Hey, guys! Sorry I haven't updated in a few weeks. Things have been really hectic. But I made this chapter longer and hopefully that makes up for it :P Also, I would like to say a giant thankyou to the people who left a review on my previous chapters. Thankyou! Thankyou! Thankyou! Your positive feedback has been AMAZING! I hope you like this chapter. Please leave a review and tell me what you think xx

Chapter 3

Peter's POV

I pulled the washcloth out of the bowl of cold water, wringing it out before I wiped in across Wendy's clammy face. Her eyelids fluttered but refused to open. The Lost Boys crowed around my bed, watching Wendy with troubled, anxious eyes. Tink fluttered overhead nervously. I was surprised that she even cared. Last time Wendy had been in Neverland, Tinkerbelle had made her dislike for the other girl quite clear.

Wendy had been unconscious for over a day and a half, barely making a noise. I had refused to leave her side, worried the worst would happen if I was gone for even a moment.

"Wake up, Wendy. Please," I begged quietly as I wiped the washer across her forehead. Her skin was feverous, and she had spent the last eighteen hours alternating between the hot sweats and cold shakes. I was lost; I didn't know what to do. Bring Wendy to Neverland was supposed to save her, not put her into a coma. Why wouldn't she wake up?

I hadn't realised I had talked aloud until one of the twins-I think it was Blinky-spoke. "Bringing her here won't make her better, Peter. Neverland won't heal her. It will just keep her from dying," he said sadly.

"You think I don't know that?" I snapped in frustration, my tone sharper then I intended. I was out of my mind with worry and not thinking straight. Blinky stepped back, casting his eyes downwards. Feeling guilty, I said, "I'm sorry. I didn't mean that. I'm just stressed.

He nodded, giving me a weak smile. "I understand."

I couldn't take their sad looks any longer. "Look," I started. "It doesn't seem like Wendy will be waking up any time soon. Tink, why don't you take the boys down to the fishing spot and catch some dinner? You know the place: the one on the other side of the island. Last week, Chief told me they had been getting quite a big haul."

Tink crossed her tiny arms over her chest and pursed her lips, angry at being dismissed. She looked ready to object, but something on my face must have stopped her. Letting out a small huff, she flew over to the door. A few specks of Pixie Dust fell onto the floor in her haste, landing on the mats. The corners of them flicked up for a second before falling back into their original place. Tink swept her arm out in a dramatic gesture, signalling for the boys to get out of the room. I tried to give them a reassuring smile, but I'm pretty sure I failed miserably. Begrudgingly, they filed out, casting me dejected looks as they went. Once they were out of sight, I turned back to Wendy and my pathetic attempt at a smile fell away instantly.

I had heard that people who were in comas could still hear. Maybe Wendy would be able to hear me too. It was worth a try. Grabbing her hot, clammy hand in both of mine, I slowly began to talk.

"Did you know that when I first met you, I thought you were the most prudish, proper girl I had ever met?" I began. "I thought you were little Miss Goodly-two-shoes. I was shocked when you agreed to go to Neverland with me. I knew Tink never liked you, but I have to admit, you grew on me pretty quickly." My thumb rubbed slow circles on the back of her hand.

Wendy's eyelids fluttered and my heart beat overtime in my chest.

"I came to visit you once," I continued, my voice growing softer. "It was about two years after you had gone back home. I missed you terribly, which was odd. I had never missed anyone I had left behind before. I was going to talk to you but I saw you with a boy. You were both standing outside the front door and he leant in to kiss you. Seeing him with you-kissing you-had me wanting to fly down there and rib his head off." A single, harsh laugh pulled its way from my throat. "For the first time in my life, I was jealous. I had no reason to be. You asked me to stay and I didn't. But that didn't change what I was feeling."

Looking down at Wendy, my chest tightened. She had to be okay. She had to be!

Squeezing her hand, I pleaded with her: "Please wake up. I just want to hear you talk again-even if it's to tell me that I'm a complete idiot for going away."

Not knowing what else to say, I fell quiet. My thumb continued to trace patterns on the back of her hand.

Almost an hour passed-although it felt like a lifetime-before her eyelids fluttered again and her lips twitched. Squeezing her hand gently, I waited with baited breath. Her head rolled to the side and her eyes finally opened. They were glassy and out-of-focus, but that didn't matter. She was awake.

When her eyes finally did focused, Wendy pushed away from me, her expression panicked and disorientated. Her fingers trembled slightly as she hugged the blanket to her chest. Her eyes darted around the room, mimicking that of a cornered animal.

Reaching out to place my hand on her cheek, her eyes flickered to my face. "Wendy," I said soothingly. "Wendy, it's okay. I'm here."

Her brown eyes widened as my words sunk in. Hesitantly, she unclenched one of her trembling hands from the blanket, bringing it up to my face. It seemed that she needed to make sure I was surely in front of her. "It's real," she breathed, withdrawing her touch. Wendy looked down at herself, almost in shock. "It's all real."

Before I knew what was happening, Wendy's arms were around my neck. I was still for a moment-caught off guard-but then my arms were circling around her, pulling her too skinny frame tighter against me. Her head rested in the crook of my shoulder, and for the moment, everything was okay. Wendy was awake and for the moment, she wasn't going anywhere.

-X-X-X-

Wendy's POV

Peter's arms were solid and reassuring around me-protective. He smelt like fresh air and running water-like the forest that was outside. I didn't want to pull back, but eventually, I did. Looking around me, I realised that I was in Peter's room. More importantly, his bed.

The place still looked the same as I remembered: timber bed frame, a tall cupboard pushed against one wall, a small table with a few random items sitting on top, and a red sheet acting as a door. Sitting back on the bed, my hands fell to my lap, feeling heavy and lethargic. Peter was perched on an old wooden chair that had been pulled over. Shock and confusion washed over me as I saw that he was older than I remembered. A lot older. I had been too out of it earlier to notice the changes. Heck, I had been barely able to keep my eyes open.

How could he have possibly aged?

His brown hair was longer, brushing the back of his neck and curling around his ears. Under the thin cotton shirt he wore, his shoulders and chest were broader and stronger. He was taller and had begun to fill out. The youthful softness of his face was gone, having been replaced by a strong jaw and defined cheekbones. He looked handsome and mature. What had my mind fumbling for explanation was the fact that Peter could have easily passed for seventeen.

"How?" I asked instantly.

Understanding what I meant, Peter sat back in his chain, rubbing a hand along his jaw. "I went away for a little bit," he replied, his voice deeper than it ever was before. His reply was vague and answered none of the questions that were running through my mind.

Where did he go?

Why did he leave?

How long was he gone for?

"A little bit?" I sputtered. "Peter, you've aged years."

He sighed heavily. "I know."

"Where did you go?"

"Here. There. Everywhere." He gave a dismissive wave of his hand.

"Why?" I asked, prompting further.

"It doesn't matter. I'm back now."

I scowled. Peter was dodging my questions-and quite poorly, I might add. Fine. If he didn't want to talk about it at the moment, then I would drop the subject, but I wasn't letting it go. I would bring it up another time. I felt too weak to argue with him at the moment, anyway.

"Fine," I said.

He visibly relaxed in his chair. "Now," Peter said, his eyes canning my face. "How are you feeling?"

"I'm alright. I feel hazy and tired, but that is normal." I smiled. "And, I'm still alive. That's always a good thing."

The grin Peter returned seemed a little forced. "Yes. That is a good thing."

As I moved, I noticed that my clothes were sticking to my skin from sweat. Touching my hair, I found strands tangled together in clumps. I felt unclean and nasty-and probably smelt just as bad. I could only imagine what I actually looked like. Looking around the room, I teased lightly, "I guess you don't have a bathtub. No indoor plumbing?"

Peter laughed, the action softening his features. "Not at the moment. One of the pipes has busted, but don't worry. The plumbers are coming to fix it next Tuesday."

I chuckled as I pushed the blankets off of me. "Very funny," I said, rolling my eyes good-humouredly. Shifting over to the edge of the bed, I swung my legs down, my bare feet touching to floor.

Peter stood, his face turning serious again. "Are you sure you should try getting up, Wendy? You're still really pale." His eyes were full of concern.

"I'm fine. I need to get cleaned up, though. I feel awful. Can you just…help me stand?"

"Of course," he said. Both of Peter's hands moved to grasp my waist. He gently pulled me up, taking most of my weight. My legs felt weak underneath me and they shook slightly.

"Can you take me to the stream?" I asked, recalling the brook that ran directly across the island.

"I don't think that's smart." Peter's face was concerned, his hands firm. "Why don't you sit back down and I'll go grab you a bowl of water and a cloth?" Peter was looking at me as if I was about to shatter into a million pieces. He was looking at me the same way everyone back in London did: pityingly. I hated that look.

"Peter." I tried to sound firm but I wasn't sure if I succeeded or not. "Stop looking at me like that. I'm not going to suddenly collapse. All I want is to go down to the stream and freshen up. It is not going to kill me."

His face tightened at my last few words. "Wendy, that's not-"

"Please," I begged, cutting him off. His eyes locked with mine. Something in my expression must have made him cave, because when Peter sighed loudly a few moments later, it was a sound of defeat.

"Okay," he agreed, his voice beaten. Cutting me a stern look, he warned, "But, if you end up getting sicker from this, so help me, Wendy…" He trailed off.

"It won't. Stop worrying so much."

"Sit back down while I find you a fresh change of clothes." He gave me a quick onceover. "You and Nibs are about the same size."

I did as Peter said. He didn't looked happy as he shot me one last look before ducking out the door, the curtain flicking as he roughly shoved it aside. Peter returned quickly, a clean shirt and pair of pants in his hands. He handed them to me before sweeping me up into his arms as it I weighed nothing. The unexpected movement caught me off guard.

"I can walk, Peter. You don't have to carry me," I insisted as he made his way through the door again, leading us into the main room of the hideout.

It was the same room we had crashed into some time earlier. A wonky table sat in the centre of the area and six chairs were tucked underneath; each one was different from the next, as if they had been plucked from random places. A book had been placed underneath one of the legs to stop the table from rocking. A dodgy target board had been painted on one wall, a dagger lodged in the outside ring. Thick rugs covered the floor.

Peter laughed once, the sound holding no trace of humour. "Don't lie. You couldn't even stand on your own."

I kept my mouth shut, knowing he was right.

With one last somewhat frustrated look, Peter flew up the tunnel, emerging into the clearing. The mid-afternoon sun beat down on us. I breathed in deeply, sucking in the clean, fresh air. It filled my lungs, making me feel slightly better.

Rising into the air, Peter took off. He darted through the forest, winding around trees and flying over bushes. It was only a few minutes later when the trees began to clear and the sound of running water filled my ears. We broke through onto the edge of a stream. The water appeared to be quite shallow, only about a foot or so deep. A few rocks acted like stepping stones across the water, leading to the other side. Further upstream, I heard the steady rumble of a waterfall.

Peter landed on the water's edge, setting my down gently. He still kept an arm wrapped around my waist, supporting most of my weight. First checking that my legs felt solid underneath me, I gave him a reassuring smile before stepping away from him. My legs didn't give way. I took that as a good sign. Dropping the change of clothes near my feet, I slowly walked into the stream. The water was cool, but thankfully not freezing, as it lapped at my feet. It felt wonderful. My hands went to the hem of my shirt, ready to pull it up and over my head, when I froze.

Looking back over my shoulder, I found Peter still on the edge of the water. His eyes zeroed in on the exposed inch of skin about the tights I wore. Feeling self-conscious, I tugged my shirt back down quickly. He blinked, bringing his eyes back up to my face. I felt my ears heat up.

"I'm fine to bath myself, Peter," I said.

The grin he gave me was both boyish and cheeky. "You could pass out and drown. For your own safety, I think I should stay and supervise."

I rolled my eyes, laughing softly. "I'm sure I'll be fine."

He shrugged. "You never know."

"Goodbye, Peter," I said emphatically.

"It was worth a shot." Grinning, he gestured to the forest behind him. "I guess I'll just…go for a walk or something. Call me when you're done." I nodded and watched him as he walked away. When he had reached the edge of the trees, he turned around, asking, "You'll be right?" He was serious this time.

"Yes, Peter. I will be fine," I assured him for what felt like the hundredth time in the last ten minutes.

He disappeared from sight. Once I was sure he was gone, I pulled off my shirt and pants, leaving on my bra and underwear. Wading in the stream until the water reached my calves, I sat down on the sandy bottom. The water felt marvellous against my dirty, sweaty skin. I washed myself as best as I could, scrubbing my hair profusely. Once I felt that I was the cleanest I had in weeks, I moved onto my old clothes. Using my hands, I scrubbed the fabric together, trying to get all of the sweat and grime out of the material. It was tiring work that left my arms feeling heavy and lethargic. A sheen of perspiration broke out across my brow. After what felt like forever, I finally finished. I also was exhausted event though I had practically done nothing.

My legs and arms were shaky as I stood. Moving on wobbly legs, I half walked/half stumbled out of the stream. My head swum with each step and I felt lightheaded. I collapsed onto my hands and knees as soon as I hit the water's edge, my wet clothes tumbling from my grip. I was panting like I had just ran a race and my heart beat erratically. My arms buckled and I hit the ground, falling onto my side. My face pressed into the ground and I felt too weak to move. All I could focus on was my breathing.

Angry, frustrated tears burned the back of my eyes. I hated being this weak. I hated having to rely on people to do things for me that I couldn't no longer do for myself. Most of all, I hated being trapped inside this sick, dying body. Hot tears fell, burning my face and blurring my vision. I bit down on my lip harshly to stop myself from crying like an idiot.

Just then, Peter called out from somewhere nearby. "Wendy, are you done yet? It's been ages."

I didn't want him to see me like this. It would be humiliating. "No," I yelled back. I clenched my eyes shut tightly when my voice cracked.

"Wendy, are you okay?" Peter's voice was full of concern. I heard twigs snap and leaves crunch under his feet and he made his way back in the direction of the stream.

"I'm fine. Now, leave me alone."

Of course he didn't.

Peter burst from the trees moments later, looking around worriedly. His wide eyes fell on me, curled up on the ground. He dropped down beside me and I wished that the ground would open up and swallow me whole. His look of pity and concern had me turning my head away in shame. I was embarrassed-mortified, even-that I couldn't complete a task as simple as washing myself and pulling on a clean change of clothes. I felt pathetic and useless.

"God," he breathed, touching my shoulder. His palm was hot against my skin. I still didn't look at him. "Are you alright? Are you hurt?"

Just my pride, I thought bitterly. I gave a small, single shake of my head. "Go away, Peter," I whispered, my voice pleading.

"Why?" he asked, shocked.

"Because." My voice felt thick, like it was closing up. "I don't want you to see me like this." I clenched my lips tightly together as my eyes prickled with fresh tears.

"Wendy, it's fine" he said, sounding slightly hurt. "You'll be fine."

A harsh, shaky laugh pulled its way out of my throat before I could stop it. "We're not in front of my brothers anymore, Peter. You don't have to lie." The defeated tone of my voice surprised both of us. I sounded like I was ready to roll over and call it quits. In that moment, I sure felt like it.

"I wasn't," Peter retorted quickly. "We will find a cure. I promise." Turning my head, I finally looked at him. His face was pinched tight with worry but his eyes were determination.

I don't know if it was because of my current state or because I as finally away from my family, but I felt like I was finally facing the harsh reality of my condition for the very first time. I felt like a lost cause. I hated the feeling. "Don't make promises you can't keep," I warned sadly.

"I'm not," Peter said with conviction. "Now." His expression turned soft. "Let me help you."

Knowing I was past being able to help myself, I nodded.

To give Peter credit, not once did his eyes wonder and his hands moved with clinical efficiency, never lingering where they shouldn't. Not that my body was anything to look at. My skin was pale and sickly; ribs and hipbones stuck out like I hadn't been fed in weeks. Peter plucked out a few leaves that had tangle with my wet hair and dusted off the dirt on my arms. I guess lying on the ground while wet hadn't been my smartest move.

Once I was fully dressed in Nibs' blue shirt and trousers, Peter picked me up once more.

"I've got a plan…sort of," Peter said, his feet hovering off the ground a foot or two. "Tonight, I'm going to go visit the Indians. They might know something." I felt him shrug. "Maybe they'll help us."

"I'm coming," I said almost automatically.

I could practically feel him roll his eyes. "We'll see," he replied, humouring me.

Closing my eyes, Peter took off back in the direction of the hideout.

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