Author's Note:
Hi guys! Sorry this is so late. I had a lot of things written that I thought I wanted to go in this chapter, but they weren't fitting. Don't worry, you'll still see them; they pop up in the next chapter (which should be up WAY sooner considering I have a good chunk of it already written)! Anyway, that's what took so long, and a thousand apologies.
Shoutout to Hildebrant for another amazing chapter title!
Thank you as always to everyone who took the time to review! I really appreciate everything you guys do- reviews, questions, everything! They just make me incredibly happy. People who have usernames should have gotten personal messages back, if you didn't it was a total accident, and please feel free to message me and remind me to tell you how marvelous you are.
To those who don't have usernames:
1. guest 1- Thank you so much! I'm so happy to hear you like my story. Yes, Dodger hated Ferdinand (and rightly so). Killing him, though, was a major overreaction, and one that I think Peter suggested. I don't think Dodger would have done that himself.
2. nana- Slightly/Gretel (Sletel?) was a total accident. It wasn't planned at all! They just happened to share lunch and now I think more may be happening there than either of them want to admit. As for Nibs and Grace (Gribs?), time will tell. I'm glad you ship them though! :D
3. Guest 2- I'm sorry this update is so late. :( Wendy definitely still has ties to Pan and the Lost Boys. However, she can't stomach letting Pan murder Henry (or anyone else innocent, really). That's the reason she's working with the Charmings.
4. Puzzle- Oh my goodness, you stayed up all night!? I'm so flattered! I'm happy you liked it and hope you got some good sleep!
5. anon 1- I'm so happy you like my story! You will see more of Pan, I promise. You will see the ball/Halloween dance in the next chapter (fingers crossed). In Storybrooke I picture her hair as straightened, actually, so your image isn't too far off. I can't say what she's going to go as, but oh my God if you draw me fanart of any kind I might actually cry.
6. anon 2- Thank you very much! I'm always happy to hear anyone likes my writing! Just like on the show, I do try to have the past and present interact. As for Peter and Wendy's relationship...I can't say anything other than keep reading! ;) I'm also glad you enjoyed Grace and Gretel's lunch with the Lost Boys.
For everyone: Finally, as seems to keep happening, this is yet another chapter that got split up. So, this chapter is part 1, and the next chapter would be part 2. Please keep that in mind. :)
Again, thank you so much for reading and continuing to support the story, and I hope you enjoy!
~ladykikyo1792
Chapter 21: Disarm you with a smile, and leave you like they left me here...
Wendy and Tink sat on their living room couch, watching the news. Sidney Glass gravely shuffled some papers before him, announcing that Prince Ferdinand Corté of the Golden Kingdom had died in the evening. A statement released by the former royal family of that kingdom expressed their deep sorrow, as well as a desire to be left "to grieve alone during this difficult time." A picture of King Midas Corté- Ferdinand's father, who had been known in Storybrooke as Christopher Oro -appeared next to Sidney's head as he read from the paper. A few seconds later, a picture of Princess Abigail- Ferdinand's older sister, Storybrooke alias Kathryn Nolan -appeared next to Sidney.
"More people hurt by Pan," Tink said, "What a surprise." She shook her head, then took a sip from a glass of water on their coffee table. Although she felt that whiskey would probably calm her nerves better, she couldn't bring herself to touch the beverage since her encounter with Felix. It was so strange- she swore she could remember pulling him into their kitchen, teaching him how to properly make toast. She thought it took four tries, and a lot of laughter, but there had eventually been success. Then, she remembered- or she thought she did -they'd sat on the couch. Instinctively, she'd curled up into the warmth of his shoulder, and he'd put his arm around her, and she'd fallen asleep, with him whispering, in the faintest of breaths, "I miss you."
But instead she'd woken up alone in her bed, with Felix long gone. When the fairy had asked Wendy about the events of that afternoon, Wendy had merely shrugged and said that she'd found Tink asleep on the couch, and taken her up upstairs.
Oblivious to Tink's inner confusion, Wendy said, "I can't believe Ferdinand's dead." That statement brought the fairy back to the present, and she rolled her eyes:
"Of course you can, Wendy. Stop thinking like Gwen-"
"I'm not!" Wendy replied, immediately defensive, "I just-" she bit her lip, then sighed, "He didn't deserve to die." She clasped her hands in her lap. Deep down, she couldn't help but feel as though Ferdinand's death was her fault. If she'd ignored his advances, if she'd agreed with Tink's assertion that she had already made plans for the dance, if she'd not been so petty and set on punishing Peter for his taunts, perhaps Ferdinand would still be alive, instead of yet another death on her hands. Not by her hands, but on her hands. The first had been Del, with many more in between, and the latest addition was Ferdinand. Tears filled her eyes. When would it all stop? Frustrated, she wiped at her eyes, though Tinkerbell didn't notice. Instead, the fairy sighed, and murmured:
"No one ever does deserve to die. But when has that ever mattered to him?"
Neither girl spoke after that. There was no need to identify who "him" was.
Mary Margaret, David, Emma, Regina, Hook, and Neal stood in Mary Margaret's apartment, all in deep discussion (Henry had been sent to an upstairs bedroom with strict orders to watch cartoons, though the adults all realized he would most likely listen in. However, they felt him eavesdropping was far better than leaving him unattended).
"Ferdinand's dead?" Mary Margaret gasped. She stopped, halfway between pouring tea and coffee for her assembled guests. Emma had called an emergency meeting before Mary Margaret left for school. She'd rarely seen such a gruesome scene in her entire career. Normally, she'd immediately launch a hunt for the killer, but it was clear who had orchestrated the prince's death. Sighing, she told her story:
"Dr. Whale found him at 5 AM in the hospital. He was...beheaded," Emma added grimly, "I called Kathryn to identify the body." She met her father's eyes, and he looked away guiltily. Although he had never wanted to marry Kathryn- Princess Abigail -he did sympathize with his former fiancée. He knew what it was like to lose a close relative, but he couldn't imagine having to see someone you loved in pieces.
"The contract's still valid," Regina muttered. She had examined the parchment earlier in her new apartment at Emma's request. The blood had shimmered brightly, retaining its wetness, indicating that it hadn't been broken. Then she announced decisively:
"Pan didn't do it."
"One of the Lost Boys must have," Neal said immediately. It was the obvious workaround the stipulations established in the contract. While he had no doubt Pan had planned the death, someone else had carried it out. As always, he twisted the rules to his benefit.
"Neal-" Emma started, but he interrupted her:
"Emma, I know you want to protect Henry, but I do too! I'm his father, even though I didn't know about it until recently," Neal swallowed, running a hand through his hair, "Anyway, you have to start talk-," he cut himself off, "listening to other people about this. Like me. I lived in Neverland-"
"I know," Emma said, "but we all went there-" She didn't like relying on other people, and the last person she felt comfortable relying on was Neal. Despite her lingering feelings for him- feelings she desperately wanted to squash -she continually reminded herself that Neal had abandoned her. He'd framed her. She shouldn't- she didn't -trust Neal, let alone with Henry's safety. Although, even she had to admit it wasn't Neal's fault that he hadn't known about his son's existence. She had no idea what kind of father he would have been.
"It's not the same, Swan," Hook interjected, laying a hand on her arm, "Baelfire and I spent years there. We know Pan far better than you. You need to start listening. To both of us." He cast a look at Baelfire- who continually reminded everyone he wanted to be known as Neal. Nevertheless, the pirate couldn't stop seeing the lonely boy he'd rescued behind Neal's suspicious glare. Neal clearly still carried some resentment towards him, but all Hook could see were Milah's features embedded in Neal's face. His heart twisted at the thought of his old lover, but he quickly returned his attention to the new. Emma needed him now, and Hook was working to prove to her that while he was a dashing rapscallion, he was her dashing rapscallion, and would do whatever she asked of him. In this case, that included saving Henry, and Hook knew the best way to do that was to supply Emma with Neal's and his considerable experience with the wretched boy known as Peter Pan.
Reluctantly, Emma nodded, "Okay. Just...we have to save Henry."
"That's what we're going to do, Swan," Hook reassured her, "so let's start now. What we've been doing so far is playing by the rules-"
"-but we can't do that anymore," Neal finished, "Peter Pan is hands down the nastiest person I've ever met. He's also one of the most intelligent. He's not cheating, but he's working around the rules. We need to do the same." He stared at Emma, deathly serious, and she sighed.
"Aye," Hook agreed, "Now, you already told us that we can't imprison the Lost Boys, including Pan."
"We can't confine any of them?" David raised his eyebrows. Mary Margaret hadn't had an opportunity to fill him in on the specifics of yesterday's fight, and this information evidently shocked him.
"If only we could," the pirate said darkly, "but Pan would never make it that easy." Nothing was easy with Pan. If something was easy...it was a trap. It was one of the first lessons he'd learned in Neverland.
David shook his head, "What's another clause?" Apparently, this contract had quite a few loopholes for Pan to slip through. He wanted to see if there were any loopholes they could utilize, or if the situation was as hopeless as it seemed.
Regina listed, "'Storybrooke belongs to me and Emma during the day; at night it belongs to Pan, no kidnapping Henry-'" She sounded somewhat bored, though in reality, she was simply frustrated.
"Kidnapping?" Neal asked. He seemed almost excited by this information, and his eyes were bright.
"Yeah," Emma confirmed, slightly perturbed by his reaction, "No one can kidnap Henry."
"That's it!" Neal said excitedly, "Henry can't be kidnapped if he chooses to go somewhere!"
"What are you saying?" Regina demanded. She was not about to let semantics decide the fate of her son.
Hook bit his lip, "If I'm understanding Baelfire, he's suggesting that we take Henry out of Pan's reach." He drummed the fingers of his good hand on the counter.
"But we can't do that!" Mary Margaret protested, "Our magic only works in Storybrooke. Taking him into the outside world could put him at Pan's mercy- we don't even know where his Shadow is!" she sputtered. They all knew the Shadow- a magical entity -could operate in the Land Without Magic independent of Pan, for it was how Wendy Darling had been brought to Neverland in the first place. Removing Henry from Storybrooke, and the magical protections only Storybrooke could provide, might ensure the Shadow could somehow bring Henry to Pan.
Neal swallowed, "That's the catch. We need to take Henry somewhere else where there's magic- somewhere that hopefully, Pan can't follow. And somewhere Pan doesn't rule."
"There's nowhere else here without magic," Regina said, "It's called 'The Land Without Magic' for a reason!" She scoffed at the man's stupidity.
An utterly stunned Emma breathed, "You don't want to just take him out of Storybrooke, do you?" At Neal's silence, she finished, "You want to take him to another world."
Wendy sighed, grateful for the peace and quiet in the Storybrooke library. She had been seeking out a place to do homework where she wouldn't be bothered- especially after the truly heinous day at school. People had whispered about Peter and Ferdinand's fight, and they said it had been over her, and fingers were pointed her way, wondering if she was to blame for his death.
It didn't help that they were right. Still, Wendy did her best to keep an appropriate facade up throughout the day. She didn't burst into tears, which was all she felt like doing, but she didn't smile, which she knew was inappropriate. She held everything back, ignoring the rumors and condemnations, which this time had both of her names: Gwen and Wendy. When the final bell rung, she'd practically run out of the school, desperate to find somewhere away from the words about her damned past and equally bloody present- and away from the figure who featured in them both. Peter had shown he had zero qualms showing up in her bedroom, and as he went to school with her, staying after classes would do nothing (he would know where she was). Further, while she liked Granny's, it wasn't exactly an environment that was conducive to studying- especially with all the students so obviously talking about her. So she'd fled to the library and found a location hidden among the stacks, a table in between two massive shelves nestled in the very back of the building. It was cozy, and perfect in one way: Peter, despite his love for stories, would never come here, for he hated the book that had bastardized his own life.
"Hello."
Wendy looked up from her math homework to see Mrs. Gold smiling at her. She wore a yellow sweater over a white blouse and brown pleated skirt. A yellow ribbon tied back her brown hair, which curled down her shoulders in gentle waves.
"Mrs. Gold!" Wendy started to get up, fearing she was about to be reproached by the librarian, but the woman shook her head:
"Belle, please. Do you mind if I sit with you?" She smiled warmly at the girl.
Surprised, Wendy gestured to the seat across from her. Belle walked to the opposite side of the table, pulled out a chair, and gracefully took a seat. She stared at the girl for a long moment, then folded her hands across the table and announced:
"I've been waiting to meet you, Wendy."
The girl flinched. She knew that Belle was an avid reader, and she probably had heard the story told of Wendy in this world. Still, Wendy hadn't wanted to deal with the lies the book told. She just wanted to do her homework. Accordingly, and hoping desperately to avoid any more questions about the veracity of the book, she simply replied:
"I see."
Immediately, Belle asked, "Are you all right?" Her eyes were wide with concern.
"What?" Wendy blinked at her.
"Are you all right?" Belle repeated. At Wendy's confused look, she continued:
"I know people have been asking you a lot of questions, but I don't think anyone's asked that one yet." She smiled again, and this one was a sad smile.
Wendy thought, long and hard. It was true. No one had asked after her. Bae had, when they first found her on Neverland. And her brothers, when they first saw her. But not afterwards. It was almost as if they assumed, once she was in Storybrooke, once she had finished her visits with Dr. Hopper, that she had to be fine. Even after the dreadful events of yesterday, and Ferdinand's death- which, her mind repeated over and over again, was her fault -no one asked her if she was all right.
"No, no one has asked me," Wendy admitted. She considered, and then after a while said, "I'm not sure. I don't even know what 'okay' is. I'm breathing. I'm not bleeding. I suppose you could say I'm surviving," Wendy noted, "But then again, I've always survived." Belle stared at her, but she didn't seem to think strangely of Wendy. She was just considering her.
"What do you mean?" she finally asked.
"Once you've lived so long," Wendy bit her lip, "The lines between good and evil tend to blur. I'm over a hundred, and sometimes I consider options that the little girl I was would have loathed. And it's saved my life, but every time it does, I wonder, if that's me..." she trailed off, "and Peter is roughly a thousand years old, what limits does he have?" It was a dark thought, and part of it killed her, that even her innermost thoughts were entwined with Peter. So much of her was wound up in the boy, and in her heart, she wondered if she would ever truly gain herself back- or if she wanted to. She hated that part most of all.
Belle smiled, "So you're older than me."
"Yes, I suppose so," Wendy stated. That wasn't the response she had been expecting- she'd thought Belle would probe more and ask about Peter. Instead, the woman was solely focused on her, and her alone- and interestingly, who she really was behind her formerly frozen self. It was strange, to have someone finally acknowledge her age. Among Peter and the Lost Boys, of course, it didn't particularly matter- she was young, relatively, amongst them, who were all older than her. But in Storybrooke, everyone relegated her to the position of teenager. And she wasn't. She wasn't an old woman, she wasn't an adult, but she certainly wasn't a child.
It was kind of refreshing.
"Well, I'm not going to pretend I know more than you," Belle said, "but in my experience, loving someone who walks a moral gray line doesn't mean they're evil." A small ding went off, and she murmured a polite excuse-me. As she turned around the corner of the stacks, Wendy heard her shuffling what sounded like china. When Belle returned a few moments later, she bore a tray laden with a teapot and two teacups.
Sheepishly, she admitted, "I do love tea. I keep a tea kettle in the library. I thought you might like some." Carefully, she poured tea for herself and Wendy.
Still unsure what to make of this entire conversation, Wendy asserted, "I don't love Peter-"
"I'm not saying you do," Belle noted, taking a sip of tea, "I'm talking about Rumple and me. He's evil, by the standards of everyone in this town, but a lot of what he's done has been to protect his son. It was only after he lost Baelfire that he started to walk firmly on the side of evil." She pushed a teacup towards Wendy, who accepted it with some trepidation.
The girl took a sip as well, then said, "Bae and I were very good friends. He was like another brother to me, for the brief time he was with my family. He warned me once that magic destroyed his family and not to trust it, but he never mentioned his father."
Belle said softly, "They have a very complicated relationship. What people fail to understand about Rumple is that he would do anything to get his son back, no matter what it took. He had good intentions, if dark methods, and behind all of his actions, there was always that spark of good. There still is," she sipped her tea again, "Bae, for his part, has a hard time trusting his father- but what he doesn't understand is that he once served as his father's moral compass. Without that compass, Rumple was lost."
Despite herself, Wendy couldn't help but compare Belle's words about Rumple and Bae to herself and Peter:
He had good intentions, if dark methods...
Pan had been willing to do anything to save Neverland, and in his own words to her, his drive had been to save those who lived on it and depended on him. It was an unselfish pursuit, but the fact he was willing to murder so easily was not exactly what some would consider "good."
What he doesn't understand is that he once served as his father's moral compass. Without that compass, Rumple was lost.
Was I that for Peter? His moral compass? Wendy wondered, I couldn't stop him from everything. But I told him to spare Tootles' life, that very first day I arrived, and he did. He would listen to me, sometimes, the first time I went to Neverland. But when I came back- it was like he was a different person- it was like who he was was lost.
She shook her head. That was ridiculous. Pan made his own decisions, and as he frequently reminded everyone, he almost always kept his own counsel. Occasionally, he'd sought his Shadow's his advice, and once in a very great while he asked Felix. But his only moral compass was his own black heart, and no one could control the wayward arrow but him.
"Peter considers it his duty to save those from truly horrible situations," Wendy said at last, feeling that she somehow should share something about Peter, even if Belle hadn't asked, "That was how it started, at least...I think that's how it started. Not everyone went to Neverland, of course, but sometimes he'd teach boys how to fight back. I think, in a way, that he still holds true to that."
"So Neverland is a safe haven," Belle hazarded, and Wendy nodded.
"It was, but when I left the first time," she swallowed, looking away from Belle, "It started to die, and even when I came back nothing changed. The island was doomed, and Peter wanted to save it. He was willing to do anything, and we went to Wonderland, and the Queen of Diamonds told him he had to get the Heart of the Truest Believer-"
"Wait, Wonderland?" Belle queried, "Peter went to Wonderland? And the Queen of Diamonds?" For the first time, she seemed to be drawn more into the mystique of the true story of Peter Pan and Wendy then the person sitting before her. Her eyes were bright with intrigue.
Wendy nodded vaguely, unable to stop herself from telling someone- anyone -the truth. She needed to relieve herself of that burden, of carrying that weight on her own, and so she explained:
"Peter can travel across realms and dimensions. I went with him, once, and there were other queens in Wonderland before Cora. The Queen of Diamonds was the most deadly and she told Peter he had to get the Heart of the Truest Believer or the island would die," the girl revealed. She suspected no one knew the truth of how Peter had selected Henry as his target. It had been a mystery to them, but then again, no one had truly cared. They'd simply been more concerned with saving him from Pan's clutches than the particulars of how Pan had chosen Henry in the first place.
"Then Pan's quest was never about him being immortal."
"No. Neverland's magic; if you live there you're young and will live forever, unless you suffer some kind of mortal wound. Peter gave part of that magic to slow down time so that Neverland's time would match this world's," at Belle's confused look, Wendy added, "All of the dimensions run on relatively different times to one another. Neverland goes incredibly fast. To slow it, artificially, to match this world, required a great sacrifice on his part, and that was his immortality. He thought it would be temporary, because the queen said once he had the Heart, Neverland would be restored and his lifespan would return. But Belle, none of this would have happened if not for me."
"Wendy, what are you talking about?" the woman inquired. She started, as if remembering that Wendy was a person and not just a fairy-tale- and that person had tears in her eyes. She reached across the table and took one of Wendy's hands in her own, giving it a gentle squeeze.
"Neverland started to die because of me. I asked Peter to come home with me to London, and he refused. He mocked me for having feelings for him, and he sent me away. He broke my heart," Wendy's eyes bubbled up with tears as she started to cry, "and Neverland is a world of imagination; it needs one of whatever steps foot on its shores to remain stable. I was a girl from the Land Without Magic. A girl from the Land Without Magic is now required, always, to be on Neverland-"
"If that's all it needed," Belle inquired, "why didn't Peter take another girl? Why did it have to be you?" It seemed a simpler solution than specifically seeking out Wendy herself, who knew about Peter's trickery and the demons lurking behind his charms.
"I came back to save Bae," Wendy said, "I suppose it was easier. And he is fond of revenge." A few tears slid down her cheeks.
Belle paused, "Is it really so impossible for him to care for you, Wendy?" Unwittingly, she echoed Tinkerbell's earlier assertion that Pan did care for Wendy. Nevertheless, the girl knew they both were wrong.
"Yes," Wendy said bitterly, "He made that very clear. Peter Pan has no feelings for me...not like that. There was a time I thought differently. There was even a moment, a brief moment after I went back the second time, that I thought-" she trailed off, "it doesn't matter."
"Of course it does," Belle said, voice filled with sympathy, "Being heartbroken is hard enough, but being heartbroken for a century...that's torture."
"You know," Wendy said softly, "I almost didn't betray Peter. I almost stood by and let him kill Henry. I guess my moral compass is screwed up too."
"But you didn't," Belle pointed out, "You did the right thing, in the end." She squeezed Wendy's hand again.
Did I? Wendy wondered, Did I do the right thing? Should I have let Pan die?
That thought haunted her long after she left the library.
Peter was five when it first happened.
Earlier in the day, Peter, his mother, and his father had attended a luncheon hosted by the Duke of Sussex in honor of his son Edward's sixth birthday. Most of the adults had been socializing, sipping on wine and tea as they walked about the porch. The children had been allowed to wander in the great backyard, playing all manner of games. But then Edward suggested he show them his new pony. The others watched, wide-eyed, as he proudly paraded before them on the chestnut creature, guiding it in elegant circles. The daughter of the marquess of Hertford, little Lady Jane, then asked how he'd learned to ride so well. Edward had replied that he'd had an old pony, but he'd replaced it with his new one. Just then, Peter asked what had become of the old pony, and Edward shrugged, saying he would probably have his father sell it.
"I don't have any use for her now," Edward said pompously, "She's old. I've outgrown her."
"But you learned to ride on her!" Peter protested, "You're just going to sell her?"
"I raised her since she was a baby," Edward replied, "but it doesn't matter. I've outgrown her, and I don't need her anymore."
For whatever reason, this statement infuriated Peter. So Peter bet Edward that he could race him on Edward's old pony, and beat him. Edward had taken him up on the challenge, perhaps annoyed that an earl's son had dared to question him. Spitefully, he'd even added that if Peter won, he could keep the pony.
Edward plainly hadn't expected Peter to win.
Still, when they'd brought out the silver pony, already neatly saddled for him, Peter felt as if he could see her sadness at being replaced. And he decided, immediately, that he would win. Confidently, he sat in the saddle, ignoring the smirking Lord Edward, who was mocking him and his old pony- which he'd apparently named Starlight. Peter gently stroked behind her ear, and leaned down to whisper:
"I believe in you, Starlight. We're going to win this, and I'm going to take you home, and we're never going to have to deal with stupid Edward again." Starlight proceeded to turn her head, almost as if she was looking back at Peter to ascertain the truth of his promise. Her great black eyes met his green, and then she turned back to the task at hand. Peter gently directed her to the makeshift race track that a few servants had set up on the lawn at Edward's imperious command. Edward himself, caused a great stir by having his pony- who he'd named Soldier (which Peter thought was rather ridiculous, considering a pony could hardly be used in warfare) -gallop to the starting line. The various adults at the gathering at last noticed the little competition starting up, and began to watch with a sort of amused interest.
"Are you ready to lose, Ponsoby?" Edward taunted Peter.
Peter immediately answered, "No."
Edward laughed, a few of the other children laughing with him, "Why not?"
"Because," Peter replied, "I know you'll lose."
At that, Edward stopped laughing. He scowled, and nodded his head at a butler who had been roped into being their referee. The servant sighed, bored at being involved in a silly children's spat, but obligingly counted down:
"3, 2, 1-"
Neither Edward nor Peter waited for the butler to finish. Both eagerly spurred the ponies on. Edward spent the majority of his time hurling insults at Peter and Starlight, sitting straight in his saddle. Peter ignored him, instead leaning down to continue whispering in Starlight's ear that he believed in her, that they would win, that they were in the right, and so they could not lose-
As if Starlight could understand him, she increased her speed to a full gallop. Peter wondered, idly, why Edward thought Starlight was so old. She was going faster than any pony Peter had ridden previously, and she seemed like a sweet-tempered- though thoroughly determined -animal. Edward was an imbecile, Peter decided, for wanting to get rid of her. He hadn't outgrown Starlight- he'd gotten bored of her. What a horrible thing to say, that he'd outgrown her.
"You can do it, girl," Peter promised her, "I know you can. Keep going!" He leaned down even farther, keeping his body close to the pony as his riding instructor had taught him. He knew that would allow them to go faster than Edward and Soldier, and didn't even dare look around to note the pair's location. Edward's taunts, he'd noticed, had decreased. Instead, the boy was shouting angrily, and it sounded like Soldier was whinnying in protest. Peter heard the drumming of hooves behind him, Edward's furious exclamations getting closer.
"Come on, Starlight," Peter urged his own mount, "Let's show them how to fly!" Starlight somehow managed to go even faster, and seemed to cross the finish line- marked by a large oak tree -moments after his final request. Peter couldn't help but crow in delight, especially when he finally turned to see a red-faced Edward, kicking Soldier in a fit of pique.
"She never did that for me!" he spat, glaring at Starlight.
Eyeing Edward distastefully, Peter simply stroked Starlight's head, "Maybe you didn't treat her right." Softly, he dismounted, both thrilled at his win and annoyed with Edward's callous hand and attitude.
"Well," a man's booming voice interrupted their tiff, "I must say, that was quite the show." The two boys turned to face a tall, grinning man with neat black hair, accompanied by Peter's father. The Duke of Sussex smiled broadly at Peter:
"What an excellent display of sportsmanship!"
"Thank you, sir," Peter replied respectfully. He didn't care for Edward, but the duke had been nothing but nice to him the entire afternoon. Edward deserved his contempt, but the duke did not.
"You're welcome," the duke answered. With a grin, he told Peter's father, "Ponsoby, you've got quite the talented son!"
Lord Ponsoby's face was inscrutable as he acknowledged, "That I do."
The rest of the party had gone on uninterrupted, most of the adults having discussed the impromptu race at least a little. The women gave various compliments to a blushing Lady Ponsoby, who demurred that all their sons were precocious. The duke couldn't stop raving about Peter, though he did take a moment to smile at his own son and tell Edward he wold win next time. Lord Ponsoby, for his part, accepted the duke's comments without much reaction.
Peter's father had stayed that way for the remainder of the party, and said nothing else until after they'd returned to their home (with Starlight in tow, and brought to her new stall in the family stables). Peter was just going to sneak into the kitchen to grab extra carrots to feed her when he heard his father summon him:
"Peter, please join me in the library."
Puzzled, but acquiescent, Peter walked to the library. His father rarely talked to him, never mind without anyone else present. Yet the library was deserted, the lights dim, and the only sound coming from a crackling fire.
"I'm here, Father," Peter announced his presence. His father didn't face him. Instead, he appeared very interested in something on one of the bookshelves.
"I wanted to talk about the race this afternoon."
Peter smiled. Lord Ponsoby didn't pay much attention to his son, other than the occasional sigh when the five-year-old ran about the mansion, a gaggle of servants chasing after him. To have his approval- for Peter was sure that was what he was here for -meant so much to the boy.
"Yes, Father?" Peter said eagerly, hoping for a compliment as other children might hope for candy.
"It was very inappropriate."
Oh, Peter thought, crestfallen. Perhaps his father didn't approve of his actions at all. He supposed it made sense. The Duke of Sussex outranked an earl, and it probably hadn't been the most socially acceptable idea to challenge the duke's son to a race and inform him that he would sorely lose.
"I'm sorry, Father," the little boy replied, remorsefully.
"Are you?" Lord Ponsoby demanded. He finally stared at his son, rage in his eyes, "Do you have any idea what you did?"
"...I was mean?" Peter queried.
"You stole the attention away from Edward Kensington on his birthday!" Lord Ponsoby admonished him, "A day solely for him, where he wasn't supposed to be outshone by anyone-"
At these comments, Peter was perplexed. Why did his father care so much about Edward Kensington? It was just a race. Nothing had come of it. Even Edward had gotten over it when they'd brought out his cake, the chocolate diluting his wrath. If anyone had the right to be upset, it was Edward, not Peter's father.
"-it's the most terrible thing you can do, Peter," Lord Ponsoby continued to rant, "Never, ever, do it again. Being shoved aside, being second best and forgotten, it's the most horrible feeling in the world-" Lord Ponsoby's eyes were full of wrath, jealousy- and was that hurt? Had something happened to him, too? Peter couldn't be sure- he'd never known his father was ever humiliated by someone.
"Should I get Mother?" Peter asked, a wary feeling prickling up his spine. He didn't know how to handle this. He didn't know what was wrong with his father, why his son winning a race had somehow broken him. Other men would have been proud, but Lord Ponsoby was seething as if Peter had won against a race against him.
"No," Lord Ponsoby said contemptuously, "There's no need for her. She doesn't need me; she never did, she never wanted me. I could never be him-" he paused, a strange look coming into his eyes, "I won't let you be him." Then he grabbed Peter by the arm and dragged him forward.
"Father, what are you-?" Peter cried out in pain as his father slapped him. He stumbled backwards onto the carpet, but his father strode toward him and yanked him back to his feet. His arm bone felt like it was going to be wrenched from its socket.
"You won't be him," Lord Ponsoby swore bitterly, picking up his walking stick.
Peter screamed as the walking stick hit his back.
Peter couldn't tell whether it was minutes or hours later that Lord Ponsoby stopped. All he knew was that eventually, his little body slid onto the floor, his head smacking against the carpet. Spots flashed before his eyes, and dizzily, he saw his father's shoes walk out of the room. Similarly, he looked at the rug itself. The beautiful pattern of twin doves in flight was destroyed now, their pristine white feathers stained red. He reached forward with his fingers, running them over the doves. The carpet was still wet, as if the birds themselves were bleeding.
But it wasn't them who was bleeding.
That thought in his head, the boy struggled to sit up. His vision was still blurry, and the flames in the fireplace hearth made strange, swirling shapes. To him, they looked like shooting stars. Stars or flames, it didn't matter, though. He gingerly reached his fingers over his shoulder. He nearly screamed in pain again, snatching his fingers back. They were stained with blood...his own blood. Utterly sick, he collapsed to the rug again, fighting the urge to sob.
Father beat me, Peter thought shakily, but why? I don't understand! I don't understand! What did I do?
"You stole the attention away...he wasn't supposed to be outshone by anyone...it's the most terrible thing you can do, Peter..."
His father's condemnations rang in his ears, and at that, Peter couldn't help but cry, great sobs wracking his chest. His father had hit him because he was good at something. His father had reduced him to a trembling, crying, pathetic mess on the floor, all because he was enraged at Peter being the best at something. Most parents would be proud, but Peter's father had practically killed him for it.
What does he want? the little boy wondered, For me to lose? For me to be nothing?
For a moment, Peter squeezed his eyes shut, forcing down the tears. Then he bit his lip, utterly determined:
"I won't lose," he swore to himself, "I'll never let him break me. I'll be the best, no matter what! No matter what..." he repeated, before mercifully passing out.
Later that night, Wendy was again seated on her couch. Tink had retreated to her room, finally conceding that she should at least attempt some homework. Whether she actually would do it was questionable, but idly, Wendy couldn't help but think Tink simply wanted to be alone with her own thoughts. She knew the fairy suspected that Wendy hadn't told her the truth about Felix's presence in their living room the other day, and perhaps she was trying to sort through her hazy memories and discern what had actually happened. Whatever Tinkerbell's motives, she'd left Wendy alone on the couch. She couldn't stop replaying her conversation with Belle earlier in the day. Words about broken moral compasses and Pan caring for her swirled in her head like a never-ending storm, and she was so absorbed in her thoughts that she almost didn't hear her front door open.
As if summoned by Wendy's thoughts, Peter Pan stood in her entryway. As always, he wore his outfit of leather and stitched leaves. Unusually, however, his face lacked its haughty smirk. There was no darkness in his gaze, and he simply surveyed her. Wendy herself wore a pair of dark blue jeans and a loose purple blouse. Her golden-brown hair was down around her shoulders, without the bow he was so used to seeing in it. She hugged her knees to her chest, as if to protect herself from him, though they both knew it was a useless gesture. Furthermore, he knew his Bird, and he could sense the hurt and hate radiating from her in waves. She knew, then. Even if no one had told her, she knew that he'd been the one to kill Ferdinand- more or less. Peter hadn't truly expected her not to deduce this- she was Wendy Darling, after all -though he had expected her to be less angry with him. She should know, by now, that this was what he did. Pan would not let anyone threaten him or his power, even if that anyone was an upstart prince, and he had learned long ago that death was the only way to permanently remove a threat.
Carefully, Peter shut the front door, then walked to the couch. He stood straight in front of her, tall and utterly guiltless.
"I'm not going to apologize," he said without preamble.
"You never do," Wendy answered, "but you did murder him, Peter, didn't you?" She looked him straight in the eyes, condemning blue meeting an inscrutable green. There was a trace of disgust there as well, and inwardly, he wished more than anything for it to be gone. As such, Pan declared:
"I didn't kill him." It was true, after all. Dodger had beheaded the prince, and quite thoroughly too. Peter had simply presided over the bloody affair. He knew that he was arguing semantics, but he still stood by his decision.
"Fine," Wendy acquiesced, "You didn't do the deed. But you ordered it. Ferdinand wouldn't be dead if you hadn't commanded it." Her voice was soft, and almost flat in its tone. She wasn't asking him anymore. She was simply accusing him.
For that, Peter had no response.
"He didn't need to die, Peter," the girl said.
Pan interrupted her, "Of course he did! He defied me-" Truly, it had been a very foolish thing of Ferdinand to do, and Pan had warned him. Ferdinand had decided to flout his warnings. It was the prince's own fault, really, that he was dead. Everyone else knew better than to defy Peter. Even the Savior herself had chosen not to fight Pan, but rather to bargain with him. What did Ferdinand expect?
"You're telling me," Wendy said slowly, "that you felt threatened by Ferdinand? That you, who considers yourself immortal and unbeatable, was afraid of a high schooler?"
At this, Peter bristled, "I'm not afraid of anything!" Despite himself, he sounded almost petulant. Trying to regain some measure of control in the situation, he added:
"Ferdinand was...interfering. I have plans; you know I do," Pan nodded to Wendy, "and he was getting far too involved for my liking," he shrugged, "I did warn him, Wendy."
"What plans, Peter? What game are you playing this time? It's too much," the girl closed her eyes, "Too many people are dead..." she trailed off, staring out the window for a long moment. Then, she turned back to face him, anger in her voice:
"God, Peter, why are you doing this? If nothing else, why can't you leave me alone?"
Peter was surprised by this question, "I would never leave you, Wendy." He had expected Wendy to denounce the murder; he'd been prepared for that. He was completely taken aback by her query regarding her own fate. Was she serious?
"You sent me away," Wendy said bitterly, recalling the painful memory, "and all the island needs is a girl from the Land Without Magic. Any girl. It could be anyone. Why can't you just take someone else?" The last words were said selfishly, and what was left of her conscience berated her. But, her heart pointed out, didn't she deserve better? Didn't she deserve a chance at freedom, after a hundred years with him?
Peter's eyes were intense, though his face was otherwise inscrutable as he murmured, "I don't want anyone else." The green orbs were filled with an eerie light.
"Why not?" Wendy asked.
Peter shrugged again, "It's wrong." It was such a revolting concept to him he couldn't believe she'd even suggested it.
"Wrong?" the girl repeated, incredulous.
"Yes," Pan confirmed, "Neverland without Wendy Darling isn't Neverland."
At that, Wendy almost began to cry again.
"So it's just the island, then. Nothing else. Nothing to do with you." Dejectedly, she raised a hand to her face, frantically wiping away a few stray tears. She wouldn't let him see her in pain, not again. He knew, she was sure, but it didn't matter. She intended to retain some semblance of dignity.
"Of course it has to do with me. I'm part of Neverland, and Neverland is a part of me-" seeing his words weren't having any effect, Peter asked, "Darling, what do you want me to say?"
"Something you apparently never will," Wendy replied, "and I don't know why I continue to hope differently." She started to turn around and ascend the stairs to her bedroom (he'd follow her, probably, but at least she could cry in her bed). Seconds later, Wendy heard a crash behind her, and felt a hand on her shoulder. When she turned to investigate the noise, she abruptly found lips against hers. Her entire body stiffened, but despite that, Peter's arms encircled her, and he continued to kiss her, deeper. It lasted almost a full minute, until Wendy's brain finally managed to break through the hazy fog that had clouded her mind since Peter had kissed her. She opened her eyes to find him staring at her, green eyes intense as ever, and her hands fisted in his shirt. She could see the unspoken question in his gaze, but she shook her head:
"It's not enough." Then she pushed him away and went upstairs.
That night, she realized later, was the first night she'd slept alone since Peter had arrived, for her nightmares returned, this time of a boy with dancing eyes mocking her for loving him.
Many years passed in this way. Peter, despite the copious beatings his father gave him, refused to be anything less than the best. At his day school, he continuously won all sorts of awards, coming home with prize after prize, and the admiration of his fellow students. Tinkerbell visited as often as she could, and she assured him that he continually also had the admiration of the fairy court. Meanwhile, he'd explained to her the horrors of his situation:
"He hits me, Tink. He just hates that I'm good at things. I can't understand why," a nine year old Peter shook his head, "but I know I can't stay like this. I can't live like this. Do you think- do you think the queen would help me?"
Tinkerbell frowned, "She's your fairy godmother, Peter. It's her job to help you. If nothing else, you should definitely ask. I have tonight off. I'll go with you, if you want!" She would never forget what Peter had done for her, and she felt it was her duty to help him now.
Peter nodded, determined to speak with Titania that very night. Once darkness had descended, he slipped out of the kitchen and followed his familiar route to Kensington Gardens. He stuck to the shadows, hiding his presence from the few who were walking the streets. Although a nine year old wandering around at night was far less conspicuous than a toddler, he still would stand out, especially in his fine clothes. He kept up this charade until he reached the fountains, where (as usual), the fairies were celebrating a great ball.
"Peter!" King Oberon exclaimed, "What a wonderful surprise! Sit down, sit down! Someone fetch dessert-" he waved a hand dismissively, and three servants disappeared to find sweets for the boy. The fairies had long since developed a love for Peter, and in a way, he had assumed an almost princely status among them. The king and queen had no children, and what would have been their parental affections had been redirected towards him. Consequently, they adored his visits, and generally tried to spoil him when he made his appearances.
Peter smiled, "Thank you, Your Majesty. But I was hoping I could speak with Her Majesty?" He quite liked Oberon, but it was Titania who was his fairy godmother. This request had to go directly to her.
"Of course," Queen Titania emerged from a group of fairies who had been conversing on the fountain's edge. She carried a glass of what looked to be wine in her hand, "How are you, Peter?"
"Honestly, not well," the boy said frankly. Fairies gasped at this revelation. They observed his achievements in school with great pride, but few followed him home (after all, he only went home at night, and unless he came to visit them, he slept- which was not very interesting to them). As such, they were entirely unaware of his grim home life.
"But how is that possible?" Titania queried, "I've only heard excellent things about you in school." She frowned, her lips pursed.
Peter answered, "Exactly. I strive to be the best, and my father hates me for it. Every time I do something good...he beats me 'til I'm lying on the floor, bleeding everywhere," he swallowed, "This has been happening for the past four years," he considered her for a long moment, "But haven't you seen it? You're my fairy godmother!" Even if the other fairies hadn't been watching his home life- which he didn't blame them for; he understood their reasons for not staking out the manor at night -Titania should have known. She had to be watching. It was in her job description, as a fairy godmother (or at least, that's what he'd gleaned from Tinkerbell, when Tinkerbell told him about fairy godmother training).
The queen sighed, "I have, Peter-" She placed her glass down, then folding her hands primly before her.
"Then you have to help me!" the cry burst out of Peter with a tremendous ferocity, "I can't stand this! If you've seen it, why haven't you helped me?" he asked. He was angry with her. How could she have just stood by and let him suffer like this? It was one thing if Titania had been ignorant, but she knew! What excuse could she possibly give?
"Peter," the queen said, "I've seen your pain, but I've also seen your destiny." She gazed at him, willing him to understand that she had her reasons for what she did.
"How?" the boy asked. He knew enough to realize the fairy queen was referencing she had seen his future, but he wasn't sure how such a thing was possible. It could be possible, he supposed- anything was possible, if one only believed hard enough. But he was far more interested in the particulars of how Titania had seen his future rather than accepting she'd managed what many would consider an impossible feat.
"Fairies can travel between worlds," Titania explained, "and I visited a world where its queen can see the future. She showed me that you're to become a great ruler one day." The fairy queen knew Peter very well, and recognized that the boy had nearly unstoppable ambition. Thus, Titania was trying to tempt his penchant for lofty aspirations, and subtly distract him from how she'd left him in the clutches of his father.
Peter ignored her description of his future, instead asking, "Wait, you can travel between worlds? There are different worlds? What do you mean?" While Titania knew Peter, he was also learning about her. He understood her tactics, but he also admired her skills. She ruled not only through birthright, but through ability. He wanted to have such incredible abilities as well. After all, it was only through ability that one could gain true power- and true power led to true freedom.
"Peter," Titania paused, considering whether to answer his question, "I'm not sure how to explain it. But you've heard legends of the Land of Faerie?" At last, she decided that this method of distraction worked as well as any other.
Peter nodded. He devoured the stories told in school, and the Land of Fearie featured in many.
"It's the world where we come from," Titania said, "but it is a different world from this one. There are other worlds as well."
"How did you get here?" the boy queried. Titania couldn't help but smile. As always, Peter zeroed in on the heart of the matter. Where others might linger to examine the surface of an issue, he saw no reason for this.
"Faerie is connected to all the worlds. It is our homeland, and it is imbued with great magic. We can travel through it, by special means," the queen noted, "If you think of Faerie as a great road, then think of other worlds as houses on either side of the world. You know we have many powers, and think of one of ours as having..." she strove for the best metaphor as Peter grew steadily more excited by her revelations, "a carriage. Like you use a carriage on the road to go from house to house, we use our power to travel from Faerie to other worlds."
"Can you take me with you?" the boy almost fell to his knees, "I can't stay here anymore. I want to go somewhere- anywhere -away from my father. Please, please, take me with you!" He didn't care much about which world it was, so long as it wasn't a world shared by Lord Ponsoby. He had no doubts in his capability to adapt to somewhere new, and he knew that the fairies believed in him as well.
Nevertheless, Oberon interjected sadly, "I'm afraid we can't, Peter. It's impossible for anyone other than fairies to travel between the realms. Humans must stay in one." He walked to stand by his wife, genuine remorse in his eyes.
"But I thought..." Peter trailed off, considering all the tales he'd been told, "I've heard rumors. I've heard stories of humans going to Faerie. They never come back," he conceded, "but they can go there!"
"That's not true, Peter," Titania stated, "Besides, you have to stay here. Your destiny is to rule, and you should rule here, in the land of your birth." She gestured to the gardens around her.
At this, Tinkerbell raised her eyebrows. She opened her mouth to object, but at the king's glare, swallowed her protest. Instead, she clenched two fists by her side, struggling to hide her anger.
"But I don't want to be here!" Peter pleaded. He might have been born in England, but he knew, he just knew, that he wasn't meant to stay. England held nothing for him.
"This is where you belong," Titania said firmly, "You are a noble here-"
"I'm not supposed to be king!" the boy pointed out, "I can't be king! I'm going to be an earl. I just want to leave!" He was incredibly frustrated, and despite himself, tears sprung to his eyes. He felt so trapped, and here, the very being who was supposed to help him, was forcing him to stay!
"One day, you will be a king," Titania assured him, her voice kind, "and you will be a king of your own people. As for your father," she trailed off, casting a glance at her husband, who nodded in agreement, "we can influence him. Perhaps we can ensure that you leave your home, until you can defend yourself." She was fervent in her belief, but she also felt incredibly guilty when she saw the raw pain in Peter's face. The queen knew enough not to fight fate, but perhaps she could work around it. It was a lesson, she decided, she would have to teach Peter himself.
"When?" Peter asked, his rage a bit more subdued. He was somewhat embarrassed at revealing his desperation (especially when he'd been more or less refused).
"In four years time," Titania promised, reaching up to clasp his hand, "we will make sure you go to school away from your father, and when you graduate, he will never be able to hurt you again." Peter might be a small boy now, but Titania had seen a young man in the vision the Queen of Diamonds had shown her. He'd looked fierce and athletic- more than a match for a middle-aged Lord Ponsoby.
"Do you promise?" Pan asked sullenly. This wasn't the answer he'd hoped for, but he supposed it would have to do. At least now he said some sort of option.
"I do," Titania swore, "Four years, and they will pass quickly. You will learn one day, how fast time passes, and how meaningless it really is," she smiled, "but until then, you must be strong."
The next day, Peter stalked around the foyer of what was formerly Regina's mansion. He was seething. He had kissed Wendy Darling before, of course. It had happened in Neverland. But she had never shoved him away before- not like she had last night, anyway. He was angry with her, but also with himself. He hadn't known what Wendy wanted him to say, and in a split-second of weakness, of desperation, of trying to make her understand, he'd kissed her. Peter Pan was many things, but he was never weak. It was something he simply refused to be. The fact that she had pushed him to that weakness- and worse, the fact that he actually displayed it -infuriated him.
Peter was also a bit annoyed that kissing Wendy had reminded him how much he liked kissing her. True, he was the Boy That Never Grew Up, but he was still a boy. And there had always been something about Wendy that drew him to her. When he'd built Neverland, he'd created the perfect girl along with it- Tiger Lily -and yet it was Wendy, the middle-class girl he'd never have met in London, who intrigued him. It was Wendy his Shadow had brought, and Wendy his Shadow had showed him how to keep.
After Wendy had returned to Storybrooke- before Peter had revealed himself to her -he'd done his best to forget how much he liked kissing her. He tried to occupy himself with his various plots and plans (all still important), and he'd almost forgotten. Yet all it took was one kiss- just one -to remind him of her. One kiss was all it took to distract him from his plan.
He couldn't afford to be distracted.
"Pan."
Peter turned to face Slightly. His friend stood before him, eyeing Peter with some trepidation. Slightly had never seen Peter so upset since he'd arrived in Storybrooke, and instinctively, he was cautious. Yet he'd known Peter for so many years that he doubted Peter would lash out at him now- Slightly had proven himself the night of Ferdinand's murder. If nothing else, Peter rewarded loyalty.
"What is it, Slightly?" Pan demanded. He didn't mean to sound harsh with the Lost Boy, and Slightly barely flinched at his tone. He knew he wasn't the source of Peter's ire, so he was less disturbed than he might have been under other circumstances.
"I've found something," Slightly said, "Information you might find useful." He met Peter's gaze with a steady look of his own, and at last Pan shrugged. Pan doubted that Slightly could have discovered something that he himself did not yet know, but he was not one to discount his allies.
"What is it?"
Slightly jerked his head upwards, indicating Peter should follow him up the staircase. Pan raised his eyebrows. Apparently, Slightly didn't entirely trust the newer Lost Boys yet, and wanted to remain cautious. For their part, the new Boys were learning to fight in the lobby under Nibs' watchful tutelage. He kept his arms crossed, calling out corrections to the newer ones. He'd paired them off, and they were presently learning basic self-defense- and using each other as practice dummies. Although they were all ostensibly distracted- they were eager to learn how to protect themselves as well as prove their worth as the eternal warriors they soon hoped to be -they always kept an eye out for Peter, especially Dodger. He served as an idol for some of them, and they'd started to pay attention to every word he said. Slightly didn't want to risk that fevered devotion causing them to overhear this new information.
Accordingly, Pan and Slightly ascended the staircase. Both affected a form of practiced nonchalance, but kept their heads close together, speaking in the faintest whispers:
"I was talking with Gretel after school-"
Peter pursed his lips, disapproving of Slightly's contact with the girl, but Slightly ignored him.
"-and she mentioned having to buy a new cell phone-"
"Slightly, what does a phone have to do with anything?" Pan interjected. He normally wouldn't be so curt with his friend, but he was still upset with what had happened with Wendy.
"She also let slip why," Slightly stared intently at Pan, "Apparently, she was rather put off about you taking her phone the other day. She seemed a bit worried about you knowing what it looked like."
"So?"
"Since she's been using it for secret communications."
At this, Peter couldn't help but laugh, "Slightly, you're telling me you're worried about a girl's phone? And making secret communications? About what? Gretel doesn't seem like the most brilliant person. What secrets could she possibly have to share that you'd find interesting? Unless, of course, they were about you, Montague?"
Slightly's eyes widened. Peter hadn't called him by his old name ever since he'd first touched Neverland's shores. He felt almost as if he'd been slapped, but then he realized Peter was- incredibly -teasing him. It had been ages since Peter had done that. Perhaps Pan really was so thrown by the concept of Gretel being a concern that he couldn't help but treat the entire thing as a joke.
"Has she mentioned you as a Romeo?" Pan continued, this time his laugh growing a bit darker.
"No," Slightly retorted, "but she has mentioned Wendy."
"That's no surprise," Peter said, "Considering they're friends." His jovial tone had completely disappeared. He didn't like Gretel, not so much for who she was- he had dealt with plenty of irrelevant, silly girls before -but because of what she represented: Wendy's life as Gwen. His disgust for Gretel was plain.
"As are we," Slightly reminded Peter, "and I remembered our friendship."
"And what does that mean?" Peter inquired.
Knowing the question was yet another test, Slightly replied, "That our friendship comes first," he sighed, still a bit guilty about his actions, "So when Gretel went to the bathroom, I may have swiped her phone from her purse. I thought it rather strange she'd be so eager to get a new phone after how she chased after her old one. I found a rather interesting outgoing call to one Regina Mills."
At this comment, Pan drawled, "Now why would Gretel be talking to the mayor? I can't imagine they have anything in common."
"I don't know what the outgoing call was for," Slightly admitted, "but a different number texted back. No name attached to the number, but it said: Y. W2n. HenT."
"A code of some kind," Peter murmured, "but easy enough to crack. Y is yes, of course. So Gretel asked her some type of question, of which Regina answered in the affirmative. W must be Wendy-"
Slightly agreed, "It can't mean anything else. You're right. What does Gretel have in common with the mayor? Nothing. But who does Gretel interact with all the time? Wendy."
"2n is tonight," Peter paused, rolling his eyes. He'd hoped that the queen would learn something of the art of secrecy, but apparently not.
"Felix explained texting to you, then?" Slightly inquired. Peter nodded, and Slightly said, "So Regina agreed to meet Wendy tonight. Just what is HenT?"
"Hen is Henry," Pan mused, "That's obvious. But the T was capitalized. Why? If not a reference to the person, and there is no one else named Henry in this town-" Peter paused and laughed, "Was she really that foolish? So obvious."
Slightly looked at him quizzically, and Peter explained:
"I've explored this entire town over the course of many nights, and there is another Henry. Henry Mills Sr., Regina's dearly departed father, whom she sacrificed to bring about her curse. 'T' isn't an initial; it's a location. They're going to meet at the tomb of Regina's father."
"But how could Wendy figure that out?" Slightly queried.
Pan shrugged, "Perhaps they discussed it in an additional phone call. It doesn't matter, but I do need to thank you, Slightly. You were right. This is very useful information," he breathed, "Very useful indeed."
The moment Wendy heard Tinkerbell's soft snores from the bedroom across the hall, she rose to her feet, cautiously sliding her foot on the wooden floor so that it didn't creak. She tiptoed to her closet and dressed quickly. She didn't dare turn a light on- Felix always stood guard outside the house, and while she was fairly certain that he occasionally dozed off in the night, she was equally certain that an abrupt change to the routine would rouse him. After all, Felix had lived in the wilds of Neverland for hundreds of years. He had been used to jumping to his feet at the faintest hint of danger, the simplest sense of something not being as it should, and thus something as miniscule even the glow of a bedroom light (at two in the morning on a school night), would wake him. And Wendy could not allow that to happen. No one could know where she was going, not even Tinkerbell.
Sighing, Wendy buttoned up the jacket she'd surreptitiously borrowed from Gretel earlier that day, then reached into the pocket. She withdrew a miniature mirror that had been hidden there by the girl, and it was this mirror that would be her tool to communicate with Regina from now on.
Honestly, Wendy was surprised the ruse had worked. She'd known, deep down, that despite their assertions to help, Grace and Gretel could not be used to as liaisons between her and the former Evil Queen forever. Pan would find out, as he always did, especially as the girls were so untested. Thus she'd asked Gretel to pass a message to Regina explaining just that, and the mayor had promised she would conjure a foolproof alternative. The magic mirror, Gretel had whispered to her, would allow her to discreetly contact the mayor, and vice versa. It was small, so she could pass it off as a compact, and somewhat Victorian-looking, so it appeared as if it were her taste. None of the boys would notice her carrying it. Nevertheless, they might notice if she was given a new gift, and so the girls had agreed that Gretel would be the first to receive the mirror. Wendy would conveniently "forget" her jacket that day, and Gretel (who always kept a spare in her locker- heaven forbid she stain her normal jacket, somehow) would offer Wendy her current one to borrow for the evening, the mirror safely stowed away in the pocket. Although the plan seemed feasible, Wendy hadn't been able to help but wonder if Pan would somehow figure out their plan. Yet he hadn't. If anything, he'd looked moderately put out that he couldn't give her his jacket (for he didn't have one), or that he couldn't imagine one for her. It upset him, she reasoned, that someone could have some modicum of control over her environment. For a hundred years, it had only been him.
Wendy shook her head. It didn't matter how Peter hadn't noticed, simply that he hadn't noticed at all. Steeling herself, she held the mirror before her, and whispered:
"Mirror, mirror, in my hand, take me to she who built this land."
A brief fog ghosted over the glass, then drifted out towards her. Wendy forced herself not to scream as it enveloped her, rapidly obscuring her surroundings. There was a soft whoosh, and the next place Wendy found herself was in front of a massive tomb. The tomb was about the size of a cottage, with two stone columns flanking the entrance. Myriad other headstones stood in front of it. Despite herself, the girl shivered. Although Gretel had warned her about this part of the plan, it didn't make the situation any less creepy.
Cautiously, Wendy walked up the two steps to the tomb and raised her hand to knock. Before she could, the door flew open.
"Finally!" Regina snapped, dragging her in by the wrist, "What took you so long? My son has to be in school tomorrow!" With a wave of the mayor's hand, the door to the tomb slammed closed, and she guided the girl into the interior.
"It's okay, Mom," Henry said, suppressing a yawn, "I don't mind taking a day off. And Wendy has school too."
"You are not taking a day off," Regina replied, "Your education is important, regardless of the psychopath currently taking up residence in my town, and who I am spending most of my days trying to figure out how to get rid of. But 'til then..." she trailed off. The vitriol in her faded, and nervously, she slid out a small box from a recess in the wall.
"You're sure, Darling?" the former Evil Queen asked, "You're sure this will work?"
Wendy bit her lip, "I can't promise you it will. But I think it's your best chance."
"Very well. Henry, are you sure about this?" Regina looked at her son, concern filling her eyes.
Henry nodded, "Yes. Mom, I don't know what else to do. And this way...this way, won't you win? Wasn't the end of the game supposed to be me giving him my heart? Now, even if I wanted to, I can't."
Regina bit her own lip, "I hope it means we win. Henry, this may hurt." Then she plunged her hand into the boy's chest and pulled out his heart. It was still a bright, pure, red. Wendy caught Henry as he collapsed, but he recovered quickly.
"Henry, are you okay?" Wendy asked. He nodded his assent, but did lean against the wall for further support, breathing heavily. Regina opened the box she'd removed from the wall- it was small and silver, with a beautifully engraved 'H' over the clasp -and gently placed her son's heart in it. Then she reinserted the box into the wall, hiding Henry's heart in the hundreds of others she'd taken. A moment later, she drew her fingers on the wall, selecting another box. This one was black and purple, with thorns running along the edges. Nevertheless, Regina seemed immune to the thorns. At a wave of her hand, they twisted backwards, and the box popped open. Gritting her teeth, Regina forced her hand into her chest, then yanked out her heart. Wendy couldn't help but notice that while Regina's heart was blacker than Henry's, Pan's heart had been considerably darker. Moaning, Regina had just enough strength to place her heart in its box before she too slumped to the ground. Hurriedly, Wendy closed the box and slid it back into the wall. Then she dropped to Regina's side.
"Are you- are you okay?"
Regina grimaced, "You'd think it gets easier...but it doesn't."
Wendy was silent for a moment, unsure of what to say. At last, she settled on a simple phrase:
"I wouldn't know."
The mayor laughed darkly, "I doubt you ever will." Still chuckling a bit to herself, she forced herself to her feet, then rubbed her hands together as if to remove dust. There was none on her leather gloves, but perhaps it was Regina's way of cleansing herself (at least mentally) from the horror of what she had just done.
Finally, Wendy asked the question she'd been wondering since Gretel had first told her the queen had wanted to meet:
"Why did you need me here tonight? I mean, I know I told you Henry's idea...but you could have done this yourself, unless..." she trailed off, her eyes widening, "You can't mean to take my heart?"
At this, Regina raised an eyebrow, "No, though it's an interesting idea. You are perfectly close to Pan-"
"Mom!" Henry interjected, "No! We talked about this. No more taking people's hearts." He stared at his mother until she sighed and rolled her eyes. Then he turned his attention to Wendy.
"Actually, the reason you're here is to protect us. We're not telling anyone about this, not even my mom, Emma," he added hastily, ensuring that Wendy had the proper identity of both his parents, "but we need someone to know, in case we start acting weird. Whether you like him or not, Wendy, Pan's never hurt you-"
He's hurt me plenty, Wendy almost said aloud, You just don't know about it. Despite that thought, she made herself listen to Henry. It wasn't his fault Pan had hurt her.
"-so I don't think he ever will. You're the perfect person to keep the secret. If he somehow discovers and takes our hearts, and if we start acting weird, you'll know what happened. You'll be able to tell everyone and they can help us."
"It's a good plan, Henry," the girl noted, "but Peter's not stupid. If he somehow managed to get your hearts, I doubt he'd try to have you act any differently. He wouldn't want anyone to know he controlled you, and I would have no idea either, honestly."
"But you will," Henry explained, "See, that's the other part of the plan, and I hope you won't mind it, and it's kind of embarrassing-"
Regina stepped in, "I can't watch Henry all the time, much as I want to. And my son's right in that Pan seems to have no desire to hurt you. Therefore, putting you near Henry seems like a prudent idea, and if you could be with him after school until I come home, then he could give you a signal that we're still both all right."
Wendy paused, trying to gauge if she was truly understanding what they were asking, "You want me to babysit Henry?"
"It's not babysitting!" Henry insisted, blushing slightly, "It's spying. Operation Raptor, remember? If you come over, I can find some way to tell you that we're okay every afternoon, and you'll know Pan doesn't have control over us," he babbled on, fully engrossed in his plan, "Maybe in a game? A board game!" he decided, "None of the Lost Boys will know about board games, not even Pan! They like real games, don't they?"
"I- I suppose," Wendy considered his words, "Board games would bore them. They wouldn't pay much attention to it, even Felix, and he follows me everywhere. You know that, right? I could babysit Henry, but Felix wouldn't leave."
"He'd be bored though," Henry repeated, "He'd stop paying attention. He'd go outside or something."
Despite herself, Wendy had to admit that Henry's suggestion- if insane -was possible. It could work.
The girl sighed, "Okay. I'll do it."
"Good!" Henry smiled brightly at her.
"Henry," Regina said, "Go get your jacket and wait at the top of the stairs. I want a word with Miss Darling. Alone." Henry looked worried for a moment, and the mayor reassured him:
"I promise I'm not going to take her heart." Satisfied by her words, Henry shrugged on his coat and made his way up the stairs of the tomb. There was a creak as he opened the door, and once Regina was certain he was out of their earshot, her entire expression changed.
She narrowed her eyes at Wendy, and declared, "I won't take your heart now, but if you betray us, if you give my son to Pan, I promise you, Miss Darling: I will take your brothers' hearts and crush them before your eyes. Then, and only then, will I take yours."
Wendy gasped. Just for a moment, she could see why the townspeople so feared Regina. The woman might be trying to become a heroine, but the villain that was the Evil Queen lurked inside her, the darkness festering away at her like some dread disease.
"I- I-," she struggled to find words, but could say nothing. Regina, meanwhile, smiled, then escorted the girl- whose face was dead white -up the stairs of the tomb. She opened the door, releasing her grip on Wendy. Henry was oblivious to his mother's sinister promise, and grinned at both of them.
"I suggest you leave quickly," the mayor said conversationally, all traces of malice gone, "This tomb has been enchanted to keep anyone but the owner out. And if you try to go back in without my permission...those curses are particularly nasty."
"Mom!" Henry reproached her, "I thought you weren't going to curse anyone anymore!"
"I'm not," Regina agreed, "I put those spells in place when I first built Storybrooke. I'm not going to change what I already did. Besides," she put an arm around Henry's shoulders, "They're only to keep intruders out. Think of it like a locked door."
"It's more like a trap," Wendy said, unable to keep herself quiet. She had been shocked by Regina's threat, but now that she was aware the former Evil Queen needed Wendy more than Wendy needed her, she wasn't going to kowtow to her.
Regina's gaze grew angry for a moment, but when she spoke, she merely shrugged, "It is a trap, Miss Darling. I hope you go home and get a good night's rest. I can't have you tired on your first day of work."
"Night, Wendy!" Henry waved at her as he and Regina disappeared in a puff of purple smoke.
"Goodnight, Henry," Wendy managed to say, clutching Gretel's jacket around her against the cold night.
She didn't notice the pair of eyes watching her from the forest.
Author's Note:
So. We finally get to see a hint of Peter's backstory. More to come in the next chapter, as always. :) Please remember that this is more of a Part 1!
Anyway, thank you so much for reading! I hope you enjoyed it! Please let me know what you think, and I will try to get Part 2 up soon!
~ladykikyo1792