Jukes shuddered in the half-light with the pain that seared his stomach. He
                        sweated with fever and shivered with uncontrollable spasms of his aching
                        muscles. The belly-cramps were unbearable but he was determined that it
                        wouldn’t get the better of him. He moaned softly at no one, before
                        attempting to roll on his side.
                        No, that hurt too much.
                        He turned back onto his back, wincing as he pushed against the bruises
                        there. He felt ill – very ill. He could remember, only just, the last time he had
                        felt this bad, the last time he had become ill after a beating. The memories
                        were more painful than his stomach so he tried in vain to repress them.
                        Suddenly his belly gave a sickening lurch inside him and Billy curled up with a
                        cry, before clamping his mouth shut to hold back the vomit. He swallowed
                        hard and staggered to his feet, heading for the door. It creaked loudly as he
                        pushed it open and he dragged himself, despite the agony inside him, to the
                        side of the deck. Mullins had heard the squeak and came drowsily to the deck
                        too, just in time to see Jukes slap a hand over his mouth, run the last few
                        feet to the side and duck over it, retching loudly. Billy slumped, still throwing
                        up, on the wooden boarding around the edge until he found himself just
                        supported by the ship and Mullins hands under his arms.
                        “Easy Billy Boy, easy.” Mullins waited while Jukes threw up over and over – a
                        surprisingly large amount to say he hadn’t eaten much that day. “Get it all
                        up, lad.”
                        Jukes finally ceased, gasping for breath, and doubled up once again, the pain
                        still as bad as it had been before.
                        Mullins turned the boy’s whitened face to him and saw in shock that the pain
                        had been so bad that Billy had bitten into his bottom lip, and the blood
                        trickled black-red over his chin. He picked him up bodily, hearing a voice
                        crooning gently to the sick lad in a comforting, yet raspy voice. With slightly
                        less shock and more wonder than before, he realised that it was his own
                        voice – he pushed this intruding thought away and took the boy towards the
                        Captain’s cabin, took a deep breath, and banged on it loudly.

                        “Odds fish!” Bellowed Hook, as a loud rapping disturbed his slumber. He
                        slung his cape around him for the second time in two nights, and threw the
                        door wide. He stopped at the sight of the rugged man cradling a limp boy in
                        his arms, who was held before him in an almost sacrificial way. Hook blurted
                        the first thing that came to mind.
                        “What romanticism is this?”
                        Jukes was most unromantically sick before the Captain’s feet. The Captain
                        grumbled as tolerantly as he could before lugging them into the cabin.
                        “Lay him down over there – but don’t let word get out that I’m doing this or
                        they’ll all want the treatment.”

                        ***

                        Peter woke suddenly, late the next morning, which was most unlike him.
                        Peter was usually up with the birds, along with the other Lost Boys. He
                        scrubbed a hand through his hair, adjusting the rope that ran through it as
                        he did so, yawning widely from the effects of troubled sleep. He grimaced as
                        he remembered the night’s events.
                        “Uuurgh…I had the worst dream last night…”
                        The Boys all jumped up crowing. “Tell us, Peter!”
                        Peter shook his head with a mixture of upset and confusion crossing his face.
                        “No…no, it’s ok…”
                        “Tell us!” They demanded as one.
                        Peter told them. He spoke of the dark pirates, distorted figures that crept up
                        on him while he slept, called him ‘my dear’ and took him away. Unable to fly,
                        no matter how hard he tried, he screamed but nobody heard. He told the
                        Boys how he was locked in a small room in the dark, and told to wait for the
                        Captain. He said he was chained to a wall and couldn’t move, and had to wait
                        while the pirates stood around him in a semicircle, telling him “the Captain
                        would love this one”.
                        Peter shuddered suddenly, and looked up to see the boys staring at him,
                        wide eyed like children who had just been told about the bogeyman. He
                        looked guilty at scaring them, but Riio stepped in.
                        “I can tell you stories that are scarier than that…”
                        Peter looked at her gratefully – he was embarrassed that the Lost Boys now
                        knew what had scared him, so anything to take their mind off it would be a
                        blessing.
                        Riio racked her brains for the plots of films that terrified the people from her
                        era.
                        Then Riio waited until the evening. She let loose on them that night, a
                        waterfall of horrors, of men with knives for fingers and insane masked men.
                        By the time she had finished it was in the wee hours of the morning, and the
                        Boys were all huddled together in a clump before the fire.
                        “Peter….” Tootles whimpered, “I don’t want to go to sleep…” Riio picked him
                        up and hugged him, but he squeaked and clawed at the shivering mass he
                        had just been pulled from, desperate to get back in the middle of his Lost
                        brothers.
                        “That was slightly too scary, Riio-mother…” Slightly was gripping Curly’s arm,
                        and Curly had his arms round Slightly and Nibs’ necks. Nibs was sucking his
                        thumb, while the twins were buried somewhere in the middle.
                        “Now look what you did.” Peter was angry for a second, but like all his
                        emotions, they soon passed. “Look, boys, just go to bed – Riio told you
                        those things weren’t real…”
                        “They’re real to me!” Sobbed Tootles, and buried his face in a Twin’s back.
                        Peter gave Riio a “wait until I get hold of you” look, which was quite scary to
                        say it was coming from Peter, before bundling all six of them off to their
                        various arrangements. It took a good half hour to settle them all and get
                        them snoozing softly, but eventually the older pair managed. As soon as he
                        was sure they had all dropped off, Peter turned on her.
                        “What the hell was that all about?”
                        “I didn’t realise it would scare them that much – kids younger than them
                        know these stories and aren’t scared.”
                        Peter slammed his fist onto a protruding root, making her jump. “Damn it,
                        Riio, these boys have lived in Neverland all their lives – they hardly ever go
                        back to the real world – they don’t know what it’s like! Children in the real
                        world grow up too fast now. Do you realise how hard it is to even find a
                        five-year-old like Michael who believes, in your time? These boys don’t
                        understand the stories from there. They’re just not old enough.”
                        “So much for not growing up.” Said Riio softly. Peter’s face fell further, and
                        all anger left him. He his face flickered unhappiness and a kind of cynical relief
                        alternately.
                        “It’s hard to look after these kids without growing up in some ways.” He
                        smiled slightly. “Not all ways, only a few.” He sat down with a thump onto the
                        bed which he and Riio slept top to tail on, and she joined him cautiously.
                        “I’m sorry I told those stories.”
                        “I’m sorry I snapped at you – you haven’t even been here that long, but I
                        don’t think you’re my mother anymore.”
                        “Oh?” She raised an eyebrow.
                        “You’re more like a sister. Or a friend. I think I prefer the last one.”
                        She smiled at him. “So do I.”

                        The Boys had awoken as usual the next morning, and immediately wondered
                        what all the fuss was about. Typical of growing boys, they competed for
                        braveness.
                        “I wasn’t scared…”
                        “…At all.” The Twins started when Peter asked if they were OK from the night
                        before.
                        “Yeah – what do you take us for, Peter?” commented Slightly, and then
                        gesturing at The Twins. “Though these two were slightly terrified, by the
                        looks of things.”
                        “We were NOT!” They yelled back. Nibs liked the look of the ensuing
                        argument and decided to stir a bit, but got it in the neck too.
                        “Who actually said that it was ‘slightly too scary…’”
                        “I meant for TOOTLES, you ass! Anyway – you’re one to talk…”
                        “What’s that supposed to mean?”
                        “You were sucking your thumb!”
                        “I had a splinter!”
                        “Oh yeah – is that why you had to cut the blood off to my ankle then?” Curly
                        stuck his oar in to make matters worse.
                        “Oh…I…err…thought I was hugging Tootles…”
                        “Why does everyone think I need protecting?!” Tootles yelled at all who were
                        listening – which wasn’t very many.
                        “I DON’T SUCK MY THUMB! I’m going.” Nibs stormed out of the room and
                        started up the steps, blushing furiously. “Don’t expect me to come back – I
                        hate you all!”
                        They all stared after him, suddenly silent. Then Curly spoke.
                        “Well, that was unexpected.”