Jake's heart was beating wildly. Wilder than when he attacked the ship, when he crept through the undergrowth on the hunt. He could hear the ice crunching on his features under the loose snow, and he would have been just as unable to brace himself against it if he had seen it coming. Only a brother could really understand the feeling he was experiencing.

The rushed, panicky pull that stretched from his chest to his fingertips and made every limb of his body unusually stiff. The self-reproach bubbled up inside him as a frosty stream. How had he not noticed it immediately? How long had Luke not been with them?

The reproachful thoughts of oppressive heaviness drummed down on him like hail, hitting him in the stomach again and again with renewed force. Normally, the older of the twins had just as much mischief on the back of his neck as his younger brother. Even though he was older, Jake had to admit to enjoying his newfound freedom far more and giving in to the lightness of this place far more easily, despite the brutal side. The world was dirty, blood and loss were part of it - he had had to learn that bitterly and he had learned to swallow that disgusting lump a while ago, far quicker than Lucy.

The older and taller of the two siblings still didn't measure up to the boys (men...) of the Lost, trained over many years by fighting, but was steadier in stature than his younger twin, who trailed him in size by more than a whole head. While Luke, in his too wide coat and worn waistcoat, was usually able to disappear unseen and rather inconspicuously behind events and people, the older of the two Hawker brothers was more the dancing light in the foreground - whether that was a good or bad thing remained to be seen.

If you put them side by side and dared to look more closely, you could clearly see the basic features of their bloodline: the curve of the nose or the chin, even if Jake's jaw had the significantly more prominent line. Perhaps it was more the way they both used to carry their chins - always accompanied by a flash in the eye, a little higher than street urchins might be allowed.

The influence of their father was clearly visible on both of them: the ebony hair - black at first glance and only with a brown tinge when the sun fell directly on it, daring to fan the strands a little with careful fingers to lighten the dark tone a little with a golden glow. While Luke hid the 'shag' (and above it as he knew the long, black curly strands...) as Jake affectionately referred to it, under a worn beret that was far too big for the boy, Jake ran his fingers through the exposed, rather smooth strands on his head at every perceived opportunity. It was a habit that was mostly evident because he no longer had to wear a wig and enjoyed the freedom of finally allowing the wind to run through his hair again. The wayward hair would only start to curl when they grew longer.... and he prevented that, if necessary, very meticulously with a pair of blunt scissors until now.

Both possessed bright and clear eyes, an attentive and equally watchful gaze, in which the sun refracted in clear blue mountain lakes with moss-green surfaces for Jake, but in the colour of bright azure of the South Seas for Luke. A small but subtle difference that not everyone noticed. That fine line, the ticklish degrees that distinguished Scottish lochs from the seas off the Spanish coast. Jake, however, was definitely tall, his shoulders broad and his hips narrower, while the years of puberty seemed already behind him, where Luke was just about to be placed in the early stages. Confusingly, perhaps, Luke not infrequently acted like the more wide-eyed one... a strangely blurred image that didn't quite fit with either of them. The two Hawker brothers, possessed of their own unique rhythm and seemed simply knit where it couldn't be more deceptive: For they were nowhere near as far apart in years as they claimed.

Nevertheless, Jake had always grown up with one thought: to protect Luke. Unlike many other things, such as all the burdens of obligation, responsibility and the shackles that his birth and place as heir to a wealthy merchant entrepreneur had placed upon him, this had always been something he had loved: being an older brother.

That hadn't changed when Luke had appeared with the strange oddball, with the broad grin on his features. It was as if someone with a lantern suddenly stepped out of the deep black night towards them, bringing the edges of a dark forest into the light. Someone who knew what it was like not to see the sun, but to remain in dark places- and who held out his hand to guide them out of this cursed forest in which they were lost through no fault of their own. Jake had wanted to be sceptical at first. What the guy was telling them, offering them on a silver platter, not only sounded insane and abstruse, it just seemed TOO good to be true. Maybe that's why the little glimmer of hope had hidden behind his laughter as he'd shaken his head and dismissed the guy as a crank, whether Luke glared warningly at him or not.

Still, his heart had not been able to harden. Maybe because it hadn't managed to do so while the chocolate from Luke's features gurgled towards him, standing with defiantly advanced lips, proud posture and that furiously defiant glint in the ice-clear eyes with folded arms in front of Peter. That he had stepped in, agreed to go away with the strange codger... was perhaps more to do with the fact that he suspected the fellow had slipped away from one of the travelling circus folk. A colourful spirit who tried to draw others into this little whirlpool in the black waters of everyday life. And who would he have been to deny his little sister that little glimmer?

Even though he suspected that if the guy wanted to hire her, he was thinking of two guys - and not expecting the surprise package of a little bundle of energy hidden behind the dirty features of the little alley cat who was quite capable of extending her claws: his little sister who bravely led everyone up the slippery slope only to watch them fall on their noses and stare stupidly WHEN they realised they had been hoodwinked. This time, however, it was he who stumbled, stunned, over the threshold that titled itself Neverland.

No one, really no one who saw the two of them together - whether they were arguing or lovingly teasing - could doubt that there was an immovable bond between them. They had always been inseparable. It was that special relationship that simply bound siblings together without words or gestures being able to put it into a form. And therefore it would have been impossible for Luke to follow Peter without him - or vice versa.

At that moment... he dared to doubt for the first time. Justice and morality... were values that were more important to Luke, but had little place here in Neverland, or even among the Lost. Different laws applied here. In the end, it was always the strongest who prevailed. And others had to take a back seat. The weak, those who did not have enough bite to hold their own. Those who hesitated fell by the wayside. It was not fair. And it wasn't that Jake liked that fact. But it was just that: reality. Also - or especially - here. He hadn't doubted that until now, and it hadn't directly affected him either.

If Luke got less food because she felt she had to give it to the smaller ones, then that was her decision and he let her have it (as long as she didn't worryingly lose weight and he had to stuff food into her mouth, of course). Now, however, Luke was gone and that.... changed everything. For him, anyway. As if he had suddenly awoken from a dream to find that his favourite cuddly toy had been stolen from right under the tip of his nose in his carelessness. The worry nearly drove him insane and the reproach of not having taken better care of Luke dilated every vein and made his blood rush hotly through his body. Harshly, his fingers ran into the dark strands and crumpled them as he pressed his lips together.

He had been so proud! The fact that he exuded the audacity of a genuine rascal who had escaped from some fantasy lair and was now planning to do his mischief right here, on Neverland's soil, had made it easier for him to blend in with the colourful figures around Pan. That he was leading the distraction, hoodwinking the pirates and giving vent to his desire for revenge.... it had intoxicated him like a drug. Of course, by then the underlying voice had grumbled that he didn't own Luke on the same 'team' but had to leave their safety to others. But Nibs, though he might be an idiot, was a prodigal and, after all, one of the oh-so-praised 'inner circle' around Pan, so he was going to dare to trust him.

Jake knew he couldn't always be with Luke like a mother hen sitting on her eggs. He had had to accept that quite contritely, especially on the road-laden streets of London. And especially in the beginning it was very cross in the brother's chest and stomach when 'Luke' came home with a black eye or chapped lips. Bloody hell. Jake Hawker would foolhardily jut his chin whenever he saw death, give it his hardest laugh and yet always leap off its perch. And then, then he stood before Lucienne Hawker and his heart sank to his toes. Trickled away somewhere anxiously because she was about to reprimand him. Worst of all, he had to make an effort to keep the corners of his mouth down, despite everything. To keep her gaze serious, to return it and not to grin wryly, as caught rascals did when the head teacher was about to reprimand them.Oh dearest little sister, that's my job. I give the lectures here.

Ah. She was his weak spot. Sure- he'd be hell-bent on presenting that exact detail on a silver platter to some asshole. (That probably wouldn't be necessary either, those who had eyes in their head noticed that by themselves...) That was another reason why he had to learn to let go. He was all the more proud when Luke proudly told him that she had punched Joshua from the 5th at Whitechapel, that it had knocked his lights out. Luke wasn't weak. She had a strength of her own that he respected. He'd made that his excuse for his goddamn carelessness that came crawling up as soon as he'd set foot on the flying island.

When Luke had actually stood on deck in that coat, it had been the cherry on top of the cream... And he had been able to think of nothing more than Peter's proud expression he would have when they presented him with the coat on the straw doll they had specially prepared for it like a pedestal on which the trophy belonged! A gift and a sacrifice for the leader who, like a god in the flesh or an old ghost from stories and legends, always descended to them and left again when he felt like it. He wanted to impress him. Where this urge came from he did not know himself and he was not self-critical enough to question it. He just wanted it! That- and to belong. And now?

You could see it working on the Englishman's face, the anger and something he was trying to suppress, gritting his teeth, trying to become master of himself and the clarity that otherwise drove him. Haha. Clarity... Coolness... Calm... sure. He would have liked to shout out loud. With fear, with worry, with anger! Most of all with frustration and panic- because he didn't know WHERE to look for Luke or how to find him. If Luke was hurt or in trouble, there was no time to lose!

He KNEW that Luke... was not weak. God- the fucking GIRL had spent the last two years on the streets of London fighting in the dirt with gangs, thieves and riffraff. And here among the lost. She'd always been... Far-sighted. Clever. But even that might not have helped her. If she was hurt... And he didn't even want to think about that... The blood would attract the creatures and just thinking WHAT could have happened to Luke (from crocodiles, Indians, pirates, the wild animals to the pitfalls...) made him feel sick. It wiped the colour from Jake's features, made the blood sink into his cold fingertips and toes, giving him an unhealthily sallow hue.

That Fog and Nod - the two 'twins' who had been part of Peter's Lost Boys for ages - joined in looking for Luke actually relieved him. Although they had argued earlier, he would have been disappointed and surprised if they had not followed him. As he knew, however, it was because of HIM, not Luke. Since he had arrived, the two of them had become his closest friends among the lost. Admittedly, they fitted together like a glove. They fought and scuffled at every opportunity, but always in a brotherly way. Something he had always missed somehow. Even if they weren't the brightest candles... they were obviously more loyal to him than the others.

His gaze fell on Slightly. He was also not surprised that the lost one had come along. Judging by Slightly's puckered lips, which were usually always formed into a cheeky grin, Luke's disappearance didn't suit him either. Jake wasn't blind... Slightly had been one of the boys who'd been very devoted to Luke- and it had occurred to Jake more than once that the Lost Boy might not- other man or no man... - might have some interest in Luke.

Jake had worked in a brothel... he knew the tempting hidden flicker that flickered in some eyes. And, uh... it didn't suit him. But now Slightly's concern for Luke suited him-anyone who helped look was an increased chance of finding Luke, so he'd be damned if he was going to be ungrateful! Crow, on the other hand... he had the dull gleam of rough pumice in his eyes. An Indian - not from Neverland as he knew - who had not yet been successfully honed by nature and this world. He had the rough places, sharp-edged and dangerous, that he blatantly displayed on the outside. But there was more.

Dark corners, where shadows nestled too readily in the deep hollows that hid from view intentions and thoughts behind them. For him, dying belonged to nature, to the cycle here too... also that of the lost. And he had probably already lost many in the time he had been here. It was written in his features... that he did not hope. That detached coolness with which he had also slammed his gun into the side of a pirate without flinching. 

That he was here to recover a body and perhaps a certainty, but held little hope - and that made Jake clench his hands into fists because his nerves were already stretched to breaking point and that expression was an added weight to them. No. He would not do a damn thing and just abandon Luke. Sheer anger seethed in his stomach for anyone who wasn't willing to help him!