Years of life in Neverland has taken its toll on Peter. Being the heart of the island gives you a weakness, susceptible to the darkness that hides in the shadows and tries to claw its way out.
It's even harder to stay pure when you're alone.
Peter was once an innocent young boy, bright eyed and mischievous. Now that is all gone, and he is but a shadow of his former self.
Neverland crushed his bones, his spirit, his sense of self, and he has been reborn, remade into a wild child.
A King.
Oh, he is still a child in some ways, with so many things that are beyond his understanding. But mischief has grown into cruelty, and shadows have filled his heart. The urge for violence has started growing, and there is a wicked tint to his daily actions.
Neverland did not mean to do this. The island meant to make a boy King who could rule, and ensure its survival through the power of belief and magic. But the king allowed himself to change, and continues to give in to his desires and his greed for power. Ah, the price of loneliness.
When there is no light to balance an extreme force, it is so easy for the scales to tip to the other side.
To ease the ache inside him, though he will never admit that such an ache exists, he allows boys to stay on the island, rather than just visit in their dreams. He calls them his lost boys, and declares himself their leader. Happy to be in a world far away from the harsh reality of life, they follow him wholeheartedly.
The lost boys see his wicked demeanor right away, but instead of fearing him, their loyalty only grows. Isn't that what they wanted, in the end? The freedom to be as naughty and free as they could in a place with no rules? So they enjoy their lack of restraint, the ease of rules in a place where killing for sport, and hunting for game is not forbidden.
The island grows darker, its sunlight bleeding away and its pixie dust becoming inert and useless. Once, a bright place filled with dreams and hopes, Neverland has turned into a land to fulfill the baser, animalistic desires of young boys.
The voices in his heart tell him to do things that he would never have dreamt of doing when he first gave his life to the island. Now, he does it without a second thought.
What is death, if not another great adventure? If anything, every life he takes is a blessing, a gift really. He soon revelled in his change, enjoyed his new found ferocity. He does not wish to change. He forgets his old existence, his old self. He forgets a lot of things.
That is, until she falls into his arms (and into his heart).
He isn't surprised when he sees his shadow carrying a bundle of white. It usually brings new lost boys in that way, dropping them into the choppy seas to see if the boy can survive and make its way to the island. If he survives, he is a lost boy. If he falters and is swallowed by the blue waves, well, what a shame.
This time though, when the shadow releases its burden into the sea, it only takes a few seconds for Peter to notice that something is off and swoop into action.
He catches her seconds before her back hits the water, and soon she is nestled in his hold, a flurry of golden curls and white frills. Her eyes wide in surprise, with a hint of terror coming from the aftermath of the fall. When she looks at him though, and she realises that he has saved her, the corners of her big, innocent eyes crinkle and her lips pull back into a huge grin that shines brighter than any star in Neverland's sky.
Despite his wariness (a girl in Neverland? What could this mean?), he finds himself smiling back.
Surprisingly, he doesn't send her back with the shadow right away. He allows her to stay, and so she becomes the only bright thing on the island. For so long there has been nothing but darkness, and now this girl has brought light.
Wendy. Wendy Moira Angela Darling. That is how she introduces herself to them.
Peter knows that he is not the only one affected by her presence. She has brought a splash of colour to the grey island, and her gentle manner has softened the hearts of the lost boys, even the stone cold Felix.
The boys are at first wary of her, some of them even having forgotten what a girl looks like. But she tells them stories, and not just stories of love and romance, but proper ones of adventure, magic and blood shed. Soon, they treat her like one of their own, though they occasionally allow her to play mother.
Her softness, her sweetness, is so innocent and pure he finds himself avoiding her during the first few weeks of her stay. He answers her questions, sure, but he leaves it to the lost boys to show her around and teach her how to play their (wicked, wicked) games. But he is always watching, always looking at her, looking out for her.
She knows it too, and one day she goes right up to him, before he has a chance to disappear, and speaks her mind.
"You know, I've been here for weeks and yet we haven't even had a conversation." He gives her a shrug as a reply, because what can he say?
That does not deter Wendy. In fact, if anything, it only gives her more motivation to seek him out, to talk to him. Surprisingly, he lets her. He lets her do a lot of things that he would have killed anyone else for doing. He lets her talk back, he lets her order around his lost boys, he even lets her order him around.
What surprises him the most, what surprises everyone the most, is that he allows her to touch him.
The last time a lost boy touched him for far longer than he was supposed to, that boy ended up dead. But Wendy Darling, he allows to hold his hand. He allows her to embrace him. He allows her to grab his wrist and drag him off to show him something.
For all of Peter Pan's rules, Wendy Darling is the only exception.
There is a hurricane in him, powerful and destructive, but it is quelled by her hand on his shoulder. The monster in him, the wild animal that is ready to come out at any time and quench its thirst for blood, is locked in its cage, silent,
It unnerves him how, a single touch of her small, soft hand on his arm can calm the demons in him.
He decides to keep her. While before, he simply allows let her stay, now he has made up his mind to keep her as his own.
He slowly starts showing her more affection.
He lets her accompany him on walks, he returns her gentle touches, he shows her demonstrations of his magic. When it feels like the feelings in him are going to swallow him whole, he holds her hand and takes her with him on a flight around Neverland.
His body, his heart, is not used to the goodness that comes from being in contact with Wendy. He struggles to bury the urges that rise within him whenever he sees her. He longs to grip her wrists until they are black and blue with his marks, longs to press her against the rough bark of a tree and take the hidden kiss he spies at the corner of her mouth, longs rip the throat of anyone standing in front of her, simply so she would scream for him, plead with him. Beg him.
The only thing that holds him back is the thought that he will lose her if he gives in.
But the urge for violence is too great. One day, a disobedient lost boy is on the receiving end of his rage. He plunges his hand in the boys essence, grabs, and pulls, ready to rip his shadow away.
He is stopped by a hand on his wrist and he snarls, ready to tear apart anyone who dares to defy him in such a way.
He swings his arm but halts just as he is about to make contact with flesh. It's not just anyone. It's Wendy.
The other boys know not to approach him when he is like this, they know that he could kill them without a second thought if they did so. Wendy does not. She has never seen him like this. He has never allowed her to see him like this.
She stares in shock, her mouth agape, as if she cannot believe what she has just seen. She does not look at Peter's face, but at his hands. His hands that are stained with sin. Hands that, just earlier, she had held in her own.
It feels like a century, but it is merely minutes before she finally meets his eyes. He is heaving with the exertion that it took to not hurt the boy, to not hurt her. Her eyes are bright with unshed tears.
"No." She says.
The boys surrounding them hold their breath. No one denies the Pan and lives. And they were so fond of Wendy…
He stills because did she just tell him no? But then she repeats it, her eyes boring into his, silently pleading. He exhales, then lets go of the boy, watching as he apologises for his mistake through tears before pathetically staggering back towards the rest. He does not need to look to see that they are all surprised.
With a nod of his head, they all scamper away, leaving him alone in the camp with Wendy, her small hand still on his wrists.
Looking down at her, he sees the gratefulness in her eyes, but he also still sees the fear. He reaches for her cheek with the hand that, just minutes ago, was about to bring about death. He is pleased when she does not flinch at his contact.
She knows he would never hurt her.
"For you." He says, and he means it. For her, he would do anything. If she asked him to kneel before her right now, he would.
There is no longer a storm inside him, only the gentle waves of the sea that is his being. It was all because of her.
She nods because she understands. She is not blind, she knows the effect she has on him. She knows that his soft spot for her allows her to get away with things others would pay dearly for. She knows that he cares for her, allows her to rule him just as much as he ruled over his kingdom.
If using this against him to make sure that he harms no one else again is exploiting his weakness, well, then Wendy will do it a thousand times over for the safety of the boys. Her boys.
Besides, she cares for him as well. She sees the darkness in him, but she also sees the light that shines when she is with him. And she knows that, for her, there will be no other.
So she does not stop him when he bends his head to touch her lips with his.
No, instead she presses her mouth harder on his and wraps her arms around his neck to draw him closer. It is surrender as much as it is victory, because the events that occurred earlier has just proved to her how much she means to him.
Her kissing him back, her surrendering all of herself to him, it doesn't feel like victory for him, not like he thought it would. He feels like he is a lamb brought to slaughter, and as she holds his neck tight in her grasp, he knows he would let her kill him, if that was what she wished.
He never thought that giving in to weakness would taste so sweet.
He swallows her moans, grasping at the fabric of her nightgown and pulling her closer. He doesn't want any space in between their bodies, he wants their skin to touch and forge together. He wants them to be one.
Having her in his arms makes his soul sing, his spirit soar. He is at peace as long as she is there, with him wrapped around her.
And with her lips on his, he tastes salvation. He can feel his demons growing silent, laying to rest. He can feel the rotten core of his heart shift, and bloom into something worth offering.
With his love for her in his heart, he feels whole.