No.

Peter stared at his clenched hands, and struggled not to yell out in frustration. It couldn't be. He couldn't have.

And yet, every time he thought a happy thought (which was always something that was in the past) and jumped off the crate in the alley, he dropped to the ground like a stone.

Like a grown-up.

Peter leaned down and put his hands on his knees, suddenly exhausted. The past year had been hard. The worst year of his life, he reckoned. For one, Tink was gone. It was the first time he could remember being without his faithful fairy. Now that he thought about it, he supposed she was a bit too faithful. He smiled a little at that. Little, love struck Tinker Bell.

Peter sighed, his smile fading away fast. Surviving without Tink was harder than he'd ever imagined. There was no more Tinker Bell to stealthily creep onto a cart selling food and drag away warm turkey. No more Tinker Bell to warn him when a crazed dog started to run his way. No more Tinker Bell to cheerfully assure him they'd find Wendy. No more Tinker Bell.

He'd had to learn how to survive, and learn how to survive fast. He became an expert at stealing food. He sharpened his senses beyond what they'd ever been on Neverland. He still searched every night for Wendy, ignoring the shakiness in his flight or the continual disappointment that surged in his throat. Peter firmly believed that unhappy thoughts made you grow up, and tried to squelch negativity as soon as it arose.

But it looked like all his attempts to stay young were in vain. Peter noticed a nearby puddle, and stared at his reflection, trying to make sense of it. Since when had he become tall? Since when had his face become so hard and straight, all of his baby fat lost?

Since when did his reflection become someone else?

"Peter!" shrieked a voice, jolting him out of his terror. Peter looked up to see Flora, one of the street kids, running towards him. Peter was still Peter, no matter how old he got, and his bravery, cunningness, and charm had made him into the stuff of legends to the poor kids that spent most of their time scavenging for food in the street. Sort of like the Lost Boys, Peter often thought wryly to himself, except their stories were much more pathetic.

Flora was a classic exception of a street kid. She was eleven or twelve - her drunken father couldn't be bothered to be certain - and her whole figure screamed starvation. Her bony arms and legs were always tense, and her sharp eyes were always darting around, searching for food. Now, she ran up to Peter, grinning a smile too wide for her narrow face. "Peter! Jensen's chasing after Will and Mutt, and he left his food cart unguarded. C'mon!" She tugged on his hand and pulled him to the edge of the alley.

Peter peeked out cautiously. Flora was right. He could hear Mr. Jensen swearing in the distance. Probably at Will and Mutt - Mr. Jensen hated the sarcastic fifteen-year old and his dog almost as much as he hated Peter. His food cart, stocked full of fresh food, lay casually in the street, just waiting to be stolen from.

Silently, Peter crept forward (the police in this part of town were especially harsh, especially to children) to the food cart. His hand shot out and snagged an apple. He paused for a second, making sure no one had seen him, then Peter smiled in victory and handed it to Flora with a flourish. She squealed and giggled.

Peter's grin widened. She reminded him of some of the girls he'd visited over the years (which, of course, reminded him of Wendy). He bowed formally to Flora, and that was when his eyes fell upon a slender girl of about sixteen standing in the shadows.

Their eyes met.

Peter took a step backwards in shock, gasping. It was her. After all these years -

"Gotcha!" A voice yelled out, and the Wendy-girl screamed as a man grabbed her. It was Harry, an escaped criminal who spent his time attacking rich passerbyers, stealing their money, and 'just plain being terr'ble' (according to Flora; the one time Peter had caught him in the act, he'd tried to stop Harry and gotten a bloody nose for his efforts).

"Check her pockets!" A scrawny man laughed nervously. Ricky, Harry's accomplice, appeared next to Harry and the Wendy-girl.

"Grab some rocks and come with me!" Peter hissed suddenly to Flora, an idea springing into mind. Motioning her to follow, he led her to the building next to the men and the possible Wendy. Peter knew there was a ladder leading up the side of the building, and if they could get onto the roof, it would probably save Wendy's life.

In a matter of seconds, they had scrambled onto the roof. Peter hurried to the side of the building and glanced down at them. Wendy was screaming for help. Harry simply shoved a dripping cloth under her nose, and Peter watched in horror as she started to go limp. It was probably drugged.

Flora dumped the rocks next to him. In a flash, Peter grabbed several and began hurling them down at Harry and Ricky, being very careful with his aim - hitting Wendy wouldn't help anything.

"Ow!" Harry snarled. He dropped Wendy, and she fell to the pavement, gasping for breath. Peter just kept throwing the rocks. Flora, next to him, was screaming all the swears she knew down at the two men, who were cursing right back at her.

"You cursed rats!" Harry yelled. "C'mon, Ricky, let's get outta here. She ain't worth it."

"But Harry!" Ricky complained as he ran after Harry. Peter grinned.

"We did it!" Flora cried in delight. "We bloody did it!"

"Good job, Flor-" Peter started to hi-five her, but stopped when he noticed Wendy. She was gone, running in the direction of the park. Peter started to crawl down the side of the building, desperate. He can't have found her just for her to run off again. "Wendy! Wendy, wait, Wendy!"

He fell to the pavement when he had a foot to go, and he scraped his knee badly. Peter didn't even care as he pulled himself up. "Wendy! Wendy -" she disappeared from sight. Peter swallowed.

"Who's that, Peter?" Will, who had just arrived a few minutes ago, asked. "You're girlfriend?"

"No," Peter muttered. Then he ran back to the alley.

Normally, Peter didn't let his disappointment get to him, but as long as he was grown-up, it didn't matter. Nothing mattered anymore.