I supposed teleportation was never supposed to be easy. I've been to all sorts of places in the universe, and very few people believed it was plausible, let alone actually possible. Some places, though, nobody would even bat an eye if you suddenly vanished into thin air. Surely, teleportation opened up a wide variety of odd jobs to take advantage of. It was this type of rather risky work that got me into this horrid mess.

Most of my family had realized that this line of employment wasn't ideal, but I was always the black sheep. We were a humble people of modest means, usually just making enough to scrape by. I always felt that we could do better, though, and I set off as soon as I felt ready.

What did that get me? Several weeks worth of poverty and begging.

I could've just gone home, really, but that was a bruise to my pride that I wasn't willing to take. So I just carried on, asking for work from anyone who looked like they could spare some food. Sometimes I found a good Samaritan, but I mostly found people who attached a negative stigma to beggars. Not all of us were simply worthless fools. Just me, really. I was as foolish as they come.

So when I found a couple sketchy jobs, I snatched them up, and completed them as soon as possible. News travels that a member of the Sparks family was looking for work, and suddenly employment wasn't a hard thing to find at all. I became a mercenary - doing whatever it took to fill my pockets and put bread on the figurative table. At this point, my pockets were more than full.

So why did I take this job? Why did I think this was a good idea?

A crotchety, paranoid-looking old man hobbled up to me, eyes flicking worriedly from left to right. Left to right. Left to right. Left to-

I snapped back to reality, trying to ignore his metronome pupils. A small grin fit itself comfortably onto my lips, and I turned in my seat to face him. "You look tense, hun. Looking for someone?" I croaked out, my throat tight from the fumes of the venue I was in.

The old man shook his head slowly. Left to right. Left to right. Left to-

"You're the magician, eh? The one who can… Uh… Disappear?" He questioned slowly, tasting the foreign flavors of each word. It was no shock that he didn't know about magic. In this realm, logic reigned supreme.

I laughed mirthlessly, staring into my glass of water. "Yeah, you could say that." It could definitely be said. Whether or not it's true is another thing. Disappearing. I wish.

The geezer licked his lips anxiously, sitting down in the seat across from me. "I need your help… I need you to… Protect my son…" He averted his gaze down to the table, his mannerisms laced with some sort of shame.

I didn't respond for a moment, I just nodded solemnly. "A father who can't protect his own son? Wants a 19-year-old to do it for him? Well, ain't that a crying shame?"

He flinched deeply, lowering his head even further. I could hear him choke back tears, barely even able to form words. Finally, he raised his eyes to look at me. "I can't protect him. Not from this. Not anymore. I've already lost three of them."

It probably should've broken my heart. A man who had lost three children. A man who could possibly lose another. It didn't, though. I wasn't phased. "Are you part of a gang? Can't get away from 'the life'?" I snorted, sipping on my water.

He shook his head again, vehemently. Left right left right left right left-

"No, no, no! Not at all. I-I'm clean…" The old man waved down the waitress, asking for a small glass of whiskey, "You believe in fairy tales? Ya' know… Mermaids, fairies?"

At this, I did laugh. "You could say that." You could definitely say that. You could say it a thousand times, in different accents, different languages. Back home, my nextdoor neighbor was a puppet master who made his son, quite literally. Here, that was a just a children's book.

"Well… My kids, my boys, were taken… By a shadow," He paused, as if waiting for his news to elicit a violent reaction from me.

"That's it? A sexist, kidnapping shadow?" I scoffed, placing my hand over his glass of whiskey before he could take his first sip. Humoring him, I queried, "Where did this shadow take them? Any ideas?"

The man paused again, for an extended period, as if trying to work up the nerve to talk about it. Finally, he spoke, "Well… I can only guess… You've heard of, uh, that Pan fellow, right?"

Pan. Pan. Pan. Pots and pans? Sauce pans, frying pans? Pan. Pan. Pan. Pan flute? Pan. "Yes, of course." Peter Pan. Much loved, seldom seen. The people in the Enchanted Forest didn't even believe in him. A tale of fancy, one that rebellious kids believed in, one that they endlessly sought after. That is, until they grow up.

"I assume the shadow has taken them to his realm. Neverland, is it?" He kept asking questions. Questions that he definitely knew the answer to. The old man was stalling.

"Yes, yes, yes, of course. Neverland."

"I have but one more child, and I can't afford to lose him," He sighed deeply, eyeing his covered drink before running his hands up and down his face. Up and down. Up and down. Up and down. Stop. "Please, Miss. I really need your help."

I sat back in my chair, letting him have his drink at last. He eagerly took it, drinking from its contents slowly. "What makes you so sure I can save him?"

The old man set down his drink once more, staring up at me tearfully, hopefully. "I'm not sure, honestly, but I hope… You're the only one with any magic around here. I guess… I wanted to fight fire with fire."

Fighting fire with fire… Bound to get burned. "Telling that to a pyrophobic really isn't your best bet, sir. I'm a specialist. I specialize in disappearing, as you so ignorantly put it. Any other magic I have is crude, if anything at all."

"But if he gets taken, you can save him! If you can get to Neverland, you can bring my boy back to me!" The man was in tears now, practically begging me to accept the job.

All I could do was watch him, the tears streaming down his cheeks. Down. Down. Down. Down. Drip. What a sorry sight it is to see a grown man cry.

"Alright then," I conceded, getting a long-withheld, exuberant sigh of relief in return, "I'll protect your son."

That was how I ended up here, sitting on the hallway floor with a boy no older than 9. He was a shrimpy, lanky little thing, probably not first pick for dodgeball. The boy sat crosslegged, working tirelessly on building his intricate lego castle, complete with trap doors, a dungeon, and a throne.

I watched him absently, staring at his work, but not fully seeing it. He built. And build. And built. Taller and taller. Bigger and bigger. Better and better. He noticed my staring.

"Why are you here, anyways? Dad has left me alone here before," The boy mumbled, obviously a little hurt, as if his father had lost trust in him or something.

I shook my head a little, hardly a centimeter. Just a twitch. Leftright.

"I don't know, kid-"

"It's Alexander."

"Alright, Alex," I amended my previous address, getting a peeved look that meant something along the lines of 'it's-Alexander-dammit', "I don't know why he left me with you. He just worries about you. He's doing the best he can."

Alexander's face darkened considerably, and he stared down at his lego castle briefly before he lashed out, knocking his kingdom down. Pieces strewn across the well-polished floorboards, slowly sliding to a stop wherever they felt it best to lie.

"I don't need him to do his best. I don't need anyone to take care of me. I hate you. I hate him. Adults are dumb!" He shouted, his temper tantrum throwing me off guard. A sense of dread grew in my stomach as I watched him storm off into his bedroom, slamming the door shut. A little click later, and I could tell he'd locked himself into the room.

Then the house was silent, save for the soft whirring of the heating vents, and a slight amount of tinkering as I gathered up the destroyed pieces of his castle and put them away. I walked carefully up to his door, knocking on it softly. "Alexander? You alright, buddy?"

I waited. I waited. I knocked again. "Alexander… I know you're upset, and I'm sorry, but locking yourself away isn't going to help anything."

I waited. I waited. I waited. I waited and waited and waited waited waited waited. Nothing.

A panic rose up in my chest, and I began to knock more urgently on his door, hoping beyond hope that he was just being a stubborn brat. Nothing. Still nothing.

I stepped back from the door, reared up on my left foot, and kicked the door in. It flew open, hitting the wall with a cringe-inducing smack. I stormed into the room, looking frantically around his bedroom. Nothing. Nothing. Still nothing. I checked under his bed. I checked his closet. I checked every nook and cranny that a small boy could possibly fit himself into. Nothing. Absolutely nothing. I can't believe it. He was gone. He disappeared. Alexander was probably better at disappearing than I was.

I let out a short cry of frustration, sitting down at the end of his bed, digging the sweaty heels of my palms into my eye sockets, as if it would bring him back. What did this kid even matter to me? I don't even like kids. He doesn't matter. He never mattered. And that's why he's gone right now.

A soft breeze caressed the back of my neck, making the little, sensitive hairs stand straight up. I removed my hands from my face, staring at the wall, but not really seeing it. I stared past it, beyond the limits of the house. I stared straight out the open window, curtains billowing in the wind. I stared straight out of the portal to which Alexander had lost himself to.

So that's it, then. Old man was right. The shadow was coming for Alexander. I let a non-sentient being carry away the child in my care.

So that's it, then. I was going to Neverland. Not to save the boy, but to prove that I can save the boy.

"If hearts were all made like they were balls of yarn,

Well they've all got the strings that get tugged on your heart.

Some are different lengths,

Some would be stronger than others,

And some would be the colors of your mothers and fathers."

Brand New ("Out of Range")

AN: Thoughts, then? We'll get to Peter in the next chapter, don't worry. This is more of a prologue. I'm still working out of my rut for my other OUAT fanfic, and this was the product of my efforts. Also, our lovely narrator has a name. I didn't feel the need to put it in here, though. Just so we have something to call her, it's Adeline. Thoughts on her? I actually thought her through a lot more than I did Mel (other story). Anyways. Leave a review, if you will. Much appreciated. Tootles.