Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Trudging through the jungle in a generally upward direction, Baelfire was determined to ignore the wood sprite trailing behind him. So far, despite the fae’s gaze boring holes through his shoulder blades, he’d been doing a wonderful job of it. Unfortunately, all good things must come to an end, and the sprite chose the moment he stepped into a circular clearing to break the silence between them.  

“Watcha doing?” They asked in a surprisingly mature voice.

Ignoring the question, the fourteen-year-old paused in the middle of the clearing to stare at a knolled stump he could have sworn he’d seen before.

Baelfire looked behind him, past the sprite, and narrowed his eyes in the direction he’d just come from. Then, he swivelled his head back around and analysed a slight parting in the foliage that marked the direction he’d exited.

Not one to be ignored, the sprite skipped around him till they were blocking his view. 

“Whatcha lookin’ for?” they asked. 

Baelfire switched his attention back to the knolled stump.

“A cliff,” he answered.

The sprite tilted its head like a curious bird.

“Why?” 

“So I can jump off it.” 

Before the fae could say anything else, Baelfire spun on his heel and plunged back into the jungle to retrace his steps. Behind him, the rustling of foliage and the plodding of footsteps preceded his unwanted companion's next statement. 

“The fall would kill you, you know.” 

“I know.”

Up above their heads, a troop of screaming monkeys swung by, causing a bunch of individual bananas to land at Barelfire’s feet.

Together they spelled out ‘TURN BACK’. He pointedly stepped over them. 

“If you’re trying to die,” the fae continued, “A dip in the Mermaids’ Lagoon would be quicker.”

Baelfire ducked under a tangle of vines. 

“Noted.” 

“Or you could charge the Indian Camp unarmed.”

He scoffed, “And let them waste an arrow on little ole me? I could never.” 

Instead of taking his barbed sarcasm as the dismissal it was, the "boy" dressed in illogically woven together leaves sped up until the two were walking side by side. Baelfire, for his part, tried to shake them off by speeding up. Unfortunately, the sprite effortlessly matched his pace. 

“You could always hang yourself on the Hanging Tree,” they suggested unhelpfully.

“I’ll keep that in mind, thanks.”

Pushing through some fern fronds, Baelfire came to a stop at a small stream. The fae watched him curiously as he proceeded to unlace his boots, roll up his pant legs, tuck his shoes under his arms, and wade into the knee-deep water. 

“Why do you want to die anyway?” they called out as he reached the opposite bank.

“Why do you care?” he called back. 

In the blink of an eye, the sprite was across the stream and grinning up at Baelfire. 

“Call me curious.”

Knowing the sprite wouldn’t leave him alone until their curiosity was satisfied, Baeflire finished relacing his shoes, then folded his arms and shot the creature a deadpan expression. 

“Alright, Curious, ” he snipped, “I wish to die so I can get off this island. Satisfied?” 

A mean glint entered the boy’s dew-green iris.

“Dying won’t get you off this Island,” they stated, sounding quite matter-of-fact. 

Baelfire raised an eyebrow, “And how would you know?” 

“Because I’ve watched others try and fail.” 

He didn’t doubt it. The ominous aura radiating off the supposed eight-year-old was the kind that indicated he was in the presence of a predator. Baelfire had been well aware he was in trouble the moment he’d first spied the fae watching him from the treetops.

He just didn’t care.

“Well, I can hardly take your word for it now, can I?” 

The sprite put their hands on their hips and pouted. “Are you calling me a liar?”

“I’m calling you a stranger.” 

In response to this statement, the fae plastered on a sunny smile and swept into a dramatically deep bow. When they popped back up, they spread their arms wide like they expected a crowd to miraculously materialise and shower them with applause.

“My name’s Peter Pan! What’s yours?” 

A sense of foreboding washed over Baelfire... where had he heard that name before? Had he heard that name before??

Baelfire narrowed his eyes, “It’s none of your business.” 

Pan’s winning expression hardened ever so slightly.

“Oh, come on,” they needled, “Don’t you know it’s rude not to reciprocate when someone introduces themselves?” 

“Let’s agree to disagree.”

For a split second, the jungle around them was plunged into darkness as a red moon cast ominous shadows everywhere. Each one seemed to be writhing and screaming in silent agony, all while the emaciated man calling itself ‘Peter Pan’ looked down on them in contempt. 

Then, in the blink of an eye, the world returned to normal like nothing had happened. 

A bird chirped merrily in the treetops. 

“Tell me your name,” Peter Pan demanded. Their smile was long gone.

Baelfire crossed his arms, unimpressed. 

“No.” 

Tension filled the air as they both refused to budge. Both physically and metaphorically. 

Just when Baelfire was beginning to regret entering into a staring contest, the fae suddenly burst out laughing. They laughed so hard, in fact, that tears began to pour from their eyes, and they doubled over, clutching their stomach. A tad unnerved but not willing to show it, Baelfire stepped around the giggling fae and continued with his goal of getting the hell off the magical island.

The teen had barely managed to travel half a dozen steps when he found himself rounding a thick treetrunk to discover he was back in the clearing with the knolled stump. 

“What will you do if I don’t let you jump?” the fae called out. 

Turning to his left, Baelfire was unsurprised to find Peter Pan already in the clearing.  

It occurred to him then that unless he got the sprite to leave him alone, he would continue to walk in circles forever. It wouldn’t matter what direction he travelled, he'd eventually just end up right back in this clearing, grinning fae in tow. 

Baelfire dragged his hands down his face, letting out a groan. 

“Why do you care?” 

Peter Pan shrugged nonchalantly. “Oh, no reason really.” 

Baelfire dropped his hands to his side and clenched his fists. “Then why stop me?” 

“Maybe I want to get to know you better before you shuffle off this mortal coil?” 

He gritted his teeth, “Fine. What would you like to know?” 

Pan held up three fingers and proceeded to fold one down for each consecutive question they asked. 

“Who you are, where you came from, what makes you tick-” 

“Human. Enchanted Forest. Food and water. Are we done here?” 

Not waiting for an answer, Baelfire turned his back on the sprite and started walking in a random direction.

Peter Pan, to nobody's surprise, dogged every step he took. 

“What’s your favourite colour?” they asked.

“The rainbow.” 

“What’s your favourite food?”

“Anything edible.” 

“What’s your favourite game?” 

“The ‘No Talking’ game.” 

They soon came across a ravine bridged by a fallen tree. Baelfire walked to the edge and peered over to see how long the drop was. To his disappointment, the ravine only went down a couple of meters or so. The fall wouldn’t be enough to break a twig, let alone a neck. 

Pan joined him at the edge.

“You know, you’re not very good at this,” they huffed. 

“What, answering your questions?” 

“Finding a cliff.”

Baelfire left Pan to sulk while he climbed up onto the log. Arms spread wide, he danced across expertly, never once losing his balance. When he reached the other side, he jumped down and began surveying where to go next. 

“As long as I keep going up, I’m bound to find one eventually,” he reasoned out loud. 

Pan snorted as they joined his side. “Keep telling yourself that.” 

“I will.” 

Of the three gaps in the foliage before them, the right one seemed to lead deeper into the jungle, the middle one noticeably sloped upwards, while the left one appeared to follow alongside the ravine, judging by the way it disappeared around the bend. Baelfire threw caution to the wind and picked the left one. He reasoned that if worse came to worst, he could always throw himself off headfirst and hope he landed funny. 

“Are you still going to jump even though it won’t kill you?” Pan asked. 

They both skirted a boulder jutting out across the path. 

“If it does, it does. If it doesn’t, it doesn’t. Either way, I lose nothing.”

“Except your pride.”

“Bold of you to assume I had any to begin with.”

His next step caused the ground to give way beneath his feet. Without warning, Baelfire was sent careening off the ledge. Tumbling down the rocky slope ass over end, he disappeared into the jungle canopy to come to an extended rolling stop face-first in the dirt. Battered and bruised, he rolled onto his back, unable to contain a wince. 

“Ow,” he groaned. 

Slowly climbing back to his feet, Baelfire’s shoulders immediately slumped as he came to realise he was back where he had started: The Clearing.

Defeat washed over him. Tired and aching, Baelfire shuffled over to the damned knolled stump, sat his rear end down and dropped his head into his hands. 

Pan’s taunting snicker echoed through the trees. 

“You’re funny, kid,” they declared, “I like that.”

“Lucky me,” he grumbled, not looking up. 

“I think I’ll keep you, Baelfire.” 

Baelfire's thoughts froze... Ever so slowly, he raised his head. Peter Pan was smiling pleasantly. 

“How do you know my name?” he asked. 

The sprite’s smile went from mischievous to predatory within seconds. 

“I know everything there is to know about you, Bae .”

Alarmed, Baelfire immediately tried to shuffle back on his stump but found his body suddenly frozen from the neck down. Pan advanced on their now captive audience, aging with every step they took. By the time they stood before him, they were a lithe eighteen-year-old sporting a cruel grin.

“We’ve met once before, you know,” they mused. “Of course, I went by a different name back then. So I don’t blame you for not recognising me."

They eyed him carefully. "Does the name ‘The Pied Piper’ sound familiar to you?”

Unbidden, a long-forgotten memory resurfaced in Baelfire’s mind. 

He’d been young at the time, maybe six or seven years old and still living with his father. He had heard a melody playing in the air one night and been drawn to it. He remembered sneaking out and following it into the woods, despite knowing he was never to enter the woods without his father by his side. What happened next, he couldn’t recall but a cloaked figure playing the panpipes had featured in his nightmares for years afterwards. 

(Sometimes they still did)

Pan's face lit up with triumph. 

“Ah, so you do remember! Rumple was so upset when he found you among my Lost Boys. He was oh-so-cross with me for trying to spirit you away to Neverland.”

Horror sparked through the teen. 

“...I’m in Neverland?” 

Pan reached out and ruffled his chestnut curls, seemingly oblivious to his captive's building panic.

“Naw, don't look so down, little fire," they teased, "Neverland is great! I promise you’ll love it here.” 

The shell-shocked teen shook his head as his stomach dropped out. 

“No… No, I have to go home… I need to go home."

“Oh?” The sprite crouched so they were eye to eye.

“And where is home exactly?” they asked not unkindly. 

Baelfire, son of the Dark One, opened his mouth to reply... only for the words to die on the tip of his tongue.

Where was his home now? He had run away from his father... He had run away from the Enchanted Forest... Now he was trapped in Neverland, the Realm Between Realms with no second Magic Bean to get him out. As much as Balefire didn’t want to admit it, even if he could leave he didn't have a home to return to. He had nowhere to go...

Still, nowhere was better than Neverland.

“Shut up! You don’t know anything!” Baelfire growled. 

Pan patted his cheek, tutting. “Oh, little fire. Don’t lie to yourself.”

Baelfire’s cheeks burned. 

As if to rub salt on an open wound, the Pied Piper continued speaking.

“You don't have a family, and you don’t have a home. But that’s okay. My Lost Boys will be your new family. You’ll finally have a place to belong.” 

The fae tilted their head.

“Doesn’t that sound nice, Baelfire? Don't you want a place to belong?” 

Baelfire swallowed the lump forming in his throat. He knew if he opened his mouth now, he’d start to cry. So instead, he firmly clamped his jaw shut and glued his eyes to his lap.

“Nothing to say?” 

When Baelfire continued to remain silent, the sprite sighed.

“You’ll realise you belong here eventually, little fire. They always do.” 

As Pan stood, they snapped their fingers, breaking the spell keeping Baelfire still.

The second the teen regained the use of his limbs, he was rolling backwards off the stump and bolting towards the edge of the clearing. He had just reached the edge when an unfamiliar boy stepped out of the foliage and blocked his path. Thinking quickly, he swerved to the left to try and dart around him. Only for another boy and then another and another to get in his way every time. 

Baelfire was quickly surrounded on all sides. 

“I don’t want to join your stupid gang, Piper!” he yelled as the circle began to close in. 

The sprite just laughed. 

“I think you’ll find, Bae, that you don’t get a choice.” 

In a last-ditch attempt to escape, Baelfire made a desperate lunge at the weakest-looking boy in the circle. He had barely finished shifting the weight off the balls of his feet when something hard connected with the back of his head. Ears ringing, thoughts jumbled, the last thing he saw before his vision blacked out was the sole of a dirty leather boot descending rapidly towards his face. 

Chapter Text

Baelfire lay on his back inside his bamboo cage. Around him, the branches of the Hanging Tree swayed in the pleasant breeze.

He knew he was in the Hanging Tree specifically because there was a sign nailed to the trunk that read, "Hanging Tree."

Naturally, in case someone missed the skeleton swaying in a noose several branches over. 

Ever since he had woken up to the Pied Piper’s goons -sorry, Lost Boys- hoisting him into the air, he’d been left in isolation. For days now, Baelfire had been left dangling in the tree waiting for dehydration or starvation to claim him. Yet as the hours dragged on and a distinct lack of hunger or thirst refused to plague him, he'd concluded it was never going to happen. Apparently, it was impossible to succumb to hunger or thirst in Neverland. 

The true point of being in the cage became clear to Baelfire then.

The Pied Piper wanted him to suffer, knowing that death was oh-so-close yet oh-so-far.

A fall from this height was guaranteed to snap his neck after all. All he had to do was find a way to drop, and he’d be home free.

Unfortunately, the illogically thin rope keeping his cage suspended refused to fray. 

He had tried everything from gnawing at it with his teeth to rubbing his boots against it in the hopes the fibres would eventually wear away.

No such luck.

Baelfire sighed. What had he done to deserve ending up in Neverland?

Had it been accepting that Magic Bean from the Blue Fairy? 

Had it been wishing for a better life on a Blue Star?

Or had it been his desire to escape magic and everything it encompassed? 

Perhaps it had nothing to do with his decisions at all, and he was instead being punished for his relation to the Dark One. Surely he couldn’t go about his life being the embodiment of dark magic's son without some divine retribution, right? 

“If only my dad wasn’t the Dark One,” he mused. 'If only you hadn’t been born,’ a vile part of him countered. 

The teen peered up through the bamboo bars of his cage at the rainbow cheerfully arcing across the sky.

If only he could be struck by lightning.

The odds of that happening were slim to none, the teen knew. The weather in Neverland seemed to reflect the Piper's moods. And lately, they’d been particularly happy. The sun was shining, the monkeys were chirping, the dragonflies were buzzing. By all accounts, it was shaping up to be another perfectly pleasant day.  

How wonderful. 

“YO! BUTT FACE!” 

Baelfire idly rolled his head to the side to look down at the Lost Boy shouting at him. He looked to be around three or four years old.

“What?” he called back.

“PAN SAYS YOU'RE A BUTT FACE!! HAHAHA!!!!” 

Baelfire went back to staring at the rainbow.

“Can you even spell ‘Butt Face’?” he replied. 

“I SURE CAN! B-U-T-F-A-S. Butt Face!” 

“Wooooow.”

"WHAT DO YOU MEAN, ‘WOW’ ?? I SPELLED IT RIGHT!!!” 

“Sure you did.” 

“I DID!” His little foot stomped the ground, “I DID! I DID! I DID!" 

“Uh-huh.”

The literal toddler stomped his foot again. “I'M GONNA TELL PAN YOU'RE BEING A BUTT FACE!!”

“Is that ‘Butt Face’ with two T’s or one?”

“SEE! SEE! YOU’RE A BIG FAT MEANY!!!”

As the tot turned tail and ran, Baelfire shouted after him, “IS THAT ‘FAT’ WITH TWO T’S OR ONE?!” 

The distant shout of frustration that followed warmed his cold black heart. The skeleton hung from its branch disapprovingly. 

"What?" he snapped at it.

The skeleton said nothing. The gleam of its lone gold tooth said it all. Baelfire crossed his arms and huffed. 

Whoever the skeleton had once been -be they Pirate, Indian, or Lost Boy- they were probably down in Hades right now having a jolly old time partying with their relatives and childhood pets. All while Baelfire was up here, stuck in the Realm Between Realms, unable to die.

“Lucky bastard,” he swore at his companion.

"Who's a bastard?" 

The Pied Piper appeared next to Baelfire's cage, floating on their side several stories up. The teen scowled at them. 

"You are," he deadpanned. 

The Piper held a hand to their heart, feigning sadness. "That hurts, Bae. Right here." 

"Don't call me that," he growled.

"Call you what?" 

"Bae." 

A predatory grin spread across the fae's lips.

"How about we play a game?" they said. "If I win, you'll become a Lost Boy. And if you win, I'll stop calling you Bae." 

Baelfire raised a dubious eyebrow. "How about you let me starve to death, and I'll let you call me anything you want?" 

The Piper pretended to think about it, tapping their chin and everything.

"Mmmm... Nah. Let's play my game!" 

With a snap of their fingers, Baelfire suddenly found himself tied to the trunk of a tree amidst a campsite full of boys. He immediately tried to wiggle out of his bonds but quickly found that they had been enchanted somehow. No matter how hard he tried, he couldn’t twitch a single muscle. Only his facial features were under his control. 

"Lost Boys! Listen Up!"

The Pied Piper stepped through the foliage on the other side of the camp. The dozen or so "Lost Boys" instantly perked up at the presence of their leader. 

"Everyone huddle up! It's time for target practice!" 

As the slipshod group of all ages gathered around a spot supposedly designated beforehand, the smug fae skipped over to Baelfire. 

"Seriously, Piper? This is your game?" Baelfire mused.

"It's Peter Pan now," the fae replied, "And yes. The rules are simple: If you close your eyes, you lose." 

They pulled a bright red apple from behind their back and balanced it atop Baelfire's head. 

“Try not to flinch,” they winked. 

"Ha. Ha." 

The fae proceeded to skip back to their group of goons and single out the redheaded tot who'd tried and failed to taunt Baelfire earlier. 

Peter Pan handed the boy a loaded crossbow pulled from thin air. 

“Don’t worry if you hit him, Sticky,” they told the kid, “Bae won’t mind.”

“I MOST CERTAINLY WILL!” Baelfire shouted back.

Ignoring him, everyone watched with baited anticipation as Sticky gingerly cranked the weapon and took aim. His little arms were shaking so badly, it would be a miracle if he hit his mark. Although considering the weapon had clearly been conjured using magic, Baelfire didn't have his hopes up.

The Lost Boy Known As Sticky took a deep breath, double-checked his aim, then squeezed the trigger. 

Baelfire mentally braced himself for pain... only to relax as the bolt whizzed by, completely missing him.

In fact, the shot was so bad that the arrow ended up embedded in an entirely different tree. 

A course of “Oooohs” filled the clearing. The redhead’s lower lip began to wobble. 

“Now, now,” Pan soothed, patting his head, “Try again.” 

They snapped their fingers and a fresh bolt appeared in the boy’s fumbling hands.

Everyone cheered the toddler on as he loaded up the crossbow and aimed again. Just as he was about to fire, Pan nudged the bolt higher.

Sticky looked up at them questioningly. 

“You want to hit the apple, not his nose,” they chided.

This time, against all odds, the arrow struck true. The soft thwack of the arrowhead piercing the apple practically echoed through the camp. 

Peter Pan whistled, “Not bad, Sticky! Not bad!” 

Much good-natured ribbing greeted the blushing redhead as he was absorbed back into the group, one back-pat at a time.

Baelfire, meanwhile, tried to ignore the apple juice now slowly seeping into his curly mop of hair. 

“Who wants to go next?" A multitude of hands flew into the air. Pan scanned the crowd, “How abooout… Felix!”

The lone almost-adult of the group stepped forward and withdrew a set of twin daggers from his makeshift belt. Pan's grin widened in vicious delight. At another snap of their fingers, two fresh apples materialised on each of Baelfire’s stock-still shoulders.

Baelfire wished he could shake them off. 

“You’ve got two tries," Pan magnanimously declared. 

Felix smirked, "I’ll only need one.” 

Without any preamble, the blond casually flicked his wrists and sent the wickedly sharp daggers careening through the air. 

A satisfying “THUNK! THUNK!” followed. 

All the Lost Boys, from the youngest to the oldest, burst into applause. Pan clapped along with them, a look of supreme satisfaction plastered across their face.

All Baelfire wanted to do was sit down. 

He raised his voice and asked, "Are we nearly done here?"

The group went silent. Not even the leaves dared rustle. The very world itself seemed to freeze in motion. 

Pan cocked their head. "Why? Are you not having fun, little fire?”

Baelfire rolled his eyes.

"Fine," he huffed, "If we're really doing this, then you might as well aim for something vital. Say, my heart or my liver."

"A human can survive without a liver."

"Then aim for my heart. Or better yet, my throat."

The Lost Boys' eyes shifted from Baelfire to Pan. 

"Alright," Pan conceded, "Felix, you're up!" 

Felix eagerly took the crossbow from Sticky's unresisting hands and loaded it with an efficiency that belied expertise. Judging by the teen's skill with knives, he had probably done this many times before. Baelfire was unsure whether that should worry him or not.

As Felix took aim, the fae again took the liberty of adjusting the height of the crossbow. The Lost Boy didn't question it. 

"Ready... aim... FIRE!" 

Baelfire stared at the bolt head-on as it whistled through the air and pierced the flesh of his gut.

He waited for the agonising pain to overwhelm him... but none came. The injury didn’t hurt at all???

Baelfire looked down as far as the enchantment allowed.

Yep, he'd definitely been hit. So where was the pain???

Peter Pan burst into applause. “What a shot, Felix! Good job!”

"It was easy," Felix smirked.

The blond bowed to the crowd as they hollered and hooted while Pan lazily sauntered over to a still stunned Baelfire. They ever so casually ran their hands over the exposed end of the bolt before giving it a good, clean twist. The squelch of blood and sinew being torn rang in Baelfire's ears.

And yet... Why the HELL didn't it HURT?!?!

"He got you good," Pan mused. "I'm genuinely impressed. He managed to miss every single one of your vital organs."

"Yay me?" 

The fae ripped the arrow out of his gut. Paradoxically, the wound began to knit itself back together. What in Hades?!?

"Do you understand why it would be futile to jump off a cliff now, little fire?" Pan asked.

"Yeah... I do..." 

"Good." 

Pan clapped a hand on Baelfire's shoulder, breaking the enchantment keeping him still.

The teen immediately slumped against the tree and slid down as far as the ropes allowed.

"I concede you won this round, Bae, but don't get too comfortable. This is just the beginning! Neverland has so much more to offer than immortality and eternal youth. Just think, if you joined us, you'd have a family! A place to belong! That ache in your heart would vanish, and you'd spend your days having fun and being free. No rules, no adults-" 

"Just you," Baelfire finished. 

An expression he couldn't quite place flashed across the fae's face. They crouched in front of him, putting them eye-to-eye.

"Unlike your father, we actually want you, Baelfire. You wouldn't be neglected here." 

Baelfire's brows furrowed, "I wasn't neglected." 

Pan's expression turned sad.

"Yes. You were."

"No. I wasn't."

"Then why did you leave?" 

Baelfire opened his mouth to reply, to say something, anything!

Yes, he'd left. But that wasn't because his father was neglecting him!

It was because... because... his father had changed. He had changed. The magic, the castle, the deals, the dagger... it wasn't like before. 

Before, he'd had a proper home. Before, he'd had friends. (Before, his father had cared for him.)

Baelfire closed his mouth. Pan patted his shoulder knowingly.

"It's alright. I get it. You don't have to explain anything to me, little fire. I'm on your side, remember? One day, you'll look back on your old life and wonder why you ever cared. I promise."

'That is not a good thing,' Baelfire privately thought. 

Peter Pan rose to their full height, then produced another red apple from behind their back. They held it out to Baelfire.

"Eat," they commanded, "You look hungry."

Baelfire pointedly ignored the apple in favour of staring defiantly up at the fae.

"And whose fault is that?" he snarked.

Pan raised an eyebrow, "Are you hungry or not?"

"Not."

They shrugged, "Suit yourself."

Pan casually took a big bite of the apple, letting a dribble of juice trickle down their chin as they chewed obnoxiously.

Baelfire swallowed. His stomach chose that moment to let out a whale's mating call. Pan just smirked. 

"You can send me back now," Baelfire snipped.

Pan tipped their head, faking confusion. "Send you back where?"

"To my cage. Duh."

"Are you sure? We're going to play Hide & Seek next. It will be fun."

"I would rather drown ten times over than spend another moment with you."

Pan took another bite out of the apple, not saying anything. Baelfire refused to break eye contact. The tension grew.

Finally, when the Lost Boys were just beginning to notice the silent stand-off, Peter Pan spoke.

"Fine. Have it your way."

They threw the unfinished apple over their shoulder and then raised their hand, poised to snap.

"Don't say I didn't warn you." 

With a snap of their fingers, Baelfire was transported away.

Chapter Text

Baelfire opened his eyes to another day chained to a rock in the middle of a giant skull. 

Or rather, a cave shaped like a skull.

Or was it a petrified giant's skull that had turned into a cave? 

Either way, it was big, rock-like, and skull-shaped. Baelfire had gone ahead and named it, 'Skull Rock' in his head.

On either side of him were two more sets of shackles, each dutifully holding up a barnacle-clad skeleton.

Apparently, Peter Pan got a kick out of keeping the skeletons of his victims around for decoration.

Because fae.

If Baelfire had been hoping the skull cave would be any more entertaining than his bamboo cage, he would've been disappointed. As it was, Baelfire had not realised he needed to form expectations for what being chained to a rock as the tide slowly rose would be like. So he hadn't. As far as experiences went, it was a rather drawn-out execution method in his opinion. 

When he'd first teleported in, the water had been up to his waist. Several hours and one sunset later, the tide had already risen over his head and come back down twice.

Currently, it was sloshing around his collarbone. 

Baelfire might have been much happier about the setup if he hadn't already confirmed the water was breathable in Neverland. 

How fortuitous. 

With a sigh, he leaned his head back against the slippery rock and stared up at the cave's shadowy ceiling. He wished something interesting would happen already. He was bored. 

As if summoned by his thoughts, there was an abrupt shift in the current and the sound of a far-off splash. 

Baelfire looked up. He scanned the cave. He eyed the dinghy tied off to the side suspiciously. 

Was his mind playing tricks on him? 

There was another splash over by the entrance and a flash of scales beneath the water.

"Hello?" Baelfire called out, his voice echoing off the cave walls. "Is someone there?"

A scaly face with seaweed for hair poked out of the water several arm's lengths in front of him. Bulbous fish eyes looked straight into his soul. 

Baelfire stared.

Was that supposed to be a mermaid? It didn't look anything like the mermaids his father made deals with. 

Was it a siren then? He had read tales about sirens in the castle's growing library. They were said to be more fish-like in appearance, supposedly. 

"Hello," Baelfire said again in a much more friendly tone, "Are you here to eat me?" 

The fish person blinked its eyes one at a time.

ICreepy. 

"I promise I taste great," he coaxed, "You could eat me in two bites!" 

"Maaasteeer saaay nooo," the creature said in a rather unpleasant, screechy voice. Not a siren then. Sirens had beautiful voices. Or was that only underwater? Hm.

"Are you sure?" he wheedled, "I promise I taste great."

The siren (?) shook its head, "Maaasteeer saaaay noooo eaaaaat."

Well, there went his plan to die via siren. Baelfire slumped back against the rock.

"If you're not going to eat me, why are you here then?"

Instead of answering, the creature swam closer until they were face to face, then reached out with a webbed hand to drag a wicked black claw down his exposed forearm. Seeing as the limb was currently trapped in an iron cuff bolted into the rock face, Baelfire could do nothing but stare as blood bubbled up out of the cut and dribbled into the water. Soon, a red cloud had formed. 

"Smeeeell niiiice," the creature screechy-crooned. It opened its mouth full of jagged shark teeth and sucked in the blood cloud. 

Notably, the cut wasn't healing itself. A new idea bloomed in Baelfire's head. 

"Does my blood smell nice?" he asked, already knowing the answer. 

The head of dark seaweed bobbed.

"Would you like some more?"

"Yeeeessss."

Baelfre turned to his sluggishly bleeding arm and pretended to study it.

"Hmmm, I don't think this cut is deep enough. Why don't you scratch me again?" 

He put on a winning smile. 

The siren hesitated, seemingly remembering that the almighty Peter Pan had forbidden it from eating him. Then, a sad little wisp of his blood floated past its nostrils and greed won over. 

Quicker than a blink, the siren had slashed another cut parallel to his first one, this time going deeper and slicing all the way down to his elbow.

He started bleeding profusely. 

As blood pooled and the siren drank, Baelfire started to feel giddy as his limbs began to slowly go numb. First his fingers. Then his toes. Then his legs and his arms. Soon the rest of his body would follow and then he'd pass out from blood loss, bleed a little more, and then his soul would be on its merry way to Hades, far, faaar away from Neverland.

"Well, well, well. What do we have here?" 

Baelfire's eyes snapped open (when had he closed them?) at the same time the siren shrieked and dived back into the water. It swam away as fast as its tail fins could carry it out through the cave mouth into the open ocean.

Up in the nostril cavity, a grinning Peter Pan waved from where they were lounging casually. As if they'd been there the whole time. 

Perhaps they had. 

Baelfire buried his disappointment and scowled up at the fae.

"You scared it away," he accused. 

Pan raised an eyebrow, "Oh, I'm sorry. Did I interrupt something?" 

"Yes, you did. We were having a delightful conversation until you scared them away." 

"Funny. It didn't look like a conversation to me." Pan grinned meanly, "You were hoping that siren would bleed you dry, weren't you, Bae?"

Baelfire grimaced, "I thought you promised to stop calling me that."

"Did I?" 

"Yes."

"Strange. I don't remember making such a deal." 

Baelfire opened his mouth to argue when he abruptly realised there was no point; Pan was only trying to rile him up.

He shut his mouth.

Seeing they weren't going to reply, Pan pushed off their perch and flew down to squat-hover a few inches off the water in front of Baelfire's rock. 

"That's quite a nasty cut you've got there," they mused. "Here, let me." 

With a snap of their fingers, both gashes on Baelfire's arm sealed shut. The last ember of hope in Baelfire's gut fizzled and died. 

"All better," Pan smiled. 

Baelfire shot the fae a look of pure hatred. 

They laughed.

"Now, now. Don't be so glum, Little Fire. Nobody likes a sore loser."

"I hate you." 

Pan ignored his comment as if it were entirely inconsequential. "What do you think of Skull Rock? Cool, right?" 

Baelfire could not care less. A rock was a rock, no matter its shape. 

"What are you doing here, Pan?" he asked tiredly, already done with their antics. 

"I came to check on you, of course!" 

"Well, you've checked on me. Now go away."

Pan chuckled, "You're cute when you're mad!"

Baelfire said nothing. 

"That siren was pretty daring for coming to feed on you like that," they continued, "Maybe I should go punish them."

"You do that."

A hungry gleam flickered to life in the fae's eyes. "My, my. How ruthless of you, Baelfire."

The teen huffed, "Not ruthless. Apathetic."

"Apathetic, hm? Do you not care what I'll do to that poor, naive siren at all?"

"Why should I? It's not like I can do anything about it."

Pan pretended to study their fingernails. 

"What if you could?" they said idly.

Baelfire sent them a flat look. "Like what?"

"You could always beg."

Brown eyes narrowed in on green. 

"You'd like that, wouldn't you?"

Pan just grinned.

Baelfire's scowl deepened, "Well, too bad. I'm never gonna fall for that!"

"Not even if I made you watch as I tore that siren to iddy biddy pieces? Knowing that the only way you could end their misery was if you begged me for it?"

"Not even then."

Peter Pan eyed the teen carefully; face blank, eyes calculating. After a while, they said, "You know, I actually believe you, Baelfire."

The teen abruptly wasn't sure if that was a good thing or not. Instinct was leaning towards bad. 

"Welp! Until next time, Bae. Try not to drown!"

With one final taunt, they were gone. Vanished between one blink and the next. 

Baelfire went back to staring up at the cave ceiling. Inwardly, he was pleased. The Pied Piper had slipped up. Baelfire now knew that his body wouldn't heal without Pan's intervention. Either Pan had to initiate the healing or his proximity to Baelfire triggered it automatically. In other words, he now had a way to know if Pan was nearby. And if he knew when Pan was nearby, he knew when he was far away. and if he was far away, he had a limited window to injure himself beyond healing. All he needed to do was wait for the right moment to strike. 

"Hades, here I come."