Disclaimer: All characters, even those based on real people, are entirely fictional. The original characters / settings of Peter Pan are the creation of J. M. Barrie.

The window was barred.

Peter continued to gaze, perplexed, straining to see past the drawn curtains and the white crosses on the glass. Wendy had forgotten him, and he had almost forgotten her; she was now, only a shadow... Only her essence remained locked in his hazy memory.

Precariously perched in the tree that coiled up skyward, past the nursery window, Peter, painted with starlight, struggled to decide what he should feel; anyone else would have wept painful, bitter tears as their heart was ripped from them, but Peter does not feel.

The struggle ended as Peter's attention was caught by the sudden, slow cry of a siren. Enormous funnels of light shot into the sky so abruptly that Peter almost lost his balance. His eyes gleamed in wonder as he watched the lights dancing. Then he heard a low rumble... an unrecognised sound that was growing louder, coming closer.

Peter did not know what aeroplanes were, but he watched them now as they flew overhead above the city.

The thunderous explosion chased all thoughts from Peter's mind as he cowered at the unbearable noise and watched the flames leap into the air. The house that had been hit was only a few streets away from where Peter sat, stunned by what he had just witnessed.

Regaining himself, Peter leapt into the night air, now warm from the nearby inferno and tainted with dust. As he drifted towards the destruction, urgent shouts of men met his ear, and he hesitated. Thinking better of it, Peter descended onto the cobbles of an alley, and continued on foot.

He faltered when he heard the desperate screams of a woman cut through the sounds of the men. His curiosity peaked, Peter proceeded cautiously until he rounded a corner and was faced with a terrible scene; flames still climbed high and whipped in the night wind. Half a house stood, crumbling and enveloped with rubble.

The hysterical woman was weeping into the shoulder of a man wearing a smoothly curved helmet. All the men were wearing the same. So distraught was the woman, Peter could not decipher the words that came between sobs, but he watched and listened as other men started searching in the rubble.

Peter was overwhelmed by a sudden and strong desire to help. Purposefully marching towards the house, he paused before the huge pile of bricks and home, and stared. Gingerly he picked up a lump of stone and cast it aside. He had not the faintest idea what he was searching for, but he needed to help that poor, weeping woman.

He proceeded to remove another fallen brick from its resting place amongst the rubble, when his ears pricked, and his attention was drawn by the slightest of sounds; Peter quickly scurried onto the wreckage of the house, close to where the whisper had come from. He again commenced his search, though with far greater resolve, flinging the bricks and mortar over his shoulder with stark determination.

When his efforts uncovered nothing, he stepped back and strained to hear another noise to direct him. He looked around at the men, still hauling debris as they had been, and was glad to see he had gone completely unnoticed, so far. He was always keen to avoid any contact with grownups, unless they were pirates or Indians, looking for a fight.

Peter returned his gaze to survey the bombsite, and just then noticed a child's doll, not three paces from him. He hurriedly snatched it up, and inspected its blackened complexion and scorched clothing. He just as quickly tossed it aside, and began removing the bricks near to where it had lain.

He nearly jumped back in shock as he uncovered a hand, still and pale among the bricks. In a fit of excitement from his discovery, Peter began once more, with intense determination, to shift the rubble.

Stone by stone, and brick by brick, Peter unearthed a gap within the wreckage, in which he could just make out the form of a small child. Grasping its arm, he heaved it free, and fell back from the effort, the child landing in a heap on his lap.

He knew at once, something was wrong with the little girl. She was covered in dirt and brick dust, and her skin was burnt, as the doll's had been. She did not move.

"Here! Help!" All at once, Peter's mistrust of adults dissolved; He knew they were the only ones who could help, and it was not long before the nearby men had gathered around him.

Peter looked up as the woman, whose grief had first propelled him to join the men in their search, pushed through the crowd and beheld the two children. She first stared at the body of the girl, and then at the boy who was cradling her.

"No!" The horrifying way in which the woman's features distorted, frightened Peter. He could see in her face pure, undiluted grief and unbearable pain; almost too unbearable to even look at.

Screaming and sobbing, she grabbed up the little girl's body and crushed it to her chest, burying her face in the child's filthy hair.

Peter awkwardly got to his feet, upset by the woman's display of emotion. He did not know what to do. He could only watch as the woman sank to the ground, still clinging to her daughter's corpse.

Tentatively, Peter reached out a hand to stroke the child's face.

"Don't touch her!" Pan hissed and withdrew his hand, truly shaken by the ferocity of the woman's words. He was hurt, and wanted to scream back at her; to tell her not to be so stupid! But now she was sobbing again... heart-wrenching sobs... And he couldn't bring himself to do it.

Instead, he just continued to watch.

By this time, some of the men with the curved helmets had gathered around the woman also. One of them stepped towards Peter, and smiled sadly at the boy.

"Come on, lad... best leave her to it." Peter almost jumped back in alarm, surprised at the grownup's close proximity. He stared apprehensively at the man who had addressed him. "Where do you live, lad? Come on... I'll take you home..."

The man moved forward, and this time Peter did jump back. He took one last glance at the little dead girl and her mother, then turned and ran; He ran as fast as he could...

Then he was gone.

FIN