Hey guys, another chapter for you all.

Dorryen, I mean that in Neverland and the Peter Pan universe anythings possible. Oh, and I too like happy endings, and I can gaurentee that there will be one to this story; no matter how dark it gets. Can I just compliment your Peter Pan fan fic as well; absoloutly outstanding (I'd like to see another chapter or so though).

The Doctors Tiger; thanks for all the reviews. I'm not certain quite how it gets transfered; its sort of a natural process I guess, Peter gives up being 'Pan (which I've taken as a title, rather than a surname. Possibly linked to the god/demi-god (depending of what mythology you want yo use) of fun in greek myth. Of course, Pan does have other, darker connotations is really old, pre-homoratic litriture...


It was eleven o'clock in the evening and all was quiet upon the little street in which number 14 slumbered. Wendy Darling, now in her nineteenth year, laid her head upon her pillow and slipped off into the dreamless sleep of the truly overworked without noticing the cluster of stars around her window. They had been there for night now, and she merely took it as the way things where; which is always a dangerous assumption to make.

Stars are beautiful, but they may not take an active part in anything, they must just look on forever. It is a punishment put on them for something they did so long ago that no star now knows what it was. So the older ones have become glassy-eyed and seldom speak (winking is the star language), but the little ones still wonder.

They are not really friendly to John, who had a mischievous way of stealing up behind them and trying to blow them out; but they are so fond of fun that they were on his side tonight, and anxious for Wendy to fall asleep. So as soon as the door of 27 closed on Mr. and Mrs. Darling there was a commotion in the firmament, and the smallest of all the stars in the Milky Way screamed out:

"Now, John!"

And John Pan leapt from the bell tower and slipped through the open window of Wendy's room. He looked around swiftly, his memory poked for a moment before heading past the sleeping girl and to her door, tiptoeing to make sure he wasn't heard.

He pulled on the door handle. It refused to open, even when he pulled and shook at it as hard as he could. It didn't occur to him to use the silver key that lay on Wendy's dresser. He shook at it some more and finally stood back to resort to a method that had never failed; he shouted.

"Door! Open!" he commanded, and then tried again before launching himself at the door once more, this time drawing his sword and stabbing at the woodwork repeatedly. Finally he collapsed against the woodwork and began to cry.

His sobs woke Wendy, who had managed to sleep through the assault on the door. She sat bolt upright in bed and spoke as though from a script, "Boy," courteous, "why are you crying?" A strange sense of déjà vu gripped her, as though pulling her willingly towards some precipice.

John leapt from the floor and hovered near the window, looking directly at the girl on the bed. Savage though he was, manners forgotten long ago, he could still be courteous and bowed down low to her. She stepped out of the bed and bowed down herself, feeling ten years old once more.

"What's your name?" Asked Peter,

"Wendy Moria Angela Darling," She replied, "I know who you are already, John Pan."

John moved closer now, throwing himself onto the bed and enjoying the bounce in the pillows. "The Wendy Darling?" He asked.

"Yes." She responded, "Do you remember me?" She hoped to lure him away from being Pan and back to the Darlings.

"No." He said it sharply, "Is Peter here? I need to speak to him." He moved towards the door again. "Can you open this?"

Wendy nodded and moved towards the door, pulling the key from its resting place on top of the dresser. She placed it in the lock and opened the door, letting the boy out before her. She marvelled at how small he looked now, the top hat perched on his head like a hen. In her dreams he had always been this huge figure, big and strong as only a boy can be to a ten year old girl. Now he was simply a child; no more, no less.

"Which ones Peters room?" He demanded, marching towards the door which Wendy indicated.

"But," Wendy said softly, "I should warn you. He's not here." The boy turned towards her again,

"Where is he then?"

"He's gone..." Wendy paused now, fear and hurtful memories etching themselves on her face, though John did not notice, "...away." She said finally.

"Where?"

Wendy glared at John, how couldn't he know the terrible waste that was going on in France right now? Couldn't he hear the guns on the nights wind, didn't he see the light of thousand burning bodies when flying back to reality? Besides, she knew from Peter that Pan had over duties. He had never been clear as to what they were but she could guess from rumour and legend; surely John had seen some of the casualties?

"Flanders." Wendy responded.

"Where's that?" John was demanding, seeming almost desperate now.

"I'm not totally sure where exactly he is." Wendy admitted, "Somewhere in France. However I can write a letter to him and get a response within a month, why do you need him?"

At this point, and much to her surprise, John broke down crying. He explained it all to her then, in the top hallway of number 14, how there were just too many dead children now, how he never had any fun anymore because as soon as he returned from one trip thousands more had gathered to be taken away. The lost boys had left because they were scared of the angels who thronged Neverland and even the pirates where thinking about sailing off into the fog.

He needed help and he wanted Peter. Peter was the only person he could remember who had ever done the journey and with his help John could have fun again, just until whatever was causing all the angels to come ended. It would not be for long, he assured Wendy and they agree that he would return in a month, for Peter would hopefully have replied by then with advice.

AS she led John towards her window and freedom Wendy felt the sudden urge to ask a few questions, to reclaim her brother for what he had once been. "John," She asked, "Whatever happened to Michael?"

John shrugged, "whose Michael?"

"Your brother, John."

He looked perplexed "I have a brother?"

"Yes," she said, increasingly infuriated, "He stayed with you when Peter and I left. What happened to him?"

He stared at her, scanning the fog of his memory t try and remember this elusive Michael. "I don't know." He said finally, after he had scrunched his face up with thinking, "Maybe I lost him, or maybe he started to grow up, so I told him to leave. I tell a lot of them to leave; eventually they all try to grow up."

Wendy realised there was no hope of ever trying to get a more coherent answer out of him. Peter always said that he could never remember anything of his life before he was Pan, other than vague recollections of his mother and it seemed to be the same for John. Maybe that was part of being Pan, so consumed by fun and childhood that there was no room for anything but the most primeval feelings.

Finally, however, he managed to surprise her once more. As he was about to exit via the window he turned and placed one skeletal hand on Wendy's arm. "Wendy," He said slowly, "Are you my mother? Only...only... I only can remember you and Peter from, you know, before."

That moment, and the pain in Johns eyes almost brought Wendy to tears. She couldn't lie. "No John," She said, "I'm not your mother."

And with that he was gone.


There we go. Can I make one of my customary requests for people to read and review? There have to be more than 5 readers out there somewhere (hell, the stats tell me that).

Also, I want to put in a warning about the next chapter. It is going to be exceptionally dark and graphic and if you don't like that stuff don't read it. I'm certain about it yet (I may re-edit it, but I'm scared it'll lose some emotion) and I'll stick a warning before it, but I thought I'd give some warning. It is always darkest before dawn though...

Love,

BrooklynRed x