Hello, ModernDayBard here, with the next installment of Fairy Dust and Winter Winds. As I said before, there will be three chapters posted in four-day increments, so this, my little Christmas gift to my readers, will finish up on Christmas Eve! (All other stories will still be updated on their regular schedule.)

Just as a reminder, this will be based on the play/musical Peter more than the book one, as I've seen the stage play more than I've read the book. Anyway, the play was actually written first. Of course, I own neither Peter Pan nor the Guardians.

Peter was quiet, at first, as the two boys flew to the Tooth palace, but Jack figured that was only to be expected. Pan was pretty young (physically, emotionally, and mentally, if not chronologically) to be worried about being dead.

Despite the solemn nature of and motivation for their quest, the bright colors and cheerful atmosphere of the Tooth Fairy's kingdom soon brought a smile to the younger boy's face as it came into view. With an excited whoop that caught his guide off-guard, the tow-haired boy banked steeply, then grabbed a hold of one of the spires jutting up from a nearby tower, using his momentum to catapult himself into a sharp turn.

"Come on!" Peter called over his shoulder. "There's an adventure here!"

Jack followed silently, praying that his young friend's good cheer would last when they found the answers they'd come there to seek.

"…and, well, we think he might be like me—or like I was…before," Jack finished haltingly, the right words hard to find now that they two boys were actually explaining their plan to Tooth. Still, the Guardian of Fun privately thought that the story had intrigued the prismatic fairy, as she'd actually stopped buzzing around and giving orders to her little fairies long enough to listen.

For his part, Peter had been very distracted. Normally, stories about him were the only ones he listened carefully to, but he'd been captivated by the little blue-and-green creatures that had buzzed about the two boys since their arrival. Jack had called them fairies, and while they did remind him somewhat of Tinker Bell's kin, they were like no fairies he'd ever seen.

One in particular lingered especially close when they first arrived in the main hall, peering into his green eyes with undiminished curiosity, then perching atop his head. "Uh, Baby Tooth?" Jack had ventured, apparently having recognized the little creature. "Peter's already got a fairy friend."

With a sound that might've been one of disappointment, the so-called Baby Tooth flew over to Jack and nestled on his shoulder. So, his friend was popular here, apparently. While the older boy explained their unexpected visit, Peter occupied himself by flying around and looking at everything—but especially the fairies.

"Well, it's quite possible," the large fairy said at last, and Peter flew down and joined the other two again. "There's only one way to find out. Let's see if we have your teeth in storage, Peter—wasn't it?"

The young boy treated her to a smug smile. "That's right—Peter Pan the Avenger!"

Peter didn't scare easily, but something in the fairy's keen gaze as she searched his face made him feel…well, vaguely uncomfortable—somewhat like how Wendy or one of her descendants would look at him and ask him how he felt about them: searching for a clue he wasn't sure they'd find. What was it supposed to be a clue to, anyway?

Then the look was gone, replaced with a smile so genuine Peter almost wondered if he'd imagined her searching expression. "On the way to the archives, how about a tour?" Tooth offered brightly.

While Baby Tooth led an excited Peter (who could apparently understand her chirps as easily as his own fairy's bells) on a somewhat scattered tour of the Tooth Palace, Tooth herself pulled Jack aside, out of earshot.

"What's wrong?" he asked, able to tell from her expression that she was either upset or nervous—or both.

Tooth didn't quite meet his gaze, her multicolored eyes flicking all over as she whispered in the fast-paced way she did when she got worked up. "That boy—I do recognize him. Oh, that smile: I never forget a smile. We do have his teeth in storage, but they're pretty old. Not as old as yours, mind you, but still…he's older than he looks."

"Why are you upset? That's good news—the answers are here!"

The Guardian of memories shook her head fervently. "Jack, the reason I remember his face, his teeth—it isn't a good one. It's not a full set."

'What?" Jack frowned. "What does that mean?"

Tooth kept wringing her hands and refusing to meet his gaze. "What happened to you—that was a tragedy, yes. But you had a full set—you'd lived long enough and gotten into enough scrapes to have lost all your teeth. Peter was right about one thing: you pretty much are a grown-up. But he—" The softhearted fairy's voice broke, but she valiantly finished her thought, "—he never got the chance. He doesn't have—will never have—a full set."

Jack turned, watching the tow-haired boy with a new sadness as his young friend flew after the various fairies, laughing in his usual, care-free way. The Wintersmith had a bitter taste in the back of his mouth, but he had to ask: "How many?"

"One—maybe two at most; I think he knocked them out when rough-housing. The replacements never even had a chance to grow in."

Peter looked up with a wide grin as his friend and the Tooth Fairy rejoined them. "This place is amazing!" he exclaimed with a child's enthusiasm. "Jack, can you imagine the races and chases we could have here?"

Pan had expected the Wintersmith to look around, take in the haphazard architecture and open sky between the towers and other structures, then grin, and maybe even challenge him on the spot. Instead, the older boy's expression didn't change—he still looked almost…sick.

"Y-Yeah, sure," he said at last. "Look, Peter: we don't have to do this if you don't want to. Or at least, not right now. Maybe some other time."

Peter floated down and stood toe-to-toe with the older boy, scowling defiantly. "I'm not afraid. And I want to know! If you could handle it, so can I!"

Tooth and Jack exchanged a look, then the fairy queen sighed. She held out her hand, and another one of her fairies flew up with a golden canister. The Guardian of Memories held it for a moment, gazing sadly at the face on the end, before reluctantly holding it out to the Lost Boys' chief.

Peter snatched it away, and laid a finger on the top. He was about to ask what else he needed to do, when the images began.

They came rushing all at once: a group of around five young children playing, Peter himself in the lead; Peter telling the same children about a fairy he saw the night before ("there's no such things as fairies, my dad says," one little girl put in, "shows how much he knows," Peter replied defiantly, "grown-ups miss so much!"); soon a younger boy joined the group, looking very much like a miniature Peter and always hovering close to the leader.

One day, a group of older children stopped the group, teasingly warning them about what school was like, telling them to enjoy their freedom while they had it. The same girl from the fairy story began to cry, wailing that she didn't want to grow up. "Then don't," Peter heard himself say. "Not today, not now, at least." And for that moment, they didn't.

The scenes came rushing one after the other—Peter's life until the age of six, including the day he fell out of a tree and knocked his first two teeth out. Most of the memories focused on the same half-dozen kids, and Peter as their leader, not letting them worry about growing up in those years that belonged just to them. Some however, just showed him and his young doppelganger—his little brother—playing in the nursery together. Warm, happy, innocent memories…

…Peter wasn't old enough to know that he shouldn't have expected them to last.

Suddenly, the scenes changed. Now Peter and the young boy were in their beds, sick, and their friends weren't allowed to come in. His younger brother, no older than three or four, seemed frightened, so Peter told him silly stories about fairies or planned adventures the two would have together, in order to keep their minds off of how sick they were. Eventually, Peter's brother got better and was allowed to go outside.

Peter didn't.

He had to lie in bed and listen to his brother and friends playing outside while he lay, hoping to get better. He didn't want to worry—it seemed like such a grown-up thing to do—so he kept telling himself the adventure stories. No longer would he be plain-old Peter Passwelle; Peter Pan the Avenger, he would call himself.

One day, late in the afternoon, the window swung open, and the little girl who'd cried about growing up climbed over the sill, holding a finger to her lips. Peter felt pretty weak, but he didn't want to show it. He sat up in bed as best he could. "Clara?" he asked hoarsely. "What are you doing here?"

"James showed me how you would climb in. I wanted to see you."

She started to swing her feet over the sill, and Peter yelled, "Don't!" Clara halted, looking at him with her brown eyes wide-open.

"Why?" she asked.

"Because that isn't a floor, it's mermaids' lagoon! If you step in the water…" Peter paused, trying to think about what the mermaids might do. "They'll bite your toes off!"

Clara laughed, but she stayed seated on the window sill. "Turned the nursery into your island again, haven't you?"

"Yep! Welcome to Neverland, Clara. But watch your step—you never know where you'll find an enemy!" Peter broke off, unable to stop a coughing fit. When he could talk again, he mustered a smile for his friend. "I'm going to find a real Neverland someday. Then we can all go and have one big adventure after another!"

Clara couldn't return his smile. "I-I'd love that, Peter, but…"

"But what?"

"Papa says you might die," the little brown-haired girl said at last, bottom lip quivering. "That you might go away for a very long time, and not come back, and we wouldn't be able to go with you!"

Peter shrugged, settling back down. He was growing tired again. "Sounds like dying is an awfully big adventure then. And I get to find out first!"

Before Clara could say anything, she heard someone approaching the closed nursery door. "I've got to go Peter! I'll come back and see you tomorrow?"

"See you tomorrow, Clara Moira Angela Trenton," Peter mumbled drowsily as she climbed back out the window.

But he never did. That night, Peter Johnathon Abraham Passwelle embarked on his 'awfully big adventure,' on which he did, indeed, find a real Neverland.

Jack and Tooth were not privy to Peter's memories. The best that they could do was watching his face, searching for a change of expression that might give them a clue as to what the tow-haired boy was seeing. Neither said a word as the minutes stretched onward, and the tense mood even affected Baby Tooth, who stopped flitting around and settled on Jack's shoulder.

At last, the eternal child looked up, tears beading in the corners of his vivid green eyes. Jack tried to reach out to his young friend. "Peter—"

The younger boy jerked away from the Wintersmith, who realized the tears were as much from anger as they were from grief. "Leave me alone!" Peter screamed, backing away from the concerned duo. "I didn't want to remember that! Maybe I had a family and—and a mother—once," he choked out between the sobs that were beginning, "—but they—they're gone!" He glared at Jack, a child seeking someone to blame for his pain. "I told you: what—what's the good in remembering? It only—only hurts!"

Jack's mouth dropped open. This wasn't what he had expected, based on his own experience. Yes, he'd remembered some painful things, but he'd been so relieved to know who he was that the pain hadn't mattered. As Peter flew off in a huff, the Guardian of Fun felt guilty for putting his young friend through whatever it was that had upset him so much.

The white-haired boy glanced over at Tooth, who read his expression. "It wasn't your fault, Jack. You were just trying to help him."

"What do I do?"

Tooth hesitated, then shrugged. "Give him some time to cool off. Then…well, see if you can talk to him. He'll need a friend."

Jack nodded, flying slowly after Peter, Tooth's unspoken words ringing loudly in his head.

"He'll need you, Jack."

After waiting a few minutes, Jack slowly drifted up to the roof of one of the towers, were the younger boy had been sitting for a while. Silently, Jack sat next to his friend, their feet dangling over the side. The Wintersmith glanced over to see that Peter was now dry-eyed, though he obviously had been crying earlier.

The Guardian of Fun held his tongue, waiting to take his cue from Peter. Eventual Pan took a deep shuddering breath and said, without glancing at the older boy, 'Well, now we know. I am a Guardian Spirit, even if I'm not a full-fledged Guardian."

"Yep," Jack said at last, unsure if there was anything else he needed to say.

The Lost Boy's chief finally turned to his friend, bright green eyes wide with an almost-frightened question. "So what do I do now?"

Jack Frost didn't answer right away.

So, there you have it: chapter two of my first cross-over fic! I hope you all enjoy this little Christmas treat. If you like it, or if you see something I can improve on, don't hesitate to leave a review!