My Darling Girl *Disney fanfic*

35. Tinkerbell's Revenge

"Hey," he prodded – frowning at the ship's deck, "hey, where's your shadow? How come you haven't got one?" His own shadow was long and skinny, stretched out by the declining sun. Wendy's shadow should have been cast beside his own.

Wendy didn't reply. She reached up, rubbing her neck – her breathing becoming ragged. "You don't have a shadow." The boy persisted - loudly. His words caught the attention of a passing Lost Boy. Wendy's stomach knotted with dread as she recognised the Lost Boy's profile. He turned to look their way and Wendy's eyes met Nibbs'.

They stood and stared at one another. Then Wendy's lips parted – and blood dribbled out from them.

**

Hook was impatient to see Wendy. He rose up onto his feet – nearly upsetting the small rowing boat.

"Careful, captain." Rebuked Scuttle – leaning so as to try and steady the little boat. They were rowing swiftly, cutting through the waves – eager to get to the ship and start celebrating. Hook hollered, trying to get anyone on deck of the Second Star to look over. He wanted to see Wendy's smiling face – he wanted to see the fear and anxiety gone forever.

"Something's wrong." Flit muttered as they neared the vessel. They called out – but nobody lowered down a ladder for them.

"Flotsam - I can see you up there in the crow's nest – look lively lad!" Scuttled shouted up.

"Why isn't he moving?" Flit questioned. The smile left Hook's face.

"Pistols at the ready, men." He ordered in a low voice.

Hook led the way – using a cannon opening to get a leg up and mount the ship. He struggled over the ledge and rolled onto the deck. But he was quick to his feet – his pistol at the ready. Turning slowly, he took in the sight around him. The crew had been slaughtered. Their bodies were lying haphazardly about – some hadn't even had time to remove their swords from their sheaths. They'd been killed before they could fight back.

"Tiger Lily?!" Hook hollered. "Tiger Lily!?"

Flit was next to make it onto the ship. He readied his pistol – aiming it at the open hatch that led down into the hold.

"Keep a keen eye out." Flit warned the others. 

Exchanging a brief nod in understanding, Flit and Hook headed down into the hold.

The lamps had spluttered out and creaked as they swayed on their hinges. Hook peered in the gloom. Food sacks, cannon balls, water barrels – he edged his way cautiously down the rows of supplies. "There," Flit pointed ahead - where they could make out a small person curled up into a ball.

"Tiger Lily?!" Hook rushed over and pulled the person onto their back. Anne Bonny's face stared blankly up at him – her eyes lifeless.

Hook let her go, a rush of relief swiftly followed by fresh anxiety. Where was Wendy? 

Flit looked down at the floorboards – seeing the blood smears.

"She dragged herself down here – why?" What had she been trying to get to? 

Flit reached over Anne's body and moved aside the crates – revealing a strange device that looked almost alien to their eyes.

The telephone, powered by magic, gleamed ominously in the dark. Flit reached out and picked up the speaker – startled by how cold the metal device was. A voice spoke out from the machine.

"Yes?" The voice was raspy but Hook still recognised it. Peter Pan.

Hook bellowed in rage. He picked up the magical device and threw it across the hold – shattering a rum bottle.

The bastard was still alive.

"DAMN YOU, PAN!"

Flit's expression was troubled.

"If that thing contacts the imp – did she use it before she died?" Flit leant down and examined the device. It was covered in dust. But they had no way of knowing for sure.

"Captain?" Scuttle's panicked voice addressed them from above.

"There's no sign of miss Lilly up here."

"Or down here." Flit replied.

Hook's expression was murderous. He barged quickly past Flit and headed back up the wooden steps.

The crew watched their captain storm his way to the helm and take the ship's wheel in his firm grip.

"Take us to her." Hook commanded the enchanted helm. "Take us to Tiger Lily."

The crew exclaimed, astounded when the anchor started to raise all by itself. "Look lively!" Hook bellowed at them. "Our fight has just begun!"

**

Wendy was too weak to struggle, her legs buckled beneath her and she crumpled to her knees – having to reach out to steady herself from face-planting the deck. Blood dripped from her chin, tiny droplets splattering against her shirt. Poison, she realised dimly, Anne Bonny had poisoned her.

"Mother?" Nibbs got down to his knees at Wendy's side.

She stared up at him. They hadn't laid eyes on one another in centuries. Like her, he hadn't aged a day. But the passing of time was still visible. His nose was badly bent to the side and a nasty purplish scar from his chin to his ear – looked like a second mouth. She blinked dazedly, her gaze drifting to over Nibbs' shoulder.

"John?" She murmured weakly. She saw him standing there – her older brother, John Darling.

Nibbs followed the direction Wendy was looking in.

"There's nobody there, Wendy." He murmured. She shook her head, tears filling her eyes.

"I can see him."

Nibb's hoisted Wendy up into his arms, rising to his feet and carrying her away from the other prisoners.

"What's going on?" Slightly approached them – blocking Nibbs' path. His eyes widened at the sight of Wendy. "It's a blinking ghost!"

"Move," Nibbs grunted.

"Pan's alive!" Hollered a Lost Boy from the upper deck. He was clutching a hefty telephone - one of the many they'd stolen from 1900's London and altered by magic to work in their world. Pan's voice buzzed nasally over the device.

"Dig me out of here."

Slightly was hopping excitedly on his toes.

"Tell him we've found-" But Slightly's voice was cut off by Wendy violently coughing. Slightly's mouth went slack and he stared at Nibbs – whose face was now covered in tiny speckles of blood. Wendy sighed and her head rested limply against Nibbs' soaked shoulder. "Tell him we're on our way." Slightly amended.

Above them, Pan's flag rippled violently in the wind. The skull and hourglass symbols seeming ominously prophetic. Time is running out. Death is coming.

Slightly lowered his voice to a whisper.

"What's wrong with mother?"