A/N: The story of "Peter Pan" has always been one of my absolute favorites. I think it is a beautiful tale with wonderful truths about growing up, masked in an exciting story of pirates, fairies, Indians, mermaids, and a magical land. So a fanfic about "PP" seems only natural from me. Why now? My school is performing the show for our fall production. I'm the assistant director, and one of my best friends is Wendy. So I'm in a very "Pan-ish" mood.

Based off the 2003 movie with Jeremy Sumpter and Rachel Hurd-Wood. The best version.

Disclaimer: Originally J.M. Barrie's - in any case, definitely not mine.

Straight On 'Til Morning

"Peter! You won't forget me, will you?"

"Me? Forget? Never."

"Will you come back?"

"To hear stories…about me."

The window was open. The story spilled into the night. Voices rose and fell as the plot unfolded; laughter rang through the room. But there was no one to hear.

Except for the boy at the window.

No one saw him; he was pressed against the roof in the shadows. But his ears were keen and heard all.

He closed his eyes and allowed the storyteller's voice – her­ voice – to fill him with the memories of a year ago. Everything had been different then.

The boy, who called himself Peter Pan, had not changed, in appearance at least. His hair was still the same dirty blonde; his eyes just as brilliant green as they had ever been. He had not budged a centimeter in height or width. But inside, he was not quite the boy he used to be.

Peter was hurting.

The Pan of a year ago would have scoffed at the Pan of the present. He would have laughed and declared that Peter Pan didn't need anyone, thank you very much.

But that was before there wasn't anyone.

The Lost Boys weren't lost anymore. They had mothers and homes – most of them sat listening to the story just inside at the very moment. They were growing up – Peter had taken a peek inside and seen changes, even the smallest of changes, in each one of them.

With Hook gone, there was nothing to keep Peter distracted from his loneliness. The other pirates had taken their ship and sailed away permanently. Even the Indians, who had once been friends with Peter and the Lost Boys, kept their distance.

Tinker Bell accompanied Peter everywhere. Even now she fluttered silently above his head, glowing gently. She would always be tied to Peter, no matter what happened to everyone else. But that mysterious connection also made her feel what Peter felt. And so Tink hardly ever tinkled anymore, not the way she used to.

"…and they all lived happily ever after."

Wendy's dramatic conclusion pulled Peter back to the present, and he held his breath as the boys clapped appreciatively and reluctantly filed out of the room to their respective bedrooms. The light was turned out in the room, and Peter almost peeled himself away to look in. But then a shadow appeared on the sill, and he froze.

"Goodnight, Peter," Wendy said softly. She blew a kiss; her shadow receded. The window remained open.

Peter struggled for breath. Coming back had been a mistake; he shouldn't have. Overhead, Tinker Bell tinkled in concern. Panicked, he snatched her and cupped her in his palms.

"Quiet, Tink!" he breathed. "She'll hear you!"

Tink chimed a quiet apology, and he released her and shoved off from the roof, flying high, away from the window, away from London. Toward the second star to the right. Toward home.

--

He knew he only caused himself misery by returning. But he couldn't help it. Each year, he visited the window. For a few years, there were stories to be heard, and he found comfort in listening.

Then one year, there was no story. There was only Wendy. The nursery had been transformed into a room for her alone, and she sat at a desk, writing. Peter watched her, his heart breaking more with each passing moment.

Wendy had grown up. Grown up and grown more beautiful.

Peter was so entranced that he forgot to watch his footing, and with a quiet thunk, he slipped off the ledge. He caught himself and hovered under the windowsill, terrified.

Inside, Wendy looked up, surprised. Her eyes widened, and she flew to the window and leaned out eagerly. But then she sighed and shook her head.

"Odd. For a moment, I thought…but no, it must have been a bird."

And she returned to her desk; Peter returned home.

It rained in Neverland that night.

--

As the years went by, it became harder and harder to watch Wendy. Eventually she could no longer see him. He found this out one year, when he gathered all his courage and swept into her bedroom while she was asleep. Tinker Bell followed him immediately, chattering away angrily. In her agitation, she knocked into Peter and he jerked away, tipping a small table onto the floor with a crash.

Wendy sat up in bed. Peter tensed. She looked right at him…right through him. Like the minds of all adults, Wendy's had closed, and now Peter was invisible to her.

Wendy climbed out of her bed. Peter reacted on instinct and flitted out of the room just in time, as Wendy shut the window and locked it behind him.

And Peter knew the window would remain closed now.

Neverland never saw a storm the likes of that night's.

--

For a long time after that terrible visit, Peter did not return to Wendy. He could not make himself watch her when there was no longer the possibility of her seeing him. He knew, too, that she would no longer believe he had ever existed. Like her parents before her, she would believe Peter Pan was only a character.

And he was right. Wendy Darling slowly forgot about Peter Pan. First to go was the reality of the adventure they had shared, until it was a fading dream that one day disappeared altogether. She forgot where all her brothers came from – at first she recognized that they must have come from somewhere else. But in time she began to believe they had always been there, her parents' true sons.

And eventually, she no longer thought Peter Pan a true person. His story was a children's bedtime story, nothing more. Perhaps he was the spirit of youth – but Wendy, as she married and ceased to be a Darling, was no longer young.

--

Peter decided to return.

He did not know why he chose this year out of all the others. But he simply felt as though he owed a visit, at least one more, before Wendy lost all traces of the girl she had once been.

So, Tinker Bell at his heels, he flew to London and to the familiar house. It never occurred to him that Wendy might have moved somewhere else, as children who grow up often do. But lucky for him, Wendy had inherited the house from her parents and resided there still.

Peter landed gently on the windowsill, throwing caution to the winds. Wendy could not see him, after all. He was both surprised and pleased to find the window open. Then shock hit him as he saw a small girl in Wendy's bed. He leapt backward and hid.

Wendy!

Then logic got the best of his surprise, and he peered cautiously into the room. The girl looked like Wendy, but it was not her. This child was younger than Wendy had been when Peter had taken her to Neverland – perhaps even as young as Michael. And time could not have reversed itself.

A woman, dressed in a pretty evening gown, walked into the room and sat on the little girl's bed. She seemed oddly familiar, and even Peter, who had never been good with numbers, put it all together. This was Wendy. Which meant the child must be…

"Goodnight, Jane," Wendy said, kissing the girl on the forehead.

"Mummy, tell me a story! Please?" Jane begged.

Wendy smiled and brushed her daughter's hair back from her face. "All right, then. A quick story before bed. Which would you like to hear?"

"Tell me a new one. With magic and adventure!"

Wendy thought for a moment. "I have one in mind. I used to love it when I was your age."

"I'm ready, Mummy." Jane leaned back on the pillows expectantly.

Wendy's eyes were far away in the past. "All right. The story is about a boy named Peter Pan. A boy who never wanted to grow up…"

Peter felt a thrill go through him. He listened to Wendy tell the story of himself and the Lost Boys, and the Indians and Captain Hook. He felt his heart would burst with pleasure, and he smiled for the first time in years.

Tinker Bell, enlivened by Peter's joy, glowed brighter and made loops in the sky, tinkling merrily. He didn't bother to quiet her; he didn't even notice her show. His eyes and ears were for the scene in the room only.

When the story drew to a close, Peter felt his heartbeat slow. His palms were clammy, and he brushed them impatiently on his shirt.

"Mummy – is Peter Pan real?" Jane asked.

Peter tensed.

Wendy sighed. "It's only a story, Jane."

"But it seems so real," Jane whispered.

Wendy looked toward the window, almost longingly, and Peter checked to make sure he was out of sight.

"I know, darling," she murmured. "I feel the same way."

Peter's heart was beating so loudly he did not notice Wendy kiss her daughter goodnight. It was only when the light went out that he noticed she was gone and the window was still open.

He waited several minutes to allow Jane time to fall asleep. Then he perched on the sill and stared into the dark room. The memory of the past hour replayed before his eyes.

Wendy. Beautiful Wendy. Adult Wendy. Wendy, who must, somewhere, have Husband. Wendy with a child.

She was his no longer.

And the tears took over. The elation from the story faded to relentless sobs of anguish, because Wendy could never be his. The choices had been made, and the loss was great, for Peter, at least.

Tinker Bell chimed anxiously, and Peter looked to see Jane sitting up in bed, watching him calmly.

"Boy – why are you crying?"

And the story began again.

...For all children grow up. Except one.

A/N: I hope you liked it. I actually am pretty pleased with the way it turned out. But let me know! Review.