"All children, except one, grow up."
~J.M. Barrie
Peter sighed. The episodes were happening more frequently now. The last one hadn't been more than three days ago. This one was worse. It had started in his palms, like always. A subtle itch had started beneath his knuckles, then spread to his wrists. Slowly, the prickling sensation had begun to feel like needles. It crept up his inner arms, into his shoulders, and soon had taken root in every inch of his flesh. He could barely move, each twitch of his muscles sending a more intense wave of pain throughout his body.
He wondered if this was what growing up was supposed to feel like.
Canons sounded in the distance. For a brief moment, they gave him pause. It was strange, what sent thrills of anxiety coursing through his blood these days. There had been a time when the sound of canon fire would have delighted him. It would have meant that an adventure was waiting for him in the distance, should he have chosen to seek it out. Back then, danger had been another word for possibility.
That version of himself wouldn't even recognize him now, this lesser being who was curled up on a tree branch, biting down on the inside of his cheeks so that he wouldn't cry out in agony each time he flinched. He was supposed to be the leader—fearless, by definition. And yet the prospect of anyone seeing him like this terrified Peter.
Voices emerged through the tree branches from below. Peter held his breath, knowing that the smallest sound could give him away. As the boys passed directly under the tree, Peter could discern the conversation. It was Slightly and Tootles. By the sound of it, they were arguing, an occurrence not uncommon to them.
"Have you ever thought about it?" Slightly asked.
"Of course not."
"Really?"
"Why would I?" Tootles asked. "We're at home here. It's the only place we've ever known."
"It's not the only place I've ever known," Slightly replied, somewhat haughtily.
"Even if you do remember your old life, this is your life now. I mean, can you imagine ever being able to sword fight in London? And you'd never see any more mermaids, or pirates, or Indians—"
"But they have other things in London, haven't they?" Slightly asked. Then, more quietly, "Wendy's there."
Tootles paused at that. "You know we're not supposed to mention her," he said.
"Peter isn't here to listen."
"Well, I don't like to mention her. She left us. What more is there to say?"
"We grow older every day, Tootles. Eventually, we'll be too long of tooth to sword fight. We'll have grey hairs...and pipes, and...and children!"
"I don't think that's how it works," Tootles drawled.
"How do you know?"
Another silence followed. "Anyway, what's with all this talk of leaving? Yesterday you hated the idea that we must get older."
"It suddenly struck me that we must get jobs one day."
"How did you come to that realization?" Tootles asked.
"Well I was thinking about Wendy—"
"Again!"
"—and I remembered that she told us about the grown-ups in her world. They all have jobs, and tell stories to their children, and go to parties. They say things like 'poppycock' and 'dash it all, Nana!' And, well, I want to do those things."
"You can do those things here, mostly."
"I mean I really want to do them. I want to be a grown-up, I think."
Peter nearly gasped. It wasn't from pain, though that hadn't subsided yet. But the shock of hearing someone say such a thing out loud in Neverland…. Well, it was almost like hearing someone in London say that he wanted to be a murderer or a burglar or something equally as despicable.
He needn't have feared, though. Tootle's own reaction would have covered up any noise that Peter would have made.
"You what?" he cried.
"A grown-up. You know. Tall and important, someone who thinks serious thoughts and has hushed conversations with their wives. It all seems very mysterious. Quite like an adventure, really."
"We have adventures here!" Tootles shouted.
"Yes, but haven't you grown tired of them? Our adventures are all the same, after all. We fight the pirates and we win. We fight the Indians and they win, then we win, then they win again, on and on until you forget what you've been fighting about all along. It becomes rather tiresome after such a long time of doing it."
"I don't know what's gotten into you, but if Peter were to hear you now, he'd kick you out of Neverland before you could blink twice. And you know Peter. Once he kicks you out, you can never come back."
"He didn't kick her out, she left."
"And he hasn't once been back to visit her, you know. Even if she's wanted to come back since that day, she hasn't seen him."
"What are you saying?"
"Just that we've tried to leave before, when she asked us to go with her. If you couldn't go through with it then, what makes you think you'll be able to do it now?"
"I was terrified of it all then. That day, when we were in her house with her mother, it all seemed so very marvelous. But when Peter said what would happen—that they'd force us to become men—I realized that I wasn't a man. I was a boy. And I thought I'd be one forever."
"And now you're not?"
"Well, I don't know. Certainly I won't be one for much longer."
"What I'm saying is, Slightly, that Peter will be unlikely to let you come back twice. He let us follow him back to Neverland that day. If you decide to leave him now—as a man or a boy—you'll never come back. Are you certain you'd like that?"
For the first time, it was Slightly who was silent. The boys continued to pass, and their footsteps became further and further away, though Peter could still hear them arguing even as they reached the shoreline.
Their conversation caused him to think back on that night, the one that Wendy had left. All of the Lost Boys had wanted to go with her at the time, for she'd encouraged them to come and see London. They, after all, would grow up one day. Wendy knew as well as Peter that they couldn't stay in Neverland forever. She'd wanted to show them what life could be like in a place like London, where growing up was considered a good thing.
In the end, only the twins had stayed. They were too young at the time to realize how horrible it would be if they grew up. They liked Wendy and her mother, and they especially liked Nana. But when Peter had declared that he would return to Neverland, Nibs, Curly, Slightly, and Tootles had all accompanied him back to the island. And they'd agreed never to mention Wendy again.
Peter had been thinking a lot about her lately, though. He wondered what she'd say to him now, if she were to see him this way. She'd always been such a comforting presence on the island. She was the only person with whom he had felt…defenseless. He could never quite manage to appear brave before her. Perhaps it was because she had always seemed to know so much—much more than he. Any appearance of heroism had seemed false in her company.
And yet she'd been the most helpless of any of them. It hadn't been because she wasn't brave. He'd known she was brave. The very fact that she'd come to Neverland at all was a testament to that. It was one of the things that he'd liked most about her. But she had been unused to this world. It must have been so foreign to her, and she'd had no earthly idea how to navigate the territory. It didn't take long to realize that she didn't belong here, in his world.
Peter flinched. He couldn't tell if it was from the bitterness of the memory or the fresh ripple of barbs that pulsed across his skin. But this one was more muted. He could feel the pain subsiding. He looked down at his body, and studied himself for a moment. It was barely noticeable, but he could tell that he'd grown longer in the past few minutes. His legs were becoming ganglier, his torso taller. Even his hands were changing, his fingers pulling forwards more and his palms growing larger. Each time an episode struck, it would conclude in a similar fashion.
And every time, fear would thicken his blood.
He didn't know how to stop this process, or how to tell anyone that it was happening. The Lost Boys never seemed to experience anything like this. He figured he'd know if any of them were undergoing frequent, torturous growing spells. Besides, when they grew, it was more subtle. He couldn't see their progress on a day-to-day basis, as he was beginning to do with himself. For a while, they'd appeared a good bit older than he. Now, however, it seemed that he was beginning to catch up.
He was sure they'd noticed. The sidelong looks they'd angled towards him, the whispered remarks they'd made to each other every time he emerged from the forest after an episode…of course they'd noticed. But he couldn't say anything. He didn't know anything. How could he offer them answers if he didn't have any himself? And he couldn't risk them doubting him. In Neverland, doubt could get you killed.
The funny thing was, the only person he could really consider talking to about this was Wendy. If anyone might know something, it would be her. But Tootles was right. Peter hadn't visited her in years, ever since he'd left her in her nursery. He'd promised to come by every spring to check in. But the idea of seeing her, possibly happier there than she'd been with him…well, if she was, he didn't want to know about it. And so he'd stayed away.
He swung down from the tree branch, the last of the prickling sensations lingering in his palms and in the soles of his feet. He shook his limbs, trying to fling them loose, and then went to find the boys. If Slightly really was thinking of leaving, he'd have to have a talk with him.
"That's the third canon tonight," Nibs said, looking up from his supper. "It's closer, too."
"Hook's itching for a fight, Peter," added Curly. "He hasn't had a good spar with you in weeks."
"Let him come," Peter said with courage he didn't feel.
Slightly looked at Peter from the corner of his eye. Peter froze, feeling the weight of the boy's gaze. It wasn't the first time Slightly had glanced at him oddly since he'd come out of the forest tonight. Usually, their curiosity was better concealed. Peter wondered just how dramatically he'd changed this time.
Tinkerbelle was at his shoulder then, whispering in his ear.
It's your voice, she said, using that language which only Peter could understand. You sound different to them now.
His voice? Peter hadn't noticed the change. He cleared his throat, testing her theory. Perhaps it was a bit lower…but surely they couldn't have caught onto that, could they?
You'll have to tell them sooner or later, she went on. He swatted her away, once again annoyed that Tinkerbelle knew so much about him. She had seen him on that tree branch, he realized now. She'd seen him nearly every time he'd had an episode. That he couldn't keep anything private around her irritated Peter.
"Peter?"
His attention snapped once again to the boys gathered around the fire. "Yes?"
"What do you think?" Nibs asked.
"Of what?"
Slightly's eyes slid over to Tootles, who worked very hard to keep his gaze upon Peter. Curly didn't seem to notice much of anything, still intent upon his supper.
"Should we bring the fight to him? Head him off, so he doesn't come onto shore?"
"You remember last time," Slightly said, referring to Hook's encounter with the fairies. He'd wiped most of them out, leaving only precious few alive. Tink had been with Peter at the time, looking for Hook, or else Peter felt fairly certain she would have been the first of Hook's victims.
"I—" Peter said, uncertain of how to respond. He didn't want to fight Hook, not now. Now while he was so unsure of what would happen with his own body. The last thing he wanted to do was freeze up and leave his boys vulnerable. But if he refused, they'd know something was wrong. He'd never backed down from a fight before.
To the left, there was a rustle of leaves. The boys leapt to their feet, braced for battle in a moment's notice. But in another instant, the bright orange tip of a feather poked through the branches, followed by the blue headband to which it was attached. Tiger Lily stepped from behind the trees, and paused as she saw the boys' stances.
"It's alright," Peter said, though the boys had already begun to sit.
Tiger Lily's shoulders relaxed, and she stepped into their circle. Sitting down besides Peter, she asked, "Did you hear it?"
Peter nodded. "Nibs wants to head him off before he comes ashore," he replied. He felt an uncomfortable stirring sensation at her proximity. It was foreign, this feeling. He'd never experienced it before around anyone. The closest thing he could compare it to was the brief connection he'd felt to Wendy. But this was…different.
"Father says he's but a day away," she said, and for a second Peter wondered if she could feel it too, for her cheeks flushed. It may have only been the fire, though. "He's prepared the tribe."
"We can handle him," Nibs said.
"Always do," Curly joined in, finally putting his plate aside. "You go on and tell dear old dad that he can sleep easy tonight. We've got everything under control."
Tiger Lily frowned. "Perhaps it would be easier on you if you'd allow us to help occasionally."
"It's no trouble," Curly said, regarding Tiger Lily intensely. Peter could tell that he was purposefully provoking the girl, though he didn't know why. "You would probably just get in the way."
"Do you know how many battles we have won?" Tiger Lily snapped, her voice growing shrill. "My people were fighting wars before you were even born."
"That old, huh?" Curly asked. "Do seniors really have a right to call themselves warriors anymore?"
"My father could skin you alive," Tiger Lily shot back.
"He could certainly try," Curly shrugged.
Tiger Lily began to quake, her knuckles whitening as she grasped the log she was sitting on.
"Alright, Curly," Peter said, intervening. "Why don't you go to the beach and see if you can spot Hook's ship?"
Curly blinked, as though being woken from a trance. With a scowl, he left, mumbling about having been interrupted. Tiger Lily stopped shaking after a while, and turned her large, brown eyes upon Peter.
"He didn't mean any of it," Peter apologized, feeling as though he should say something. "You know how we are when Hook is around."
"You are never like that," she said. The other boys looked down at their feet, suddenly interested in the ground. Peter sensed that she was implying something, and that they'd all understood exactly what that was. For his part, he was lost.
"I—uh…"
Tiger Lily sighed. "I was sent here to ask if you'd like our help tomorrow," she said, rescuing him from the awkward moment.
"Oh," Peter said. Realizing that he'd only make her upset now if he refused, he nodded. "Sure, that'd be fine."
"Alright, I'll tell my father," she said, standing to go. She looked back down at him, and drew a breath as though to speak. She held it for a moment, apparently undecided about what she wanted to say. "Peter?"
"Yes?"
She glanced down his figure, then back up to his face, and confusion tainted her lovely, petite features. "You seem…different," she said. "Are you alright?"
Peter cleared his throat. "I'm fine," he said, once again conscious of his voice. "See you tomorrow."
Once she'd gone, Peter glanced around the circle. The boys were staring at him again, and he guessed that they were considering what Tiger Lily had asked. He knew that, if he stayed a moment longer, they'd broach the subject again, considering she'd been the first to question the recent changes in him. As Peter wasn't feeling up to discussing the matter, he excused himself, and went to sleep.
As he was drifting off into unconsciousness, anxiety twisted in his gut. He didn't know how much longer he could put the conversation off. And he didn't know what would happen when the time finally came to have it. As he always did when he was nervous, he closed his eyes. It didn't take long for her face to appear.