Peter glared at the adults as he sat tied to a tree. Regina and Rumplestiltskin wore content smug smiles on their faces, while Snow and Charming looked on disapprovingly. The Savior… the Savior just looked torn. Torn between siding with her parents or siding with Regina. Peter barely managed to conceal the scowl that threatened to decorate his visage. Baelfire (Neal now, isn't is?), he supposed, was doing some catching up with Henry… that thought also brought discomfort to his features. Hook was probably drunk, barely standing straight. Suddenly Pan's ears grasped back into the conversation.
"Don't lie and say you aren't curious about Pan," Regina tempted the Charmings, "what little boy," she looked down at him with contempt when she said that "is so warped and twisted? What went on in your life, Pan?" she mused sardonically, looking down at him.
Peter felt his eyes widen. No. No, no, no, no, NO! He tried covering his nervousness with a glare, but not even hundreds of years worth of practicing poker faces prepared him for the shock that that statement did to him. Peter swore to himself, the day he landed on Neverland for the first time and saw all the opportunities, that the past was in the past and he'd be better off leaving it there. And now these people thought they could just bury it up again? No. Not without some sort of a fight.
Rumple came out from behind Regina, holding a light blue, almost transparent vial in his hands. If he was going down, Peter decided, might as well not make it easy for them.
"Had no idea you cared so much, Queenie," he drawled, a careless smirk planted firmly on his face. His smirk widened once her saw the anger grow on her face. "I don't," snapped back, "I just want to see you so broken no amount of belief," she taunted "could ever fix you." She turned back to her group; the Charmings still uncomfortable and Emma still undecided, though by the looks, she was leaning more towards Regina's case.
"Rumple, the vial," she commanded, her hand stretched out. The small vial, seemingly innocent in both size and color was now in her hand and slowly, almost mockingly, was headed towards his lips. His lips that were now pressed together so hard a thin white line was all that could be seen. He shook his head furiously trying to knock down any attempts Regina might make to force that liquid down his throat. A growl from his left alerted him that Rumple's patience was wearing thin. "Open up, boy," he growled and sent a blast of magic towards him, knocking the air right out of his body. When the instinctive need for air surfaced and he opened his mouth desperately for oxygen, Peter felt the potion go down his throat. And soon, he was being yanked into his mind; his memories projected for the others to see.
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"Stupid boy!" a slurred masculine voice resounded through the run down house. "When I get my hands on ya' I'll throttle ya! Feel yer neck aroun' my hands and throttle ya!"
Peter heard the heavy footsteps as they made their way across the house, looking for him. "Come on out, Peter," his father jeered, "you know how much I hate games," he said menacingly, a threat lacing every word. Peter silently whimpered from inside the closet, watching through the cracks as the footsteps passed his hiding spot. Silent tears trickled down his youthful face as he saw the form of his father, turn around and make its way towards his closet. Peter, in a futile attempt to protect himself, curled farther into the corner and brought his knees up to his chest. Just then the closet door opened with a snap.
"You know how much I hate these games you play, Peter," a dark drunken smile fitted his father's face as he stared down at his only son with hate. "They're so bothersome." And with that his grubby fist flew and he punched Peter in the face...then the stomach and shoulders repeatedly, before proceeding into kicking an already down, whimpering Peter into the corner of the room and leaving him there, matted in only his blood and tears.
Peter was 6 when he discovered the best way to cope was to pretend everything was a game.
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Peter wandered the streets in search for food. Ever since his father hung himself he'd been worse off than ever before (which he didn't think was possible until now) not that he'd want his father back to begin with. His stomach growled marking the third day he's gone without food. As he walked passed a bakery the scent of the fresh bread awoke the hunger to a new fervor. He sighed as it became unbearable, but continued to look longingly at the store when suddenly a man, obviously well off by the coat and watch he wore, spotted Peter in his grime covered formed and sneered at him in obvious disgust. The man slowly, almost tenderly took a muffin and began eating it slowly while staring right at Peter.
It took the joint combination of Peter's pride and dignity not to start drooling right then and there. Instead, he forced himself to look away and continue walking, ignoring the burn in his stomach as the acids started burning him. Later that day, he decided to follow the man home. While the man awaited his carriage, Peter quickly swiped his money pouch as inconspicuously as possible and made off with his loot. A slow smile formed on his lips. A little part of him felt guilty for the blatant thievery but the bigger portion felt that this is what he had to do.
Peter was 8 when he realized adults would never help him.
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It was dark as Peter walked. Nearly pitch black, with all the lantern lights already blown off excepted for those of pubs and other shady sorts. As he silently made his way down an alley one of the doors that led to a bar banged open and two drunk forty year old prostitutes popped out.
"Lilah, what I wouldn't give for a good man," the first one hiccuped. Lilah raised her arm in a sort of salute of agreement. "Tell me about it! Gracie, I let myself be touched every night and have to pretend to like it! What i wouldn't give to be the one that does the touching. I want a night of pleasure that doesn't involve money."
Suddenly, a twig snapped underneath Peter's foot as he tried to back away from the scene he was intruding in. He cringed as the conversation ceased and both ladies's heads snapped in his direction. Suddenly a lazy smile leered on Lilah's face. "Well, looky here Gracie. A little lad has come to listen to our woes and sorrows," she cackled in her drunkenness. Gracie smiled and clapped while also giggling madly.
Peter, now with his cover blown, ignored all subtleness and attempted to run before. However, he didn't get very far as he felt long nails scratch the back of his neck as the hand caught the scruff of his shirt. "Come on boy," jeered Lilah, who seemed to be the ringleader of the two, "don't you want to help to lovely ladies get their dreams?" She laughed as Peter, wide eyed, shook his head in panic. "No," he whimpered "please no."
"Hey Darla!" crooned Gracie from behind Lilah and Peter "hit this one up with The Concoction will ya'?" she laughed again. The lady manning the alcohol station, Darla, looked Peter up and down before grinning. "One Concoction, coming right up," she hacked in the voice of someone who smoked heavily "Lilah, Gracie… don't go too hard on 'im, will ya'? Lad looks ready to piss himself dry."
"That's what The Concoction is for Darla," said Lilah in an irritated voice.
Suddenly a heavy green liquid was pushed up to his mouth and in an effort not to choke, Peter was forced to swallow the terrible tasting thing. Tears swarmed to his eyes as he felt the liquid go down his throat and not a second later, lips were pushed against his, long nails digging into his back. He tried to back away but he felt another set of hands grab and squeeze his butt, impeding him from escaping. He was backed up and before he knew it, hands made their way towards his pants and began undoing them while another pair undid his shirt. Peter sobbed and begged for them to stop, but soon his vision was beginning to get foggy and his mind numb; The Concoction was beginning to take effect. The rest of the night was a hazy blur and he was only able to remember snippets of it come morning. Not that the sting on his back from the nails, bite marks all over his body from teeth, swollen lips from a pair of hungry mouths, and hand marks on his thighs didn't tell him enough.
That day all he did was rock back and forth in his makeshift home. He went to the river the next day in an attempt to feel clean again. But the water didn't erase the sudden dirtiness he felt when he saw his reflection, or the impurity he felt was littered all over his body. He felt like everyone who saw him knew. He felt that the uncleanliness was visible for all to see. That night, the tears ceased to come. Marking the last day Peter Pan would cry for a very long time.
Peter was 12 when he not only discovered females were never to be trusted, but when he also lost his innocence and had his heart hardened.
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The rest of the memories were bits and pieces of his times in the world, making friends only to lose them. Trusting people only to have them stab him in the back. Each memory explained why he was now the way he was. They saw how being good got Peter no where, and in fact, only lead him to being in pain, and hurts, and broken, and just plain done with the world.
They saw him at his lowest when he tried to kill himself and at his best when he found Neverland. They saw years and years worth of memories, memories that haunted Peter every day of his life. The more they saw, the more they understood.
And suddenly the memories ended and all that was left was the shaking figure of a broken boy. A boy who knew he was forced to grow up too fast so he decided not to grow up at all. And as all the adults stared at the shaking boy with the glazed eyes, they realized he had been through more than any boy, any person, should have gone through. "Pan-" Emma said, breaking the silence of only ragged breathing and swallowed sobs. His eyes didn't meet any of theirs and was fixated on a spot on the ground. "Don't," he ground out. "Peter, we can-" Snow tried.
"I said, don't!" Peter growled out in a mix of tears and anger. "I tried forgetting those memories for a reason, and here you come just bringing them right back," he accused, his eyes laced with anger as he finally turned his gaze towards them. "Is this what you wanted?" he hissed at Regina. Then in a much softer tone he said to them "get out."
As he only got looks of confusion he reiterated "get off the island! I give you permission to leave! Go!" he snapped at them "just… leave me alone," he said, almost inaudibly.
The group awkwardly made their way to the Jolly Roger, and as the ship soared above Neverland all thoughts were on Peter Pan, the boy who didn't really know how to grow up.
Crap ending I know, I know. But in my defense, I'm suppose to be writing a research paper so…
OOC (which it probably is) please don't shoot me. I just really wanted an angsty Peter Pan. Goodness, I love that boy.