On the 2nd of June, 1940 John Darling died on the beaches of Dunkirk. He was thirty five years old, leaving behind no wife or children. Only one relative remained, his brother Michael Darling. He was the youngest member of the Darling clan but in the span of two decades he found himself the eldest and alone.

He had fought in the war, of course, and returned home with a medal. Any wounds he had you could not see them, unless you stared too long into his eyes but then that haunted stare had always been there. He was small, quiet and you would be mistaken for thinking him defeated but you would be wrong. He had been fighting long before Germany had invaded Poland, he was a soldier in a war that no one but a select few knew about. So secret that they did not even have a name, though the members had taken to calling it the Home Office, as it operated out of the office in number 14 Bloomsbury Square, Michael's reclaimed home. It had been John's idea, his labour of love but now that he was gone it fell to Michael to take over and he did so with a steely albeit tired resolve. Though his family were either dead or missing he was not alone because every member had all been affected in some way by the same person: Peter Pan.

The Lost Boys who had been stranded in London had grown up. Some had drifted out of his life, leading their own lives and cutting all ties to the island that they used to call home. He could understand their unwillingness to help. Though they looked no older then he did most of them were very old indeed and that was a weight all on it's own. The Home Office was a reminder of the truth but there were some that did want to join the cause and fight. It was the Home Office's mission to destroy Pan and, if fate was on his side, rescue his sister. It had taken him almost twenty years but soon the plan would swing into motion and everything that his family had suffered would be put right.

Sometimes he even believed that.

On the day that Wendy disappeared for the final time and his parents died something peculiar happened but you would find no record of it now. On a road near Great Ormond Street people had walked into a fog and never returned, his sister being one of them. He and John had ventured there not long after, looking for a sign of what had happened and it was there that they noticed two odd women. They had been moving slowly, heads bent, clearly searching for something and every now and then they would swoop down and snatch something up from the ground.

Michael, then so young and not fully comprehending the loss that his family had suffered, had been drawn to these strange women and asked them innocently what they were doing.

"Picking beans dear," they answered and Michael peered into a draw string bag to find it full of colourful, glittering beans. He thought they were sweets and held out his hand, which made the women laugh. John had come over, angry that something like laughter could be sounded in his grief stunned presence.

"Come away Michael, they're not for eating."

"He's right, of course. We're sorry about your mother and father. For your sister too my poppets," the eldest sister said and the brothers froze.

"Yes, we did warn her. She's with him now," the other sister said, toeing something on the ground and was clearly disappointed that it was just a cork. She picked it up anyway.

John blinked at the spinsters, hardly daring to believe it. They had thought that Wendy had died along with their parents, though her body had never been recovered.

"She – she's with Pan?" he asked, the name on his tongue like a curse.

"So far as we saw. Shame it couldn't have worked out for the better. Such sweet babes..." the youngest sister sighed, losing focus and Michael shook his head, confused. The sisters moved off and the brothers, their aunt preoccupied while talking to well wishers, followed them. Or rather John followed and dragged Michael along.

"Wait! You have to help us!"

"We will but not yet. Come and see us when you're older," they finished together, waving at them before they disappeared down an alley, becoming lost in the throng. Their aunt called them back, shrill voice panicking and they had reluctantly returned.

That had been over twenty years ago and during that time John and Michael were to have many dealings with the sisters. They did not have anything magical to trade but they were soon to find that hard to secure goods were just as sought after by the spinsters, if not more so.

"Darjeeling?" Edith asked hopefully and Michael, now far older and wiser, nodded. The war was finally over but they all felt the sting of rationing.

"And Garibaldis," he said, taking a seat at a small table as he offered the pack of biscuits to the sisters. They almost looked close to tears. As he did he realised that the place looked more sparse then usual, though the spinning wheels were still pride of place. "Been selling things?"

"Moving dear," they said, taking a biscuit each before Agnes opened a jar and took a pinch of something easily mistaken for sugar. After the Lost Boys had attacked a large quantity of inert beans had been left behind and the sisters had been quick to collect them. They did not use them to travel but grounded them up, a feat of which he still did not know how they accomplished without blowing themselves up.

"But you've always been here," he said, feeling a stab of sadness. They had been a strange, constant presence at the edge of his life for so long now that the thought of them leaving was a throbbing pain. Aside from his aunt they were as close to family as they could be.

"Yes, to a nice place in America called Maine but not quite yet. We've got so much rubbish cluttering the place that we thought we'd get a head start. Now then."

"On to business," Edith finished, rubbing her hands and sitting up. "We know why you're here."

"You want to rescue your sibling,"

"But the beans will not help you to that end," Edith said, eyes loosing focus as the bean dust in her tea took effect. "You'll need to find another to help you and we've finally been able to pin point him. He's a slippery one to catch."

"Yes and we're sorry in advance," Agnes said in bemusement. She reached for a small pouch hanging from her belt and handed it over to him. Michael felt beans inside, sliding and clicking together and he handled them gently.

"Thank you. Who am I meeting? Where?" he asked, rising from his seat.

"We'll show you the way," they said and stood, motioning for him to follow them. They lead him through a narrow corridor, walls lined with priceless books, and out through a door that lead to a small back garden that looked like it had not been tended to for a few centuries.

The spinsters stood shoulder to shoulder as a bean was thrown and a portal whirled into being, making the ivy clad walls and weed choked grass shine and sway in the sudden wind. Michael inhaled, readying himself. It had been years in the making but finally it was about to begin. He would succeed or die trying.

"You'll be needing this," Edith said and handed him a large sack. Coins clinked and by the weight clearly contained a small fortune. "He'll be wanting payment."

"Biscuits will not suffice, I suppose?" Michael dead paned and the sisters smiled.

"He does like tea, so he's not all bad."

"Absolute rogue though, pinched my favourite snuff box, so keep your wits and valuables about you," Edith warned seriously and Michael nodded. Not for the first time he wondered how his life had become so strange and yet be content with it. It was the real world that seemed unreal to him now.

"Goodbye ladies and thank you for everything. You've given my life purpose and now, if I succeed, everything I've been fighting for will be for something."

"Good luck dear."

"And may the gods be with you."

They watched him, tears in their eyes as he jumped into the portal and vanished. When the garden was dark and still they sighed sadly, looking at each other.

"What a cursed life we lead sometimes. Poor little man, such a long journey ahead," Edith said sadly and Agnes nodded, dabbing at her eyes.

"But he will succeed, in the end, that's what matters. Come on dear, the tea's getting cold."

Arm in arm they moved back into their deceptively small home and shut the door.

Michael landed in a heap in another world and sat up, groaning. Travelling by bean was never something he would get used to. He stared around, taking in his surroundings. He appeared to be in a large circular room and what a room it was! Along the walls were all manner of doors, all of different shapes and styles. He picked himself up from the black, shiny floor, taking in the gold swirling pattens there when someone walked leisurely through one of the doors. A young handsome man clad in a long black coat froze, staring at Michael as if he were seeing a ghost. It only took one glance at him to know why Agnes had called him roguish. There was a devil may care air around him.

"What are you doing in my hat?!" he asked suddenly, shock gone. He looked deeply peeved and ran a hand through his messy hair.

"Your what?" Michael shook his head, confused but the sisters had said they would lead him to a person who could help and they were hardly ever wrong. "I'm here, in whatever this place is, to ask for your assistance."

"Really?" he asked, crossing his arms and Michael saw that a tiny golden goose was poking out of the man's coat pocket. Wondering if he had finally cracked he looked back at the man and nodded.

"Yes. I need your help in rescuing someone and I will pay you for your trouble," he said and waved the sack of gold. The man's eyes followed the swing of the bag hungrily and the little bird in his pocket shifted. Michael thought it was asleep.

"Who are you?"

"My name is Michael Darling. The spinsters told me that you could help. I take it you can travel to other worlds? Travel in time?"

At the mention of the sisters the man's eyes narrowed and then he laughed, something giddy and slightly insane in his eyes. There was something about him that reminded Michael uncomfortably of Pan. He strolled over and took a peek into the sack full of money and Michael was pleased to see his cocky grin drop as he picked out a coin and stared at it in amazement as he absent-mindedly patted his coat pocket gently.

"...Sure, I'll help you. Name's Jefferson," he said dazedly, eyes fixed on the coin until Michael plucked it out of his fingers.

"You'll get everything once you've helped me," he said as Jefferson pouted and sighed, bored.

"Okay, where do you want to go?" he fluttered a hand at the numerous doors and Michael searched carefully.

"Is there a door here that leads to Neverland?"

"Of course!" he boasted, pointing. The door was not a door but a window and it was one almost exactly like the one back in his old nursery. The man shifted uncomfortably. "Though I don't go there if I can help it. That whole Lord of the Flies set up is not my thing," he said with distaste. Michael, no idea what he was talking about, showed him a bean.

"Good but first you'll need to come with me," he said firmly and Jefferson shrugged, eyeing the bag of coins. The small goose gave a tiny honk and went back to sleep.

"You're the boss. So who are we rescuing?"

"My brother, John Darling."

Over the years Michael had tried to rescue Wendy from Neverland using the portal beans but every time he had been spat back into his own world. Pan had barred the way but there were other paths in. He had that window now and he could walk through it but not yet. John had died five years ago, saving the life of a comrade and in the process lost his life. It was a noble death and Michael knew he should accept it but he could not. The sisters had told him that meddling with time could have awful consequences but he was willing to pay them. He and John had promised that no matter how long it took them they would rescue Wendy and Michael was not going to break that promise. He would save his brother and then together they would save Wendy but not before Pan laid dead at their feet.

"No peeking," she warned, her soft hands over his eyes. He was almost a foot taller then her so she had to stand on a bench that cut the room in half. On the way she had clung to his back, which he had taken advantage of. After he had finally stopped spinning around and running she had guided him to the correct place and now he waited impatiently.

"Is it Hook? Has he finally died from liver failure?" he asked excitedly and Wendy rolled her eyes and removed her hands. She stayed behind him, leaning against his back and waited in awful anticipation as he looked around.

They were standing in an exact replica of an exhibition room they had visited once, at The National Gallery. Ever since she could remember she had dreamed of having the entire gallery to herself, with no one else there. Now she has and she was secretly very pleased with herself. She had worked hard to make it into a reality, along with other things. She jumped down from the bench and moved to his side as he stared up at the vaulted ceiling and looked suitably and genuinely amazed.

"Remarkable," he breathed and stared at her until she felt a little shy. "You're getting good at this, too good. It's not an island but still..."

"Jealous," she retorted smartly and he smirked. It was really only during times like these, when they were alone, that Wendy felt the most content and yet she had decided to work so hard on constructing something that belonged to her past and she could not deny that something wistful was constantly sitting in her chest. She missed it but people always did about things they could never see again. She noticed that Peter was staring at a painting, a wicked gleam entering his eyes before he gazed at Wendy sweetly.

"Please?" he begged and Wendy shook her head.

"Certainly not. I've just spent goodness knows who long making this. It's not just this room you know, it's everything I remember and everything I've seen in dreams," the Dream Caves had been irreplaceable and her one and only route off the island without actually leaving.

"I'll put everything back," he promised, gazing at her with large eyes and she sighed as an axe appeared in his hand. "Come on, live a little."

"Fine but only this once!" she said as he grinned at her and without further prompt swung his axe at the nearest painting and destroyed it. Wendy watched, exhilarated but had to fight down a queasy feeling and then almost laughed. It was a response that she had been living with for over twenty years now but the sick feeling in her stomach had lessened as the years went on. She only had to let go but that would mean giving up and she would not. However she had learned that her life progressed much more smoothly in Neverland if she threw most of her cares to the wind and had fun. Luckily her favourite plaything was right in front of her.

As Peter tugged his axe out of a painting by Rembrandt he jerked back as an arrow thudded next to his head. He looked up, seeing Wendy with her bow drawn and watched in amusement as she laughed and ran. With an aroused look he gave chase, knowing that she could lose him easily but she was always just within catching distance.

He was going to have all sorts of fun when he captured her.

a.n:

Some fluffy destruction to round it off.

So here is the sequel! I hope you guys will be along for the ride. I plan to have a chapter dedicated to one decade in Neverland, starting with the first ten years and so on until I've covered 100 years. It may change as I go on but we'll see what happens. Also this is going to be more mature, hence the M rating.

I thought it was interesting that the actor that plays Michael is actually a decade older then the guy who plays John and I wanted to play with that timey wimey-ness. Hope you liked the surprise guest, I love me some Hatter ;)