Hooks POV

Everything happens somewhere.
What an apt paraphrase of fate, of one's powerlessness in the face of the influence of higher destiny. James often wondered to what extent he could influence his own life and whether there was such a thing as providence - a power that ensured that everyone fulfilled their destiny. Peter is the hero and James is the terror and villain.
But who knew the other side of the coin? Who asked whether Peter had so much regard for his followers, whether the lost brats were doing well in their freedom? The hero could only be a hero if others stood in his shadow in return...
And Hook knew some of the lice-ridden fellows who called themselves Lost. Ha... lost. Without parents, without discipline and rules, without boundaries and prohibitions. They laughed, they played, they joked, they pushed each other around and fought.... they hurt and killed - all for what?

 
The entertainment, the fun of the one they all followed and who was their sun, the centre of their cosmos. How many times had he led them to their doom for a joke? But he was not the terror - James Hook was. And by all the gods, James stood by his reputation. The stories they told about him alone kept cowardly attackers away and apart from that.... he took responsibility for his actions, he knew the price of killing someone, knew the stains on the soul and also the broken hearts that were often left behind. Perhaps that was what made him so different from Pan. He knew what he was doing, at all times and in all moments.... he did it to protect his crew, his ship and his property. Peter... wanted to laugh, to enjoy himself and it was easy for him to look the other way as children choked screaming for their blood. For him, there was no remorse, no 'no'.

And so everything eventually happened as it had to happen. No one could escape Neverland's endlessly trickling hourglass. It was unstoppable, inescapable... and sealed all their lives. Even his. The grains of sand did not fall at random, James knew that in this desert, despite the chaos, everything had its order. Games and attacks, raids and revenge - it all had to balance out somewhere, for the scales could not lose their equilibrium. Lately, it had been surprisingly quiet, too quiet for Hook's taste, so he had instructed the men to be more vigilant days ago. But the longer a thread was stretched, the more it wore out and so the pirates' vigilance also dropped when they thought they were safe. Except for James Hook, who continued to let his gaze roam over the Jolly Roger like a watchful eagle.

Perhaps that was why the first crow of the night did not have too shocking an effect on the captain. The sound was soft at first, more blown in by the wind, but a second cry followed shortly afterwards accompanied by the bright sound of childish laughter. Gurgling amusement from the bow of the ship and James thought he saw something roll on board.... somersaulting off the rail and leaping onto its nimble legs.

"It's an attack!" the captain roared across the deck and unsheathed his sabre.

He was not the only one who noticed the intruders and his reputation was carried further. With a silent but no less incensed curse, James placed the half-charred cigars on a barrel - carefully, so as not to damage the holder. Then he turned on his heel and, much faster now, James pulled a pistol from the holster on his belt. Golden metalwork adorned the wooden grip, which was brightly polished and smooth as a polished gemstone, lying perfectly in his hand. His initials were engraved in the metal attachment, the sweeping inscription Capt. J. Hook. All he had to do was pull the metal hammer back with his thumb, a light squeeze of the trigger and.... whoever got in front of his barrel would bitterly regret it.

More screams tore the night apart, laughter, crows, chaotic roars... then James saw more figures clambering over the railing like rats. But the entire crew, as much as he hated to admit it and as much as it angered him, were not as prepared as they could have been. That, too, saw at the thread of patience that was not particularly durable in James Hook, despite his cleverness. Well, this attack was one thing. With an almost frightening routine, they could prepare to be engaged in battle from one second to the next. But to see his men running around like washerwomen, some of them not carrying their equipment and others first trying to spot the enemy, made him grimace in dissatisfaction. The next attack had almost been foreseeable. Pan had not been seen for some time and James got the hint that the goblin was roaming the outside world... looking for weak, restless souls foolish enough to take him up on his offer. Now there was fresh meat prowling the island again, and the beasts were just waiting to tear apart Pan's latest toys. It was always a matter of time before the first newcomers fell victim to the jokes. Some made it, some didn't. A cheerful coming and going among the lost. Today, it seemed, Peter had decided to pursue the greatest of jokes with his brats like that... 'teasing' the pirates and James was willing to cram his audacity back down the fool's throat. But so far he had not seen the flying devil, nor heard his hideous crowing, which usually had him pointing his pistol skywards from the first moment to aim at whatever first flew in front of his barrel. No, it was still only the admirers and imitators of the stinking forest goblin.

Where better for all these brats to put themselves to the test than here? In the most dangerous place for any lost person, next to the mouth of a crocodile. Chaos spilt onto the deck, hustle and bustle, a mishmash of shadows. A few men had the presence of mind to light more lanterns to at least partially spot their opponents. The lanky, dirty boys melted into the darkness on nights like this, almost like aborigines.

Cursing, James raised his pistol and aimed at a shadow that was moving from one pole to the next. Without hesitation, he pulled the trigger, withstanding the slight recoil of the gun as the small explosion ignited noisily. Shrouded in thin clouds of smoke, the bullet shot out of the metal barrel and towards its victim. The stifled gasp rang out to him, followed by a bright yelp and the sound of a body losing its footing amid countless ropes. It sounded like a grazing shot, but James could not make out the injured man with certainty - especially as the next attackers were already leaping across the deck. With a grim face, James trudged across the deck towards the wide stairs leading to his cabin. He did not have the second pistol in his holster, but annoyingly it was still lying on the table where he had just cleaned and reloaded it this morning. Besides, it was an enormous effort every time to prepare the bullets with the deadly substance that immediately began to soak every scribed vein when it hit a body. This was the only way to make sure that the little brats got something out of a shot.... and not even their cursed little Curly could do anything about the poison. James had made sure of that.

He had almost climbed the stairs when suddenly there was a noise. Loud clattering, as if of porcelain. The captain raised his head, eyed the thick wooden door with narrow eyes, and finally, his attention slid to the door slit. The bright strip of light below was broken in places as someone moved and the shadow pranced across the planks. James' lips twisted into a cold expression as he slid the pistol back into the holster and then reached for the sabre. As carefully and slowly as he could, he unsheathed the weapon, suppressing even the metallic whirring. Perfectly balanced, sharpened until the blade slid through clothes and flesh like butter and polished by busy hands so that stormy blue eyes full of snow and cold reflected in silver steel. Quietly, he strode to the door and opened it with practised hands, trying to make as little noise as possible. It took James some concentration because normally he didn't have to get into his cabin silently. In this case, however, patience was better than rashness and when the soft click of the latch popping open sounded, the captain even held his breath. The little rats possessed good hearing, so if he took even one wrong step... he wouldn't catch the cursed thief in the act.

James wondered what a lost man was doing in his cabin. The loot from various raids was stored below deck, including all the things Peter's prodigals were so fond of reaching out for. Gold coins, jewellery and Hook himself had looked at some of the strange talismans whose true origin he did not know. Now, all these things were a good distance from the captain's cabin... so what were any of the damned snots doing in HIS quarters?

Fluent and steady, James Hook entered the cabin and pulled the door shut behind him. This time the click was even more silent than before as James made every effort to blend in with the shadows. To the left and right of the door were bookshelves crammed with parchments, sea charts and other documents in carefully sealed leather containers. Candles, books, a few drawings, yellowed envelopes, nautical tools and broken compasses. Boxes, small crates and splendidly decorated candlesticks, reminiscent of another time, jostled for space on the wooden shelves. In the right-hand alcove, James stopped for the moment, pressed himself a little into the shadows and hoped that his figure was hidden well enough by the towering shelf.

Contrary to popular belief. James didn't care what he killed a man for, and especially if a brat dared to prance around his cabin, he wanted to know what the hell had made him do it! With even greater astonishment, his eyes now fell on a ragged bundle that looked nothing like Slightly, one of the twins or perhaps Nibs. James would have expected at least one older lost person here - someone who knew how to defend himself to some extent, had experience with pirates and, well, had been wandering around Neverland for a while. Not... someone like this fellow.

He watched with interest as the cheeky little fellow scurried back and forth, then... what actually? He had taken an interest in the coat and with grubby fingers, he now folded it up with some effort before the thief threw the loot over his shoulder like a sack. With a raised eyebrow, James watched the amusing spectacle and tilted his head slightly, causing the feather on the captain's hat to tremble slightly.

So... did you think it would be that easy? the captain thought pityingly and watched as the boy finally made his way to the door. Hook's guess was to drag the prey to the rat hole of the lost - where, in all likelihood, his precious cloak would be pierced by arrows and sabres and nibbled on by rats. A terrible fate that this noble garment deserved as little as Peter deserved his life.

James barely had to move, a slight shift of his weight to the left and... and the boy bumped into him. He had also toyed with the idea of tripping him and then decided otherwise. It would have been silent and James did not know this fellow - first impressions should be befitting of his deed and let the prodigal know that he had sealed his death with that action. The goblin didn't give a damn if the boys were impaled directly or knew how to fight back decently beforehand, because this one hadn't even heard the captain. A smile, almost cruel, spread across the man's lips and twisted his meticulously trimmed beard. James lowered his head a little to look at the fellow, who now looked up with a jerk. A few strands of dark hair slipped under his much too-large cap. Blue eyes gleamed at him from a very dirty face, standing out even in the shadows with a slight glint under the wide brim. What have we here?

"Mater..." (...) "Oh... uh...oops...?" (...) "Uh... Captain what... Honour... There's a fight going on outside... wouldn't you rather... help your people?" (-Luke)

Slowly, James raised his sabre towards the boy, bringing him a little distance away from the blade, and listened curiously to the stammering. His eyes narrowed as he tried to make out any features at all under the sailor's cap and dirt. He stumbled for a moment at this... reaction that James had not expected at all. Fortunately for the boy, it amused him more than it irritated the captain. Did he want to help the crew? Hook laughed darkly, a low sound that showed partly honest amusement. Not to the boy's good, though.

Instead of responding to the words, the captain again raised his sabre to the lad's chin, forcing him to stretch his neck upwards. As he did so, he noticed how petite the thief was. Everything about him seemed too slight for Hook's taste. What a state of a boy. Had the goblin made a mistake there? Surely that's why he sent him here, to steal the cloak... ...to weed this bundle out of an annoying burden.

Pathetic thing... And you don't even know how little they care about you. Hook thought with half-hearted pity.

"You haven't been here long, have you?" he asked, tilting his head and still the amused smile played around his lips. There was nothing warm about it, rather it testified to the hopelessness that awaited the prodigal.

"What did Pan promise you? And what..." he emphasised the second word more darkly; "... are you going to do with my cloak, child? Tell me, or I'll cut your throat before you can cry for help. And if I don't like the answer;" the smile widened, "... I'll cut your throat too."