Passion.
DISCALIMER: I am not J.M.Barrie, I am not the guy who wrote the movie, and guess what – I'm not Peter Pan either!
SUMMARY: After she left, Pan hated Wendy Darling most of all. The girl who had enchanted him, who had insulted him, the girl who had killed him. (Metaphorically of course!) REPOST and EDIT of Pan.
"Things fall apart; the centre can not hold;
Mere anarchy in loosed upon the world,
The blood dimmed tide is loosed, and
Everywhere
The ceremony of innocence is drowned;
The best lack all conviction, while the
Worst
Are full of passionate intensity." – W. B. Yeats, from 'the second coming.'
Pan did go back, after Wendy and the Lost Boys had left Neverland. He went back nearly every night, sometimes with Tink, but mainly without her. She got bored when he sat and watched, just listening morosely to their familiar voices, and deepening laughter.
In the end, Pan felt, it was they who drove him away rather than he who broke his vigil. He faded to the level of myth to them, a joyous game of their youth which is vague in memory against its once intricate reality. Michael, the youngest always, the Indian brave, the son of a banker, asked when they would return to Neverland, to Peter Pan, the Indians and Pirates. The others had laughed and replied that it wasn't real, with those three words no fairy died but the soul of a boy. The power of words gave birth to the growth of Pan, and the destruction of his spirit. He was killed by Wendy Darling's upper class drawl, "that was always my favourite story to tell." Did he miss the pain in her eyes, or was it only a reflection of his own?
He vowed never to return.
Peter sat in his bed under his tree, and he heard the words of long dead Hook, still haunting, still painful "She was leaving you, Pan. Your Wendy was leaving you." She had left him, she had forgotten him.
"You, Sir, are deficient!" He remembered her angry words, the soft quiet words that had cut through him, still cut through him, "You're just a boy." He felt a trickle run down his cheek and dashed it angrily away.
"I am not crying, I am not!" He looked around, daring nameless boys to say otherwise, but nothing moved.
No one was there.
He had gone to see the mermaids, still vicious and still beautiful, sirens of this eternal sea, Pan asked if Hook was really gone. He was. Is it possible to feel abandoned by your worst enemy, for somehow Pan felt even more alone, Hook had never left him, never forgotten him. With the death of that broken man's eternal mortality, Pan ceased to be the most important person in someone's life. The death of a codfish taught Pan to hate. Ironic. He hated Captain James Hook, for dying, for leaving him with no purpose. He hated the Lost Boys, who had looked after them, made games for them, laughed with them, and they had left, left with the story teller he had brought them.
A girl.
Most of all Pan hated Wendy Darling. The girl who had enchanted him, who had insulted him, the girl who had killed him.
All of Peter's good memories became twisted, each one corrupted and warped by Wendy. Every good memory led to her, every thought of her turned to bitterness.
Slowly, the flowers and trees died in Neverland. The Indians abandoned their camp, moving as far away from the Black Castle as they could, because that is where Pan now stayed. The place where there were the fewest memories of Wendy, the place where Hook had almost killed him. Pan roamed the dark, stone corridors, remembering and forgetting in a timeless paradox of torturous resentment and need. Climaxing in hatred and shadow and pain in the dark halls and burning with unrecognisable emotions by every dripping parapet and crumbling turret.
His hair got longer, dirtier, the colour darker, like his mood. Tink did not come visit him, driven of by his feral gleam, his face now pale from lack of sun, his hair dirty, black and matted, his eyes so grey and cold. She shuddered when she saw him, vaguely remembering an embittered, lonely man when she looked into his once kind eyes.
Pan did not look for her, he knew she would leave him. Everyone else had.
Pan did look for the pirates after that, he told himself it was for adventure, still clinging to the belief that he was Peter, a child, archenemy of Hook. He wanted company, purpose. He found them, no longer on the sea, they slept on the beach, fighting together, eating together, drinking together. Pan watched them, looking at the familiar, unchanged faces. They had not left him.
He pushed his hair back, and strode towards them, the sneer, which he reserved specifically for them, set firmly on his face. And as he walked forward, they stopped drinking, stopped eating, and they stared. Finally, something was as it should be; the pirates afraid of Peter Pan.
As he drew closer one stood up. "C…c…captain H…Hook?"
A/N: I wonder where these ideas come from really I do.
Now as it's my first Panfic please Read and Review (hey it rhymes!)
A/N,II: Hola, peoples, this is the first instalment of the better, darker, grammatically corrected (though not necessarily correct) Pan now renamed- PASSION. Just to explain this is passion as in 'The Passion of Christ" signifying pain, strong emotion &c. as well as the obvious more common usage of the word. Basically as I have already written this story and all I am doing is adjusting it updates should be fairly regular and their will be NO worry of writer's block. Yay for you.
Katie
X :-P