A/N: This is my first time posting in this section-hopefully I'll do it justice! Enjoy!
Disclaimer: Peter Pan in no way belongs to me; he and all related characters are Mr. Barrie's creations originally.
Michael's old bones creak in protest as he slowly makes his way up the slick steps to his childhood home. It is in no way a happy occasion that brings him back; thus the present taints the golden past in his mind's eye.
The house is unbearably quiet to his faded hearing. He misses the noise, the only sound he and his many brothers seemed able to produce when they were young. He creeps as one in a dream would into what was once known as the parlor; they call it the living room now, and for the life of him he doesn't know why.
He looks on what is left of his sister's family-his family- for he never did get around to having one of his own, and the last of his brothers passed many years ago. Jane is bustling around, insisting that her very grown-up daughter have some tea, while Emma, Margaret's daughter, stares into her teacup as if it held the elixir of life itself. At the tender age of ten, she had set aside bedtime stories years ago and had all but grown up well before she should have, in his opinion.
All this Michael takes in while declining Jane's offer of tea and making his way to the dark landing leading upstairs. The fourth stair creaks; he idly wonders if it is because of his weight or because he and his brothers used to thunder down the stairs at mealtimes.
He is at the nursery's door, now, and it takes every once of courage he has left in him to turn the knob. The room is dim, gilded as it is in the silver light of a spring moon. The light is harsh on his tired eyes, but he will not turn up the light. That would be much worse.
Someone has left the window open, presumably to chase out the unique scent of Wendy-one Michael always associated with sleepy nights and blooming flowers-and death. Wendy breathed her last in this very room not yet a day past. The room felt inexplicably empty without her in it.
Michael felt his heart gain a stone as he moved towards the window. He hadn't had the chance to say good bye. On his last visit, which seems ages ago but was truly only days, Wendy had told him all of his favorite stories as a boy until she had grown tired and had fallen asleep. He had tucked her in, as she had done so many times long ago.
A long suffering sigh escapes him as his wrinkled hand closes on the latch. He now supposes it was Wendy's gentle way of bidding him farewell. Really, it shouldn't surprise him. No matter how old he became and how close they ever were, Wendy always tried to shield him from the harsher aspects of life. Sometimes he wonders if she didn't do so for herself as well.
His gaze is drawn from the window as phantoms of what once was flicker in the shadows. Lost as he is in those distant times, the sound of children laughing and giggling merrily cleared the shades from his sight.
It sounds strangely familiar, and his ears strain to determine where it is coming from. The sound of pan pipes playing sweetly and giggles accompanying bring his gaze back to the window.
Michael wonders if his old mind isn't playing tricks, because the children sounded nearer, as if they were just outside the window. He cranes his neck out into the night as his fingers clutch the sill.
There is not a soul on the street below. He almost fells disappointed as the subtle anticipation of he-knows-not fades.
"Michael…"
His head whips up towards the night. There, streaking away from the window, are blurred shades of white and green carrying straight on to a distant star just to the right. A memory, long buried, tugs at his mind. It is of a boy, cocksure, crowing, and clad in the brightest green leaves flying with a familiar face- Wendy as she once was, young, happy, and glowing with life. It wasn't a dream, after all. A gentle smile spreads across his lips.
"Good bye, Wendy."
Reviews would be greatly treasured, if you would be so kind. I'd love to know what you thought! Thanks for reading!