Work Text:
Danny knew a great many things within his brief 6 years of life.
For instance, he knew a great many stories of Peter Pan and the Lost Boys of Neverland. He knew that pixie dust made you fly, but only if you had faith and trust as well. He knew that Jane once thought she was a grown up, but Peter Pan had helped her be the first ever Lost Girl.
And when he had come with Jane on this ‘special holiday’, he learned more things. More fantastic things that set made him dream the most special dreams. Dreams that sent the nightmares crawling away like Hook crawling away from the ticking crocodile.
Because, while he had been on this holiday, he had met Peter and Susan and Edmund and Lucy.
And Peter told stories too. Stories like Danny’s mama did.
Well, not quite like Mama did.
Peter couldn’t tell stories of Peter Pan. When Danny had asked, Peter had said, “It’s not my place to.” And Danny had thought that it was a very grown up thing for Peter to have said.
But Peter told different kinds of stories. Stories of a wintered land called Narnia. Of a great, big, golden lion called Aslan. Of battles that Peter and his brother and sisters had fought in. Of a witch named Jadis, and the strange creatures that dwelt in Lantern Waste and Dancing Lawn.
Danny loved knowing these things too. These special, beautiful, Narnian things.
But there were other things that Danny knew. Things that were not very nice. Things that were ugly and sad and scary.
Things like the sound of the planes flying through the air, dropping bombs that smashed into the houses he and his family walked past during the day. Things like foods they used to eat disappearing from the shelves. That the ‘special holiday’ he and Jane had been sent on not really being a ‘holiday’. Daddy not being home.
But right here, right now, there was a big, massive, ugly thing in Mr. Professor Kirke’s house.
Peter had gotten sick.
Susan had said it was a summer cold. That Peter got them often; every summer in fact. That it came and went and Peter would be fine.
But the last Danny had heard, Peter had a fever.
Danny remembered when Uncle Michael had a fever, and they had to take him to the hospital to make sure he was okay. He hadn’t seen Uncle Michael for a very long time. And when Danny did see Uncle Michael again, the man had been smaller and weaker than before the fever.
And Danny didn’t want Peter become like Uncle Michael.
Normally, if Danny was sad or upset, he would go and bake something with Susan or they would sing her special song together. Or he would ask Jane for a Peter Pan story. Jane was the only one who could properly tell him a Peter Pan story now.
But Jane was out with Lucy and Mrs Macready, and Susan was helping with Peter.
So, Danny sat alone in the library, where he wouldn’t bother anyone. Where he could cry so no one would see him.
And Danny did cry. So forcefully and so loudly, that he did not hear the door open. Or a set of footprints walking his way. In fact, so absorbed was he in his tears, that he didn’t notice the set of legs next to him until a voice from above stated; “My oh my, what have we here?”
Danny’s gaze shot up to the voice, and matched it to the face of Mister Professor Kirke.
The older man with the crazy hair knelt down next to him, while Danny sniffed and hiccupped and tried very hard to stop the tears that would not stop falling.
“My oh my,” Professor Kirke said again. “And what brings tears to such eyes young man?”
Danny looked up at Mister Professor Kirke, and noticed that the man had very nice, kind eyes. And also, that the older man was seated next to him on the floor, instead of standing or sitting in a chair. Danny couldn’t remember the last time a grown up had sat down on the floor with him other than his mother.
So, Danny plucked up what little courage he had, and blurted:
“I don’t want Peter to die.”
The professor’s eyes widened, and his brow furrowed.
“Dear Danny boy, whatever makes you think that Peter will die?” he asked, his tone serious. Danny liked that.
“He has a fever sir,” Danny explained.
Mister Professor Kirke’s eyebrows raised, and he nodded gravely.
“Ah yes, I understand,” the man replied. “Fevers are not something to take lightly Danny. I know that much for sure.”
A shadow had crossed Professor Kirke’s eyes as he said this. But when his gaze turned back to Danny, the shadow vanished like smoke.
“But not to worry Danny,” the professor continued. “I have seen many fevers in my lifetime. I am old enough to have seen many.”
Danny giggled at that.
“And I can tell you truthfully that Peter’s fever is very light. It will break very soon, and then he will be up and about, and will be able to go on many more adventures.”
Danny felt his heart lighten at Professor Kirke’s words. But, he was still a little anxious.
“You’ve seen a lot of bad fevers?” he asked.
The shadow from before appeared again on the elder man’s face.
“Let me tell you a story Danny.”
“I do love stories,” Danny replied eagerly.
Mister Professor Kirke laughed.
“I know you do. I have heard many of the stories you have been told. But now, I want to tell you about my mother. About my mother with a fever, and how an apple from Aslan made her well again.”