Disclaimer: If you recognise it, it's not mine.
AN: An incredibly short chapter tonight, because I was desperate to break the horrible writer's block that's been building up around this fic. I hope everyone can forgive me – for the length of this chapter and for the time it's taken to write. Thank you reviewers so very, very much – you know who you are. You each get a top hat full of acorns!
Chapter Fifteen.
John stood in the middle of the nursery, his hand unashamedly in his mother's, his father's heavy hand clasping his shoulder. He was the first thing Tinkerbell saw when she fluttered in the nursery window, followed closely by Mrs. Darling, Mr. Darling, the strange aunt, all the boys and the dog.
The white curtains wafted about the open window, and Peter flew in behind her. A hushed silence greeted him.
"Oh," Wendy's mother said. Peter stared at her. Tinkerbell realised then that they had never looked at one another before, these two great rivals. She realised also that no one else was saying anything, and that Wendy's brother was wincing under the sudden tightening of his father's grip.
"Mother, Father," he said stupidly, silly English boy that he was, "May I present Peter Pan. Peter – Mother and Father."
It was ridiculous. It was absurd. It shouldn't have been hilarious, but it really was. The whole family was staring at Peter as though they found something odd about a flying, half-dressed boy. Peter looked away from Wendy's mother, and Tinkerbell, who knew him well, saw that he was near panicking – Wendy and Wendy's brother were clearly one thing, but to be greeted by Wendy's entire family seemed quite another.
"Aunt Millicent," Wendy's brother babbled on, a glazed look in his eyes, "May I present - "
"Thank you, John." Wendy's father said tersely.
He looked foolishly relieved. Tinkerbell wanted to laugh and laugh.
"Aren't you lovely," Mrs. Darling said softly, her very sweet mouth almost smiling. "I knew you would be."
Mr. Darling said, "How is my daughter?" Cold blue eyes like Captain Hook's. Tinkerbell surreptitiously sprinkled John with fairy dust, just in case Peter suddenly decided to flee. The boy had a large bag beside him, which she dusted liberally as well. Silly English boy, packing for Neverland!
Peter appeared to be made of sterner stuff than she'd thought, though, facing down Wendy's father as though he did it every day of his life. "She's very happy," he said, looking it seemed despite himself at Wendy's mother. Wendy's mother smiled. Mr. Darling seemed unable to stop glaring.
"Take care of her, Peter," Wendy's mother said, coming forward, her sweet soft expression aglow. "And take good care of John too, won't you."
Peter nodded wordlessly, something strange and uncertain flickering about him. Mrs. Darling came closer, and to Tinkerbell's astonishment she very gently folded Peter in her arms. Just for a moment, no longer, and when she stepped back they were smiling at one another.
"Dear boy," she said lovingly, "take care of my little ones."
He said, "Yes."
And then he was on the windowsill, and Wendy's mother was smiling through tears and holding Mr. Darling's hand. The younger boys were waving, and the strange aunt was holding the dog back, and the dog was whimpering and threatening to howl. John hefted his bag and stepped out of the nursery.
By Tinkerbell's light, the three of them began to fly home, the lighted window behind them growing smaller and smaller, until when Peter last looked back it had gone.