Disclaimer: I do not own Peter Pan. He belongs to J.M Barrie, the original boy who never grew up, and the inspiration for so many of my dreams.
This idea came to me one day as I re-read Peter Pan for the 1000th time. There are small hints to the book in there, such as the fact that Peter could originally fly with children who had died halfway to heaven. When one suffers a tragic loss in childhood, they wish forever after to be always a child, and never have to grow up and move on and forget the person that they loved so dearly. I hope you all enjoy this what might have been.
Once there was a boy named Peter Pan, who never wanted to grow up. And so, he never did.
He flew away to Never Neverland with Tinkerbell, his fairy. They had many adventures there, in the land of wild things and innocence and all creatures and children that do not ever wish to be tamed.
But though I am sure you have all heard his story, there is another that has not yet been told.
Peter Pan was not always named so, and he was not always alone.
He had a family, long, long ago.
He had a sister.
Her name was Sarah, and she was as pale and thin as Peter was dark and strong. She was very sick, and though Peter was never told outright just how very sick she was, he guessed. It made him sad, in that strange, uncaring way that children feel sorrow, for Peter loved his sister very much.
He loved most of all the stories she told.
Stories of pirates on the high seas, swashbuckling and wicked, stories of fairies and mermaids with cold eyes and scaly hands, stories of painted Indians with proud and noble faces, stories of a place where magic was in everything, and everything was magic.
Peter would sit for hours to hear the tales Sarah spun, listening in rapture as her fever bright eyes lit up and her pale hands gestured animatedly while she narrated.
"I'll find it for you, Sarah!" he would exclaim, clasping her hands in his, "I swear I will! We'll see the pirates and the mermaids, and have real adventures together."
Sarah would nod her sweet head eagerly and smile, a smile that was bright and full of sunshine, and they would fall asleep together; hand in hand.
Their parents would turn their sad eyes down and shake their tired heads, and in private, Mother would weep and weep.
Sarah was nearly ten years old when her illness became steadily worse; Peter almost eleven. He knew nothing of how bad his sister had gotten, only that she could hardly get out of bed any longer, and that when he was allowed in to see her, she was so very thin he was half afraid she would wither away and disappear.
One dark, horrible night, his mother and father had informed him of the truth.
Sarah was dying.
Nothing could be done.
"Do you remember, Sarah?" he'd whispered hours later as he sat next to her bed, "The place in your stories? What was it called?"
"Never Neverland." Sarah whispered back, her voice as thin and weak as the rest of her.
"I'm going to take you there, Sarah." His eyes were so determined that she believed him.
The very next day, he'd met Tinkerbell in Kensington gardens.
Her bell-like speech had been perfectly clear to him at once, and eagerly, he'd asked her the way to Never Neverland.
That night, he'd crept into Sarah's room on feet that did not touch the ground, a strange golden glow about him that had not been there before.
"Why, Peter, you're flying!" Sarah had exclaimed, sitting up in bed in a sudden rush of energy brought on by sheer joy.
"I've found Neverland, Sarah."
Her face lit up.
"Are you to take me there?"
He'd clasped her hands in his and nodded. Her face had fallen, then.
"Oh, but Peter, I don't think I can walk."
"You don't need to." He'd whispered in her ear, and Tink had flown in through the window and settled on Sarah's palm.
"Think happy thoughts, the happiest thoughts you've ever thought in your life." Peter had crowed happily, doing somersaults in the air. As a cloud of twinkling fairy dust surrounded her, Sarah had lifted up in the air with a shriek of delight, her poor, thin legs dangling uselessly; but then, she had no need of them any longer, after all.
"Take my hand!" Peter called, and Sarah did.
They faced the open window together.
"Second star to the right, and straight on till morning." Peter had said, very softly.
"Take me to Neverland, Peter?" Sarah asked, trembling in anticipation.
His answer was a smile, a secret, wonderful smile.
Three days later, Mother and Father had woken from their vigil by the window to two dirty, exhausted, happy children sleeping soundly in their separate beds.
One week later, Sarah had slipped away silently in Death's arms, carried as gently as a baby, and Peter had flown along beside her the entire way, his tears golden and never-ending. But though he begged and pleaded, Sarah could not stay. She kissed his cheek and thanked him for taking her to Neverland, for now she was not so very afraid to die.
Then she was gone.
When Peter returned to his home, Tink was waiting for him.
"I won't grow up, Tink." He had said with a smile, though he was crying still. "They shan't make me, no matter how hard they try. I will live in Neverland with Sarah always."
And off he'd flown, with Tink to guide him, to the second star to the right and straight on till morning, and so, to Never Neverland.
Sometimes, on starry nights when he felt very alone, he would think of home, and Mother and Father, but after a time they faded in his mind, and vanished all together. But he remembered Sarah every day, the one thing his perpetually boyish mind would never forget, for he was reminded by the mermaids and the pirates and the Indians and the sheer magic of everything around him. Sometimes it seemed to him that she walked right alongside him, and in all of his adventures she was with him. She would never really leave.
The Lost Boys came to him in ones and twos, and he happily accepted them into his carefree, dangerous life. He was no longer so very lonely; he had the Boys, and Tink, and even old Captain Hook, the Codfish.
But he never forgot Sarah, and he never forgot the stories that she told. After all, he was living them.
"I come to hear the stories." The strange boy said, peering at Wendy through a tangle of wild gold hair. "I like to listen to them."
And Wendy thought she'd never quite seen someone look so sad, and so happy at the same time.
Dear lord help me I can't type through my tears. Thank you all for reading, please let me know what you thought.