Peter Pan didn't believe in growing up. Well, correction, he didn't altogether understand growing up. And anything he couldn't understand, he didn't believe. He had refused, for hundreds of years, never to grow up. Yet he had discovered, when he had brought a young girl to his homeland nearly a hundred years ago, that he could actually love; this, in itself, surprised him greatly. Peter Pan had never loved before. It was a part of the riddle of his being. No one knew why, or how, Peter Pan had come to be on Neverland. He just was. And no one questioned it. No one questioned the power he held over the island nor the fact that he became the leader to the "lost boys", children who fell from their prams when their nurses were not looking. Peter had lost his first batch of lost boys nearly a hundred years ago, the same time as he had lost his first love. But he had found other lost boys over the years and had helped them adjust. Some wanted to grow up and if that was the case, he would gently take them by the hand and fly them into the stars, searching for a home along the London skyline. He would never come back to visit them; he'd peer in at the window, see their happy expressions and with a panged sigh, he would fly back to his beloved star. He had never looked back. Save for that one time.

His heart thumped painfully as his thoughts drifted to the young girl who held his thoughts. She had captured his heart and he had never gotten it back. He had never talked to her again and he regretted it more than anything. Oh he had been back to see her. But he had never actually flown through the window to speak to her. Time in Neverland worked differently than in the real world and when Peter had finally returned to London to see the girl whose name still haunted his dreams, his very blood had frozen. He clearly remembered the night he had returned to London and had perched on the windowsill, hearing her voice just as he had remembered it. Well, no, not just as he had remembered it…it was a bit deeper than it had been. But it still held the same excitement when she talked and that's all he cared about. Smiling, he settled down, anxious to hear about one of his wonderful adventures. Those were his favorite stories, of course. The ones about him. He had always been the hero of her stories. That was the reason he had brought her to Neverland in the first place. To tell stories and be a mother to the lost boys. But the story had stopped and she had started to sing. He perked up at her lovely voice, for it held a pleasant tone and quality to it. He peered in and gasped loudly, clapping his hand to his mouth. His Wendy was cradling a baby while a handsome man peered over her shoulder. Both of them had broad smiles on their faces and Peter's eyes filled with tears. Everything Hook had said to him was true. She had grown up and had replaced him…with a husband. Peter had furiously flown back to Neverland and vowed to forget about her and her hidden kiss.

But try as he might, he could not banish those thoughts away. So one day Tinkerbell, with her face quite red (she had always disliked the Wendy-bird) had told Peter to get off his fat behind and go see her. Frowning at his fairy, he had reluctantly flown back to London, hiding his excitement at seeing Wendy again. But when he got there, further horror had reached him. Everyone was walking around with sad faces, dabbing at their cheeks with tissues. They all wore horrible black clothing and Peter's nose wrinkled as he looked around, searching for a bit of light that could only be present in his Wendy. He hid on the rooftop and watched, his eyes peeled for her. He noticed a young woman who looked strikingly familiar; she had long blonde ringlets and bright blue eyes. But her nose and mouth were different. She was pale and soft-spoken and her voice trembled when she spoke. Not like Wendy's. An older gentleman gripped her hand and sniffed. His hair had gone completely white and he looked ancient.

"Jane, I am so sorry for your loss," he said in a shaky voice. Jane merely nodded and the man leaned in closer.

"She was an amazing woman. And an excellent storyteller." Peter's ears perked up at this.

"That she was," Jane said in the barest of whispers. "Mother always told the best stories. I'm forever grateful to you that her stories will be shared around the world."

"Jane!" Someone called out and Jane turned and embraced the old man who had crossed over to her.

"Uncle Tootles, I'm so glad you could make it."

"She's my family. You all are. Come." He took her hand and lead her away and Peter followed. He didn't know where they were going but he was sure they would lead him to Wendy.

And lead him to her they did. He started to feel a sense of dread come over him as they entered the house and there were more people in black. There was a large box set up in the center of the room and people kept going over to it and peering in. There would be different reactions; some would sob, some would merely nod to whatever was in there, some would simply look bored. Peter watched the old man lead the young woman over to it and he seemed to be holding her up. The young woman let out a wail and hid her face in the man's suit. Three other men came over to her and hugged her tightly, muffling their tears.

"Slightly, want to get Janie a glass of water?" The man nodded and briskly walked away. Peter's eyes darted from the men to the box to the young woman and he felt his heart race. For what reason, he could not fathom. But he found himself walking forward and approaching the box. He remembered the night he had met Wendy, something had sprung out of a box and had scared the wits out of him. He had yanked out his dagger and had kicked it aside for good measure. Gripping his dagger in his hand, he slowly approached the box and peered in. A woman lay inside, her eyes closed and her hands folded gently across her stomach. Peter cocked his head as he started at the lifeless woman before him; why did she seem so familiar? Her blonde hair had tints of silver to it, her long eyelashes lay still against her cheek, her lips…Peter gasped. He knew those lips. He would have known them anywhere. Not because he had spent so much time staring at them but because they had given him his first kiss. His eyes lowered down her frame and he noticed a lump underneath her dress. Very carefully, he pulled the chain out of her dress and his eyes filled with tears as he held a withered old acorn in his hands. The chain came loose in his hands and he stared down at his "kiss" he had given her on the night they had met.

"No," he whispered, his eyes going back to her inert face. The young woman, Jane, had stopped across from him and had gasped. She was staring at him with wide eyes and his eyes went to hers. The men who gathered around her gasped as well and gaped at the boy in leaves.

"Peter?" One of them said in a whisper. Peter, gripping the acorn in his hands, fled from the room. When he was outside, he leaped into the air and flew back to Neverland as quickly as he possibly could.

The people of Neverland said something had broken inside Peter on that day. Something had snapped. He was never the same after that. And life in Neverland went on much as it had. Truth be told, Neverland missed the Peter they had once known. But a girl had changed him; love, some dared to whisper, had changed him.

So it came as a surprise when Peter returned from Neverland one evening, changed. He had announced to Tinkerbell and several of his friends that two of his newest lost boys had decided to grow up. He told them he would return that evening and had lead the boys through the stars, with the help of Tink's fairy dust.

Peter had played this game many times now. He had returned to this place more times than he could count and he was pretty good at finding the orphanages or homes that would take the boys in and treat them well. Looking around, he noticed how much times had changed. He was shocked at how people were dressing and he frowned as a teenager walked by with something stuck in his ears as he threw his head around as if he was trying to get a bee off him.

"Um, is he ok?" Peter asked the Lost Boy.

"He's just listening to music."

"What kind of music makes you act like that?"

"Not like your pan pipes. Music, like cool music. Peter, how long have you been away from the real world?" Peter merely shrugged. Too long, apparently.

"Come on, let's try this pl—" he stopped, his eyes widening at something behind them. They whirled around and whistled as a girl walked by. She was buried in a book but she had long blonde curls that reached her hips and she wore a cute little headband with a bow. Peter didn't know why his heart had started to race but the boys winked at him and watched the girl walk away.

"Least he knows what a hot girl looks like," the boy said snickering. Peter frowned.

"Why would she be hot? It's freezing out here." The boy merely rolled his eyes.

"Oh Peter, you really don't know anything do you?"

"Hey, I do so! I can hunt and fish and crow and fly and—"

"Alright, alright! Peter, why don't you take us to America since that's technically where we're from?" Peter bit his lip; he had only been to London. He didn't think he would be able to find his way to America, wherever that was.

"You can't get us to America, can you?"

"Of course I can," Peter snapped. "London is just…a lot nicer. You should think about staying here. Hey, look at this!" He walked over to a building and studied its pleasant appearance. "This place looks nice." The boys stared up at it doubtfully and shrugged.

"We're old enough to make it on our own, Peter. We don't need an orphanage." Peter frowned.

"The real world isn't like Neverland, boys. I told you that when you said you wanted to grow up. You need grown ups to help you and I've never left one of my boys alone before. Certainly not going to start now. Come on." He lead them up the stairs of the building and rang the doorbell. As soon as the door had opened, Peter was gone and the boys were looking around for him frantically. A kindly woman watched the boys with concern.

"Do come in, lads, and warm up. Where are your parents?" The boys followed the woman in and accepted her hospitality. Peter watched from the rooftop of the building across and smiled.

"Good luck, lads." He leaped to the ground and heard a scream. Gasping, he found that he had nearly jumped on top of a girl. It was the same girl who had crossed paths with him earlier. She was getting to her feet and brushing her jacket off.

"Oh, I'm…I'm really sorry," he said quickly, taking a step back from her. He reached for the book that had dropped to the ground and wiped off the cover.

"Where in bloody hell did you come from anyway?" she asked in an angry tone, brushing her jeans off.

"Um, I, um, I was…climbing trees. And I didn't see you."

"Well thanks for nearly flattening me. How about you watch where you land next time?" He nodded and she shook back her long locks. Her bright eyes went to his and Peter froze. The girl frowned at his behavior and cleared her throat.

"Um well thanks for helping me up. Easy on the flying from now on," she joked and Peter winced at the familiarity in her tone. She brushed back a curl behind her ear and cleared her throat again. Giving him a brief smile, she turned and hurried away. Peter watched her go, his jaw hanging open until he realized he still held her book in his hands.

"Hey, wait a minute! You forgot your—" he stopped, his wide eyes frozen on the golden letters of the title. In letters that stretched across the embossed cover read Peter Pan.