Despite the common nickname, he didn't call her love in the same way that Killian had. There was no warmth behind it, no sort of genuity, rather it was said with an air of mocking and left her feeling much more unsettled than it should have. Wendy's mind was whirring, trying to wrap itself around the idea that formed in front of her inner eye. She wondered if it was real, if it wasn't all some lucid dream.

She blinked rapidly until she was certain that her eyelashes would stick together if she tried once more. Her gaze found the red-haired boy and she recognized him almost immediately. Archer. Nonetheless, her hopeless whispers continued to find Peter, and her attention did not linger on his lost boy for very long.

"Peter…"

Something stirred within her. There wasn't a single trace of that carefree, child-like joy in his tone when he spoke and it made her freeze–pinned her in place–pained her. She desperately attempted to free herself from the sudden stiffness that had taken over her body, but it was hopeless. Her eyes were wide and wild, terrified of this sudden new reality that Killian had been telling the truth.

He didn't remember. She could see it in the way he looked at her. No surprise, not a single spark of recognition.

Killian had told the truth.

Wendy drew a stunted breath and her mouth snapped shut. She'd wanted so desperately to doubt, and yet the truth stood there staring her in the face with an awful smirk.

It was him. It was really him.

Wendy remained still, every muscle tightly coiled when he knelt down and leveled her with a painful indifference. Curious maybe, but that mischievous glare no longer exhilarated her; that glint in his brown eyes revealed themselves to be terrifying, and she found herself shuffling back against the tree that had once given her safety several feet skyward.

There he was—tall and disheveled—then he smiled. Her head spun. As always, he struck an oddly impressive figure. His words, albeit uttered resolutely, completely passed over her head at the realization she'd forgotten to focus on them. She gawked as though she were looking directly at a ghost, and in a way, she was. The remnants of a soul that was now lost to something else.

Her mouth hung slightly agape, wet honey blonde hair clinging to her face, her clothes still soaked and full of mud, her knees weak and knobby beneath the soiled fabric.

"Peter." She repeated, a bit louder this time, a strange mixture of relief and something akin to concern tinting her voice—unbeknownst to her where that concern originated from. Without averting her gaze, she wiped a hand across her forehead, streaking it with dirt. Her own eyes wandered, spotted the stitch running the length of his elbow, locked eyes with him again, and she frowned.

Her eyes followed Archer as he cut at the trap, freeing her from her temporary imprisonment only to decide against standing in the end. He was still as young as she remembered. Fourteen, fifteen, and she wondered if he recalled her.

She didn't ask, rather acknowledged Peter once again. There was something bone-chillingly cold about him, as if his very soul had hardened. Her stomach dropped, the worry creasing her face only intensifying with the raw emotion in her eyes. When her gut heaved, a sick lurch had nothing to do with the fact that she was hungry or how much her body ached from her undesired trip from Hook's—no, Killian's—ship to here.

Peter had changed. Unnervingly so. It only fueled the concern that constricted her chest.

Peter's tongue pressed against the inside of his cheek, bobbing his head in a sign of finality of something that he had come to terms with on his own. She would never know, but she could only guess as to what sort of conclusion plagued his mind now.

"In case she is with the pirates," came Peter's declaration, ringing out as clear as always, but with a haunting edge that she wasn't used to, as though he had some other agenda entirely. "She won't be left unguarded. We'll send a message to the rest of the boys." He left them at his shoulder, turning his back as if to let orders be just that. Orders.

"That's really not necessary," Archer insisted, as if pleading, but when Peter turned that hardened gaze on him, his protests died out and he admitted defeat.

"You want to put the rest of the boys at risk, then?"

Peter's words felt like a slap to the face. She couldn't hide her sheer shock as it warped her expression with a hint of disbelief. Her heart beat to quarters in her chest, a tremor running through her arms. Some helpless nerve made her want to stomp her foot on the muddy ground and snap at him, but she suddenly didn't have it in her to even speak. His coldness stung. More than she would have liked to admit. Two years. Two years she had dreamed, wished and waited for this moment and this was how it played out. Her utter exhaustion didn't help. She felt like whining.

Were they scared of him?

"No." Archer shifted uncomfortably under his glare, and Wendy found herself touching Archer's elbow, giving him assurance that she was there. It did little to ease him, raising his head to say something, but Peter had turned his back and stalked through the trees. He took the path in long strides, and before long, he was a blur in the distance.

The lost boy huffed, worry flitting across his already anxious expression. Whether for Peter or for herself, she didn't know. Even with Peter out of earshot, he remained silent. The two waded along the path without the same urgency of their leader, and when Wendy stole a gaze skyward, she could see the storm clouds that had stolen her from the Jolly Roger. They looked much darker here, more menacing. Their surroundings warped, the trees slowly moving back into place from where they had bent to Peter's command.

Wendy felt bad for the boy. She wanted to ask him so many questions at once, but she turned to stare ahead and nodded, forcing herself not to overwhelm him with her own worries. "It's good to see you, Archer." She said, very quietly, in a resigned sort of way.

"A lot has happened." He said first.

"You don't have to–"

"It looks bad." His lips pressed together in a tight line, his brow only furrowing more with his own growing anxiety, head swiveling around with a cautious flitting gaze. "You can't let him know that we remember you. I think that it's better to be on the safe side until we can figure out what's wrong with him. It might make it worse, make him worse, I don't know." His voice was hushed. Urgent.

Desperate.

"You don't know what happened to him?" She asked, leaves and twigs cracking underneath her feet. She missed her shoes, wondering why she had left them at the beach in the first place.

She felt adrift. A strange medley of emotion roiled within her. She wanted to ask about the stitch. It irked her the second she saw it. It didn't matter that he couldn't remember. She did. And she cared. It made her bones feel heavy with dread. She needed to fix this. If what was wrong with Peter was something that could be fixed–if it wasn't simply the way he was now.

No, she refused to think that.

Archer looked just as lost as she did.

There was a hesitation as he picked for the right words. "He got older, and so did we, but he didn't seem any different until he came back the last time and stayed. He stopped talking as much…" Again, his head swiveled around, keeping an eye out as if their conversation was some forbidden and uncharted territory.

The repercussions of which he likely didn't want to find out if they were caught. "He was starting to forget things, except he knew that there were holes in his memory. He got angry, and Tink leaving only made it worse."

Tinkerbell had left him? Killian had mentioned as much but the confirmation unnerved her. She remembered the little fairy and her vindictive jealousy as someone very cherished. Where had she gone?

She fought not to outwardly express it, but her heart fell further and further with every word. The last time she saw Peter they had sat in silence. To her, it had felt like companionable silence, the kind that was soothing and comfortable. Then he'd disappeared without a word. It was unsettling to hear that he'd been just as quiet when he returned to Neverland, that something seemed wrong then.

Archer's brow pinched together with a grimace, a look of distaste flitting across his features for the barest second. "Whatever happened when he was traveling between both worlds, aging, left an impact on him." A huff escaped him, a slight bit of irritation lilting his tone. "Runner took it all as a challenge. They've been fighting a lot."

Runner–one of the more eccentric of the Lost Boys who always seemed to harbor a stark dislike for Peter and Wendy both-really anyone that housed any form of authority. He was aggressive, blunt and earned the brunt of his companion's hatred in record time. While not the most ideal situation, he was still the one that often spoke the truth if no one else would, but just as quick to lie when the situation would suit him. "It's been hard to get him to keep quiet about everything, but he's probably using it to his advantage anyway."

What came out next was more gentle, despite the situation that had arisen, it sounded as if he was gently pleading, or at least willing her to understand the other side of things however dark it may be. "I know how he looks, but I don't think it's Peter, and even if it is, it's not his fault. Whatever happened to him is affecting him and Neverland and I know that most of his actions are just his way of dealing with it. He's confused, and he's stuck between trying to remember if this is how things have always been."

It was the sound of a friend being concerned for another, and indeed Archer and Peter had always been close. Thick and thin, through every misadventure. Surely the change was hard on him too. "I was thinking about convincing him to take a trip to the tribe encampment. Maybe Tigerlily would be able to help?"

With a parched sigh, and a pang of sympathy for Tink, Wendy frowned into the jungle, a dense tangle of green. There were many things that came as a surprise in this conflicting situation. Runner taking it upon himself to question Peter's authority, perhaps now more than ever, wasn't one of them. Maybe Tigerlily would be able to help, she decided, somewhat begrudgingly. It gnawed at her, how she was seemingly incapable of doing so herself.

She canted her head in consideration of this.

"I dare say you know what's best. If you think a trip to the tribe encampment would help, we should try." A lilting sway of wind teased the trees around them with a surprisingly soft breeze. The jungle was warmer than the shoreline, with a less harsh light, softened to a green-gold by the tree canopy. The smell of wet earth was refreshing, her bare feet and calves speckling with dirt. Small white flowers hung off vines and trees like wilting stars. Nature was breathing around her as if she had crawled into a pair of leafy, sunlit lungs.

Her mind wandered off to Killian, an unexpected pang hitting her like a punch to the gut that she had trouble putting her finger on. She already missed him so much that she almost felt bad for it, now that she was walking beside this boy who had most likely believed her when she said that she wasn't involved with the pirates. For a moment her expression betrayed sadness, before she schooled her visage back to safer neutrality.

"We'll figure this out," she whispered. Archer looked like their conversation brought a hefty amount of risk with it. It was clear that he was worried about his friend, that he still cared deeply.

Archer offered a dry smile, as if feigning that her words reassured him somewhat when in actuality they didn't. He had to look away after that, but rather than find something else to fill the void of silence between them, their camp became visible up ahead-obscured in the trees and only really discernable at a close distance, the stumps sitting in a wide circle and a pit for a fire being the first indicator that it simply wasn't another patch of forest.

Peter wasn't too far ahead, having just been walking in when they arrived themselves.

It was quiet, rightfully so aside from the slight twang of a string. An arrow pierced the air, flying awkwardly from an unpracticed hand veering off of its initial flight path and making a line straight for Wendy's heart. Wendy gasped, her hands reflexively rising in defense.

Before it could make an impact, it was grabbed midair, Peter snatching the length of it and turning it over in his hand with a passive almost disappointed expression.

His tongue pressed against the inside of his cheek and flicked into a cocky grin. "There is a reasoning behind Archer's namesake. You should really stick to yours."

"Alas, it wasn't meant for you." Runner remarked, emerging into the clearing with a crossbow in hand, brows pinched into a scowl. "Yet naturally you would interfere. Always do." He sneered before cocking his head. "How's your arm?" He asked with a hint of mocking. "Will it scar?"

"If you'd had the gull, I'll wager you could've finished it." Peter answered smoothly. "I'm not surprised that you didn't." His eyebrows flicked upward into a hint of mocking himself, snapping the arrow in half between two fingers. "Shame." He didn't spare Wendy so much as a glance, not bothering with an exchange of words or even a simple: You're welcome.

She continued to hold her breath long after Peter had grabbed and prevented the thing from piercing right through her heart. Something dark flashed in her eyes; the warning of lightning preceding a hurricane in the distance. Her shoulders slumped as she allowed herself to exhale sharply.

"Are you insane?" She hissed breathlessly before she could stop herself, vehemently attempting to cling to the composure from a few seconds ago. Her mouth fell open slightly when their words actually began to register in her mind. Was he the cause for that gruesome scar on Peter's arm? The furrow between her brows deepened, but she didn't move.

She had to remind herself not to address Runner by his name, to pretend she didn't know who he was. Finally, she turned to look at Peter with clenched fists and entertained the idea of thanking him. She decided against it. Looking at him hurt. At one point in her life she had wanted, perhaps naively, nothing more than to hand him her heart with two hands. But something had broken between them that fateful day he left her behind, and like a bone, badly mended, looked like it wouldn't work the same.

And so she averted her gaze to turn her face into a hardened facade of irritation. It came to her naturally. She felt hungry and wretched and weak. Her clothes were soaked and she was cold. As if to underline this, she sneezed with a hand to her mouth and tightened Archer's jacket around her shivering form. She was here, that was an unchanging fact. Now she just needed to decide what she was going to do about it.

Holding on to him was like grabbing air. The best one could do was close her eyes and enjoy it as it slipped past. It was either this or not being around him at all. The latter was unthinkable, unbearable, unendurable. No, she thought, a pit growing in her stomach. She wanted to help him.

"Not as insane as you, Lass." Runner practically challenged in response, careful not to use her name as well and that was enough of an indication that he would keep her a secret-for now. In part, his words also served as a warning, referring to her as insane by the mere fact that she had decided to return in the first place, looking at her with a subtle glare albeit begrudgingly returning the crossbow to its rightful owner.

Archer took it without hesitation. "I'm going to draw you a bath." He offered sideways to Wendy. "And find you some clothes. I'll let you know when it's ready." Without wasting a beat–throwing a warning look Runner's way–he reluctantly released his hold on her, being sure that she could stand on her own before he walked across the camp and disappeared underneath a few low branches that led to a conjoined area.

That left Runner, looking at her as if she was literal scum underneath his shoe, shaking his head with a scoff before settling down on one of the stumps in front of an open flame. "Better take a seat and warm yourself before you freeze to death. We had to start being creative with where we put the bodies." A mocking jab, ever cruel and distasteful as always, his judgemental glare never leaving her even in the presence of who appeared to be his rival and also his leader.

What had once been filled with lively chatter and the sounds of boys having fun was replaced only by a phantom of silence, the crackling of a fire and the shifting of a stump only furthering the otherwise unfriendly vibe-mostly in part to Runner. His head swiveled around, Peter's sudden departure earning a more uncivil conversation, leaning forward, his nose wrinkling with his own disgust. "You're going to be the cause of a war. You should have stayed in your human world after all the damage you've caused. But I guess I'll have to thank you for granting me this opportunity."

She barely had time to thank Archer when he hurried off and so she sank onto one of the stumps, squinting at Runner. Her eyes widened when he mentioned the damage she had supposedly caused. How on earth was any of this her fault? She gritted her teeth, trying to conjure up a fitting, equally snide comeback, but was interrupted. Wendy's eyes darted to the source of the other voice. Her brows briefly shot sky high before she recognized him and smiled at the meager black haired boy.

"Come now friends, war is just politics by another name. We should be happy, joyous even!" Ever subservient and somewhat of a sycophant, Jester strolled toward the small group huddled around the fire, settling down as if they were merely old friends catching up after a long time. Often speaking with a smile, he always spoke fast and shaky with variant levels of flattery to whomever he spoke to, often sarcastically.

"Looking beautiful as always." Unlike the rest of the lost boys, Jester hated the name, felt as if it made him sound like a fool, only begrudgingly accepting it with nothing else to go by. He was a skinny boy of average height, pale skin and blue eyes. His nose was slightly pointed, black hair messily plastered onto his head with spiky ends that seemed to point erratically upward at times.

While the stranger of the lost boys, he was one of the few that seemed to be on everyone's side when it best suited him, and even more likely to betray someone if it would help him in his favor. A simple coward, but with the mindset playing the weaker fish to the larger pawns was always the best move. "So what do we owe this pleasure? It's a shame that Pan can't remember you. I can only imagine how happy he would be to see you here." He grinned sheepishly, crooked and awkward.

"Hello Jester." She said softly and turned to look into the flames once more. Without a moment's hesitation, she threw one slender arm over her eyes to rub some feeling into her face. Sitting there, she almost looked like a lost girl herself. With the exception that she was a young adult now. This place wasn't what it used to be. Far from it. "Oh, you know, just–" Her words were muffled by her sleeve. "Just passing by."

It wasn't like she didn't want to tell them the truth. But was it safe? She had to test the waters first and do so without haste. The fire was doing wonders on her well being and she reveled in its warmth. "How have you been?" she asked, trying to steer the conversation away from herself. She held both hands pressed over her mouth and stifled another vehement sneeze. "A lot seems to have... changed since my last visit." In truth, she was happy to be back. Things were different now, and it stung, but at least they were there. So were the boys. So was Peter.

For now, it was all that mattered. Yet notwithstanding the present discomfort, she remained as she was; reserved and a bit wary.

"I've been doing well." Jester responded a little too eagerly. "I'd ask the same of you but I can plainly see that you have gone through quite the ordeal." He leaned forward, elbows perched on his knees with his chin resting on top of his fists as if genuinely interested in what she was saying, but then again he extended that attention to just about anyone.

"Suck up." Runner hissed just underneath his breath, but Jester caught it, turning his head sideways to give the other lost boy the utmost innocence of a grin in return.

"You know what they say. Loyalty must be extended before it can be returned. Not that you would know anything about that my friend, all due respect." Despite the glare that extended to the gesture, he turned that most attentive gaze back to Wendy as if the small spat hadn't happened, as cautiously upbeat as always. "Things have changed. Some aspects for the better, some for the worse. I am quite enjoying this new Neverland actually. It's a breath of fresh air from the normal." He chuckled, low with a slight tremor in his thin frame, fidgeting where he sat on the stump.

"We don't see the pirates around much anymore, and even if you were to take Peter out of the equation, there still isn't much around scarier than us. Honestly, what is there to be reminiscent of?" Jester was contemplative for only a moment, but then made a small pfft sound in between his lips, circling the conversation back around to what else proved far more interesting. "Excuse me, but I'm babbling here. What about you? I passed Archer on the way in but he wouldn't say very much, but of course I'm sure he just doesn't know." He cocked his eyebrows. "I thought I heard something about pirates. What is Captain Jones up to these days?"

"Yeah, why don't you tell us?" That seemed to grab Runner's attention, though more mocking than anything else. "Surely you and Jones weren't getting savvy before you were thrown overboard and decided to come crawling back to the only person you thought would take you? 'Tis a shame to find out he doesn't care anymore, isn't it?"

Wendy listened to the two boys as they spoke and a sense of calm seeped into her bones. She found herself able to relax until Jester brought up Killian. Suddenly she felt warm and it had nothing to do with the fire in front of her. Oh no, oh no, oh no, she repeated in her head, over and over again until her mind was full to the brim. She opened her mouth, but closed it without speaking.

She struggled on the verge of speech, but that did it. Without missing a beat, she sprang to her feet. Somewhere, on the outskirts of her panicked thoughts, she reminded herself that Runner was just a boy. That losing her temper wouldn't get her anywhere.

Perhaps it was her exhaustion or her hunger, but she utterly ignored that voice of reason and bored holes into him with a sharp glare, glowering at him with an expression of irritated annoyance. Her hazel eyes were slits.

"...'Tis a shame you won't shut up." she hissed and clenched her jaw as well as her fists, nails digging tiny half moons into her palms.

She stood like that for a moment, then slowly sank back down on the stump with an inaudible sigh. "He's looking for Peter." She spoke to her feet, though she was addressing them. Surely they knew as much? Apart from that, she felt strangely compelled to warn them which was comical considering she had been about to help Killian. She rubbed at her throat as though soothing an ache, feeling horribly torn between two sides. Her face was burning with heat, not from embarrassment but from such harsh emotion. She pinched the bridge of her nose, a sign of true irritation.

"He wanted me to help him." she added. "I declined, of course. This morning he pushed me over the railing of the ship." The lie felt strange in her mouth. She could scarcely function at the memory of sleeping beside him on his couch, her heart stilling for a faint second in her chest. Forcing herself to meet Jester's gaze, her fingers softly wrapped around her upper arms. She sat slightly hunched.

Runner stiffened, curling his lip in disgust. "You've grown a spine since you've been away too I'll wager." But he shot a stern glare back at her, equally aggressive in nature and practically daring her to try anything. He was no stranger to any physical altercation-having had his fair share of spats with the boys once upon a time–but it seemed he was not beyond fighting a woman either, least of all Wendy. He bristled, but Jester cut in before the tension between them turned into anything worse.

Jester's hands fumbled against the stiff sleeves of his months-unwashed sweater. It was one that he had since arrived at the island in, but hadn't seemed interested in letting go. A piece of his old life that he didn't remember–he had said before. "Isn't our old friend always after Peter?" He said, terse beneath his smile. "I'll bet anything that if Peter knew that you chose against helping the pirate, he would be grateful." He chided. "It is still, however unfortunate, everything that happened to you, but I'll bet anything he'll make it right."

"And as usual you harbor a lot of faith in our prince of darkness, don't you?" Runner scoffed.

"I believe in what he says." Jester went on, as smug and self-satisfied as ever. "You know Runner, that's what I like about you. You never take anything at face value. You always believe there to be some sort of underlying motivation."

"You're just making sure to kiss enough ass thinking it will save your puny life. It won't. It makes you more unlikable actually."

"Don't be so standoffish." He replied, almost coy, but his expression melted into one of unabashed concern. "It is much better to walk with a friend through the dark hand in hand. That's what I believe."

As the two continued to bicker amongst each other, Archer appeared through the brush again, waving Wendy over. "Your bath is ready, and I found you some clothes that should fit!" He called to her, jerking his head sideways before slipping through again. Aside from the cacophony erupting between Jester and Runner, there was a quiet chatter amongst the other Lost Boys–Fox plucking at an instrument, the far off sound of a pipe slightly played out of tune and Scout sat at the base of a tree fiddling with something in his hands.

He stood to the side always, always behind someone else. He'd taken a polite rigid stance and hardly ever dropped it, and there wasn't anything to learn about him that someone already didn't know first. While a boy of few words, he could at least handle himself well enough in brief conversations.

He barely spared Archer and Wendy a look as they passed by, nothing but a subtle nod before his gaze was downcast again.

"I'll show you where it is, but if you need any help uh…." Archer scratched at his nose with a slight of awkwardness, but a sheepish and small smile that told her that at least if she did need help with anything, he would make the step to try. "Just call, I guess. I put you a change of clothes next to it, and I've set you up a bed. Somewhere more private in case you needed that kind of thing." He shrugged.

Relief swept through her at the thought of a bath and she smiled. "Thank you so much, Archer. That's so kind of you." She fixated upon the other four members of the group and briefly cataloged their appearances to realize that they hadn't changed either.

Wendy had that much at least.