James Hook…the name left a sweet, yet sour taste on the tongues of all that tasted it; a sour note in the musical tales of Pan’s adventures; a stench in the air of any that sniffed it. He was a smudge of dark against light, a chill breeze that cuts through summer like a blade. James Hook was a man feared and, strangely, desired.

You may be thinking, Who in their right mind would desire an untamable beast like Captain James Hook? Well, who but another criminal, another monster, would even think of it? There’s only one creature in existence that I know of who even compares to the vicious pirate captain. And that creature was making its move tonight.

Caught somewhere between dreams and reality, Hook sat at his desk, quill in hand and fingers rubbing his aching brow gently. Another skirmish with Pan had left him unsatisfied. Still he could not drive his hook into the boy’s gullet; still that insufferable brat evaded his claw like a fly frantically trying to escape the swatter. And, like the fly, Pan kept coming back to irritate him further and drive him to the brink of insanity.

His journal lay open before him, words he could no longer quite discern inscribed in neat penmanship on the paper. His head ached, his eyes burned, and he felt he could no longer keep unconsciousness at bay. It was the wee hours before dawn, and Hook had not slept all night.

Pan…the name was like acid on his lips. How he hated the boy. What he would do, what he would give to see the wretched creature impaled upon his sword, crimson life fluid gushing from his wounds to stain the deck. How he wanted to see the cocky smile vanish, see the light in those horrid blue eyes fade away to nothingness. Watch the boy’s body fall limp, dangling from his bloody iron claw. How he wished to laugh at that moment, when his dream of vengeance came to life.

But it was not to be. Some other deity, whom he didn’t know but despised, continuously aided Pan, thwarting every plan he concocted and tossing its scraps into the harsh winds of the past.

Now…now, though, all he could do was wait. Wait, and plan. His next encounter with the flying ragamuffin would surely bring about his victory. It had to, else he felt he would go mad. That a mere child could escape him so easily was something that Hook found to be greatly irritating, which only fueled his fury. He had to defeat Pan; he just had to. It had been too long already and he wasn’t used to his victories being prolonged for this amount of time.

Hook’s head bobbed, his eyelids fluttering. Time was irrelevant in Never Land, as he so often forgot. He had lost count of the years that passed; he knew they had been many, yet still…his men never aged. He never aged. For that one thing at least, he felt that perhaps he ought to be grateful to Pan and his magical island. His inevitable shift into old age had been slowed, if not stopped completely. For at least a while he would not have to experience the degeneration that all men felt as they crawled on into the years ahead.

Yet Pan’s continued existence diminished the slight pleasure he felt from knowing he would not grow too old too soon. That the boy could retain his youth and he, Hook, could not, irked him. How the boy flew and danced about on the air as though he had wings on his feet…Hook couldn’t quite remember a time when he had been able to do that. Not in the literal sense, of course. Children were naturally light; they didn’t walk, they danced. He could not remember a time when he could dance like that, and the horrific jealousy that rose in him whenever he saw Pan reminded him of what he had lost.

Would you not want that back? A voice in the back of his mind asked. Your youth, your strength…

Hook’s head bobbed again; his fingers twitched. Would he want to be young again? To be cocky and careless…ignorant, foolish. No, he would not want that. In all his years as a man, the one thing he treasured most was knowledge. He was skilled, and learned. He knew things that he would not know had he been a child, or even just a youth. It had taken him many, many years to learn and develop his skills, and he would not give those up for nothing. He had his pride; he would not be ignorant.

As for his strength…he was strong now. Tall and powerful in stature and emanating a sense of authority, James Hook was proud of himself in that sense as well. Perhaps he could do with a few years knocked off the top; overall, though, he was pleased.

Somewhere in the back of his mind, he heard an odd clicking. Like heels on hardwood, taking a step or two back.

But he mocks you with his youth, with what he is, the little voice said. Do you not wish to be rid of that?

To be rid of Pan…he had been striving for that end for years. Pan was the quintessence of youth, but Hook was not out to destroy the spirit of youth itself. All he wanted was Pan, Pan and his blood. His efforts to destroy the boy often included the destruction of the Lost Boys as well, but he really didn’t count that. They were mere pawns in the seemingly eternal battle between the boy and man, just as his own men were just pawns. It was Pan, and Pan alone, that the pirate wanted to annihilate. Not youth, not childhood, not children in general—just Peter Pan.

Click. Click. The footsteps moved further back. Hook’s eyebrow twitched and he began to slide down to rest his head on the desk.

What would you give to have Pan at your tender mercy? The voice asked softly. What exactly would you risk?

So much…he would walk into the depths of hell and back for the chance to swipe his claw across the youth’s belly. To cup Pan’s blood in his remaining hand and watch as it slipped through his fingers to gleam wetly on the earth. His revenge would be complete, then, and he could leave Never Land if he so wished. Pack up his ship and sail away with his crew, never to look back, but always to remember that no one, ever, defeats James Hook.

No one but Peter Pan, that is. Of all the foes he had fought, Pan was the only one who had defied him for so long. And as much as he despised the brat, as much as he dreamed and lusted for his death, Hook found that, to an extent, he respected Pan. No one but he had challenged Hook and won; not once, not twice, but countless times. Grown men experienced in battle had not stood against him for long, and yet this boy did.

Why was that? How could a ten-year-old boy continuously evade Hook’s best efforts? So many times he had come close to killing Pan, but each time he found himself empty-handed. The brat escaped him either through luck, his own skill, or by the Lost Boys and their mother. And yet…there were times Hook had wanted to be merciful.

What he would give for an intelligent conversation these days. He had even offered to spare Pan’s life for that simple pleasure. But the boy had refused, and when he had, Hook found himself offended. The damnable youth offended him with his rejection like no other man, or woman, had before.

Why? Why did he care so much about Pan’s opinion of him? The boy would never see him as anything other than a pirate. Pan saw him as a creature with only the basic instincts of an animal, unworthy of any consideration usually granted to intelligent men. When he rejected Hook’s offer to allow him to live, his ignorance to the truth plainly showed on his face and in his words.

Perhaps it was that childish ignorance that fueled Hook’s need to show Pan the truth. In that peace offering, he tried to convey his humanity to the boy. But Pan, so caught up in the game of good versus evil, hero versus villain, had responded as he believed a hero would: death before surrender! He continued to push the captain into a role he didn’t wish to play—that of a heartless villain with no hope for redemption.

It was an unending struggle for the man. Constantly fighting to maintain his humanity and not fall into the subtle traps the eternal youth laid out for him. He was a gentleman, a scholar, a devoted son and much more than just a pirate. But Pan…Pan’s complete faith in Hook’s villainous nature continued to nag at the back of his mind.

Was he really so cruel? Was he truly so heartless? Had he in fact become what the boy believed, despite all his best efforts to remain a man? How much further until the edge was before him, and he fell completely into the role of the villain? How different were children’s stories from reality? Would he suffer the same fate as those fairytale villains?

He could feel the edge drawing closer with every attempt on Pan’s life. He was becoming more violent, more bloodthirsty and cruel in his methods. He demanded creativity from his plans and from his men; Jukes’ designs of death were beginning to resemble torture machines. Monsters out of Mullins’ tales of demons and devils, and yet they failed each time. Pan danced out of the danger, like a dandelion fluff on the wind…like a fairytale hero survives each battle.

Click. Click. The footsteps drew a little closer. Hook moaned softly in his sleep.

It doesn’t have to be this way, the voice said. You don’t have to die the villain’s death…you can still destroy Pan without that.

Could he…? Hook doubted it. Already he was sliding into the role; already he was becoming accustomed to playing the villain. He was tightly entwined in Pan’s game and deep inside, he knew there was no escape. The game had gone too far, had become as real to him as it was to Pan, and he feared that he could not turn back.

But now…did he even want to turn back? Had his life really become such that change was undesirable? Like Pan, had he come to believe in his role as the villain of a fairytale? Truth be told (and only to himself), he found that he was enjoying the feud he and the boy were playing out. The youth was the first thing on his mind when he awoke, and the last thing he thought of when he slept. Pan plagued him in his dreams and in his waking hours; there was no escape, even if he wanted it. Which he now realized he didn’t.

Why don’t you want it to end? The voice demanded. What does Pan hold for you?

Why…? Well, why not? As the saying went, an eye for an eye, a life for a life. Or, in his case, a life for a hand. Pan turned the man’s life upside down with a simple flick of his wrist, a shimmer of steel in the sunlight. Had the boy not taken his hand, Hook might very well have left Never Land with little more than a snort of contempt and been none the wiser. To him, it had been nothing more than an undiscovered island, and not worth the time of day.

He could still leave the island, if he so chose. But knowing that somewhere out there, on an island found by no will of his own, a boy would continue to mock him…well, that was unacceptable. Hook’s pride would not allow him to just up and leave without returning in full the ‘gift’ bestowed upon him by the eternal hellion. Pan would pay for what he had done, even if it took a hundred years.

Click. Click.

Even if it means your death? The voice whispered.

Death…? His death? Impossible. Hook would not die, not until he had his revenge. It was preposterous. To think a mere boy could best Hook in the end, ever…

Click. Click. Stop.

But he will. He will strike you down like you are nothing. To him, you are naught but a plaything which he will tire of eventually. And when he does not wish to play any longer, the game will be over, and you will have no choice.

Hook’s brow creased, his body shifting in his sleep. Never…

Eventually. Never Land is an island of children’s beliefs, full of their greatest dreams and their worst nightmares. Fairytales come to life here. Pan’s belief has pulled you into the role as the villain of a tale, and he is the hero. The hero always wins, the villain always dies. You will die. And Pan…he will forget you ever existed.

However…

A bead of sweat slipped down Hook’s cheek, his brow creasing.

I can help you wreak a vengeance upon him that will sear your memory into him for all eternity…

Steam puffed from the man’s lips as he gasped, the air in his cabin becoming decidedly chill. He must fear me, he thought. Not just remember me, but remember the fear of me, forever. All of Never Land, fairy, Lost Boy, Indian, beasts, his own men…they all feared him. There was nothing on or off the island that didn’t. Except Pan. That had to change else his spirit could not rest comfortably in whatever afterlife he would reside.

He will awaken in the night screaming from his nightmares of you, and children all over the world will whisper your name in dread when they tell the story of Peter Pan and Hook…

On the darkened screen of his closed eyelids, Hook could see a figure emerging from the inky blackness. Cold eyes burned into him, lush, red lips pulled back in a sinister smile. The click-click of high heels grew steadily louder as she approached, her shadow reaching out to wrap him in a suffocating embrace.

You know me, don’t you, James?

He nodded, feeling the tug of darkness on what was left of his soul. A circle of green flames surrounded him, flickering as a frozen wind blew throughout his mind.

Then say my name…

"The Morningstar," James Hook whispered aloud, his voice echoing hollowly in the cabin.

The devil smiled, opening her arms wide. Come to me, James. Come to me, embrace me, love me… Embrace me as you would a favoured ally, and you will want for nothing. Vengeance will finally be yours.

Hook smiled back. "It seems, milady, that my patience has finally been rewarded." He held his hand out to her, and she took it. "Mea est ultio."