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He was curled up in his bed, unable to sleep, when he saw it. A flash of light by the window, quick enough that he could convince himself he’d imagined it, if he chose to. He padded silently out of bed and opened the window. He never had been one to neglect his curiosity.
His room, though he didn’t think of it as his room yet, was three floors up. Sticking his head out, he could see over rooftops as far as the distant outline of what he figured was the bank his father worked at. Gaslights lined the street and the glow was barely enough to make out the cobblestone road. He searched for any evidence of what he had seen. There was nothing but silence and stillness. He closed his eyes and leaned into it, feeling the cold air bite at his nose and cheeks.
The faint sound of bells made him look sharply up, but his inspection of the sky was equally unsuccessful. It wasn’t boring, however. He saw what he thought was a shooting star, and Jupiter was visible tonight. His parents tried to encourage him in all of his interests, but they drew the line at letting him stay up late to stargaze. Reluctantly, he pulled himself inside. He left a crack open in case the sound came again, unafraid of getting a chill during the night.
His bed felt much more welcoming to him now. Where the windowsill had been cold and unmoving, his mattress was warm and comfortable. He couldn’t keep his eyes open if he wanted to. When he slept, without trouble now, he dreamt of flying.
The next time he saw it, he had been trying to suitably arrange his things. This new room was not one he wanted, but he could set his desk up in here for now. If he had his way, he would still be in his brothers’ room, his room. Unfortunately, the argument that had followed his parents decision to move him out had only proven where his stubbornness came from. This was not giving in, he told himself, this was making the best of things.
A movement to his right made him pause, hand stalling mid air. He turned his head and noticed the room had grown dark around him. He listened close. Nothing. The house was asleep.
He slotted the last book into place and, feeling brave, called out a quiet “Hello?” The abrupt sound of his voice made him cringe, but he continued. “Is someone there?” No response. Suddenly feeling rather foolish he reached for another book. He faltered at the sound of chimes, and was reminded of his first night here. A week later, he had nearly forgotten about it.
He took a step towards the window, lighting a candle on his way. He set it on the bedside table and put his hands on the window frame. He looked out. The street was empty. The noise came again. It sounded like a scoff, somehow.
“Over here,” a voice said impatiently. He almost yelped. There, by his elbow, or where his elbow had been before he jumped back, was a small insect. No, not an insect, he amended, more like a figure. It was difficult for him to tell. Looking at it made his eyes water. It was sitting cross legged on the windowsill, a golden ball no bigger than his fist.
“Wha-“ he shut his mouth quickly. He wasn’t going to be rude, even if it had snuck up on him. “Who are you?” he asked slowly.
The figure’s wings brightened, as though it were sitting straighter. “I am Tinker Bell.” She announced this as though he should know exactly who she was.
“Oh,” he said, not wanting to disappoint. “I’m-“
Tinker Bell cut him off. “I already know who you are, Peter,” she tittered.
He froze. She rolled her eyes, or, at least, he got the impression that she rolled her eyes. “How- how do you know- that name?”
“I’m your fairy, of course I know your name!” She laughed at him.
“Oh,” Peter said again. He frowned. “But- but-“ she cocked her head at him. “Oh.” He swayed a little.
After a moment she sprung to her feet and smoothed out what seemed to be a leaf, being worn as a skirt. Fine, gold dust gathered at her feet. She put her hands on her hips and studied him for a moment. “Right.” She nodded to herself. “First things first, we need to do something about all that hair.”
Before he could protest she was at his shoulder pulling his locks. “Hey- hey!” He tried to wave her off. “What do you mean? What’s- ow- wrong with my hair?”
Tinker Bell flew in front of his freckled nose, arms crossed. Her glow dimmed, so as not to blind him. She raised an eyebrow, or, again, Peter got the impression that that was what she was doing. “Do you like it this length?” she asked incredulously.
“Well,” he drew out, fidgeting with his shirtsleeve. “My parents like it this way,” he offered at last.
She stared at him. “Do you have scissors, Peter?”
He chewed his lip. He didn’t exactly feel like obeying his parents at the moment. “In my sewing kit. They’re not very sharp, mind you.” Tinker Bell sat back down on the windowsill. “Wait, wait, what did you mean ‘first’? And what- why are you here?”
“Oh! How silly of me.” She threw her arms out, dust flying in all directions. “I’m here to take you to Neverland!”
Peter gaped. “I- I- I can’t go to- to Neverland!”
She tilted her head. “Why not?”
“What- I...“ he let out a breath. “My family is here and- and, what even is Neverland?”
“Well, what do you want it to be? Do you want to swim with mermaids?” She draped her legs over the edge and leaned back, basking in moonlight. “Fight pirates?” She swung an imaginary sword through the air before dramatically getting stabbed and falling to her death. “Fly?” She darted up again and fluttered her wings in front of him. “You can choose the story, Peter. You can be whoever you want in Neverland.”
It did seem like it could be an awfully great adventure. He always wanted to go on one of those. Still, he was hesitant. “Will- will there be other people?”
“If you like.” Tinker Bell said.
“How do you get there?”
“Second star to the right, and straight on till morning.”
Peter didn’t wonder about the impossibility of these directions. “And I can- I can... cut my hair? And- no one will mind?”
“Nope.”
He considered this. In all honesty, he really wanted to go. His family kept bothering him with this ‘growing up’ business, so he wouldn’t particularly mind a break from them. A break with mermaids and pirates no less. And the thought of getting to be Peter, not just in a game where he’ll have to go back to Wendy after, but actually be Peter, made his heart race. “Okay.” He smiled.
Tinker Bell beamed, and Peter threw an arm over his eyes to avoid getting blinded.
Hacking his hair off was a long process. The scissors weren’t very large, and Tinker Bell wasn’t much help aside from some sprinkled dust to steady him. She was more interested in exploring his room and climbing into jugs. His clothes were mostly no different to his brothers’, ignoring the few dresses at the back of his wardrobe. He looked in the mirror and a young boy with short, curly hair looked back at him. A feeling spread out through his chest, forcing him to take a deep breath. Any hesitation he had felt before vanished when he saw his reflection grinning at him.
He thought about John and Michael, but decided not to wake them. He wanted to go alone, and couldn’t risk alerting his parents. Peter didn’t doubt they would try to stop him.
“Tinker Bell?” He waited for her to extract herself from a tangled mess of thread in his sewing box. “Are you going to teach me to fly?” He wasn’t sure how else he could reach stars.
“Yes! Are you ready to go?” At his nod she went up to him. “Okay. Think lovely wonderful thoughts, and they’ll lift you up,” she said, as if that were all.
He thought of his new haircut, but he came down hard on his heels. Tink laughed openly at him. He scowled at her. “It didn’t work.”
She blew some of her dust on him. “Try again,” she giggled.
He did, thinking of the new playmates to be found in Neverland. To his delight, he floated upwards this time when he jumped. “Oh, how lovely!” He waved his arms and kicked his legs, which only made it more difficult to go in the right direction. It took some getting used to, and after several minutes he still couldn’t quite stay upright. His elbow bumped loudly off the ceiling. He froze.
Down the hall he heard his parents’ bed creak. “Wendy?” his mother called out.
Peter looked at Tink, his hair in his eyes. “Quick!” he mouthed, and gestured frantically at the window. Tink pulled his foot till he was the right way up, and this time he knocked his head. The door to his parents’ room opened. He tried kicking off from his desk and succeeded in knocking a candle to the floor.
“Wendy?” his mother called again, louder.
Peter managed to reach the window by the time his mother knocked on his door. He scrambled out, finally finding momentum, and felt the wind blow against him. It seemed to be tugging him in one direction. Tink landed on his shoulder and started giving instructions in his ear.
Peter’s mother opened the door after her second knock was left unanswered, and found the bed perfectly clean, unslept in. She looked to the window, wide open and letting in cold. She ran to it, fearing the worst, but they were gone, riding the wind and taking directions from stars.