Okay, here we go. This time I actually sat myself down and wrote. And it's only an hour away from being late! HA!
Alright, this story is at a point where I can either end it or keep it going for awhile. It's up to you guys. Let me know via reviews/PMs.
Hook and Smee fought their way across campus against the wind and blustering rain. Hook could taste the metallic edge hanging in the air, the magic shifting with every move the two teenagers were making in the tiny dorm room above. The pirates were just entering Middle Mill when a loud shriek rang out from upstairs and lightning flashed outside. They exchanged a look before Smee shook his head, "It's too late. It has already come to pass."
Hook dashed up the stairs, Smee following closely behind, determined to ensure the safety of the Keys to Neverland and all their friends. "Smee," Hook ordered, resuming his Captain's ways, "Gather up the Lost Boys and make sure that their memories are restored properly. I'm going to make sure Pan and the Darling girl are well protected. They've had more than one life to live through."
Upstairs, the magic had located its beginning: The Kiss. Their lips had only touched for a brief moment after Gwen had suddenly grown aware of and scared of the storm. She had turned to Peter for comfort and he had immediately decided it was now or never, kissing her gently on the mouth. It was then that the pain slammed into them both from the inside, much like being hit by a freight train. Guinevere screamed.
"Peter!" Gwen cried, her mind expanding with the energy of a dying star as the memories of her past lives came flooding back. "Peter Pan, where are you?"
Neverland. The Lost Boys. Hook. Smee. John. Michael. Flying from the nursery. The adventures. Being captured. Leaving the island. Growing up. Her marriage. Her daughter, Jane. Seeing Peter's broken body on the pavement. The crushing grief. The strange dreams. Falling from the roof. The fairies trying to move her body. The fairies growing tired. Her body left in a strange position, far from where it had fallen. The police never understanding that it was all an accident. Watching her husband and daughter mourn. Blackness.
Feeling a tug.
Seeing a light.
Another life, this one more fleeting than the last.
Then another.
Now Guinevere, here on campus, the strange attraction to Peter. Mr. Painter seeming oddly familiar. Mr. Rogers looking even more so. The odd feeling whenever she was near the thimble. The dread she felt when she worked on her genealogy project. The dreams. The instant friendship with Britney. The familiarity of the Losties and their nicknames.
"I am Wendy Darling!" she cried, her eyes glowing white with the force of the knowledge and the magic it entailed. Over a hundred years of waiting, and they had finally found their way back to each other as fate had intended, as Smee had changed. Gwen, flinging her head back, was accepting the memories that had lain dormant in her mind for a century. She allowed her shattered, swirling mind to organize itself as she fell backwards into the comforting arms of unconsciousness.
The same occurred to Peter. Listening to the stories. Meeting Wendy. The flight to Neverland. The adventures. Defeating Hook. Spring cleaning after spring cleaning with Wendy. The little house in the trees. Having grown-up feelings. Wendy and the husband. Jane. Jane's spring cleaning. Peter growing up. Peter trying to fly again. Peter getting farther off the ground than usual. Losing his happy thought.
Darkness.
Nothing for a long time…and then Guinevere. His lady Guinevere. His attraction to her. His friendship with Britney. The easy leadership a freshman took over the Losties.
He, too, fell into the momentary blackness of empty space, allowing himself to reawaken with the knowledge of his identity fully intact. All Peter really needed to do was blink. His mind was firm in the knowledge of being the wonderful boy already. He didn't need to recuperate as Wendy/Gwen did. He was completely understanding and aware of his true form: Peter Pan, rightful King of Neverland. As he smiled and let out a gleeful crow, proud and sure of himself once again, Peter paused.
Something was wrong.
Things weren't happening the way they were supposed to, and someone very dear to him was in immense pain. He could feel it reaching to him from downstairs. The magic called to him like a parent with a child and guided his every reaction, making sure that no one would be left behind. Peter, knowing that the fairies always had a purpose, followed the magic's urging. After carefully tucking the motionless Guinevere into bed and making sure she'd be okay, he darted down the stairs two-at-a-time to reach Britney's dorm. He could hear her crying from outside the door and knocked, as Peter usually did with his closest friend.
His only reply was a quiet cry for help, which spurred him immediately into action. He kicked the door in, dashing into the room and to his friend's bedside. When his eyes adjusted to the dim of her room, they widened in surprised. He knew that she would have changed; he knew that her true form would show somehow, but he wasn't expecting it to be this obvious. Britney lay curled on her side, two large wings sprouting from either of her shoulder blades. They were filmy and fragile and looked like thin blue tissue paper.
"Tink?" he asked, stepping forward and placing a gentle hand on her arm, "Are you alright?"
"They hurt, Peter, when they came out. It still hurts," Britney sobbed, turning to cling to him. The wings followed her and Peter was surprised as to why he expected them to fall back onto the bed like children's costume pieces. These were real wings. Britney…Tinkerbell…was a real fairy, after all. Peter cradled the small girl against his chest, letting her cry into his shirt as she chanted, "It hurts. It hurts."
"It's alright, I'm here now," Peter said, rocking her gently. "That's what best friends are for."
"Peter, Peter, I remember everything. I remember it all and it hurts," she said. He observed, as he held her and let her cry, that her ears had gone totally pointy, no longer subtly changed. Her wings had burst through her shirt, which was probably causing some of the pain, and her whole figure seemed more slender, as if she had been built for flight all along. She was curvy, as usual, but something more internal had changed to make her fae.
Peter gingerly set her on the bed and went on the hunt for scissors. "Britney," he said, calming her down, "I think it hurts because your shirt is pinching your wings. I'm going to cut it off, okay? Cover up with the sheet."
Britney scooted to the edge of the bed and held the blanket across her chest, her sobs quieted to soft sniffles and the occasional hiccup. She let Peter take care of her, cutting away the shredded fabric and freeing her delicate new appendages. She sighed, greatly relieved when the last of the clothing was off. Peter cut up another t-shirt and tied it around her middle, below her wings, to cover everything without injuring her any further. "Peter, you're the best!" she smiled, rising several feet off the floor in excitement. Her wings fluttered, sending a spray of silvery powder everywhere.
"Pixie dust!" Peter exclaimed, gathering a small pile from the bed where Britney had been laying. He rubbed it up and down his arms and sprinkled it over his hair, feeling the magic coursing through him with every additional pinch that made contact with his skin. "Britney, it's working!"
"Of course it is, silly," Britney huffed, no longer crying, "That's what it's supposed to do."
"It's been so long," Peter rose from the floor and circled lazily in the air, "But it still feels the same."
Britney paused, looking around, "Where's Gwen?"
"Gwen!" Peter darted out the door and back up the staircase, this time his feet clear of the floor completely. "Gwen?"
He entered their dorm, and Gwen was just as he had left her. He sensed a new presence and glanced around the room before his bright blue eyes landed on his sworn enemy: Captain James Hook.
"What are you doing here?" he asked, hovering near Guinevere to keep her safe from his mortal foe.
"I came to congratulate you on the rediscovery of your memories, now if you'd stop panicking, I'm here to help. It wasn't me who banished you to this realm, but my idiot bos'un, Smee," Hook calmly explained. Peter touched down, firmly planting his feet in a defensive position (just in case).
"Smee did this?"
"He and some of the darker forces of Neverland banded together. He erased our memories, replaced what we had lost, and pushed us into the bright new world we had seemingly lost forever," Hook said. "We do not belong here, Pan. This is not our place, our time, or our home. I never thought I'd be saying this, but I wish to return to the island."
"You, the infamous Captain Hook, wants to leave the mortal world he craved so badly and return to the Neverland?" Peter was incredulous.
"Yes. I had a purpose there," Hook stated. "I had purpose, a crew, a mission, enemies, and always enough time to truly live. Here I have nothing but an eternity of not really knowing who I am and a strange feeling as if something important is missing."
"What can I do about it?" Peter asked, putting his hands on his hips. Hook smirked at the telltale pose.
"Wish, Pan. That is what you do, you wish."
"I simply wish us back home?"
"All of us," Hook nodded. "Me, Tink, Wendy here, the Lost Boys, all of us."
"If I do this, Hook," Peter narrowed his eyes and glanced at the sleeping Guinevere, "We have a weeklong truce. Until everyone is familiar with the territory again, until I know we'll all be safe, we are truced."
"Then, I assume, the game will resume itself as it always has," Hook mused.
"Of course," Peter agreed.
"Then wish away, your truce will be honored, I promise."
"Alright," Peter nodded, running a hand through his blond hair. Trusting the villainous Captain went against every one of his initial instincts, but Captain Hook was a man of his word (as he had proven many times before) and so he cleared his mind of such thoughts. Peter closed his eyes, clearly focused, and said the words with as much strength as he could muster. Pan could feel the magic racing through his veins and gathering behind his closed eyelids, intensifying with each moment. Every happy thought ever had by every child surrounded him in a cloud of hope and magic and faith. "I wish we were in Neverland."
And then the world dropped out from beneath his feet.
When Peter opened his eyes again, he was lying alone on a long stretch of familiar beach.