Peter Darling

"Let your brother play—who is it? Peter Pan? That's such a wonderful name. I think it suits John very well, don't you?"
"It's my name," Peter ground out. "I don't care if it suits John. It's my name."
"Dearest," Mrs. Darling said, "you're taking this very seriously, don't you think?"

There was too much to say, so neither of them said anything for a while.

"I was never so much a pirate as when you started insisting we were mortal enemies," Hook said. "Before that, I hardly ever thought of myself as a villain. I was barely vicious."
"Oh, so it`s my fault you`re awful."
"I`m only saying that the story seemed to demand it, and I suspect it was your story."

"I win," he panted, grinning. He slowly lowered his sword to aim at Hook`s heart. One thrust, and it would be over. Peter wet his lips with his tongue. "This is it. You`re mine."
"Am I?" Hook asked, as Peter drew back his sword. "Or are you mine?"

"It`s not real," he told himself. "Nothing in this wretched dream has managed to kill me yet."
Out loud, it didn`t sound as reassuring as it had in his head. It sounded dangerously like a dare.

He smelled like gunpowder and the sea.

"You saved my life."
Peter didn`t know what to say. <...> "I had to," he said finally. "If you`d died there, I wouldn`t have been the one to defeat you."
Hook gave a low chuckle. "Your obsession is flattering, Pan. And I share it."
"Obsession?"
"Is that not what they call it," Hook said, "when two men can think of nothing but each other?"

That was it. Everyone else had followed him at best, at worst tried to stop him or change him. Hook had matched him, and had never tried to protect Peter, had always done his worst. That was what felt so good.

"You said we were telling stories," Peter said. "You didn`t admit that the only story you wanted to tell was about clothes."
"Clothes, adventure, and a worty opponent," Hook said, shooting him a look. "Who could ask for more?"

"Is your shoulder hurting you?"
It was said in a tone of slight condescencion, as if Pan would never have deigned to be hurt, but it was unmistakably an expression of concern. Hook almost smiled.

"That`s the trick of growing up. Nothing stays the same." Hook sounded oddly sympathetic. "You see the faults in everything. Including yourself."

Peter`s instincts screamed for him to keep holding Hook down. But there was something in his instincts that Peter did not trust. His instincts had led him to fight Hook in the first place. His instincts had led to war; they had gotten Tink and Slightly killed. His instincts twisted towards destruction, and he didn`t even want his worst enemy gone.

"You can`t stop people from being hurt."
Ernest`s face twisted. "That`s no excuse for not trying. You don`t even want to try."

It was a fight he didn`t know how to win, a danger he couldn`t escape. That was good. He felt like a string that had been pulled taut after lying slack a long time.

"I had rather hoped you might be willing to talk," Hook said.
"I don`t like talking. I like fighting."

"Why have you come back, boy?" the queen asked.
Peter blinked. He had a feeling she had asked him a riddle he didn`t understand. "What`s Neverland without me?"
"Many things to many people. What are you doing here?"

"There`s hardly any bloodshed when you aren`t around."
"Then it`s a good thing I`m back," Peter said.

Hook sank to the ground, staring at the blood on his fingers. The wound throbbed between his ribs, a slow crimson stain spreading on his shirt. He hardly recognized the sensation. It had been so long since someone had hurt him.
He smiled.

It would be dirty, sweaty work to squat beneath the log and dig up the fortune of gold and jewels rumored to be buried there. Hook was looking forward to it; the sight of other men toiling usually made him feel better.