I started to write this fanfic because Peter Pan was my all-time favourite story as a kid. I was in love with the idea of a boy that could fly and a place where no-one aged. I was heartbroken when Peter returned and left poor Wendy staring out her window after him :'(. This fanfic is about Wendy and Peter meeting again five years later. Please review!
I was dying. I knew it, my family knew it and even my dog knew it.
They crowded around my bed silently, each wearing the same defeated, grief-stricken expression that had been in place ever since the doctors had left, little over an hour ago. Mum clutched my hand tightly, as if it was a life-rope somehow keeping me with them. Nana crouched beside her, her large head resting on the edge of the bed. The doctors had given me a week before my heart finally gives out, saying that there was nothing more they could do and how sorry they were. My heart pulsed lethargically in my chest, each of its beats numbered. The silence was thick and heavy, hanging over us like a fog. We all knew that my life had turned into an awful waiting game.
"You'll be alright, Wendy. I promise," vowed Michael, finally breaking the stillness. Fat tears leaked from the corners of his eyes, burning hot trails down his cheeks. Dad encircled him in his thick arms and Michael buried his face into our father's chest, his shoulder shaking with silent sobs. The noise broke my already damaged heart.
"Michael, please don't cry." My throat was thick with emotion. I tried to speak my words as gently as possible. He peeked his head up, a loud sob ripping from his throat. I patted the spot beside me with my free hand. "Come here." He nodded as he pulled himself away from Dad, crawling in beside me. He snuggled as close to my side as humanly possible, knotting his fingers in my shirt as I wrapped my arm around his thin, nine-year-old frame.
John sat motionless on the floor, his back against the bed frame, knees curled up to his chest. He stared without seeing at the timber floorboards beneath his feet, his fingers clenching and unclenching. He had not spoken a word since this morning.
"Can I have a moment with John?" I asked a few minutes later.
John did not even acknowledge the words. Mum nodded, giving my hand one final squeeze before she stood. Dad had a look on his face that said he was scared to leave the room, as if something terrible may happen if I was left alone for even a second. I tried to give his an encouraging smile which he tried to return, failing miserably. Michael released his death grip on my shirt, kissing my cheek before following our parents out of the room.
"Talk to me, John," I said as the door closed behind them.
He finally turned his head and looked at me, his face red and blotchy. "I don't know what to say." His voice cracked on the last word and he clenched his eyes together tightly, fighting for control over his emotions. He was thirteen now and into his gawky teen years where his arms and legs were too long for his body. It was as if a blade sliced at my chest as I thought about how I would never see him grow into a man, watch him fall in love, never witness him marry and have kids of his own. I pushed the thoughts away. They were too painful to dwell on.
"Get up here," I ordered softly. He sniffled before standing. John slid in gently beside me, worried that even the slightest movement of the bed would hurt me. I gripped his shaking hand as tightly as I could. He rested his head on my shoulder. "Let's not talk about it, okay?"
"Okay," he agreed quietly. "What do you want to talk about?"
"Anything," I said. "Something happy."
He was quiet for a moment and I could see him thinking. "It has been five years," he finally said. I knew instantly what he was referring to. "Do you ever think about it-about him?"
I nodded. "All the time," I answered truthfully. It had been five years since I last saw Peter. I hadn't heard from him, not that I expected to. But I had still hoped. In the end though, he had made his choice: he had not been ready to grow up, and I doubted he would be anytime soon-not that I will be around to find out. "I just…I just wished I had seen him one more time."
"So do I-even if he was a bit of a stuck-up bastard." A ghost of a smile touched his lips.
A smile spread across my face and I pretended to gasp in shock. "Mother would belt you if she heard you talking like that."
John gave a naughty grin. "Only if you tell her."
I drew an invisible cross over my chest with my finger. "Cross my heart."
"And hope to die," John whispered, finishing the words I left unsaid. He buried his face into my neck, wrapping his arms around me as tears rolled down his cheeks. "Please don't leave me, Wendy," he begged desperately, as I had a choice in the matter.
My hand came up to gently stroke his brown hair, tucking it behind his ears. "Shh," I soothed as I rocked us gently. "Will I ever truly be truly gone? I will always be watching over you like the annoying big sister that I am." I kissed his forehead, placing one of my hands over his heart. "I will always be in here. Don't ever doubt that. Love you, John."
"I love you too, Wendy." His voice was shaky and breathless. I didn't know how to comfort him-if I even could-so I did the only thing I could think of. I held him as he cried, his tears drenching the collar of my shirt.
I stood in the courtyard, desperately trying to hold myself together to no avail. Tears streamed down my cheeks in endless waves. If felt as though I had spent the best part of the last few months crying. I felt helpless and puny. Wendy had always been the mature one, the one who watched over Michael and I. She kept everything in order and running smoothly. Who would do that what when she was gone?
Just thinking about life without Wendy had my heart tearing into two and my stomach lurching painfully, threatening to bring up the little amount I had been forced to eat at lunch.
There was no saving Wendy now; there was no hope left. Her heart would stop beating and she would simply cease to exist. Why did it have to be Wendy? What had she ever done to deserve this? Life was cruel, constantly ripping away loved ones. We are born; we aged; we die. The cycle was simple and blunt-inescapable. What is the point of living only to die? Is there any point to it at all-to growing up?
There was only one person I knew who never aged: Peter. And he was gone, off living his carefree life, no doubt fighting pirates and causing mayhem wherever he went. He didn't have to worry about getting older and someday dying. He was frozen in time…forever.
My head jerked up too quickly, causing my vision to blur momentarily. The idea sparked, causing me to feel stupid for not realising it earlier. If Wendy stopped aging, so would her heart. It would not wither and die.
Wendy. Would. Not. Die.
The same four words raced around my mind over and over again as my legs gave way, sharp pain that I barely noticed shooting through my knees as I slammed into the cement underneath me.
I needed Peter-needed him to save Wendy's life-and he was nowhere in sight. I hadn't seen hide nor hair of him in five years. Five years! He had probably forgotten about us by now, our memory becoming vague and fuzzy.
"Peter!" I screamed into the glistening night sky, feeling more desperate than I had in months.
I was soaring over the sleeping city of London, the frigid night air biting at my skin. The sun would rise in a few hours' time and the people would wake, beginning their new day. The noise would begin, the traffic would bustle and the feeling of peace would be lost. Right here-as I looked down at the city's lights below me, floating effortlessly above-was the only time I ever felt at peace.
I flew lower. It wasn't the smartest thing to do, but I didn't care.
Earlier today, I had gotten into a fight with the Lost Boys. It hadn't been pretty, resulting in a lot of screaming and throwing of things. In the end, I had stormed out of our hideout in a murderous rage, launching into the sky. I had flown for hours, not caring where I ended up-just wanting to get away. I was surprised when I looked down and realised where I was. I was back in London: the place where it all had started.
Lately, I had found myself thinking about her more than ever. Each time I closed my eye, it was her face I saw. It was her who haunted my dreams. I missed Wendy. I missed her more than I would ever care to admit. I wanted to see her again. Correction: I had to see her again.
Just one more look, I told myself. If I could see her once more, that would be enough.
My mind made up, I flew across the city, my body seeming to be on autopilot, knowing exactly where to go without having to think. I dropped onto Wendy's roof as quietly as I could, my feet barely making a sound as they touched down. Crouching in the shadow of the chimney, I was completely hidden from view. Light poured from her open second story window, washing onto the empty street below. The night was still, the neighbourhood resting. It was both frightening and exhilarating being back here again. I hadn't checked over the Darling's house for over two years, the last time I had been in London. It felt like a lifetime ago.
Creeping closer to the edge of the roof, I was about to lower myself down onto the window ledge when a heartbreaking sob drifted into my ears. The soft sound was filled with such pain and anguish, I stopped. I scanned around me, looking for the source but finding only shadows. The noise came again from behind, this time louder. Jumping onto the air, I slowly flew to the opposite side of the roof, peering down into the courtyard below. What I saw made my chest constrict.
John Darling was kneeling on the ground, crumpled in on himself. His arms were wrapped around his middle and his shoulders shook uncontrollably as he wept. My mind told me to flee-that he shouldn't know I was here-but I couldn't. The kid looked too broken to leave. Silently, I drifted down until I was standing in the shadows of the house.
"John," I said quietly, trying not to startle him.
He froze, becoming as rigid as a statue. He stood, turning around slowly. Red splotches covered his tear-stained cheeks and his eyes were bloodshot from crying. He had aged a lot in within the years I had been away. He also looked awful, like he was on the brink of a breakdown, his face pinched tight and extremely sad.
"Peter?" John breathed, blinking his eyes repeatedly as if he didn't believe what he was seeing. "Is that you?"
I stepped out of the shadows. "Yes."
Emotions flickered across his face rapidly. Shock. Disbelief. Amazement. Relief. Hope. "You heard me calling for you?" he asked, his voice shaking with barely controlled emotion.
My eyebrows furrowed in confusion. "No. I was flying over and heard you crying." It wasn't exactly the truth. I took in his blotchy, worn down face. "Are you alright? Is something wrong?" His eyes glassed over and a new wave of tears started falling. A sob ripped its way from his shaking chest as he buried his head in his hands. "John!" I said in alarm, moving towards him.
"It's Wendy," he barely managed to choke out in between sobs. "She's dying."
It felt as though John had poured ice water over my skin. My stomach dropped as if there was a brick inside of it. I staggered back. "No," I gasped. "She can't be."
He stared up at me with destroyed, broken eyes, telling me everything I needed to know. He wasn't lying.
"How?" I demanded, desperate to know.
John told me everything.
The more he talked, the more I fought the urge to cover my ears with my hands and flee-fly to a place where everything was okay. A place where Wendy was healthy. A few times, John had to stop, becoming too upset to speak. He told me about how little over nine months ago, Wendy started experiencing chest pains and how over time, they only worsened. He explained how she had seen a countless number of doctors, each one telling their family the same this: Wendy needed a new heart. John choked out how the waiting list was too long; Wendy would be dead well before a heart was available. By the time he was done, silent tears dampened my own cheeks and I felt numb.
"You have to take her back to Neverland, Peter," he begged. "That's the only way she will survive. She'll be dead in a matter of days if she stays here."
"I know. She is coming with me tonight," I promised.
John clenched his eyes shut, tears leaking out of the corners as he tried to control his breathing. "Thank you," he whispered, reopening his eyes. Hope burned in their depths. "Come on."
John led me through the backdoor and into the dark house. All the lights were out and the place was still. You could practically taste the heartbreak in the air. We crept up the stairs-the second step creaking under out weight-and down a long hallway. John stopped outside the last door, sucking in a deep breath before turned the handle. The door swung open and he gestured for me to walk inside.
"I'll be out here," he told me. I nodded, hesitantly stepping through the doorway, scared at the possibilities of what I might find.
When I saw her, I didn't know if I wanted to pull her into my arms and promise to take care of her or run for the hills. Wendy was asleep, her face smooth and relaxed. The low light from the bedside lamp cast a faint glow over her. She was as pale as a ghost, her cheeks and lips lacking colour. The life was slowly seeping out of her. Rushing over to her bedside, I gently grabbed her shoulders, shaking them as softly as I could. They were thin and bony under my hands-fragile.
"Shh," I whispered as she whimpered softly as she woke. Her eyes flickered open, blinking groggily. Her skin was clammy to the touch, pulled tight across hollow cheeks. The brown hair at the base of her neck was damp with sweat. She was so much older now: almost eighteen. She looked beautiful and awful at the same time.
My heart tightened painfully in my chest as the air left my lungs. Looking at her, I realised with clarity that Wendy was actually dying. It felt like a slap in the face. Up until now, I had help a small feather of hope that it wasn't as bad as John had told me, that it was just him over exaggerating because Wendy was his sister. All hope fell away as her eyes landed on me in the dimly lit room.
"Peter?" Her voice was as frail as she looked as her eyes flickered across my face, seemingly trying to comprehend that I was in front of her. "I'm dreaming again," she muttered, almost sadly, blinking quickly as if trying to clear her vision.
I shook my head, saying: "No, you're not. I'm here, Wendy." I reached out and touched one of her hands that rested over her stomach as softly as I could, afraid that the slightest contact would hurt her. She skin was so terribly cold and damp underneath mine.
She pulled her hand away, the movement laboured. "You're not real." Her voice was slightly stronger, holding a hint of finality. Her eyes still didn't leave my face, as if she was scared I would disappear if she looked away for even a moment.
"Listen to me. I'm real. I came back for you, Wendy," I urged her to understand as bent down, pushing a strand of her brown hair behind her ear, my hand coming to rest on her hallow cheek. "I'm going to save you. I promise."
She looked as if she believed me for a moment before her face crumpled, tears prickling in the corners of her eyes. "No one can save me," she breathed the words softly. "I'm hallucinating, or maybe I'm already dead. I'm not sure which. I don't think it even matters."
I winced. It was painful hearing Wendy talk about her death like it was inevitable. I had never heard Wendy sound so defeated…so ready to curl up and let fate have its cruel way with her. "Please don't say that. You're not dead or hallucinating." I cupped her face in my hands, the tips of my fingers trembling ever so slightly. "Feel that? I know you can. I'm here. I'm real."
She stared at me with an unwavering gaze for a long, hard moment. "Peter," she finally whispered. This time, the word didn't sound like a question: it was a realisation. "How?" Her shaking arm reached out and gripped my arm with as much strength as she could muster-which wasn't a lot.
"That's not important," I told her. "What is important is getting you better. You're coming with me; I'm taking you to Neverland." She opened her mouth to speak, her face full of confusion and unspoken questions. I cut her off. "You won't age there, Wendy. You won't die."
Her mouth formed a perfect circle. "But…"
I shook my head. "No buts. John knows and he will tell your parents. There is no other option. You are not dying, Wendy. I won't allow it."
She looked shock and scared. I wanted to wrap her up into my arms and promise to protect her. But how are you supposed to fight something completely out of your control? "I…I need to see John," she said.
I nodded. "He's in hall. I'll go get him." I walked over and opened the bedroom door, cautiously poking my head out into the hall, making sure he was alone. John was leaning against the wall, his hands in his pocket, shoulders slumped, staring fixatedly at his feet. He looked up, his eyes wet with tear. "Wendy's asking for you."
Without a word, he followed me back into the room, silently shutting the door behind him. The lock click quietly. John rushed to the bed and Wendy engulfed him in her thin arms, her fingertips shaking slightly. He clutched her tightly, as if this was the last time he would ever see her. For his sake, I prayed it wasn't. I stood in the corner of the room, giving them there moment to say their goodbyes.
"I love you, John," Wendy whispered as she pulled back, tucking a piece of his hair behind his ear like he was a small child.
"Don't say it like you're saying goodbye," he told her.
"I'm not. I promise." She wiped away a tear that had fallen down her cheek with the back of her hand. "Tell them-" Her voice broke, cutting off, and she took a moment to collect herself. "Tell them that I love them and will be home as soon as I can."
I could tell she was putting on her bravest face and it broke my heart watching.
John tried to muster a smile but he looked like he was in pain more than anything else. "I will. Just please don't pick a fight with any mermaids, and for heaven's sake, don't get skewered by a pirate. You bleeding out on the deck of a ship is just what we need at the moment."
Wendy gave a weak smile at his attempt at lightening the mood. "But wouldn't it make for an amazing story."
"Just think of the battle scars," he mused with a small grin, his eyes lightening for the first time tonight. He gripped her hand tightly, giving it a squeeze. "Just please…promise to be safe," he said seriously, his eyes full of worry.
She held up a shaking pinkie finger and waited until John wrapped his own around hers. "I promise I will be safe and come home as soon as I can," she assured with absolute conviction.
John nodded, bending over to kiss her cheek before stepping back. He looked over at me and I took it as my cue to take Wendy. I walked over to the bed, pulling the covers back. She was in a loose shirt and pair of baggy pyjama pant. I wanted to cry as I took in her frail body. She was sickly thin-so weak.
"Are you right to stand?" I asked, gulping down the lump that had formed in my throat. I couldn't afford to lose it now.
"If you help me."
I nodded, reaching a hand around her back to gently pull her into a sitting position. I felt each bump in her spine through the thin material of her shirt. I hooked an arm under her knees, twisting her around until she was on the edge of the bed, her bare feet touching the timber floor. I knelt down, my back facing her. Looking over my shoulder I said: "Hop on."
She wrapped her thin arms around my neck and I placed my hands behind both her knees, standing and pulling her onto my back. She hooked her legs around my torso. She was so incredible light, almost as if she was only bag of bones. My hand rested under her thighs, knowing she wouldn't have the strength to hold herself up.
"See you soon," she tried to say lightly to John, who stood motionless from his spot, his eyes never leaving us. He gave a sharp nod, not trusting his voice. His bottom lip quivered and I knew it was time to go. I didn't want Wendy to see him finally break down. She would feel guilty, knowing she was the cause of his pain.
"Hold on," I warned as I ran towards the open window. Her frail arms tightened around my neck and she gasped as I leapt head-first through the window. She buried her head into the crook of my neck and shoulder. I hovered just about the window momentarily, adjusting my grip on her.
John rushing to the window, poking his head out, searching the sky frantically for us as I turned and shot into the heavens, the cold London air whipping past us as I soared above the city and into the night with Wendy wrapped around me like the most precious parcel even carried.
The frigid night air flew around us, lashing stands of my hair around my face and into my eyes, causing shivers to rack my body and goose bumps to cover my skin. Peter's grip never wavered, never made it appear that I was too heavy for him to carry. If it wasn't for his hold, I would have fallen ages ago, not having the strength to hold on any longer. My body felt drained and limp. I tucked my head down into his shoulder and closed my eyes tightly, wishing away the wave of dizziness that crashed over me.
I didn't know how long we had flown for, all lights from passing cities disappearing long ago. We flew over the ocean, the only light given from the moon and stars reflecting on the dark water.
On we flew for what felt like hours, never slowing, never stopping.
Finally, under the light of the moon and stars, a familiar island came into view, surrounded by a dark mass of water. A ripple went though both our bodies as we past thought the invisible barriers that surrounded Neverland: the one that prevented anything from aging.
Peter dipped low unexpectedly and I tightened my legs around his waist. He flew down, coasting a foot above the forest trees that covered the island. The sound of waves crashing against the shore and leaves rustling in the wind filled my ears. Ahead, a small clearing came into view, a huge Tule tree standing in the middle. I still recognised it instantly even after all these years.
He dropped to the ground a few meters away from its large trunk, stumbling on his feet slightly. I unhooked my legs and they found the ground, the thick grass soft and lush under my bare feet. Peter turned and grabbed my waist, holding me upright as my legs threatened to give way. He looped one of my arms around his shoulders and supported most of my weight as he helped me stumbled over to the tree.
Now that I could see his face, I noticed how drained he was. His breathing was laboured and a sheen of sweat covered his forehead. His movements were slow and lethargic.
At the tree, he reached out with his free hand until his fingers gripped a piece of bark. With a yank, a door swung open, large enough for us to step though if we bent over. Light drifted out of the hole and voices floated up to us-the sounds of young boys laughing and talking.
With his last remaining strength, Peter hooked his arm under my legs, swinging me up bridal style. My arms were too weak to wrap around his neck and I struggled to keep my eyes open. My body was shutting down, refusing to operate. He ducked his head and shoulders, stepped through the secret door into the tree and into the beam of light as we dropped down into a tunnel.
I heard the hidden door fall shut behind us as Peter skidded on his back down the short, dirt shaft, me on his lap. We broke through into the light, hitting the hard ground. We went sprawling, all the air leaving my lungs in one painful motion as Peter was thrown on top of me. Bright light shone into my eyes, blurring my vision.
The room was quiet for a heartbeat before it broke into chaos, yells and cries filling the air.
"Oh my God! It's Wendy!"
Peter thankfully rolled off, groaning as he moved, flopping down onto his back next to me. A small graze marked his cheek. That was all I could make out before my eyelid closed, sucking me into black nothingness.
Please review and tell me what you think! Did you like it? Did you hate it? :D I'm dying to know.