The young man stood on the upper deck as the pirates battled the lost boys below. This time.. he thought, This time, things will happen right. Pan will get what's coming to him… He took out his gun as he watched Captain Hook back up, cutlass clanging against dagger, as Peter Pan floated in the air, driving the captain back until he tripped over a body and fell, the cutlass skittering away from them.
"It's over, Hook!" Peter cried, standing over the captain, dagger pointed at the man's throat.
Only for you. The young man raised his nine millimeter, lining up his sights with the boy's hand, and fired.
The shot echoed in his ears. No one moved. The pirates didn't move. The brats didn't move. Wendy didn't move. Hook didn't move. Not even Pan moved. He lowered his gun in shock. No one was moving. Not even his bullet. It was frozen in mid-air, only a few inches from the pest's finger.
"You know, I'm getting real sick and tired of OCs," a woman's voice sounded. The teen spun around, now faced with a woman in her early thirties. Blond hair cascaded down her back and shoulders, ending where her hands were perched on her hips. She stared at him with accusing blue-green eyes. "You people come in here and (bleep) up a carefully constructed story."
"Who are you?" he demanded, pointing his gun straight at her heart. "Whose side are you on?"
She merely rolled her eyes. "Put that thing away. It's a piece of junk." She walked over to the narrow stairs and skittered down them as she talked. "You people and your sides…I'm on the story's side. The writer's side. You and the other OCs, you people come in, decide you're on the indians' side, or the lost boys' side, or the pirates' side, or any combination thereof, and then you can't even follow your own rules. Let alone the rules of this universe." She strode through the mass of bodies, sometimes passing right through arms and torsos so she could take the direct route to Peter Pan and Hook. There, she snatched the bullet out of the still air and turned to glare at the teen on the upper deck again. "Killing Pan…Peter Pan isn't supposed to die. Ever. Hook. Is never supposed to die. They are fighters. Mortal enemies. They fight for eternity, over and over again."
Her form vanished like smoke from the lower deck, and appeared again a few feet away from the teen. He jumped in surprise, swinging his gun around towards her and firing. She caught the bullet in mid-air. "I am Déjà vu, and nothing changes." She stared walking again, closing the gap and making him back up to keep his distance. "Nothing here changes. Peter forgets, Hook carries a deep-seated grudge, Tiger Lily is a pawn to Hook and a friend to Pan, and the crocodile chases after Hook. So don't (bleep) with my story!"
The woman gave him a hard shove, and he stumbled back. His foot slipped off a stone step, and the teen gave a surprised cry as he fell into a three foot deep hole of stone. The surroundings dissolved as he fell, the ship and ocean disappearing like smoke and being replaced with stone walls and wall scones with torches as the only flicking light source behind the self-proclaimed Déjà vu. She stood in the only doorway, and the light flickered against the side of her face, making her anger even more terrifying to look at. The teen groaned, shifting to relieve the pain in his spine. It was then that he realized he had lost his gun in the fall. Glancing around in almost a panic, he found it a few feet away, lodged under the ribcage of a skeleton. He gasped and scrambled back a few inches.
"Please…" a pathetic voice sounded from a corner behind him, making him start again. Things like this weren't supposed to happen. "Let me out…I didn't do anything…" This kind of horror wasn't supposed to be possible in Neverland. The girl who had whimpered a plea hardly looked human anymore, but he recognized her immediately.
"..Wendy?"
"Not Wendy," Déjà vu said, disgust clear in her voice. "Meet Wendy's supposed twin sister. Your new cellmate. Her last one isn't very talkative anymore."
"Please," the girl cried, crawling closer, "I just want to go home…I promise I won't tell anyone. I won't say a word about this. I—"
Déjà vu sighed, rolling her eyes as she picked up a gun from by the doorway and loaded it with something akin to a bullet. She pointed the gun at the girl and fired. A green gooey mass hit the girl in the face, sealing off her nose and mouth. She gave a small muffled scream and fell back to the floor, trying to claw it off.
"Just shut the (bleep)ing (bleep) up and die already." A male scream pierced the air, echoing down the dungeon halls, making Déjà vu take a step back and glance down the hall.
"What the (bleep) was that?" the boy asked, now thoroughly terrified. He kept glancing at his gun, wondering if he could get to it and if it would actually do him any good even if he could.
"Nothing…" Déjà vu answered calmly. Her demeanor had changed. She was almost regal now, standing straighter and more proper. Her face was a calm mask, hiding her emotions, and she answered as though it was only off-handedly. "Absolutely nothing. But if they got in to my pixie sneezes or dragon lily brew, I'm going to kill them." She gave a little popping noise with her lips, closed the cell door, and locked it before calmly walking away.