Disclaimer: Disney owns all rights to Peter Pan. I'm only a mere fanfiction-writer who has just got the time to write after the looooong hiatus.
Static. A pale, gaunt face, eyes closed. His tousled auburn locks lay on the pillow, his cold lips parted slightly, breathing slowly.
He wasn't dead. But he wasn't very much alive, either.
Every day, for seven years, his mother sat beside him, watching him grow in his sleep. From his parted lips, she fed him water. She did all she could to sustain his life. He was, after all, her only child, and she didn't want to lose her only source of happiness. Every day she hoped, that when the dawn erupted into song with the merry melodies of the finches, when the light of the sun shone into his window, he will awaken and see the world again, awaiting him.
Sometimes she'd talk to him. Even though he didn't respond, she'd tell him stories before night-time, of great Grecian odysseys and heroes, like always. He loved those stories. And she'd continue telling them to him to no avail. She'd prance in his room, coo him a good morning and open the windows, letting the sun streaming in the room. She'd kiss his cheek, and funnily, tell him to be good. She'd lock the door, and go to the nearby library, where she worked. And when she'd done her job, she'd go home and sit at her son's bedside. People thought she was delusional but why, she didn't care. He was her son, her only son. Whom else could she put her hope in?
Her husband-oh, he looked so much like him!-had left her for all eternity. Her son, was all she had left.
She always, always told herself, countless times, he was only asleep. Just seven years too long. She hoped he'd dream of wondrous adventures, just like she'd tell her every night before bedtime. And then he will wake up. He will wake up. Someday. She believed, with all her heart.
"Wake up, Peter. I know you will." was her perpetual whisper in his ear, after his bedtime stories.
A vivid dream, she told herself. A vivid dream she'd remember always, whenever she sees Michael and John running around the playroom, brandishing blunt wooden swords that she herself had carved, for their play-acting. When she was younger, she'd tell them stories of the marvelous Peter Pan, and they'd act them out for her. She often laughed amusedly at their antics, but nowadays, there seemed to be so little time to spend for them.
Peter Pan never came back at her window, no matter how much she hoped. Probably he'd forgotten, probably he didn't want to see her again. It was for the best, she thought. Whenever her younger brothers spoke of him, she felt this little jolt in her heart... which pained her. She was growing up. Peter Pan might exist out there, on the outskirts of the starry skies, in little children's imaginations, but she didn't think that one name would be carved in her heart for this long. He was her first love, she knew it, that feeling bubbling inside of her when she held his hand and flown with him, the searing agony that struck her heart when she saw Tiger Lily flirting with him, the indescribable wretchedness when she saw him for the last time.
She still slept at the nursery, and refused to move to another room.
"Why ever not, sweetheart?"
"This nursery.. it's grown on me. After all, I've always spent my time here since.. well, forever, Mother."
"Very well then, Wendy. But do you mind a little refurbishing? You, after all, are a growing girl. Soon enough you'll be a young lady."
"Of course. But I'll never grow up, Mother." She smiled. "I'll be a child forevermore...here." Wendy patted her heart.
Her mother smiled indulgently at her daughter. "Yes. We all need the inner child, dear. Keep it safe."
Somebody tell him what was he supposed to do now, Peter thought wearily. There seemed to be nothing to do, nowadays. The mermaids' tinkling voices calling out to him seemed to have lost their allure. There weren't much adventures to seek with his loyal cluster of Lost Boys. They seemed the same, joyous and carefree, while he felt like a grump. On this particular day, he chose to miss out their trudging, he stayed in the Captain's cabin, lying down on his small bed, fondling his dagger.
What went wrong?, he asked himself. He closed his eyes.
Wendy Darling. Her image materialized in his mind's eyes almost instantly. The golden brown curls, tied up in a blue ribbon. Her slender figure, clumsily traipsing round. The sparkling blue eyes, blue as the lagoon itself, twinkling at him. The soft caress of her voice as she sung lullabies.
They had their fun. And as much as it hurts to admit it, he missed that. He missed her. And he didn't know what to do about it.
And sometimes, another image would form at the back of his mind. An older woman, with hair as auburn as his, a kind, gentle, but worn face, her old hazel eyes glowing warmly at him. Her arms outstretched, waiting for an embrace. He'd see her smiling at him, seeming to be calling him, but he couldn't hear her voice. Her lips parted and closed as if she's talking, but he never heard. He couldn't really recall who she was, actually, but she seemed significant, somehow. Otherwise he wouldn't have remembered her.
But today.. he could hear her. The older woman's voice. A sweet, melodic, motherly voice. It seemed to fill up his head like a drink.
"Peter...Peter..." she kept calling out.
Strangely, he saw himself walking towards the unknown, but very much familiar woman. Neverland seemed to have dissolved into...light. A radiant white luminescence which shone blindingly from behind the woman.
"I knew you'd come back."