Slightly's hands flew to his chest, a strangled sob escaping from his lips before he fell to the ground. He watched them, writhing against each other in the sand, hands roaming like the blind. A physical ache pounded against his chest as he sat there in the dirt, mud soaking through the knee pads in his riding pants.

"No." He moaned, just as Peter began to quiver all over. "No." This wasn't supposed to happen, none of this. Wendy wasn't supposed to come back too, that's not the deal he made…

Peter and Wendy fell against each other, looking over in his direction. Wendy scrambled to find her leaves, looking around as Peter ran to see what was going on.

Slightly jumped up from where he was crouched and started running, he couldn't fly like Pan, but he was the quickest of the lost boys when running. And, Pan wasn't exactly flying those days. His feet broke branches and twigs as he fled, eyes watering while he ran from his only friend. His only friend. The thought made his heart swell so big in his chest, everything was hot and tight. He bit his lip so hard he tasted blood, but he kept running. He couldn't hear anything, didn't know if anyone was following him. Slightly tripped. He tripped and stumbled and fell. He hurt. He was hurting so bad, that he couldn't really understand the way his body was reacting to the pain that wasn't Peter related. His feet kept pulling him forward, until he was waist deep in water.

That's when he heard the clicking.

/

"Wendy was such a beautiful girl… we're so sorry for your lose."

"She was also smart and creative." Michael bit out, anger slipping over the collar of his ill-fitting suit, and made his face flush a violent red.

"What?" The blonde girl, her hand on John's arm, turned to look at him.

"She wasn't just beautiful, everyone says that. She was a woman, who was so…" his voice cracked "So much more."

She blushes, kneading her foot into the ground "I'm real sorry…"

Michael gnashed his teeth together, and turned on his heel. He couldn't take it. He couldn't be in the room with all these people.

These stupid fucking people, they don't even know her, they have no idea what the wolrd is missing… He ran into his mother as he fled from the room.

"Michael, please, what are you doing?"

He looked away from her, not wanting her to see the tears that welled in his deep blue eyes.

"You have to be here." His mom yanked him by the sleeve out of the main foyer. "You think we want to be here?" She questioned rashly, almost shoving him against the wall so no one could see them. "'You think it's easy for me, for your father, to bury our only daughter?" Her chest heaved, and she stared right at Michael as tears slipped down the hallows of her gaunt cheeks.

"Mom…"

"Michael Nicolas Darling, march your punk ass back into that funeral parlor or so help me God…" His dad interrupted, grabbing the boy by the collar.

"George, please… calm down. We don't to attract any undue attention." Aunt Millicent begged, tugging him away by the coat sleeve. Mary Darling was displeased. It was her daughter's funeral, couldn't everyone just behave?

So she walked away, smoothing her dress, and murmuring to people her thanks as she passed them. George and Millicent followed after, expecting Michael to come to, but he didn't. Michael stormed away, pushing through the front doors of the funeral home with hot tears burning in his eyes, and a growl emanating from deep inside him.

He wanted to believe the way everyone kept telling him it would be okay was true, but in his heart he knew that Wendy wasn't dead. He'd seen her brain and skull splattered against the ceiling and the wall. He'd seen the dead stare in her eyes, as she watched nothing.

She wasn't dead. She had to be with Peter. Michael ran back to the house, it wasn't far. He knew exactly what he had to do; he had to find Never Land.

Michael sprinted the two miles home, holding his hand against his pounding chest. You need happy thoughts and fairy dust to fly. He had neither at the moment, but that didn't stop him. He was breathing heavily by the time he got to the front door; he just needed to get to the nursery window. Needed to open the window and…Three flights of stairs, two flights of stairs, one flight. He kicked the door without opening it and shoved his way into the supposed crime scene. There was still blood everywhere in the corner where Wendy's bed was, and the scent seared at Michael's nose.

"I'm coming Wendy, and when I find Pan, I'm gonna fucking kill him. I'm gonna get you back." He took a deep breath and reached it to Wendy's top dresser drawer; looking for a vile he knew she had kept full of pixie dust. He didn't want to look through his sister's things, especially in her underwear drawer, so he felt around with his eyes closed.

His hands grasped something cold and cylindrical, about the size of his first toe, and attached to a necklace. It was the vile. It had a faint golden luminescence and hovered just above his palm when he opened his hand up to look at it. Now he just needed happy thoughts.

That might be harder to come by. He thought bitterly as he splashed himself with pinch of the golden powder.

Killing Pan, saving Wendy, Riley Hendrickson. He was hovering just the slightest, and shoved the container back into the drawer, before turning around, slamming his eyes closed and thinking. He needed to think pre-Never Land thoughts.

Nana. He thought with dreamy smile, poor Nana. Sweet Nana. His heart swelled as he thought of his lost companion.

She had always been so… loyal. He remembered her taking him into the bath, and her sloppily good night kisses and he soared. He lifted into the air and flew around, imaging his dog, and his last friend.

He took a fierce lunge out the window and with a rooster call worthy of the very boy he was was planning to slaughter. Went for the second star to the right, and prepared to go straight on till morning.