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There was rejoicing around him, and Peter hated it. It was so bothersome to see people happy when all he wanted to do was kill. Laughter, tears, it was everywhere and Peter snarled at the sound.
For twenty-eight years he’d lived as a foolish teenager. Twenty-eight fucking years. As he stood in the sidewalk he tapped his fingers nervously against his jeans, his hand itching to reach out and use the power thrumming at his fingertips. To kill something, anyone. His first victim would be whoever was responsible for this damn curse, and as his brain went through the faces he had come to know over the past few years he focused in on Rumpelstiltskin and The Evil Queen. One of them was responsible, and he’d find out who. His bet was on Regina. The simple fact that she was mayor of this sham of a town was a dead give away, but he didn’t doubt for a moment that Rumpelstiltskin wasn’t involved in some way. They’d pay, they would both pay for making a fool out of Peter Pan.
The power in his bones, the power of Neverland, stirred within him, pulling, drawing him to something. No, someone. Peter looked up, surveying the happy crowd around him. Again his fingers itched, but with familiarity. A pull that he’d come to recognize, at least one that he had recognized decades ago.
Down the street he spotted her in her pleated school skirt, neat blouse and perfect blond curls. How had he forgotten? Was it possible for him to feel as sick as he had in that moment? He searched through his memories of that insignificant boy and pulled out the ones of Wendy, or the girl she and been when cursed. He had watched her, often. He’d even tried talking to her, but she’d always shied away from him, scared and intimidated. It reminded him of the girl that had first come to Neverland over a hundred of years ago. That wasn’t the Wendy he had known, not the who had grasped his hand and looked to him with wide panicked eyes as the curse had snatched them from the enchanted forest twenty-eight years ago. Peter remembered yanking her to him, trying to disappear from that place, but it hadn’t worked, they’d been sucked in like every other idiot in Storybrooke.
For twenty-eight years she had remained at a distance from him, her body unfamiliar to him. Those green eyes met his and Peter would never admit that his heart skipped a beat. When she ran, he stood still, unable to really accept that it was her, his Wendy. Then she was on him, arms around his neck and pressed against him.
“Oh Peter,” she whispered into his throat. “Why? Why did we have to be there that day? Why?”
Wendy never cried, but he felt tears against his neck, heard them in her voice. Peter hated crying, but that one time he didn’t care. Instead he wrapped his arms tightly around her waist and pulled her to him, knowing that her toes would just brush the ground, they always had. “I’m going to kill them,” he whispered into her neck, squeezing his eyes shut and letting himself drown in the feel of her, the smell of her. Fingers slid into his hair, gentle against his scalp, and he found himself relaxing against her. “My Wendy bird,” he whispered against her neck and pressed a kiss to her skin.
Again, power tingled within him and he looked up, across the stretch of the street, past families and friends, and saw Rumpelstiltskin. Slowly, Peter raised his head, never breaking eye contact. There was confusion on the man’s face ,and it was clear that in the past twenty-eight years old Rumple hadn’t realized Peter Pan had been there the entire time. It was possible Peter supposed. The town was big enough, and Peter had just been a kid living on the outskirts of town, raising himself and forced to attend a stupid school.
Wendy’s head lifted and she looked up at him and followed his line of site. “Who is that?”
“Good ol’ Rumple. Realizing he is going to have to contend with more then just an evil queen and those goody two shoes townsfolk of Storybrooke.”
“He can’t hurt us, can he?” Wendy asked, watching the man across the street.
“Magic returned my darling bird, and he is the dark one after all.” She looked up at him, wide concerned eyes peering up into his and he smiled. “But I’m Peter Pan and even Rumpelstiltskin knows to be concerned.” With one last glance, and a promising smile at Rumpelstiltskin, Peter looked down at Wendy and tightened his hold on her. “Hold on tight.” Peter grinned when she cried out as his magic teleported them with a pop.