Don't Suffer So, Peter Pan, a peter pan fanfic

Copyright: Peter Pan belongs to J.M. Barrie, and I thank him profusely for the use of his characters.

Author's Note: I admit it… this little one shot fic has little story line. It's mostly just cuteness for my own amusement. I've never written anything like this before, so hopefully it works out. Just my little take on the first night that Wendy comforts Peter during his nightmares. Takes place during the book… somewhere. And, as always, I'd be honored if you'd tell me what you think. And, now, on with the show…

Don't Suffer So, Peter Pan

By: Catherine Graham

"Peter!"

He whipped around in the air for just a moment to see the girl wildly calling his name from the deck of the Jolly Roger.

"What?" Peter called back down, sounding irritated at having been so thoughtlessly disturbed during the celebration of his victory. There was Wendy on the deck, just there, and next to her, in formation, stood the lost boys; he numbered them to himself just to make perfectly sure they were all there. It did seem that he somehow managed to forget one or two of them so very often. Slightly, Tootles, Curly, Nibs, and the Twins, not mention toJohn and Michael; yes, Peter was quite sure that that was all of them.

Why, then, was Wendy so frantically calling his name? All his men were accounted for; she was safe… Captain Hook had most definitely lost this time. He supposed to himself that she was simply frightened and needed comforting, being as she was new to these encounters with the pirate. Not to mention that, in his mind, Peter Pan assumed all girls wanted such comforting when in his charismatic presence.

Now, for any of this to make any sense at all, you must first understand that all of this took place within a second: Wendy's call, followed by the flurry of Peter's thoughts. (He is quite a quick thinker, as we all already know.) Although time is often irrelevant in Neverland, it is scarcely irrelevant in a time such as now.

Unknown to Peter, he had simply stared in Wendy's direction for far too long than was safe in her opinion (one second was far too long than was safe in this instance), and again Wendy frantically called to him. "No, Peter, behind you!"

Peter brought his sword up just in time to block a savage downward thrust from Captain Hook. Why couldn't he just ever loose? Unbidden, a devilish grin took hold of Peter's features. And, although most men and all other boys in this situation would have been horrified, Peter was convinced that he had never felt more alive.

"Oh, the cleverness of you!" he shouted down to Wendy, knowing that just the comment should bring any female (girl or lady, as it may be) to her knees.

Captain Hook sneered at the complete audaciousness of the comment. "Why, you ungrateful brat! How dare you be so cocky? You are nothing more than a boy!"

"Aye, that is exactly what I am, Hook. I am Peter Pan, always young, always a boy. Thank the fairies that I will never grow to be a man such as yourself!" the boy cried, doing a flip in the air and ending up quite on the other side of Hook's blade.

If this had not been Peter Pan, and if James Hook had not fought him countless times before this, perhaps the good Captain would have been stunned into submission by the blatant disregard of his seniority, and perhaps here Peter would have driven his sword straight through the Captain's belly. And, perhaps then, our story would end here.

Alas, it was Peter Pan, and alas, James Hook had fought him so many times before that the number was lost to both of them. So, it is that this does not end our story.

Rather, Captain Hook struck only more savagely. Just for the moment, Hook smiled just as devilishly as Pan. Angrily, but without losing any of the skill of his previous thrusts, he began his assault toward the youth.

Peter was forced to attempt to parry the strikes to the side while flying backward without missing a beat. (Although the latter action seemed very easy to Peter, even in such a time.) He had always known what would happen if ever he did miss a beat while in heated battle with Hook, and never before had he let it bother him or upset the fun he was having. But, he heard the sound of Wendy gasping on the deck with each thrust that brought Hook closer to his person.

Partly Peter exulted in the worry his he was causing her, but the larger portion of him was immediately livid at Hook for causing the sweet Wendy so much pain. The sweet Wendy? Was that the way that the great Peter Pan had just referred to a… a…. girl? Just then, though, was not the time to entertain such thoughts.

Fiercely, embarrassed at the heat rising in his cheeks at the thought of the sweet Wendy, Peter parried a down thrust meant to open him from neck to groin, and now, he had the upper hand. Captain Hook adapted well to his move to defense and moved backward through the air just as easily as if he had been Peter Pan himself.

"Beautiful, isn't she, Pan?" Captain Hook questioned breathlessly, although the act of flying took so much less work than the act of walking or running while gravity struggled to hold you against the earth.

"Who?" Peter replied, breathless for a reason completely different from the Captain's. After all, flying to Peter Pan the way he had been meant to move. "Wendy?"

"Of course Wendy," Hook sneered. "Surely even you must see it." The cold crash of steel on steel rang out into the coming dusk he tried to keep Peter's sword for severing his head from his neck.

"I suppose," Peter began, pushing with all his might against Hook's sword, the only obstacle keeping him from his victory, "that she is not bad looking, for a girl, although, if truth be told, I have not been acquainted with many in my lifetime."

Suddenly, Peter released the hard grip he had on his sword, letting James Hook stumble forward clumsily in the air. Free from Pan's grasp for a second, his mind reeling, Hook lunged forward, silly enough to think that Peter would simply be run through in that way.

Peter, feeling ever so much cockier than normal, spun to face Wendy. Again, he felt that heat rising in his face, and not for the life of him, could he have said what it was. His green eyes glistening, lit up by the subtle pink glow reaching his cheeks, he said, "Wendy, if you are ever so clever, just imagine for a moment the cleverness of me!" He smile was no longer devilish, but so very boyish that for a moment the same pink color crept into Wendy's cheeks, not that Peter Pan noticed in the slightest.

"Peter!" Her voice was very like when she had called his name earlier, frantic and pleading.

"Wendy," Peter laughed heartily, "do not fear for me. You know how clever I am."

But, what Peter did not know was at that very moment, Captain Hook was preparing a savage thrust of his sword, meant to take Peter's hand, much as he had taken Hook's all those lost years ago.

"No, Peter, behind you!" Again the same words hung in the air. And, somewhat irritated at Wendy's complete lack of faith in his incredible cleverness, Peter turned with a sigh.

Wendy screamed.

Why did Wendy scream? It appeared that Peter had not turned fast enough. The thrust caught his lower arm, leaving a trail of crimson from his elbow to his wrist before he ripped his arm from the sword's path. For a moment, Peter was unsure of what had happened. His arm was on fire as his blood dripped as in slow motion onto the deck below him. His first thought was to raise his sword to fight back, and Peter Pan did try.

He was falling. The deck was rushing up to meet him. Peter anticipated the wet smack it would make when his body landed on it. Desperately, his mind raced through his mess of thoughts, searching for something, anything happy that would leave him floating just a few feet above the deck. When that failed to work, Peter reached his hands out blindly, trying to grasp something that would slow his fall, but there was only open air. He was not afraid, he told himself. But, he was… he was so very afraid. For just a moment, he felt a scream escape his mouth. Peter shook his head… his body had betrayed him, screaming in fear, when he had promised himself he would never be afraid.

Again, you must understand that this all took place in, at most, a few seconds. And, just when he had closed his eyes to avoid seeing the deck smack into him… he landed. It was not quite the landing he had been expecting though.

He plopped softly into the arms of someone quite warm. Instead of jumping up straight away, as he knew he should have done, Peter stayed for a second, listening to the soft, rhythmic beating of her heart. How he knew that the heartbeat belonged to a she, he could not have said, but he was quite sure that it did.

"Peter," the voice whispered, and he, almost unwillingly, he opened his eyes, now quite orientated and knowing exactly whose arms he had landed in. "Peter, are you alright?" the voice now identified as Wendy's asked tenderly.

He shoved himself up out of Wendy's grasp, wondering what he the worst, the weeping cut on his arm or his very bruised ego. "I'm fine," he answered quickly, directing uncalled for anger at his savior.

"Then, let us go now, Peter, while there is still time," Wendy kept her voice quiet, and strangely Peter noted, she seemed not to have noticed his outburst.

For just a moment, the great Peter Pan panicked. He felt a lump rise in his throat and struggled to swallow it. For just one more moment, he felt tears prick of corners of his eyes. What if he could not fly? What if, because of him, they could not rise up and off the ship?

Happy thoughts… all he needed were happy thoughts.

oOoOoOoOoOoOoO

Wendy looked toward Peter waiting for some sign that he had comprehended what she had just said to him. For just a moment, she thought that she could see his eyes glistening as if he were about cry. Wendy never could quite understand why him looking at her that way made her feel as if she were about to cry too. She could think of nothing she wanted to do more than reach out and take his hand… to comfort him. Whether or not he would accept it, she couldn't say. She almost did; she almost reached out to run her fingers down his cheek and tell him to please not be so sad.

If only Wendy hadn't been so sensible, she would have. But, she could feel the eyes of Captain Hook and the lost boys, her brothers included, on her. And, more than that, she could see the trail of blood running down Peter's arm and knew he was in no condition to fight… not that she would tell him that.

"Peter, please," she pleaded softly, "please let us go. Live today, fight tomorrow."

Finally, Peter seemed to hear her, and he whispered softly, "Wendy, I don't know…"

Just then, Wendy wanted to scream or slap him… or do something to make Peter realize how dire this situation really was and how completely childish he was acting. Again, if she had not been so sensible, she would have begun shouting then and there…

"Wendy," Peter started again, and right then Wendy hated him for the fact that whenever he spoke, she had to listen. It was as if she had no choice in the matter. "I don't… I'm not sure…. If I can."

As quickly as she had become angry, Wendy felt her heart leap into her throat. Again, Peter's eyes were glistening, and her heart that was now in her throat was breaking in two. Alternating feelings of panic and worry for Peter momentarily turned her mind to useless mush. Once more her sensibility won out, for if it hadn't, she would have burst into tears of desperation without another thought.

Her sensibility told her that the last thing any of them needed right now was a whimpering girl. She looked at Peter who was about to cry (in front of the lost boys too, something he never did) and decided to rephrase her thoughts. The last thing any of them needed right now was another person becoming… panicked. Yes, panicked… never whimpering.

"Peter," she murmured as quietly as she could, for she had heard that in times of desperation such as this, murmuring was much quieter than whispering, "it is only a short distance, only to the shore. See, there it is, right on the horizon. You, Peter, you, could fly the world over if you really needed to. I promise you," Wendy squeezed his hand reassuringly, "you will not fall."

oOoOoOoOoOoOoO

Peter hated Wendy right then because when she spoke, he had to listen. He chewed on his bottom lip, feeling foolish and helpless. What had he done… telling Wendy that he could not fly? What would she think of him now? He didn't want to know, and therefore, ignored the thought.

You will not fall.

He would not fall…. she had told him that, and Wendy would never lie.

Peter could feel Wendy smiling at him. "I'll help you," she promised.

oOoOoOoOoOoOo

Wendy could barely believe what she had just heard her lips whisper.

I'll help you.

She would help him? Hadn't he been the one to teach her to fly? How could she ever hold him up the way he had held her up? Wendy wasn't sure how she could… but she had to try.

"Come children," she said, smiling sweetly and with the calmest manner she could manage at the lost boys, who had been staring intently, unable to hear the secret conversation between their mother and father. "It is time we go. I think we have had enough fun with the pirates for today, don't you?"

"But, Mother," Tootles cut in, completely oblivious, "Captain Hook is still…"

Wendy did her best to chuckle off the comment when she felt Peter bristle next her. "Now, what would be the fun in winning if we won all the time, children?" For a moment the lost boys looked at her as if she had lost her mind. After all, with Peter, they knew nothing but winning… and, it was still fun.

Wendy ignored their stunned expressions and pressed Peter's palms in between her own. "Happy thoughts," she whispered, praying that by some miracle a happy thought would come to her as well, "happy thoughts." She smiled the brightest smile she could manage and breathed deeply. She could smell the scent of dirt and pine and rain, all the scents of being outdoors when you are young. It was then she realized that she had buried her face in the nook of Peter's neck, and that everything she smelled was the scent of him.

Happy thoughts… happy thoughts.

Music and dancing… and rain and the forest… and love… and… and…

Peter.

Wendy felt her feet slowly lifting off the wooden deck and her face broke into a smile.

Peter.

Whether or not she still needed to hang on to this one incredibly happy thought, Wendy did not care. In her mind, it was a beautiful sound, and she found that she never again wanted to stop saying it. Peter was gripping her shoulders with all his might, and she could hear him whispering something she couldn't quite understand. Probably his happy thoughts. It didn't matter overmuch to her. All that mattered is that they were flying, away from the ship, and the fact that her mind had found the one sound that it savored more than any other.

oOoOoOoOoOoOo

Peter looked to the deck to clarify that he was, in fact, flying. For a fleeting moment, he wondered what the lost boys would think, watching him cling to Wendy the way he did. But, it didn't matter overmuch to him. His arm burned horribly and he felt more tired than he had in a long time, but none of that meant overmuch to him either.

As long as he had the one thought that had allowed him to lift into the air, he would be all right.

Wendy.

He never could have imagined that he had been more than thinking it… he had been saying it.

oOoOoOoOoOoOo

If you are now wondering whether or not they made it safely to the shore, they did. This, however, is only for the fact that Captain Hook thought it would be rather bad form to fight Peter Pan when he could fly and Peter could not. One might argue that Peter often fought with Hook while he could fly and the Captain could not, but the difference here is that Peter Pan did not see that this was in anyway unfair. And, it probably was not unfair. After all, Peter was at home in the air and Hook on the ground. Now, doesn't it seem only fair that each should fight in his chosen element? I know it does to you, but Captain Hook did have a rather strange view of what exactly 'good form' was. Tonight, though, this is lucky for our heroes, as they were not flying quite as quickly as they normally would have been.

Upon reaching the shore, Wendy felt her heart finally make its way back down to her chest, where it rightfully belonged. Now standing firmly on the ground, Peter's grip on her shoulders felt much less desperate and much more comfortable than it had before. "Peter," she whispered into his ear, "we have landed."

Peter stepped back slightly from her embrace and looked around. Indeed they had. Upon making his observation, he shoved himself roughly away from Wendy. She winced, imagining how the misuse of his arm must be aggravating the cut terribly. She could have sworn she had seen him wince, but his eyes were on her quickly, and she noticed, they were burning feverishly with anger and embarrassment.

Slightly decided this was perfect time to begin questioning his parents on what exactly was going on. "Peter," he asked urgently, "Are you alright? The way you were holding to our mother I thought you were going to fall."

You will not fall.

Wendy remembered her words to him. He had not fallen; she had not let him.

Peter took a hasty step backward, nearly tripping over himself, putting as much distance between he and Wendy as he could. Wendy felt her heart, which was not properly back in her chest, break in two one more time.

"Father," Tootles questioned quietly, "can you fly?"

The other lost boys gasped in unison at the accusation Tootles had just made against their father, and Wendy for a moment feared what would happen next. There were few times that she realized just how far Neverland was from perfect, and this was one of those times.

"I can fly," Peter began quietly. "I can fly; I can fly; I can fly!" He was yelling now, and he had that look again, the one that made Wendy want to cry. He looked as if he was about to try it, but Wendy saw that way he held his arm protectively against his body, as if the slightest movement made him uncomfortable. If she could only get him back to the home underground, she told herself, she could clean it and dress it and make him feel better… not that she cleaned such a wound before. Of course, she can cleaned the boys' scrapes and small cuts before, but nothing like this…

"Peter, boys!" Wendy shouted in an attempt to stop this foolishness. By the way Peter looked at her, he could see how angry he was… how he continued to blame her for this embarrassment. Wendy wanted so to be mad because he could not see that she was trying to help, not hurt or embarrass him. But, instead, if it was possible, her heart broke further. Whether for her or for Peter, she could not say. She swallowed hard. "First let me assure you that everyone here can fly." She smiled mischievously. "But, can everyone here his way through this dark and creepy jungle on foot?"

The boys looked nervously from one to the other.

"And, can one of you be the first to get there, if that one was to be able to skip taking his medicine for the night?"

Immediately the boys burst into flight (well, proverbial flight, as the rules of this game disbanded any true flight), pushing and tumbling over one another in order to be the first to reach the home underground. Wendy chuckled to herself, but Peter continued to look angry and hurt, and the sky above was darker than usual this night.

Peter walked more slowly than usual behind the boys but just fast enough to avoid Wendy's catching up with him.

It will be all right now, Wendy told herself as she watched him kick leaves out of his path. We will get to the home and eat and go to bed, and everything will be as it was.

No, it cannot be as it was.

Peter.

oOoOoOoOoOoOo

Peter knew nothing could be as it was, not after what Wendy had seen him do. Now he knew what Wendy say him as. Before, he had been Father and Wendy had been Mother. And, the lost boys had been their children. But, now…

She could see him only as her child. She would be Mother. This word was so much less pleasant in his mind than her simple name.

She would be his mother, and continue to embarrass him and worry for him and think that he could nothing on his own. And, when she saw that he did not grow up and was no longer worth her time, she would shut the window too.

But, he knew, he would rather be alone than be child to a mother. To Wendy, he was a hero or a father no more.

Oh Wendy.

Wendy.

oOoOoOoOoOoOoOo

Nibs reached the home underground first, but as he started for his own little tree, Curly used his head as a catapult to his tree, so Curly actually landed in the underground home first. This started a great uproar as to who would and who wouldn't have to take his medicine tonight. Curly and Nibs chased each other about the small room, waving their daggers dangerously in the air until Peter and Wendy arrived home, shortly apart from one another.

Nibs was the first to plead his story, saying that catapulting was rather the same as flying and it just wasn't very gentlemanly besides. But, Curly countered quite well, pointing out that the rules never explicitly forbid using one's head as a catapult and that the race was the first to enter the home, not the first to find it.

Tonight, Wendy did not much feel like sitting in the small room with two boys threatening to slit each other's throats for hours on end, so, although she hated to risk their health, she allowed the two boys to both skip their medicine for the night. This didn't altogether end the dispute, but it did stop any blood from being spilled that evening, and Wendy was happy for that.

Once the argument had settled sufficiently, Wendy watched Peter sit dejectedly in his chair. He continued to hold his arm protectively and refused to look in Wendy's direction.

"Peter," she offered, walking toward him. "Why don't you let me take a look at your arm? It looks as if it must hurt terribly." She extended her hand in a gesture of friendship, wishing with all her might that he would just accept her help.

Peter scoffed and picked his pipes up to play, although he winced when he brought it up to his lips. "It does not hurt, Wendy," he said in a very serious tone, something so rare that Wendy barely recognized it. "I wish you would just leave me alone!" he said, suddenly very angry, "just stop mothering me; I don't need it! I lived just fine before you came here, and I'll live just fine if you ever leave!" He turned from her and began to play a soft tune on the pipes. The tune, though soft, was angry, as he was. Must everything in this place reflect his feelings? Sometimes it was enough to drive Wendy to lunacy.

The boys were looking at them now, as Wendy felt hot tears of anger and desperation burn her eyes. Happy thoughts… ha! How could Peter ever have brought her happy thoughts? He wanted her only when he needed her, and never would he admit he needed her, wanted her, or had anything to do with her.

Wendy stepped directly of front of him as he played. "Peter Pan, you are incorrigible, and more so, I don't care whether or not you're hurt or sad… or… or if you can't fly! I don't care about you!" She knew the last comment was uncalled for; she knew it was unfair; and, she knew how much it would hurt him. She knew, but at that moment, she didn't care.

The house was silent but for the sound of the water running off a root and dripping onto the floor. At first, Peter didn't say anything. He didn't appear to have heard her, and Wendy would have thought he had gone deaf had he not dropped his pipes to the floor.

When Wendy was quite sure that the entire world had stopped, the silence shattered with a whisper. "I thought as much," Peter whispered harshly, "you would close the window, too, Wendy. I thought as much." Peter jumped from the chair and shoved his way to the corner of the room, where he dropped himself unceremoniously onto the bed and pretended to be asleep. In all truth, he was doing a rather bad job of it.

For a long time Wendy didn't speak.

Finally, Curly interjected, "Wendy," he said thoughtfully, his voice breaking, "We are very sorry for fighting tonight; we were very bad children, and if you must, you may kill us now." He stepped forward and puffed his chest out just a little, already closing his eyes and flinching. Seven pairs of eyes watched the exchange.

"Curly, I will not kill you now or ever. And," she reached down and ruffled his hair, "none of this is your fault. Well, maybe a tiny little bit of it is, but only a little."

Curly opened his eyes and sighed in relief. "But, please, Wendy, don't blame Peter. None of this is his fault."

"Oh, Curly, you don't understand," Wendy responded with a small smile, checking to make sure Peter was asleep by the rhythmic tones of his breath, "this is all Peter's fault."

Curly backed away, horrified at what Wendy had said. Again the other lost boys, John and Michael included this time, gasped in unison. "No, Wendy, you don't understand… nothing bad can ever be his fault, nothing. He is Peter Pan, and he brings nothing bad."

Wendy looked around at all the accusing stares. "No," she assured herself, "none of you will ever understand." Now it was her turn to sigh as she moved to sit by the fire and do a little knitting to calm her so maybe, just maybe, she would sleep. "Now, on to bed," she shooed the boys along, and eventually they did go to bed, although they hated to sleep knowing that Mother and Father were still fighting.

oOoOoOoOoOoOoOo

As she sat knitting, Wendy had been sure that she would not sleep that night, but it happened that she did, because late in the night (at which time exactly no one could say because the crocodile was no where to be seen) Slightly woke her by shaking gently on her arm. Wendy jumped and grasped at her chest, feeling as if she were about to have a heart attack. She had been sleeping so deeply that even the simple touch sent her into a panic.

"Oh dear, Slightly… whatever do you want at this hour?" Wendy sighed once she had gained control of her panic. "Are you sick?" she questioned, feeling his forehead to make sure he had no fever. She looked over his body quickly, just to make sure that no one had gotten happy-go-lucky with his dagger in his sleep. When she was quite satisfied that he was healthy and all in one piece, Wendy returned her gaze to his eyes.

"It's Peter," Slightly whispered in return. Wendy looked quickly to the bed where he was sleeping. He was thrashing about and, now that she was properly awake, she could hear him whimpering.

"What is it?" Wendy replied, worry etching her voice. She found she no longer had any room for anger towards Peter in heart, only worry.

Slightly interrupted her worried thoughts. "It's all right, Wendy," he assured her, "Peter does this often. We know he's dreaming; we just don't know what of. You see, I can't sleep with him making noise like that. I was wondering if you could calm him, so that I could sleep again. I distinctly remember my mother making my nightmares go away."

Wendy couldn't help but smile. "Of course, that is what mothers do, isn't it?" Still, she wasn't so sure that this was only a nightmare…

She slowly lowered herself onto the bed where Peter was sleeping so fitfully. Tears streaked down his face and he grasped the furs with such intensity that his knuckles were white. It was then Wendy realized that to the other boys she might be Mother, but she could never be that to Peter… because of who she was, because of who Peter was, because of who they were together. She did the only thing she could think of… she traced her finger up and down his cheek, making patterns and whispering reassuring words into his ear. He felt warm, she noticed, and she wondered if he was feverish. Then, she remembered that Peter Pan never became ill. Of course, he had told her that, and up until today, he probably hadn't believed he could be injured either.

She couldn't be quite sure, though. What she did know was that she couldn't stand to watch him suffer the way he was. He whimpered out loud every now and again, and Wendy felt a single tear fall down her own cheek as she watched him. What are you dreaming? She wanted to scream it until he answered. But, instead, she lowered her head down until it was nearly touching his and counted the breaths he took in. The next time he whimpered, she could take it no longer, and she laid her cheek against his own, so that their tears mingled. His skin was warm, without a doubt, and he cried harder, sobs wracking his entire body as he reached out and grasped her hand, holding it with all his might, begging her to stay, not allowing her to leave.

Wendy felt his skin against her own, and she knew he was living just as she was. Peter Pan could suffer – she could feel it in his wracking sobs, she could in the way his heart beat just like any other living person. "Don't suffer so, Peter Pan," she begged, her voice breaking with tears as she buried her face against him.

oOoOoOoOoOoOo

The window was closed. It was his mother's, and Wendy's, and the window that he himself had shut on the night he chose Kensington Gardens. The window was closed and barred, and he was the one who had thrown away the key. He cried and begged to be let in, but the window was closed, and he was on the outside, alone with only Captain Hook. Never would he fly… never… maybe this, he thought, was why the place was called Neverland. Never is such an awfully long time.

oOoOoOoOoOoOo

An hour had passed, and Peter had long quieted, but Wendy remained there, holding him and rocking him and crying herself. She had long ago resigned to the fact that she had caused this… she and her stupid comments made in the heat of argument.

"Slightly," she beckoned, when she felt she could speak without her voice breaking, "please fetch me some clean water." She looked at the long, red gash on Peter's arm. Wendy couldn't have said whether it was still bleeding or this blood had dried long ago.

When Slightly returned, Wendy took to cleaning the wound that Peter had so refused to let her look after when he was awake. Carefully she wiped away the blood, and she knew straight away that her mother would have wanted it stitched, but she supposed she wasn't good enough at stitching yet to actually try to sew together another human's skin. And, Peter was so very human…

She bound the wound; all the while praying Peter would not waken and yell at her again for mothering him. Luckily, Peter slept soundly, and eventually Slightly went back to bed. Wendy sat there for long hours though, watching him… watching his chest rise and fall and just realizing how very human, how very… mortal he was.

She'd never… she'd never… she'd never cared for… she'd never loved him so much.

Part was memory and part was now… she could smell of the scent of him, and she placed his palms between her hands.

Peter.

At the feeling of her hands on his, Peter smiled in his sleep, and for a moment, he wakened just a little. His innocent green eyes gazed groggily into hers, and he raised his now bandaged arm so that he could remove a piece of stray hair from her eyes. "You make me fly. Don't leave here, Wendy," he said softly, and she wondered if he even knew for sure what he was saying. "Don't leave… sit here, like this."

Wendy smiled and nodded, in return moving one of the many stray pieces of hair from his eyes. It was then she knew. She knew… and she suspected what he may have been dreaming of earlier.

She glanced over at the wall where a window would have been had she been in a nursery. When she was sure that Peter was again asleep, again she laid her head next to his and whispered, "Come with me."

Then she thought and spoke again. "Come with me. Don't suffer so, Peter Pan."

That night the one person to know the secret of Peter's existence fell asleep with Peter's name on her lips. She never could have imagined she was saying it out loud.

Peter.

The End.