Changing Toward Love

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Notes of the Authoress Anthy: I LOVE EVERYONE*. You're all so great *hugs hugs*. I've gotten so many wonderful reviews in the last couple days! Some I haven't even been able to delete out of sheer love of them, and so now my Hotmail inbox is something like this:

New! bot@fanfiction.net
bot@fanfiction.net
bot@fanfiction.net
bot@fanfiction.net X 100

It's just crazy, I can't bear to part from them all. So anyway, excuse my francais, but I fucking love all of you. Yes, yes I do. Thank you so much!

*who reads and/or reviews this story, which would probably be anyone reading this 3

Disclaimer: No, I don't own the book or the movie(s), but whoever does should be so proud (James M. Barrie, I mean you)! Please, don't sue me. ;_; I am just a poor romantic!

This chapter is dedicated to Kimberly, who gets emotional Dove chocolate from me for posting a beautiful recommendation of CTL in the PanFan community on LJ. I almost died out of happiness. Thank you.

And now the story!

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Fly Peter!, Wendy screamed, running as quickly as she was able back toward her home. She cried out when her heel violently snapped, flipping her shoe onto its side and then, a sharp crack. Regardless of everything, she ran numbly forward in a blur of shimmering lavender, screaming for him, her mind in agony.

She was too late.

She was just past the middle of the street she needed to cross when her screaming stopped, her voice choked by tears. She watched, her body shaking as she cried and ran, as Peter fell ... down from the window, then into the tangled branches of the oak tree ... and then to the hard, cold stone with a sickening thud.

Wendy screamed then, a loud cry of pain that pierced the night air, and continued to run forward. She reached his limp body on the cement walk, kneeling down in front of him, her vision blurred from tears.

His eyes were closed, his cheek pressed against the pavement, his body motionless as slowly, so slowly, Wendy watched in horror, a small puddle of blood expanded on the stone near his temple.

she sobbed, reaching out and pressing her hands hard to his chest, looking desperately for a heartbeat, for breathing, for any sign of life. Peter, please, please be ...

His chest was warm but still; Wendy searched franticly for a heartbeat, finding nothing. Finally, she took his limp wrist into her hand, pressing her thumb to its underside.

There, softly: a pulse.

She cried out, relieved but overwhelming still terrified. Almost instinctively, she put a white gloved hand to his cheek and turned his face up toward the stars, gasping at the circular, raised gash on the side of his forehead that had struck the ground. She whimpered as blood began to drip down and over her hand.

she mumbled again, Please Peter, wake up, wake up ...

She pulled his bleeding head onto the lap of her dress, a puddle of lavender satin around her legs that still shown in the light of the streetlights. Mindlessly, she stroked his hair, crying. Tears fell from her cheeks to his, mixing with his blood ... she sobbed, praying with everything within herself that he would be all right again.

Peter's lips moved as he gasped, then barely groaned from the pain.

Wendy whispered, looking down at him. He groaned again as his eyes flickered open- at first, he saw only darkness, and then, as though she were a shadow ... the blurry, faded outline of an angelic woman.

he mumbled. W-Wendy ..

Yes, yes, she said soothingly in response. It's me. Peter, don't try to move ...

he breathed, blinking as she went in and out of focus. And then, shimmering behind her like the sunset on the surface of the sea; there they were. Had she always been carrying them, hidden behind her?

You ... wings, he murmured, reaching up a hand to touch them, but finding his arm much too weak.

Wendy whispered, swallowing through her tight throat.

You've got, he whispered, and he lifted his chin up toward them, blinking as blood dripped into his eyelashes, mrrm .. wings ..

Wendy coaxed, not understanding. You're delusional, Peter, just rest, we're going to take you ...

he said in a raspy voice. They're ... they're ... mrrr .. like a ... fairy ..

Shh, shh, hush now, she continued softly. Don't talk, just rest, just rest ...

So ... pretty, he whispered, and he tried again to reach up and touch them, shimmering gold in the air around her, quivering like a newborn butterfly ... but he hadn't the strength. His fingers shook with the effort, and he breathed out heavily as once again, exhausted, blackness overtook him.

Wendy whispered as his eyes slipped closed. Peter? Peter, are you-

He's fainted, said a dark voice behind her. Wendy jerked, startled. She turned back slowly to where Caleb was standing a few feet away, watching them with a blank expression.

We need to take him to the hospital, Caleb, she said tensely, blinking away the tears in her eyes. He's ... he's hurt ...

I can see that, Caleb said without emotion.

Wendy pursed her lips, but said nothing. She wrapped her hands under his shoulders, heaving up his unconscious body as best she could, so that it rested against hers. The back of Peter's head rolled across Wendy's chest as it slumped to the side, staining the glowing lavender satin with blotchy stains of deep, wet red.

Caleb watched with a severe frown as she tried her best to heave him up onto her completely, so that she might carry him. Her white glove was bloody too, the wet fabric clinging to her fingertips. He shivered, disgusted.

I knew he wasn't right in the head, he said suddenly, still watching as Wendy continued to shift around Peter's weight. He probably thought he could fly.

Wendy closed her eyes tightly at this as fresh tears rushed forward to fill the empty curve of her eyes' lower brim. She breathed out in relief as she finally shifted Peter so that he was laying horizontally across her legs. At last, she slid her arms under his knees and shoulders.

She was just lifting him when Caleb stepped forward to stop her.

Let me, he said stiffly. You'll never be able to lift him.

Wendy knew it was true, and hesitantly, she pulled back her hands, watching as Caleb stepped forward, knelt down, and picked up Peter's limp body easily in his muscled arms. When Caleb stood back up, Wendy lifted herself to do so as well, her dirty satin gown shuffling.

She cried out suddenly, whimpering in pain as she sunk back down to the cold ground.

What is it?, Caleb asked, frowning deeply. Wendy, breathing heavily, grasped a handful of her dress and lifted it up, releasing the bottom part of her leg. The foot that had lost its shoe was bright red, inflamed and severely swollen. She winced as she tried to move her foot, crying out.

Bloody hell, Caleb cursed, looking down at her broken ankle. Can you walk? Let's get you inside, out of the chill.

He turned and headed into the house, still holding Peter like an oversized ragdoll. Wendy winced, whimpering as she dragged her swollen foot to the front steps and then up them, grateful when Caleb opened the door for her.

They entered the front room in a blast of cold air that dispersed as soon as the front door clicked shut. In the parlor, Mr. and Mrs. Darling jumped slightly, looking up in surprise through the doorway. His newspaper rustled as it was rudely cast aside onto a sidetable, and her teacup, still steaming, fell with a sudden crash and shattered on the parlor floor.

What's happened?, Mrs. Darling cried out, standing and running to where Caleb was holding Peter, his limp arms swinging uselessly in the air. Is he ...?

He's hurt, Wendy choked lamely, tears filling her eyes. He ... he fell from the window. My ... my window.

Dear God, her mother muttered, rushing over and immediately leaning over Peter, her eyes widening at the rivers of blood that had flowed down one side of his face. Oh, George! The poor boy!

She turned away for a second toward her husband, unable to bear the sight. Mr. Darling, despite his dislike of Peter, rushed as fast as his wife into the front room, and now stood hovering just behind her shoulder, looking too at his bleeding gash with a deep frown.

There now, he said quickly, lightly touching his wife's shoulder. I know there's a lot of blood, but the wound doesn't look too severe. I think he'll be all right ...

George, what if there's a concussion?, Mrs. Darling asked fearfully, weeping. The poor child! What if he's lost his memory, or ... or his sense? Oh, the poor boy, in his prime, ohhh ...

Wendy paled at this suggestion, clutching her hand into a fist as her body began to shake, the tears overflowing now.

Please,' she prayed suddenly, casting her eyes toward the ceiling for a brief moment, Please let him be all right ...'

Calm down dearest, calm down, Mr. Darling said reassuringly. We can't assume the worst at this point ...

Should we take him to the hospital?, Wendy asked desperately, biting her lower lip so hard that she tasted blood.

I think, Mr. Darling began slowly, looking down at Peter once again, That to take him so far, being jostled so much by the journey ... would only make it worse. Let's dress the wound ourselves, here ... and let the boy rest. He'll wake up in due time ...

His voice trailed off, uncertain, but Mrs. Darling and Wendy seemed to accept this advice as solid, and immediately, the devoted mother of nine gathered herself up, swallowing back her tears in order to care for her latest, if not official, son.

I'll fetch the bandages, she said firmly, and swept off.

And I'll heat some water and fix a wet towel, Mr. Darling said bracingly, disappearing into the kitchen.

Immediately, Wendy rushed forward to take her mother's place at Peter's side, leaning over his blank face and closed eyes. She watched his chest rise and fall shallowly, praying desperately for everything to turn out all right.

A tear rolled down her cheek and hit his softly, falling across his skin in a clear trail of wet sadness. Wendy looked up at Caleb then, her eyes begging for reassurance, for comfort. He looked uncertainly back at her, frowning, knowing that he had to speak.

What I don't understand, he said finally, adverting his eyes uncomfortably from those of Wendy, is why he would jump out of the window in the first place. I mean, did he honestly believe that he could fly like some kind of bird, some kind of ...

Wendy whispered. Caleb scoffed at her, rolling his eyes slightly.

Don't be ridiculous, he said airily. There are no such things as fairies.

Wendy frowned deeply, both at the way he was speaking of Peter and because somewhere, deep in the Neverland forest or in some dark park shadow, a fairy had frozen and fallen, stone cold and hard as glass, to the ground. Dead.

This thought alone made her wince, a loud whimper of regret that Caleb clearly heard. He thought, however, that it was a cry of pain- and remembered.

Your ankle, precious, he said suddenly. Why didn't you say anything? Go and sit down in the parlor immediately, you should not be stand-

Wendy said simply, unwilling to move from Peter's side, even if he could not feel her presence. I won't. My ankle isn't so bad ... it can wait. We need to take care of Peter now.

She fully believed this, truly, but she had told one little lie: her ankle was much worse than isn't so bad. It was red and swollen, pulsing with burning pain. Even when Wendy was simply standing, she had to hold her foot up off the floor to fend off the agony that came with putting weight on it. She was ignoring the pain, the swelling ... she had much more important things on her mind.

Things like Peter, who had not stirred since being sprawled outside on the chilled pavement. Wendy looked down at him now, fresh tears forming at the sight of the blood drying on his copper-toned skin, at the way his eyes were closed so gently, his lips parted ever so slightly ... it was as if he were asleep, innocent and dreaming ... like a child.

I think the reason, Wendy whispered, reaching out to touch his forehead. She pushed back a few tangled golden brown curls from his face, their tips stained with red. That he left ... was ... he must have been trying to go home.

Her heart clenched painfully at this, and she looked away from Peter's face, finding this thought unbearable. Why would he wish to leave her so suddenly ... and without even saying so much as a ? Had he meant to return in another five years, when she had a baby boy of her own? Or had he wanted never to see her again, disappointed at the way she had grown and changed?

Well, that makes no sense, said Caleb, sighing under his breath. Though Peter was not an extremely heavy burden for him, he was dead weight, and over the last ten or fifteen minutes, his body had steadily grown heavier and heavier.

Why did you want to leave us all, Peter?,' Wendy's thoughts whispered as she continued to push back his hair, stroking his forehead gently, soothingly, Leave me ... again?'

She sighed sadly, and at that moment, Mrs. Darling rushed back into the room, followed shortly by her husband.

Take him into the parlor and lay him down on the sofa, she directly immediately, and obediently, Caleb, with Wendy at his burden's side, entered the parlor and laid down Peter's limp body on the scarlet couch.

Using the warm wet cloth her husband had fixed, Mrs. Darling gently cleaned the blood from Peter's face and abrasion, which had mostly clotted. She then immediately wrapped white gauze around his head, through his forehead and tangled hair.

Mrs. Darling said, finishing. That's all we can do for now. George, should we let him rest in the parlor tonight?

Wendy said suddenly, before Mr. Darling could speak a word of advice. When the boys find out, they'll rush in here ... there's no privacy at all. He can sleep in my bed.

Your bed?, Mr. Darling questioned uneasily, frowning. The idea of any young man sleeping in her daughter's bed, even alone, deeply disturbed him. And where will you be sleeping, then?

said Wendy simply, gesturing toward the sofa on which Peter was laying.

Perhaps that's best, said Mrs. Darling, glancing at her husband. In her eyes was a gentle, but firm, order.

Mr. Darling saw this little command and surrendered, sighing quietly.

All right then, he resigned. Caleb ... might you?

No problem at all, he said grudgingly, frowning but managing to cover his distaste admirably well. He leaned down and once again took Peter's limp body into his arms, turning toward Wendy. She nodded once, expressionless, and limped out of the parlor, cringing as she walked up the stairs step by step, clutching the railing for support. Caleb followed slowly behind her, not worried in the least when Peter's head rolled back and hit the railing as it ended at the top of the stairs.

Finally, they reached her bedroom. Wendy opened the door for Caleb, limping inside. As quickly as she could, she hobbled over to the bed, beating the pillow with the palm of her hand and pulling down the sheets. When she had finished, she turned back toward Caleb, who had been standing near her dresser, watching her. She nodded.

Caleb stepped forward as Wendy stepped aside, slipping Peter's body clumsily into the bed. He stepped back immediately, not wanting to be near to him, and frowned when Wendy stepped forward once again, pulling the sheets and blankets tightly around his body, up to his tanned shoulders. When she had finished, she paused, her hands still brushing the sheets that covered his body, and stared down at him sadly, her blue eyes glistening wet with tears.

Caleb looked also at Peter's face, and then it came to him. He knew exactly what to say.

Look at him, Wendy, he said reflectively, leaning forward to appear as though he was deeply interested in Peter's features. He looks so peaceful ... doesn't he?

said Wendy softly. I suppose he does.

He's very lucky, Caleb said slowly, smiling a bit to himself.

Wendy frowned, disturbed. She turned around to face Caleb, her eyes still wide with tears.

Caleb, he's hurt, she reprimanded in a shaking voice. He's unconscious!

I don't mean that he's lucky to be hurt, Caleb said deliberately, still looking at Peter. He's lucky because ... he has no burdens. He isn't like us, Wendy. He never needs to think about money, finances ... holding a job ...

Wendy frowned as she looked down at Peter as well, her eyes darkening with sadness.

He will never have to worry about supporting a wife, or a family, Caleb said slyly. He'll likely never have children ... and of course ... well. Surely he'll never find a wife, he doesn't seem capable of so deep a love, let alone the commitment involved ...

Wendy stared down blankly as a tear rolled down her cheek.

No, I think he's rather lucky to be so free of responsibility, Caleb continued, as though he were oblivious to Wendy's silence and tears. He'll never be burdened by our world, or ... emotion. He's a child at heart ... don't you think?

Wendy let out a tiny sob, unable to hold it back.

Caleb questioned innocently. Are you ... quite all right? Is it your ankle again?

I'm fine, Wendy whispered sadly.

I'll let you rest, Caleb said softly. Come now, let me help you down the stairs-

I can manage, she whispered shakily. Just ... I'll be down in a moment. Go ahead without me, I'll ... I'll wish you goodnight at the door.

Caleb saw the tear that fell down her cheek then, and internally, he smiled. His little speech had worked well ... he was glad that he had followed them the night they'd all gone out after his departure. He'd had an opportunity to search for a flaw in his character. He hadn't expected to find one, however, that could affect her so severely ...

Of course, dear, he said slowly, and with a soft click, he disappeared through the bedroom door like a shadow, closing it behind him.

As soon as the door clicked shut, Wendy let out a shaking, repressed sob.

Everything that Caleb had somehow known and said was true of Peter, every word. She had treasured his memory for so long that she knew every expression of his character by heart, even the parts of him that had tortured her. She remembered the harsh, cold whisper in her ear that swore he would never love, had never loved. It was true that he had never had to face the dark world of reality as a man- it was all true. Peter was a boy at heart, if no longer a boy in body.

And yet, Wendy's heart whispered as she found herself limping once again toward his bedside, toward his sleeping and bandaged face ... there had been moments when she had believed otherwise. By moments, she meant brief flashes of understanding, of impossible communication between them.

There had been times when he had turned to her, looked at her, and for just a moment, something shifted in his emerald eyes. It was a drastic, swift change, like floating down a familiar river only to fall suddenly down a waterfall that was not supposed to be there, and then continue, as if there had been no drop at all, down the same familiar path.

The flashing waterfall in his eyes was something much deeper than childish friendship, something that stirred in her a feeling more dangerous and passionate then she had ever felt from looking into the eyes of anyone else. For just a few brief moments, she had thought she had seen something so much more in those eyes. She'd thought she'd glimpsed ... love.

But Wendy, who had lived the last five years alone and in sadness, knew herself far too well to believe in these few strange experiences. She knew that she saw love in his eyes like she had seen his shadow at the window countless times in the years before, seen longing mixed in emerald like she'd heard his crow twisted in with the call of the wind. She knew she'd created it all in her mind. There was nothing to believe in.

She reached her hand out toward him, trailing her fingertips lightly down the side of his face that had been soaked in blood not an hour before. She looked down at herself, cautiously- there, stained across the breast of her lavender gown, was blood, his blood. She overturned her still-gloved hand, staring at its palm- there too were blotches of dark red.

He had stained her gown and glove just as he'd stained her heart five years ago ... with the essence of himself. And, just as the blood was sourced from a wound ... the mark he'd left on her had grown to represent pain.

And yet ...

Despite the fact that his forgetting had hurt her, he still looked so beautiful. She knew that, looking down on his almost angelic, handsome face, peaceful in sleep ... she knew that he had not meant to scar her so deeply.

She brushed her gloved hand back against his face, sighing. Despite everything, when she looked at him now ... she could feel no pain. Being with him, near him, wiped clean the black slate of her heart, painting it instead with twisting, blending patterns of brilliant color that made no sense. He'd hurt her, but looking at him now ... all she could feel for him was warmth.

She breathed in deeply; it was a warmth that spread from her heart through her entire body, awakening it, awakening her very soul. It wound through the deepest parts of her, invoking the most profound feeling she had ever felt. He made her feel like she was ... no longer hollow, but rather ... fulfilled.

She leaned down over him, the careful curls that had once been pinned precariously to the back of her head down pooling over his gently heaving chest.

As gently as she could, so as not to wake him, she pressed her lips to his warm cheek, the one now a copper pink and free of blood. She had long forgiven him for the past, for the forgetting, for the pain of the past five years ... but that, in itself, could not erase it all.

Nor could forgiveness relieve her of the pain she felt now, in the present. Her warm breathing brushing his cheek as she cried, tears dripping onto his neck, onto the soft blankets pulled carefully around him. It could not free her of the prison she was living in.

No ...

The only thing that could hope to free her was love, and she knew that, regardless of the way she felt when she was near to him ... he did not love her. Never had he loved her.

She drew away from him quickly as this thought drifted through her head. She swallowed hard; she must not think of it. She had to be strong.

Wiping the tears from her eyes with her bloody glove, she turned toward the bedroom door, limping to it and opening it quietly. There stood Caleb, smiling and waiting to help her down the stairs.

She blinked her bloodshot eyes, resisting the urge to run from him and back into her bedroom, where Peter lay unknowing. She had a new future now ... a new pain to occupy her. She had to let go of the past in order to embrace her future.

It was all for the best.

She winced as she walked toward Caleb, her ankle throbbing. Yes, exactly, her mind taunted bitterly.

Silence, she had been taught, was always best.


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End Chapter Twelve

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Ending Notes: Ahh, well, yes. I think we all need some nice chocolate after reading that. *passes out little Dove chocolates* This is pretty much a depressing chapter ... but ... I like it. I think the last two pages or so really revealing how Wendy has been and is feeling, whereas the last few chapters have been focusing on Peter. The next chapter will be a bit more lighthearted. I swear. ^^ It has some hints of, err, well ... Peter is growing up, so, you know ...

Please come back for Chapter Thirteen. ^^ I love you all! *huggle*