Note: Boy, here we are again... three more parts to go, and then it'll all be NEW MATERIAL. O_O And I have barely gotten very far at all. Heh.

Oh, and Peter Pan and stuff still isn't mine.

Awakenings
1/4

Slightly awoke the moment his foot got caught in a branch that lay partially unearthed in the slimy belly of Never Land's nastiest bog. His eyes snapped open as his ankle twisted, and he fell forward with a yelp and a splash, mud flying up everywhere as he landed without any grace whatsoever and became drenched in a foul smelling, thick liquid that threatened to set his stomach heaving. Through ears stuffed with mud, he heard a frightened whinny as the young pinto he had been leaning on while he slept-walked shied and galloped a few feet away.

Groaning, the boy shook his head and tried to get to his feet, cursing under his breath. A moment later, arms were encircling him and he was being helped up, a voice talking hurriedly to him on his left.

"Slightly, are you alright? What happened?"

"Tripped," the blonde murmured, covering a yawn with a mud-soaked hand. Billy, who had been the one speaking, shook his head as he helped Slightly along, the boy nearly tripping again as his exhausted mind tried to stay awake.

"We can't go on like this," the gunner said quietly, his voice tinged with anger. At who or what, Slightly didn't know, but he felt some irritation of his own rise up.

"We slightly haven't got a choice," he snapped, pulling his arm out of Billy's grasp and stumbling on ahead, almost slipping again and falling into the mud a second time. The pinto returned, having realized that nothing was wrong, and the blonde immediately took hold of its mane in an effort not to fall on his face again.

Behind him, Billy's face crunched into a look of worry. He watched as Slightly slipped again and again, shaking his head. "We really can't go on like this," he murmured as he, too, started moving forward again. Beside him was a bear, which let out a low grunt as though it was agreeing with him. We're exhausted, barely keeping awake… if anything were to attack us right now we'd be burnt toast, he thought sourly. And I know Slightly, he can't keep this up much longer… I can but even I'm worn down. This just can't go on.

Off to his left and a few feet ahead, Hard-To-Hit seemed to be the only one who didn't seem to be doing too badly. He looked alert, if a little worn, and Billy found his irritation rising further when the Indian boy glanced back at him and gave him a pitying glance. Yeah, like you know what you're doing, the gunner groused inwardly as his foot got stuck in a small hole in the bog. You know about as much as I do, which is jack all.

Billy growled. "Damnit!" The bear paused, looking at him, then it shuffled over to him, and growled. Billy paused, then sighed. "I'm stuck," he told the bear.

It growled again and nudged him gently with its shoulder. The gunner blinked. Then he tried to smile. "Alright." Taking hold of the huge animal's fur, he allowed the bear to help pull him out of the rut, leaning heavily on it so he wouldn't fall as Slightly had done and become drenched, thereby possibly infecting the wounds the birds had delivered upon him earlier. Even when his foot was freed, he didn't let go of the bear. He was tired, and he knew it; why not accept a little help?

Ahead of him, Slightly was clutching the pinto's mane with all the strength he had left. He knew Billy was right; he knew he couldn't go on for much longer. But he also knew they didn't have much of a choice. Faced for the first time with things adults dealt with every day, Slightly found himself discovering that some things had to be done, no matter what. And he didn't like it. He was tired, he didn't want to keep going, but stuck in the middle of a bog as they were, with the enemy behind them and god knows what else ahead, he realized that they were indeed in a great deal of trouble.

A low sigh escaped his lips. His eyes fluttered heavily and he stumbled again. I can't do this, he thought blearily. I just can't. It's too hard… too much. I'm so tired…

He stumbled again and fell to his knees in the mud, his hand sliding limply from the pinto's mane to land at his side, sinking into the thick liquid. He slumped over as tears began to run down his cheeks, tears of defeat. I can't do this, I just can't. I'm so tired, I want to go home, I wish Peter was here…

The pinto whinnied softly and nuzzled him as though it were encouraging him to get up and try again. For all he knew it was. Gently, he pushed the horse's nose away, wiping his eyes and streaking mud across his face. "I can't," he said to the pinto, quietly. "I just can't. Leave me alone. Just let me stay here."

The horse whinnied again, more loudly this time. Then a squelching noise came and someone dropped down into the mud next to him. Peering between the matted chunks of hair that hung in his face, Slightly discovered that it was Billy. The gunner looked just as tired as he felt, and he suddenly felt bad for being snappish with him a few minutes ago.

"I'm sorry," he said, quietly.

"It's okay," Billy replied. He tried to smile. "I'm tired, cully. How about you?"

"Same," Slightly said. He sighed. "I slightly don't think I can keep going, Billy."

The gunner also sighed. Then he reached around and pulled Slightly into a quick hug. "I don't think I can either, Slightly," he told the boy in all honesty. "But we gotta keep trying. I don't want to die in this bog. Do you?"

"No," the blonde said in a whisper. "I don't want to die at all." He wiped his eyes again and the pinto nudged his cheek, letting out another whinny. He finally smiled, weakly. "Yeah, I know. Get up, keep moving. No rest for the wicked." Billy chuckled, then helped Slightly up once more, the blonde taking hold of the horse's mane again to help himself stand up. He yawned, trying to cover his mouth without getting mud all over his face again.

Billy smiled, then patted the little pinto's flanks. "Mind giving my friend here a ride?" he asked the horse. "I'm sure you're tired too, but humans…well, we're weak. Heh." The horse seemed to laugh, then bobbed its head, shifting closer to Slightly. Billy smiled again. "Thanks."

To Slightly's surprise (as he had been too busy yawning to hear Billy's request) the gunner picked him up by the waist and pushed him on top of the horse. He let out a small yelp as he found himself being forced to swing his other leg over the animal's back so he wouldn't just fall off the other side. "Billy!" he squeaked, as he slumped over the horse's neck and clung to its hair.

"You're getting a ride," Billy said amiably. "No thanks needed." He winked tiredly at the blonde before taking hold of the pinto's mane as well, and started trudging forward. "Let's go, cullies. The clock's ticking and we gotta keep moving." The little stallion snorted and whinnied in agreement, before moving alongside Billy, the three making quite a sight for the other animals around to see.

From atop the horse, Slightly smiled. "Thank you," he mumbled, as he rested his head against the animal's neck. His eyes began to drift closed, and within minutes he was asleep again. Billy watched him out of the corner of his eye, smiling from the corner of his mouth.

"Sleep well, Slightly," he said quietly, reaching back to brush a muddy lock of hair out of the boy's face. "Of all of us, you need it most."

"Is he alright?" a voice asked, and Billy turned to see Hard-To-Hit wading toward them through the mud, Neko at his side.

"Yeah, he's alright," Billy replied. "Just real tired."

"As are we all," the Indian boy said quietly as he fell into step with the gunner. "Neko says it's not much farther before we hit dry land. To be honest, I cannot wait. This bog is making me sick just thinking about it."

"I know what you mean," Billy said. "How long has it been since we got in this place anyway?"

"I'd rather not know, but it seems like forever," Hard-To-Hit said with a snort. Then he glanced over at Slightly and smiled a grim smile. "He's not used to this."

"Neither am I," Billy pointed out. "I'm not used to anything like this situation."

Hard-To-Hit yawned a little. "I don't suppose any of us are," he said after a long moment of silence. "This is beyond any of my wildest nightmares."

"If this is a nightmare I want to wake up," Billy quipped. The Indian boy chuckled.

"I agree."

They were silent again for a few minutes, the only sound that of hooves and paws sinking into the mud and pulling out again. It was actually quite sickening when you listened to it long enough. Rather sounded like a farting contest between drunken revelers. Billy almost burst out laughing at the thought; instead, he snorted and Hard-To-Hit gave him an odd look.

"Something funny?" he asked, if a bit testily.

"Yeah," Billy said. "As crazy as it is, I can still find some things funny. Even now." He then proceeded to tell the Indian boy what his train of thought had come up with, and after a look of astonishment on Hard-To-Hit's face, the two shared a few moments of quiet snickering together, forgetting – for the moment – that under normal circumstances they were enemies.

"One thing I've learned from this," Hard-To-Hit said after their laughter died down, then paused. Billy looked at him, waiting for him to continue. "We are sworn enemies, Billy Jukes. But look at us. Laughing together. It makes me think that we are all human, and we all bleed red." He fell silent. Then, "I wonder, if after this is over will that continue?"

Billy frowned, then glanced ahead. "I don't know," he said after a moment. "But one thing I've learned, too, is that sometimes we just have to enjoy what we've got, while we've got it. I don't want to think about whether or not it'll still be this way. Us, that is." He chewed his lip. "I don't hope for much… and I just try to enjoy what I have while I have it, and not think about whether or not it'll end until it does."

Hard-To-Hit nodded. "Good advice." He smiled a little. "You're a good person, Billy Jukes. For a pirate."

Billy smirked. "And for an Indian, you're not so bad yourself."

"I try."

"So," Billy said with a chuckle as he patted the pinto's neck. "What's his name?"

After a moment of what seemed to be conversing with the horse, Hard-To-Hit said, "He was never given a name. His mother died when he was very young, and she had never named him."

Billy frowned. "That's too bad." Then he patted the horse's neck again, smiling gently. "Want me to give you a name?" It whinnied. Billy grinned. "I'll take that as a yes." He went into thought for a moment, before he finally said with a smile, "I'll call ya Phil, then."

"Phil?" Hard-To-Hit asked incredulously.

"Short for Philip, which is short for Philippos, which means 'friend of horses'," Billy replied with a wink. "I dunno, I kinda like it." Hard-To-Hit continued to stare at him incredulously, so Billy said, "Hook has a lot of books. Sometimes I read 'em."

Phil whinnied.

Hard-To-Hit simply shook his head.

There once was a time when she was kind. A time when she laughed and played like any other child, and ran into the arms of her blood father and mother when she was frightened. Those days had long since passed, but the memories remained, as dusty and old as they were. She recalled the stories she had heard as a pup, terrible stories her ada told her to keep her out of trouble. Stories about nasty trolls and wizards who could singe your fur with the mere pointing of a finger.

She had half-believed it at the time. Of course, all children believe the stories their elders tell them, up to a certain point – and Icky was no exception. But those fears that had been instilled into her as a young pup were long gone, replaced by fears that were all too real. Yet, as she walked through the dense forests with a little human boy trailing along beside her and two enormous trolls flanking them on either side, she realized that – while some of the stories held truth – her ada had not known everything about Neverland's inhabitants.

Wary as she was, she made no small talk; not even with Tootles. But she did use her ears, and her eyes. And all her years of intense training to recognize every single inflection in a person's voice, their body movement, everything – she came to see that these trolls, while nasty and somewhat stupid – were not quite like the trolls in the stories her ada told her.

They were almost kind. Like her, she noticed with some curiosity, they were harsh and unmoving in their opinion (for the most part). They were tough – well, scratch that thought. Honkers was the one who was more troll-like; Shankers was simply a doofus. Icky almost smirked at the thought.

Unlike the trolls in her ada's tales, she saw that these two trolls were kind in their own right. Shankers doted on Tootles much like her mother had doted on her as a pup, cuddling and coddling the boy like a pet. He showered his own version of parental love on the boy, and though Honkers kept snarling at all three of them she often caught him smirking slightly out of the corner of his eye.

'What a weird clan,' she thought, eyeing the three. 'And it'll be even weirder once we get back to Nibs…'

Speaking the boy, they were almost to her den. Icky couldn't help but feel a slight bit of apprehension. She didn't like revealing her resting places to anybody; with Nibs she had had no choice. He needed to be somewhere safe, and her den was the only place she deemed acceptable. But now, with Tootles and the trolls… she wasn't at all keen on showing them where she lived half the time. They could, after all, turn on her at any moment.

Her brow creased as her ears picked up a faint sound. It sounded like a strangled howl. She stopped in her tracks, ears pricked up, listening. Around her, the trolls and Tootles stopped as well.

"What dog-girl hear?" Shankers whispered, picking Tootles up and cuddling him protectively. Honkers simply stared at her, his eyes turning hard. He fingered the leash absently, ready to yank back on it should Icky try to make a run for it.

"I hear…howling," Icky said softly. Her eyes narrowed. "In a place where I don't think I ought to be hearing it." Her tail twitched and she felt her muscles tense. It's coming from my den! She thought. Slowly, her lips pulled back from her teeth as the howling rose in pitch.

"What is it?" Tootles whimpered, clutching at Shankers's neck.

"Nibs!" Icky hissed, taking a step forward. She felt the leash pull back, but before it could choke her she spun around and gave Honkers a baleful stare. "Let me off this!" she snarled.

"Wolf-girl not go anywhere," he snorted in reply. "Wolf-girl take us to… Nibs."

"That's where I am going, you half-wit!" Icky snapped back, tugging on the leash. "Something is wrong and we have to get there NOW! Take it off!!"

The howling came again, and this time they all heard it. Icky's hackles went up. Tootles turned a pitiful look to Honkers. "Please Honkers!" he pleaded. "Nibs may be in trouble!"

Shankers also turned a look on his brother. "Let dog-girl go!" he said harshly, not liking to see his troll-kin in distress. Honkers gave him a dirty look, but surprisingly enough he made no further comment other than a snarl in his own tongue, tearing the leash from Icky's neck.

"No try anything," he warned darkly. "Or else."

Icky didn't acknowledge him. She was off in a heartbeat. "Come on, then!" She vanished into the woods seconds later, and the suddenness of it caused the trolls to blink. Then they, too, were charging into the underbrush, hot on Icky's tail.

For her part the werewolf was going into battle mode. Her hackles stood on end and as she moved she began to morph into her true wolf form. Her ears flattened back against her skull and her short strides turned into long ones as humanoid hands turned into real paws and her body shifted. The trees went by in a blur as she charged forward, her breath coming in heavy pants and saliva flying from her muzzle.

Her keen sense of smell told her exactly where she was, and abruptly she made a left. Leaping over a bush and hurling herself towards the opening of the den she could see peeking through the bushes, she let out a howl of her own – a howl of warning and questioning. Behind her she could hear the trolls thundering through the forest, but they were practically forgotten as she lurched through the small space between the log and the den's mouth.

With her teeth bared, Icky bolted down the tunnel and into the den. She froze where she was, shoulders bunched, fur standing on end as she swung her head from side to side, looking for any sign of danger. Silence reigned, and it took a moment for her to realize that no one was there.

No one besides Nibs, whose body was nearing the final stages of the Change. He was staring at her fearfully, ears pinned back and tail tucked between his legs. Icky growled, padding towards him and quickly sniffing him over. His human shape had been all but discarded, and a rather small golden-furred wolf was hunkered down in the straw, shivering as she sniffed him from nose to tail.

What the hell was that about?! She demanded sourly, finally taking a step back and sitting down before him, a look of disdain on her face. Do you want to draw the enemy here?!

I-Icky? He simpered. Is that you?

Of course it's me, you dolt! She snapped. Dimly, she realized that it had been a long time since she had spoken to another of her kind in the Old Tongue. And it didn't go unnoticed by her that Nibs was speaking it, too. What the hell happened?

I woke up, Nibs whined, rubbing a paw over his muzzle. And I was like this. And… Icky, what's going on? He let out a low, whining howl again. I don't like this! What's happened to me?

You're about changed is what is happening, Icky said, concern evident in her voice. She moved to sniff him again. Her ears flicked. Damn.

What? Nibs whined, peeking out from under his paw.

Icky had a wolfish smirk on her face. Nothing, never mind. Had she been in her more humanoid form she would have been blushing. Boy, he smells nice.

Is it too late? Nibs whimpered, sitting up.

I sure hope not, Icky retorted, quickly reverting to her more human shape and pulling out the wolfsbane from her pouch. I've got the wolfsbane. Here, turn back human for a second.

Nibs blanched. I…don't know how.

Icky stared. Shit. This could be a problem.

Suddenly, there was a great thundering at the opening of the den. Nibs yelped and leaped into a corner, cowering there. Icky's head snapped up and she growled.

"Wolf-girl!" a voice roared. "You come out now!"

Who is that?! Nibs yowled.

Uhm…friends? I think.

Friends?!

"Nibs!" another voice cried. Nibs lifted his head and stared as the sounds of scrabbling were heard, and a boy came dashing into the den. He stopped dead in his tracks and gazed around. "Where is he?" the boy demanded of Icky.

The werewolf shrugged, and pointed. "Um, right there?"

Tootles turned and gazed at Nibs. For his part Nibs got to his feet, ears pricked forward as his tail wagged slowly. Tootles, he said quietly, but to the boy it sounded only like a low whine.

"Nibs?" Tootles asked, stepping forward.

Tootles! Nibs yelped, bouncing on his forefeet. His tail began to wag more furiously. You're alive! Where are the others?

He can't understand you, Icky murmured to him. Then, to Tootles, "He's glad you're alive and wants to know where the others are."

At that, Tootles' eyes filled with tears. He raced towards Nibs and flung his arms around the boy-turned-wolf's neck and began to sob hysterically. Nibs just sat there, his eyes wide as the boy began to babble at him about all that had happened, wailing miserably. Icky winced, sympathizing somewhat with the Lost Boy's plight and finding a deep anger welling up again.

Saxon, she thought, feeling a red haze cross her mind. He'll pay for this.

She watched, growing angrier with every second as Nibs tried to comfort his friend. Tootles couldn't understand him but Icky could, and she could hear him crying a little as he wrapped a paw around Tootles and held him close. She felt her fur bristling and her ears flattening, and before anyone noticed she padded down the tunnel and out into the forest where Honkers and Shankers were waiting.

They stared at her and she stared back. "Nibs is alive, and Tootles is fine," she said coldly. "They need their family moment."

Shankers nodded, and even Honkers seemed satisfied with her answer to their unasked question. Quietly, Icky began to pace, her fur standing on end as she made circles. Her mind was a whirlwind of thoughts, thoughts that involved gutting and murder.

If it was just me, it wouldn't be so bad. But no, he's destroying everything. My family, my… friends. All of it, he's taking it away. I won't stand for it! He's destroying so much… it can't go on. I won't let it go on!

She paused, staring up at the sky with a fierce gleam in her eye. "I swear," she growled softly. "That no matter what, I will see the end of you. For all that you have done, for all the people you've hurt, for all those who have yet to come so they won't know of your evil…"

She bared her teeth, ignoring the trolls who were watching her.

"…SAXON!" she roared. "You will PAY for this!"

"Oh, you take the high road,
And I'll take the low road,
And I'll reach wherever we're going
Before ya!"

Pyewacket's somewhat questionable singing voice echoed quietly in the forest as he sat on Mungojerrie's back, the cat studiously ignoring what he thought sounded like a thousand harpies screeching. The two had been traveling for quite some time on the outskirts of the swamp Slightly and the others were currently trudging through. Mungojerrie had refused to ride another animal or even come close to getting himself any filthier than he already was, and Pyewacket was just along for the ride.

Besides, the brownie thought. The group needed scouts and who better than he to do it?

Pyewacket stifled a yawn as he and Mungojerrie passed beneath a fallen tree, padding through the underbrush silently now that the brownie's singing had fallen quiet. The silence was almost oppressive, hence why he had been singing in the first place and now that he had stopped he felt the tension that had been in the air all night. His face turned into a frown.

He didn't like what was going on. It was terrible, frightening, and he had no need of adventures of any kind. He was more than happy to take care of his own and do his thing and not have any excitement in his life. This was more than he would prefer in the way of excitement. He had had enough of that back in the days when he had been under King Oberon's command, training the King's archers for future battles.

Pyewacket sighed. Back then he had been someone of importance. He was good at what he did, and had the battle scars to prove it. In the last war between the Seelie and Unseelie, he had stood at the front line directing his archers, bellowing out commands and watching the enemy fall, one by one. He recalled even taking some pleasure out of watching each bolt whistle through the skies to their intended target, striking the Unseelie bastards dead in their tracks.

No, he thought with a shiver. Not some pleasure. A lot of it.

As the seasons passed and spring turned to summer and summer to fall, and then to winter, Pyewacket's thirst for the blood of the enemy increased. And with growing horror he found himself wallowing in the pleasure it gave him to see his enemy fall, the bolts of his archers jutting from their breasts. And it would have kept growing, had he not made one mistake – a mistake that cost him the life of a young, inexperienced brownie whom he had had great hopes for.

His name had been Wikkit, and he was a quiet young fellow. He was the cautious sort, and he always listened intently to Pyewacket's instructions. He followed the older brownie about, asking questions – if that was one thing he remembered fondly, was that Wikkit was a well full of questions, always asking, always so curious. So proud was he in his student that Pyewacket had felt it time to take him for his first mission as a working member of Falcon's Landing, the king's own archers.

It was supposed to be a scouting mission. There were not enough spies or scouts at the King's disposal so archers often worked as scouts on top of their other duties, thanks to their soft step and ability to conceal themselves swiftly and effectively. They were fast and knew the forest better than any, and the duty given to them by the King that day was to observe the boundaries of Tintagel and ensure that there was no Unseelie activity in the area, as they had been spotted there on a number of occasions.

Sure of himself and of his student, Pyewacket led a group of the King's best archers and scouts into the woods surrounding the fairy city. At first there had been no sign, and it was then that Pyewacket made his mistake.

He let his guard down.

He remembered turning to smile at Wikkit, ready to impart a few words of wisdom for the youth, when an arrow flew from the trees to strike the boy through the chest. Blood had sprayed into Pyewacket's face, and when he again looked at his student Wikkit was falling to his knees. Gasping in horror, Pyewacket caught the boy before he hit the ground, roaring for his archers to take their positions and cover them.

"Pye…" Wikkit had gasped, as blood dribbled down his chin. "What…"

"Hush," Pyewacket whispered hurriedly, his own eyes wide as he stared at the bolt that struck through the youth's breast. "It'll be alright, you'll see. Just hang on."

"B-B…" Wikkit choked a little. "Big brother," he hissed as his head rolled to the side. "Help m-me…"

"No…" A slim hand flew to the young brownie's neck, frantically searching for a pulse. When one could not be found, tears sprang forth and he clutched at Wikkit, the boy who was his best student, the boy who was his youngest brother. "You can't leave me," Pyewacket hissed raggedly into an unhearing ear. "You can't….don't go little brother….please…"

But it was too late. A heart that had once beat strong was now silent, and Pyewacket knew his brother was now lost to him. The tears flowed as he laid Wikkit gently on the ground, and then drew his bow, knocking an arrow. He took aim, and one by one the Unseelie fell, the last sounds they heard being Pyewacket's mournful, enraged shrieks.

They had carried Wikkit back to the palace, and he had been given a proper burial. And all the while Pyewacket stood by, masking his pain with a stoic expression. Even as his brother was laid into the earth for his final bed, the brownie refused to cry. Not hours later he had gone to the king, demanding to be released from his duties as Master Archer and given leave to do as he pleased throughout Neverland.

Oberon had granted him his wish, and gave his condolences. The offer still lay open if he should ever decide to return he would be welcome to resume his duties as Master Archer, but Pyewacket never thought of returning. After the death of his brother, the brownie wanted nothing more to do with fighting and adventures and all that what-not. He had grown too confident, he had let his guard down, and it had cost him the life of his dearest brother. To return to that sort of life would be too painful, the agony in his heart more than he thought he could bear.

But now, he found himself living that life again. Against his will, of course. His brow furrowed as he absently clutched at Mungojerrie's fur, biting his lip. Somewhere in the back of his mind he wished he had his bow. I can't back down now, though, he thought, turning to look back at the forest. Slightly needs me. I can't abandon him, not now, not when we've come so far.

He closed his eyes briefly. I couldn't help you, Wikkit, but I can help Slightly. Will that be enough to have some real peace after so long?