To live would be an awfully big adventure

How did one go about growing up ? That question haunted Peter Pan. As the eternal boy, he had fought off the idea, so far he actually never considered how it was supposed to happen. He had been so set on not growing, that the process appeared monstrous and disastrous. Something that fell on you quickly, like the edge of a sword on an open chest. Deadly and irrevocable.
Wendy herself hadn't known a great deal about it. Throughout his time as Peter Pan, he had never lost time on such considerations. He despised the growing thing.

He found himself in the very weird circumstance, of not knowing what to do. Or if any doing at all was necessary. Helpless, he spent days pretending everything was going as per usual. A bit of pirate fighting, a bit of treasure hunt with the lost boys. A bit more of sleepless nights stalking a certain bird… All of it absolutely normal. If Tink noticed a change, she didn’t mention it.

But in the dead of the night, when the moon shines bright so does his anguish. What if he is enable to grow ? Maybe the real issue is that he is past any changing. Will he ever be able to open that small door to meet her ?

A brooding Pan is a brooding weather. In fact Neverland’s inhabitants are getting used to constant rain, dark clouds and the occasional storm. Something is brewing in him. Dark thoughts, dark desires. When sleep takes over him, occasionally, he dreams. It had never been enjoyable for a dreamlike boy to wander into the unknown. He had been the dream, so what would he dream about ? He usually was trapped into a white void. The word nightmare was a shameful one for the clever Peter Pan. Since his encounter with the mermaids, his dreams changed. No longer lost or trapped, he dreams of soft skin and velvety lips. There was something drastically different about it. They tended to end to soon for his liking.

Troubled by day and plagued by night, he walks the island. Some of the lost boys try and follow him in his strange walks. His games are less inventive, he has to really think about it. At least his flying is not altered by this ordeal. He can rise above clouds like he always did. He’s faster even.

As he walks, flies, fights, her unmovable image haunts him. He doesn’t even know what is so enticing about her. She’s just a girl ! And yet the thought of her having a husband is revolting. His mood often becomes murderous whenever he thinks about it.
And still that nasty voice whispers « you are incomplete ». He decides he has to grow his power. The mermaids hinted that he had only unlocked a fraction of it.

Who better to help him with magic then the faeries ? Tink is perplexed, she doesn’t say it but she’s concerned, her little brows furrowed as they both fly over to the fairies nest. He doesn’t bother approching carefully, he barges in. It seems the only growing thing in him, is his furry. The royal couple is waiting for him. The queen makes a sign and the faeries fly away. Tink leaves with her peers. The glittering high fairy stares him down.

« Pan, we welcome you, we have been waiting for you. » her soft voice tingles in his head.

« I wish to learn about magic. I wish to… » it’s the first time he is going to voice it. Should he even say it ? Will they think him stupid ?

« I wish to grow » he finally let’s out. The queen let’s a glance slide to her husband. As expected, it’s a shocking news. Better get on with it he thinks.

« I’m going to need more power, more control. I can already feel magic leaving me as I follow down this path. » he concludes.

« Peter Pan, magic will never leave you. Have you forgotten how you came to these shores ? » her small hand reaches to touch his cheek.

« Ah, ever forgetful… I shall tell you how you became Peter Pan. Once you’ve listened you’ll remember. It will not be all pleasant» she takes a small pause, gauging him with her silver eyes. He gives her a shivering nod.

« Once upon a time, long ago, there was a small boy with green bright eyes. The child had been given a fairy's blessing at birth, which as you know we never bestow carelessly. He came into a small family, a poor one. Although they had close to nothing, they had the mirth and joy of their brave boy. He would always invent games and make them laugh. But you see, in the other world mirth and joy are often not enough. And so sickness took the young mother. The child would cuddle with her and keep death away, for a while. Eventually his love couldn't save her, her fate had been written, and she passed through the veil. » A lonely tear traced along Peter's face.

« The father resented the child for his wife’s passing. He took it on his son, for the son had the beautiful green eyes of his lost love… The father grew more angry, more sad with each day. One day, the father decided it was time for the boy to become a man. And so the child became a chimney sweep. Working day in, day out. The boy was so good, he could almost fly on the rooftops. His small life was rythmed by beatings, harsh words, and so much ash. Yet every night, he would peer at the sky on top of houses and wish. On a particular difficult rainy night, the small tortured boy fell down. His spine could not be mended. The father left the boy to his fate. He became a beggar, his survival resting on an old pan flute. He would play enticing melodies to strangers in exchange for compassion and a bit of bread. Snow covered the city, and the boy saw death approaching. He had so much more to give, to enjoy. He crawled to a place called Hyde Park. His frozen body curled against an oak tree, he raised his gaze to the stars. His friends. And he wished. I wish, he said, I wish to always be a boy, to fly far away to a place where children are always happy and warm. Stars are often lonely you see, one of them had been cold for so long. She had wanted warmth too, so she gifted it to the dying boy. And so the boy flew. His marvel only empowered him more, and so joy overtook him. He followed the songs of fairies and the turbulent breaths of stars, to his new home. »

Peter felt every emotion rushing into him. And for the first time, memories. Grime covering his little hands. The ache of hunger deep in his belly. The cold. So much cold. His legs tightly wrapped in rags together, unmoving but ever hurting. He didn’t notice his feet touching the ground, he didn’t notice the snow falling over him. His eyes blurry with tears, he searches his memory. They took his childhood, so in turn he had stolen children away from a fate worse than death.

« Peter Pan you became, the island inside the star became yours, and forever tied to you. You chose it’s purpose. And you served it so well. We are all tied to you, to your power. You are as you wished. And you still can grow if you desire it so. »

The fairies leave him alone. He falls to his knees, snowflakes dusting his hair, wind howling in his ears. For the first time, Peter grieves. He grieves on his miserable life, for the life of a mother he’s fighting to remember. His nails scrap the earth. Wendy had reminded him of his mother. Of unwavering affection, unconditioned and easy as breathing. He had spied on her, when she cared for her brothers telling beautiful tales. Her warm embrace had soaked his soul with sunlight. The lost boys had loved her. His heart had drummed faster for her, his being had sung for her. Playing Mother and Father was his fantasy he realized.

A warm wind rises and pushes away the snow. He lets his tears tumble on his face, each tear like burden lifted of him.
He finally sees it, the intent behind magic. He raises his head to the second star to the right. With a broken voice he asks.

« I wish. I wish upon you once more. You’ve given me a life, and I refused to live it. I see it now. What I have secretly wished. I have found her. Lend me the power to meet her once more. I'm ready. »

Magic thunders in his body, fingertips tingling with it. His body is lifted once more off the ground. Grateful, he closes his eyes.

« Thank you. »

Quiet wind washes over Neverland as a new Peter Pan rises.