Welcome to The Real World

Peter Pan

Pairings: Peter/Wendy

Summary: In this alternate universe, Wendy and Peter live on the streets of London. Neverland is a fairy tale. As the two meet and become closer, Wendy talks about her past and Peter talks about this imaginary place. In the end, Wendy realizes the truth.

AN: I wrote this for my sister. I'm not sure if this is exactly what I had been going for, but I kind of like it. It's short, but it's cute.

Wendy woke up that morning feeling as she had every other day. Tired, cold, hungry, and impatient. Impatient with herself, with the world, with the people, with hustle, with bustle. She wandered around downtown London searching for leftover food or kindly people who would give her a few coins or a crust of bread. It wasn't the ideal life, but it was the only life she had ever known. Sometimes she came across a cute family on the streets; a mother, a father, a curly-haired boy with his thumb in his mouth, or a girl in a dress chasing imaginary butterflies. In those moments she would watch them and imagine herself in that situation. These reveries were usually interrupted by a store clerk telling her to move along because she was scaring away the customers. It was pointless to think out anyway, she thought. It didn't happen, and it would never happen. She was destined to wander the world staring at families and scaring away customers or the elderly with her scraggly hair, face piercings, and blue nightgown she had torn into a make-shift dress.

Today Wendy managed to find a bag of chips on top of a trashcan completely intact and untouched by grime. In the alleyway behind a museum, she feasted upon the contents, which were miraculously still warm. Halfway through her meal, she heard a rustle to her left.

"Are you finished with those?" came a timid voice from the shadows. Wendy was no stranger to the many orphans and urchins wandering the alleys with her. But this voice was new. She looked down at the bag and, grudgingly, held it out to the shadows. Although she had learned early how to only look out for herself, sometimes a nagging, motherly instinct would kick in. This was one of those moments.

"I'm not going to toss it to you, so you better come out and show your face." Not quite as maternal as she had been going for, but it did the trick. The shadows shifted and revealed a boy in dark green shorts and tunic. An oversized belt held a small cup for coins and a small knife for protection. His face was pointed and his hair, though mostly covered by a Robin Hood-esque cap, was a brilliant shade of red-orange. He crept slowly toward her, as though expecting her to attack at any moment. His eyes darted back and forth, most likely planning out possible escape routes. Suddenly, though Wendy barely noticed his hand move, the bag was out of her outstretched fist and in his lap. She almost expected him to sniff the chips to check for poison. But, she mused, he must have been watching her eat them the whole time and, since she hadn't keeled over yet, they must be safe. He muttered a thanks and dug into the bag.

After watching the boy finish the chips, he stood up tall, and her previous estimation of his age doubled at least. She had figured him to be barely 7 and a half, but decided he must be nearly 17. The boy smiled broadly at her and offered his hand.

"My name is Peter, what's yours?" She took his hand and let him help her up.

"Most call me Wendy. Well, I call me Wendy. I suppose that counts for most of the people in my life, though." She had meant it as a joke, but it fell quite flat. They studied each other fully. Although Wendy had decided the boy to be 16 or 17, he acted more like he was stuck in pre-adolescence. She left the alleyway to continue her aimless wandering, and he followed. He asked her all sorts of questions. Some were about her, some were about her past, most were things she had never even considered the answer to, much less the question.

"Have you ever considered fairies?" He asked suddenly.

"Considered what about fairies?"

"I don't know. Just considered them at all, I guess. Do you think they're real?" His eyes were full of hope and longing, wanting this stranger to tell him 'Yes, fairies exist. I actually just saw some under that bridge just yesterday.' One the one hand, Wendy considered telling him exactly what she thought. But looking into those eyes, she couldn't bring herself to crush his dreams with one sentence.

"I'm not sure. I've never seen any. But, I suppose, maybe they live somewhere far away." It wasn't quite a yes, and it wasn't quite a no, but it seemed to be exactly what Peter had been looking for.

"Oh, I'm sure they do, Miss Wendy. They must be in Neverland."

"Pardon?" she wasn't sure she heard correctly.

"Neverland. The place where nobody grows up…" his voice trailed off, as though lost in a memory. They walked in silence for a while since Wendy had no response to something so strange and Peter had gotten lost in his own mind.

It was getting late, and it seemed as though Peter had become attached to Wendy. It was easy t see that he wasn't going to suddenly remember he had other things to do and bid her goodbye. She didn't hesitate to find a place that two people could curl up in for the night. She hadn't realized by feeding some random beggar some of her chips that she now had a permanent follower. And even though she tried to put of a persona of someone who didn't need anyone and who certainly didn't want someone needing her, it was a nice change that she welcomed strangely fast.

For weeks, the pair of them could be seen wandering London begging for scraps or coins. They were each others' constant companion and they formed a fast bond. Wendy began telling Peter all about her life. Her childhood, her dreams, her family, or lack thereof, and what she assumed to be her future. The boy listened intently, nodding and chiming in when necessary. However, in all that time, the only thing she could ever pry from Peter were tales of Neverland. He filled her head with visions of fairies and mermaids, pirates and indians, great plains and fantastic beaches. If she asked him what he remembered from being a child, he would shrug it off. If she asked him what he had been doing that day he met her in the alley, he would look off in the distance.

Sometimes she got angry with him, mostly on days she hadn't eaten in a while and she had had to sleep on the ground. She would yell and scream and beg him to tell her about his past, calling him childish and evil and delusional. Sometimes she just wouldn't ask questions at all. But he never needed prompting to talk about imaginary places, and he never seemed to care when she yelled at him. She knew she wasn't a good role model for him. She knew she took his child-like reaction to the world as a frustrating contrast to how she saw things. She was bitter. She was impressed. She was angry. She was glad. And all the while, there was Peter, walking along beside her. He never abandoned her. He never got mad at her. He never asked 'why?'. Finally, she grew to accept the fact that he would never tell her the truth about his past. She decided it must have been much worse than hers, and he blocked it out with his imagination of a better place. She couldn't really blame him. If she had thought to do that, maybe she wouldn't wander around aimlessly, sullenly hating herself and the world around her.

So, she let him talk about Neverland whenever he wanted, sometimes asking specific questions. He always had an answer. He knew which specific flowers grew on specific hills west of the mermaid lagoon. He knew all the names of the pirates. He knew which fairies were nice, which ones were prone to jealousy, and which ones had a mischievous streak.

"And what about the children?" she asked one night as they laid side by side, staring up at the few stars they could see beyond the smog and smoke of the city.

"What children?" he seemed confused.

"Didn't you say Neverland was a place where no one grew up? There must be scores of children there!" She said. He was quiet a moment. Then, out of the darkness, she heard a mumble.

"There are the Lost Boys."

"Oh, the Lost Boys. Why are they called that?" she could almost sense the thin ice she was on. She had managed to come across a sensitive subject for him, and she didn't want him to shut her out of his fantastic world.

"Because they don't have a mother." It was amazing how one sentence could change the atmosphere. It hung in the air, silently pulling them out of their magical minds and into real life. It was dreadful, and Wendy knew in that instant why Peter never talked about his past.

She desperately tried to come up with another question that would bring them back to their happy times. She had nothing. No way to stop the deadening silence. She turned her head and saw one lonely tear trickling out of his eye as he stared straight up. Slowly, so slowly, she reached out her hand to wipe away that tear. He didn't seem to notice, but he didn't cry any more. Once more, she picked her brain for something, anything to say.

"Peter?" she asked softly. He didn't move, didn't make a sound. She propped her head onto her elbow so she could look down at his face. His eyes were dry, but she could almost see exactly what he was thinking. She didn't think. She didn't hesitate. She lowered herself slowly until their lips met.

There were no fireworks, no imaginary spark or instant connection. It was as if all the decisions in her life had led up to this kiss. He reached up and touched her face, softly caressing her cheek with his thumb. In that moment, she could feel the hard ground beneath them dissolve into grass. In the distance, she could hear the jeerings and laughter of a group of lost boys. She could feel a hundred fairies surrounding her and chittering amongst themselves. She could hear waves breaking on sand and drums and chanting. She could smell gunpowder and forests and salt.

Finally she pulled away. The sounds, the winds, the smells disappeared. She was in London, lying next to Peter. She almost felt disappointment until she opened her eyes and looked into his. It was all there. All the adventures, the wishes, the stories, the dreams. He was her Neverland. As a smile struck her face, his own grin mirrored it. He stood and offered her his hand. As soon as she took it, she felt as though she could fly.

AN: See? Very shrt. But let me know what you think, if you think anything at all :)