They have a few scanty days to adjust to the new development. But then a cloud of green smoke took them off and threw them down onto the snowy streets in the middle of Storybrooke.

It was mildly inconvenient, but Peter was good at taking things in stride. He reminded himself of this as he turned to Felix, watching his face for minute reactions to being back in this place. He seemed no different than before, no relapse just yet, no discomfort. .

"All right, remember the plan?" Peter said, brushing the smoky remains of the curse off his thighs. "It should work."

Felix didn't bother to swipe away the magic, and it remained and hovered about him for a few good seconds as he bit his cheek. "Unless they fire on sight."

Peter glares at the relatively new and entirely unhelpful remark.. "Try some optimism from time to time, Felix. It might do you good."

Which, Felix thinks might've been a faux boost of confidence on Peter's part. The first thing he did when the others rolled into town and the Queen's hands ignited and the strings on the bows drew, was fling his hands up into the air and cry out in a put-on innocent voice, "Don't shoot!"

It was a whirlwind of accusations and interrogations afterwards, and Peter took the lead. Making sure to swallow thick and draw little puppydog faces to appeal to their better nature.

Or, well, to make an attempt.

It was a bit difficult as long as the Evil Queen's fist was on Peter's collar and a hand full of flame right before his nose insisting "He must've cast the curse."

To which Peter had shrunk back, forcing out a voice edging on mousy. "I'd say I haven't believed in magic since I was little, but, er, your hands are on fire."

(Felix thought he should reel it in a little.)

Belle was the next to speak, a small hopeful thought: perhaps, this meant Rumple was still alive.

Peter made sure to keep his expression stupid. "Who? And, for that matter, who am I?"

It was safe to say it escalated. A few of the more relevant townspeople were reluctant to act until Prince David and Snow White return from the hospital. They wanted to make an informed decision. It made the Evil Queen rub her temples, but Felix would be lying if he said he wasn't thankful.

And so, they're crammed into the tiny holding cell in the dinky sheriff's office. Through the barred window they saw people stalking around in befuddlement. People who lived their whole lives in the Enchanted Forest and dropped here without any sort of previous know-how.

It seemed as though Peter and Felix were the last priority. Which wouldn't have been an issue, if not for the tall burly man deemed guard for them while in the cell. If not for him, they could act normal. But, in order to maintain a believable story, they had to keep up the charade.

For Peter, it was an opportunity for a fun game.

"So, what's your name?" The corners of Peter's lips twitched, daring to smile, but he kept them down.

"Not sure," Felix deadpanned, sinking into his cloak to hide the fact he's shit at telling lies. "You?"

"Same. What...what do you think we did to make them hate us so much?"

Felix shrugged.

Peter then, seeing Felix wasn't quite as enthusiastic with their little acting session, decided to switch tactics. "Why d'you think we were together? And why it's just us? D'you think we're friends?"

There was a small glint in Felix, and he made no effort to hide from neither Peter nor the guard the way his eyes dripped down his body. "I think I'd like to be."

Peter gave a small yelp, a tiny laugh. "We just met."

"Not necessarily."

Peter chewed on his lip, approval and enjoyment of the game. He hid it visibly under the layer still acting and milking the situation for the guard and security tapes. "Well, if we ever get out of here," He sighed, drew his glance in a similar pathway, "We'll see if you can get lucky."

"I'll try to be optimistic." Felix leaned back onto the cell wall, hidden enjoyment of the way he turned Pan's words back to him.

"Realistic." Peter challenged, inching forward.

Something might've happened, but the guard coughed, feeling a bit uncomfortable. So they resumed acting and venting frustrations over having no idea of anything. Perfect strangers in a bad situation. They played their parts well, if they'd say so themselves.

Of course, that was an hour ago. It's a slight sting to the ego to be the last priority. To only be considered after the entire Enchanted Forest was stuffed into a cramped diner and distributed to places to stay. After a parade of cheerful and hopeful speeches.

But, now, a very pregnant Snow White breaks through the door, followed by David, and the Evil Queen herself.

Snow White sends him a kind glance and, oh, this is an opportunity Peter can't pass up.

"Are you my mum?"

Her jaw drops from either pity or concern. Peter can't help but notice how everyone else exchanges a glance and a thought between themselves. Or, well, everyone else but the Evil Queen, who has her flashing manicured nails on her hips and is mumbling under her breath.

Peter turns sheepish. "I...I don't have a mum, do I?"

Snow White shakes her head, hand rotating absently over her enormous stomach.

"And me?" Felix asks, quiet, shifting his position on the cot.

"No."

"Can't you see what they're doing?" Regina calls out, gesturing an arm into the cell.

"I'm not so sure," Snow White hovers over a chair, plopping down.

David picks up where she left off. "None of us remember the last year, anything could've happened."

"Please." Regina rolls her eyes. "There's no way after what he did - he can't just turn around and not be a threat."

Peter shrinks into himself. "What did I do?"

David speaks up next, "If they really do have no idea of who they were and what they did, it'd be unethical to keep them locked up."

Regina throws a hand up. "He's our only lead for casting this curse."

"But whose heart?" Snow White shuffles in her chair.

"All the Lost Ones are accounted for." David puts in, gesturing over to Felix for a beat, indicating Pan's alibi. "If it's the same curse, he had no way to cast it."

Peter makes a show of blinking and falls onto the cot beside Felix. "What curse? What the hell are you all on about? I just want to go home."

Felix has to admit Peter's a damn good actor when he wants to be.

"We're not suggesting they walk free," David crosses his arms at his chest. "But we need the cell empty. We have no idea what we're dealing with."

"We're dealing with him."

"Flying monkeys were never Pan's style."

Regina huffs, and then sighs, rolling back a sleeve. "Fine. But that doesn't mean I'm not taking precautions."

She waves her hand and Peter feels a wave of hot angry magic encircle around his leg, coming to focus against the bumps on his ankle. He lifts his foot up to his chest, and shoos his spats to the side in order to get a good look at a tiny link-chain, glowing red against his skin. He cocks a brow and looks up towards the Evil Queen.

"A tether," She says. "So no matter what you've got planned, I can track you down. Don't go using magic either. It's enchanted so I can tell exactly what you use and what for."

Well, Peter thinks, that might result in some secondhand embarrassment on the Queen's part. Instead he brings the innocence back to his eyes. "I have magic? What, am I some wizard or something?"

"Doesn't matter, since you won't be using magic anytime soon."

Peter cocks a brow and somehow manages to appear confused.

"Don't believe me?" The Queen says, voice dark. "Try it."

Felix can tell Peter's trying not to smirk. He does so love his games.

Throwing on a face of blank curiosity, Peter draws his hand up to get a better look. He figures a levitation spell is easy enough, and places a dry voice and throws his hand up-

"Ow!" He's interrupted as the fan outside the cell lifts in the air. A white hot feeling in his hand, sudden and sharp. A short thrum of pain and he can tell Felix is making an effort not to react.

The Queen conjures a glowing ring on her thumb. As the pain dissipates, disappearing as face as it came, the ring dulls, void of all light.

Snow White squirms in her seat and the prince frowns. "Don't you think that's a bit much?"

"Consider it a precaution."

The Queen refuses to budge. They'll have to make do without magic; but that can't be too much of a challenge.

Peter blinks, nods, and then gives one long dramatic sigh. "All right. Great. I should probably just accept this as I go. But, one more thing: what the hell is my name?"

They're given separate rooms above Granny's diner, but they both know it won't last long. Felix is pulling on a pair of denims given to him by the townsfolk by the time he feels the waves of nausea fade. Peter doesn't bother knocking, just slips behind the door.

He hasn't changed yet and blinks when he sees Felix in denim and a sweatshirt. "Look at you," He smirks. "Making an effort to blend in."

"Look at you not." Felix retorts, earning a small laugh from the slighter boy, who's now crossed the room throws their mouths together.

"What's the point?" Peter snickers between kisses. "We're in for the night, aren't we?"

Stretching both hands on the small of Peter's back, Felix presses him up on the edge of the mattress. It's barely an instant before crouching down in front of him. He nestles into the crease between Peter's legs with his chin and his fingers fumble around the laces of his spats.

Peter grins and relaxes onto the palms of his hands. He eagerly parts his knees at Felix's nudging and allows the fire to take over his eyes. Not before a moment of sobriety. "You're okay then?"

Felix's hands don't stop attempting to loosen the double knot on the underside of Peter's calf. "Why wouldn't I be?"

"Environmental relapse," Peter shrugs, eyes scouring Felix's face for some sort of muted sign. "Or something."

There is nothing but a small victory as Felix manages to loosen the strings. "Keep me out of the forest and I'll be fine."

"That's it?"

"Yes." Felix kisses his knee before cocking his head up towards Peter. "Is this really what you want to talk about right now?"

There's a warmth inside his stomach as he arcs his brow. It summits and burns as he absorbs everything in the moment: steely eyes, crouched position, obvious intent. Worse still when Felix takes a single movement to toss Peter's spats across the room.

Felix hoists one of Peter's legs over his shoulder and mouths up the inside of his thigh. Peter's fingers scrape against his scalp. He isn't herding him anywhere, but pulling on the knotted blond tangles in tight fists. Felix's tongue flicks through the material in response, mewling low. He tastes dirt and cotton, revels in the frustrated grunts Peter's emitting as he jostles his hips into Felix's nose.

Felix snickers but complies. His tongue traces the imprint of Peter's cock through his trousers. When it twitches under the material, Felix sits up higher on his knees and sucks hard. Opens his mouth wide to bring him up further until he's tented in his pants to full capacity.

Keening, Peter holds Felix's head in both hands, pulsing his hips up and sighing a loud hiss to the way Felix licks down his crotch. He's suckling on his bollocks and smiling into the feeling of Peter's legs tightening on either side of his head.

Peter doesn't mind loosening his own laces, bucking his hips upwards. Felix's insistent face sweeps up in his movement. His trousers slide off his hips by his own accord. Felix helps them the rest of the way until they're sitting in a pile between Peter's heels.

Felix is still kissing his thighs and skimming his lips up Peter's cock, mouthing into and around his foreskin, lipping at his flushing cockhead.

He was never one for too much teasing, but he sure is taking his time.

Stripping down without magic means stopping. Peter almost groans when they break apart, but shoves the rest of his clothes away and skitters closer to the headboard.

Fumbling backwards onto the bed, Peter stretches out. Felix crawls on his hands and knees, keeping his face close by every instant.

Peter's head falls onto the scratchy cotton comforter. A choking moan comes out, borne of arousal coupled with frustration. "Just do it al-"

And Felix interrupts him by sliding up his full length, until Peter brushes at the back of his throat. He keeps one fist in a tight knot around the blanket to still his gag reflexes. His other hand jerks at himself, causing hungry moans to erupt around Peter's prick.

And Peter can't help the series of unholy noises canting out of his open mouth. It's all half words and muddled profanities. He's tightening his thighs around Felix's neck and angling his hips to position himself deeper into Felix's gorgeous mouth.

Felix has three hundred years of experience, has perfected his methods down to an art. He knows how to banish all traces of teeth, how to coil his tongue in the best way to send shivers up Peter's spine. He can swallow him down whole, make as many muted noises as he can because he knows Peter reveals behind the obscene soundtrack.

Felix knows he can make Peter come hard and quick like this, and he can draw it out slow. He isn't quite sure which he wants right now. So he preoccupies himself licking down and swallowing the precome seeping down and coating his throat.

He won't drop eye contact and if Peter were less stubborn he would've rolled his eyes back the second Felix put his hands on himself. But now it's a stalemate, trying to break each other down. And Felix sucks hard and gives in to the tickling in his own abdomen.

He keeps going even as he's spilling over his own knuckles, wavering in technique only slightly.

Peter gargles in his throat when Felix's come-spattered hand wraps around the base of his cock.

He can't last much longer, and does nothing to muffle his moan as he comes. Loud, almost screaming, a combination of a name and an approval, jetting his hips up. He's feeling the walls of Felix's throat close in around him as he swallows over and over again, fisted hand pushing Peter's hips down into the mattress.

Felix pulls off, resting his forehead on Peter's navel for a beat before running his open mouth, leaking a salty drool of leftover come in a long trail up Peter's body.

Lips come together, electrified and slippery.

Felix smiles at the way Peter's panting. "The walls are thin," He mentions, eyes growing blacker at the thought. "Everyone in this building heard you."

Peter stills his chest and pulls Felix off his chest and flips their positions. "Let them think I came to you for solace or something."

"Solace?"

Peter nods, pulling his face into a faux-pout. "Imagine; a poor little lost boy without a single memory or sign or clue for what he was or who he is. Nothing but you. Stands to reason he'd come to you."

"Poor kid," Felix shuts his eyes, wrapping a hand around Peter's bare ribs. He's nestling the pads of his fingers in the dips between the bones.

"Indeed," Peter snickers, bringing their mouths together again. He slides his tongue along Felix's lower lip and pressing flush together.

When they break apart, Felix is the one to ask "What now?"

When Peter grins like this, it's worth all the gold in the world, Felix thinks. "We wait for the action to start. And in the meantime? We lay it on thick."

Laying it on thick, to Peter's mind, means wandering up and down the street, asking the less assuming townsfolk if they have any idea who they are. And it means making the rest of them believe there's nothing unsavory happening by acting utterly besotted. Doing things they mercilessly makes fun of the instant they're behind closed doors. Walking with intertwined hands, exchanging soft kisses on the street or in a booth at Granny's, acting lazy and absorbed into themselves.

Felix enjoys the game, though he's sure he would tire of it if they had to keep it up forever. There's something uncharacteristically sweet in the way Peter holds his hand, but, judging by the way people are trying not to stare, it's working.

It's almost daunting how easy it is to put on that skin. Maybe, if you were to strip away the quaint sentiments, it just might be half true.

It's a fun game for the moment. Pulling the wool over everyone's eyes and making them believe they're two soppy idiots with nothing better to do than exist alongside one another.

A few days have passed since their arrival in Storybrooke, when Peter sighs irritably and mutters, "You'd think our hands are glued together."

Felix pauses, loosens his grip on Peter's knuckles as they turn the corner. "It was your idea."

The gesture of holding onto each other in something so simple and innocent as walking, they both think, is a bit cloying. But, it's the easiest way to get their point across.

"I know that. I don't know, though, how stupid you've got to be to…" He's faded, feeling the acid in Felix's stomach curdle. "What is it?"

Felix stares forward, a quiet snarl on his lips that looks more like a bandage than anything else. Peter knows what to expect when he turns his head to Felix's line of vision. Sure enough, he finds himself staring at a group of former Lost Ones lounging in front of the pharmacy. They're scraggly and pale in the daylight, puffing on unfiltered cigarettes, and using each other as footstools. Peter can recognize Aaron and is trying to figure out whether the twin beside him is Ralph or Edwin when he feels the shake in the heart beside him.

There's pain in the feeling overriding the tumults of anger swirling alongside it. It's so vastly peculiar to Peter he has to reach out and stop Felix in his tracks.

"What's bothering you about it?"

Felix sighs, fingers twiddling on the zip of his jacket. "I just...didn't expect them to be like that."

"Well what did you expect?"

He's slouching, biting into his cheek and searching the ground and sky for the answer. "I didn't think they'd...still be a unit…" He falters. "It isn't important."

It's difficult for Felix to put to words. There's something toxic and grating in the way they stand together. The same ones stand a bit taller here who stood taller in Neverland. Everything in the layout of boys, from positioning of limbs to who was talking louder, was the same.

It's as though centuries of care and friendship didn't matter to them at all. They are what they are, whether or not Felix is a part of it.

Part of him knows it's of little consequence. At the end of the day, Felix has half of Peter Pan's heart in his chest, and that's more important than being snubbed by a group of homeless brats.

But it still hurts to be disregarded by those he once called Brother.

He must have begun to stare or was shutting out sound because he has no warning before Peter's up on the balls of his feet, blowing a quick stream of air into his eyes. It stings, but only for the time it takes Felix to blink away his thoughts.

Felix doesn't want to read concern into Peter's face, but he just can't help it.

"Just give it a bit more time," Peter urges, hushing his voice to prevent eavesdropping, painting on a half smitten look for those who might cast their gaze over. "Once we can be a bit more...open…."

There's a gleam in Peter's eye, and it catches Felix's attention. The hurt taking an immediate backseat to the deviant light flickering all over his friend's face.

And Peter finishes, "I'll hold them; you punch."

Felix nods to show something resembling understanding.

He never expected Peter to bring the conversation to any conclusion. Other than, perhaps, wondering why the hell Felix was letting the worthless traitors weigh him down. Much less an indication Peter was going to do far more than stand by. He'd do more than oversee whatever might happen when Felix finally gets around to giving the Boys a piece of his mind. He'd take an active role.

It was an option Felix hasn't thought on, and he won't take more than a few moments, for fear of leaping to conclusions.

"And," Peter adds a lilt to his voice and a beam on his face so bright Felix isn't sure whether it's genuine or an act for the townsfolk. "Because we can't wring their necks just yet, how about we give them a good nightmare or two?"

Felix's lips pull into a sly smirk, and then a grin. "What do you suggest?"

"Follow my lead." And Peter's arms wrap around Felix's neck and he electrocutes him in a kiss that pays no mind to delicacy or decency.

The second they brush apart, Felix can tell what Peter's intending to do. While he doesn't think it will give them nightmares, it'll certainly bother them. And if it's the closest Felix is going to get to Hammurabi for the time being, he might as well have fun in the meantime.

They continue on the sidewalk, Peter half inside Felix's jacket, one arm coiling his side. The other plays at the fingers wrapped around his shoulder. It's too precious, and they're both certain they'll have a good laugh about it when they return to their room above Granny's. For now, though, it serves a purpose, and doesn't seem quite as absurd as it did before.

"I'm only saying," Peter's lifted his volume to a contained shout. He's keeping one palm pressed to Felix's and his other arm wraps around him. "You could go a bit easier on me. I swear, I won't be able to sit for a week."

"I'll do my best," Felix mutters, trying to gauge the boys' reactions from his peripheral. It'd always been something of a discomfort to them when reminded of the things Pan and Felix did. In Neverland, Felix sympathized. He didn't care to know about their liaisons either. But now? Let them squirm.

They're a few steps passed the boys, can still smell the burning tobacco, when Peter lifts up onto his toes and kisses the vein in his neck. His eyes flicker over to the door to Ralph's left.

"Oh, hey," He pipes, tightening his grip on Felix's arm and starting to tug. "I think we're almost out of lube."

It's a near dash through the doors, if for no other reason than to cover up Peter's laughter. They break apart once they make it through the threshold. Peter snickering against the ice cream cooler at the entrance. Felix scuttles off and presses up to the window.

"How'd we do?" Peter smirks, tapping his ankle on the side of his shoe.

"I don't know about nightmares," Felix abandons the window to stand before Peter. "But they look like they just ate a lemon."

Peter nods, satisfied in the reaction, before grabbing a basket from the floor and shoving it into Felix's hands. "We really are running out though."

There's a deranged air of usualness to them, Felix thinks, as they stare and bicker over the array of black and purple bottles. He wonders how they got to the point where he's standing back, his hands crossed at his chest, actually saying, "Peter, I am not going to have strawberry flavored sex."

As though the sentence itself isn't enough of an oddity, Peter doesn't interpret this as a challenge or way to embarrass him. He picks up a long orange bottle. "What about this?"

Felix squints at the small print and then, much to Peter's amusement, tinges pink. "That doesn't even sound comfortable, much less erotic."

"A little imagination won't kill you," Peter tongues the inside of his cheek before giving an elaborate sigh. "But suit yourself. Get the boring stuff."

They throw a bottle into their basket and make their way through the aisles, adding this or that to their stock. Felix is close to laughter in realization they're about to buy something as typical and blase as toothpaste. The amusement ends when they cross paths with none other than Snow White and her Prince Charming.

Peter gives a small intentional jump. "Mary Margaret and...David, right?"

The pregnant woman nods, and begins to exchange in pointless small talk with Peter. How's he been doing? All right, thanks. Any luck regaining memories? No, not quite yet. And so on and so forth. Felix stands just off Peter's shoulder, adjusting the basket in the crook of his arm, having a silent, knowing exchange with David opposite him.

"It's a little difficult," Peter concedes. "Everyone seems to hate us, and we don't know what we did."

"Well try not to let it bother you," Mary Margaret says, hands on her belly. "Everyone deserves a second chance."

"Hear that, Felix?" Peter mutters under his breath, earning a small nudge in the side. Then he turns to the couple across the aisle. "Yes, well, it can be a bit daunting. It seems like we can't even have breakfast at Granny's without people staring. We'd go someplace else, but I don't know where else there is."

Felix turns his head over to Peter, wondering just what he's playing at. A moment later it becomes clearer, though his motivations are still muddled.

"Why don't you two come over for dinner tonight?" Mary Margaret offers.

David nods, hand between Mary Margaret's shoulders. "Give you boys a break from diner food."

The fact they're finishing each other's thoughts is a bit bizarre, but Peter accepts the invitation and the small talk ends.
They stuff a few granola bars into their pockets, but pay for the rest of their merchandise. The former Lost Ones are gone by the time they make it back to the street, and they carry their plastic bag to their room in a few short minutes.

"So why the need to have dinner?" Felix asks, preoccupies himself in putting the toiletries away into the bathroom as Peter finds a seat in the window.

"Positioning," Peter's simple answer comes, faded. He's not paying attention as though there's something better suited to his attention down on the street.

Felix sighs, figures the answer will come once Peter isn't distracted. And so he finishes putting away the merchandise. He's replacing the old bottle in the nightstand when he feels something hiccup inside Peter's chest, something pumping in his stomach.

"What's wrong?" From habit, his hand flies to his hip, although he doesn't have a knife in his belt anymore.

"Look," Peter beckons him, flaps his hand, sounding entranced.

Felix is by his side in a moment, peering out the window. Everything looks normal, and he hesitates to answer for a beat. That's when he recognizes a long head of blonde hair ducking into the cafe. And behind her? A speck of brunette wearing an all too familiar red and grey striped scarf.

Felix can feel Peter's excitement, mouth quirking upwards in spite of himself. "Henry?"

Peter doesn't even try to hide the way the cogs rotate in his skull. "I think things are about to get interesting."

They arrive at the apartment; their arms flung around each other's waists for added insurance.

Peter tries so hard not to laugh at the momentary glance of panic in David's face after he answers the door. By the look on his face, he'd forgotten his wife had invited the two teenage miscreants over for supper.

Oh was this going to be fun. He hasn't had a real spot of fun in a long time, and it's thrilling enough he knows Felix can feel it from his position to the left.

He brings his face to a worried pout. "Oh, are we here early?"

The look on Emma's face when they talk through the doorway on David's flank is priceless. In this world, Peter thinks it's what they call a Kodak Moment.

Peter would laugh - genuinely wants to - instead he widens his eyes. "Oh. If we'd known this was a party we would've dressed nicer."

He shuffles his eyes around, waiting for their host or hostess to introduce them. The awkwardness alone is enough to even bring Felix to pretend to blow his nose to hide his telltale smirk.

Mary Margaret catches on and gives polite introductions. It prompts Emma's jaw to fall open, staring in confusion when Peter steps up for a civil handshake.

The voice, gruffer than it had been the last time they spoke, pipes up here. "Mom."

"Right," Emma mutters, tossing a hand forward and accepting the gesture. It's closed and wary, as to be expected. She turns back to her parents a moment later, before they've even broken contact. "Can I talk to you two upstair a minute?" She pauses and adds, "Grownup stuff."

They trot up the rickety stairs (the exception being Mary Margaret, who waddles). Once they're out of earshot, Peter sighs and plummets down on the sofa, feet grazing the edge of the cushion Henry's perched on. Felix sits up straight on the adjoining armchair, elbows resting above his knees.

Peter tilts his head, using his knuckles as a pillow. "Mary Margaret said you're Henry, right?"

Henry's fiddling on some glowing box and, for a moment, his eyes dart down to the box and then up to impeding social interaction. Back down and up. Down and then back to their faces. Then he places his box on the coffee table, swiveling on the cushion to face the two boys in front of him.

"That's me," He says, friendly and warm in a way Peter hadn't experienced in Neverland.

It would've made everything so much easier if he had, but no need to dwell on the past.

"Your mom seems stressed," Felix fills the silence. Somehow, he comes off neither as antagonizing nor patronizing.

Nevertheless, Henry's eyes beat to the ground. "She's usually a lot better with strangers. 'S part of her job."

"Maybe we've just got those uneasy faces. Maybe we look familiar," Peter suggests, winking back at Felix before spinning back to Henry. "Do you think?"

"I don't know the best way to respond to that."

Peter shrugs. "Let's go out on a limb here and say anything goes. Anything at all."

"Well not really." Henry looks bunched up, nervous in an odd way neither Peter nor Felix are accustomed to from this particular round face. "But I've never been here before."

"Neither have we," Felix says. He's looking something like melted wax as he rests in his chair, perhaps prompting a mirror effect from the younger boy. The specifics of why Peter's directing them in this way haven't come to him yet, but nothing can undo the fact Henry is Important. "Well maybe once."

"Oh? Where are you from?"

Felix falls back into the chair at the same moment Peter pipes, "Hamelin."

"Isn't that in Germany or something?" Henry asks.

Peter and Felix exchange a glance, unsure. But, Peter nods with confidence Felix can tell is subpar. "Yeah."

"So you're German?"

"Yeah." Peter pauses. "I mean, technically."

Felix can't help but smile at Peter's utter refusal to backtrack. On the sofa, Peter can feel the affection inside his Boy and swats at his arm absently.

Henry notices, doesn't say anything. But there's something in the way he loosens, sits more comfortably.

They flick on the TV when conversation slows. A cartoon castle and boldfaced script dances across the screen. It's followed by old fashioned script announcing, Walt Disney's the Sword in the Stone.

Felix snorts, pans out, "Loosely based on real events."

Peter glares at him for the comment, not wanting to blow their cover. It's an unnecessary precaution, at least if Henry's amused grin and small chortle are any indication.

Meanwhile and up the stairs, Emma's tapping her foot to keep from pacing. "The fact they're both here, raised from the dead, with so many people missing. I don't know. It's bizarre."

"Regina's got a tracker on Pan," David explains. "He hasn't used magic or done anything suspicious."

"They just walk around holding hands." Mary Margaret adds. "Nowhere near where anybody's been going missing."

Emma frowns, tightening her arms around her chest. "So you're telling me you think they had nothing to do with it?"

Mary Margaret's drawing some oblong shape on her belly. "I think they don't remember anything."

"Well they probably did something," David nods, "But until they know for themselves, it's safest to let them walk. Not let resentments stir. The last thing we need right now is another rival."

"No need to punish who they are right now for who they were." Mary Margaret finishes for her husband, topping off with a small nod.

Emma sighs. One short year ago (and at the same time, a whole lifetime ago) Pan had kidnapped Henry and stole his heart. She wasn't going to let Henry get hurt again.

But, her parents do have a point.

At least for now, Pan and his tall Lost One aren't who they're looking for. And if they are, hopefully Regina's tether will hold out and it won't be a concern.

Besides, if Pan started the curse, why would he wipe his own memories? Neal might be missing, but Belle is still alive and well. Weren't they the first two on Pan's hit list?

Her intuition whispers at her to let this one go. Nudges her in another direction.

She knows she has to focus on whoever started the curse and why. Henry's safety isn't in jeopardy. She'll keep one eye on Pan as something resembling a lead, but direct her focus elsewhere.

And with it decided, she leads the way downstairs, confident in her decision until she hears her son's voice.

"And then it's 3982."

She's caught by surprise when Felix's drawling voice recites back Henry's cell number.

"That's it," Henry nods, pulling himself up on his feet when the other two boys stand as well.

"We'll see you around then," Felix says, turning around and tossing Peter his discarded jacket and inching to the door.

"You're leaving?" Mary Margaret asks, waddling down the staircase.

Peter nods. "We'd hate to interrupt a...happy reunion." There's something familiar in his face just now, or perhaps it was all a mirage, because it fades a second later. "We appreciate the invitation though. Perhaps another time."

And they disappear as quickly as they did on the whims of Neverland.

It's understandable, though a bit annoying, in how they have so little time to get to know this cursed version of their Truest Believer.

Felix isn't holding a grudge over Emma for directing him to other possible companions. Though he does question her intelligence in pushing her son towards the likes of Killian Jones.

But who's to be the judge of character here?

It's taking longer than Peter anticipated, judging by the way he twiddles his thumbs and sits around to wait for the so-called heroes to learn enough for the two of them to state their case.

And in the meantime, it's a tug-of-war for Henry's attention.

Not that it's much competition.

Answer this: if you were a twelve year old boy, do you gravitate to the pregnant couple, the rum-soaked charmer, or the fun teenaged boys who, quote, unquote, "get it?"

Trick question, isn't it?

At least so it seems now, as they're holed up into a corner booth, hunched over bowls of soup as Henry's staring down at his glowing box, dodging Mary Margaret's botched attempts of conversation.

"He looks bored," Felix mentions as he spoons into his clam chowder, wincing as it burns the roof of his mouth.

Peter turns over his shoulder and gives a small little nod, half grin playing at his mouth. "Think we ought to correct that?"

Felix nods and whips the small metal rectangle out of his pocket. They'd found a 'prepaid cell phone' in a store. It seemed like something normal boys would want. If nothing else, it might help their guise. Thus they'd allowed kleptomania to get the better of them.

Which, as it turns out as Felix thumbs a quick message to the distracted kid on the opposite wall, was a decent decision.

He receives the message in a moment, and slides into the booth beside Felix.

"We've delivered you from boredom," Peter says punctuating the statement with the spoon in his mouth.

Henry shrugs, softer smile on his face. "She's nice. They all are. Just..."

"Not how you want to spend your day." Peter flares his hands and rolls a nod. "We get it."

"Storybrooke's just a little strange," Henry shrugs.

"'S boring," Felix mutters into a spoonful of steaming clam.

"But less so with a good bit of imagination." Peter adds, tapping the table with his knuckles. "Which, luckily, I've got."

Leaving no time for debate, he slides out of the booth and all but skips out the door, a ringing bell announcing his departure.

"He wants us to follow him, doesn't he?" Henry turns his head from where he'd been glancing at the door.

Felix nods. "He does like his grand exits."

Henry pauses, taps his shoe under the table. "Are you gonna follow him?"

"Of course," Felix swallows down another spoonful. Then he flicks his head to the kid beside him, "You're invited too, you know."

The gleam in his face almost looks appreciative. If Felix knew what appreciation looked like on Henry's face he might know what to do with this information.

"Right."

There isn't any reason for a cursed boy to learn how to shoot or make a spear or any of the useful things Felix or Peter could teach him. So, upon exiting the diner, they might be diving in blind. Peter has a plan though, and judging by the look on his face, it's a good one.

Granted, Felix might've thought to question the blowtorch.

Instead, they found themselves sitting on the fire escape to a Snow White's apartment. They're skewering balls of condensed sugar on forks and placing them into the blue flame. They'd created little sugar sandwiches of Henry's design he called "s'mores." Crackers bracketing a bit of chocolate and melted marshmallow.

Felix's is done first, having lit his marshmallow on fire. He nibbles at the sandwich, strings of sugary gloop hanging between his teeth and the cracker in his hand.

"'s sweet," He comments and takes his time finishing it as Henry teaches them how to achieve a state called Golden Brown.

Apparently this is a worthwhile hobby in this Land Without Magic.

"And that's how you do it," Henry grins, holding up the fork of roasted sugar. He bites back a laugh when he looks up. "Felix you've got a little something on your face."

Felix shoots the boy a confused look before reaching up and finding a small spread of goopy sugar between his lips.

Peter turns and allows his own laughter to sustain as he jumps up and leans over the blowtorch. "Can I fix that?"

He doesn't give his Boy a chance to answer before he's closing his lips over the sticky residue. It's an afterthought to not make the motion too sloppy as he sucks the molten sugar away.

They almost forget themselves, at least until Henry gives a muted little cough. When the look up, he's staring at the intricacies in the way his own golden marshmallow slides down the prongs of his fork.

Peter pulls away and it's Felix who mumbles out a small "Sorry."

Henry's shrug looks nonchalant,, though he does look relieved to be able to look up again. "So, uh, how long have you two been together?"

"Forever," Felix says, fingers drawing absent circles on the small of Peter's back.

"Or thereabouts." Peter adds in, trying not to assess the realization they'd just finished each other's thoughts.

The receive the news from word of mouth. From eavesdropping on a delicate conversation between the coquettish waitress and a scruffy grump of a man. Baelfire's dead.

Felix takes the brunt of it, turning on his heels and slamming the door behind himself. Peter follows, if nothing else, to avoid making a bad situation worse through illness.

Peter wishes he hadn't been oblivious to the situation, wishes he'd known what had become of both Baelfire and Rumplestiltskin. But he cannot pretend he's too torn about it. Any and all affection he'd ever had for his grandson, if you could even call it that, had disappeared along with the boy's true name.

Baelfire was a Lost Boy, Baelfire lived in Neverland, once a long time ago, Peter cared whether Baelfire lived or died. Neal Cassidy wasn't applicable to any of it.

But Felix lives under the impression that once someone's a Lost Boy, it means something forever.

Or, perhaps, it's much simpler.

Felix and Baelfire were friends.

Sometimes Peter forgets how much it means to Felix.

And so they sit in silence. Felix has his legs crossed and tucked underneath himself. He's swiping a pencil with a pocketknife, bringing it to a sharpness to rival needles.

Peter sits in the windowsill, watching the dreary funeral procession as it makes its way out of sight and then returns into town.

After a near hour of silence, Felix throws down the razor sharp pencil and pockets the knife before falling down under the blankets.

"I hate this place."

Peter snorts somewhat indelicately, but comes around to sit beside Felix's head on the bed. "Is this because of Baelfire or did you have an epiphany?"

"Both."

It's trying to walk around, emulating a brand of love and affection that wasn't theirs. Hurtful to notice the way the traitors received nothing but good fortune for their abandonment. Irritating to bumble around here.

He closes his eyes and tries to imagine the heath-overflowed moors and jagged valleys back home. "I want Neverland."

Peter hums, reclining on his elbows and lying down opposite Felix. "It was a step up from this, I'll admit."

Felix shuffles on the bed. "I want to go back - more than anything. Live forever and play your games. Not have to fake anything or label you and me as 'True Love' or whatever. Get a new group of friends who won't betray us. Just be. The way it's supposed to be." He's breathing on Peter's cheek now. Risks comforting proximity that may or may not be deemed too affectionate for Peter's tastes. "Clear enough?"

"Let's not get carried away just yet." Peter nods, admitting how very agreeable it all sounds. "But perhaps once this all blows over."

There is, of course, the question of immortality. A part of Peter, once he thinks on this, figures the limitation of his time on the island was the Shadow's doing. Perhaps now that the Shadow is gone, the timeline has lost potency.

Felix was never under the hourglass's influence in the first place. Perhaps now that they're symbiotes it won't apply.

There has to be a way to return. He hasn't allowed himself to think on it before this point, but now he has, he cannot deny it sounds idyllic.

"Back to Neverland," He muses. "Mermaids' blood on our hands, in your hair. Thrilling chases, exhilarating games. Getting anything we want. Can't imagine a life of anything else."

Felix frowns, eyes open again. "How could anyone, after being there?"

Peter can tell Felix is thinking about Baelfire, about the others, can feel the tears starting in his stomach. But, as always, he doesn't understand comfort, and so he slides under the covers and prompts Felix to lay his head down as well.

They slip into bed now, wordless. It calls memories of the island, when a Boy would walk into a patch of dreamshade, or off a cliff, or more notably, when Captain Hook had ripped a hole into Rufio from navel to nose. It's what Felix does when he loses someone: he gets quiet.

With nothing good to think about, Felix drifts off in minutes. He lies flat on his back, arms at his side; the paradigm of torn little soldier boys.

A sigh resting in his chest, Peter pulls on a pair of denims and presses the boundaries for how far they can get from each other now they've "patched things up."

He makes it all the way down the stairs into the diner before he feels any discomfort at all, and even then it's mild. Swinging around on a stool at the booth, he orders a coffee and gets the news a second time from a buisnesslike no-nonsense Granny.

He sips his coffee and keeps to himself. His fingers in a small wave when Henry notices him sitting there on his way through the door beside Hook.

Odd pair, but not worth thinking about right now.

Ordinary people are strange, Peter thinks. The majority of them couldn't have known Baelfire. At least not personally, and nowhere close to the caliber he did. So why are they all blubbering?

He sees Aaron and both Ralph and Edwin at a table together. They make sense, though Peter can't remember either of them chumming it with Baelfire.

It doesn't make sense. Why shed tears for someone that's, respectively, inconsequential?

It's around this point Peter realizes Rumplestiltskin isn't here.

Well, the Witch won't even let him attend his own son's funeral. But Peter still doesn't want to think about the way Zelena's treating him, and if nothing else, at least he's alive and out of the line of fire. So it'll have to do.

Speak of the devil, and she'll appear, or so the adage goes.

And therefore, Zelena saunters through the doors, wearing green and leather and a pointed hat. it's a bit too on-the-nose, but if Peter's going to start criticising the little things he'll be here all night.

"My condolences," She coos with moon-eyed malevolence that might be impressive if Peter were the type to be impressed.

She's sauntering and smiling, brandishing Rumplestiltskin's dagger in front of her. Stupid in throwing her pre-calculated victory in the townsfolk's faces as they buckle and cow down.

And no sooner is an arrangement made, a fight between the Evil Queen and the Wicked Witch, than Peter slips back up the staircase. A moment more and he's slamming the door to his room behind him.

"Wake up." Peter shakes Felix's shoulders until the boy is sitting up. "The shit's about to hit the fan."

It takes Felix all of two minutes to break into the Witch's cellar that night. The whole town is on the street, in some alternate reality they never expected as they root for the Evil Queen.

There are two ways this can go. Either Zelena wins, and all hell breaks loose. Or Regina wins and buys them more time.

Either way, they've got to find a loophole or find a way to stop Zelena from changing the past.

The storm cellar's dusty and smells like dirt, mold, and decaying rodent. Peter's eyes latch onto the straw filled cage pressed against the far wall ,a rickety stool and cracking spinning wheel.

"Someone isn't playing nice," Peter mutters as he steps inside the cage and kicks about in the straw.

Felix rummages on the shelves amongst bottles and dusty books, trying to wipe away fingerprints. "Do you know what we're looking for?"

Peter shakes his head and turns his attention to the shelves. "I doubt she'd keep the secret to time travel in here."

Felix nods and moves to the stairs. "I'll check the house."

A hand reaches out and takes his forearm. Peter's eyes are hard to make out in the dusty air. "Watch it now. She's a devious bitch."

"Understood," Felix grunts. He takes a step onto the stairs and turns about again. "Besides, you'll know if I get myself into a cage I can't get out of."

For a moment, Peter allows himself to smile before turning back to the shelves. "Meet you in the road. One hour unless she comes back."

Picking locks is one of those things one, apparently, doesn't forget. Felix makes it into the Witch's house on his third attempt.

It's odd, he thinks, how benign the bond has become over the year. Months ago, he would've been foaming and dry heaving, but now there's barely even a slight tickle. He can carry on alone, not as fulfilled as he could be around Peter, but no longer empty. It's unsettling, but somehow relieving to know he can still be his own person, even with True Love.

The main floor of the Witch's farmhouse is mostly bare, sparsely decorated. Probably from the person who lived here before her. It's unsurprising; she's a bit of a cuckoo bird, in more ways than one. Taking over nests and lives, insane on general principle, pretty in a general sense but with an uncanny shiftiness that's hard to ignore.

He looks between couch cushions and under coffee tables, skims through bookshelves for something promising or hidden behind sleeves. Pulls on novels to see if there are any hidden rooms.

From the den and into the kitchen, he can't find any leads. His sneakers squeak on the checkered tile and he wonders if she makes the monkeys do her housework. It's an absurd thought, but something in it toys at Felix's mind and he almost laughs.

Nothing hidden in the oven or breadbox (he recalls that sometimes in Camelot lovers would send each other notes by these means). Though there's a recipe for pot pies hanging off the tall white ice box by a magnet.

Breaking and entering is something of an old skill. Peter occasionally sent him between realms, and that required a large skill set. But there's something daunting in stepping through a witch's personal space without any magical aid yourself. He can swallow it down though, duties surpass personal squeamishness. Always have and always will. Besides - he volunteered to be here.

With the ground floor glanced all over, he pads up the creeping stairs. There's a grandfather clock at its head, and Felix sighs. He doesn't have much time to look in the attic, but there's enough to have a quick once through. If something's there, he hopes it's hidden in plain sight.

The attic is a small room, accented with wooden slats and dust flecks floating through the air.

He skims and darts over books in the shelves, drawers, chests, under the bed. Even knowing what to look for, his search still adds up to shit.

There's a wardrobe full to the brim of nothing and at its foot a chest flooded in sentimental keepsakes. Old dresses, tea soaked diaries, the handle to an expensive looking sword, an empty hat box.

There's nothing until he hears the monstrous screech outside the window. He recognizes the chatter: one of her damn monkeys.

Felix knows better than to stick around as long as those monsters nearby. Or at least he tells himself when the discomfort creeps in. Still, there's no point in thinking about it. He slinks down the stairs and out the back door, just as quiet and adept as he'd entered.

Peter is waiting for him in the street, feet straddling the dotted yellow line at its centre, hands swaying by his side "Well?"

"Nothing," Felix shakes his head and can't help but feel a twinge of guilt. He should've looked harder, been cleverer.

They have to duck under a bush a moment later, green smoke curling just before the cellar. The Witch is livid as she throws a dagger clenched hand towards the door. Felix can feel Peter gnaw on his cheek at the sight of Rumple's soulless parade in cooperation.

"So what now?" Felix mutters, trying to keep things calm in the wake of Peter's realization. He's bent on remaining calm, but it's hard not to notice the fury in the Witch's gait as she shoves her slave down into the cellar.

"Back to the drawing board." Peter sighs, blinking away the scene. "Won't be long now though. It can't be."

"I'm tired of waiting," Peter sighs from his typical perch in the windowsill. "How hard can it be to stop one whiny little girl?"

"We could get hands-on," Felix puts in, drying his hands on a towel and tossing it to the ground. "Try to help them."

But Peter only pulls a face. "It's not the time just yet. Best wait till they get desperate enough to comply."

"I thought you said all you'd have to do was smile pretty and suck a few cocks?" Felix asks, a toying rise in his voice.

"Did I?" Peter shoots off the sill to stand closer to Felix at the underscored beating in his chest prompting him forward. "Do you think that'd work? It didn't with you."

"I dont think you tried that."

"Well I wasn't going for compliance, now was I?" Peter leans in when Felix hums and lifts his head to hover over the warm, familiar skin and jumpstart their shared heartbeat. "I was shooting for something a bit more substantial."

It's startling the ease at which they can talk about matters of forgiveness. Peter knows better than to think it's all mended, never to be torn apart. Frayed knots are frayed, no matter the paste used to repair it.

Felix forgave him, but it'd be naive to think this means the clock has turned back and it's the same as it was before. He's still treading the line, still has to be careful lest Felix wake up one morning with a magic bean in one hand and a map of Camelot in the other.

And so, Peter swallows and allows himself to speak. He keeps his voice light, teasing, to soften the blow. "You know, I don't think I mind it. Sharing a heart with you. In fact, I think I'm starting to like it."

"Starting?"

"You know what I meant."

Felix quirks his mouth up, repeating a sentence that somehow stuck to the both of them over the months. "How disgustingly romantic."

"Shut up," Peter slaps Felix on the chest but darkens his voice on a dare to press this any further. Felix is enough of a pacifist when it comes to Peter to drop the subject. Although he keeps his wry grin as he presses his fingers between Peter's chin and tugs him in.

They've kissed so much since Felix came back, it might just rival the three centuries they'd had before this. It's snappish and rough, familiar but still crackling a certain static air of youth and excitement making each kiss wind them up and unravel them at the same time.

It takes no time to slam Felix against the windowpanes, his knee teases between Felix's thighs and his breath clogs the air.

Peter wriggles out of the hole in his shirt and turns it into a blindfold, tripping Felix in the flurry of material as they stumble and tug at each other.

It's a wrestling match, aggressive and staggering. Mouths poised for battle, arms ready to fly, legs melt into something viscous stumbling to keep themselves up and subdue the other.

And the whole time they can't stop the stupid grins,

A horribly homesick feeling settles next, though things hadn't been quite so lighthearted on the island.

Next thing Felix knows, he's falling face down onto the mattress, Peter pinning him down with his arms and knees.

"Got you," He whispers in something between a friend and braggart, sinking his teeth into Felix's ear.

Felix allows a minute sound to escape his lips as he bucks his hips. He ticks into the way Peter's hands have already fixated on the pull in his zip and he trails he's leaving on his neck with practiced tongue.

There's a tickle in his stomach, stimulated by the reciprocal feeling in Peter's. Much as he doesn't want to admit it'll be so easy, but in a few short moments Felix knows he'll be raging and needy and damn close to falling apart. And Peter, damn him, isn't even able to use magic right now.

He twists his neck and instigates a kiss at the same time Peter shinnies his denims off his hips. He's plucking at his waistband, taking his own sweet time in removing the garment-

Tap. Tap. Tap.

They both groan for an entirely different reason than otherwise instigated, and Peter sinks back onto his flank.

"We've gone this long without interruptions, it's high time really."

"Ignore them," Felix mutters, rolling into his back and extending a hand out to Peter.

"Oh come on, it won't take long. Might be fun." Peter decides for them, a slight gleam in his eye, and stands to see the intruder at the door. "Stay put."

He twists the glass doorknob and finds himself facing a rather wide-eyed brunette boy.

Henry pulls away, jostling the paper bags in his arms at the sight of both boys in undone jeans and without shirts. "Is this a bad time?"

"A bit, yeah."

Eyes dart away, and he's turning an interesting color. "I'll just come back later."

Peter risks to step out in the doorway. "Well you already interrupted, might as well say what you wanted to."

Felix comes up behind him now, a shoddy underhanded toss returns Peter's shirt and once they're considered "decent," invite the bit into the room.

"What brings you here?" Felix asks, swiping a hand to calm the locks of hair Peter'd messed up.

"Right," Henry sets his brown paper bag on the bed and fishes out a clunky black box. "There isn't too much here but I found this. And," He reached in again to take out a slim case of vibrant and bulbous cartoons. "I found Mario Kart. And snacks."

They look to the tiny television in their room, and Peter gives a small shrug, permitting Henry to plug in various wires to get the black box to work.

"So it's a game?" Felix asks as the start screen blurs in color and bulbous vehicles and characters.

Henry turns to him incredulously. "You've never played Mario Kart?"

Felix shakes his head and Peter chimes in, "Neither have I. But how hard can it be?" He grabs a purple handheld device and grips it in both hands. "Come on then, let's play."

The game - a sort of racing simulation - wasn't difficult to learn, though Peter questioned its entertainment value. The screen bleats a tune that's obnoxious at best and the pictures dancing in front of them were far too bright and quick moving. Though Peter would never back down from a game, pressing the little joystick forward even as the corners of his brain started to throb.

"You're getting a headache," Felix mutters after this has gone on for a while, keeping his eyes stationed on the TV. "Do you want to lie down?"

"Not till I beat you."

They go a few more races, Henry winning most of them, before Felix has to put his own controller down from the secondhand pounding against his temples.

"Peter needs a break." He mutters, opening a bag of Doritos and exchanges the controller in Peter's hand for the bag. When Peter pulls the controller back, he sighs, "It isn't helping anyone. Don't make me muddle through it."

A loud sigh and the exchange of items between hands and Peter sinks against the footboard. "All right. Fine."

It's a minute later when they notice the strange look in Henry's eyes.

"Do you read each other's minds or something?"

Peter snorts, pulling a pillow over his eyes to banish the light. "You'd be surprised."

Perhaps it's a repercussion of immortality, but every relationship Felix has ever had has fallen to shit at one point or another. For some, such as the Boys, indifference makes it unforgivable. For some, such as Peter, forgiveness came like dawn.

However, no relationship had ever fallen apart as horrifically as with Captain Killian Jones.

It was never good from the start, always caustic and mistrusting, but any scrap of civility was ripped apart along with Rufio, hundreds of years ago.

So, when Felix peered out the window and sees Jones shepherding Henry away from Emma's yellow bug, the suspicions that arise are understandable.

It's also understandable when he and Peter head out the door, follow quietly down to the docks. With the distance they had to keep to avoid being seen, it was impossible to overhear exactly what transpired between the captain, his first mate, and their cursed Believer, at least until the whole group grew distracted, staring wide eyed up to the clouds.

Felix squints and tries to make it out, nerves stammering as he makes out the rather distinctive sound of flapping wings.

Jones shouts out, "Now!" and the three run away. Felix and Peter stay put however, eyes growing and joint pulse skyrocketing as they make out the distinctive silhouette of the entire damn troop diving in the sky, diving and giving chase to the captain, his buffoon, and a confused little boy.

Felix groans. "I hate monkeys."

"I know you do."

"Any ideas?"

"Seven."

Peter kneels down and rounds a collection of snow in his palms, breaks off an icicle and plants it in the middle. Without magic, it's the best they can manage, and Felix is beside him in a second.

A large portion of the monkeys are already swarming the boathouse like bees in a hive, slamming on the windows and screeching out.

It's less than adequate ammunition, they hardly manage to do more than slow a few of the monkeys down. Peter's dying to use an enchantment, but judging by the way he shakes his ankle, it's already burning him.

They've made it halfway across the lawn, fingers numb and covered in snow, tossing ice-hardened bombardments up to the creatures, when the first gunshot sounds.

Felix throws a snowball that manages to down one of the beasts, knocking it on its head, it screeches and tumbles into the harbor.

. They're close enough by this point to hear a shot, a screech, and Jones shout, "No!"

Peter's eyes dart to the boathouse momentarily, until the next gunshot. There's a hurricane of spitting wet fur, a screech, and then

"Peter!"

Felix is tossing underneath an enormous beast of freezing fur and glass-shattering cries. The monkey's wings flap, trying to hoist him into the sky, but Felix flails enough for the goal to be unattainable.

Peter's on its back in a second. He's beaten back against the terrible wings, ignoring the gale it's blowing into his face. Icicles poke through his face like little needles, but he can only see red as the monkey is gnashing its teeth and brandishing its claws against Felix who's laid on his back with nothing but elbows and fragile human hands.

There's snapping. A thin stream of blood, and Peter grabs a beating wing, struggling to hold it still, and slams it against his knee. The bone creeks and the monkey flies back. Needle-sharp nails, aimed for Peter's throat, but curls over in a fit of pain. It beats its body against Felix, twisting his body into an inhuman curve.

The wing that still has prowess slaps against Peter's face and he can already feel the bruise as he fights against the wind and flea-ridden creature.

It isn't long after the gunshots stop that Peter's decided enough is enough. His eyes flash dark as he fists the monkey's thrashing head, pulling it back and off Felix's struggling form.

Felix slides in the snow as way of retreat before unfolding his own pocket knife and brandishing it from his knees.

Peter presses the blade to the creature's throat. "Are you one of them who knows what you're doing?"

The creatures thrashes, bleats its broken wing, and swings a paw at Felix.

"Pity. This would've been more fun if you could," Peter hisses and forces the blade through layers of fur. He slits its throat in a second, and rather than bleeding, the creature disappears into orange flame before fizzling out.

Felix has three open wounds sliced through his face, intersecting his current scar. HIs lips is split open and his arm hangs oddly off his shoulder. Peter's got windburn to last a week, a bruise on his cheek, and a sprain in his wrist.

"You okay?" Felix mutters, taking another step as the cold sinks into his cold bones."I don't think I could live off a quarter of a heart."

Peter pulls a face, "Some objectivity would be nice right now."

"First you want optimism, then imagination, and now objectivity." Felix drawls, pricking Peter's lips with a short kiss, "Won't you ever make up your mind?"

Peter's mouth opens to answer, just as a warm light and sweeping magic washes over them, knocking them back, sliding over the snowy ground.

"Well, I'll be damned. Looks like they finally broke the curse." Despite the freezing setting deep into Peter's skeleton, he manages to place a grin that's somewhere in a spectrum between relieved and in pleased anticipation. "Time to come out and play."

They take their time crossing into the boathouse, shaking the frosting water off their clothes and wiping blood away. Felix uses skills perfected after hundreds of years in Neverland to snap his arm back into place. Peter wasn't expecting it and he jolts in the pain but says nothing, somehow understanding the intention behind the sudden unpleasantry.

Peter risks a burst of magic to open the doors to the boathouse for sportive grandeur. He stumbles when his anklet starts to burn, but saunters in as though it were just a gnat.

At the sight of the two of them entirely lacking of that soppy facade they'd been wearing, everyone in the shack jumps to attention. Regina steps directly in front of Henry, puffed up and snarling as a precaution. David stands, sword brandished. Mary Margaret's plump fists strain, Jones stands at the ready with Emma just a pace in front of him, hand on her gun.

"Now that you've all got your memories back," Peter takes a few confident steps forward, Felix right off his heels, "I suppose we can stop pretending now. Shame. We all know how much I like my games."

"I knew it," Regina spits, throwing up her arms to conjure up sharp flames. She growls when Pan cocks a brow.

"Mom, wait."

There isn't a soul in the room - including Peter and Felix - who doesn't turn to Henry in some form of shock.

"Let's hear them out." He says, entirely serious. "What's the harm in listening?"

"He took your heart," Regina says, flames extinguished from her talons but not from her voice.

"Obviously that's not a very permanent thing with Pan," Henry shuffles his feet. "I mean, Felix is here."

Felix tilts his head; there's something of a novelty in being used as an alibi, but he can't say he minds. At least not until viewing the rocky glares from the others in the rickety building.

"Smart boy," Peter comments, eyes flicking towards Henry.

"Okay, we'll listen," Emma says, hands on her waist if only to get closer to her gun should she need it. "So start talking."

"It's simple enough. We want Zelena to fail. You haven't been up to snuff. High time our heros call in for reinforcements, don't you think?"

"Why would we trust you?" Regina draws her face tight, still forming a bulwark between Henry and the eternal youths.

"Because we all want the Wicked Witch to fail." Peter shrugs lightly. "Enemy of my enemy and all that."

"Wait, why do you want that?" Mary Margaret asks, head tilted in curiosity.

"She's right. What would you be getting out of it?" Emma frowns through her words.

"Domino effect," Peter waves his hand, uninterested in the mechanics.

Felix steps forward and divulges his logic to them. How, without the Evil Queen rising to power, ultimately Henry won't be born either.

"So you still want his heart." Regina bares her teeth, arm protectively around her son who, unless Peter's getting carried away in his thoughts, is squirming, just a little.

"No. I'm beyond that. New priorities" Peter scoffs. "Besides, I'm quite content with what's in my own chest right now."

"Then why does any of this matter to you?" David asks, using intonations a bit nicer and still overly defensive than the women.

Peter rubs his temples, giving a show of being quite perturbed indeed. Felix steps in. "We want to be certain the timeline stays static. We want to end up here."

"There's something unsavory afoot," Hook says, "There were both dead."

And the two boys quirk a smile that's nearly identical, sift their heads to face each other. They're silent a beat, communicating amongst each other before Peter turns to them.

"That's entirely our business." He sighs. "None of yours."

"All right then," Regina takes a step forward, still directing Henry to stand behind her. "This isn't working. So answer this: What could we possibly gain from having you with us?"

To this, Peter grins. "Time moves differently in Neverland. Because of that I've got a couple hundred years on Rumple when it comes to magic. Imagine how much time I've got on you. I can do things with just one lovely little thought that you can't even dream of. And, unlike you and everyone else here," He bats his eyes but sneers to reveal teeth that look almost like fangs. "I'm not domesticated."

"Which isn't helping your case, mate." Jones mutters.

"Yeah, Hook's got something," Emma says. "There's got to be more going on here - so spill."

Regina inserts herself: "And I'm not buying that you don't still want Henry."

"Oh don't be clever," Peter snaps. "It always makes everyone so stupid. I'm not a mercenary, I don't have an allegiance. All we want is to make sure we end up here. You know - make sure your son is born. Or does that not matter to any of you?"

There's a pause, an odd look shared between the majority of the crowd.

Regina: "Don't pretend you care about him."

"My feelings for the boy aren't of any consequence. In fact, the only thing that matters is that I want to help you take the jealous bitch down." Peter's feeling a flick of irritation in the repetition. Why can't people just listen? "And, as though my mere presence isn't enough, I'll remind you: I don't fail. And frankly you lot need the luck."

Regina shakes her head. "We don't need your help. After what you did to Henry, after you started the curse-"

Everyone notices the way Felix's shoulders stiffen at the word, but the oddity at the scene lies in how Peter pivots over his feet, stupidly turning his back to the others. It seems like he whispers something, but no one can hear. Felix raises his eyes momentarily, and gives a little nod.

Peter turns back, "Let's not use the c-word, shall we?"

It's before anyone can respond, and Felix takes a few steps forward, surprising even Peter. "He is right; we both are able and willing to be assets for the time being. We lived in the Witch's castle for that year and know her better than you. If Pan can't convince you, let me."

Regina scoffs. "And why should we listen to one of his brainwashed henchmen?"

Felix snarls and opens his mouth, Peter hisses as magic flares and the tether turns white hot on his leg, but Henry beats them to the punch.

"He isn't brainwashed." Henry takes a few steps forward, turning his head between his two mothers.

"Look," Emma says turning entirely to her son. "It happens more than you'd think. Thought reform. It happens all the time in cults-"

Henry shakes his head, holds his hands in his pockets. "It wasn't a cult."

Emma frowns. "I know you like to see the best in people; but Pan killed him and he's still here-"

"How did you do it?" Mary Margaret waddles in towards the tense half-circle they've formed, bringing in the question that begged to be asked. "Come back?"

Peter tries to shake it off, only to be interrupted by "And Felix?"

"That's right," Regina says, "You had to rip out his heart."

Peter rolls his eyes. "I replaced it."

"How?"

"Another thing that is entirely our business. I'm afraid that if you're expecting something big and grand - you'll be disappointed. "

"I can infer." Regina's nails dig into her hip in a way that reminds Peter shockingly of her big sister. "You replaced his heart, and that means you had to take someone else's. He wouldn't still be following you so blindly without his heart getting in the way. There has to be some sort of control involved."

Peter cocks his brow, around the same time Felix slides up between Peter and their adversaries nearest an upturned boat and says, "Shrewd. But no."

"What do you mean, 'no?'"

Felix smirks. "Try again."

Charming mumbles beside his wife. "There had to be a transaction of some kind."

"And it's all in the past. And considering our main objective is to stop that from happening, let's just not worry about it." Peter fiddles against the tips of his fingernails, tearing into the cuticle.

"Cut the crap and just tell us," Emma's losing patience.

"It's personal-"

"So is trust."

Peter laughs, a sharp mocking snicker in bolts from one end of the shack to the other. "Look; we want the same thing. We might as well be working together. But I'm not after redemption or forgiveness or trust. Not from an Evil Queen, nor a Savior, nor expectant parents," He spits the last two words like acid.

"Peter's a bit stubborn," Felix offers a complacent look to the glare Peter shoots him as he turns to f ce the heroes. "So I'll tell you."

"Well then by all means." Regina opens her hands to invite the explanation, though her face doesn't seem all that willing.

"It's his." Felix says evenly, narrows his eyes when they group doesn't seem to understand. "The heart. He gave me half-"

He drops off abruptly at the tidal swell of reaction to his confession. Mary Margaret and David host identical gapes directed at each other and flicking back to the boys before them. Emma's blinking and sweeping a glance back to her parents. Regina's ice cold stare hasn't softened, but perhaps grown confused, or at least lost partial edge. The Captain's eyes have gone down, a habit of his when he's forced to think sober. Henry's beaming.

Felix frowns and turns back to Peter. "Did I say something?"

"Yeah," Henry pipes, stepping forward, creating a wide enough berth to skirt any attempts Regina might have in keeping him from meandering too close to the boys. "That's exactly what Mary Margaret and David did."

"True Love magic," Mary Margaret muses quietly.

Peter opens his mouth to ask, or perhaps to disregard, but Henry's already turned back to his family.

"I think we should trust them." Henry shifts a bit on his feet and then continues,"They've got True Love, don't they? They can't be all bad."

Regina steps forward. "Henry, it's a bit more complicated-"

"It worked for you."

It's probably the first time either of them have seen the Evil Queen speechless, and it's something of a sight to see.

"Besides," He amends the catty tone he'd accidentally taken on. "I thought we were all about second chances."

Perhaps it's odd, in its own right, how they were sent on their way so quickly. Peter'd been expecting a little more of a third degree. Though perhaps that was a thing about being a hero - you trust too easily.

Henry went with Emma and his grandparents to stop at Baelfire's - Neal's - grave. Felix half wanted to take the opportunity himself, now all was said and done, to give his own respects. But it wasn't the time.

And so, they head back to Granny's, something that's become disgustingly typical, and order large steaming cappuccinos in attempt to get the ice out of their bones.

Everyone's buzzing, it's impossible to hear themselves think as they tap their fingers in an erratic percussion against the ceramic mugs.

Now the missing year is remembered, there isn't a soul in the vicinity who isn't yapping and hollering, collecting the memories of those they lost, for what reasons, and of bridges burnt and alliances made. There's a constant thrum about 'the Witch' and the word laced with fear.

She'd, apparently, been quite a busy girl in that year.

Felix is turning around over himself, looking out the window on the street, in secluded corners, everywhere for former friends. And Peter understands. It's high time he give them a piece of his mind, if for nothing else than closure.

He's not angry right now; he's curious and nearly distraught. Perhaps that'll change once Felix has a tangible body to shove around and yell at.

Peter doesn't see the point, personally. They got out of the game; good for them. It'll serve them ill in the end - they have no living family, at least not most of them. They're stuck in a band together, just like in Neverland, but in a place full of cold and responsibility and having to spend each day getting a little older. They'll regret it, and it'll be too late. That's all the closure Peter needs.

But Felix took their betrayal a bit more personally, and for that, he understands. If Felix needs to smack them black and blue, that's exactly what he'll do.

Felix starts for a moment, whipping back around to the bar. His sudden movements become clear as he grabs his prepaid cell phone and presses it to his ear. "Henry?"

Peter wipes a small trail of foam from his upper lip and leans in an attempt to eavesdrop on the conversation. It's useless: the diner is too crowded.

Felix continues: "What do you mean now?"

There's a pause and Felix jumps to his feet, ticking his head to Peter to follow. Peter promptly takes the lead without knowing where they're going.

"Okay, okay, okay. We're coming." He hangs up and clumsily replaces the box in his pocket. He points to the hospital and looks up to Peter. "Baby's on its way."

Peter hardly gets out a grumbling "I hate that sentence" before they're moving along quite briskly in the wintry roads. The double doors are heavy, but pushed open easily despite the glares from the dwarves standing outside.

Inside, it's just as busy at the diner. Apart from nurses in white and pincurls bustling between paitents, a group of large burly men make out the majority of the waiting room, settling arrows onto strings and formulating a plan in hushed tones.

They can hear the muffled cries in the next room over, Mary Margaret's anguished peals. For a moment, Peter looks like he's going to be sick.

Felix is about to inquire, but the Evil Queen gets to them before he can.

"What are you doing here?"

"Henry called us."

She sucks in her blood red lips and tosses a hand slightly as though it's a habit. "Fine. Take upstairs in case she goes for a window or sends in the monkeys or flies in or something."

Felix starts to move, but Peter stays put. "Well I'll need something for defensive won't I? Take it off," He extends his leg with the shimmering anklet on it.

"Not a chance."

"And how do you intend for me to fight anything?"

Regina waves her hand, and a dark cloud appears. Moments later, a crossbow materializes in his hand. Smooth oak, long narrow arrow that's light as the air. A dark raven's feather at the end of the shaft.

"Hope you're a good shot," She says, waves her hand again and a long winding scythe appears in Felix's hands, and a dagger at his belt. "Now head upstairs."

They oblige, mockingly trotting up the stairs; marveled at the inability for the reformed to appreciate an attempt.

Usually before battle, there's a calm before the storm. But, right now, everything is a frenzied haze. People running to lock down the hospital, hoarding posts nearest the doors and windows. Peter and Felix stand sentry to a picture window on an upper floor, far away from Henry and the agony of the woman giving birth.

You win some, you lose some.

It's uneasy silence on their floor once the buzzing dies down.

And now they wait.

Peter's preoccupying himself by sparking his fingertips, flinching and wincing as the anklet turns white hot. He recoils for a moment before trying again.

Felix grunts at the latent pain, sitting himself just below the window against a potted fern. "It won't stop hurting just because you keep doing it."

"Maybe I'll go numb," Peter mumbles, clearly without inclination of stopping.

"I won't."

Peter sighs and slides onto the bright tile beside Felix. "Fine."

"Wounding yourself before battle," Felix mutters, head up against the wall and shutting his eyes. "Sound familiar to you?"

"I was making us uncomfortable because I'm curious. Rumple crippled himself because he's an idiot. Hardly comparable." He can't tell the face Peter's pulling, but it's easy enough to guess. "But that would be our pattern."

"Indeed."

The silence grows in the next moment, not uncomfortably. Rubber bottoms of shoes skid on the waxed linoleum, radiators hum in attempt to keep the halls warm enough for passing patients. Sound travels off the hard floors and walls and they can hear Emma and Regina preparing for all hell to break loose.

It's almost a familiar feeling, and if they just had a whiff of jungle air or the salty spray of the sea on their cheeks, they might be able to get into it.

A bell sounds down the hall at the elevator. Peter doesn't look up, but he knows what he's about to see when he feels Felix's insides clench up as he rises to his feet in a slow, threatening motion. Swaying like a shark.

Aaron stops, startled. He sifts his weight, looks down at the ground as is his habit.

He shrin ks a bit as Peter rises to stand off Felix's shoulder. It's almost boggling to have Felix standing in front of Peter, something he'd never witnessed before.

But the befuddlement can't last long, as Peter presses up on his toes and whispers something that he cannot hear, but in the next moment the immortal demon is passing him, juvenilely bumping his shoulders as he passed.

"What are you doing here, Aaron?"

"Marmaduke got inta a little accident. Had to stay overnight. But you know him."

"I did."

"Right." Aaron sighs and scratches the back of his neck. "I heard you got your memories back - or never lost them - or whatever."

"Never lost them."

"Oh. Okay. Good." Aaron shuffles. "We're glad you're alive. We all are."

"Excuse me if I don't believe that," Felix mutters, eyes gone dark and metallic in ways they hadn't been in months.

"Why wouldn't you?"

"You all betrayed Pan - and me - and everything we ever had. And all for a lie of a home you're not gonna get anyway. Some adult holds something shiny in front of your faces and it's high treason. And none of you cared."

Aaron swallows. "Didn't you ever get lonely at night? It wasn't worth it. Don't you think?"

"No. Pan gave us everything. And you turned your back. Everyone did. And for a home that won't even exist anymore."

"We're doing okay-"

"But it's still just you boys. You and nobody else. So why turn your back on everything?"

"It isn't just us." Aaron takes a step forward, perhaps recognizing something in his, at least former, friends face that helps him drop timidness. "Some of us joined the Merry Men. Some of us were adopted. Nibs actually is a live-in babysitter for Cinderella. We've got families. We're doing okay."

"I wish you weren't."

"No you don't."

Felix stops. He won't entertain the thoughts, and instead lowers his voice. "You wanna bet?"

"Felix, you're the biggest sap I know." Aaron guages the look on Felix's face and amends himself. "We wanted a home. You wouldn't go. It's nothing personal, man."

"You know, for the past year, I've wanted nothing more than to strangle all of you traitors. Benevolent punishment for treason." He snickers as Aaron inches backwards. "But, the longer I think about it, the less I want to extend you the courtesy."

Felix sighs: "You didn't even look at me on that damn ship. No apology after ruining my life. I cleaned your goddamn bandages for centuries and not one of you even checked to see if I was okay."

"You would've hit us."

"And I would've been justified."

"It wasn't about you. It was about wanting to find a home."

"And you took mine. Let them take Pan down. After hundreds of years, Aaron; and none of you have an ounce of loyalty."

"Pan killed people-"

"You killed people. Don't use that as an excuse."

Aaron wings his hands together. "I get you're mad. But we're all doing okay here. You could too. Do you want to, I don't know, just go in and see Marmaduke or something?"

"Are you kidding me?"

"Worth a try," Aaron shrugs.

Peter rounds the corner now, shoves the crossbow into Aaron's hands. "If you're here you might as well put something in."

Aaron blinks.

"The Witch is after Snow White's baby. Fill in the blanks." Peter mutters irritably.

"How do you intend to fight anything without a weapon, Peter?" Felix asks expression softening as Peter comes and stands near.

"Magic."

"But the pain-" Felix objects.

Peter tosses his eyes and digs in his pocket for a small orange cylinder. "Lifted this off a nurse. Supposed to be good for pain. Vicodin, it's called."

Aaron skitters, nervous as Peter's presence solidifies, and perhaps confused in the oddity of the situation. But there isn't much time to go anywhere or find closure. A clang and a shout from down the stairs, bounding off the linoleum floors.

"The Witch is here!"

As though rehearsed, that same blood-curdling screech rakes through the sky. Peter only has enough time to look out the window to see the flecks of brown fur hurdling towards the hospital, some circling like vultures, and some coming closer, spinning and screeching on flea-bitten wings.

They hit the deck. Felix throws an instinctive hand on the back of Peter's neck, Aaron curls into a corner.

The monkeys are louder, and the crawl in through the open window, snapping their jaws and pumping their wings. Creating a tempest in the hall.

One of the creatures jumps on Peter, clawing and ferocious. A burst of screaming magic and the creature falls back. Felix is on it in a second, bashing its eyes into its skulls with the butt of his scythe.

"Those're people!" Aaron muddles, aiming his bow for one of their wings.

"Doesn't matter!" Peter calls, biting his lip to muddle the flames that engulf his stomach as he pins a creature to writhe on the ceiling.

There are more monkeys. Snarling and snapping and knocking them back with their wings, blowing in the freezing wintry air.

The hall smells like blood and shit and moldy fur, only slight undertones of the chemicals and medicines of the hospitals. Their ears fill with unearthly screeches and teeth and talons scrape and cut into flesh.

A monkey calls and jolts off the wall, pushing off and soaring across the hall. It tumbles to the ground, taking a tall body they hadn't yet accounted for yet

Henry's standing to the side, face white as he watches his psychologist suffer the erratic swings of an enchanted primate.

Felix shoves him back into the corridor at the same time Aaron shoots the creature in the wing and Peter suspends it in air. The doctor lies still, but there isn't much time to account for it, as the monkeys pound their chests and create a wall, baring their teeth and flapping their wings.

Henry's made his way around and opens a door to an empty patient's room, drags Dr. Hopper inside to take him out of the line of fire. He's checking his pulse when Peter enters the room again. "Come on," He says, impatient, grabbing Henry by the sleeve and tugging him out into the hallway.

Aaron is firing his bow when Peter pulls Henry back out, Peter snaps and winces and a cluster of arrows appear by the former Lost Boy's head. Felix pivots on his feet and follows Peter and Henry as they quickly make their way down an opposite corridor.

They nearly pass the custodian's closet with their pace, but Henry deviates from the path. "In here."

Peter raises a brow at him, but, at the sound of another monkey screeching, Felix pounds between his shoulder blades and they all cram together in the space.

It's a small closet that smells like ammonia and bleach. A lone lightbulb hangs off a string, giving an eerie butter-yellow light to the main vicinity of the room, still allowing whatever might be in the shadows to keep secret. There are mops and buckets and vacuums.

Felix leans in against the door, listening carefully for the creatures. Peter turns a bucket upside down and takes a seat while Henry situates himself on the floor.

Peter dabs his own forehead for a few moments, noticing and calculating the blood spatter before releasing a spell, a harsh flare in his and Felix's stomachs, and healing the wounds.

They can't hear the monkeys anymore, and Felix moves to open the door.

"No, wait." Henry says. "We should probably stay for a little longer."

"Why?" Peter cocks his brow and balances his elbows on his knees. "Don't you want to fight with everybody else?"

"Uh," Henry shifts nervously. "I'm supposed to wait until it's safe."

"You might be under practiced, but I'm sure you can handle this on your own." Peter says. "Just a handful of bloody primates."

"Easy to say when they're not tearing at you." Felix mutters, crossing his ankles as he leans against the door.

"My point," Peter turns to glare emptily at Felix before turning back to the younger boy on the floor. "Is that you're capable of so much more than what they let you do."

"Well she did try to strangle me," Henry twiddles his thumbs in his lap. "I don't really mind keeping my distance."

"How're you supposed to be a hero if they don't let you learn?" Peter scoffs.

"What makes you think I'm gonna be a hero?" Henry isn't challenging him, isn't sportive. He's just curious.

"Your lineage. 'S obvious enough you'll fall under one of the two extremes." Peter sighs. "And you're definitely better versed in heroics."

Henry smiles, soft and pensive. His eyes draw to the side for a bit, lost in thought.

Felix bites the side of his cheek, calculating his wordage. Once the silence draws on for a good long while, he speaks.

"Why did you defend us?"

"Huh?" Henry gives a minute shake to his head, a slight narrow to his eyes.

"At the boathouse. You defended us. Believed us in spite of everything that happened." Felix keeps his face still, shirks away any attempted emotion pressing through. "Why?"

Henry shrugs. "I could tell you meant it."

"What do you mean by that?" Felix, perhaps a bit gruff from his exchange with the former lost one, would rather not deal in vague right now. And for some reason, the particulars are important.

"When Peter went to cast the cur-I mean, when he tried to take over," Henry offers an apologetic look towards Felix before continuing. "There was something wrong. He went completely berserk…"

Felix's eyes flash to Peter, who's lifted one leg onto the bucket beside him, absently drawing on his knee. He looks entirely nonchalant, but Felix can feel the flush underneath it all.

Henry goes on and explains to Felix how there obviously was something wrong, how Pan seemed to abandon all of his own rules. How he looked unwell and wasn't at all acting like himself. How, when he woke up in his own body, he was slumped against the well staring at the corpse.

And Felix can't break his eyes away from Peter. He can't stop watching Peter fruitlessly try to break the trace on his anklet only to give him something to do.

Henry finishes. "It was almost kamikaze."

"What's that?" Felix says, still not looking the young boy in the eye in favor of watching Peter, who's only just getting around to matching the contact.

"Suicide mission." Henry clarifies. "And, besides, it's different now."

"How?" This time, it's Peter to speak up. He dislikes being dressed down like this, but somehow he likes the second hand feeling pooling in his stomach. He can't put a name to what Felix is feeling, but it's pleasant to say the least.

"You went from tearing my heart out for yourself, to taking yours for him. That's kinda huge, don't you think?"

Felix sucks on his own tongue for a moment, lips curling up for only half a moment before shifting his gaze between Peter and Henry respectively. Peter jostles on the bucket, uncomfortable in the sentimentality in the matter, but somehow reassured.

"Besides." Henry finishes. "We were friends there, for a little while. Weren't we?"

Felix abandons the door and steps into the room, turns a bucket over himself and squats down beside Peter. He's far too gangly for it to be comfortable unless he were to try and stretch out, but he slumps over himself and considers the statement. Then, he turns back to Henry. "Yeah."

Peter's decided he doesn't like to be apart from the action. It's grating to step out of the Clorox-infused janitor's closet with nothing more than, "Yes, Regina defeated Zelena and she's in prison now. The surviving monkeys are humans again. Snow White had a son. And it is forty degrees fahrenheit outside now and there's a warm front moving in. Thanks for playing."

Perhaps if he'd had a chance to actually do anything, the dramatics would be easier to swallow.

Though precious little could make this easier.

The chime above the door sounds like a death march as he presses his way into the pawnshop, Felix pacing close enough at his heels to feel whole again.

Rumple, all put together again after the influence of Zelena's power, seems well. Although it's hard not to seem such when one has their tongue down another's throat. Peter almost laughs at the uneasy clench in Felix's stomach. He manages to keep it together, at least enough to mockingly bring his hands together in applause to break up the two.

"Well, well," Peter smiles bright, stepping forward into the room as Felix leans in against the door. "Isn't this...adorable. Glad to see you took my advice, laddie. Though you had a roundabout way of doing it."

Rumplestiltskin's eyes nearly flash. For a second his scales almost appear. "Leave us."

"Oh, don't you want to hear my side of the story?" He's mocking, though there is something odd underlying the typical impishness. "Why don't you let your lovely fiancee fill in the blanks of while you were away?"

Belle's frown is a thin line. Tight and drawn in. Peter can half admire her stubbornness.

"Not interested." Rumple says. "Now get out."

But Peter only clicks his tongue and paces along the stacks of ancient merchandise. His eyes flash momentarily on the dagger in Belle's hand, noting the way it distinctly lacks the hum of magic. There's a shift to his face as he looks at the lettering, and Belle draws it in closer to herself.

"You can't have it."

"Don't want it," Peter says, as though bored. "But I do need a bit of magic from you, laddie."

"What - on earth - makes you think I'd help you?"

Peter's urbane grin is begins and ends on his lips, his voice made of silk, and Felix examines his face closely, trying to read the card up his sleeve. "Because I know a sham when I see one. And in return for helping me, I can tell you what's real in this shop of yours - and what's not."

Rumple turns white, and Felix's eyes spark in recognition of a fish on the end of a hook.

"And of course," Peter nears the front desk, "Belle deserves to know, too. After all, this shop is half hers now, isn't it?"

"What do you want?"

Smirking, Peter lifts his leg up onto the display case. It's almost up to his waist and, given the example of flexibility, he turns to face Felix at the door and gives a quick wink and smirk before rolling up the sleeve on his leg to show the enchanted chain.

He describes the downsides of the enchanted piece as concisely as possible before giving a waving gesture to his ankle. "I want it gone."

"And what will you do with it gone?" Belle asks.

"I'm a lot of things," Peter says. "But stupid isn't one of them. I'm not about to try to take over the town. Won't even kill anyone unless they really piss me off. But the chain needs to go."

Belle starts to protest, but before she can make out an intelligible sentence, Rumple waves his hand over Peter's foot and the chain disappears.

"There you go. Not quite so painful." Peter slides his leg back to the floor and shakes a bit as though the trace was cutting off his circulation.

"Get out." Rumple bites the moment it's done.

But Peter only sighs. "So hostile. Though, it's easy to hate people who remind you of yourself. Perhaps I shouldn't take it so personal."

"I kept my end."

"And I'm not going against mine," Peter sighs. "It's quite...unexpected you'd remember how to play."

Lips turned up, he conjures up a simple playing card. No design on the back, just the Queen of Spades - the woman's face plain and just edging on ugly.

He edges towards the door, stepping in the frame and pressing his lips together as he turns back to the two adults in the room. For the first time in months, he meets eyes with his son.

"Just remember. Don't back yourself into a cage you can't get out of," He sighs. "You never were a lucky one, Rumple."

There's nothing else to say, even though this might just be their last meeting. And Peter steps directly the street with Felix right by his side,who doesn't ask what happened, but somehow understands all the same.

They made their way back to their room at Granny's that evening. As usual, the clothes came flying off before the door latched in its frame.

Perhaps it's because of closure, or perhaps it's irritation with not getting to actually make waves in this small town, they were rougher than they had been recently. Felix kept his face pressed into the mattress, his hands fisted in the cotton sheets. Peter above him, using one hand to keep him hard, a leg to jostle his knees apart and up, and maintaining the most intensity and fervor he could manage now that he finally has magical assistance again.

By the time it's over, they're both a bit more exhausted than they should be. Peter pulls out druggedly slow, forehead resting in the sticky sweat collecting in the valley between Felix's shoulder blades. Felix doesn't make any effort to move, simply slumps down his hips so gravity can pull him down

Peter rolls off Felix's back and lies beside him, staring at his spine. He takes a moment to look at the uneven cut to his friend's hair. They used to use daggers to keep it short enough to stay out of the way. .

The sun is dipping below the horizon just outside of town. It's winter, so it's still early, but there's something about orange light that makes everything sleepy. However, it isn't until he detects a deep regularity to Felix's breath that he moves. He grabs a small uneven tuft of blond hair and tugs. "Felix."

Felix grunts and slowly turns his head, dragging his chin along the sheets until he can rest his cheek on the mattress facing Peter. He's still hazy, fogged over by the bursts of ecstasy, and a bit unused to the intensity that comes with playing receptive.

And it's absolutely marvelous.

"What?" He says, slower than normal thanks to the residual warmth lingering behind orgasm.

"You were falling asleep." Peter goads. "That's a rather old man thing to do. Don't go growing up on me now."

"Never," Felix says lazily before stretching back as though he's part feline. Resting on his elbows, he asks, almost professionally, "What's next?"

Peter rolls onto his back. "That is the question, isn't it? The timeline's static. We have no more reason to be here. Unless you've come to like quaint small town life?" He laughs to the dry look Felix gives him, foggy after effects snapping away the teasing. Though, somehow it doesn't make either of them uncomfortable. "So, we have to ask ourselves what Felix really wants."

Felix quirks his head. A quick snapping motion that, had he been less warm, might've cracked his spine. Hope welling inside him, warm and bright like the sun's warmth as it dips below the horizon. "Peter?"

Peter's mouth warps into an odd gaping grin that's half mischief and half nonchalance. "I've been mulling it over. Ways to get to Neverland."

And Felix lights up, shooting to his knees. He's grinning so broadly his teeth are showing. "You found a way back."

"Of course I did," Peter says in a voice just shy of cocky.

The lack of bravado, however, lowers Felix's grin. "What's wrong?"

"Well," Peter stims his hand and licks his lips, pushes himself to sit up. "It's something of a long shot."

"You never let that bother you before."

"Well, no. But," Peter's entirely serious, voice low and lacking any of its typical tosses and curves. "We'll be walking into a situation where I'll have to hurt you."

Felix recoils. His eyes fall down to the stains in the bedspread. He watches the warm light through the window go dark, his own shadow growing and bleeding into those from the curtains, the bed.

"Fatal?" It's almost impossible to hear, his voice is so quiet.

"No."

It's possibly the most straightforward answer Felix has ever gotten from Peter, and he almost smiles as he gives a long shaky breath, trembling and sustaining in both their lungs.

"Okay." He nods - of all the possible reactions, he actually nods - says,. "Let's go home."

They wait until the diner below is all abuzz in celebration of the new prince's christening before slinking out the front door. Everyone's talking too loudly to hear the bell chime as the stalk out, in the same procession of two that simply became part of the background for the past few days. Never even looking once at the two boys, changed into dirty clothes that still smell like magic, walking with a put-on nonchalance that almost everyone should recognize.

Peter's more than happy, almost excited to be rid of it. He had enough of living in the background of other people's lives, has had more than enough of being stashed to the sidelines to wrestle flea-ridden mongrels.

In Neverland, hopefully, they'll find a way to reset the board.

They'll be front and center; in control. Everything pivoting and revolving around them, and their needs. Peter will control the length of the days and the power of the rainstorms. He has so missed being a deity.

And Felix will acquire the friends he longs for. If all goes well, it won't take long for the unloved lost boys to find their way to Neverland. And a new generation, a new brotherhood will form.

If optimism wins the case, they won't have to worry about the island running dry of magic, won't have to preserve Pan himself, and so any of the resentments the other boys built, weren't likely to show up.

And if they do still have to find a way to immortality, perhaps the new lot will rise to the challenge gracefully.

It will unfold how it unfolds, and Peter will figure out the specifics later. He can't let excitement or jitters muddle the surgery.

Surgery.

Peter allows a small half smile to quirk in his face. It feels quite a bit like deja vu as they near the town line, a bright red painted streak. It's befitting they have something so bright marking it off. Storybrooke doesn't belong here. It doesn't belong in the Enchanted Forest. The town, in and of itself, is lost.

Maybe that's why Peter thought he wanted it all those months ago.

But now it doesn't matter.

He takes the dagger hanging on his belt, and sighs the incantation. His eyes are still, although they want to bombard around the forest surroundings and onto the road and the sky. If he squints and makes believe, he might see the royal insignia from the castle in the constellations. Instead, he watches at the bright red town line ignites. High flames, a wall of hellfire that would only stack up to salvation.

They hope.

Felix stands before the light, eyes cast down to the blacktop, eyeing the single shadow laid out before him. Lanky and thin. Nearly pathetic. Peter stands beside him, watching him through unreadable eyes.

Neither of them are entirely sure why Peter doesn't cast a shadow himself. They spent one night back in Neverland doing the guesswork, ultimately guessing that the Shadow they knew so well had infused with Peter to seal their bond, the servitude, the oddly similar personalities.

Interesting concept though it was, it wouldn't help them.

Felix takes a deep breath and unsheathes his own tactical knife. They don't say anything, but Peter nods. He unfurls his fist, throwing a veil of magic over the dark silhouette that becomes more and less defined with the raging heat of the wall of flame before them.

There's a small moment in which they both feel as though there's ice in their lungs, holding them still and biting like a thousand little pixies.

It subsides and Felix steps away, the shadow holding still. They quirk a small look at each other, neither serious nor smiling, and descend to their knees, each on one side of the shadow's leg.

As they make the cut, everything burns white hot. For Peter, it's as though an ethereal being is choking all the circulation from his leg. For Felix, it's as though he's being skinned. A small laceration and then the knife slides up between skin and muscle, stripping the flesh away and letting it wriggle and writhe like the maggots that used to feed off him.

But then, it's over.

The shadow animates and lifts up to the sky, eyes white like piercing moonlight, still long and skinny, but somehow intimidating. And the best part is, they both feel entirely mended. Neither Peter nor Felix has to do so much as catch their breaths.

A second shadow enters the scene, however, sliding along the ground. "What are you doing?"

Heads snap up almost in unison. Here they are, crouched in front of a wall of fire almost reaching the naked canopies. It seems to tinge the sky, as the sun sinks down, into a dangerously bloody red. Just above them, a shadow, living and breathing on its own accord.

It has to be an unsavory appearing scene, but there's some ease in that they know this particular trespasser won't turn them in.

Henry steps closer, as though to prove his point.

"We're going back to Neverland," Peter says easily.

"What about the magic running out?"

Peter shrugs. "We're optimistic that was more something the shadow did."

"But…" Henry gives a vague gesture to the ominous cloud floating above.

Felix holds his arm before the flame, exhibiting his lack of a shadow, and Henry seems to get the message, and he nods for a beat before blowing randomly out the side of his mouth.

"What about Storybrooke?"

Peter cocks a brow and blinks. After a moment waxes and wanes, his eyes fixed on Felix, he turns back to the boy. "I think we've seen enough heroism to last us a millennia or two."

"Oh."

"What's the face?" Felix asks.

Henry shrugs. "You just really seemed to want to help, is all."

"We did," Peter says. "For this situation. Now that you've been born and are going to stay that way. Well, this town doesn't do it for us."

"So back to Neverland?"

They nod, give brief description of their plans. Henry knows how awful it felt to be kidnapped by Greg and Tamara and taken to the island, but he can't be wholly against their plan to let this shadow scoop up the unloved and lost either.

It did, after all, give them a place to belong.

They describe how they hope the hourglass was an invention of the shadow who previously occupied the island. They hope that there won't be any time limits and stress.

"And if there are," Peter reasons. "It'll probably be on Felix, since it's his shadow. And he's already got halfy heart. So we might've solved that anyway."

Anything might've happened in their absence, though. The island might've seen Armageddon. Perhaps the pixies and fairies and nymphs and all the otherworldly creatures will be back. Maybe the mermaids have reclaimed the tides. The Natives back in the jungle rather than the recesses of the plains they slunk off to.

"The adventures aren't stopping," Felix assures Henry. "But these are more conductive to our tastes."

Henry nods. "I get it. You belong there; it's your home."

"Do you want to come?" Peter asks, eyes bright and charming just as they'd even the first time.

"What?"

"I promise I won't take your heart this time. I'd rather keep this one honestly."

Henry pauses, eyes on the flames behind the boys.

"Come along. Be a Lost Boy. The first of the next generation. You won't get the chance to be a hero, but I assure you, antihero is just as fun. If not more."

Henry clips a face, digs his hands in his pockets. "I'm not lost."

"Neither am I." Felix says. His words are soft, they might be sweet if not for the bald manner in his voice. It's a fact. The sky is blue. Neverland is home. Felix isn't actually Lost.

"Well I'm not sleeping with him." Henry mutters, and the three of them laugh for a small moment. It's a random moment or normalcy, calling back to the days Henry was cursed and it was just hanging out.

They sober momentarily, and Peter asks again. "So? Do you want to come?"

Henry shakes his head. "No. I'm finally home - here."

Both Peter and Felix nod, but Peter - being the stubborn boy he is- gives one final note. "Well, if you change your mind you know what to do. I imagine you've got seven years yet before the shadow won't get you anymore."

"I'll keep that in mind," Henry says, not believing a word of it.

Goodbyes are difficult. Especially for the kid whose life you just saved after attempting to end it. So they don't.

Awkward handshakes ensue. Felix clasps him on the back, and then the two turn back to the wall of fire. For a moment, they forget Henry's still watching them.

They each grab into one of the shadow's hands. It's ethereal and only part real. Translucent to the touch and like a fog or dry rain.

The shadow moves fast. Taking them high above the trees into the frosted air. Breathing in snowflakes and feeling the crystals tickle inside their lungs. Hearts tremor in time to each other and the way the earth churns separately. Temperature rising in anticipation and excitement in not knowing what lies beyond the second star to the right.

End.

A/N: What do you think happens next? What's Neverland like now? Does the hourglass stop? Does Henry take Pan up on his offer? IF you're interested in the answers, please consider stopping by my AO3 account and subscribing to me there to get the alert when I finish the re-writes!

Thank you for reading! 3