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A Bunch of Hook/Pan Oneshots	By : lexyhamilton Category: M through R > Peter Pan > Slash Views: 9605 -:- 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
- 7
- 8
- 9
Title: Switch-a-roo
Pairing: Hook/Pan/Pan/Hook/Pan/Hook/Hook/Pan…. Blah!
Rating: hard R?
Summary: Peter’s joke on Hook gets out of hand
Warnings: Chanslash. Rampant mindfuck. So rampant that it may unfortunately become reader mindfuck—aka hard to follow—so just a heads up on that. Dark elements present, though nothing too graphic.
A/N: In answer to the TNL challenge. I used Moshesque’s quote about Hook’s insecurity about his identity. Well and mindfuck’s in here too. This is all rather weird, and I hope it’s not impossible to follow... Thanks to Azul Bloom for read-through and assuring me I'm haven't gone completely off the deep end.

Peter sat pouting, watching the bay. Oh, how mad they had all made him last night. Wendy and the boys, and even Tink. They had all been unusually annoying and he must have gotten very angry, though he couldn’t really recall what it had all been about. The storm had shaken the island, and now morning light revealed that Hook’s ship was gone. There was wooden debris all over the beach, and he’d seen bloated drowned bodies washing up on shore. Dead bodies… something about that made him shiver, though he was sure he couldn’t care less about the pirates. His only regret was that he hadn’t killed them in battle. He pushed the vague discomfort out of his mind.

Suddenly he espied someone walking up the beach, and when he flew closer he immediately recognized the captain, though he was wet and bedraggled almost beyond recognition.

“Well, hello! Glad to see you made it out alive!” The boy cried out, though he didn’t descend to the ground. Hook looked up, shielding his eyes from the rising sun. Peter could see that there was a large gash on his forehead.

“I’m sorry—I… don’t seem to remember…” Hook mumbled.

“What?”

“I don’t remember… anything. Did I know you before?” The captain’s voice was uncharacteristically shaky.

“You really don’t remember who you are?” The boy looked positively delighted. “I have to admit it’s a rare thing for me to remind someone else of something. But it’ll be my pleasure! I… am Captain Hook, and you’re Peter Pan.” The boy could barely suppress his laughter. He was certainly quick-witted, to think of such a funny deception.

“How can you be a captain? You’re a mere boy!” Something was very exasperating about that lopsided grin, the man thought. Something exasperating in a very familiar way, but it kept eluding his mind like a seed-wisp on the wind.

“Oh, I’m much older than you think.”

“Fine, suit yourself. So you know me?”

“Oh, we knew each other very well. We were the closest of friends. Don’t tell me you don’t remember?”

“I told you, I don’t remember anything before getting washed up on this shore…” 'Peter Pan' sat down, making his hands into a vise on his temples in hopes of alleviating his headache. This boy-captain was doing nothing to alleviate it, certainly.

'Hook' floated down and crouched beside the man. Finally there was someone who would pretend along with him just as earnestly, though the poor victim of the game had no choice in the matter. 'Hook' smiled.

“Can you help me take this whole… apparatus off? The salt on it chafes.”

'Hook' took off 'Peter'’s clothing layer by layer, starting with the greatcoat, until he reached bare skin and began working the leather harness off.

“How did you swim in all these rags anyway? I’d have drowned. And only one hand to paddle with. I’m impressed… Peter Pan.” The way the boy relished saying his name made 'Peter' sure it was just some invented mumbo-jumbo that the lad found amusing. It irritated him to no end that he couldn’t do a single thing about it.

“And please remind me-- what exactly happened to my hand?”

'Hook'’s eyes sparkled and you could tell he was very pleased with his own cleverness. “I ate it.”

“What?”

“I ate it. It tasted really good.”

“What in damnation are you talking about?”

“I like the taste of human flesh. Your flesh. So I decided to eat it.”

'Peter' trembled. He was sure these were outlandish lies, but the strange grin on 'Hook'’s face, and the utter confidence of the words disarmed him. He had no reason to believe this eccentric boy, but he had no other alternatives to complete ignorance. 'Peter' looked around, desperate to see someone else who might bring a dose of sanity to this situation.

'Hook' stared at 'Peter', seeing the fear in his eyes, and the hopelessness. He suddenly began to feel very peculiar. Something from the past… the far, far past. Peter Pan was crying and scared and Captain James Hook did something very strange in that cabin… He tried to concentrate his mind but couldn’t for the life of him remember the details. Yet he instinctively felt an urge to do something rather strange now, based on that vague memory.

“I liked your flesh so much that I’ve followed you ever since. Wanting the rest of you…”

'Peter' sat flabbergasted when 'Hook' rose and pecked him on the cheek, giggling.

“Don’t kiss me. Don’t touch me!” 'Peter' cried, eyes darting about frantically.

“That’s not a kiss, that’s a thimble,” 'Hook' said, rather peeved. “And, anyway, I’m going to thimble you again, whether you like it or not.”

'Peter' dealt 'Hook' such a blow that the latter was thrown out of the man’s reach.

“What the hell was that for?” 'Hook' whined, hovering in the air and rubbing his chest where the wind had been knocked out of him by that huge fist.

“Just don’t touch me. I don’t want anyone to touch me until I remember who the hell I am and what I’m supposed to be doing.”

“Well that’s no fun. Why do you worry so much all the time? You were like that before you forgot everything too—”

Suddenly they both heard a ticking. 'Peter' sat quietly, listening to it rather calmly and making no move to escape. “What is that clock sound?”

'Hook' smiled. “You really are hopeless if you can’t remember that. We better go before it gets here.”

“Why?” 'Peter' asked, walking through the brambles of the overgrown forest path slower than 'Hook' would have liked, prompting the boy to finally tug on the man’s wrist to move him along and stop him from turning around so often. “What is it? What does the clock mean?”

“It means we shouldn’t be hearing it. We don’t have to listen to clocks on this island.”

They reached a small cave and went in. 'Peter' sat down on a rock, though it was very cold and almost moist.

“You must be hungry,” 'Hook' suggested, obviously enjoying the part of protector.

'Peter' shivered. “Thirsty, mostly.” They had left all the clothing from his upper half on the ground with the harness. He really wanted to go back and get them now that they were in this dampness, but 'Hook' smiled and flew out very quickly when he heard the request. Left alone, Peter found he was reluctant to venture out of sight of the cave for fear of losing it. It was impossible to tell for certain, but there didn’t seem to be others on this island, and he decided he had better stay and wait for his only companion to return.

Hook did not return for a very long time, and Peter finally ventured far out, marking his path with scratches on the treetrunks. He searched for his clothing, but had apparently gone in the wrong direction. Suddenly he came upon bodies in the woods. He thought they were sleeping when he saw them from afar but he soon saw that they were sprawled haphazardly-- covered in blood and reeking in the heat. Many boys and one girl, all run through the chest, the flies circling about them and crawling on their faces— expressions ghastly and eyes still open.

Peter trembled, wondering who could have done something so gruesome, remembering how rushed Hook had been in getting him to come away from the ticking sounds. He fled back so quickly he often nearly lost his own trail. He huddled inside the cave, praying Hook would return and trying to chase away thoughts that perhaps he would not. That perhaps he would also find his only companion lying in the woods with his mouth open and his blood dry and brown on his clothing.

Hook did return, but only when it had already grown very dark. “Wow, I almost clean forgot about you! You’d have been left here all night if I hadn’t suddenly remembered what we were doing. Speaking of which, what was it I was supposed to fetch for you?”

Peter sat shivering in the dark recess of the cave, seeing Hook clearly against the moonlight behind him. “It’s alright. I found water here in the cave. Just don’t leave again.”

“But you must be hungry by now! I already ate. Let me bring you something…”

“No!” Hook felt Peter’s iron grip on his wrist. “Don’t go out again. When you’re not here with me I feel as if I’m losing my mind, because I don’t understand anything that’s happening.”

“Oh. Alright.” Hook felt uneasy at how hard Peter was gripping him to his chest. “Let’s stay together then.”

“Yes,” Peter mumbled and sat back down, placing Hook on his lap. “Let’s stay together.”

They sat in silence, Peter still haunted by the faces of those children. Hook parted Peter’s long dark curls, and licked at the congealed wound on his forehead.

“So tell me, where are the rest of the people on this island?” Peter finally ventured.

“The rest?” Hook thought for a moment, smiling at this new opportunity for more invention. “There is no one else. Just you and I.”

“I see. And what do we do?”

“Do?”

“What do we do all day? Surely we don’t sit in caves and hold each other.”

“We do whatever we wish.” Hook grinned, and Peter was positive he remembered that grin, but really nothing else from his companion. “And what I wish is to give you a thimble.”

Hook pecked him on the cheek again, and then stared intently at the face in front of him. He let a small gasp escape his lips when he could suddenly discern teardrops running down those chiseled cheeks.

“What’s the matter,” Peter said, his voice shaking. “Never seen me cry before?”

“No,” Hook answered truthfully, still fascinated. “I didn’t know grown men could cry too. What’s wrong, anyway?”

“I’m cold, I’m hungry, I’m afraid to be left alone, I still don’t understand what I’m supposed to be doing, there are dead children in the woods, you’re lying to me left and right--”

“What dead children?” Hook stiffened. Why dead bodies all the time. Who cared about dead bodies. “No, no, there are no other children in these woods, I told you. Just you and I.”

“I just don’t feel like I want to live anymore.”

“Why not?” Hook’s voice betrayed great agitation. There it was again—some distant memory of something pleasant. Or was it unpleasant? Something like coming together so closely it was frightening. As if they’d lose their separate identities. Hook suddenly felt some panic too, because he had by now forgotten what the great joke had been. He remembered there had been a joke. What was happening to Peter was very funny, for one reason or another, but he couldn’t recall just now what the reasons were. He thimbled Peter again, for lack of anything better to do. This action didn’t seem funny anymore either, though he was sure it had been earlier that morning…

Peter’s lips suddenly pressed themselves rather harshly into Hook’s. Hook could not struggle much, confined in the man’s arms as he was.

“Please don’t leave me,” Peter whispered and began stripping Hook’s meager outfit off of him.

“What…?” Hook whispered, his voice catching in his throat. He felt Peter’s elbow catch his knee and raise it, opening him up down there, pressing his own crotch into Hook’s…

Panic. He remembered it now. It had been unpleasant. Hook had laughed, Peter had cried. Or was it the other way around? Hook trembled in fright at both what he could and could not remember.

“Don’t…” Hook was too frightened to say anything else, growing hoarse. Peter’s arms were still clutching him and sprawling his legs out uncomfortably, anger, confusion, and sadness driving him onwards until—

“Belay that!” Hook cried out in desperation.

It was a deep, sonorous voice that cried out, echoing off the cave walls. Peter thrust the boy away, nauseated by the confusion. “What… what are you? Why are you speaking with my voice?”

Hook couldn’t rightly answer the question. He remained on the ground where he’d been thrown, sobbing, naked. It had started out as a fun game, he could have sworn, but it was only frightening and gloomy now, and he could hardly remember why it was a game at all.

Peter was no less terrified. “Where are we? What are we?”

“If… if I can just go and ask—I… there may be someone who will remind me…”

“Who?”

“A… a girl. I remember there is a girl. She can tell us.”

“I saw a girl lying dead in the woods.”

Hook’s lips trembled and he burst into tears. What girl and why was she dead. Why couldn’t he remember anything anymore?

“You’re not going anywhere.” Peter grabbed Hook back, and the large hand alighted on the boy’s neck, throttling him. “And you’re not supposed to have my voice! Don’t do that! Don’t do it ever again-- it’s frightening!”

Hook made a weak noise when his neck was released and slid down to the stone floor again. His neck throbbed, and it felt hard to breathe, as if there was something catching in the passageway. Peter stared at the dark marks he’d left on the unblemished skin—so stark that they were visible in the dim light of the cave. He finally picked Hook up again to see him coughing blood. Tears of sadness and fright were streaming down both of their cheeks as they sat, stuck torso-to-torso, arms wrapped around each other, neither remembering where they came from or where they were headed.
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A Bunch of Hook/Pan Oneshots