Dark Paradise

by ladykikyo1792

Peter Pan is dead, and Wendy Darling is now living in Storybrooke. Pretty and popular at her high school, no one guesses that now, months later, she still has nightmares of The Boy Who Never Grew Up. As she struggles to fit in and forget her past, a string of murders make her wonder if her past will ever let her go- or if he really died. AU where Peter isn't Rumple's father.

20. Chapter 20: Watch People's Heads A'Roll

Author's Note:

Hi everyone! As always, you are all awesome and amazing for continuing to support my story. Apologies this is so late- my school actually runs through the summer so I don't get a break. :/ Additionally, I'm treating clients (which I wasn't last semester), so that takes up more time. Plus this chapter was so damn hard to write because of a certain character...

Anyway, HUGE shout-out and thank you to Hildebrant for a perfect chapter title. I have been waiting to use this one for a while!

So many thank you's to everyone who reviewed. I seriously get beyond excited every time I get one. :) You should all have gotten personal messages if you have accounts. To the guest, I am very grateful for your kind words, and I have updated, so hopefully you don't die (I wouldn't want that) :P

Finally, I hope you all enjoy this chapter! Thanks again for being patient with me and continuing to support this story!

~ladykikyo1792

p.s. It's 39 pages long in Microsoft Word, so I hope it's worth the wait! ;)

---

Chapter 20: You take a mortal man, and put him in control- watch him become a god, watch people's heads a'roll.

Wendy stood stock still, rooted to the floor outside the bathroom. Grace and Gretel had been chatting and laughing next to her, but their voices fell silent when their eyes lay upon the very boy Wendy had warned them against. Despite their bravado, the two girls were dumbstruck, and it was Wendy- as it always was Wendy -who responded to him:

"Hello, Peter. What are you doing here?"

Peter shrugged, "I do go to school here." His tone was simultaneously flippant and unrepentant. He obviously didn't need the schooling provided here.

"I mean what are you doing waiting outside the girls' bathroom," Wendy changed her phrasing. They both knew the answer- he was waiting for her -but she was curious as to his motive as to why, this time, he was waiting for her, and why he was being so blatant about it. He had literally been standing outside the bathroom, keeping his gaze fixed on the door. More than a few students had cast curious glances at him, but as usual, he didn't care.

"It's lunchtime," Pan replied, "I thought we could have lunch together." Now, his tone held none of the smugness from before. In fact, he sounded sincere. From anyone else, it might have been a genuine, innocent invitation, but Wendy knew better.

Warily, Wendy pointed out, "I eat lunch with Grace, Gretel, and Tinkerbell." As she said the fairy's name, she realized, with a start, that Tinkerbell was not where Wendy had left her. Instead of being annoyed and slumped against the wall, watched over by Felix, she had disappeared entirely. Logically, Wendy told herself that Tink was probably already in the cafeteria- maybe Felix had insisted she get some water. Still, it didn't keep her heart from pounding with fear. The last time Tink disappeared, Wendy hadn't seen her again until the Charmings arrived on the island. Frantic with concern, she demanded:

"Where's Tinkerbell?"

"Felix took her home," Peter said, "It was fairly obvious she couldn't take care of herself-"

"Peter, don't you dare lie to me!" Wendy nearly snarled. Gretel and Grace, startled by the fury and fear in Wendy's reaction, practically jumped a mile away from her. Pan's eyes shifted towards the two girls, and he smiled darkly. They were scared. How pathetic. And of Wendy! Or, he mused, perhaps not of Wendy. Perhaps of who Wendy really was: the resilient, eternal girl who fought her destiny, who tried to protect the weak, and who challenged his actions. Maybe they were seeing her for the first time now, not a girl wearing a brand new skirt and sequined sweater, but rather a girl in a tattered nightgown, with flowers in her hair, dirt under her nails, and perhaps even some bloody scrapes on her skin.

Hmm, Pan thought, Perhaps they could be amusing. Out loud, he retorted, "Wendy, I'm not lying to you. Felix took her home. Call them if you're so worried," Pan snatched Gretel's cell phone out of her hand, "but do it at the table. I'm hungry." Without another word, Peter walked off to his customary lunch table, Gretel's cell phone still securely in his palm (he knew what phones were, as they were innovations during his lifetime in the Land Without Magic, though the fact they were now portable was new to him). As he expected, Gretel angrily chased after him:

"Hey, give me back my phone!"

Also as he expected, Wendy chased after her, Grace following behind them both and imploring, "Gret, just get a new one, it's not worth it-" Gretel simply refused to answer, pursuing Pan straight to his table. She was so dogged in her task that it was only when she was directly in front of a group of Lost Boys that she stopped. The Lost Boys, all sitting around Peter, stared at her with a mixture of surprise and suspicion.

Dodger queried, "What's she doing here?" He wasn't exactly a fan of either Grace or Gretel. They hadn't made fun of him to his face, but they were part of the popular crowd. He had a feeling they, like so many others, made fun of him behind his back. Gretel swallowed and blushed- he was right, and she did feel somewhat guilty, especially when he was passing judgment on her before so many others.

"We have guests joining us for lunch today," Pan said smoothly, "Three ladies. I trust you will all make room for them." Although Dodger still eyed Gretel with distaste, he obligingly moved aside for her. Similarly, Curly and Fox moved for Grace and Wendy. There were now three open spaces at the table. There wasn't any doubt where Wendy would sit- the seat to Peter's left had belonged to her for years (the seat to the right belonged to his second, but as Felix wasn't present, Slightly currently sat there). Grace and Gretel shot nervous looks at each other, but merely sat where places had opened up: Gretel on Slightly's other side, and Grace next to Nibs.

Slightly stared at Gretel. It had been quite some time since he'd looked at a girl- really looked at her. His old school had only boys. When Peter had taken him to Neverland, there had been no girls- not truly, anyway -until Wendy. Wendy had always been Peter's, the fairies were concerned only with themselves, and the Indians, similarly, did not associate with the Lost Boys. None of this had bothered Slightly. He had the Lost Boys. It was enough.

So it threw him a tad when there was suddenly a girl, and a very attractive one, sitting next to him.

"Um," she squirmed in her seat, obviously unsure what to say, "My name's Gretel." Slightly could see the confusion and questions in her eyes- which, he couldn't help but note, were quite a lovely shade of brown: Who is this boy? How old is he? What does it mean to be a Lost Boy? Is he feral? Will he kill me, like Pan killed so many?

He only answered her first silent question, "I'm Slightly."

Gretel cocked her head, "That's your name?"

"Yes," Slightly confirmed. The name he'd held in the Land Without Magic hadn't been spoken for years, even by those who knew it. The second he'd stepped on Neverland's shores, his prior identity had ceased to exist. Peter had renamed him immediately. While Slightly had initially not been fond of his new name, over the centuries he'd grown to like it. Those who had made fun of him in England- calling him "slightly soiled" when he lost his fortune after his parents' deaths -were all dead, while he was immortal. He'd overcome their nasty taunts, and he felt his name was a reminder of his tenacity. Consequently, he liked it.

"Really?" Gretel inquired. Slightly couldn't be sure, but he was fairly certain she was asking questions to hide her fear.

"Yes."

"That's a strange name," Gretel said, before clapping her hands over her mouth. She blushed, very aware that she had made not only a rude comment, but a possible enemy. Slightly might be a strange name, but it belonged to a decidedly strange boy who could also decidedly kill her.

"No stranger than yours," Slightly replied. Concluding that had been an appropriate response, he bit into a chicken tender. Admittedly, he'd been confused about the change in cuisine since he'd last been in the Land Without Magic, but he was coming around to some of the more modern foods, particularly any variation of fried chicken.

"My name's a real name," Gretel asserted. She flipped a strand of hair over her shoulder and crossed her legs, somewhat defensive now.

Slightly raised an eyebrow at her, "So is mine."

"No, it's not!" she insisted, "It's an adverb." Her cheeks were still bright pink, which Slightly noted. She was flushed, and if she truly was afraid of him, he wanted it to stop. Peter, she should definitely be wary of, but him? Slightly didn't kill girls. He didn't swear at girls. It simply wasn't the way he had been raised by his parents. So Slightly answered:

"'What's Montague? It is nor hand, nor foot, nor arm, nor face, nor any other part belonging to a man. O! be some other name: What's in a name? That which we call a rose by any other name would smell as sweet. So Romeo would, were he not Romeo call'd, retain that dear perfection which owes without that title.'"

Gretel's jaw dropped, and Slightly grinned, "Romeo and Juliet, Act II, Scene II. If Shakespeare says people can be perfect with any type of name, I don't see why Slightly- an adverb, as you say -can't be my name." Seeing the stunned girl had no food in front of her, he pushed his basket of chicken tenders in her direction, "Now, since you have no lunch, you're more than welcome to share my chicken." Disbelievingly, Gretel took a chicken tender and took a tiny bite of it, apparently too shocked to say anything else.

Across the table, Nibs groaned, "You still remember Shakespeare? After all this time? God, Slightly, you were perfectly insufferable quoting it then, don't be perfectly insufferable and quote it now!"

---

The trio lounged in Peter's room. It was where they always seemed to find themselves in their free time. Although Ian and Winston had more than adequate quarters at Eton as well, it was almost universally accepted that Peter's room was where they met.

"Ugh, Shakespeare," Winston groaned, "Why do we have to study this? The guy's been dead for almost three hundred years!" He slammed his book closed, then kicked it across the floor for good measure. It skidded, and there was a distinct crackling sound as the edge of one of the pages ripped.

"Winston!" Ian chided, "That's a first edition!"

"So?"

"Of Shakespeare!" Ian said incredulously, "Only one of the most famous playwrights in history! A First Folio of Shakespeare's work is priceless! I can't imagine why they gave such a relic to you, when you don't appreciate such momentous artifacts of the past-" He reached for the book, then cradled it in his arms. Anxiously, he searched for the ripped page, letting out a cry of utter dismay.

"Oh, please," Winston rolled his eyes, "Spare us the dramatics. You don't actually like it, Ian. The only reason you care is because your family name is mentioned in it!"

Ian said, "That's not true at all, Winston, and if we weren't gentlemen, I would have to punch you for such an accusation." He huffed, then carefully placed the expensive tome on Peter's nightstand.

"Ian, we all know it's true," Peter grinned, "From the second we started 'Romeo and Juliet,' all you've been going on about is how your family is famous enough that Shakespeare talked about them-"

"Never mind the fact the family of our dear Viscount Montague, in Shakespeare's work, is a group of utter prats," Winston cut in, his eyes alight with mischief. He only was teasing his best friend, and Winston knew that Ian, despite his indignation, was aware Peter and Winston were joking. Ian fought to hold his straight face, but a few moments later, joined the other two in laughter.

"Still," Peter interjected, "While I don't want to go down in history quite like Shakespeare's Montagues-"

"As a complete and utter prat, you mean?" Winston teased. Playfully, he shoved Peter, who shoved him back.

Nevertheless, Peter ignored Winston's words and stated, "I think I might like to go down in history like Shakespeare himself." He crossed his arms and bit his lip, obviously thinking of what that would entail.

"What do you mean?" Ian asked.

"Think about it," Peter said, "Shakespeare's been dead for almost three hundred years, and everyone knows his name. Everyone recognizes the excellence of his written works. No writer has ever quite been his match."

Winston said dryly, "Peter, I don't think I could ever see you as being a writer. You're great at a lot of things, but I'm not sure writing's your calling." While it was true Peter excelled in their literature classes- as he excelled in almost every class -he actually disliked writing stories. He could do it, of course, but he preferred to listen to them instead.

Accordingly, Peter explained, "I don't mean writing. I mean having such a great influence on history that one's name is eternal, lasting and going down through the ages for time immemorial."

There was a heavy silence as they pondered Peter's words. He'd always been the leader of their little trio, and he often said things that Ian and Winston found both brilliant and ridiculous. They were constantly wondering where Peter came up with the ideas he said and believed. At the same time, they admired him for it- and for his outstanding loyalty to them both. He'd been there for them since the three had started at Eton as wide-eyed thirteen year olds, afraid to leave home, but well-aware of the heavy expectations placed on their shoulders as the sons of earls. When some of the older boys tried to bully them, making them do chores and run for errands, Peter had stood up for them and demanded the older boys stop the practice. If it had been any other student, the older boys would have laughed and made him work even harder. But for some reason, they had obeyed Peter, and none had bothered Winston, Ian, or any of the other boys in their year since. Further, when a sordid rumor had spread around society about Ian's sister last summer, one so bad that it would have ruined her marriage prospects, it was Peter who had danced with her at an annual ball. And as Peter Ponsoby was known as a highly-desired catch on the society circuit, his acknowledgment of Charlotte Montague in such a public way, smiling all the while, caused it to be instantly accepted that the rumor could not be true. Charlotte had begun entertaining proposals a week later.

Finally, Winston said, "All right, Ian, Peter's gone mental. It's almost dinner. Maybe he needs a good meal to get his brains back."

"Shut it, Nibbles!" Peter retorted, "I'm not mental. Besides, the reason you're so eager to go to dinner is because it's lamb night."

"Don't call me Nibbles!" Winston said, "It's not like I'm Alan Howard, eating everything in sight-"

"We know," Ian said, "but we also know lamb's your favorite. And let's be honest, Nibbles is better than your last nickname-"

"Don't say it," Winston warned, but Ian finished, with some glee:

"Lambykins!"

"Oh God, stop," Winston moaned, "Never again do I want that back. I don't understand why 'Lord Lambton' was such a difficult concept-"

"Because you had to like lamb," Peter said, "You were practically begging for a nickname to happen. At least I got 'Nibbles' to catch on instead."

Winston muttered angrily to himself, while Peter and Ian laughed as the three headed down to dinner.

---

"What do you mean, 'remember Shakespeare?' You knew Shakespeare in Neverland?" Grace inquired. Nibs looked at her, surprised. He hadn't expected her to talk. The willowy blonde had been dead silent, and pale as the dead, for that matter, since she'd sat down. He knew her name, mostly because he'd heard Dodger angrily muttering to himself about the two girls sitting with them. However, unlike her friend, she seemed to deal with her nerves by not speaking at all- until now.

"Not exactly," Nibs demurred, "I'm Nibs."

"Grace," she said hesitantly, sticking out her hand. Nibs, for some reason acting on old manners, gently raised it to his lips and kissed it. Grace, taken aback, blushed up to her ears.

"Oh!" Slightly retorted, "I'm insufferable? I'm not the one using old etiquette!"

"You were the one who kept reminding us to be polite to Wendy, as she was a lady," Nibs pointed out. The very first day Wendy had arrived in Neverland, it was Slightly who had urged the other Lost Boys to treat Wendy with due courtesy and respect. It was rather ironic that Slightly was the one judging Nibs now.

Peter, while somewhat amused by their antics, had an entirely different purpose in mind when inviting Wendy, Gretel, and Grace to sit with them. Gretel and Grace had been afterthoughts, entirely unnecessary to his plan, but Wendy was needed. He was Peter Pan, after all, and all the new boys knew of Peter Pan was that bizarre book he'd seen in the library. He wanted to correct the record, and he knew of no better storyteller than Wendy Darling.

So it was that Pan announced to the table, "I'm sure you all know of, or at least have heard of Wendy Darling." The older Lost Boys, those who Wendy had known before in Neverland, all murmured various greetings in her direction. The newer Lost Boys, those who Peter was gathering around himself in Storybrooke, just stared at her. They had known her as Gwen, and while they had learned a bit about Wendy Darling from the older Lost Boys, they hadn't quite reconciled that the Gwen who flitted around school was actually the person who the older Lost Boys discussed in hushed tones. She'd seemed almost mythical, a figure not quite real, and now she was sitting before them.

Wendy nodded to the Lost Boys she knew. Beneath the table, she twisted her hands together nervously. Where was Peter going with this? What was the purpose of bringing her here and identifying her to those who already knew her?

Peter continued, "You new boys have asked me all about Neverland, what it's like, who lives on it, what we do for fun," he winked at them, "and Wendy, among her many talents, is a magnificent storyteller. I hope she'll be so kind as to share her gift with us and tell you a story about Neverland."

Peter turned to her, eyes full of false innocence. Wendy gaped at him.

Is he serious? she thought, What does he expect me to say? That Neverland's wonderful? It was, it used to be, but then it was corrupted. It was dark and cruel and I don't want to talk about what I saw, what happened, I don't want to crush these boys dreams, I don't want to walk down that road, face those memories-

She felt like she was going to be sick, but somehow she found the strength to say, "No." Well-aware she couldn't reveal her true reasoning- if she angered Peter, or embarrassed him publicly, there was no telling what he would do -she quickly added:

"There's so many stories to choose from, and I'm sorry to say I'm out of practice. I don't want to tell a story and not tell it well, especially as Peter has apparently been raising all of your expectations about me."

"I'm sure any story you tell will be a good one," a boy she didn't recognize reassured her. She turned to look at him, and swallowed uncomfortably. He was a new Lost Boy, full of ignorance and innocence and totally unaware of what he'd gotten himself into. A chorus of other voices echoed his sentiment.

"Thank you," Wendy said softly, "but I don't want to ruin my reputation," she forced her lips into a smile, "I'll tell one another time, but for now, I'm afraid I can't." Avoiding the disappointed faces of the new Lost Boys, she hurriedly looked down and opened her lunchbox. Although she didn't want to eat, she had to keep up some pretense of normalcy. Biting her lip, she selected a yogurt. As she tore the cover off, the Lost Boys' interest in her faded, and they gradually resumed conversation with each other. Peter, meanwhile, leaned in close to her:

"So," he said, whispering into her ear, "Since you don't care to tell them a story, care to tell me about Ferdinand?"

"What about him? He's a prince from the Enchanted Forest, in a land bordering Snow White's," Wendy said as she drew away from him, stirring her yogurt. She tried to keep her voice as nonchalant as possible.

"He seems to like you," Peter noted. He rested his head on his hands, obviously waiting for her to elaborate.

Wendy shrugged noncommittally. She took a spoonful of yogurt into her mouth. Peach. Not her favorite. Much like this conversation with Pan.

"Felix said he wants to go to the dance with you," Peter prodded, fishing for more information. Apparently, he wasn't going to give up until she said something.

"I'm not going," Wendy responded automatically. She was going, she told herself- of course she was, if nothing else, to spite Peter -but she had to keep Ferdinand alive before then.

"But you like dances," Pan stated. He sounded almost like a child protesting an adult's explanation.

"Not this one," Wendy asserted. She swirled her spoon in her yogurt, debating whether it would be better to eat as fast as possible and leave, or eat as slowly as she could. If she ate as fast as possible, she could leave the cafeteria- but there was a very high potential of Peter following her. If she ate slowly, she might be able to limit her responses to him, and if she made her yogurt last until the end of lunch, she could perhaps alleviate some of the nausea in her stomach and clandestinely eat in class.

"And what has made you suddenly dislike this particular dance? Last night you were excited about it, as I recall."

Wendy paused, then grit her teeth as she realized the only excuse Peter would find acceptable:

"I got to thinking, and you were right. I don't want to pretend to be someone else."

At this, Peter's granted her a brilliant smile. He'd been upset, before, by her refusal to tell a story. However, he was pleased by Wendy's response. Perhaps, he considered, he'd pushed her too far by asking her to tell a story to the Lost Boys. As recently as yesterday, she was clinging to the facade of her assumed identity. He knew she'd cried about his words- he hated it when she cried -and had even somewhat berated himself for making her cry. He might have been too cruel in how he phrased the sentiment, but Wendy, finally, was recognizing that he was right. Still, she probably needed time to adjust, and to accept that she was, and would always be, Wendy Darling. Therefore, he'd let her have her time. She'd just admitted to him, after all, that she wanted to be Wend Darling again. He wouldn't force her to revert so quickly.

"I'm glad to hear that," Peter said, "Wendy Darling is a much better person than Gwen Carissima."

"She is," Wendy agreed. A better person, maybe, but also a cursed one, she thought bitterly. Sighing, she looked up to spot Grace dashing away from the table.

"Grace!" she called after her friend, but Grace didn't answer her. Nibs, who she had been seated next to, seemed puzzled and shocked by her sudden exit. He turned to Peter, silently querying whether he should follow her, but Pan shook his head. Grace, while amusing, was unnecessary to him. There was no need to expend Nibs' time or energy in pursuing her.

Wendy stood up, immediately ready to follow her friend. Then she reconsidered: if she went after Grace, Peter would definitely follow them both. It would also indicate to Peter just how much she valued Grace as a friend. Hating herself, but knowing it was the right decision, she covered her concern by walking to a vending machine- within Peter's eyesight -and purchasing a candy bar. Then she returned to the table and sank back in her seat next to him, hating herself even more when a part of her reveled in his smile.

---

The night they returned from Wonderland, Peter was standing in Wendy's treehouse. Over time, it had become an accepted- if unacknowledged -arrangement between them: he held her while she slept to ward off her nightmares. However, he seemed to dislike sneaking into and out of her bed, so he'd started coming before she went to sleep and talking to her until she fell asleep. Normally, it was a strange- though if she was honest with herself, it was also oddly comforting -ritual. But tonight, she wasn't going to fall asleep easily.

"Peter, you can't be serious," Wendy said. She was sitting in her bed, the covers drawn up around her waist. Her bow lay discarded on her bedside table, but she still sported her nightgown.

"About what?" Pan inquired. He tried to play it off innocently, but Wendy no longer fell for that act.

"You know what I mean. Killing that boy. You can't do it." She'd been ruminating over the subject since they'd returned from Wonderland. Even though their journey had been shocking in many ways- having her shadow taken away (thankfully united with her again now), the bloodthirsty Queen of Diamonds, the flying between dimensions themselves -this was what had occupied the forefront of her thoughts.

"Why not?" Pan asked. He was entirely unconcerned, and was currently surveying tonight's weather through one of the windows of her treehouse. It had been clear skies a few hours before- if dark -but now clouds were rapidly gathering on the horizon.

"Because it's cruel!" the girl retorted immediately. How could he not grasp this concept?

"Cruel? I've killed people before, Wendy." The words hung in the air between them. Peter wasn't trying to argue with her; he wasn't angry. He was stating a simple fact. He had killed- Wendy had seen it, multiple times.

"Not like this," Wendy insisted, "Never an innocent boy, without a chance to defend himself!" This was nothing short of murder.

Pan shrugged, "Sometimes, there are sacrifices that must be made for the greater good. This boy's death is one of them." With that, he stood up and stretched, shutting the curtain to her window and blocking out the view.

"The greater good!?" Wendy repeated, utterly incredulous, "The greater good!? What greater good is this?"

"All of the inhabitants of Neverland need the island," Peter insisted, "and they depend on me. The Lost Boys all hail from worlds where their lives would have been miserable, if I hadn't saved them. It's my responsibility."

"Saved them? And brought them into what? This? A dying, cursed, island?"

"Neverland isn't cursed-"

"It wasn't before," Wendy conceded, "but like this? Neverland's dying, Peter. You can't deny it-"

Peter flinched at her statement, but instead of acknowledging it, he noted, "God, Darling, do you have to imagine this treehouse so hot?"

Wendy began to defend herself- the island was always cool during the day, and at night it was positively freezing, with mists all over and storms, and she wore nothing but a nightgown- and she had to do something- but before the words could come out of her mouth, Peter stripped off his shirt, muscles rippling smoothly in the candlelight. She'd seen him shirtless before- in happier days, they'd all gone swimming the lagoon together -but his torso had always been partially hidden by the water, and there had been others around. It had been very innocent then.

"I- I-" the girl sputtered. She couldn't seem to take her eyes away from him. All she could think of was the great chess piece they had seen earlier that day- the bishop scowling down at her for impropriety. Oh God, what would her mother think of this? Wendy was certain it was inappropriate, it was so very inappropriate, and she should demand he replace his shirt this second-

"Cat got your tongue, Darling?" Pan taunted her as he placed his shirt on her vanity. He didn't realize yet why she was so quiet- he hadn't seen her reaction, merely heard her stammer. However, when he finally turned around and saw the girl flushed bright red, he smirked.

"Peter," Wendy managed to say, "Put your shirt back on this instant!"

Pan, greatly amused by her embarrassment, retorted, "It's too hot, Wendy. I can't fall asleep if it's this hot, and you can't fall asleep without me." He shrugged, still smirking, then got into bed, his nose inches from hers.

"Fine," the girl shook her head, struggling to clear her thoughts of the very handsome, very shirtless boy in front of her, "Then I'll imagine it colder." Although she tried, she couldn't seem to do so. While she had learned to imagine some small things for herself- she was at about the same level as a new Lost Boy -she could only do it with great concentration. Now, she couldn't focus, and she bit back a cry of frustration.

Peter chuckled at her ire, but said, "Just turn over, Darling, and don't look at me if you're that embarrassed. Though I don't know why you are; we're not in London anymore. Those rules don't apply."

Blushing furiously, Wendy did as he suggested and rolled onto her left side. Quickly, she climbed under the covers, making sure there was a definite barrier between herself and Peter. She felt him lay down beside her, though he stayed above the covers. Still, the fabric was very thin, and his chest muscles seemed to be very firmly pressed against her back. Wendy forced herself not to think about that, and clenched the covers tighter in her fists as he wrapped his arms around her. This wasn't unusual- he put his arms around her every night, and she'd grown more or less used to it -but he'd never done it shirtless. She twisted her position a bit, trying once more to put the image from her mind. Peter, meanwhile, let out a soft breath. Air tickled against her neck, and the lamps blew themselves out. It took Wendy longer than usual, but she did eventually manage to fall asleep.

The next morning, Peter swung himself out of bed. He strode to the vanity, then quickly replaced his shirt. Wendy, meanwhile, did her best to focus on the lace pattern of her covers. As he checked his appearance in her mirror, he said nonchalantly:

"You know, you could have just imagined more blankets for yourself. It would have been considerably easier."

Wendy was dumbstruck. Cockily, he faced her, grinning and utterly pleased with himself.

"And you couldn't think to mention this last night?" the girl demanded.

"I thought about it," Pan shrugged, "I thought about imagining them for you myself. But it was much more fun to see you squirm."

Completely irate, Wendy yelled, "You- you- you callous, stupid, cad!"

"Cad?" Peter repeated, one eyebrow lifted, "I think that's rather unfair, Darling." He walked towards the door of the treehouse, still smirking at her.

The girl narrowed her eyes, and tried to come up with a suitable condemnation. None came to mind.

As Pan opened the door, he noted, "I think you liked it." He winked, and at that, Wendy lost her temper completely. She shrieked something indiscernible as she hurled a pillow at him. Peter simply laughed and jumped out of the doorway, flying towards the Lost Boys' camp.

---

Wendy had been puzzled by the announcement summoning her to the principal's office after lunch. Despite the bad things that happened around her, she was an exemplary student. There was no reason for her to be called there, and she was quite anxious about the cause. She was even more anxious about the boy following her- for of course as she left the classroom, Peter immediately rose to his feet and followed. He didn't seem very concerned about the teacher giving him a detention after school.

"So what'd you do, Darling?" Peter asked dryly, "Even I can't imagine what transgression got you summoned here."

"I have no idea," Wendy admitted, "and honestly, I'm rather scared to find out."

In a rare moment of what she thought was Peter's legitimate attempt at being comforting, he reached out and squeezed her hand, "I'm sure everything will be fine, Darling. As you said, your record's spotless." Unnerved, Wendy took her hand away from him. For a second, she thought she saw a look of hurt flash across his face, but it was quickly replaced by his usual smirk.

When they arrived at the office, Mary Margaret opened the door:

"Come in, Wendy." Swallowing, the nervous girl obeyed and stepped over the threshold.

Upon spotting Peter behind her, Mary Margaret commanded, "I'm afraid student conferences with principals are private, Mr. Pan. There are no exceptions to this rule. Besides, aren't you supposed to be in English Literature right now?"

Peter resisted the urge to roll his eyes at her. Nevertheless, he obeyed the Charming's direct rule to him (he wasn't going to risk voiding the contract over this) and replied, "Indeed I am." Then he turned on his heel and walked around the corner. He kept up his steps for a while, until he heard the office door close, indicating Mary Margaret believed him to have returned to class.

Idiot, Pan thought, Very well. I won't go inside the principal's office, but that's all you told me I couldn't do. I don't plan on leaving Wendy, and besides, I don't have to go to class when you simply asked me if that was where I was supposed to be. You didn't tell me I had to go there. Besides, I've read more than enough Shakespeare. He snorted at the memory.

Suddenly, Peter was distracted by the slam of a nearby locker. Interesting. Who else was wandering about during class time when they weren't supposed to? When he saw who it was- late, apparently -he felt a rush of pleasure go through him. This was going to be fun. Very, very fun.

---

As Mary Margaret shut the door, she leaned her head against it. She stayed there for a long time, apparently listening for Peter. Wendy, meanwhile, fidgeted nervously. She simply wanted to get this meeting over with. What had she done wrong? She didn't have time to worry about school right now, and yet she'd apparently done something so grievous she'd ended up in the principal's office. Wendy knew, inherently, that this was a stupid thing to be worrying about right now, but she couldn't help it.

Finally, Mary Margaret sighed, "I think he's gone. You can come out, Regina."

"It's about time," Regina grumbled. Wendy gasped as the former Evil Queen pushed open the door of a storage closet. Carefully, she brushed dust off her scarlet pantsuit.

"Had I known I was going to be hiding in a closet," Regina said, "I would have dressed differently."

"You know hiding with magic would only have provoked him," Mary Margaret admonished her.

"Of course I know!" Regina snapped, "I'm the one who told you that. Now," she fixed her black eyes on Wendy, "what's this about, Darling?" Her very presence was intimidating, and it made the girl even more nervous.

"I was hoping you could tell me," Wendy said carefully, "I've never been called to the principal's office before." Her heart was leaping in her chest, terrified about what she'd done to anger both Mary Margaret and Regina, but to her surprise, Regina merely laughed:

"Well, your little friend did say you wanted to meet in private as soon as possible. This was the only solution I could come up with."

"Grace called you?" Wendy sputtered, "but I only just asked her too...and I told her to keep it private!" she cast her eyes down, at once apologetic, "I'm sorry, Miss Blanchard. I know that sounded horrible-" She was ashamed at her breach of manners, but at the same time she was both annoyed and scared for Grace. The more people who knew about this, the more likely Pan would know. Why hadn't she listened to Wendy?

"It's all right, Wendy," the woman smiled, "You can trust me." She reached out and patted her on the shoulder. Mary Margaret meant the gesture to be comforting, and while Wendy was sure the sentiment behind it was real, she doubted Mary Margaret could do much to protect Henry. She also knew that if the woman thought it necessary, she would immediately tell Emma.

I wish I could tell you, Wendy thought, but Henry made me promise.

Suddenly, Regina interjected, "Don't worry. I'll hit her with a memory spell later." Mary Margaret whirled to face Regina:

"What? I don't think so!"

"I do," Regina replied, "Miss Darling's friend said this meeting had to be strictly private. Private means between me and her. The only reason you're here is because I couldn't figure out a way to meet covertly. And unfortunately, we can't send you out in the middle of a supposed meeting when you're my cover."

"I promise, Wendy," Mary Margaret repeated, "You can trust me." She smiled at Wendy, and behind her, Regina mouthed, "I'll get her."

Wendy sighed, but seeing no other option, summarized what Henry had first suggested to her:

"Henry believes that if you take his heart, and your heart, and lock them in your vault, there's no way for Pan to get it. You could put a spell on it, and keep everyone but you out. Then no one could control either of you, and Henry couldn't give his heart to Pan even if he wanted to."

There was a long moment of silence as Regina and Mary Margaret considered the plan. Mary Margaret appeared taken aback, and a bit disturbed both by the plan and the fact her grandson had suggested it. Regina was a swirl of emotions, but desperation and fear were obviously the primary ones. Regina knew that Henry's idea had some merit. It was ingenious, actually, but it was also incredibly dangerous. Not to mention the fact it was being told to her by Wendy Darling, of all people. The girl had been found at the scene of two murders and witnessed a third. She'd told Regina and the rest of the Charmings in Neverland about how to kill Pan- or how she thought Pan would be killed -yet mysteriously, the infernal boy was still alive. Was all of this really a coincidence?

"What makes you so sure this'll work, Darling? And why didn't my son tell me?" Regina demanded. Wendy stood, arms crossed, in front of the Evil Queen.

"Henry was going to, but I thought the sooner you knew, the better. And I'm not sure it will work," Wendy admitted, "but I think it's a much better plan than waiting around. This is how Peter operates- you are playing a game, and you follow the rules, but you must work around the rules to win," she paused, "He's brilliant, and if you don't try to be at least somewhat creative, I assure you, you'll lose."

Regina stared at her for several minutes, then asked, "And were you creative, Miss Darling?"

At this, Wendy stood taller and glared at the queen, "I spent over a hundred years with him. How do you think I survived?"

Neither Regina or Mary Margaret could give her an answer.

---

"Hello, Ferdinand," Peter Pan greeted the boy, leaning against the metal lockers beside the prince's. He carried no books, but he rarely did. He was usually bored in classes, and only went to them to obey the rules of Storybrooke in the daytime.

"Who are you?" Ferdinand asked. He tried to feign ignorance, but no one was a better actor than Peter. In fact, Peter would hardly call Ferdinand's shoddy attempt at acting a performance. It was embarrassing.

Consequently, Pan rolled his eyes, "Don't play that game. You know who I am. This whole town knows who I am." It was rather enjoyable, he thought, to be infamous.

"I'm not afraid of you," Ferdinand said, searching through his books. He wouldn't meet Peter's eyes- however, Peter didn't think Ferdinand was lying. He was genuinely underestimating Peter's power.

"You should be," Pan muttered. Loudly, he said, "You will leave Wendy Darling alone."

"What?" Ferdinand replied, incredulous. At this directive, he met Peter's gaze, seemingly perplexed by such a command- and a command being given to him.

"You will tell Wendy you aren't accompanying her to the dance," Pan stated calmly, "and you will never talk to her again." His eyes were alight with a dangerous fire, and while Ferdinand was a bit unsettled by it, he decided he wasn't going to be pushed around by a boy who walked around dressed in leaves. He was a prince after all. Peter Pan was just a deluded child.

"I think Gwen can make her own decisions about who she wants to spend time with. I'll see you later, Pan," Ferdinand said dismissively, slamming his locker door in Peter's face.

Pan narrowed his eyes, "What if I were to sweeten the deal?" He strode in front of Ferdinand, blocking the prince's path to class.

"What deal?" Ferdinand said, "There is no deal."

"Yes, there is," Pan leaned forward, and hissed, "If you leave Wendy alone, I won't hurt you. If you don't..." he trailed off, the implication clear.

"You can't do anything, Pan," Ferdinand insisted. That's what the sheriff had said, after all. The news had said the townspeople didn't need to fear Peter Pan.

"Can't I?" Pan cocked his head, "Last chance. Do we have a deal?" He waited for the answer, even now playing fair.

The prince said, his voice low and steady, "No."

Peter sighed, as if annoyed he had to do this, "Don't say I didn't warn you." Then he grabbed Ferdinand's books, threw them out of his arms, and shoved him into the lockers. Ferdinand, for his part, looked stunned that Peter had attempted anything.

"Are you serious?"

"Very," Pan assured him.

"Fine. I'll show you what a grown-up can do," Ferdinand taunted him, then pulled back his fist. He threw a punch, but Peter avoided it easily.

"Pan!"

Although Peter heard the concerned voices of Slightly and Nibs- they'd apparently left class to follow him -he wasn't distracted. He kept his eyes on Ferdinand, watching the prince's every pathetic move. Besides, the Lost Boys weren't afraid for him- they simply wanted him to know they were there, if he wished to command them. He felt a rush of gratitude and pride in Slightly and Nibs- his oldest friends. They would stand by him throughout all of time, apparently, no matter the school.

Pan goaded him, "Is that all you've got, Ferdinand? I'm disappointed." He smirked, and felt a rush of pleasure at the boy's enraged face. Ferdinand was practically seeing red.

"Hardly," the prince growled, and dove for Pan again. This time, he aimed for the stomach, but Peter spun to the left, causing Ferdinand to overshoot. As the boy stumbled, Pan reached his own fist back, then punched Ferdinand in the head as hard as he could. There was an audible cracking sound, but Ferdinand didn't give up. He turned back to face Pan, a little wobbly on his feet:

"Never attack an enemy from behind. Don't you know the rules of engagement?" he cocked his head, smirking on his own, "I suppose not. They wouldn't teach a common child the same things they'd teach a prince."

Peter narrowed his eyes and retorted, "Oh, I know the rules. I'm hardly as common as you'd think," he dove forwards, retrieving his dagger, the motion so fast Ferdinand never even saw it, "You may be a prince, but I'm a king." Ferdinand came to meet him, reaching his hands out for Pan's shoulders. Peter smiled grimly as he drove the dagger into Ferdinand's stomach. He twisted it, enjoying the boy's gasps of pain that came in time with every movement of the dagger. Ferdinand stumbled backwards, placing one hand over his stomach. His hand came away stained with blood, and he looked up at Peter in pure shock. Then, finally, the cowardice that Peter knew lurked inside the prince showed itself, and Ferdinand spun around as fast as he could, attempting to run somewhere- anywhere -away from him.

Ferdinand would indeed have made a terrible Lost Boy, for all Lost Boys knew never to turn their back on their enemy.

Peter seized the opportunity and kicked the prince hard in the back. Ferdinand fell to the floor, a few tears falling down his face. He seemed caught between trying to stop the tears and passing out from pain- or from processing that this being he'd thought was an irrelevant child had practically killed him.

Pan knelt on one knee next to him, and murmured, "And don't you know? Kings make the rules." Slowly, he drew his dagger on the back of Ferdinand's neck, leaving a painful, raised cut.

Just then, a flustered Mary Margaret arrived on the scene, racing down the hall from the office Peter had learned was hers only fifteen minutes before:

"Mr. Pan!" she gasped as she took in the scene, "What are you doing?"

"Ah, Madam Principal," Peter greeted her by what he'd just read was her new title, according to her office door, recently bestowed by the mayor (a consolation prize, he suspected, for having to deal with him on a daily basis). Rising to his feet, he inquired with an angelic smile, "Am I to be sent to your office now for a private meeting?"

"What did you do to him?" Mary Margaret asked, utterly horrified by the sight of the badly beaten, bruised, and bleeding Ferdinand on the floor.

Pan shrugged, "He tried to steal from me, and then he provoked me. What could I do except defend myself?"

"It's true, Miss Blanchard," Slightly instantly came forward to support Peter's story, "He tried to take Peter's dagger, and Peter tried to get it back. Unfortunately, when they were struggling over it, Ferdinand got too close."

"He said awful things to Peter," Nibs added, "He called him a stupid child who shouldn't be playing with knives."

"Well, Ferdinand is right in that knives of any sort are not allowed on school property, precisely so we can prevent situations like this," Mary Margaret said. Anxiously, she bent down next to Ferdinand and removed her scarf, quickly staunching his wounds as best she could. Then, one-handed, she managed to maneuver her cell phone to her ear and dial 911. She was summoning both an ambulance and her daughter. She wasn't sure either would be able to counteract the damage done by Pan, but she hoped to God they would.

A few minutes later, the whir of sirens announced the simultaneous arrival of the ambulance and the sheriff. Medical staff, headed by a shocked Dr. Whale, jumped out. They immediately began dressing Ferdinand's wounds. Dr. Whale shot accusing looks in Peter's direction every once in a while, but Peter felt no guilt for what he'd done. It was only what Ferdinand deserved for interfering with Wendy. And he had warned him.

Emma, meanwhile, glared at Pan with unabashed hatred.

"I can't believe you went and did this. I mean, I knew you were capable of terrible things, but this," she whistled, "And you two!" she pointed to Nibs and Slightly, "Don't you even pretend that this was Ferdinand's fault. We all know it wasn't, and we all know Pan's responsible," she crossed her arms and looked Peter straight in the eyes, "The only good thing about this is that if you've killed that boy, I've won the game, and Henry is free."

"I may not be the most well-behaved boy in Storybrooke," Pan assured Emma, "but I always keep my promises. None of the wounds are fatal. Though you might want to take him to the hospital, Lost Girl; no use having blood on the floor."

Emma resisted the urge to choke him. Nevertheless, she nodded to the medical staff. They weren't paying attention to her anyway, and had already begun the meticulous process of loading Ferdinand into the ambulance without injuring him further.

"As for you," she said to Pan, "I'm taking you to the station."

"And what are you planning on doing to me, exactly?"

"Locking you up," Emma snorted, "Contract only says we can't lock up the Lost Boys- it says nothing about you."

"Oh, by all means then," Peter smirked, "Lock me up, Lost Girl." Instantly, Emma knew she was missing something- and that if she did imprison Pan, the contract would be void. She didn't know why, and she ran a hand through her blonde hair.

"Stay here," she commanded. Mary Margaret nodded to her, indicating she'd keep an eye on the three boys.

Emma, meanwhile, walked around the corner and sighed. Then she took out her cell phone and dialed Hook.

"I need advice," she blurted before Hook had a chance to greet her.

"Swan," the pirate's voice was filled with concern, "Where are you? You sound like hell."

"The high school," Emma replied, "Peter Pan stabbed Ferdinand Corté, and injured him so much Ferdinand's currently on the way to the hospital."

"I'm sorry to hear that," Hook said, "but I'm sure Ferdinand will be fine."

"What makes you so certain?" Emma blanched at his response. He was far too blasé about this.

"Because I think I know what you're talking about- what Pan did. I've seen him do it. To Lost Boys, to some of my own pirates," Hook's tone grew bitter, "all he does is inflict severe injuries. However, he's bloody precise- the wounds all miss critical veins and organs. It's almost an art.

"Point being, Pan's done it so many times that while I pity the lad, I'd stake my life on the wounds not killing Ferdinand, provided he doesn't lose too much blood."

Emma frowned, "I hope you're right. But that's not why I called."

"What is it?" Hook asked, "and are you sure you don't want me to come?"

"Yeah," she sighed, "I'll see you later, and I'll definitely need a drink. But I told Pan I planned on locking him up. Even if he didn't kill Ferdinand, I can't risk him doing this to anyone. I can't," Emma vowed, "but when I told him I'd lock him up, he told me to do it."

There was a long pause on the line, and Emma could practically see Hook thinking it through. At last, he asked:

"Emma, what exactly did you say in the contract? Anything about locking people up?"

"Pan said something about it," she started, but Hook cut her off:

"Emma, tell me exactly what he said. It's important."

A bit worried by her boyfriend's shortness with her, Emma said, "We each had stipulations, and one of his was, 'No imprisoning the Lost Boys.'"

"Emma, whatever you do, do not lock him up. You can bring him to the station and question him, but don't keep him confined anywhere."

"Why? He's not one of the Lost Boys."

"Emma," Hook laughed bitterly, "Yes, he is. He protected himself in saying that. He's the leader of the Lost Boys. He may not call himself a Lost Boy directly, he may not even consider himself one, but he's their leader; he counts as one- just as Robin Hood counts as a Merry Man. If you put him in jail- hell, if you bloody put him anywhere he doesn't want to go and try to keep him there -he wins."

"Please tell me you're joking," Emma nearly begged. How could she have missed such a caveat? She, who prided herself on her superpower to see through lies, had made a terrible oversight. It made her stomach turn.

"Swan, I don't joke about Peter Pan."

"All right," Emma sighed, trying to collect herself, "What do you suggest?"

"You can't keep him contained," Hook said, "Just keep an eye on people he doesn't seem to like. People he ignores- don't worry about them. People he likes he won't hurt. But there are a few people he'll show active dislike for, and it's them he'll work out clever ways to attack."

"I have to let him go?" the Savior queried, in utter disbelief.

"'Fraid so, Swan," Hook answered sadly- though completely unsurprised.

Emma bit her lip, "Thanks. On second thought, meet me at the diner in an hour. I need that drink sooner than I thought. See you soon."

"See you soon, love."

Emma snapped her phone shut, then she turned around the corner to face her mother, a serial killer, and his two loyal servants.

"Okay, Emma," said Mary Margaret, "What do you need me to do? Where's he going?"

Emma narrowed her eyes, "Wherever he wants."

Pan laughed, "You finally figured it out, Lost Girl," he smirked, "Took you long enough."

---

Felix had somehow persuaded a very pissed-off Tinkerbell to get in his car. He'd had to carry her out of the school, but it had enraged the fairy so much she'd begun pounding his back. It didn't bother him much- he'd experienced worse -but, as she had already told him she had a headache, he figured shaking her around (or rather, letting her shake herself around through all her punching), wasn't going to help. He'd eventually set her on her feet by the car, and the irate fairy managed to keep silent for most of the drive by watching the rain make patterns on the windows. However, when they arrived at the house, and he lugged her out of the passenger seat, she pushed him away:

"Let me go!"

"You can't walk straight, Tink," Felix said, "Otherwise I would." The school parking lot, at least, had been flat. The path up to the house Tink shared with Wendy wound up a hill, and it was dotted with rocks and plants. There were plenty of things for her to fall on and hurt herself.

"You're exaggerating-" she insisted, pushing him away from her again.

"I'm not," Felix observed the direction she was walking in- it was worse, now that she was angry; she'd been managing to walk in a fairly straight line at school before Peter had instructed Felix to take her home -but he gave her space anyway. Still, he watched her carefully, alert for her to trip at any second. The fairy, in a huff, tried to storm up the front steps, but failed miserably.

"Ugh," she groaned, admitting defeat, "Whatever. Here. Keys." She tossed her keys to him, and he sighed, then picked her up and carried her up the steps. Felix shoved her keys into the lock, jiggling them around, attempting to open the door without irritating Tink further. Her head lolled against his shoulder, and he could hear her swearing under her breath. Finally, the lock turned, and Felix strode into the house. The screen door slammed shut behind him, and Tink muttered something terribly rude into his ear. Felix ignored the words, and simply deposited her in the living room. Tink promptly kicked off her sneakers and threw them into the corner. Felix raised an eyebrow at her actions, but Tink was utterly unashamed.

"What?" she demanded, settling into a chair and tucking her knees beneath her. The Lost Boy merely rolled his eyes and walked into the kitchen. The fairy considered following him- what was he doing? How did he know where things were? He'd forcibly taken her from school, and if he was her only company for the rest of the day, she kind of wanted to irritate him.

However, the kitchen seemed too far, and she mused that he'd probably come back quickly. Affirming her guess, Felix returned a few minutes later, bearing a large glass of water and toast.

"What's this?" Tink asked. She wrinkled her nose at the plate. The bread was smoking slightly, tendrils of black smoke swirling in the air.

"Your lunch," Felix replied. He said this without a trace of irony, and proffered the plate to her.

"You made me toast for lunch?" the fairy said, completely incredulous. This day was getting stranger and stranger, and had she not had such a massive headache, she would have been sure she was dreaming. Though admittedly, in her dreams, Felix was usually doing other things instead of making her toast.

"You're hungover. Normally I'd do better for lunch, but you're dehydrated, and you need something in your stomach to absorb the alcohol," at Tink's shocked look, Felix granted her a small- though sad -smile, "What? Surprised I know about such an adult thing?"

"Well..." Tink trailed off, "Yeah. How do you know?" She changed her position on the chair, moving her feet to the floor so she could lean closer to Felix. The Lost Boy still stood in front of her, holding the plate like an offering.

"My stepfather," Felix said softly, "He never took anything, but my mother always tried to help him anyway."

Abruptly, Tink's ire vanished, quickly replaced by embarrassment. How bad did this look to Felix? He'd killed his stepfather, who by Felix's own admission was a drunk. True, Felix had killed his stepfather for beating his mother, but his stepfather had always beat her while drunk.

"God, Felix," she paused, "I'm sorry. I forgot," suddenly the words came out, "I promise I'm not like that. Like him."

Now it was Felix who looked surprised, "I know you're not. You've only gotten drunk once and had too much to drink. And aside from commenting on clothes, you're not a mean drunk."

"...was that your attempt at a joke?" the fairy asked, still in shock at the entire situation.

"Did it work?" the Lost Boy grinned playfully, but then did grew solemn, "In all seriousness, Tink, you're better than this."

"You just said I wasn't a mean drunk-" Tink said defensively, crossing her arms over her chest.

"I know, but you didn't get drunk to get drunk. You weren't having fun. You did it in reaction to something-"

"You don't know that," she riposted. He didn't know her anymore. How could he? They hadn't spoken, not truly, in ages. Aside from that, he'd never seen her drunk.

Felix shrugged, "You can say whatever you want, but the fact is, I know you're stronger than this. I've seen it."

"How is crying in the woods being strong?" the fairy couldn't help but laugh. In fact, she had long considered that the weakest moment in her life.

"You picked yourself up and kept going," Felix explained, "You didn't accept defeat. Never have." He stared at her, a strange emotion swirling in his gray eyes.

Except when I let Pan win, when I let him tell me I couldn't see you anymore. The words caught in Tink's throat, and she forced them down. Instead, she repeated, "You don't know that."

"Say what you want, but I'm right," Felix asserted, "and just eat the toast, will you?"

"...you burnt it," Tink pointed out. She wasn't picky with her food, but she was hesitant to eat anything that still had smoke spiraling off it.

"I did not," Felix insisted. He was almost offended.

"Yes, you did. See the black edges? You've been here for three months, Felix, and you haven't figured out how to use a toaster?" Tink clung to this fact, desperate to somehow redeem herself for how she'd acted towards him. Felix may have claimed otherwise, but he had to be comparing her to his stepfather. She wouldn't take that. Admittedly, his stepfather had never had access to a toaster, but that was a good thing- they couldn't be compared over that.

Right, Tink thought, That is the dumbest logic you've ever come up with. But if it works...

"Come on," Tink said aloud, "I'll show you." She got to her feet, then held out her hand to him. He gazed at her hand, and then up at her. Now, he was doing that annoying thing where she couldn't tell what he was thinking. It was just that slow, analytical gaze, and she hated it. He used to show her more. She didn't like how separate they were-

Not the time to think about that, Tink reminded herself firmly. Instead, she reached forward and grabbed his hand, then led a bewildered Felix into the kitchen after her.

---

The Storybrooke Hospital was a flurry of activity. Rarely had they dealt with a patient with such grave injuries as Ferdinand's. They usually only had dwarves as patients, when they occasionally suffered mining accidents. They'd tended to David during his coma, and every so often they reset bones and issued prescriptions for strep throat. Recently, they'd delivered a few babies. However, the amount of bloodshed they'd encountered since Pan's arrival was unparalleled, and it was beginning to overwhelm the staff. Currently, Dr. Whale was having a heated argument with a colleague over where they could possibly obtain enough blood for the transfusion Ferdinand- apparently type AB+, the rarest and most difficult to find blood type -needed.

While the medical staff frantically debated where they could obtain the blood, Regina, Emma, Mary Margaret, and David stood in the waiting room. They'd caught snippets of the conversation, and were well-aware of the gravity of the situation.

"Maybe we should let him bleed out," Regina suggested. She was completely serious.

The Charmings looked at her, aghast. Identical looks of horror adorned their faces.

"What?" Regina said, "That means we win, automatically." She shrugged. While she was on her way to being a hero, that didn't mean she was a hero yet. She'd spent years as the Evil Queen, and her aim, at this point, was to protect Henry. If someone had to be sacrificed to do that- especially someone Henry didn't know -she was more than willing to permit it.

"We are not letting him die," Snow insisted, "I can't believe you even said that." Her tone was scathing, but David's was even more judgmental:

"I can." He shook his head at her, the motion almost akin to a parent reacting to a misbehaving child.

Regina rolled her eyes. She didn't have time for their condemnations today. Didn't they see how this was an obvious solution? Pan had inflicted these injuries on Ferdinand. Pan had sworn he wouldn't kill anyone. If Ferdinand died of his injuries, then Pan had killed him. The magical contract would be concluded, and they would have won. Henry would be safe from the devil-boy's clutches forever.

"Doesn't matter," Emma said darkly, "I talked to Hook. Apparently, Pan's done this before, and he's always managed it so the victim doesn't die, as long as they have enough blood."

"That's impossible!" Regina replied, "Trust me, no one gets injuries like that and stays alive. I should know," as the others glared at her again, she retorted, "Look, I can't change the past. I did what I did, and you may as well use my expertise if we want to save Henry." She shrugged, completely guiltless.

"I don't think your 'expertise' will be necessary," David pointed out, "If they really can't find someone with Ferdinand's blood type, he'll die of blood loss anyway." His tone was sad and resigned.

"There must be something we can do," Mary Margaret said, "Maybe if we talked to the Blue Fairy-"

"Because that worked out so well for you last time," Regina snorted.

"I was a child," Mary Margaret hissed, "And that was your mother, not the Blue Fairy!"

"Okay," Emma interjected, stepping in between her mother and Regina, "This isn't helping. Ferdinand needs a blood transfusion with a rare blood type. We need to find out who has it, and not use magic," at the other's confused stares, she explained, "All magic comes with a price, and I'm not willing to waste time figuring out what magic would work or what its price is while that kid's life hangs in the balance.

"Now come on," she pulled out her cell phone, "We are calling everyone in this damn town until we find someone with AB+." Emma and her parents immediately began dialing, while Regina sighed and retrieved her own cell phone. She dialed only once, snapping an order at Sidney Glass to give an emergency news report demanding anyone with AB+ blood come to the hospital immediately.

It wasn't long before someone showed up.

"Emma."

"Neal!" Emma froze. She hadn't been expecting her ex, of all people, to come to the hospital and save Ferdinand. Then again, she'd been avoiding him ever since they'd returned to Neverland. Things had been awkward between them- between his original abandonment of her, his engagement to Tamara, her statement that she had hoped he was dead, and then the fragile new romance between her and Hook, it was difficult to be in his presence, especially as a part of her- a huge part of her, if she was honest -was still in love with him. Yet, there was also a part of her that had begun to fall in love with Hook, and she didn't know what to do about it.

"I heard you needed someone with AB+ blood," Neal swallowed, then added, a bit unnecessarily, "I have it."

Of course he did. Pan had undoubtedly injured Ferdinand with this knowledge, as well as Neal's desire to be a hero, in mind.

"That's good," Emma said awkwardly, inwardly cringing, "I mean, that's great, because that kid really needs a transfusion-" she pointed in the general direction of the operating room, where it was still possible to hear the hospital staff arguing with one another.

"Got it," Neal said. He immediately jogged down the hallway, shouting for Dr. Whale that he was a willing donor. As Neal was practically dragged into the operating room by the doctor, he cast a long look back at Emma. Despite herself, she couldn't help but look back.

Then she turned away, You are getting a drink after this, she reminded herself, with your boyfriend. You have a boyfriend, who you are getting a drink with. Neal left you. Don't forget that.

"Well," Regina followed Emma's gaze, "This is awkward." She strolled forwards so she was standing next to the Savior, leaving both Mary Margaret and David out of earshot.

"Regina, I really don't need to hear this right now-" Emma began, but the Evil Queen cut her off:

"I'm not judging you," she explained, "All I'm saying is that true love doesn't come around often, and when you get a second chance at it..." Regina cut herself off, "In a way, I envy you. I wish I had a second chance at it."

"Maybe you do," Emma replied, trying to deflect the conversation away from Regina's insinuations about Neal and her. At Emma's comment, Regina's tone suddenly became dark:

"No, I really don't think so. Even when I was supposed to get my second chance, I threw it away."

With that, Regina shook her head and said, "Call me if there's any change in his condition."

---

After Pan's attack on Ferdinand, the students had been let out of school early. Mary Margaret and Regina had initially forced Wendy to stay in the principal's office immediately following the fight. They didn't want her to see even more bloodshed caused by Pan. The girl had been furious and devastated- she knew there was only one reason they'd keep her in there. However, by the time she'd been allowed out, the floor had been scrubbed clean, and that one reason was apparently allowed to take her back to her house at the edge of town. Peter and Wendy didn't speak the entire walk back. Even though Pan had managed to clean himself up- if she didn't know him as well as she did, she wouldn't have even seen the telltale marks on his knuckles -she knew he had hurt Ferdinand. Both angry and depressed, Wendy wasn't going to deign to speak to him. Peter, true to his promise not to force her too quickly into being the Wendy Darling of Neverland, permitted her this silence and rage. He didn't like it, but he understood it.

Once Peter had seen Wendy safely delivered home, he'd decided to pay a visit to someone who needed to make a decision as to which side he'd play for. Pan was fairly certain what the outcome would be- the person had had an entire week to think about it, after all -but Pan never left things unchecked anymore.

A bell tinkled above, announcing his entrance:

"Hello, Laddie."

Rumplestiltskin stood behind the counter of his shop. He sighed, but he'd known that this meeting was inevitable.

"I've been expecting you," he said, "though if you wouldn't mind, could you turn the sign around? I don't want to be interrupted." Pan raised an eyebrow at the man's casual tone, but did as he asked, flipping the sign to "Closed," so no stray visitors would enter the shop. For good measure, Pan also pulled the shade down, a small screech accompanying the plastic flaps as they fell over the dusty window.

"Is your lovely wife around?" the boy asked. He raked his eyes all over the pawn shop, not only appraising the goods contained within, but also possible places where eavesdroppers could be lurking.

"No," Rumplestiltskin replied, "She's at the library. Won't be back until four, though I'd recommend we keep this visit brief."

"Watch yourself, Laddie," Peter warned. He walked forwards and leaned across the counter, "I'd like to know your decision about our deal."

"I'd like a bit more information before I decide," Rumplestiltskin said, "Let me see the exact terms of the contract you made with the Savior and Regina."

Pan chuckled, "Very good, Laddie. A wise decision, but as you wish. I brought the deed along with me." He reached into his pouch and pulled a piece of parchment from it- he'd had one of the boys steal it that morning. Carefully, he spread it on the glass of the counter. Although the contract was a week old, the blood still shimmered wetly on it, signifying it hadn't been broken or concluded. The terms were written in beautiful curled script:

Peter Pan may not kill anyone.

Storybrooke belongs to Emma Swan and Regina Mills from sunrise until sunset. From dusk until dawn, it belongs to Peter Pan.

No curses.

No Lost Boy may be imprisoned.

Henry Mills may not be kidnapped.

The holdings of Regina Mills become the holdings of Peter Pan.

Upon reading the them, Rumplestiltskin swore under his breath, "They should have asked me to look over this."

"Oh, they should have asked you, or Hook, or even Baelfire," Pan shrugged, "but the Savior was so desperate to protect her son she acted rashly, and took the Evil Queen with her." But they didn't ask, and these are the terms that they agreed to."

"Fools," Rumplestiltskin said. He said nothing else for almost a minute, and simply rolled up the parchment and returned it to Pan. For his part, the boy took it, then inquired:

"What do you say, Laddie? Do we have a deal?"

---

The little boy heard the pipe music, and shot up in bed. It wafted softly in on the wind, and he rushed to the window. Sure enough, two other boys climbed down the sides their houses, jumping into the dust beneath. At first, he too opened it, but as he looked out, a rush of fear filled him. It was far too great a height. Biting his lip, he opened the door to his room, hastily picked up his straw doll, and ran as quietly as he could to the door of the cottage, praying he didn't wake the two women who watched over him.

Then he too joined the motley pair heading towards the forest. They were ahead of him, running and whooping with joy. He tried with all his might to catch up. By the time he reached the clearing they were already dancing, jumping madly around a fire to otherworldly music. The music itself came from another boy, dressed in dark green. He held pipes to his lips, smiling as he watched the others dance.

After a few minutes, the mysterious boy stopped playing. The two boys who had been dancing also stopped, breathing heavily.

"I'm glad to meet you," the boy in green addressed the others, "I don't know if you've heard the stories abut me?"

"They say you're part fey, and that you can fly," a boy with bright copper hair said, "that you save boys from awful situations. Give them a new start."

"That I do," the boy in green said, "a new start, in a new world. It's a world where you'll live forever, playing games and having fun, where there are no grown-ups to tell you what to do. There are dangers, of course- Indians, and pirates -but they love a good fight, and all fights are good when you've got loyal friends by your side."

"Friends?" the second boy asked, this one with brown hair and freckles.

"Yes," the boy in green confirmed, "There are others, many who have accepted my offer. They live in Neverland with me. We are each other's family, and we regard each other as brothers."

Immediately, the copper-haired boy said, "I want to go."

The brown-haired boy added, "Me too."

The boy in green smiled, "Good. Then let me introduce myself properly: I'm Peter Pan," he bowed, "leader of the Lost Boys. That's what we call ourselves. And there's a tradition on the island that every Lost Boy gets a new name, so they can enjoy the new life they have here and forget the old. Let's begin," he stood before the copper-haired boy, "Fox, I think. You've very clever, and you deduced who I was quickly. Plus, there's your hair," Peter grinned, speaking to the brown-haired boy, "And you! I've never seen anyone run so fast!"

The brown-haired boy flushed with pleasure, "Thank you. I'm Dashan." He extended his hand for Peter to shake, and delighted, Peter inquired:

"Your name here is Dashan?"

"Yes," the brown-haired boy replied. He hoped he hadn't done something to offend Pan and make him change his mind about taking him to Neverland.

"That's perfect!" Peter practically crowed, "Dash it is!" At once, Dash's eyes lit up, and Fox gave him a congratulatory slap on the back. The two were already displaying a camaraderie that Pan knew well, for it was inherent to all Lost Boys.

"Now," Pan reached for a pouch at his belt, pleased with his decision, "You can come with me-"

Suddenly, the little boy- who had been observing unnoticed -cried out, "Please, take me too!" He pushed his way between a stunned Dash and Fox, nearly shoving their long legs aside with his small elbows.

Peter raised his eyebrows, and the other boys looked around in shock at the little boy, who gazed desperately up at the boy in green:

"Please, take me with you!"

"Who are you?" Peter asked. He was incredibly curious. The child was panting, and had evidently run as fast as his legs could carry him. He didn't quite have the make of a Lost Boy- they would never tire so easily -but he was certainly interesting.

"My name's Rumplestiltskin," the boy gasped out, hardly believing he was talking to a legend.

"Rumplestiltskin," Pan said, "Quite a long name. And where are you from, Rumplestiltskin? Not a land called Scotland, by any chance?" It was possible, Peter supposed, for someone to cross worlds. After all, he did.

"No," the little boy's forehead furrowed, "I've never heard of it. I'm from the village, same as Charlie and Dashan. Why?"

Pan smiled faintly, "I've been there before, and the people there have very thick accents, like you," he shook his head, "but I'm afraid that I can't take you with me."

"Why not?" Rumplestiltskin asked,"I thought you saved boys!" He was utterly devastated by Pan's pronouncement.

"I do."

"Then you have to save me," Rumple said miserably, "You have to!" He grabbed onto Peter's pant leg. Had he not been so despairing at the chance of being left behind, he would have been fascinated by the construction of Peter's garments. They were made entirely of leaves and leather, impossibly stitched together, and if you focused hard enough, ornamented with patterns. The little boy would have loved to have such clothes.

"And why is that?" Pan leaned down on one knee to talk to the child face to face.

"My father," Rumplestiltskin said, tears bubbling up in time with his trembling voice, "He doesn't care about me-" Rumple rubbed his eyes, unaware of the darkening look in Peter's own, "-he just goes off, and he tricks people, and he leaves me behind. For days. I'm always afraid he won't come back," Rumple sniffled, "The other day, he got drunk, and he- he- told me he never wanted a son- that he never wanted me."

"I'm sorry, Rumple," Pan replied, almost affectionately, "very sorry. But I can't take you with me. You have to be a certain kind of a boy to live in Neverland, and I don't think you are." A part of him wished it had been otherwise, for if anyone needed to be saved, this boy did.

"He'll be all right," Dash interrupted Pan's thoughts, "His father's an awful cheat, but when he's gone, Rumple stays with two women from the village. They care deeply for him." At those words, Peter felt somewhat better- the boy wasn't being left alone, and he had people who would watch over him.

Rumplestiltskin, for his part, was incredulous that Dash had brushed off his horrendous life as something of little consequence. He scowled at Dash, but tears fell freely down his face as he begged Pan:

"Let me prove it to you! Let me prove it! I can be anything! I can do it!"

Peter paused, assessing the little boy. He was warring with himself- he knew, inherently, that Rumplestiltskin would not survive in Neverland. The boy was too small, for one, and he didn't seem very brave. It was true that size could be made up for in skill, but bravery couldn't be learned. However, something in Rumplestiltskin's words tugged at Pan- both the child's utter heartbreak at his father's declaration and his assertions that he could do anything.

It reminded him, rather discomfitingly, of another small boy he'd once known.

At last, Peter sighed, "All right, Rumple. We'll make a deal. You can come to Neverland, and you'll have three days to complete a task to prove you can be a Lost Boy. If you succeed, you can stay with us, but if not, you have to come back to the Enchanted Forest."

Rumplestiltskin's eyes lit up at the prospect, "Yes! Thank you, thank you!" He clapped his hands together delightedly. Fox and Dash shot doubtful glances at one another, but they said nothing. They wouldn't dare contradict their new leader. Peter, in turn, retrieved a small portion of pixie dust.

"To get to Neverland," he explained, "We're going to fly." Before the others had a chance to question them, he threw some pixie dust on them. As soon as the dust settled on them, the three boys immediately began to float. Dash and Fox looked down from the ground, to each other, and finally to Peter.

Pan paused, enjoying their anticipation, then announced, "You've heard about navigating by the stars?" The three nodded, and he could practically feel their eagerness to launch into the air. He understood it. He loved flying. The sensation- rather like him, he mused -never grew old. It was amazing, and exhilarating, and it made his blood sing in a way nothing ever had.

He knew it would do the same for them- or at least, two of them.

"That's what you do when you fly. From this world," Pan cast his gaze up, "Neverland is the sixth star to the right," he indicated a star, twinkling more brightly than all the others around it. As he pointed to it, it seemed to glow brighter, as if recognizing its greatest denizen was noting its location.

Peter commanded, "Follow me!"

With that, he leaped into the sky. Dash and Fox yelled with exultation and jumped into the air as well. They did their best to follow him- they weren't as good at flying, of course, though no one ever was -but they figured out how to increase their speed fairly quickly. A few minutes later, they were doing backflips.

Laddie lagged behind. He gulped- he hadn't expected that he would have to fly. How would he be sure he wouldn't fall? There was nothing to stop it or cushion him. He could die, and this would all have been for nothing. He would just be a pile of blood and guts on the ground-

Just then, he felt someone tug his hand. Laddie looked up to find Peter gripping him firmly:

"Come on, Laddie. Flying isn't scary." He said nothing beyond that, but instead rocketed back up to meet Dash and Fox. Laddie clapped his other hand over his mouth (at the same time somehow managing to hold onto his doll) as the ground went farther and farther away from him. Trees disappeared, growing smaller and smaller until they were the size of ants. Then, they were rocketing through the clouds. Laddie pushed back the urge to panic- he couldn't see any of the others -but, he reminded himself, he could feel Pan's hand. Peter had given him a chance, even if he hadn't wanted to at first. He wouldn't let Laddie fall. He wouldn't. Accordingly, Laddie made himself look upward- to his future, and to this strange boy leading him there.

---

As Peter led the three boys through the space between worlds, he considered just how he was going to deal with Laddie. The child still clung tightly to his hand, but now he was looking around in wonder. He seemed amazed by the sheer amount of stars. Pan swallowed. He remembered being amazed too.

Still, that didn't change the fact that Laddie was decidedly not Peter. Laddie would never be able to just go to a new world and adapt (never mind build one, as Peter had done). If Laddie even had a chance at becoming a Lost Boy, Pan would have to give him something simple to do- something that would be obvious to any Lost Boy, so if Laddie truly was a Lost Boy, and Peter's instincts were wrong, the child could prove himself quickly. But, he mused, if the little boy couldn't complete the task, he couldn't trap the boy there. Laddie would be dead within a few days if he couldn't prove himself. He had to give him some sort of way out.

Then he recalled his Shadow's words to him: "None who touch Neverland's soil can ever leave."

If Peter was correct- and he almost always was -if Laddie didn't touch the soil of Neverland proper, Laddie could still return to the Enchanted Forest. He nodded to himself- yes, that was the way to work around this. Perhaps the only way. Once he counted to the sixth star, he shouted:

"Six!"

Immediately, the four boys were pulled towards Neverland. The other stars disappeared, the blackness faded, and as they approached the island, the sun blazed before him in a stunning display of gold. The sky was a perfect blue, behind it, as it eternally was, and dotted with fluffy white clouds. A few mermaids, alerted to his approach (for they, like almost everything on the island, could discern his presence) jumped out of the water to wave. Cheekily, he waved back, then shouted at them to summon the other Lost Boys: they were going swimming.

"See them?" Pan declared as a group of boys eagerly ran into the ocean, "Those are the other Lost Boys!"

Dash and Fox needed no other explanation. They quickly flew towards the water, diving in with great splashes. They were greeted with cheers by the other Lost Ones, who were always thrilled when new boys joined them. It was true, what Peter had said, that they treated each other as brothers. The Lost Boys viewed Dash and Fox as the newest members of their extraordinary family.

Laddie, meanwhile, stared at the scene with wide eyes. He wanted to jump in- he really did -but he didn't know how. Dash and Fox had already distracted the Lost Boys. Wouldn't he just be interrupting them? A late addition? Second best?

No, Laddie thought, They are your family. Nevertheless, he held Peter's hand until they descended into the sea themselves. Laddie gasped. The water was warmer than any he'd ever been in, and it was a beautiful shade of turquoise. He could see straight to the bottom, where fish of every color of the rainbow swam about, creating intricate shapes. As he came back to the surface, he heard the cries of joy from the Lost Boys at the return of their leader:

"Welcome back, Peter!"

"We missed you!"

"Why are we swimming now, Peter? We want to go fight the Indians!"

"Because, Laddie promised to prove his worth as a Lost Boy by performing some task for us," Peter announced, indicating the child with a turn of his head, "Any ideas? Rufio?" He expected his second to ascertain his own plan.

Laddie nervously treaded water. He was trying to identify all the boys. They were all dressed differently- some in fur, some in some strange animal hides. They made quite the spectacle, but who was the one who Pan had addressed?

A boy with black and red hair oddly styled in spikes sticking straight out of his head, swam around Laddie, studying him- he had to be Rufio. Laddie swallowed, but Rufio didn't seem like a mean sort. Rufio turned to Pan, confused at first, but at Pan's gaze shrugged. Then he approached Laddie directly.

"I think," Rufio bit back a smile, "he should steal Tiger Lily's headdress."

"Tiger Lily?" Laddie asked, "Who's that?"

"You see, Laddie, there are other people who live in Neverland, too," Peter explained, "There's a tribe of Indians, and the daughter of their chief is named Tiger Lily. She's very pretty, very proud-"

"-and very dangerous with a hatchet," another boy interjected, this one with mussed dark brown hair and blue eyes. His voice was contained a clear warning.

Rufio shrugged again, "Slightly, you know a Lost Boy can defend himself against Tiger Lily."

Slightly shot both Rufio and Pan an uneasy look. Laddie could practically see the doubt in it: Yes, a Lost Boy could- but this boy isn't a Lost Boy.

"I'll do it!" Laddie said at once, "I'll do it!"

"Good," Rufio nodded, "She's over there." As one, the boys heads all swiveled to their left. In the distance, they could make out a lone canoe. Seated inside was an impossibly beautiful girl. She wore a tan dress covered in red and turquoise beading, and like some of the boys, sported feathers in her hair, though hers were formed into a far more elegantly shaped headdress. It rested atop long black locks. She held a spear in her hands, and was stabbing at the water- fishing, apparently.

Laddie wondered how on earth he was supposed to steal her headdress, never mind even get close to her. Nevertheless, he had to do it. So, he sighed, tucked his doll into his shirt so he could swim unencumbered, and softly paddled in her direction. He stared at the Indian princess, who was standing straight up in her canoe- she was quite tall, far taller than Laddie -spear poised to attack a large, silver fish. She looked almost like an image out of a picture book, frozen in time, her full lips pursed in concentration. The little boy wasn't sure how long he stayed, just watching her. He hurriedly considered options in his mind...

Her headdress, Laddie mused, I have to get it off her. I can distract her, maybe, or offer her something- though what he had to offer a princess, he didn't know.

Eventually, he took a deep breath, and seeing no other option, swam up to her canoe. He struggled to swing himself aboard, and Tiger Lily knew at once that something was amiss. Baring her teeth, she whipped around, spied him, and hissed:

"What are you doing, little boy? I won't have you ruin my hunt!"

Her eyes were a vibrant gold, and Laddie gaped at her. She practically simmered with anger.

"I- I-," Laddie struggled to get the words out, "If you could- I need, um, I need help-"

Tiger Lily raised one eyebrow, arch haughty and aristocratic, "What kind of Lost Boy begs for help?"

Laddie didn't know how to respond. He wanted to be a Lost Boy, but it seemed he was already failing miserably. Finally he said:

"I'm not begging. I'm making a deal with you."

"A deal?" the princess laughed, the sound like a chorus of bells, "And what could you possibly have to give me?"

Heart racing, Laddie scrambled to find something Tiger Lily might like. Fixating on what he'd heard the boys say, he asked:

"You don't like the Lost Boys, right?"

"No," Tiger Lily said flatly, "I don't." She observed Laddie as he attempted to get his chest onto her canoe. Then, tired of his pathetic struggles, she grabbed his arm and pulled him fully on board. He sprawled at her feet, staring first at her moccasins, and then up at her. Tiger Lily, for her part, continued to stare back at him. She didn't trust him- that much was obvious -but she was intrigued. Suspicion and curiosity practically floated off her in waves.

"You fight them, right?" Laddie added.

"Yes," she bent down so they were face to face, noses inches apart. She tilted her head to the left, and Laddie had the discomfiting sense he was dealing with something otherworldly. There was something strange about Tiger Lily- it was as if she were a fake creature, a sort of copy of what should have been. She was undeniably beautiful, but her beauty was too perfect. There was no fault to her, from her black hair, which fluttered in the wind like the finest silk, to her catlike golden eyes, to her taut arms and legs. Not even a birth mark marred her skin. It unnerved Laddie more than he already was.

"What if I could- if I could help you sneak into their camp?" Laddie offered. He had no intention, of course, of doing such a thing. He was simply grasping at straws, and this seemed to be the one thing that, for whatever reason, intrigued Tiger Lily.

For an instant, the princess said nothing. She stayed in that position- head tilted, bent down to meet the boy's gaze. Then she wrapped her fingers in his shirt collar and yanked him upwards, so he was fully off his feet. Laddie gasped for breath and kicked, his feet swinging wildly in the air.

"You think I need your help?" Tiger Lily giggled, "Foolish boy!" all at once, her eyes narrowed into slits, "and a lying one. You're not a Lost Boy, are you?"

Laddie simply tried to get more oxygen into his throat. The princess murmured, "If not a Lost Boy, then what are you?" The boy's eyes widened in fear as Tiger Lily's right hand reached behind her back to remove a hatchet.

"You're a pretender," she declared, "wearing a costume, trying to interfere in a game you aren't supposed to play." Laddie bristled at her words, and he managed to gasp out:

"I'm- not- pretending! I- I am...a Lost Boy!"

"If that is the case...then you are being most disloyal to them. They are my enemies, and my people and I love to fight them, but a traitor in their ranks does not make a fair fight," Tiger Lily paused, "I should scalp you for such dishonorable behavior." She raised her hatchet, and Laddie whimpered as she held it before his eyes. At the noise, she said:

"You're lucky I don't believe you, little liar." Then, without further ado, she threw him back into the water, laughing all the while.

Humiliated, Laddie swum back to the other boys. Some of them looked at him with sympathy, some with distaste. Others whispered to one another, and instinctively, Laddie wanted to cower from the murmurs.

"It's all right," Pan said soothingly, "You wouldn't be the first to cross Tiger Lily and fail. You all had to learn." Those words silenced the boys, and they all shut their mouths. A few had the grace to look contrite, but most still looked at Laddie as if he was a foreign creature who simply did not belong.

"Another task, perhaps..." Pan mused, "Nibs. What say you?"

A different Lost Boy, this one standing in shallower water, bit his lip. He had shoulder length brown hair, and hazel eyes. He wore a brown strip of cloth around his forehead, and he considered the small boy pensively. It was obvious to him that Pan wanted Laddie to stay- he knew his friend well. And though others might have wondered why Pan did not merely grant the boy permission to stay on the island if he wished it, Nibs didn't. He knew Pan always had his reasons. However, Nibs knew he was tasked with coming up with something easy for the boy.

"Take a mermaid's scales," Nibs decided at last. He met Laddie's eyes evenly, and Laddie wasn't sure what to make of him. Nibs seemed rather serious, and it was strange to see a serious Lost Boy.

Peter nodded approvingly, "You heard him. Go head, Laddie."

"I-" Laddie trailed off, taken aback by the faces of the others staring at him expectantly. Was this so simple for them? None of them seemed fazed by the momentous task he'd just been given. A few even looked bored, as if this was too easy.

"I will," he muttered at last, "I just...I need some time to rest."

"Very well," Pan said, "Rest all you like. You can go onto those rocks there, but don't step foot on the island."

"Why not?"

Not sure how else to ensure the boy didn't do it, Peter promised, "Because I'll make you regret not listening to me." The words were darker than Laddie expected from Pan, who he had started to consider his friend. Still, the child nodded- after all, if he didn't have the Lost Boys, what would he have?

"Well," another Lost Boy drawled, this one with shaggy blonde hair, "If we all aren't planning on touching Neverland, that's fine with me, but I would be grateful if we could eat. I don't mind if we make a picnic on the rocks."

Pan laughed, "Quite right, Felix. Let's eat. I'm sure you're all hungry." He led them over to an outcropping of rocks that almost touched the shore. All of the boys hoisted themselves onto them, a few laying back lazily in the sun so their clothes could dry.

"Now, the first thing to learn about Neverland," Peter lectured the new Lost Boys, "one of the best things, is that you can imagine almost anything. Think of what you want, wish for it, and you should have it. Try it." The older Lost Boys, well-practiced in such things, immediately imagined themselves breakfast. It took Fox and Dash a few tries, but they were new at this. With some encouragement, they managed it in due course. Laddie, unfortunately, was having trouble.

Peter sighed, and flew over to him, "What do you want?"

Laddie's lip trembled, "I can imagine it-" He was incredibly embarrassed. He'd already failed at one task, and now he couldn't even manage food. How was he supposed to keep up with them?

"It's okay. It takes a little to get used to. Just let me do it for now; you don't want to be tired for your task."

"Eggs in a basket," Laddie requested, "It's my favorite breakfast." He added the last part almost as an aside. His father never remembered that- then again, his father never cared to remember anything about him, never mind his favorites.

"Easy enough. How do you like the yolk?"

"Runny, please."

"Me too," Pan smiled. He waved his hand, and there it was, before Laddie's very eyes. Laddie gaped at Pan. He couldn't understand what he'd just seen- he knew magic existed, of course. But to simply imagine something and have it appear, without even a spell? Not one incantation?

"How did you do that?" Laddie breathed, "There must be some way-"

"You just think it, and it is," Peter shrugged, "If you're truly a Lost Boy, you'll pick up on it quickly."

"How soon?" Laddie questioned, filled with desire to learn this new power.

"Oh, within a few days or so," Pan grinned, "You're awfully eager to prove yourself." A strange light filled his eyes as he noted Laddie's blush, "Do you want to try again?"

Laddie shoved an egg into his mouth, trying not to choke, "Not- not just yet. It's been a long journey, and I'm tired."

Peter paused, "Suit yourself. Though the sooner you try, the better, in my opinion." Then he was off to chat to the other boys, leaving Laddie to watch him from afar.

---

The rest of the day was spent playing on the rocks and in the waves. A few times, Laddie thought about interrupting to ask about when he could get the mermaid's scales, but the others were having such fun- and he was finally blending in. The younger boys were splashing each other, diving into the waves and occasionally pushing each other in. They were starting to look at him with less distaste. And Laddie, reveling in their acceptance, didn't want to remind them he still had to prove himself. So they played and played, hours passing by. When the sun set, the exhausted boys pitched camp on the shore. Laddie, mindful of Pan's warning, sought out one of the few flat rocks to sleep on. He was a bit scared to sleep so close to the water, but another boy- Wicks -climbed on a nearby rock and reassured him it was perfectly safe. With a sort of wary trust, Laddie put his faith in him, and fell asleep.

So it was that two days passed in this manner. It was only on the morning of the third day that Laddie realized, with a start, that he had to prove himself today. There were no other options. He rose early, and immediately began seeking out a group of mermaids. What he hadn't accounted for, though, was that the mermaids always slept late. They never rose until just before midday, and even then, they typically went to sun themselves. They rested on the shoreline, and occasionally even perched on rocks, but Laddie knew he couldn't step onto the island itself. He had to wait for them to come back into the water. Laddie sighed as he counted them. Most of them- there were a group of twenty who lived in Neverland's waters -had chosen to relax on the shoreline. They were so close. He hated that he couldn't get to them. However, he was never one to give up, and by his count, there were three mermaids who were still missing. Laddie had learned the mermaids tended to go anywhere Peter did (if he was nearby water), and consequently kept an eye out for the older boy whenever he went into the ocean. It seemed to take Peter forever to go swimming today. He'd disappeared into the jungle, most of the Lost Boys trailing after him, save Laddie, who was keenly aware that if he stepped on the island the deal would be void. Then Peter had flown back and forth through the treetops. Laddie could see a few of the other boys jump into the air after him, and it appeared as though they were playing tag. Frustrated, the little boy bit his lip. He didn't have time for them to play tag- he had to win! Didn't they realize that they could play tag once Laddie had proved himself? All Peter had to do was just get in the water, just for a little bit-

Finally, it was as though Peter had heard Laddie's anxious thoughts. The game of tag concluded, a sweaty Pan jumped into the water, the other boys following after him. Small splashes marked their entrances into the ocean, but it was easy enough to spot where Peter was. Even if he weren't floating calmly on his back, the mermaids approaching him would have given his presence away, their tails flickering in the sun.

Take a mermaid's scales...

Laddie didn't dare wait a moment longer. Arms pumping desperately, trying to use a strength he didn't have, he swam as fast as he could toward the three mermaids fawning over Peter. He surfaced for breath every so often, though he did his best to remain quiet. The mermaids were more or less friendly to the Lost Boys (though it was blatantly obvious they were interested in Peter), however, they had extremely acute hearing. He didn't want them to ascertain his presence until it was too late. Nervously, he considered how he was going to get the scales. Wicks had loaned him a knife the other day so he could cut fruit. Laddie had yet to give it back- now, he supposed, was the time to use it. He cautiously removed the knife from its sheath at his waist, and selected his target: a mermaid with an effervescent green-blue tail. She wore a rich necklace about her throat, a top made of bronze metal, and beads in her dark hair. She was presently simpering at Peter, and her back was to Laddie. Her tail swung back and forth gently in the ocean, the movement just enough to keep her afloat- and slow enough for Laddie to slice a few scales off her tail.

Or so he hoped.

Gulping, Laddie reached forward with knife, straining to cut some of the scales.

Abruptly, a wave crashed into Laddie's face, throwing him backwards. He tumbled over and over, salt water flooding into his mouth. He choked it down, struggling to gain his bearings. Blinking as the water stung his eyes, he had just enough time to see the mermaid whose scales he'd hoped to take. No longer simpering, her brown eyes were wild with rage. She screeched at him, and raked her nails down his arm. The wound was deep, and Laddie freely bled. Sickened by the sight of his own blood, he kicked towards the surface. Once he reached the air, he gasped out in pain and stared at the lines of bright red streaking down his arm. It dripped into the ocean, and Laddie bit back tears. This wasn't supposed to happen. He was supposed to get the scales, slice them off easily- just like fish back home -and present them to Peter, and he would proudly announce that Laddie was a true Lost Boy. The others would cheer and toast him, declaring there would be a banquet in his honor tonight.

He wasn't supposed to bleed.

"Come on, Laddie." The boy looked up to see Peter towing him towards the rocks. Laddie fought to keep his tears back, but it didn't work. He was openly sobbing by the time they reached the rock. He crawled atop the closest one- the one he'd made into his bed these past few nights -and clutched his wounded arm to his chest. Peter didn't say anything, simply stared at him for a long while. The other Lost Boys, who had also been playing in the ocean at the time of Laddie's ill-fated encounter with the mermaid, had grown quiet. They sat on the sand, a few whispering to each other, but the words were lost to the winds of the island.

Laddie lost track of how long he cried. It seemed he couldn't hold back the tears. Why couldn't he do this? He just wanted to belong. He wanted the family that he had been denied by his father. Here Laddie could have so many brothers, not just a straw doll given to him by his father to "keep him company" while he went away and gambled. He'd grown to like the others, too. Laddie couldn't imagine leaving them to just go back to a simple doll, hollow reminder of familial affection that it was.

Finally, Laddie stopped. It seemed as though his body could not produce any more tears, although he was saddened enough to try. He raised his head to face the others. Most of the Lost Boys looked at him with pity, but Peter's gaze was inscrutable as he said:

"One last chance, Laddie."

Stunned, the boy's jaw dropped. Was it really to end like this?

"But I thought I had three days!" he protested.

"You do," Peter conceded, "but the third day is almost over." He indicated the sky behind him, where the great, golden sun had started to descend towards the waves.

"Tell me," Laddie pleaded, "Tell me what I have to do."

"Find some pixie dust," Peter commanded immediately.

Find pixie dust? Laddie thought frantically, Find pixie dust!? But where? Wicks told me the fairies have it, but they're on the island, and I can't go on the island- how can I get it!? Minutes ticked by, and Laddie was filled with utmost anguish. He turned to look at each and every Lost Boy, silently begging for their help. Rufio, Nibs, Slightly, Wicks, Felix. Their lips were set in straight lines, and they offered no clues.

Realizing that he was alone, and defeated, and that he had lost any chance he had, Laddie sunk to his knees on the rock, bowed his head, and managed to squeeze out a few final tears. They slid unceremoniously down his cheeks and plopped onto the rock, but he knew he would gain no sympathy. There was no escaping this.

As the sun set behind Pan, he said, "Sorry, Laddie, but we had a deal." He held out his hand to Laddie, and forlornly, the boy took it. He went to pick up his doll, bending down to feel behind a rock- he'd hidden it there on the second day, not wanting the other boys to make fun of him -but barely grasped it before Pan flew into the sky. As they hurtled towards the stars, Laddie lost his grip, and the doll tumbled to the ground, settling in the sand before the Lost Boys.

---

The Dark One searched among the crowd of dancing boys. He recognized the song, in the back of his memory, but he couldn't quite place it. He was too focused on finding Bae. Angrily, he approached the piper:

"Where's my son, Piper?" He broke the wooden pipes with a snap.

Amused, the Piper- whose face was hidden under a red cloak -replied, "Is that what they're calling me?" he swept the cloak over his head, "We both know who I really am."

Rumplestiltskin froze, completely stunned. He couldn't fathom that this being- appearing exactly as he had the last time they'd met, hundreds of years ago -was here. Rumplestiltskin looked him over, from head to toe, but nothing had changed about him, save the addition of his cloak.

"Been a long time, Laddie," Peter Pan cocked his head, "Glad you could make the show." He smirked, and raised an eyebrow. Instantly, the Dark One felt chills run up his spine. He'd once thought of Pan as his savior, begging him to take him to Neverland. While Pan had taken him there, he'd made him a joke for the other boys, setting him to all sorts of meaningless tasks and trials for him to prove himself. Rumplestiltskin had failed, terribly- as Pan had known all along that he would. Pan had then returned him to the Enchanted Forest, where Rumple had discovered, to his horror, that he had been gone for eight years, and his father had abandoned him for good.

"Surprised to see me, Rumple?" Pan inquired, "Well, I don't blame you. I'm a little surprised myself." He talked as if they were old acquaintances who had stumbled across each other in a park. Pan's tone was utterly nonchalant, and completely without remorse. He felt no shame or regret for what he'd done to Rumplestiltskin as a child, and it was that, that utter lack of guilt, that unnerved Rumple the most.

"Look who's all grown up and become the Dark One. Good for you!" Pan congratulated him. The sincerity in his tone infuriated Rumple, and he snarled:

"What are you doing here?"

"What I've always done. Found Lost Boys," Peter said proudly. It was his life's work, and he would never deny it.

"You're looking for my son," the Dark One said, more horrified than ever as he grasped the meaning behind the eternal boy's words.

"I am," Pan confirmed. He was grinning, but a darkness filled his eyes that hadn't be there all those years ago.

"It's gonna take a lot more than a magic pipe to take my son," Rumplestiltskin swore. He would never let Bae become a victim of Pan's lies as he had. He loved his son too much to resign him to that fate.

"The only thing magic about this pipe is that only certain boys can hear it: boys who feel unloved, boys who feel lost," suddenly, Peter stopped, realization hitting him, "I guess that's why you can hear it, Rumple, isn't it?"

"Don't pretend to know me. You don't. Not anymore," Rumplestiltskin said each word separately and distinctly.

"I think I do! Beneath all that power, you're nothing more than an unloved, lonely, lost boy!" Pan's words cut through him like a knife, the distinct lack of capitals evident. A lost boy- not a Lost Boy. He didn't even have a place among the boys who truly were lost and found by Pan. But Baelfire, if he was here, that meant-

"Baelfire will not be part of it," Rumple stated. He had known Bae was upset, and often unhappy with his actions, but he had no idea that his son felt unloved. He vowed to himself he was going to change that fact- he would never let his son believe that again.

"Oh, he's already a part of it," Pan smirked, "The question is...what are you willing to do to get him back?" It sounded dangerously like a deal.

I'll do anything...I'll do anything!

"I'm gonna make you regret ever asking that question," Rumple growled, his heart constricting at the memory of his own betrayal by Pan.

"I understand you're upset," Pan said patronizingly, "Most parents' worst fear is that their child will be taken away from them. But that's not yours, is it, Rumple?" at Rumple's aghast expression, Peter continued, "No, you're not afraid Baelfire will be taken from you. You're afraid he'll leave. After all...being abandoned is what you're good at, isn't it? Everyone you've ever known has left, haven't they? Like Bae's mother, Milah. Not to mention your own father. Why should Baelfire be any different?"

"You're wrong," the Dark One whispered.

"Am I?" Pan demanded, "Well let's find out, shall we? You ask Baelfire if he wants to come to Neverland with me, or stay here with you. If he wants to stay, I'll leave and never return. Deal?"

"I don't have to make any deals with you," Rumple said, stumbling backwards in shock and horror.

"But why wouldn't you?" Pan queried, the words razor sharp, "If you're so sure he'll stay."

---

But Rumplestiltskin hadn't been sure. He didn't know if Baelfire would stay, and he didn't trust Pan. He'd made that mistake, once before, and Pan had stolen his father from him. Rumple wasn't going to let him steal his son. So Rumple had ignored Pan's taunts and his rage and whisked Baelfire home, Pan's words ringing in his ears: "You're gonna regret not taking my deal, Rumple!" And Rumplestiltskin had. Perhaps if Rumple had let Baelfire make his own choice then, his son would have trusted him, and the horrible chain of events that had separated them, thrown them into different worlds, would never have occurred.

Rumplestiltskin closed his eyes. In a sense, he supposed he'd always known it would come to this. Pan had been a constant specter, floating over his life like some dark guardian angel. He'd come to Rumplestiltskin when he'd needed it most, and Rumple thought Pan had given him a true chance to be a Lost Boy. Instead, Pan knew from the beginning that he would fail, and set him up to do just that- and have his father leave him for good. Rumplestiltskin had never forgiven the boy who'd stolen his father from him, but eventually, he'd gotten distracted by the intricacies of life. He'd met Milah, and he'd had Bae, and then there was the war. When Rumple became the Dark One, he'd been focused only on power, immortality, and his son. He hadn't dreamed that Pan would come back, though a part of him had always wondered what happened to the boy who had crossed dimensions and played his pipes. Then Pan had almost taken Bae- later he had taken him anyway. And finally, of course, there was Henry. It seemed Pan was destined to haunt the generations of his family- unless Rumplestiltskin exorcised the ghost. But, apparently, he could only do that by appeasing him- each of his prior efforts to defeat him had ended in misery.

At last, Rumple stared into Pan's eyes. They were the same color as they'd been so many years ago, but there was no longer a trace of human emotion. There wasn't sympathy, there wasn't understanding. There was just madness, and an unshakeable certainty in his own rightness. There was a sense of destiny there, but also a sense of standing at a precipice- almost like a cliff about to break.

Rumplestiltskin didn't want to think about what would happened when the cliff did break. And he knew, instantly, that he didn't want to be caught into the avalanche.

"We have a deal," the Dark One said. The four words echoed in the air, horribly final.

Pan's face lit up in a smile, "I knew you'd come to see things my way." His grin sinister, he spun on his heel to leave the pawn shop. The boy was utterly triumphant, and it showed in his every mannerism. He'd eliminated the last person capable of standing in his way- perhaps the only person. The Evil Queen and the Savior might have skilled magic, but they lacked the experience to go with it, and the drive to do absolutely anything. Thus, they were no danger to him, and now, Rumplestiltskin- the only one who might have stood a chance, for he had both magic and at least some experience -wasn't either.

"On one condition," Rumple added. At Rumplestiltskin's words, Pan stopped in his tracks. Casually, he sized up the man over his shoulder and raised an eyebrow:

"And what's that, Laddie?"

"You can't renege on this detail," Rumplestiltskin postulated, "Not like you did when I was a boy." He crossed his arms, struggling to cover the hurt and bitterness that even now threatened to splinter through.

Pan laughed, "You think I went back on the deal? Set you up, Rumple? Not even close. Actually," he considered the events that had transpired centuries before, "I gave you more chances than anyone. The tasks I gave you were so easy. Steal Tiger Lily's headdress? All you had to do was tip over her canoe and grab it off her head. Take a mermaid's scales? Go in the lagoon and scrape some off a rock. Find some pixie dust? I always carry some with me- you saw it when we flew to Neverland! If you even said I had it, I would have let you become a Lost Boy. But you did none of those things. You failed, Laddie. Fair and square."

"You failed to mention I'd be gone for years," Rumple replied, his voice shaking with rage, "Anything you're forgetting to mention now?" He gripped the glass counter tightly, willing himself not to risk Belle's and Bae's safety by attacking Pan- or even ensure his own death by doing so.

Peter answered, "I've told you everything, Rumple. We're allies. And besides," he trailed off, "I wasn't planning on letting you stay for that long. I was going to give you a task and hoped you'd be done with it in hours. You took longer, and then you were afraid. It's not my fault that you waited," he paused, then added, "In fact, I always gave you an out. You never touched Neverland's soil, so you didn't have to stay. I gave you a chance, and then I gave you an escape.

"We both know you wouldn't have survived on Neverland for more than a few days, but I gave you the opportunity anyway. I guess I hated seeing yet another child abused by his father, especially when that child swore he'd do anything..." the boy trailed off, his face thoughtful. Although Peter's eyes continued to flicker with madness, it was clear he was recalling other events.

"What are you playing at, Pan?" Rumple inquired. He refused to believe the boy. A real chance? Pan was lying. He had to be. And he knew what he was doing when he let Rumplestiltskin stay those three days. Peter had always wanted him to fail.

"Nothing, this time. I wasn't then, and I'm not now," abruptly, Peter's tone changed from serious to charming, "So, do we have a deal?" He was once again focused in the present and he wanted Rumple's affirmation. Pan didn't care much about their past- there was nothing to be done, and everything he'd said was true -he just wanted to know about their future.

"Yes," the Dark One said through gritted teeth, and promised himself he wouldn't shake hands with Peter. He wouldn't sign a contract. Then again, all that some deals- including this one -needed were words, especially when it was two immortal beings making the deal.

Rumplestiltskin just hoped he was making the right choice. He was, he told himself. He absolutely was.

---

Wendy slammed the door behind her. Yet again, Peter had struck out at someone to hurt her. Ferdinand hadn't done anything except talk to her. Pan had apparently decided to gut him (school gossip had already reached Grace, who'd immediately texted Wendy to let her know the full details of what had happened), but God, he didn't deserve it. Then again, almost no one Pan had ever injured in that way did deserve the treatment. Still...

As she made her way into the living room, she gasped. There, curled up on the corner of the couch, were Tink and Felix. A plate of toast lay abandoned on the coffee table before them. Felix himself sat with one arm around the fairy, who was dozing with her head resting in the crook of his shoulder.

"What are you doing?" Wendy demanded, dropping her backpack to the floor in time with her words. Felix barely turned around and shook his head, indicating she should speak more softly.

Wendy strode over to the pair and whispered, "What are you doing?" She was amazed at the sight, but also suspicious. The hair on the back of her neck stood on end; she hated Felix, she hated him when he had control over his own heart, never mind when someone else did. Seeing him hold Tinkerbell- whom she had begun to regard as her friend -made her stomach twist.

"Don't look at me like that, Wendy," Felix replied, "I took her home and I made her toast. She told me I made it wrong, made me remake it, and then fell asleep on me." For once, he didn't sound as though he was talking down to her.

"You can't be serious." It made no sense. The image before Wendy was so wrong that her brain couldn't seem to process it. Felix liked to hurt people, not hold them. She'd seen it. Then again, she was seeing this now...

"Why would I lie?" the Lost Boy drawled.

For that, Wendy had no answer. Still, she insisted, "Okay, well I'm home now. Let me take her to bed-"

"Why?" he inquired.

"Because-" Wendy froze mid-sentence. She didn't want to reveal she knew that Regina had taken Felix's heart. The Evil Queen had barely trusted her earlier that day. She didn't want to risk breaking that fragile trust. Wendy had so few allies already, and she had a feeling Regina wouldn't be pleased to discover Wendy knew Felix's heart was currently in her possession.

Felix waited for her response, and finally, Wendy said, "She- she told me about you, and her-"

Felix's eyes narrowed, and he asked, "Did she?" Gray orbs fixed on her, and for a second, Wendy was actually reminded of Pan. However, Felix's eyes didn't seem to hold any malice- rather a burning curiosity.

"Yes-"

"Did she happen to mention why she left me?"

Wendy stared at Felix. Regina had his heart, but did that mean she knew all his secrets? Did she know the innermost workings of his soul? More importantly, why would she care about this? Or did Felix himself still have some freedom underneath the Evil Queen's control? And if he did, was he asking this question with genuine heartache in his eyes?

Even though Wendy knew the truth, she also knew better than to tell Felix about Pan's order. That might have even worse repercussions than today's events at school.

"No," Wendy said, "She didn't. But that's why I should take her to bed. I don't think she'd want to wake up in your arms." Silently, she cursed herself for inflicting even more pain on the pair, but if she didn't, Pan would inflict worse. For a second, Felix looked absolutely devastated at her words, but the devastation was quickly replaced by anger.

"Fine," Felix said, "If she asks, tell her she fell asleep on the couch." The words were filled with venom, but Wendy couldn't help but notice that the Lost Boy was extraordinarily careful as he maneuvered around the fairy. He was so careful her head merely fell back on a pillow, the touch so light she didn't even stir. However, all traces of gentleness were gone when he picked up the plate of toast and tossed it unceremoniously into the trash, a few cracking noises discernible as the bread broke into pieces.

---

That night, Peter and a few of the Lost Boys- old and new -accompanied him upon entry to the hospital. It was relatively easy to sneak through the halls- the hospital had only the bare minimum staff, due to the curfew, and no one suspected Peter would choose the hospital as a place to "play."

They were wrong, and tonight, it would be to their detriment. Peter, Slightly, Nibs, and Dodger skulked through the halls, staying within the shadows and out of sight of the cameras. For Slightly and Nibs, of course, it was merely sinking back into old habits. For Dodger, it was entirely new, and the two older Lost Boys kept a close watch on their new compatriot. They wanted not only to train him in their ways, but to test his loyalty- much as Peter had tested them not long before. However, Nibs supposed that Dodger's test would be easier in that he and Ferdinand had never been friends.

Word had traveled fast through the town about Peter's and Ferdinand's fight- and the victor. The new Lost Boys ones seemed pleasantly surprised by his victory, while the old ones merely complimented Pan as a matter of course when he'd returned to the mansion. The most excited of them all had been Dodger, and it hadn't taken Pan long to deduce why:

Owen Dodge had always been the loner in the school; the outcast. Thus, he was the one easiest to pick on and bully. And many popular students, including Ferdinand himself, had taken advantage of that, making fun of the boy on an almost daily basis. Dodger had practically been jumping up and down when he'd heard of how Peter had taken down Ferdinand- it made Pan even more of a hero in his eyes.

"I can't believe it!" Dodger had said, "Someone finally showed the jerk he doesn't run everything!"

Pan had raised an eyebrow, "What do you mean? Is he cruel to you?" The boy had nodded vigorously, and Peter smiled. He'd been looking for an excuse to rid himself of Ferdinand, and this was it. It would also simultaneously earn Dodger's gratitude and cement his loyalty to Pan forever.

So after dinner that night, Peter had asked Dodger to join him, Slightly, and Nibs on a trip. Admittedly, Pan had told Dodger they would make Ferdinand...uncomfortable. Still, if Dodger really was a Lost Boy, he would do as Pan requested. And Peter was quite certain that Dodger would be a wonderful Lost Boy.

Peter pushed open the door to Ferdinand's hospital room, and the well-oiled hinges made certain their entrance was silent. Dodger tiptoed in after him, while Nibs and Slightly served as their cover. They approached the boy in the bed. Even asleep, Peter hated Ferdinand. He'd tried to take Wendy away from him- twice. The prince had made it clear he had no problems doing it again.

Well, Peter had no problems eliminating him.

"Wow," Dodger breathed, "You really hurt him." He looked at Ferdinand, who was covered in wires, bandages, and a machine attached giving a small beep for each beat of his heart. A few of the bandages were still soaked with blood, and the prince's face was mottled with blue and green bruises.

"I believe I also broke his nose," Pan observed. He smirked at Dodger, and as expected Dodger laughed.

Good.

Peter, Dodger, and Slightly stood around the bed, while Nibs stood guard at the door. Slightly stood closest to Ferdinand's heart monitor. The beeping blared in his ears, and even after three months in Storybrooke, the sounds of certain technology still bothered him. Apparently, Pan felt the same way, for he nodded to Slightly. Accordingly, the Lost Boy switched the entire machine off, and mercifully, the beeping ceased. Similarly, he went to all the various technological accoutrements around the bed, carefully finding the appropriate button to turn them off without setting off alarms.

"You want all of them off?" Dodger asked. He fidgeted a bit- both nervous and intrigued at once.

"First thing you need to know about being a Lost Boy," Slightly whispered, "is that we always cover our tracks. We don't want grown-ups catching us- not until we're far away."

"And the second thing you should know," Pan said smoothly, "is that we protect each other. You said Ferdinand has been cruel to you in the past. Now, we'll pay him back."

Dodger smiled faintly, "I've been waiting for this for a while." Nibs, who was watching the hallway to be sure they wouldn't be spotted, swallowed uncomfortably. Dodger didn't realize what exactly "this" meant- or at least what it meant to Peter.

"Good. Then you can be the one to do it," Peter said. He withdrew a dagger that he'd been concealing in his pouch. It wasn't his own- he would never let anyone touch that. But he'd had a few extra lying around on the island, and he'd taken them with him when he journeyed to Storybrooke. Pan had known they would show their usefulness at some point, and this was it. With deliberate slowness, he presented the dagger, hilt-first to Dodger.

Dodger looked at him quizzically, "What is that?"

"It's yours," Peter said, "All Lost Boys receive a weapon."

"Oh," Dodger said, "Um, thank you." He reached for the dagger, but Peter abruptly pulled it back.

"They get to keep it when they make their first kill."

It took Dodger a few seconds to follow Pan's insinuation. When he finally understood, his eyes widened:

"Kill? You want me to...kill him?"

Peter shrugged, "You want to kill Ferdinand. He's made you miserable for years. You said yourself you've been waiting for this. Now you can end that misery." Dodger's face grew tortured. Slightly could see the mental war going on inside him: Dodger was afraid, somewhat horrified he was actually considering this, and yet so terribly tempted by it. He wanted to see his enemy destroyed, and to be the cause of that end? To bring about the end of his torment himself? Dodger shuddered for an instant, and Slightly recognized that too: it was the first time the boy had ever felt blood lust. Would he give in to it?

Pan waited, standing stock still. He stared at Dodger. Finally, the boy reached for the dagger with shaking fingers. As Dodger wrapped his hands around the hilt, Pan smiled. Dodger took the dagger, testing out the weight in his hand. He stared at it, then turned his gaze onto Ferdinand.

"I don't know," Dodger whispered, "I want to- I don't know how- and what if he wakes up?"

"It's all right," Peter's voice was soothing, as if he was talking to a frightened animal, "Slightly will make sure he's quiet." Pan waved the Lost Boy over. Slightly grit his teeth, then stationed his hands just above Ferdinand's mouth and nose.

"When you start, Slightly will put his hands over Ferdinand's mouth, and he will never speak again," Peter said, "Now, as for how to do it- it takes practice. And everyone has their own...style, shall we say. For example, Felix likes to club people to death. Slightly uses bow and arrow to devastating effect. And Nibs prefers a slingshot coated in poison, though he is deadly with a bow and error. As for me, I like to use a dagger. I find slitting throats to be most satisfying," Peter looked at Dodger, his eyes alight with a bit of sadistic glee, "but you need to follow what feels comfortable. Follow your instinct- let loose- and we'll help you."

Heart pounding, but inspired, and desperate to give in to the primal instinct, that desire to kill singing in his veins, Dodger flipped the dagger around. Eventually, he placed both hands on the hilt, then moved so the blade hovered over Ferdinand's throat.

"A bit lower," Peter instructed, "Normally, your aim would be right, but you don't want to cut off Slightly's fingers." Dodger let out a nervous laugh. Then, he sucked in a breath, and plunged the dagger down. Ferdinand tried to scream, but Slightly's hands clamped down over his mouth, silencing his cries of help. Dodger, meanwhile, pulled the dagger back up, staring at the blood on it in wonderment. Then, when he realized Ferdinand wasn't dead- that in fact his eyes were wide with terror -he smiled. With reckless abandon, he kept lifting the dagger and plunging it in Ferdinand's body, sawing through veins and bone. Blood covered everything, from the Slightly's hands to Dodger's arms, and in the background of it all, even Peter's fingers. As Ferdinand gasped and wheezed for breath, suffocating under Slightly's grip and being sliced into bits by Dodger's frenzied stabbing, Pan couldn't help but lean next to his ear and whisper:

"I warned you."

Those were the last words Ferdinand ever heard. Even though the prince was well and clearly dead, Peter continued to let Dodger take out his rage on the corpse. It was years of pent up aggression, and Peter knew what that was like. Best to let Dodger release it now, on an enemy. Best to let Dodger enjoy his first skill, with a sense of justice. Best to let Dodger realize he was indebted to Pan, Slightly, and Nibs for giving him this opportunity, and protecting him from the consequences.

It was only when Dodger had sliced into the pillow that Pan grabbed Dodger, stilling the boy's rage. He was panting, still lost in the high of blood lust.

"Dodger," Peter said, "I would let you keep stabbing at him- you did well -but there's nothing left to stab. You sliced his head clean off."

At the words, Nibs repressed a shudder. He was glad he was watching the hallway and hadn't been watching the murder up front and close, as Slightly had. He was also, even if he hated to admit it himself, a little envious of Dodger. It had been a while since Pan had complimented him on a good kill. He missed battle. What did that say about him? That he stood by while a gruesome murder occurred, and was jealous he hadn't participated? At the same time, Nibs knew he still had a conscience, for despite his emotions, he missed fighting enemies, not a boy lying defenseless in a hospital bed.

Dodger apparently had no such qualms.

---

Author's Note:

Okay. So VERY long chapter and lots of Lost Boy info. First, thank you so much for reading!

Secondly, here's some further explanation:

(1) Timeline- this will be explained in future chapters, but just to give a bit of clarification, each of the worlds- Enchanted Forest, Land Without Magic, Neverland, Wonderland, etc. -all run on different timelines to each other, much like different dimensions (think sci-fi. I know, not this genre, but stay with me here). Time in one world does not pass in the same way as in another (a good analogy is with the planets in the Solar System. They each have their own 'year,' or however long it takes them to rotate around the sun. Mercury, for example, takes 88 days to orbit the sun. Earth takes 365. Thus, a year on Mercury is 88 days, and a year on Earth is 365; however, they are both "years" in each of the planets' timelines. This isn't to say that Neverland has 88 days to a year or anything; this is just a very rough/crude analogy). Anyway, Neverland runs faster than all the worlds, which is why Peter is "older" than Rumple, even when Rumple is a child. Mentally, he is more experienced than Rumplestiltskin, and thus older- however, due to the magic of Neverland, he is still in the physical body of a 17 year old. I hope that makes sense.

(2) It is in fact Rumple's fault (like many things in OUAT) that this chapter took so long. For whatever reason, he wanted to keep sharing.

(3) You will notice some dialogue in this chapter ("The Pied Piper" flashback) that is directly taken from Season 3, Episode 4, "Nasty Habits." Credit goes to writers of that episode, David Goodman and Robert Hull, as well as to Eddie Kitsis and Adam Horowitz, creators of OUAT. There are some dialogue changes that are mine, but a good chunk of that scene is from the episode because I loved the scene in canon and wanted to include it here.

(4) In case you didn't catch it, Ian is Slightly, and Winston is Nibs. They went to Eton with Peter, and that's how they originally knew each other. Their characters also have their names taken from real British noble families, though again, no actual basis in fact.

Finally, one last thank you for reading. I'd love to hear what you think!

~ladykikyo1792