Last chapter was a bit of a filler so I decided to post another!


When Wendy was not patching up Lost Boys, she searched the island. Perhaps, searched was not the correct word. Wandering may have been a better word. She had been on Neverland ten years and by then, had looked in every cave and crevice on the island, searching for her brother. She was quite certain she was never going to find him, but she had a duty to Baelfire. So, her searching became wandering.

She knew her way through the forest well and was able to circle the coast easily. She had had the island's entire layout memorized quickly. She would walk around the island, not even thinking too much about where she was going. Her feet would lead her where she needed to go as she traced the paths she had been creating for a decade.

She walked in the morning usually. The forest was filled with early morning light that streamed through the branches and leaves. The heat had not yet become cloying and there was a brisk, fresh breeze that ruffled her hair. All manner of birds filled the trees and air, singing sweet songs that she liked to listen to and take comfort in. They were her only kindly companions on Neverland. She loved them very much, putting up bird feeders in the wide branches of her treehouse so they could stay close.

She also walked early to avoid running into anyone. The Lost Boys woke late and she had no desire to bump into any of them. This time was reserved for herself and her thoughts. Sometimes, when it wasn't too painful, she would think of Michael and John and her parents. Michael by that time would have been twenty-two and John would have been twenty-five. If she had remained in London, she would have been twenty-seven, a grown lady with a husband and children most likely. She hoped they were well, getting by without her and Baelfire. She imagined them going about their beautiful, ordinary lives. Mother would continue her gardening, Father would read the newspaper. Perhaps, John and Michael would have gone to university and become wonderful men.

Other times, it was too painful to think of them. She filled her mind in other ways. She read books as she wandered, her feet having memorized every twist and turn, every stone that might trip her. Other times, she would go looking for herbs and plants that had various medicinal uses. She had trained her eyes well to pluck out the correct shape of leaf or shade of green, but it took a lot of concentration. That would be enough to fill her mind and keep her thoughts off of her family.

This particulate day she was looking for herbs. She walked through a familiar trail that led up to the cliffs that overlooked the sea. Crouching down in the underbrush and putting aside her half-full basket, she pushed aside plants to find the particular one she was looking for. She dug around the plant she needed with a spade, careful of its main roots. She was about to stand up and continue on her way when a flash of white caught her eye.

She leaned forward into the brush and gasped as she saw what the flash of white was. Under the thick canopy of trees lay a dove with deep red wound on its chest. She knew by the look of it that it was dead and she felt like weeping looking down at it.

The Lost Boys were quite fond of sling shots and would catapult sharp stones into the air, aimed at themselves when they were able to get their hands on pixie dust. But more often than not, they shot them at the birds. She had confiscated a number of them from the boys over the last decade, reprimanding them each time about how cruel it was to shoot stones at poor, defenceless birds who did nothing, but sing sweet songs. They were innocent creatures that the Lost Boys hurt for fun. She had even raged at Pan about this on a number of occasions, but her indignation had been wasted on him.

"Perhaps, you feel personally about this," Pan had taunted. "Eh, bird?"

Perhaps she did feel personally about it. The birds on the island were sweet. She liked their company and they gave her joy, just listening to them. It was even more than that. She knew it was. She knew how those birds felt, unable to get off the island, being tormented constantly by cruel people.

She knew without a shadow of a doubt that some Lost Boy had shot and killed this bird for fun. Looking down at it, broken, she felt a warmth burn in her heart. This bird had been an innocent. With its soft feathers and wide eyes, it had done nothing wrong and yet it had died a brutal death.

She desperately wanted to undo what had been done, make something on this island right. She knew she couldn't, but she could at least offer a meagre attempt. She gingerly picked up the bird. It was limp in her hands and it made her stomach drop to hold something dead. She placed it gently in the basket and turned to go up the hill.

She knew the path well and it was usually an easy climb, but that day, she felt so heavy, carrying the dove with her. She felt the loss of the bird keenly, the melody of its song disintegrating in her ears. She could feel its final few moments, full of fear and pain.

The bird had deserved to soar and sing with its kin.

She soon burst out of the forest to the cliff. Below her she could see the rest of the island, the bay curving into the sea with its golden beaches. Hook's boat floated where the water turned from turquoise into azure, its sails luffing in the wind. She could see birds in the sky, soaring too far away for the Lost Boys to ever reach them. She wished that her dove was with them.

The cliff had no trees on it. Instead, there was a soft patch of grass blanketing it, sprinkled with flowers. It was a beautiful place and as close to the sky as she could get. Clouds sailed over her head and the wind wrapped around her, carrying with it the warmth of the sun. She imagined that it was a poor imitation of what flying was for a bird, but it would have to do.

She knelt down in the sweet grass and began to dig a small hole. The earth was soft and it was easy to dig. As she worked, she heard soft footfalls behind her.

"Just what do you think you're doing?" Pan's voice came from behind her. She turned around slowly, supremely displeased to see him. In general, she was never happy to see him, but today, when she was trying to give this bird a burial, she was especially irritated.

"I don't much feel like talking to you right now," she told him. "Please go away." He stood a few feet behind her with a look on his face that made her feel like a specimen in the zoo. He wore his usual garb, his usual brown slacks and green shirt, held together by a thick belt.

He wandered over to her basket and looked down at it. He made a face and reached down to poke at the bird, but she was up quickly and batted his hand away. "Don't touch that!" she commanded.

"Why are you carrying around a dead bird?"

She suddenly felt furious that he didn't seem to understand. "I have told you time and time again about how dangerous and cruel those damn slingshots are. Your Lost Boys keep shooting at birds and it's just sickening that they would even do that," she began, barrelling through her words, not caring to explain why she had carried the dove up the hill.

"Shoot at the birds, you mean?"

"Yes!"

He rolled his eyes. "It's not like they're hurting each other and you have to fix up their wounds," he told her, his voice frustratingly even. He looked cold and disinterested and she felt like shaking him.

"They're hurting the birds," she told him forcefully. She didn't know why she was having this conversation with him again. She had yelled at him about this a number of times and it hadn't gotten through to him then and she was sure it wouldn't get through to him now.

"Exactly," he agreed. "They're just some dumb birds. I don't see the problem."

"They are living, breathing creatures who do not deserve to be shot at with sharp stones!" she said. She could feel herself losing grip of her emotions. It infuriated her that he did not understand this.

"They're birds. They don't deserve anything just because they happen to be alive," he countered. He looked down at her with those icy, unnerving eyes and she wanted to pull her hair out.

"Simply by virtue of being alive, they deserve respect and care," she told him.

"Why? They don't contribute anything. They squawk and flutter about and poop on things," he said in a cool, disinterested voice. She wanted to scream. She felt so passionate about this, so deeply upset that the birds were being treated like this and here was Pan, acting as if this conversation was boring him.

"One does not have to do anything to earn the right to live their life. They have never done any harm to anyone," she explained, her voice rising. She could feel colour rising to her cheeks and she hated that he remained so cool and callous.

"But why?"

"Why do living beings deserve to live their lives free of violence?" she asked, incredulous.

"Yes."

"Because!" she shouted, floundering for words. "Because it is what's right!"

He shook his head. "That is not a very convincing argument."

"You continue to astound me," she spat, shaking her head. "How can you live like this? How can you believe this?"

"I just do," he said. "I am King here and I can do or believe whatever I please."

"That is not a very convincing argument," she repeated back to him.

He cracked a grin and laughed. "That's very good! I think you're getting better at this."

She shoved at his shoulder. "Can you please just leave me in peace?"

"No," he said. "You didn't answer my first question." He pointed at the basket. "What are you doing?"

She looked pointedly at the grave she had dug and then at the bird in the basket. "Is it not evident?"

"No," he told her flatly.

She almost didn't answer because she thought he was joking. "I'm burying the dove," she explained.

"I remember the practice," he said, nodding his head. "But why?"

She threw up her hands in exasperation. "Because it's sad that the Lost Boys killed this bird. Because I'm sad that it died," she said slowly.

"Did you know it?"

"No. Well. I know the birds on the island. I like them all."

"Yes," he said, sounding irritated. "Those annoying bird feeders you keep hanging up."

"Yes, I show the birds kindness by hanging those up," she explained. She felt as if she was talking to a rather cruel child. "And I'm showing this bird kindness now by burying it and laying it to rest."

"It's dead. It won't matter to the bird whether it's buried or whether it rots on the forest floor." She winced at his words, the imagery that they drew up.

"It matters. It matters to me, to the other birds, and in a spiritual sense," she said, slowly. "It's the right thing to do for something you care for."

"You're ridiculous."

"Don't you bury the Lost Boys when they die?"

He considered her curiously for a moment. "You've made two incorrect assumptions. First, that I would do the right thing and second, that I care for the Lost Boys."

She sucked in a breath, shocked. She knew Pan to be a cruel, callous monster, but she had always assumed that he cared for his followers. Perhaps, not in a sense that he cared about their bumps and bruises, but that he cared that they followed him and adored him. She felt as if she were falling forward down a ledge into a cold, inky pit. It was a chilling thought to consider that Pan did not even care for his followers.

"You don't?"

He shook his head. "You keep acting as if you expect me to be a human, act like a human, feel like a still believe I have any humanity. But I don't," he explained, his words slow and precise. She felt as if he was talking to her as if she was a child.

She gave him a long look. He stood before her in his ethereal beauty with those distant, cold eyes. She knew he was a monster, knew he thrived off of violence and chaos. But she always assumed or perhaps believed that he still felt things as she did. He felt sadness and love and every other emotion that touched her heart. It was alienating to consider that he did not.

"What do you actually feel?" she asked, her voice barely above a whisper.

He shrugged. "Pleasure. I enjoy sex. I liked kissing you when you first came here. I also feel hunger and occasionally, I do get tired. It also hurts when I get cut or hit or whatever. Hot. Cold," he listed.

She was horrified. "Those are all just physical things."

"I'm aware." He looked at her if she was the alien one. His admission had struck ice into her heart.

"Do you actually feel anything? Like emotions?"

He considered for a second, his eyes rolling up as he thought about her question. As if it was something to think about, to ponder, like a riddle. After a few moments, he said, "I feel irritated with you, often. Sometimes, you entertain me. I like the adoration of the Lost Boys. I hate Hook. Sometimes, Felix makes me laugh."

She swallowed. "But do you care for anyone? Do you love anyone? Does anything reach inside your soul?"

He looked at her and opened his mouth hesitantly. For a moment, he looked vulnerable. But the look on his face was gone as quickly as it had come and she was left wondering if it had ever been there in the first place. He face transformed into a frigid mask and he looked down at her with pity, "I know you want me to say that things do. But I'm sorry to break it to you, bird. I don't. It's very taxing and only opens you up to eventual pain."

She searched for words. How could she begin to describe what it was like to love another being? To care for them? She thought of her brothers and her parents, the friends she had left behind. The birds in the sky and the creatures in the sea. It was something that solidified her soul and set her heart aglow. How could she begin to articulate all of that, all of what he was missing?

She floundered for words that she knew she wouldn't find. What could she say to him? He had effectively shut himself off from the very best part of life. It was a monstrous thing to do to oneself. She felt pity for him.

"You lead a very lonely life, Pan," she said, sadly.

He tilted his head to the side and looked at her curiously. "Do I? I hadn't noticed." His voice was light, with a practiced disinterest, but something flickered across his face… something human. Looking at him then, she knew that a small part of her still believed that he felt. Perhaps, not in the same way she did, but she believed he did in his own way.

She opened her mouth to ask him if he really meant what he said, but in a flash he bolted up into the air, soaring away from her and her dove.