Years passed in the Darling household; children grew, a dog was acquired, and Mr. Darling got a raise at the bank where he worked. Four years had gone by since the time the Darlings had moved in to Pan's old home; Wendy was now a lovely girl of fourteen, her eleven-year-old brother, John, was as thin as ever, and Michael was six years old.
Little Michael had developed a fondness for playing make-believe with his siblings, and that was what he was occupied with on the evening on which our story really begins. Michael had just convinced John to play with him, and was pleading with Wendy for her to come and tell them a story. Wendy refused, saying how she had a lot of needlework to do, and then she had to darn the boys' socks. Michael was not one to be said 'no' to, so he persisted in his begging until she finally agreed, though she was secretly glad to have an excuse to interrupt her sewing.
"All right, boys, what story would you like?" Wendy said, laying a half-embroidered kerchief in her sewing basket and settling back in the nursery's rocking chair.
"Tell one about Peter Pan, Wendy!. Those are my favorites," Michael said eagerly, running over to his toy chest to retrieve a wooden sword.
"The first Peter Pan story. Of how the Neverland came to be," John added, tying a worn blue bandanna around his head and carefully adjusting an eye patch over his glasses.
"'Of how it came to be?'" asked Michael, he having never heard this story before.
"Of course, Michael dear. Peter Pan helped to create it, you know," answered Wendy matter-of-factly, smoothing out her nightdress.
"Oh. Tell us that one, then," said Michael, tossing away the sword and instead smearing finger paint across his cheeks and sticking a feather in his hair.
Wendy leaned back thoughtfully, a vivid dream flashing briefly through her mind. A dream of beautiful islands and strange creatures….and the loveliest pair of eyes she had ever seen…
She sighed deeply, then began her tale in her best storytelling voice:
"Long ago, there was a boy who refused to do the one thing every child must do; grow up."
"Oh, I wish I could be like Peter!" Michael exclaimed randomly, wistfully playing with the feather in his hair.
"Michael, hush! Don't interrupt the story," John hissed, dealing a swift blow to his brother's arm.
Wendy silenced them with a fierce, motherly look (the kind that made even the strongest men quiver under its ferocity) and continued with her story.
"This boy's name was Peter Pan, and one night, while out for a stroll in Kensington Gardens, he fell out of his pram while his nurse was looking the other way. With the aide of the fairies, he flew away to a beautiful, faraway place called Neverland."
"But, Wendy," Michael spoke up, narrowly avoiding his older brother's admonishing hand, "I thought you said this was the story that told how the Neverland came to be."
Wendy gritted her teeth, but managed to keep her features perfectly calm.
"Michael," she said patiently, folding her hands in her lap. "Do you want to hear this story or not?"
"Yes, ma'am," the youngest of the Darling children replied meekly.
"That's what I thought……"
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Meanwhile..
Far away, above the gigantic mountains of Wishful Thinking, past the point of Noregret, and over the Four Points Sea, trouble was brewing in Neverland. Peter Pan was growing.
Growing taller, that is. No one knew exactly when it had started, or why, but Peter was so desperate for his growth spurt to remain hidden from the others that he went to great lengths to hide it. Like making the doorways higher, for example.
Peter hacked away determinedly at the doorway to his bedroom, the steel of his sword causing rather large (and noticeable) gouges in the wood of the tree. After about ten minutes of strenuous activity, Peter was immensely tired and dripping with sweat.
"It's no use, Tink," he said to his infamously jealous fairy companion. "The Lost Boys are bound to notice this….unless…"
Peter bounded inside his room and swiped one of the numerous furs off his bed, then, removing a few particularly fat thorns from a vine that twisted around the edges of the underground home's ceiling, he used the thorns to tack up the fur over his bedroom doorway. Stepping back to admire his handiwork, Peter crowed loudly, pleased with his own ingenuity.
"What's going on, Peter?"
Pan jumped as the unexpected voice of his first mate, Slightly, sounded from behind him.
"Oh, ah…nothing! Just…uh…practicing!" Peter said quickly, spinning around in time to see the other Lost Boys come shooting out of their various entryways. Regaining his composure, he stood, feet apart, hands on hips in his classic pose. "Line up, men!" he barked.
Obediently, the boys snapped to attention, theirs eyes staring blankly ahead as their captain stood in front of them.
"Did you catch anything?" Peter asked, his growth spurt causing him to tower over the smaller boys. While the other Lost Boys seemed to be around the ages of ten or eleven, Peter seemed to have grown into a strapping boy of fifteen. Vines crossed over his broad, tanned shoulders, and he still wore those same trousers made of leaves. The younger boys, however, all wore various exotic animal furs, with homemade weapons slung across their backs.
"Yes, captain. It was a good hunt today," said Slightly, motioning for the other boys to hold out their prizes.
Due to the fact that Peter absolutely forbid the boys to actually kill any animal, all of the 'prizes' were imaginary. Each Lost Boy held out a handful of air, and Peter bent over, carefully inspecting them.
"Well done," Peter said, pleased. His blue-gray eyes swept around the underground home, trying to find something else to distract the Lost Boys.
"Men," he began, turning his back on them, "go down to the Indian village and trade some of those seashells you found for more animal skins. I am going to…."
Peter racked his brain, hoping to find a reason to leave them. His eyes brightened.
"I am going to fly down to the Jolly Roger and see what Hook is up to," Peter lied, swiftly motioning to Tinkerbell to join him by his side. "I've heard there's a new pirate aboard, and I must see if he is worth killing."
The Lost Boys saluted smartly as Peter flew out through the main entryway, his fairy following close behind.
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Peter Pan soared high over his island home, his eyes roving over the pirate ship, the Mermaid's Lagoon, and the redskin village. Tinkerbell fluttered by his shoulder, tinkling her curiosity as to what he was doing. He sighed, rolling onto his back as he floated above the lush green of the jungle.
Peter had wondered for the longest time why he was growing. He had become slightly obsessed, thinking over every possible reason as to what was causing his change. Yet a small, nagging voice in the back of his mind had been screaming the reason at him for years, and now that Peter was finally listening to that incredibly annoying little voice, he knew. It was that girl. He had forgotten her name long ago, but he could never forget her face. Her bright blue eyes were still fresh in his memory, and Peter was, oddly enough, frightened.
How could this seemingly useless girl have such a powerful effect on him? He had seen many Indian girls in his endless youth, and he had even seen a few on that rare occasion when he left the Neverland and traveled to other worlds. Yet no girl had captured his attention like the one he had seen moving into his former home.
In that instant, Peter Pan knew what he had to do. He flipped over rapidly, tossing Tinkerbell off his chest, where she had been resting.
"Tink," he announced, turning away from his precious Neverland. "We're going to London."
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Author's Note: What is it about Peter Pan that makes us rabid fan girls love him so? Is it his eternal youth? His skill with a sword? Or is it because Jeremy Sumpter is undeniably adorable? We may never know :)
A HUGE thank you to my reviewers…sorry, but you still don't get a cookie. :) I also apologize for the wait….I didn't have access to a computer for three days! Please don't bite my head off; I'll try to update this story faster!