*A/N: Okay, as neat as the Syfy show was, I had a few problems with it: namely, the way Peter went from being the innocent, jabbering, quick-minded boy that was precisely how he is portrayed in the original story to the cunning, chummy, Oliver-Twist-like re-imagining that the network writers made for him. I decided to re-arrange the bit between the "personality wipe" and the decision to strike against Captain Bonny and James Hook, removing the bit where he regains his memory (because that would not make sense; the REAL Peter Pan doesn't "regain" lost memories; he makes up the bits he can't remember) and maintaining the original style that would coincide better with actually leading to the events of the original novel. Enjoy! -KM

They were hurting him. Stripping his own self from him caused him so much pain that I could not stand it. I had to intervene—but what would that do to him? He writhed, he begged, but still they did not stop. I knew what had to be done. I flew in their midst.

"STOP!"

Suddenly a burst of the astral energy exploded from my very core. I felt the blinding flash myself, and when I regained my composure, the Elders were gone, and Peter and I sat in a strange place that I had never seen before. It had grass and trees—but also many sounds that I could not identify. What had I done?
Peter had finally relaxed after his excruciating ordeal. I could see him crouched with his face buried in the dirt.

Peter? I called to him. Peter, am I too late?

He groaned heavily and slowly rolled to a sitting position. His eyes stared straight ahead, but there was no spark of comprehension in them. When I spoke into his mind, my voice echoed like speaking into a wide cavern. His face was full of that innocence that was the last vestige of himself he possessed.

"Here now!"
A barking voice caught us both off guard. Peter and I sprang into the air—and kept right on going, flying up to the tops of the tall structures surrounding the forest we'd been in.

Peter began to shake as he stared around wildly.
"Where are we?" he gasped. "What is this place? Where are we?"
I had no more idea than he did.

Stay here, I told him. Peter crouched behind a steaming metal pot, trembling so much that I saw no desire to move.

I flew over the heads of the people in this city. I heard one citizen refer to the city as Lundin. I saw boys dressed in the same strange clothes that Peter wore. I flew back to him. He had stopped shaking, and now watched the bustling crowds with interest.

"Who are they?" he asked me.

They are your people, I told him.

"My people?" he repeated.

I tried to make him understand. This is your world, Peter.

"No it isn't. This isn't Neverland."

You came to Neverland from this world. Look at them, Peter. They are like you.

Peter looked at them, and then examined the sheen of fairy dust over his skin.
"Why am I different?" he asked. "I'm more like you than I am like them."

But you are not like me. You are a person, Peter. I am a fairy. It is because we have been to Neverland that we are different from these people.

He frowned at me. "I don't understand. Why are we here?"

I could not understand it; surely even if the elders erased most of what he was, seeing and experiencing his world would bring back the memories he'd lost.

Peter, do you know how you came to Neverland?

"Easy," he said after a pause. "I have always lived there."

But, I tried to make him understand, you were not born there.

"Born?" he wrinkled his nose. "What is that?"

I could see that Peter needed more than just words to help him recover at least part of what had been lost.
Follow me, I told him.

Together we flew over the humans' heads, till I found a man and a woman very much in love with each other. We sat in the treetops and watched them hold hands, laugh, and talk.

This is how babies begin, I told Peter. They are called parents, a mother and father.

"Did I have a mother and father?" he asked.

I am quite certain you did, I told him.

Whether by the potency of my own assurances on his mind, or by some distant memory of his own, Peter suddenly looked at me and said, "I had a mother and father; they were happy together and they loved me very much."

His quick ears heard the grating cry of a baby and we saw a nanny pushing a perambulator up the front steps of a house. She entered, and we watched through the bars on the window as the child's mother entered and scooped the child up. I sensed Peter's longing even before he lifted his hand and scrubbed the first tears from his eyes in an effort to maintain his composure.
"Look, Tinkerbell," he told me, "That's a kiss."

In the house next door, we heard a couple talking about "the future," as they called it.

"Our own little boy," he said proudly, "will become a man, and attend a university-"
"Where he will meet a nice girl and marry her," said his wife hopefully.
"And he will get a job at an office near the center of town," added the man.
"And buy a nice house not far away," claimed she.
"And eventually he will own the business and make plenty of money!"
"And he will have a nice family to raise and give us plenty of grandchildren!"

Peter looked at me. "They are talking about that baby?" he asked, pointing to the cradle that was the object of the parents' affection.

I believe so, I said.

Peter frowned, but said nothing. Presently, a loud clamor reached our ears. Peter and I observed a nanny bringing her employer's children to the park. There were three of them, alternately tugging on her skirts or trying to annoy the passersby, to the extreme embarrassment of the young maid. A loud rapping caused both of us to dive for the cover of a chimney pot before we watched what made that noise.

A young boy, no older than Peter himself, crouched on the ledge outside the window next door, pounding on it with his fist.
"Mother! Mother!" he cried. "Let me in! Mother, I've come back! Let me in!" He peered inside the window. "Oy, that's my bed! Why is there another boy sleeping in my room? Mother? Hello?"

I stood by the chimney pot watching. I heard Peter's foot scrape the roof, and when I turned, he was already flying away.
Just then, a window further on flew open. "Fred, you silly boy!" A woman leaned out and beckoned to the boy. "You're knocking at the wrong window, I've been waiting for you right here the whole time!"
Young Fred eagerly scampered across the ledge to his own house. I flew off to find Peter.

He crouched high in the treetops overlooking the park. I saw tears in his eyes.
What is wrong? I asked.

"Why... Why didn't you tell me?" he demanded with a thick voice.

Tell you what?

"That's how it happened, isn't it? How I came to Neverland: I was the baby who fell out of his pram when the nurse wasn't looking, and fell into Neverland. When I was a little older, I tried to come back... But there was another boy sleeping in my bed, and the window was barred."

I tried to make him understand. No, that is not what happened-

"It did! I remember peering into a barred window... I remember growing up among the trees..." he looked down toward the small forest where we had been. A plaque overhead designated the area as "KENSINGTON GARDENS."

"There!" Peter was saying. "You and the other fairies raised me there in the garden till I was old enough to take care of myself."

You are confused, I told him. What other fairies? No other fairies have been here.

Peter flew to another treetop. "Of course there were; you know the ones, the old, bearded fairies."

The Elders; somehow, Peter remembered the Elders. What else do you remember?

Peter turned a somersault in midair. "Oh, lots of things! I remember the games, I remember that it was cold, and you brought me to Neverland..."

Oh yes, I said, lest he start regaining the memory where the Elders were angry for the terrible destruction he caused upon our homes because of Peter's mistake.

"Boy, those Elders sure were mean, though, weren't they? I'm glad I got away from them in time!"

So much for that; I probed, In time for what?

"For them to stop ruining my fun!" Peter chirped back, like the lark he was impersonating. "Boy! London sure is a bully place and-hey!" He stopped short and dove for something, returning to the tree branch with a paper in his hand.
"I know him," he cried, more confused at the recognition than elation over identifying a face. "Tink, how do I know him?"

I was staring at the face of the man who had been Peter's friend, the one who had sided with the pirates and betrayed Peter's trust. Did Peter really remember this man?
I don't know, Peter, I answered.

He was silent for a long time. I wished I could read his mind instead of simply communicating to it, but such as it was, I had no idea what he was thinking.
"He is a dark man."

The words were so sudden I almost had no idea where they came from. What?

Peter glanced at me and said, "He's a pirate... And I've got to fight him."

Peter, I could tell he was off on one of his jaunts and it would be hard to get any sense into him. What do you know about fighting pirates? Do you even know what a pirate is? How he had arrived at that conclusion mystified me, but also, I wondered how complete the memories would be.

"A pirate is a grown-up who has forgotten how to fly and have fun!" Peter stated. "The pirates want all of Neverland to be a dark, boring place, full of anger and hate, and I must stop them by killing their captain," he held up the picture again, "This man!"

I could not possibly explain the true reason why the pirates were dangerous, nor the fact that the captain of the pirates was in fact a woman, but Peter was already onto different things.

"To fight... We need an army."

What about your friends? I blurted the question too late to recollect the boy's problem that had sent us here in the first place.

"Friends?" Peter wrinkled his nose. "The fairies? What good will the fairies do against pirates?"

Not those, silly! I said. I meant the other boys, the ones like you.

Peter raised his eyebrows. "There are other boys in Neverland? But how did they get there?"

I started trying to figure out an answer, but Peter was already reaching his own conclusions.

"Oh, I get it," he said. "They came the same way I did, falling out of their prams and being brought by the fairies to Neverland. That's why there aren't fairies here anymore: they're all in Neverland escorting the other Lost Boys—say!" his face lit up, "That's a nice name for us, the Lost Boys!" He stood proudly, feet spread, arms akimbo. "And I am their chief! Chief of the Lost Boys!" He was so pleased with himself that he let out a great whoop that echoed over the city.

The light of the sun had just faded into dusk, and the first stars were peeking out. We had to get back to Neverland before we were discovered-but how?
Peter, I said. Do you know the way back to Neverland?

Peter thought for a moment, gazing at the purple-golden sky. He pointed upwards to where the North Star shone brightest and biggest in the sky.

"That way!" he said, and took off in that direction without another word.

I followed him, puzzling over how that would help us.
Higher and higher we flew, till the air grew so thin, it was hard for us to breathe. I was feeling a little faint myself, but then I heard a tiny plea.

"Help..."

Suddenly, Peter dropped like a stone.

Peter! I screamed.

He was falling faster than I could fly. I put all of my strength into my wings and finally reached his face.

Peter! I said again.

He mumbled something too faint to hear. I crawled around underneath him and with the last of my strength, I tried a desperate push upward. The ground below us was nothing but hard white ice. I pushed...

The astral energy, activated by my fear as it was before, exploded from my core and enveloped us both. In an instant, Peter and I were gently returning to the forest floor we had left-oh! It felt like ages ago! In the light of the rising sun, I let Peter down and crawled up to his chest to see if he was all right.
I could feel his steady heartbeat, and he opened his eyes.

"I told you," he murmured. "Second star to the right, and straight on till morning; that's how you get to Neverland." He closed his eyes and fell fast asleep.

I walked right over his cheek and kicked his nose.
Oh, the cleverness of you, I whispered, and left to go find the Lost Boys for Peter's army.