ᴘᴀɴ.

For we all loved Peter, even when he was cruel. His approval was hungrily sought, and his derision cut sharper than the blade of a pirate’s sword.

BIO | TAGS | PINTEREST | SPOTIFY | NEVER | VADA RAY, SHE/THEY, EST

rufio looks perplexed, but it's impossible to hide his laughing smile.

Peter had heard the sounds of someone nearing, but had made no effort flee. It'd do no good for certain people to see him in his current blood-splattered state. However, he recognized the heavy footfalls as no threat to him and so he'd remained in plain sight, sitting atop a large rock at the base of the island's mountain range. Peter tucked away the dagger he'd been wiping clean, turning his head to look up at Rufio as he approached.

"It's not my fault all the best adventures involve a little bloodshed," He proclaimed cheerfully, offering up no explanation of where the blood had originated from. Such details were best left unspoken. Besides, Rufio was the newest to join the group. Peter wasn't sure exactly how loyal he'd shape up to be just yet.

He stood giving a shrug accompanied by a grin that was wide and unabashed. His eyes gleamed with mischief as he went on to say, "And why waste time on anything other than the best, right Rufio?"

Peter's jaw tightened and the forest fell silent the moment that the question had been posed. Even the wind did not dare draw Peter's attention as a vehement rage overcame him. He looked through her instead of at her as the upset built. Had he asked too much of her? Of everyone he'd ever cared for? They were always clawing at him for more. When he had already given them EVERYTHING; more than they were willing to give him in return! More by leagues! They wanted to tell him all the ways he was deficient, but he wasn't the one incapable of feeling. They were; Wendy and Jamie both!

He was so sick of that word being thrown at him like an excuse. That horrible, horrible, meaningless word! Because, for them, that's exactly what it was! Meaningless! A false promise. Another thing corrupted by the influence of the Other Place. That's what it did. The Other Place took things and hollowed them out, turning them into a mockery of what they once were. Just look at their cities, nature gutted by industry for the sake of convenience. But nothing about Pan was made to be convenient no matter how badly others wanted to change that.

"And what do you think it is?" He demanded, too far incensed to worry about scaring her as he pressed in closer. Each word a step nearer. "No, really. Tell me, Wendy! I mean it! I want an answer! What is it! What's love?!" His volume of his voice continued to build as he went on until finally it reached its crescendo with: "Tell me!"

Peter could feel tendrils of his shadow pulsating at the edges of his psyche, pleading with him, soundless but clear inside his head. He could feel its panic, but it was overtaken by Peter's anger. It begged for him to cease his onslaught before he ruined everything. But Peter wouldn't stop. He couldn't. He wasn't finished! His body was shaking from the volatile medley of emotion wracking through it. Wendy had asked him a question and he never denied her anything. Now did he?

Peter had crowded her until her back was pressed against the trunk of a large tree. His voice was a growl now, words coming out in a hiss, "Because everyone is always trying to tell me what I can and can't feel or what I'm doing wrong as if they have any idea about what I'm capable of! I keep being told I'm the broken one when it's everyone else pretending. Everyone lies and acts like they know what love is, but then they run away as soon as it becomes too real. Because no one actually knows what they want! And they get scared because it's all too much! Because you don't want to feel things, not real things!"

Peter howled in frustration and his fist collided with the rough bark of the tree Wendy was trapped against, missing her head by inches and splitting open the skin of his knuckles. Crimson leaked from his hand as he pulled it back, stepping away and turning from Wendy. He shook his hand so that droplets of blood splattered across the forest's floor. It was pointless. No amount of blood would heal this wound. It'd been open and raw for long enough that he knew that with certainty.

When he turned back to face her, all of his anger had dissipated. That righteous rage had been all that had been holding him together and now even speaking was an exhaustive and painful effort. All he wanted to do was run to Wendy and cling to her frame for comfort, but he maintained their distance.

"I think I'm the only one in the whole world who knows what it really is to love someone...and no one else is alive enough to feel it." His voice was hardly a rasp, choked with the effort it took to speak the admission aloud, but otherwise calm. He hated to say it. To confront it. Because he meant it and it meant he'd always be left wanting. Forever.

And that absolutely terrified him.

While Peter enjoyed speaking to the merfolk with more transparency than he was apt to offer most other inhabitants of the island, there were moments like this particular one that made him question whether or not it was such a good idea...

"You're right. It is." Peter nodded solemnly, wistful and dejected, "A lot safer."

Fear was so very easy to wield and held no real risks, at least not for someone like him, but it wasn't sustainable — or rather he wasn't capable of being sustained on it alone. The island craved the panic and dread and blood of its inhabitants but above all that, just as he did, it needed so much more to flourish. Fear without love was hollow and there was nothing that terrified him quite like the idea of a hollow existence.

He sighed, squinting up at the harsh light of the sun, "Safer, but boring. Fear is easy. Too easy. And maybe it's enough for you lot, but not for me."

the tightness between her shoulders relented as a puff of air, one she hadn’t realized to be holding, flew free. a singular     “ oh … “     followed, wendy’s face hot with shame. quickly dropping the desperate grasp on his hands, her arms sagged to her sides heavily. while peter’s admission—his promise—should have been enough to ease the confounding stir of feelings that tore away at her mind, the girl’s face still glazed with puzzlement. after all this time, had wendy darling only grown into an ambling fool, to be so easily tricked, rather than the prudent young lady she’d believed herself ?   no. yes. had it been– ? it must ! after all, peter could never be so awful. the soft sincerity etched into his expression, carving out bits of vulnerability she’d never bared witness to before, was proof enough : he was so good. peter was the titular hero in all of her tales yet she’d dared doubt him. silly bird !

shaky breath was swallowed back down her throat, burying any leftover sorrows, while the back of her hand wiped away the remnants of angry tears glistening atop rosebud-cheeks. it took a momentary beat for articulation to find its way back to the poet, all eloquence lost. finally, when it did, wendy tenderly sighed :     “ i know. you’re wonderful, peter. the most wonderful boy that ever was. “    curls bounced as she nodded along to her own words, further assuring the sentiments ( or trying to convince herself of them ). wendy offered him a small, sweet simper that—aside from sky-blue irises swarming with a mix of hope and apprehension—was enough to wipe her face clean of its previous anguish.

further surrendering her pride, she conceded,     “ i’d forgotten how tricky neverland can be. “     just off the top of her head, wendy could list a number of those that would’ve delighted in her torment. still, it didn’t feel right. as logical as it sounded, goosebumps still tickled at her skin. besides, even if they were at fault, it would do wendy no good to forge further division between herself and the folk. wendy’s white knight couldn’t always act in her shadow, defending the darling’s fragile psyche from every impish strike. carrion would be better suited for the task of confronting their mysterious miscreant ( less likely to let egoism best her ), but there was no use in saying so. once that boy got something in his head, he was not easily persuaded.

“ but what if … “     she began, leaning in close as her voice lowered to a hush, soft as the passing breeze.     “ … it was something else ? something new. “     a game of cat and mouse ! what better way to distract her fearsome fighter, as well as herself. a story, too ( smothering any hurt caused by her cruel distrust ) like she had tailored for him in the old days.

“ mother once told me of a monster that hides beneath children’s beds, patiently waiting for them to fall asleep. then, it creeps into the dreams of those little boys and girls, eating up all their good thoughts ‘til there’s none left. “     eyes sparkled with each syllable that tumbled off her tongue; there was a frantic thrill that flooded the girl with each story she sewed. tall-tales came to her so naturally, far easier than any truth she’d ever told.     “ it bears many names : sleep-snatcher, shadowbeast, the scrungle. it must have followed me from the ‘other place’ to feast upon my love for you, and the lost boys will certainly be next ! it’s said to be truly horrifying but, surely, the great peter pan would not fear such a thing as ‘the scrungle’. he’d rip it to pieces ‘til all that remained was a mess of blood and bone … wouldn’t he ? “

wendy’s head snapped to the left, wide-eyes staring into the wooded distance.     “ did you hear that ? it could be watching us, listening, right now. “     life was so much better when it was make-believe. oh, how she loved to play pretend.

Peter held his breath as she let go, hands dropping away and the short span of distance between them once again felt like an unendurable chasm, but he didn't dare to reach back out for her, eyes darting across Wendy's face as he waited to see if she'd accept his fib about the small folk. In his defense, it was only a guess that his shadow had been the one to disrupt her slumber. For all he knew, it really could have been one of them instead! There weren't many on the island who would dare to risk incurring his wrath by playing such tricks on Wendy of all people — Tink, perhaps, but unlikely anyone else. Not that he doubted for even a second the conclusion he'd reached. He was fairly certain it had been his shadow and fairly certain to Peter was enough to make the shadow guilty even if one of the fae was actually to blame. Either way, he'd know for certain soon.

At her sigh, Peter allowed air to flow freely back into his lungs. It was enough. She wanted to believe it wasn't him and so she would. Which was fortunate since it truly wasn't, not really. Nevermind that his shadow was every bit a part of him; that they shared one mind. The only thing that separated them essentially was all the feelings and memories that were deemed too cumbersome and unbearable for Pan himself to hold onto; lessons learned that were too painful not to let slip away.

"I am. That's true. And the island can be wily," He agreed with a serious nod, "But it's not your fault." The second part sounded more dismissive of the event than added for the benefit of protecting her ego from being bruised. Although she was special to him and that meant that she had to be extraordinarily clever and capable, so in a way perhaps it was a bit about dulling the sting and protecting both of their egos...

"After all, you've only just come back and the tree is meant to be safe! You shouldn't have to be on guard while you sleep, so why would you have been? I'll see to it that the small folk don't go around bothering you anymore." He swore for a second time.

“Something other than the fae; something new? Like what?” Peter questioned, clearly a bit skeptical, but his curiosity had instantly been piqued and he hung onto her every word with rapt attention. Peter would never deny Wendy to ability to co-create in Neverland and he was ever a faithful listener. Even when he didn't like the stories she weaved — which was extremely rare and only ever happened when she was deliberately wielding them like daggers against him or letting them turn a touch too soft or sappy having forgot her audience — he still found himself ensnared the moment she began a tale.

“The scrungle, huh? I think I have heard of something like that...eating good thoughts while children are fast asleep...How gruesome!” Peter mused, giving the story further validity after deciding it sounded dreadful enough to be a proper adversary. Of course the irony of a dream-eater was entirely lost on him. All for the best really. “If it has followed you here, then we must get rid of it at once! Can’t have it sulking about in the shadows and preying on you or the Lost Boys!”

Peter had puffed out his chest for his show of heroic grandstanding, but stilled completely when Wendy’s head turned, just like a statue. He remained perfectly quiet as she spoke, eyes roving over the spot she’d turned her gaze toward. He wouldn’t dare to miss a step in their game. 

A Lost Boy's reaction to their first raid could go a lot of different ways and Peter had no tolerance for any of them outside of fanatical enthusiasm.

"Are you complaining? Do you want it to hurt?" Peter could have told him to find a scrap of fabric and tie it off to stop the bleeding, but that was counter to what he and the island wanted. He could have told one of the others to help Bandit clean it so it didn't turn green and ooze in a couple of days, but he hadn't decided how much he liked Bandit yet, so why go through the trouble? Bandit would either figure it out or he wouldn't. Peter didn't particularly care.

He did have the good sense to pat the boy on the shoulder that hadn't been wounded and say, "Good job out there. Bet it'll make for a nasty scar." His smile was wide and his eyes shined with delight, "You're a Lost Boy proper now."

Because he had to pretend to be impressed here and there; to make them believe he cared, that they were special. Otherwise it didn't work, any of it, now did it?

'It wasn't so much', almost slipped past Peter's lips before he caught them. While true, comparatively to what he'd seen in the past anyway, it wasn't the right thing to say and he knew that. It was always a bit tricky to remember that he couldn't speak freely to Wendy the way he did with the merfolk or the small folk. He wanted to. But he couldn't risk losing her. Not again.

It was so easy to play the part around the Lost Boys. For one, they weren't nearly as clever and didn't pick up on the smallest of things the way his Wendy did. But it was more than that, there was something about her presence that simultaneously put him at ease while also making him feel every bit as invincible and untouchable as he truly was. He didn't want to be calculated around her all the time, even though she was precisely the person he needed to be the most careful around. Peter wasn't great at doing the things he didn't want to do. He loathed it, but...he needed her to be happy here. The island didn't like it when she was miserable or when she left. Peter didn't care for it either. So he'd keep trying to be precisely the hero Wendy wanted him to be, and nothing more.

"They're a terror alright, especially when the moon is full. Best to stay far, far away from the lagoon for a few days. Especially if I'm not with you!"

Peter tilted his head to the side in consideration, face scrunched up. That wasn't the insight Peter had been looking forward to hearing when he'd asked what it was like for a small folk to posses someone and his disappointment read loud and clear. He'd been hoping for something....more. Something fantastical.

Numbness was something he knew all too well. Not that he didn't feel pain, he did. Of course, he did. But it was always fleeting and easily forgotten — nothing lasting, nothing that lingered. Everything was always so fleeting....What he felt and what others felt wasn't the same. It couldn't be. Not with the way everyone else always made such a fuss. There was something he was missing out on and Peter hated to miss out. He'd hoped Azalea could have helped fill in the gaps for him.

Peter heaved a heavy, disappointed sigh, "What's the fun of it then? I mean — why bother doing it if you don't feel anything?"

It was quite a feat to catch Peter unaware. Although, being around large doses of magic always left him buzzing and disoriented, so his faculties weren't exactly in his full possession at the moment. He'd come to the sea — not the lagoon, even Pan, who feared very little, knew better than to wade into merfolk infested waters in his current state — to clean himself off. He was still in a thick daze and he hadn't noticed the mer until Marlowe had spoken.

Marlowe's presence normally didn't phase Peter in the slightest. Now, however, it did make him a tad uneasy. He couldn't bring himself to be too bothered though. It was unlikely any of the mer would be wittless enough to try attacking him. The moon wasn't even full. He knew, thanks to the festivities he'd just left, that it was a new moon. Half a cycle away from the full moon. Besides, it was only Marlowe. And Peter could easily take one mer.

"What are you on about?!" His tone was defensive at first but once the words had left his mouth, his mind had caught on. "Oh, right." He chuckled at his own foolishness, gesturing down to the dried blood covering his skin in intricate symbols, "This."

He rubbed a hand through his curls, staining red hair redder, and grinned, unabashed, "Some of the small folk were doing a ritual and invited me to join in."

Peter had to stop abruptly, his laughter cut short, to keep from slamming into Bandit. He was about to tell the boy off for stopping like that and getting in his way when he saw the crumpled Lost Boy on the forest's floor.

What do we do? Peter's eyebrows knitted together in apparent confusion. It was always so striking just how strange people were about death. He couldn't understand it, but then death wasn't for him so maybe he wasn't meant to....or perhaps people were just silly and wanted to make a bigger deal out of something for the fun of it. Peter didn't find it much fun. It was cumbersome really.

"Nothing," Peter said with a shrug and began his trek again, walking carelessly around the body. Why should they do anything at all? The island would feast on the body and take care of the mess for them. It'd take a while, sure, but, he had far better things to focus his energy on than someone who'd made the poor decision to get sick and die. It was a relief that the sickness had finally taken them though. Peter hated when the Lost Boys got sick.

He turned back to look at Bandit and, begrudgingly, added, "Bones will see to it." Which was probably true. If word got back to Bones anyway. Then with a large grin he insisted, "Now, come on, let's go! We're nearly there!"