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Wendy never shuts her window. At first, her brothers protest, but after a week they are suddenly silent on the topic. Wendy’s not sure why that is—maybe that Emma Swan woman has told them what she knew immediately—but she doesn’t dare complain.
It has been three months since she stepped foot in London again, and three months since Peter Pan has died. Two months and ten days since she had wished upon the second star for Peter to live again.
Three months since her heart has taken up its rightful residence in her chest again.
Wendy walks through the dreary street, ignoring the sludge of London’s early snow, and when she walks into her house she brings a gust of icy wind with her. “I’m home!” she announces, and stops in the hall when she doesn’t hear a response.
John enters from the kitchen and smiles tightly. “Wendy? There’s a guest here for you,” he tells her, and Wendy’s heart starts to pound against her ribs—her first thought is that Felix’s come to fetch her, or maybe Nibs, but if it were either of them John would usher them out at gunpoint and never tell her.
Her silent question is answered when Rumplestiltskin pushes past John to come to a stop in front of her. He smiles, but his eyes are cold and remind her of the mermaids back in Neverland. “Hello, Miss Darling.”
"Hello," she greets, raising her chin. (I am a queen in another land, I will never bow to an imp—)
"A very good friend of mine has gone missing. Her name is Belle."
Wendy’s chest tightens, and her mouth goes dry. She remembers Belle French—Belle had caught her crying in the park, away from her brothers and secluded under the shade of a willow tree. Belle had smiled at her, comforted her, and for the brief moment, Wendy’d felt like Belle had understood her.
And then she’d heard rumors of Rumplestiltskin when John was visiting Ruby at the diners, and she’d understood why. (We are more alike than you think, Belle, she’d thought, and now her almost-friend is gone—)
"Who took her?"
"That’s what I’m hoping you knew. Peter Pan, you see—"
"Peter Pan is dead." Wendy cuts him off without meaning to, and Rumplestiltskin’s eyes narrow dangerously as he steps closer. Wendy holds her ground and lifts her chin higher, refusing to show the fear that still lingers in her bones.
"And how, exactly, did you know that?”
Wendy stares at him and says, “John and Michael told me.”
John exchanges a glance with Michael, but her brothers say nothing to contradict her. Rumplestiltskin steps away, the suspicion in his eyes vanishing. ”Well.” He half-turns so he is facing all three Darlings. “If you receive any information, you know where to find me.”
"I hope you find her," Wendy says, just as Rumplestiltskin rests his hand on the doorknob. "She was… kind to me."
Rumplestiltskin smiles again, and this time, a part of it does reach his eyes. “I do as well. Thank you.”
When he is gone, John stares at her. “How did you know he was dead, Wendy?”
Wendy stares at her brothers and goes upstairs without a word.
She wakes up suddenly, without meaning to; when she does, it is the middle of the night and—a pair of vivid blue eyes are watching her from the window seat.
She sits up without thinking about it, and the blue eyes disappear as the silhouette turns back to the window—”Wait!” she calls, and the figure falters, its foot on the windowsill. Wendy kicks off the covers and stands up. “Please… wait.”
The figure turns back to her, and when Wendy approaches it, she can see Peter Pan’s face in the moonlight. His hair is darker now, and his eyes looked different… well, they’re closed now, but she thinks she saw blue instead of green—but the face in front of her is still Peter Pan’s. Wendy steps onto the windowsill, closing the gap between them by a few meters.
Wendy can’t help the shiver that runs down her spine as she lifts her hand and brushes her fingertips across his cheek (making sure he’s real, she tells herself, but she’s never been good at lying). Her fingers feel like ice against his burning skin, but he doesn’t flinch away—he doesn’t move at all. “My wish came true,” she whispers, and a smile spreads across her face. “I asked the stars to bring you back, and they did.”
When he still doesn’t move, Wendy falters, almost pulls her hand away. Peter senses her movement and grabs her hand, pressing it against his cheek again. “I shouldn’t be here. You weren’t supposed to wake up.”
"What do you mean, you shouldn’t be here?"
Peter opens his eyes, and Wendy widens hers. She hadn’t been imagining things—Peter’s eyes were blue, now; bright and vivid and a pair of eyes that she knows she’s seen before—
Belle’s eyes.
Peter’s grip on her hand tightens, and he wraps an arm around her waist, pulling her closer. “Neverland killed Belle, Wendy. Not me.”
"Rumplestiltskin is looking for her, Peter," she whispers, her face crumpling. When she tries to pull away, Peter draws her closer. "I need to tell him she’s dead—"
Peter’s grip tightens on her and he narrows his eyes. “And how do you think he’ll react, bird? He’ll want to know how you know she’s dead. He’s already visited Neverland, and all he saw was ashes. If he knows I’m alive—if he knows that I’ve been visiting you—”
"How long?" she asks, and Peter releases her hand and steps away, placing his foot on the windowsill again. "No, Peter—"
"I can’t stop myself," he whispers. "I have this feeling, all the time, to check on you—" his upper lip curls and he shakes his head in disgust, "—to make sure you’re safe. Well, this is the last time.”
He leans away from the windowsill and looks at her. His eyes still have the same burning intensity, but every time she looks at his eyes she remembers the woman who rubbed her back and said don’t cry it will be all right underneath the shade of a willow tree and tiny shards of her heart start to break.
"You can’t mean that," she starts, but he cuts her off with a cold smile.
"I do. Neverland means more to me than you ever will, Wendy Darling. You make me feel—and I don’t like it. It’s going to stop. Now. Goodbye, Wendy-bird.”
Wendy screams his name when he steps off the window ledge and falls to her knees, clutching her chest as she watches his shape fly higher into the sky. She screams so loud it makes her brothers come to her door, but she refuses to tell them what is wrong.
And as the second star looms ever closer, Peter Pan tries and fails to ignore his name being called behind him. The empty space where a second heart used to reside seems to widen, imperceptibly, but he feels it as much as he’d felt a dagger drive into his back. The second star glows brighter and he can see the distant shapes of ash-gray clouds, but that doesn’t stop the ache inside.
As he leaves Wendy Darling behind and returns to his home, a small, gentle voice (that still sounds like Belle, despite all he’s done to quash it) whispers to him in the moment of silence that follows.
Oh, Peter, Peter, you promised her you’d keep her heart safe.