Author's Note: This symbol: /|\ denotes the beginning and end of a flashback. The three asterisks (***) denote a move forward in time during the flashback.

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"John," Peter said in disbelief. "John Darling?"

"How he got here, I don't know," Eve replied in a whisper. "All I know is that he's been tormenting this land ever since his return…"

Peter's jaw went rigid. A light of recognition ignited on Peter's face. "Oh, God," he said in consternation. "It was me. I'm the reason he is here."

/|\

Peter took one last look around the interior of the tree. He breathed in deeply, smelling earthy scent that he may possibly never smell again.

"Peter!" Wendy called. "Peter, we must be going! The boys want to go home so desperately."

"Speak for yourself," whined John in the backdrop. "I'd wager I could stay here forever and never get tired of it."

Peter looked towards the open doorway, with annoyance furrowed on his brow. "Hold on!" he called outside to the bunch of children milling about. "I've just got to grab one more thing." He snatched up a leather purse about the size of his fist. Peter opened it to verify the contents: pixie dust. A little insurance, just in case the Land of Reality turns out to be a mistake, Peter thought.

Peter walked outside, winking from the sunlight. The children looked at him with faces of pure woe. The smaller ones turned to away to whimper to themselves silently. Their faces, thought Peter, they need me to lead them. They need me to protect them.

A small boy (still pudgy with baby fat and even wobbly on his legs), called Quirky, hesitantly walked up to Peter, all the while wringing his hands and chewing his lip. "Don't leave us, Pan," he said softly to Peter. "We need you to look after us."

"I must," Peter said simply. Looking at the small boy nearly changed Peter's mind. He almost didn't have the heart to go through with leaving them all. But no, he thought, the Lost Boys must be on their own now. Peter looked over to Wendy. She was bent over little Michael, wiping his face with a yellow handkerchief. She smiled maternally at Michael's glowering face and gave a little laugh. Peter liked the sound of her laughter; it reminded him of wind chimes or jingling bells. He liked the way that Wendy made him feel: like he was less than a god, but more than a boy was. She made him feel…real.

"Goodbye, boys," said Wendy to the group. "Are you sure no more of you would like to come with us?" None of the boys came forward.

"Lost Boys, this is my last order as your leader," began Peter, with authority. "Your new leader is Pillpod. Treat him just the way you've treated me." Peter thought for another moment, trying to consolidate all of his thoughts into a few departing statements. Finding no words materializing in his mind, he added, "If you run into trouble, just send Tinkerbell. She'll get me."

"I'll stay for you, Peter," John said hastily after this. "I'll watch the boys for you, and take care of them, just as if I were you."

"Of course you will not!" shrieked Wendy in horror, her voice rising into an arch. "Mother needs you home. That is where you belong. Now stop trying to be valiant, for it shall only land you in hot water."

John clamped his mouth shut and stood in a rigid silence. Peter would have liked to think John's outburst an attempt at valiancy, but he saw something else in his eyes. Behind the cold irises of a brilliant blue, he saw some other motives. He shrugged off his diversions, though, and concentrated on the moment.

"Now, where's Tink?" Peter said.

"I'm here," said a bitter voice from the branches of the tree overhead. Down from behind some lush leaves flitted a pixie, the size of a thumb. She wore nothing, but there was no bashfulness about her. She had blazing red hair clawing down her back and overflowing her whole body. And if one looked close enough, one would notice a pair of brilliant violet eyes, continually filled with defiance and fire. She hovered above Peter's nose, her transparent wings batting softly and creating a soft displacement of air, as that of a lover's blow upon the ear of her beloved.

"Tink, you know I wouldn't leave without saying goodbye to you," said Peter with admonition in his tone.

"I know," said Tink flatly.

"Forgive me for leaving you, pixie," Peter ordered.

Tink answered with her silent rage.

"Well," resolved Peter, "I guess this is goodbye then." He waved his final farewell to all the boys. Peter, Wendy, Michael, and John all linked hands. An irate Tinkerbell hovered above all of them, sprinkling a bit of her pixie dust. That was the ticket between the two worlds: pixie dust. One could always fly in Neverland, but it was the pixie dust that got one out. As the children floated through the sky as though they were mermaids gliding just below the surface of the sea, Peter looked back at them all. It was sad to see them go, he knew this, but there was so much more to the world! Wendy, Michael, and even John were his new Lost Boys now.

Tinkerbell looked up to the sky. She kept watching even after the children had disappeared through the wisps of clouds and were no longer visible. "I'll never forget you, Peter…I'll never forgive you either…"

***

John's Journal Entry

3 weeks: Post-Neverland

That bastard! God, I hate him. He's just so cocky. My own father enjoys his company better than mine. Wendy bows to his every whim. Even Michael looks at him as though he were looking on a God. Well, damn him. DAMN him!!! How dare he come into my home and take all I've ever had for myself? He thinks himself ruler of this place. Today father gave the nursery to Peter, promising to convert it to a proper bedroom soon. I still can't believe it. Father said that Peter was almost a man and that I should be obliged to share a room with Michael. He thinks he can waltz right into any place in the universe and claim it as his own…but I'll show him.

Before we left, I saw Peter with a leather pouch tied around his waist. If it's the pouch that I'm thinking of, then it is filled to the brim of pixie dust. I'm leaving this damned pit of hell. I'm going to find that blasted stuff and go back to Neverland. I'm going to claim it for my own.

***

The moon hung high above the city of London, perched as a pearl in a sky strung with diamonds. The city, permeating the land as far as the eye could see, was a stagnant mess of buildings, littered with a few lights here and there (the late night drunkards, John's own father included). Sure that the household was deep in sleep, John alighted from his bed, lit a stub of candle, and grabbed a previously packed knapsack. The house was cold, as it was nearing autumn, and he shivered slightly as he crept down the hallway (half from the cold and half from his nerves).

As he slowly creaked open the door, the dim light of John's candle fell into the darkened room, illuminating the few inches in front of his nose. For some reason the room seemed cavernous and empty without the three beds and children's toys. John averted his thoughts. His days of childhood had ended when he realized in his heart that his parents were fools laden with the ideals of hypocrites.

"Peter?" asked a slurred voice from the inky black. "Is that you?" The voice was muffled. It was John's father; he was drunk.

"No father," whispered John. "Peter fell asleep downstairs while reading a book. You hadn't the heart or the strength to carry him up, so you let him sleep. Remember?"

"Oh, aye." Mr. Darling lit a small lamp that was resting near him. He was reclined on the window seat. He looked out the window, unto the city sprawled below him. "You know I once run away from home when I was a wee lad?" John shook his head. "Aye," he laughed. It was a drunken laugh, heavy with the contents of the bottle in his hand. John could see his father's eyes were rimmed with red, and his face was flushed. "It's a hard world out there, son," Mr. Darling continued to banter. "Aye, a hard world."

"Go to bed, father," John said softly, not pitying the broken man before him. "You disgust me."

"Aye, son," replied his father, suddenly sober, "but just remember from whom you were sprung. It was I. I made you. You have a piece o' me in you. Don't you ever forget that."

John turned away from his father as the man stumbled out the door, holding the doorframe for support before continuing on his way down the hall. As soon as his father was safely out the door, John began searching the room. He checked the drawers, the cedar chest, and the armoire: all unsuccessful. "Bloody hell," John cursed to himself. He was about to exit the room when a reddish box in the corner caught his eye. It was Wendy's sewing box. Hurriedly, he broke the lock and opened it up. There was the pouch. Making sure he had his journal with him, packed in his knapsack with a few other small items, John opened the pouch. Fearing he'd soon be caught, he sprinkled a dandelion fluff's worth of pixie dust on his head and returned the pouch to its proper place.

John felt himself become weightless and airy. For a moment, he became nauseous and nervous. He went to the window and began floating out into the night sky. Softly at first, he felt the gravity of Neverland pulling at his body, tugging him towards the one place he had been obsessing over for the past two months. It would soon be his, he thought. It would soon be his.

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