Chapter 1:

"He was a lovely boy, clad in skeleton leaves and the juices that ooze out of trees but the most entrancing thing about him was that he had all his first teeth. When he saw she was a grown-up, he gnashed the little pearls at her." -J.M. Barrie

Peter had given Wendy his biggest goodbye. It was his largest by the measure of how hard it was to say it, and still as he flew towards his Neverland home, he felt it tugging him back to that bright little window in London. Never again would windows be the same to him, and he felt he could now tell all windows apart from Wendy's same as you could tell a person from far away simply by their gait.

Even in his deep underground home, Peter felt the goodbye still tugging at his heart. Distance seemed to faze it very little. In the silence of the empty hollow tree, Peter listened to his aching heart-beat. He thought he should play his pipes, to break the ticking and tocking, but it reminded him furiously of time. Not because he was at all familiar with referring to a clock for time, but because it reminded him of the crocodile, who had so recently swallowed Captain Hook once and for all. It was frustrating for him, to have killed Captain Hook, for in a way he missed his playful quarreling with him. Of course, he could bring him back, if only he wished it. It was a land of make-believe after all. Yes, he thought, I would like to bring back James, when I am no longer cross with him for trying to kill me. He knew he would not be cross for long, for he was aware of his outstanding talent for forgetfulness. He had forgotten, after all, what it was that had made them enemies in the first place and it was not three days that passed that the Jolly Roger fired old Long Tom in celebration of Hook's return.

The one thing he must not forget, though, was to visit Wendy for her to come back for her yearly spring cleaning. Wendy was a thought he could not, and would not forget. He was so pressed to not forgetting, that he forced himself to drink his medicine every night to remind him of her. Of course, he forgot to refill it with water, so now the medicine was wholly pretend. He would wrinkle his nose at it, and stick out his tongue in disgust before 'swallowing' whole the saccharine stuff. And although he really couldn't taste anything, it was still a chore to remember doing something all the time, every time. He could not, like before, trick one of the Lost Boys to take it for him since the Lost Boys had never come back. He had wished them to, but they must have not been from Neverland in the first place, for he could not summon them. Loyal companions no more! Traitors and mutineers! They had left with Wendy, and his heart still smarted from the wound. Let them not come back! He had thought, feeling the most treacherous feeling he knew of yet. Whether he knew it or not, and we daresay he did, Peter's Neverland always adjusted itself to his will. Thus, in being so cross at the Lost Boys, four new pirates boarded the Jolly Roger, known as Noodler, Slightly, and a pair of conjoined twins (for he had always been confused on the existence of twins and had forgotten how to portray two different people as one). But Peter could not bring himself to make Wendy board the ship, even though almost half of him wished it. His other, larger half stayed deafeningly silent on the subject.

The Island was a constant state of autumn, now. With warm-ish days, and cold frosted nights. His leaves no longer kept him warm and he began to wear some old stockings and shirts Wendy had mended for the Lost Boys. He so loved wearing the things she had mended, for it reminded him of her. Sometimes he would wear two pairs of stockings at once just to feel the clumsy stitching poking at his feet while he walked. He had even poked a few holes in a pair and set it by the chair to see if Wendy would come by and mend it for him, if he wished hard enough. No such thing happened, and it saddened him. His prideful complexion was melting into that of a sorrowful lump. He had adventures, still, but most of them benign. Alone with his thoughts, in his world of wonderland, he became fascinated with the turning of leaves, and began to question things that went away and never came back. The things that he wondered about ranged from butterflies to seashells, but all the while, in the middle, he thought about Wendy. All this thought, was of course due to his loneliness. He had frightened himself, one night, thinking about how he had ever even met the lost boys. It seemed to him they had always been there, now he thought there must have been a time when he had not known them, and he was alone.

I wish to be a father, so that I could fly to Wendy and tell her to be the Mother. He thought. Only that, would be reason enough to pull her away from her world, and come play with him in Neverland.

To that thought, he resolved to find out how to make children of his own. The Pirates, not yet holding any quarrel with him nor the Natives, did not mind when Peter came stalking by, one day. He greedily headed straight for the Jolly Roger's kitchen and began to partake, without asking, in the delicious meal prepared by old Smee. It seemed it would not be long, then, that they should be enemies once more.

"Manners, Peter!" He could almost hear Wendy scolding. In his sudden embarrassment, he replaced the fruit he had bitten in the bowl and cleverly turned in a way that the missing chunk in the fruit was hidden. Smee had witnessed, of course, but was soft natured, and not keen to fighting when not necessary. He simply wiped his hands on his little smock and questioned Peter's presence.

"I want very much to become a father." Peter spoke.

Smee's eyes widened with surprise.

"Why, Peter, you must be grown to have children!" He said, as if it was quite obvious. Instantly offended by the idea, Peter retorted,

"But it is just pretend! I was father to the lost boys for a whole year once!" Of course, he didn't really know how long because he had forgotten, but he truly believed he was giving it a good guess. Smee furrowed his brow, gathering all the largest and most serious thoughts to lecture Peter Pan with.

"Children are a serious matter, Peter! You cannot go around making them as you please!" Smee said, straightening a bit, as he felt so much more knowledgeable on the subject. "It's a great responsibility!"

Peter scoffed. The word 'responsibility' meant nothing to him, for if something did not go right for him, he simply pretended it would, and it did. Except for Wendy of course. She always did as she pleased no matter how it infuriated him.

"Tell me, Smee!" He snapped, and then faintly remembering his manners he added, "… please." Completely warmed to the gills by the boy's small attempt at kindness, Smee could not restrain himself. After all, he so liked telling others about things they did not know, it made him feel so important.

"Ay, boy, alrigh'." He said in his Scottish tone. "Babies, as you should know, come from cabbages."

"Cabbages?!" Peter exclaimed. He had never heard of cabbages. "I've never seen a baby in a cabbage!"

"Well they lie in middle, you see, tucked in nice and warm…" Smee said. They both tried to seem like they knew more than the other, but let us make it clear that Smee knows as much of babies, than Peter knows of cabbages.

"Could you… maybe make me some cabbage, then?" Peter asked. Smee gleamed, for he was being asked on a subject in which he was actually proficient.

"Why it would be my pleasure! I…" He paused, suddenly cautioned. "But it's only for grown-ups, you see." He warned darkly. What mystery! What suspense! Sensing adventure Peter could wholly not resist. He would not admit that he had never actually eaten a cabbage but to taste a forbidden fruit… er... vegetable… was too great a tease.

"I shall pretend to be so, then!" He exclaimed gleefully. "At least, only for supper time."

"What? Pretend to be a cabbage?!" Cried smee.

"No! A grown-up, you cod!" Peter chided rudely. Smee should have drawn his sword at that, but knew he would be far more impressive cooking a cabbage, than bearing a sword. It is a curious thing, cooking, as secret ingredients are added all the time. Love being one of the most famous and delicious. But malice, anger, and pain? Well, whatever their affect on food, Smee accidentally slipped some inside of the cabbage stew which Peter now happily carried away with him.

That evening, Peter set the table as if he were expecting guests. Positioning chairs so that if a Lost Boy were to tumble from any which hole in the ceiling, he might land rump first into a seat. But what if they came head first? Thought Peter. A small bit of knowledge in him told him that children usually came head first, and were considered naughty for coming in the other way. Finishing his preparations for his dinner, Peter began to think about growing up just for the evening, and tied a stocking around his neck like a tie. Tinkerbell, who had seen the whole affair, was flush with the idea of having a proper dinner with Peter. She made herself a guest, sitting at his right-hand side where his pretend wife should have been sitting.

"That's all fine, Tink! You may be my wife for the evening, it will make the whole dinner ever more grown up!" Peter exclaimed. Completely taken with her role as his wife she shone even more brightly.

Peter unveiled the dish and at once held his nose. It was putrid. Tink pretended to not notice, as she liked so much to play the wife.

"Making children smells awful!" He moaned, but the smell could not deter him. He scooped some slimy translucent leaves on their plates and shuffled it about hesitantly with a stick he used for a fork.

"You don't suppose," He said unsure. "We could just pretend to eat it?" At that she shrugged.

"I don't know how people make babies, but us fairies do it very differently." She squeaked. Piqued by curiosity he almost asked her to tell the story to him, but grown-ups did not listen to stories, they told them, and Peter had to wholly pretend to be grown up.

I will tell you, dear reader, because I know that you are dying to know. But I cannot tell you yet, because we are at dinner and it would be uncouth.

And so, in one swift movement, he shoved the cabbage in his mouth. He swallowed as quick as he could, not even daring to let himself taste the stuff, but it couldn't be helped. It was salty, and bitter… the texture was awful. Resolved to finish his plate, as he knew grown-ups always finished their plates, he sat chewing a tasteless chunk much longer than he should, delaying the next bite. His baby teeth were sore with the chewing, but he did not stop. It was his duty, no, his responsibility, as a father. As he swallowed his last bite, he looked hopefully up to the opening of his underground house, but nobody came. He sat staring for a while longer until he was resolved it had not worked. A wave of loneliness overtook him, and he suddenly ripped off the makeshift cravat he had made from stockings and kicked over a stool, which had not been filled with a Lost Boy. He retreated to bed and began to cry. When all of a sudden, he felt his tooth pop out of his mouth. It shot out of him and onto the floor with a tiny clink. With shock and fear he scattered to pick it from the ground. He felt in his mouth where the tooth had come out and found instead a large, clumsy tooth in its place. He moaned, holding dearly to his fallen baby tooth.

"That's what comes!" He said, much like Mr. Darling, "From eating your vegetables, and having a wife!" He said scornfully. Tink shrank in her chair, her light dimming to a hush.