They'd left moments ago.
Tigerlily, and Peter, whisked off into the woods without any word given to them in edgewise of their whereabouts, nor even their intentions. Why would they, after all? Besides her, whom Peter was uninclined to tell anything, that left only the boys. Neverland knew that they would be less than enthused to hear of anything remotely grown up, and they seemed pleased to sit by the campfire and be left in the dark of anything so unsavory.
Regardless, the chieftess' opinion of him, while positive, held an air of cautious apprehension–a trust that she wanted to warrant, but was not ready to extend that hand without some idea of trust in return. Peter–this Peter–didn't trust. Whether his adoration for Tigerlily was heartfelt and honest, his suspicion only rang truer. The island controlled him, whispered in his ear, and left him with a shadow of a doubt that they were anyone to trust.
His memories, long absent, could only attest to that and drive his rampant attitude on its chaotic path with no sign of reprieve. That left her, brooding beside Archer who crouched low and hid himself from answers that Wendy had wanted since her conversation in the tent.
What happened to Jagger?
The words had been lingering on her lips begging for release for moments now, and yet she could not allow them to escape. Perhaps it was the possibility of the answer, albeit she'd already put two and two together, but it was the circumstances that made her afraid to ask. If he had died, then it was surely a tragedy, but had it been an accident?
Had Peter killed him?
Why was everyone so afraid to speak of him now? Only Tigerlily had been brave enough to breathe his name since she'd come back to Neverland. There was even no confession from Killian, if he had heard the news at all.
Wendy shifted uncomfortably, then breathed a sigh. From her position on the ground, her view of Archer was limited. The fire consumed her field of vision, but she could see him through the flames. His image shifted and stirred as waves of heat moved outward from the conflagration making him seem wavy and dreamlike; almost as if he wasn't real. But he was. He was, and he avoided looking at her.
She mulled over Tigerlily's words with a scowl and a sudden inclination to scream.
Think for yourself, Darling. You'll save yourself a lot of heartbreak that way.
If he's lucky, he'll have died rather than face Neverland at its worst.
He looked at her and she met his gaze head on. His ears burned red, as if with shame. Her question cut through the crackling flames and brought with it its own plume of smoke.
"Is Jagger dead?"
Nothing. Not at first.
She saw the tension in his shoulders suddenly, the slight flush that took to his cheeks while she saw his mind grasp for an answer that was not the whole truth. This revelation irritated her, and she found herself glaring unkindly. He shrunk underneath her gaze, but she granted him no reprieve with her sudden command. "And don't lie."
Archer's lips parted. Shut. Parted again. A huff shoved at his chest, somewhere between a sigh and a surrender. His eyes found his feet, tucked against his chest, and he plucked at a blade of grass between his fingers and yanked it free. "Gone." He managed, almost inaudibly, expression sad. The slight draw of his brows suggested he were holding back from her.
She pressed forward.
"What do you mean gone?"
"Gone as in gone. Not here anymore."
Wendy glowered. "What happened to him, Archer?"
"He went with Peter on a trip, and Peter didn't say why, but he insisted that it was just the two of them." Archer shrugged helplessly, rubbing the blade of grass in between his thumb and index finger. "They left, and only Peter came back."
"He never mentioned what happened to him?" Wendy felt a throb in her throat as she forced her grief down, the revelation of what had very likely taken place hitting her full force. A part of her didn't want the answer, and yet another part needed it confirmed. That Jagger wasn't out there, needing their help, abandoned somewhere in a new Neverland that would very likely tear him apart.
She worried.
"Just that he left. Peter was… he was in a state and we were afraid. We never asked, but we made our assumptions. Jagger wasn't made for a world like this, you know? None of us are, but we conformed a lot faster than he did, I guess." Another shrug, his shoulders jumping to his ears. All the time he spoke, he never once looked at Wendy, much to her dismay.
"You all had to grow up very fast." She agreed in a soft whisper, gently bumping her shoulder into his own. That ushered the barest trace of a smile pulling at freckled cheeks. Regardless, she found herself apologizing. "I'm sorry for what happened, Archer. I wish I could've been here. Maybe things would have turned out differently."
"They wouldn't have." Archer cut in suddenly, straightening into a stature that had grown taller than Wendy's, turning to face her head on. She was almost taken aback by the gesture, his tone sharp enough to cut glass. "Something would have happened. To you. I'm glad that you stayed away for as long as you did."
Her head moved to a slight tilt, and in her heart, she knew that he was right. If she had attempted to get through to Peter in the beginning of this, whatever this was, she doubted her success, as much as she doubted it now. The silence lingered for a moment, with both turning away to look at a star speckled sky and reminisce of a time where the air didn't feel so foreboding and suffocating.
She thought of Tigerlily, alone with Peter, and quickly maneuvered to her feet.
Archer looked up, but she was already retreating back into the tree line. "Where are you going?"
"I'm going to go find Peter. Please don't wait for me."
"But–" She was already gone, running across the encampment with a nervous anticipation, and a thundering of her heart.
Tigerlily was an authority. An obstacle if Peter deemed her so. She couldn't imagine anything tragic considering his earlier fondness, but she couldn't take that in stride, either. Wendy had to be absolutely sure. If something had happened to Jagger because of his weakness, something happening to Tigerlily because of her strength was an even more terrifying possibility.
(Peter)
Nobody had ever had the gull to look at him in such a way, had never the bravery to question, to pry. The sunlight bled away from the Indian encampment hours ago, leaving it in a hazy drear illuminated only by Tigerlily's outline and the vibrant colors that she wore to contrast herself. Vibrant colors that added a favor to the natural highlights of her hair, and eyes as equally dark that practically demanded authority and respect; it encouraged others to fall in line, and to listen.
How someone so small could command so much, he did not know, but it was an endearing sight, nonetheless. He put more distance between them, however cold the space of leaving her left, unable to revel in it for too long, a sickening feeling twisting his insides.
Tigerlily was beautiful in a perilous sort of way that sent his eyes darting elsewhere.
A seething, jerking in his heart urged him to lash out because of his own inability to handle it.
Yell.
Something.
He didn't. Every dark part of him argued against it, and he refrained with every ounce of strength that it took to ignore. That part of him that wanted to leave, and yet that very same part rooted to stay, only furthering irritation that had been so unlike him until only recently, his own conflict coiling around inside and demanding different actions from what he was willing to take in the moment.
Not without the answers that he desired.
At the very least, the feelings for Tigerlily were very unlike the Wendy girl. She made him want to run, to hide. That part of him that was slowly conforming to the new reality of Neverland infuriated him, an error in understanding that he couldn't grasp, no matter how often the lass seemed to find herself around.
Strangely, she reminded him of his first days on the island–lifetimes ago now. The childlike innocence, and the hope for something better to come. Enough cold nights, enough overbearingly hot days, the notches he had marked in the wall spanning decades, scavenging for food and waiting for an age that would never come…
The endless meandering; fighting.
It'd proved to be a lesson in hope. A thing that he'd been taught was worthless to have without the desire to survive simultaneously. Had he not been saved… Well, he supposed he wouldn't be around to take James' teachings to heart. Emotions that jumbled into a catastrophic mess mixed together and reminded him that while grief didn't go away, there was an opportunity to make room for it. The mentality, that with enough grief, and enough time, there would be reason to smile. To laugh.
Eventually.
Tragic that he didn't share that sentiment anymore. He'd been through more than his fair share of tragedy, time, and yet absent of any humor to help him get through.
Despite his experiences, it'd still left him rather positive, he thought.
They'd left the camp to a large, sturdy oak tree nestled at a cliff's edge. Spirals of twinkling trails ran around its trunk like twisting vines surrounded by tall grass swaying in a harsh breeze. A sturdy rock had held up her home at its peak for centuries. A low hum of music, soft and sweet in the distance, left them behind. They drew closer, absent of fairies and the light of their magic since their disappearance all those years ago.
Back when Tinkerbell had gone, too.
"The fairies' absence really puts the island in a much more dreary light." Peter stood at the chieftess' side while she peered inside the trunk. Although with his knowledge, he half expected to see them too. His arms crossed. For a moment, that part of him that showed such raw, unrefined aggression was gone, and in its place was someone voicing a mere observation.
He liked that part of him, and loathed its weakness all at the same time.
"It is," she agreed, although sounded indifferent. "I had thought that of all the fairies to have gone, Tinkerbell would have fought the hardest to stay."
Peter stiffened. He did not reminisce with her of a time spent with Tinkerbell; did not speak of her, grieve, or ask about the possibility of where she may have gone–she'd left; abandoned him. Maybe that was his own way of dulling the pain–pretending it was no longer a part of him–almost like the fabricated pieces of himself that had been lost. He felt their absence still, tugging at him like a gaping hole growing wider over time. Tinkerbell leaving had some influence on that, he thought. Even the worst parts of him wouldn't agree that the little fairy had meant nothing.
That made her disappearance all the more devastating on his psyche.
He changed the subject, unable to withhold his curiosities any longer. He retreated a few steps away from the trunk, and in turn, Tigerlily. The chieftess' mood had changed no sooner had he entered the tent, an irritability completely foreign to her giving way to a dismissal of the subject altogether. It was rare to see her disheveled, and he did not foresee any simplistic and downright irritating London girl to be the cause of that. The indication that she would hide any secrets from him about someone in his own employ…
"What were you speaking to the Darling Lass about?"
Tigerlily's gentle gaze struck him hard, a gentle furrow in his brows that almost received an apology for asking. Then she did answer, the soles of her boots barely kicking dust as she turned. "You," she answered with a stare that could have killed any regular man–and had killed many of her potential suitors in the past. Her eyes held something that he couldn't define–not immediately–but he quickly searched for an answer.
Secretive… No. Anticipation… Apprehension… All things that he'd scarcely seen Tigerlily ever possess. She'd never kept secrets in the time that he knew her–and thought he knew her, and it was in that time that he was staring, he noticed the tension in her movements seize up as though she expected him to spring and jump.
Caution, then.
He cleared his throat, giving nothing away. "The lot of you have been gossiping about my charm, no doubt." He mused.
The ghost of a laugh rumbled in her throat, ducking her head in order to hide it. In her role, the gesture–however normal to everyone else–was alien in her position. The others would think the world to be ending, surely. Had it not been for her curious inquiries of the mermaids earlier, he may have just mentioned that. It would not have all been in good timing, undoubtedly.
"Of course," the ghost of a smile lingered at the edges of her lips. "It has always cast a light unto others that is impossible to ignore if not welcome."
"I can attest to that. There are a lot of oblivious people on the island nowadays, and those that are not have proven to be annoying company." He scoffed, folding his arms. "Except for one."
"I would have you no other way, Peter Pan."
Tigerlily paralyzed him in earlier years, but it was made obvious now by his total lack of reaction that he had acclimated himself to them. No rhyme or reason could be made of their quiet alliance. It simply was. It existed. He knew well by now how to read intentions–a game was all it was–and Tigerlily's were consistent–harmless. He quite enjoyed the concept of harmlessness in Neverland. He considered it a luxury.
His gentle attempts at a joke did not overshadow his own natural curiosity however. Peter closed his eyes, breaths slowed as he searched for a proper approach. The impatient route won against all logic. It was like slipping in and out of someone else's skin as if he were not his own being.
A blankness.
Instinct and reason.
"There is nothing you feel the need to inform me of, then?"
Tigerlily tilted her head, blinking. "Of Wendy and I?"
He nodded.
She mulled over her words with a thoughtful hum, turning her eyes over the cliffside as if she could reach over the edge and grasp for an answer–ever unafraid of falling into the depths that waited below it. "I do not see myself fancying someone like Wendy, so I find the possibility humorous indeed."
He cocked a wan, little smile. "You know what I mean."
Settling beside the tree trunk, gradually and with little reluctance, he moved to stand beside her again one careful inch at a time. Her close proximity made him tense just the same which coaxed her to pause. "We spoke about how much you've changed."
"And she would know about that, would she?"
"I don't imagine so." Tigerlily sighed, soft and high and low. "In your case." He'd felt like a hostage: frozen, trudging through the long minutes while pretending to play dead. Girls were terrible creatures, or they could be when they really wanted to. Their games left lasting marks on him, old cruelties giving life to a young, fresh terror.
Regardless, Peter eased himself nearer.
Tigerlily was an enigma. She was a relief, incorrigible, impossible to define. He learned years ago to receive and never return these odd, tender gestures she brought. Her touch soothed, and confused, and stung all at once-both needle and feather, warmth and biting cold.
"In my case?"
"You have always been a special case, Peter. Wendy Darling is no exception to the rule."
Slowly, Peter's brows drew together, and he cast a long look up at a long-waning sky. Remaining boneless and malleable was a practiced skill for Peter. Seconds teased him, trickling past. He waited. And waited. He watched. She wandered wherever she pleased, a spider tidying her web, until he lay beneath her fixed gaze with little more than his own questions filtering between them. This locked eye contact kept Peter level-headed at least.
"I have never known Wendy Darling."
"Be that as it may, everyone knows of you. You're no longer a boy, but a man, and the island is growing and developing around that."
Not another breath too deep. His short hair was a ruffled mess against the trunk where he leaned, fingers relaxed and aching. Shadows blanketed the two through the silence they disturbed.
"I've come to notice." Peter paused for a short while. That very same scarred hand caught a rebellious lock of hair, and returned it behind the girl's ear, an instinct too natural to fumble, too brief to question. "I haven't been the only one forced to adjust. The boys are still getting used to things themselves." He murmured absently; eyes locked on the young Indian's face. "Is it by the island's change that I must say thank you?" The words felt foreign on his lips but slipped so seamlessly. His features pinched into a soft scowl. "That you are far less reserved?"
Less reserved, but still cautious. Things were very much not alright, but he didn't know how to say it, didn't know how to articulate the depth of how very stupid he felt. He couldn't bear to meet her eyes. Instead, he straightened and ran his fingers against the nape of his neck–something he only recently identified as being nervous.
There were numerous foreign things showing up on the island recently…
Except it was only the two of them, the quiet chatter of everyone else resounding from a small light flickering off in the distance from a campfire. And yet he had willingly followed her, as opposed to keeping his distance, keeping quiet as he had done so before. He was a man of few words even now.
"The island did very little except force us all to grow, Peter. There are other ways to show appreciation than by words, should you be hesitant to speak them."
He felt a peculiar melting in the center of his chest, as if his heart had just swelled and popped and its tar were bleeding warm down his entire body. A lump rose in his throat. Prickling emotion swelled behind his eyes. The buzz of sentimentality persisted, and he could feel his own excitement nonetheless, splitting at its seams, growing, teetering on a tightrope strung between his ribs . Peter still remembered how to fly, but it was no longer urged forth with dreams and fairies alike.
His eyes remained fixed on her face, drew carefully over her soft features, up to her dark-colored hair that matched her eyes. The shadow that always surrounded him was gone–for the moment, the darkness that clung tight, absent for the moment and handing him something akin to relief, a break from his own personal hell.
There was a flicker of the old Peter, the one that had dreams and ideas before he had been taken by the burden of adulthood, the stress of having to become a leader to a new Neverland. Unless he merely thought for the moment, he was somehow wise to keep words to himself.
But something stirred in the woods not far off, a slight shuffling that turned his attention sideways–only briefly. A quick scan discovered nothing, a slight pinch in his brows that he dismissed as nothing. Nothing worth mentioning.
And should the shadow envelop him, should he let it, he would be gone again. "Do you truly think of me so differently?" He murmured, turning back to her. "Has Neverland placed me in a different favor?"
"You are not the same childish boy that came here with nothing." Tigerlily reminded him. "There is something about you, and I don't yet know what that something is. It is a part of growing up, sure, but I have not yet met a man quite like you."
"There are not any princes aside from myself I'm afraid; let alone a king." He replied, more guarded.
"You are as much of a king as is considered. You've been adjusting to the island's changes well. I might even think that you prefer it over how things used to be." Peter noticed the little steps of distance that she took away from him, her fingers skimming over the bark, casting a look about as if finding the quickest escape routes. "A sinister darkness is plaguing this island, and as much as the others wish to believe it, I think that something is influencing you, Peter." She said carefully. "It is what is sending the island into decay. It is forcing change through your worst nightmares."
He could have laughed at that, but he realized almost immediately that she was sincere. "As if I could ever feel fear."
"Everyone is afraid of something."
"Even you?"
"Even you."
Ridiculous, the concept of that surely was. "If this entity that you speak of, this darkness has attached itself to me, wouldn't I be aware of it?"
"You could just believe these changes are of your own accord, but it is not." She suggested. "The darkness isn't you, Peter. You are pure. Just a boy who is lost much like everyone else on the island. What has happened to you, what is happening, does not define you."
"So you do not believe me a lost cause as everyone else, then?" His eyebrows raised. He saw a glint behind her back, a dagger safely tucked in between the trunk and her spine. The glint of it disappeared as she shuffled it into a more concealed spot, and he found himself stepping away, moving into a space to clearly see her face and glower.
"Nobody is truly lost." She said, unphased, but that did not stop him from seeing the truth. Tigerlily was cautious of him from his first step into the encampment, her authority in question as the prince of Neverland revealed himself. Just like everyone else, she believed that change and evolution was brought on by some curse–a curse that was him. "Then why do you have a dagger at your back?" He challenged.
"You told me to not trust anyone." She answered, keeping her eyes in level with his, still skirting around the tree trunk and delving closer to the edge. Her eyes cast backwards a fraction of a second as she scuffed the edge, pebbles falling into a watery grave. "Seeing that lesson has come from you, I am right to assume that you are the same way."
Peter smirked, in a way that was almost disappointed, incredulous even. His head tilted, staring at her with a measured, lethal sweep. "The difference between me and you is that I do not need to be afraid of those that threaten me." He stood straight, his spine suddenly aligning with his overbearing height.
He'd turned hollow. Covered in shadows that had drained all the light that managed to reach them on the cliffside. "I've feared that the island would take you, Tigerlily. I didn't want its poison to change you, not like it did to everything else." It was seamless, the tone of concern slipping back into cold metal scraping together, venom laced in every word. "I see that it already has."
"Peter–" She started.
He'd maneuvered toward her, one definite step at a time. She'd not retreated back any more, for fear of falling over the edge. One hand reached out and traced along the edge of her jawline, absorbed by it.
She'd recoiled.
"It is better to be feared than loved if you cannot be both." Peter murmured.
It was one singular movement, a knife from her hand thrust in a rising arc. He'd just barely managed to catch it, a swipe against his stomach that left him hissing, only to grip her wrist and twist her arm around, lunging the knife directly into her abdomen. A soft gasp had left her, eyes wide in a surprise that he'd not seen from her before. His eye contact remained, looking into eyes full of fear, of betrayal, slowly draining to whatever after there was beyond Neverland.
Wordlessly, he'd nudged her back, ripping the knife from her flesh as she tumbled into the swirling darkness below.
Behind him, he'd heard a scream.