Peter Pan
Summary: Based on the recent film; Peter Pan was notorious for never wanting to grow up. He wanted to stay young and play with the Lost Boys on the enchanting island of Never Land. However, after being separated from his Wendy once Hook had gone, Peter began to realise that he couldn't stay a child forever, neither could he stand the thought of Wendy growing up without him … can he give up the life of Never Land for Wendy? What happens when he returns to London to grow up in secret? Will she even recognise him? But something happens, which causes his need to return to his homeland …
Disclaimer: I do not own the book by JM Barrie, nor do I own the film.
Author's Note: Hello, thanks to everyone who reviewed! I love you all! Gilded mouse, I shall continue, never fear! Jexy Baby, you will learn more here, Liz, (wow) thanks for your long review, I read it at least 3 times! Everyone else who reviewed, thank you so much! Here's the next chappie.
- - - Chapter Two - - -
Peter sat hunched miserably in a cold dark corner in the streets of London. He had managed to find some clothes to wear a good while ago; London was full of scraps and things as Peter rapidly found out and he had been sensible enough to realise his outfit of leaves may alarm the adult people inhabiting London these days. He knew that he had seen Wendy the day before or perhaps before that, but found that he could not go to her. She had looked right through him like he was just another one of these foolish Londoners with no sense of fun, as though she no longer remembered, as though she had truly forgotten, and this thought made him even more miserable. Peter had no idea how long he had been in London; time passed differently here to that of Never Land, he had found. It seemed an awfully long time, yet perhaps that had something to do with is misery. He knew he must have grown up sufficiently to be roughly Wendy's age, give or take a little either end, but going to back to her as he had planned was proving a more difficult task than he had originally perceived.
More than once, Peter had believed the whole thing to be a waste of his time and he should return to Never Land at once; Tinkerbell would surely be missing him … but that was all he had left in Never Land. There was no Hook to challenge, no Lost Boys to play with, nothing. What a mess he had made. If only he had gone with them that time, if only he had joined the family, but his pride had overtaken him. He could look after himself, could he not? He needed no mother, nor father, nor proper home or school. Never Land was just fine … but on his own?
He didn't attempt to test the theory erupting in his head, but Peter knew, without trying, that he had forgotten how to fly. He had no happy thoughts left anymore. He did not want to try, and fail, therefore proving himself right. This was one time he did not wish to be wise or clever. With a miserable sigh, he contented himself in his corner and settled for watching the strange folk moving about London. Adults truly were mysterious people.
- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -
She had seen the boy again, sauntering off in the opposite direction, trying not to be noticed. Wendy tried to follow, and saw, to her surprise, that he disappeared around the corner and down the street she least wished to see him go down. That was Davenport Lane, and it was notoriously dangerous. All pickpockets and criminals were said to inhabit in that lane; it was a regular second home for the law enforcers of London. She stopped on the edge of the lane, biting her lip.
"Wendy! Come away from there at once!" chided Mrs Darling concernedly, seizing her daughter's hand and steering her through the crowd.
The familiarity of the boy was beginning to grow heavy on Wendy's mind, though she could not fathom why. It bothered her for some reason, a reason she knew not. Despite her apprehension, Davenport Lane was where he would doubtlessly be, and there she should go, if the heavy weight on her mind was to be lifted.
- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -
Wendy had dully noted that throughout the routine of her day, it was fairly impossible to slip away anywhere going unnoticed. There was hardly any time in the morning and once at school, it was near the unfeasible to assume one could simply "leave" the eyes of the teachers at school. The walk home from school with John and Michael was at least 20 minutes walk from school to home; perhaps even longer if the Lost Boys were in trouble again, which was more than likely, as Wendy was instructed to wait for them lest they get into any more trouble on the walk home. Once home she would be under the eyes of mother, father and Aunt Millicent alike. The only time for a possible excursion was surely after school.
"Wendy, we must wait for Slightly," muttered John at the school gates.
"And what did he do this time?" said Wendy.
"He set fire to Tootles' ears," said Michael indifferently.
"Again?" Wendy said.
"Yes."
"What on earth possessed him to do that?"
Michael screwed up his face, as if recollecting something. "Well, we think he was trying to recreate a historical period in time when one … sets alight to another's ears …"
Wendy sighed deeply, and tapped her foot on the railings. It was threatening to rain again; black thunderheads rolled across the open sky as happened so often during the winter months.
"How long are we to wait?" she said sullenly.
"Miss Slake shall keep him behind for twenty and one minutes."
"Oh, for heavens sake," Wendy said exasperatedly. "There is something I must do. John, as the eldest after myself, you must walk the boys home today."
"What must you do?" said John with a suspicious air. Since he had grown up slightly, John had become a great deal more cautious of people.
"That is not your concern. Please, do as I ask?"
John narrowed his eyes but nodded resolutely. Wendy smiled and slipped away.
"I shall not be long!" she called over her shoulder. But this was a lie already in motion.
- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -
Wendy stood for a long time at the foot of Davenport Lane, her fear threatening to get the better of her. Perhaps she had imagined it; perhaps she did not really know the boy she had seen once or twice at all, a silly notion in her head that made her mix people up. She was only a girl after all, and girls often did things like that. But the face popped into her head more than once, and she found her feet moving closer into the lane.
Many folk skirted the area, feeling that if they got too close, they may catch something that must obviously infest the criminals in Davenport Lane; why else would they act the way they did? It must have something to do with their lodgings.
Davenport Lane was narrow and cobbled with tall and unstructured grey buildings looming from either side. There was an odd smell, like rotten food, which Wendy was not entirely used to. Suddenly, as though she knew he would be there all along, a head appeared in front of her, bobbing slightly in the crowd. She knew it must belong to the mysterious boy whom she had come here intending to find, intending to recognise from somewhere, so she followed.
He took many twists and turns, in and out of alleyways, through various doorways, until Wendy looked behind her and found that she did not know where she was. No point in going back now, Wendy, she told herself sternly, or else you shall have gotten yourself foolishly lost for nothing. The crowd thinned now, though the boy was a good way ahead of her, and she continued to follow. He disappeared through a veil slung over a building, which appeared in danger of falling down if struck with something heavy, and the fabric rippled behind him. Wendy took one last glance behind her, and followed him in.
Once inside, the bustle of feet from outside seemed to vanish instantly. The silence was heavy around her, and Wendy began to feel apprehensive. What on earth had possessed her to follow a stranger? And down Davenport Lane of all lanes? What on earth would mother think?
There sounded a creak of something behind her. Wendy turned sharply, her heart beating fast, but there was no one there. No sooner had she turned back around, a hand from behind had closed tightly around her mouth, preventing her from drawing breath.
"Don't scream," said a soft voice in her ear.
Wendy had jumped so much from the unsuspected attack that she did not react instantly.
The voice prompted an answer. "Promise?"
Wendy nodded, shaking her head up and down.
"Now if I take my hand away, you must then turn slowly around and … and not scream."
Wendy frowned. Who was this person to order her around and tell her what to do? Who was he, (she assumed it was a he,) to attack her and then call the rules? How dare he even attack her in the first place? She should fight back! She had learned that much …
As the pressure lifted slightly on her face, Wendy snapped her head backwards and hit her assailant in the face. He staggered backwards slightly and she used a technique learned a long time ago to drive him even further back with the edge of her right foot, so he toppled over. As all this was happening, Wendy cast a look around her and spotted a cutlass (of all things in a ruined house) lying on a shelf behind her. She seized in and thundered down next to the boy on the floor, fist raised, ready to strike, to hurt, to defend herself –
He grasped her wrist with surprising strength, and Wendy knew there was no use against someone obviously older and stronger than herself but she continued to struggle – until she looked into his eyes.
They were forget-me-not blue, piercing and dazzling even in the dim light. His eye contact caused her to stop the struggle, and he released her wrist the second she did so. His hair was light and fairly long and tousled, though untidily so, and Wendy noticed that he was dressed in the strangest array of clothes; a large black jacket which was miles too big for him, was all he wore on his torso, and was torn here and there revealing cold flesh, and once beige torn trousers, now smudged grey, which appeared never to have been washed.
The boy blinked, and with a lurch of recognition, Wendy dropped the cutlass, which clattered to the floor.
"Wendy – "
It was Peter Pan. And he had grown up.
A/N: Oh the cleverness of … well, JM Barrie I guess for creating lil Peter. Has anyone actually seen the film? Cos I have and it's totally spanking. Anyway, that's the end of this chapter, so if you would be so incredibly kind and REVIEW!!!! Then perhaps I shall write some more … (don't worry, I will write regardless of whether or not no one loves me, as it is all I am any good at.) The sadness of my life. Haha. *Puts hands together and begs for reviews*.
