Wendy rushed back to camp to tell Nibs the news. When she crashed back into her treehouse, Nibs had been staring out the window longingly. He looked up, startled, as she entered the room.
"Nibs, you'll never guess what Peter has told me! He offered to take me back to England to fetch my things! Can you believe it?" Wendy gushed as she floated about the room, in better spirits than she had been all week.
Nibs visibly brightened, either at her news or just at Wendy's better mood, she couldn't tell. "Well, Wendy, what are you going to bring back?" He asked hopefully.
She stopped flitting around and pondered his question for a moment. "Well, I'm guessing we won't have much time there, so probably a few dresses and some shoes and perhaps a comb—" She stopped when she saw Nibs forlorn expression."Why Nibs, is there something you would like me to bring back for you?"
He looked up bashfully, and slowly nodded his head. "When I came here, I lost my favorite bear. Could you—could you maybe get me one?"
"Why, yes, Nibs! Of course I will!" Wendy ran across the room to envelope him in a hug. "Anything you want Nibs. I owe you for being my companion all these weeks."
Nibs just squeezed her tighter.
-DP-
"Wendy!" Peter called as he came into camp. "Wendy!"
"I'm here, Peter!" Wendy replied as she slid down the ladder from her treehouse. "I'm all ready to go!"
Peter grinned at her obvious excitement. "Good, great. I have to go speak with Felix, and then we'll be off." He crossed the camp and starting talking with his right-hand man.
"Well, your highness," Rufio drawled as he sauntered up to her, "I do hope you have a safe journey. Wouldn't want nothing to happen to our queen."
Wendy rolled her eyes, but couldn't keep the smile of her face. "Oh, do quit that, Rufio! You and I both know I'm no queen. Not dressed like this," She gestured to her nightgown, torn along the hemline and stained with mud.
"You're a queen, whether dressed in fabulous ballgowns or muddied night gowns." He winked and walked away as Peter approached.
"You're ready, Bird?" He asked and offered a hand.
She smiled and took her his hand. "Yes."
-DP-
Together they walked to the beach, hand in hand, until they reached the edge of the water.
With the cool water lapping at their feet, Peter dipped his hand into a small pouch at his side and pulled out a hand full of sparkling dust.
"You still believe in me, Wendy?" He asked, raising an eyebrow.
"Very much so, Peter," She grinned as the dust began to shine brighter. Peter ceremoniously sprinkled some above her head, and then over himself.
Slowly, still holding hands, they began to float, rising higher and higher until they were above the island. The dense green jungle was simply a green smear against the sandy backdrop. Wendy clutched Peter's arm tighter as they moved over the water, a sense of instinctive panic setting in.
"Don't you worry, Bird. I've got you."
That nickname is starting to grow on me a bit, Wendy thought as they headed for the second star to the right.
When they emerged on the other side, London looked so small and lifeless compared to Neverland. There was hardly any color at all, the city gray and dull. No wonder everyone there had a foul disposition.
Peter flew them over the city, stopping in front of Big Ben so Wendy could marvel the intricate clock face. Now the clock, Peter had seen a hundred times over. But the look of wonder that painted Wendy's face as it glowed in the dim light from the moon, it was fresh and beautiful.
Wendy watched the ground below blur by as they sped above it. She tried to pick out boutiques where she had shopped or markets where she had purchased food and books, but everything seemed to muddle into a smear of gray.
As they started to slow down, Wendy had a better idea of where they were. She recognized the worn cobblestones and the sad rosebushes. She knew that leaning lamppost and foreboding wrought iron fence.
They were floating before her house.
Wendy stared at her former home in disdain, cursing every rotten brick used to hold the awful building up. As Peter set her on the rooftop beside her bedroom window, Wendy was filled with rage.
"I bet they didn't even notice I was gone," She fumed, "aside from the fact that I wasn't there at their beck and call. I bet they already converted my room into a study for Father or a sewing room for Mother. They always did complain about how they were one room short in this wretched old house."
Peter waited until she was finished ranting, and then undid the lock on the window.
"Is that how you got in the first time?" Wendy asked, shocked at how easy it was to open the window from the outside.
Peter shrugged and pushed the window open. Thankfully, it didn't make the horrible screeching noise it used to. "See they've finally gotten around to oiling the blasted thing," Wendy grumbled as she stepped down inside.
As she looked around her old room, one of Wendy's predictions rang true. They had converted her room into a study for her father.
Who happened to be slumped on a chair, passed out, surrounded by empty bottles.
"Blast!" Peter whispered as he stood beside her, though she could barely hear him over her father's snoring. One sound she had never missed.
"Can't you make him stay asleep or something?" Wendy whispered back, for she knew the consequences if he woke up and they were caught.
Peter fidgeted a bit. "I can try,"
Wendy smiled and stood on her tiptoes to whisper in his ear, "I believe in you, Peter."
Peter flushed bright red, through Wendy couldn't see in the darkness of the room. He watched as she crept over to the closed closet.
She quietly pulled it open, eyes closed, praying it wouldn't creak. Wendy flooded with relief when it didn't.
Her relief did not last long. When she looked into her closet, she only saw books and papers and a few full bottles of alcohol, not the clothes and shoes she had left there.
"Blast!" She said it a bit too loudly, and her father stirred from his sleep.
"What's that? Who's there?" He called out in a drunken mumble. Wendy pressed herself into the shadows, hoping they would conceal her presence. She saw Peter duck behind the curtains.
"Who left the blasted window open?!" She winced as she heard her father's strong Cockney accent. It brought back harsh memories. Her heart sped up in horror as she saw her father move toward the window, close it, and start to pull the curtains aside…
"Father!" She called out, stepping into the light.
"Eh? What's that?" He spun around too quickly and nearly lost his balance. He squinted at her, and his fist tightened as he recognized her. "Aw, well, if it ain't Little Miss Runaway! What, you come back thinkin' we still 'ad a room for ya?! Quite dim you always were."
"Father," Wendy started, voice shaking, "I came back to tell you that I hate you. That you made my life miserable and running away was the best choice I ever made. Because you ruined my life, I want to ruin yours." Her fists began to tremble as the rage coursed through her. "I'm just a ghost, Father. I'm going to haunt you for the rest of your lousy existence." Her fist tightened.
Fear entered her father's clouded eyes. "Wha—what are ya doing!" He began to claw at his throat, gasping for breath. "Please stop!"
"You deserve to suffer." Wendy didn't fully understand what was happening, but she didn't care. "But I won't kill you. That'd be too easy." Her fist unclenched.
Mr. Darling fell to the ground, wheezing.
Wendy stared at him, shaking. She felt sick, evil, wicked. But she felt satisfied and powerful. She looked up at Peter, who was gaping at her, shocked.
That look he saw in her eye, that was pure hate. The only time he'd seen such an evil look, was when he caught his own reflection...
"I'm sorry," Wendy whispered, shocked at her actions. "I don't know what—I don't know what I just did… I don't know how that happened…"
Peter glanced down at her father on the floor, who seemed to have passed out again. He took her hand and held to stop the shaking. "We'll talk later. Right now, we need to get your stuff and get out."
She nodded and followed him out into the hallway. They sneaked down the stairs into the parlor, toward the spare closet where Wendy suspected her clothes were being stored.
Wendy tiptoed over to the closet and swung it open. This time, the hinges did creak, but Wendy didn't care. She found her clothes inside, along with an antique carpetbag her mother had given her. She loaded her dresses and several pairs of shoes into the bag, along with several pairs of her brother's old pants and shirts. She stared at the bear toy that her brother Michael had towed around for years before it finally was locked away here. She debated taking it, instead grabbing a comb and mirror.
"You nearly finished?" Peter asked, coming up beside her.
"Yes, all done," She replied, hoisting the bag over her shoulder.
Peter nodded and jogged over to the front door. Wendy followed behind him. He opened the door and walked out, and just as she was exiting, she heard a voice call out,
"Wendy?"
She turned back to see her mother, hair frazzled from sleep, standing on the staircase, clutching a wool shawl around her shoulders.
They made eye contact for a moment, neither speaking, then Wendy turned and left.
-DP-
As they hurried down the street, Wendy towing the full bag over her shoulder, Peter glanced over at her repeatedly.
Her hair was tangled from the wind, her face bright from adrenaline, her body heaving for air, and her eyes wild. Her whole body didn't seem to stop shaking until they were a solid mile from her house.
There, hidden in an alley concealed by flower trees, Wendy fell to the pavement and sobbed.
"Oh, Peter! What have I done? I almost killed him! And I wanted to! I wanted him to pay for ruining my life! I've become a monster!" She covered her face with her hands and wept.
Peter crouched down next her, rubbing her shoulder as she cried. Wendy turned toward him and buried her face in the crook of his neck. "Shh, Wendy. It's alright. It's over. They won't ever hurt you again."
Wendy looked up at him, eyes glossy and lost. "But Peter," She began, voice trembling, "What did I do to him? I wanted him to suffocate, for every breath to be squeezed from his lungs. I wanted him to die." She took a breath to compose herself before she continued. "And he nearly did. What caused that?"
Peter squeezed her hand and inhaled. You did, Wendy. It's because you have magic. Magic stronger than that of my own. I don't know how, hell, I barely want to believe it. Maybe I could teach you how to control it? I could show you how to heal wounds and stitch up clothes in the blink of an eye... "Wendy, I really don't know. I'm sorry. Maybe he just is getting old or he has asthma and forgot in his drunken state."
She nodded, wiping tears away with the back of her hand. Together they stood up, and set out to finish what they had came here to do.
A/N: I KNOW I HAVEN'T UPDATED IN A YEAR I'VE BEEN ON HIATUS.
I'M GONNA UPLOAD TWICE IN A ROW FOR YA
;D