AN: I just had this idea after reading the book and watching the movie that came out a few years ago. I know my opening is ratherlong, but that is because I can't figure out if this is a short story or the first chapter of a long story. Tell me what you think.

Oh, and I plan to keep writing on the Harry Potter as well. Just took a short break. As with that story, if you don't like this sort of thing, don't read and do not review.

And it's not slash, just to assure everyone.

And I don't own this or make any money.

Anything else? On with the show.


Captain James Hook settled back in his chair and absentmindedly lit his long cigar. The end flared to life, and the scent of strong tabacco filled the cabin. He breathed in the smell and sighed heavily. He was running low on cigars – only a few dozen left in his private store-box hidden under the third floor board from the door. He had lucked upon them entirely by chance. The brat had flown back with them, probably thinking that the bright red and blue boxes were filled with candy. Hook, on one of his solitary journeys around the island, had found the cigars spilled on the ground under a large tree, the boxes thrown aside in haste.

One cigar had a small bite taken out of it – Hook though with a cold smile that the boy had tried to eat the cigars. He must have had a very nasty shock. But save for that one cigar, the rest were perfectly fine. Hook had packed them back in the boxes and smuggled them onto the ship, hidden under his long, elegant coat. Not that he thought his sailors would try to steal them – they feared him far too much. But that kept Hook from having to count the cigars every single day to make sure he wasn't missing any, and it kept the pirates from any unnecessary punishment. Oh, Hook still whipped the dogs from time to time, just to remind them who was still boss. But other than that, no need for extra misery.

Hook restlessly brushed his dark curls off his forehead. His hair, glorious and long, had once been his pride and joy, the envy of all his rivals, the toast of every young lady. Now, though, it only served to annoy him. Once in a fit of rage, he had grabbed his razor blade and hacked at all his hair until it lay on the floor and he stood before the mirror, shorn short. Yet, the next morning when he awoke, it had all regrown. After screaming for a few moments and shouting profanity that would make anyone else blush, Hook had stormed about his ship. He ordered all his sailors to double their efforts in the search for Pan, and poor Smee got things thrown at him every hour for the rest of the day. The poor fat pirate kept wiping his glasses and tripping over things as he attempted to pacify his captain's temper. Finally, around sunset, Smee had brought Hook a drink of malt whiskey. Hook had swallowed it, and the next thing he knew he was waking up the next morning in his bed. He suspected Smee had drugged him, but the stammering man came in with a breakfast of poached eggs and steaming coffee, announcing that the search for Pan was going full-sails ahead. Hook had decided not to plunge his hook into the man to rip his throat out – instead he had taken breakfast and muttered threats against the pirates.

It was all so . . . bad form. Very, very bad form. The world's most feared pirate chasing after that imp. That child who kept insisting that he was the sun, and moon, and be-all, end-all. So very annoying. That stupid crowing and flying instead of keeping his feet on the ground like a normal person. Cigar tucked between his teeth, Hook figured the curve of his hook with his one good hand. He did miss his other hand at times. The hook did wonders to scare everyone he ever met. His sailors were fearful that he would cut them with it. Smee paid extra attention to keep it polished and clean, but Hook could see the fat pirate tremble and sweat as he ran the soft cloth over it. Often Smee would mutter things under his breath that sounded like "Be the death of me, it will. I'll get it in the end," as he worked frantically.

As for the children on the island, except for the brat, they were all terrified of it all well. Only a day or two ago, Hook had come upon a little Lost boy in the woods, a new one he guessed, though he never bothered keeping track of them. This new boy, all flying curls and small limbs, had tumbled out of the bushes and rolled to a stop beside Hook's black boots. The child had looked up and frozen.

Hook, never one to disappoint a captive audience, had smiled cruelly and slowly raised his hook into view. The child had stared at that hook, paralyzed with fear. Then he had given a small squeak and began running for his life. Hook had watched the tiny boy crash through the underbrush, shaking the leaves as he scrambled away from the dreaded pirate.

Hook had thought about taking pursuit. He probably could have caught the scamp in a matter of seconds and hoisted him up in the air with his good hand. Then he could have held up his hook threateningly and ordered the child to reveal the location of Pan's hideout or else. Hook probably would not have had to even actually torture the child – the boy would have confessed all he knew as he stared at the hook. But at such a young age, the child might not know the exact location. Beside, Hook did not run after children. His dogs would – they would chase down a boy or animal at Hook's orders. But Hook considered running after children bad form, and so he had let the boy go.

It was really too bad. As he sat by his desk smoking, Hook could have used someone to torment right about then. Not really pain – just good, old-fashioned fear that made his sailors hurry to obey him and the children run away in panic. Instead, he was in his quarters, all alone with nothing to occupy his time. Maybe he should hope that the brat would bring back some books and leave them behind so Hook could do a bit of reading. He had over a hundred books on the shelves of his cabin, but he had already read them all at least five times. They could always sail around the island again. The island was bigger than it looked, and it would take his ship at least three days to reach the other side. But the other side would be no different, and Hook knew he could not get off the sea of the island. He had tried sailing towards the horizon and the ship would appear to be leaving the island, but then it would stop and refuse to go anymore. Hook sighed again and glanced out his window. This never growing older business was quite tiresome. At first, when he had awoken on the island, with his entire ship and crew moved with him, and the brat had told them that they would all never grow old, never die, Hook had elated. But then he realized there was nothing on the island beside a handful of Indians, animals, and silly fairies. Certainly no women to tempt him or gold to capture. It was then that he tried to get the brat to take them back. Then the brat had cut off his hand.

Perhaps it had been as accident. The brat had picked up one of his swords and began waving it viciously. Hook had been both annoyed and worried the brat would hurt himself and had put up a hand to demand that the child stop playing around. It was then that he had lost his hand. Weeks of pain and being fit for the hook, and Hook had declared war.

The brat still laughed and flew about with that careless attitude, as if he could not be bothered with Hook's demand to get off the island. The brat thought himself so young, so boyish and childish, but Hook knew differently. The brat had visited earth too many times. The hours he had spent there – listening to stories, stealing things, flying around rooftops – they had all added up, and he no longer looked like a boy of six. He was beginning to resemble a child of eleven or twelve, and his beautiful blond locks had taken on a dark sheen. A few hundred more visits, and puberty would start.

Hook smiled coldly. Even now, he could imagine the screaming as the boy realized that he was getting older. Delightful thought.

"We got him!" a voice cried out from the main deck.

Hook glared in the direction of the closed door. The crew was always playing such ridiculous games such as pin-the-tail-on-the-donkey with Smee as the donkey. Smee would suffer as the sailors stuck long coils of rope to his backside with tar, and Hook grew weary of his complaining later that the tar was so hard to get out of his clothes. "We got him, Captain!" another voice cheered.

Frowning, Hook stood up from his large chair. Games were one thing, but he refused to be involved in their asinine frivolity.

"Captain," Smee burst in without knocking, a flogging offence in Hook's eyes, "Captain, we got him. We caught Peter Pan."

Hook's blue eyes stared at the short, plump man for a moment. Then he smiled, his lips curved in delectable cruelty. "You did?"

"Yes, sir," Smee gleefully announced, wriggling with delight. "Caught him napping in a tree. One of the men threw a net over him. Tied him up proper and brought him here. Old Bart threw water on him to wash off all that nasty fairy dust. His little tinker tots was nowhere to been seen, though he called for her, quite loud and pitifully, he did. Put up a fight when we neared the ship. But we'll bring him on deck, if it please the captain."

"My pleasure is your pleasure," Hook said loftily. But his heart was hammering, and he felt like his blood was on fire with the prospect of revenge.

Yet, to show good form, he stepped slowly towards the door and made his way with ease towards the railing of the upper deck. Below, he could see most of the crew on the main deck, all facing the gangplank.

"Bring the prisoner on board!" Smee called out. "Captain wished to make his acquaintance."

A strange procession made its way up the gangplank. Two fiercesome pirates made their way up first, leading behind them a small figure covered with a net wrapped tightly with rope and held between the first two pirates and the two more pirates that were pushing the bound captive along. Hook could not see his face, but he guessed that the brat was struggling and fighting the pirates the whole way.

The group marched up the gangplank and stopped on the main deck. The pirates all jeered at the bound figure, but Smee shouted, "Prisoner awaits your order, Captain."

Hook smiled, grinned as wide as he could. "Please, Mr. Smee, invite our guest into my cabin so I can give him a proper welcome."

A groan rose from the pirates – they all had wanted to see a bit of violence and blood on the deck. But Smee shouted out the orders.
As the bound figure was dragged up the stairs, Hook finally caught a glimpse of his face. The boy was still fighting, twisting around in the ropes, but in vain. His face was very red, but he said nothing.

The pirates shoved the brat into Hook's quarters, still covered with the net and ropes.

"Shall we hold him for you, sir?" Smee asked, pushing his spectacles back on his nose so he could better see their new prisoner. "Don't want him to get free before you can kill him?"

The bundle of ropes shook vigorously, trying to get free. But Hook just shook his head.

"No, no, I can handle our young guest by myself. Please untie him and then leave us."

They did so, and left, closing the door behind them. Hook languidly walked to the door and locked it with a brass key. He put the key in his breast pocket and regarded his new captive.

The brat stood on the carpet, breathing hard as his eyes darted about looking for an escape. He wore his usual garb of rags and leaves, but the clothes looked more torn than usual, and the brat had several scratches and bruises about his shoulders and legs. Obviously, he had put up quite a fight when captured.

"Ah, Peter Pan," Hook noted. "So good of you to drop by. To what do I owe this pleasure?"

"Let me go, Hook," the brat ordered. "I haven't done anything."

"Tut, tut," Hook shook his head. "How quickly we forget. You remember this?" He held up his hook.

Peter stared at it, as if he was trying to remember how the hook got there. Stupid boy – couldn't remember his own handiwork. Then finally remembrance dawned upon him.

"I did that," the boy announced. Then, proudly and triumphantly, "I cut off your hand and threw it to the crocodile. I beat you, you silly codfish. I'm invincible, I'm the world's greatest boy."

"Yes," Hook smiled, running his hook over his trimmed moustache, "and now you've been caught. Your greatest enemy has you in his clutches."

"You don't scare me!" the brat crowed. He reached for his waist where he kept his little dagger. But his fingers closed around open air. Panicked, he looked down. "Where's my dagger?"

"Ah, not so brave now, are we?" Hook observed. He knew his men must have removed it when they caught him.

The smug look dropped from the boy's face. "You – you can't. I'm unarmed, and it's not fair."

"Fair?" Hook lifted his eyebrows. "You wish to talk about what's fair? Losing your hand is not fair. Being stuck on a cursed island without women or cities or anything important is not fair. Having to put up with a bunch of skinny, smart-mouthed brats is not fair."

Peter Pan looked around him desperately. He stepped towards the cabinet, hoping to find a weapon of sort some when Hook stopped him. Hook pulled out his pistol and pointed it right at the brat's head. "Not one step farther, or I'll paint my cabin wall with your blood.

Peter froze and looked into the barrel of the gun fearfully.

"That's right," Hook grinned with malice. "I have you now. And I plan to repay you for all the misery you've brought upon me. Come here."

Peter did not move, just watched Hook and the gun. Hook pulled back the cock threateningly. "Now."

The brat swallowed, his throat constricting. He took one step towards the pirate captain. "I'm not afraid of you," the boy said with false bravado. "You don't scare me. Not now, not ever. You're just a coward. I'm not scare of you."

But Hook could see the boy's hands trembling, and he was pressing his lips together very hard.

"You're not scare?" Hook asked. "You should be. Do you have any idea what I plan to do with you?"

"Kill me," the brat cried out, but he was shaking even more.

"Not yet," Hook told him. "When I'm done with you, maybe. Do you have any idea of the tortures I know, of the misery you can suffer without ever losing conscious? Days, weeks, months – slow, slow torture until you can't scream or beg for death."

The brat's eyes were huge, but suddenly he straightened to his full height (which didn't reach Hook's shoulders) and proclaimed, "You can't hurt me. You're just a big bully of a man with only one hand! I fought you once and hundred times, and I can win again. I'll fight you and win – yes, I will! Maybe this time, I'll throw your other hand to the croc or even your whole arm! No one beats the great Peter Pan, no one, not ever."

Tucking the gun into his waistband, Hook lunged forward and grabbed a handful of those dark bland curls. Peter cried out in pain and tried to fight him off. But Hook was much bigger and stronger, and without his dagger or the ability to fly, Peter could only squirm to get free. Hook's hold on his hair was tight and nearly unbearable, and when the pirate captain pulled him towards the back of the cabin, Peter had no choice but to follow.

Hook felt that it was almost too easy with him having the gun and Pan with no weapon of any sort. The pirate cheered inwardly that once and for all, he knew his enemy was just a boy. Not a fantastical wonder, or strange demon, just a scrawny boy with a knife and a fairy.

Hook wasn't sure exactly what he was planning to do, but he found himself sitting down in one of his chairs (one without arms) and pulling the boy towards him. Pan struggled, reaching for anything that he could use to pull away, but Hook overpowered him easily. He flung the boy facedown other his left knee and then pinned the boy's legs together in between his own. That took care of the boy's lower limbs. He was thrashing about with his arms, hammering little fists into the chair and the side of Hook's left thigh. With the arm with the hook, Hook pressed his torso down and tried to hold him still.

Pan was frantic to get free; being immobilized took his terror to an entirely new level. Hook placed the cold steel curve of his hook against the bare back of the boy's neck. Immediately, the brat choked out something between a sob and a whimper.
Hook knew it could all be over. All he had to do was sink the sharp tip of his hook into the boy's neck and rip out his spine. The boy would be dead in a matter of minutes without too much blood spilt. Then it would all be over.

"You coward," Peter Pan choked out. "You ugly, stupid coward."

That did it. Hook raised his right hand and brought his open palm crashing down on the brat's bottom with a resounding Thwap!

The boy jumped, making a startled gasp.

Hook drank in the sound, feeling the boiling blood rushing through his veins cool the tiniest bit. He raised his hand again, very high, and brought it down even harder.

"Ow!" Peter cried out. "Stop that!"

Hook smiled with victory and gave the boy another smack and then other. The boy jumped with both smacks and whined for Hook to stop. But Hook did not stop. He began to spank the brat in earnest.

Over and over again, he laid smack after hard smack on the wiggling bottom.

"Ooo!" Peter squealed, trying to get away. "Eee! Stop it now! Ow! No, you can't. Stop hitting me."

"Quiet, brat," Hook ordered. "I'm not hitting you. I'm spanking you."

"No, don't," Peter bucked, but Hook kept his leg clamped around the boy and moved his arm to press down on the boy's back. The boy could probably feel the hard curve of the hook on his back, but Hook was careful to keep the sharp point angled away from his skin. No use cutting him now, and ruining this new amusement.

Desperate, Peter flung both hands back to cover his bottom. Had he both hands, Hook would have simply gathered the boy's wrists and pinned them to the small of his back. But since he did not and since the hook might hurt him if Hook used it to gather up his hands, Hook simply raised his left knee a bit higher than his right. And then he swatted what he could reach of the back of brat's thighs.

Peter squealed with pain.

"Take your hands away, or I'll keep spanking your legs," Hook threatened, puncturing his statement with an especially stern smack

Peter yanked his hands off his bottom, but he renewed his efforts to get away. Finding no escape and Hook spanking his bottom again, Peter tried a new attempt. He sunk his teeth into Hook's leg.

Hook grimaced with pain, but he did not drop the boy. He raised his hand as high as it would go and then brought it down as hard as he could. Peter lurched forward from the impact.

"Do that again, and I'll won't stop for a long time," Hook threatened. "And I'll keep spanking you as hard as I can."

Peter did not bite again, nor did he struggle.

Hook delivered three more hearty smacks, and then it came. A heartfelt, agonized cry of defeat. The brat began to cry, a low noise broken by sniffs and "ows". It was music to Hook's ears.

He had no idea how long he spanked the brat. He just raised his hand over and over again, and concentrated on smacking that soft, squirming target over and over again. Eventually, he became aware that his hand was stinging from all the swatting. He also realized that the boy was holding onto his left boot with hand and the chair with the other to brace himself for the never-ending spanking. The boy was still crying, not frantically, not angrily, just the sad crying of a well-spanked boy who was getting exactly what he deserved.

"Let this smack be a smack lesson smack to you," Hook said. He was not sure what made him say that. He probably had heard it decades ago as a child, but it seemed to fit the moment with his archenemy very well.

Peter continued to cry, not even venturing a retort.

Hook finally stopped, resting his hand on the rag-covered bottom which felt quiet hot to his touch. He waited as the boy continued to cry, lying limping over his knee.

As Peter's sobs gradually grew softer, Hook found himself in the difficult position of not knowing what to do. He had his reputation to think of, after all. Of course, if any of the crew saw him spanking the brat, they would probably cheer him on. Anything that hurt the brat was good in their eyes. But what to do now? Now that the boy had been harshly punished, should Hook continue with his threat to hurt him? The boy had made no attempt to get up now that it was over. Peter was using his left hand to wipe away his tears, but the other still gripped Hook ankle tightly.

Hook glared down at him. It was all very confusing now. He no longer wished to torture the brat, but he couldn't exactly let him go either. Not after searching for him for so long – the crew would be furious.

With his good hand, Hook gripped the back of Peter's neck and pulled him up to standing position. The boy could not look more pitiful. His face was red about the cheeks and tear-streaked and completely miserable. His bottom lip trembled as he reached both hands behind him to try to rub out the stinging.

"No rubbing," Hook commanded. He pulled up a small wooden chair and pushed the boy into it. Peter yelped as soon as his sore bottom hit the hard seat and he tried to stand up, but Hook put his hand on the boy's shoulder and held him down.

"No, sit still. It's part of the punishment."

Peter looked up at Hook, and Hook knew from that gaze that the brat considered him to be the cruelest villain to have ever sailed the seven seas. The brat wiped furiously at his tears, but he didn't make a sound. As Peter shifted on the seat, attempting to find a comfortable position, Hook strolled back to his desk and sat, propping his feet up and reaching for another cigar. "Ah, silence at last"

"I hate you," Peter whispered, staring down at the floor.

"The feeling is mutual," Hook noted. "You must feel that your bottom is on fire right about now. Ah, the concentration a spanked bottom brings, curbing that spite tongue of yours"

"I'll get you for this," Peter said, but the words were spoken without his usual bravado. He looked the epitome of a miserable, well-punished boy. The sight of him would have broken any woman's heart, Hook was sure, but it did nothing to his own heart. He felt nothing besides satisfaction. The brat had gotten what he deserved . . . at least, Hook told himself that and tried to ignore the pitiful face.

Instead, he enjoyed his cigar and ignored the nagging question of what to do next.

"Captain? Captain?" Smee's worried voice came through the door.

Hook sighed, but got up. He knew his idiotic pirate would continue to call, worried by the quiet of the captain's cabin. Giving Peter a look to stay put, Hook walked to the door and unlocked it.

"I do not wish to be disturbed," Hook told Smee, but the short pirate strained to see in.

"Captain, the crew is eager to see what has become of the whelp. Can you let us string up his body as a warning to others that would cross the fearsome Captain Hook?"

Hook resisted the urge to roll his eyes. "Smee, as you can see –" Hook glanced back over his shoulder to point to the brat.

But his chair was empty.

He must be hiding behind the desk.

Hook took a few steps towards the desk when he heard a cry behind him. Hook turned back to see Peter dashing out from behind side of the cabinet towards the door. Smee could have stopped him, but the boy shoved past him and ran out onto the deck. Hook rushed for the door, but he knew he was too late. He caught sight of Peter dashing across the upper deck and diving over the side of the ship. They all heard him splash into the water.

Hook opened his mouth to shout for a rope to be thrown over the side. He couldn't remember if the brat could swim or not. But before he could say anything, the brat rose up in the air, wet but smiling. A glittering thing flew beside him, trailing pixie dust.

Peter Pan glared at Hook. "I'll get even," he promised. "Just wait."

Hook wanted to tip his head in reply, making a mockery of the brat's statement. Instead, he stood still and waited.

Peter frowned, almost pouted, and then he turned and flew away.

Hook waited until the boy had disappeared into the trees before turning to the crew below. All the pirates were looking up with hostile, angry eyes and clenched fists. No doubt they were not happy about having to search for the brat so hard and long only to have him slip through their fingers.

Hook faced them all. "I had Peter Pan in my cabin at my mercy. I was about to run him through with my hook, but I wanted to torture him to get him to tell me the secret of pixie dust so we could get this ship back to earth. Unfortunately, before I could get the truth out of him, Mr. Smee interrupted us. Mr. Smee let him get escape so that we will have to start our search all over again."

A growl raised from the pirates. Hook smiled.

"For his efforts, I suggested that you drape Mr. Smee over the railing of the main deck and each take turns showing him your displeasure. Your belts, your scabbards, and I'm sure Cook can provide a large, flat spoon that Mr. Smee will not forget quickly. At your leisure, dogs."

Hook nodded graciously.

"Captain, please," Smee begged, but Hook had already turned away. As he shut the cabin door behind him, he could here the jeers of the crew along with Smee's begging.