Work Text:
It is Michael who wakes first. He rubs his eyes sleepily with his fist, and lets out a huge yawn. He is tired, but he cannot go back to sleep, not with what’s happening. He dangles his feet over the edge of the bed and slowly slides down, dragging his teddy bear with him in one hand.
John is the next to get up. His hand automatically goes to the bedside table, feeling around until he has his glasses in his grip. He puts them on, blinks as he tries to adjust to his surroundings, then throws the covers off his body. He joins Michael near the windowsill, both of them looking out of the open window, entranced.
"Doesn’t it sound beautiful?" Michael asks his brother. John only nods, his gaze transfixed somewhere in the distance.
Together, they head to the door of the nursery, accidentally waking up their nanny, the dog named Nana, as they walk past her.
Now, the dog is a smart one, and she knows when there is something not right. She is especially careful when it comes to her charges. When she is woken up by the soft pitter patter of the boys’ footsteps, her instinct screams at her to drag them back into the room and lock the door.
She goes first to John, biting the fabric of his pyjama bottoms before pushing her paws hard on the ground, trying to keep him from going any further. Unfortunately, John is too strong, and he ends up dragging Nana with him. She tries again, this time with Michael. She pulls at his onesie, and tries to step back. Michael simply swats her away with a not now, Nana! before following his brother down the stairs.
It is no use, so Nana does what she has to do. She runs back down the hallway of the second floor and paws at the door located at the very end. It takes a few moments of whining and knocking before the occupant comes to the door.
Wendy opens the door in a white nightgown and her curls in disarray. She rubs the sleep dust out of her eyes before finally giving Nana her full concentration.
“What is it, Nana?” She asks, reaching down to ruffle the dogs fur. Nana barks and leads her to the Nursery. When Wendy sees the empty beds, she starts to panic. She asks Nana where they are, and the dog barks in the direction of the stairs. Wendy doesn’t need to be told twice, and so she runs down the stairs, to the main entrance of the hall and out the open door.
She does not think to wake her parents. There is no time for that.
Where could her brothers have gone? And why have they disappeared this late at night?
She does not mind that she is in just her nightgown, she does not feel the cold air seep into her skin. Her thoughts are on her brothers and only on her brothers.
The streets are quiet, the lights in the lamps are low. The wind howls in her ear and goosebumps rise on her arms.
She looks left and right, wondering which direction they could have gone. A flash of blue catches her eye on the left side of the street before disappearing around the corner, and Wendy runs after it immediately, her bedroom slippers slapping against the pavement.
She rounds the corner, and sees Michael. A burst of speed to her legs allows her to catch up, and she pulls on his onesie to turn him around, her hands going to his shoulders.
“Where have you-” she stops at the look on the boys face. It is not Michael. It is another boy the same age as Michael. His face looks dazed as he carefully extracts himself from her hold on him and continues on his way.
It is then she notices the other children, all in their pyjamas, all heading towards one direction. She attempts to stop another boy, but he looks just as dazed as the one she had mistaken for Michael earlier. When she tries to interrogate him, tries to figure out where they’re all going, he does not respond and simply looks straight ahead. Once released, he continues his journey.
Wendy decides to follow them. Her movements are swift, in contrast to the slow, movements of the boys, as if they were wading through a pool of molasses, their bodies swaying with the wind. She dodges through the crowd of boys. It is almost as if they are all sleepwalking at the time time, connected by some dream.
How are people not noticing this?
It takes a few minutes before she figures out where they are all headed. At the edge of their town is a small, abandoned park that no one ever visits. Now though, it looks as though a large gathering was taking place. She can see a huge fire from the distance, smell the smoke from a mile away, and see the flames rise high into the sky, licking the air.
As she grows closer, she notices the crowd surrounding the bonfire is made up of boys of all ages, and all of them were dancing around the bonfire. She can see them move, their manner animalistic and wild, as they were bathed in the firelight, shadows flickering across their bodies. The dance is otherworldly, something ritualistic, the likes of which she has never seen before. It is filled with jumps, and turns, and the wild waving of arms. She could hear the boys holler and shout as they moved.
Watching the boys, she catches sight of John among them, his pyjama shirt off and his glasses askew.
“John!” she shouts, before breaking into a run. The boys on the streets still walk towards the bonfire, joining in the dance when they get close enough. She does not understand what is happening, but she needs to get her brothers out of there.
She pushes through the crowd, the heat of the fire making her sweat, causing the fabric of her nightgown to stick to her skin. Her slippers are ruined now, made useless by the damp soil beneath her feet. She does not notice any of these things, her thoughts focused entirely on her brothers.
The boys around her behave like barbarians, some of them holding sticks and other objects, banging them against each other to create drum like noises. A few boys do not join in the dance, but stay on the side, slapping overturned pots and pans with the palms of their hands. THe noise is just that to her, noise. But it is obvious that they hear something else.
Still, she is determined as she tries to make her way around them. There must be nearly a hundred of them, some of their faces even look familiar to her, they probably attend the same school as her brothers.
The boys act as if she wasn’t even there, too entranced in the music that only they could hear. They keep bumping into her, shoving her with their shoulders as they move, barely aware that they had hit anyone at all.
“John!” she screams, “Michael! Where are you?” Frustration rises in her as she cannot seem to find them. But they must be here, they must!
Across her, on the other side of the park, she spies a figure through the flickering flame of the bonfire.
He is different from the rest.
He holds a set of panflutes to his lips and he does not dance, merely sways. She sees that he is playing, but she cannot hear any flute music above the din of the pots, sticks and shouts. Aside from a white shirt and trousers, his body is draped in a beautiful cape of red and gold, the embroidery on it so exquisite she can see it in vivid detail even from her distance. His eyes are shut, but his face does not have the dreamy look that the other boys have. If she has to guess, he is the only lucid person in the entire clearing other than her.
Wendy stares longer than she should have, and his eyes snap open and stare directly at her, pinning her to the ground.
She cannot move, so she simply watches him with her eyes wide open. He tilts his head at her, and continues playing the pipes as he makes his way around the bonfire, never taking his eyes off her.
Momentarily, her focus is not on her brothers but him, almost as if she has caught whatever illness the boys have, causing her to feel like she too is in a dream.
There is something fascinating about the boy in the cape, with his pipes on his lips. He looks to be older than her by but a few years, and his features can be described as elvish, his eyes shining with a glint of mischief. He is tall, he is lean, and her heart flutters because he is also very handsome. A flutter of awareness grows inside her belly, a feeling she has not felt before, but which she instinctively knows is attraction.
The boy stops in front of her, mere inches away, and she has to tilt her head up to look him in the eye. Slowly, he removes the pipes and tucks it somewhere in his cloak. His eyes narrow a bit, as if he is trying to figure out why she, a girl, was there.
“Who are you?” He asks her finally, his tone low, sending shivers down her spine.
She licks her lips a bit and swallows, suddenly finding her throat dry, before answering. She does not miss his eyes following her movements. “Wendy. Wendy Darling.”
“And what, Wendy Darling, are you doing here?” his eyes continue to search her face, as if the answers to all his questions are written there. Or as if he was trying to memorize her features.
His questions snap her out of the daze she is in and she gives a small jump in realisation.
John! Michael!
“Oh! Excuse me! I need to find my brothers!” Wendy tells the boy, looking around to see if she can spot them again. She tries to enter the crowd once again, but is stopped by a hand on her wrist.
The boy holds her back and shakes his head. He goes to the edge of the clearing, gently tugging her hand behind him. When they reach the edge, he offers her a log to sit on.
Wendy does not sit. She is too worried about her brothers, and the boys actions are causing her to feel a bit wary.
“Sit,” he says. It comes out like a command, and it comes out naturally. He is a boy used to giving orders. “The effect of the music won’t wear off for some time and your brothers won’t allow you to take them home until then.”
She asks him what he means by that, her nervousness growing by the minute.
He does not answer, but pulls out his pipes and starts blowing on them once again. She hears nothing, but the boys start dancing faster, their actions more frantic. The intensity of the dance grows and grows until the boys start showing signs of strain, some of them tripping in their haste to keep up.
She rushes to the piper boy, and with her hand on his arm, begs him to stop. He stills at her touch, and slowly brings the pipes down to look at her.
The boys have gone back to their earlier speed, still wild but not as frantic. Wendy sighs in relief before turning back to the bow, her brows furrowed in confusion.
“Why would you do that?” She asks, “How are you doing that?”
“The music puts them in a trance and leads them to me. Releases them from their inhibitions. Allows them to tap into their inner desires.” He says, “Your brothers must be amongst them somewhere. Don’t worry, they’ll be fine.”
She is still worried, but she nods. “What music? Why can’t I hear anything?”
He brandishes his pipes, waving it in her face, before tucking them in his cloak once more. “The only people who can hear the music are those I play the music for.”
She cannot believe that such a thing existed, pipes that could only play music for a select group of people. How was it possible? Unless…
Magic!
Her eyes grow wide in amazement. It really must be magic! Such things only happened in stories and yet something magical was happening right now, right in front of her eyes! She felt almost giddy at the realisation. She looked at the boy in a new light. This boy knew magic! He had magic pipes! A smile starts to grow on her face.
“Is it magic?” she asks to make sure. Her delight only grows when he nods, his eyes lit up in amusement. She has so many questions to ask, but a loud yelp near her ear, caused by a boy who had almost fallen on top of another boy, helps her focus on the situation at hand again.
“Wait. Then why are you only playing for boys?”
His smile grows tight and she can see that her constant questions are grating on his nerves. She does not care, she needs her answers. Her hand is still on his arm, so she grasps the material of his cloak and tugs insistently. “Why only boys? And how sure are you that my brothers will be okay?”
He doesn’t shrug her off like she expects. Surprisingly, she feels him lean into her touch. She pulls her hand away is if it was burned and he smirks at her display. He nods his head to the log, silently telling her to sit if she wants her questions answered. She huffs and crosses her arms, but goes and sits. She watches the boys, watches the fire dance, and he sits right next to her, their shoulders touching.
It is a while before he speaks. “I did your town a favor a while back. They refused to pay me for my services. Now, I’m taking what they owe me in another way. One way or another, everyone pays.”
The malice that seeps into his voice startles Wendy. It takes a while for her to comprehend what he is saying. She cannot stop her voice from rising with her shock.
“Pay you for your services? Are you talking about the boys?!” a smug smile is all she gets in return. Oh god, he cannot be serious. “What do you mean to do to them?!” Her hand is back on his cloak, her fingers gripping it so tight her knuckles turn white.
“They will come with me back to my kingdom. Neverland. There they will live, free from all responsibilities of adulthood, free to adventure as much as they please!” He licks his lips and lowers his voice so that it is soft but just as passionate. His face moves closer to hers and he is close enough for her to count his eyelashes. “They will never grow up, never grow old, and they will have fun forever. Isn’t that marvelous?”
There is a glint in his eye, one that flickers with the flames from the bonfire, that she did not notice before. It scares her and draws her in at the same time. His words sound wonderful. Never have to grow up? Have fun forever? It is almost as if the boy could see into her dreams.
But no, she thought. It is still not right to take these boys from their parents! And what about her brothers?
"You said my brothers would be fine!” she exclaims.
“Yes. They will be fine.” He raises his eyebrows and his smile looks so sarcastic it infuriates her. “They’ll be fine in Neverland.”
Anger boils inside of her and, before she knows what she’s doing, she shoves the boy on his back, the force of which causes her to fall on him. She is on top, straddling him, and in any other situation this would have deeply offended her morals, but she is much too angry for that now.
She snarls, and pounds her fists onto him, trying her best to her him. Next to her, the boys continue to dance, nothing breaking them from their trance.
“Let my brothers go, you wicked wicked boy!” she shouts, her fists beating on his chest. He doesn’t seem affected at all. His laughter rings in her ears as he half-heartedly tries to deflect her blows.
“Stop! Stop!” He says finally. He grabs on to her wrists, forcing her to cease her actions. His chest is heaving from his laughter, hers from her anger and actions. She quickly realises their position and jumps up, hoping he does not see the red she feels has bloomed across her cheeks. “You win. I won’t take your brothers.”
She narrows her eyes at him. It can’t be that easy. “You will?” she asks suspiciously.
The boy gives her a smug smile and a shrug. “Yes. But everything comes with a price. The question is, are you willing to pay?”
“What’s the price?” She asks, her voice shaky. Her family is not rich, but perhaps they might have enough…
“A barter. A trade.”
“A trade?” Her brows knit together in confusion. What could she have to offer him?
“Yes. You for your brothers.” He pauses to see her reaction, his smile growing when she parts her lips and gives a small gasp. Then, he hits her with another shot. “You, for all the boys gathered here today.”
“What could you possibly want with me?” She whispers, “What about what the town owes you?”
He cocks his head to the side before answering her with a smile that seems almost soft. “One girl is worth twenty boys. You, however, are worth more than any price this town could pay me.”
She does not answer, not at first. Her eyes are drawn to the boys and a whimper breaks free from her throat when she finally sees John and Michael.
He leans in close to her ear and whispers, “Think about it, Wendy Darling. With me, you never have to grow up. With me, you could have all the adventures you ever dreamed of. If you come with me, your brothers go home safe and sound, both with a bright future ahead of them.”
There was never any question of her giving up her future for theirs. The boy knows she will accept. For the love of her brothers, she will accept.
But on her terms.
Her back straightens and her chin tilts up. The boy seems surprised at the change in her demeanor, but he says nothing and steps back, awaiting her answer.
“On two conditions.” She breaks the silence. “I’ll accept if you follow two conditions.”
“Name your price.” His voice is tinged with curiosity.
“You never take another child from their family again, especially not my brothers. You can find another way to claim any price owed to you.” She says, and takes a deep breath before rushing out her second condition. “You promise never to use those pipes on me, ever. I will not be controlled by them, by you.”
The boy positively beams. In any other situation, Wendy would have released a dreamy sigh. He really was a handsome boy. Still, she can see the mischief in his eyes and the beginnings of a smug grin on his lips.
Handsome, but cocky.
He holds out his hand, curling his fingers in a gesture that calls her to him. She steps forward, but before she gives him her palm, she hesitates.
“Wait. You… You never told me your name,” Wendy says.
The boy grins, his smile full of sharp teeth. Oddly, this does not frighten her. He offers her his hand again, and this time, she takes it.
“Peter.” He says, “Peter Pan.”
*
A little boy wakes up to the most hauntingly beautiful music he has ever heard. He crawls to the window of his room and pushes it open, hanging his head outside to get a better look.
The night is cold and fog has rolled in, heavy on the ground. His street feels eerie and, had it been any other night, he would have shut the windows right away and gone back to bed.
Not this night, no. For the music was too beautiful to resist.
At first, he sees nothing. But then, there! What’s that?
Two figures walk in the shadows. One is draped in red and gold, the other dressed in pure white. Why, the music is coming from them!
The song rises and falls, and the boy finds that his body is moving to it. The music reaches inside of him, wraps itself around his heart, and squeezes. Oh, the longing! The love! How many emotions can one song convey?
The figure in white reveals itself to be a girl, golden curls framing her face, and oh what a beautiful face it was. Eyes closed, she holds a set of pan pipes to her lips, and her body dances to the music she creates.
The figure in the red cloak, a boy who looks on the verge of adulthood, raises his head, his elvish features shining in the moonlight. The boy starts as the figure winks at him before returning his attention to the girl beside him.
She looks at her companion, and places one hand on his shoulder, the other holding the pipes to her mouth. In turn, he grasps her waist and they sway to the music, their dance slow and sweet.
The child sees the girl put away her pipes in the boys cloak, before putting her hand on his other shoulder. He takes it, twirls her around once, before his hands resume their previous position on her waist.
Slowly, they move to the music that still hangs in the air. The boy leans down, the girl leans up, and they share a kiss, perfectly timed with the climax of the song.
The couple, for that is what the child knows they are now, part slowly. They clasp each others hands and walk into the woods opposite his house.
The figures vanish into the mist, and the last of the notes hang in the air before disappearing along with them.