It had been years since Wendy Darling, now Carmichael, had last seen Peter Pan. She had been twelve then, John being ten and Michael having been six. She had told them stories of Peter Pan and his shadow, and of his little friend, Tinkerbell.
And then Peter had arrived, like magic.
But now, at age eighty-two, laying in her hospital bed, she thought. She had grown up, went through school, met her husband, had kids, and then they grew up too fast. She had told her own kids tales of Peter Pan, and at night, when they thought Wendy and her husband were asleep, they would stay up and wait for him to arrive. They would wait for the sound of bells that were Tinkerbell's laughter, of Peter's joyous laugh, of the arrival of his shadow.
But, to their disappointment, he never came.
Closing her eyes wearily, Wendy breathed and said softly, "Oh, Peter, if only I could see you one last time."
She stayed silent, breathing silently, and sighed when there was nothing.
Until there was.
A tinkling laughter, like bells, was heard from outside her window of the room. Opening her eyes and looking over, she smiled when she saw they tiny form of Tinkerbell there, flitting about. Her dress was the same green, the color of the grass, like it was when she had first met the little fairy. Her blonde hair was in a bun, and her feet were tucked into the little green slippers with the white cottonballs.
Tinkling, Tink made her way over, flitting down to land on the bed. There was a frown on her face as she studied Wendy's face, flying up to study her closer. A sad look crossed her face as she said something Wendy couldn't understand.
"Hello there, Tink," Wendy breathed happily. "It's wonderful to see you."
The fairy smiled sadly, one small hand reaching out to pat the tip of her nose. She said something again, but Wendy could only hear the tinkling.
She closed her eyes again.
"Wendy," a voice breathed quietly.
Her eyes snapped open and she stared, eyes wide, at the immortal pre-teen before her.
Peter hadn't really changed since she had meet him when she was twelve. His auburn hair was still under that green pointed little hat he wore, the red feather still stuck in it. He wore his leaf green shirt and leggings, the brown belt she remembered fastened around his waist. He wore the shoes she had made for him, the ones she had sewn his shadow to.
"Peter." She smiled widely, eyes tearing up.
The pre-teen smiled sadly, reaching a hand out to cup her cheek. "Oh, Wendy," he said remorsely, "I'm sorry I never visited."
She laughed wetly. "It's okay, Peter, really. I'm just glad I got to see you again before I went." She placed a hand on his, her smile growing wider slightly. "I had always wished to see you again after I had turned thirteen, but you never showed."
With a small laugh, he nodded as he sat down in the bed beside her. "Yeah, I know. John and Michael would berate me about that whenever I visited them."
"Of course they would, I'm their sister."
"And they love you greatly."
"Yeah." She smiled sadly. "But now I'm leaving."
He nodded. "I know." He gave her a wet smile. "Tink and I will stay here with you, yeah? I'll tell you stories of what's happened on Neverland since you left, if you'd like that."
"I'd love that."
And so, Peter Pan began to talk, regaling the frail old woman he knew as a twelve year old girl of stories that she missed.
It was at 12:30 in the morning that she passed away.
He smiled sadly, tears making their way down his face as he brushed hair out of her serene looking face. Hiccuping slightly, he murmured, "Rest well, Wendy Darling, for you'll always be with me."
Then, with one last look at her, he leapt out of the room and into the dark London morning, back towards Neverland, Tink beside him.
It was one thing to meet Peter Pan at twelve, but it was one thing to never see him again.
Aaaaaaaand that's a wrap! I'm quite proud of how this came out!
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Later, y'all!