Jack Sparrow in Neverland
Title: Jack Sparrow in Neverland 1/?
Author: linaerys
E-mail: linaerys@yahoo.com
Fandom: PotC/Peter Pan/just a tidbit of Neil Gaiman's Endless
Rating/Classification: PG-13, Jack/Hook.
Disclaimer: I do not own these characters
Summary: The first time Jack is stranded on the island, an unusual visitor takes him to an unusual place.
The beach was sandy and warm, and two days of drinking rum had numbed most of Sparrow's anger, save a small nugget that settled in the bottom of his stomach and felt like it would never dissolve. It was his first ship, and now could be his last, unless the rumrunners came back—no telling what their schedule was—and a man could die quickly with only rum to slake his thirst. Heat waves shimmered the horizon, but they were kind enough not to give him a vision of a ship, only the vision of a girl.
She was clothed in tatters, and very thin, perhaps no more than ten years old, save for her eyes, which were mismatched, one blue and one green, and were older than time.
"I've met you before, haven't I?" he said, as she came closer. She smelled like sweat and smoky taverns, and her right hand, which clasped her chin, trailed tiny fish hovering above her fingers like the flames dancing on candles.
"You have," she said. "You belong to me, Jack Sparrow."
"Captain, if you please, dearie," he said, and that brought back the ache for his ship again; no captain was he now. "Have some rum," he offered, "there's plenty to go around."
"Nooo . . . I came here for something. I lost something. I'm supposed to take something, or bring something. Oh I don't know." She sat down on the sand and dug her toes in. Ripples of color spread out through the sand and surf, and eddied away from her feet, dyeing the fish that swam in the shallows.
"Can you taste a memory, Mr. Birdie? I have one now on my tongue, or maybe it is some ice cream."
"I only taste rum right now, love." She jumped up, of a sudden, or perhaps she had been standing all along, and Jack had only imagined her sitting.
"I remember! There's an island that needs a Jack, or a pirate, or maybe both. It is one of my lands, but sometimes my brother takes care of it for me. Come with me Mr. Birdie Head." Having nothing better to do, Jack took her hand, and then they were flying, over the brilliant blue of the Caribbean, through a cloud that seemed like a field of stars, and over another island, jungle-choked and mountainous. A chain-length off the northern shore, as Jack remembered north, lay a beautiful ship. Rescue, he thought, a ship must go somewhere, and I am Captain Jack Sparrow, where can't I talk them into taking me?
Somehow, it did not surprise Jack at all to see a boy flying about the ship like a swallow, darting and swooping gracefully about, steel brighter than moonlight shining in his hand.
"If you'll just drop me at that ship, love, I'll be on my way and no more trouble to you," he said to the girl. She drew him up and they settled in together on the fluffy top of a cloud. It felt like some kind of fluffy taffy, with no stickiness, and was much easier to sit on than Jack had imagined clouds to be.
"In my land, they sit on clouds. Now you are here. I did it! I remembered!" But then she was a flock of butterflies and fish, and they darted and swooped away from Jack and into the jungle, leaving Jack perched, with his feet dangling high above the ship's mainmast. She was a beautiful ship, her forecastle as high as a tower, and sheets new and clean as a virgin's skin. Jack felt a twinge of jealousy—he deserved a ship like this, yes, indeed, he had once possessed one. He took her like a seducer, from the arms of her solid navy captain, and she never looked back. How could he have forgotten her even for an instant?
Jack stroked his face. He had been trying for years to grow a beard, but he remained smooth, save for a few embarrassing wisps near his jaw. How could a pirate, much less a pirate captain, look menacing without a beard? At least he had a good hat, a shiny new leather one, and he was already working on a good story for it, better than: I saw it at the milliner's and just had to have it. Sparkles of light danced in front of his eyes, and then a small figure came zooming through the cloud he was sitting on. Just a green blur and it zipped back down to the ship.
Jack peered over the edge of his cloud for a closer view. The figure was a small boy, wearing naught but leaves, but he fought against the ship's captain like a man, or perhaps flying gave him advantages in fencing. Jack wondered if he could still fly without his confused friend and he leaned over the edge of the cloud.
The boy flitted about the captain, worrying him like a sparrow against a hawk, and yet, again and again, the captain extended himself too far over the rail of the ship, until Jack was sure he would fall. His sympathies, he found, lay with this impertinent little boy, and if the captain were lost, the ship would be that much riper a prize to pluck.
The boy made another feint at the captain, who swung wildly out over the deep, when suddenly the boy struck down with all his might, and took off the captain's hand. Jack heard a monstrous roar that shook the ship and a crocodile, nearly the size of a jolly boat it seemed, bound up out of the water and after the boy. He looked down at his gruesome token for a moment and then flung it at the monster, who made a most prodigious leap into the air to catch it. Jack's cloud had dipped low enough by this point that he could see the contortions anger and pain made on the captain's face. Even the boy looked shocked for a moment, but it wore off quickly, and a feral grin reappeared on his face. Still, he did not press his advantage, and instead flitted off into the jungle, trailing sparkles in his wake.
Jack's cloud gave a heave and dumped him unceremoniously on the mainmast crows-nest. He fancied it gave him a wiggle as it scurried away higher into the sky to join its friends. Jack frowned, and checked himself; he still had his hat, his sword, his compass (Barbossa had not thought to deprive him of it), and most importantly, his pistol with one shot. The first thing he decided, laying on that beach, was that the one shot Barbossa had given him, would one day be returned. Jack resolved, that if, in this forgetful land, he remembered anything, it would be that.
Below him a stout sailor, bearded and be-spectacled, wrapped the captain's stump in some sailcloth, and carried him into his cabin, like a husband into a honeymoon suite. The captain's hat had come off and his long hair nearly trailed the ground. This captain, Jack saw, had a perfectly piratical beard. Maybe he'll teach me how it's done, thought Jack.
As if by invisible hands the sails unfurled around him, and he saw the death's head tattoo splashed across them. Stylish, he thought, I must give my compliments to the captain. The sails, it seemed, were not unfurled by magic and grace, but rather by these two ugly pirates who crept up on Jack from either side, slithering along the yard like snakes.
"Who're you?" said one, sticking a dirty cutlass in Jack's face.
"Yeah, who're you?" echoed the other.
"I am Captain Jack Sparrow, come to volunteer my services, lads," he said, and he swept his hat off his head and made a creditable bow, considering how little space he had to work with here in the crows nest.
"There's only one captain," said the warty-faced pirate. He was so ugly, Jack thought, he was almost out of a storybook. Sailors were not a handsome lot, but this was near parody.
"You're coming with us," said the other pirate, wart-free, at least on his face, but no lovelier for all that.
Jack slid down the rigging with practiced ease, followed by the two sailors. On deck he adjusted his hat and his sword and took a few steps—yes, this was how life was meant to be, deck beneath his feet, wind singing in the rigging above him, and sheets snapping in the breeze.
"Smee, I say, we found this boy in the rigging. You reckon he's another lost boy, we should keep him for the captain?" The bearded sailor Smee, who had just come out of the captain's cabin turned toward them and surreptitiously wiped a tear from his eye.
"He might be too old for a lost boy, but he's white for an Indian, and I know he ain't no mermaid, so I guess he must be. We'll see what the captain wants to do with him." Jack found himself thrown summarily into a cell before he even had a moment to speak.
[][][]
The man was taller than mountains and whiter than starlight, and he held and ocean cupped in his hand, blue as a robin's egg and speckled with tiny islands. As she watched, the island grew, or they shrunk, until they were riding a cloud over it.
"Why did you want me to bring him here?" asked the girl with mismatched eyes..
"He needs to find out, if he is pirate or sprite, the magician or the Jack. Every story needs one. He could go either way."
"Why can't he be both?"
"That's not how it's done. Shhhh, watch."
[][][]
Jack woke several hours later, to the sound of a peg leg taking very short steps across the floor. He opened his eyes to the ugliest bird he'd ever seen, a piebald, orange thing, yes, missing one leg, walking across the floor. He heard a throat being cleared, looked up and saw Smee standing over him.
"Captain will see you now, sir," said Smee, with exaggerated deference as Jack pulled himself to his feet.
The captain was sitting with his back to the door and his head bowed, he coarse, dark, curly hair hiding his face. His back was strong and bare, and etched with strange tattoos, with symbols both repellent and attractive. Jack could feel an aura of menace, of malevolence, emanating from the man, suffusing the room, and darkening all the shadows. This, I need to learn, thought Jack.
Smee cleared his throat again, and said in a voice gone high with fear, "I've brought the prisoner, er, guest, er, wot's your name?"
"Captain Jack Sparrow, late of the Black Pearl, at your service," said Jack, and he took off his hat and swept a lavish bow, as the menacing figure of the captain swung around to face him.
"You're no captain. There's only one captain here," the captain snarled, and seemed to swell and fill the room. "I am Captain James Hook." Jack resisted the urge to peer out the window and see if the sunny day had turned dark and stormy at those words. He shook down to his very boots, and started backing up.
"Perfect name, really, for a pirate," he said, near to babbling, "great for striking fear, and all that, and did I mention how much I like your sails? They really are menacing."
"You're a fey little thing," said Hook, as he advanced toward Jack. His bloody stump, swathed in bandages only served to make him look more threatening.
"Really, I'm not a boy, lost or otherwise, if you're curious," Jack said, backing up still further and raising his hands in a conciliatory gesture. "I'm a man, really. I've had a woman, killed a few people, really, I'm all man here." Jack tried to puff up his chest, and give a manly scowl, but it was difficult to do that and look harmless at the same time.
"Are you really," said Hook, with a smirk. "I'll test your mettle, steel against steel, then." Hook went to draw his sword, but Jack saw he had a right-handed draw, and the motion would be for naught. Hook noticed this, too a split second later, and gave a terrifying sob as he held his right arm up to the sky. He hung his head and walked back over to his couch, and settled back heavily into it. Jack considered backing quietly out the door, but, he reasoned, he was god-knows-where, even if he could get off the ship without being thrown back into the brig, and he needed the ship to get back to Tortuga, or some outpost of civilization, where he could begin looking for the Pearl again.
Jack had a niggling worry burrowing in his mind, teasing him like a word at the tip of his tongue. Something wasn't quite right here—did people really travel by clouds and fly through the air? Of course they did, he answered himself. Why on earth not?
The captain's back was still turned away from Jack, and so Jack licked his hands and smoothed back his hair. He started to set his hat back on his head, but then decided not to be disrespectful. He smoothed where a mustache would be, once he managed to grow one, and curled its imaginary ends. He never did this when others were watching, but he wanted to practice the gesture, for the time when it became appropriate. He was surprised, of course, to find hair growing there. He then stroked his chin; yes there was a significant amount of new growth there as well. Interesting, he thought, most interesting.
"Sir," said Jack, flapping his arms wide, to show his lovely coat, which seemed to have gained lace and a few bits of gold, to full advantage. "Sir, I knew a great captain once, greatest to sail the seven seas, who was missing an arm." Hook turned and glowered at Jack from beneath his curtain of hair. Love that style, thought Jack, I'm going to have to learn it.
"Go on."
"Well, he attached a bloody great corkscrew to it, you see, and skewered his enemies with it in battle." Hook raised one eyebrow. "Really, very scary, very menacing." Jack found himself backing up again, under the full weight of Hook's stare. "He said he liked it better than before . . . of course what choice did he have . . . but it was a good way to make the best of a bad situation." Hook still said nothing, but looked at Jack as though waiting for more.
"You could do something like that . . . ah . . . I could help you." Jack narrowed his eyes and stroked his chin, then held out his hands to make a frame around Hook. Then he leapt over to the captain's side; a thought of purest genius had just entered his head.
"For you I think, Captain, sir, a huge steel hook, sharp as a sword would be perfect. You see, hook . . . Captain Hook, savvy?" Jack bit his lip. Perhaps he had gone too far. Then Captain Hook laughed, a deep, rich, malevolent laugh that sent shivers down Jack's spine. I need to learn to do that, too, he thought, when he recovered his composure.
Hook raised a finger and put it under Jack's chin. "You can help?" he said, his face mere inches away. Jack stood, transfixed for a moment, lost in Hook's icy blue gaze, but presently he broke away, and sketching large gestures in the air with his hands, he outlined his plan.
"You see, if you had a harness 'round your shoulder to hold on the base . . . then, see, you could attach a hook, or many hooks, or whatever attachments you wanted." Jack pantomimed attaching the harness and then swinging at his enemies, his hand hooked into a claw. After lunging at a few imaginary foes, Jack recovered himself and went back over to Hook, and showed him where, on his body the straps would have to attach.
"You're an awfully flighty little thing," said Hook, furrowing his brow. "Are you quite sure you're not one of those execrable, miserable, snot-nosed little lost boys?"
"Yes, quite sure, quite sure, see I've even got a beard," Jack said quickly.
"So you have, dear lad, so you have. Are you ready to be a pirate, then?" asked Hook.
"Well really, I already am one," said Jack, but he saw in Hook's expression that it was time to wrap things up. "Well, yes, of course," Jack continued, "just show me where to sign up." Hook bellowed for Smee, who brought a large, ornate parchment. The document was written in cursive so fancy as to be nearly illegible, and it faded to nothing near the bottom. Jack gave up trying to read it after an impatient throat clearing from Smee, and signed the articles.
Smee showed Jack where his berth would be, down with the regular crew, but Jack reckoned he could get in well enough with the captain and get better lodgings soon. He asked Smee where he might find some leather, and leather-working tools, and where there was a sword-smith to get a hook made. Smee was a little vague, but just told Jack to look around the ship, that things usually turned up.
Indeed they did. Jack took himself on a tour below decks—you never know, he thought, when intimate knowledge of a ship's geography can save your neck—and near a bilge that was bone dry, was the carpenter's shop. It was empty of a carpenter, but held several hooks of assorted sizes, straps of leather, thick waxed thread, and even an iron needle and thimble. He found a broken rapier, which he took apart to use the cup of the pommel for the cap for the stump. He wondered for a moment, if he could find some nice soft cloth to line it with, so it wouldn't chafe too much, and then when he turned over a wood plane, underneath was a square of burgundy velvet, just the right size.
Jack looked around suspiciously. Had Smee assembled everything he needed right here? And how would he know what Jack needed? That his captain would lose a hand? Maybe the ship just carried all these supplies, even several differently shaped hooks with threaded bases. Jack dismissed these thoughts as he had the flying. Of course a ship needed hooks like this.
Several hours or days later (Jack could not tell), he surveyed his labors happily. The carpenter's cabin had also yielded a whet-stone, and a velvet-lined box, so Jack sharpened all the hooks to razor keenness, and placed them lovingly in the box. The harness was a rather uglier contraption than the fine polished steel of the hooks, but Jack thought it would work well enough, and he had found buckles to make all the straps adjustable.
Carrying his contraption proudly before him, Jack went up on deck. The moon was up, and looked down, with a face stern and remote. No jolly man in the moon here, at least not a moon that looked down on a pirate ship. It hung full and huge, taking up most of the sky, like, thought Jack, a big pregnant belly. As Jack watched, the face changed a little, cracked a grin, and gave Jack a little wink. Then it seemed to catch itself, and scowled down at the pirate ship, looking away across the island.
Smee, who was also up on the deck gave Jack a questioning look at this and Jack tried to look as bland and innocent as possible. This must be odd behavior for the moon, thought Jack, if anything can be called odd for a moon with a literal face.
"Where are we going Mr. Smee?" asked Jack, for the ship seemed to be steering toward a large black mountain, and even the silver light from the moon showed no detail.
"We are going to the Black Castle," said Smee, and Jack could hear the capital letters as clear as if they were written in front of him. "There we will regroup and plan our next attack on the Lost Boys. Or perhaps we'll attack the Indians next, capture their princess."
"Princess, eh?" said Jack, perking up. "They have lots o' women, these Indians?" Smee shrugged and motioned to two of the sailors. The ship drew up in the shadow of the rock, and Jack could just make out the moonlight on a rusted iron portcullis. The two sailors put a jolly boat over the edge and rowed into the blackness. In a few minutes Jack heard the creak of the portcullis rising, and more hands made boats ready. Finally Jack saw Smee help the captain into a boat. He was resplendent in a velvet coat and allowed Smee to guide him with a regal dignity that made Smee's aid seem his due.
Once they were all inside the castle, the boats moored in the small inner harbor, and the portcullis lowered again, Smee took Jack's arm.
"The captain would like to see you in his chamber. I told him you were done with that thing-a-ma-jig, and he wanted to see it right away." Smee showed Jack to a large room set only a storey above the water, furnished with rich silks and velvets. Coffers overflowing with jewels and gold were scattered about in the corners, and a harpsichord inlaid with gold and mother of pearl, stood open and ready to play. A fire danced in the fireplace, and Captain Hook sat on a red divan, with his knee up and his arm resting on it as he looked out over the sea. A spray of lace hung from his wrist, and Jack felt he had never seen a sea captain, even a pirate captain, so dashingly attired before.
He looked up as Smee showed Jack in, and dismissed his first mate with a wave of his hand. "Now, Jack," he said in silken tones, "you've something to show me."
Jack answered that yes, he did, and he shook out the leather straps. He explained how it worked, how straps affixed the cup to the elbow piece, and then the elbow to the shoulder harness, and how it was all very adjustable, and Hook looked on, with his eyes glittering.
"Show me," Hook commanded at length. "Have you tried it on?"
"Yes," answered Jack, "well, in a manner of speaking. I'm pretty sure it works, but it really will take an assistant to get it on properly."
"Well," said Hook, "show me. Show me it works on you first, and then I will try it."
"It really should go under the clothes," explained Jack as he started to remove his jacket and then his shirt. He pulled the cup over his fist and adjusted the straps to fit on his elbow, then he hesitated a moment. "Should I perhaps fetch Smee back to help me?" he asked delicately. Hook shook his head, setting his long waves of hair swinging, and strode over to Jack.
Jack suddenly felt naked there, standing in only his britches and boots, and Hook loomed large, standing there next to him. Jack showed Hook how the straps would attach and then steeled himself for the touch of the man's hands on him, but Hook's hands were neither hot nor cold, and seemed like they could belong to anyone, not this menacing dark creature who loomed over him. When the straps were all adjusted, Hook stepped back.
"Now for the best part," said Jack, with a bravado he did not feel. With his left hand he opened the case full of hooks and gave a clumsy flourish. Then he chose the biggest and sharpest of the hooks and screwed it into the base. He worked slowly, still with his left hand, but finally he stood there before Hook, with a wicked weapon now affixed to his body. Jack stepped back a few paces so he could brandish the hook, and show it off, but the captain was already starting to disrobe.
"I want to try," he said. His voice was low and rough, and his eyes shone with reflected firelight. With his one good hand, Hook helped Jack take off the contraption, pausing for a moment to caress the sharp glittering blade of the hook. Jack lengthened all the straps quickly, for Hook's arm was a bit longer than his, even missing a hand. The stump had healed perfectly in the few hours or days Jack had been laboring in the carpenter's shop. A part of his mind registered how odd this was, how such a wound would take months to heal, not mere days, but he dismissed it.
Jack fitted the cup and the elbow pieces onto Hook, and then attached the shoulder harness. He felt clumsy and self-conscious as he brushed the captain's hair off his shoulder to fasten the last straps, and stepped back. It certainly looked menacing: Hook's tattooed torso, crossed by leather, his arm ending in that wicked weapon. Much better than a corkscrew, Jack thought privately, congratulating himself on his handiwork.
The silence in the cabin was oppressive and threatening, and Jack itched to say something, anything to break this spell of gloom, and he even opened his mouth but whatever words he had died unspoken. Hook was intent on his new toy. He flexed his arm and twisted this way and that to see if he could dislodge it. Then he whirled, quicker than thought, and caught Jack under the throat, the point of the hook penetrating a millimeter into the soft flesh. I suppose I should have seen this coming, thought Jack. Jack shivered against the cold touch of the steel and the cool air on his chest; he was cold everywhere except where the captain's arm pressed against him.
"Do you think you could put an edge on the outside as well?" Hook asked softly, now pulling the hook away from Jack's neck slightly so he could admire how the moonlight reflected off it. "I think it might do more damage that way." Jack grimaced and tried to back away slightly, but Hook had him pinned there. He smelled of sweat and leather, and the hook, so close to Jack's face smelled of new steel.
"I think," said Jack, "that you could do some damage to yourself with that as well." Hook jerked up his new weapon to examine it, and tried pushing his hair out of his face with the blunt outside edge. He growled and narrowed his eyes at Jack. Jack breathed a sigh of relief anyway, as menacing as Captain Hook's glares were, they was nothing to being cornered with that hook at his throat. Jack felt his neck to see how much damage had been done, but it was just a small trickle of blood, hardly worth noticing.
Hook turned to look at the box of other attachments Jack had brought, and as he did hair swirled behind him like a cape. Jack wasted no time getting his clothing back on and tiptoeing over to the door. As he let himself out he saw that Hook was picking up each hook in turn, holding it up to the light, testing it for sharpness with his fingers.
As soon as Jack got outside he breathed a sigh and sagged in relief against the outside wall, but as soon as he noticed Smee standing there he straightened up again.
"Does the captain like it?" Smee asked hopefully. Jack stroked his new whiskers.
"Yes, I think it will do," he answered.
"I think the captain would like it if you got special treatment, for all you've done," said Smee. "Come this way." Jack fingered his throat—special treatment indeed. Well, at least he was still alive.
Smee showed him to another room adjacent to the captain's. It was not as sumptuous, but it still had a fire, and a real bed, and a large mirror. Jack was tired, but he still had to see what changes this land had wrought in him. He definitely had a beard now, and not the haphazard scraggly growth he had experienced before. Now he had dashing, well-trimmed mustache and beard, which reminded him of, well, Captain Hook's. Interesting, he thought, I didn't have that before. He turned away from the mirror, and as he turned some trick of the light made it look as though his reflection had sharp teeth where his eyes should be. He looked back quickly to try to see the illusion again, but it could not be repeated.
Someone had brought Jack's coat and hat into the room, and he put them back on to see how they would look with the new beard. He did look quite dashing, he thought. He buckled back on his sword, also thoughtfully restored to him, and drew it at his reflection. He made glared and scowled at his reflection, but it didn't work as well on his face as it had on Hook's. He executed a quick turn and watched how his coat twirled behind him. Now that was nice, granted he didn't have three yards of velvet, but it still looked rather grand. His hair didn't complete the picture as well as it should, though, Jack thought, frowning at himself. It was rather short, stopping just below his chin, even though it had gotten acceptably messy over the past few days, and Jack decided to grow it out.
As he settled into sleep he imagined how he would retake the Pearl, striding on deck with a menacing glare, and sending his mutinous former shipmates diving overboard in fear. Clothes may not make the man, he thought, but I need something to compete with Barbossa . . . I wonder if I should get a hook . . .
[][][]
"So pirate it is," said the Dream King. "He chooses to be the villain in his own story. You should take him back to his island."
His sister shook her head. "Not yet Mr. Dreamy. He is more mine than yours. He still has choices left to make."
[][][]
When Jack awoke, he thought he must have slept an awfully long time. The sun streaming in the windows was golden with the first hints of sunset. He jumped back when he turned to see Smee standing over him with a bottle of rum in one hand and a case under his arm.
"Ehh, Captain wants to see you, Jack." Jack sat up, stretched and yawned. Smee had put down the case, and handed him a glass of something. Jack took a sip and nearly spat it back out; he liked rum as well as the next fellow, and perhaps better, but it was not his usual breakfast. The second sip went down better than the first, and the third still better. Smee meanwhile opened his case and took out a black cigar and lit it, before handing it to Jack. Jack waved it away, but then the sweet aromatic smoke made him change his mind, and he reached out for it again.
"You're looking more and more like a pirate every day," said Smee, beaming.
"That's convenient," answered Jack between pulls off the cigar. "I am a pirate."
"Well yes, but most of the lads, well, it takes them a lot longer. Some of them even go to Pan first, but the true pirates come to us eventually. Of course, you're older than most of them when they first get here, so maybe that's it." Jack pulled on his boots, and shrugged on his shirt and his jacket. He picked up his hat, and put it on his head, adjusting the corners to have a slight tilt.
"Of course, you look more like the captain, than the rest of us. 'Snot natural, a ship should only have one captain," Smee muttered. Jack picked up his sword and scabbard and buckled them on. Smee looked askance at that, but said nothing. Jack found that his dagger and pistol had been returned to him as well, and he tucked the dagger into his boot, and fastened the pistol at his waist, looking at Smee all the while and daring him to say something. Smee did not however, he merely extinguished Jack's cigar, and ushered him out.
They took several narrow spiral staircases lit by guttering torches down past alcoves filled with rats and moldering skeletons. Jack felt, as he always did, distinctly uncomfortable on dry land, and still more uncomfortable to be going down into the depths of the earth to where Hook awaited Jack in the castle's dungeon. He was wearing shirtsleeves and leather britches even in the damp dungeon air, and Jack felt a swell of pride to see that the hook was attached to his arm. In his other hand he held a sword, tip against the dungeon floor.
"Leave us," Hook directed Smee. Smee looked at Jack for a moment and grimaced, then made a cutting motion across his throat. Lovely, thought Jack, just perfect. Well, at least I've got my sword with me this time.
"I need your help again," Hook said gruffly. "'Twas my sword hand that whelp took. I need to be able to fight again." He looked down for a moment; bashfulness did not sit well on his features, and then looked back up at Jack, challenging him to say something disrespectful. Jack, whose glib tongue had gotten him into and out of more scrapes than he could count, found himself temporarily mute.
"Let Cap—let Jack Sparrow help," Jack said after a moment. He stepped back and took a graceful bow. Jack stripped off his jacket and hat, and then drew his sword.
Hook was clumsy that first day, but as days passed he became more accustomed to fighting in this new way, with sword and hook. Every time they fought to a standstill, the captain brought the hook up to Jack's belly and forced him to back away.
Then came the day when Hook backed Jack up against the dungeon wall as they fought, and pinned Jack's sword arm up against the wall with his good arm, while he pressed the hook against Jack's chest.
"I thought this day would never come," Hook whispered, inches away from Jack's face.
Jack grimaced and tried to pull away, but he was caught firm. "I did," he said, babbling, "I always knew you'd be able to fight again. Such a strong captain, I had no doubt."
"Hush," said Hook, snapping his teeth at Jack, "I could kill you now."
"That is certainly true . . . ah . . ." Jack trailed off.
"You're of no more use to me, if I can beat you." The captain brought the hook up, and it parted Jack's shirt as it passed.
"Good edge on that," said Jack, "glad to see you've been keeping it sharp, captain." He would not give in to fear, he told himself. His body wanted to go limp, but he hung onto his tension, and tried not to struggle.
"Drop your sword," commanded Hook, still so close to Jack's face that he could feel the other man's beard against his cheek. Jack felt the hook press harder to his ribs, and dropped the sword. It fell with a loud clatter. Hook sheathed his, and then used his hook to tear further at Jack's shirt, while holding Jack's hands up above his head. He was a little careless of Jack's skin beneath, and when the tatters of his shirt fell off, his torso was covered with little scratches.
"I could just leave you tied up here for a while," said Hook, "and then when the tide is particularly high some night, you'll be dead. Or I could let you be the first to die by this hook." Jack had been frozen in an equal mixture of terror and fascination, but Hook's words briefly broke the spell.
"None of those other sailors . . . ?" Jack asked. It was a rare day that went by without Captain Hook killing one of his own men in a fit of pique, or merely on a whim. Hook patted his pistol with his hook.
"I've been saving that honor," he said, and Jack felt himself again in thrall to the fascination of Hook's eyes. Hook drew a set of wrist irons out from somewhere. Perhaps they had been hanging from his belt, or perhaps they simply appeared because Hook needed them, like the tools in the carpenter's shop. Jack didn't think it was possible, but somehow Hook secured Jack's wrists in the irons, and the irons to a ring set in the wall, high enough that Jack had to stand on his toes. I wonder if he practiced that, Jack thought.
"I can't have two captains on this ship," said Hook, his lips brushing Jack's ear. "The men are starting to wonder which of us to follow. So I'll have to kill you."
"I'm don't want to be captain of your ship," said Jack desperately, "I've another ship I must get back to, but I don't want yours, I swear."
"You don't like the Jolly Roger? For that I shall have to kill you." Jack felt the hook start to cut into the skin under his ribs.
"No, it's a lovely ship, really, I just could never compete with you as captain, I swear." Hook turned away and walked across the room. He looked out the window, seeming lost in thought, then he came back over to Jack.
"I could use a cabin boy, I suppose. You'll have to cut off the beard of course—stupid blighters can't tell the difference between us with it. And you've got such a lovely face, like a girl's." He ran the back of the hook along Jack's cheek, and Jack tried to flinch away. "I am so dreadfully lonely here with only these sailor dogs for company. What wouldn't I give for a companion of my class." The words were sibilant in Jack's ear, and he felt as if he were under a spell.
"I will have a promise from you, though," said Jack quietly.
"What is that?"
"Let us plunder the Caribbean a bit. There's rich pickings there, and King's men for prey," Jack whispered, the same whisper he used when parting a maid from her virtue, and it seemed to have the same success, for Hook's interest was piqued by this suggestion, Jack could tell.
"We shall. First, though, I must inform you of your new duties." Hook cut Jack down from the wall, leaving his hands manacled together in front of him. He looped his claw through the chains and led Jack back to his chamber. Smee was cleaning his spectacles at the time, and he did not see.
[][][]
"I think we should give them their privacy," said the Dream King, and he drew a curtain of night and clouds over the Black Castle and all of Neverland. "That wasn't what I had in mind when I had you bring him here. Is it possible the old stories are changing?" His sister turned from him, and pouted.
"I wanted to watch!" she said, turning away from him.
"I have other things to attend to, other duties, Delirium, and I try to give the mortals their privacy, at least in their waking hours. Remember, we serve them."
"I'm going to see what they do." She flew away on a wake of fishes and fireflies, and Dream sighed. He wondered, idly, if this was Desire's doing, and he wondered if he should get involved. Desire's machinations never worked out well for him. Let Delirium fight her own battles this time.
Title: Jack Sparrow in Neverland 1/?
Author: linaerys
E-mail: linaerys@yahoo.com
Fandom: PotC/Peter Pan/just a tidbit of Neil Gaiman's Endless
Rating/Classification: PG-13, Jack/Hook.
Disclaimer: I do not own these characters
Summary: The first time Jack is stranded on the island, an unusual visitor takes him to an unusual place.
The beach was sandy and warm, and two days of drinking rum had numbed most of Sparrow's anger, save a small nugget that settled in the bottom of his stomach and felt like it would never dissolve. It was his first ship, and now could be his last, unless the rumrunners came back—no telling what their schedule was—and a man could die quickly with only rum to slake his thirst. Heat waves shimmered the horizon, but they were kind enough not to give him a vision of a ship, only the vision of a girl.
She was clothed in tatters, and very thin, perhaps no more than ten years old, save for her eyes, which were mismatched, one blue and one green, and were older than time.
"I've met you before, haven't I?" he said, as she came closer. She smelled like sweat and smoky taverns, and her right hand, which clasped her chin, trailed tiny fish hovering above her fingers like the flames dancing on candles.
"You have," she said. "You belong to me, Jack Sparrow."
"Captain, if you please, dearie," he said, and that brought back the ache for his ship again; no captain was he now. "Have some rum," he offered, "there's plenty to go around."
"Nooo . . . I came here for something. I lost something. I'm supposed to take something, or bring something. Oh I don't know." She sat down on the sand and dug her toes in. Ripples of color spread out through the sand and surf, and eddied away from her feet, dyeing the fish that swam in the shallows.
"Can you taste a memory, Mr. Birdie? I have one now on my tongue, or maybe it is some ice cream."
"I only taste rum right now, love." She jumped up, of a sudden, or perhaps she had been standing all along, and Jack had only imagined her sitting.
"I remember! There's an island that needs a Jack, or a pirate, or maybe both. It is one of my lands, but sometimes my brother takes care of it for me. Come with me Mr. Birdie Head." Having nothing better to do, Jack took her hand, and then they were flying, over the brilliant blue of the Caribbean, through a cloud that seemed like a field of stars, and over another island, jungle-choked and mountainous. A chain-length off the northern shore, as Jack remembered north, lay a beautiful ship. Rescue, he thought, a ship must go somewhere, and I am Captain Jack Sparrow, where can't I talk them into taking me?
Somehow, it did not surprise Jack at all to see a boy flying about the ship like a swallow, darting and swooping gracefully about, steel brighter than moonlight shining in his hand.
"If you'll just drop me at that ship, love, I'll be on my way and no more trouble to you," he said to the girl. She drew him up and they settled in together on the fluffy top of a cloud. It felt like some kind of fluffy taffy, with no stickiness, and was much easier to sit on than Jack had imagined clouds to be.
"In my land, they sit on clouds. Now you are here. I did it! I remembered!" But then she was a flock of butterflies and fish, and they darted and swooped away from Jack and into the jungle, leaving Jack perched, with his feet dangling high above the ship's mainmast. She was a beautiful ship, her forecastle as high as a tower, and sheets new and clean as a virgin's skin. Jack felt a twinge of jealousy—he deserved a ship like this, yes, indeed, he had once possessed one. He took her like a seducer, from the arms of her solid navy captain, and she never looked back. How could he have forgotten her even for an instant?
Jack stroked his face. He had been trying for years to grow a beard, but he remained smooth, save for a few embarrassing wisps near his jaw. How could a pirate, much less a pirate captain, look menacing without a beard? At least he had a good hat, a shiny new leather one, and he was already working on a good story for it, better than: I saw it at the milliner's and just had to have it. Sparkles of light danced in front of his eyes, and then a small figure came zooming through the cloud he was sitting on. Just a green blur and it zipped back down to the ship.
Jack peered over the edge of his cloud for a closer view. The figure was a small boy, wearing naught but leaves, but he fought against the ship's captain like a man, or perhaps flying gave him advantages in fencing. Jack wondered if he could still fly without his confused friend and he leaned over the edge of the cloud.
The boy flitted about the captain, worrying him like a sparrow against a hawk, and yet, again and again, the captain extended himself too far over the rail of the ship, until Jack was sure he would fall. His sympathies, he found, lay with this impertinent little boy, and if the captain were lost, the ship would be that much riper a prize to pluck.
The boy made another feint at the captain, who swung wildly out over the deep, when suddenly the boy struck down with all his might, and took off the captain's hand. Jack heard a monstrous roar that shook the ship and a crocodile, nearly the size of a jolly boat it seemed, bound up out of the water and after the boy. He looked down at his gruesome token for a moment and then flung it at the monster, who made a most prodigious leap into the air to catch it. Jack's cloud had dipped low enough by this point that he could see the contortions anger and pain made on the captain's face. Even the boy looked shocked for a moment, but it wore off quickly, and a feral grin reappeared on his face. Still, he did not press his advantage, and instead flitted off into the jungle, trailing sparkles in his wake.
Jack's cloud gave a heave and dumped him unceremoniously on the mainmast crows-nest. He fancied it gave him a wiggle as it scurried away higher into the sky to join its friends. Jack frowned, and checked himself; he still had his hat, his sword, his compass (Barbossa had not thought to deprive him of it), and most importantly, his pistol with one shot. The first thing he decided, laying on that beach, was that the one shot Barbossa had given him, would one day be returned. Jack resolved, that if, in this forgetful land, he remembered anything, it would be that.
Below him a stout sailor, bearded and be-spectacled, wrapped the captain's stump in some sailcloth, and carried him into his cabin, like a husband into a honeymoon suite. The captain's hat had come off and his long hair nearly trailed the ground. This captain, Jack saw, had a perfectly piratical beard. Maybe he'll teach me how it's done, thought Jack.
As if by invisible hands the sails unfurled around him, and he saw the death's head tattoo splashed across them. Stylish, he thought, I must give my compliments to the captain. The sails, it seemed, were not unfurled by magic and grace, but rather by these two ugly pirates who crept up on Jack from either side, slithering along the yard like snakes.
"Who're you?" said one, sticking a dirty cutlass in Jack's face.
"Yeah, who're you?" echoed the other.
"I am Captain Jack Sparrow, come to volunteer my services, lads," he said, and he swept his hat off his head and made a creditable bow, considering how little space he had to work with here in the crows nest.
"There's only one captain," said the warty-faced pirate. He was so ugly, Jack thought, he was almost out of a storybook. Sailors were not a handsome lot, but this was near parody.
"You're coming with us," said the other pirate, wart-free, at least on his face, but no lovelier for all that.
Jack slid down the rigging with practiced ease, followed by the two sailors. On deck he adjusted his hat and his sword and took a few steps—yes, this was how life was meant to be, deck beneath his feet, wind singing in the rigging above him, and sheets snapping in the breeze.
"Smee, I say, we found this boy in the rigging. You reckon he's another lost boy, we should keep him for the captain?" The bearded sailor Smee, who had just come out of the captain's cabin turned toward them and surreptitiously wiped a tear from his eye.
"He might be too old for a lost boy, but he's white for an Indian, and I know he ain't no mermaid, so I guess he must be. We'll see what the captain wants to do with him." Jack found himself thrown summarily into a cell before he even had a moment to speak.
[][][]
The man was taller than mountains and whiter than starlight, and he held and ocean cupped in his hand, blue as a robin's egg and speckled with tiny islands. As she watched, the island grew, or they shrunk, until they were riding a cloud over it.
"Why did you want me to bring him here?" asked the girl with mismatched eyes..
"He needs to find out, if he is pirate or sprite, the magician or the Jack. Every story needs one. He could go either way."
"Why can't he be both?"
"That's not how it's done. Shhhh, watch."
[][][]
Jack woke several hours later, to the sound of a peg leg taking very short steps across the floor. He opened his eyes to the ugliest bird he'd ever seen, a piebald, orange thing, yes, missing one leg, walking across the floor. He heard a throat being cleared, looked up and saw Smee standing over him.
"Captain will see you now, sir," said Smee, with exaggerated deference as Jack pulled himself to his feet.
The captain was sitting with his back to the door and his head bowed, he coarse, dark, curly hair hiding his face. His back was strong and bare, and etched with strange tattoos, with symbols both repellent and attractive. Jack could feel an aura of menace, of malevolence, emanating from the man, suffusing the room, and darkening all the shadows. This, I need to learn, thought Jack.
Smee cleared his throat again, and said in a voice gone high with fear, "I've brought the prisoner, er, guest, er, wot's your name?"
"Captain Jack Sparrow, late of the Black Pearl, at your service," said Jack, and he took off his hat and swept a lavish bow, as the menacing figure of the captain swung around to face him.
"You're no captain. There's only one captain here," the captain snarled, and seemed to swell and fill the room. "I am Captain James Hook." Jack resisted the urge to peer out the window and see if the sunny day had turned dark and stormy at those words. He shook down to his very boots, and started backing up.
"Perfect name, really, for a pirate," he said, near to babbling, "great for striking fear, and all that, and did I mention how much I like your sails? They really are menacing."
"You're a fey little thing," said Hook, as he advanced toward Jack. His bloody stump, swathed in bandages only served to make him look more threatening.
"Really, I'm not a boy, lost or otherwise, if you're curious," Jack said, backing up still further and raising his hands in a conciliatory gesture. "I'm a man, really. I've had a woman, killed a few people, really, I'm all man here." Jack tried to puff up his chest, and give a manly scowl, but it was difficult to do that and look harmless at the same time.
"Are you really," said Hook, with a smirk. "I'll test your mettle, steel against steel, then." Hook went to draw his sword, but Jack saw he had a right-handed draw, and the motion would be for naught. Hook noticed this, too a split second later, and gave a terrifying sob as he held his right arm up to the sky. He hung his head and walked back over to his couch, and settled back heavily into it. Jack considered backing quietly out the door, but, he reasoned, he was god-knows-where, even if he could get off the ship without being thrown back into the brig, and he needed the ship to get back to Tortuga, or some outpost of civilization, where he could begin looking for the Pearl again.
Jack had a niggling worry burrowing in his mind, teasing him like a word at the tip of his tongue. Something wasn't quite right here—did people really travel by clouds and fly through the air? Of course they did, he answered himself. Why on earth not?
The captain's back was still turned away from Jack, and so Jack licked his hands and smoothed back his hair. He started to set his hat back on his head, but then decided not to be disrespectful. He smoothed where a mustache would be, once he managed to grow one, and curled its imaginary ends. He never did this when others were watching, but he wanted to practice the gesture, for the time when it became appropriate. He was surprised, of course, to find hair growing there. He then stroked his chin; yes there was a significant amount of new growth there as well. Interesting, he thought, most interesting.
"Sir," said Jack, flapping his arms wide, to show his lovely coat, which seemed to have gained lace and a few bits of gold, to full advantage. "Sir, I knew a great captain once, greatest to sail the seven seas, who was missing an arm." Hook turned and glowered at Jack from beneath his curtain of hair. Love that style, thought Jack, I'm going to have to learn it.
"Go on."
"Well, he attached a bloody great corkscrew to it, you see, and skewered his enemies with it in battle." Hook raised one eyebrow. "Really, very scary, very menacing." Jack found himself backing up again, under the full weight of Hook's stare. "He said he liked it better than before . . . of course what choice did he have . . . but it was a good way to make the best of a bad situation." Hook still said nothing, but looked at Jack as though waiting for more.
"You could do something like that . . . ah . . . I could help you." Jack narrowed his eyes and stroked his chin, then held out his hands to make a frame around Hook. Then he leapt over to the captain's side; a thought of purest genius had just entered his head.
"For you I think, Captain, sir, a huge steel hook, sharp as a sword would be perfect. You see, hook . . . Captain Hook, savvy?" Jack bit his lip. Perhaps he had gone too far. Then Captain Hook laughed, a deep, rich, malevolent laugh that sent shivers down Jack's spine. I need to learn to do that, too, he thought, when he recovered his composure.
Hook raised a finger and put it under Jack's chin. "You can help?" he said, his face mere inches away. Jack stood, transfixed for a moment, lost in Hook's icy blue gaze, but presently he broke away, and sketching large gestures in the air with his hands, he outlined his plan.
"You see, if you had a harness 'round your shoulder to hold on the base . . . then, see, you could attach a hook, or many hooks, or whatever attachments you wanted." Jack pantomimed attaching the harness and then swinging at his enemies, his hand hooked into a claw. After lunging at a few imaginary foes, Jack recovered himself and went back over to Hook, and showed him where, on his body the straps would have to attach.
"You're an awfully flighty little thing," said Hook, furrowing his brow. "Are you quite sure you're not one of those execrable, miserable, snot-nosed little lost boys?"
"Yes, quite sure, quite sure, see I've even got a beard," Jack said quickly.
"So you have, dear lad, so you have. Are you ready to be a pirate, then?" asked Hook.
"Well really, I already am one," said Jack, but he saw in Hook's expression that it was time to wrap things up. "Well, yes, of course," Jack continued, "just show me where to sign up." Hook bellowed for Smee, who brought a large, ornate parchment. The document was written in cursive so fancy as to be nearly illegible, and it faded to nothing near the bottom. Jack gave up trying to read it after an impatient throat clearing from Smee, and signed the articles.
Smee showed Jack where his berth would be, down with the regular crew, but Jack reckoned he could get in well enough with the captain and get better lodgings soon. He asked Smee where he might find some leather, and leather-working tools, and where there was a sword-smith to get a hook made. Smee was a little vague, but just told Jack to look around the ship, that things usually turned up.
Indeed they did. Jack took himself on a tour below decks—you never know, he thought, when intimate knowledge of a ship's geography can save your neck—and near a bilge that was bone dry, was the carpenter's shop. It was empty of a carpenter, but held several hooks of assorted sizes, straps of leather, thick waxed thread, and even an iron needle and thimble. He found a broken rapier, which he took apart to use the cup of the pommel for the cap for the stump. He wondered for a moment, if he could find some nice soft cloth to line it with, so it wouldn't chafe too much, and then when he turned over a wood plane, underneath was a square of burgundy velvet, just the right size.
Jack looked around suspiciously. Had Smee assembled everything he needed right here? And how would he know what Jack needed? That his captain would lose a hand? Maybe the ship just carried all these supplies, even several differently shaped hooks with threaded bases. Jack dismissed these thoughts as he had the flying. Of course a ship needed hooks like this.
Several hours or days later (Jack could not tell), he surveyed his labors happily. The carpenter's cabin had also yielded a whet-stone, and a velvet-lined box, so Jack sharpened all the hooks to razor keenness, and placed them lovingly in the box. The harness was a rather uglier contraption than the fine polished steel of the hooks, but Jack thought it would work well enough, and he had found buckles to make all the straps adjustable.
Carrying his contraption proudly before him, Jack went up on deck. The moon was up, and looked down, with a face stern and remote. No jolly man in the moon here, at least not a moon that looked down on a pirate ship. It hung full and huge, taking up most of the sky, like, thought Jack, a big pregnant belly. As Jack watched, the face changed a little, cracked a grin, and gave Jack a little wink. Then it seemed to catch itself, and scowled down at the pirate ship, looking away across the island.
Smee, who was also up on the deck gave Jack a questioning look at this and Jack tried to look as bland and innocent as possible. This must be odd behavior for the moon, thought Jack, if anything can be called odd for a moon with a literal face.
"Where are we going Mr. Smee?" asked Jack, for the ship seemed to be steering toward a large black mountain, and even the silver light from the moon showed no detail.
"We are going to the Black Castle," said Smee, and Jack could hear the capital letters as clear as if they were written in front of him. "There we will regroup and plan our next attack on the Lost Boys. Or perhaps we'll attack the Indians next, capture their princess."
"Princess, eh?" said Jack, perking up. "They have lots o' women, these Indians?" Smee shrugged and motioned to two of the sailors. The ship drew up in the shadow of the rock, and Jack could just make out the moonlight on a rusted iron portcullis. The two sailors put a jolly boat over the edge and rowed into the blackness. In a few minutes Jack heard the creak of the portcullis rising, and more hands made boats ready. Finally Jack saw Smee help the captain into a boat. He was resplendent in a velvet coat and allowed Smee to guide him with a regal dignity that made Smee's aid seem his due.
Once they were all inside the castle, the boats moored in the small inner harbor, and the portcullis lowered again, Smee took Jack's arm.
"The captain would like to see you in his chamber. I told him you were done with that thing-a-ma-jig, and he wanted to see it right away." Smee showed Jack to a large room set only a storey above the water, furnished with rich silks and velvets. Coffers overflowing with jewels and gold were scattered about in the corners, and a harpsichord inlaid with gold and mother of pearl, stood open and ready to play. A fire danced in the fireplace, and Captain Hook sat on a red divan, with his knee up and his arm resting on it as he looked out over the sea. A spray of lace hung from his wrist, and Jack felt he had never seen a sea captain, even a pirate captain, so dashingly attired before.
He looked up as Smee showed Jack in, and dismissed his first mate with a wave of his hand. "Now, Jack," he said in silken tones, "you've something to show me."
Jack answered that yes, he did, and he shook out the leather straps. He explained how it worked, how straps affixed the cup to the elbow piece, and then the elbow to the shoulder harness, and how it was all very adjustable, and Hook looked on, with his eyes glittering.
"Show me," Hook commanded at length. "Have you tried it on?"
"Yes," answered Jack, "well, in a manner of speaking. I'm pretty sure it works, but it really will take an assistant to get it on properly."
"Well," said Hook, "show me. Show me it works on you first, and then I will try it."
"It really should go under the clothes," explained Jack as he started to remove his jacket and then his shirt. He pulled the cup over his fist and adjusted the straps to fit on his elbow, then he hesitated a moment. "Should I perhaps fetch Smee back to help me?" he asked delicately. Hook shook his head, setting his long waves of hair swinging, and strode over to Jack.
Jack suddenly felt naked there, standing in only his britches and boots, and Hook loomed large, standing there next to him. Jack showed Hook how the straps would attach and then steeled himself for the touch of the man's hands on him, but Hook's hands were neither hot nor cold, and seemed like they could belong to anyone, not this menacing dark creature who loomed over him. When the straps were all adjusted, Hook stepped back.
"Now for the best part," said Jack, with a bravado he did not feel. With his left hand he opened the case full of hooks and gave a clumsy flourish. Then he chose the biggest and sharpest of the hooks and screwed it into the base. He worked slowly, still with his left hand, but finally he stood there before Hook, with a wicked weapon now affixed to his body. Jack stepped back a few paces so he could brandish the hook, and show it off, but the captain was already starting to disrobe.
"I want to try," he said. His voice was low and rough, and his eyes shone with reflected firelight. With his one good hand, Hook helped Jack take off the contraption, pausing for a moment to caress the sharp glittering blade of the hook. Jack lengthened all the straps quickly, for Hook's arm was a bit longer than his, even missing a hand. The stump had healed perfectly in the few hours or days Jack had been laboring in the carpenter's shop. A part of his mind registered how odd this was, how such a wound would take months to heal, not mere days, but he dismissed it.
Jack fitted the cup and the elbow pieces onto Hook, and then attached the shoulder harness. He felt clumsy and self-conscious as he brushed the captain's hair off his shoulder to fasten the last straps, and stepped back. It certainly looked menacing: Hook's tattooed torso, crossed by leather, his arm ending in that wicked weapon. Much better than a corkscrew, Jack thought privately, congratulating himself on his handiwork.
The silence in the cabin was oppressive and threatening, and Jack itched to say something, anything to break this spell of gloom, and he even opened his mouth but whatever words he had died unspoken. Hook was intent on his new toy. He flexed his arm and twisted this way and that to see if he could dislodge it. Then he whirled, quicker than thought, and caught Jack under the throat, the point of the hook penetrating a millimeter into the soft flesh. I suppose I should have seen this coming, thought Jack. Jack shivered against the cold touch of the steel and the cool air on his chest; he was cold everywhere except where the captain's arm pressed against him.
"Do you think you could put an edge on the outside as well?" Hook asked softly, now pulling the hook away from Jack's neck slightly so he could admire how the moonlight reflected off it. "I think it might do more damage that way." Jack grimaced and tried to back away slightly, but Hook had him pinned there. He smelled of sweat and leather, and the hook, so close to Jack's face smelled of new steel.
"I think," said Jack, "that you could do some damage to yourself with that as well." Hook jerked up his new weapon to examine it, and tried pushing his hair out of his face with the blunt outside edge. He growled and narrowed his eyes at Jack. Jack breathed a sigh of relief anyway, as menacing as Captain Hook's glares were, they was nothing to being cornered with that hook at his throat. Jack felt his neck to see how much damage had been done, but it was just a small trickle of blood, hardly worth noticing.
Hook turned to look at the box of other attachments Jack had brought, and as he did hair swirled behind him like a cape. Jack wasted no time getting his clothing back on and tiptoeing over to the door. As he let himself out he saw that Hook was picking up each hook in turn, holding it up to the light, testing it for sharpness with his fingers.
As soon as Jack got outside he breathed a sigh and sagged in relief against the outside wall, but as soon as he noticed Smee standing there he straightened up again.
"Does the captain like it?" Smee asked hopefully. Jack stroked his new whiskers.
"Yes, I think it will do," he answered.
"I think the captain would like it if you got special treatment, for all you've done," said Smee. "Come this way." Jack fingered his throat—special treatment indeed. Well, at least he was still alive.
Smee showed him to another room adjacent to the captain's. It was not as sumptuous, but it still had a fire, and a real bed, and a large mirror. Jack was tired, but he still had to see what changes this land had wrought in him. He definitely had a beard now, and not the haphazard scraggly growth he had experienced before. Now he had dashing, well-trimmed mustache and beard, which reminded him of, well, Captain Hook's. Interesting, he thought, I didn't have that before. He turned away from the mirror, and as he turned some trick of the light made it look as though his reflection had sharp teeth where his eyes should be. He looked back quickly to try to see the illusion again, but it could not be repeated.
Someone had brought Jack's coat and hat into the room, and he put them back on to see how they would look with the new beard. He did look quite dashing, he thought. He buckled back on his sword, also thoughtfully restored to him, and drew it at his reflection. He made glared and scowled at his reflection, but it didn't work as well on his face as it had on Hook's. He executed a quick turn and watched how his coat twirled behind him. Now that was nice, granted he didn't have three yards of velvet, but it still looked rather grand. His hair didn't complete the picture as well as it should, though, Jack thought, frowning at himself. It was rather short, stopping just below his chin, even though it had gotten acceptably messy over the past few days, and Jack decided to grow it out.
As he settled into sleep he imagined how he would retake the Pearl, striding on deck with a menacing glare, and sending his mutinous former shipmates diving overboard in fear. Clothes may not make the man, he thought, but I need something to compete with Barbossa . . . I wonder if I should get a hook . . .
[][][]
"So pirate it is," said the Dream King. "He chooses to be the villain in his own story. You should take him back to his island."
His sister shook her head. "Not yet Mr. Dreamy. He is more mine than yours. He still has choices left to make."
[][][]
When Jack awoke, he thought he must have slept an awfully long time. The sun streaming in the windows was golden with the first hints of sunset. He jumped back when he turned to see Smee standing over him with a bottle of rum in one hand and a case under his arm.
"Ehh, Captain wants to see you, Jack." Jack sat up, stretched and yawned. Smee had put down the case, and handed him a glass of something. Jack took a sip and nearly spat it back out; he liked rum as well as the next fellow, and perhaps better, but it was not his usual breakfast. The second sip went down better than the first, and the third still better. Smee meanwhile opened his case and took out a black cigar and lit it, before handing it to Jack. Jack waved it away, but then the sweet aromatic smoke made him change his mind, and he reached out for it again.
"You're looking more and more like a pirate every day," said Smee, beaming.
"That's convenient," answered Jack between pulls off the cigar. "I am a pirate."
"Well yes, but most of the lads, well, it takes them a lot longer. Some of them even go to Pan first, but the true pirates come to us eventually. Of course, you're older than most of them when they first get here, so maybe that's it." Jack pulled on his boots, and shrugged on his shirt and his jacket. He picked up his hat, and put it on his head, adjusting the corners to have a slight tilt.
"Of course, you look more like the captain, than the rest of us. 'Snot natural, a ship should only have one captain," Smee muttered. Jack picked up his sword and scabbard and buckled them on. Smee looked askance at that, but said nothing. Jack found that his dagger and pistol had been returned to him as well, and he tucked the dagger into his boot, and fastened the pistol at his waist, looking at Smee all the while and daring him to say something. Smee did not however, he merely extinguished Jack's cigar, and ushered him out.
They took several narrow spiral staircases lit by guttering torches down past alcoves filled with rats and moldering skeletons. Jack felt, as he always did, distinctly uncomfortable on dry land, and still more uncomfortable to be going down into the depths of the earth to where Hook awaited Jack in the castle's dungeon. He was wearing shirtsleeves and leather britches even in the damp dungeon air, and Jack felt a swell of pride to see that the hook was attached to his arm. In his other hand he held a sword, tip against the dungeon floor.
"Leave us," Hook directed Smee. Smee looked at Jack for a moment and grimaced, then made a cutting motion across his throat. Lovely, thought Jack, just perfect. Well, at least I've got my sword with me this time.
"I need your help again," Hook said gruffly. "'Twas my sword hand that whelp took. I need to be able to fight again." He looked down for a moment; bashfulness did not sit well on his features, and then looked back up at Jack, challenging him to say something disrespectful. Jack, whose glib tongue had gotten him into and out of more scrapes than he could count, found himself temporarily mute.
"Let Cap—let Jack Sparrow help," Jack said after a moment. He stepped back and took a graceful bow. Jack stripped off his jacket and hat, and then drew his sword.
Hook was clumsy that first day, but as days passed he became more accustomed to fighting in this new way, with sword and hook. Every time they fought to a standstill, the captain brought the hook up to Jack's belly and forced him to back away.
Then came the day when Hook backed Jack up against the dungeon wall as they fought, and pinned Jack's sword arm up against the wall with his good arm, while he pressed the hook against Jack's chest.
"I thought this day would never come," Hook whispered, inches away from Jack's face.
Jack grimaced and tried to pull away, but he was caught firm. "I did," he said, babbling, "I always knew you'd be able to fight again. Such a strong captain, I had no doubt."
"Hush," said Hook, snapping his teeth at Jack, "I could kill you now."
"That is certainly true . . . ah . . ." Jack trailed off.
"You're of no more use to me, if I can beat you." The captain brought the hook up, and it parted Jack's shirt as it passed.
"Good edge on that," said Jack, "glad to see you've been keeping it sharp, captain." He would not give in to fear, he told himself. His body wanted to go limp, but he hung onto his tension, and tried not to struggle.
"Drop your sword," commanded Hook, still so close to Jack's face that he could feel the other man's beard against his cheek. Jack felt the hook press harder to his ribs, and dropped the sword. It fell with a loud clatter. Hook sheathed his, and then used his hook to tear further at Jack's shirt, while holding Jack's hands up above his head. He was a little careless of Jack's skin beneath, and when the tatters of his shirt fell off, his torso was covered with little scratches.
"I could just leave you tied up here for a while," said Hook, "and then when the tide is particularly high some night, you'll be dead. Or I could let you be the first to die by this hook." Jack had been frozen in an equal mixture of terror and fascination, but Hook's words briefly broke the spell.
"None of those other sailors . . . ?" Jack asked. It was a rare day that went by without Captain Hook killing one of his own men in a fit of pique, or merely on a whim. Hook patted his pistol with his hook.
"I've been saving that honor," he said, and Jack felt himself again in thrall to the fascination of Hook's eyes. Hook drew a set of wrist irons out from somewhere. Perhaps they had been hanging from his belt, or perhaps they simply appeared because Hook needed them, like the tools in the carpenter's shop. Jack didn't think it was possible, but somehow Hook secured Jack's wrists in the irons, and the irons to a ring set in the wall, high enough that Jack had to stand on his toes. I wonder if he practiced that, Jack thought.
"I can't have two captains on this ship," said Hook, his lips brushing Jack's ear. "The men are starting to wonder which of us to follow. So I'll have to kill you."
"I'm don't want to be captain of your ship," said Jack desperately, "I've another ship I must get back to, but I don't want yours, I swear."
"You don't like the Jolly Roger? For that I shall have to kill you." Jack felt the hook start to cut into the skin under his ribs.
"No, it's a lovely ship, really, I just could never compete with you as captain, I swear." Hook turned away and walked across the room. He looked out the window, seeming lost in thought, then he came back over to Jack.
"I could use a cabin boy, I suppose. You'll have to cut off the beard of course—stupid blighters can't tell the difference between us with it. And you've got such a lovely face, like a girl's." He ran the back of the hook along Jack's cheek, and Jack tried to flinch away. "I am so dreadfully lonely here with only these sailor dogs for company. What wouldn't I give for a companion of my class." The words were sibilant in Jack's ear, and he felt as if he were under a spell.
"I will have a promise from you, though," said Jack quietly.
"What is that?"
"Let us plunder the Caribbean a bit. There's rich pickings there, and King's men for prey," Jack whispered, the same whisper he used when parting a maid from her virtue, and it seemed to have the same success, for Hook's interest was piqued by this suggestion, Jack could tell.
"We shall. First, though, I must inform you of your new duties." Hook cut Jack down from the wall, leaving his hands manacled together in front of him. He looped his claw through the chains and led Jack back to his chamber. Smee was cleaning his spectacles at the time, and he did not see.
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"I think we should give them their privacy," said the Dream King, and he drew a curtain of night and clouds over the Black Castle and all of Neverland. "That wasn't what I had in mind when I had you bring him here. Is it possible the old stories are changing?" His sister turned from him, and pouted.
"I wanted to watch!" she said, turning away from him.
"I have other things to attend to, other duties, Delirium, and I try to give the mortals their privacy, at least in their waking hours. Remember, we serve them."
"I'm going to see what they do." She flew away on a wake of fishes and fireflies, and Dream sighed. He wondered, idly, if this was Desire's doing, and he wondered if he should get involved. Desire's machinations never worked out well for him. Let Delirium fight her own battles this time.