*GASP* I WROTE SOMETHING! Don't faint, now. This may become a chaptered
story, depending on what y'all think of it. Many thanks to my beta, Rosey,
for being wonderful as she always is.
Disclaimer: I own nothing but the clothes on my back. ...Actually, I don't own those either, so never mind.
Summary/Rating: How exactly did Peter get to Neverland, and why did he leave? An exploration of this question in detail, rated PG-13 for violence and language.
*******************
"Peter!" yelled Lucy up the stairs. Nothing but silence was her response.
That boy is going to get himself into so much trouble, someday...
"Peter!! Come down here! It's time for dinner, and Mother wants to talk to you!"
A moment's pause. Then, "I'm not coming!"
The brown-haired bit her lip and looked away. She almost didn't blame him, poor tyke. No, she thought, not a tyke. He's twelve years old, that's plenty old enough to begin going to school. Heaven knows I went there earlier than that. But then, the youngest are always spoiled.
She remembered the first time she had discovered how childish her brother really was.
"Lucy?" he had asked.
"Yes, Peter?"
"Can you grant me a wish, like the fairies do?"
Lucy had smiled, her blue eyes crinkling at the corners. "No, Peter. I'm not a fairy; I can't grant you a wish."
Peter had frowned. "But you look like a fairy? Why can't you? I want you to!"
Lucy had sighed. "I can't, Peter!"
Peter had gotten angry at this. "Fine! Don't! See if I care!"
Lucy had shook her head in exasperation. "Goodness, Peter, it's only a story! I'll stop telling them if you can't believe them!"
"No, Lucy!" he had shouted, immediately contrite. "Don't stop! I'm sorry! I won't ask for wishes ever again!"
She had laughed, then, at his innocence, but now it was getting infuriating. He was cutting school, preferring playing in the woods to learning Latin. Paul was very upset about this, since he was the one paying for school. Carol had tried to tell him that Peter wouldn't go, but Paul had just hit her and called her a stupid woman that needed to keep her mouth shut.
Paul didn't know that Lucy had seen that. Neither did Peter.
"Peter, you have to come! You don't have a choice, you silly boy! Mum and Paul want you to come down, and if you won't listen to me you'll just be in more trouble than before," she yelled before stalking off to her room, tears in her eyes.
Poor Peter...
******************
Up in his room, a skinny boy with coppery hair and green eyes threw a pillow against his wall in frustration. He knew that they wanted him to go to school. Paul, especially, wanted him to go, so that he could have Mum and Lucy all to himself. Paul certainly didn't need the trouble-making, favorite and only son of Carol around.
He's just jealous, is all. Stupid codfish.
He and Lucy had made up the name together, after Paul and Peter's first fight. Peter had accidentally set Paul's best hat on fire, and afterwards Lucy had said, "And oh, Peter, he looked like a-- like a-- a codfish, when he was yelling!"
Peter had asked her what a codfish was, and she had explained that it was a fish that had a particularly scrunched up face and was really ugly.
Peter thought it sounded a lot like Paul. One of his favorite things to do was to imagine Paul's round, ruddy face, with its long nose and huge chin and pale, watery eyes, on the face of a codfish being gutted at the market.
Paul had married Mum, a few months ago, and Paul resented Peter almost as much as Peter resented Paul.
"Lucy," he would say, "Peter must go to school, one of these days. We haven't enough money for a governess, and while Lucy makes a wonderful teacher, he'll never get a proper education that way, especially after Lucy gets married."
That was another sore issue between Paul and Peter-- Paul was dead set on making Lucy grow up. Poor Lucy, with her kind blue eyes and soft hair and warm hugs... She was fifteen, a proper marrying age in Paul's opinion. Once Paul was the man of the house, he had made Lucy move out of the nursery and into her own room, leaving Peter alone, though not for long. Carol was expecting another baby, and Peter knew he wouldn't like it. It was supposed to be just Mum, and Lucy, and him, and then here was Paul, coming in and upsetting things by making Lucy grow up and making Mum so tired with another baby and making him go to school.
Paul was mad at him for shirking said school. Mum, being blind and too weak to protest, now went along with everything he said.
Peter missed his father, the man he had never known. The man who, when Peter was a baby, had gone and died, leaving behind his wife and two children to fend for themselves. Thank goodness Mum's parents were rich, Lucy said often enough, or else we'd be in a real fix.
Now Peter never saw his grandparents, since Paul insisted on Carol becoming what he called, 'independent of outside help'.
"We don't need their help anymore, Carol love," Paul would say, as Carol would suggest going to her parents' house for tea. "You need to come away from their wings, even though they were indeed a great help before I came. That's the point; you have me now."
And that was the end of it. If Carol said any more, Paul would get angry.
No one made Paul angry.
Except Peter.
Downstairs, Peter was getting Paul angry all over again. The conversation had started well enough.
"Peter, we received a letter from your headmaster today. According to Professor Hawkins, you were absent from your Latin class for the third time in a row." He gave Peter a Look. "What's this all about, now?"
Peter drew a design on the rug with his toe. "I hate Latin. It's a waste of time."
Paul sighed. "I already told you, Peter, you must take Latin if you're ever going to make a name for yourself. All the respectable young men take Latin, these days, as they have for centuries."
Peter mumbled something unintelligible.
"What was that?" asked Paul.
Peter school his head. "Nothing."
Silence.
"Nothing, what?"
More silence.
"Peter, I said nothing, what?"
Peter stared very hard at the floor, jaw and fists clenched.
"Peter, I'm waiting..."
Still nothing.
Carol instinctively flinched before---
"PETER! I've had ENOUGH of your insolence! Now say it! SAY it! God damn you, you dirty little whelp, show some respect for your father, you filthy little--"
"YOU ARE NOT MY FATHER!"
Paul was shocked into silence. Carol let out a little gasp, then reached forward towards her son. "Peter, darling, I--"
Paul's fist sent her reeling back into her chair. "Sit down and shut up, woman! He's gotten enough of your codling already!" He advanced on his wife, about to hit her again, when he was jerked back by Peter jumping on his back.
"DON'T YOU TOUCH HER!" yelled Peter, clawing and scratching at Paul's face. Paul turned and threw Peter off of him. Landing on his feet, Peter stood up with an odd grin on his face and stuck his tongue out at Paul.
"Come and catch me if you can, you codfish!"
Paul's face turned an interesting shade of purple, and he dashed after Peter, who had made his way into the kitchen. He threw open the door, making straight for Peter, who was standing against the wall on the other side of the room.
That little son of a bitch, he'll pay, oh, he'll pay, trying to take Carol from me, oh yes he'll pay, and so will she, the little slut, they'll both pay, I'll make them pay--
Paul grabbed a kitchen knife that was lying on a cutting board as he advanced on Peter, who was looking at the knife with fear in his eyes.
Peter thought, He won't hurt me with a knife, he wouldn't, why is he coming closer, he's getting to close, it's coming too close, Mum, Mum, Lucy--
"LUCY!" screamed Peter as the blade swung across his shoulder. Collapsing on the floor, Peter grabbed his shoulder and curled up in a ball.
"Now, say 'sir', you little son of a bitch," whispered Paul. "Say it, or I go after your precious mother next..."
Peter shuddered, and Paul thought he had won. To his surprise, Peter leapt up, kicked him in the stomach, and grabbed the knife out from his hand as he was bent double. Peter ran over to the other side of the kitchen, holding the knife by his side with one hand and clutching his shoulder with the other.
Paul, recovering slightly, straightened and looking over at Peter, standing by the door with an insolent smile on his face, even through the pain.
"I'm not afraid of you, Paul! I'll never be afraid of you, and you'll always be afraid of me, you coward!" The word reverberated around the room: Coward, coward, coward... Paul's eyes narrowed, and he started towards Peter again, murder in his eyes. Peter's smile slipped, and he pressed himself against the wall, having nowhere to go, nowhere to run to. Paul raised both his hands, baring his teeth and muttering something beneath his breath. Within three feet of Peter, he finally spit out, "I'll KILL YOU!"
Paul suddenly leapt forward, throwing his arms around Peter's slender, unprotected throat. He started to shake Peter, yelling nonsensical sounds at him, spraying Peter's reddening face with spit. Then, as suddenly as he had begun, he froze, staring at Peter with hate and surprise in his eyes.
Then, ever so slowly, his hands loosened and he sunk to the ground, landing on his back with his mouth open and the kitchen knife stuck in his chest.
Peter stared at the dead body, just as frozen as it was. He jumped at a small noise in the doorway, and looked up to see Lucy standing there, equally mesmerized by Paul's prone form.
"I... You... You screamed my name... Mother is unconscious..." she stammered. Finally she looked up at Peter. "Why... What..." She looked back down, and then up again. "Is he dead?"
Peter blinked, tears forming in his eyes.
"I... Yes, I think so. I killed him. He would have killed me, Luce." "I know," she said. "But..." She looked away. "I called the police, because of mother, and your screaming. You can't... You can't stay, Peter."
He looked at his sister, truly frightened.
"I know," he said, "I couldn't anyway. I'll go... I'll go to the park, and live in the trees."
Lucy let out a sad laugh. "Oh, Peter, you and your pretending."
Peter frowned, and said harshly, "It's not pretend, Lucy! I'm going!" He looked down at the body. "Tell them a burglar did it. Mum won't remem--" He stopped, thinking of his mother. Abruptly, he left the kitchen, pushing past his sister and heading towards the front door.
"Peter!" she yelled after him. "Peter..."
She stopped at the doorway. He was already on the sidewalk outside, walking away down the street.
"Peter!!!" She called after him, standing on tiptoe to see his fading figure in the darkness.
Without turning around, he yelled back, "Tell Mum I love her, Luce!"
He turned the corner, never looking back.
*****************
Peter started to run.
He didn't really see where he was going, but then, he didn't really need to see; he'd been going to the park since he was old enough to sneak out undetected and to bribe Lucy to cover for him---
But he wasn't going to think about that, he couldn't think about that, because he was never going back.
He ran on, speeding up, trying to out run the memories of the home that he had once loved, before Paul had come and ruined everything.
Surprisingly, he didn't care that he had killed a man; he saw it as justice being done. He had rid the world of evil, after a fashion, and now Mum and Luce could go back to being normal.
But they won't go back to being normal, Peter. You're gone. They'll just slip into old habits... Mum will get married again, and so will Lucy, and everything will change...
"SHUT UP!" He yelled to himself, not caring who heard or saw. He finally reached the soft turf of the park. The dark soil squished beneath his bare feet, and branches tore at his clothes as he made his way through the dense thicket he called his own. It was the place he went when Lucy was too loud, when Mum was too quiet, and when Paul was around.
He'd been going there a lot recently.
Suddenly, he stopped, as though his legs had been cut off, and sank to his knees. The full impact of that night's events hit him full on, and tears started to form in his eyes. That voice, there in his head, Lucy's voice, started up again.
You'll never see Mum again... Never see Lucy, or hear another story---
"NO!"
Never play with toys again... Never have fun...
The voice turned into Paul's voice, deep and accusing.
You, Peter, have murdered a man. You left your family behind. No one will ever love you again, because you are incapable of love...
"NO I am NOT! Go away! Go away..." he sobbed brokenly to his conscience. "He was supposed to die... He was hurting Mum... He hurt me..."
A small tinkling noise sounded in agreement, from beyond the trees.
Peter stopped sobbing in surprise and rubbed at his eyes, staring at the branches with blurry vision.
"Who's there?" he called defensively. If anyone had seen him crying... "Who are you? Show yourself!"
A small light came floating out of the trees, borne on a gust of wind. It swirled in the air aimlessly, until it settled in Peter's lap.
Peter bent down to look at it, a tear sliding off his nose. All sadness forgotten in the face of this new thing, he asked, "Who are you?"
Upon close inspection, he saw a small girl, there in his lap, a small girl with--with wings!
"Are you... Are you a fairy?" he asked with wonder.
She nodded up at him, slowly reaching up and wiping a lone tear off the tip of his nose. She made a small tinkling sound, looking up at him questioningly. To Peter, it sounded like she was talking to him.
Why are you crying?
Peter almost jumped as the words appeared in his head, so much like the spectral voice of Lucy from before.
"I'm... I wasn't..." he sighed and stopped, too defeated to lie. "I just killed a man, and I can't go back home, and I don't want to, if I have to grow up!" he said, sounding very young even to himself.
Tink smiled. You don't have to grow up, silly. Come with me to my home, and you won't have to! Peter stared at her. Not grow up? How could it be?
"Where do you live, fairy?"
In Neverland, where else? All the fairies live there. So do the Lost Boys, when they can find us, though it's usually us that find them. She laughed, in a bell-like sort of way. D'you want to come?
Peter paused for just a second. Then he shouted, "Of course! Where is it? How long does it take? Do you fly there? How can I get there if I don't fly? Do you-----"
"Hey, I think I hear voices, Joe! Let's go check behind the bushes!"
Peter froze, unable to move. Had they heard him? He looked down at Tink who was staring through the trees as though she could see what was going on.
Quickly, boy--
"My name is Peter," he whispered.
Fine, fine, Peter, quickly! You have to fly with me, to Neverland--those are Men With Sticks, and Dogs, looking for you! I can tell! Now come on, before they find you!
Peter hesitated. "But I can't fly, fairy!"
My name is Tinkerbell.
"Fine, Tinkerbell, but I can't fly!"
Yes you can. Just think happy thoughts, and follow me. It's really quite easy.
Having said so, she flew up above his head, sprinkling some sort of gold dust---fairy dust, he realized-- on top of his head.
Now think happy thoughts! Think of Neverland!
Peter squinted his eyes, trying to think of a place where he could play all the time, never having to grow up or go to school, a place with no Paul and no work.
Peter. Peter! That's enough! You're flying!
He almost shouted as he opened his eyes fully and realized he was above the trees, looking down on the park.
"I'm...flying..." he said in wonder. "I'm flying!" He laughed out loud, more happy than he had ever been. It was just like Lucy's stories, with flying people and fairies granting wishes.
The thought of Lucy struck him through the heart like a lightning bolt, and he suddenly felt himself sinking to the ground.
Peter! Whatever you're thinking, STOP IT! We don't have time for unhappy thoughts! Now think happy and follow me! With that, she flew off towards morning, leaving a faint trail of golden sparkle in the growing light.
With a mighty mental push, he shoved all thoughts of home out of the way, sternly telling himself that they were now off-limits. He thought, instead, of what he was going to do with Tinkerbell in Neverland.
Laughing again, he flew along, unsteadily at first, following Tink's trail. As he caught up with her, she turned to him and smiled.
Neverland is just beyond the second star to the right, and straight on til morning. It's a bit of a long trip, but it goes by quickly, if you don't think about it.
"Alright," said Peter, too numbed by all of it to do anything but smile.
And you need a better name than just plain 'Peter'. It's boring.
Peter thought for a moment, and then remembered something.
"How about Peter Pan?" His Latin teacher had said that Greek god Pan was the god of trouble and misery, and that Peter was his chief disciple. The other boys has taken to calling him Peter Pan, and he rather liked it, since 'pan' also meant 'all'. He liked to think of it meaning 'all- powerful'.
Peter Pan.... I like it. But what about your old name? Most boys like to take their father's name as theirs--
"No."
Tink didn't ask.
Okay, then, Peter Pan it is. Sounds very Neverlandish---you'll fit right in.
"You think so?"
Oh yes.
"Thanks, Tink."
You're welcome. She did a loop-de-loop in the air. You know you love me.
Peter started at the word 'love'. "I don't love anybody. I can't love."
Tink stared at him. You can't love?! But everybody does!
Peter's eyes took on a strange quality. "I left that behind when I flew for the first time, Tink." He shot her a winning smile. "I still like you, though."
Tink raised an eyebrow, but smiled reluctantly. Alright, Pan, but you're going to tell me eventually...
Peter said nothing.
They flew for a few minutes in silence. Peter broke the silence by asking, "Hey, Tink?"
Yes, Peter?
"Do you grant wishes?"
She paused for a second.
Only when someone really needs it.
Peter smiled.
FIN
Well? Do you like it? Too long? Short? Boring? Good? Bad? REVIEW AND TELL ME!!!! Reviews are good for your metabolism and they clear up your skin. They're proven to help you lose weight, too... So review for me! ^_^
Disclaimer: I own nothing but the clothes on my back. ...Actually, I don't own those either, so never mind.
Summary/Rating: How exactly did Peter get to Neverland, and why did he leave? An exploration of this question in detail, rated PG-13 for violence and language.
*******************
"Peter!" yelled Lucy up the stairs. Nothing but silence was her response.
That boy is going to get himself into so much trouble, someday...
"Peter!! Come down here! It's time for dinner, and Mother wants to talk to you!"
A moment's pause. Then, "I'm not coming!"
The brown-haired bit her lip and looked away. She almost didn't blame him, poor tyke. No, she thought, not a tyke. He's twelve years old, that's plenty old enough to begin going to school. Heaven knows I went there earlier than that. But then, the youngest are always spoiled.
She remembered the first time she had discovered how childish her brother really was.
"Lucy?" he had asked.
"Yes, Peter?"
"Can you grant me a wish, like the fairies do?"
Lucy had smiled, her blue eyes crinkling at the corners. "No, Peter. I'm not a fairy; I can't grant you a wish."
Peter had frowned. "But you look like a fairy? Why can't you? I want you to!"
Lucy had sighed. "I can't, Peter!"
Peter had gotten angry at this. "Fine! Don't! See if I care!"
Lucy had shook her head in exasperation. "Goodness, Peter, it's only a story! I'll stop telling them if you can't believe them!"
"No, Lucy!" he had shouted, immediately contrite. "Don't stop! I'm sorry! I won't ask for wishes ever again!"
She had laughed, then, at his innocence, but now it was getting infuriating. He was cutting school, preferring playing in the woods to learning Latin. Paul was very upset about this, since he was the one paying for school. Carol had tried to tell him that Peter wouldn't go, but Paul had just hit her and called her a stupid woman that needed to keep her mouth shut.
Paul didn't know that Lucy had seen that. Neither did Peter.
"Peter, you have to come! You don't have a choice, you silly boy! Mum and Paul want you to come down, and if you won't listen to me you'll just be in more trouble than before," she yelled before stalking off to her room, tears in her eyes.
Poor Peter...
******************
Up in his room, a skinny boy with coppery hair and green eyes threw a pillow against his wall in frustration. He knew that they wanted him to go to school. Paul, especially, wanted him to go, so that he could have Mum and Lucy all to himself. Paul certainly didn't need the trouble-making, favorite and only son of Carol around.
He's just jealous, is all. Stupid codfish.
He and Lucy had made up the name together, after Paul and Peter's first fight. Peter had accidentally set Paul's best hat on fire, and afterwards Lucy had said, "And oh, Peter, he looked like a-- like a-- a codfish, when he was yelling!"
Peter had asked her what a codfish was, and she had explained that it was a fish that had a particularly scrunched up face and was really ugly.
Peter thought it sounded a lot like Paul. One of his favorite things to do was to imagine Paul's round, ruddy face, with its long nose and huge chin and pale, watery eyes, on the face of a codfish being gutted at the market.
Paul had married Mum, a few months ago, and Paul resented Peter almost as much as Peter resented Paul.
"Lucy," he would say, "Peter must go to school, one of these days. We haven't enough money for a governess, and while Lucy makes a wonderful teacher, he'll never get a proper education that way, especially after Lucy gets married."
That was another sore issue between Paul and Peter-- Paul was dead set on making Lucy grow up. Poor Lucy, with her kind blue eyes and soft hair and warm hugs... She was fifteen, a proper marrying age in Paul's opinion. Once Paul was the man of the house, he had made Lucy move out of the nursery and into her own room, leaving Peter alone, though not for long. Carol was expecting another baby, and Peter knew he wouldn't like it. It was supposed to be just Mum, and Lucy, and him, and then here was Paul, coming in and upsetting things by making Lucy grow up and making Mum so tired with another baby and making him go to school.
Paul was mad at him for shirking said school. Mum, being blind and too weak to protest, now went along with everything he said.
Peter missed his father, the man he had never known. The man who, when Peter was a baby, had gone and died, leaving behind his wife and two children to fend for themselves. Thank goodness Mum's parents were rich, Lucy said often enough, or else we'd be in a real fix.
Now Peter never saw his grandparents, since Paul insisted on Carol becoming what he called, 'independent of outside help'.
"We don't need their help anymore, Carol love," Paul would say, as Carol would suggest going to her parents' house for tea. "You need to come away from their wings, even though they were indeed a great help before I came. That's the point; you have me now."
And that was the end of it. If Carol said any more, Paul would get angry.
No one made Paul angry.
Except Peter.
Downstairs, Peter was getting Paul angry all over again. The conversation had started well enough.
"Peter, we received a letter from your headmaster today. According to Professor Hawkins, you were absent from your Latin class for the third time in a row." He gave Peter a Look. "What's this all about, now?"
Peter drew a design on the rug with his toe. "I hate Latin. It's a waste of time."
Paul sighed. "I already told you, Peter, you must take Latin if you're ever going to make a name for yourself. All the respectable young men take Latin, these days, as they have for centuries."
Peter mumbled something unintelligible.
"What was that?" asked Paul.
Peter school his head. "Nothing."
Silence.
"Nothing, what?"
More silence.
"Peter, I said nothing, what?"
Peter stared very hard at the floor, jaw and fists clenched.
"Peter, I'm waiting..."
Still nothing.
Carol instinctively flinched before---
"PETER! I've had ENOUGH of your insolence! Now say it! SAY it! God damn you, you dirty little whelp, show some respect for your father, you filthy little--"
"YOU ARE NOT MY FATHER!"
Paul was shocked into silence. Carol let out a little gasp, then reached forward towards her son. "Peter, darling, I--"
Paul's fist sent her reeling back into her chair. "Sit down and shut up, woman! He's gotten enough of your codling already!" He advanced on his wife, about to hit her again, when he was jerked back by Peter jumping on his back.
"DON'T YOU TOUCH HER!" yelled Peter, clawing and scratching at Paul's face. Paul turned and threw Peter off of him. Landing on his feet, Peter stood up with an odd grin on his face and stuck his tongue out at Paul.
"Come and catch me if you can, you codfish!"
Paul's face turned an interesting shade of purple, and he dashed after Peter, who had made his way into the kitchen. He threw open the door, making straight for Peter, who was standing against the wall on the other side of the room.
That little son of a bitch, he'll pay, oh, he'll pay, trying to take Carol from me, oh yes he'll pay, and so will she, the little slut, they'll both pay, I'll make them pay--
Paul grabbed a kitchen knife that was lying on a cutting board as he advanced on Peter, who was looking at the knife with fear in his eyes.
Peter thought, He won't hurt me with a knife, he wouldn't, why is he coming closer, he's getting to close, it's coming too close, Mum, Mum, Lucy--
"LUCY!" screamed Peter as the blade swung across his shoulder. Collapsing on the floor, Peter grabbed his shoulder and curled up in a ball.
"Now, say 'sir', you little son of a bitch," whispered Paul. "Say it, or I go after your precious mother next..."
Peter shuddered, and Paul thought he had won. To his surprise, Peter leapt up, kicked him in the stomach, and grabbed the knife out from his hand as he was bent double. Peter ran over to the other side of the kitchen, holding the knife by his side with one hand and clutching his shoulder with the other.
Paul, recovering slightly, straightened and looking over at Peter, standing by the door with an insolent smile on his face, even through the pain.
"I'm not afraid of you, Paul! I'll never be afraid of you, and you'll always be afraid of me, you coward!" The word reverberated around the room: Coward, coward, coward... Paul's eyes narrowed, and he started towards Peter again, murder in his eyes. Peter's smile slipped, and he pressed himself against the wall, having nowhere to go, nowhere to run to. Paul raised both his hands, baring his teeth and muttering something beneath his breath. Within three feet of Peter, he finally spit out, "I'll KILL YOU!"
Paul suddenly leapt forward, throwing his arms around Peter's slender, unprotected throat. He started to shake Peter, yelling nonsensical sounds at him, spraying Peter's reddening face with spit. Then, as suddenly as he had begun, he froze, staring at Peter with hate and surprise in his eyes.
Then, ever so slowly, his hands loosened and he sunk to the ground, landing on his back with his mouth open and the kitchen knife stuck in his chest.
Peter stared at the dead body, just as frozen as it was. He jumped at a small noise in the doorway, and looked up to see Lucy standing there, equally mesmerized by Paul's prone form.
"I... You... You screamed my name... Mother is unconscious..." she stammered. Finally she looked up at Peter. "Why... What..." She looked back down, and then up again. "Is he dead?"
Peter blinked, tears forming in his eyes.
"I... Yes, I think so. I killed him. He would have killed me, Luce." "I know," she said. "But..." She looked away. "I called the police, because of mother, and your screaming. You can't... You can't stay, Peter."
He looked at his sister, truly frightened.
"I know," he said, "I couldn't anyway. I'll go... I'll go to the park, and live in the trees."
Lucy let out a sad laugh. "Oh, Peter, you and your pretending."
Peter frowned, and said harshly, "It's not pretend, Lucy! I'm going!" He looked down at the body. "Tell them a burglar did it. Mum won't remem--" He stopped, thinking of his mother. Abruptly, he left the kitchen, pushing past his sister and heading towards the front door.
"Peter!" she yelled after him. "Peter..."
She stopped at the doorway. He was already on the sidewalk outside, walking away down the street.
"Peter!!!" She called after him, standing on tiptoe to see his fading figure in the darkness.
Without turning around, he yelled back, "Tell Mum I love her, Luce!"
He turned the corner, never looking back.
*****************
Peter started to run.
He didn't really see where he was going, but then, he didn't really need to see; he'd been going to the park since he was old enough to sneak out undetected and to bribe Lucy to cover for him---
But he wasn't going to think about that, he couldn't think about that, because he was never going back.
He ran on, speeding up, trying to out run the memories of the home that he had once loved, before Paul had come and ruined everything.
Surprisingly, he didn't care that he had killed a man; he saw it as justice being done. He had rid the world of evil, after a fashion, and now Mum and Luce could go back to being normal.
But they won't go back to being normal, Peter. You're gone. They'll just slip into old habits... Mum will get married again, and so will Lucy, and everything will change...
"SHUT UP!" He yelled to himself, not caring who heard or saw. He finally reached the soft turf of the park. The dark soil squished beneath his bare feet, and branches tore at his clothes as he made his way through the dense thicket he called his own. It was the place he went when Lucy was too loud, when Mum was too quiet, and when Paul was around.
He'd been going there a lot recently.
Suddenly, he stopped, as though his legs had been cut off, and sank to his knees. The full impact of that night's events hit him full on, and tears started to form in his eyes. That voice, there in his head, Lucy's voice, started up again.
You'll never see Mum again... Never see Lucy, or hear another story---
"NO!"
Never play with toys again... Never have fun...
The voice turned into Paul's voice, deep and accusing.
You, Peter, have murdered a man. You left your family behind. No one will ever love you again, because you are incapable of love...
"NO I am NOT! Go away! Go away..." he sobbed brokenly to his conscience. "He was supposed to die... He was hurting Mum... He hurt me..."
A small tinkling noise sounded in agreement, from beyond the trees.
Peter stopped sobbing in surprise and rubbed at his eyes, staring at the branches with blurry vision.
"Who's there?" he called defensively. If anyone had seen him crying... "Who are you? Show yourself!"
A small light came floating out of the trees, borne on a gust of wind. It swirled in the air aimlessly, until it settled in Peter's lap.
Peter bent down to look at it, a tear sliding off his nose. All sadness forgotten in the face of this new thing, he asked, "Who are you?"
Upon close inspection, he saw a small girl, there in his lap, a small girl with--with wings!
"Are you... Are you a fairy?" he asked with wonder.
She nodded up at him, slowly reaching up and wiping a lone tear off the tip of his nose. She made a small tinkling sound, looking up at him questioningly. To Peter, it sounded like she was talking to him.
Why are you crying?
Peter almost jumped as the words appeared in his head, so much like the spectral voice of Lucy from before.
"I'm... I wasn't..." he sighed and stopped, too defeated to lie. "I just killed a man, and I can't go back home, and I don't want to, if I have to grow up!" he said, sounding very young even to himself.
Tink smiled. You don't have to grow up, silly. Come with me to my home, and you won't have to! Peter stared at her. Not grow up? How could it be?
"Where do you live, fairy?"
In Neverland, where else? All the fairies live there. So do the Lost Boys, when they can find us, though it's usually us that find them. She laughed, in a bell-like sort of way. D'you want to come?
Peter paused for just a second. Then he shouted, "Of course! Where is it? How long does it take? Do you fly there? How can I get there if I don't fly? Do you-----"
"Hey, I think I hear voices, Joe! Let's go check behind the bushes!"
Peter froze, unable to move. Had they heard him? He looked down at Tink who was staring through the trees as though she could see what was going on.
Quickly, boy--
"My name is Peter," he whispered.
Fine, fine, Peter, quickly! You have to fly with me, to Neverland--those are Men With Sticks, and Dogs, looking for you! I can tell! Now come on, before they find you!
Peter hesitated. "But I can't fly, fairy!"
My name is Tinkerbell.
"Fine, Tinkerbell, but I can't fly!"
Yes you can. Just think happy thoughts, and follow me. It's really quite easy.
Having said so, she flew up above his head, sprinkling some sort of gold dust---fairy dust, he realized-- on top of his head.
Now think happy thoughts! Think of Neverland!
Peter squinted his eyes, trying to think of a place where he could play all the time, never having to grow up or go to school, a place with no Paul and no work.
Peter. Peter! That's enough! You're flying!
He almost shouted as he opened his eyes fully and realized he was above the trees, looking down on the park.
"I'm...flying..." he said in wonder. "I'm flying!" He laughed out loud, more happy than he had ever been. It was just like Lucy's stories, with flying people and fairies granting wishes.
The thought of Lucy struck him through the heart like a lightning bolt, and he suddenly felt himself sinking to the ground.
Peter! Whatever you're thinking, STOP IT! We don't have time for unhappy thoughts! Now think happy and follow me! With that, she flew off towards morning, leaving a faint trail of golden sparkle in the growing light.
With a mighty mental push, he shoved all thoughts of home out of the way, sternly telling himself that they were now off-limits. He thought, instead, of what he was going to do with Tinkerbell in Neverland.
Laughing again, he flew along, unsteadily at first, following Tink's trail. As he caught up with her, she turned to him and smiled.
Neverland is just beyond the second star to the right, and straight on til morning. It's a bit of a long trip, but it goes by quickly, if you don't think about it.
"Alright," said Peter, too numbed by all of it to do anything but smile.
And you need a better name than just plain 'Peter'. It's boring.
Peter thought for a moment, and then remembered something.
"How about Peter Pan?" His Latin teacher had said that Greek god Pan was the god of trouble and misery, and that Peter was his chief disciple. The other boys has taken to calling him Peter Pan, and he rather liked it, since 'pan' also meant 'all'. He liked to think of it meaning 'all- powerful'.
Peter Pan.... I like it. But what about your old name? Most boys like to take their father's name as theirs--
"No."
Tink didn't ask.
Okay, then, Peter Pan it is. Sounds very Neverlandish---you'll fit right in.
"You think so?"
Oh yes.
"Thanks, Tink."
You're welcome. She did a loop-de-loop in the air. You know you love me.
Peter started at the word 'love'. "I don't love anybody. I can't love."
Tink stared at him. You can't love?! But everybody does!
Peter's eyes took on a strange quality. "I left that behind when I flew for the first time, Tink." He shot her a winning smile. "I still like you, though."
Tink raised an eyebrow, but smiled reluctantly. Alright, Pan, but you're going to tell me eventually...
Peter said nothing.
They flew for a few minutes in silence. Peter broke the silence by asking, "Hey, Tink?"
Yes, Peter?
"Do you grant wishes?"
She paused for a second.
Only when someone really needs it.
Peter smiled.
FIN
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