Disclaimer: Peter Pan, all characters, places, and related terms belong to J.M. Barrie, and Universal Pictures, Columbia Pictures, and Revolution Studios.
Loss
"Wendy? Are you there?" Peter called softly. He gazed about the empty house, confused. Sleep's cobwebs had not completely vanished, and it was a moment before he remembered and understood why he was alone.
They were all gone: the Lost Boys, John, Michael, Wendy… They were leaving Neverland to return to London. A painful ache rose in Peter's chest, and he swallowed hard.
His eyes roamed about the house and came to rest on the small wooden crocodile and watch. And in a small flower cup, leaning against the crocodile, was his medicine. For a moment Peter stared at it, then got off his bed, and walked past it. He would not take his medicine; that refusal would spite Wendy. She had betrayed him. But then he paused and looked back at the waiting medicine. Suppose he did take it -- to show her, and himself, he could get along fine without her? And taking it would spite her more than if he did not take it.
It did not make any difference to him that she and the boys were gone. He was still the best that ever was. He had never been affected by the previous boys whom he had lost in fights against the pirates. And he would not be affected now by Wendy's betraying and leaving him.
So bravely he took up the flower cup. He hated taking his medicine, for it was terribly sticky and had a bittersweet taste. A detestable expression fleeted across his face, and he squeezed his eyes shut, bringing the cup up to his lips.
His eyes popped open as he felt something slam against his mouth. His surprise turned to annoyance as he realized the frantically tingling bells. He pulled Tinker Bell off his lips, holding two of her wings between his fingers.
"Tink!" He blew her down to the ground without taking a moment to listen to her. He smiled smugly before attempting again to drink his medicine. But quick as lightning Tink was between him and the cup, drinking its contents.
Irritated, he tossed away the cup and coughed, wiping fairy dust from his mouth. "You drank my medicine!" he said.
However, his anger vanished as he suddenly realized something was wrong with Tink. She was stumbling across the table, coughing, her light flickering. Worry rising in him, Peter shoved things out of his way as he jumped on the table. He gazed down at Tink, collapsed against a seashell, trembling and gasping.
"Tink?" he called softly. "Tink, why is your light going out?" Carefully he touched her with one finger. "Tink, why are you so cold?" he asked fearfully.
She was silent, trying to draw her last breaths. Peter watched, in horror and denial, knowing what was happening but refusing to believe. Not her, his special friend. He set a candle close to her.
"Stay warm, Tink," he urged. "Stay warm." He tried to smile hopefully.
Tink lifted her head to glance at him a final time, sad and relieved. He lived. That was all that mattered. Then her eyes closed and her light died.
For a long time the boy stared at her, waiting for the faintest sign of life. But she was pale like the moon, the life gone from her wings, her eyes shut forever. Gently, Peter gathered her in his hands and slowly, solemnly, walked through the house and aimlessly through the jungle.
During his march neither bird nor leaf stirred. Everything was eerily quiet. The only sounds were Peter's footsteps and the far-off moaning of the fairies over another of their number lost. The boy's face was blank of emotion, his eyes fastened on the still body he carried. Finally, he halted and kneeled on the soft forest floor, carefully laying Tink down.
His fists curled in the grass and dirt, and he drew a ragged breath. Sobs rose in his throat, and tears filled his eyes. Tink was really gone. How could he have taken her for granted? She, who had found him in Kensington Gardens when he was a tiny babe. She, who had been with him since the birth of Neverland. She, who had been his very best friend. The reality of her death, of everything that had transpired this afternoon was too much for this lonesome, wonderful boy to bear.
"Tink. Tink I'm so sorry. Please, Tink, please forgive me," he choked between his sobs, tears streaming down his face. "Forgive me, please, Tink."
The island, matching its master's mood, grew overcast and stormy.
"Tink!" Peter cried into the howling wind. His guilt, sadness, and hopelessness all rang out in that one name.
More sobs racked his body. Then he threw his head back, and a yell of part rage and part heartbreak escaped his lips: for the lifeless Tink; for the boys, who so easily abandoned everything Neverland offered in order to grow up; for Wendy, whom he could bring himself to hate in spite of everything. They were all gone, never to return. Here was a loss that could not be regained.
Peter's yell reached the four corners of the island, causing it to tremble. And those aboard the Jolly Roger grew silent and still as his voice reached them.
The Boy Who Wouldn't Grow Up cried long and hard, wishing in vain he could just have all those who were most dear to him, back one last time. He could only regret.
THE END