Chapter One: Unhappy

The seasons had gone and went and came back again, but, of course, that didn't matter in Neverland, for the weather had hardly changed since the Darling left – or more precisely, since the boy came back.

The daytime skies were still blue as were the nights still violet, but the sun was frequently shrouded by dismally deflated clouds and the stars no longer winked into the sea, but nodded off to sleep.

Peter Pan spent most of his days searching for new adventures in Neverland, but ever since the triumph of Hook, he had yet to find another nemesis that could take his mind off of Wendy. He was forced to resort to picking on the captain-less crew that Hook had left behind, which, considering its ease, was pitiful entertainment.

Some days, he would visit Tiger Lily of the Piccaninny Tribe and they would flirt and play as they always did. Other days he would chase the creatures of Neverland, flying after the orange-feathered raywing bird, or stalking the various frogs of Neverland's swamps.

And all the time, he would wish that Wendy was there to see him. He wished for her to celebrate his triumphs with him, to envy his attention for Tiger Lily, and to play silly games with him. But she was not.

Once in a while, Peter would fulfill his job as father of the Lost Boys by returning to the mainland, not to see his old friends, for they had moved on, but to find new ones. He would visit the orphanages of the world, and pick up unhappy children to take off to Neverland, where he promised a carefree existence and wonderful adventures.

In the year that had passed since his time with Wendy, he had managed to find only one Lost Boy. Children were growing increasingly cynical those days, disbelieving of Peter's promises.

"Why would I go with you?" one scrawny child asked from under his threadbare sheet.

"To have adventures, of course!" Peter replied.

"I've never heard of Neverland…" the boy trailed on, seemingly deep in thought. "This could be kidnap for all I know."

Skepticism, a mark of a child? No.

But he asked, "How do we get there?"

Curiosity? Yes.

"We fly."

The boy jumped up from his bed. "Fly?" he inquired, wrinkling his nose in doubt. "We can't fly". He was proving to be very difficult.

Then, Peter leapt – flew - from the windowsill to the foot of the boy's bed. "Of course we can," retorted Peter, smiling his mischievous grin. When Tinkerbell zipped up by Peter's ear, and the boy saw her, the deal was sealed.

And so, business was taken care of and off to Neverland they soared. Upon declaring the child as a Lost Boy, Peter crowned him with a band of bright orange raywing feathers and called him Scoffs.

Scoffs reminded Peter very much of Nibs, for he was very clever. In fact, he was a bit too clever for Peter's comfort.

"You're unhappy, Father," Scoffs declared one day, as if he was diagnosing Peter with an illness he had thoroughly considered.

Peter crinkled his nose. "What makes you say that?"

The symptoms, Scoffs explained, were that Peter always had a "faraway look" in his eyes whenever he was "queerly quiet", "whimpered" a lot about a "windy lady" in his sleep, and became "very sad very quickly."

"And you also sigh a little, every time, after we go on adventures or play," Scoffs finished.

"Ha!" Peter dismissed. "I know no sadness!"

"But – "

"Shoo! Leave!" Peter flung his arms wildly about. "Father needs rest."

Scoffs did not leave the tree, but immediately retired to bed. When Peter heard a snore from his companion, he let out a huff of breath. Unhappy?

Perhaps I may be. Just a bit.

He scratched his head.

But about what? Wendy will know.

She always knows.

And she will make me happy again.

"Tink?" Peter whispered into the darkness.

A ball of light whizzed up to Peter's nose.

"Tink, we must visit the boys."

She raised an eyebrow inquiringly.

"… And Wendy," Peter confessed.

Twinkle, Twinkle. Ring, Ring! No.

"I know I shouldn't see them again, for they have decided to grow up, but – just one more time," he pleaded.

Peter was never one to beg, for the world was his. However, ever since Tinkerbelle's light went off for him, he tried to make concessions for her, his one true friend, his guardian fairy.

She stomped her tiny feet in mid-air. No!

"Oh, Tinkerbelle, please? I just need Wendy to fix me up, and then we'll come straight back!"

The fairy wouldn't budge, for Peter was hers, and she wouldn't allow that Wendy to ever hurt him again…

"I promise!"

…but he was so desperate for comfort that she couldn't deny him of it.

Jingle, jingle. Fine.

"You'll always be the best, Tink!" Peter took her in his hands and smacked a quick kiss on her small head. "We'll go tonight and we'll be back by sunrise!"

Xxxxxxxxx

There it was, trusty window, still open for Peter Pan. The lights were off, but Peter could easily awaken the children, and he supposed they wouldn't mind.

He pranced off the windowsill, but landed quietly, and due to the darkness, he could make out only the three beds that had always been there.

Peter could barely contain his excitement as he tiptoed straight towards what he remembered as Wendy's bed. His heart had quickened to a little dance by then and a smile was pushing the corners of his lips to his ears.

Careful not to startle his friend, he softly sat down on the side of the bed.

"Wendy," he whispered into nothingness.

No reply. Heavy sleeper.

"Wendy," Peter said a bit louder in singsong. Still nothing.

Perhaps I should shake her a bit.

He reached out to where he believed her shoulders to be and grabbed, this time eager to surprise Wendy. However, he was surprised instead by the lack of a body.

"Wendy?" he called aloud. Tinkerbelle had fluttered over the bed, and her light illuminated nothing but bed sheets.

Worried, Peter rushed to the other two beds. Had a new villain taken her away? Upon flinging off the comforters, he found no one as well. Where are they? Have they left me? Are they mad at me for never visiting them? Or are they in danger? No, Hook is gone! Maybe they are elsewhere in the house.

Peter flew out the Darling's nursery and into the halls of their home, which were unlit as well.

"Wendy!" he shouted. "Slightly! Nibs! Is there anybody here?!"

Alas, after shouting himself hoarse, Peter found himself unhappier than before. He returned to the bedroom, slid down against the wall by Wendy's bed, and cried, as he had done once long ago when he lost only his shadow.

Minutes passed until Peter felt a tug on his hair. Looking up from his crouch and quickly drying his tears so that none will see, he unsurprisingly found Tink.

"What?" he grumbled, still sniffling.

The little light gestured towards Wendy's bed, and Peter found a small paper package wedged tightly in between the wooden bed frame and the wall. He wriggled it loose.

A ransom note? Are they indeed in trouble?

He found something more pleasant instead, something just short of Wendy herself.

Peter tenderly unfolded the little package, as if he was holding a wounded bird. Out fell a little trinket, that clattered to the floor with a clink. When Peter retrieved it, he was delighted that it was a kiss! He placed the peculiar metal cup at the tip of his index finger and turned his attention to the piece of paper.

How strange. Etched in straight lines across the paper were curly symbols. Did Wendy make this? What is she trying to say? After pondering over the markings for a long time, Peter recalled that these markings were letters. Letters make words.

It is a pity that Peter had escaped to Neverland before he attended school, and therefore, he never learned how to read or write.

"Tink, can you tell me what this says?"

She peered at the words and letters and shook her head, shaking fairy dust all over.

Peter sighed. This night was a disappointment indeed, when it should have been a happy reunion. Resigning to his "unhappiness" he climbed the windowsill.

"I guess it's time to go," he mumbled. He felt tears threaten to fall and his eyes stung with his effort to suppress them.

Tinkerbelle nodded avidly and sped ahead of him.

Peter took one last look at the bedroom behind him and prepared to take flight, tightly gripping the paper Wendy had left him.

Good-bye.

He stepped off the windowsill.

And fell.