The Lost Pirate

The boy sneezes. 

No one says anything. A nearby pirate–Mercer, perhaps, or Nelson–hands the lad a tattered handkerchief. Warily, he accepts the cloth, swiping at his nose with the carelessness customary to teenage boys. He clenches it tightly in his fist when done. 

Hook assesses him with a critical eye. Skinny, lacking any ferocity in his expression, and altogether disheveled from his time floating aimlessly along the sea. Shame the crocodile didn’t eat him. 

A shiver runs through the poor kid. He draws his arms closer to his chest, casting furtive glances at the assembled pirates openly staring. Rarely do any newcomers arrive in Neverland without Pan’s explicit consent. A lost child, then, most likely an orphan who stowed away upon a ship and was subsequently tossed overboard upon discovery. 

London did not treat her forgotten children kindly. 

Nor did Pan, for that matter; once he’d grown tired of his current crop of Lost Boys, either they were exiled back to the real world, or left to their own devices wandering the Never Jungle. Some ended up near Pirate Cove, the anger and bitterness heavy in their hearts at being left alone burning away whatever magic kept them eternally youthful. Hook accepted these unfortunate souls with relish. His purpose was twofold: One, as payback for all the men he lost while fighting with Pan and his army of wild children. Two, because it was bad form to abandon anyone, least of all a child. 

“You’re not one of Pan’s,” Hook says, left hand smoothing the wrinkled right sleeve of his coat. 

The boy blinks. Visibly swallows, gathering whatever dregs of courage drove him here. So he’s not without spine after all. 

“N-no. He took my little brother.” 

Ah. Hook cants his head, eyes narrowing. That’s new. New things hardly bode well for the state of Neverland. Pan always takes the siblings–either willingly, or as an afterthought when they put up a fight about being left behind. 

“How did you find your way here?” 

The boy looks mildly offended, as if Hook was an idiot for posing such a question. “Second star to the right. Straight on ‘till morning,” he recites, eyes widening a fraction of a second later, realizing his flippant tone. “...Captain.” 

Hook immediately covers his near-smile under the guise of smoothing his mustache. Motivated and determined. This boy might survive after all. Some of the crew glance nervously at their captain, fully aware of his capricious moods. Just last week he’d shot the lookout for falling asleep at his post, thereby failing to alert Hook of the crocodile’s approach. 

Smee appears, a faded coat in his hands, and drapes it around the boy’s shoulders. Hook’s mirth fades. The boy gives him a grateful nod. 

Clearing his throat, Hook pointedly ignores Smee. “What’s your name, lad?” 

“Andrew,” he replies, voice somewhat steadier. “And my brother’s name is Charles. He was taken two weeks ago.” 

Questions swirl in Hook’s mind. It’s always strange, conversing with a new arrival from the real world. They don’t see the danger yet in Neverland, the sinister undertones crawling in the jungle and swirling in the tides alongside the mermaids. “Come with me, Andrew.” 

—-------------

Safely ensconced in his quarters, Hook watches Andrew over the rim of a gold chalice, the wine warm and soothing on his tongue. Andrew takes tentative sips of water himself, gaze bouncing around the room, often falling on the grand map hanging to their left. 

The edges are curled, with little rips visible at random intervals. None of that, thankfully, mars the painstakingly hand painted map of Neverland. Elegant letters denote places of interest, alongside (slightly) lopsided depictions of landmarks. 

A tree trunk sits almost in the center. Andrew squints, lips moving as he silently sounds out Pan’s Hideout. Hook sets down his chalice. Andrew snaps back to attention. The coat slides off one shoulder. 

“How did you arrive in Neverland, Andrew?” Hook asks, tone level, almost casual. Like they’re discussing the weather, or their favorite types of tea. 

“I told you–second star to–” 

Hook waves the stump of his right hand, irritation flashing in his eyes. “Yes, yes, I know that part. But no one arrives here by sheer force of will.” Except, perhaps, Pan himself. “Either Pan flies you here, or Neverland calls for you.” 

Or, you simply arrive. The earliest days of his time in Neverland are a blur–Hook recalls sailing with his crew, men now long deceased in their watery graves, when a violent storm hit. Despite doing everything to avoid it, they’d hit the gale head on, spending an interminable amount of time in inky blackness and freezing rain. They emerged onto a spotless white beach, the sky an unblemished blue above them. 

And waiting for them, upon the shoreline, floated a boy with a half-feral grin upon his features. 

Hook scowls at the memory, abruptly standing from his desk and strolling towards the map. Andrew remains silent a moment longer; Hook can practically hear him gathering his courage. “Neverland knew my brother needed me. I think he’s in danger.” 

Something like hope flares in Hook’s chest. Could this strange boy be the answer to all his problems? An arrival who despises Pan, instead of holding that childish worship in his heart? 

“No pixie dust carried you across? You’re not an agent of Pan’s, are you?” Hook snarls with sudden heat, spinning on his heel. He should have left his hook attached to his stump; waving it under a nose or too close to an eye always got a reaction. 

Andrew sinks further back in his own chair, but he doesn’t look away. “No, Captain. Pan didn’t want me.” 

And why not? Did Pan sense this distrust? For the first time, Hook wishes he paid more attention to whatever arbitrary criteria Pan uses when selecting his Lost Boys. Some of the anger bleeds from Hook. “Then if you’re not a Lost Boy, you’re a member of Captain Hook’s crew. Those are the rules of Neverland. You will grow older. You will get harmed in our quest to destroy Pan.” 

Silence settles between them. Andrew mulls this over in his head, and Hook realizes now the boy can’t be older than twelve. “I want to join your crew.” 

“Welcome aboard the Jolly Roger, Andrew.”