Hello readers!

I've decided to open a drabble series story for Peter and Elizabeth! Upon writing through Red Rebellion and Never Seas, I realized that for the sake of the stories' plots, I would not have the opportunity to write in certain scenarios that I am itching to portray these two in. Whether it be the inevitable confrontations between Hook and Peter (i.e. protective Daddy!Killian), relationship angst between Peter and Elizabeth, family fluffiness, Elizabeth's friendship with Adam, and where everyone else falls into their lives, I am willing to write just about anything that a reader would like to see. Every chapter is individually rated with the quoted request posted at the top - the prompt request can also be sent anonymously via my Tumblr account.

Much love to you all!

Requested Prompt: "LizPan kids one day in the distant future. I just want to see them as parents. :3"

Rating: K+

The night air had grown cold and dry. Even under the constant hum of Peter's breath on the nape of her neck, Elizabeth battled her need to get up to retrieve yet another blanket over her lingering exhaustion. Sleep had not been her ally during her second pregnancy. Everything in her body didn't work right; she was always cold, uncharacteristically weak and never hungry.

Seeing as it was near the end of her final term, she was relieved to be rid of the sicknesses that had ravaged her throughout the long, nine months. No more coughing, sniffling, migraines, excessive nausea (because it was a bullet she couldn't dodge in the mornings), or fever. Peter had gotten better about stepping back and giving her space to breathe; in her first two trimesters, he had stayed close by her side like some hyperactive watchdog.

Elizabeth let out a breathy groan when the baby kicked hard against her side. She rubbed her bulging belly in soothing circles, which had worked with her first son Billy, but not so much with this kid. Her soon-to-be born daughter was having none of it; her tantrums would surely be legendary if she was able to give Lizzie this much hell before even being born.

She lied there in the quiet, uncomfortable darkness of the room, enduring kick after kick. Much to her relief, Peter did not awaken from his deep sleep as he usually did. She rolled a little ways upwards closer against his chest to gather more warmth from him. Peter reacted subconsciously, tightening his hold around her and burying his face deeper into the corner of her neck.

Suddenly, she heard their bedroom door give off a light squeak. Elizabeth listened to the light footsteps that scurried over to Peter's side of the bed. She could recognize the sound of her little son even in the dark: Billy.

Billy went straight over to his father's end stand before carefully rustling through the disarray of items.

Lizzie expected him to walk over to her side. Normally the routine would be him asking for a glass of water or to share the bed after having had a terrible nightmare. Instead, the boy left without sharing a single word with his attentive mother.

She frowned in confusion, finally using all the strength she could to lift her head up and observe the dark empty room. Their bedroom door was left just barely cracked open.

"Peter," Elizabeth murmured over her shoulder to Peter, who still had her enveloped in his arms. She rubbed his bare bicep soothingly in an effort to stir him. He hummed lazily in her ear, pulling her closer against his chest while bringing his hand down to rest over her swelled stomach. She sighed, "Peter, wake up."

The light urgency in her voice finally pulled him from his sleepy state. She could feel his arms clench around her in protective instinct as he tilted his head down to the base of her collarbone. "What is it? Are you alright?"

She turned in his arms to meet his groggy, yet nevertheless apprehensive frown. "We're fine, I just need you to go check on Billy."

"Why, what's the matter?"

"He just came in here but then left without a word."

His body relaxed around her, letting an easy sigh before brushing his lips over the exposed skin of her shoulder. Without another word, he obliged her request and started to unravel himself off her. The cool night air seeped through the thin sheets as he moved back the thick comforter, sending a trickle of chills up Lizzie's back in Peter's absence.

Billy's light scampers echoed down the hallway as the little boy ran back to his room. His plain, dark green cotton pajamas swayed in the chilly breeze that came from the open windows. He slipped through the open door and slammed it, energized by the hot tears that had begun to blur his vision. The adrenaline of his emotions fueled his racing heart. Gripping the stolen relic in his miniature fisted palm, the young boy immediately made his way to the bookcase where he had constructed a series of stepping columns out of chairs and his grandfather's leather-bound books. He kicked off his loose slippers so that his bare toes could curl over the ends of each step. Slowly but surely, he carefully climbed his way to the top until his fluffy golden hair brushed the ceiling of his bedroom.

Peter stepped into the bedroom without a word of warning, frozen in place by the sight of his five year-old son perched on the very edge of a high fall. His eyes narrowed, "Billy…"

"No!" The little boy cried out in a tearful rage, gripping his father's vial of pixie dust in his little palm. "I'm leaving and you can't stop me!"

Peter pushed back his initial wave of anxiety, easing his features into a mask of confusion to soothe his small child's emotional fit. "Might I ask where are you going?"

"Neverland."

"Is that right?" Peter smiled amusingly. "And how do you plan on getting there?"

"I'll fly there," Billy answered with determination, ripping the cork off of the small vial of enchanted dust. "I know how to. I've done it before in my dreams."

"To fly in reality is something entirely different than to fly in your dreams. It takes much more than a spark of imagination." Peter casually made his way across the room closer to the bookshelf while keeping his critical gaze fixed on his boy. "Besides, you don't know the way to Neverland from here. I'm the only one that does."

"The shadow can bring me," he mumbled uneasily. "It told me it would come."

"The shadow?" Peter repeated, his voice hushing into a venomous whisper. "I invite it to come and try. Only lost boys belong in Neverland, Billy, and you are most certainly anything but that."

"Stop lying to me!" The boy screamed furiously. "I am a lost boy! You and Mum don't want me anymore! The shadow told me so. It said you're replacing me with a girl."

"That's the most ludicrous thing I've ever heard come out of your mouth." Peter scowled. "That shadow would burn before it ever lays a hand on you."

"No!" He could see Billy's lips purse together from the threat. The boy was doing everything he could to keep from crying in front of him; he always had to look strong in his father's eyes, no matter what.

What with his short, wavy golden locks and impressive height of a boy of his age, he was the spitting image of his father, which didn't help soothe Peter's nerves in the slightest. He shot a glance out the window towards the promise of the starry sky, then back to the vial in his hands. "The shadow told me you would give me away to a new family to make room for the baby. That's what happens when new babies come; parents get rid of their older children. The baby girl will get my room and have all my toys and have you and Mum and I'll have nothing!"

"No one could ever replace you!" Peter glared up at his son furiously. "You're my first child; my only boy. Gaining a sister wouldn't change that." The anger that Billy so clearly roused in his father offered him a strange comfort. He looked down to him with uncertainty, still gripping the vial of dust tight in his palm. "Whatever that shadow told you is a lie: a dirty, rotten lie meant to steal you away from me. Your mother and I could never let go of you."

Billy swallowed and kept silent for a moment. Conflict flooded the little boy's eyes when all of a sudden the very notion of being taken from his home and his family felt all wrong. He blinked back a stray tear, "You're not sending me away?"

"Never." Peter growled, consumed with fury that the shadow would have the audacity to even consider taking his own son away from him. A hot tear finally slipped out from the crevice of the little boy's eye as he gripped the edge of the bookshelf. His eyes winced shut; letting out the first choked sob he had been holding back.

Peter reached up the bookshelf to beckon him to crawl into his arms. "Come down, Billy." He looked at his father's hands, though aggressively shook his head in defiance. Peter glared persistently up at him, "Billy, the dust only works for me, Neverland's rightful King. I will not have you getting hurt."

Billy stood up with shaky legs, gripping the vial tightly in his small, sweaty palm. He finally edged towards the bookshelf, near where Peter held his arms out for him. "I still want to fly."

"You can't," Peter's retorted flatly.

Billy furrowed his brows in frustration. He dreamed of flying like how his father had done in the bedtime stories he had been told. Every cross of doubt that Peter conveyed to him only fueled his drive to pursue his dreams further.

All his life, he was compared to his father; his looks, his mischievous games, his relentless need to keep moving, his determination always to win. He was sick of being compared. He was sick of the stories. He wanted action. He wanted more than just the title of Pan's son; he wanted to live it.

"Billy…-" Before Peter could get out his last word, the boy jumped off the bookshelf. Peter lifted his arms to catch him, though only felt the tips of his fingers graze his arm as a green aura suspended the boy in midair.

At first, all he could do was gawk down at Peter; their wide hazel-green eyes shared the same incredulous thrill and disbelief. As the sensation set in, a boyish grin stretched over Billy's face in the place of his fear. He let out a short-lived giggle and reached down to grasp his father's outstretched hands.

"I'm flying," the boy laughed, green eyes alighted with adrenaline. "I'm really flying."

Peter beamed up to him and took his hand to lead him away from the bookshelf. Billy half-laughed, half-gasped each time his balance reared off in a certain direction and he wavered in midair. "I've got you," Peter murmured reassuringly, keeping him steady as Billy observed the bedroom below. "You know, you can't stay up there all night."

Billy shook his head insistently though nonetheless reached out for Peter's shoulders as his father pulled him down into his arms. "Told you I could do it," Billy murmured lightly against his shoulders.

"I should never have doubted you," Peter grinned. "Though I'd say for now it's best to just keep this little secret between us."

Elizabeth pressed her head against the plush pillow. She squinted her eyes shut to silently endure what felt like somersaults tumbling right and left inside of her womb. Following the gentle creak of their bedroom door, she heard a familiar albeit incoherent whine.

She looked over her shoulder to find Peter carrying a very tired looking Billy over to their bedside. Peter lowered Billy down over the sheets to let him crawl close to Lizzie's side. He nestled himself in his mother's arms, wrapping his body over her to snuggle her close.

"You okay?" She murmured lightly against the boy's muffled locks. He didn't answer her, but rather nuzzled his nose deeper against her forearm.

Peter lethargically climbed back into bed to join them. As Billy had snuggled against his mother's chest under her enclosed arms, Peter had to battle for a space to wrap his arm over her. It seemed that the baby was put at ease by the close proximity of her father and brother, thankfully, when the painful kicking finally subdued.

Just as Billy started to drift into sleep, he felt Peter's hand weave through his little fingers, placing the vial of pixie dust in their shared grasp. A smile perked up the little boy's face as his father with the silent promise that it wouldn't be the last flying lesson they shared.

The shadow did not return to Billy's dreams that night, or any other night afterwards. There were no more disturbances in the house, nor were there any intrusions through windows. Billy dreamed of himself flying through white, misted clouds towards an island doused in sunlight and colorful beams, surrounded by an ocean tropical blue, where seagulls avidly cawed over the crash of waves and mermaids cheered with welcome smiles at his arrival. He dreamed of his Neverland. The Neverland he had just inherited where there were no shadows lurking in dark corners of the forest, waiting to taint children's hearts black. It was the Neverland his father was willing to give him.

Peter Pan dreamed of fire so that his son could dream of paradise.

Peter dreamed of himself, seventeen years old again, wearing tattered green clothing, a belt buckle, high-strung boots and two tied bands over his wrists. He stood in front of a wall of fire cast out of his own fingertips, invigorated by the crackling symphony of destruction and echoing screams of disintegrating shadows. Crossing his arms with a shadowed grin, Peter Pan watched with pleasure as every last inch of Dark Hollow burned to the ground.