Title: In Which Peter Pan is Not His Real Name

Disclaimer: These characters and the elements from the story of Peter Pan are being used in a work of fiction which will generate no income.

Warnings: None

Spoilers: None

Rating: G-R

On with the story...

Dean frowned to himself as he took off from his home. There had been a rise in the number of children on the cusp of being sent to Neverland and so he had placed one of his assistants in charge and had flown out to see if there was a discernible reason behind the spike. It had been a couple of decades since Dean had left Neverland to travel between realms and he wondered at what he would find.

He was saddened to see the state of the world, so much isolation among people, so many on their own, not just children. It really was no wonder that he was finding more children close to eligible than before. He weaved in and out of rooftops and between buildings, allowing the negative energies to guide him. After a while he paused outside an open window on the top floor of a house in order to rest for a minute and to take a moment to feel some pity for the boy inside.

And here was an example of what Dean had been worried about…a young boy who wasn't unwanted, exactly, but rather ignored more or less. Dean hated that he couldn't take children like this boy with him but he tried to console himself with the knowledge that being on the cusp like this boy was meant that he had a chance for his parents to change and fully accept him and his place in their lives.

Dean sighed as he adjusted his clothing. His tugged his deerskin cap firmly down to cover his ears and retied the laces on his overshirt, taking care that he was not leaving any skin unnecessarily exposed. Usually he allowed his magic to warm him but instead he needed to truly feel all the energies surrounding him and so he had taken extra care to bundle up tightly before he flew out from Neverland. Wiping his hands on his breeches he was about to take off again when he heard what the boy was reading to his stuffed animals…Peter Pan.

Dean hated the book Peter Pan but he hated the movie which had come out decades later even more. At least in the book there was a hint of the real story, the suffering and anguish present. The movie made it seem as though going to Neverland was a fantastic adventure every child should wish for instead of the last resort it truly was. But it had been so long since he'd heard the story that the familiar words drew him closer.

"Well now Sargent Pickles," the boy was saying in a mock-stern tone to a stuffed turtle that Dean assumed was the aforementioned Sargent, "we all know none of the mess in Neverland would have ever happened if Tinkerbell hadn't been involved in a conspiracy to commit murder. They don't talk about that in the movie but it's right here in the book. Tinkerbell wanted the Lost Boys to kill Wendy because she was jealous and wanted Peter Pan to only like her."

Dean took some time cataloging the boy's appearance. He appeared to be around ten years old and although he was sitting down his limbs were long enough Dean could guess he was a tall boy. Wild brown curls that he would maybe grow into or would perhaps be kept in check with a much shorter haircut as he aged framed his face. Deep hazel eyes and a wide mouth which beamed with an even wider smile as the boy finally noticed him completed the picture.

"Hello. Peter Pan? You are him, aren't you?"

Dean cursed himself thrice over. Here he was lollygagging about and he not only gets caught he gets caught by a boy who believes in him. Not that this was a bad thing necessarily however it pained Dean to find someone who still believed in him—it being a very rare thing—and he couldn't do anything to help him.

"Do you want to come in?" The boy continued, talking as if Dean was a wounded animal he was trying to coax into something.

"Did not your mother ever tell you not to invite strangers into your house?" Dean bit out before stopping to think how the barb could upset the child. He cursed himself as soon as he let the words fly free. There was no need for him to add to this boy's misery. The kid shook his head no but before Dean could let loose with the smart-mouthed quip he had in mind the youngster spoke up.

"She's dead."

Well that explained it; at least Dean hoped it did. When one parent died there was a period when the surviving parent was so caught up in their own grief they couldn't deal with anything else. Dean hoped that the boy's father would soon come around.

"I am sorry to hear that," he said and the boy shrugged and turned away from Dean as if it were of no consequence.

But Dean could clearly see the heartache and so he flew in and landed behind the lad. He turned the boy back around and knelt down in front of him, waiting until his eyes met Dean's once again.

"Hello there," he said softly. "I really am sorry about your mother's death. 'Tis a horrible thing to be left without her."

The child simply stared at him for a long moment before his lower lip started to wobble and Dean could see him struggling to keep a hold of his emotions. Dean felt his heart ache for this youngster and opened his arms without a second thought, allowing the youth to fling himself at him and sob for long, long moments.

Dean searched for something else to talk about to give the boy a chance to fully come back under control. His eyes fell on the book once more and he nodded to it.

"That is not the real story," he said, waiting to see if the lad's interest would be piqued. And indeed, after only a moment the child turned in his arms and looked down at the book.

"What's the real story?" The boy asked, sniffling heavily and gasping in deep breaths of air, obviously struggling to work his tears back down.

"Well before we get to the answer to your question I think we have both committed quite the social faux pas," Dean said with a smile.

"What?" the boy questioned with a small smile of his own.

"We have not yet properly introduced ourselves to one another," Dean said with another smile. "I am Dean."

"Dean?" the lad repeated and Dean was pleased to see the boy had finally managed to subdue his tears. "I thought you were Peter Pan?"

"No, that is merely the name the author of the book gave me when he decided to tell the story."

"Oh," the child said, clearly digesting this new information. After a moment more he looked back up at Dean. "Well I'm Sam."

As soon as the boy had told him his name Dean gently released him and stood up, towering over him. The lad peered up at him not in fear but in curiosity.

"Sam, it is a pleasure to make your acquaintance," Dean told him with a bow, which made Sam giggle. "So would you like me to tell you some of the real story of Peter Pan?"

The boy—Sam—nodded eagerly and sat down by his stuffed animals facing Dean.

"Very well," Dean said, backing up and angling against the windowsill to make himself more comfortable. "It has been a long time since I heard the story of Peter Pan so perhaps we could begin with you re-telling it to me, so I can remember which parts are different?"

Of course this was a lie but Dean wanted the child to engage him with, to actively participate in the discussion, not merely sit and listen to the story. Sam obviously had a quick and clever mind—Dean had not missed Sam's opinion on Tinkerbell as a criminal—and Dean wanted to encourage that trait, feeling that the boy was often alone.

The youth nodded and grabbed the book, moving the pages back to the beginning. He read the first few out loud and then stopped, peering up at Dean.

"What's different so far?" he asked.

"Yes…well first of all there were not three children who came with me that night."

"No?"

Dean shook his head.

"In truth the only child who did come was Jeffery Morgan."

"J. M. Barrie!" The boy cried out after only a moment and Dean smiled, pleased at the boy's intelligence level.

"Indeed, one and the same."

"And did he only stay in Neverland one night?"

"No. He was there for many years, until he gained his majority, in fact."

"Gained his majority?"

"It means became an adult, legally speaking."

"What happened then?"

"Same thing as happens with every child I accept into Neverland. He was given the choice of staying there and becoming my helper or one of the other roles available, or he was allowed to come back to this world and live out his remaining days as a human."

"Oh," Sam said, "I guess I know which one he chose."

"Indeed," Dean said softly. It still pained him, as it did when he first learned that Jeffery was going back to the mortal world. He had believed Jeffery would finally be the one he was looking for—the one who would stay with him and help him run Neverland. But obviously Jeffery had other dreams, ones that did not include Dean.

"But why did he change so much in the book?"

"Mr. Barrie knew that the story would never be accepted if the truth was told, that the majority of children under my care are females."

"Why would he lie?"

"Well I'm not sure he was trying to lie, exactly, but rather he knew it would make people take the story more seriously if he made the children boys, because people at that time placed a higher value on boys' lives than girls'. So it would be difficult to imagine boys being unwanted. Maybe he thought that parents of all children would value them more if they could only imagine their child being taken away from them."

Sam didn't look convinced.

"Of course he sort of killed the seriousness by making me out to be a kid myself," Dean continued, "Can you imagine? Children taking care of children? How absurd! Why they would all be dead in a month."

And he turned horrified eyes on Sam as he realized what he had said but Sam burst out laughing, covering his mouth to try and keep the laughter down.

And on that note Dean decided it was time to leave and said as much to Sam who frowned but nodded sadly.

"You have other stuff to do," he said dully, "important stuff. I understand."

And Dean felt his heart weep for this boy, who had obviously been told that the adults in his life had more important things to do which did not include spending time with him. He hoped he was able to ease some of this child's heartache with his words.

"I do have to complete my quest tonight, 'tis true," Dean said, "but I also wish to allow you to get some sleep; Besides, if we go through the whole story now whatever will we talk about the next time I visit you?"

Dean had only a moment to wait before Sam's whole demeanor changed, going from depressed to ecstatic in an instant.

"You're going to come back?"

"Unless you would prefer that I did not."

"No! No, I would prefer it if you did," Sam assured him but then his face fell again.

"What is it?"

Sam shrugged.

"Well depending on when you come back I may not be here. I'm going away."

"Going away? Where? Are you moving?"

"A special school," Sam told him.

"Do you know other children at this school?"

Sam shook his head.

"Well then you have the opportunity to make new friends and become a pen-pal to your friends from your previous school. That could be fun."

"I don't have any friends," Sam said.

"I cannot imagine how that is possible," Dean said, "for although I have only known you for a short time I already know that you are a very clever boy with a generous heart. Those are crucial qualities to look for in friends, you know. The children at your previous school have missed out on the chance to be your friend but I believe the children at your new school will prove to be smarter than they."

"I hope so," Sam said looking a little less despondent than before, "After all it is a school for gifted children so if I'm going to find smarter kids it should be there, right?"

And Dean laughed and nodded.

"Indeed, it should be the perfect place to find new, far more intelligent friends. And speaking of intelligences I have a question for you…do you know what a Pan is, in the sense of Peter Pan?"

Sam thought for a moment before shaking his head.

"Well that will be something for you to investigate until next we meet," Dean told him with a smile.

Dean could see Sam hesitate. And he wondered if there was a cause for it outside of the normal fear of enrolling in a new school where he knew no one.

"What is it, Sam?"

"Will you come see me at my new school?" Sam asked and before Dean could reply he explained further. "It's a boarding school, you see, so I will be there for a long time."

Dean smiled sadly.

"I am afraid it will not be possible for me to visit you there," he told him, "for I am not permitted to go to a place where children are wanted outside of their homes."

When Sam's face predictably fell Dean tried to cheer him up.

"Take comfort in the reason for this, Sam," he told him, "for there has never been a school where there was not at least one adult who truly wished for all of the children to be there. And to wish it with a pure heart, and not out of malice or some perverse wish to punish those they deem unsuitable or some other such nonsense. So if things seem difficult remember that and think upon the adults you have met and wonder which one is the one I have spoken of, or perhaps there will be many more than a single individual."

Sam nodded but when he looked at Dean it appeared to the older man that Sam wished to say something else but was merely holding back, and this time with a trace of fear.

"What is it you wish to say?" he asked gently.

"Do you think you would consider being my pen-pal?"

Dean smiled. It was something he could do for the boy which would hopefully help him to become more self-assured.

"I would be honored to do so, Sam," he said with a smile which grew when he saw how large the smile was which appeared on Sam's face.

"I shall try to come back by the end of this week," Dean told him, "so until then farewell my young friend."

"Goodbye," Sam said, following Dean to the window and waving at him when Dean turned around in mid-air.

As Sam watched Dean fly up into the sky and out of sight that night he felt the stirrings of hope deep within his chest, a feeling he'd been without since his mother died.

End of chapter one