Chapter Seventeen – Peter's Imprisonment, Part 1

Many Years Ago…

Peter remained kneeling before the tombstone as Tinker Bell flew away, staring at the squiggly lines that made up Wendy's name and the dates of her birth and death. He knew she must've put the stars on the rock so in case if he came he could find her. She was always thinking ahead, while he lived for the moment. Perhaps if he, too, had thought of the future, just for once, he would've been able to find a way to bring her back with him…

He sobbed once more, bowing his head before the stone. "I'm sorry, Wendy…I miss you."

"Boy?"

Peter gasped upon hearing a stranger's voice, spinning around with his dagger ready at hand. Behind him stood a man wearing a dark coat, spectacles upon his face. He took a step back as Peter drew his weapon, but peered curiously at his face and asked, "Why are you crying?"

Peter felt his face flare up, furious that he'd let a grown up see him. "I'm crying because I lost my Wendy – and I wasn't crying!" he snapped in indignation.

The man squinted at him, his dark eyes suddenly growing wide as if he recognized Peter from somewhere. "…you…you're name's Peter…isn't it?" His voice was full of hope, anxious for an answer.

"So what if I am?" Peter huffed, roughly wiping away a line of snot coming down his nose.

The man was in his mid-forties or so, bags showing under his black eyes. His brown hair was combed back neatly, not a hair out of place. "Well…you see, it sounds silly…but I've been looking for a boy named Peter…he went missing years ago…his parents are gone now, but…supposedly, he's Peter Pan…his mother died wishing she could see him again…" He paused, seeing Peter's face pale at his words. Leaning forward, he whispered, "…you are that boy…aren't you?"

Peter glared his green eyes at the man, causing the grown up to freeze as though he were under some spell. "That was many moons ago…who are you, anyways?"

"My name is David," he said, offering the boy his hand. Peter stared at it, not daring to touch it. He sighed, shoving his hand back into his pocket. "Well…I just came to pay my respects to your mother and brother."

"Mother? Brother?" Peter echoed, blinking in disbelief.

"Yes…just down there," he said, pointing out a pair of lonely tombstones a few yards away. "Would you…join me? Just for a moment?"

Peter glanced from him to the distant tombstones, back down to Wendy's tomb. Placing his hand on Wendy's stone, he gave it a squeeze before flying off without the man. David ran after him, stopping a few feet away when Peter landed before the graves. One read "Agatha," the other "Paul."

"How did you know them?" Peter asked. Their deaths must've been ages ago – there was no way this man could've known them, if they were supposedly his mother and brother. He must be lying.

"Well, I…I didn't know them personally, but…my family was friends with your family…"

Peter rolled his eyes at this but said nothing. Definitely a lying grown up, this one. "Where's my father?"

"You're worried about him?" David asked anxiously from behind.

"He must be dead, too. Where's his tomb?" Peter clarified, ready to turn around and tell this grown up off.

That's when everything went wrong. He felt the man's hands come from behind, one of them pressing a cloth over his nose and mouth. Peter panicked, struggling in the man's grasp, but he found him too strong. There was also a foul smell coming from the cloth, making him dizzy and weak.

"Tink…" he wanted to shout, but instead, his eyes drooped and everything went black.

When he awoke, he groaned, his eyes struggling to flutter open. Using his arms, he pushed himself up and shook off the fogginess that lingered in his head. The last thing he remembered was wanting to call for help when that David fellow attacked him from behind…

That's when he became alert, his eyes opening and taking in his surroundings. His jaw nearly fell open at the horror of seeing three stone walls keeping him prisoner, the fourth wall compromised mainly of concrete with a large glass window to look out into the next room. There was door in the wall, which he went to immediately but found to his dismay that there was no handle. Hurrying to the window, he looked into the next room. It was also made of stone, with a wooden floor and a forlorn chair in the corner. Off to the right was a window, moonlight shining through onto a glass case which held a olden, leather-bound book.

Growling, Peter slammed his fists against the glass. "LET ME OUT!" he cried, shouting as loudly as he could. This was worse than being trapped on Marooner's Rock! When no one answered him, he flew around the room, testing the walls, ceiling, floor…he even checked under the cot he'd been asleep on. There was nothing in that room except for his bed, another small room sectioned off which he would come to know as "the bathroom," and a tray of food off to the corner with soup and bread. Fury filled him as he took the tray and tossed it to the window. The bowl shattered, the soup spilling everywhere, but the glass was unbroken. Not even a scratch.

"You can't keep me trapped in here forever!" Peter shouted, glaring into the empty room through the stained window. Gathering all his strength, he flew full speed ahead, slamming against the glass. Falling onto his back, he blacked out once more, having hit his head and been so reckless.

When he awoke again, there was something cool on his forehead, and something tight around his wrists. Opening one eye, he saw a set of glasses peering down at him.

"YOU!" Peter hissed, his head throbbing, his body sore.

"Please, Peter, you're making this more difficult than it needs to be," David scolded him, taking the cool cloth from his head. "You could hurt yourself even worse than this if you keep it up."

"Maybe it wouldn't have happened if you hadn't captured me!" snarled the boy, raising his arms as so to wring the man's neck. He frowned when he felt that he could not lift one hand without the other joining it. Glancing down, he ogled at his bound wrists, noticing that his dagger had been taken away as well.

"Let me go!" he demanded.

"I'm sorry," the man shook his head. "But for now, this is how it's going to be."

"You're by far the worst grown up I've ever met! A pirate is better than you!" Peter spat out, forcing himself to sit up as the man began to leave.

"Please, Peter…don't get me riled up," David said in a strained tone, the room becoming oddly cool, his voice slightly deepening.

This did not undergo Peter's attention. He became still, squinting at the man's back. His eyes grew large when he noticed a faint, soft grey smoke emancipating from David's frame. There was something sinister about it that seemed very familiar…

"You're a dark fairy?" Peter asked, more intrigued than he was frightened. Tinker Bell and the other fairies had warned him about such creatures. Though they were very rare, they were very dangerous. Usually, they were originally humans that earned the aide of what humans called warlocks, wizards, magicians, witches, wicked elves, or mean spirited fairies. They would eventually become overcome with greed and curiosity that they would find a way to dispose of their aide and their wickedness would take over, enabling them with another form that displayed their true selves.

"That book…it must have spells or something," Peter thought, recalling to mind the book he'd seen in the next room. The book slipped him mind, however, when David turned to face him. Peter could see a white gleam in his dark eyes, the smoky mist still rolling off of him.

"No…I did ask a magician to help me, though, many years ago," David answered, his voice eerie though his tone was wistful. "I'd lost my wife and child…but I still had a son out in the world somewhere, I was sure of it…but the fool kept trying to trick me into paying immediately and promising results later…so I disposed of him and gained his powers." Stepping forward, he whispered, "Don't you see, Peter? I did it all for you."

Peter edged away from him, disgusted. "Don't touch me!" he snarled. "Who do you think you are?!"

The man frowned, narrowing his eyes at him. "I'm David Fuller, Peter…I'm your father."

Peter gawked at him, his stomach twisting in a knot. "Y-You're lying!Just like you did in the cemetery!"

"Your mother and I loved you, Peter," David continued, falling to his knees at the memory of his beloved Agatha. "You were our first child…she took you out to Kensington for a stroll, stopped to talk to one of her friends, and when she turned around, you were gone. She came to me in tears and we searched all over, but we couldn't find you." He covered his face, tears falling down his cheeks. "We thought someone had taken you away, or worse! We searched and asked others for years, but you never reappeared…you never came back. Then, we had Paul. He reminded us so much about you…" David sucked in a breath, looking and sounding a little more human now. "But weeks after she gave birth to your brother, she passed on. Your brother was a sickly child, and he soon followed. I was left alone. Then, years later, I heard the stories about a child who ran away the day he was born and lived with fairies…a child named Peter Pan. It was a play back then, when everyone first heard about it, the book still hadn't been published…that playwright, Barrie, met your Wendy friend in the park and got the details and began to tell them to other children and before you knew it, you became a legend. This gave me hope, so I went to a local necromancer for help." The wicked white glint came back in his eyes as he said, "He laughed at me, but said he would help…kept taking my money…I was desperate…at last, I could take it no more…and when I killed him, I was filled with this horrible, strong sensation…this sort of dark shade that overtook me…now, we're inseparable. It's much more difficult to keep it under control at night."

"You monster!" Peter hissed. "What do you mean 'you never came back'?! I came back one night because I missed you, but the window was barred – you'd forgotten all about me. And that new little boy was sleeping in my bed!"

"You were the one to leave, remember?" David snarled.

"All good parents know that they ought to leave their windows open for their children to return," Peter retorted. "Wendy's parents knew that, and they weren't all too bright!"

"Blast that infernal Wendy!" David howled, his body contorting and darkening by the second. "Is that all you can think about?! What about me? Your mother-?!"

"You're nothing to me!" Peter shouted back, silencing the man-turned creature. "So long as I'm alive, I'll fight you. I willget out of here and go home!"

"You are home, Peter," smirked the monster. "You're not going anywhere…"

That first year was spent in anger and determination. Peter battered his body so much from trying to break through the walls that bruises covered his skin like Dalmatians had spots. One day, he smacked his fists against the glass and door so much and so hard that the skin broke and he bled profusely. David, or Shade as Peter now called him, would create a smoky barrier each time he would enter and leave the room. Peter soon found out that there was a control panel from the outside only Shade could reach. He was, undoubtedly, trapped in this room.

For the first week, he would touch nothing Shade left him to eat. It got to the point when he would faint each time he tried to get up or move. Shade came in one day and forced soup down the child's throat.

"Stop acting so childish, Peter!" he growled, panic consuming him. He was not about to let his only family member die, not now.

"But I am a child,"Peter thought as he weakly gave in and drank the fluid.

"You could die," Shade continued, wrapping a blanket around the boy. He'd gotten Peter clothing, but he refused them and stay in that ridiculous outfit of leaves. No matter – he would soon outgrow it.

"To die would be an awfully big adventure," Peter thought with a smile. He was not afraid of death – it was a challenge just getting Death to come and visit with Shade constantly fussing over him!

"This isn't so bad if you just learn to accept it," Shade wheedled him, tucking him into his cot. "If you behave, I can get you books and other things, once we teach you how to read and write, of course."

"I'll NEVER learn that," Peter stated, closing his eyes so he wouldn't have to see the man's face.

"Please, Peter, live…" he heard the man say.

Deep within his heart, he felt a sharp pang of homesickness. Where was Tink? Was she all right? Was she looking for him? What was going on in Neverland? What about Tiger Lily, the mermaids, the pirates and fairies, and the Crocodile, and Hook…?

Yes, Hook was alive. The Croc had swallowed him, but once inside, Hook fought his way out, using some of his poison to get the Crocodile sick and throw him up onto the shore. The poison which came from the red of Hook's eyes when he wept was instantly lethal to humans, but for something as large and mighty as the Croc, with a different digestive system, it managed to make him sick with a horrid stomach ache and spew the pirate captain out of his belly. Peter was awfully delighted to find that Hook was indeed alive because that meant more adventures. Hook, on the other hand, saw it as an opportunity for even greater revenge. They immediately resumed their usual antics, and it was just the way they liked it.

"I won't give Hook the satisfaction of my death and defeat," Peter thought at last, drifting off to sleep.

As the second year came to pass, Peter became accustomed to the monster's constant visits. He refused to even consider the creature his father, and barely spoke to him. Though he kept his anger to himself, he often became distant, even extremely homesick to the point that he was depressed. It got to a point for Shade when he would not take anymore of Peter's wallowing.

"You could live a normal, happy life, Peter! Just let me teach you about the world and what you need to know in order to survive!" he lashed out one day.

Peter sat on his cot, not listening to a word he said, staring at the stones and counting them for the millionth time.

"DAMMIT, PETER! LISTEN TO ME!" he screeched, raising his arm and striking the boy. Peter fell back, hitting his head on the wall. He was stunned that Shade had done such a thing, but it was not so much the pain that bothered him, rather how unfair and demanding this man was for his attention and cooperation. It was bad form, and completely unfair.

"It's an unfair world that I'm clueless about…like a really bad game with stupid rules…but until I know and understand those rules, I can't play, much less win." The notion went off like a light bulb, and his eyes became wide with revelation.

Shade, meanwhile, was mortified at his actions, staring at his hand in horror as though it were a snake. When he saw Peter's eyes go wide, he thought it was from the pain he'd just endured. "Oh, Peter! I'm so sorry! I didn't mean to!" the man stammered, grabbing the boy and holding him as a mother would cradle her child. "Please, Peter, forgive your father! I'm sorry! I won't do it again, I promise!"

"Learn the rules, play the game…and win your freedom," Peter realized, letting the man hold him.

"Peter?" the man asked, frightened that perhaps he'd hit him too hard.

"…you said you could teach me to read? And write?" Peter asked quietly, innocent as can be.

Shade gawked at him, stunned. "Y-Yes, if that's what you want."

"I need better clothes, it's cold in here," Peter added with a casual shrug. "Do you still have those clothes?"

"Yes," Shade laughed, ruffling the boy's overgrown bangs much to Peter's annoyance. He bit his tongue, however, and promised himself that he would not give up – for Tink, for Neverland, for Wendy, and most of all, for himself.

Somewhere in the middle of the third year of Peter's imprisonment, he began to notice his hair had grown much longer than before. It was so long he had to tie it in a ponytail. He turned down every offer Shade made to cut it for him, saying he liked it that way.

By now, Peter was reading and writing like any normal teen would. There were things he liked and disliked, and he could write print easily, though he failed miserably at cursive to Shade's dismay. He'd even earned the privilege of a television and some DVDs that Shade would bring in on occasion. Peter now had a set of favorite books lined on a desk Shade had brought for him, and even paper and pencils for writing and doodling. Peter did not care for mathematics; science was interesting until they got to complicated names and categories (what Peter enjoyed most was learning about plants and animals); History was a set of dates to Peter, nothing worth looking at until Shade managed to convince him to look at it like a never-ending story with all sorts of adventures. Shad was hoping to get Peter started in French, German, or Spanish within the next year, but somehow he knew he'd be pushing it. It was a miracle Peter even paid any mind to literature and some grammar for just English. Peter was obviously not an ideal student.

One day, Peter was tossing a ball around the room when he heard the familiar "beeeeep" of the door, signaling Shade's entrance. As always, the wall of smoke blocked the corner of the room where the door stood as Shade entered and the door shut behind him. He smiled at Peter; in his hands was a plate of cake, a candle burning on top.

"What's that?" Peter asked, raising an eyebrow as the man set the cake on his desk.

"Cake. I thought we'd celebrate your success in your studies…and your birthday."

Peter froze at this, his eye huge with dread. "…my what?"

"Birthday. Y'know, you celebrate it every year. You're a year older." His smile didn't fade. "You should be proud of yourself." Nodding at the pastry, he urged him, "Go on. Make a wish."

Peter stared at him, the anger and frustration of his first day bubbling once more, reminding him of why he was putting up with all this. Slowly getting up off the bunk, he sauntered to the desk, glared at the candle, licked his fingers, and extinguished the flame.

"Well…that's one way of doing it," Shade shrugged, scratching the back of his neck. He caught sight of Peter's face, eerily calm, and wondered if this had been such a good idea.

Looking him in the eye, Peter said, "I don't celebrate birthdays." Walking back to the cot, he picked up the ball once more and began throwing it against the wall.

Later that night, when Shade had gone and left him alone, Peter tossed and turned in his bed. With a grunt, he got up and turned on the desk lamp. The cake sat there, untouched. Taking a deep breath, he braced himself, and taking the lamp in his hand, he looked at his reflection in the glass.

There had never been a mirror in this room, not even in the bathroom. Seeing his reflection was usually the last thing that concerned him. Tonight, however, as he peered at the glass barrier, he felt fear twist in his stomach. His eyes became large as he realized that his cheeks were no longer rounded like a child's; the bridge of freckles on his nose had vanished entirely; his jaw was straight and firm, though oddly enough, he grew no facial hair ("Yet," Shade would remind him). His entire face…his body, even, had changed in the time he's been trapped here. He had been…growing.

With a fury and sadness that filled him like a fire, he gave a cry and threw the lamp aside, yanking it out of its socket and watching it clatter to the floor. With one swipe of his hand, he knocked the cake down to the floor, agony filling him. What would Tink think if she saw him like this?! Or Tiger Lily? Or even Hook? Or Wendy…? Pulling his hair, he cried and fell to his knees, weeping as he had when he'd learnt of Wendy's death. He couldn't ever go back now…

Peter eventually cried himself to sleep, and in his dream, he saw Tinker Bell.

"Don't give up on me, you silly ass!" she cried as she darted through a forest, looking high and low for him. "I'm never giving up on you! We need you back!"

"But I can't, Tink," Peter moaned, hiding his face even though she couldn't see him.

"Yes, you can!" she insisted. "No matter what happens, you ARE Peter Pan! Don't give up! Don't give up...!"

Stirring from his slumber, Peter awoke to find himself on the floor, curled up into the fetal position. Groaning as he stretched, he looked out through the glass and noticed sunlight beginning to stream through the other window in the next room.

"Don't give up!" the fairy's words echoed in his ears.

The corners of his mouth twitched, stretching into a mischievous smile.

"Never."