tabaqui | Neverland! Chapter Eleven...*s/x*

Neverland! Chapter Eleven...s/x

Monday, November 6th, 2006 04:56 pm

Oh, finally! I've felt so odd not posting Spander, and *not* posting this! Heh. I hope you all remember where we are and what's going on... Sorry i left it so long!

Cold and rainy here today - perfect weather! And tomorrow - the vote! I want one of those 'I voted' images to stick in my lj again... I'll need to go look through my old posts and find it.

Anyway - as always, thank you

reremouse for your time and effort. Enjoy!

Previous parts are here.

"You liar," Xander growled, and Spike laughed softly.

"I didn't lie to you, boy. I said I was going to talk to Hook, and that's exactly what I did."

"Yes you did so lie! You told him where we were! You helped him –"

"Oh, please." Spike leaned against the bars of the cell door, smoking, and Xander jerked back. He had blood in his hair – blood down his side from the slashing tip of a cutlass and he smelled...delicious. "I did no such thing. Had a little chat, is all." Xander just stared back at him, furious and shaking and Spike had to grin. "Oh, all right, all right. Got it out of me, you did. I told him you lot were lurkin' about in the bushes, waiting to spring on them."

"Fuck you," Xander muttered. He crossed his arms and then winced – looked down at the blood smeared on his wrist – on his ribs. "They go out to fight the Indians all the time, or they go into town. We could have gotten Roxy and Tony free then and been safe home."

"And Tootles," Spike said, and Xander shot him a dark look.

"Fuck Tootles." Xander sighed and slid down the bars, wedging himself into the corner, legs tucked up close to his chest and his arms hugging his knees. His hair was wet, dripping onto his shoulders and he was shivering.

"I heard you. I heard you, Slightly, you're not supposed to say things like that!" Tootles glared at Xander from across the aisle, cross-legged on the straw-covered floor of the other cell. Tony and Roxy were curled up together under a ragged blanket against the far wall. John had been shoved in there, too – the rest were with Xander.

"I don't care, Tootles! I'll – I'll say what I want!"

Tootles gave Xander a considering look, head tipped a little to one side. Then he smiled, cold and mean. "When Peter gets back, I'm telling him."

"I don't care if you tell him!" Xander looked close to tears and Spike kicked the bars of Tootles cell, letting the demon out.

"Shut it, you. I'll drink you down and throw your husk to the fish." Tootles' eyes went wide and he scuttled backward, knocking skull and spine into the far wall and huddling there. Spike smirked at him and crouched down beside Xander, tossing the butt of his cigar away. It sizzled out on the wet planks, leaving a dank smell behind. Xander rubbed his eyes with the back of his hand and sniffed.

"Hook doesn't want you dead. He wants you alive – wants you to be his, or so he says."

"What, like he tried to make Roxy his?" Xander said, with a jerk of his chin toward the mound of blanket and the two children sleeping underneath. She still smelled of blood and semen.

Spike shrugged. "Maybe. He said he needs your belief. Hate or love, it's all the same to him." Spike studied Xander's pale, dirt-smudged face – the bruise coming up on his shoulder. Hesitantly, he reached through the bars and traced the livid edges of it. Xander shivered but didn't pull away. "He wants me to kill Pan, you know."

"He does?" Xander studied Spike in turn – sighed when Spike nodded. He leaned into Spike's touch, fingertips rubbing slowly over Spike's knee. "Do you think you can?"

"I think Pan won't know what he's brought into his nest," Spike said, showing fangs and Xander laughed softly.

"Good." He rubbed his eyes again, sighing. "God, I'm so hungry. Wish I had a three by three In-n-Out burger with large fries and a Coke. No! - a chocolate milkshake."

"Xander, God - don't." Curly lifted his head from where he'd pillowed it on his crossed forearms. "We said. No talking about...food. Food from before." His face was pinched and drawn – his broken foot swollen and purpling under a ragged strip of cloth.

"Oh, yeah. Sorry. I'm sorry, Danny. You okay?"

"It hurts," Curly whispered. Beside him, Michael stirred and reached out for the water bucket – poured a gentle trickle over the distended skin, wetting the makeshift compress. Curly hissed, flinching, and Michael put the bucket down and rubbed his back, murmuring to him.

"Spike, can you p-please..." Xander stopped – blinked up at the dark, tarred ceiling. His chin trembled. "Can you please a-ask –"

"Course I can, pet," Spike said, his features relaxing back into their human cast. He slid his hand up Xander's shoulder and into his hair – pulled him a little closer and kissed him through the bars. Xander tasted like salt and earth – like the smoky air. Spike pulled away and stood up – surveyed the dingy cells one last time and then headed up and out. Time for another talk with Hook – time to make a plan. But first, he needed Xander to be taken care of. *Might have to take that one back with me. He'd turn into something so...sweet.* Xander's scent lingered, blood and cake, and Spike licked his lips. Feeling a bit peckish, really. He imagined that Hook could spare a pirate or two.

Topside there was a buzz of excitement in the air, and Hook was standing up on the poop deck, one hand lightly on the wheel. Pirates were swarming up the lines like rats and Spike joined Hook with a small nod, watching as a half-dozen pirates trod 'round and 'round the capstan, winching the anchor up.

"We're weighing anchor, as you can see," Hook said. He tipped his chin back and looked up at the sky. The clouds seemed blacker than ever – furling and unfurling in thick layers, rain sifting down. Thunder growled, low and far off, and Spike blinked at a sudden pop of lightning.

"Going where, then?" Spike asked.

"Why, to Mermaid Lagoon, of course. Can't you feel it, sir? Pan...is coming back." And Hook grinned, a death's head grimace in the storm-murk. The willow branches were lashing the bow as they ship was towed slowly out of its temporary dock. Once clear of the limbs and the slow bank eddy the jolly-boat was swung back on board and Hook gave the orders to set the sails. A steady wind was blowing, rushing through the forest with a dry-throated roar and the shock of it hitting the sails jolted right through them, making Spike lose his balance for a moment.

"The boys, down below...they need a bit of tending," Spike said finally, and Hook turned a mild look on him, his hand idly caressing the wheel.

"Yes, I’m sure they do. I'll send Smee down in a bit. He's a dab hand at that sort of thing. How shall you do it, sir?"

"Do what?" Spike asked. He dug his flattened cigarette pack out of his pocket and gingerly extracted the last one. It was a little crushed but it would do. He lit up and tucked his lighter away.

"Why – kill Pan, of course."

"Oh, that." Spike flicked ashes into the wind – a storm now, really, with thunder muttering almost constantly and lightning flickering overhead, lighting the clouds to a blue-white luminescence. "I imagine he'll die like they all do – fists and fangs."

"Yes, perhaps he will," Hook mused. He called out his orders to Smee and Smee shouted them to the crews and the Jolly Roger sailed slowly down river. At the mouth Spike braced himself a little against the slew of the two currents meeting and then the ship was free of the land and beyond the breakers. The wind struck like a gale, edged with ice. The ship stretched out like a greyhound, leaping into the swells and troughs of the racing, black waters. The clouds were livid, bruise-green and a deep, slatey blue. Coiling and curling, so low it seemed you could reach up and touch them.

Spike held onto the rail as the sky opened with a roar, rain slashing down and thunder all but deafening him. His cigarette fizzled out and he tossed the butt over the side with a grimace of disgust. Hook stood wide-legged at the wheel, his coat belling and flapping behind him, his long hair streaming with water, twisting in the wind.

"Not far now! Heave, you dogs! We want all our canvas wet!" The thing in the cage down in the middle of the lower deck slithered and hissed – rumbled a strange, dry croaking as the pirate's bare, callused feet rushed all around – and sometimes over – it.

"What's that down there, Hook!" Spike shouted. "In the cage!"

Hook looked over at Spike and grinned that mad, scarecrow grin at him – wiped the rain out of his eyes with a long-nailed hand. "That? That's the crocodile! I killed the bloody thing and shoved it in there but that damn Pan – he wouldn't let it die! Like me, yes? It stinks to high heaven on a warm day!" Hook laughed – kept on laughing as the ship hove up and then slapped down, water coming over the deck in a sheet and the pirates clinging to spars and rope to keep from being swept overboard. The sky shattered again and again under the hammer strokes of thunder, lightning flaring white-hot in the cracks.

Spike whipped his head to the side, scattering rain and salt water and hung grimly on. He imagined it was sheer hell below decks. *I'll get you out soon enough, boy – the bloody island's the size of a stamp, be there in no time...*

There was a sudden rising crescendo of sound from the pirates and Hook shouted something that the wind caught and carried away.

"What? What –"

"He's back! Look! Pan's back!" Hook screamed, and Spike followed his pointing hook to a streak of greenish white that was cutting across the sky like a comet. It was Pan, and as the world seemed to shake apart under the assault of the storm, Spike realized that Peter Pan...was angry.

Tags:

neverland,
spander

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