LOST BOY.

She noticed Pan sitting in the center of their circled multitude, overlooking things like she’d done. His lips moved but she couldn’t make out what he said so she tried moving closer to him. Though by the time she just neared, his mouth moved to blow air in to his pan pipe and music filled the air. A smile crossed her features and the surge came back to her. It seemed to numb her first intentions, soothing her thoughts. Forgetting she’d wanted to talk to Pan, she moved back in line and danced. Completely giving in to the feeling of how she once was lost, but now was found.

As the others danced about gleefully from their self-entitled victory in battle, the traitor had all but withered beneath the bonds that Pan and the others had contained him in. The lad was already a bloody mess, but it was not over yet. Like a cat and mouse, Pan enjoyed toying with his victims. His wicked smiled beamed maliciously between steady melodies that escaped his instrument. It held two very different meanings depending on who listened. For those loyal, the pan pipe invigorated them, the music dancing through them like the blood in their veins. Meanwhile, Pan sat before the rat forced against a spear, using the very same melody as an insult to the other's intellect.

He shook his head, a clear sign of disappointment mingling with his dark intentions. Pan turned about to face his clan, raising his voice to draw attention.

"It appears victory isn't enough for some, boys!" he announced, pointing his flute toward the whimpering child on display. "We have a rat before us tonight, someone who doesn't belong." Eyes surveyed the crowd before him, the leader eager to see everyone's reactions. Tonight made him wonder a great amount of things, most of all who else decided to question their devotions. "I believe we need to set an example. Would anyone like to do the honor?"

Tramp stalked him silently as the Lost Boys joined the battle, waiting for an opportunity to make his move on Pan. Now was the perfect time to attack. He was out of Tink’s eye line and away from the midst of the chaos that was plaguing the port town. The two were semi-secluded in the outskirts of the battle. The rebel had planned on waiting for the perfect opportunity where Pan would be off guard and reveling in the spilled blood on the streets. But that plan was instantly destroyed when Tramp noticed that Pan had found the location of the rebel leader. 

The rebel drew his sword and stepped in front of the boy as he began to make his way to her place atop her horse. There was no way Tramp was going to let Pan anywhere near her. Even with how upset he was with her, the protectiveness he felt for her never dissipated. His eyes locked with Pan’s and filled with a look of hatred that Tramp had never given to someone before. The complete disgust he had of the boy was unmatched. The rebel pushed Pan’s sword away from his own and placed the tip against his chest, pushing lightly.

"Don’t go anywhere near her," he spat the words out like poison. 

He gave little time for the other to respond. The leader's nimble figure was up in the air before Tramp had a chance to attack. "I'll do whatever I want to!" he exclaimed, unable to comprehend just how stupid this boy was to provoke him. The air was his guide as it carried him ever higher, effortlessly twisting about before landing on the ground. There was a change in positioning then, this time with Pan's sword against the edge of Tramp's neck, a hand reaching out across the other's mid-section to prevent movement. Pan stood behind the other from his quick jump, and unlike Tramp he had every intention to kill him then.

With force, Peter rounded both of them to face the woman upon her horse. This moment could have only been better had the traitor been close enough to watch it. His grip upon his handle tightened as the blade slowly dug itself against the boy's neck. Adrenaline rushed through Peter's veins. He had the power to break Tinkerbell more so than he ever had before, far past the point of repair in the taking of this boy's life. But as Peter pushed his sword even further toward him , an idea flashed across his head. His eyes widened at the thought. Killing Tramp was too easy. There was no fun in doing it, not like this.

Pan wanted to see Tramp suffer.

"That’s very like you Peter. Always just wanting your fun no matter the cost, never wanting to grow up, and a disdain towards the adults. What makes you so confident that you will rule Neverland?" Nyx started to swing back and forth on the swing underneath the tree. "I understand having fun, but what are you telling the boys that they are fighting for?" The brunette remained emotionless on the outside. She looked as if she was as careless of his follies as the night, but inside she was boiling. If the boy was risking her twins’ lives for nothing, she would have his head sooner than he could even blink. They are risking their lives out there for his fun? No, she would not allow it.

"Torn? No. This war has been going on for centuries and I am growing tired of it. Don’t get me wrong. If I see someone I really care about getting hurt out there, I will step in. I just don’t see the point in stepping in right now." The swing was large and she patted the space next to her. "Care to sit or are you going to just continue to pace around me?"

Nonetheless, images surfaced at the mentioning of his own. They came alive and cleaned themselves from the dust and shadow Pan had settled them into. The Twins, yes, now it started to come back to him. "Doesn't matter who brought them here, they're here and they're with me." His tone was almost mocking, the boy already prying about for a weak spot within the girl's mind. Pain was fun for him, but mind games were always better. Seeing someone deteriorate with only words was a marvelous sight. "What a surprise that you sided with the traitor after seeing what happened to her." He mimicked her in pouting. "The boys were so upset by her and your betrayal."

"I already rule the island, don't tell me you're as daft as the rest of them," Pan then added, always quick to proclaim his self-granted title. He motioned toward the battle below. "There they are, fighting for their lives for the sake of whatever useless prize is to be granted." Pan shrugged, a certain disposition of entitlement apparent. "Then here I stand, doing whatever I please for fun. I don't have to win my group over with promises that will only be broken. They fight to fight." He was amazed that people had not realized this sooner. "Should they fail though... well that's never a good thing. They need strength to survive- it's not my fault if the weak ones pass. They fight to live in this war that Hook and Tink threw themselves in." A war that had already been won in Peter's opinion. His chest swelled pride knowing how smart he was to realize this, focusing his stare back to the battle before them. 

A sigh escaped him as he contemplated silently of the position all sides were in, stopping his pace to better inspect the burning town. Pan was childish, but centuries played a role in how he thought. "After seeing so much, you start to realize how this is all a game." The sentence seemed dark in how Pan expressed it, solemn and unforgiving. He turned back to Nyx, wary of her invitation. "I'll display your skin before all the boys if you so much as try to harm me," he warned. "I'm not stupid."

A part of her wondered how long the boy had been there and another part wondered what he was doing here, neither mattered. Pan sounded almost happy and excited for the fights that were breaking out below them. The fire and smoke that seemed to engulf the night seemingly fueled the boy. Nyx would question it, but it’s Peter Pan. The boy who tortured people himself and sometimes even pits his own boys against each other. War was his element like night was Nyx’s. She stopped the swing and stared back out over the hill.

The figure of Peter Pan soon appeared in between her and the view of the carnage in front of her. Her deep brown hues slipped up to his eyes. “No. I grow tired of fighting all the time. It’s pointless. Three groups fighting against each other and it gets nobody anywhere. Plus if you look inside the groups people are torn apart about who they care for and what they are fighting for.” She shook her head. “I’m tired of fighting. If you came to kill me or hurt me, I won’t allow it, Peter. I don’t want to fight, but I am not going to die.”

He smirked in response. "Fighting all the time? Can't say I've seen you in many skirmishes." In fact, as Pan looked down upon her, she didn't seem familiar from war at all. He recognized her face from somewhere, however, but lacked the ability to pinpoint it. Forgetting the past was a specialty of his, save for the memories that hurt too much to dismiss. He waved the thought away. "I wouldn't say I'm fighting against anyone. I'm just... making it more fun." As the final word slipped from his lips, he nearly chuckled. There was nothing better than a life revolving around enjoyment, no matter how sick his amusement seemed to others. Footsteps continued to carry him in a steady pace around Nyx. "It's the only thing to do with the adults bickering away. There's no use in it at all." Especially when Peter knew he would win whatever this war was about. He already felt that he had. 

Again, his face held an expression of interest and curiosity in the other. "Are you really saying that others are torn with the battle, or are you too afraid to admit that it's you who feels torn?"

She chuckled as the smile slid like raindrops from his face. She had always been more resilient than he, and Tinkerbell  just as good an actor as she was a liar. Truthfully, it pained her to stand before him, speaking to this boy was like chewing on glass, breathing around him felt like she was choking. But she kept that little tilt to her chin, that slump in her shoulders and that expression that reeked of boredom. She kept it all, for she wanted to see him hurt. “My fault?” She replied, never ceasing to be amazed by this boy’s audacity. “None of this is my fault, Peter Pan. You got yourself captured the day you cut of Hook’s hand, I ‘lost’ myself the day that you betrayed me, and I fought this war for you!” Her voice rose with her words, face turning to an anger she kept in place always for him. “Do you think it was easy for me? Seeing all of them flock to you and knowing that I could’ve been among them? Do not dare to suggest that any of this is my fault. This is all because of you, you stupid, intolerable, useless little boy! Hook may kill me Pan, but at this point I would rather spend an eternity decorating his ship with my limbs than spend another second looking at you.” 

But still, it wasn't working, and even Peter could realize her ability to unwind him. She was pulling at loose ends that were beyond his ability to repair, tugging away violently every time he hit a snag. He was chewing on the inside of his cheek hard enough to taste blood. The pressure was like a rock being pushed against his chest. Peter inhaled sharply and held it in, trying harder to suppress the memories that caused his head to scream within. He silently wished for the ability to incinerate another with his stare alone. Seeing Tinkerbell burn before him, seeing flames engulf the only thing that could harm him, he would have paid his own immortality for. 

He knew he couldn't. His pain was too mingled with pain, sorrow, a hurt inexpressible. When the sorrow did show, it came out completely wrong. It evolved into rage that fueled every action. It did so now as Pan reached for the dagger at his side. He gripped the hilt tightly as he stalked toward her, movement swift and direct. With all his strength he pushed the other against the hard wooden surface behind her, placing the dagger against her neck so she could feel the cold sting.

"I hate you." There words came out like a whisper, forced close enough to her ears that he could feel the heat of his breath. It could not satisfy his need to let his hurt be known. "I hate you!" The boy screamed now, wanting nothing more than to have her ears bleed from the volume of his voice. Pan moved his head to face her directly. "You had your chance and ran when all of this became too difficult. You hid, shy and useless, while that despicable monster ripped me apart. You betrayed us all by giving up, by not making amends for the wrongs you did. You were too scared to join me again, so you hid behind the role of a false savior. You set up your sad impersonation of me and the others with your stupid rebel play. Too bad this is all real."

He pushed the blade against her throat slightly more. "I can kill you also, don't forget. What reason do I have to do otherwise?"

Her slender fingers wrapped around the silvery chains attached to the swing. Nyx sat down and rocked back and forth. Her chocolate eyes focused on small fires and ruby red blood being spilled. It was beautiful and captivating from this distance. She couldn’t take her eyes away from the scene unveiling before her. Then she noticed the fact the swing wasn’t squeaking like she remembered when she came here in the past. Her eyes left the battle field and went to the chain beside her. Nyx spoke absent-mindly to herself. “You know, I could have sworn this used to squeak.”

An insulting comment to make, yes, but little else could be expected of the boy who seemingly appeared out of nowhere. He had been watching the female for some time now, curious as to how oblivious she seemed to the chaos below. Atop the hill they could both see the fiery torches permeate the sky with ash and smoke. The innocent screamed in a dis-enchanted chorus as flames licked at their skin. They made a song Peter may have soothing enough for him to slumber to. Misery was his passion. Tinkerbell's forces were laying waste to the port town, making a mark on all inhabitants within. Even Pan was proud of her tonight.

He had done his fair share in the terror, of course. While not set on aiding the traitorous scum, he could not deny pleasure in seeing others suffer. Slaughter came second nature to the boy with little left to lose, and like a force of nature he brought heartache to both sides of the war as though everything were a joke. As his clan fought with little concern about who they were harming, in due time Pan grew bored. There was only so much to do when he felt he was the best at everything. Entertaining the idea of who could be lurking beyond the town caused him to slip away. And such was how he ended up upon the hill, surveying his carnage and the innocent bystander upon the swing.

He raised an eyebrow imploringly once his presence was known. "Not one for destruction?" he asked, making his way out of the bushes behind her and rounding about to face the other. "I would think a town set ablaze would deserve more attention than a swing."

Her scars tingled, yet Tinkerbell watched Peter with a look of boredom. She actually yawned, eyebrows raised as she looked around at their mossy surroundings before landing her gaze back on Peter. “Are you quite done with your dramatics?” She asked, clearly unimpressed, a master of her own countenance. Tink never betrayed herself, especially not to this woeful boy. “You’ve stolen from me, Peter. You left me to die, yes,” She took a step closer, face a snarl of disgust. “But I have never felt more alive.”

But then she yawned as though there were a gentle lull between them, as if Peter was a mere figment of her cracked brain. Pretending did little to ease the sadness he felt toward her. Unlike the girl, Pan's facade could only go so far. The weight of hurt tugged at his heartstrings. A numbness settled within him. Yes, he was dramatic in every sense of the word. Feelings and sensations filled more more than he would ever admit or wish to show. His smile faded at the slight twitch in the corner of his mouth. "This is your fault," the male growled back, teeth gritting against each other with each syllable. "You caused all of this: my capture, losing yourself, the war. You can't keep anyone safe." He grew louder, arms reaching out to push the girl away. "Whatever life you may feel won't last. Hook will have your head decorating his figurehead soon enough."

So wrapped up in her own problems, Viv failed to notice the boy, and in particular, his foot. Tripping on it, she went sprawling but managed to catch herself on the bench before she hit the ground. Rage flared up in her, her heated gaze falling on the boy as she righted herself. “Or perhaps you should watch who you decide to trip you little-” she stopped, shocked as her hand reach for the boys throat, as if it had a mind of its own. Quickly pulling pack and shoving her hand into her pocket, she finally look at the boy’s face.

She felt as if a cold bucket of water had been dumped on her. It was him. The boy on the flyer the sheriff had showed her. The thing that started this spiraling trail of visions in her head. “You- You’re Peter,” she stuttered, staring at him in disbelief. 

Then again, Peter definitely would have been dead had Vera understood the situation she was in. Her voice would not have been so astounded at his name either. Everyone knew who Peter Pan was, perhaps not in this world but deep within the fact remained so. As he pondered the possibility of the spell waning, head spinning at the thought. If it were so, there was only so little time left before his reign ended, at least in this world. 

Re-addressing the woman who continued to stand before him, Peter had gained enough composure to settle into his over-confident self. He cocked his head to side and mockingly applauded the girl. "Bravo, you're probably the smartest person in this stupid little town." His voice was heightened to where it sounded like a father cooing a child for some mediocre task. Yes, Peter was already back to pushing the mermaid's buttons. "Not that it's that large of a compliment, mind you."

"You should watch who you’re tripping up." he growled back, taking a step towards him. 

A small flicker of distant angry recognition lighting up while he had a proper look at the boy. An urge to actually murder the innocent boy in front of him, he had no idea why, his left hand ached gradually building into stabbing pains shooting up and down his arm. 

The laugh did subside eventually, but his mood continuously escalated. "Oh really?" the youth implored, now attempting to free himself from the other's grasp. Hands far smaller than his captor worked at the others wrist. It took a good shove before Peter was able to stand back, unhindered. "Can't think of any good reason to follow you. With your previous display, I run a better chance on my own compared to being your crutch." Eyebrows contorted themselves along with his matter-of-fact expression. "What makes you think you can boss me around?"