Jane was never one to believe.

She was a logical, cynical girl; dreaming was for children who didn't want to see the real world or live in it. Her younger brother was that type of child. Danny continuously blabbered on and on about the wondrous Peter Pan: the boy who never grew up. Jane criticized him for his juvenile belief in someone who could never grow old. What kind of life is that, she would exclaim, to remain trapped in a boy's body while the rest of the world passes by?!

Her mother understood her cynicism but would never allow it in the house. The kind of childlike whimsy and wonder that remained in her mother's eyes upset Jane. She was sixteen when her father was presumed missing in action during World War II, a fact that nearly destroyed her. Jane vowed to protect her family, just as she promised her father she would. Her mother still told her children stories about the marvelous Peter Pan and his extraordinary hope in things big and small. It disgusted Jane; the world around her was in danger of shattering and here her mother was telling baby stories.

She remained adamant. She was still stubborn to believe even when the shadow appeared at her window.

He was indeed a boy, perhaps a few years younger than Jane but not nearly as young as Danny. His face was alight with a mischievous, playful smile. His eyes seemed to dance, just like his shadow. He was lean and thin, a messy mop of brown hair dangling over his face. He was wearing a brownish-yellow archer's hat, with a charming red feather attached to it.

He was flying around her bedroom, soaring above her with his arms spread out. He flew with abandonment, skillfully. Just as Jane was sure he would knock over a picture frame or break a mirror the boy would curl his limbs in and flip in the air. He smiled down at her, as though waiting for her to join him.

When she did nothing but glare back into those green eyes, he halted. Literally, in midair, he stood on his feet and scratched at his hair.

"What's the matter, Wendy? You forget how to fly?" He asked.

Jane narrowed her eyes at him in confusion. She didn't know how he knew her mother's name, but she didn't like this symbol of immaturity using it.

"Who do you think you are," she responded coldly, "waltzing into my home at," she glanced at the clock on her wall, "one in the morning, calling me Wendy and making believe that I can fly?"

Now the boy floated downward, descending with a look of utter bewilderment written over his features. Jane watched him touch the ground with the tips of his toes, not in the least enthusiastic about his abilities. She already knew that he could fly and fight and play the flute; her mother had told the stories so many times that she'd memorized everything there was to know about him.

He pursed his lips and looked at her thoughtfully, saying, "You sure look different."

Jane rolled her eyes, throwing her arms up in the air, "Wendy is gone! She grew up!"

He raised his brows and stared at her, and Jane could see a glint of sadness in his gaze. Good, she thought.

"Why'd you do it, Wendy? Why'd you grow up?" His voice was so sad.

Jane wanted to laugh in his face. She wanted to wag her finger in front of his eyes and say, this is the real world. People change. Your image of the world is a distorted fairytale.

She taunted him, "I live in reality, little boy."

He furrowed his eyebrows and balled his fists up, as though being called 'little boy' was some kind of insult. But wasn't that what he'd always wanted? He never grew up; he refused to be a man.

"I'm taking you back to Never Land," he decided with an affirmative nod, "You'll have to believe again."

Jane spat venomously, "I will not go frolicking around with you, Peter Pan."

He shocked her when he sped past her, like lightning, and grasped her from her waist, pressing her against him. She started to thrash and cry out, "Let me go you freak!"

Peter easily lifted her off of the ground, holding her bridal style. As he glided through the window, he shifted her position so she was slung over his shoulder. Now they were flying over the city, thousands of feet above the ground.

"You sure are heavier than last time." He commented.

Jane gasped in frustration and thrust a fist into his nose. The impact made Peter jerk backwards, losing his grip on her. She fell from his arms, screaming as the concrete came closer and closer until Peter swept her back up, chastising,

"Golly, are all girls mean after they grow up?" he asked, sounding frustrated and curious.

The memory of seeing a patch of red in her panties for the first time hit Jane and she couldn't help but chuckle dryly. "Something like that." She replied.

Peter only looked down at her, studying her features and growing sadder and sadder with every second. Jane glowered back up at him and asked, "Are you going to make me your mother?"

The boy who refused to grow up replied animatedly, "You're going to be the Lost Boys' mother."

Jane crossed her arms over her chest and growled, "If I'm going to be someone's mother, won't that make me a grownup?"

He was silent for a while before answering, "You were always the most mature out of us. Not very fun or entertaining, but you loved us."

The girl looked up at him and realized that this really was Peter Pan. She wasn't dreaming, he was no imposter, and he certainly wasn't here to hurt her. This was the boy that never grew beyond the age of thirteen, a boy who firmly believed in fairy dust and went on oodles of adventures. He truly wanted Wendy for himself, as his mother and protector. Jane wasn't a mother, and she wasn't at all like her mother, but she would experiment. Perhaps she could show Peter that being a grown up wasn't all responsibility and woe.

She silently snaked her arms around his shoulders and held on tight.

Jane had never seen such filthy children in her entire life. The Lost Boys were dressed in animal skins and patchy clothing. Their hands and faces, which they kept shoving into hers, were grubby and covered in gunk that came from only God knows where. They smelled of sweat and rotting teeth and manure. They were far different than how her mother described them. They weren't fun or full of laughter or adventurous, they looked pale and sickly and gross. Then again, Jane wasn't a fan of children.

"It's Wendy!"

"Look, fellas! Wendy's back!"

It was as though they'd never seen a teenage girl before. She wondered if they called every strange girl Wendy. She tried to keep a smile on her face, for the boys, for Peter. They were so happy to see her, believing her to be the girl who'd mothered them nearly thirty years ago. It made her sad.

Peter had clambered onto a platform in the tree house and declared, "She is your mother!"

The boys cheered and wrapped their arms around her, nearly knocking her over. She forced the lump down her throat, keeping her lips in the tight and hard line. She couldn't accept what she was doing. She didn't even believe.

Tinker Bell, the little fairy, was the first victim of Jane's lack of faith. Her glow diminished severely the moment Jane stepped into the tree house. She remained dimmed and sick throughout Jane's stay, because even though Jane did not believe, she trusted in Peter.

Peter took her to see the mermaids in the lagoon. They tried to spite her, but Jane had practice ignoring the girls in her school. She simply kept a straight face and stood on solid ground. The mermaids threw things at her, taunted her and pulled at her dress but she only smiled at them. It confused the finned maidens greatly. It confused Peter, too.

On their way back to the tree house, with Peter holding her, he asked her, "You didn't get mad when they bothered you. You used to get mad, Wendy."

Her answer, "I grew up. They didn't."

Peter took her to dance with the Natives. She danced with them and didn't complain when she was called "squaw" and forced to "get'em fire wood". She reacted pleasantly when Tiger Lily kissed Peter's cheeks, as though relieved that someone else had their hands full of him.

He noticed her smile and observed, "You look really happy."

Jane shrugged, saying, "Growing up has its perks."

Peter snuck her into Captain Hook's ship, where they played keep away with the pirate's hat. Captain Hook was rather displeased to see Peter's playmate again and lunged for her, his sharpened hook dangerously near her head. Peter jumped onto the pirate's back, squeezing his neck beneath his elbow. He shouted, "Get out of the way, Wendy!"

Instead of fleeing like a child, Jane raised her hand and slapped Captain Hook across the face, satisfied by the hard cracking sound that it made. Both Peter and the Captain stared at the girl in utter astonishment. She smirked defiantly at Hook and said, "I am a lady. You treat me like one."

With that, she thrust her nose up into the air and ambled away, as though her life hadn't just been threatened. Peter and Hook remained in their positions for quite some time, mouths agape, and pale as the moon, frozen in shock. Finally, Hook said, "She's not the same, is she?"

Peter nodded in agreement, already preparing a question for her.

She sat on the hard mattress, one of the Boys' head nuzzling her lap. As he napped peacefully, Jane gently removed the fuzzy hood from his face and swept his golden hair back. In her time here, twenty four days, she'd grown accustomed to their shouts and cries and could recognize who was yelling "Mother" from where. She still wasn't a believer, but she grew to adore these Boys.

Peter stormed in, shoving the furry curtains back as he did. He demanded, "Wendy."

Jane looked up, accustomed to her new name, and replied, "Yes, Peter?"

"We…have to talk." He said; his face hard and cold as stone.

The girl gently placed the boy under the covers, lovingly pulling the furs up to his chin. Then she turned to Peter and walked with him outside. She quietly reveled in the perfect coolness of Never Land evenings.

"What is it?" She asked.

He wrapped his fingers around her elbow and stopped her. "You changed, Wendy."

Jane nodded, pretending to understand. "I grew up."

Peter sighed, replying bitterly, "You're different. You're braver, smarter, and you even mother better. I didn't want to say this in front of the Boys but…" he lowered his voice till it was barely a whisper, "you make me want to grow up a little, too."

With his confession, a muted jingle echoed throughout the night air and the two sadly acknowledged that at last Tinker Bell's lights went out.

Never Land never let anyone age unless they lacked faith. Peter indeed had faith, but he wished even harder that he could be the kind of adult that still fought pirates and ate with his hands and flew above the trees. In the following weeks, changes in Peter's appearance started to emerge. His shoulders and chest broadened, his limbs grew longer and thicker, reddish stubble penetrated his skin, and his voice deepened.

The Boys noticed this change and questioned Peter. "Why'd you grow up, Peter?" Their eyes were sad and teary.

He answered, "I'm still the same. I still believe."

The Boys refused to understand. They didn't quite see that a change of heart still hadn't occurred, even though a change of face did.

Jane tried her best to convince them that Peter was still their undeniably childish and fun leader. However, the Boys eventually grew frightened and betrayed and they scattered.

The loss of the Boys and Tinker Bell ultimately traumatized Peter. Where once was happiness and mischief in his heart was now an angry, black void. He had a brooding intensity to him that Jane craved. She spent her days joined with him, copying his sighs. She knew she'd caused his pain. If she had been a mother, in the sense that Peter wanted her to be of, and not as a role model, Tinker Bell and the Boys would still be there.

Her lack of faith was his undoing.

Jane begged Peter to take her to the caverns, where there was nothing but a low tide and an echo surrounding them. Peter, whose flying was no longer of use, trekked with her there and the two lay on the boulders. As they waded through the waves of lust together, they noticed not the impending shadows lurking behind them.

Within moments of her release, Jane heard a click. She opened her eyes and saw Hook standing over them both with a revolver shoved against Peter's head. His eyes were aglow with madness as he spoke, "I have you now, Pan."

Jane looked up at Hook with pleading eyes, begging, "No, please."

Peter reached out for Jane's hand and squeezed, whispering, "Wendy."

The girl was almost stunned at how large and rough Peter's skin had become after he'd grown up. She rubbed his fingers with her own and felt her eyes burn. "Please, Captain. Don't shoot him."

Peter closed his eyes as Hook cocked the gun again. "Don't stand so close, darling, lest your brains splatter across the rocks as well."

With that, he let out a maddening cackle. Jane wrapped her arms around Peter's neck and pulled him flush against her. A single tear fell from her eye as he gasped. She looked down and saw the Captain's hook embedded in Peter's back. Jane watched Hook rip his arm out of him and stagger away in a daze. Jane pulled Peter away and saw that death had already taken him, blood seeping from his wound and face pale as snow.

It was at that moment that Jane realized something. She'd believed in him all along. But her desire to make him grow up, to be like everyone else, was what ultimately killed the legend that was Peter Pan.

I don't normally write for Disney movies, but I had a dream last night with the same exact ending, including the single tear that fell from her face and the same hug that lasted before Peter was killed. It was a weird dream. I had to get it out of my system. Originally, I dreamt that Wendy was the girl, but I changed it to Jane here to better fit the description.