Heartless~Peter Pan/OUAT Fanfiction

"Did you just dare me?"

"I dare you to drink Clocks' special recipe." Red said with a devious smile. Everyone let out a collective "Oooh". Dusty was sweating, looking around at the crowd of Lost boys sitting in a circle around the fire. Sparks threw his head back and laughed, his hair was still wet from when he was dared to jump in the freezing river.

"Fine." Dusty said finally. The Lost boys cheered, and Clocks crossed over to the kitchen hut with smirk. A minute later, he was handing Dusty a mason jar filled with a suspicious brown colored liquid. Dusty gulped. No one knew what Clocks really put in his special recipe, and only a few people had been brave enough to ever try it.

"The whole jar." Red said. More "ooh"s from the crowd. Dusty glared at him. He raised the jar to his eyes and stared at the syrupy liquid, chunks of unidentified substance floating as he swished it. Everyone let out a loud "eww", scrunching up their faces and making fake gagging noises. Dusty pushed the glass away from him.

"No way, I can't do it." He said. The crowd exclaimed in disappointment as Red flapped his arms and clucked like a chicken. Sawyer was sitting across from Dusty, eyes fixed on the glass. She stood up and grabbed the jar, tilting her head back and chugging the whole thing in one go. She threw the empty glass in the fire, shattering it and making a loud crash. She smiled triumphantly, shouting with delight up at the star-dotted sky. Everyone joined in, all howling like wild animals up at the pale bright moon. Everyone was laughing and hollering when she sat back down, her eyes glowing with excitement.

"It's your turn, Sawyer." Sparks said when the laughter calmed. She just quirked an eyebrow, challenging him.

"Truth or dare?" Sparks asked. She smiled.

"I think you know the answer to that one." She replied. The Lost boys were attentive. Sawyer never turned down a dare, and Sparks was very creative.

"I dare you to..." Everyone perked their ears. "Steal Hook's hook." A collection of gasps, and all eyes turned to Sawyer. She smirked, rising to her feet. She unsheathed the blade on her back, leaning it on her shoulder.

"Be right back, losers. Try not to miss me too much." Her smile was mischievous, eyes slinked like a cat's. She disappeared into the forest, never once looking back. Pan's eyes hadn't left her all night. She never stopped surprising him.
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It was easy, even without magic. Sneak on deck, bribe a few pirates, slip a handful of poppy dust into Hook's bottle of rum. He was knocked out instantly, and Sawyer had the hook and was off the ship before he could even start dreaming. She imagined he'd be furious, livid. Vowing his revenge the second he woke up, but she was confident that she could get him to bend to her will. The Lost boys were exactly how she left them, sitting around the fire, faces flushed from laughing. The bushes rustled as she entered the camp and everyone turned to look at her. Pan was leaning against a tree, legs stretched out in front of him, his eyes lazily scanning over the scene. He ran his fingers over the wood of his pipe. Sawyer was smirking as she walked up to them.

"Did you get it?" Sparks asked, raising an eyebrow. She pulled something out from her backpack, and the curved metal gleamed in the firelight.

"Did you doubt me?" Everyone jumped to their feet, rushing forward to examine the hook. It was real, all right. The Lost boys pounded their hands on her back and cheered. Pan had risen to his feet, but he didn't join the crowd. Sawyer climbed up the post that held the flags they used for Capture the Flag, and shoved it between the two flags. A symbol of victory. As she made her way bay to the fire, her eyes glinted briefly, a flash of electric blue. The moonlight made her skin glow, and the scars on her thin arms were visible. She had so many scars, deep ones. Scars came with age, Pan knew that. Sawyer sat back down, running a hand through the tangled mass of dark hair on her head. Pan tried to count the scars that crisscrossed her arms, her hands, her face. He counted every near-miss, every enemy made.