AUTHOR'S NOTE: This story is picking up where Kimberly Appelcline's "The
First Kiss" fanfic leaves off (you can find the fic on this very site),
somewhere halfway through the epilogue. Kimberly's story, in turn, is a
continuation of P.J. Hogan's movie Peter Pan, which is of course a version
of J.M. Barrie's novel Peter Pan, which is in itself a sequel (of sorts) to
Peter Pan in Kensington Gardens (also by Barrie - which can be read at
gutenberg.net). Confused yet? ;-)
Wow, this one was a marathon! My longest chapter so far...better go to the bathroom first before you start! Heheh...So, here it is, Chapter XII.
BTW, I am now accepting anonymous reviews. I hadn't realized it was such a bad idea NOT to before, but now it's all been fixed and I can read them! So, please, ALL comments welcome! (
---------------------------------------------------------------------------- -------------
XII. IN THE JUNGLE
Every few hours or so – though there is no true perception of time in Neverland – Anthony would make it a point to venture out from his underground home and into the cold to breathe some new life into the forlorn island. Now that his presence was known to Captain Hook, he needed not to skulk around and conceal his aura any longer. It had come to be time to take action, and so Anthony would gain much pleasure in taunting the evil Pirate by taking extending trips out to sea where he would gaily glide across the thick sheets of ice and watch as they crumbled and melted right under his feet. He would laugh most heartily while doing this; loud enough to alert the whole island to the news that little Anthony Pan was out awakening Neverland.
While strolling hand-in-hand through the jungle from the fairies' den, Peter and Wendy heard one of these laughs. But they knew not that it was their son, for his laugh was not the same as it was when last they heard it in person. Yet it still aroused their curiosity, and so they decided to follow the source of the merry sound further into the thick forests.
The childish tittering also alerted Hook to take up arms. It was most definitely coming from the jungle. And so, with a cocked rifle, Hook trekked off on his own into the woods, lurking in shadows and keeping a cold blue eye on all that was around him. What he did not realize, however, was that he was falling carelessly into The Boy's trap. Anthony was quite deliberately luring Hook from his ship and into the merciless jungle of his own making, in order that he should be able to defeat him swiftly face to face (even if only temporarily), and then complete his task of revitalizing the frozen seas without further resistance.
Anthony, brandishing a sparkling new knife fashioned for him by the craftiest blacksmith fairies, was leaving a rather conspicuous trail behind him as he trudged along through the forest, hoping Hook would see it and quickly catch on. But Hook was no imbecile – he had been called many unflattering names in his day, but never any that would dare to humble his intelligence. He followed the trail, but from a parallel path some ten yards away, his keen eye easily able to decipher between his miserable frost and Anthony's jolly flora.
Yet Peter and Wendy were not quite so clever. They came upon the trail of greenery some distance from the Indian camp and tracked it foot for foot. Startlingly, the trail stopped abruptly a little ways before a clearing among the brush. Peter would have flown up above the trees to find where or if the trail picked up again, but alas, he and Wendy could no longer fly. They were much too disheartened by all the upsetting news they had happened upon in their as yet brief visit to Neverland. So they decided to proceed forward, and thus was when Peter and Wendy rediscovered the tree home in the center of the clearing – the very place where they had spent their first night as husband and wife together so long ago. As with everything else, it was in quite a state of chaos and disrepair. They could scarcely bear sights such as these much longer, and they bypassed it, casting their eyes away and carrying on back into the jungle.
Anthony had miscalculated his whereabouts in the forest – he was still finding his way around – and had to fly over the tree home, lest Hook discover his lair. And the pirate had indeed caught a glimpse of him floating above the trees, but he did not have a clear enough shot to take him down at that moment. So he watched for Anthony's approximate landing and proceeded on along his own twin path.
While Hook was still actively on the trail, Peter and Wendy had lost it completely. They were now stumbling blindly around the jungle, looking for any signs of life, and they soon found themselves in a most dreadfully thick part of the forest. With Wendy close behind him, Peter thrashed and clawed his way through the frustrating myriad of branches and bushes, making a most awful commotion.
Anthony's ears perked at this sudden disturbance. A few yards away, Hook picked up on it as well. And so, they both stealthily began to converge upon it, each believing it was coming from the other one.
Unaware of this, Peter continued to charge his way through the thicket, Wendy holding onto his shirt tightly from behind. He kicked and stomped until, all of a sudden, his foot came down and met with nothingness, causing him to fall forward, springing out from the brush and head first down a steep, rolling hill. Wendy had tried to catch him by the shirtsleeve, but she lost her grip and could only watch as her husband went tumbling down the hillside.
Peter let out a cry heard by Anthony straight ahead, and the boy dashed toward its source, coming from somewhere on the other side of a valley known as Dead Man's Ditch. Hook was closer to the shout. Knowing it most certainly did not come from a little boy, he instantly crouched down behind a tree, his rifle at the ready, and waited.
As Anthony raced toward the ditch, Peter continued to tumble, and the former was able to keep following the sound of twigs snapping and this intruder's shouting. He was almost sure it was Hook – the silly old pirate having stumbling whilst trying to ambush Anthony. Well, the boy would make quick work of him indeed, and he sped forth, his knife at the ready. He could now see the ditch coming upon him in the vague glimmers of twilight now upon the island, and with one last mighty leap, he sprung into the threshold of the jungle just in time to see a tall figure clad in soiled work clothes make one final summersault down the hill and come to an abrupt yet welcome stop at the bottom of the ditch. Upon landing, Peter was thrust into a seated-up position, casting his eyes straight ahead of him and toward the small, shadowy silhouette nestled within the bushes about five yards in front of him.
The countenance was blurry – or she Peter thought – so he put a hand to his bruised head and closed his eyes tightly once before opening them up again and fixing them upon the dark little face scowling at him from within the brush.
At the top of the ditch, Wendy was tentatively making her way down, being careful not to ruin her nightdress. She saw Peter sitting at the bottom, seemingly all right.
And Hook remained behind his tree, lingering at bay until just the right time...
At last did Peter's head clear of any further fuzziness and his eyes adjusted to the blackness in the ditch, and he was able to partially make out the face peering at him cautiously. But he still could not be sure. That is until the figure's dagger made a slight shift in his hand, catching an uncommon ray of elusive sunlight within it and reflecting it upon the boy's face. Now he was clear as day, and Peter froze.
He had seen that face before, but not in flesh and blood. No, the face he was gazing upon now was set in bronze near the Serpentine of Kensington Gardens. But it was not Peter's face – no, it had never been Peter's face. And this tangible one in front of him now had the most brilliant green eyes. And Peter had seen those green eyes before too. But he had not seen them on a statue. He had seen them looking up at him from his wife's bosom in their bedroom in London. Save for Wendy, they were the last truly beautiful things he had seen before an unpitying wind snatched them away. Ever so gradually did Peter become aware that he was beholding the eyes and face of his precious son.
But Anthony knew not whom he was staring at. It most certainly was not Captain Hook. And it was not a little boy just come tumbling from his pram. It was a grown-up. And the only paleface grown-ups in Neverland were pirates. So, this fair-haired man with the queer expression on his face must be one of Hook's cronies – one of the many spies he sends out to keep watch on The Boy. Anthony gripped his dagger tighter and stood firm.
Peter felt his heart racing. He rather suspected it may leap from his chest altogether. He couldn't form a clear thought in his head to tell him what he ought to do next. So, he followed the instincts of his body and began to grapple clumsily to his feet. Anthony quickly crouched even further into his fight stance, preparing himself for anything. Peter noticed the effect his sudden movement had on the boy, and he held out a reassuring hand.
"Don't be frightened, I won't hurt you," Peter said softly, slowly rising to his feet.
"Who are you?" Anthony demanded.
"I know you don't remember me at all, but you must believe me..."
"You're one of Hook's men!"
"Absolutely not!" Peter had not meant to say this so loudly, but the mere suggestion that he would ever gang up with that scoundrel made his blood boil.
Both Wendy and Hook quickly became aware of this brief yet heated exchange. Hook crept out from behind the tree to quietly investigate, whilst Wendy scrambled further down the hillside should Peter be facing some sort of danger.
"If you are not a pirate, then what are you doing in Neverland? You certainly are not an Indian!" Anthony prodded.
Peter sighed. "It's a very long story, but if you would please allow me to explain it to you..."
Wendy was now at the bottom of the hill, but she could walk no further. She followed Peter's gaze into the bush where a child of about eight or nine wielded a shiny dagger at her husband. Unlike Peter, she did not have to adjust her eyes or place his features in a context. She knew instantly that it was her boy.
Her Anthony. Their son.
Anthony saw her come down and thrust his dagger in her direction.
"Who is she?" he asked. Wendy felt her heart hit her stomach. He did not recognize her.
Peter insinuated himself between Wendy and Anthony's knife. "Don't hurt her."
Anthony scoffed. "Sir, I do not harm *ladies*! I shall rescue her from you, and then run you through!"
"Please, listen to me..." Peter persisted.
"I will not listen to any silly grown-up!" Anthony declared proudly.
His voice was getting clearer to Hook as he tiptoed around the perimeter of Dead Man's Ditch.
"I am sorry, but you must listen to what I have to say," Peter pleaded.
"Nobody tells me what to do, old man!"
Peter was rather taken aback by the insult. It was not very long ago that he would have hurled the same such one at Hook...and would shudder so hideously when the pirate would address Peter as a man as well. But he could remember how he used to regard anyone at all over the age of thirteen as "old." But still...
"I am not quite THAT old!" Peter insisted.
Hook was upon them now, high up at the edge of the steep hill, concealing himself among the branches and vines hanging down all around him.
"I suggest you leave the forest immediately before I am forced to hack you to pieces and send your remains, one by one, back to Captain Hook," warned Anthony.
Wendy held her breath and remained silent against the hill behind Peter.
"I beg of you, I am not a pirate, PLEASE, Anthony..." Peter stammered.
Anthony's eyes widened. "You know my name."
Peter stopped. Well, of course he knew his name!
The boy's face twisted into a deeper scowl. "If you are not one of Hook's pirates, how do you know my name?"
Peter stood more still than the icy waters beyond the jungle. He could feel his hands tremble. "Because...I...I am your father, Anthony."
The boy only stared at him. He knew what fathers were, of course, but he had never given much thought at all to his own. This was surely just one of Hook's tricks.
"Liar," Anthony snarled.
"It's not a lie. You are my son."
Anthony said nothing but only continued his beastly grimace. Peter just watched him.
Hook peered from beyond the branches down into the ditch, his rifle pointed at Anthony's now visible head. But, say, who was this fair rogue whom he was having words with? He did look awfully familiar.
Peter and Anthony continued their tense standoff. In this stillness was Hook able to decipher through squinted eyes the young man trying to ward off The Boy. That tousled blond hair, that smug mouth, those mischievous eyes...
"Bilge me anchor..." Hook muttered to himself before allowing his lips to curl into the most sinister of sneers. "Pan!"
The pirate made a stealthily move to gain closer access to the action – or lack thereof at the moment – in the ditch below. He wanted to get close enough to hear what was being said without being too near to be discovered.
Peter watched Anthony's eyes. The boy was beginning to lean slightly forward as if to cautiously approach him, but Peter held his ground and did not make an attempt toward Anthony. No, Peter waited for *his* reaction first.
He needn't have waited so very long, for without any warning at all, Anthony suddenly bounded from inside the bushes, his knife aloft, and charged at Peter. But the older man was far quicker and more experienced, and before Anthony's little feet had even touched the ground, Peter snatched his armed wrist and twisted it – not to harm him, but enough to urge him to drop the knife and fall to his knees upon the ground. Wendy gasped as she beheld this tragic struggle between a loving father and a son who knew him not a whit.
And Hook continued to leer most delightedly.
Anthony let out a weak yet indignant cry of pain and tried to whack the Man with his free hand, but Peter caught hold of that one as well. Anthony kept struggling, and Peter continued to hold him at bay, waiting until he would eventually give up.
And Anthony most certainly would have carried on kicking and fighting Peter had he not seized a glimpse of a rather familiar little object swinging recklessly to and from The Man's chest. Poking out from under his work shirt was a vine. And attached to that vine was a decidedly sad – and quite dead – flower hanging upon Peter's neck. Anthony's fixation on this object bade him calm down almost at once, and his arms became flaccid under Peter's grip.
Wendy watched with nervous eyes to see what could possibly have made Anthony cease his struggles so quickly.
Peter, too, was rather perplexed. Until he followed his son's gaze downward and he himself noticed the wilted Stargazer Lily he still wore around his neck in honor of his lost son. Did Anthony remember it? How could he possibly? He could not even remember his own father!
Warily, Peter released his grasp on Anthony and was relieved when the boy remained where he was on the ground. His eyes darted from the flower to Peter and then back again. Peter held up the flower in his palm for Anthony's closer inspection.
"Do you remember this, Anthony?"
Hook craned his neck to see what Peter could possibly be showing The Boy.
Anthony now kept his eyes solely on Peter. He possessed a most disturbed expression as he slowly brought his hand up to his own chest. He reached a few tiny fingers down his shirt of leaves, and when they resurfaced, clasped between them was a nearly identical lily fastened to an identical vine.
One could scarcely imagine the sensation that welled up inside of Peter, like an inflating balloon, when he saw that marvelous little flower that Anthony had taken the trouble to keep with him all this time. Standing behind Peter, Wendy too saw Anthony pluck the lily from under his shirt, and she put her hands to her mouth lest she emit too startling a cry.
A broad and most grateful smile seized Peter's face at once, and Anthony knew then that this Man was no pirate.
"You are really...my father?" Anthony inquired, suspicion still dripping from his tone.
Hook nearly dropped his gun at hearing this.
Peter wanted desperately to reach out and hug the boy until he simply exploded, but he still kept his distance. "Yes. And the lady behind me is your mother."
Anthony shot a quick glance to Wendy, who stayed put until she felt it appropriate to approach them. She seemed so warm and understanding, just the way Anthony rather imagined a mother should look. And the expression in her eyes as she watched her son was so powerful as to nearly knock him backwards onto the ground.
Hook beheld this spectacle before him with a most delicious amusement. So, the Boy Wonder has a son, he thought to himself. Two generations of Pans, mere feet from the barrel of his shotgun. It was almost too much to resist. Certainly Peter had come back to reclaim Neverland, and he would recruit his like-minded little boy to help him in this quest. One goal. Two Pans. Two bullets. Too tempting. Hook raised his rifle to his cheek...
When Anthony cast his gaze back onto Peter, he saw that the boy's eyes were tearing up. Anthony could not quite explain why, but he felt the oddest sensation in his chest upon looking at these two people in front of him. It was as if something warm and fluid was being poured over his heart. And it made him both sad and happy all at once!
But a short distance away, the wretched Captain Hook closed one eye to take aim upon Father and Son. Who shall he dispose of first? Anthony was much more wily and harder to catch, while Peter could not possibly get very far in his present aged state. Yes, Anthony would go first, and before Peter even knew what happened, he would lay waste to him as well. Hook grinned as he slowly cocked the rifle with his claw...
...Oh, but wait!
Now, from out of the shadows of the hillside emerged Wendy, taking her first wary steps toward the son she had not seen in three years. Her heart pounding harshly, she crept up beside Peter and crouched down next to him, drinking in this most glorious sight of her precious little boy's face.
Immediately, Hook tensed and drew back his gun at this distraction. But he soon regained himself upon realizing just whom it was infiltrating his clear shot. And suddenly had he forgotten all about Anthony and Peter.
"Wendy..."
The name luxuriated in his mouth like a fine wine. And this was indeed appropriate, for she too appeared to have only gotten sweeter with age.
As his eyes continued to gape luridly at the luminous beauty sitting upon the grass at the bottom of the valley with her charming little family, looking so very mature and out of place amongst the misery of the land, Hook's *new* mission quickly became clear. Just thinking of the possibilities sent him into a silent fit of ecstasy. But he was able to keep his giddiness at bay enough to remain as yet quite undetected within the brush and slither away into the shadows.
The Pans themselves were certainly unaware of the wickedness taking place above their heads. At long last did Peter find the courage to reach out to put a gentle hand to his son's face. But, sadly, the boy shuddered and backed away.
"You must never touch me," he asserted.
Neither Peter nor Wendy asked why. They both knew how frightened Anthony must have been. Peter had reacted the same way with Wendy upon their first meeting, and he understood that this was because he had been so very afraid to *feel*.
"Why have you come here?" Anthony demanded.
"Anthony," Wendy began breathlessly. Her voice was like a soft jingling in his ears. "You were taken from us so violently, and all these years we thought we may never see you again."
"You've come to take me back!" Anthony hopped to his feet.
"No!" Peter replied quickly, rising as well. "No. We understand why you are here and why you must stay. But we felt so strongly that we had to see you again just once before we left, to make sure that you are all right."
Anthony folded his arms. "Well, now you have seen me."
Now Wendy stood up. "Oh, but Anthony...we were rather hoping to...spend some time with you." She shot Peter an unsure glance, and Anthony remained standing, looking quite puzzled himself.
"Erm, what I mean is..." Wendy continued, "We should like to..."
"Play a game!" Peter interjected.
"A game?" Anthony's expression changed to one of mild amusement. "Play a game – with *grown-ups*?"
Wendy caught onto Peter's drift. "Why, yes! Oh, we do love to play games, really!"
Anthony tilted his head, still doubtful. "What sort of game?"
"'Mummy, Daddy, and Child'," proclaimed Peter.
"How does it go?" Anthony inquired with some hinted interest.
"Well, you can just...*pretend* that I am your father, and that she is your mother."
Wendy joined in the fun. "Yes! And I can tell you stories and mend your clothes..."
"And you and I can swordfight and shoot bows, or whatever you like!" Peter was trying very hard to make it all sound so appealing.
And indeed, Anthony thought the idea an intriguing one, although he was still quite unsure about cavorting with grown-ups. Could they really be trusted? What if they do try to steal him away from Neverland? He would have to be on his closest guard. And besides, he had been yearning for some companionship in this desolate place. It would certainly be nice to have someone around who was not keen to slit his throat.
The more Anthony looked upon the eager faces of these two utterly bizarre creatures, the more was he able to detect that all-important sparkle of youth and gaiety peering out at him from behind their crow's feet and well- defined chins. There was certainly something unique about them, as if they may very well be children themselves, only trapped in grotesque grown-up bodies by way of some wicked spell.
Anthony allowed a soft yet watchful grin to creep upon his lips. "Alright then. Yes, I can pretend."
Wow, this one was a marathon! My longest chapter so far...better go to the bathroom first before you start! Heheh...So, here it is, Chapter XII.
BTW, I am now accepting anonymous reviews. I hadn't realized it was such a bad idea NOT to before, but now it's all been fixed and I can read them! So, please, ALL comments welcome! (
---------------------------------------------------------------------------- -------------
XII. IN THE JUNGLE
Every few hours or so – though there is no true perception of time in Neverland – Anthony would make it a point to venture out from his underground home and into the cold to breathe some new life into the forlorn island. Now that his presence was known to Captain Hook, he needed not to skulk around and conceal his aura any longer. It had come to be time to take action, and so Anthony would gain much pleasure in taunting the evil Pirate by taking extending trips out to sea where he would gaily glide across the thick sheets of ice and watch as they crumbled and melted right under his feet. He would laugh most heartily while doing this; loud enough to alert the whole island to the news that little Anthony Pan was out awakening Neverland.
While strolling hand-in-hand through the jungle from the fairies' den, Peter and Wendy heard one of these laughs. But they knew not that it was their son, for his laugh was not the same as it was when last they heard it in person. Yet it still aroused their curiosity, and so they decided to follow the source of the merry sound further into the thick forests.
The childish tittering also alerted Hook to take up arms. It was most definitely coming from the jungle. And so, with a cocked rifle, Hook trekked off on his own into the woods, lurking in shadows and keeping a cold blue eye on all that was around him. What he did not realize, however, was that he was falling carelessly into The Boy's trap. Anthony was quite deliberately luring Hook from his ship and into the merciless jungle of his own making, in order that he should be able to defeat him swiftly face to face (even if only temporarily), and then complete his task of revitalizing the frozen seas without further resistance.
Anthony, brandishing a sparkling new knife fashioned for him by the craftiest blacksmith fairies, was leaving a rather conspicuous trail behind him as he trudged along through the forest, hoping Hook would see it and quickly catch on. But Hook was no imbecile – he had been called many unflattering names in his day, but never any that would dare to humble his intelligence. He followed the trail, but from a parallel path some ten yards away, his keen eye easily able to decipher between his miserable frost and Anthony's jolly flora.
Yet Peter and Wendy were not quite so clever. They came upon the trail of greenery some distance from the Indian camp and tracked it foot for foot. Startlingly, the trail stopped abruptly a little ways before a clearing among the brush. Peter would have flown up above the trees to find where or if the trail picked up again, but alas, he and Wendy could no longer fly. They were much too disheartened by all the upsetting news they had happened upon in their as yet brief visit to Neverland. So they decided to proceed forward, and thus was when Peter and Wendy rediscovered the tree home in the center of the clearing – the very place where they had spent their first night as husband and wife together so long ago. As with everything else, it was in quite a state of chaos and disrepair. They could scarcely bear sights such as these much longer, and they bypassed it, casting their eyes away and carrying on back into the jungle.
Anthony had miscalculated his whereabouts in the forest – he was still finding his way around – and had to fly over the tree home, lest Hook discover his lair. And the pirate had indeed caught a glimpse of him floating above the trees, but he did not have a clear enough shot to take him down at that moment. So he watched for Anthony's approximate landing and proceeded on along his own twin path.
While Hook was still actively on the trail, Peter and Wendy had lost it completely. They were now stumbling blindly around the jungle, looking for any signs of life, and they soon found themselves in a most dreadfully thick part of the forest. With Wendy close behind him, Peter thrashed and clawed his way through the frustrating myriad of branches and bushes, making a most awful commotion.
Anthony's ears perked at this sudden disturbance. A few yards away, Hook picked up on it as well. And so, they both stealthily began to converge upon it, each believing it was coming from the other one.
Unaware of this, Peter continued to charge his way through the thicket, Wendy holding onto his shirt tightly from behind. He kicked and stomped until, all of a sudden, his foot came down and met with nothingness, causing him to fall forward, springing out from the brush and head first down a steep, rolling hill. Wendy had tried to catch him by the shirtsleeve, but she lost her grip and could only watch as her husband went tumbling down the hillside.
Peter let out a cry heard by Anthony straight ahead, and the boy dashed toward its source, coming from somewhere on the other side of a valley known as Dead Man's Ditch. Hook was closer to the shout. Knowing it most certainly did not come from a little boy, he instantly crouched down behind a tree, his rifle at the ready, and waited.
As Anthony raced toward the ditch, Peter continued to tumble, and the former was able to keep following the sound of twigs snapping and this intruder's shouting. He was almost sure it was Hook – the silly old pirate having stumbling whilst trying to ambush Anthony. Well, the boy would make quick work of him indeed, and he sped forth, his knife at the ready. He could now see the ditch coming upon him in the vague glimmers of twilight now upon the island, and with one last mighty leap, he sprung into the threshold of the jungle just in time to see a tall figure clad in soiled work clothes make one final summersault down the hill and come to an abrupt yet welcome stop at the bottom of the ditch. Upon landing, Peter was thrust into a seated-up position, casting his eyes straight ahead of him and toward the small, shadowy silhouette nestled within the bushes about five yards in front of him.
The countenance was blurry – or she Peter thought – so he put a hand to his bruised head and closed his eyes tightly once before opening them up again and fixing them upon the dark little face scowling at him from within the brush.
At the top of the ditch, Wendy was tentatively making her way down, being careful not to ruin her nightdress. She saw Peter sitting at the bottom, seemingly all right.
And Hook remained behind his tree, lingering at bay until just the right time...
At last did Peter's head clear of any further fuzziness and his eyes adjusted to the blackness in the ditch, and he was able to partially make out the face peering at him cautiously. But he still could not be sure. That is until the figure's dagger made a slight shift in his hand, catching an uncommon ray of elusive sunlight within it and reflecting it upon the boy's face. Now he was clear as day, and Peter froze.
He had seen that face before, but not in flesh and blood. No, the face he was gazing upon now was set in bronze near the Serpentine of Kensington Gardens. But it was not Peter's face – no, it had never been Peter's face. And this tangible one in front of him now had the most brilliant green eyes. And Peter had seen those green eyes before too. But he had not seen them on a statue. He had seen them looking up at him from his wife's bosom in their bedroom in London. Save for Wendy, they were the last truly beautiful things he had seen before an unpitying wind snatched them away. Ever so gradually did Peter become aware that he was beholding the eyes and face of his precious son.
But Anthony knew not whom he was staring at. It most certainly was not Captain Hook. And it was not a little boy just come tumbling from his pram. It was a grown-up. And the only paleface grown-ups in Neverland were pirates. So, this fair-haired man with the queer expression on his face must be one of Hook's cronies – one of the many spies he sends out to keep watch on The Boy. Anthony gripped his dagger tighter and stood firm.
Peter felt his heart racing. He rather suspected it may leap from his chest altogether. He couldn't form a clear thought in his head to tell him what he ought to do next. So, he followed the instincts of his body and began to grapple clumsily to his feet. Anthony quickly crouched even further into his fight stance, preparing himself for anything. Peter noticed the effect his sudden movement had on the boy, and he held out a reassuring hand.
"Don't be frightened, I won't hurt you," Peter said softly, slowly rising to his feet.
"Who are you?" Anthony demanded.
"I know you don't remember me at all, but you must believe me..."
"You're one of Hook's men!"
"Absolutely not!" Peter had not meant to say this so loudly, but the mere suggestion that he would ever gang up with that scoundrel made his blood boil.
Both Wendy and Hook quickly became aware of this brief yet heated exchange. Hook crept out from behind the tree to quietly investigate, whilst Wendy scrambled further down the hillside should Peter be facing some sort of danger.
"If you are not a pirate, then what are you doing in Neverland? You certainly are not an Indian!" Anthony prodded.
Peter sighed. "It's a very long story, but if you would please allow me to explain it to you..."
Wendy was now at the bottom of the hill, but she could walk no further. She followed Peter's gaze into the bush where a child of about eight or nine wielded a shiny dagger at her husband. Unlike Peter, she did not have to adjust her eyes or place his features in a context. She knew instantly that it was her boy.
Her Anthony. Their son.
Anthony saw her come down and thrust his dagger in her direction.
"Who is she?" he asked. Wendy felt her heart hit her stomach. He did not recognize her.
Peter insinuated himself between Wendy and Anthony's knife. "Don't hurt her."
Anthony scoffed. "Sir, I do not harm *ladies*! I shall rescue her from you, and then run you through!"
"Please, listen to me..." Peter persisted.
"I will not listen to any silly grown-up!" Anthony declared proudly.
His voice was getting clearer to Hook as he tiptoed around the perimeter of Dead Man's Ditch.
"I am sorry, but you must listen to what I have to say," Peter pleaded.
"Nobody tells me what to do, old man!"
Peter was rather taken aback by the insult. It was not very long ago that he would have hurled the same such one at Hook...and would shudder so hideously when the pirate would address Peter as a man as well. But he could remember how he used to regard anyone at all over the age of thirteen as "old." But still...
"I am not quite THAT old!" Peter insisted.
Hook was upon them now, high up at the edge of the steep hill, concealing himself among the branches and vines hanging down all around him.
"I suggest you leave the forest immediately before I am forced to hack you to pieces and send your remains, one by one, back to Captain Hook," warned Anthony.
Wendy held her breath and remained silent against the hill behind Peter.
"I beg of you, I am not a pirate, PLEASE, Anthony..." Peter stammered.
Anthony's eyes widened. "You know my name."
Peter stopped. Well, of course he knew his name!
The boy's face twisted into a deeper scowl. "If you are not one of Hook's pirates, how do you know my name?"
Peter stood more still than the icy waters beyond the jungle. He could feel his hands tremble. "Because...I...I am your father, Anthony."
The boy only stared at him. He knew what fathers were, of course, but he had never given much thought at all to his own. This was surely just one of Hook's tricks.
"Liar," Anthony snarled.
"It's not a lie. You are my son."
Anthony said nothing but only continued his beastly grimace. Peter just watched him.
Hook peered from beyond the branches down into the ditch, his rifle pointed at Anthony's now visible head. But, say, who was this fair rogue whom he was having words with? He did look awfully familiar.
Peter and Anthony continued their tense standoff. In this stillness was Hook able to decipher through squinted eyes the young man trying to ward off The Boy. That tousled blond hair, that smug mouth, those mischievous eyes...
"Bilge me anchor..." Hook muttered to himself before allowing his lips to curl into the most sinister of sneers. "Pan!"
The pirate made a stealthily move to gain closer access to the action – or lack thereof at the moment – in the ditch below. He wanted to get close enough to hear what was being said without being too near to be discovered.
Peter watched Anthony's eyes. The boy was beginning to lean slightly forward as if to cautiously approach him, but Peter held his ground and did not make an attempt toward Anthony. No, Peter waited for *his* reaction first.
He needn't have waited so very long, for without any warning at all, Anthony suddenly bounded from inside the bushes, his knife aloft, and charged at Peter. But the older man was far quicker and more experienced, and before Anthony's little feet had even touched the ground, Peter snatched his armed wrist and twisted it – not to harm him, but enough to urge him to drop the knife and fall to his knees upon the ground. Wendy gasped as she beheld this tragic struggle between a loving father and a son who knew him not a whit.
And Hook continued to leer most delightedly.
Anthony let out a weak yet indignant cry of pain and tried to whack the Man with his free hand, but Peter caught hold of that one as well. Anthony kept struggling, and Peter continued to hold him at bay, waiting until he would eventually give up.
And Anthony most certainly would have carried on kicking and fighting Peter had he not seized a glimpse of a rather familiar little object swinging recklessly to and from The Man's chest. Poking out from under his work shirt was a vine. And attached to that vine was a decidedly sad – and quite dead – flower hanging upon Peter's neck. Anthony's fixation on this object bade him calm down almost at once, and his arms became flaccid under Peter's grip.
Wendy watched with nervous eyes to see what could possibly have made Anthony cease his struggles so quickly.
Peter, too, was rather perplexed. Until he followed his son's gaze downward and he himself noticed the wilted Stargazer Lily he still wore around his neck in honor of his lost son. Did Anthony remember it? How could he possibly? He could not even remember his own father!
Warily, Peter released his grasp on Anthony and was relieved when the boy remained where he was on the ground. His eyes darted from the flower to Peter and then back again. Peter held up the flower in his palm for Anthony's closer inspection.
"Do you remember this, Anthony?"
Hook craned his neck to see what Peter could possibly be showing The Boy.
Anthony now kept his eyes solely on Peter. He possessed a most disturbed expression as he slowly brought his hand up to his own chest. He reached a few tiny fingers down his shirt of leaves, and when they resurfaced, clasped between them was a nearly identical lily fastened to an identical vine.
One could scarcely imagine the sensation that welled up inside of Peter, like an inflating balloon, when he saw that marvelous little flower that Anthony had taken the trouble to keep with him all this time. Standing behind Peter, Wendy too saw Anthony pluck the lily from under his shirt, and she put her hands to her mouth lest she emit too startling a cry.
A broad and most grateful smile seized Peter's face at once, and Anthony knew then that this Man was no pirate.
"You are really...my father?" Anthony inquired, suspicion still dripping from his tone.
Hook nearly dropped his gun at hearing this.
Peter wanted desperately to reach out and hug the boy until he simply exploded, but he still kept his distance. "Yes. And the lady behind me is your mother."
Anthony shot a quick glance to Wendy, who stayed put until she felt it appropriate to approach them. She seemed so warm and understanding, just the way Anthony rather imagined a mother should look. And the expression in her eyes as she watched her son was so powerful as to nearly knock him backwards onto the ground.
Hook beheld this spectacle before him with a most delicious amusement. So, the Boy Wonder has a son, he thought to himself. Two generations of Pans, mere feet from the barrel of his shotgun. It was almost too much to resist. Certainly Peter had come back to reclaim Neverland, and he would recruit his like-minded little boy to help him in this quest. One goal. Two Pans. Two bullets. Too tempting. Hook raised his rifle to his cheek...
When Anthony cast his gaze back onto Peter, he saw that the boy's eyes were tearing up. Anthony could not quite explain why, but he felt the oddest sensation in his chest upon looking at these two people in front of him. It was as if something warm and fluid was being poured over his heart. And it made him both sad and happy all at once!
But a short distance away, the wretched Captain Hook closed one eye to take aim upon Father and Son. Who shall he dispose of first? Anthony was much more wily and harder to catch, while Peter could not possibly get very far in his present aged state. Yes, Anthony would go first, and before Peter even knew what happened, he would lay waste to him as well. Hook grinned as he slowly cocked the rifle with his claw...
...Oh, but wait!
Now, from out of the shadows of the hillside emerged Wendy, taking her first wary steps toward the son she had not seen in three years. Her heart pounding harshly, she crept up beside Peter and crouched down next to him, drinking in this most glorious sight of her precious little boy's face.
Immediately, Hook tensed and drew back his gun at this distraction. But he soon regained himself upon realizing just whom it was infiltrating his clear shot. And suddenly had he forgotten all about Anthony and Peter.
"Wendy..."
The name luxuriated in his mouth like a fine wine. And this was indeed appropriate, for she too appeared to have only gotten sweeter with age.
As his eyes continued to gape luridly at the luminous beauty sitting upon the grass at the bottom of the valley with her charming little family, looking so very mature and out of place amongst the misery of the land, Hook's *new* mission quickly became clear. Just thinking of the possibilities sent him into a silent fit of ecstasy. But he was able to keep his giddiness at bay enough to remain as yet quite undetected within the brush and slither away into the shadows.
The Pans themselves were certainly unaware of the wickedness taking place above their heads. At long last did Peter find the courage to reach out to put a gentle hand to his son's face. But, sadly, the boy shuddered and backed away.
"You must never touch me," he asserted.
Neither Peter nor Wendy asked why. They both knew how frightened Anthony must have been. Peter had reacted the same way with Wendy upon their first meeting, and he understood that this was because he had been so very afraid to *feel*.
"Why have you come here?" Anthony demanded.
"Anthony," Wendy began breathlessly. Her voice was like a soft jingling in his ears. "You were taken from us so violently, and all these years we thought we may never see you again."
"You've come to take me back!" Anthony hopped to his feet.
"No!" Peter replied quickly, rising as well. "No. We understand why you are here and why you must stay. But we felt so strongly that we had to see you again just once before we left, to make sure that you are all right."
Anthony folded his arms. "Well, now you have seen me."
Now Wendy stood up. "Oh, but Anthony...we were rather hoping to...spend some time with you." She shot Peter an unsure glance, and Anthony remained standing, looking quite puzzled himself.
"Erm, what I mean is..." Wendy continued, "We should like to..."
"Play a game!" Peter interjected.
"A game?" Anthony's expression changed to one of mild amusement. "Play a game – with *grown-ups*?"
Wendy caught onto Peter's drift. "Why, yes! Oh, we do love to play games, really!"
Anthony tilted his head, still doubtful. "What sort of game?"
"'Mummy, Daddy, and Child'," proclaimed Peter.
"How does it go?" Anthony inquired with some hinted interest.
"Well, you can just...*pretend* that I am your father, and that she is your mother."
Wendy joined in the fun. "Yes! And I can tell you stories and mend your clothes..."
"And you and I can swordfight and shoot bows, or whatever you like!" Peter was trying very hard to make it all sound so appealing.
And indeed, Anthony thought the idea an intriguing one, although he was still quite unsure about cavorting with grown-ups. Could they really be trusted? What if they do try to steal him away from Neverland? He would have to be on his closest guard. And besides, he had been yearning for some companionship in this desolate place. It would certainly be nice to have someone around who was not keen to slit his throat.
The more Anthony looked upon the eager faces of these two utterly bizarre creatures, the more was he able to detect that all-important sparkle of youth and gaiety peering out at him from behind their crow's feet and well- defined chins. There was certainly something unique about them, as if they may very well be children themselves, only trapped in grotesque grown-up bodies by way of some wicked spell.
Anthony allowed a soft yet watchful grin to creep upon his lips. "Alright then. Yes, I can pretend."