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Chapter Text

Sarah tucked her son in, kissing his head and putting his beloved book on the bedside table. He grinned at her sleepily and snuggled into his pillows, quickly falling into a peaceful slumber. Sarah turned to the window and closed it, sliding the curtains shut, but leaving them ajar about an inch. She knows just how much Jim loves to wake up with sunlight streaming through the curtains, bathing him in a lovely golden halo. Just then, she realized how long she’d been standing there. She chuckled silently to herself, wondering why she zoned out and slipped out of the door, shutting it softly.

~~~~

Jim awoke groggily, lifting his head up from the pillow and stared around the room. It was still nighttime, so there was no reason he should be awake. He decided it would be best to just go back to bed, and that’s what he did.

Well... he tried.

Just as he was about to lay back down, his eyes caught a shadow on the floor, made possible by moonlight. He allowed his eyes to travel upward to the window, feeling his breathing begin to pick up. The curtains were drawn back more than his mother allowed them to be at night. When his gaze finally reaches the window, he let out a fearful whimper as he found eyes staring back at him, unblinking and full of wickedness.

He froze in fear before he jumped out of bed and ran to his parents’ room. He locked the door and dived under the blankets, shivering against them. His parents quickly woke up, firing the usual, “Was it a nightmare,” questions. Jim’s mouth worked, but only whimpers emitted from his shivering vocal cords. His parents soon realized that this was no nightmare.

Sarah stroked his hair, cooing at him and shushing while his father made his way silently to his abandoned room. Sarah and Jim stayed still and quiet, listening for any sign of a struggle, but none came. Jim’s father came back into the room, telling them that the only thing he found were the drawn back curtains. They allowed Jim to stay in their room that night as he put up a fight, practically begging them not to send him back into his room.

~~~~

After that fateful night, Jim continued to see the eyes outside his window when he awoke in the middle of the night. And each time he did, he ran to his parents’ room. And each time his mother calmed him. And each time his father came back with nothing but opened curtains.

His parents discussed it many times about how Jim was getting too old to sleep with them. His father even brought up whether it was really a reoccurring nightmare or if he was lying. Sarah disregarded the idea, denying that Jim would be lying about eyes in the window when he was so shaken up.

They took him to doctors, trying to figure out if he was showing true signs of schizophrenia. When the tests came back negative, they were left with no other ideas.

This hurt Jim deeply as he knew for a fact that he was completely sane. So, he made up his mind to sleep in his room and pay no mind to the eyes. Though it hurt him, he decided to tell his parents that he’ll be more mature and deal with it. Sarah shot him a worried look as his father just nodded in approval.

~~~~

On some lucky streak, Jim quit waking in the night. He never awoke to see the eyes and his curtains stayed at the same place Sarah had closed them the night before. The bags under his eyes grew lighter and he felt more rested. Happier. Safer.

His parents were satisfied with his progress and they were finally able to write off the incident as a nightmare. Jim was almost convinced of it himself.

Almost.

~~~~

Jim was fourteen now. The Nightmare pushed far into the depths of his mind and he made his way into his room after cleaning the table and saying his goodnights. He hopped into bed, a tired grin on his face. Looking around his room, he had a small feeling of nostalgia as he caught sight of his childhood book. That was so strange. He hadn’t seen that book in years! It disappeared after the...

“No. Nope, uh uh, absolutely not,” he yelled at himself. There was no way he was going to remember that horrible year. His mother probably took it and forgot to give it back.

Right?

“...”

This is ridiculous! He felt a shiver go through him and he got up, opening the book. He was immediately greeted by that oh, so familiar light, pictures and sounds that his childhood revolved around. Comfortable tears welled up in his eyes as he remembered running around his room with his mother hot on his heels, pretending to be a monster pirate chasing his ship. About her tackling his and rocketing him onto his bed and reading him stories. His father would join in sometimes and they’d all make a pillow fort or even stargaze.

He hadn’t even realized he had hugged the book to his chest and started crying softly for a few minutes. He wiped his tears and spun on his heel, slipping under his blanket and shutting his eyes peacefully.

He hadn’t felt this happy in a long time.

Jim slipped off to a dream world filled with happiness and adventure and belonging. He traveled space with his parents and friends and even became captain of his own ship! The dream seemed to last forever; it was as if it was in real life. It was so vivid and detailed from the biggest, brightest stars right down to a single blade of grass.

~~~~

Jim awoke peacefully, breathing in the fresh morning air as foggy sunlight filtered through his window.

“...”

His window... that was supposed to be closed with curtains drawn was now opened, sending chilly Autumn air fluttering through his room. The wind was accompanied by a small tinkling sound and a low laughter. He huddled under his blanket and stared out the window, breath beginning to come out fast and voice caught in his throat.

It was back.

Those terrifying eyes, wicked grin and malicious aura were back and haunting him. But his window was open this time. Nothing to stop this creature from slipping in. He saw a hand come up to rest on his windowsill, and that caused him to bolt.

He threw open his door and ran down the stairs. He heard his parents in the kitchen and he threw himself into Sarah’s arms.

“Whoa,” Sarah exclaimed, laughing a little, “What’s going on? Do you want to help me make breakfast?”

“No,” Jim cried, “No no no no no no! Mom, it’s back! The eyes are back! My window was open, and I saw them. It tried to come into my room, please-”

“Jim, I thought we were over this. It’s been years,” His father shook his head and set down his mug.

“No, Dad, its back! I know it is!”

“Enough, Jim, please. It’s too early for this,” The man rose from his chair and slipped into the living room as Jim clung to his mother.

“Please, Mom, you have to believe me,” Jim held onto his mother for dear life. Sarah sighed quietly and pulled her son’s arms from around her waist, “Mom?”

Sarah had, of course, believed him. Ever since the beginning, when he first fell onto their bed, shivering. Jim had never been a skittish child. He was bold and strong for a child his age and size. His imagination had always run wild, but as much as it did, a child would never be able to create that horrific image in shocking detail like Jim had, many times. Unlike a liar, Jim’s story of this “creature” never did seem to change. Huge, unblinking eyes. A wicked grin. An aura of malice. Too dark to see any other features. The only thing that caused her to falter is the lack of evidence. The creature was gone before her husband got into the room and came back with the same thing. Opened curtains.

There was nothing she wanted to do more than protect Jim, but from what? There was nothing to see for Sarah and her husband. Just a terrified Jim and a blanket soaked with tears and piss. Her husband got irritated, spewing something about, “He’s a man, he should act like one,” or, “This is a waste of time, it’s just a nightmare.” Sarah felt more than just pity for that man and when it came to Jim... Sorrow.

“Jim, sweetie, please. You’re about to turn fifteen,” Sarah felt her heart break at Jim’s look of horror and disbelief, “You must learn how to deal with... nightmares on your own.”

The words felt wrong on her tongue and she wished she could take them back, but the damage was done. Jim had tears in his eyes and was beginning to hyperventilate.

“W-why won’t you believe me,” his voice cracked uncharacteristically, quietly, “I’m so scared, why won’t you believe me?”

Sarah bit her tongue. She hated seeing her boy like this, but what could she do? Especially now. She watched as Jim backed away, cowering. As if she were the beast and her heart broke even more if that were possible.

“Please,” He said, a tear rolling down his cheek.

Sarah stood her ground.

“Jim, please,” She started, “It’s over now. You have nothing to be afraid of-” And Jim screamed.

“You have no idea what there is to be afraid of,” His hands fisted in his hair, tugging, “If you saw it, like I did, you would know! I’m not lying!”

“Okay, that is enough,” Sarah said firmly. “You will not talk to me like that, Jim. This is ridiculous! I understand you’re afraid, but that is no reason to shout at me,” She pinched the bridge of her nose, taking a deep breath, “Trust me when I say this, Jim; I want to believe you. I really, really do. I just... can’t.”

His lip quivered, more tears spilling down his face.

Now... Sarah did feel like the monster.

“W-wait! Jim-” She called out as her son sprinted out of the kitchen. “What have I done...” Sarah collapsed into a chair, trying to hold back her own tears. But she was sobbing before she could stop them.

~~~

Jim ran through the house and the Inn. His mother hurt him more than she could possibly imagine. Deal with it! She seemed to scream at him. What could he do now? He was hurt and he didn’t want to do this alone.

“It’s not fair,” He sobbed, throwing open the door and running onto the porch.

“What isn’t fair?”

And Jim froze. He stared down at the floating boy with the malicious eyes who now seemed curious. He gazed at Jim’s frightened, tear stained face in a wonder that was less than innocent.

“What isn’t fair,” He repeated.

Jim felt weak. Fear coursed through his veins like wildfire the more he stared at this boy. He backed away slowly, as to not provoke him. Run away. Run. Away.

Before he could spin on his heel, his arm was grabbed and tugged on. He screamed in horror as he was lifted off the ground. Did he weigh nothing to this boy?

“Mom! Dad! Help!”

His pleas were not heard as he was hauled off into the sky. Home had disappeared behind clouds and stars and oceans.

And then he saw gold.

Chapter Text

The island was gorgeous. Mountains and lakes and pretty beaches. Rainbows littered the sky in full circles. Little critters ran around the trees and fish jumped in the creeks. A bonfire in the distance had the warm scent of hickory and could make even the saddest man happy. It was warm and sunny and oh so comfortable.

However, that is not the case for Jim.

He whimpered at the expanse of the sea as he was carried over it like a sack of potatoes, the boy’s grip tight and unyielding on his arm. He had swung at him multiple times, but the flying boy didn’t so much as flinch on their journey to this island. He dived down and Jim let out a shriek, terrified of the land moving closer to his face than it should.

They stopped falling about a foot off the ground and the boy finally dropped him. He would have ran away had they not landed on an island in the middle of nowhere. He settled for scrambling to a large rock, diving behind it.

“What do you want from me,” He shouted. He didn’t expect to hear an answer, but there was one. And it was a harsh, cruel laugh.

“Oh, you poor thing,” He said after he had finished laughing. He appeared before Jim, face upside down as he hovered. The victim yelped and backed up against the rock. “I’m doing you a favor.”

Jim blinked in awe, shaking his head. “Favor?”

“Yep! As you know, I’ve been watching you for a long time,” The boy said as if it was the most normal thing in the world. “Your folks? They’re really stuck up, huh?”

“What do my parents have to do with this,” He cried.

“I’m getting to it, hold your horses,” The boy flipped right-side up and crossed his legs, still hovering above the ground. “Grownups stink. They didn’t believe your stories about me and certainly didn’t care about you. So, I brought you here, to my island. Welcome to Neverland, Jim! Where you’ll never grow old.” Jim gawked at the boy and slowly stood, using the rock as leverage.

“I... I was happy when you didn’t show up,” He muttered.

“What’s that?”

“We were happy when you didn’t show up,” He shouted into his face. Jim pulled at his hair. “I’m not a psycho, but you made me look like one! We were so happy, but you ruined everything! My mental health, my relationship with my parents, my childhood? That’s ruined because of you! I want to go home!”

The flying boy stared at him for a long while. Then, he began to laugh. A deep, wicked laugh. Jim stared at him in disgust, but that disgust soon dwindled down to fear as the boy stalked closer to him. He cheated to the side to escape him, but his foot got caught on a root and he crashed into the dirt. He spun around, backing away from the cruel figure, but he was much faster.

He put a hand on Jim’s chest, pushing him down and keeping him still. He stared into his eyes as his victim began to whimper.

“You sure about that psycho thing?”

Jim felt his eyes prick with tears and he took a shuddering breath. “Please,” He begged quietly. “I want to go home.”

The flying boy rolled his eyes and pulled him off the ground. Jim wondered if he was going to take him back, but his hope was shattered after he was carted off deeper into the forest. It was still gorgeous even down here. The trees seemed to stretch on for miles. One would think it was endless had Jim not seen it was an island. Thinking about it now... He had never heard of Neverland. Was it a different planet? How could it be? They didn’t go into space.

Jim gazed at the large flowers jutting up bravely from the forest floor and critters running up the trees, seemingly on a mission. The colors were all vivid and new and full of surprise around every corner. Something new everywhere he looked. It was very unfortunate that he had to see this all in the predicament he was in.

A boy who had terrorized him his entire childhood had come back after disappearing for so long. The boy who kidnapped him and had the audacity to laugh in his face. The boy who’s shoulder he was now slung on like a sack of potatoes as he took him... Stars knows where! And why was the boy hovering just inches off the ground to take him there? He could just fly up faster and get there. But now it seemed like they were more on a leisurely stroll.

He huffed softly, fear now transforming into annoyance. He twiddled his thumbs absentmindedly. Sometimes, he’d pick a flower if they got close enough, admiring their stark beauty and how lovely they smelled. A strong scent. Better than the ones at home. Currently, he had red, blue, yellow and purple flowers in his hands, all big and practically radiating with perfumes pleasant to the nose. A small smile twitched at his lips from time to time, only to disappear moments later when the boy made himself known. How you ask? Well, Jim could feel every slight jerk, or twist of the head, or the adjustment of the arm around his thighs.

Suddenly, Jim was dropped on the ground, cushioned by thick moss and small flowers. He grunted from the impact and looked up at the boy. He looked back and shrugged and then pointed to a large tree with a door in between huge roots.

“We’re here,” He almost purred, making Jim shiver in disgust. He stood, dusting off his clothes, but froze when the boy gasped. “Flowers? For me? How thoughtful,” Before he could say anything, the flowers were snatched from his hands and the boy made a show out of inhaling the scents. He looked back at Jim. “You’ll fit in well here.”

Jim’s shoulders drooped slightly, and the boy grabbed his arm once more, ushering him toward the door. He was all but shoved into the entrance, almost tripping down the steps he didn’t know were there. It was dark and he felt his way along the walls. He tried to move as quickly as he could, terrified of the dark and the boy floating behind him, basically breathing down his neck. He finally reached a platform and he lost touch of the wall. The flying boy gave a very long, loud call and he covered his ears, feeling his teeth rattle at the sound.

Once more, he was pushed forward, deeper into the burrow until he could see candlelight and hear excited voices. “The captain’s back!” “Yay he’s back!” “Get out your weapons, men!” And then loud, rambunctious laughter. Children? Just how many people has this boy stolen?

They made it into the candlelight and into a room filled with little boys dressed in animal skins holding wooden weapons. They all scrambled into a line and saluted the flying boy with a consecutive “Sir!” It was almost cute.

“At ease,” The flying boy said, and the children dropped their arms. Jim yelped as he was shoved forward, stumbling. “Lost boys, this is James Pleiades Hawkins. Or Jim for short.” The boy in question shivered visibly when his full name was spoken. The Lost Boys looked at him with wonder.

“This the one you was tellin’ us about, Peter,” One of the boys asked finally. The flying boy nodded, causing the children to all begin speaking excitedly.

“He’s pretty,” Jim heard over the talking, causing him to blush stupidly. The other boys agreed, laughing. The flying boy, Peter, shushed them and finally planted his feet on the ground. (Underground?)

“Okay, enough. Let’s give Jim a nice Neverland greeting! Give him some clothes,” He commanded to all the children. They all whooped loudly and scrambled around the burrow, knocking things over. It wasn’t until one of them held a skin up to Jim that he realized... all these children smell foul. He stopped himself from covering his nose. Instead, he looked at Peter.

“My clothes are fine,” Then he mentally kicked himself, realizing how small and pathetic he sounded. The leader of the children rolled his eyes and poked his chest, causing him to stumble back a bit.

“If you want to stay here, you have to dress like us, Jim,” Peter said simply, taking the animal skin from the boy in front of them, and held it up to Jim’s torso. Jim pushed his hands away from him, face growing red and eyes narrowing.

“I never said I wanted to stay! I’m not gonna be a part of your human collection,” When the flying boy tried to put the skin up to him again, Jim pushed at his hands once more. “Are you even listening? Take me home! I won’t stay here,” At this point, it was clear Peter wasn’t listening, and wasn’t planning on it anytime soon. He just continued to push the skin against his torso, seemingly to take measurements. Face unreadable as he grabbed another piece from one of the boys and held that one up as well. Judging the colors. Jim smacked his hands away harshly and pushed him away.

The Lost Boys gasped and ran around, disappearing further into the burrow, leaving Jim alone with the flying boy. Suddenly, Jim missed the loud chatter and laughter. The angry shaking soon turned back to fear as Peter calmly dropped the skins to the floor and stalked forward. Jim yelped and spun on his heel to run back up the steps. Danger. The alarm in his head screamed. He just barely made it to the opening when his hair was yanked, and he was suddenly hurtling backwards.

Candlelight, flashing colors, and dirt whirled around in front of his eyes. Spinning. Dizzy... He crashed against a makeshift throne make of wood, dirt and... bones. All his air rushed out of him and he gasped in pain when he got it back. He crumpled to the ground and moved his arms to crawl away. Feeling heavy and tired and in so much pain. Tears made their merry way down his dirt stained cheeks as he whimpered and tried to move away from the boy stalking toward him.

Jim yelped as his captor gripped him by the hair once again. Tugging him up off the ground and up into the throne, holding him down by his throat with both hands. Jim cried out in fear, clawing at his arms, wrists, hands, anything he could reach. Pleading with him wouldn’t change anything. He knew that at least. Stars, this boy was as unpredictable as he was terrifying. The trapped boy gasped as Peter’s hands began clamping shut around his throat.

He shook his head frantically, though that only caused more discomfort. Jim’s vision began to grow a little hazy. Then, just as he thought he would black out, a little voice called out. A little voice that sounded like bells. Apologize. It said, repeatedly, though it was faint. Oh Stars, no... What other choice do you have?

“... sorry. ‘m sorry...”

And just like that, Peter released him. Jim gasped for air and slumped down in the throne. Body too exhausted and deprived of oxygen to move much anymore. The flying boy stared at him; the aura of danger gone. For now, at least.

Chapter Text

He was still in pain, shuddering against the coarse animal furs he lay on. The boys had moved him off the throne and into a little burrow further in. It was dark here and the “rooms” were just holes in the dirt walls with fur and candles scattered about. It could hardly be called comfortable. As much as his body protested, he crawled to the side, staring out down the dimly lit hallway.

“I would have to become nocturnal if I wanted to see anything...” He said dryly to himself. A low groan tumbled from him as he stood up, using the wall as leverage. “I guess it’s time to explore.” He slinked along the wall now, passing by many empty rooms. He supposed the boys were out since he couldn’t hear anything around him.

He still didn’t want to risk anything, so he stayed quiet anyway. There were dirt, rocks and twigs at almost every step, so complete silence was not an option. He turned the corner at the end of the hallway, staring down a tunnel which opened into light. Maybe it was the main room. Jim carefully walked up the incline, emerging in the room he had been in before.

It was empty. Good...

Jim stepped out of the tunnel and into the light. He didn’t want to know where they were or when they would come back, he just wanted to leave. But this was an island. Where on earth could he run to? Was he even on Earth to begin with? He’d never heard of this place. Surely something this beautiful wouldn’t be kept secret forever. The captive shook his head, dashing to the doorway in order to run up the stairs.

Only to run right into someone and sending himself crashing to the ground.

“Umph! Watch where you’re going! Oh, it’s you!” Jim rubbed his head and looked toward the direction of the voice. One of the lost boys. Seemingly older and chubbier than the rest of the kids. “What are you doing runnin’ about?” He asked, moving around Jim. “Ain’t you injured?”

Jim blinked slowly, watching the Lost Boy pull some arrows out of a barrel. He stood up and dusted himself off. “I-I’m fine. I just want some fresh air.”

“Oh! Why didn’t you say so?” He chuckled. “I’m Curly, by the way.”

He held out his hand to shake and Jim hesitantly took it. The Lost Boys all smelled terrible, but Curly was at least somewhat clean. And by that, it was really just his hands and his face. Speaking of his hands, they were somewhat cool and a little moist. Like he had washed them recently. Jim vaguely remembered passing by a river as he was hauled away by Peter. The thought of the river made him a little excited; he hadn’t had a bath this morning and even if the water was cold it would be welcome.

“It’s nice to meet you, Curly.” The Lost boy let out a whoop, quieter than the first and put the arrows in the bag he held.

“Well, I’m off!” He waved and walked past Jim to the opening of the burrow, but Jim stopped him.

“W-wait!” The blond boy flinched a bit and turned back around. “I, um... I want to take a bath. Could you... take me to the river?”

Curly’s face was unreadable for a time as he scratched his chin. The silence made Jim wonder if he had said something wrong.

“Uh... sure. Why not?” The boy shrugged. Jim almost laughed.

A bath! Finally! He was covered in dirt and grime and it would feel like heaven splashing around in a river. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d been to one.

“Thank you.” He smiled and followed him out. The sun was still shining high in the sky, so Jim had some sense of time. Jim walked with Curly in a comfortable silence. Listening to the sound of wildlife was so peaceful, and the sound of a river amplified the feeling.

The water was so clear, it was like it wasn’t there. Little critters scampered about by the water’s edge, drinking and playing around. Flowers at full bloom with honeybees collecting their pollen, berry bushes all around and colorful rocks littering the ground, glimmering like jewels in the sun. He saw a few colorful fish jump out of the water, doing full summersaults in the air before diving back in. Jim smiled softly at the sight of it all.

“It’s beautiful.” He said, more so to himself. Curly nodded and sat down by a tree, facing away from Jim as he sharpened his arrows.

“I won’t look. Go ahead and take your bath.” His voice was cheerful, but slightly different somehow. Jim couldn’t place a finger on it but ignored it anyway. He undressed and folded his clothes carefully by another tree.

Stepping into the water, he shivered at how frigid it was. Clenching his jaw against the cold, he walked in further. Slowly, he lowered himself into a seated position and let out a shuddering breath. The water was to his chest now as he sat there, letting the flow wash away the dirt from his body before he began scrubbing at it. It was weird to wash without soap, but he grabbed a few berries to substitute it. Not the best soap, but it was fragrant enough.

He crushed them between his hands and scrubbed them over his skin. They smelled delightfully sweet and he desperately hoped he wouldn’t have any tiny visitors later. Once he had finished with his cleaning, he just sat back. Enjoying the day and all the beauty of the river.

“Are you done?” He heard Curly ask hesitantly, snapping Jim out of his reverie.

“Uh, yeah! Sorry.” He stood up and shook off as much water as he could. He wouldn’t like his clothes sticking to his skin too much. Curly stood up when Jim pulled his shirt over his head, already heading back toward the tree. Jim jogged to catch up. “What’s the rush?”

Curly didn’t answer, only picking up his pace. This time, the walk was overcome with a tense silence. Wasn’t Curly pleasant to be around? What changed during that short bath he took? As the tree came into view, so did the rest of The Lost Boys. Jim saw all their eyes widen simultaneously as they walked up.

There was an audible gulp heard from Curly, sweat beading on his brow as The Lost Boys huddled around him and began to whisper. Jim didn’t hear much of anything, but they all sounded panicked and... sad?

“What’s going on?” He dared to ask, stepping up to the huddle. The boys looked at him sorrowfully, Curly’s face being an almost ghostly color. Then, all at once:

“Peter’s mad.”

Chapter Text

This was his fault. He knew it was entirely his fault, but he was too terrified to voice it. He stood there, still as a tree and quieter than a mous e as the boys continued to whisper. Jim could feel the fear and anguish rolling  off  all of them. But Curly most of all.  

There was a loud crash from inside the tree, breaking glass and scraping metal. An inhuman roar sounding from  within,  and Jim fell backward onto his ass. Face  nearly as pale as Curly’s own. B ut  that terrifying roar was not meant for him.  

It was for the Lost Boy.  

And even the island knew it.  

He felt the ground shake from the force of the roar, feeling it vibrate through his very core. His teeth chattered in his head and he scrambled to his feet. He grasped on of the boys’ arm - he was shaking too- and gasped out:  

“W-what’s he  gonna  do? What’s  gonna  happen?” In the back of his mind, he knew the answer. He had known the answer ever since Curly first hesitated.  When he sharpened his arrow and when he asked if he were done. That tense silence as they walked back, the wide-eyed boys , a nd the monster rampaging in the tree.  

“He’s  gonna  kill ‘ im .” The Lost Boy said, voice cracking just slightly. Jim’s lip quivered and he slowly turned toward the blond boy. C urly gulped once more, already looking like he was on the verge of death. Jim wanted to say something, but his voice just wouldn’t come out. He felt like he was floating on a  cloud made of diamond dust, spikes sticking into his skin and feet not touching the ground.   

He took a shaky step toward Curly, but then he heard that tinkling again.  The   little voice that sounded like bells.  

Don’t touch him. Don’t make it worse for him.  

What?  

Jim stopped  in his tracks. Staring ahead like a deer in headlights. But doesn’t Curly need comfort? He need kindness in his final hour. Why can’t he deliver that? B esides, it’s his fault. Curly shouldn’t have to be punished for this. No one should.  

Curly’s eyes had glossed over as the boys’ whispering died down. It was completely silent now, animals nowhere to be  seen, river too far away. Even the wind had completely disappeared. Then everything happened at once.  

A large blur burst out of the door, barely giving the Lost Boys time to move out of the way as Curly’s throat was caught in a  vice grip. He choked and cried out, but never made the move to escape the grip. The grip of death.  Jim stared in horror at how quickly the boy submitted to that cruel hand.  

This was n’t Peter anymore .  It looked nothing like the boy that had hauled him off to this island.  It was a monster with despair and malice practically dripping off its body.  It was so much bigger and rivaled the eyes he saw in the window so long ago.  The monster was taller than his father, fire red hair atop its head and black eyes that swallowed the light like miniature black ho les. Showing off huge white teeth as it moved  its  mouth back into a sinister scowl that had even the stars cowering.   Clothes a dark green, blood stained and torn, showing muscles as far as the eye could see.   

Jim thought he would pass out from the shock of it all.  

It lifted Curly clear off the ground and disappeared back into the burrow.  The Lost Boys waited for a few moments before a few of them burst into tears.  The oldest one tried his best to shush them, but he looked like he was battling his own sobs as well. Jim huffed slightly as he lowered himself to the ground, shaking so hard he thought he might fall apart.  

He missed home so much... How was he going to get off this island? Were his parents even looking for him?  Did they even notice he was gone?  Jim felt tears sting his eyes ,   but before they could fall, a blood curdling shriek was heard from the tree.   

He covered his ears with his hands, letting out a cry himself. Desperately trying to drown out the sounds of death happening just beneath them. He shut his eyes against the  bright colors of the forest and the sun high in the sky. Against the Lost Boys weeping around the tree and of the wind that started up once mo re. Against it all.  

All.  

All of it.  

Forget it. Go home. Go back to a better place where he would be with his mom and dad and they’d make pillow forts and read his adventure books. Back when he was a child and there was no such thing as eyes peering at you through your window. When there was no such thing as Neverland a nd Peter and The Lost Boys and monsters and death.  

Back.  

“Jim! Sweetie, what are you doing?”  

He looked up with a big grin and ran to his mother.   

“I’m building a fort, Mommy!”  

“And what an awesome fort it is.” She cooed at her son and gave his cheek a big kiss. He stuck out his tongue at the  gesture but  giggled anyway.  

“Come in! Daddy is in there too!” He grabbed her hand and pulled her inside. Sure enough, his father sat against the back wall of the fort, nursing a bag of popcorn  next to the radio. Sarah laughed gently as Jim settled between them both and flicked the radio on.  

Together, they sang their favorite song and read books. Ate tons of snacks as they listened to the sports announcer. Sarah suggested the make a sec ret handshake and Jim was ecstatic! They worked on it for so long that the handshake ended up being three minutes long and not one of them missed a beat.  

Before they knew it, it was nighttime, and they all settled down beneath the roof of the fort. Stars speckled the blanket above them and moved in time with a soft  music box melody. Jim held the hands of both of his parents, feeling safe and lucky to have them  in his  life.   

A small kiss was pressed to his forehead and he fell into a whimsical dream filled with stars.  

Chapter Text

The smell itself was horrific. A  thick iron smell coated the air along with the stench of burnt flesh and piss. Jim gagged and felt his eyes water as the  L ost Boys  walked him down the last of the steps. And, Stars, if  he thought the smell was bad ,  he was not prepared for  the scene splayed out in front of them.   

On the dining room table was Curly. Or, more accurately, what was left of him. His animal onesie was on the floor  next  to  one leg of the table. A rope was tied there, keeping Curly’s one arm in place. There was a cage str apped to his stomach, a bright orange as if it had been  dipped in lava . One glance through the bars of the cage said enough. His stomach had been ripped open , tiny claw marks marring the edges of blood-stained flesh.   

His insides wriggled around as if they were alive, but a rat poked its bloody head from the mess it made of Curly’s torso. The boy’s face  was contorted in an anguished expression. Eyes and mouth opened wide and frozen in stillness of death. Scarlet pooled in the back of his mo uth, slowly rising the edges of his crooked teeth.  

He only had one arm ; t he one tied to the table. The rest of his limbs were strewn across the room. Chopped up and splattered against the walls like  some  twisted work of art.   One such limb had been nailed to the wall. Covered in thick blood that oozed, Jim could make out the faint outline of-  

He retched even though he tried his hardest to keep himself together. Doubled over now, he panted and let the tears flow. He couldn’t. He just couldn’t do it.  Oh Stars. Curly didn’t deserve this! What did he even do? And why did Jim feel like it was his fault?  

“Why ? ” He shouted at the dirt beneath his feet. “Why?”  

The Lost Boys behind him just sobbed quietly. They knew why, but Jim knew he would only get an answer from the monster who  committed  this heinous  act.  

“Where are you?” He cried out in search of Peter. Taking one step on shaky legs before he gagged again. Nothing would come  up  anymore ;  he hadn’t eaten anything more than a few berries .  He felt so weak and afraid.  “Come out!”   

He tried again, staring around the room and at all the tunnel entrances. Gritting his teeth and breathing through his mouth now .  

“Now, now, now, Jim ...  What’s with the tone? ” A sinister voice called.   Peter emerged from the tunnel by the throne. Back to normal  and only a drop of blood on his face to show what he had done.  He tossed a rag to the ground as he floated toward them all. Jim heard the boys behind him line up and salute him. Jim stood his ground.  

“Why?” He asked again and Peter just waved him off nonchalantly.   

“Aw, Jim. Did you throw up? How awful.” He cooed at him, twirling a strand of Jim’s hair on his finger as he circled him. Jim wanted to puke again  but he instead followed Peter with his eyes.  

“Why did he have to die?” He tried once more.  

“Why? I assumed you already knew the answer.” Peter leaned in close to his ear, voice a low purr. “After all, it’s your fault.” Jim felt his blood run cold and he whisked around, taking a step away from him.  

“N-no, it’s not! I didn’t lay a finger on him!”  

Peter tilted his head slowly, eyes wide and almost cat like.  

“Stop looking at me like that!” Jim whimpered, shrinking back into himself. He was terrified. “It-it’s not my fault, I didn’t do anything!”  He tugged at his hair, hoping the pain would help fend off the panic attack he felt rising in his chest and up his arms.  

“Believe what you want, my pet.” The flying boy smirked . “You did ask him for a favor. They should only answer to me, but you decided you had authority. Tragic, really. Truly, tru ly awful.  So, in a sense, I guess you’re both at fault. But Curly took the whole punishment because he knows you’re my favorite. ”    

He  turned to the Lost Boys. Throwing out commands as Jim tried to drown out his thoughts.   He remembered how Curly hesitated and how many quick glances he sent over his shoulder as he sat against the tree. But if this was the consequence, why did he risk it?    The boys began scrambling about, cleaning the burrow as fast as they could.  Jim began to hyperventilate as he watched Curly being cleaned up and tossed into  sacks and  barrels  like garbage.  

“I-I did that?” He whispered shakily to himself.  Falling to his knees, he clutched at the discarded clothes of the dead boy and br ought them to his chest. He shook violently as he sobbed, tears drenching the fur. “No... No, I didn’t... It’s not my fault. It’s not my fault. It’s not my fault.”  

He repeated the saying over and over again like a mantra of life. He could feel Peter’s eyes burning into him, but he hadn’t the strength  to look back. The edges of his vision were turning dark and blurry with his tears. He could barely breathe anymore, it felt like he was suffocating.   

“Curly...” He cried out, sniffling and wishing he were holding the boy instead of the fur.  For a moment, he believed he had an ally here. A friend, someone he could freely speak to. But instead, he had gotten him killed. In the worst way possible.   

Just as he felt like he would pass out, he heard the bells again.   

Take a deep breath. In through your nose. Out through your mouth. Slow, steady. You’re alright.  

Jim followed the directions as best as he could. Shuddering and lifting his head for better access to air. Air that still smelled of death, but air nonetheless.  “Help me.” He said shakily once his vision returned. “Please,  please  help me.”  

I wish I could. But I can barely keep loud enough for you to hear me. I’m sorry.  

“Wait-”  

Be quiet now. Wait for me. Listen and be quiet. I’ll be back soon. Survive.  

Jim shut his mouth and turned his head slowly. Peter was slouched in his throne, staring straight into his eyes. The burrow was cleaned. No trace of Curly anywhere  but the clothes pressed against his chest. How long had he been out?  

“I’ll allow you to keep that...” Peter pointed at Curly’s clothes. “As long as you wear it.”  

Jim stared down at the brown fur, squeezing it between his  shaking  hands .   And  nodded.  

Chapter Text

The animal skin didn't feel anything like Curly at all. Rough and cold from the wash and modifications, it now clung to Jim's skin like tiny little hands of death. Peter had made a Lost Boy cut the legs of the onesie off so it wouldn't be so baggy on him, but he felt so exposed and cold. After he had agreed to keep the clothes, he holed himself up in, well, his hole in the wall. It was just as dark as before, but now he heard the chatter of children from the throne room.

Those bells... That voice like bells told him to wait, listen and survive. It wasn't so comforting being in this position. His tears had stopped and dried up due to dehydration, but he still let out dry sobs every now and then. It was his fault, after all.

'No!'

The bells! Finally!

"Where are you?" Jim asked aloud, curling back into a corner.

'Stand up. Follow my directions. I'll take you to me. Quiet. Don't get caught.'

Jim swallowed loudly and slowly crept from his room. Making sure to follow the voice's instructions to a T. It took him through a maze, deeper and deeper into the burrow past obstacles and poison. It had Jim hopping over pits and avoiding the slimy walls like the plague. Peter would know where he had been if it got anywhere on him, and he had a duty to keep Curly's clothes as clean as possible.

Finally, they made it to an opening in the walls. A huge underground cave and lake, lit by a hole in the ceiling that could only be the surface. Jim hadn't known how long he had been weaving in and out of tunnels, but he was out of breath now.

'Look in the middle of the lake.'

Sure enough, he saw a small island no bigger than a horse drawn carriage with a frozen tree stump and bright flowers surrounding it. Like spring and winter in a battle for dominance.

'To your left, there is a patch of dirt. Stand on it and walk in a straight line toward the island. Do not look down or take any detours no matter what you see. If you do, a siren will pull you under. Now go.'

Jim took a breath and did as the voice commanded. However, as soon as he took a step on the invisible bridge, a large shape bolted up from the water. All red and slimy with sharpened teeth. Jim whimpered, but kept on walking. Encountering many horrors at each step. The water thrashed and bubbled as demonic creatures surfaced, growled and hissed at the boy. Terrifying as they were, not one of them made the move to attack Jim. Just stared and followed alongside him in the water, but he would not look down.

Once he finally stepped ashore, the creatures turned into foam and disappeared, leaving the lake still again. Jim took a breath and fell to his knees, whimpering and panting as his anxiety continued to rise even though the worst was over.

'The stump. Look at it.'

It took the captive a moment to recollect himself; shakily crawling over to it and peering down at what lay in the middle of the dead tree. There, in the snow that had not yet melted, lay a tiny, broken blue body with torn wings. Small, frozen flowers were scattered about the small creature as a means of memorial, and Jim couldn't help but feel anguish once more.

'This is me. My name is... Was Tinker Bell. I was a fairy.'

"Fairies don-"

'Everytime someone says that, a fairy dies. Be careful how you speak from now on.'

Jim shut his mouth. Honestly, a fairy wasn’t that big a stretch now considering the circumstances. He noted that the voice was clearer now. It spoke in fuller sentences and he guessed it must have been a proximity thing.

'I wasn't killed from that phrase, however. Even though it would have been preferred over anything else. Even though I was his faithful companion, Peter killed me.'

Go figure.

"But why would he do that?" Jim asked as he stared at Tinker Bell's corpse, eyes finally welling up once again.

'Asking that is like asking why fish stare at the moon. Or why aren't all ships waterproof? Maybe even why do rocks move only during the rainy seasons?'

Jim blinked slowly, fingering the jagged ends of his clothes for a moment.

"I don't... I don't know."

'Exactly. It doesn't make sense. Peter does what he wants because this is his world and he controls everything. Like a child in a room filled with toys, he pulls the strings and if one thing falls out of line, what does a child do?'

"They throw a temper tantrum." Jim sighed out, understanding a little more now. Peter created Neverland. That means he can destroy it. "But if he could control everything, why kill Curly? Why let Curly take me to the river?"

'Because Peter controls the world, not the people. It's not as fun being completely omnipotent when you're a child. You want at least some things to surprise you. And what better way to do that than to invite other kids to play?'

Jim grit his teeth, pulling at the thread in his clothes now. Peter was a god here. A ruthless tyrant of a god, but a god nonetheless. Going against him is certain death but that seems much more enjoyable than spending years playing on the edge of oblivion. But he didn't want to die, he wanted to live. Go back home with mom and dad and the inn. He was sure the other boys wanted to go too, but they were all still so young.

'If you're thinking about going against Peter, don't.'

"What? But-"

'I don't know what's wrong with you, but it's like you forget how to fear him. One second you're terrified and the next, you're challenging him. You saw what he can become first hand and you're still fighting. Make up your mind. Are you afraid? Or are you determined?'

The captive stared down at his lap, wringing his fingers painfully. "I don't know." He finally replied, tone low and lame. He heard a high pitched sigh ring through his head.

'I can help you, you know. You just need to be honest with yourself. I can't help if you are not certain in your emotions. Sorry, but that's how it works. Ghosts can’t help the living in Neverland without full confidence.'

It was an odd turn of events, but nothing he couldn't handle. He could be confident when he wanted to be. He can be terrified when the situation calls for it. But he could make a decision in a flash. It was who he was. Who he was destined to grow up to be. "I'm afraid." Yes. He was going to be honest if he was going to die and he’d need all the help he could get. Even if it was from a dead fairy.

"As you should be." Jim jumped at the sudden change of voice. Much louder and deeper and darker than the fairy's. He spun around to find a darkly dressed pirate with a jagged hook staring down at him. Malicious intent written across his face like a name on a resume. "You must be the new meat. Bait for Pan, yes?" The man leaned forward, rancid breath ghosting across Jim's face as he scrambled backwards against the frozen trunk. "Men, take him!"

Chapter Text

Stars, it was dark in this ship. Not to mention freezing and uninviting. Jim hadn’t known how long he had been captured for, mere moments, or hours. He couldn’t tell. Tinker Bell’s voice had faded when the dark pirate captain showed up and he hadn’t heard a peep since. Even as he was dragged struggling and screaming through the thick forest and into a boat in the cold sea.

He shivered in the steel cell, desperately missing his pajamas and mourning over Curly’s now filthy clothes. He had been tossed through mud and muck behind even grungier pirates. It just wasn’t fair! Kidnapped twice in only a day, what luck!

“Tinker Bell,” He tried, staring up into pitch blackness. “Tinker Bell, are you there? Please, I don’t want to be alone.”

Jim shuddered again, curling in on himself more to conserve energy and heat. He needed it to fight in case a pirate came down to berate him. That is, if anyone would come down at all. It really is odd how, when you can’t see the sun, your sense of time is thrown off so hard, minutes could very well be hours. Days, even.

“T-Tink,” He cleared his throat, trying again to call for his only ally. She said she’d be able to help him if he was confident in how he felt. Well, he was rightly terrified and nothing consoled him in the dark. But he preferred it in a way. It was better than monsters wanting to tear you open or sirens dragging you under the frothy waves. It was lightyears better than anything Peter had planned for him.

…

Oh, Stars, Peter!

How could he forget? Peter no doubt realized he was gone by now. He had to have known. The flying boy had probably gone deranged and transformed again. The Lost Boys were at his complete mercy and, once again, it was Jim’s fault. And Tinker Bell wasn’t here to refute that statement.

If only he had been quicker. Lighter on his feet, smaller and more observant. He’d never have gotten caught by the pirates. Or, even Peter at the beginning. Stars, it hurt so much. Once more, he allowed himself to cry.

Even dehydration couldn’t stop him from sobbing and feeling self pity. Loathing. Fearful for the children left in the burrow and any other child resigned to a fate of endless, misleading nightmares. He cried and cried and cried until he couldn’t produce any more tears. And then he cried some more.

He felt snot running down his face as he tugged at his hair, his face, his clothes, anything he could reach. Ripping long strands from his head, the hair falling into his hands in clumps. Maybe he was insane. Maybe he was dreaming. Maybe he was at home, in a coma and his mother was waiting for him by his bed. He’d wake up and they would cry and have breakfast.

His father would smile and take him into the living room for another fort even though they were all much too old for it. They could just have fun and work and love. It wasn’t until he felt his throat burst into flames he realized he was shrieking.

“Please!”

His voice echoed and bounced off the walls around him. His voice sounding louder in the confined space. It hurt his ear. Hell, it hurt his entire body, but he didn’t stop. His body shook with the force of his voice and finally, finally, he heard a metal latch unlock.

“Shut that infernal mouth of yours, boy,” A short, fat pirate with glasses tramped his way down the stairs. Stepping close to the cage and running a hand over his belly. “The cap’in is trying to rest!”

“Let me go,” His voice was rough as he scrambled forward, catching the man off guard as he clutched at his shirt. “Let me go! I want to go home, it’s not fair!”

“Smee!”

Jim heard that same voice from before bellow from atop the stairs, the clunking of boots coming immediately after. Then he came into view, still as malicious and as evil as when Jim first saw him.

“I’m sorry, cap’in! I just came down here to shut him up as you requested-”

“There shall be none of that, Smee.”

“Sir?”

“Pan is here.”

Jim’s heart all but stopped. His breathing shallow and eyes wide at the mention of that name. No, not again. What would Peter do to him? If he was bait for the boy who ruled this world, just what was this pirate capable of that could rival a monster like Peter Pan?

“Bring the boy up,” The pirate spun on his heel, barking orders to his men before he even ascended the stairs. Smee unlocked the cage and dragged a terrified Jim up to the surface. And, with the help of a few other men, tied him to a pillar.

Jim scanned the sky for a moment, wondering if he could see Peter flying overhead. All he saw was the pretty blue sky filled with thousands of unnamed colors. The tall trees of the forest, full of life and happiness. The boy gazed out into the sea, finding the stillness of the water to be mesmerising and so peaceful. Neverland was the most gorgeous place he had ever set his eyes on.

Stars, it was a shame he was going to die on a disgusting pirate ship.

As feelings of self loathing began to bubble up again, he heard the telltale sound of a canon going off and shouting immediately after. He turned his attention back to the sky and found himself staring at Peter and all of the Lost Boys soaring through the air. Sparkling dust trailing behind each and every one of them as they descended upon the pirates with swords and spears.

Jim watched the bloody battle between pirates and children from the very middle of the field. More pirates fell than children, which was a relief. But it didn’t take away the horror of the scene. Despite who the children worked for, it had never occurred to him that they knew how to fight to the death. Oh, how stupid he had been.

It was a bloody battle topped with war cries and curses from both sides. And Jim just couldn’t look away from the carnage. Soon, however, every pirate had fallen, drowning in pools of their own blood and entrails. Jim dry heaved once again.

“Oh… Stars…”

He felt the rope around him go slack and he stood with the help of bloodied Lost Boys. They dusted him off and he turned just in time to see Peter and the captain -Hook, he had gathered from the battle- having a stare down on the poop deck. Hook’s sword was drawn up at Peter’s throat. He felt his heart drop, taking a step back with the Lost Boys. They held onto his arms as they watched Peter shift. And, almost inaudibly, he heard a child whisper:

“Peter’s mad.”

Chapter Text

The flying boy shifted slowly. A sick cracking sound as his arms and legs extended and filled out with muscle. The Lost Boys and Jim watched the monster rise from within their captain, taking him over completely. Hook didn't flinch when the monster let out a roar. He didn't seem to be scared like the boys, but Jim could smell the stale scent of piss and it wasn't from him this time. Hook tried thrusting the blade forward with all his might and time seemed to stand still.

The blade had all but shattered. Instead of piercing the smooth, soft throat of Peter Pan, it had lost a battle with a blood thirsty beast whose eyes were nothing but black holes. He yelped and tried to swipe at him with his hook, only for that to shatter as well. Hook's eyes widened in disbelief and terror, a hand shooting out to catch him by the throat a moment later. The pirate coughed and spluttered, gripping the thick wrist with one working hand.

Beast snarled and opened its mouth wide, jaw actually unhinging, and clamped down hard on his arm. A twist of it's head pulled Hook's hand from the rest of his limb. The crunch of bone, ripping of flesh and skin and shrieks of agony coated the air once more, adding fresh blood to the already soaked wood of the ship. The beast spit the hand to the ground with a thud and tossed the screaming man to the side.

Oh, but it was far from over. It pounced onto the cowering captain, digging large clawed hands into his abdomen and tearing him open like a red, juicy fruit. He flailed and screamed. Begging for mercy, to just be thrown to the croc or overboard.

"Kill me!"

The beast took its time pulling organs from the host and tossing them as if they were nothing more than trash. Another bitten off limb, another gut sliding across the floor. It almost felt like the torture and shrieks would never stop, but eventually Hook was hollow. Nothing more than a shell filled with blood and bits of meat. Even his bones had been pulled out of his legs from the bottom of his torso. Those had the luck to be tossed overboard.

Hook took his last breath, a gurgling death rattle, and then stilled. The sound of waves crashing against the ship stopped and everything was silent.

Then the beast turned toward Jim, rising slow and stalking forward with bloodied teeth bared. Jim watched as the Lost Boys scattered, disappearing beneath the ship's deck and he was left alone. He really wished he had eaten something because dry heaving was just so painful. Jim held his stomach, doubling over. His free hand held up to stop the approach weakly. He shook as he took a couple steps back.

"Wait… please, wait!" He gasped out. The beast stood in front of him now. Staring with cold black eyes before taking his outstretched hand in a bloodsoaked claw. Jim flinched, staring up with wide eyes when it brought his hand to its mouth and placed a warm kiss there. It was more comforting than it had any right to be.

"Jim," It spoke, voice seeming to echo and overlap. Being everywhere and nowhere at the same time. Not unlike Tinker Bell's. "You're safe now."

Yeah right.

'Do you want to feel safe?' Jim blinked in surprise. 

"T-Tinker Bell?" He whispered. The beast didn't move, just staring at him as she spoke again.

'Do you want to feel safe?' She asked again, slower this time.

"Yes! I do. Please, I'll do anything…"

'Do you trust me?'

"Yes!" He answered before he fully thought it through. It felt like the wrong answer. What was she going to do? Would she send him home? No, not likely. A thousand more questions ran through his head before she spoke again.

'Then I'll manipulate your brain. Don't worry, it will only hurt for a moment. I'll make you feel right at home.'

"What? Manipula-"

Right then, a searing pain enveloped his body. His brain felt like it was on fire and he was melting. Pulsating waves of pain and despair and suffering swam through his head and he wrenched his hand out of the beast's hold. Carding both hands through his messy hair as he cried out. He collapsed onto his knees as he struggled for leverage on his mind.

'Almost done.' Her voice was faint and he didn't feel comforted by it at all. He couldn't voice it. Couldn't think it. It hurt so much, this was torture. Stop it stop it stop it stop it stop it stop it stop it stop it stop it stop it stop it stop it

A wave of clarity crashed over him suddenly and he dropped his hands. Blinking down at the bloody wood for a moment before he looked back up at the beast Peter. He was bloody beautiful. What was he afraid of again? Peter knelt down and laid a hand on Jim's shoulder.

"Are you okay?" His voice echoed. A smile split Jim's face in two and he wrapped his arms around Peter's shoulders.

"Now I am."

Chapter Text

Jim woke up in the darkness of his room. Throat on fire, parched and starving. He had shrieked his head off just hours ago so it was expected. He groaned softly as he rose from the furs and moved along the wall to the dining hall. The Lost Boys had all gone to sleep, leaving Peter on his throne sharpening a blade. What had Jim been so afraid of all this time?

Peter looked up from the iron in his hands and gave a big, toothy grin.

“Jim! How nice to see you up and about. You must be hungry, huh?” Jim gave a big nod and he beckoned him over with blade in hand. Jim scampered over to him, feeling a slight buzz in the back of his head that he successfully ignored. “I’ve got a pie for you. The best pie in Neverland.”

A tin was produced from beside the throne, steaming in Peter’s hands. The wonderful aroma of meat pie filled his senses and his stomach let out a deafening growl. 

He glanced down at it only to find still dripping entrails in a loosely cooked pie crust. A cut eye was placed atop it all, dull and absolutely dead. Jim blinked rapidly as his brain sent off signals and began to short wire. Then he felt a jolt of electricity spiderweb through his body. Eyes shutting for a moment and then snapping open to find a scrumptious looking pie with golden brown crust. His mouth watered and he begged Peter with his eyes. The flying boy let out a laugh and cut him a large piece.

“Eat up,” He said as he placed the pie on a plate for him. “Eat as much as you want. I made it just for you.”

Jim did eat. Almost scarfing down the entire thing. He paused only to ask for a cup of water, which Peter generously provided. He gazed at his new favorite Lost Boy as he ate his fill and sat back with a full belly. Finally sated. A hiccup here and a belch there before Jim laid down and sighed. 

“Thank you,” Jim said, voice still raspy and low. He only nodded and continued to watch him. Eyes dark and calculating as he considered his options. Silence carried heavy through the air, then he started to sharpen his blade again.

Jim laid still to get some energy back before he would stand to go back to his room. Eyes roaming around the throne room to look at all there was. It was just dirt and plants as far as the eye could see. A dark staircase and some barrels. One was bloody. Water dripped from a stalactite, most likely where he got the water from. Flowers adorned the throne of bones that Peter sat on. He wondered whose they were.  

“I’m growing up, you know,” Peter said suddenly, cutting through the silence. Jim blinked and turned his attention to him, sitting up.

“Yeah. Everyone does,” He said quietly.

“Not me. I’m not supposed to. I don’t ever want to grow up and be an adult,” Peter grimaced and sharpened the blade quicker. Sending bright orange sparks through the air and lighting up his face. “I want to stay having fun.”

“You can be grown up and still have fun,” Jim tried before another shock of electricity shot through his veins.

“How do we prevent you from growing up?” Jim asked, crawling forward, unafraid of the sparks. “There must be some way.” Peter stopped his hands and put the blade aside. Leaning forward slowly in his throne to stare down at Jim.

“There’s one way, I think,” He said, eyes peering into Jim’s own. “It won’t stop completely, but it will slow it down. For both of us.”

Another buzz in his head but he nodded. “Okay, what is it? Let’s try it.”

He had already made up his mind. No going back now. Peter’s pupils dilated then, leaning forward more to catch Jim up in a kiss. The Lost Boy gasped softly; he didn’t know how to kiss very well, so he let Peter do the work. Simply trying to imitate him, but was much too clumsy to do it right. Something slimy pressed into his mouth and he let out a little noise at the odd sensation. Rough here, smooth there. 

Kissing looked enjoyable in movies and books, but Jim was just uncomfortable. Maybe he was doing this wrong? How can you kiss incorrectly? He couldn’t tell. Peter kissed him for a moment longer before he pulled away, dragging him up into the throne. Jim settled beside him easily, but had no idea what to do with his hands. He fidgeted for a moment then laid them down on his lap.

“Did it work?” He asked after another moment of silence had passed. Peter glanced up and shook his head.

“Not quite.” How could he tell? Was it Jim’s fault?

“What now? Do we kiss again?” Peter shook his head once more and shifted around a little. Maneuvering Jim around easily until he was settled between his thighs as the Lost Boy leaned against the back of the throne. It was an embarrassing position and caused his face to go up in flames. “P-Peter?”

“Like this. I know this will work,” He said. Triumphant already, he reached between them and palmed at himself through his tights.

“Peter,” Jim said louder, a bit of panic in his voice as he tried to back away into the bones surrounding them.

“You want to help me, don’t you?” Peter’s voice echoed just barely, pupils dilating further. Stretching the boundaries between iris and sclera.

“O-of course I do!” Jim cried, horrified that Peter would think that he didn’t. “I just don’t know what I’m supposed to do…”

Peter looked sympathetic for a moment. Running his free hand over Jim’s thigh slow and steady and pushing up to his stomach. Rubbing small circles there to calm him down. He didn’t stop until Jim’s breathing had calmed and he was relaxed.

“Don’t worry, I’ll guide you,” Then he thought for a moment. Eyes narrowing before he grinned. “Actually, you don’t have to do a thing. Let me do all the work.”

Chapter Text

Peter’s hands swiftly pulled the fur off of Jim. Exposing his skin to the cold, moist air of the burrow. His face had begun to heat up and darken dramatically as the flying boy drank the sight in. Jim knew about sex. Enough of it happened in those movies his parents never wanted him to watch and those magazines his father kept in the closet. He kept them a secret from his mother, but he had found them fairly easily. He remembered those cold nights alone when dad was at work and mom stayed cooped up by the fire. Holding one of those naughty magazines and exploring himself beneath his blanket.

He remembered shaking violently as he reached his first orgasm, the flashlight slipping off the bed and clattering to the floor. A warm wetness coating his fingers, stomach, blankets and the magazine he held. He had gasped and nearly screamed, but remembered himself to not alert his mother. It was tedious to clean the mess he made, but he had done it without much trouble. The magazine had been hidden in between his mattress and box spring. There was no way he’d return it the way it was, but he figured, what was the harm?

His father had plenty of those magazines, no way he’d miss one that was severely dated. On those nights where he was bored and felt that urge begin to rise in him again, he’d reach below and pull out the pages. Running fingers over curves of breasts and hips, lips and eyes. He’d reach his peak quickly and rest for just a moment. Then he would go for it again, just to test his limits and exhaustion. 

Just him.

But now Peter was above him, running his hand over Jim’s stomach and his own sex. JIm swallowed hard and stared down at where he grew bigger. Filling out with blood until he could see a clear outline of his member through his tights. The flying boy had said he didn’t have to do anything. That he would do all the work. But part of this felt wrong. He should at least try to help, right?

But he just couldn’t bring himself to touch, just in case Peter got mad. Said boy finally pulled his hand away. Levitating off the throne of bone as he pulled his own clothes off completely. Tossing his hat over his shoulder and settling between his legs once more.

“Your turn,” Peter cooed and ran his hand over Jim’s own sex. He gasped and went rigid for a moment. It felt so different when someone else was touching him like this. He felt intoxicated and drawn to it more than those damned magazines. Unlike Peter, those girls printed on the pages couldn’t touch him like this. Couldn't make him sensitive and bring him closer and closer to his peak. Peter’s hand moved in a calculated manner. Slow and steady and oddly soothing. 

He had gasped out his name softly, felt his face contorting into something he would only show in private. It was embarrassing, but Peter looked at him fondly; he was peppering kisses down his neck and chest. It made him feel desired and giddy. He moaned aloud, unabashedly. The sound spurred the flying boy on and he pressed against him. He moved his hips slow, creating a muted friction that was too much and too little and left Jim mewling like a common whore. 

“Your sounds,” Peter groaned into his ear, pushing into him harder. A wetness spread over their erections and made the glide that much easier. Jim could feel himself reaching climax. His hands gripped his captain’s shoulders, nails digging in so hard he thought he would draw blood. The pain only seemed to make him that much more excited and he caught Jim’s mouth in a bruising kiss. 

He cried out against his lips, his hips pushing up into Peter as he dropped over the edge. A guttural cry escaped him and Peter pulled away from his lips. Wet warmth seeped out over his stomach as he twitched violently; just like his first orgasm. He saw a blinding light then a darkness. He felt his body rock hard into the bone, heard a creak -or maybe a crack- then a deafening roar. His teeth rattled in his head from the power of it.

Jim felt a splash of… something… on his stomach. It dripped down his sides and some had even managed to reach his chin and slide down the column of his neck. He opened his eyes and stared up at the beast Peter in his powerful form with those terrifying beautiful eyes. That form that saved him from the torment of Hook. He peaked down at himself and found an alarming amount of release all over his abdomen. 

“You look good in white,” Jim couldn’t help how fast his face heated up. He cleared his throat a bit, finding it even more raspy and sore than before. He sat up, in desperate need of a wash up.

“Thank you… But can you take me to the river?” The river.

The river? His eyes darted to the fur discarded on the ground and felt his blood boil. Heart hammering in his chest. Curly should be the one to take him to the river. A shock abused his senses but he shook his head. Fight it!

“Tinker Bell, stop it!”

Another shock in his core and he twitched, nose beginning to bleed. 

“Let me go! Get out of my head!”

He slammed his head against the bone on the throne, pain cascading over his body in waves and shocking his very core. A bell rang in his head, vision going bright then dark. Then bright then dark then bright then dark then

His consciousness was pushed aside and another shock jolted his entire body. He arched, gurgling helplessly on blood that had entered his mouth.

“I don’t want this!”

‘That’s too damn bad.’

His vision went dark again then bright then red. Veins had popped and filled his eyes with blood. A film that had protected it tore and dripped down his cheeks.

‘You’re only hurting yourself, Jim. Let me help you.’

“I would rather die!”

A hand gripped his arm, a bruising strength, cutting off circulation. A voice began to echo all around him as the beast got into his face. Staring into his eyes and demanding an answer; demanding another brain manipulation so Jim could surrender and submit to his will.

Jim just couldn’t focus anymore. Crimson ran down his face and arms. Throat and hand, mixing with the release to create -what he knew would be- a sickening pink. Jim shuddered against the throne, head falling back to stare up at the dirt ceiling and flowers. He wouldn’t survive the night.

There would be no doctors skilled enough to fix him in this Neverland. A place so beautiful, so colorful. A scent of burning hickory that would make even a grown man cry. Critters and beautiful flowers as far as the eye could see. An island surrounded by countless beaches. It was so gorgeous.

He missed his mother and father. Oh, what he would do to go back home and pretend this was all a dream. Pretend he had just taken a nasty fall and developed brain damage. A doctor would be able to save him then and send him home to work and have a happy life. Marry a beautiful girl and get a job to support his entire family. Have kids grow up to be successful and give him grandkids. He would die happy, cradled in a warm hospital bed with his wife and kids by his side.

He would wake up soon. Wake up with his parents and Curly waiting by big beautiful gates. Or, maybe just Curly. Yeah, he could deal with that. Anything is better than being resigned to a fate being Peter Pan’s plaything.

He wished he had never looked out that damn window.