Disclaimer: Peter Pan, all characters, places, and related terms belong to J.M. Barrie.
Without You
The cloud of sleep hanging over Peter bursts. He grows aware of the light crackling of the fire. He smells the smoke hanging in the air. It is so quiet, and chilly. The boy shivers.
His eyes snap open at a sound. He listens closely. There it is again, a muffled sob. Peter sits up, remaining sleepiness sliding off his shoulders. The fire is slowly dying, faintly illuminating the room. The boy peers over to where the boys' bed is turned down. Is it Michael the baby?
No, it is not he. The sound comes again, near the fire, where Wendy's bed things are laid out.
Peter effortlessly rises from his bed into the air. He drifts over to where Wendy sleeps close by the fire. Under her cover the girl moves restlessly. A frown knots her brow. Her head moves from side to side quickly. A broken sob escapes her lips.
For a moment Peter is motionless, a chill running down his spine. Something, a fuzzy remembrance, tugs on his ear, but he barely takes note of it. He stares down at the girl. He swiftly lands beside her when she cries out, still trapped in the midst of her troubled slumber.
The boy watches Wendy with wide eyes. He has never seen her like this before and does not like it. Why, what is wrong? the question echoes in his mind. Not touching her, Peter slowly leans over her; her near silent gasps and murmurings drift up to his sharp ear.
"Peter…!" the word is a bare whisper.
Never has the called boy heard his name uttered before like that, with such despair, hopelessness. An ache forms in his chest. Unfamiliarly he gently brushes her hair with his hand. "Wendy," he sighs heavily. His starry eyes dim.
When tears begin to run down the girl's cheeks, Peter gently wipes them away. If he could, the boy would chase away Wendy's nightmares, banish them so they would never come back. He leans closer when he hears his name again.
"Do… No! Don't leave, please…"
The boy lies down next to Wendy and clasps her hand protectively. The stars return to his eyes; they flash strongly, brightly.
"Shhh," he whispers. He presses her hand. "Shhh. I'm here with you Wendy. I won't leave you." His voice is soft like a Neverbird feather, calming as the gentle waves of the sea, and unnaturally serious. "If I left, who shall show you where the Neverbird builds her nest? How will you know where to see flamingos come once a year? Who shall stay up late at night, watching you sew? Whose hand will you hold while flying above the glistening sea…?" Peter trails off.
Wendy has grown still. Her head is turned towards the boy. The frown has vanished. The troubled curving of her mouth relaxes. Her breathing is even and slow. She has left the dark lands of dreams for more peaceful shores.
Peter watches her intently, and the ache in his chest shifts ever so slightly. A hot spark enters his eyes. It has come before but always disappeared as quickly as it appeared. This time the spark lingers and burns. The boy dries the girl's damp cheeks. His tanned, calloused fingers trace an imaginary line down her right cheek towards her mouth, where, for a brief moment, the boy's fingertips brush the right corner of her mouth before retreating.
"What would Peter Pan be without his Wendy?" Peter says wonderingly, tenderly.
His cloud of sleep begins to form again, and he blinks his eyes slowly. Before he slips off into the land of slumber, he laces their fingers together. "I'll never leave you, Wendy."
THE END