tampered | Log; Ongoing

When; Just after this
Rating; PG-13
Characters; Wendy

ironhook, & Peter

all_butone
Summary; One wish that James Hook had never grown up + Peter's decision that said boy is now his friend + the arrival of Wendy Darling; and things are bound to get complicated.
Log;

Peter grinned happily as the wind rushed past his ears. Christmas Eve was supposed to be special of course, but he'd never imagined something as wonderful as this. He'd managed to make a new friend that morning- James, who was awfully clever and funny and most importantly; loved adventure as much as he did. They'd spent the whole day having fun and talking about Neverland and even though they really had only met early that day, they were fast friends.

And then the most astonishing thing- Wendy had arrived!

He wasn't certain how or why she'd gotten to the City, but it hardly mattered. The boy had missed Wendy terribly (though he'd never go so far as to admit such a thing), and the moment he'd found out he'd insisted on finding her.

Xanadu wasn't far he knew, but he couldn't fight the fluttering in his stomach. He wanted to see her straight away, and though he called for his new friend to follow him- Peter had easily taken a great lead, cutting though the air and stopping only when he'd reached the garden's gate; calling out as he searched for her. "Wendy! Wendy are you there?"

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

The contact seemed to soothe him, as though he were awake and cognitively responding to the sensations. Peter couldn't recall ever being held by his mother or father- certainly not the lost boys and no lady had ever pressed so close to him before; and yet he was able to recognize the sensation as something warm and comforting, voice coming out as little more than a whisper. "James...stay."

Deep in sleep, the boy's brows furrowed gently, as though anticipating the inevitable and wishing to deny it as long as possible.

"I can't," He mouthed mutely against the top of Peter's head, although part of him wished dreadfully that he could. But what would Pan's reaction be, upon waking, only to find the embrace he was trusting was none other than the man who had been trying to kill him for God only knew how long? It wasn't Jas. Hook Peter wanted to stay. It was James Matthew. And he was no longer that Eton boy. He had died in the fire, and been snuffed out by betrayal and murder long ago.

Old. Alone. Done for.

James hugged the boy, briefly, the lightest kind of squeeze, gentle in a way he hadn't been for years, letting his sadness and loneliness break over him like the swell of the sea. He carded his fingers through the boy's hair-- soft hair, and he had noticed that every time he had fisted his iron grip into those very locks with the intention to hurt, hadn't he?-- one last time before slowly and carefully untangling himself from Peter, praying he would remain asleep until he was gone from the flat.

Pliant and still warm, Peter was rather easily moved, allowing his body to be shifted as James freed himself. The boy, however, brows furrowed in confusion and discomfort, whimpered softly once more, body rolling to spread across the sheets the man had been laying on only a moment earlier. Still warm. Still smelling of James- and his fingers tangled themselves in the blankets- hoping in vain to hold fast to an already fleeting phantom.

He didn't understand why he was suddenly being left alone, and the boy shifted once more, unable to feel the same safety he'd so recently discovered.

James paused as Peter whimpered pathetically, and he cursed mentally, vehemently, for his own weakness, for Peter being the cause of it, for the City playing games with him in such a manner, taking away his much coveted control. He didn't know how long those sheets would last in distracting Peter in his slumber. There was no more time (and wasn't that ironic?). He had to leave.

So, with the silence borne from years of thievery, James stole quickly from the house and to the streets below, pausing only a moment as-- and he mentally swore again-- he grabbed the garment Wendy had made for him.

The sheets did very little to distract him really, as they quickly cooled and the change was enough to jostle Peter from sleep. The empty space beside him frightened him, and the boy looked around wildly, scanning the room for any sign of James. On seeing none, however, a wave of panic rushed through him. "Wendy!" He yelled out, standing and searching the rooms frantically. "Wendy, James is gone!"

Certain that his calls had woken the girl to come to his aid, Peter sprinted outside, calling out once more. "James?! James where are you?!"

The street was as far as James had been able to make it, somehow this parting so much worse than anything he could remember-- save Jolly's death. When Peter raced out onto the streets, wild with panic and screaming for him, James' entire body stiffened and he stayed perfectly still behind the wide trunk of the tree he had paused against, hoping its sturdiness might give him strength. He turned his cheek slightly, forget-me-nots lowered as he listened to the fairy boy, perfectly silent, perfectly hidden by the darkness he had come to know so well.

Peter was frustrated, and beyond frustrated, he was frightened; unable to keep the quiver from his voice as he continued to call in vain for the boy- running down the winding streets and alleys shouting his name until his voice was thick with tears, cracking under the strain. After all, they'd agreed to always be friends hadn't they? That meant that something horrible must have happened because James was special and James wouldn't abandon him-

"James! You weren't- you said you wouldn't leave me!"

It didn't matter where Peter ran, how far, how long. James could hear him wherever he went, as if the boy were crying directly into his ear. His eyes closed and with a snarl and jerked his head back, cracking it-- hard-- against the trunk. But instead of relieving his frustration, it only served to increase his ire. Resting there a moment, James shook his head slowly. "I could never do that," He whispered into the unforgiving night, as if responding to Peter's heartbroken shouting.

But he couldn't go back to him. Not that way. No, he would never abandon Pan, but he could never return to him as the child he had been. He would always be there-- but only as Hook versus Pan. Villian versus Hero. Dark versus Light. The way it had always been. And with that heavy thought, James pushed away from his post and vanished like a spirit into the shadows.

Log; Ongoing

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