"Only a life lived for others is a life worthwhile."
-Albert Einstein
Chapter 2: Standing at the Door.
The leaves from the trees fell silently to the dew covered grass. The stream whispered words again, speaking to the man that sat on the grass silently. His hair was a strange bronze color; disarrayed and all over the place. His eyes were half-lidded, covering bright, muddy brown eyes, with a peaceful expression upon his masculine face. He looked wealthy, compared to others that lived here in this area, with dress pants and a pristine white shirt with a red tie that hung loosely around his neck.
Who is he, you ask?
Well, who was the boy that had come here years ago, to find a young boy named Jack Wolfe? Everything to him now, though, seemed like a distant memory… far off to where he couldn't reach. He remembered everything, though, but he didn't believe it. More like he didn't want to believe it. When he was little, he was Peter Pan, a boy who had been broken. He was adopted in an orphanage to a nice, wealthy family who took care of him. They didn't care what he did when he was older; they just loved him because he was their son now. It made Peter feel like he finally had someone to impress again - like he had a family back. They took care of him, showing him the ropes of the world and teaching him about it. He was a very smart boy, they had said. It seemed he was, for he had graduated college quite early.
He didn't want to believe it, I repeat, because how could he leave such a magical place for one with war?
You ask me what his job was, and I'd tell you. It won't come as a surprise, though. He was a Play Writer, and a famous one at that. His plays were usually for children and were filled with magic and fiction. He believed his memories were just 'dreams' and decided to twist them into plays. Each play, though, there was a girl that always returned home, leaving the boy to his lonesome - to his wild and free self. Who was that girl?
He didn't care. He wasn't this Peter Pan character; he was Samuel J. Winchester, famous play writer!
What's wrong with me, he'd constantly think after every day he awakes in his bed. He'd have dreams filled with fairies, Indians and a Pirate Lord. He'd have dreams about little boys that laughed and giggled carelessly, running through the forest. He'd even have dreams of himself, when he was younger, running and flying through a magical looking place, a fairy at his side.
He literally considered seeing a Doctor because of this. He told his parents, but they told him that dreaming was only natural; those dreams, they said, helped him create his wonderful plays.
Most of all, though, he dreamed of a young girl that had left the boy all alone, leaving him distraught and upset. Who was this girl?
Where was she?
He was going to do it. He was going to create a play that replayed every memory from his head. He had every character set but all he needed as the girl. The girl was the key to the story and without her, it was nothing. He was nothing.
So tonight, on the night of one of his play, he'd watch out for a girl that could be her. He already had try outs for it, but no one every seemed as interesting as the one in his dreams. Tonight was different though.
Every seat in the house was filled with children and adults, the smiles on their face light with excitement. The play had gone well and, as expected, everyone clapped. People were leaving slowly, trying to get out the doors. Children, with their parents, came to talk to some of the characters in the play; their squeals of delight were loud and joyful. He was sitting in the back, his hands at his head as he scanned the heads for a girl. No one there was interesting.
He heard the sound of a soft voice then, his eyes snapping quickly off to the side to see the back of a woman his age. She had long, curly brown hair that cascaded down to her shoulder blades, and lovely pale skin. At her side were two young children. One of them was a girl, obviously older than the boy at her side. The girl looked as if she'd rather be any where other than here; her lips were in a full pout, and her arms were crossed. The boy, beside her, was jumping up and down with glee, grinning when one of the characters bent down to pick him up. Then the woman turned.
She was beautiful, she was familiar - it was her. She was the one in his 'dreams', the one who'd be playing the girl. He stood up quickly, before they could leave, and made his way over, placing a hand on her shoulder. She turned around, her eyes widening as she took in the sight of him.
She looked at him as if he weren't real; her eyes were wide and her lips were parted, staring at him like he was a ghost.
"What is your name, if I may ask?" He said, stuffing his hands into his pants pockets. He watched as a look of disbelief, awe, amazement and, finally, understanding flickered across her face. She then offered him a small smile.
"My name is Wendy Darling, " she answered, her eyes softening as she looked at him. The name… it made Him feel so wonderful inside, like he finally came face-to-face with an angel. He felt like he could fly. All thought, though, that this was only because he found someone who'd be playing the girl from his dreams. The woman in front of him looked like the girl, and her name was Wendy Darling - such a beautiful name.
"My name is Samuel Winchester, but you can call me Sam." He saw her face finally fall to a look of sadness, as if he had disappointed her in a way. He reached down, taking the boy at her side into his arms, grinning at him. The boy, instantly, grew attached to Him, giggling like an imp.
"Mommy! It's Peter Pan!" The boy shouted loudly, catching the attention of his sister. "Look, Jane, it's Peter! And you said he wasn't real."
The girl, Jane, looked at him with a look of disbelief, but seeing the confused expression upon His face, she frowned. "No it's not, Danny. He's just a man."
"Just a man?" Danny repeated with a frown, glancing at Him with a look of confusion. But Danny smiled again, wrapping his tiny arms around His neck. "No, it's Peter! I believe it is!"
Jane scoffed, looking away with a look of disdain. The girl obviously doesn't like this Peter fellow, he concluded. Wendy reached out, obviously wanting to take Danny from his arms, pulling the boy to her.
"Danny, that is not Peter Pan--"
"Oh, no… let him believe what he wants." He said softly with a grin. Wendy stared at him for a moment, a look of sadness on her face.
"Do you believe in fairytales, Mrs. Darling?" Wendy smiled weakly at the man.
"More than anything, " she whispered, almost ruefully.
The man smiled a smile so familiar; it seemed to make her sad. "Want to be in one?"
She stared at him for a moment, before another smile tugged at the corner of her lips.
"Yes."
Wendy's home was beautiful. It wasn't as nice as His, but it was a close second. The clock in the kitchen ticked and ticked as He sat, watching the children eat their dinner. Wendy was staring carefully at him, curiously, from where she sat at the table. They excused themselves from the table, making their way into the living room. Wendy kept her eyes carefully on him, as if he'd disappear any minute. Then she smiled.
"What fairytale are you talking about, Sam?" She asked gently, placing her hands behind her back.
"It's a play. I don't know the name of it yet, but I will figure it out. I want you to play a girl," he said.
"A girl?"
"Yes, a girl. I'm not finished with it yet, but I know I want you to be the girl."
"I see."
"What is it about?" She asked gently, eyeing him curiously.
"It's about a boy," he paused, "who never grows up."
He eyes widened at that, her lips parting as she whispered one word, "Peter."
"Excuse me?"
"Oh, nothing." She said quickly, shrugging it off.
They were silent after that. The clock kept ticking away, leaving them to stare awkwardly at the ground.
"Where's your husband?" He asked quietly, glancing up at her. She frowned for a moment, as if the question disturbed her. She had a good reason to look that way.
"He died, just after Danny was born. He was in the war, " she explained softly, looking away. War. How he hated it. They were silent again. He was sitting on the seat while she on a stool, both of their gazes locked. It felt like they were the only two people in this world. She felt so familiar that it hurt to think about. She offered him a smile then, as he lazily chewed on the side of his mouth. He could only think of one word then. As the rays from the moon shined down against her skin, all he could think about was how beautiful she looked.
"Mommy?" Danny called, peeking in. "Jane and I are going to bed."
Wendy jumped at the sound of her son's voice, her eyes drifting off toward him. She stood up, making her way to the boy before disappearing upstairs. He followed. He found them in a room large room. Only two beds and a few toys that littered the floor made the room seem perfect for a child. Why did this room look so familiar?
"Good night, my sweets." Wendy said gently, leaning forward to plant a kiss on each forehead. "Night Mom," they replied. Wendy looked at Him with a small smile, leading the way out of the room. But he didn't leave. His eyes were locked on a figure near the window: a doll. It was homemade, it looked like, and it was the shape of a boy. A very familiar boy. A boy that looked like him when he was younger.
That's when the memories hit full force.
He wasn't Samuel J. Winchester.
He was Peter Pan.
"I've got to leave, " He said to Wendy as he made his way down, a look of dismay on his face when he saw her. She had grown up so beautifully. But she shouldn't have grown up - he shouldn't have grown up. He looked like he was panicking, and Wendy reached out a hand to guide him to a chair but he shrugged her hand away.
"I'm sorry," was the only word he managed to say before he ran from the house.
And there he was, at the stream, with his jacket thrown off to the side, his eyes half-lidded as they stared at the flowing water in the stream.
"I'm Peter Pan, " he said softly to himself, shaking his head. How could he have forgotten? He had made such a big decision when he was younger, and he forgot about it. All for Wendy, a girl who was grown up with two children. She had married before too, with another man.
Why did he leave, constantly rang through his head, like a mantra. He was older now and wiser, which he didn't want. He wanted to be young again and do his own adventures, instead of writing plays. Then he thought of Wendy again. She, indeed, had grown into a beautiful woman - a widow. He had left because of her, but why?
There was movement in the bushes, making him jump up from his spot on the grass, glaring at it. Peter had never glared.
His facial expressions relaxed, releasing a small sigh. It was probably an animal anyway. Then, suddenly, a figure appeared and a bright light, like a firefly, made its way over.
"Peter," the boy greeted, while the fairy beside him suddenly went wild. Tinkerbell launched herself at Peter, holding onto him tightly. This was only an example that he truly was Peter Pan.
"Tink," he murmured softly, reaching up to let the fairy seat herself into the palm of his big hand. He couldn't understand her anymore, and that made him frown. Jack, the boy, finally grinned at Peter.
"You're old!"
That made him frown even deeper. He watched as Jack called Tinkerbell back to him, like he had done so many times before when he was younger. The fairy reluctantly made her way to Jack's side.
"Tink says she misses you, " Jack murmured softly, watching Peter's face soften.
"I miss you too, Tinkerbell."
If it were possible, her light brightened like a light bulb at his words.
"We have to go, Peter. We'll see you some day! Don't forget, though," Jack paused, "Always remember who you came here for."
They disappeared then, flying into the sky to the second star to the right. He felt like crying, but men don't cry.
But then he remembered something, staring at a few golden specks of fairy dust on the ground. No matter how old he was, Peter was still Peter and Peter was a boy.
He remembered why he had left Neverland and for whom. For Wendy, the girl he had just left.
But Peter was still a boy.
That's why tears fell from his eyes that night.
Wendy's probably 28 and Peter's 27.
Jane's around 8, and Danny's only 3. Just wanted to put that for those who were wondering. :]