I sat in the hospital hallway dragging my toes in a figure eight. I'd been out here for about half an hour while the doctor and my parents talked about my complete lack of progress and response to medicine.

The doctor always feared that my father would fly into a bloody rage when he was give my treatment reports, but my father didn't get angry like that anymore. It was actually quite strange he was acting different lately. He'd taken to talking to me about Granny Maggie and her stories. It was as if he was trying to give me a message, like he was trying to make me believe them. He had liked hearing the stories Granny had told me before I went to sleep, but when my mother told him that she hated them, he'd stopped coming in and listening.

That night, Dad sat on my bed and talked about a trip he was planning, a trip for all of us to Hawaii, the island state of America. I had always wanted to go there (because I imagined it covered with jungles and ravines like Neverland, though I'd never told anyone) but it made me sad in some small way that he was planning it now.

"Dad," I said. "Why does Mum hate Granny's stories?"

Dad toyed with a hole in my brightly patterned quilt before answering. "Your mum was raised on the same stories, Andy. She never gave up hope that Peter might turn up when she was a child. When she grew old enough to realize that Peter wasn't coming, she got angry. She hated Granny for telling her those stories that would never come true. I don't know if she ever truly got over the disappointment it caused."

I curled a tendril of hair around my finger and asked, "If she hated them, why'd she let Granny tell them to me?"

"Mum and I never really had a say," he sighed. "We knew that we'd have no choice but to leave you with her, so even if we forbade her to tell you the stories, she'd have done it anyway. Besides, I wanted you to hear them. I think that you'd be a different person if you'd never believed in him."

I leaned back on my pillows and stared up at the clouds painted on my bedroom ceiling. I imagined for a moment a gangly young boy flying round the chandelier and sprinkling pixie dust on Dad and I. I smiled quietly and took my dad's hand.

"Andy," he said quietly. "I know your mum's been distant these past few weeks, please don't be angry with her for it. She doesn't know how to deal with . . . with what's going to happen. Just try to be understanding."

He squeezed my hand and smiled softly. I smiled back and whispered, "I will."

"G'night, Love," Dad said, kissing me on the forehead. "See you in the morning."

"'Night Dad," I said, snuggling down into my blankets and closing my eyes.

Dad flipped the lights off and shut the door quietly behind him. After I heard his footsteps go into his room and the door shut, I crawled out of bed and walked to the window.

It had become my nightly ritual to open the window and say the little rhyme. I never closed the window afterwards, but strangely enough I always woke up with it closed. I knew my dad hadn't closed it; he never woke up during the night. My mother never did either.

Tonight, I felt like something was different, like there was something esoteric in the wind's song. I opened my mouth to speak, but I realized that something was coming towards me.

At first I thought it was some sort of extra-concentrated lightning bug, but as it got closer and bigger I realized that it had to be something else. "Alien!" I squeaked and hurried over to my bed. I pulled back the blankets, but on further thought, I dropped to the floor and scuttled under the bed.

The light rocketed into the room and shot around, pausing every once in a while.

"Tink," came a boy's voice. "The coast clear?"

Tinkle, tinkle, ching-

"Is she in there?"

Tink, ching, ping, peep-

"What d'you mean, you aren't sure?"

Sparkle, wink-

"Don't take that tone with me. I'm coming in."

I looked at the window and fought back a gasp as two bare, dirty feet dropped down onto the ledge. As the feet moved forward, my eyes traveled up to the trousers made of leaves, the lean torso and the vines and acorns that made up his clothes. My eyes rested on his face as his eyes darted around my room. His face was slightly angular, like a fairy. His eyes were a deep green, just like mine were. He was beautiful and I knew instantly who he was.

"Peter," I breathed to myself. I rubbed my eyes hard and wondered if I was dreaming.

"Hello."

I let out a small shriek and jumped. I smacked my head on the bottom of my bed and slammed back to the floor, biting my tongue in the process. "Bloody hell," I swore between clinched teeth.

Someone chuckled. "Sorry 'bout that. I didn't mean to frighten you."

I clambered out from under the bed and looked at the boy. He was as tall as I was and about as old, no more that 14 or so.

"Odd," I said, stepping sideways. He followed my movements. We moved like dogs waiting to attack. "I thought you'd be younger."

He shrugged, never taking his eyes from mine. "I thought I ought to be older for you. Didn't really make much of a difference."

"Why are you here?"

"You called for me."

I started. "I what?"

"The rhyme, the second kiss I gave Wendy. You keep saying it."

I stared at him. "No," I said, shaking my head. "There is no way you can really be here. Wendy made you up, and Granny continued with the story. It's just . . . just not . . . possible."

He cocked his head. "You don't believe in me anymore?"

"I'm fourteen," I said, forcing my voice to stay calm, but even I could hear the hysteria lurking beneath the surface. "I don't, I don't believe in stuff like this anymore."

"You're in trouble," Peter stated. "You needed me, so I came." He considered me for a moment. "You shouldn't leave your window open when it's so cold. It'll just make you sicker."

"More sick," I corrected him absently.

"What?"

"Nothing. Never mind."

He stepped toward me. "I've come to take you to Neverland. You need to come with me."

Everything washed over me suddenly. My last glimpse of Granny Maggie, frail and white on the hospital bed, the tears in my father's eyes after he found out how sick I was, my mother turning away from me whenever I came near her, the pain I felt whenever I relaxed, whenever I wasn't paying attention, whenever I let my guard down. What was I staying here for?

"Alright," I said. "I'll go with you."

He came even closer. I could feel the warmth from his body and smell him: the smell of damp earth and green, the smell of summer and fun and laughter. "This time will be different," he said. "It won't be like the other ones."

Flashes of my friends walking away, not inviting me places, the doddery old neighbor crying when she saw me, the minister from my mother's church trying to touch my forehead before I ran away to the sanctuary of my room blasted through my mind.

"I don't care."

"Then let's go."

He held out his hand and in a moment, we'd left the nursery behind.

Okay, here it be. Please review, sorry it took so long. Enjoy!

Please R&R. (Pretty please, please, please, please, please, please with sugar an' peanuts an' walnuts an' cherries an' Cheetos an' Mountain Dew Leaves reviews for this.)

(See above for pleases and read my HP fic too.)