9. Peter

Ihurt.

I fucking hurt.

Only the real Wendy could make me ache like this.

The thought won't let go, one of the few constants in a world spiraling into madness. She makes me hurt deep in my chest, in my head, unearthing barbed wires and secrets that have remained buried for centuries.

Her presence is digging them up, slowly and excruciatingly, and I don't know how to fucking deal with it.

Especially when I can barely remember how I found her and brought her over. My memory is going. Fickle brain cells. Too damaged by Fae magic and an eternity of fuckery, I'm a king unlike any other.

Half-mad.

Lost.

Confused.

Leader to a bunch of guys as crazy as I am.

King of nothing.

Oh, and kidnapper of girls named Wendy in the hopes that the prophecy will eventually come to pass.

Fat chance.

Except… Hurt. Pain. This discomfort inside me when I am around her, making me reach for her, crave her.

Hell.

Am I sure it's her? Fuck, no.

Then again, after centuries of trying, of grabbing girls and bringing them over only to have them lose their minds and take their own lives, I'm not sure about anything. There were girls who lasted over a month with us, until we became attached to them and broke down when they vanished. There were girls that lasted a week.

They all hurt.

From the laws of Neverland.

From us.

I mean, what do you do with a random girl who cries every day to go back home, who fights you and curses you? You lash out. All that pent-up fury and fear, they need an outlet.

Sometimes I wonder if the curse of Neverland is us. If its cruel laws are our laws. If we are the laws.

If we are the new reality of this place.

New. Huh. Maybe simply worse. Dragging this world down with us. Towns falling to ruin. People vanishing. The woods thinning out. The mermaids—

"Peter, goddammit," Tink says, coming to stand in my way. "Where the fuck are we going? Talk to us."

"Since when do I talk to you?" I growl. "Get out of my face, asshole."

For the flash of an eye, Tink looks stricken. "But—"

"Heading to the center of the island," I say and walk past him, refusing to dwell on that. Maybe I imagined it.

Maybe I'm the asshole I accuse him of being.

The two of them grumble as I lead them toward the center, and with good reason, I have to acknowledge. This is the nexus, the fountain of my power, and also the place where I'm at my most vulnerable.

But I'll use my magic to convince Hook that he's wrong, that he misheard, misfelt. That she is not the one.

Am I sure it's her? Hell, no.

But for the first time in so long I feel a glimmer of hope.

I don't even know why I think it's her, why I have this feeling that she's the one we've been waiting for when I keep forgetting who she is.

It's just that some things are felt, not known.

Now I just need to stop the other guys from dipping their dick into her and we're golden. Or may one day be golden, if it works out.

Andif I still remember my plan and my conviction after this confrontation with Hook is over.

* * *

The island is magical,like the whole of Neverland.

What this means is that it's damn inconsistent. It sometimes changes, shifting in small ways, moving a wall here, a tree there. Changing the season. Changing the hour. Changing the monsters' faces.

What that depends on? Time.

The tampering of the Dark Fae with the timespace. Fucking with us all.

Time and Wendy's nightmares.

Another thing that makes me think she's the one, I recall suddenly. She said she remembers this place. When I crossed over with her… I could still recall things, and I was sure then… I was sure it was her, when I was in the real world, watching her, when she was attacked and I caught her—

I almost stumble, caught in this flash of memory, and Colt grabs me to stop me from faceplanting.

"They attacked her," I whisper.

"What, Wendy?" He helps me find my feet. "Who attacked her? Where?"

"In the real world. It was Hook. Hook got to her there. I barely saved her—"

Colt frowns. "Whoa, breathe. Where was that?"

"On the street, close to where she lives. He was going to carry her away, and I stepped between them, and grabbed her—"

"Most probably it was a random thief, man." Colt shakes his head. "Can Hook travel to the real world? That would be a first."

Fuck, yeah, true, and as the details start slipping through my fingers once more. What happened before we crossed makes less and less sense. The venom in my leg burns and I grit my teeth as I reach down to pull my pant leg up.

"We can't go to the center," Tink says and I stop mid-motion. "With the amount of magic there, the venom will spread faster."

"Fuck that," I say, releasing the fabric from my fingers. "I'm fine. We're going, and that's final."

"Is that an order, your Majesty?" he snarks.

"Damn right it is." I yank my arm free of Colt's grip and limp on. "Come on, we haven't got all day."

"You could say that again." Tink tilts his head to the side, pink and copper hair sliding over his face. "Can you hear it?"

Tik-tock.

Hook's watch.

We shouldn't be able to hear it from such a distance, but sometimes the laws of physics are wonky here, allowing the sound of Hook's annoying tik-tocking instrument to reach my ears.

Like right now.

Fuck.

"Run!" I yell and give the example when they just stand there, staring at me. "Run, you fuckers! Run for your lives."

I may forget in a minute what this is all about, but I won't let it fucking stop me from trying to fix this world.

* * *

The center is not markedby anything concrete. It also shifts, like everything on the fucking island, and currently it's drawing me into the ruins of the town. I haven't been inside its streets in a while, because…

Because I was in the real world.

Right.

Dammit, my mind is starting to slip again.

"Hurry the fuck up," I say and start running full-out toward the heart of the pull, the soles of my boots slapping on cracked concrete, my steps echoing in the quiet. "Come on."

"This is fucked-up," Colt says, running after me. "I hope you haven't forgotten about the natives."

I keep running. "The natives?"

"Yeah, remember?" Tink overtakes me, then slows down again until we're running side by side. "Dammit, you forgot that, too? Where the hell is the center today? Will you be able to find it?"

"Stop talking," I grind out and veer into a side street because obviously I don't fucking remember. My memory is fickle, picking and choosing what to show me. The tik-tock follows us and it seems to be growing louder. "Fuck!"

Closer and closer we get, and something flashes out of the corner of my eye—a mismatched red-skinned creature with a wide, fanged mouth, and I throw my hand up and slam my magic into it. It shrieks as it falls apart—and I groan as the pain in my side redoubles.

Almost there.

We skid into an alley with graffiti on the walls and there's… water there? What the fuck? Why is the alley flooded?

"What the fuck?" Colt says, echoing my thoughts, and that's reassuring.

To a point.

"Here," I lie, grabbing my side and gritting my teeth. "We're here. The center is here."

"The water must be because this is her dream," Tink whispers, looking around. "Why the hell is she so afraid of water?"

I know the answer to this, I'm sure I do, but my memory won't give it up. I stumble a few steps and Colt shoves his shoulder under my arm, keeping me upright.

"Come on, Peter," he says. "You can do this."

"Hey, isn't this the place Wes likes so much?" Tink mutters. "That graffiti on the wall…"

"It is."

The center is pulsing nearby, digging claws into my skull. This close to it, I am the island, I am the nightmare. I can feel my face change, my lips retreating, my teeth lengthening, my hair standing up in hardening spikes. My hands turning into claws.

And I feel him. As I turn, pulling Colt around with me, there he stands.

"Hook," I mutter.

"Pan," he returns the greeting, strolling toward us as if nothing is amiss. "What's up?"

Colt pulls out his gun with a curse.

Tink draws his sword from its ancient scabbard, the sound of metal on metal ringing out way too loud.

Hook laughs.

His men stand still behind him, a small group, not an army this time, their steps splashing in the water covering the alley.

He looks… the same as always. Same as the last time I saw him—same as that time I tried to kill him, my knife in his chest, twisting, his silver pistol on my side, boom boom boom, gunshot after gunshot, both of us bleeding and fading…

And yet he's the same, silvery blond hair and gray eyes, dimples in his cheeks. He's wearing a suit, a fucking old-fashioned suit, always.

That's Hook all right. A three-piece suit and a white shirt, hands in his pant pockets, chest thrust out.

Genuine. Warm. Likable.

A fucking bastard.

I feel loopy. I'm running low on fairydust and the cravings are a bitch, but one thing seems to be making sense:

Memory and time.

They're intertwined, aren't they? Sometimes I'm not sure if it's time that acts wonky on the island or if it's the fucking jumble inside my head that makes it seem that way.

Wrong place for an epiphany.

"You don't look so good," Hook says, giving me a critical look. "Has time been wearing you down, Pan?"

"Fuck you," I say. How can he look the same when I'm more scarred inside and out every time we meet?

"Not looking for a fuckbuddy right now, thanks." He eyes Colt and Tink who are still brandishing their weapons. "Tell your friends to relax, will you?"

"You tell them," I mutter.

Hook's brows rise. "You say that so… deadpan."

"Hey, that's my specialty," Tink complains. "I make the puns around here."

"Or is it just pans?" Hook says. "Pans and pots?"

Tink shows his sharp teeth. "That was awful. Painfully bad, Hook."

"Aw, Tinker. That's sweet." Hook takes a step closer. "Don't tell me you missed me?"

Tink growls and takes a fighting stance.

"I'll take that as a yes," Hook says. "I'm not even asking Colt, who's so cold inside and out, and as for you… You're just a flash in the pan, aren't you, Peter? Hence the pun with the pans."

"Oh, God, stop it," Tink mutters. "You suck at this wordplay thing. It hurts my brain. Honestly, trust me on this and leave it to the experts."

"I've been outsmarting you for centuries, you bastard, Hook," I say.

"Have you, now? Or have you just been failing to find the one woman you think will save you? And time…" Hook glances at his damn annoying crocodile-skin pocket watch, the source of the maddening tik-tock that echoes around the island like a heartbeat. "Time is running out."

"So you say." I straighten, biting back a groan. "So you keep saying. I've got all the time in the world."

"You think you found the right girl this time," Hook says, eyes narrowing to slits.

"I never said that."

"I felt her," he says. "Heard her with you and your boys."

"And you think I'd let them put their paws all over her if she was the one? You think I would touch her if there was a chance she could save us?"

He hesitates, frowns. "You didn't actually fuck her, you or the Lost Boys. I don't believe that for a second."

"Don't you?"

Colt's hold on me tightens. He doesn't know what game I'm playing. That's the idea. If only I can keep my thoughts together a while longer…

"You wouldn't let them even kiss that Wendy back then," Hooks says. "Back when we fought over her. You didn't let me."

"Still holding a grudge, I see," I breathe.

"She was the one I wanted," he growls, his calm fa?ade finally fragmenting.

"Yeah. Sorry about that." I shrug, playing it nonchalant, though the pain of those days, that encounter, still smarts, both in flesh and mind. He really had been into that girl. And I had been into him. Who's keeping count, right? "But business is business."

"You cold bastard," he growls. "You didn't let me help her. And then she was gone."

"They all were," I whisper. Frown. This isn't the game I was planning, this raw pain welling inside of me almost erasing the pain of magic, of the center's pull.

"I thought you'd drag me to the center," he says, "to bespell me, befuddle my thoughts, convince me."

"I never thought that would work," I say and Tink lowers his sword and turns to me, his face a thundercloud.

Yeah, I lied.

I do that. I'm good at that. My whole life is a lie.

And I'm not a good guy. Never said I was.

"Captain," one of Hook's men says and his feet splash in the water. He points and I manage to plaster an expression of curiosity on my face as I turn around to see.

There, caught in a moonbeam, under the graffiti of a crescent moon and a circle of stars.

A disheveled Wendy and a red-faced Wes, kissing.

He has his hands on her face, and she has her arms around his neck, standing on tiptoe to reach him, and it's fucking sweet.

The magic makes me feel sick. The magic that has been tugging on them, pulling them toward us.

They don't call me King for nothing.

"Fuck," Colt hisses. "Didn't he tell you to hide?"

Wes breaks the kiss and his eyes go round. "Oh shit. We were," he hisses right back. "How could I have known you'd come here of all places?"

"Well, hello there," Hook says, his grin sharp. "You must be the new Wendy on the block."

"Wendy Darling," she says, a stubborn tilt to her chin, eyes narrowed and no hint of fear in her blue gaze. "Hook, I presume?"

"You presume right." Hook bows, ever the gentleman, sweeping his hand to the side with a flourish. He has been around as long as I have, unlike the other Lost Boys. No, even longer. "James Hook, at your service. You can call me Jas." Then he turns to me. "Oh… He was kissing her. So it's true. Your plan really didn't pan out, did it?"

"Out of the frying pan and into the fire," I agree and stifle a crazed laugh. "Oh, yeah."

He leans in. "She really isn't the right one."

"Nope."

She's not.

Can you read my thoughts, Jas?

If you are, she's not the one you want.