Author's Note: Hi everyone! My apologies this is late, but I'm back at grad school and have less time. However, it's a longer chapter, so I hope that makes up for how late it is (it totally does, right? Please say yes).
To those with usernames that reviewed, you should all have gotten messages; if you didn't, message me so I can tell you how amazing you are. To Lil, thank you for the cookie. :P I am glad to hear you're enjoying the story. I'm enjoying it too, though I did have a minor ordering problem with this chapter (it's all fixed though). To Lauren, thank you for the kind words, and I hope you like this chapter. And to the anon, I'm very happy you like my story, and also happy you find it different than other AU's. There are so many amazing stories in the Darling Pandom and I'm just excited that anyone likes mine.
Also, as a heads up for everyone, there is a math problem is this chapter. You can completely skip the numbers; the situation INVOLVING the math problem is more important.
With that final info, thank you so much for reading and I hope you all enjoy! And shoutout to Hildebrant for a wonderful chapter title; it's INCREDIBLY appropriate. :)
~ladykikyo1792
Chapter 17: I Only Know Hell is Getting Hotter, the Devil's Getting Smarter All the Time
Despite Felix's taunts, the Lost Boys' camp was not by the Mermaids' Lagoon. It was set up on a hill, guarded by groves of Dreamshade. Much to Wendy's surprise, instead of entering the camp and showing off his prisoner, Peter halted their little group just before the rows of tents. He jerked his head towards the camp, and Felix immediately went to sit by the fire in the center. He looked eerie, the orange flames lighting up his scar. Other Lost Boys were there, but their faces were obscured by cloaks. It seemed that everyone had forsaken the bright colors that had distinguished them before. They were quiet, only a few calling a hello to Felix.
Rufio, meanwhile, was still the only means holding Wendy up. Peter turned to look at them, then said:
"Tell the Boys to go to bed, Rufio. You can stand first watch. The dirt's no place for a girl to sleep."
To Wendy, it seemed as though Rufio held onto her a second longer than necessary. He gave her a barely perceptible squeeze of the hand before stepping backwards, letting Pan come forwards and encircle her in his arms. Wendy stood frozen, not sure whether she wanted to run into camp screaming for Bae, or whether she wanted Peter to dance with her again.
No, she reminded herself, It was just a game. This is Peter. This is the real Peter.
As if he could read her thoughts, Pan frowned. Without another word, he scooped her up, then took off into the sky. Instinctively, Wendy clung to him, her hands tight around his neck. They seemed to go impossibly high, almost as if they would touch the moon. Despite herself, she couldn't help but look at Neverland's stars. She recognized none of them- the patterns had changed. Like so much else, apparently.
Wendy looked everywhere but at Peter, though the Neverland landscape was shrouded in mist. Darkness had descended since her arrival, and she thought she saw a wisp of smoke where the Indian camp should be, but she couldn't be sure. The Jolly Roger lolled in its post. Wendy's heart gave a pang. It seemed Hook hadn't been able to escape. She realized now that Hook really had wanted to escape. How long had he been here? How long had Bae been here? How long had it been at all, since Wendy had last touched Neverland's shores? Time passed differently here, and for the land to be so different- had she really been gone that long?
"If you're looking for landmarks," Peter said amicably, "I think you'd recognize your treehouse." Carefully, he descended into the forest canopy, then set foot into what Wendy realized had to be her treehouse. Yet it too was different. Her lovely furniture- dreamt up by Peter as new -was now old and almost decrepit. The mirror over her dressing table was cracked, and her dainty white curtains were torn, a few strips waving in the wind. The pretty chandelier that had once graced the ceiling- she'd admired chandeliers so much, she'd seen them in real, grown-up ladies' boudoirs, and oh, she had so wanted one that Peter managed to somehow put it in a treehouse -was shattered into a million pieces on the floor. Wendy gasped at the sight.
For what seemed like the dozenth time that day, she asked, "What...happened here?"
Ignoring her question, Peter set her down on the bed. With a flick of his hands, the crystal shards disappeared, briefly winking in the moonlight before they were gone. Two lamps appeared on her bedside tables, giving off a low, golden glow.
Realizing he wasn't going to answer her, Wendy tried a new tactic:
"Why didn't you fix my chandelier?"
Peter's eyes flicked to the ceiling where the chandelier had been, then back to her. Involuntarily, Wendy shivered under his scrutiny.
Evenly, he replied, "It's not safe. Neverland has many storms now."
"But leaving me in a treehouse is safe!?" Wendy's mouth hung open. It was a cardinal rule her mother had drilled into her: never stand beneath a tree during a storm. And if Neverland truly had storms now- which it very well might, judging by everything else she'd seen -putting her in her old treehouse was the least safe place she could be.
"Lightning won't strike here," Pan said.
"But how can you-"
Peter stared her down, "Trust me. It won't." Awkwardly, Wendy gulped. Peter had controlled the movements of the stars; was it really such a stretch to imagine he controlled the weather? But if he did, why would he pelt his beloved Neverland with hurricanes?
"If it rains so much," she paused, "can I have real windows? With glass?"
Peter did as she asked, again still staring at her.
Wendy tried not to blush at the intensity in his gaze, or the intimacy of the situation. She was a young lady of London, in bed, with a young man- for all his talk of being a boy, Peter really had never been a boy; he'd always looked like a teenager to her -alone with her. Even during her first time in Neverland, he'd never stood inside as she slept.
"I suppose you realized that being grown-up," Peter said, "isn't worth it."
"That's not why I came back," Wendy retorted, "Growing up doesn't scare me."
"It should. Nothing good happens when you grow up," Peter informed her. He spoke as if from experience, but Wendy knew nothing of Peter's background. He'd always been the prince of Neverland to her- though now she realized he was its dark king, not a handsome prince at all -but had he had a life before that? What had it been like?
Wendy shook her head, You're here for Bae, she reminded herself, Not Peter. It doesn't matter. It's another game. Don't fall for it. It was so easy to get drawn in by him, though...
"I don't believe you," Wendy said aloud, fully aware of just how powerful the words were here.
Peter flinched, then repeated, "Nothing good happens when you grow up." He glared at her, gripping the wrought iron bars at the base of her bed so tightly she thought he would break them.
"Well, I want to grow up," Wendy asserted. She wanted it more than anything now, because the older you grew the more memories you had. The more memories she had, the more experiences she would have to remember instead of Peter. Then, of course, it also helped that grown-ups couldn't come to Neverland. Growing up would sever the ties between them forever.
"You can't grow up. Not here."
"I can in London, and I will-"
"No," Pan said, a strange emotion lingering behind his words, "You won't."
"Yes, I will," Wendy insisted, unsure why they were even having this discussion. He'd made it very clear on her last visit that he didn't want her in Neverland when their game had ended.
"No, you won't, Wendy. You will never go back to London!" Peter replied, his knuckles turning white against the iron.
"Yes, I will, Peter!" Wendy declared, "I came back for Bae, and we're going to leave. We're going to go home, to London, and we'll grow up-"
Pan laughed, "Baelfire? Don't concern yourself with him. You'll never see him; you won't leave with him-"
"You can't stop me from finding him-"
"Do you know why it's called Neverland, Wendy?" Pan interrupted, his eyes alight with a dark fire.
"No," she admitted, her voice soft.
"Because once you've stepped foot on its soil," Peter practically hissed at her, "My Shadow never lets you leave."
"You let me go before," Wendy accused him, "You sent me away." The pain of his heartless goodbye was still raw.
Pan cocked his head, "I've only ever done that once, with you. You changed the rules, but you can't change them anymore, Wendy. You have to follow them now. Why do you think my Shadow went back?"
"For my brothers," the girl said immediately,"You thought I played the game wrong; boys had always understood you. And that would be the ultimate revenge on me...to take my brothers away. But then Bae left-"
"And my Shadow returned," Pan stated.
"It wanted one of my brothers, but I took its hand instead. I wanted to save Bae-"
At this, Pan chuckled, "Wendy, don't forget the Shadow is my Shadow. I'm not stupid, and neither is it. It went back for you, and it was always going back for you. Bae was a bonus prize, but the Shadow came for you."
Wendy, confused, said, "But why?"
"Because you stepped on Neverland's soil, Wendy, and no one who does that can ever leave. When you did," he gestured out the window, "it caused some rather...drastic...changes. But as you're back, the balance is restored now."
"You're saying that because I left, Neverland turned into this? Because of that rule, and you broke it?"
"You broke it," Peter nearly snarled at her.
Shocked by the change in his demeanor, Wendy scrambled back on the bed, her back against the cold iron bedposts.
Almost as fast as he had grown enraged, the fury seemed to leave Peter. Like he had been possessed, and the demon spirit had departed, his body sagged.
Calmly, he told her, "So you see, Wendy, you can never leave again. You will never grow up. You will never go to London. Neverland is your home now, and you will stay here forever. With me."
Wendy's heart practically stopped. Had it truly been her fault? Had her departure turned Neverland into this? Did she have to stay here? Had she sold her soul by coming here at all? And by doing so, did she now have some kind of responsibility to the land? Was the land's health tied to her spirit, her soul serving as some kind of sustenance for it? What was this, hell? And if Neverland was hell, was Peter the devil?
Thoughts raced through her head rapid-fire. Though she knew they could never be true, they still frightened her. One thought surfaced above the others, taking hold of her entire being: Escape. Terrified, she leapt to her feet and made a rush for the door.
Faster than the eye could see, Peter disappeared from her view. He reappeared outside her treehouse, then slammed the door shut. Wendy collided with it, jiggling the lock. She practically threw her entire weight against the wooden door, which had become as strong as steel:
"Let me out!" she shrieked, "Peter, let me out!" Tears flowed freely down her cheeks as she continued to claw at the door handle. It was locked from the outside. Desperate, she went and checked the windows, the windows which she had asked be filled with glass. They too were locked tight. God, had she only known what he was going to do, she never would have asked for glass-
"PETER!" Wendy screamed, her cries getting lost among a new wind that shook the trees around hers. A storm was rapidly gathering, and she could see the telltale flashes of lightning in the distance.
"I'm sorry, Wendy," Peter said through the door, "but I have to protect Neverland."
"Peter, please," Wendy's screams morphed into a long sob.
Outside, the boy shuddered, and rain began to pour, droplets dripping down the windows of the treehouse.
The day after the football game, students were more subdued in school. Classes were quieter. Teachers were rattled, but struggled to continue lessons. Wendy found herself torn between wanting to cry and wanting to think about anything but Tootles' death. She was slumped in her chair, pencil poised over her notebook. Unfortunately, she was only able to make incoherent scribbles.
This was largely because Peter Pan was sitting behind her.
Much to her dismay, Storybrooke High had eventually decided that it was best to keep all the Neverlanders (who were in the same grade, anyway) in the same class. The theory was that if Peter and Felix were together, Pan couldn't send Felix slinking off to do his bidding, even if that bidding was innocuous, and that if Wendy and Tinkerbell were together in the same room, they would be safer- not that Pan could harm anyone in the daytime, but if anyone had a way of getting using rules to his advantage, it was him. They were hoping he couldn't do anything, but just in case, it was better to have them all in one place- where Tinkerbell and Wendy could be protected, and simultaneously, Peter Pan and Felix could be contained.
This was also the major reason Mary Margaret had been promoted from first grade teacher to high school instructor. She was very skilled with a bow and arrow- almost as lethal as the Lost Boys -and she now wore it with her everywhere. Today, she had it slung over her pink sweater as she wrote algebra problems on the chalkboard. It was a strange contradiction, but then again, everything had been strange since Peter had arrived.
Peter himself seemed bored by the whole lesson. He let his legs rest on the back of Wendy's chair, occasionally amusing himself by pushing her books out of the little basket beneath her desk. The first time, she'd given him the benefit of the doubt and thought it was an accident. By time number four, she realized he was doing it to keep himself entertained. Despite claiming he wanted to go to high school, he clearly wasn't interested in learning very much.
Just then, her agenda smacked into the linoleum floor. Cheeks burning, Wendy reached down yet again to retrieve it. She wasn't sure what else to do with it- her very small desk was already covered in her algebra textbook, notebook, and pencils -and obviously putting it back in the basket was only tempting Peter. Sighing, she delicately placed the agenda on her lap, crossing her legs in hopes it wouldn't fall to the floor.
Mary Margaret spun around, "Mr. Pan!" She crossed her arms and glared at him, her bow threatening to slide off her shoulder.
At her outburst, Peter raised an eyebrow, "Yes, Madam Teacher?" He leaned lazily back in his chair, folding his arms behind his head.
"I think Miss Darling would appreciate it if you let her listen to the lesson in peace," her words were like ice. Instantly, Wendy felt all eyes in the classroom flock to her, and she struggled to keep the blush from spreading up her cheeks.
"And I would appreciate it if you at least pretended to pay attention," the teacher added.
At that, both of Peter's eyebrows shot up, "I normally never refuse to play pretend, Madam Teacher, but even I couldn't pretend to listen to this." Owen Dodge- who was now calling himself Dodger and seated behind Peter -snickered. Felix let out a small smile, though he didn't laugh. Gavin, another Lost Boy, also let out a chuckle.
Rapidly growing more furious with every laugh that floated about the room, almost ghostly in their quiet, Mary Margaret turned red. Wendy could practically see the wheels turning in Mary Margaret's head as she pondered what to do to put Pan in his place. Finally, she smiled, and pronounced:
"Very well, Mr. Pan. If you won't listen to the lesson, perhaps you can teach us." She triumphantly picked up a piece of chalk and scribbled a problem on the board.
2x^3 - 3x^2 + tx + r = 0
"This is an equation that has three roots," Mary Margaret explained, "Two of the are -2 and 3. Now, Mr. Pan, show us how to find the 3rd root."
Before she had even turned around, Peter was already at the front of the room. He removed the chalk from Mary Margaret's hand, and without a word, immediately said:
"To solve this, you need to substitute one of the roots for x. We'll start with 3."
54 -27 + 3t + r = 0
"Now substitute -2 for x."
-16 - 12 -2t + r = 0.
Peter calmly wrote as he went along, explaining the problem simply and shockingly, without a trace of smugness in his tone. The scratchy, angular writing with which Wendy had become intimately familiar over the past few weeks overtook the board, completely blocking out Mary Margaret's curly letters.
27 + 3t +r = 0
-28 -2t +r = 0
55 + 5t = 0
t = -11
r = 6
He noted each step as he wrote it down, and as each number took shape, Wendy saw Mary Margaret's face go from a furious red to a stunned white. She couldn't believe what she was seeing. Peter Pan was doing algebra, as calmly and confidently as though he'd done it his entire life. Felix and Gavin, meanwhile, were grinning. Pan had never taught algebra in Neverland, of course- it was hardly fun -but they weren't surprised he could do it. After all, he was Peter Pan. Peter Pan never failed. He could do anything.
2x^3 - 3x^2 -11x + 6 = 0
(x-3)(x+2)(2x-1) = 0.
Pan finished with a flourish, "That gives you x = 1/2."
There was dead silence as he handed the chalk back to Mary Margaret and returned to his desk. He slid into the seat, immediately returning to the position he'd been in before- leaned back, arms crossed behind his head. Wendy could feel his gaze on her, burning like a flame, but she refused to turn around. Everyone else was staring at him, but she wouldn't. She wasn't awed by him.
Neither was Mary Margaret, apparently. She looked stunned and disturbed, but she wasn't in awe of his prowess. More of the students in the room gave Pan admiring glances, but Mary Margaret simply narrowed her eyes and erased Pan's problem.
Then she went on with the lesson as though nothing had happened.
The door to Wendy's treehouse remained bolted for days. She found a small addition to her treehouse- a proper bathroom, even with a luxurious tub. Yet she wouldn't let herself be distracted by it. Although it seemed Peter was hoping her anger would wane over time, if she was kept locked in there, the reality was anything but. All it did was make her more frantic to find Bae, and more desperate to get a way out of her treehouse.
Every night, she had nightmares, each more frightening than the last. They started out as her trying to fly home, but falling into Neverland's waters. She was pulled down into the depths by the mermaids, their nails clawing into her skin, Peter's face blurring in the surface of the ocean as he laughed at her pain from above. Then they changed to her arriving at her nursery window. Frantic, she pulled at the double windows struggling to get them open. When at last she did, John and Michael came to greet her. She smiled at them, so grateful to be there, but they glared at her with unabashed hatred.
"You're his now!" John yelled at her.
"We can't let you back in, Wendy," Michael added, "You're like him. You'll kill us-"
"No!" Wendy protested, "No, that's not true! I'd never hurt you-"
But her words fell on deaf ears as her brothers pushed her out the window, and she screamed as her body broke in the street below, her bones piercing through her skin before everything went black.
Then- and perhaps this nightmare, Wendy thought, was the worst of all -she made it out of Neverland. She flew home, and she made it to the window, and the window opened-
But no one was there. The nursery was empty, the house deserted. When a perplexed Wendy went to the neighbors to inquire after her parents, they gave her bizarre looks:
"George and Mary Darling?"
"And John and Michael," Wendy added hopefully.
"Do you know what year it is?" they asked her.
Wendy paused, heart pounding, "1902?" As the neighbors stared at her, aghast, she realized that she'd forgotten something crucial:
Time passed so very differently in Neverland. It was slower, oh so much slower. How many years had passed in this world?
Instead of answering her, the man took her arm and led her down the road. He guided her to a church, then gestured for her to walk through a side gate. Wendy wasn't sure why, for this had been a pretty park her parents liked to take her to.
She forced herself not to wretch as she realized it had become a graveyard, and right in front of her were the graves of her parents and her brothers.
Next to her brothers' grave, there was another marker:
WENDY MOIRA ANGELA DARLING
FILIA PERDIDIMUS
ANIMA PERDIDO
Wendy's hands flew to her mouth as she choked her on her tears. Her parents had given her her own empty grave, her epithet reading:
WENDY MOIRA ANGELA DARLING
THE DAUGHTER WE LOST
LOST SOUL
She always woke up screaming after that one.
Though Wendy didn't know it, Peter often stood guard outside her treehouse, and he watched her during these times. Her face was slick with sweat and tears, and she tossed and turned in the bed, moaning and crying. She'd done this for days. It killed him to see her like this.
One night, Peter couldn't bear to stand outside anymore. Quietly, he opened the latch to her treehouse and tiptoed in. Wendy didn't hear him anyhow. She was thrashing among the sheets, sobbing so hard she'd run out of tears. Peter didn't know what to do to help her- he figured if he even tried to wake her up she'd hit him. Unwilling to deal with that prospect, but equally unwilling to leave her in such distress, he decided to try something he never thought he would.
Carefully, Peter slid into her bed, wrapping his arms around her. At his touch, she seized up, then quickly relaxed, her body curling into a fetal position. Not quite sure what he'd done that calmed her so quickly- but fully aware that if he left whatever he'd done would be reversed and her nightmares would return -he resolved to stay. Accordingly, he moved closer so her back was pressed against his chest. He laced his hands together, wrapping himself around and against his Bird, giving her the cage and protection she seemed to need.
Then he too fell asleep.
"So is anyone going to acknowledge what happened last night?" Regina demanded. It was lunchtime, and Mary Margaret, Emma, Hook, and David were gathered in the principal's office. Since Regina had lost her mansion to Pan, she had also lost her main office. In the meantime, this was where she had been conducting the majority of her affairs. Admittedly, she was hardly pleased that her marble had been replaced by linoleum, but she didn't have much choice in the matter.
"Regina," David began, "A boy died yesterday, you don't need to mock it." He looked at her reproachfully, which didn't surprise her at all. He was a Charming, and their sole purposes in life seemed to be judging her and ruining her happiness. How appropriate, considering Emma was his daughter, and Henry would never have even met that wretched Peter Pan had she not come to Storybrooke and broken the curse. Nevertheless, she reminded herself, there was no changing that now, and no use blaming Emma for the sins of the Neverland king.
"A boy died," Regina repeated incredulously, "He didn't just die. He was murdered by Pan. And I want to know how."
"He was sitting in the stands," Mary Margaret said, "Believe me, Regina- I hate him as much as you do. Aside from what he wants to do with Henry, he just humiliated me in front of my entire class. But there were hundreds of witnesses there. Peter never moved. He was sitting with Wendy Darling, Felix, and Tinkerbell-" she ticked the names off one by one on her fingers.
"That doesn't mean he didn't have something to do with it," Hook interjected, "Pan likes to murder people. Pain is entertainment for him, and he has a flair for dramatics. I'd be shocked if he didn't mastermind this."
"'Masterminded?'" Emma queried, "What, you're saying he directed someone to kill Tootles, then put his body on the football field? Sorry, Hook. He might be dramatic, but the person he'd normally direct to kill people was sitting right next to him." She brushed off her boyfriend's suggestion immediately, and the pirate was blatantly annoyed. He had done battle with Pan for years; he knew far more about Pan than Emma could ever imagine. Frustrated, he asked:
"Have you considered the fact that it might not be just Felix who would kill for Pan?"
"You mean like other Lost Boys?" Emma shook her head, "They all wanted to leave Pan!" That was how she'd even found out Pan was near his Thinking Tree in Neverland to begin with. A lonely Lost Boy had revealed the secret to her in exchange for passage to Storybrooke.
"Not all of them," Hook pointed out. He met Regina's gaze. Although he was reluctant, Regina could see that someone was at last coming around to her point of view.
"Finally!" she exclaimed, feeling somewhat vindicated, "One of you is talking sense."
"But if they wanted to leave," Mary Margaret interjected, completely ignoring Regina's outburst, "why would they help Pan now?"
"Because they fear Pan more than they fear you," Hook noted, "I'm sorry, but you need to accept that Pan is more terrifying to these Boys than you. He was practically their bloody god for hundreds of years, and now he's back from the dead. They'll do anything for him. In a way, they're more dangerous than him, because he thinks through every decision. They will just do whatever he says."
"There has to be a way to get them to come back to our side," Mary Margaret proclaimed.
After a long moment, Regina said, "I have an idea."
When Wendy awoke the next morning, she was pleasantly surprised by the warmth around her. Eyes still closed, she snuggled closer, expecting to feel blankets wrapped around her. Then she felt a quiet breath on her neck.
Her eyes sprang open, and utterly terrified, she realized that she wasn't in blankets, but rather in someone's embrace. Worse, she realized as she rolled over, that embrace was Peter Pan's. He was still sleeping soundly, his chest rising and falling with an easy calm. Perhaps feeling that Wendy had changed positions, he adjusted one of his arms so that he brought her closer to him. The tiny movement of his hand on the back of her nightgown sent sparks running down her skin.
That contact was too much for her. Shrieking, she kicked the boy- hard. He practically fell off the bed, stunned and a bit dazed. Nevertheless, Peter clambered to his feet and demanded:
"Wendy, what was that for?" He didn't look away from her, though he did reach a hand down to rub his leg. With a smug sense of satisfaction, Wendy noticed part of his knee was beginning to turn blue. It would bruise, and she couldn't help but feel a bruise was the least she could do to repay him for all the horrible things he'd done to her.
"You were in my bed!" Wendy retorted, "What were you even trying to do? You've already imprisoned me! Are you really going to play games with my heart again? Because it's not funny, Peter. I won't let you-"
"You were having a nightmare," Pan interrupted her. He stood to his full height and stared at her, intense green eyes staring into her own blue. There wasn't any malice in his voice, just a quiet challenge.
Flustered, Wendy said, "I'm sure it was brought on by you in my bed." Though of course she knew it wasn't. She'd had no idea Peter was even there until a few moments ago. She couldn't help but squirm as she realized she could remember only one nightmare from the previous evening. Typically, she had at least five, more or less repeating each other in a continuous, cruel cycle. But last night, she'd only had one- and the rest of the night, she hadn't dreamed at all.
What did that mean?
"You were screaming," Peter explained, "and crying, and it was so loud the whole island could hear it." Though it had been true Wendy's shouting had been loud, it hadn't nearly been so powerful as to rouse the entire land (or even the Boys in camp). He just didn't want her to know he'd been listening outside her treehouse:
"You woke me up, and I came to see what exactly was going on. That's how I found you." He gestured to the bed, sheets rumpled in a ball. He wasn't fighting her, or even berating her for her attitude, and that unsettled Wendy most of all. Trying to hold on to what she knew of him, and his horrible, selfish, ways she sneered:
"You expect me to believe you heard me having a nightmare, and you came to help?" she laughed. It was so out of character for him that she couldn't even imagine him doing it. The Peter Pan she knew would mock someone for having a nightmare, and he'd be thrilled to know he featured in it. He wouldn't take pity on them.
Pan's eyes hardened, but he simply replied, "You're not the first person I've helped with nightmares."
"What are you talking about?" she inquired, "I never saw you do anything with the Lost Boys when they had nightmares." The Lost Boys occasionally had nightmares during her first visit to the island. Some of the little ones would wake in the night and cry that they missed their mothers. Wendy always came to hug them and comfort them, promising them she would stay at their bedsides and hold their hands until they fell back to sleep (and she always did). Peter, however, would merely sit and watch from his pallet. She'd once asked him why he didn't take them back, if they missed their mothers so badly. He'd told her that he never would have taken boys so young to Neverland that they were barely seven unless he'd had no choice. When she'd pressed him further on the subject, he'd told her their mothers were dead, and even if he wanted to, he couldn't take those boys back. Shaking her head, Wendy returned to the present moment, and was stunned by Peter's answer.
"That's because it wasn't here. Neverland is my home, but I wasn't born here. No human can be born here, except the Indians," he asserted, "because they were part of the island when I dreamed it up. Everyone else comes from other worlds, including me." Peter looked sideways at her, as if gauging whether she remained furious with him. Wendy shifted from one foot to the other, favoring her hurt leg. Her white nightgown was wrinkled- a result of her been held in his arms the whole night -and her arms were crossed defensively over her chest. The girl continued to appear angry, but also curious. Peter forced a smile down. The world could be crashing down around her and Wendy Darling would always be curious.
Partly to distract her and partly because he himself was wondering what her reaction would be, he continued, "Officially, in your world, I went missing. It was a big scandal- one of the greatest boys' schools in England losing a pupil-"
Wendy's brow furrowed. A few years ago, her father had mentioned something of the sort to her mother. George Darling was a bank clerk, but a bank clerk with incredibly high aspirations. He was forever in search of a promotion, and so he made it his best interest to be close with his the bank's top manager. The bank manager, of course, dealt with the very best of society, and so knew all of its important figures incredibly well. Meanwhile, George absorbed the manager's knowledge of society's major players.
"I'm telling you, Mary," he'd said to her mother as they walked upstairs after dinner, "It's incredible! The boy's gone! Vanished without a trace!" Wendy, who was twelve at the time, and John, who was ten, trailed after their parents (Michael was five and had been made to eat his dinner on the nursery for naughty behavior earlier in the day). John had been talking about how a girl possibly couldn't defeat a pirate, and Wendy was fiercely debating him on the subject. She heard her parents' conversation, but it hadn't sunken in or been her priority.
"His poor mother," Mary had answered, clucking her tongue, "I can't imagine what she's going through," turning to her children, she skillfully interrupted their argument, "Wendy, would you go with Nana and fetch Michael? It's bath time."
As a stubborn Wendy stomped up the stairs, her father's words trailed after her, "Losing Lord Ponsoby's son? Eton will never recover!"
Thoroughly astonished, Wendy whispered, "You were the boy who went missing from Eton." Her mouth dropped open, and she looked Peter up and down, trying to fathom how a nobleman's child had gone from dressing in the coat and tails of Eton to the leaves and leather of Neverland.
Peter, for his part, neither confirmed nor denied her accusation. Instead, he shrugged and repeated, "You're not the first person I've helped with nightmares. The difference is I could shake them awake and they'd be fine. You wouldn't stop screaming until I held you while you slept."
"Peter," Wendy reached for him, unsure what she wanted to hear more about- his past, how he'd come to Neverland, or whether he'd actually held her all night -but the boy stepped backwards and out of range. He bowed formally to her, then opened the door to her treehouse and left.
Wendy rushed towards it, "Peter, wait!"
But the door closed in her face, and he was gone.
"You can sit down," Regina offered, gesturing towards the chair in front of the desk. Her visitor, however, merely smiled at her and demurred:
"I'd like to stand."
Regina, annoyed, didn't return his smile. She said:
"And I would like you to tell me everything you know about Peter Pan."
The shaggy-haired boy before her laughed, "You think it will be that easy? Get me in this office and command me to tell you about Pan?" he narrowed his eyes at her, "I don't take orders from you."
"You'd rather take orders from a homicidal maniac who kills his friends and then makes it a halftime show?" Regina snorted, "I didn't think you were that stupid." Her dark eyes fixated on the boy's gray, and she waited for him to snarl a retort, but he calmly drawled:
"Pan was with me during the game. He didn't kill Tootles."
"And Robert and James? Oh, sorry," Regina amended, voice dripping with sarcasm, "You knew them as the Twins. They just happened to cut their own throats, and Pan lied that he did it?"
The boy shrugged, "He killed them. He didn't kill Tootles. Other than that, I don't know what else you want me to tell you." He went for the door and just barely opened it, his hand falling from the knob as he heard the former Evil Queen's chair scrape against the floor.
"I want you to tell me Pan's plan, who he was, who he is, what his powers are, and what he's hiding," she practically hissed. She went to face him, and though he towered over her, she wasn't intimidated by his size. She'd fought against worse than him.
For his part, the boy seemed amused now, "It didn't work in Neverland. It won't work now. I already told you, I don't take orders from you."
At his words, Regina's smiled darkly, then plunged her hand into the boy's chest. She seized Felix's heart, squeezing it just enough to get a few wheezes and gasps from him before she pulled it from his chest. She smirked and pronounced:
"Now you do."
Author's Note:
Okay, so I know what everyone's thinking: Peter Pan went to Eton!? He's the son of a British nobleman!? But in my story, yes he did. Most stories with Pan in school tend to feature him as a delinquent who doesn't have any interest in learning because he has no desire to learn anything at all, but to me, Peter is a brilliant, intelligent, charismatic character. He would definitely want to learn everything, in case he could ever use something to his advantage in the future. However, I also see him as the boy who's blatantly beyond the level of the class (which he is). So while he's very, very intelligent, he still has zero interest in the lesson in this chapter because it's beneath him; he's already learned it and attended one of the most prestigious schools in the world (also, don't worry, Peter will not be doing algebra in every chapter; this was just to give him some back story).
As for the British nobleman tidbit- the Ponsoby's are a real British noble family. They did not in fact have a son go missing in the 1900s. I just liked their name. We will learn more about Peter's family, his time at Eton, who else he helped with nightmares later, and the history of Neverland later.
Finally, as always, I hope you enjoyed the chapter, and please let me know what you think! Thanks again for reading!
~ladykikyo1792