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This was cruelty at its finest. This was barbaric. This was a violation of all rules known to man or fairy or mermaid or any other creature with a moral compass. This was—
“Quit kicking that wall, young man.”
Peter had not been kicking the wall before (nudging with a toe was very different) but he gave it a solid kick now based on the principle of the thing.
He heard his evil captor shift behind him, making moves to rise from his desk, so he spun around to head him off (and if that placed his backside firmly against the walls of the corner and out of range, then so be it).
“This is completely unfair!” Peter didn’t make the conscious decision to cross his arms, but somehow they still ended up that way.
“This,” Hook had stood from his desk chair, but still thankfully remained standing casually on the other side of the room, “is exactly what I warned you would happen. You cannot be mad that I did precisely what I said I would.”
“Can so!”
The corners of Hook’s mouth twitched up into what some may mistake for a smile, but Peter was absolutely certain qualified more as a sneer. “Well, I suppose you can be. If you are completely ridiculous, that is.”
Oh? That was how this game was going to be played then? Well, Peter could throw insults with the best of them.
“You’re the ridiculous one, codfish!”
That should have been a fatal blow. Should have brought the wicked man staggering to his knees, hand clasping at his wounded heart. Any of the lost boys would have cried and needed coddling for ages after being called a dreaded codfish.
Hook had the gall to actually laugh. As if any of this was funny.
“This is not a joke!” Peter stamped hard enough on the ground that he bounced a few inches in the air, hovering for a moment before coming back down to the solid wood floors of the Jolly Roger. (Everything was apparently too damned jolly around here).
Hook’s face lost its humor, thankfully.
Less thankfully, it morphed into that terribly stern expression that always made Peter feel the absurd urge to squirm and shield his backside.
“Yes, young man, you’re right. This is not a joke. I warned you that you would spend time facing a corner if you did not stop incessantly flying around my ship. You chose to spend your morning doing precisely that.” Hook stepped forward, slowly closing the gap between them. Peter attempted a step backwards, but just bumped into the wall. “You disrupted my men’s work. You knocked over barrels and other supplies. You caused a ruckus.” He said the word like he was still considering if Peter ought to be hung drawn and quartered for it.
Peter lifted his chin. “I caused fun. And I will not apologize for that.”
Hook raised an eyebrow. “Is that so? Your time reflecting in the corner has not made you in the least bit sorry, then?”
Peter shook his head. “Not at all. That’s why this whole thing is ridiculous.”
“Ahh,” Hook took another few steps forward, “You don’t learn lessons from cornertime?”
“Exactly.” Now he was seeing reason. Unfortunately Peter had to waste half of an eternity staring at a boring old wall in Hook’s study to get there, but better late than never.
Still, he didn’t appreciate the deliberate way the Captain was continuing to stalk closer to him. And why was he removing his hooked hand? Was he getting ready for bed now? In the daylight? Grown ups were so strange.
“Your naughtiness is not something that can just be overcome by a simple bit of reflection.”
Well, he didn’t love that phrasing, but still…
Peter gave another nod, albeit more hesitant this time.
He watched, wide eyed and growing warier by the second, as Hook placed his hooked hand in its usual large chest. The man turned his back, blocking Peter’s sight briefly. He was rummaging about for something in the chest, ominous clanging sounding.
Peter chanced a small step away from the corner. The door to the study was on the other side of the room. But he was fast — probably the fastest person ever, if he was judging — so perhaps he could make it out and far away.
“I should really be getting on my way. It’s almost time for supper.”
“Oh, don’t you worry about that. I’ll arrange for you to supper here with me. I’m sure you’ll not be up to flying off back to your little tree once we’re through.”
Peter frowned. “Why would I not be—” The rest of his question got stuck in his throat when Hook turned back around.
Peter jumped back, unintentionally wedging himself again in the corner he had managed to get a few feet away from. “No! Hook!”
Where his metal hook usually sat on the end of his arm, now a new faux-hand had been replaced. This one Peter was more familiar with than he would have liked. It was about the length from the boy’s hand to his elbow, about half as wide, as thick as his thumb, and made of dark solid wood.
It was absolutely, completely, pure evil.
Hook snapped the fingers together on his actual, flesh and bone hand. “Come here.” He pointed at the spot in front of him.
Hook must have been hit upside the head more often than Peter realized if he thought the boy was about to actually just bring himself on over while that blasted thing was in play.
“Peter.” Hook said his name in that low warning tone, making Peter’s feet unintentionally twitch and his hands wring the hem of his shirt. “Come here, young man. I gave you plenty of warnings to stop misbehaving today. You know if you’re going to be on my ship, you cannot fool around like that.”
Peter pursed his lips, weighing his options. The door to freedom was still looking the most viable. Unfortunately, Hook chose that moment to take a few steps to the side, plopping himself down on one of the chairs in the center of the room. Drat. There was no chance of running (or flying) past him without being snagged.
“Maybe I could face the corner again instead? I think that was probably working. I was just about to learn my lesson.” He hated that terribly boring corner, but between the two chastisements, it was now looking far more appealing.
Hook hummed, rubbing his chin like he was considering it. Peter deflated when he shook his head. “No, I don’t think so. But, if you like, you can certainly spend some time in the corner after I’ve reddened your bottom for you.”
No, he most certainly would not like!
“What if I skip supper instead? You can starve me all day long!”
Hook scoffed. “And have you whining in an hour about how your stomach aches? Don’t be absurd. I would wind up feeding you in the end just to get the complaints to stop. No, you’ll come here, get your smacking, and then sit down with me for supper.”
Peter wasn’t sure he would be doing much of the sitting down portion given what the first half of the itinerary entailed.
Groaning with frustration, Peter stamped a foot. “It’s not fair! I don’t want a smacking.”
Hook’s eyebrows drooped lower, mouth thinning into a stern line. “I did not ask what you want. I told you what you are going to get. Now, come over here this instant and stop your tantrumming.” When Peter made no moves towards him, he added, “Or do I need to send for Smee to fetch me a leather strap?”
It was a bluff. Hook was bluffing. He had never resorted to a strap before, and he absolutely, certainly, was not going to start now. Peter was certain.
And yet, even with that certainty, Peter somehow found his feet shuffling the short distance over to where Hook sat waiting. “This is not you winning.” Peter had to add.
“Duly noted.” Hook nodded with the appropriate amount of solemness.
Knowing it was coming didn’t make Peter squeak any less when Hook, managing quite easily with just the one hand, hoisted him up and set him face down over his knees. He shifted around for a few moments, attempting to find a position that was semi-comfortable (and ideally ensured his backside was not pointed up and easily accessible via paddle). Hook gave him the few moments, but eventually Peter felt a hand deftly flip up the back of his shirt before tugging his trousers down to below his thighs.
This was insanity. Absolute and utter insanity. He was Peter Pan! The Great Peter Pan! There was no reason why anyone, least of all this codfish pirate, should be allowed to manhandle him in this way. In fact, he would just go ahead and let Hook know that—
The first smack of the hand-board across his backside sounded around the room, the echo reaching Peter’s ears before the sting set in. But, once it did, Peter made his feelings well known.
“Hook!” He hollered, thrashing about as best he could with Hook’s spare hand holding him still.
Hook’s only reply was to throw a leg over Peter’s own flailing ones, keeping him effectively trapped down.
Rotten codfish.
The board came down again. And then, it didn’t stop for a long while.
Peter wailed loudly after each smack, his cries becoming more shrill and frantic with each passing one.
“Hook! I’m sorry!” There. He had apologized. Waved his white flag. Now this madness could end.
“That’s very good to hear.” Hook agreed. But then, wickedly, he brought that paddle down again, right across the center of Peter’s backside. The smack crisscrossed previous ones, leaving an absolute fire in its wake.
“Hey!” Peter squealed. “I said I was sorry! Now let me up!”
Hook’s chuckle preceded a sharp whack across Peter’s left thigh. “You should be sorry. You should have been sorry when I first stuck your foolish little nose in the corner. You should have been sorry when I first chided you for messing around. Now, at this point, sorry does not do us very much, my boy. So no, I will not let you up quite yet. You’re not through with your smacking.”
And yet, Peter felt certain he absolutely was through with it. His backside burned with a heat that must have been producing smoke. They would be able to use his shining red arse as a light source in the night at this rate.
Every attempt to wiggle free was thwarted by Hook. Several times, Peter thought he almost had it, only to be yanked right back into Hook’s waiting paddle.
“Hook! Please!” Peter gave it a final plea.
Maybe it was a stroke of mercy, or maybe the obvious tears in his voice had made him sufficiently pitiable, but either way Hook paused for a moment. He let the paddle come to rest against Peter’s backside, the feeling making Peter squirm, even if it was a welcome reprieve.
“Please what?” Hook asked, all conversational.
Peter huffed, but a fresh wave of tears had him putting on his best chastised voice. “Please, I’m sorry.”
“I don’t know…” Hook hummed, “Do you feel sufficiently disciplined, young man?” The paddle left its resting position as he landed a wallop across the lower portion of Peter’s thighs.
“Yes! Very!” Peter wailed, tears leaving his voice wobbly and high pitched.
“Hmm… and you feel sorry for behaving so poorly?” Another across his left cheek this time.
“Sorry!” Peter’s hair flopped as he nodded.
A crack across his right cheek. “And you will listen to me next time? When I say to stop fooling around or even to stand and behave in the corner?”
Peter let his wails speak for themselves on that one.
“Very well.”
Without any further ceremony, Hook’s real hand lifted him back up. He was plopped down to sit (because Hook was either the cruelest or somehow did not realize that sitting was the last thing Peter was interested in doing) on the man’s lap. His trousers remained bunched around his ankles, but Peter could not possibly have cared less. The less things touching his poor rear the better.
“There now, let’s get a look at you.” Hook gripped Peter’s chin, tilting his head up to survey his face. He tutted after a second, letting go long enough to snag a handkerchief from his own shirt pocket. Peter’s tears were deftly wiped off his cheeks with the frilly thing, although he replaced them immediately after with fresh ones. Hook seemed to give up after the third round of this, setting the handkerchief down on a nearby end table. “Messy child.” He scolded, although without any bite behind it.
“Evil man.” Peter returned, a sniffle breaking up the two words.
As if displaying his own evilness, Hook had the gall to tug Peter in close to his chest, his true hand cupping the back of Peter’s head and the wicked paddle resting unpleasantly against Peter’s back.
Peter squirmed closer to the pirate’s chest, if only to escape the touch of the paddle.
Hook must have noticed his desire to avoid the thing, because he pulled it away from Peter’s back. Holding it out of the way, but giving it a wave in Peter’s direction, he said, “I wouldn’t have even had to have this thing made if you knew how to behave for more than an hour at a time.”
Peter wrinkled his nose. “An hour is an awfully long time though.”