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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.

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Bill was breathing hard as he carried Peter down the stairs under one arm, lugging the cannonball in the other. He knocked on the cabin door with his foot, his stomach heaving up and down as he stood sweating, waiting for the captain to open the door.

Hook finally answered and Bill carried his load in. Hook looked displeased-- but he had always been annoyed with drunken crewmembers.

He looked down at the boy, his noble lineaments screwing up into a countenance of complete irritation when the light of the candle revealed some of the signs of the roughhousing.

"What the hell did you do with him?" Bill looked at Peter, and only now saw how obvious the abuse was-- the dry blood and semen on the boy's pants, the purple drops of vomit over the front, the bruise spreading across his cheek, as well as overall grime from the deck. Bill put both cannonball and boy gingerly on the carpet and made to leave, but the captain was imposingly blocking the door.

"Get those clothes off of him. I won't have him lying around in filth. And get a bath ready."

"With saltwater, Cap'n?"

"No, you imbecile, he's bleeding-- he needs fresh water."

"But we only have enough fresh water for your bath tomorrow..."

"I fear he needs it more than I do."

"And it's not heated... "

"Forget heating! Just fill the damn tub up. The small one." Bill was tired and drunk, but he did everything he was ordered, afraid to have annoyed the captain by now. Peter was unchained, carried out to the deck again, stripped, and pushed into water that felt like ice against his skin. While one hand painfully dug into Peter's shoulder, pressing his seat into the bottom of the wooden tub, the other was roughly grazing his body as a token of ‘washing'. Robert and Alf, who-- unlike the others-- were not already unconscious on the deck, bottles still half full in their hands, sauntered over to this new entertainment.

"Can we help ya with that, Bill?" Robert said, and Peter cringed more from the alcohol on his breath than the pirate's unwelcome hand on his bare chest.

"Yeah... " Alf was very drunk. His hand came down rather harshly on Peter's back and followed his spine into the water, all the way to the buttocks. Bill dunked Peter's head in and began to lather up his head with soap.

"Untie his damn hair first, you incompetent lummox... " Peter heard the captain's voice behind him. Robert and Alf immediately retreated away from the tub, and Bill frenzied up his efforts a bit. Everything was becoming more slippery, and Peter noticed how groggy and drunk Bill was. He looked up into the night sky above him, and suddenly knew he had to attempt it. Just as he felt Bill's hand relax around his body some, he leapt up. His shoulders glided right through Bill's hands, then his elbows, hands, knees,... Peter felt the chill air whipping against him and already set his sights on the moon, just as his ankles were snagged. Bill forcefully pulled the boy back down into the water. Peter was submerged, a huge merciless hand on his face, holding him under the surface for what seemed like an eternity. He was finally allowed to burst back out, coughing up water, gasping, and crying from fear and bitter disappointment.

"Serves you right. You know better than to do that," Bill said, still flustered over what might have happened had he let the boy escape under the captain's very eyes.

"Bring him back to my cabin, if you're quite finished,” Hook muttered. "And put this on him." He flung a nightgown onto the deck, having found nothing else suitable for Peter. Smee had sewn together several outfits for the boy recently, but they invariably ended up ruined rather quickly, leaving nothing appropriate for Peter to wear now. Bill pulled Peter out and dried him off with a dirty rag he found on the floor nearby. He pulled the large nightgown over Peter’s head, the boy submitting to everything without protest after his recent terrifying ordeal. Bill took the boy under his arm by the waist in a most undignified manner-- the head facing away from the direction of movement, the boy’s backside in front-- affording the pirate a fine opportunity to pat and squeeze the lovely tight buttocks enveloped in satin as he headed to return him to the captain's room.

***

Hook blew out the candle and closed his heavy eyelids, savoring the softness of his bed, and listening to Peter's occasional convulsive sobs with detached satisfaction. The boy deserved to be punished.

"Tell me you love me and I'll untie your hands for the night, Pan," Hook said. There was a long silence, before Peter's faltering voice emerged from the pitch darkness of the cabin.

"Let me go and I'll say I do."

Hook chuckled. "At least I see your sense of humor is still intact." It had been a very long day and Hook was intent on falling asleep before daybreak.

The captain was awakened by a very loud sound. He thought he had heard the boy's entire repertoire of moans and sobs, but this sort of pathetic wailing was something new. Hook felt mild alarm at how unabashedly Peter was blubbering away, but any concern he felt was overshadowed by his annoyance at being wakened.

"Shut up, Pan. What the hell is wrong with you?"

"My stomach's really hurting... "

"Well that's hardly worth bawling over like that. Shut up and try to sleep." Hook tossed over to his side. Peter quieted down for a few minutes, but soon Hook could hear his little sobs again. More fully awake by now, Hook felt concern begin to outweigh his irritation. The boy was obviously hurting. He should never have given him to his crew that evening.

"Pan, what's the matter?" The sobbing continued. "If you're not going to tell me, shut your trap and keep quiet! Some of us don't like staying up all night."

"I'm going to die... it feels like a knife in my side... I couldn't fall asleep, and it's only getting worse... " Hook groaned and relit the candle near his bed to see its flame dancing in Peter's wet eyes staring up at him. The captain grudgingly got out of bed and examined Peter's abdomen by pressing in various places. It was the lower right that made Peter jerk and burst into tears anew. Hook cursed loudly. He had seen this same malady long ago, on ships before he had advanced to captain. The ship's surgeon on one of them had known how to treat it, and Hook vaguely remembered one such life-saving operation, which he had watched with great attention, having had many interests in his youth. It had to be done quickly, he knew, but how quickly? Could it wait until morning?

"Pan, I think your gut's inflamed. Happens sometimes. Can you bear it until morning?"

"What happens in the morning?" Peter's face, illuminated by one candle, pale lips trembling, eyes glistening, was the picture of angelic suffering. The bruise was darker now, but the swelling hadn't increased so his eyes were still roughly the same size. There was no sense in waiting until morning, Hook realized. He was too anxious for going back to sleep.

"Nothing happens in the morning. We'll do it now." Peter's eyes grew even larger, but he decided not to re-ask the question. Hook dressed himself and walked out with the candle, leaving the door wide open. Peter bent over double in an attempt to deal with the pain, which was competing with his severe sleep deprivation. Sudden terror seized him when he thought he heard something scurrying across the floor in the darkness. Peter thought he could make out swarms of rats rushing into the cabin. They'd bite him if he continued to lie on the floor. Despite the great pain he was in, Peter made a concentrated effort and lifted off the floorboards entirely, as far up as the tethering chain would let him. Remaining suspended in mid-air was hard when the steady, nagging pain was punctuated by sharp jolts of agony.

He heard Hook somewhere far away ordering Smee, then the rest of the crew, to prepare for something. When would he come back already? In periods of no shooting pain, Peter felt his eyes beginning to close shut of their own accord, and his whole body would drop an inch or two before he wakened out of the relative peace back into grim, agonizing reality. Finally Peter saw the light of the candle again, announcing Hook's arrival shortly before the man himself entered the cabin. Peter welcomed the captain's familiar grip on his body. Hook knelt down, untied Peter's hands and then unchained his ankles, being careful to clutch the boy tightly to his chest. To the captain's astonishment, Peter latched onto his coat just as fervently once his hands were free, and pressed himself into Hook's torso quite willingly.

"What's the matter with you?" Hook asked, more gruffly than he intended.

"There's rats all over the cabin. Don't put me down on the floor... " Peter's entire body was shaking. The boy's completely lost it, Hook decided. And it was his fault, if anybody's. He took advantage of the magical moment and began loosening his grip on Peter, who nevertheless remained attached of his own accord. The captain knew this might be the only time he would ever have such an experience. He tenderly ran his hand through Peter's hair, which was still untied and silky smooth after the recent washing, and noticed in surprise that he felt no annoyance at the boy for rubbing his wet eyes and nose against his shoulder.

"There are no rats in here, lad. Stop trembling. I hardly recognize you like this... "

"I'm going to die... " Peter's voice was hard to understand through all the sobbing. "There's something really wrong inside me." Hook pulled Peter away and grasped him in both arms. His face was deathly pale, and Hook could see cold sweat emerge on the child's forehead. He carried the boy up the stairs to the deck. Peter was in such a weak condition that Hook wondered if he even realized what a golden opportunity this was to attempt escape. The boy's knuckles were turning white from clutching at Hook's clothing so tightly.

The crew was standing around their meal table, very drunk and barely awake, to the captain's great irritation. The painkiller tonic Smee had made in large batches some time ago was nowhere to be found, so Starkey was sent off to find more of the shrub on land.

Bill came down with the bowl of alcohol. Alf carried in the torch.

Robert prepared bandages just in case, and Cecco sharpened the knife to be used. Hook looked down at Peter in his arms, who was swiveling his head back and forth in alarm. He would not even be able to give the boy alcohol to take the edge off the pain, for fear of thinning his blood. The last thing they needed was an uncontrolled blood flow. Peter finally turned back to Hook, his large eyes full of utterly unearned trust.

"So we're doing this raw and live?" Cecco asked incredulously after Hook explained all he could remember about the operation. "I need someone to restrain him, then. It's going to hurt like hell thrice over."

The nightgown was taken off, and Peter was laid out on the pirates' meal table. The boy was shaking with trepidation and pain. Bill grabbed both arms, while Alf took the legs and pinned them down to the table.

"You don't have to cut me!" Peter appealed to Hook as soon as he saw the silver glimmer of the knife in Cecco's hands so close to his body.

"It's alright! I'll just bear it out! It'll go away sooner or later. I'll stop crying, I promise!" Tears began streaming out of his eyes anew.

"Shh, calm down... We don't want that lovely tongue bitten off, eh, lad?" Hook said, wedging a wad of rag into Peter's mouth, pushing the boy's tongue back against his throat.

Robert held the torch up above Cecco to illuminate his work. Cecco dabbed the liquor on the white skin. He held the knife in the flame for a few seconds, then made the first incision. Peter's body did something of a violent squirm, and his eyes went wild. Bill and Alf were doing all they could to hold the little body down.

"You guys have to hold him," Cecco laughed. "I can't do it if he's moving."

It was all Hook could do to contain the rage boiling up in him when he heard how slurred Cecco's words were. Cecco tried again and his initial plunge was deeper this time. Everyone heard a renewed muffled outburst from Peter.

"You worthless drunken bilgerat!" Hook pushed Cecco out of the way and took his place at the table. "You're cutting him like a bloody piece of butcher meat!"

Despite having only one hand, the captain put his hook to good use after holding it in the flame. His incision through Peter's skin and abdominal muscle was very neat. Hook felt a twinge of fear unbecoming a pirate on seeing just how slippery and red everything was right underneath that snowy skin. Here were the entrails he had so fervently wanted to see on the end of his sword. Here was a glimpse of the indomitable Peter Pan's inner workings. Such pathetic simplicity and mortality -- blood, bodily humors, tendons, bones -- all mechanical, nothing magical. Peter was bawling through the muffling rag, and kept banging his head on the table, his neck being one of the few things left unrestrained.

"Don't do that, son," Smee slipped a tarpaulin folded over many times under Peter's head to cushion the impact. He then held up a small kerchief to shield Peter's face from a view of his own bowels. "I don't think you should be seein' them things down there... "

Hook realized with dismay that the old dotard was the only dependable crewmember he had. He could feel sweat emerge on his forehead, either from the torch just above his head or his difficulty in finding the small outgrowth in that jumbled internal mess. Peter was constantly trying to wriggle out of the painful grasps that sprawled him out. Hook made the cut a bit longer and spread it apart with hook and knife, terrified at the realization that the incision should probably have been made an inch or two lower. He made another incision perpendicular to the first one and finally spotted what he was looking for. The captain cut it out as precisely as he could with Peter's torso still struggling-- and sometimes succeeding-- to move. The piece of gut was short and sticky with blood, and Hook felt reassured by its similar size and shape to what he remembered from so long ago. Smee moved in with the needle, but the cut had to be enlarged horizontally again for this latter half of the work. The intestine was sewn back together securely and Robert doused everything inside with liquor. Hook had to remind Smee to use only loose threading for the muscle in order to allow for the later extraction of the string.

The whole operation took longer than expected, and Hook cringed whenever he looked at how sloppy the three connected cuts were. The ugly red incisions would surely leave unsightly scars on that tender flesh. Tears were flowing freely from Peter's beautiful eyes, and his chest bounced up and down with stifled sobs.

Starkey was taking too long to bring the plant, probaby having difficulty finding it in this unfamiliar territory. Peter continued to be in hysterics from the pain for the nearly two hours it took for the man to return. The boy's hands kept wandering over to his wound, which was bandaged up with alcohol-soaked gauze. Hook at first laid him out on his bed, holding only his arms down, but the boy continued to wail and twist his body, threatening to undo the stitches precariously holding his side together. Hook thus opted to take the boy's entire body up into a tight embrace, suppressing all his struggles. Thus he stayed for those seemingly endless hours, rocking the boy back and forth like an overgrown, lanky infant, listening to Peter continuously repeating what to him seemed some of the most abhorrent sounds to grace the earth -- piercing, teary-eyed howls and unintelligible words, followed by hoarser shrieks, and finally quiet and prolonged moans.

Smee finally brought the drink he had made for Peter from the leaves of the plant, and Hook barely managed to force the bitter painkiller down Peter's throat. Within a quarter of an hour, Peter was still aware of the pain but it seemed more distant and dispersed. He succumbed to sleep, amazing Hook with how quickly his pain-wracked face softened back into its customary tranquility and innocence of unconsciousness.

***

Peter awoke to the horrible sensation of things beginning to slide out of him. Even before he gasped, he felt the backs of his thighs become mired in the grime. It took him longer to remember why there was throbbing pain in his side, and to realize that he was lying naked in Hook's bed, one of his wrists manacled and attached to the bedpost by a short chain. Hook lifted his head up from his arms on the desk at the sound of the gasp, and before long was at Peter's side lifting the layers of sheets off, trying to overcome his grogginess. The boy was beginning to cry. He feared Hook's inevitable anger far less than the fact that he could no longer control his own bowels.

"Stop sniveling, lad." Hook said with astonishing calmness. He proceeded to call Smee in, who took all the bedcovers, sheets and the blanket off for washing while Hook held the naked boy in his arms, still attached to the bed. Bill was ordered to fill a small tub of water and bring it in. Hook decided to bathe Peter right on the spot. He turned up his sleeves and took off his appendage, then took up Peter's entire gangly body with his right arm, the boy's back pressing into Hook's chest and his legs draped over the man's forearm. Peter shivered as he felt the frightening stumped end against the tender inside of his left knee. Hook lowered Peter down into the tub in this fashion, immersing only the boy's bottom in the water. The boy startled from the coldness.

"Please-- try not to splash. We don't want to get your cut wet just yet. And your muscle's not even sewn back together, so calm down before you rip yourself a bigger hole." Hook's left hand began to wash the boy's nether region. The captain had to smile when he saw the blazing red of Peter's face, and how much shame was revealed in the eyes directed downward into the water. Peter was expecting probing fingers to enter him at any moment, but Hook's hand entered the crevice only to give a thorough cleaning, without any gratuitous penetration.

"I'm sorry about your bed... " Peter said quietly after a long silence, during which only the sloshing of the water could be heard. Hook continued to stroke-wash the backs of Peter's thighs. The boy's blood had often stained the bed before, whenever Hook had been less careful. But it was the sense of personal and humiliating responsibility in this case that horrified Peter.

"It's not your fault. It happens after operations." Hook earnestly hoped it was the operation, and not his crew's roughhousing the previous night. "At least it wasn't painful this time, I take it?"

"Almost didn't hurt." Peter agreed. The violent blushing was beginning to subside. Hook took Peter out and dabbed a towel on his wet bottom, while Smee brought in and laid out an entire new bedspread.

"How's that cut of yours, son?" It seemed to Peter that he hadn't heard the sound of Smee's kind, grandfatherly voice for ages. The operation seeming distant and surreal.

"Better by the minute... " Peter smiled wanly. In the past three weeks, he had always much preferred Smee's company to Hook's. But at the moment, being held in the captain's powerful arms made him overlook how they had held him down equally forcefully during those painful and humiliating sessions. He thought back to his irrational fears of rats in the cabin, the whole previous night's proceedings feeling more like a dream than anything real. What did remain was a sense of pathetic gratitude to the captain for his protective vise-like grip.

"Stop dawdling, Smee, and get started on dinner," Hook barked. So it was late afternoon already, Peter realized. Time had melted into an indistinguishable mass since yesterday evening. Smee quickly trudged out of the cabin after the obligatory ‘Yes, Cap'n.' Hook pulled back the covers and laid Peter in the bed, tucking him in securely. Peter threw a quick, nervous glance at the spotless linens in which he was so tightly implanted.

"But what if I soil it again?"

"Try not to. But nothing's too good for you, Pan. You're going to recover nice and fast, if I can help it." Peter continued to look about uneasily. He had never fallen asleep in a bed before, much less in one as luxuriously large as the captain's. He might have been annoyed by the way his body sank into the mattress underneath and at how constricting it felt with all the sheets and bedspread piled on top of him, but his present weakness welcomed all these things. He wanted to be held tightly and warmly. It decreased the pain in his stomach somewhat. He only wished the tether to the bedpost had been longer and allowed his left arm to retreat under the covers out of the chill air of the cabin. He dug his head back into the pillow in an attempt to stop the strange throbbing in his forehead. Nothing ever felt right in his body lately.

"Are you being nice to me because I'm sick?" he suddenly asked. Hook had remained standing over Peter, troubled by the newly-emerged blisters he noticed on the boy's lips. "Because I'm going to die?"

"I'm being nice because you don't act like such a repulsive little brat when you feel ill." Hook leaned in and pressed his lips to Peter's forehead, confirming the presence of fever that he feared. Peter's breathing was a bit labored and he was shivering. The fever was still rising, then. Hook's mind began racing. There must have been an infection driven in.

"You don't really want to die, do you, Peter?" The boy looked at Hook quizzically without answering. "You have to want to live, lad. You won't ever get better otherwise."

A weak smile spread on Peter's face. "Maybe I'll just always stay a little sick so that you'll treat me nicely." Hook was grating his teeth, hardly listening. He had used the torch... he had held all the instruments in the fire before using them... he had doused with strong alcohol... even Smee's thread had been soaked in it...

"I'm actually a bit hungry. Can I have something?" Hook's hopes rose, seeing the boy was not feeling so ill yet.

"I suppose something liquid would be alright." He checked the boy's pulse on the arm not manacled at the wrist. Peter's skin was already turning lighter from spending most of his time indoors. Or was he simply turning ghostly pale all over, Hook wondered. The pulse was a bit high but nothing extraordinary.

Hook brought Peter a bouillon of bird meat, and the boy began swallowing it down eagerly, disregarding the humiliation of being spoon-fed, until he decided to ask what ‘soup' consisted of. On finding out, Peter lost any semblance of an appetite and curled his body up-- only the hand manacled to the bedpost still extended-- feeling betrayed and nauseated.

"Stupid, ignorant boy. This will make you better, help you rebuild your little insides. I won't give you anything else." Hook held the spoon out expectantly, careful not to drip it onto the bed, on the edge of which he was sitting. Peter had to admit that he had liked the taste and especially the warmth of the clear broth flowing down into his core, radiating soothing heat into the rest of his stomach. To Hook's unmistakable delight, Peter opened his mouth. The spoon began moving back and forth again, and the small bowl was soon finished off.

"What did you usually eat, anyway?" Hook asked, wiping Peter's mouth off with his kerchief. Peter's eyes grew distant for an instant, escaping their pained expression as he remembered more pleasant times.

"Berries. All kinds of berries. Except the poisonous ones, of course."

"And that's all?" Hook asked incredulously, stroking the periphery of Peter's face, worried by how much heat was emanating from it. "Small wonder, then, that you can never grow up. You're not a canary, Pan. You have to learn to live like a human being." There was a long silence, their gazes locked on each other. Peter's cheeks were flushing red, in stark contrast to the rest of his paleness. Hook suddenly began to feel familiar desire rise up again, but this time utter disgust accompanied the feeling. The boy was hurt, feverish, maybe even dying, and all he managed to think of was satisfying a depraved passion. Hook emphatically crossed his legs, but continued to peruse Peter's face. He was a mere child, after all, desperate to trust someone despite everything he'd been through. So desperate... so pathetic, needy, and vulnerable. He did not deserve to be forced to serve anyone so vilely, even in the best of health, Hook grudgingly admitted to himself. Peter began shifting uncomfortably under the bedspread.

"You better not be touching your cut, Pan." Peter stopped moving and averted his eyes.

"... It hurts," he said quietly. "Can I have more of that medicine?"

"No, you'll never heal up if we keep thinning your blood with that. Just bear it."

Peter's eyes were starting to shut of their own accord from time to time. Hook knelt down on the floor and ran his hand through Peter's loose hair. He caught himself saying an internal prayer to no one in particular. It had been a customary habit of his when he was younger and not quite so disillusioned with the world.

No, there were no deities. It was he and Peter alone in this world, and anything that happened to the boy was entirely his responsibility.

Peter had just fallen asleep, despite his attempts to stay awake while Hook's intense stare was still on him. His body gave a jerk from the first brief frightening dream -- something the captain himself remembered often experiencing as a child. Hook felt something quaking inside him. He wished he could share Peter's nonchalance about death.
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Peter Captured