, lad, best leave yer hurts alone now. If ya pick at it, it’ll scar worse.”
“Will I have the scar forever?” Peter asked forlornly as he poked his spoon at his breakfast.
“Aye, scars usually stay with ya till ya die. It might fade o’er time, ‘specially if ya gets some sun on yer skin. But don’t worry, laddie,” he added when he saw how upset the boy was, “it goes well with the rest o’ yer scars.” He pointed at the white marks on the child’s stomach, chest and arms. “Ya know, I been wonderin’, those look like bite marks. Did the croc get a hold o’ ya?”
Peter looked thoughtful. He had occasionally wondered about some of the scars he had, but never enough to actually ask Tink about them. He’d had most of these scars for as long as he could remember. “No… I remember when Tock was a baby croc, and I had these then. I don’t remember anything from the time before…”
“Time before what?” Smee pressed.
“I woke up one day. I didn’t know my name or anything… I remember teeth and claws…blood…. Sad…” Peter mumbled, his eyes became far away and his voice faded as he lost himself in trying to remember. He began rubbing the inside of his wrist as he thought.
“Peter!” Hook called, snapping the boy back to reality. “Eat your breakfast before it gets cold. I have too few crewmen as it is, and I need every hand I can get. You need your strength back, and you’ve had nothing better than broth since you came aboard.” He knew what Peter was trying to remember. He wasn’t sure if the memory spell would continue to hold the boy now that they were gone from Neverland, but he didn’t want Peter to break it if it was weakening. He knew the dreams that haunted the boy, and it would be best if Peter never remembered the things that had made him try to kill himself before.
Peter picked up the cup and looked at the black, steaming liquid inside. He sniffed it and wrinkled his nose, “What’s this?”
“Coffee, lad,” Smee replied as he moved around the room, cleaning up.
“Coffee, Smee? I don’t think the boy should be drinking coffee. He’s enough of a handful as it is without giving him something to make him even more active,” Hook growled.
“Ay, sir, but I thought he’d need somethin’ warm fer his throat, what with the bruises where ya throttled ‘im and all.”
“You strangled me, too, Codfish?” Peter asked quietly. “I remember you holding me by the throat, but you let go when I kicked you. That’s when you attacked me and I…. Why didn’t you just kill me?” Peter stared at Hook and took a sip of his coffee. It tasted bitter, and burned his tongue a bit, but it felt good going down his throat.
Smee looked like he was going to ask another question, so Hook cut him off. “I told you, boy. I want you alive and serving me. I regret that I hurt you like that, and I don’t wish to do it again. Now eat. Smee, the boy needs those clothes you’ve been making for him. A bath would be good, too. Finish doctoring him while he eats, then clean him up and dress him. Let me know when you’re done.”
“Ay, sir,” Smee replied and went to get a bucket of hot water and soap.
Hook ate his own breakfast quickly and downed his coffee, then got ready to go on deck. He noticed Peter was only picking at his porridge, taking small, half-hearted bites. “You need to eat it all.”
Peter wrinkled his nose, “It hurts to swallow,” he answered, his difficulty evident in the hoarseness of his voice.
Hook felt torn between two completely different reactions. He felt irritation that Peter didn’t obey him and instead made excuses not to eat. He wanted to make the boy eat, either by force-feeding him or hitting him into submission… but he’d already hurt Peter enough for now. He was held in check by this new feeling of sympathy for the boy. He knew that Peter’s throat hurt, and that it was because of what he had done. He wanted to tell the boy not to worry, and eat what he could manage… but that would be showing weakness and letting the boy have his way. I’m the Captain; he should obey me without question… He’s new to this, and he’s recovering from a horrible ordeal… Since he couldn’t reconcile the two thoughts, he instead left the room without a word. He decided to let Smee handle it so that he could go about his duty.
Peter decided that he definitely liked Smee. He remembered that Smee and Cookson had taken care of him when he was sick and hurt. The old man, while a bit strange, was as gentle as he could be as he tended Peter’s injuries, and warned the boy when he was about to do something uncomfortable. He felt grateful for the hot drink; not only did it ease his throat, but he also felt more awake and energetic after drinking it. He ate what he could stand of his porridge, and Smee didn’t make him finish it off.
Peter was, however, resistant at first to Smee washing him. He hadn’t cared about being naked earlier, but when his nudity was coupled with another person touching him he became extremely uncomfortable. Smee relented and gave the boy the washcloth. After a short while, though, Peter lost his energy and didn’t feel like continuing the bath. Smee wasn’t going to let the boy stay dirty, so he reclaimed the rag (he didn’t think the lad was scrubbing hard enough anyway), and soon Peter found his stiff muscles relaxing under the warm scrub. His modesty vanished and he let Smee have at it, enjoying the new sensation. Smee wanted to wash Peter’s hair, too, and that’s when new trouble started.
“Faith and begorrah, lad! When’s the last time ya brushed this mess?” Smee mused as he untied the pony tail. The boy’s long, brown hair looked fine at first look, but beneath the outer layer, it was tangled and matted together in an impossible mess. Smee wasn’t sure how he was going to wash it, so he took Hook’s comb and tried to work out the knots.
Peter only shrugged in response to Smee’s question. He had no clue how long ago it had been brushed: he didn’t own a brush or comb, and kept it tied back so he didn’t have to worry about it. Smee began trying to comb it, yanking and pulling at the knots. Peter yelped at the pain and tried to pull away. Smee was insistent that it was necessary and wouldn’t let the boy go. Peter was as loudly insistent that Smee should stop since messy hair wasn’t life-threatening, and kept pulling away. Smee and Peter played tug-of-war, and Smee accidentally kicked Peter’s injured leg. Howling in pain and desperate to get the old man to leave him alone, Peter broke free and scrambled to his pillow. He pulled out the broken bottleneck and held it before him threateningly.
“Leave it alone!” he yelled.
“Okay, lad, okay,” Smee soothed the child, “I dinna mean ta hurt’cha, but…”
“What the Hell is going on in here!” Hook yelled, bursting through the door. He saw Peter backed into the corner at the head of the cot, brandishing a weapon at Smee. Assuming the worst, Hook growled, enraged, and charged the boy.
“No, Cap’n! Wait!” Smee cried, but Hook didn’t hear. Hook dove at the wide-eyed boy, knocking the bosun aside.
Peter was stunned at Hook’s entrance, and froze momentarily as the Captain attacked. He had nowhere to go, so he braced himself against the wall and brought the glass up before him. Hook knocked the boy’s hand aside with his claw, grabbed him and threw him to the floor. He bore down upon him, ready to punish Pan, when a jolt went through them both.
Peter saw the man atop him, and suddenly he was reliving a nightmare. He saw Hook over him, with those same hateful eyes as before, claw upraised. He remembered what had come next, and it wasn’t the sharp hook he feared. He remembered the pain of the mental attack and what it had done to him. “Nonononono, not again, please NO!” he wailed in terror and screamed.
Hook saw the boy beneath him and was struck by the thought of how similar this was to before. The anger left him and he was about to get off when Peter began screaming, begging him not to do it again. He saw the pure terror and panic there, and cringed within himself. He scooped the child up and held him tight, trying to calm him. After awhile, Peter’s screams became sobs. Hook kept the boy close, stood, and walked to a chair. He saw his men at the door, staring in wonder and alarm.
“Back to your posts. Smee, close the door,” he ordered calmly as he sat. Smee did as he was told, then walked to where his captain sat. He gently pried the broken glass from Peter’s grip and set it aside.
“He weren’t goin’ to hurt no-one, else he’d got you jus’ now, Cap’n sir. I hurt the lad accident-like, and he got scared I think is all,” Smee explained what had happened in more detail.
Peter eventually cried himself out, and when Hook looked down, he saw the boy was asleep. He sighed, “I over-reacted. I assumed he was trying to escape again. I think he remembers now what I did to him, and he thought I was going to do it again.”
Hook looked at Peter’s hair, the cause of this incident, and saw what Smee had told him about. He agreed that it was a horrible mess, but wondered what the bosun had been thinking. There was no way the tangles were going to comb out.
“Go fetch the scissors, Smee. Peter needs a haircut.”