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Oh What It Is

Words: 19037

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Peter Pan/OC, warnings for major character death, not-super-graphic torture, and Pan being as fucked up as he is in OUAT. 

Summary: Owen Flynn doesn't operate alone. He's got a teenager in tow when he hits Captain Hook with his car outside Storybrooke; his daughter. Both Owen and his daughter think they have an idea of what's going on, but many others are pulling the strings on their lives. Pan's grab for the Heart of The Truest Believer has grander consequences than the family that'll be left behind if he succeeds- the Home Office is very real, and very dangerous.

“Dare to explain what you’re leaving for this time?” 

I look up from my phone and frown at the school’s receptionist. She’s frowning, too, the kind of frown that says she thinks I’m the one orchestrating these absences. Fuck, I wish. Skipping school is way better than being dragged off to who knows where and missing it. So I don’t answer, to her annoyance; instead I look pointedly at the note in her hand stating clearly that there’s a family emergency and I’ll be back by tomorrow. 

I’m never back by tomorrow. Something always happens. In China, stalking one guy ended up including a couple train rides and a typhoon- not to mention the plane there and back. In Mexico, we were trapped in the rubble of an ancient temple for thirty hours. And don’t get me started on Manhattan. No matter the excuse, something always seems to go wrong- I don’t expect to be back for any of my quizzes this week, but I always end up studying anyways, because what else am I supposed to do on a six hour stakeout? When Dad interrogates someone for three days because there was more intel than he thought he’d find? 

“Hey,” Dad greets me when I find him waiting in front of the school. The car’s already packed, but I don't ask where we’re going. He drums his fingers on the steering wheel and I dig through my book of riddles and the road just keeps going. “Tamara, do you copy?” He turns the radio on after hours of silence, switching it to one of his secure channels. We never listen to music. Sometimes I wonder why he brings me. 

“Hey, Knight’s in the bathroom, make it quick.” 

“You have him, then?” Knight is a familiar term. Tamara made it up as a code. He's one of Dad’s biggest targets, also known as Neal Cassidy, Baelfire, Benjamin Darling. There's little traces of him dating back two hundred years, and when Dad’s partner Tamara seduced him, he admitted to knowledge of magic. When is a mind like a fairytale? When it’s made up. Following my dad around all the time in search of it, I’ve seen some pretty strange things, and I know that my grandpa somehow died from it, but I’m not sure I fully get it. “We’re four hours away.” Oh, no. I groan at this update, and get a sharp look, but Tamara's laugh crackles over the radio. 

“I think you’ll enjoy this one finally, Robin, we’re meeting the son.” 

“Okay, I’m cutting you off there, how close are you?” Dad interrupts. I roll my eyes and go back to my book. What can’t talk but will reply when spoken to? “Any other updates?” 

He isn't a cop. He's like a vigilante or something, working for an organization called the Home Office, trying to seek and destroy magic. He wants me to follow in his footsteps, too, but. He doesn’t know the numbers I’ve memorized. 

That would change things a bit. “Storybrooke?” I read off a sign when four hours have passed and the sun has set. Dad hands me his wallet, and I swap his driver’s license. Owen Flynn becomes Greg Mendell, the cheesiest name I could think of when he asked my opinion. My name changes to Robin Mendell, though I did campaign for keeping my real name to make the pun louder and clearer. Dad said it would make his disguise too easily broken through. Our real licenses, I tuck into an old envelope from Sears. Even if our car was searched, it would probably be ignored, treated as trash. Our car has never been searched. We continue driving along the road when suddenly there’s a figure in the headlights- 

“Nine-one-one, what’s your emergency?” 

“My dad just crashed his car, oh fuck,” I gasp, blinking against the darkness and finding smoke in front of me. the hood is crumpled, a branch has gone through the window. “We’re um- we just passed this sign, for Storybrooke?” 

“I’m sending responders your way, there’s a hospital in Storybrooke; can you describe the scene for me?” 

“I don’t know,” I sob, and then turn to my dad and sob again at the sight of him. “He’s unconscious, and bleeding everywhere, and the airbags-” 

“Ma’am, please breathe; what does the car look like?” 

“Like it’s about to catch fire,” I decide, and try to wrench my door open. There's broken glass everywhere, and I start to hear sirens as I fight with my seatbelt. My phone, dropped in my lap, makes some noise, but I stay focused on escaping. Is Dad even breathing? There’s too much smoke to really tell. Next thing I know, I’m wrapped in a shock blanket in the back of an ambulance and Dad is still bleeding. They make me sit in a curtained off area of the emergency room, alone. 

“Hi,” a blonde woman quietly greets me after nearly an hour. “I’m Emma Swan, the sheriff,” she continues, “what’s your name?” 

I go to answer honestly, but isn’t Tamara going to be here soon? “Robin.” The only way I know how to contact her is with the radio in the car. 

“Robin, you and your dad were pretty hurt,” she tells me. Like I don’t already know. “Is there anything you can tell me about what happened, or about your health insurance, or anything?” I tell her we don’t have health insurance, and that I saw a figure and a bright light before we crashed. The headlights, obviously, reflecting off whoever we hit. Wait- we hit someone, didn’t we? “He’ll be okay, and your dad will, too.” How? we must have been going over forty. I don’t ask, but there’s no way someone could have survived being hit by a car at that speed. The sheriff thanks me and leaves me to sit for another eternity. I wish I had even my books, or homework. I sleep in the emergency room, and when I wake up, I’m allowed to visit Dad while he sleeps before I’m escorted to an inn and diner. The car is wrecked, but I’m allowed to dig through it and bag up all our belongings, which sit in my hotel room with me, and while I’m still alone and scared, I’m not bored anymore. 

“Robin, you said?” A waitress at the diner smiles at me. She can’t be much older than I am, still filling her features in young adulthood. “I’m Ruby.” 

I just nod, avoiding conversation for a list full of reasons. Thankfully, Tamara calls my dad’s phone before the waitress can continue trying to talk to me. Her name in his phone is just “Her” for maximum strangeness. “Finally, what’s going on?” she asks. 

“It’s Robin,” I tell her, keeping my voice low. “He’s in the hospital.” 

“What?” she shrills, “I’ll be there in a couple hours-” 

“He’s fine, I know you two have a plan with the Knight,” I tell her, though it crushes my heart to say. I’m allowed to complain, allowed to moan and groan and gripe until the day’s out- but I can’t mess with their business. I did, once, when I was younger, and, well. It didn’t end too nicely. Not that many things do, of course. “We got into a car accident, and they’re keeping him for a couple weeks,” I report. 

“This wasn’t part of the plan,” Tamara admits, which sends my heart right into my throat. “They won’t be happy.” 

“I-” I gasp. I don’t know what to say, really. “Wait, maybe-” 

“You shouldn’t have told me,” she deadpans, and hangs up. I stand quickly, too quickly, and rush towards the exit. Ruby asks me what the hell I’m doing, I still have my computer open on the counter, but it’s the last of my worries. The air bags did some damage, as did the crash in the first place, but I go as quick as I can to the hospital and collapse at Dad’s beside, apologising profusely. 

“Hey, hey, hey, talk to me,” Dad suddenly whispers, awake but clearly drugged to hell. I hand him his phone and just cry. Everything in the last twenty four hours, I just let out. It’s horrible. The fear, the pain, the dread of what I know will come next. Dad said, when he sent me, that he only spoke with the Home Office through code, and Tamara was one of the only two members he’d ever met in person at that point. The other didn’t have a name, his recruiter and boss. He never got to know the mysterious man like I did, and insisted as he took me away that I’d be fine once they briefed me on the importance of the mission. I was briefed, yes, but I don’t want Dad to be briefed. Because it isn’t some meeting with a man in sunglasses explaining how horrible magic is. I was young, strong. What if they kill him? 

Dad doesn’t listen to me, and I stay by his side as much as he tolerates in his recovery. Weeks pass- my school moves me to online classes, finally tired of all the odd absences and now this. Ruby hovers and asks about what I'm learning like she’s never taken calculus before. 

It seems like forever before they let Dad come to the diner and stay with me. He seems fine, though, like the Home Office didn’t actually care about his slip up. I check often and annoyingly about how he’s doing. Finally, Tamara arrives and sneaks into our room to talk and give me a hug. It’s weird, I’ll admit, to be close with my insane dad’s insane girlfriend. Still, she’s nice. Nicer than the rest of the Home Office. I’m often lookout on their missions, so I place myself around town to do homework, making it normal for me to be somewhere strange and alone. They talk business and magic and overanalyze photos and videos and the car crash, finally asking me to camp outside a building near the bay. I'm fine with that, sitting on a dock and filling out sudokus, trying to pretend like I don't hear someone screaming inside, or gunshots. Tamara runs up to me and drags me away with Dad to a clearing in the forest before excusing herself. 

“What’s this?” I try, unnerved by her behavior. Dad frowns, head tipped down, and kneels on the ground. “Dad?” 

“Your grandfather,” he finally says. “My father, he’s buried here.” 

I swallow nervously, and hazard, “why?” 

He gestures, so I sit on the ground next to him. “When I was really young, we used to camp, my dad and I; we had so much fun, seeing all these beautiful forests and mountains everywhere we went. 

“One trip up here in Maine, a storm comes through and our truck is damaged, so we try and hike to find help, and suddenly there’s this town that we both swore wasn’t there before, Storybrooke. We were welcomed, but it was a strange town, it seemed like the same thing happened every day we stayed there. We were in Granny’s Diner, the same one we’re in now, and one evening the mayor had us over for dinner. I had just lost my mom, your grandma, and the mayor for some reason- she wanted to adopt me. Dad said we should leave, that it was the last straw of how strange the town was, but suddenly we were stopped, and he was arrested. He told me to run, and I never saw him again. 

“I ran from the mayor telling me to stay and be her son, and was able to contact the police. They escorted me back here to search for my father; strangely enough, though, the whole town was gone, as quickly as it had appeared. Coming back here now, I was sure of the magic; Regina, Granny, they haven’t aged a day. But Regina insisted that he left.” He rests a hand on the ground under his knees. “But here he is: she killed him.” Why? How? Who could be so desperate for a son that they would abduct him and kill his father? I swipe at my tears, and noticing them, Dad pulls me into a hug. 

“I’m sorry about your father,” Tamara speaks into the quiet, and my dad looks up at her but I don't. 

“Me too,” he replies with voice lower than usual. It rumbles through my shoulders and calms me, so I duck my head lower into his chest. “Did the folks back at the Home Office know anything about that thing?” 

“Yeah, they did,” Tamara whispers, “and you’re never gonna believe what it does.” 

Storybrooke’s mines are dark from my perspective, keeping watch from a bush while my dad, Tamara, and a man who doesn’t introduce himself step in. Something explodes, shaking the ground and my head, but they step out intact before I can panic and run in. The stranger splits, but the rest of us keep watch over the mines for a while longer. 

“That’s Regina, with the dark hair,” Dad mutters when Sheriff Swan and another woman duck into the mines. The sheriff leaves and comes back with a group, trailed by Knight’s prepubescent son. “Okay; stay with Tamara, I'll be right back,” Dad tells me, though Tamara is the one who nods in understanding. They seem more tense than usual, and her gaze is a little unfocused while we wait behind a building. Another explosion sounds, but she seems unworried about it, so I just keep waiting until Dad comes around the corner with Knight’s son in tow. Tamara stands but I balk- this isn’t right- 

Tamara grasps my arm tightly and helps my dad drag the kid towards the dock while I stutter, “Dad, what the fuck are you doing?” When I should have asked that question a long time ago. We approach the water with shouts for Henry, the kid, coming up behind us, but then Dad throws something in the water and a vortex appears out of thin air and threatens to swallow the dock. The water takes on a greenish glow, spinning dangerously, and I’m tugged by my arm into it, and huge alarms are ringing in my head; my dad has kidnapped a child, and now physics is breaking, and stupid Tamara pulled me into it, and I can’t see, and we are going to die. 

I was fourteen. and tired. For so many years, I had followed my dad blindly around the world, telling him when there was someone walking towards him on the street, approaching strangers and pointing them towards my disguised father asking for help. In that time my interest in what he swore could never be a coincidence had waned. His only grew, and it wasn’t contagious. it was my birthday, and I was supposed to bring candy to school for my friends to celebrate, but Dad was called in the morning, and we had to go. Only a short flight later, we were in San Diego. I swapped my dad’s license- since I didn’t have one yet- and sat in the blistering heat all day with him, watching a back road from the roof of a warehouse. We were nowhere near the beach, and though there was a view, all the roofs around reflected the sun too well. Instead I kept my head down and tried to nap to conserve energy. But I was so tired in every way that I couldn’t sleep; I was dehydrated, hungry, frustrated that I had to celebrate my birthday with my dad on an ugly old roof away from my friends. The sun continued to beat down on us, but Dad didn’t say anything. He could be so patient with the outings. Missions. Sometimes I could too, but it was my birthday- goodie bags assembled with care sat in the back of my mind and at home on the kitchen counter. My stomach growled for the millionth time and I decided that was the last straw, that I at least had to do something. Move. So I called a bathroom break, slipped out a broken window on the first floor, and ran in the opposite direction of his lookout. 

There weren’t many houses nearby- I had to run quite some distance, hoping my dad wouldn’t notice, before I spotted a group of kids playing with some adults watching on. Gasping for air in the dry heat, I went up to the adults and begged for some water. It was beyond exhilarating- I felt free, in control, for the first time in my life. They called the police, of course, who came and brought me to a dim station. They asked me so many questions, and I was finally able to voice some of my anger. My dad kept travelling, I told them, pulling me out of school to sit in places for hours at a time. They asked me about my mom, but I didn't know anything. That phone call changed my view of the world more than magic ever could, I think. 

“Penelope?” The voice on the other end asked. I said yes, wary but excited- everyone I knew always had two parents, even if they were divorced. Some of my classmates had fathers in jail, but at least they could visit. “Oh, sweetheart, I shouldn’t have let him keep you, but you can’t stay with me.” Crying, because what if it really was my mom and she didn’t want me, I asked her what she meant. “I’m in jail, Penelope, or I would run to you with open arms; I'll be released in about five years, earlier if I work extra hard, and I’ll come get you, I sweat.” I told her no, I couldn’t keep running around with Dad for another second. “You don’t have to, Sweet Pea,” she insisted, “and I’ll be here for you whenever I can.” It wasn’t fun but I sobbed on a bench until Dad arrived, shouting at the officers for dragging me off. In the end I went back with him. Always the same. 

We went home, my dad and I. Just a little place with a good enough school nearby. Dad told me again about the Home Office, about magic, to convince me to care about his missions as much as he did. The damage was done, though: I had already taken control, even though I had no clue what the woman who called me Sweet Pea was in jail for. It was so relieving and exciting to see a chance at another life, different from how boring and unpredictable mine was. He got a call from the Home Office that night and led me to the front door despite my protests. 

The Boss was a tall man from my perspective then, imposing, and dressed smartly. He wore sunglasses despite the time of day and easily forced me into the back of his dark car. A scratchy bundle of fabric fell across my face, and there was a sharp pain in my thigh, just as I passed out. 

The water breaks, and I can breathe again. There’s salt where it shouldn't be that blinds and chokes me. Dad helps me to a beach- the dock is gone, so I don't know where we are- and then pulls away to stop the boy from running off. 

“Slow down, pal, you got nowhere to go.” 

Tamara sighs and stands beside me, smiling at Dad. “Mission accomplished,” she declares. I look around and take everything in to keep myself from doing something rash like before. For one, it’s nighttime. For another, we’re on a beach with a jungle in front of us. For yet another, what the hell is the mission? Henry’s a kid, and we just almost died. I turn to ask my dad when Henry pipes up. 

“Are you sure about that? Because soon, my mom’s coming to get me; both of them.” 

Dad steps forward and crouches to his level. “You might want to take a look around, kid; you see any clock towers?” The smile on his face is tense, unfamiliar to me. “We’re a long way from Storybrooke.” 

“It doesn’t matter!” Henry quickly yelps, “my family’s been to the Enchanted Forest before, and they can get here again.” Enchanted Forest? I open my mouth to start making some long overdue demands, but a howl cuts through the night, chilling my bones. Pins and needles spread from my sandy palms to the back of my neck. It reminds me of something, I just don’t know- 

“Well, we’re not in the Enchanted Forest, either.” 

“Passing along the favor, then?” 

Tamara whirls on me for speaking. Dad catches my drift and his smile turns to a cold scowl before he snaps, “this is different.” 

“This is mimicry,” I snarl and Tamara grabs my arm again. 

“This is Neverland.” Henry asks if she’s certain of that, too, and she continues, “it’s the mother lode of magic, of course we’re here to destroy it.” How could my dad do this? What happened in Storybrooke? Why isn’t this just stalk somebody and then report them to the Home Office? Dad’s not a fighter. I’m sure of it. “Owen, the communicator, to contact the Home Office?” 

Dad doesn’t flinch at either name drop the way I do. He just reaches into his pocket and hands her a large phone. He doesn’t look at me. “An office, in a jungle, huh?” Henry remarks. “Who works there?” 

“Who we work for is not your concern, kid,” Dad tells him, “just know that they take care of us.” Henry asks how we’re getting home after they destroy magic, and Dad just says, “we don’t ask questions; we just believe in our cause,” and hysteria begins to invade my steely anger. Finally, Dad looks at me, dread in his frown. He opens his mouth to reprimand me. 

“I should have told them everything,” I bite out, “back in San Diego, I covered for you, did you know that? Even though I ran, I couldn’t go through with it when they really started asking?” Tamara punches the phone next to me, unconcerned. “And you,” I laugh at my memory of the Boss, freely, terrified and lost and so tired of this way of life, “You never apologized, and now you’ve kidnapped this kid for no reason!” I don’t realize I'm yelling until Henry flinches. “Dad, they’re going to kill him.” I don’t say how I know, don’t expressly reference the Boss, but Dad rushes towards me and grips my shoulder roughly. I lose sight of Henry and when all I find is my dad’s grimace I remember who wrapped those bags of candy for my friends. I remember who raised me; quietly, enthusiastically, as he does anything else. 

“Fix the communicator,” he snaps and turns me to his partner. Silently, I take the phone and open the battery compartment. 

Sand falls out. 

“Good thing you don’t ask any questions,” Henry says, his voice trembling a bit; he glances between the three of us with sudden nerves. He’s justified, I know, for a million reasons, the most recent of which being my naming of his death sentence. Or maybe he’s scared we’ll be stranded. Dad turns and shoves him towards the jungle. 

They had me tied down to a metal table, one light in the room hanging right over my head and blinding me. I tried to call for help, but the man that came in was armed and stood by the door. The Boss entered next; when he was done, I swore I'd never leave my father’s side again. I swore on life and limb and only stretched my promise once in the time since, when he was in the hospital. 

Dad lights a fire while Henry reminds me of myself- piping up with shaky insults every once in a while because it’s all he has. Defeated, terrified, and guilty from my outburst and the memories, I sit on a log with my head in my hands and don’t look up when there’s rustling leaves and footsteps. 

“Who are you?” 

“Oh, we’re the Home Office,” says a moderately young voice. My head jerks up and I find a group of boys in cloaks with sticks and messy hair gathered at the edge of the clearing. “Welcome to Neverland,” the boy at the front, tall and carrying not just a branch but a club, continues. his teeth bare in a smirk. 

“The Home Office is a bunch of teenagers?” Tamara asks, and Dad frowns at her and shakes his head, Because we both know it isn’t. I mutter so but thankfully, no one seems to hear- especially the impostors. 

“They’re not teenagers,” Henry disagrees, though it isn’t the most important thing. “They’re the Lost Boys.” 

“Look at that,” the leader pronounces, tilting his head so his ratty blonde hair falls over his eyes. Henry asks why they want to destroy magic. “Who said we’re going to destroy magic?” Tamara argues that it was the mission, but the leader doesn’t react visibly except to look at her through his lashes. “So you were told, yes, now; the boy, hand him over.” 

I’d be lying if I pretended to expect her reaction. Whatever I know about her, it’s mostly that she’s insane and tolerable. Tamara steps in front of Henry and declares, “Not until you tell us the plan- for magic, for getting home.” The leader’s lips twitch whlie I watch him, tense and confused. 

“You’re not getting home.” 

Fuck. 

“Then you’re not getting the boy.” 

“Of course we are.” 

The leader chuckles, and suddenly the wind picks up and a- a dark- shadow? A cloud? It engulfs my father, and he screams, suddenly collapsing, right in front of me. My feet rush towards him of their own shocked accord as Tamara tells Henry to run, but sound goes a bit far away. It's like I’m underwater again, apologizing for everything I've ever done, but Dad doesn’t answer me. He just lays there, and when I set my shaking hand on his neck, I find no pulse. He's pale, cold, stiff. dead. I blink, but my vision narrows, and all I can do is cry over my father’s corpse. 

Tamara’s gasps wake me. She's across the clearing, slapping the ground for my attention, but I don't go to her, shocked by the cold still under my hands and the arrow sticking out of her shoulder. A figure approaches her, one I saw only briefly around Storybrooke, but he’s dressed in leather now. 

“So where is he?” Mr. Gold asks her, either ignoring or not noticing me. She gasps. “There, there, I'll help you speak,” he whispers, and waves his hand, and then the arrow disappears into thin air. She thanks him, again acting against what goals she’s voiced before. Magic. It’s real, and it just saved her life, and selfishly, suddenly, she doesn’t seem to mind it anymore. Even if Dad is my only point of reference for such a subject- and I trust him far too much- I still find my fingers curling with old anger. “Where is Henry?” Mr. Gold asks. “They killed him?” 

Tamara looks around, at me again, and answers, “I don't know; I told him to run, and he did.” He asks where. “The jungle. Pan wants him, he’s behind all of this; look, Mr. Gold, I didn't know who I was working for, I'm sorry about Neal, I'm so sorry.” she sobs as the man kneels in front of her and mutters something I can’t overhear. “Can you forgive me?” She asks, but he shakes his head and then- and then just as quickly as he saved her life, he ends it, reaches into her chest like she’s made of nothing but mist and pulls out something glowing and red and crushes it to dust in his hands as she collapses. Tamara is dead. My dad- my dad is dead, still under my tense grip. I know I'm next. 

Mr. Gold steps over to me and I close my eyes, continue to hold onto my dad’s sleeve. “Did you- love him?” 

Surprised, I answer quickly, honestly, “yes, yes.” 

“He did horrible things, hurt people, and you loved him?” 

I tried to ignore it, the gunshots and screaming. When it did happen. Dad’s not- he wasn’t a fighter. “He’s my dad,” I say, throat tight, and let out a sob, bending over him farther, burying my tears in his cold back. Mr. Gold seems satisfied to listen for now. “I just wanted everything to be normal, no magic, no Home Office,” the words come out with a bite, like a curse. With a shiver, I continue, “I just wanted to go to school and go home and be with my mom and dad, not run around and get trapped underground and-” he crouches, and I stop myself from running as I want to. “Are you going to kill me?” I ask. He shakes his head. “You killed Tamara.” 

“And she killed my son,” he mutters. “Death is contagious.” slowly he reaches out, and I lean away, afraid that he lied and is going to kill me like he very obviously can. But instead, he reaches past me and lays his hand on Dad’s shoulder and then stands. “You can come with me and survive, or be taken by Pan.” 

“I don’t want to leave him yet, he should- they should be buried.” 

“Taken by Pan, then,” Mr. Gold nods, and walks into the forest. Before he’s fully past the treeline, though, he calls back, “would you have left him, given the chance?” I pick up a stick and start digging. 

“I was given the chance. I couldn’t, not in a way that stuck.” 

The sun doesn’t rise. I work for what must be hours, hacking at the earth and hoping I'm really in Neverland where there probably aren’t any gas lines, and occasionally feed the fire for warmth and light. I don’t know who Pan is other than Peter Pan, but it doesn’t seem too farfetched based on what I’ve seen today. or, tonight. In Neverland. Besides, I am my father’s daughter, despite my misgivings about it. Finally there’s enough room for two in the grave, so I lay them down facing each other because she wasn’t my mom, wasn’t maternal at all, but they loved each other. Dad always loved talking to her. As I cover them with dirt, I sob, and as I mark out the grave, I lay down next to it and cry with dirt on my face and in my clothes and under my nails. For long hours I just cry. If I get back to Storybrooke, or to America at all, I’ll be put in a group home for the next few months, and then tossed out on the street. Even when Mom is released from prison, she has nothing. At least I have her. Again- if I get back. 

“What’s your real name?” The voice comes from above, sharp and low and accented, and when I look up at the trees, there sits a figure that I can't see because the fire has died in my anguish. I don't answer. “The Home Office, they had records of you under Robin Mendell, but your father’s name wasn’t his, so I can’t imagine that’s yours.” 

“Who are you?” I ask with a voice much more raw and weak and it usually is. The figure shuffles a bit and then falls, and I scoot away but the young man suddenly visible in the moonlight lands on his feet. 

“I asked you first,” he says, putting his hands on his hips. He's dressed strangely like the boys earlier, loose, torn clothing and moccasins. A leather belt hangs from his shoulder. For the life of me I don’t know how he got into the tree above me and I won’t begin to parse how he landed so easily in the dirt. The very air around him seems thin. Off. 

“That is my name.” 

In a way. “Pretty.” I bristle, and he cuts a dangerous smile like the curl of a knife. Whether or not he meant it as an insult is entirely too vague. “But that isn’t what I asked.” 

“It’s Penelope,” I yield in the face of the threat. “Penelope Flynn.” 

He sways a bit from foot to foot before leaning forward and telling me, “I’m Peter Pan.” Right. Fucking knew it. Barely, I don't let out any more sobs or run or really do anything as he stalks towards me, Looking over the dirt on my face with a gaze I can feel more than watch. The closer he gets, the clearer his features are; shadowed eyes, harsh brows, smart and bony all around but with the stance of someone like the Boss. Someone who might shove me in the back of a car and not take an extra breath. “Do like games, Penelope?” I try to keep my own shoulders straight and don’t answer. Taken by Pan, then? 

“What happened to the Home Office?” 

Pan- and I suppose I’ve never noticed that my name is similar to that of a book character without a pig nose- shrugs and steps away. “That doesn’t matter,” he says, “unless, of course...” frustratingly enough he trails off. As he walks out of the clearing, he calls, “come on, Penelope, there’s food waiting.” I swore I would never leave my dad, but my vow has likely expired with him. Nothing more can be done. So I crouch and draw a flower in the dirt beside my other basic grave markings before following the strange young man into the jungle. 

Food is meat off a spit. There's a pile of knives, and I’ve eaten stranger things in arguably less strange places, so I carve a bite for myself and stare at the fire for a while. My hands long for a pen and paper. If this were a riddle, maybe I might have solved it by now. Peter Pan either is or isn’t working with the Home Office; I can’t discern which is worse. Without knowing what he wants and why, I remember Henry. If Pan is working for the Home Office then Henry is dead. If he isn’t, then what? Without that piece of information I can’t move forward. It’s why I asked him such a thing. The Home Office to me begs caution, and I won’t offend my own experience by ignoring it. 

“Girls are kind of rare here.” Someone sits beside me. “I’m Bee.” 

“Robin,” I answer without thinking. A code name is useless here. Bee, ten at the oldest, grins with crooked teeth and cuts himself some meat. “It’s kind of in the name, Lost Boys.” 

“Oh, there’s been girls, just not many.” I narrow my eyes at the fire- that doesn’t make any sense, for one thing to follow the stories if nothing else does. Neverland is dark, Peter Pan a murderer, Lost Boys not so limited. “Adults are kind of rare, too.” At least that still applies. Trix are for kids, I know. “But now there’s like, six?” He laughs. “Seven, I don’t know.” This catches my attention even more. Mr. Gold- how could I be so stupid? 

“I’ve only seen one, a man named Mr. Gold.” The grave flashes behind my eyes and the log beneath me seems to roll forward, the very ground stolen away. 

“Rumplestiltskin,” I’m brought back quickly enough and look away from the fire. Bee nods, and takes a large bite, but continues to speak through it, pieces of meat flying everywhere. “Yeah, he’s here with all those other adults, trying to get Pan, but they don’t know.” He laughs again. “Pan never fails!” 

“Be quiet,” snaps the boy from earlier, the tall one. He stands from his log on the other side of the spit and bares his teeth at Bee, who yelps and scrambles up and away. I watch him clamber up a tree and hear laughter, and something in the back of my mind connects the command with his name. “Hey,” the boy continues, and I turn to find him much closer and bearing a wooden cup. “Take this,” he orders, handing it to me. Water. He sits where Bee did and rests his club over his knees. “You’ll get a name soon enough.” 

“I already have a small collection,” I remark, but frown once the water is gone. Some webcomic about proliferating standards comes to mind. “Penelope, Robin, thank goodness I don’t have a middle name. What a mess.” The boy chuckles, but it’s lighter than before. Fuck, my heart goes to my throat at the memory, and I nearly vomit. 

“I also have two names: Felix and Slightly,” he admits. I just watch the fire and try to breathe as his voice returns to focus. I ask which I’m supposed to use; he answers Slightly, and I nod. Slightly it is. Fuck. I close my eyes and rub at my brow with dirty, meaty fingertips, my head pounding with grief and terror. What does taken by Pan even mean? I still have a living mother to return to, even if I can’t go to her yet. As far as I know, she’s nice. Yeah, she abandoned me as a child, and yeah, she did something awful enough to end up in prison, but I do need something to hold on to. 

Pan makes his presence known somehow, catching everyone’s attention by the fire. Slightly only watches the spit while almost everyone else’s head turns, but his lips twitch visibly. The paradoxically silent and obvious footsteps pause for a second directly behind the two of us. “Making a friend?” 

“No,” Slightly answers, nearly interrupting him. Pan huffs and sits on my other side. “Don’t you-“ 

“Maybe I want to know what’s so interesting about Penelope here.” He knocks his knuckle against the wooden cup and it fills with water before my eyes. “You might be clever, but that could have just as easily been a misstep.” 

“It’s very difficult to interest Pan,” Slightly murmurs. They speak so strangely, like they’re jumping between narration and dialogue instead of really just talking. “Like a goldfish.” 

Pan grips the log next to my hip and leans over me to bare his teeth at Slightly, who bares his teeth right back which only prompts Pan forward, so I’m caught under the pressure of Pan’s shoulder dragging against my collarbone. He doesn’t lean back until Slightly does, but he doesn’t lean back entirely, remaining damn near. “I'm waiting, then,” he declares, face only inches from my own. I gulp, and his gaze flies to my throat, or what he can see of it from his perspective. If he’s speaking to me, it isn’t immediately obvious, his expression trancelike for a minute. 

“Okay,” I say, which doesn’t make any sense but his eyes clear and his slow frown says he has no clue what I’m talking about but I don’t, either. Up close, with the fire, his eyes are still dark and his brows are still sharp, face so defined. He quirks a brow, and then nods. As if that was answer enough. I suppose it could be. Something must call his attention away because he stands and leaves an eerie vacuum beside me when he disappears into the night without a step taken. In the wake of him I struggle to breathe and Slightly, the asshole, seems to be holding in another laugh. 

I settle into the deep hollow of a tree and don’t sleep, but it feels safer than out in the open. My body shouts at me in exhaustion. Something’s missing, though, my heart just healed enough from losing my dad that I’m between passing out and settling down. He never told me outright that his line of work could be dangerous. The only threat I witnessed was the Home Office, though I doubt he saw it that way. It hurts even to remember the things that frustrated me about my dad; surrounded by sniffling from around the camp, I feel trapped. Like I’ll never get to see my mother. Slightly, Pan, and Bee all made it seem normal. Like it’s just the way of things. But Pan is clearly the one who got us here, and I'm certain he can get me back. If he so wishes. 

The sun still doesn’t rise. 

I step out of the tree when someone restarts the fire and begins to cook. It’s as good an opportunity as any to warm my own frozen joints to the tune of fat spitting in the licks of flame. The ghostly pale boy cooking introduces himself tersely as Nibs and lets me try turning the spit. I'm not very good at it, and my arms waver more with physical weakness than with grief and nerves and chill. Nibs laughs with the right hush of early morning and then stops, expression carefully blank, looking behind me even with his just-unfocused eyes. 

“This looks brilliant,” Pan says, coming up next to me and nodding to the spit. His voice is almost as identifiable as his atmosphere; my hands begin to twitch with shivers even though I’ve already warmed them up. “Where’d you get it?” 

“The eastern lake,” Nibs answers, his buck-toothed smile returning. Pan congratulates him and flicks his hands; suddenly a length of fabric appears in his grip, billowing dangerously close to the flames. If he offers, I take too long to respond, so he tosses it over my shoulder and the ties of the evident cloak twist together on their own. Okay. At the very least, I won't freeze to death. It’s yet to be determined if he’ll kill me some other way or if I’ll simply suffocate in the odd space around him. Nibs and I watch as he disappears into the jungle. “You alright?” 

“I-“ what a question! My dad died in front of me, on this island, because of Peter Pan and his Lost Boys, yesterday, or a couple hours ago, or when is the sun gonna rise? I sit and bury my head in my hands, rubbing at my eyes. Nibs continues to turn the spit. “I have no way to tell if anyone’s about to kill me. Are you?” It’s a dumb question. Nibs doesn’t answer, and Slightly appears as I sigh and open my eyes. Or swaggers, more than appears, between two trees and bearing his club. 

“He likes you,” he says vaguely, and sets the club down to help with the fire. 

“Who?” I ask even though it couldn’t be anyone but Pan; Slightly just looks at me for a moment, so I shake my head. “I’m going to die, aren’t I.”

“Pan isn’t going to hurt you.” 

“Because I have a cloak.” Both lost boys nod. Great. 

“Robin?” My head spins so quick I pull a muscle; there Henry stands half out of a tent, and I hurry over to him. “What’s going on? Did Pan trick you, too?” 

“I don’t know yet.” When he shivers, guilt and hot shame wash over me- my own father is responsible for this. Maybe it’s better I’m still here, and I should try to make up for his mistakes. “Are you okay?” 

Henry shivers again, “I’m fine.” He looks around at the tents, the fire with Slightly and Nibs staring at us, the jungle, my new cloak. “Have you really been working for Peter Pan this whole time, while Tamara manipulated my dad?” 

My face runs suddenly warm but given the Lost Boys’ careful gazes, it’s probably best that I didn’t immediately hand over Pan’s gift. Who knows what kind of consequences that would’ve had. We walk to the other side of the fire. “The Home Office is real,” I tell him quietly, “it’s an organization that tries to find and destroy magic whenever possible.” He frowns, and points out what Slightly said when we first met him, but I shake my head. “I don’t know anything about Peter Pan, but I know the Home Office all too well. I’ve been to their headquarters.” 

“Are they- would they do what you said, if they took me there instead of here?” 

“Probably, but I also don’t know if this is any better,” I answer honestly. “Peter Pan arranged for us to come here, not the Home Office.” Henry nods. “They do have their eye on Storybrooke, though, especially after the last few weeks.” 

“My moms can take ‘em,” Henry decides, and because he’s eleven or something, I agree quietly and leave it there. Slightly gives me a look I can’t read through the flames; Nibs just makes Henry help with the spit. 

“Did you not like my gift, Penelope?” A vacuum that’s beginning to get familiar forms when I lean in to the flames to rub my hands together. “Poor Henry’s shivering and you didn’t think it was good enough to give him.” Pan stands with his moccasins almost buried in old ash from past fires, the light turning his bare ankles brown and red. 

“I didn’t think,” I excuse, and go to unfasten the ties when they bind further under my hands, nearly swallowing my fingers. My mouth goes dry and I worry it’ll keep going, grip my throat, so I jam my hands above the collar. Pan doesn’t laugh when the ties stop, but his eyes do when I look up in panic and shame. Like he would have kept going if I hadn’t reacted. 

“No, Henry, you need a cloak of your own, yes?” He suggests, stepping between us and sending a bolt of fear down my spine. It’s an innocent enough idea but my heart pounds. “We can make you a new one.” I nod and decide to never make such a mistake again. Or at least try. It seemed wise- but maybe that’s the problem. Didn’t he ask if I like games? He leads me and Henry into another clearing with tools laid around in the dirt. “In fact,” he continues, “why don’t you make it together, so Penelope can approve of it.” 

I feel the obligation to apologize, but don’t say anything. Henry is quiet when Pan leaves. “I thought your name was Robin.”

“It is.” 

“Oh.” Neither of us know how to sew, but we begin to figure something out among the fabric scraps and sticks and twisted stems. The other Lost Boys begin to wake for breakfast but neither of us move to get any. “How much does the Home Office know about magic?” He asks after a while. 

“I was the lookout,” I admit, and take a deep breath to stop the tears. “My dad never told me anything except that stuff like this exists. I was gonna get out.” Since that doesn’t seem possible anymore, if it ever did with how powerful the Home Office seems to be, I try to imagine what could have been. “My mom’s in prison. He didn’t know I knew her, but I kept track of her, wrote stuff down so I wouldn't forget.” 

“My mom went to prison too. I was born there.” I'm starting to think Henry's family is incredibly strange. “What did they do to you?” Henry surprises me, but thankfully we’re interrupted by the Lost Boys rushing out of the camp with whoops and hollers. The kid runs after them, but it becomes quickly evident that the Lost Boys know where they’re going and Henry doesn’t. I make sure to keep both the kid and the camp in sight so he can’t get turned around. “What do you think’s going on?” 

“Pirates, aliens,” I throw out weakly. Best to pretend he didn’t ask the other question. “Maybe they act on a hive mind, and Peter Pan just called them all to look at a cool rock.” 

“Maybe my family’s here.” 

This I already figured out. Slightly didn’t seem happy about Bee telling me, but Henry seems overjoyed at the idea, so I don't reject it. Don’t remind him what happened yesterday when adults came to visit. We walk back to the camp and Henry happily occupies himself with the cloak, but I lose focus. Only a Lost Boy jumping down from his half-finished hammock snaps me back to attention. “So, you’re the kid Pan’s been looking for all this time,” he directs at Henry. 

“Ask him,” Henry grumbles, and a few other Lost Boys approach to poke and prod at him. They get my best glare when I try to step into the middle of it. “Robin, it’s fine.” 

The first boy scoffs. “If you can’t take some teasing without your big sister, how are you going to handle what Pan has in store for you?” He picks up a stick and encourages Henry to pick up his own while I'm overpowered by Nibs and another child. I shake them off, but stay put while the pair dance around the tools on the ground and fight. 

“Not bad,” Pan decides, from behind me; immediately, as is apparently usual, the crowd falls silent and stops moving like the vacuum around Pan is greedy for time itself. Henry flushes and looks down at the stick in his hand. “But wouldn’t it be more fun if you had real swords?” 

“I’ve never used a real sword,” Henry says, and Pan steps past me to whisper something in his ear. Henry's branch becomes metal within a shallow breath, and he suddenly charges at the Lost Boy while I struggle against Nibs and the other kid’s renewed grips. He’s a child, for fucks sake, and not a feral one like the Lost Boys all seem to be- but that very nature of the ones holding on to me puts me at a disadvantage. The Lost Boys cheer and yell and whoop and holler and bang sticks together with renewed vigor as Henry sets a series of blows upon the other boy. The one defending himself still only has a stick, and Henry ends up drawing blood. As if he’s the one hurt, he freezes and blurts, “I'm so sorry, it was an accident!” 

Pan laughs, though, and asks him, “don’t you know the best part about being a Lost Boy?” He rests a hand on Henry's shoulder. “You never apologize.” Then he raises Henry's hand, and the Lost Boys continue to shout and cheer, and the kid smiles. 

I’m feeding the fire when Nibs comes up and tells me I'm relieved. “You did this earlier,” I point out, and he shakes his head. 

“I earned my name. Just go.” 

He doesn’t say where, but with such a dismissal, it must be at least twenty feet away. I haven’t gone much farther than that from the fire except when Henry chased the Lost Boys out of the camp, but in all honesty it’s all I can do to feel safe. If I can’t extend the favor to Henry with his newfound comraderie, I’ll keep it for myself. So I wander the edge of my self-imposed border until the damp woodsy air shifts and the hair on the back of my neck prickles. No one else around the camp reacts. I pick up my feet and duck against a thick tree, hoping to ground myself with the bark. It feels like I’m being misted- drowned, really- and my hands don’t find any purchase. My gaze wanders and I find someone looking back at me from the far side of the camp, amidst the tents and, deeper in the jungle, a couple of hammocks. 

Slightly doesn’t move from where he’s in a similar position to me, an unbothered mirror image. I can barely identify him from so far away. And yet. My mind registers when the eye contact breaks and he looks at something beside me. 

A shiver runs down my spine even though I’m overheating. Slightly doesn’t look back at me; instead, he glides smoothly from view without breaking his own line of sight until he’s entirely gone. And he doesn’t appear on the other side of the trunk, either. I look frantically around the camp for Slightly, or Henry, or Nibs or even Pan but I can’t find anything or anyone that I can really label. The breaths I yank in are unfulfilling and wet. 

The light burned at my eyes and the cold metal table bit at my thighs and shoulders even through my clothes. My bindings were some kind of fabric or leather that scratched the thin insides of my wrists and my neck, made my calves itch. Every detail demanded attention, even the pressure inside my shoes where they perched at the edge of the table. There were no movies or puzzles or memories I could call upon; everything was new, everything was threatening. I pushed against the restraints and they gave only enough to itch further. The Boss checked each one and seemed satisfied enough to keep me where I was. He turned away to speak, or it sounded like he did, because my eyes wouldn’t adjust to the stark difference between the lighting on the table and the lighting in the room. He said something about carbon and a mask was pushed around my nose and mouth that almost seemed to push air into my lungs. Metallic, plastic, pure air. My eyes began to flutter and I couldn’t hold my squint. Everything was so cold. 

It didn’t hurt then. The pain came much later, but I couldn’t tell my dad, so I went to school and blocked out nearly three weeks of material. No, during, it was like coming in from the cold and wrapping my stuff fingers around a steaming mug of cocoa. Some kind of assistant moved my shirt away from my stomach and stuffed other fabric in its place beneath my back. It was cold and hot, and I had goosebumps that didn’t fade. Like an icicle beneath my skin, where it shouldn’t be, finding all the warmth of my blood and scaring it away. The roof was hot and I ran from it; the room was cold and I could do nothing. My lungs and throat dried with that steady flow of air but I didn’t scream once. 

“No matter how your heart is grieving, if you keep on believing, the dream that you wish will come true…”

A murmured lullaby wakes me to the rhythm of fingers carding through my hair. I blink and there’s Peter Pan kneeling over me, something plush at my back and soft words falling from his mouth. He keeps singing as I try to relax. His ministrations are nice; beyond neat, I feel clean. Again I wonder what carries from the snippets of fairytales I heard at school. 

“What-“ I croak and my throat seizes in a cough. Pan bends further and guides me upright with little difficulty.  

“The mermaids bathed you,” he mutters and continues to comb my hair. I’ve never known it to be all that silken, especially when wet- even more especially when wet with salt water- but his hand glides through. “You might taste salt for a while; Henry chewed their ears off when he saw them mistake your gasping for that of a fish on land.” I roll my tongue against my teeth and find what he means as he stops to hum more of the lullaby. “I won’t pretend it wasn’t funny. He could be so much more powerful, you know, if he wasn’t so tense.” 

There’s nothing for me to say, so I don’t speak. Fortunately this doesn’t seem to be a problem. 

“A dream is a wish your heart makes...”

Henry ignores Pan entirely when we return to the camp through winding paths that I couldn’t recount given a lifetime. Instead he damn near tackles me in a hug, made heavier by his loosely finished cloak. He only reaches my shoulders but makes up for it with enthusiasm. All I’m left to do is watch Pan walk away; he turns just before entering the largest tent and I swear delicate fingertips kiss my eyelids until they close. He’s gone with them. 

“Tootles brought you to the mermaids, and I told them to keep your clothes on, but then they started drowning you-“ 

“Henry.” It’s true, my clothes are starchy with dried seawater. Henry looks up from where he’s been practically shoving his face into my armpit. I’m honestly not sure what to say, but I thank him for his help and he nods. 

Then says, “I have a therapist. You can go see him when we get back.” 

Oh. Wow. 

Something of my dread and offense must show on my face because he scrambles to insist that therapy is an important thing for everyone no matter how supposedly healthy, but I worried him when I was hyperventilating and unresponsive. A nearby Lost Boy snorts. Blah blah, I think, do I look like some kind of orphan with PTSD or something? 

“Whatever,” I grumble and remove the kid from my person. A dry ache invades as if I was actually in that room again, but it fades when I stand nearer to the bonfire. Bee claims Henry’s attention. 

Nibs claims mine. “Music’s starting soon.” If that means anything, I don’t know, but it doesn’t seem important. “Slightly and me are gonna hunt early tomorrow. You should sleep through the festivities and come with us.” He isn’t cooking, but his hands weave between licks of flame and I wonder if the roughness to his skin is a consequence. 

“I don’t know how.” 

“You know some.” 

My stomach turns over again, but Nibs even doesn’t look at me, let alone apologize. Our conversation is cut short by an earthquake, or what feels like one, though, so I leave him and look around for somewhere safe when it dawns on me that I’m the only thing shaking. It’s a pleasant hum, though, after a moment. One I can and do settle into. Like drumming. Like a heart. Low tones filter through the air around me like fog and birdsong and crowded school hallways. I yearn for the idea as suddenly as it clears further into a melody, then further into Peter Pan and his flute at the center of everyone’s attention. Nibs mentioned festivities- they begin as Pan shifts the song without a break and the Lost Boys begin to chant, dance, sing along. They gather instruments and not-instruments alike to join the performance. Henry, eyes closed, cloak tangling with the buttons of his shirt, moves from Pan’s side and the attention moves with him. 

Peter Pan transforms from ringleader to puppet master before my eyes; neither is likely true, but I don’t much care. Instead I retreat towards the tents and the jungle until my head pounds a little quieter. The music- Pan’s heartbeat, if he has one- lulls me to sleep soon after I find another hollow tangle of roots. 

Slightly and Nibs are having a silent conversation above me when I wake up. There’s no noise in the entire camp, in fact; even the jungle sleeps. My stomach alerts them I’ve woken up and Nibs hands me a waterskin to tide me over. Slightly offers me a spear that I’m not sure I can refuse. My socks and shoes were lost to the mermaids, so we set out as quiet as can be through the trees with Nibs’ skin the only thing I can really see. When he ducks and his cloak falls over him, I’m as good as blind, simply trusting that he hasn’t taken any sudden turns and left me to wander. We’ve been up and about for a while when Slightly’s hand lands on my shoulder and the wind picks up. 

“This way,” he whispers, before darting between broad leaves. I follow the subtle sounds of greenery shifting, spear as ready as I can make it; I’m not a fighter, I tell myself, my dad wasn’t a fighter, and I’m not a fighter. The wind picks up further and Slightly moves too far ahead for me to listen to his trail, but the trees above sway and a sliver of moonlight catches on Nibs’ hand against a tree trunk ahead of me. We regroup in a tunnel between bare trees and salted rock, sea air soaring through, and Slightly motions for me to wait where the trees thicken again and the gusts are filtered by ferns and thorns. “We don’t have time right now for you to prick yourself with Nightshade, so resist the temptation,” he mutters right against the shell of my ear with a chilly puff of air and such a deep-baked stench to him that I hold my own breath. Finally, he adjusts my grip on the spear and disappears almost as quickly as Pan. I lean away from the thorns. I’m not left waiting for too long, but the moments stretch with how my eyes burn. 

A harsh gust of wind carries something my body is aware of but can’t identify- something in the sky. It drops, then soars away, leaving its load to fall into the branches and then to the rock. I step forward with the spear out- this must be what we’re hunting- and then the Knight lifts his head and looks directly at me where I’ve placed myself in a moonbeam. 

“What-” 

Slightly and Nibs sneak up on him from behind. “Welcome home, Baelfire,” Slightly greets him. “Pan will be so happy to see you.” They knock him dizzy and bind his arms while I sputter. 

“I- he-” it makes sense that Henry’s father would come to rescue him, but Henry didn’t mention it. Only his mothers, the sheriff and the mayor. “How many of them are here now?” 

“Seven now. Bee can’t count.” Or keep a secret. Without Mr. Gold or Knight, there are five adults on the island. I figure Slightly isn’t factoring my dad or Tamara, so I assume the sheriff and the mayor are two, leaving three that I don’t know. Nibs directs me to help him lift Knight to his feet and we start along the path of salt-poisoned trees. 

Nibs turns his head to me, eyes still lazily wandering ahead of us, and murmurs, “you lied.” This doesn’t bode well for my safety or sanity. “And I was wrong. You don’t just know some; could’a done this on your own.” Does he know that’s worse? I stare down at the spear, visibility better with fewer trees around. Not good enough, however, for me to catch through my horror that Knight has worked himself free and knocked Slightly out cold. It only comes to my attention when Nibs starts running and gets a half-rotted branch thrown at him. 

“Slightly,” I gasp, and rush over to the limp Lost Boy as Nibs soldiers on. “Hey, wake up, asshole,” I tell him without really thinking. He blinks and groans, then jumps up with my help and we follow the bootprint trail until we find Nibs standing over three Lost Boys. 

“Fast for such an old man,” Nibs huffs. 

“He had help.” Slightly decides and limps forward, cradling his head, to examine one of the kids. “Magic. Let’s get them back to camp.” 

Pan notices us immediately as we shuffle into view of the camp. In a blink he goes from forty to two feet away, eyes blazing even in the dark. “What happened.” 

“Baelfire got away.” 

He takes a glance at the kids slumbering on despite how rocky the trip back was and grins. “The Dark One. So father and son have been reunited.” 

“We should move the boy.” 

“Now, Felix, where’s your sense of adventure? The fun’s about to begin.” My exhausted lungs empty when Pan’s attention shifts to me. “Tamsin and the twins can go to the healing tent.” He steps forward until we’re face to face in the dark and those dancing fingertips brush some of my hair away from my neck. “Looks like you picked up more from the Home Office than you think you did.” 

Indignant, I sniff. His nearness isn’t as offending as Slightly’s- he might even be freshly washed- but his words cut much deeper. “I’m not-“ 

“-your father, yes, note the glaring difference between you now.” 

My stomach twists and I taste bile, all of my body straining under Tootles’ weight and my own grief and disgust. This- this asshole- “Pan,” I growl, and his grin is visible in shadow. 

“You really are fun,” he muses, and pinches the side of my neck, his fingernails digging in like teeth. “Penelope.” 

In a moment he’s gone, so I don’t wonder why he said my name so quietly. I just take Tootles to the tent that Slightly and Nibs reach a few minutes before me given their established lifestyles. With food in my hands and the spear put away I notice all the splinters and scrapes building up from wandering the jungle barefoot and bare-handed. Scabs from dry vines and the several tree trunks I’ve cling to litter my arms where my sleeves dried shorter than they’re meant to. Dirt piles up beneath all my nails and in the shallow lines of my knuckles. My feet are caked with mud and debris. The food is ashy and it’s validating to see Nibs drop his serving into the fire with a scowl. 

“You need to clean up, and the vernal pool has a patch of berries,” he says, and nothing else, so I follow him out of the camp again. Tootles and the twins join us with only slight breaks to their steps, but they make it a little less awkward to strip down to my underwear and get to washing. Nibs reclines half-submerged at one edge of the water and picks the berries he can reach, tossing them to each of us in turn. 

“Robin,” Tootles starts after a splash war with the twins dies down and she wades over to join Nibs in gathering fruit. “Why did you dig that hole?” 

For a moment I don’t understand. And then I remember throwing myself to the earth. “It’s what people do when they- when,” I tell her, but don’t really finish my sentence, the word choking itself out of my throat. “They return to the earth, and you can sit with them.” 

“You haven’t gone back.” 

“An opportunity, not a commitment. It’s tradition.” 

Tootles hums around a berry. “No one’s ever done that, here. They get dragged into the water sooner or later, either by their traveling companions or by the mermaids.” 

The thought disgusts me. I scrub harshly at my knuckles until the scabs open. “Well, I did it.” Nibs throws me a berry and it begins to sink a bit in the muddied, bloodied water, but I catch it and eat it anyways. “My mom might make us headstones, but I doubt she’ll be able to afford it for a while.” 

“Headstones?” 

“She can’t afford rocks?” 

“They’re carved,” I specify, “and she’s in prison, so she can’t afford anything.” 

“What did she do?” 

I make a face. I still don’t know, and I’ll never find out. Nibs throws another berry. I sit on a mossy rock so the water reaches my shoulders and I can rinse my hair of sweat. When I don’t answer, they move on. We wash and eat for a while waiting for our clothes to dry by a small fire the twins set up. We only head back when Tootles gets bored and starts smearing mud on her face; it’s all in all a nice afternoon, or evening, or whatever time it is. No sun is starting to fuck with my head. Only the first and slowest mind game of Pan’s, I’m sure, and he provides another when we reach the camp. 

“Took you long enough,” he calls, posed as if checking a watch. But he doesn’t move, and after a moment the twins rush over to him and ask what’s wrong. “It’s our move. See who you can wake up with some of the reserve water,” he tells them lowly and then turns his head just barely when they scurry off. “Tamsin, if you don’t mind, I’ve got ink on my hand. Be careful, or you won’t move for days.” 

The camp is back in motion, dozing Lost Boys rejuvenated, within minutes. Or, a few of them are. Whatever the twins are using is a limited resource. Weapons are amassed and limp bodies are dragged into their tents to recover. I’m just tucking in Curly- nicknamed aptly- when I notice. 

“Where’s Henry?” 

Pan doesn’t tell me, which is as good an answer as any, though I’m not entirely sure who I’m rooting for. “There is a thing that nothing is, and yet it has a name. It's sometimes tall and sometimes short, joins our talks, joins our sport, and plays at every game.” But he leaves before I can begin to guess. The tie of my cloak that I only just managed to loosen back at the pool binds itself in his wake. 

Does it even matter who came for Henry? I doubt it makes a difference. Mr. Gold destroyed Tamara without losing any breath himself. Whoever is here, they can’t be more powerful than that, and if they are? Pan’s fucked. His theatrics and manipulation pale in comparison. Yes, of course, any old human like Tamara or my dad could die anytime to a blown tire or a sinkhole or a particularly determined Canadian goose. But to be murdered- I shiver- and so easily means that any skill my father may have passed on to me is useless. My chances are slim. Curly stumbles out of his tent and throws me a salute. 

“Do you know the fairytale?” 

How Bee manages to sneak up on anyone given his talkative nature is beyond me. “Which fairytale?” I ask. 

“The one with Peter Pan, Captain Hook, the Lost Boys, and Never Never Land.” 

“I thought I did.” 

“Not the truth, Robin, the story.” When is a mind like a fairytale? When it’s made up. I prompt him to tell me. “There once was a boy who lived in a land of dreams, and he didn’t want to grow up, so he didn’t. One day he lost his shadow. You need a shadow, right, to walk in the sun and dance around a fire! So he left his home in search of it. Wendy Darling, who had imagined him up and taken him on so many adventures in Never Never Land and told of his duels against the pirate Captain Hook, found his shadow and caught it. When the boy showed up, she sewed his shadow back onto his feet and he brought her and her brothers to Never Never Land with him. They wanted to stay, and the Lost Boys there were ever grateful that she gave them life and a home, but to stay, she would have to never grow up. That was the rule, you know, but she wasn’t so sure about it. They asked her to stay, to be their mother, and they asked her to tell them all the stories she had told her brothers. But she gathered her brothers and, in exchange for a thimble and a promise, Peter Pan returned them to their house. She grew up and couldn’t return, but she passed the story on.” 

“I don’t think I’ve heard that version,” I admit. “It’s usually just a kiss.” 

“What’s usually a kiss?” 

“The thimble and the promise.” Thinking back, though, they may have called it a thimble. “There was something about a bird, too, but,” Bee quiets as I think. “We watched Fantasia when I was in fourth grade, and then my teacher found out I’d never seen any Disney movies. I didn’t understand Fantasia at all, I mean, no Disney in my household.” That teacher tried so hard to fill me in on what I had missed. The TV cart is a clearer memory than any math I learned that year. 

“I don’t know what knees or a fan have anything to do with it, but the story will always be different. It isn’t true, so there’s no one version.” 

The Lost Boys march into camp and deposit Henry on a rotten log as I nudge Bee in thanks. “I think I can see that.” He laughs loudly, as he is still Bee, and nudges me back. 

“I just wanted to help with your riddle.” 

Oh. I tilt my head at Bee, stiff and surprised, but he gets up and scampers off to bother someone else. Of course Pan’s riddle has something to do with him. One way or another, it has to. Sometimes tall and sometimes short- maybe the Lost Boys? Joining every game? I run through the riddle a few times in my mind. 

Pan crouches over Henry as soon as I do. We watch him slumber on as the other Lost Boys around the camp start to drag themselves awake. On a whim, and on the subject, I decide to recite a riddle of my own. 

“It goes through the door without pinching. It sits on the stove without burning. It rests on the table, unashamed.” 

He’s utterly still. “You could answer mine just as easily.” 

“How about we trade hints?” It’s a gamble that doesn’t feel even remotely necessary, but he nods, so I say, “I miss it.” 

“I don’t.” 

Henry shifts and groans a bit as I take in the new information. It can’t be the Lost Boys, then, or I suppose it could- he doesn’t have to miss them, since he’s always with them. 

“What happened?” Henry brings my attention back to him. Pan’s brow twitches. 

“You fell asleep.” When Henry stiffens, he continues, “oh, don’t worry, it was just a little catnap. Night’s still young.” 

Something about the sentence makes me hold back nervous laughter while I settle in the dirt. “Wait, I- I remember something. My dad, when I was asleep, I-“ he looks at me with more pity than a ten year old should have. “I could’ve sworn I heard him calling for me.” 

“Really?” Pan says quickly, just stretched out enough that it seems like the flick of his eyes to me is anything but a warning. I suppose that settles where Henry was when the Lost Boys all fell asleep. Father and son reunited, indeed. 

“It must’ve been a dream.” 

“Well, how can you be sure?” 

“Because.” Henry throws me another pitying frown. A guilty frown. A pained- I can’t read the kid, really, but he says, “cause my dad’s dead.” 

I blurt “no” before my head catches up and starts piecing things together that I don’t want to make sense of. “He was with… Tamara…” shit. Didn’t Mr. Gold already tell me this? That Tamara killed Neal Cassidy, that death is contagious? Oh, shitting hell… Henry sets a light hand on my shoulder as if I’m the one in need to comfort here. As if! “Henry, I’m so sorry,” I beg of the kid, guilt building upon guilt; it was expressly my job to make sure they could do theirs, and while I didn’t do it enthusiastically, being an accomplice to murder is a new line to me. Or whatever it is that makes Henry and Tamara and Mr. Gold so sure Knight is dead when I just saw him a few hours ago. 

Pan shifts in the dirt. I bite my tongue. “I’m sorry too, Henry; it makes sense for us to dream about the things we’ve lost and the things we hoped for, like your father being alive and your mother coming to find you. But eventually, you’ll find new things to dream about- and when you do, they’ll start to come true.” 

“How do you know?” 

“Because that’s what I did,” Pan answers easily, mirth lighting his expression, “and now you’re here. Neverland used to be a place where new dreams were born. You can bring that magic back, Henry, and we can be your family.” As if moving through mud, he reaches between us and combs his fingers through my hair, smooth as anything. He says something more to Henry that I don’t catch, lost to a thumping in my stomach when the only thing of Pan’s attention that remains on me is his wrist, limp on my shoulder. The vacuum is starting to take my flesh the way black holes eat anything they can reach. Greedy. Hungry. If it’s intentional, I can’t tell. I’m not even sure I care. “Penelope.” 

Henry is long gone when I blink and find Pan. A tension has appeared in his expression, but it clears when I shake my head in a shudder. “What?” 

“It’s sunlight, isn’t it?” He surprises me by saying; it is. When I don’t answer quickly enough, he pulls my elbow until we’re both standing and mutters directly into my ear, breath cold, “close your eyes.” I do. “Neverland is a place where time stands still. The night suits me for now, but it doesn’t always. Magic, of course, always comes with a price.” 

My father hated it. “What really happened?” 

“That’s for another time. I’ve brought you to the day, Penelope, open your eyes and step into it.” 

And he’s right, I discover, wincing at the adjustment before rushing out from the treeline towards a rocky cliff over the water. Salt and sun dig into my skin and breathe life into me in a way I didn’t think necessary until it left me- at fourteen, I had enough of the sun. Now, I’m starved for it. Birds sing behind me and squawk before me, and creatures dance in the water that I can’t identify. Probably because of the distance. Mostly. Content absorbing energy and warmth from the light, I settle on my back despite the stone underfoot. It feels good. Pan’s words don’t escape me so soon, though. 

“What did the cloak cost?” 

Pan doesn’t answer for a moment, and I squint against the daylight to check if he’s done something awful or left. Instead he merely watches from the treeline. “Isn’t it obvious?” He wonders, as if that’s ever gotten anyone anywhere. I hold back a scowl despite how pinched my features probably already are. “You’re a Lost Boy.” 

I’m not a boy, I don’t say, though Tootles doesn’t seem to be, either. Hardly stops her. Instead I sit up and face the treeline so my face falls into shadow and I don’t have to squint. He doesn’t step forward. I’m still not sure who I’m really rooting for- Pan has taken over the Home Office in some capacity, which appeals to me, but with that power he organized all this, which doesn’t appeal to me at all. “What does this cost?” He waves his hand broadly, still keeping to the shade, and a wall of vines that I thought were covering a boulder brush themselves away from a natural looking archway. I stand and look past it to find a spring clearer than any water I’ve ever seen. 

“Have a drink, and enjoy yourself. Stay however long you like,” Pan murmurs, appearing behind my shoulder as soon as I move through the arch. I jump, but the vines have settled again. Hang on- why isn’t he stepping into the sunlight? Why does the night suit him right now? He looks like he’s about to turn and go when I speak. 

“Your shadow.” You need one to walk in the sun and dance around a fire, Bee said! Of course- he doesn’t miss it probably because he gave it up, tore it from his body the same way Dad had his stolen as he died. A predictable accompaniment for most creatures, but not Peter Pan. It works. 

We’re at an odd angle, looking at each other but too close. “What’s been around for eons, but is no more than a month old?” 

“The moon,” I answer easily, though it comes from one of my books. At least when I first read it, I worked for however long it took to come up with it myself. But now it’s just familiar. A beat passes with just the echo of running water in the not-quite-cave. “A man’s title, bread, a motion, cookware.” One of my friends- in those times when I was at school enough to gather any- came up with such a riddle after I tricked them with Einstein’s impossible one. But I cut out the item that would reveal the answer immediately to my audience: one boy. I never solved the riddle myself, though I intended to. My friend took pity on my hair pulling within just an hour. 

The one boy seems to read me, his gaze dancing from detail to detail that I couldn’t follow if I tried, even at this distance. Then he’s gone, and with his absence air rushes into the space he took up beside me and in my lungs. 

There seem to be few choices, with Peter Pan. No room for argument or suggestion. My cloak, which unwinds itself and floats delicately off my shoulders and onto the spring’s rocky edge, was a gift. I didn’t ask for it; Pan himself even called it a gift, from him to me, when I didn’t pass it on to Henry. In speaking about price he implied that I paid for the cloak by joining the Lost Boys. Maybe, though, he paid for a gift by letting me into the Lost Boys. Or maybe Dad paid for the cloak and Lost Boy title by dying. What does the sun cost, then? It cuts through the rock above as if the spring is in a stone vase and lights up the water until everything sparkles. The far wall bears the source of sound, a rapid spout. Again I only have implications- is drinking the spring water paying for the light? Again this wasn’t something I asked for, though. I’m not certain I’ve asked for a single thing since coming to Neverland. That doesn’t seem to matter with Peter Pan. 

He returns after I drink and don my cloak, though it doesn’t tie itself until he’s near. “Is that really all the sun you can take?” My mouth dries of words. Is that really all he’ll give me? It’s been all of an hour! 

“Humans are typically diurnal,” I say, but it comes out quiet and clumsy, “the body has- cycles-“ 

“Do you think I’m not human?” 

“You’re-“ I don’t know. Pan said- Pan said- “time stands still in Neverland, and yet it passes. There’s a past here, for me; not everything is happening together as I observe it. I walked, I spoke, I drank, and now I speak again. It would all be indistinguishable and full of paradoxes if time were truly still.” 

“Say what you mean.” 

Rich, coming from him. But I don’t know what I mean. “Time doesn’t really stand still here, does it? The Lost Boys sleep, the fire dies down, my stomach growls. It’s- it’s-“ I don’t fucking know! The front of my cloak is suddenly yanked forward and I stumble towards where Pan has settled in the available shade. I jerk my head up, keep an eye on him, in close quarters once again but this time the ties don’t loosen because he has one hand twisted in my collar. Even without his vacuum I would be choking. “It’s you.” 

“Seems we’re good at solving two riddles in one, Penelope.” My face heats even with my lungs working with the bare minimum. And his- his face- he’s murderous, gleeful, focused. His dark eyes sparkle but his frown is stiff. “For our next pair, remember what you said about the story of Never Never Land. If you break me I do not stop working; if you touch me I may be snared; if you lose me nothing will matter.” Pan looks below my eyes, then meets me again. “I claim the space beside you.” 

Mentally I divide his words into pieces like a puzzle: what’s usually a kiss, the new riddle, the matching pair. “Promise?” I ask, and he provides the thimble. I’ve never kissed anyone before, nor been kissed, not in ways that matter. But the delicate slant of Pan’s mouth to my cheek is significant enough to forget any similar experience. I find my breath again. 

What does this mean? Is it a good idea? Do I have a choice, can I reject whatever deal Pan has set on my soul? All questions not worth asking. 

“It’s been a long day for you,” he decides. “Go rest in the sun outside, and I’ll send Felix to wake you.” 

I dream of two brothers: the older a Captain, the younger a Lieutenant. They sail together on a Pegasus to a land of dreams. The sun is bright and soft, the sky bluer, water clearer than either of them could fathom. Perfect waves rock their boat as they release the anchor and paddle to shore with their best scouts. All through the journey they grin, honored to be given their mission and awestruck at the magic they’ve witnessed. The older walks just ahead, and they split from the scouts, all with scrolls stowed in their coats. By order of the King they’ll find their bounty. A medicinal plant. They begin their search, trusting the scouts to find and report or neutralize any threats, or to gather the plant themselves should they come upon it, when a boy makes himself known; he’s odd, doesn’t understand their mission, turns them against each other. The boy insists that the plant will decimate populations with a mere nick. That it is a poison without an antidote, even for those gifted with unusually long lives. His eyes sparkle oddly with youth that doesn’t match his words. Nervous, the younger brother turns to the Captain and wonders if he’s correct. They argue, pushing each other to be noble and compassionate in turn, when the older brother marches up to the bush they were led to and drags a thorn across his arm. He falls. The younger brother pays with currency he can’t comprehend just for a few more hours- and then he’s alone. He curses the King’s lie. 

Slightly nudges my arm with a mud-caked foot. “Don’t tell me you’re comfortable. What were you thinking?” Through pained grunts as I unstick my body from the rock, I tell him about the sunlight. He snorts. “I didn’t know you had it in you.” 

“What?” 

No answer. He just shrugs and we make our way back to the camp without too many more words. 

In what is probably a good sign for me, Pan isn’t there when we arrive. Henry is, off to the side with the Lost Boy he fought. Slightly follows my steps when I make my way over and I hold back any protests. Henry jumps when he notices us and sends the boy away. I’m not about to make any assumptions based on his demeanor- I barely know the kid, and Pan is no doubt reserving his most intense psychological games for him. 

“Robin,” he greets me, and adds quieter, “Felix.” 

“What was that about?” I watch the Lost Boy wander off. 

“He was just congratulating me.” Huh? I look back at Henry, and he continues, “on becoming a Lost Boy, I mean.” His gaze keeps flicking between me and Slightly, but Slightly takes the opposite of the hint and grins slow, stepping up and leaning an elbow on my shoulder. 

“That mean you’ll come hunting with us?” 

“Not yet.” Pan interrupts by materializing at Henry’s shoulder, mirroring Slightly’s pose but with his elbow on Henry’s head, given their height difference. They stare at each other for a moment and then break off, prompting Henry to deflate. 

“Henry?” I ask him, herding him behind a tree so we can sit in relative solitude. But I don’t think for a moment that we have any privacy. “Are you alright?” 

Henry sighs. I’m surprised again by how much he seems to pack into his little head. “My family’s here,” he admits. It’s almost too quiet for me to hear. “They said they’re coming to get me, but, I just get the feeling that Pan’s in control of every little thing.” 

I would assume so, myself, but I don’t tell him that. He deserves comfort; I won’t change my mind after a few unsolicited gifts. I won’t even think about the thimble. “Remember what you said, before? When we first got here?” Before. It’s odd, that I can’t really say it, even though Dad’s absence rings incessantly in the space around me whenever I have half a mind to think. Even when I’ve grieved him and grieved who I wanted him to be and grieved Mom and the chance I could have gotten with her and grieved Tamara when she wasn’t Mom and grieved my friends and grieved my life and grieved and grieved and- I wonder if I’ll ever do anything else, suddenly. Pan’s advice for Henry was to forget the things he couldn’t have, and in close proximity to whatever Pan is it seems easy enough. Maybe the trick is he knows it, knows his presence is the only reprieve from the shit he himself is responsible for. 

“I said,” Henry hiccups with shining eyes, “I said they’d come for me.” Yes, he snarked Dad and Tamara, and I did, too; I wouldn’t take that back. But Henry seems to be drowning in guilt. “But-“ 

“Henry.” 

“No, I-“ 

“What changed?” 

“Everything,” he sighs. “Everything’s different, I don’t know. If they manage it, will you come, too?” 

My teeth grind together as I try not to grimace. “I was intending to meet up with my mom outside of prison, but sure, I’ll join her.” My eighteenth birthday is too soon for this. The sheriff and the mayor’s son kidnapped, I’m the only surviving perpetrator, Henry’s been gaslit to hell? When Henry starts arguing that he’d vouch for me, I shut him down. “Henry, I helped them. On purpose. That was my role, I wasn’t just tagging along for the road trip songs, okay?” It feels awful, but I explain. “Even if your mom doesn’t arrest me, I’m headed nowhere fast. I have to stay here for any shot at leading a fulfilling life.” 

“I don’t want to leave without you.” 

I won’t pretend I haven’t been manipulated. Like a marble on a plate, or clouds in a storm system: Pan is the point of lowest pressure, and he’s lifted the plate with his own hands, plucked me out of my general misery to entertain him. The tree we’re hiding behind scrapes my shoulder through the cloak when I start in a direction I can’t see the end of. I don’t know what to say, so I just let my feet go where they will and stop at Pan’s side. 

“I haven’t read much fantasy in my life,” I admit under my breath, “but magic rules are usually more specific than a price, right?” 

“You want to know what I can do and how?” 

Not really. Fire dances in his eyes even though Nibs and the spit he’s always turning are yards away. Fire, and stars. And the cold, stifling vacuum of being spun in Pan’s orbit. “Just tell me what I’m paying for shit I didn’t order,” I say, more than a little breathless. 

Peter Pan turns more fully towards me and tilts his head it what isn’t a nod. Then he steps forward, just off center so our temples knock together when I gasp; when I try to lean back, it’s with resistance from my cloak. My vision tunnels and the air only gets thinner when I dare look at him, so I close my eyes. It’s almost worse. Almost. Blood pounds in my ears loud enough to drown the camp out, but I can hear quiet puffs of air and the creak of every fine hair bent by our heads. An inch to one side and we’d be kissing, an inch forward and we’d be hugging. Or some undoubtably elusive version of such things. Pan moves in neither direction; he turns his head, knocking his jaw against mine until his cold breath draws between the top of my ear and my hairline again. Everything I thought before about him being the one comfort to all his horrors was wrong! Peter Pan is just so fucking overwhelming that it doesn’t matter. Nothing matters. I haven’t breathed in minutes, I don’t care to think, by the time he chooses to speak again. 

He says, “no.” 

In my mind the storm cloud has already broken, but when I open my eyes, it seems I have, too. There’s barely any sensation coming from my knuckles when I can clearly see myself trading hits with Peter Pan. My body has decided, for me, to break formation and leap from the plate. There’s other information to take in, I’m sure- I’ve only seen Pan breathe without an audience twice- but the glare of each point of contact is more powerful than anything. I don’t even feel it, not really, but seeing it happen is intoxicating. Is this torture? More mind games? It certainly feels like I’m being puppeted. I could very well just be going insane, which wouldn’t be all Pan’s fault. But for hours I rain and he enjoys it. The head rush takes forever to quiet down. 

When I wake, I feel more rested than I probably ever have in my life. I’m flat on my back, warm, my head supported, no biological needs calling for me yet. The ache in my muscles is comforting, in a way. Grounds me to the moment and helps me think of nothing. When I release my hands from the fists they seem stuck in, I find them bruised and cracked; my body and mind feel rejuvenated, but at the same time, I can’t really go lax. Something draws close to my brow, drifts from lash to lash until I turn away. A puff of air crosses my face. 

My first suspicion is a bug. Dad has never woken me up so slowly, preferring to nudge my arm until I shake him off. Most of the time, he just yells from the kitchen- 

A canvas roof greets my eyes. Dad is dead. 

“Fuck,” I hiss to myself, and “shit,” for good measure. My throat swells, my eyes burn, my ears shift with pressure. 

“Did you know,” Bee starts as he marches into the tent. I look around and find where we deposited the twins and Tootles, but no one is around. “Two brothers came to Neverland once, long ago. They sought Dreamshade, and believed it was a medicine. Pan thought it was funny. To prove him wrong, one brother cut himself with a thorn of Dreamshade and collapsed immediately.” Bee sits. “We Lost Boys watched the remaining brother beg Pan for help; it really was hilarious. Captain Hook, crying like a baby. Pan opened Neverland’s spring to him, which ties all who drink to the island, and Hook’s brother lived long enough to sail away and die.” 

“I think I did know,” I mutter, mostly to myself. But time is irrelevant, so I suppose it’s hardly surprising. That I drank water that has tied me to Neverland on pain of death is unsurprising, as well. 

The tent flap swings on a phantom wind. Any hope of gathering my composure disappears with the air, and I’m left crying without a sound, without reserve. Then he appears. “It’s time,” Pan says, and Bee pulls me to my feet. “The Dark One will die and be trapped in his vault, destroying Storybrooke in the process. I’ve looked forward to this since it was prophesized, as it’s so rare that I get to witness time.” An uncertain quip rises in my mind- he can witness time all he wants, where I’m from- but he seems to see it and flashes a grin. Equally unspoken: gutsy and clever, you lost one. If you lose me, nothing will matter. 

“Pan never fails!” Bee cheers, and shoves me forward, stumbling to avoid the figure in front of me at all costs. 

“That’s right,” Pan answers, and lifts one hand into view just to hold his fingertips a breath away from my mouth. He lowers it and pinches the column of my throat, hard. “Let’s go, then.” 

It’s becoming clear that Henry is woefully virtuous. His optimism knows no bounds, even if his mood isn’t always cheery; there’s a quality to him that says he’s seen the darkness life has to offer and chosen to deny it the satisfaction of breaking him. Can’t relate, but, I respect it. He’s still a kid, though. It grates on me but I am, too. Pan, in his ageless boyhood, has long since dug his hands into those qualities of Henry’s and convinced him there’s an evil afoot that pales in comparison to Tamara supposedly killing Knight. Henry would give anything to help resolve it. Pan all but guides my limbs to pose as if we’re the closest of friends. Did Henry see me, in my moment of fury? Somehow I doubt it: Pan has only encouraged a found family between me and Henry. 

As it is, Pan makes to appear caught up in a conversation with me and Latch when Henry storms up to us and says, “I know about your secret, I followed Felix.” 

Pan also makes to appear surprised by this, and subsequently guilty. “I didn’t want-“ 

“Were you ever gonna tell me?” Henry turns to me for support. “The island’s magic is dying, and it’s taking Wendy Darling with it.” 

“It’s not your fault, Henry,” Pan interrupts, before my grimace is too obvious. 

“Wendy said I can help, you- you said I can help, with the heart of the truest believer, right?” 

Almost sounding hesitant, leaving just enough of a breath to send Henry careening for a goal that- by my calculations, at least, which could be equally brainwashed- doesn’t exist, “yes.” 

“Take me to Skull Rock,” Henry says. Neither of them look at me or Latch but I follow and Latch stays behind. 

The island does look like it’s dying as we walk. If I hadn’t just witnessed mind-breaking horrors, if I wasn’t so keenly aware of the moon peeking between those wilted treetops, I might question it. But I don’t, my feet catching as many stones and twigs as they do on every walk through the jungle. My cloak frays on low vegetation that I can’t quite see, but seems starved for attention nonetheless. We walk a messy path through dry undergrowth, sodden dirt and decay below that, until the trees go from upright to just tilted. Skull Rock- named so for good reason, but only just associating itself with a VHS-quality memory- is across only a lagoon, though. We don’t hit any sand approaching the little canoe that will evidently take us to whatever glows in the house-sized boulder standing untouched by the sea’s erosion. As if it were carved, but it couldn’t be, it looks entirely natural and anatomically correct. It looks to be both stone and bone at the same time. 

“You don’t have to do this,” Pan tells Henry lowly even as the canoe drifts unnaturally towards us. And Henry rises to the bait. 

“Yes, I do.” 

We leave the trees behind and the moon glares down at the boat, at Skull Rock when we reach it and it’s even larger than a house. Close to where the ear would be is an opening with stairs, and Henry and I forge ahead with Pan bringing up the rear after a moment. I don’t even try to guess why. 

“Your arrival here was foretold,” Pan murmurs as we climb. “You would have showed up sooner or later. Still, I’m glad you’re here.” 

“What exactly do I need to do?” 

The staircase curves and opens up, flattening to the open skull with stars and the moon faintly daring to crawl through the eye sockets. Seafaring paraphernalia clutters up the space, an overturned table here and a torn sail there. “This is where Neverland’s magic is weakest,” Pan explains. He doesn’t answer Henry’s question, but then begins giving him simple instruction. “Sit here,” he says, and we settle in a circle where the brain might be, knees locked like magnets. 

“I’m scared,” Henry admits, after a heavy few seconds. I grab his hand; whatever Pan’s making him do, I can’t let him endure it alone, and Pan has allowed me such a role. I’ll take full advantage of it. “Thank you, Robin,” he whispers. 

“Close your eyes,” Pan instructs, reaching for Henry’s other hand. And mine, useless as the idea seems to me. He guides Henry’s to the boy’s own shoulder, then down, pressing over his ribs. “Can you feel it? Your heart?” 

My own eyes have begun to drift shut when footsteps scratch and echo around the room, and then a voice, “stop.” 

Henry flinches. Pan lets go of his hand, but not entirely, as if willing to let them talk but only for a moment. They both twist to face Mr. Gold: like Pan, he has no shadow. It’s only obvious because of Skull Rock’s eerie untraceable light source. Weak magic, my ass. “Mr. Gold, I-“ 

“I know, laddie,” Mr. Gold tells Henry, “you just want to help. You’re a good kid.” His grimace is sour, his hair thin, his posture uneven, but he reaches out placatingly to the three of us. “It doesn’t have to be this way.” 

“I’m the only one who can do this.” 

“It’s his choice,” Pan shrugs, though his arms are spread to hold both our hands. Mr. Gold looks at him and something in his presence reminds me of the moment he tore Tamara’s heart out and crushed it in his hand. Or her lung, or whatever it was. Given the heart talk, I’m inclined to believe the former… 

What can be broken, touched, snared, lost? What can go through all manners of torture and, like Henry, swell again with love? It feels silly to think of the riddles in the middle of what is surely a battle between powerful magic users. But I do it anyways; putting all the answers together, each piece of this exact setting that Pan has been spelling out since I met him and probably for centuries and no time at all beforehand, still provides nothing but the small victory of sorting out a puzzle. I can’t help. I squeeze Henry’s hand a bit tighter. “Your heart,” I say, dumb. He nods. 

“Stop,” Mr. Gold says again, “Henry, this is between me and him. Whatever he’s told you, it’s a trick. I simply owe a debt.” 

“A life debt, that Wendy is supposed to pay.” The tale twists further, whatever it is. “Henry, it’s up to you.” 

“I can’t let that happen.” Mr. Gold decides to demonstrate by conjuring a small brown and red item in his hand, and he waves his other hand over it, but nothing happens. I assume that something is supposed to happen. 

“Pandora’s Box,” Pan names the item. “It can trap anything one wants it to, forever. Or it could, if it were real. See, I have to real one,” he says, and laughs a little. His hands linger but he approaches Mr. Gold with an identical conjured item of his own. In his absence, I’m unmoored, but in the way that I usually am when he’s near, which is all the more disorienting. “I’m hurt that you’d do such a thing, Rumple, I really am, so I won’t hurt you by trying the same.” Both boxes disappear. 

“I can do it,” Henry insists, standing as well and pulling me along. He reaches up again to his ribcage, where his heart must be. I wrench it away without thinking and he gasps, “Robin, I can do it-“ 

“Why, Henry?” I snap. My thoughts are almost as much of a fog as when I fought Pan. Why give up his actual heart? To prove he has one? Pan’s game is above him, and I don’t think he has to die for things to play out. “You said your moms are here, you said you heard your dad, you see Mr. Gold; why should everything rest on your shoulders?” He shouldn’t be here at all. 

“If I can do it, I should, Robin, it would be selfish not to.” 

“It would be selfish to make yourself a hero and a martyr.” 

The room darkens. More footsteps rush up the stairs, eventually revealing the sheriff and the mayor. But Henry seems unconvinced, or even annoyed, by my words, and drives his hand impossibly into his own torso in front of everyone. What he reveals is nothing like the thing Tamara died looking at. It’s a small sun, golden and gleaming, reflecting Skull Rock’s light and overpowering it. I’d be hard pressed to call it a heart. The new arrivals shout in alarm, scrambling forwards only to be stopped by something I don’t care to inspect. All I watch is Henry, and then Pan when he steps up beside me and holds out his hand. All of a sudden I stand on my own two feet again and an inkling of dread plants itself in the back of my mind. Henry surrenders the light. 

“What’ll it be, then, Rumple? His or yours?” Pan asks as Henry begins to wheeze. In a flash, though, wind bursts through the room and Mr. Gold is on Pan, capturing him from behind. 

“Yours,” Mr. Gold snarls, and in the inertia of his attack drives some dagger I just barely see into Pan’s chest. Between his ribs. Through, to his own heart, if the choked-off gasp is anything to go off. “Take-“ he breathes heavily, his final words directed behind him- “take my shadow.” When they collapse, I don’t move. The tangle of corpses by my feet seems hardly real, like the heart still in Pan’s lax grip. The mayor picks the latter up with care and surprising speed to return it. I feel like I know something I shouldn’t, watching Mr. Gold’s body turn to mist. Like Pan allowed his mouth to run the way Bee allows his. After only a moment of hugging and apologizing do the moms turn to me. 

“Gold’s shadow will get us back to Storybrooke,” Sheriff Swan tells me in the same light tone she used when we first met. I nod. 

“I’m fine,” Henry is scowling, brushing his mothers off. “You don’t know that this’ll solve anything.” 

“Honey, he was keeping the island captive. Without him, we can bring everyone to safety,” The mayor argues. The sheriff watches me closely for a few lingering moments. 

She has questions, obviously. I expected that much. Actually, I expected more, but she probably imagines me a grieving daughter more than an accomplice. Even if I did assist with her son’s kidnapping, she treats me the same as when Dad was in the hospital. But the facts catch up when the moment is over. “Gold said they didn’t know who they were working for.” 

“It’s not that simple,” I grimace. Henry will be able to warn them all of the Home Office once they return to Storybrooke. Or whatever remains. The idea of going with them rings through me like a tuning fork to my bones, chilling me; I very well can go, and finish high school in a group home, and find Mom in a few more years. My feet don’t move, however, and that pit of dread tells me I’ve already agreed to something else entirely. 

Neither mother suspects it, or if they do, they don’t say, and Henry says, “what about the Lost Boys?” 

“I’ve been in the system,” the sheriff admits suddenly. “I’ll make sure it’s a smooth ride for them.” With nothing keeping us in Skull Rock, they turn to go, giving me odd looks when I drag Pan’s body with an old hammock crusted with dead algae and left draped across an empty chest. His literal dead weight is almost too heavy to roll into the hammock, and I cringe each time he thumps down another step towards the boat, but I can’t leave him behind. It works. 

I don’t dare look at him as we make our way through the jungle back to camp. Given the beating my feet take on the journey, I don’t want to think about Pan. Carrying his extra weight makes my heels dig further into the mud and definitely gets me a cut or two on rocks that would have done nothing but pinch, before. Nobody helps me; I’m almost glad, I think, it’s better this way. When we arrive in sight of all the Lost Boys tied up and guarded by four adults I don’t know and Knight, however, the mayor uses magic to lift Pan’s body in the air and gloat. 

“What is it you kids like to say?” She waves her hand and grins. “Pan never fails?” Slightly shouts, getting to his feet with a fierce snarl, but he’s quickly shoved back down. The mayor only preens. “Yes, I think that’s it.” 

“Henry,” I murmur, “you should go.” But he glares at me. I remember what he said- that he doesn’t want to leave without me- but the beauty of the idea is intangible. 

“The shadow will fade soon,” the sheriff tells the other adults and Knight after explaining what happened. Knight brings Henry into a tight hug and they both seem to blink away tears after. “We need to go, and quickly.” Meanwhile, the mayor has grown tired of playing with Pan’s body. Slightly begs something with his eyes that I can’t decipher, but I get the sense that we’re on the same page, anyways. I’ll need a weapon: Henry created a sword from a stick, but somehow I doubt the same will happen for me, so I look around at Henry’s family for opportunity. Slightly jerks until I look back at him and follow his own emphatic glare to a man holding a hook. The same man who went with Dad and Tamara into the mines. Captain Hook, I assume, to whom the clutter in Skull Rock likely belonged. Beyond the hook, he’s littered with small shiny things that I can sort through mentally as I try to edge my way towards him without seeming too focused. His face becomes familiar as I get nearer. 

“You’re the younger brother,” I say, quiet enough that no other conversations are interrupted but loud enough for him to face me head on. 

Under the new beard, and the new lines set in his face, and under the wind-burn on his cheekbones and the scrutiny in his eyes, he is undeniably the younger brother. “What did you just say?” He asks me, reaching for one of his weapons himself as I pick the one I’ll take. But the question asks itself. 

“What happened? With the king?” 

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” 

“Did he win his war?” I edge closer. “He didn’t get any nightshade, I assume.” Horror fills his expression. 

“Who told you of this?” 

The next words chill me. “Neverland is a place where time stands still.” Spoken with Slightly’s intonation, it catches me off guard, Pan’s voice echoing in my mind, but the chance is there and I can’t pass it up. Hook only flinches when I take the first knife, so I take another and leap away, out of range when he lunges with his namesake. My feet burn but I get the knife to Slightly, then run as fast as my body will allow past the other Lost Boys and back to Pan. They turn so I can cut them free as I go, and the last in line is Tootles. She takes the knife when I hand it to her. The Lost Boys won’t surrender, not twice. And it seems the magicians are out of juice or surprised enough to freeze. Maybe Pan- limp and definitely dead as he looks- is doing something. I don’t know two things about fairytales and this whole experience has only disproved whatever I thought I did know, but surely Peter Pan can’t die. And in Neverland, too? No. 

“Robin?” Henry yelps, dragged away by one of the people I don’t know. “Robin, come with us!” 

But I don’t move. Of all the ways this could end, I guess. The Lost Boys seem to be conjuring magic of their own, forcing the group back, away from the camp, and as soon as the sheriff is past the mermaids she releases Mr. Gold’s shadow so it can possess the sail of their pirate ship. The Lost Boys whoop and holler, sending magic over water that I swear wasn’t so close to camp before. They don’t have the time but Henry takes it anyways, sticking his hand out from the side of the ship as if to reach for me. I see it in the returned moonlight, small and frail and dirty. 

I slump over in the dirt. Pan doesn’t so much as twitch, let alone breathe, even after Henry’s family is gone. Wondering if I put my proverbial eggs on the wrong basket altogether leads me to wonder about that school receptionist. Will she hear that I’ve died? Will we be marked missing, Dad and I, or is this usual enough behavior for him that Mom will have to investigate on her own once she’s out? 

One question, though, I hope I can get an answer for. “Slightly,” I call, as he’s perched at the edge of the impromptu celebration. He crouches over Pan a moment before regarding me. “What happened to the Home Office?” 

Predictably, his smirk sharpens. He brushes some firelit honey hair from Pan’s cheek. 

[captainfile]

Baby, Don’t Tread

Words: 2225 

Ao3 link 

Andreil-centric. Warnings for Andrew being nonverbal for unspecified reasons and Neil practicing some negative self-talk! Title and summary from “Tread On Me” by Matt Maeson.

Summary: I could hardly sleep, so I don’t And I could hardly speak, so I won’t

Andrew hadn’t moved in a few hours. Neil had returned from class to find him on the couch, a heavy textbook propped up between his stomach and thighs, socked feet tucked between two cushions. One of his legs was wobbling every once in a while, as if burning off absent energy by habit instead of necessity. There was no answer to Neil’s greeting, but that was hardly surprising. He just couldn’t help but notice as the sun dipped lower and dinner came and went, but Andrew didn’t get up to join. Didn’t move a muscle, really, but for the one leg and an occasional page turn. He didn’t look up, not when anyone addressed him, not when Neil sat down at the far end of the couch with his own homework. 

“Hey,” Neil tried, and earned a glance. He didn’t hold back his grin, but Andrew didn’t snarl at him for it. “There’s leftover chicken, if you want some.” Andrew didn’t look at him a second time; didn’t look anywhere but his textbook. Kevin shuffled around in the kitchen, complaining just loud enough for Neil to hear about the dishes and the freshmen. 

“Andrew, you eating?” Nicky called out, and when Andrew didn’t respond, he leaned into view and held up a tupperware container half-full of oven-grilled chicken. “Are you hungry?” He pressed. Neil watched Andrew move his head slow, turning to face his cousin, eyes just this side of unfocused for a lingering moment before they caught on. Andrew blinked. His face didn’t show anything but his attention. Nicky gestured with the tupperware. “Dinner,” he said. 

Andrew didn’t answer. He looked down at the couch, head turning just as slowly back to his textbook, and blinked a few more times. His lips thinned. He would eat, Neil concluded then, but he probably hadn’t so much as opened his mouth since breakfast. Andrew closed his textbook and tucked it against his hip as he stood and made his way to Nicky. 

Secretly, Neil was a bit ashamed that he found Andrew’s actions strange, but Nicky seemed equally bewildered, so he vowed to take the afternoon in stride. 

“I want to run the drill from last night again.” 

“See, I don’t think it’s very useful,” Neil argued, thoroughly distracted for a moment by Kevin as he made his way to a dropped backpack in the corner. It seemed he was also inspired by Andrew’s studiousness. “They weren’t ready for it. Sub in Matt and Aaron so they can get comfortable with backliners who actually know what they’re doing.” 

“Are you insulting me right now?” 

“They won’t only learn by watching, Nicky.” 

“They won’t learn by being carried, either-“ 

“-do you want them to learn the drill, or not-“ 

“Fuck you,” Kevin snapped, then sat with a too-loud thud next to his backpack and got out a notebook. Neil rolled his eyes and sank further into the couch. He looked over the back, though, to check on Andrew, who seemed entirely unaware of the room and chowed down on the cooling leftovers as Nicky hovered and spoke in cut-off half-questions. “When you’re-“ 

Neil heard the rest of the sentence and cut Kevin off. “Fight your homework, not me, asshole; I don’t give a shit.” 

“You definitely give a shit,” Kevin grumbled, and Neil was about to gripe back at him when Nicky swooped in and leaned over the back of the couch. 

“Has he been like this all day?” 

Neil frowned. “Like what?” 

“All… I don’t know. He seems fine, but it’s like he isn’t there.” 

It was obvious who they were talking about, and Andrew appeared at Nicky’s side without a sound, looking at his cousin the same way as before. Attention, no tone to it. He didn’t speak. Nicky jumped only a little in surprise. 

Neil asked, “Andrew, how was your day?” 

Nicky looked at Andrew. Kevin, from the floor, looked at Andrew. Neil didn’t want to add any more pressure, so he looked at the textbook still in Andrew’s grip and watched his knuckles not change a shade in response to the situation. Andrew seemed entirely, genuinely, thoroughly, completely, absolutely disinterested. He stayed quiet. 

“Andrew?” Kevin piped up, head tilted curiously. It was likely fueled by some complicated Exy-centered logic, but he asked, “you alright?” 

How bizarre. Andrew didn’t react to that either, not for a long moment, and when Kevin sucked in a breath to continue it seemed like a mime had possessed Andrew’s body for a moment: his shoulder bumped up to his ear in an overly-exaggerated shrug and then he nodded once, head moving so forcefully that Neil could hear the bones in his jaw and collar thunk against each other. With no further explanation, Andrew returned to his previous pose on the couch. Neil was paralyzed. The sunset had made itself at home on the couch while Andrew ate, and cast a romantic glow to the ends of his blonde hair and the highlights of his face. Neil wasn’t close enough to appreciate how the light caught his eyes- he didn’t dare, even as his stomach dropped out at the relaxed slope of Andrew’s shoulders, at how he ducked his head a bit to hide from that light behind his textbook. Nicky’s hands curled over the back of the couch and squeezed until the fabric groaned. Andrew took a deep breath and- when the whole room leaned forward a bit to hear him- sighed. 

//

Aaron and Nicky were arguing about something only tangentially related to Exy, so Kevin didn’t have much reason to start ranting. He tried striking up a conversation with Andrew, which was fruitless, as per usual, and Neil was excited enough about escaping campus that he answered noncommittally when Kevin’s interest turned to him. With the background chaos of quick words from such similar voices that Neil could tune them out and pretend it was one idiot talking to himself, Neil watched the road contentedly. He relaxed against the passenger seat and glanced down at the center console; he imagined setting his hand palm-up on it and having Andrew hold onto him for the rest of the drive. It was a nice image. 

Andrew had been fairly quiet all day. They had chatted lazily over breakfast, and when everyone piled into the Maserati, he had grated out a confirmation for their activities. Neil had been confused at that more than the quiet- Andrew didn’t talk when he didn’t want to, didn’t say anything he didn’t mean, that was all well and good with Neil. But audibly, visibly struggling to speak? Holding onto his words like he’d been carved hollow and they were all he had left? Expression shuttering over some kind of pain? Neil was chilled by it. 

“Hey!” Roland shouted when Andrew and Neil inevitably found their way to him. Other customers were outright ignored, but lucky Neil, no one was too upset. The night was still young. “What can I get you all tonight?” 

A beat passed. 

Several, really, between Neil’s earlier worry and the deafening music. 

One too many. The moment lingered and still Andrew said nothing, attention very obviously divided between Roland and Neil and the people around them. The sooner they ordered, the sooner they could retreat to the booth, but Andrew did not order any drinks. Neil plastered on a smile as Roland’s began to waver. 

“I’ve got it,” he blurted, and rattled off some requests that he didn’t remember clearly enough. Roland was sufficiently distracted, and soon enough, they were carrying two trays to the table. Neil grimaced when the three already seated began to complain. Surely they’d care a little less after a few unpleasant gulps. Andrew seemed to settle in for a long night in his spot at the same time as the other three nearly vibrated with a want to dance, gazes darting to each other and out into the crowd and down to the drinks. 

When they were gone, Neil’s worry resurfaced. It wasn’t that something was explicitly wrong, not like Andrew had fought with his brother or heard from an old enemy, not like any of them were in danger at all. He seemed the opposite, really, except that one moment. Ice cream went down as quickly as it normally did, just as sickeningly sweet as Andrew liked it. His hands were at rest, armbands intact and untouched. For all Neil could tell, Andrew was having a normal day, but… Neil was still worried. He rambled to fill the space that was left in the absence of their nonsensical table conversation, gestured to iron out the curl building in his hands, kept Andrew in his sights but looked away as much as he could stand. Hadn’t Nicky said something, forever ago? It was like someone had hit mute on Andrew, but he simply didn’t care and lived on. Neil ignored the alcohol to keep himself from breaking and asking about it. 

Worse, breaking and asking. 

Fuck. 

“It’s like you don’t even care about Exy, you guys always make fun of me,” Kevin whined as he was dragged inside. Neil took care of everyone’s shoes and, when it seemed like Aaron, Nicky, and Kevin would all live to the morning, he made for the couch. 

Andrew’s supernatural ability to move faster and quieter than a ghost would probably never stop surprising Neil. He didn’t flinch, though, just turned when a light tug on his sleeve announced his presence. There was nothing to read in Andrew’s expression for a moment. The pair of them were left with the backdrop of a dark living room in Columbia, drunk stumbling audible from the bedrooms. Complaints, too, mostly Kevin’s, drifting through the walls and rattling hidden pipes. Neil waited and waited for something to happen; he could be patient, he could stand there for hours just looking at Andrew in the dark. He could wait for a car to drive by and light up Andrew’s jaw through the living room curtains, for both their eyes to burn until they passed out in the middle of the room, for the sun to rise and birds to sing and Andrew to speak. Neil knew stillness as a tool of life on the run, knew nonchalance and manners to cover panic and desperation. 

It was only a moment, though, before Andrew invited the question. His shoulder drifted just slightly, his grip lingered on Neil’s sleeve. “Yes or no?” Andrew nodded. “I-“ Neil didn’t want to doubt him. “Can you… say it?” Andrew’s lips thinned, and even in the dark, even in a nanosecond, Neil knew the answer without understanding the reason behind it. “I’m alright with that,” he said quickly, or as quickly as the laws of physics would let him. “Upstairs?” 

Andrew nodded again. They went upstairs. 

//

Now, Neil was stupid. Unbelievably so, inconceivably so. Neil had never learned a thing in his life, in his own humble opinion, and the things he was good at involved just the bare bones of brain activity. Obviously. Through this unfortunate reality, Neil had started to notice a pattern. He decided to draw it out to better understand it. The sketch was yet another example of Neil being generally unremarkable, but it didn’t have to be beautiful. 

He drew Andrew Minyard, dressed in all black for a night out at Eden’s Twilight. Shoulders sloped just so, hands relaxed and capable, mouth a single line. 

He drew Andrew Minyard, standing in the corner of the girls’ dorm on some accursed movie night, elbows loose. 

The day Nicky had commented on the silence, inhaling cooled-down chicken. 

In the middle of a late-night practice; no one was communicating, and someone pinned it on Andrew, and then Nicky got mad and they all only stopped yelling at each other because Kevin was an easier and more universal target than Andrew. 

Those moments felt different. It was like Andrew had something to say, but no words to use. He had powered through only the most necessary statements in those times. Usually when he was quiet it was because he meant to be. It was as surely a fact of life as Neil’s dumbfuckery that Andrew was a calculating sort of man. He never did anything he didn’t want to, never stayed put when he wanted to move. Always knew what he’d say before he said it. Andrew was powerful, really. 

The air shifted over Neil’s shoulder, but he didn’t look. Neil leaned back in the desk chair in some wishful thinking that he could lean on Andrew, who moved fluidly to sit on the desk and shake out a cigarette. 

A conversation passed between them in a glance. Andrew rolled his eyes. “What, I’m supposed to think you’re ugly?” Neil scoffed defensively, and cherished the brief push of calloused fingertips on his chin. It felt like… Neil didn’t have a word for what he’d never felt before Andrew. It didn’t matter. Neil was stupid. He just tossed his chin back in Andrew’s direction and blurted, “yes or no?” And grinned into the kiss Andrew gave him, leaning in slowly with a fine-tuned focus like Neil would never be in this spot again. He knew both their shoulders sagged from the way they shared breath more than any visual evidence or exploratory hands. 

He knew and cared that Andrew was comfortable.

[captainfile]

not a flortist

words: 7192

ocs: any mentioned agrona

in which the epilogue barely happened and cursed child doesn’t exist. 

Agrona Apothecary, with some relation to Agrona Athletics, is a fairly successful small business, but only has one location, unlike the notorious family chain. it’s a short building, considering, and the color scheme seems too dark for a flower shop.

which is, hilariously, what it kind of is. the owner is a witch, as expected with the store’s name, and enjoys displaying bouquets in the front window that she sells for cheap because she grows them herself and it’s really no trouble. the other materials in the store, however, are bizarrely gathered from all corners of the earth- Mengdaxiang lizard urine, uncompressed ash bone, and other strange things the average wizard doesn't recognize.

Fax frowns to herself and attempts to tuck her hair back into its braid without redoing anything, which of course just makes it messier. baby hairs stick to her forehead in the humid environment. she clips a dead bud off the carnations on the counter, then turns on her heel to feed it to her vegetarian venus fly trap.

only the front half of the store is lit, for the full-sun plants and materials. at the sound of the front door swinging open, Fax looks up and forces her eyes to adjust.

“Draco Malfoy?” she mutters to herself, then straightens and pushes her hair behind her shoulders. “welcome!” she smiles, thinking of the front display to make her expression seem genuine. “is there anything i can help you with?”

“yes, actually,” Malfoy- and it is him- replies, tucking his hands into his suit pockets. as he moves towards Fax, the angles of his face are sharpened by shadow. “i found some mountain ash lining a room in my home, and heard that you tend to deal with such oddities for a price.”

“depends, but usually, yes. i get letters from all over the globe, it’s where half of this comes from,” she gestures to the inventory of her business. Malfoy arches an eyebrow.

“and the other half?”

“travel, too much spare time, my own garden,” she shrugs. Malfoy leans against the nearest table to himself and narrows his eyes.

“do you think you can harvest the mountain ash, then?” he wonders. Fax nods, and digs up a book for appointments to figure out when she can.

“perfect. i just need your personal information. name, location, payment method,” she pulls out a separate book and opens to the first empty page.

“so you don't know who i am?”

Fax pauses in handing him the book to consider his expression- surely he doesn't expect her to hold a grudge over a few comments he made about one of her friends in the middle of a war that ended two decades ago.

“I know only your name,” she says, instead of going on a rant about how uptight everyone always is. Malfoy just nods, hair falling into his face, dousing himself in more shadow than before.

Fax breathes again when he leaves, long legs striding easily across the threshold. She watches him go, then simply stares at where he stood for a moment before turning back to the venus fly trap, now closed around the flower bud. She fills her cheeks with air and picks up her clippers.

Fax’s brother, Barry, tells her off when she visits his apartment half ot pet his dog and half to ask what Draco Malfoy has been doing since the war. She isn’t suspicious of him- he’d never get away with anything foul, probably- but she’s curious why he’d come to her about mountain ash. It’s pretty minor, and usually pretty useful. Convenient, if it’s already been installed in his house- he can’t be attacked by magical creatures living in a house lined with the stuff.

“You can’t be seriously thinking of helping him, are you? I mean, he hasn’t done anything noteworthy since his wife- well. But he’s still a Malfoy, alright?”

“Bearach!” Fax snaps. “You know better than anyone not to judge a book by its cover!” he’s an Auror.

“What about by his enthusiastic actions?”

“When he was a teenager and living in the Dark Lord’s house,” she fires back, because she’s not going to hold Malfoy to that any more than she’ll worship Harry Potter for his saving of wizardkind. Which she doesn’t- they met briefly at a school reunion, once, and he asked her how she was doing- all she said was

, and went to sit with her sister.

“Yeah, the same house you’re visiting in a few days to enter a room you’re not guaranteed to exit!” Barry suddenly stands from his armchair with a grave expression. Fax rolls her eyes obnoxiously and then looks down at Danagb, a siberian husky.

“I’ll be fine. You said yourself, he hasn’t done anything noteworthy since something happened with his wife, or something, so he’s clearly grown up and gotten a handle on life, even if he’s living at Malfoy Manor. But it doesn’t matter- I just wanted to know if you know anything I don’t, but I guess not, so-”

“Just about his wife, she wasn’t a nice woman.”

“Wasn’t?”

“She’s not his wife anymore, she’s in Azkaban for using him to get to his family’s dark artifacts and using them on muggles.”

So that’s why he wants the mountain ash removed, probably- no one wants to live surrounded by proof of their own evil acts. Fax nods. “Anything else I should know?”

“Yeah, you’re an idiot, Fax,” Barry huffs, but otherwise shrugs. Fax smiles in agreement and leaves for brunch with Garrick Ollivander.

By the time her appointment with Malfoy, she looks up at the castle at Malfoy Manor and starts reconsidering.

“can i help you?” asks Draco Malfoy as Fax remembers him from Hogwarts, but with less weight on his shoulders.

“who is it?” the real Draco Malfoy calls from inside.

“i'm Fax Agrona, from Agrona Apothecary-”

“ah, miss Agrona!” the elder Malfoy- well, relative to whoever it is standing at the door- appears, setting a hand on the young boy’s shoulder.

“please, just Fax,” she corrects, because then maybe this won't all be so intimidating.

“well, Fax, this is my son, Scorpius. Scorpius, if you'll excuse us, come in, Fax,” he seems to be in his element, at the Manor, instead of lean and shadowed, like in Fax’s store. though, that might have to do with her store being an exceedingly strange place. “the room is just up here. don't worry about your shoes, this whole place is charmed to the gills.”

the house is massive, in that Fax was right in thinking it a castle. Scorpius goes back to whatever he was doing before Fax knocked, and Draco leads her through long corridors that become short with his relaxed pace. Fax quietly thanks Merlin that she’s barely shorter than him, if at all, and can keep up.

“this is it?” she asks, when Draco gestures to a perfectly normal door. smart, however, to have it blend in. she hefts her bag off her shoulder and sets it in front of the door, pulling out a wood block. “cherry,” she explains, setting it against the door so it presses up against the border of the room. nothing. she jinxes the block into a duck- therefore a magical creature- and holds it up to the same place, this time observing the shimmer that comes with pressing against the wards. she taps the duck back into a black and puts it away, then digs through her bag for- “looks like mountain ash, but it might be- aha.”

“what else could it be?” Draco asks, quietly, like he’s saying it more to himself than to Fax. but she answers anyway.

“a careful ward, maybe, from the pattern of the shimmer. alternatively, the door could just by chance have traces of mountain ash in it, but we won't know until we look, will we?” Fax falls into talking to herself, voice barely intelligible to Draco, probably. he leans against the wall leisurely as she switches the glass of her monocle until she sees what she wants.

Fax opens the door. and whistles.

“that's kind of what tipped me off,” Draco tells her, holding out a minty salve that she rubs under her nose with a grateful smile. “i can't remove it.”

“

, from the looks of it,” Fax fills her cheeks with air and then sighs. “i was confused, before, but i think i really get it now.”

“i am raising a child here, and the last thing i want is for him to find literal skeletons in my literal closets,” Draco graces her with a smirk. Fax laughs quietly, but then looks back at the werewolf bones.

“you've got guts, mister Malfoy,” she sighs again. Draco steps further into the room and frowns.

“technically, it’s lord. but Draco, really.”

“any idea who she is?” Fax asks, crouching beside the corpse, and frowns slightly when Draco shakes his head.

“she’s been here long enough to decompose like this, but that could be anywhere between ten and fifty years.”

“there's no evidence of food or water, so i'm betting on at least twenty,” Fax replies quietly. Draco nods in agreement and takes a step back to stand just outside the doorway again.

“i should actually be reporting this to the Ministry, because of my ex-wife and all, but i don't think even she was capable of leaving a werewolf to rot in a room she can’t escape like this,” he leans against the door thoughtfully, then shakes his head. “don't worry too much about her, i'll have her buried on the property once i can move her. all i need you to do is figure out the border.”

“of course,” Fax nods, but then pauses. “if you could get a sheet or something-”

“didn't think of that,” Draco interrupts, blushing, and disappears down the hall while Fax gathers her things and set about working, ignoring the elephant-corpse in the room.

finding the mountain ash is half the battle, and then there’s extracting it. Draco gives up on supervising and excuses himself to help Scorpius with homework or something.

by the time she’s done, she’s used to the smell of rotten flesh and drywall, but done she is.

“well, you’re all good now,” she announces when Draco check up on her and sees her packaging the recovered materials. “just a couple galleons, and i'm on my way.”

“and a couple extra, for the conditions,” replies Draco, handing over an envelope with a check for Gringotts. “i should have warned you.”

“good hindsight for next time something like this happens,” Fax shrugs, because there’s nothing he can do, now- she already sat for hours with the bones of a poor werewolf. so she takes the check and thanks him for his business and is on her way with a wave to Scorpius, who waves back with wide eyes.

“I cannot believe you actually went,” Barry snaps at her when she meets him for dinner, “and I can’t believe you didn’t bring me along, I could protect you!”

“Ah yes, little Fax, a full-on adult with the ability to duel for herself, no way could she face some rando in his own mansion.”

“In a room lined with mountain ash!”

“You don’t even know what mountain ash is, Bearach,” Fax hisses, glaring at her brother while cutting into her steak. Barry rolls his eyes and takes a long drink of his wine.

“I know that you shouldn’t be doing such reckless things-”

“I travel, brother, to all ends of the Earth in search of dragon egg shavings and bear cub claws because that is my job, alright? I interact with ancient families that actively try to have me killed but hold off long enough because they legitimately need help. I’ve been stuck before, but brother, this is not one of those cases, and it’s done with.”

Barry huffs. Their hostility is in the tabloids the next day. The only Agronas that didn’t join the family business are arguing? Clearly there’s nothing more important to report! Fax ignores the rumors of pregnancy or mutiny or whatever to travel to Taiwan and collect jinxed shrimp from a distressed restaurant.

Everything is calm again when a man much younger than Fax opens the door of her store and reaches up to ring the bell a few times. Obnoxious.

“Can I help you, sir?” Fax asks him, hiding her annoyance.

“Oh!” he jumps, then rubs his hands together and lets the door fall closed behind him. “Teddy Lupin,” he introduces himself, “I’m here on behalf of Harry Potter, he said a colleague recommended your business for the extraction of dinosaur bones from his wand?”

“That’s quite a pickle. Is this urgent? I have a few appointments today, and wands tend to take a while,” Fax replies calmly. Harry Potter- maybe Barry told him to check up on her? Maybe he saw the tabloids?

“I’m sure you can make time for the Head of the Auror office,” Lupin suggests, holding hands behind his back. Fax stares him down, and then nods.

“I’ll have to make a call.”

Indeed, Harry Potter has pterodactyl bones embedded in his wand, and the Ministry is a bit lost on how to get rid of them. Fax puts on a smile and sits down with it and her toolbox, because the bag was too big to bring to the Ministry.

“A young one, from what I can tell,” she remarks when Potter himself sits across from her while she works.

“I’m sure you know why you specifically were called?”

Fax provides a grim smile. “I don’t need checking in on, sir, but thank you for the thought.”

“Barry hasn’t let go of the war. It was my entire childhood, and when it ended, it didn’t in my head. But that doesn’t mean I’m going to tell you to stay away from Draco Malfoy.”

Fax pauses to look up at him incredulously.

“Hell, I encourage it. My son, Albus, heard from Draco’s son that hardly anyone visits the Manor anymore. If he asks you for help again, say yes. Or, if you so choose, go on a friendly visit.”

“Mister Potter-”

“Harry, please.”

“Harry,” Fax amends, “I agree with you entirely, but your opinion is also entirely irrelevant.”

Harry Potter’s turn to be shocked. “Sorry-”

“You may lead the Aurors, and my brother may be one of them, but that doesn’t give you the right to insert yourself into a family issue. If my brother comes to you with advice, advise him, not me. Surely all these years of working with red tape have taught you that there are some lines which are not to be crossed? Find someone else to fix your wand, Mister Potter, because I’m afraid I can’t work in an actively hostile environment such as this.”

With that scathing monologue, Fax sets Potter’s wand down, gets up, and leaves the Ministry without a single look back.

She’s coaxing a stray kneazle into a box so she can take it to a magizoologist when Draco Malfoy turns the corner and sees her. She waves, but puts a finger over her lips and gestures to the kneazle. He smiles and leans on one leg. The kneazle runs away anyways, so Fax just rolls her eyes, stands, and Vanishes the box.

“I do my best,” she shrugs.

“I see,” he nods, with his slight smile, and approaches. “You know, I just want to apologize. If I had any idea asking for help would be such a big deal, I would have asked elsewhere.”

“Did you hear about me going off on Potter?” Fax asks, lips thin, and sighs when Draco laughs as lightly as he smiles. “He doesn’t have a problem with you, it’s my paranoid brother,” she tells him. “You don’t owe me anything, and I don’t owe Potter anything.”

“He definitely owes you, though,” Draco remarks, eyes bright. Fax laughs.

“Hey, are you hungry? There’s a muggle coffee joint just that way,” she goes out on a limb, and when Draco nods, she lets a breath escape.

“I was just on my way here, to be honest,” he tells her once they’ve entered. Fax raises an eyebrow in surprise, but then smiles-

“Interesting,” she narrows her eyes at him and turns to the menu when he mimics her. the barista who greets them with a bright smile reminds Fax of a doll with her dark eyes and soft corners, unlike Fax’s taught skin and square shoulders that seem to fight with her slim jaw for her strangest feature. “hot chocolate, please.”

Fax doesn't see Draco Malfoy for a while after their shared meal, which is fine but for the pleasantry of that meeting, but she does see his son in Hogsmeade when Fax goes to meet Hagrid. Scorpius walks beside Harry Potter’s ginger son, grinning and wiggling his fingers to catch the falling snow. then Scorpius sees Fax, looking around to see which way is fastest to Hagrid’s hut, and waves.

“miss Agrona!” the young blonde calls, grinning even wider, and grabs Potter to pull him towards Fax in a light jog. “hello again!”

“hello Scorpius, how are you?”

“just enjoying the snow,” Scorpius giggles- giggles. he seems unable to contain his excitement.

“and who’s your friend here?” Fax can't remember the Potter’s name.

“Albus Potter, miss. you-uh-”

Fax laughs as quietly as she can when he begins to stutter. “i yelled at your father, didn't i?” she smiles, and Albus blushes while nodding. Scorpius laughs too.

“you should come by the Manor again, father is getting frustrated with some artifacts that you probably know more about than him,” he suggests, eyes open, and tucks a few stray pale strands of hair behind his ears, letting go of Albus’ hand.

“maybe i will, but right now i have a meeting with Hagrid. any idea which way is best to his hut?” Fax asks, quietly amazed with herself for interacting with a couple of teenagers and not smacking either of them. they don't seem like horrible kids, though, considering the kind of people their fathers were, years ago. or mothers, for that matter- the teens just send her in the right direction and say farewell. she figures that if Scorpius isn't so bad, that Draco’s done a good job.

the lord Malfoy bursts into her store while she’s trying to have a lunch break but also design something nice for the flowers in the front window. he looks horrible, entirely disheveled, and yet still beautiful.

“i found a bag of wind, and it’s taking apart my bloody house-”

Fax resists the urge to laugh and swiftly strides over to take his arm and apparatus back to the manor with him. indeed, there's a hole in the roof where the attic has been blown apart, and far above, the winds gather in a menacing cloud.

as Draco leads the way to the attic in a frenzy, he describes what happened.

“thought i'd get some cleaning done, with Scorpius at school, and when this happened i went to the Ministry, of course, and they took one look at me and told me to leave or be removed, bunch of idiots.”

“aguamenti,” Fax mutters to a length of rope gathered in the corner of the attic, where the wind hasn't gotten to yet. her hair whips against her face as she tries to wrestle the bag into remaining in one place so she can secure the rope around it.

“what do i do?” Draco yells over the howling gusts as another patch of roofing peels itself from the stable beams of the house. his hair moves with the wind, too, but less against his skull like he used to slick it and more like a stranger riding waves at the beach and catching glances

“i just have to- there,” Fax says to herself, finally securing the lip of the bag. but the storm outside churns with a threat. “we have to patch up your roof before the cloud breaks, or you have a worse problem than you started with.”

so they work quickly, with half-baked water repellant charms and old tin buckets and a spare mattress that they cut in half to spread it wider, if thinner.

and then they sit. the rain is worse than Fax expected, but their charms don't give in.

“thanks,” Draco mutters, as they sit in tense silence, each drop from the one leak echoing around the attic.

“i'm here for crazy, Draco,” Fax shrugs and curls her fingers around her shins absently. for all she's claimed of loving rain before- ha.

“were you friends with Lovegood, in school?”

Fax blinks, frowning. “No, she was plain weird.” Draco looks like he’s about to laugh, but then he doesn't, and turns his head to watch the water drip. “I was more friendly with Sprout and Chang and- a couple muggleborns that you probably don’t know. Funny, considering.” Fax doesn’t mention Cedric. Draco seems to understand, and frowns.

“I’m-”

“I already forgive you, Draco, it was a long time ago,” she interrupts. “It’s funny how I don’t talk to any of them, but I now read the Quibbler on the daily and consult with her and Longbottom all the time.”

“We all ended up a little different, even my cousin, who was truly already different.”

Fax has to go- she’s due to meet Luna, actually, and her husband, Rolf, in Bollywood for dinner and the rescue of an imprisoned erumpent. “We can get him back to Africa, we already have somewhere set up,” they wrote a few weeks ago, “but with the musk and elaborate locks, we need your help.” She eyes the patches that have replaced the roof and stands slowly to inspect them.

“I- um,” she figures discussing his son will be too long of a conversation, “I actually have to go see the Scamanders now, but if you need more help-”

“No,” Draco replies quickly, standing as well and starting to lead her out. “I can repair the roof myself, since it’s not like I’m busy these days. Send my love,” he nods slightly, and thanks her for the help, forgetting to pay her. Fax doesn’t mind. Luna laughs at her cheerfully despite the situation when she arrives and tells the couple about her day.

“Whenever someone tells him they’re going to see me, he says that, but I haven’t received an owl or caught a glimpse since Scorpius was born. His mind is guarded by-”

The erumpent emits more musk. Fax’s eyes widen, and she claps a hand over Luna’s mouth and watches how the cage reacts. “Later, alright?”

Fax sees Scorpius again when he enters the store with Albus and Harry Potter in tow. “cheerio!” he calls, smile bright, hand tight in Albus’ grip.

“Scorpius, how nice to see you again, and Albus, Auror Potter.”

“please, just Harry outside of the Ministry.”

Fax just nods, gut twisting with nerves. “how can i help you gentlemen? flowers, fruit, blast-ended skrewt legs?”

Scorpius steps forward, suddenly dipped in shadow the same way his father was. “we need mountain ash-infused jars.”

“we don’t- we don't need them, Scorp-”

“yes we do!”

“regardless of necessity, i believe they are just along the wall here,” Fax puts a stop to the younglings’ bickering and casts a lumps, which makes her vegetarian fly trap flinch, but the other plants and materials are tolerant enough to her magic.

“and how much?” Harry asks, digging into his pockets already while the two friends pick out what they’d like.

“who’s asking?” Fax utters with a smirk. so she's still a little cheesed, whatever. Harry looks horrified for only a moment before she feels bad and waves him off. “it's fine. three jars should be twelve sickles.”

“Luna told me you helped again.”

“sounds like i'm doing drugs instead of being a good person, Harry,” she turns and hands him his change after putting his galleon into the cash register. “and didn't we already establish that my business has no place in the Auror office?” Harry at least blushes.

“i mean no disrespect, miss Agrona.”

Scorpius snickers. Fax narrows her eyes at him and smiles. “i'm sure, Harry. now, is there anything else you need or will the next time i see you all be at the anniversary ball?”

Scorpius is a real funny kid, Fax decides, and decides to tell Draco the next time she sees him. except that the time doesn't come for a while. Fax goes about her business, waiting on a certain blonde to stride across the threshold of her store and ask for a unicorn hair or some other odd thing that only she would have. she's only left to wonder what happened to his roof.

Christmas comes and goes, and then the year changes, and then nothing exciting happens for months.

well, that may be an exaggeration, as Fax ends up meeting the president of America and shaking his hand and removing pterodactyl bones from

wand, which is a strange coincidence, and then Hagrid give Fax a grand tour of the Dark Forest next to Hogwarts, including introductions to the various civilized species which live there. Fax ends up removing nails from a centaur’s hoof, and is rewarded with fewer threats than when Hagrid introduced her. which is all exciting, yes.

but no Malfoy and no Potter and even no Agrona but Fax herself enters Agrona Apothecary until springtime. when all of the above decide it is time for a visit at the exact same time.

first arrives Barry, with a kiss on the cheek and green tea with lemon and honey, no milk or sugar. he sits at her desk and pokes the bristles of the fly trap until it bites him.

next are Ginny and Harry Potter, in search of a really pitiful description of something Albus wants. Barry jumps up and helps them, cradling his acidic finger, when Fax just looks lost. she doesn't speak teenager anymore.

to top it all off, she's rearranging the flowers in the front when Draco Malfoy steps up and begins correcting his hair in the window. Fax bites her lip to keep from laughing and waves, which makes him realize she’s there so his face can turn entirely sanguine.

“sorry!” he mouths, but looks over the flowers with a sheepish smile and gestures to the door, opening it moments later. Fax starts to take off her gloves when Barry storms past her with the most insincere smile she’s ever seen him wear.

“mister Malfoy! fancy seeing you here!”

Fax frowns, but figures he’s a big boy and can handle an Agrona here and there.

“what a hairline for someone our age,” Ginny whispers, having left Harry to choose between two shades of blue. Fax frowns deeper and reaches her hand up self consciously- but then Ginny laughs. “not you, Agrona, him! Malfoy. he's doing better than all of our other classmates. well, the male ones.”

“oh,” Fax’s frown relaxes. so Ginny didn't come over to be a nasty ginger. “i don't pay attention to that sort of thing.”

“well, you will when you're married,” Ginny smiles fondly, which reminds Fax of her mother. she wants to laugh, suddenly, but doesn't. “i think in just a few years, i'll have to start shaving him,” Ginny shakes her head, watching the confused man look between the two products and adjust his glasses. but Fax isn't exactly conventional, so she just nods instead of actually agreeing.

“would you like to hurt me, Agrona? kill me? torture my son? because, what, my father raised me a certain way and i was too stupid to see he was wrong?” Draco sneers. “that doesn't make you any better than him, and you know it. if you can't end the war in your mind, at least stay on the side you stand for.”

Fax fills her cheeks with air and strides over to her brother, who has paled and curled his hands into fists. “Draco! how can i help you? you seemed interested in the flowers, earlier.”

Barry turns to her, jaw slack. “you-”

“yes, actually, i’m intending to give my cousin Luna a bouquet, i’ll be joining her for dinner tonight.”

“Fax-” Barry hisses. she ignores him. Ginny laughs again.

“yes, she wrote and told me you two are once again on actual speaking terms,” Fax tells Draco, who barely blushes, but settles his hands in his pockets.

“right. how do i apologize and also inspire enthusiasm?”

“just showing up, i'm sure, will do the trick, but,” she pulls on her gloves and reaches into the center of the display. “i happen to know that she and Rolf enjoy their centerpiece with no relation to the color of their dining room.”

Draco watches her rearrange the bouquet for travel.

“how can you sell to this man?” Barry finally breaks and demands. Fax raises her eyebrows while Draco arches one, and Harry, from his corner of indecision, reaches for his wand.

“i don't discriminate, brother, and even if i did, this is on the house.”

now Draco’s eyes widen, but only slightly. “i can’t-”

“it’s for Luna, yes?” he nods. “on the house.”

“Fax, i will not-”

“Bearach, i will not allow such hostility in my store. kindly exit, sir.” Fax snaps, and when Barry looks to his superior for guidance, all he gets is Harry Potter gripping his wand tightly. so the other Agrona leaves. Fax fills her cheeks with air.

“thank you,” Draco breathes.

“of course. and thank you, Harry,” Fax adds, turning to the Auror. “may i recommend the darker shade of blue? to match his eyes?”

Barry ignores Fax for a while, and then goes back to being the childish older brother he’s always been, but with less comments about her safety. because she's fine, and even Harry Potter agrees.

he especially doesn't come around the day of the anniversary ball, which is more like of a tradition than a solemn honoring of those lost in the war. which isn't to say there’s no solemnity, but there's also wine. so Fax feeds her fly trap and then feeds her actual fly trap and then pulls her hair into a lopsided braid so it isn't in her face while she washes the floor with muggle tools. she barely looks up when the door opens.

“miss Agrona?”

“oh, Scorpius, i'll only be a minute, i'm just-”

she waves a hand towards the door. “cleaning. what can i help you with today?”

“my father would like to buy some flowers, he said you’re good at picking them out, but he had to get my dress robes, so i volunteered to come here.”

“that's responsible of you,” Fax smiles, dropping her gloves on the counter beside her own wilting bouquet. “what are the flowers for?”

she can't really help the little twist in her stomach, the little hope.

“well,” Scorpius pauses. he steps from side to side, hands clasped. Fax narrows her eyes at him, nearly impatient, but he is only a teenager and therefore destined to be difficult, so she gives him time. “they're actually for me, i- i wanted to get Albus some flowers. and you, too.”

Fax smiles, relaxing, ignoring herself to step towards the front of the store and pick out some carnations and then holds up a lily in one hand and a daisy in the other. “ones named after his sister. what do you think?” Scorpius points to the daisy.

Draco then steps into the store, spots Scorpius, and sighs. “there you are.”

Fax hums. “not quite so responsible of you anymore, buddy,” she pats his shoulder and hands him the bouquets. they're small enough to fit in one of the glasses at the ball, so he can gift them there, but bulky enough to show sincerity.

“sorry,” he mutters. Draco just smiles slightly and looks up at Fax, then back down to the flowers. Fax shakes her head. “wait, how much do i-”

“get out of here,” Fax laughs, and waves as they walk away. she only realizes after they're gone how horrible she looks.

which she makes up for at the ball, having shaved, washed, dressed, and styled herself before apparating herself to Hogsmeade Station where the Thestral-led carriages pull guests up to the castle. Barry arrived at the same time and helps her into one of the carriages before himself and two of his coworkers.

Harry greets Fax and asks how she’s doing. she smiles and says “fine, how are you?” which she counts for personal growth. Ginny compliments her choice of dress, which is a stiff black two piece gown that she rented because she isn't exactly twenty anymore. Fax compliments her back.

“good evening everyone,” calls Minerva McGonagall, which brings everyone to find a seat at any small round table around the floored Quidditch Pitch. Fax sits with Barry and their other brothers. “welcome to the eighteenth annual Anniversary Ball for the Second Wizarding War, which ended here on this day, the aforementioned years ago.” Fax bites her lip. “you all look dashing tonight, and i do hope you enjoy yourselves amidst the music, food, and reunion of your comrades from years ago, or new friendships with old enemies. despite the sides which were taken at the time, we all have in common that we survived. a toast, that we all embrace peace for another year.”

Fax raises her glass, and proceeds to ignore the tear-jerker that follow McGonagall. then the music starts and the food appears, brought in by volunteers instead of house elves.

“a change made by Hermione Granger, no doubt,” coughs someone from another table. most of Fax’s brothers don't care, but Barry glares heatedly at the source of the comment.

“you've caused enough chaos for this year, Bear,” Fax tells him, referring to that stupid tantrum with Malfoy. Barry fixes his glare on her. “stop defending people’s honor, especially those who can take care of it themselves. now, literal safety? fine, but don't overstep your bounds.”

“how about you stop telling me what to do, little sister?” Barry huffs, but takes her advice. Fax is the middle child, anyways.

eventually the music gets louder and gains lyrics, which brings some guests to the dance floor- especially the young ones. Fax watches Scorpius invite Albus to a stilted waltz to a Wierd Sisters anthem and resists a laugh, instead settling for cookies. when she gets up to get herself a Shirley Temple, however, she feels glad her dress is so stiff.

“Fax, thank Merlin,” Draco perks up from a table with Luna, Rolf, and their extensions. it's clear that Albus and Scorpius were sitting with them before they went for the dance of their lives.

“really?” Fax wonders, curious smile growing on her lips. Luna grins.

“Scorpius has been so excited to see you all day, it's unbelievable,” Draco continues, getting up. “do you mind if i join you?”

“not at all, i was just going to get something to drink.”

as they walk, Draco explains Scorpius’ excitement. “he’s never given anyone flowers before. it went beautifully awkward with Albus, just so you know.”

“Scorpius is a funny kid,” she finally tells him, and goes on to tell him about the times she saw him before and how Draco has done well, himself. Draco goes quiet when she tells him that.

“i had help,” he utters, then smiles weakly.

“it takes a village, not a woman, Draco,” Fax shakes her head. Draco’s smile relaxes somewhat. “Shirley Temple, please,” she asks George Weasley. it's the first year that Fax knows of that he’s attended; with losing his brother and all, she can understand him needing something to do other than mingle.

“really?” Draco mimics, which earns a laugh from Fax. “sherry, please, only a little.” they accept their drinks and walk along the skirting path between the tables and the bleachers. “he’s quite brave, though, with the flowers and the dance.”

Fax’s stomach twists. she nods and pushes the cherry aside while taking a sip of her drink. “he certainly looks terrified,” she nods, and they look over, finding the pair amongst the growing number of dancers. “well, he did.”

“they look happy,” and Draco looks proud. Fax smiles. “i can't imagine smiling that much in my teenage years.”

“gosh, can anyone?” Fax wonders, looking up at the stars. “it's a gift,” she shrugs. Draco laughs quietly. Scorpius spots them and soon appears with the carnations Fax picked earlier.

“madam,” he bows politely and holds out the bouquet. “for you.”

“thank you, good sir,” Fax smiles wider than usual. the off-white natural color of the flowers compliment her dress, because she has some form of forethought. “and how did Albus take his daisies?”

“he said they were pretty,” Scorpius replies, blushing fiercely. Draco puts a hand on his shoulder with a tender expression foreign to who he was as a teenager.

“what a fool. daisies can hardly be prettier than you, little one, he clearly meant to speak of the gift-giver, rather than the gift itself.”

Scorpius’ blush deepens. “i agree,” Fax adds softly, crouching so her dress wrinkles, but she’s eye to eye with the teenager. “you’re just like your dad when he was your age.”

“much kinder,” Draco smiles slyly. Fax nods and stands again.

“much.”

just an awareness of change. of time passed and friends lost. a personality, stripped.

Fax is dressed up again the next time she sees Draco Malfoy, and he’s in trouble for the nth time. but it’s her brother who swings the door of her store open to side-along apparate her somewhere.

“it’s Malfoy.”

Fax goes. she’s in the middle of a meeting with a Ministry official, but the woman clearly recognizes her Auror brother and nods frantically. Fax doesn't even glance at her pantsuit or rub off her shaky eyeliner nor her makeup before grasping Barry’s arm and being pulled through a straw. they resurface at St. Mungo’s.

“Draco?” the man looks utterly wrecked. he’s standing, but he looks like he’s about to fall over. and they're just in the waiting room, but Fax figures waiting is the hardest part. “Draco,” she breathes, stepping forward carefully. Barry hangs back.

“they won't tell me-”

Fax nods like she already knows when really it doesn't matter; she just pulls him into a shaky hug where he pulls her suit jacket into his fists and buries his face in her shoulder.

“he’s in good hands,” she murmurs, carding her fingers through his matted locks. “let’s sit, okay? sit down,” she slowly maneuvers him to one of the benches in the room. Draco isn't the only one falling apart. Barry casts a cushioning charm on the bench before they get there, which makes Fax look over at him with wide eyes.

Barry just nods. and helps Draco sit.

“they won't tell me anything,” the blonde finally chokes out, falling into a sob. but then he shudders and drags in a breath. “he was in bad shape, is all they’ll say. i could be here for hours.”

“was, was, that's past tense,” she points out, while fear gnaws at her gut. Draco sniffs and rolls his eyes.

“intelligent of you,” he spits. Fax sighs.

“they're preparing a spot for him in the post-surgical ward, which isn't allowed visitors, but they’ll tell us when he’s there and where he is after that,” Barry announces rushing over and kneeling in front of them. “he’s okay.”

Draco falls further into the seat, all breath leaving his lungs, hands scrubbing at his face. “i just can't lose him.”

Barry, too, closes his eyes at that, and nods. understands. Luna storms in with red eyes and pulls Barry up, demanding to know what he did.

“Luna!” Rolf squeaks, but Barry manages to calm her down and explain.

it's hours later, in Scorpius’ reserved room while he sleeps, that Draco finally explains what happened and then asks about Fax’s state of dress.

“oh, this old thing?” she laughs quietly, so as not to wake the sleeping boy, and swipes below her eyes where there really can't be any eyeliner left. “i had a routine meeting with the Ministry. witch without borders, and all.”

“Merlin, i didn’t-”

“stop, hey,” Fax leans forward, suddenly solemn. “you seem to think that spending time with you, helping or otherwise, is detrimental to me. but i like you, Draco, and I like your son, and i don't want you to pay me for flowers or for jars or for anything.”

for a moment, the blonde looks like he doesn't believe her, and then his eyes close. “i don't deserve this.”

“don’t you? doesn't he?” Fax asks rhetorically, because they both know the answer. Scorpius blinks and groans. instantly, Draco is on his feet and reaching for his son, soothing him back to sleep.

“his mother is not a good woman,” he says after, turning back to Fax. “i need time to think.”

“if you, or he, need anything, call me, i won't say a word.”

Fax leaves. her heart is pounding, blood rushing in her ears. Barry tells her he approves.

no Malfoy chooses to contact Fax until she happens upon the young one in Hogsmeade again. he hugs her, and she makes sure he’s alright, but then he grips her elbows with a frown.

“we miss you. father needs you.”

“that may be, but i told him to call if he’d like to see me, and i've not received anything,” Fax doesn't need to crouch as low as before. Scorpius scowls.

“he writes letters, and then he burns them. i have better game than he does.” Fax almost laughs at that, but the teenager seems sincerely disappointed. “consider this your invite. when can you next ambush him?”

“i'm not ambushing anyone, even at your behest, Scorpius, i stand by my word. if you ask, i will be there, but i will not traumatize your father because you think it’s right.” even though she wants to. Scorpius seems to know that. he narrows his eyes.

“Albus,” he calls, and the other teen skips up to them. “how do i get around her?”

“walk?” comes the suggestion. Scorpius rolls his eyes while Fax just smiles.

“how about you talk to your dad?” she shrugs, then spots Hagrid. “i have to go, it was good to see you, boys.”

Scorpius is a clever one, indeed, and Fax says so after stepping through the Floo at Malfoy Manor. Draco stands only a few feet away with a quiet smile gracing his eyes.

“i managed the boggart,” he informs her, but doesn't suggest that she isn't needed. instead, he gestures to the kitchen, where potatoes are mashing themselves and a knife lays beside a half-carved ham.

“anything i can-” Draco turns to face her, and she finds herself trapped between the blonde and a counter. a table. something. “help with?” his eyes flick around her face, then meet her gaze.

“could you roll the dough? i was just making shepherd's pie,” he murmurs, leaning forward just barely. Fax breathes.

“course.”

[captainfile]

atlas (11/11)

pluto

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=lD_9llrRjHA

words: 310

ocs: amber

what effect could a marble, cracked and filled with molten rock, have on a god with the world at his fingertips? oh, none, but knocking the world from his shoulders and the wind from his chest.

"Amber." Pan's voice makes all the adults jump to their weapons; they can't get answers from the Lost Boys, and Wendy doesn't know anything. the boy-king steps out of the dense forest and approaches the group, but his expression doesn't let anyone say anything. he admits, "I've always had a fear of heights, in case I fall." "that's a long time to feel like that." "you've quieted me, Amber. I owe you everything for it." while the adults watch, Peter Pan tears out Henry's heart from his own chest and hands it to his bravest Lost Boy. instead of looking mortal for it, he seems lighter. better. "Pan-" "heal Henry. go home. destroy Neverland's shadow, as it's the one you captured, after all." "surely this must be a trick," Regina scoffs. "what, you talk to Amber and now everything's okay?" "I've played grown-up for long enough, but if any of you would like to go with them, go. or wait, or just stay, but I am starting over. burying myself in the future where time stands still." Neverland becomes once again a place of dreams. Curly and Pockets leave with the adults and Henry, along with some newcomers Amber doesn't know, but as the Jolly Roger sails away, the sun shines once again on Neverland. pixies bloom and weave through the jungle, lighting it up in a way Amber hasn't seen before. the mermaids leap like dolphins, and congratulating yells can be heard from the tribe's corner of the island. "I mistreated everyone, but hurt no one more than you, Felix," Pan murmurs to Slightly, and rests their foreheads together. "lead them to victory over their losses like you're so good at. I'll lead them to victory over death and you," Pan turns to Amber, skewed smile catching the sun on his lips, "will lead them to victory over life."

[captainfile]

atlas (10/11)

neptune

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=PbESAQdpajg

words: 706

ocs: amber

what effect could a marble, cracked and filled with molten rock, have on a god with the world at his fingertips? oh, none, but knocking the world from his shoulders and the wind from his chest. 

Amber and Wendy are assigned to patching up all the leaks in the Jolly Roger while Hook and Tink tie up the Lost Boys. "so he's dying, eh?" Amber asks the girl, who shakily hands her another nail and nods. "where'd you learn that?" "I- he told me," she answers. Amber rolls her eyes. "and he told me that I was brave, bird. and guess what?" "why do you blame me?" Wendy snaps. "just because I'm not a Lost Boy doesn't mean you should shame me! you're working with adults, doesn't that go against everything you stand for?" "I'm doing this for Henry. if what even half of what you said is true, then he needs rescuing." "could you hurry up, at all?" Hook wonders. Amber bares her teeth at him. "we're trying," Wendy insists, giving Amber a sharp look. "Soot, please help us!" Amber sighs and steps away from the Jolly Roger, approaching the captive Lost Boys, who seem mixed on wether they can trust her or not. Nibs seems to think well of her, but Slightly levels her with a glare. "Hook," Amber finally turns to the adult, "I helped everyone survive, I held up my end of the bargain; even the prince will return to Storybrooke safely. what's so hard about being true to your own agreement?" "the Dark One made that agreement, and I'm not bound to it." "so what, I save your life, you ruin mine?" Amber is suddenly overcome by nerves, and then a wave of power ripples over the island. "Peter Pan never fails," Slightly announces. Hook steps over to Tinker Bell in panic. Amber walks away. she finds herself looking up at familiar stars, the storm clouds having cleared, for some reason. the sand she first landed on scrapes Amber's heels, but in a grounding way, like Neverland is the most realistic element of Amber's life. certainly more realistic than Storyrbooke, or adults, or Amber's synthetic bravery. Amber tries to breathe and remember the night that the ocean was not calm, and instead of seeing the sky's reflection in the waves, she saw it all in Pan's eyes. "what are you, Amber?" Amber flinches. "what do you mean?" she asks. "you say I'm something else. but what are you? you betray me, you love your family, you want to stay. what are you?" Pan sits, skin rippling with power. he lifts sand and lets it fall between his fingers, watching the crystals that cling to his palm. he looks calm and yet uniquely overwhelmed. glowing with victory and shadowed in question. Amber considers his words carefully- it's rare that they're on the same level like this, and he hasn't spoken to her outright since the day Rufio died. what is she? more human than Pan, surely, especially like this. "dust in your hands," Amber settles for, and lets her hair fall in her face. "you've killed my friend, and I'd stay here with his heart in your chest, always thinking of what a fool you are." "a fool?" Pan scoffs. "the Heart of the Truest Believer, Hook, all of this." Pan's brows tilt inward, eyes narrowing. "power makes me a fool? I could-" "you could have done it yourself, Pan," Amber tells him, and looks down at his chest. "the pixie dust, you don't need it. Henry's heart? useless. servitude from your defeated enemies? why, when you could have it all yourself?" she stands with a curled lip. "the power is in you, the power is in the island, and you choose for it not to be enough. do you feel the sand breathe? do you feel the trees weeping as they burn?" Pan stands, as well, hands curled into fists that glow. "how dare you? Neverland's shadow-" "you're slave to it, even by taking Henry's heart. one day it won't be enough, Pan, nothing will ever be enough!" Amber shouts, then breathes, not breaking eye contact. "but the second you remember Peter Pan, the boy-king who never fails, who brings Lost Boys together and fights pirates, the second you stop living your own nightmare, then- then you'll be unstoppable, murderer or not." Pan seethes. Amber stands her ground. he watches her leave and doesn't say a word-

[captainfile]

atlas (9/11)

uranus

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=sTeyHHGOSsA

words: 1384

ocs: amber, amber’s family

what effect could a marble, cracked and filled with molten rock, have on a god with the world at his fingertips? oh, none, but knocking the world from his shoulders and the wind from his chest.

"cheaters never win," Amber whispers, when Pan yells it. Slightly is the first to appear, with a scar marring his normally cooled visage, cracking through his brow and across his cheek. next Nibs, and then Cubby, with all of her hair trimmed to look like a boy's, and then Curly, and then Tootles, and Amber shakes with wide eyes while Hook warns them all of the Dreamshade that could very well be their end. Amber feels the call to arms in her bones, and freezes on the spot. "it's been a while, Captain." "not long enough." "Amber." "remember what I did to Rufio? well it's a far worse fate for you." "Amber." "where is Henry? where is he?" "Amber." Amber opens her eyes. the Lost Boys are gone, the adults are distraught, and Charming is bleeding. Regina stands over Amber, snapping her fingers impatiently. Amber doesn't tell them about their surroundings after they leave the burial grounds, mostly because Hook begins leading them to someone he knows, but Amber herself doesn't. they come upon a treehouse after Amber diffuses the traps she remembers from hunting with Slightly. it isn't her best work, but she keeps them all alive. "okay, so this is where they're keeping Henry in Pan's compound, according to, uh-" "Tinker Bell," the fairy finishes for Emma. the group convinced her to help, and brought her to the clearing by the cliff. "yeah, I know, still weird to say," Emma sighs, clearly having seen or read the skewed fairytales in her own childhood. "Tink is fine," the fairy suggests, but Emma shakes her head. "not sure that's any better. anyway, she," the Savior points a stick at Tinker Bell, "says that there are sentries positioned across the front, which is why we are going to come in through the back entrance here. she'll talk her way in, once she makes sure the coast is clear, then we sneak on in." "you'll still have to deal with any Lost Boys once you're inside," the fairy nods, but seems optimistic, compared to when they were convincing her. Regina smirks. "I think we can handle a few children with pointy sticks," she suggests. Amber makes a face and tears her shoes off, taking advantage of the adults' focus on Henry to feel Neverland through her toes. "it's not the sticks you need to worry about, it's the poison they're dipped in." "Dreamshade, Hook warned us," Snow mutters thoughtfully, eyeing the map Emma drew in the dust. "good, because one nick, and you'll spend your last-" "poison sticks equal death," Charming says too loudly, "we got it. now," he turns to the map, "when can we put this rescue mission into action?" "I'm ready to go," Tinker Bell shrugs. Amber stands and spins Hook's knife between her thumb and forefinger. "just as soon as you tell me the exit plan." "magic beans, if you'd fall for that," Amber informs the fairy, who nods, but then Charming shakes his head. "it- it was more of a last minute trip? there's no more beans," Snow announces nervously, and Amber squints at her while Tink shouts at the trees and then leaves. "so who has made it off this island without Pan's permission?" "one man," Hook murmurs, then nods to Emma. "her partner in crime, Neal. and I think we can find out how, follow me." "Mary Margaret, stay with Amber," Charming orders as they leave. Snow nods quickly but doesn't sit, instead pacing circles around the fire. "why did you take your shoes off?" she suddenly asks, stopping on the far side from Amber and frowning at her. Amber looks down at her dusty feet and smiles faintly, then runs her heels along the ground, feeling the push and pull of the land's breaths. "there's more to this island than some dirt, trees, and a boy king," Amber scoffs, while the ground beneath her warms. "it has its own shadow, its own heartbeat, its own extensions that you burn to keep warm," Amber nods to the flames. "of all the universes out there, this is the most beautiful, so why would I keep boundaries?" "maybe because Pan could kill you?" Snow scoffs, confusion and impatience coloring her round cheeks. "maybe he stole your only friend, maybe-" "hey," Regina calls. "how can we catch a Lost Boy?" while Amber is tasked with building a trap worthy of Slightly and catches a boy she doesn't recognize but doesn't want to show her face to, Hook and Charming leave on a wild goose chase, and then Pan tells Hook that Neal is alive. Amber didn't know Henry's father was dead in the first place, but it seems to shake the group to a considerable extent- Emma stares at a tree, Hook looks guilty, Charming is ready to leave to find him, and Regina accuses Pan of messing with them. Snow points out that someone may have walked past the camp while she and Amber were arguing, to which Amber herself laughs, but only quietly. their search leads them to Echo Cave, where they all have to reveal secrets. Hook confesses his feelings for Emma, Snow wants a baby, Charming shuts her down, and they look between Emma and Amber for who will tell the last secret. Amber steps forward. "I was born in New York," she states, simple, easy- "I lived there for seventeen years in poverty before I was brought here, but I'll never go back," she adds when the bridge doesn't move. it still doesn't. "my family loved me," she sighs. the bridge builds on itself, clearing a path for Emma to run across and hug Henry's father. "didn't know that was possible, for a Lost Boy," he remarks once they've left the cave. "thank you." Amber just curls her lip at him. but, since he knows how to get off the island, they regroup at the campsite and split up to catch Pan's shadow and find Tinker Bell. the next step is to break into the camp. "I believe this is where I leave you, folks." "you're coming back with us," Emma insists while Tink gathers her things. Amber shakes her head with a slanted smile. "I'd never do that willingly, Savior, and without Regina or Rumpelstiltskin, you can't drag me with you," she shrugs, but of course, that's when the mentioned villains make their entrance. "well," Regina drawls, "if this is your version of a rescue party, then you're right on time. Pandora's Box," she presents, gesturing to the Dark One. he holds a small cube with a red gem on top. "we can trap Pan for eternity simply by opening the lid." "there's a prophecy that says he'll die if Henry lives-" at Neal's announcement, everyone draws their weapons. even Amber flips Hook's knife and bends her knees, ready to disable the adult. "alright, Voldemort, hand over the box," she suggests. "as if you're so much more trustworthy, Lost Boy." "hand it over," Neal snaps, and the Dark One obeys. "no magic, or you're going in, no matter how selfless you claim to be." they hike, and Snow talks to Charming about what to do with the Lost Boys once they've defeated Pan. Amber glares at them as loudly as they can. Tinker Bell is suspicious, but doesn't say anything until they see the camp through the trees. "we're here," she announces in a hiss to the rest of the group. "Pan's perimeter." "sneak us in like we planned. grab Henry, in and out, simple," Emma orders, gesturing here and there to assign everyone jobs. "and Amber," she finally addresses the Lost Boy of the group. "what would you have me do but run, oh Savior?" Amber wonders, tilting her chin up in defiance and looking down at Emma. the adult doesn't seem to have an answer to that, and looks to her companions for any suggestions. "you'll be our last line of defense between Pan and Henry," Neal suggests, "in case all of us fail, maybe he'll listen to a former Lost Boy who's actually loyal to him." that's good enough for Amber- she hardly expects they'll fail if they work together, and if they do, it's better for her- they won't have anything on her, and she can stay in Neverland. "okay. let's go."

[captainfile]

atlas (8/11)

saturn

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=R-m7zi66ddc

words: 1168

ocs: amber

what effect could a marble, cracked and filled with molten rock, have on a god with the world at his fingertips? oh, none, but knocking the world from his shoulders and the wind from his chest.

by the time Amber's ears have stopped ringing from the mermaid's screams, and she can feel again, Hook has guided her into the rowboat and they're on Amber's beach. "let me fix the Jolly Roger," Regina suggests, and when Amber looks over, the mermaid has clearly wrecked the stupid ship. Amber scoffs. "then, we can bring it around and sneak up on Pan, like Hook said." Amber outright laughs. "of course, Captain, you're really at the top of your game," she mocks the man, who simply scowls at her, ready to reply, when Emma interrupts. "she's right, Pan already knows we're here. it's time we stop running," she tells the group. "and Gold was right, too, this land is run on belief- there's no way that a bunch of people at each other's throats can be believers." a beat of silence passes, and the woman fidgets. "i was as wrong as anyone else. it's time for all of us to believe- not in magic, but each other." Regina seems less passionate about working together, and snarks, but then Emma goes off on her, making Amber chuckle. "come on, Emma, we need to do this the right way," Prince Charming argues, hands going to his hips like the self-righteous adult that he is. Emma's expression turns grave. "no," she shakes her head. "no, we don't, that's the thing- we just need to save Henry, and the only way to do that is to be who we are! a hero, a villain, a pirate, a Lost Boy!" "and what's your skill, Savior?" Regina asks, but quietly. Emma turns with wide eyes, jaw tensed. "I'm a mother." they start walking, and Hook brings up that Amber should lead, because Pan wouldn't let his Lost Boys run amuck without knowing what could harm them. Amber smiles, just slightly, and accepts Prince Charming's sword. the land hums beneath her feet, and she knows it would sing if she took her shoes off, but she's with the adults- they'll drag her back to Storybrooke kicking and screaming if she dares be too overt about her loyalties. Amber leads the group to a ridge instead of following her usual path from the sand that named her to the children that named her. just below the peak is a small Dreamshade bush that Prince Charming nearly walks into when he sees where the dense forest stops ahead. "hey," Amber snaps, holding the prince's own sword between him and the plant. "i think i can handle a few thorns," he rolls his eyes, obviously exhausted from the hike- after so long in a cursed Storybrooke's fake prison, Amber isn't as fit as she used to be, either. "i think you can handle a few thorns too, but i wouldn't be stopping you if you'd live for more than a day after you did so," is all Amber provides as an explanation. Hook tells the group that he used a concentrated dose on the Dark One and nearly succeeded in killing him. "i suggest we go this way," Hook adds afterwards, gesturing towards an animal trail further around the area. Prince Charming purses his lips and points to the more direct way. "we'll go this way," he says, stepping in front of Amber and carefully stepping around the Dreamshade. "is Pan as horrible as Gold said?" Snow White asks quietly as they approach the ridge. Amber blinks slowly, but then shrugs. "he's not horrible, he's powerful," Amber sighs. the princess seems open, but suspicious. "yes, at least one person in this group is going to die in Neverland, if not all of you, but only because you aren't Lost Boys." that doesn't seem to encourage the woman. "so we should be able to see the whole island from here?" "aye," Hook tells Charming, "Pan's camp, and pretty much everything there is to see." "oh, hardly. we had enough trees to have a canopy, and with how we've been doing so far?" they reach the cliff. the Dark Jungle has grown so dense, they can hardly tell one tree from another. Amber quirks half a smile. "even if we could see the camp, or even just the fire, there's no way we'd be able to get to it." "why not?" Snow demands. "there's monsters here that none of us are equipped to face. if Rumpelstiltskin is somewhere in there, he's likely also dead," Amber tells her, then glances at Hook for support. for being the resident Neverland genius and tasked with saving their lives, they don't trust her very much. though, maybe she should have told Snow that life-saving was something she could actually do. "we should set up camp, gather our strength, and go around it," the pirate suggests. "you want to sleep, while my son is out there?" Regina demands, turning on a heel to fix her glare on the man, but he surprises them on with his somber expression. "if you want to live long enough to save the boy, then yes." when they set up in a clearing not far from the ridge, Charming offers to take first watch with Amber. for being so close to the Dark Jungle, it's quiet, save the distant cries of generations of Lost Boys that Amber isn't used to anymore. she hears her own sobbing in the mix, and flinches with each spike in volume. "what?" Charming whispers after a while. "is Pan coming?" "just some lore," Amber shakes her head, and swipes at her eyes to make sure she isn't crying, herself. "no creatures, so they've either been eradicated, or he's giving us false hope." not hope beyond logic, but entirely false hope. "hope?" "that this'll be easy, and any of us will leave Neverland alive, if at all," Amber shrugs, throat tightening when she hears a shouted demand for quiet that goes unanswered by the ghosts. "Mary Margaret told me you said that. surely morale will keep us alive?" "I'm your guide, you grown-up, not your leader," Amber scoffs. with each passing minute, she wishes that the group from Storybrooke didn't have the combined power to take her back. "and you can be as optimistic as you want, but-" a twig snaps. Charming unsheathes his sword, standing suddenly to face the threat, but there's nothing there- so much for that hope, if Amber ever had it. "I'll check it out. stay here, and yell if anything happens," Charming orders, stepping carefully between the trees. but Amber figures that the sound was only meant to mess with them, and after a while of Charming standing with decreasing suspicion, he's exhausted, and goes to sleep, telling Amber to wake someone else to join her for watch. Emma, over in her corner, tosses and turns, then awakes. "welcome to Neverland," echoes a slight breeze from the cliff. Amber stiffens. "wake up," Emma hisses at her parents, but they don't budge so she draws her own sword and approaches Amber with a frown. "what's coming?" she asks. Amber doesn't dare answer.

[captainfile]

atlas (7/11)

jupiter

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=WJ2XA_WxGyA

words: 1094

ocs: amber

what effect could a marble, cracked and filled with molten rock, have on a god with the world at his fingertips? oh, none, but knocking the world from his shoulders and the wind from his chest.

Captain Hook confronts Amber in the alley she's lived in since being released from prison. he says he needs her help, like he helped her when he got her out of Neverland, and she nearly buries his namesake right in his eye when he suggests such a blasphemous thing. he doesn't apologize- just says that the town is about to be destroyed, so whatever life Amber has built in Storybrooke is gone, and she can go with him back to the Enchanted Forest or wherever she'd like to go. "how?" Amber wonders, trying not to seem too eager, but Hook opens his flesh hand to reveal a shining bean that will surely open a portal for the Jolly Roger to travel through. "so I help you do something, and in return, I can go home?" "if home is in Neverland, there's no chance, I'll find someone else-" "fine! but if you're willing to go to a Lost Boy for help, then who better is there?" "I'll do it myself," Hook snarls, and disappears. Amber follows him to see if he's right, and if he'd leave without anyone else surviving. a pirate's a pirate, but even Hook cared for his crew and defended them in battle. punished Amber for Fogerty's death. often instead of Hook against Pan, or Hook against the Lost Boys, it was often Hook and his crew against the Lost Boys, as Pan was the brains of the operation, and barely needed to fight, if ever. the sun shines brightly in Amber's eyes, but she manages to make out Hook boarding the Jolly Roger and sailing away as Emma Swan and the Evil Queen run up to the docks. "he's gone," Amber sings, delighting in the frowns that wrinkle the stupid adults' faces. "and why aren't you running off with him?" Regina yells, hand suddenly engulfed in flames. "i don't fear you, nor death," Amber laughs, but explains, "and i'd never work with that cod fish. he has a magic bean, but I figure you all already know that." Regina rolls her eyes. "Henry's been taken." this gives Amber pause, but she figures there's nothing she can do, until Hook comes back and Rumpelstiltskin discovers that Neal's fiancée took Henry to Neverland. it's like a breath of fresh air- she can finally go home- but then there's too much air. she doesn't know if she's welcome there. "help us survive, so we can save Henry," the Dark One tries from the Jolly Roger. Amber laughs. "if Henry's a Lost Boy, then he's already been saved. if he isn't," Amber fills her cheeks with air, and shrugs. "but that's between them, not you adults." "them," Hook scoffs, turning to run a hand over his face. Amber bares her teeth at the pirate, then turns back to the Dark One. "how about this? help us survive there, and you can stay." "he lives, too." "we survive." "and so do the Lost Boys," Amber snarls, horrified with having to debate the worth of lives. finally, Rumpelstiltskin just gestures for her to board the ship. "pleasure doing business, adults." "so who are we up against?" Prince Charming asks- if Henry were present, he'd be squealing in delight, save the circumstances. Amber nearly whoops when the portal opens in the water beside the Jolly Roger, and nearly whoops again when all the adults grab onto something with fear in their eyes. "who are Greg and Tamara?" "they're merely pawns, manipulated by forces far greater than they can conceive," answers Rumoelstiltskin, squinting against the sea spray. Amber pulls on a rope here and there to keep the ship stable with a prideful grin at the biased description of Pan. "they have no idea who they're truly working for." "and who's that?" Emma shouts, just as the Jolly Roger approaches the portal. the Dark One glances over at Amber, who bites her cheek in a mixture of nerves and excitement. "someone we all should fear," he says pointedly, then looks back at the portal while they pass through it. this is when it all becomes worth it, though, when she can finally return and stay in her own tent, where it isn't just the island she calls home, but the essence of the land that she discovered through books and exploration the last time she was there. the essence that lives in Peter Pan, the boy-king that is neither quite human nor a merciful ruler. and yet, despite this fear that is very real, the fear she wouldn't admit to Henry- that maybe she's not a Lost Boy and is now just a lost cause- she's already bending her own logic and memories to say that the second they arrive, Pan will swoop down and carry her back to camp, where she can spar with Cubby and Rufio will be alright. where Slightly will only nod at her, and Bee will run her ears into the ground with his unstoppable storytelling. maybe this is when she pays for not being brave enough, back then. maybe Rufio died and it's her fault, and Pan will take her around the island until she meets Wendy Darling's fate. maybe she's grown up since she was last in Neverland, and the mermaids will leap overboard onto the Jolly Roger and tear everyone to bits. Amber considers either possibility, and knows which is more likely. "someone we all should fear" is correct, in that Amber only knows the island, but can't defend them against her former comrades, nor her leader. especially not Pan. Amber can't figure out how to meet him where he is. how to prove herself, and remain true to herself, but stay in Neverland, where she's happiest. the Jolly Roger passes through a funnel of water, like a tornado, and there's only so much that Hook can do to keep the ship in line, but then they're flying, only for a moment. Amber falls when the ship hits Neverland's waves. they're calm, but eerily so, not the same sort of calm as when Amber and Pan counted the stars the night Wendy spent in a cage, or the other night that Amber touched the stars and tasted the sparse clouds. it isn't the calm that reflects the universe, but the calm that reflects a storm they can't yet see. "is that it?" Emma calls from where she held onto a rope tighter than Amber did. "aye," Hook replies, so Amber follows his gaze to the island that she can already feel. Amber slows her heartbeat to follow it. "Neverland," she whispers.

[captainfile]

atlas (6/11)

mars

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=b5SycLbnYEw

words: 1006

ocs: amber

what effect could a marble, cracked and filled with molten rock, have on a god with the world at his fingertips? oh, none, but knocking the world from his shoulders and the wind from his chest.

"i love you, Henry." Amber breathes. Amber pounds on her cell door. "i do not fear death! i do not fear the Evil Queen! i do not fear Captain Hook!" she proclaims to no one. but the guards are used to living modern lives, and now that they know who actually broke real laws versus who the Evil Queen locked up for laughs, Amber finds herself wandering the streets of Storybrooke. she doesn't care about revenge, nor finding her birth family- they likely think she's dead, and she gave them up so long ago, she can't remember their faces. she was born less than a day's drive away from Storybrooke, but Amber doesn't dare. what Amber wants is a way to get back to Neverland, or a way to stop aging until she can get there. she's a legal adult, now, and every waking moment twists her gut with thoughts of Pan not only abandoning her, but banishing her for growing up. "come on," a young boy spots her relaxed stroll through town and grabs her hand, pulling her towards City Hall. "am i being abducted?" Amber wonders. "i'm Henry, and i just figure since you live here, you probably want to know what Regina wants with the place." Amber tears her hand from his grip with a sneer, but then sighs. "i don't fear, Henry. she can kill me, torture me, whatever. my family isn't here, nor any variation of the word." "that's awful," Henry frowns, sitting on a nearby bench. Amber laughs and sits beside him, relieved to socialize again. "i miss them." "your family?" "the Lost Boys," Amber admits. "Captain Hook gave me to Regina just before she cast that curse, or whatever it was." "where are you from?" Henry asks, suddenly insatiable. "is Neverland like the fairytales?" "it isn't what you'd expect- he isn't what you'd expect- but it's all worth it, even if i was abandoned in the end. i'd go back, if i still could," Amber remarks pessimistically. but she hopes beyond logic, and often hopes that Pan will receive her in her dreams. "if Hook got you, how were you abandoned?" Henry demands, eyes narrowing. he's on the edge of his seat. Amber shakes her head, trying not to remember Slightly's yell, Hook's hands, Fogerty's blood, Rufio's limp corpse. "i'm sure everyone wants to get back to the Enchanted Forest, but what i need is a way to get to Neverland." Henry considers. he's a good kid, in Amber's opinion, but he doesn't hang around enough for Amber to really get to know him. she just knows who he is, through talking to him. she doesn't really know him. "what do you fear?" she asks over hot chocolate, after the boy and his odd family visited Amber's hometown and found Henry's father. "that's heavy, dude," says the mentioned man, sitting down with his own mug. his eyes are wrinkled, but he has a glow about him that comes with romantic involvement. Amber resists a sneer at the adult. "you okay, Henry?" "yeah," Henry responds quickly, voice scratching, then looks thoughtfully into his drink. "I think I fear that after all the effort I put into my relationships with other people, that it'll all be for nothing." Neal- as he introduced himself, and corrected Rumpelstiltskin every time- fills his cheeks with air and widens his eyes. "well, you're never getting rid of me, so-" "we just met," Henry points out quietly. "and now, you're never getting rid of me. like, ever, buddy," the man assures. Amber now resists a laugh in addition to a sneer. oh, adults- Amber can't imagine going to see her parents and hugging them, even if they weren't horrible. not compared to Cubby's dad, nor Curly's aunts, nor Slightly, sometimes. "and what's your name?" "Amber," she reaches out a hand for him to shake. he does, hesitantly. "her fairytale name is-" "a secret," Amber interrupts, swiftly dropping her hand to her mug again. Neal frowns. "don't worry, I'm no evil queen." "hey," Henry laughs. but he's the one who told Amber to be suspicious of who she tells her true identity. he tells her that his mother found Neal's fiancée with a list of the more popular folks in Storybrooke and their fairytale counterparts. Amber does not want to be involved with adults, especially ones who might be out to sabotage the town. "well, my name's Neal, and my fairytale role is that I'm Henry's dad." the father and son look at each other, grinning and forgetting Amber for a moment. "what do you fear, Amber?" Henry suddenly asks, in the middle of Amber imagining how proud Pan and Slightly could have been, had Amber made it back to camp. Amber laughs. for a moment, it reminds her of Pan himself, and the cruel smile of a boy who is yet not quite a boy. then, she answers, "nothing." it's probably a lie, but in the moment, Amber sincerely hopes beyond logic that it isn't. Henry looks confused, but Neal looks afraid- "where were you when the curse hit?" he asks, brow furrowing in concern. he looks at her pale skin and faded sunspots and flat orange locks, and likely comes up with an identity for her. an assumption- adults love their assumptions. "DunBroch?" Amber nearly laughs again, but instead just shrugs and takes another sip of her drink instead of answering, which makes Henry laugh, because he knows that at one point she was in Neverland, and when the curse hit, she was in Regina's dungeons. "what?" "she was a prisoner," Henry giggles. Amber glares at him- the boy can't lie. "for what?" "oh, come on, as if Regina would ever imprison a teenager for some sensible reason," Amber rolls her eyes at Neal, and misses Regina herself stepping up to the table. "and every time you open your mouth, I consider putting you back," she drawls, reminding Amber of the first time they met. Amber scoffs. "hey mom," Henry mutters to his hot chocolate.

[captainfile]

atlas (5/11)

moon

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=WW9Dq2ciXDo

(Kabir, "There's A Moon Inside My Body")

words: 157, 33 without the poem because it doesn’t belong to me

ocs: amber

what effect could a marble, cracked and filled with molten rock, have on a god with the world at his fingertips? oh, none, but knocking the world from his shoulders and the wind from his chest.

Amber is a prisoner. Amber doesn't remember what she did wrong. "THE moon shines in my body, but my blind eyes cannot see it: The moon is within me, and so is the sun. The unstruck drum of Eternity is sounded within me; but my deaf ears cannot hear it. "So long as man clamours for the I and the Mine, his works are as naught: When all love of the I and the Mine is dead, then the work of the Lord is done. For work has no other aim than the getting of knowledge: When that comes, then work is put away. "The flower blooms for the fruit: when the fruit comes, the flower withers. The musk is in the deer, but it seeks it not within itself: it wanders in quest of grass." Amber does not know forwards, nor backwards. Amber lives every day the same. Amber's jail is not just a physical one.

[captainfile]

atlas (3/11)

venus

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=rWlIT2NNj2w

words: 1102

ocs: amber

what effect could a marble, cracked and filled with molten rock, have on a god with the world at his fingertips? oh, none, but knocking the world from his shoulders and the wind from his chest.

Pan, or "call me Peter, Wendy, surely we're friends now," takes Wendy around the island, and nearly everyone is jealous. Amber wishes she could have his wise input while she spars with a sour Cubby, then wishes he was around to make gathering a game when she collects fruits with Rufio for Wendy's feast. "he's probably just planning something, he never acts like this," Rufio assures her after snapping another leaf in half. Slightly swings down from a low branch, glare and club at the ready. "who are you to judge our leader?" "we aren't-" Rufio stammers. Amber narrows her eyes and looks between the two boys. "you like rules, don't you," Amber whispers to Slightly, who doesn't respond. "there's a million books in that treehouse, and i've read all of them since i arrived here." without Pan's permission, and mostly while Pan is exploring and Amber's feet ache but her mind years for exploration. "the books, they make sense. the stars, they make sense. there's beauty in logic, and you see it, Slightly. i respect that." they come to a truce. at Wendy's feast, when the bird takes Slightly's chair, he sits between Amber and Rufio and eats fifteen grapes before Rufio can eat five. "Monty!" Pan calls when the sun rises, after a night of enchanting music. "tell everyone to meet me and Wendy by the lake!" Monty does, and Amber wonders if this is the part where Rufio is right. Slightly doesn't give anything away with his facial expressions, other than hostility, as per usual. but Amber wonders. Amber has been to the lake before. it's small, more like a pond, with willow trees hanging over and dipping into the water. sunlight doesn't reach the lake, so it's clear of algae but muddy from little feet. Slightly and Amber are too tall compared to the other Lost Boys, and at the deepest point, water laps at their waists. Pan is barely taller than them and yet seems to blend with the water like he dissolves in it. "if I go in the water, my nightgown will be ruined," Wendy scolds Pan, who for a moment tilts his head, and then stands up straight so the water is level with his knees. Slightly crouches, watching the exchange carefully. Amber doesn't understand Pan. "Tootles, do you wear dresses?" he asks, not looking away from the bird. "maybe you can lend Wendy one so she can swim." Tootles snorts. Pan turns sharply, pupils shrunken once again. Slightly doesn't even blink. Amber gasps, but elects not to cross Pan if she can help it. well, in this instance, at least. "silly boy, I can't swim in a dress. i need a swimsuit," Wendy smiles warmly. Amber is so confused. "draw it, and maybe i can think it up." "why can't I?" Wendy asks, and Slightly suddenly smirks, shoulders relaxing, eyes brightening. Amber has never seen him so excited. "because you're not a Lost Boy, of course." so Rufio was right. he brags for the rest of the day, while Wendy cries in her cage. but when Amber challenges him to spar, she wins a few times to bring down his ego, except that he's lived on Neverland for longer than Amber has, and wins most times. if time were such a concept in Neverland. it isn't according to Pan's books, which she stays away from while he gloats about having tricked Wendy so easily. the festivities end late in the night because the Lost Boys are not ordered around by adults and go to sleep when they please. Amber, despite the big day for her finding her place with the Lost Boys, takes a walk to see the stars. tonight, Neverland is darker than usual. Amber understands moon phases, but the canopy seems to be shielding Amber from the pale beams of light that usually ease her to sleep. Amber walks away from the bird's sniffling and goes instead to the beach where she first arrived and watches the ocean from the forest. it's peaceful tonight, reflecting the stars nearly perfectly in a way Amber has never seen- she lived in a city with a blue night sky forever before coming to Neverland, and even with her own adaptation, she doesn't know the sky as well as the ground. stars blink between waves and twinkle when Amber looks up at them, and it all becomes a bit overwhelming when she steps out and dips her bare toes into the damp sand that gave her a name here. "just one more!" Emily and Rachel and Jacob say, over and over again, and teach her to hate herself. "you're my favorite, Amber, you're so funny!" they sneer. Amber sits. Amber curls her fingers in the sand. "forget that life." Pan walks from the forest to Amber, footfalls rusting stray leaves and twigs in a way that suggests he wants Amber to know exactly where he is. and she does. "do you ever send someone back?" "I'll send Wendy back," Pan answers. he doesn't sit, but stands next to Amber so his foot rests in a dip she absently dig with her palm. "but that's because she isn't a Lost Boy. I mean, she's practically an adult," he laughs quietly. cruelly. Amber scans the sky for blue. "I don't want to go back, but I do, in my nightmares." "Neverland is a place of dreams," Pan breathes, then turns to look at Amber with a face she can't see, even in the dull moonlight. "you can live this dream, or you can fall into nightmares. the nightmares are easier, Amber, as you're a slave in them. you grow up, you do what you're supposed to do." "drink the kool-aid." "no one leaves or stays against my will. no one arrives without my knowledge." Pan looks back out at the waves. "if you don't want to grow up, you'll have to be brave and live in this dream." Amber considers this. it's easier to talk to Pan when his eyes don't drill cracks in her soul. she find his words useful, and inspiring, but the source messes with her. she settles on, "wise of you." "i may be a boy, but i have lived a very long time, Amber." boy. Amber frowns and stands, eyes level with Pan's cheekbones, easier to see when she's closer. she thinks of what Wendy said earlier. "you're hardly a boy, Pan." Pan smiles, teeth catching the light and holding it like a cat would a mouse. "what am i, then?" Amber thinks. Amber suddenly feels like the moonlight. "something- something else."

[captainfile]

atlas (2/11)

mercury

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=eBjoiqO3rNw

words: 1266

ocs: amber

what effect could a marble, cracked and filled with molten rock, have on a god with the world at his fingertips? oh, none, but knocking the world from his shoulders and the wind from his chest.

the forest is bright, even at night, while the flames dance to the children's shadows against the tents and huts. Amber is a Lost Boy. she recognizes the name from elementary fairytales, but doesn't think about it too hard, like it'll slip away if she tries. Amber won't let this go. the dark-skinned boy's name is Rufio, and Amber ends up on friendly terms regardless of what he calls her, and Cubby shares her soup, eventually. Slightly, the tallest- though the same height as Amber, but no one seems ready to admit it- of the Lost Boys except for their leader, eyes Amber in both a smug and hostile manner, but avoids confrontation, which Amber is fine with. always has been. Rufio is creative and kind and a much better conversationalist, anyways. "whose treehouse is that, if everyone stays in the tents?" Amber wonders, however, to Rufio's entertainment. they seem to have the same truth-seeking mindset, though Rufio also seems a little more rude and a little more confident. "he does," the boy shrugs, as if that's answer enough. "at least, i think so," he continues, "because i've seen him go in a few times. nobody else goes near it." Amber narrows her eyes at him. after a few long moments, Rufio laughs, "Pan, you big dummy." "i'm not a dummy, James!" replies the voice from earlier. Pan, evidently, appears before them in the blink of an eye without any footsteps. "not you, Pan. Soot. she wanted to know about your treehouse." "curious like you?" Pan smiles slowly, but it isn't warm; Amber's breaths feel less useful for every moment it grows. "come on, Amber, i'll show you." he looks at Amber, holding out a hand for her to take. his eyes are dark, barely any green on the edges of the bonfire reflecting in his pupils, cheekbones pointed by his smile and the firelight. Amber takes his hand. Pan pulls her up, then, and doesn't let go of her hand as they walk towards the treehouse. the forest doesn't seem dark, not with the moonlight beaming down through the treetops, but the ground beneath Amber's bare feet seems to groan as they walk up to the treehouse. "i'll go first, and light a candle," suggests Pan, leaving out the part where there might not be a lighter in the treehouse. the bonfire was lit with the coals; Amber doesn't know how anything else could be lit, except with a piece of plastic from 7-Eleven. Pan indeed lights a candle somehow, and holds it out over the rope ladder so Amber can see her way up better. "it looks like a regular house," Amber observes, remembering her hopeless destiny from before and quickly shaking it off. "ah, but we have neither regularity, nor houses, in Neverland. Amber." Pan is the only Lost Boy with an accent, especially such a posh one. "i sleep here, yes, and keep secrets, yes, but i think you'll enjoy one of the rooms," he explains, opening the front door. inside, the house seems as normal as the outside. a soft bed sits below a picturesque window- the moon peaking through rustling leaves- and a few oil lamps light themselves on a dresser or on a table with chairs around it. "regular," Amber points out, tilting her head questioningly at Pan, whose smile doesn't waver. "through here," he opens what looks like a closet, but inside is a room of books and stars. Amber gasps, fingers itching to discover. "i keep my discoveries here. i'd let you read," Pan cocks an eyebrow, "but you can find everything out there." "i just got here-" "and you'll be here for a while, Amber," Pan leans in, but Amber gets the distinct feeling that he's a ghost. "and you and Rufio can unlock Neverland's secrets like i have, if you're smart enough." he laughs melodically. Amber takes the challenge to heart and maps the stars each night. she feels like Galileo, and on most days, she feels like she'll never be Neil deGrasse Tyson. Rufio give up after a while and gets his sleep, but Amber keeps searching. she remembers her books, but she doesn't try to remember reading them, for fear of banishment or the nightmares that plagued her the first few nights in Neverland. with each passing day, a timeless loop, Amber discovers Neverland and bonds herself to the land. it feels like a week before someone new comes along. "a bird! it's flying!" shouts Cubby, Curly running behind her, waving his arms wildly. "bird? i thought a boy was coming," Pan narrows his eyes, and pulls a parchment from his pocket. "should be a boy. go investigate." Slightly calls over Rufio and Nibs, and they leave. "hey Soot," Cubby approaches with a wide smile that isn't entirely genuine, nor is it false. Amber sits up happily, remembering the stew. "want to spar? you've explored, but someone's had to save you every time you go near Dreamshade or a monster." Amber nods. "you're a great deal more fit than i am," Amber tells the younger girl, who laughs loudly and leads them both to the sparring ring. "will you go easy on me?" "maybe for a little bit, but it's not like Pan or a crocodile will pity you, Soot." "you're right," Amber shrugs. it's okay- growing up in the city, she's gotten into a fair few fights, but that was mostly back in middle school. "brilliant," hisses Pan from above them, and after glancing up at him for a moment, Amber picks up a stick and crouches. Cubby swings, Amber swings. Amber's stick shatters. she picks up another while Cubby steps back, and they go again. Cubby swings, Amber catches, Amber swings, Cubby lands a blow to her ribs. Amber misses Cubby's jaw, and Cubby doesn't miss Amber's shoulder. Amber is on the ground. "come on, Amber, you've got this. great swing, Terese," comments Pan, and Amber's head throbs but she stands again and gets ready. she catches the next few blows with splinters digging into her fingers, and then manages Cubby's knees, which makes her fall. "maybe i shouldn't go easy on you," Cubby huffs, red-faced, "you seem fine." Amber pales. "that's going easy?" Amber ends up on the ground three more times and Cubby none when Slightly comes back with a sleeping girl. "is that the bird?" Cubby demands, throwing her stick down to Amber's relief. it isn't a bird at all, but a petite blonde clad in grass-stained silk. Pan makes Slightly set her down on some cloth, then tries to wake her up. "hello? who are you?" Pan snaps his fingers a few times, and eventually she does wake up with a deep breath. her eyes are wide and bright, as if she does not yet know that she isn't welcome. "how magical," she beams, looking past Pan to observe the trees. Amber knows upon close inspection that they may be strange alternate universe trees, but she isn't well acquainted with her own trees, and now considers this to all be normal, so she finds it hard to understand the girl. "Neverland, right? I'm Wendy Darling." "we thought you were a bird," Bee supplies. Pan silences him with a raised brow- Amber learned very quickly that Pan always does what's best for the Lost Boys, and more importantly, that he should never be crossed. his pupils are shrunk in the bright daylight and in anger as he looks over Wendy, but then his expression suddenly lightens, mimics a genuine smile. "would you like to see some magic, Wendy?"

[captainfile]

atlas (1/11)

sun

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=oejLt58oJnA

words: 1357

ocs: amber, old man, amber’s family

what effect could a marble, cracked and filled with molten rock, have on a god with the world at his fingertips? oh, none, but knocking the world from his shoulders and the wind from his chest.

Amber is lost.

Amber is so, so screwed.

Amber can't tell left from right anymore.

Amber might die tonight.

"you need help, girl?"

"i believe so," she starts to tell the nice old man who smiles from his alley, but it's dark out and she suddenly feels like she needs to leave. he stands and doesn't seem so nice anymore.

"why don't you come here, I'll get you cleaned up real nice, curl your hair and everything."

"I like my hair," she mutters to herself, then, "I believe I'll be quite alright, actually."

the old man jumps at Amber. Amber jumps into the street and sprints.

"help!" she shrieks, within mere inches of those wretched hands. she feels pulled back into her drunken stupor from before and squeezes her eyes shut if only to not see whatever the man is doing, be it killing her or worse. except that she doesn't feel anything.

Amber opens her eyes.

she regrets it instantly, bile rising in her throat and spilling over. "hold on tight," some voice behind her whispers, and she does, feeling like the situation she's in is no better than the one she was in moments ago. but falling twenty stories back down to the ground isn't an option, so Amber grips what feels like an arm around her waist and watches the city sail by beneath her.

Amber is flying.

life flashes before her eyes; loving parents, sneering classmates, broken plates, curtains, policemen. just approaching adulthood, partying with the bullies, toasting to the unfairness of the world and the common unwillingness to face it. some plan on a lifetime of paying for their young decisions, but Amber buries her nose in Stephen Hawking and Neil deGrasse Tyson and Carl Sagan and her own imagination, hoping against her own logic that there's a universe somewhere that she doesn't have to try her whole life to get her family into a real house with a trim yard and fresh paint, only to fail time and time again, and yet go through the motions because she's not allowed to escape or give up. she's no coward; she's smart. her multiverse theory isn't doing anything but scare her parents, but she holds some respect for the possibility of a different life.

the sun rises over a forested island. there's no buildings in sight, nor any other islands around. whatever carried her away disappears as Amber's toes brush the cool sand of the beach, and so she's left to fall over and cough out more bile and try to wipe salt and acid from her lips.

"hardly the most graceful, but certainly the most strange looking," says a voice that sounds much realer than the one from last night. Amber turns her head sharply to identify the source.

a couple of young kids, a boy and a girl much smaller than Amber, observe her from the tree line. "where am I?" Amber croaks. salt runs down her throat, and sick up. the boy approaches and bends at the knee, letting Amber see his tan round face and dark almond eyes more clearly.

"home," he says. "i'm your new brother, my name's Nibs. that's Tootles." he nods to the girl.

"no, I've lived in the city my whole life."

"and now you live here. trust us, it's a lot better," Nibs replies. Tootles doesn't say anything.

"where is here?" Amber asks again, pushing her windswept locks out of her face to look out at the ocean and then into the forest. the kids just smile.

maybe this is what Amber's been looking for ever since she read The Grand Design in seventh grade. maybe this is Amber's free ride into the void with barely a scratch to pay for it. maybe this is her, in shock, making sense of death by a man in an alley and recreational poison in her empty stomach. or maybe this is magic in its oddest form. Nibs pulls her up by her sand-burned elbow and gestures for her to follow him and Tootles into the forest.

Amber figures that the only way to find the truth is to search for it.

Amber follows two kids with mysterious names into a forest with no obvious escape.

the day is bright as the sun rises over to forest, and Amber finds that Nibs and Tootles seem to think that their hike takes no time at all when in fact, it takes them all morning. Amber has never walked so far- she normally sticks to her few familiar blocks, if she perchance leaves her house to party, or some such nonsense.

they finally stop when Amber's stomach has been rumbling for at least an hour, probably warning her against ever pulling the same stunt as yesterday again. each time it growls louder, Tootles smirks at her, but neither child says anything about it. Amber sways with each step and sighs when they approach a wall of leaves. Tootles knocks, and almost immediately someone- or something- howls beyond the leaves. the sound sends chills down Amber's arms, and her hands start to shake with nerves and exhaustion when the leaves are suddenly pulled back.

"welcome to Neverland, Amber," comes a low accented murmur from next to her ear. Amber doesn't move, eyes wide, until a hand settles in the center of her back and pushes against her stained baseball jersey.

Amber stumbles.

it's a campsite of sorts, one that's been around for a while, one that's self-sustaining, and Amber doesn't necessarily know what to make of it, but it's suddenly the only sign of civilization besides Nibs and Tootles in the last twelve hours and it feels right in a weird way, but not entirely. in the center is a bonfire, reduced to coals and surrounded by worn logs with no rot; on the edges of where trees have been cleared are several huts and several more tents; beyond, hidden between the green and brown of the forest, is a treehouse, and a smaller extension of the clearing where dust settles from recent footsteps and thrown spears.

"there's much more to explore, but that can wait, of course," say two identical boys, short and healthy, in unison. they're less tanned than Nibs, with more oval faces and diamond blue eyes, but Nibs is practically a giant beside them.

"you're going to love it here," exclaims a girl more sturdy than anyone else Amber sees, but no larger than an adult. she's shorter than Amber, but taller than most of the kids around. "i bet you already do."

in the girl's hands is a bowl of stew of some sort. Amber would normally find this rural and bland, but her stomach begs her to just steal it.

Amber does not steal that bowl of soup.

"you made it," says a relatively older kid, maybe a fresh teenager, with unruly dark curls twisted into dreadlocks and swollen knuckles. his teeth are white compared to his dark lips, and despite his gaunt expression, he seems the most genuine; something about symmetry or femininity, from Amber's psychology class last year.

between a hut and a tent, with the treehouse in the background, the tallest boy in the camp smirks at her and leans against a tree, tilting his head so his broken nose and the grass between his lips catch the light through his dirty blonde hair.

the children- there are no adults- watch Amber take it all in.

"you're slighter than Slightly," the girl with the soup remarks, which sends a wave of muffled laughter through the campsite. it's almost awkward, the silence filled with creature noises and soft wind and hissing coals. "what's your name?"

"we can't call her Slightly, that's taken," points out Nibs.

"Soot," suggests the dark-skinned boy. Amber immediately likes him a little bit less, but everyone else seems to like him more for it, and a chant of the word begins.

"may i present to you all, our newest Lost Boy, Soot!" calls a figure from where Amber entered the camp. she smiles immediately, hands settling, but her pulse hammers when he steps into the sunlight.

"let's play."

[captainfile]

and again and again and (15/15)

you are in love

words: 1667

ocs: ray

Peter Pan reaches out to pull her from the water and onto the rock revealed by the low tide, but when his fingers brush the surface of the water, lightening strikes. he grins. it's bittersweet.

"oh, how the mighty fall."

it's the first time i've addressed his desperation so blatantly. Peter freezes, hand still touching mine ever so slightly as i pour his soup.

"sorry," he mutters, as if he can't help his own greed to conquer and stay alive. there's plenty of sand still left in the hourglass, but with each passing moment, he passes more of his power to me with some silent plea to stop the sand.

Slightly is next, and impatient for his dinner as always, so "stop swooning, Pan" isn't quite unexpected. the boys- among other children of all shapes and sizes and persons- have taken to calling him Pan in such a different way that i'm unsure if the boy-king ever was such. he's a prisoner the way i intend for him to be- on his own island, seemingly free, but trapped under my thumb. but he gets a taste of what could be if i were crueler when he decides to invade my treehouse.

all the children stay in canopy homes, or underground caves, or under wide leaves plucked from the shore, whatever they choose. everything is connected in some complex and invisible way that involves flight and bridges at the same time.

Peter stays in a small little thing, carved out of the wide trunk of a fruitful old tree. he climbs down his ladder one morning and scales the bark of my tree.

"Ray," he whispers when he reaches my quarters, and spends a week in Skull Rock watching himself die.

the boys and children, like they have made a name for Peter, have taken to calling me Sting-Ray, as if i have no bite to most and then. when it comes to me versus Peter Pan, they know where i got my name as a Lost Boy. which i still call all the children, if only for the sake of tradition.

the first night that it rains is a joyous time, and filled with nearly the same magic as is seen in my first time in Neverland. but this land is different, as i shaped it to better fit the children- less thorns, more sweet nuts and fruit.

it's the last day of Peter's stay in Skull Rock, and i go halfway through the celebration to check on him. spare half an inch of water, he seems fine, except the glazed expression about him.

"please," he whispers, staring at the wall to his left, but unseeing. "please."

"you let this ruin you, Peter," i tell him, with a voice made of steel. he flinches in surprise, eyes stirring around in search of my face. "as soon as you heard about the price of your youth, you let it consume you so much that you couldn't appreciate it."

"please," he whimpers.

"you told me i'd never rule you." silence follows, and it seems as though Peter has only been muttering one word for the last week. i tried not to listen. he swallows.

"but you always have, and you will until i die."

"who said i'd let that happen?" i ask, looking at the hourglass. it seems significantly more empty than when i dropped him off.

"i've got days left, love."

i'm suddenly overcome by guilt, and stop the rain. more sand slides through the glass.

"we're going to Storybrooke, then."

i hope he survives the trip. i lift him in my arms the way Felix carried me so long ago and fly into the main web of where the Lost Boys live. Nibs doesn't seem to approve of the visit, but agrees to load up ships in case a hasty escape is necessary.

"thank you," Peter mutters into my collarbone when we're mere minutes from Storybrooke. my shadow has taken over his motor control to preserve his strength, but i can't do much about his mouth. i don't know what he's thanking me for and am not sure i want to.

the roads are quiet, and nobody notices our approach to Granny's until we stand at the counter.

"Ivy," Ruby grins, barely glancing at Peter and coming around the counter to welcome me with a hug. "i wish i could say it's been so long, but i just lost a year of memories," she laughs. my brows furrow.

"what happened?" i whisper. Ruby glances at Peter for a moment, warily.

"he set a curse of Storybrooke that should have sent us all to the Enchanted Forest, but we woke up here this morning," she signs.

"how do you know it's been a year?" i sign back, and she nods at a heavily pregnant Mary Margaret talking to Henry and Emma.

"Henry and Emma left," Ruby signs, "and they just came back to help. Emma with her memories, Henry without."

"that must be hard on Regina," i mutter.

"it's hard on everyone. i gave him a hot chocolate with cinnamon, and he was really confused," Ruby laughs.

"Henry lost his memories?" Peter tries to step closer to Ruby and me, but my Shadow moves his foot back to where it was. "could i speak with him?"

"you killed him, Peter," i mumble.

"and you, but now i've learned where the power truly lies."

i roll my eyes. "i don't think it's safe."

"Sting," he tries. "Ray, please. i want to know he's alright." it's odd for Peter to call me something other than Sting, and when he calls me by what my parents named me, it's like he knows me more than i know myself.

"what the hell is he doing here?"

"Regina," i bow slightly on instinct from my years in the Enchanted Forest. "he's powerless and nearly dead, only standing because i've made my Shadow posses him. so, no real threat, but i did want to talk to you."

"he killed my son, and you let Gold die, why should i trust you?" the Evil Queen snarls.

"you don't have to, i just-"

"Ivy?" Mary Margaret wonders, then smiles and walks over to hug me.

"listen, i just wanted to make sure everyone, as in Henry, was alright. Peter is days from his end, unless i decide against it."

"let him die," Regina hisses in Peter's face. "you disgust me."

"wait," Mary Margaret disagrees, looking closely at the boy-villain.

"Sting may have her intentions, but i have my own. i took Henry's heart out of selfishness, but my true job as leader of Neverland was to care for abandoned or abused children, and let them free. Henry was abandoned more than once. he felt alone. i must be sure he doesn't feel that anymore."

Regina shakes her head, but Mary Margaret has a more open mind. she nods and goes to convince Emma, who hesitantly nods to Peter and me.

"my name's Henry. you're Peter and Ivy?"

"yes, it's lovely to meet you," Peter nods politely, sitting in the booth across from Henry. he's grown up since i last saw him.

"what do you think of Storybrooke, Henry? are you happy?" i ask, silently hoping i don't come off as creepy. he isn't too much younger than me anymore, maybe only four or five years, but his maturity is off putting.

"yeah, it's nice to have a break from school," he responds, and continues explaining how great and exciting his life is when suddenly Peter tries to reach for a napkin and my Shadow moves his hand back to his lap.

"Ivy," the boy in exile says with a hesitance of unfamiliarity, "i believe we must be getting back home."

"what's wrong?" Henry asks, revealing just a bit of childhood. my brows furrow. i thought we had days?

"well, Henry, i think you should take away just this message," i begin, helping my love up. "Peter Pan failed," i tell Emma's son, and we leave with only a flash of a grin to Ruby.

back in Neverland, the Lost Boys have boarded ships, and the Indians dance nervously around their camp.

"it's not your fault," Peter slurs against my neck, but it does nothing to stop the guilt from creeping in. we land at Skull Rock, and my Shadow leaves. "Ray, you don't have to. i'll pass the power onto you. the Shadow doesn't rule Neverland anymore," he struggles for breath, collapsing with my help to the ground.

"Peter, i've waited this long because i thought you were lying. still trying for more power. but you've proved to me that you can do this, so i will," i tell him, but he reaches a hand up to brush my jaw with his weak fingertips.

"my love," he whispers, "take the world and leave me here. it would be an honor."

i reach down and kiss Peter Pan, then stand, looking away from his dazed expression. there are only a few grains left in the hourglass. i reach over and punch the glass, making it shatter- the rock we stand in crumbles into dust, which makes us fly into the air with a strike of lightning and a gust of wind.

"Ray!" i hear, a shout in the swirl of dirt and rocks and leaves and water.

"i believe," i respond quietly.

the island bursts into color. i thought i had restored Neverland before, but this is the true power of the land. magic flows, bountiful, on rivers in the sky, and clouds reach down to kiss it reverently before floating away, light in color and soft in texture. the sense is overwhelming, but another bears the land with me- he floats, limp, only a few feet away, with all the magic flowing into his torso. the land is Peter Pan and Peter Pan is Neverland. i will myself forward, grasping my love's hand, and feel everything the boy-king ever has. his eyes fly open, and a smirk settles on his lips.

"i knew it," he mutters smugly. i roll my eyes and kiss him again. and again and again and the Lost Boys cheer as they run about their enchanting home.

[captainfile]

and again and again and (14/15)

stop him

words: 1068

ocs: ray

Peter Pan reaches out to pull her from the water and onto the rock revealed by the low tide, but when his fingers brush the surface of the water, lightening strikes. he grins. it's bittersweet.

when i wake, Ruby helps me downstairs to meet the Lost Boys in the diner. Felix is missing. i frown, and listen to Ruby's story from town gossip that Henry may have switched with Peter Pan and trapped in Pandora's Box until Emma removed him to investigate her suspicion.

"we should help," i tell my friend. "the Lost Boys and i know him better than anyone here."

"we betrayed him, Sting. he'll skin us alive, or worse, if he finds us."

"we'll just have to find him first, Nibs," i tell the boy. he nods, assured. "besides, it may help with our secret plan," i whisper- not that my voice rises much higher than a whisper on its own.

"secret plan?" Ruby inquires, when Nibs runs off. i shrug weakly and sip the water she hold out for me.

"how else do i keep a bunch of kids occupied?"

Ruby helps me and the Lost Boys slip through the back alley quietly, with me as their leader. i hold up a hand as a signal to stop just before we reach the end of the alley.

"mom, are you gonna be alright?"

"the important thing is, you will be."

Emma rubs Henry's shoulder, and i signal for the train of children behind me to keep moving- Slightly pushes me along the side of the diner, towards the voices. Ruby eyes where she found Kathryn not too long ago and ushers the boys along.

"no, he won't."

"watch out, he has the-"

the boy-king appears. the deity dressed as a child, the man playing innocent. his smile, and the soft wave of his hand, are anything but. they are murderous, and freeze the group gathered in the street. the Lost Boys keep moving, silently, until they realize what just happened.

"curse," the boy-king, my love, laughs and holds up a small object. i stand, to the surprise of the children behind me, and begin walking. "could play you like a bunch of dolls, couldn't i? the real question is, who to kill first?" he considers his options. "oh, i know. you."

"you won't touch either of them," Rumplestiltskin growls, appearing at the immortal's shoulder to pull him away from the group. i don't pay attention to the words, just on my feet moving forward on the pavement. Ruby felt the need to dress me in practically the same as yesterday, despite how hard it was to remove the jeans, so i at least am protected by my boots.

"pretty, pretty words," the boy wonder laughs, "but still, no magic."

they still don't notice my trudging.

"i don't need it. you see, you lost your Shadow, but so did i. and i sent it away with something to hide," Rumplestiltskin responds, holding his hand up in the air. an idea comes to mind. "goodbye, Papa."

"Peter Pan-" "-Ray."

our names, spoken in unison, are almost like magnets. he looks at me, stares, at my daring to go against his promise. soundlessly, as Rumplestiltskin drives a dagger into his own chest, Peter releases himself from his son's hold to walk through him and to me. i ignore the group, the dying man, the children behind me. i repeat my love's name, as he repeats mine, and then we stand toe to toe.

"you failed, Peter Pan," i mutter. "you chose power over love because you thought you could rule power, but that's not how it works. no, power rules you with the choice you made." my voice raises, and Peter's breaths become labored the longer our eye contact lasts. he is the one to look down. "i think it's time for us all to really go home."

i pick Peter up in the same way Felix carried me and fly without pixie dust, prompting the Lost Boys to chase me to the docks. when we're a safe distance away, i remove Peter's freezing charm from the group standing in the street and place the boy-king on on the most expensive looking boat. the boys run onto it, but i float back to the docks to say goodbye to Ruby.

"this was the secret plan?"

"is like to visit sometime, if you'll let me. but my business with Peter Pan is far from over," i tell her, guilt in my frown. the weight in my joints and cold in my veins begins to lighten up.

"you're always welcome, Ivy. i hope it's often. Belle is likely to push me away in mourning."

"don't let her, even if she gets angry with you. she's nice," i tell my old friend, then hug her and swing onto the boat. "give Granny my love, and apologize to everybody- i think Rumplestiltskin is dead, but i was too smitten with his murderer to notice," i yell, waving.

"how will we get to Neverland?" the twins ask in unison. Peter, head hung low, watches me through his lashes.

"full speed ahead!" i toss a hand out, feeling blood flow through with new life as i pull the ropes from the dock and we begin to float away. Nibs cheers from the steering wheel, but the boys still seem a little confused. Slightly taps my arm, and then gasps. "as they say in the books," i tell him and the boys, "second star to the right! straight on 'till morning!"

Neverland's Shadow may have been captured, but it was simply a guide left behind by the nightmares of children long ago. Peter's Shadow still remains, as well as mine, and i find myself able to control both. they infuse with the ship and its motor, making us soar into the sky.

Peter sits in the corner at the back of the boat, ignored. i watch him warily, worried about what the boy-king will do if i give him the impression that he can roam free. he doesn't seem to have that impression, and when we land in his realm, he doesn't move. i find myself able to feel the island again. it's dark. i close my eyes and dream, awake, of a better time. when i open my eyes, the boys all gasp. the sky clears, the waters glow, the trees bloom, the sand shines, the Indians whoop and holler, thirsty for adventure. i smile back at the Lost Boys and tie us with magic to the dock i create with half a thought.

"welcome to Neverland, boys."

[captainfile]

and again and again and (13/15)

trust boys in boxes

words: 1036

ocs: ray

Peter Pan reaches out to pull her from the water and onto the rock revealed by the low tide, but when his fingers brush the surface of the water, lightening strikes. he grins. it's bittersweet.

while i slept, Henry's heart was returned to him and Rumplestiltskin was freed from Pandora's Box in exchange for Peter. the boys tell me this when i wake just a few minutes from Storybrooke. Felix wears a scowl, wanting to punish the boys for their treason but unable to.

"Peter Pan never fails," he repeats to himself. i frown.

"Ivy," David calls. "i was able to reach Doctor Whale. he has a wheelchair waiting for you at the docks. we're still figuring out where the boys will stay until they're adopted, but i have a feeling that'll be with you at Granny's." he mutters all this, but the boys overhear. i can see their demeanor; he can't. i nod in understanding.

we reach the docks, and the boys are escorted last, refusing to leave my side. i catch a glimpse of Henry, face full of worry, watching the boys.

"he probably thinks he want to kill him, too," Tootles huffs. "just because i fought him that one time. what a brat, i say."

"Ivy?"

everyone looks up at the dramatic Ruby, who cheers and drags her grandmother to welcome me back. i grin, and she laughs, and cries, and welcomes the boys.

Peter Pan is making me lie to Ruby, again, even from beyond the grave. but i feel a though this isn't the end, as i'm still alive and dying. maybe the choice was made, and then unmade by Henry's recovery, but i was unaffected by the latter.

"come to the diner with us, we'll get you situated," Granny offers after Tink comes over and introduces herself. "we have plenty of room, free of charge." i get a wink from the old woman. Ruby tries to situate herself behind my wheelchair, but each of the twins reach in and grab the handles before she can, working together to push me, inch by inch, down the dock.

"looks like you made some friends," my old friend observes with a worried smile. i reach out and take her hand, signing an endearment into her fingers. her eyebrows furrow at the different between my expression and my words, one being empty and dead and the other being full of hope and happiness. i can't keep my secret from her anymore. not if i'm about to die; it feels wrong, suddenly, to keep my true feelings from my friend. i explain everything when we reach Granny's and have a moment of solitude in my room while the boys settle in.

"so you can call me whatever you'd like, i'm sorry if this confused you, and i'm sorry for lying to you for so long and then leaving you. it's confusing to myself, as well," i sign, finishing the story. Ruby sighs.

"you're in love. i can't judge you for anything. don't be ashamed."

thunder rolls, and the air becomes taught with lightning that should have preceded it, but nothing happens. the Lost Boys dance through the flooded beach. they don't seem to be worried about being washed out to sea. i turn to watch them, grinning, swaying along to the flute and the drumroll of the rain. Rufio throws me a drum and i beat along with the rhythm of the droplets landing on the shallow water. the boys each knock it with their various instruments as they pass. someone leans against my shoulders, heavy with presence but light in force. the pipes ring closely to my ear and i laugh, catching the taps of each passing child. those fairies who prefer the rain swirl above the celebration, and those mermaids who prefer the boys tickle at our ankles.

"to Slightly, the newest Lost Boy!" Peter yells, the vibration of his voice traveling through my shoulders and heels through him and the land. the Lost Boys and i yell back, cheerful, and i tap a few extra beats into my drum. Slightly laughs and whoops. "to the rain!" another answering cheer. "to Sting, for betraying us all!"

"Ivy, what the hell!"

i open my eyes from where they were squeezed shut, and the scream at my lips dies into silence. Ruby, armed with the lamp which used to be on the table next to the chair she used to be sitting in, watches me with suspicion and worry.

"what?" i wonder, but it comes out, raspy and breathless.

"Ivy, you can talk!"

"why?" i ask, looking down at the sweat-soaked sheets. i must have fallen asleep under Ruby's watch and had a nightmare. Ruby shakes her head, because she doesn't know, but she at least helps me into the shower. the boys meet me in the diner.

"you look funny," Cubby comments, eyeing my dark jeans, boots, and sweater with suspicion.

"now, you all sit and listen and don't tell anybody i told you this," i turn to the boys, who gape like fish at my voice. she sit. "the plan is, we get back to Neverland and i restore it to its previous glory. if you'd like not to come, you don't have to, but you must keep it a secret. no one here knows how beautiful and free Neverland once was."

"but you're hurt," Felix argues.

"i hope i recover like Henry did, but-"

a scream interrupts our meeting. Ruby rushes to the window from the counter, but doesn't see anything. the boys push to join her, fighting over the best view. i can't summon the strength to roll myself towards them.

"you're only getting worse." i swallow and look at Felix, who hasn't moved- he's never been one to jump up and join the excitement. "i'm not sure you'd make it back to Neverland, let alone rebuild it."

"the boys can, if i can't. the thing is, you're still here, and i have a feeling you'd rather follow him into war than me into the aftermath."

"you think i'm against you."

"i think," i correct him, "that you have just as many feelings about him as i do, but different intentions. a different role."

it's true. he nods. my destiny is to both destroy and save Peter, and i intend to do more destroying than saving, and Felix's destiny is to fiercely follow Peter until death.

[captainfile]

and again and again and (12/15)

death is less sweet the second time

words:1164

ocs:

Peter Pan reaches out to pull her from the water and onto the rock revealed by the low tide, but when his fingers brush the surface of the water, lightening strikes. he grins. it's bittersweet.

"you can save magic, Henry."

"Henry, we love you."

"i'm sorry, i have to do this."

i feel it. the end. the choice. the boys watch as my knees buckle and break, my flesh pales and tears, and i become completely limp. Hook barely catches me, but the boys tear themselves from their restraints to assist in lying me down in the sand.

"how did that feel?"

"like a tickle."

he's happy with his choice. i struggle to find the strength to breathe or keep my eyes open. how dare he, if these are the repercussions? i'm cut off from the island, suddenly, like a flake of dead skin that falls and is forgotten forever. i can't feel anything, except what anger i can hold on to. Nibs tries to press circulation into my hand, and even Felix twists the ends of my pale locks. it's not like he has always hated me.

i blink slowly, thinking i'm hallucinating, when Peter pauses in his victorious fly over the Jolly Roger. he ducks down, and Hook nearly swipes at him, but is stopped by the circle of Lost Boys.

"save her," Nibs whispers. i stare at the beautiful creature floating above me, but my face contorts in disgust without my meaning to. he did this- he chose power, and not love, and this is what he gets. i tried to help him, but he threw me away, and can't go back now. in his own words, i'll never rule him.

the boys move when Peter settles by my head soundlessly. it's almost ironic how i can't speak to yell at him.

"i did this," he mutters without meaning to. my stomach burns and churns with anger, and the sky above heats up as if ready for my reaction when Peter Pan lowers himself and his lips to my own. he's blown back after barely a moment, and looks at me with fear in his eyes from ten feet in the air. "this is meant to happen, because Peter Pan never fails," he laughs, and it sounds like a complete lie. he flies off to hide. Felix tugs on my hair subconsciously.

i notice, silently, while Hook and Tinker Bell discuss exit plans, that the pain is gone. of course, my bones ache with my fast-approaching death, and my skin burns with anger, and my lungs and heart burn with emptiness. but the pain signifying my ability to speak is just leaving. the icy fingers of my end replace the eternal scream, but i almost find it comforting. it's hard to stay angry when i know nothing can come of it- i am without hope, it may be true- but i continue to feel for the sake of feeling. if i become more hollow than i already am, the boys will lose hope, as well. and i can't take their happiness away. so i grit my teeth and clench my jaw and steel myself and stand tall, only to be picked up by many little hands and little hearts both saved and poisoned by a boy-king. they all set me on the ground again, as if to preserve what's left.

"Pan got away," Emma yells, following Regina, who carries Henry onto the Jolly Roger for David to take care of him. "Rumple's gone, Pan trapped him in Pandora's Box."

"he took Henry's heart, we have to get it back," Mary Margaret huffs, eyeing the Lost Boys subtly. or so she thinks. Felix tenses, on arm still beneath my head.

"where is he?" Regina suddenly yells, running at Felix, who stands gracefully with a smirk. Nibs swallows, and Slightly leans forward to lift my head again.

"it's useless. Pan won already, and he never fails."

"if you don't want to tell me, is guess i'll just-" Emma stops the Evil Queen from tearing the boy's heart out.

"there's a better way. we just have to give what every child wants," she says, "a mother." she turns around and crouches. "listen, i know you're all loyal to Pan. i understand how you see him- he was there to take you from being an orphan. you feel like you belong here. but really, family doesn't make you do the sort of things Pan made you do."

my eyes flick to Felix, then the twins, knowing she's wrong- these boys came from places so much worse than cackling and pointy sticks and sacrifice. but the Savior continues.

"for a long time, i didn't have a family. i never thought i would find them, and i was alone, a Lost Girl. i clung to whoever would care to give me attention, and thought the best of them. that's what you think of Pan now- because he pulled you from what you had before, you became lost, and he became your compass. but he's pointing you the wrong way. away from home.

"we could give you a home. i realized today that i do have a family, one that loves and cares for me. you can have that, too- you can come with us, and you'll never be forced to do anything you don't want, and you'll be loved by a real family," Emma promises.

"Pan is the only family we need," Felix snarls.

"he lied to you and made you do terrible things. he lied to Henry, and convinced him to give up his own heart!"

"to save the island," Slightly protests, but looks down at the aftermath.

"to save himself!" Emma disagrees. Felix shakes his head. "and until Pan absorbs the magic from Henry's heart, he can still be stopped."

"you just have to tell us where he is," Mary Margaret adds.

"leave now while Pan allows you to breathe," Felix threatens.

but the boys reveal the Thinking Tree. i frown at Felix, angry at Peter for just everything. and poor Felix can't go back on him now.

"thank you," David sighs, "now let's get you all on the ship."

i sit by the boys, of course, who don't let me walk myself to the ship. they help Felix carry me, but he seems torn between following Pan's words or actions. when i tap his shoulder, attempting an inquiring expression, he sighs.

"you've grown a little, Sting," he observes. "almost as tall as me." it's true, even though Felix is probably still older than me- eighteen or nineteen to my seventeen- but i wait for the boy to continue without responding. "we've betrayed Pan. he may have said you're meant to die, but we're still saving you, and the boys revealed his hiding spot. for the first time, i'm afraid of what he may do. i know he cares about all of us, including you, on some level, but i hope that you'll protect us if the need arises. even with- this," he shrugs, causing me to slip a little. Nibs glares at the tall boy, ready to catch him, unaware of Felix's words.

i'm asleep before we set sail.