Truth behind Neverland

by night-owlvamp

Every child has heard the story of Peter Pan, the boy who did not grow up. But the history of the story had been lost, who was Peter Pan and is his story true or has it be covered in the form of a fairy tail. This is my first story and is all from my imagination apart for peter and the know fairy tail of him, hope you enjoy. Will change to M later in chapters just in case.

Disclaimer: I do not own Peter Pan

This is my first story I hope you enjoy it, i don't mind constructive ciritisisum as will be helpful.

Everyone in the world has heard the tail of the boy who did not grow up, the boy who would remain eternally young. The tail has been passed from parent to child for generations, a fairy tail told to children to scare them of the wicket Caption James Hook and the adventures of the young boy known as Peter Pan. But the tails truth got berried by the magic of fairies and mermaids until people no longer knew of its origins, know one cared to hear about how the tail came to be, as the truth is to dark and is better hidden benefit the magic that changed it to the story we all know today.

Hellingly Asylum hid many secretes but like all secretes they are revealed, hidden under its main establishment where the insane roomed laid a white padded room, a room only a few knew about. Within this hidden room lay a child, a child who had not seen the light of day since he was brought to the facility in 1905 at the tender age of six. The boy went down in Hellingly as the youngest patient to be admitted to its walls. How was it that a young boy came to be in an asylum? Who would place a young would into such a place? Simple a man who ran on fear an hatred, a man who had lived looking into the eyes of the child who had killed his wife through his birth, the man did not care that the boy had no control over his actions he simply saw a demon who took the one thing he loved from him. Charles the boys farther s himself strong for having lived with the boy for this long, having to look at the darkness that was around the child, he saw the way the child looked at him as if he planed to rid him like he did his wife. Many it should have been Charles who was admitted to Hellingly for being a man who created an evil that did not exists, a man who show his child's gazes as sinister when in truth it's was a plea from a child who simple wanted his father to love him and be with him.

It was on a winter night in 1905 that Charles rang for church who ran the Hellingly Asylum and when they came rushing to his door at his town house late in the night he begged them to take the demon that lay in his sons bed, pleading with them that if they did not take him the child would shortly kill him. The priest had seen the horror in the mans eyes, one could not fake that fear in his mind so with a nod of his head the feathers in white coats entered Charles house to remove the demon the man claimed of. Turing to Charles the priest placed a hand upon his shoulder just as a door slamming against the wall could be heard and the screams of a young soul echoed thought the old victorian house.

Peter himself was asleep in his bed unaware of what fait his father hand just struck him, he laid in his bed dreaming of what only a six year old could, until his was ripped from the clouds as his door slammed open. Brown bangs feel over wide innocent green eyes as strangers in white coats entered his room, without a pause they grabbed him, restraining him in a white coat that kept him still. Doing what any child would do he scream, screamed for the one person he believed would save him, his father the man who should be his protector. Throwing his body from side to side hoping to slip from his captures grasps, the only thought going thought his young mind being 'is this the child snatchers that take the naughty children', at the thought tears came to young Peters eyes as he didn't know what he had done wrong.
Looking around with a frantic gaze Peter saw they had come to the stair well and should see his father, hope sprang to his eyes "Father help me !" His voice strained in fear he looked into his fathers eyes to see him turn away from him, why is this father not saving him, did he want the child snatchers to take him, did he not want him. With more regency Peter screamed for his father to save him, desperation was laced in his cry's and pleas for help but still his father would not look, with one last squeeze of Charles shoulder the priest turned and walked out the door commanding the feathers to follow. Still in the grapes of his captures Peter was soon being carried past his father, who had still not turned his gaze away from his feet, it was in that moment that young Peters mind saw he had no saviour who would help him and with that last though he sagged against his capture in defeat.

The bitter winter air hit his face burning the skin when trails of salty tear tracks lay, doors had open but Peter did not hear them opening nor did he relies he had been set down onto a padded floor, the last thing he saw before steel doors blocked his vision was his father closing the door to there victorian town house, closing the door to a son he did not consider his own. With the sound of the bolts locking Peter curled up in fear, fear that any six year old would feel after having been taken away from the only parent they had known with out them even caring.