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Peter Captured	By : lexyhamilton Category: M through R > Peter Pan > Slash Views: 19631 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: I do not own Peter Pan, nor any of the characters from it. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.

Chapter List
- 11
- 12
Chapter 12: A Common Enemy

Hook had been sure he knew the shortest route to his hold, but as soon as they left the beach they got hopelessly lost. They ventured into such bogs that Peter finally cut the rope binding Hook’s elbows of his own accord. They both kept slipping, sinking knee deep into the bogs though they tried to follow grassy paths amongst the trees with strange protruding roots. Neither of them had any sense of direction after several hours spent wandering thus.

Though it was Hook who had decided on the path, he was cross and sorely missed having a crew to berate even for his own mistakes. He finally had an outburst at his largely blameless companion, lamenting that the boy chose not to just fly about and find the hold.

Peter glared at him and Hook apologized profusely, losing his footing in the meantime. Peter impassively watched him struggle to wade out of the mud, but promised to scope out the area. Hook clambered back to terra firma just in time to see Peter skip off across the bogs with far greater speed than he had allowed himself before.

Hook seated himself on the roots of a tree, finding this to be one of the few places with soil solid enough to be trusted. He was weak with hunger and still sore from abuse at the hands of his men, but he could not help feeling ecstasy at the fact that he had managed to find an ally in the boy. He only worried that Peter would misstep somewhere along the way, or forget the place where they had parted.

He would have to reward the boy in some way. He had already promised Peter heated baths, on the strong suspicion that there was some sort of container back in the treasure hold that could serve as a tub and on the assumption that he would be able to set up a fire.

Peter did not slow down when he was out of the man’s sight. He had half a mind to abandon him, but something gnawed at his heart as soon as he made the decision. He had no pity for Hook, but he could not deny there had been a small sense of relief when he first recognized him on the beach. Friend or foe, he had come to know the captain intimately. Hook was one person who would not turn him away, as the rest of the inhabitants of the island did. He was now an earthbound prisoner of Neverland as much as anyone else and, sadly, Peter was craving someone who would not shun him. He began looking for their destination in earnest.

Time passed, though Hook had no way of measuring its passage—even the sun was rather obscure behind the dense foliage. He saw something move in the distance and was about to call out Peter’s name when recognition petrified his entire body.

The birds in the trees flew up in a frenzy at the appearance of a ponderous reptilian body half-swimming, half-crawling in the shallow water, traveling with a sure and frighteningly familiar sense of purpose toward the captain. It had formidable speed, especially for something so large and cumbersome. Gathering his wits just in time, Hook clambered up the tree, though he could not progress very high up with only one hand at his disposal. He was on a branch far too low for his liking, especially when the crocodile swam up directly under him and missed his feet by only a few inches after catapulting its head out of the water and snapping its jaw.

Hook stood trembling and praying to no one in particular, fearing he would unbalance himself at any moment.

Peter arrived back at the scene when it was already growing dark, and was so surprised to find Hook mounted on the branch that he failed to notice the cause of the man’s fright until he was almost too close for safety.

Hook waved one of his arms frantically for a moment before bringing it back to balance himself against the tree trunk—reluctant to raise his voice and encourage the beast to try to reach him again. Peter approached cautiously, finally climbing up a neighboring tree and jumping nimbly from it to where Hook had become trapped.

He tried to help the captain pull himself up to a safer, more comfortable branch, which resulted in several close calls wherein both of them almost toppled from their perch into the waiting jaws of the crocodile. Night had descended by the time they managed it. Hook straddled the branch, wiping off beads of sweat with his tattered sleeve.

Peter removed himself to the branch’s end, dangling his legs in a way that Hook was sure was overly inviting to the crocodile, but the man did not dare utter reproof after having been rescued.

“I found your hold. We weren’t far from it at all. I just went off in the wrong direction at first.”

Hook scoffed. “It’s a shame that everything is currently out of our reach.”

Peter looked down at the crocodile. “I brought you some food too, but I’m guessing it probably got crushed while I was trying to pull you up.” He produced a small leather pouch that had been on his waist and tossed it over to Hook, who barely caught it and almost lost his balance in the process.

The berries inside were indeed crushed but Hook ate greedily, turning the pouch inside out and licking it clean when there was no more. He was slightly embarrassed when he realized how earnestly Peter was watching him.

“Did you like it? Aren’t you glad you have me to bring you food?”

Hook thanked the boy, taking care to lay the praise on thick, but after two whole days of hunger the childish portion served only to make his stomach growl painfully. Hook tried to climb across to the other tree, but it was soon utterly out of the question, the branches being too thin and precarious.

Hook made his way back toward the safety of the tree trunk, slumping back into a sitting position. “It’s no use. This beast will never tire of waiting as long as I’m up here.”

Peter looked down again. “I don’t know. I’d tire of it, if I were her.”

“Please don’t—” Hook said without thinking. Peter turned to him. “—don’t tire of it, that is.”

Some time during the night it began to pour. The crocodile enjoyed it if anything, and Peter sat on the branch as if oblivious to how water was streaming down his hair and into his face. Hook felt like the odd one out, constantly trying to move his head under some shelter from the tree, often getting soaked when a giant leaf would collapse its water content.

“How can you just sit there like that?” Hook finally asked, his voice unintentionally loud with pent-up exasperation. “Like a forest animal…”

Peter looked at him with an unreadable expression, and suddenly jumped up to the next branch, disappearing off into the foliage at the top for a moment. He returned before Hook could invent a good reason for the boy to have done so, handing over a monstrously large leaf to his branch-fellow.

“Thank you…” Hook said, wrapping the green around his figure when he saw Peter was not expecting to share the makeshift umbrella. The boy was back to his post on the end of the branch, out of reach but so very thankfully still present.

“Hey, lad,” Hook ventured again, hoping to tire the boy of distancing himself each time. “I can’t help but notice you haven’t taken advantage of your levitating ability all day…”

A glare. Perhaps that should have been left unmentioned. Hook felt the truth dawn on him.

“Pan! Did you swim all the way to shore from the ship that night? I can’t recall a thing that happened, but whatever it was—”

“It wasn’t you. Nothing to do with you.” Peter turned away, contemplating the fact that everything that happened to him ever since his capture had to do with Hook. His body had grown recalcitrant lately. It must have been a week since Tiger Lily deprived him of the power of flight and yet the memory still managed to excite him. He spit in disgust, hoping to hit the crocodile but unable to distinguish his small contribution from the raindrops as they landed on its leathery hide.

As soon the rain ceased, Peter settled on his stomach, letting all four limbs hang down, and drifted off to sleep with exasperating ease. Hook tried the position, but it felt too precarious, and he could not doze off despite his tiredness. Instead he watched Peter, carnal thoughts only occasionally crossing his mind, still occupied with anger at his men and fear that the crocodile would win out in this battle of persistence.

***

Hook awoke with a jerk, disturbed at the feel of rough bark against his face. He straightened himself back to a sitting position, his body protesting the awkward position he had ended up sleeping in with nagging pain in many places.

The captain rubbed his eyes and looked around himself to find the crocodile still patient and expectant below him, basking in the bog made more treacherous and impassable by the heavy rain. The boy nowhere in sight.

Perhaps it had been a feverish dream that he had accompanied him yesterday? Hallucination or not, Hook wished it would return. He was suffering extreme thirst and hunger, and an urge to void, though with no easy, safe position to do it in. In the end he was glad Peter Pan had not been present to witness how awkwardly he made water, being too afraid to stand up on the branch. He had only one hand to grasp with, Hook reassured himself. There was no shame in lacking skill at the arts of a tree monkey.

If only the worthless bilge-rats had left him his hook. It hardly seemed just to maroon him with nothing but the barest clothes on his back. Hook suddenly grabbed at his own neck. The chain was still there. They had not bothered to remove it. The small vial attached to it had been such a constant companion that he had forgotten all about it. He slid it out of his ruined shirt, running its smooth glass between his fingers, glad that it had not been lost in the sea.

It was tempting to end it all now. The poison was potent. There was really no use in continuing to live, for the most part. He fumbled with it, still hesitating to pop it open, so lost in thought that the boy’s voice from the other tree startled him half to death.

“What is that?”

“Nothing.” Hook smiled amiably slipping it back into his shirt.

The boy climbed across, returning to their home branch, shoving something cold and still-wriggling into Hook’s hand.

“A fish? You caught a fish with your bare hands?”

“You like meat, don’t you?”

“I’m not so hungry yet as to eat it raw.” Hook thought he caught a glimpse of disappointment on Peter’s face, but the boy sat back on the branch as indifferent as ever. Hook thought about throwing the fish to the beast down below. As if that would sate its hunger. He could not very well end his life with the boy here. Hook sat silent, random thoughts brewing.

“Are you just going to keep sitting here until she leaves?” Peter finally asked.

“She won’t leave. I cannot leave. It’s a rather hopeless impasse, as far as I see it. Unless one of us dies.”

“Then let’s just kill her,” Peter said, a disturbing little gleam waking in his eyes. “It’s getting boring sitting here.”

Hook laughed mirthlessly.

Peter jumped to his feet, very intent on the idea and not to be deterred by an adult’s pessimism. “Really, why don’t I go back to the hold. You had some weapons in there, I saw. Let’s kill her!”

“You think I haven’t tried all manner of weapons on that monster? It won’t die, no matter what hits that tough hide. I’d have to fall down her gullet and rip her from the inside to kill her.”

The crocodile, who had hitherto been so motionless it could have been mistaken for dead suddenly moved its head, as if sensing that it had become the subject of eulogy. Hook smirked. The fish had given up on wriggling and lay quiet in his hand. Rip her from the inside…

The idea crept into his head slowly, surreptitiously, as if too good to be true.

“Peter…” Hook offered cautiously. “Do you think you’d be able to get the beast to swallow something?”

The captain could see ligaments in Peter’s body tremble, and if there was any doubt as to whether it was fear or excitement, the first full smile spread itself on the boy’s face. “Probably. I’d have to get down to the ground for it, I bet, but it should be pretty easy.”

They poured Hook’s vial of poison into the fish’s guts. Hook had planned to be stingy with the mixture, arguing that the poison was probably potent enough, but Peter only narrowed his eyes and remarked that he could not see what other occasion would require it. Hook could feel his heart pumping as he watched the boy descend down the trunk towards the very jaws of the beast. Fear suddenly seized him. The scheme was not worth the risk. He called Peter back but the boy was not to be deterred. The crocodile perked up when it saw him lean in close.

“Damn you, Pan, too close!” Hook shouted. Peter looked up at him for a moment, irritated.

“If you don’t want me to be careless, don’t go yelling things.”

Hook obeyed and watched the boy silently, noticing that his Indian outfit was too large, turned up at all the cuffs… what if it tripped him up?

The crocodile was staring at Peter with its inhuman slit irises, jaws in a perpetual small grin. Peter grinned back and suddenly leapt onto the ground.

Hook stifled a cry. The crocodile took the bait, lunging forward. Almost indifferently, Peter threw the fish in before bounding off with seemingly inhuman speed, back up another tree, just as the crocodile was going in for a second attack. It returned to its previous post, and Peter returned to Hook’s branch, all eyes watching for any changes in the victim of their ploy. At first there was no sign that the poison had any effect. Hook began doubting whether it had retained its potency after all these decades.

“Maybe it spit the fish out?” Peter wondered out loud, obviously disappointed.

And then they saw it. The crocodile grew restless, moving off into deeper water, squirming, shuddering.

Peter followed it along the branches, crouching on a branch directly above it, whooping and cheering when the beast groaned, turned over and sank.

“Did you see it? Did you see what a good job I did?!” Peter came bounding back. Hook had never witnessed such elation in him. He grabbed the boy, hugging his frame close to his body, kissing his cheek, himself overcome with emotions of all sorts. The boy pushed him away violently and instantly produced his dagger.

“You aren’t ever to touch me again. Ever. Understand?”

Hook raised his arms as if in surrender. “Alright, Pan, alright. Simply forgot myself in my gratitude to you.”

The boy was uncharacteristically bloodthirsty, Hook noted. Would he be the next target? He stared at the grim face, trying to read a trace of friendliness in it. Thankfully it soon softened.

“But did you see what a good job I did? And you said it wouldn’t work.”

“Pan, you’re the best there ever was or will be.”

Peter beamed and Hook knew he was safe for now, though happiness over his longtime pursuer’s death faded rather quickly. Once again he and Pan lacked a common enemy.
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Peter Captured