The sun had long ago said its goodnight and the coolness of night settled over the sandy beach. Three crescent moons made their ascent in the sky, creating sparkling white glitter on the gently crashing waves.

Faeries danced and played in the warmth of the forest, tiny sounds of even tinier instruments bringing a frown to the boy's face. The tiny creatures laughed and flurried in and out of leaves and he suspected a great feast was about to commence in fantastic celebration. He knew faeries were too small to have more than one feeling at a time, and that meant the rest of the forest could sleep soundly tonight. If the pixies were in a devious mood, the creatures of the forest would have to keep a pillow over their heads all night long.

This particular boy was not in a festive mood at the moment, and he was sure big enough to have more than one feeling at a time. Earlier that very day he had felt astonishment, joy, and sorrow, all in that order. Now he felt empty, alone, and he was glad no one was there to see the tear slide down his coffee-colored cheek.

He turned his head back to the waves and sat alone on a large boulder, inches from the lapping water. He watched with dark eyes as a mermaid splashed out at sea; she had just enough cause as the rest of Neverland to be joyful. From the faeries and mermaids to the Indians and Lost Boys, they all could celebrate the return of a long-lost Peter Pan.

The Faerie Boy.

The One Who Never Grew Up.

"Never grew up, ha," the boy snorted and shook his red and black-striped head. He let his legs dangle over the side of the rock as he leaned back on it, picking at the tooth necklace at his chest. Getting bored with that he fiddled with the black buckskin straps about his shoulder, cut from an old bomber jacket he had found long ago and fitted with red and yellow beads.

His tribal punk style he retained from what little he remembered of his mother and his home, adding his own flare as time went on. They had spoken two languages then, one of which the strangers did not know, and lived in a wigwam village next to the ocean. He remembered being called a freak by the other boys and girls, and an abomination to the gods of his land by the tribal leaders and other grown-ups.

Little Demon was what he was called and he was pulled from many fights because of it. Every day he came back to his straw-roofed house with a black eye or a bloody lip, and his mother would always take him to the wash basin and clean him up without saying a word.

It was she he missed the most, but during his time in Neverland he had slowly forgotten what she looked like or smelled like, and soon he adopted the idea that mothers and fathers were far too much to think about and overrated.

It was his father who caused him to run away that fateful day. They had sat down to supper like they always had of fresh-caught fish and homemade rice cakes and warm goat's milk when the boy could no longer resist the question that had been burning in his young brain for too many months.

"Why am I called 'Little Demon,' mama?" The boy asked quietly in his native language.

His parents looked at each other, but it was his cruel father who replied: "Your hair, boy. It's your damned hair. Its colors are those of the devil. It is a curse, and you are a curse to this village, boy!"

With tears in his eyes and his tiny hands in fists, the little boy jumped up from the table and darted outside into the forest, never to be heard from again.

Rufio balled his bigger hands into white-knuckled fists; his arms were well-muscled but scarred and his hands were covered in fingerless leather gauntlets. He was bigger now, older and stronger, and he belonged here, but he could not remember how he had gotten here. Here was all he had ever known, those fleeting memories more like a dream than a possible once-upon-a-time reality.

Here he grew strong and it was here that the legendary Peter Pan chose him out of several other prospects to be the Pan's successor, should the need arise. That was time now lost to Rufio, for the days and months blur together in Neverland and one loses all sense of time.

He did remember a lifetime ago waking up in the middle of the forest as a young boy surrounded by Peter and his small band of Lost Boys. He was nameless then, and an outcast. Peter was the first to remark about his two-toned hair, and he had been the first of the Lost Boys to ever punch their Captain in the mouth for such a comment.

"Ouch! What did you do that for?" Peter had a hand to his mouth as the other Lost Boys shrank back from the dark newcomer in apprehension.

"Do'na talk about my hair, brah. Tha'sa mistake." He replied, his dark eyes aflame.

"What's your name?" Peter finally said.

"I dun'av one."

"Scoundrel! Ruffian! Bully!" The Lost Boys growled, drawing their swords and bows. "Don't ya know who that is, boy? That's Peter Pan! And you just punched him in the face!"

"So?"

After a thinking time, which with Peter varied in length, he came to the very foreign newcomer with his new Lost Boy name.

"Rufio. You're name is Rufio from now on." Peter locked his green eyes with the new boy's, both standing eye-level with each other.

"Wah'dos tha' mean?" The boy asked, putting hands on his hips.

"I am your captain, the rules say do not question me. But it means you're not to be bullied. It means you're tough and now officially a lost boy." Peter announced and put his arm around a newly-christened Rufio, marking the beginning of a long, but interesting, friendship.

A mermaid splashed close to the coastline, shaking the Lost Boys' leader out of his thoughts momentarily. He sat up and hopped down off the rock, brushing off his black, hole-filled pants.

Straightening, his ears became attuned to a sound in the forest behind him, the sound of feet approaching as they crunched underbrush. Muscles bunched throughout Rufio's body and he quietly unsheathed his rusted, poor excuse for a sword, the price for being demoted upon Pan's return.

His heart pounded in his ears, but he refused to turn and run. He had not been given the duty of leader just so he could disappoint the Pan and his boys; nor would he expect any of the boys under his command to run at the sight of danger. That usually awarded them a punishment held back only by the limit of Rufio's imagination, and he prided himself on being level-headed but "fairly imaginative".

"Rufio." A voice came out of the trees. A man's voice.

"Pan?" The boy's deep voice was calm and the sword visibly lowered in his right hand.

"Can I talk to you?" Peter emerged from the trees dressed to match the forest, a boyish smile on his face. Only he was bigger, taller, and in some places, hairier. The Lost Boys made sure he knew about that one…

Rufio exhaled sharply and sheathed his sword. "Wha' do ya want, mon?" He turned his back on Pan and reseated himself on the rock, leaning forward with one forearm placed on a bent knee. The moonlight gave his spiked hair a ghostly outline and the grown-up Peter walked to stand next to the rock.

"Rufio, I need your help, please." Peter stood facing Rufio in the sand. The Lost Boys' young leader visibly retracted…Pan had just said the 'P' word…

"Sorry. I do'na help grown-ups, jolly mon," Rufio whispered, his face turned away from Peter.

"Hook has my kids. Jack and Maggie. I want them back, I need them back, but I need you, Rufio. I need you to help me."

Rufio sighed and shook his head, glaring at Peter with black eyes. His heart told him to listen to Pan's plea, but the stubborn temper that lurked just below the surface shouted in retaliation.

"Why? So you can leave us?" Rufio smirked in anger. "So you can leave an' never come back again?"

His words stung Peter, and were reminiscent of the words Tink had spoken just moments ago. She and Rufio were right though…he would leave, but only because he had to. He had a family, a wife, a son, and a daughter who needed him, more than the Lost Boys needed him.

"Neverland will be in good hands. Your hands, Rufio. Please."

There was silence for a moment as they looked at each other, and slowly Rufio's gaze softened. Peter grinned and choked back terrified tears.

"A long time ago, I charged the care of the Lost Boys and Neverland itself to a very temperamental but capable boy, and I'm not going back on that choice. When I leave again, I want you to stay the leader of the Lost Boys, Rufio. You are the only one who is qualified. You'll take care of them like you always have. Will you do me this great honor?"

Silence.

"You are da Pan." Rufio's voice was soft and he smiled, liking the words Peter had just spoken; his smile broadened and his white teeth were a stark contrast to his dark features. "Wah' do ya need me t'do?"

"I need you to be my lieutenant tomorrow. Lead the Lost Boys on my command." Peter paused, not sure if his thoughts were in order. "We attack the ship at midday and take my children back from Hook."

Rufio nodded. "Rules?"

"Only one, and it's the same as always. Leave Hook…"

"To you, I know, mon." Rufio finished Peter's sentence for him, rather disappointed. He had only engaged the captain in a duel once before, and it was his luck that the wretched crocodile showed up to scare Hook away.

"Can I tell you a secret?" Rufio articulated, biting his lower lip in nervousness.

"Sure. You're secret will be safe with me. Promise." Peter placed a comforting hand on the boy's shoulder and joined the young leader on the large rock.

"Even if you would let me, I can'nah fight 'im, Pan. He's too fast, too strong. I can hold 'im off for a little while; I only fought 'im once, an' it was because he taunted me. It's fun to fight 'im, but I could never defeat 'im." Rufio turned away in shame, feeling like he had somehow let Peter down.

"I'm afraid of 'im, Petah."

Pan nodded. "You know, I'm scared of him too. I always have been. But I was never going to let anyone see that, especially him."

"I do'na want 'im to hurt your kids, mon. And I do'na want 'im to hurt you." Rufio looked up at Peter as a son would to his father. His eyes were misty and he shook his head with a grunt.

"I will help ya get your kids, Pan. But promise never to forget us, or Neverland, pl-…" Rufio almost let the words slip and decided to just suck it up. "Please…"

"You have my word, Rufio. Oh, and my other rule," Peter stood up from the rock and launched himself into the air, where he hung suspended as Rufio watched. "Don't get yourself killed tomorrow, got it? That adventure is just not ready to be had, yet."

"Aye, sir." Rufio saluted and watched Peter Pan disappear over the tops of the trees. He only remained at ocean's side for a few more ticks of the clock before deciding to turn in for the night.

Before he blew out his nightlight, Rufio sat cross-legged on his down-filled bed and stared at his armor hanging on the wall, ready to be slipped on at a moment's notice. It was a gift to him from the Indians for the rescue of a baby from the hungry clutches of the island's resident lions. It was made of the bones of small animals threaded together across the shoulders, chest, and back, with a bamboo neck guard and birds' feathers for decoration. Accompanying that was separate bone shin guards and gauntlets.

Rufio smiled as he blew out his nightlight, officially the last Lost Boy to lay his head on his pillow. He stared up at the black ceiling of his hut for a moment, his thoughts on the epic battle to take place just hours from now. As sleep overtook him, one last whisper escaped his throat,

"To die would be an awfully big adventure…"