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NeverRememberLand	By : ClarySage Category: M through R > Peter Pan > Slash Views: 7728 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: I do not own Peter Pan, nor any of the characters from it. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.

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Title: NeverRememberLand
author: ClarySage
Disclaimer: I do not own Peter Pan...hehe, I think it would be slightly illegal if I did?
Rating: R for now
Warnings: ped, since peter never does age. Fights though no major damage. General happiness, no non-con, and no Hook
Pairings:Peter x you'll find out soon enough
Reviews: Of course! The more you give the more i'll give. ^_~

It was never strange to Peter than he couldn’t remember things, people, or faces. He had from the first day of himself been forgetting things, and he was sure it would go on for as long as he continued to be. Time passes oddly in Neverland, it skips beats, and sometimes circles back. It rarely goes forward, though when it does it seems to go with a whoosh and a solid sounding clang, as if some great clock just out of sight has struck an hour.

Peter remembered Wendy, she of the stories and thimbles with kisses. Though he could not recall why there was something missing, nor what it was. Though once, when he’d come back to retrieve Wendy and bring her to Neverland for spring-cleaning, she’d asked after Tinkerbell and Peter in return asked, “Who?”

It did not bother him that Tinkerbell was gone, for he no longer recalled her at all, such was Peter’s way. And then again Wendy had asked, “What about Hook?”

Peter had asked back, with a twist between his smooth brows, “Who?”

To Peter an enemy gone no longer existed, and so Captain Hook had faded from memory as well. It was strange that Wendy did not fade, though she did seem to go in waves.

Sometimes a seeming eternity would go on before Peter would want a story from her, and then he would remember, and claim her once more for spring-cleaning. Wendy always told the most enchanting stories, stories all about Peter and his cleverness.

But as happens when life becomes a dull monotonous roar, Peter grew bored. It seemed Wendy was no longer there, though he called for the longest time, she no longer heard him at the window, nor saw his fleeting frame as it flitted outside the glass. So that for a while, Peter forgot Wendy as well, and there was only he to entertain himself.

What Peter craved most of all, more than a shiny new knife, or a wicked fur, was a foe, an enemy to do battle against. He did not recall Hook, certainly, but he did recall the fights between them. Such exciting things they had been, with the clash of blade and hook, and the screams of the dying pirates. Though either Peter or the Captain could have caused their deaths. It was hard to remember the specifics and details. Only the ringing sounds of his jeers and the growls of the Captain as he fought back.

Peter had tried to find an enemy in Neverland, but there were none he felt would be up to the challenge. The Indians though savage were not fighters in the sense of a senseless fight, they only fought to gain food, or to protect one another. So Peter though he tried, could never bring himself to fight with them. The mermaids, though insidious at the best of times were more friends than foe, and so Peter could not raise a hand to them either. Though there were many wild animals to slay, Peter left them mostly alone as well, preferring to hunt only when it was absolutely needed, as sometimes it seemed more like work than play.

So it was Peter found himself creating a new enemy as easily as we whip up a cake or a roast with potatoes. He wished for it, and Neverland, in its guileless way granted his wish.

~~~

Watch now as the rays of the sun point their arrows of liquid gold towards Neverland, and a shadow lengthens on the beach near the Lagoon. Here walks Peter himself, everyone in Neverland knows him, as he in turn knows everyone in Neverland. His shadow lies behind him and refuses to join him as he tiptoes across the little waves that dash along the shore like agitated lace. Peter had seen something strange, which even he with his cleverness could not name.

A shadow had fallen into the sea, not unlike Peter’s own shadow, and so he had followed its plummet and now searched for what was sure to be a crater in the ocean from the landing of it. But try as he might, and search as he could, he could not find the strange sight that had descended so ungracefully.

“It must be a small thing to leave no dent,” he said to the breeze that whispered through his hair.

But at last, Peter quite forgot the thing that had fallen, and went off in search of some other entertainment. Though his shadow looked uncertainly upon the waves as Peter flew off, convinced that there was something amiss.

As soon as Peter had distanced himself from the Lagoon and the water, and his shadow had wandered back to him, a strange and irregular wave lapped at the shore. It grew, and shuddered and eventually a single green eye appeared from the foam to search the beach warily. It was soon joined by a face that held another green eye, and then by the form of a very familiar size.

The boy, for that was indeed what it was, climbed from the water shaking droplets like rainfall and padded quietly across the sand towards the trees that lined up not far away. He was nude, and small, though muscled in a way that spoke volumes of his pastimes and skills. His hair seemed familiar, a halo of gold that sparkled oddly, as if it held the sun inside it long after the sun had said goodnight.

A mermaid cautiously poked her head from the water to watch the progress of the boy, and then sank silently beneath the dark waters. Another mermaid poked up, glanced along the beach and then too, slipped below. Soon several beautifully shining heads of hair bobbed up and down, each mermaid taking a turn to see this strange event. For what each saw was something they had always seen; only they knew this could not be the same. They knew, because there was only one Peter Pan, and therefore, this could not be he.

~~~

Days in Neverland pass as if from the view of a child, always a little askew. Sometimes they can last as with a summer, never long enough, and as with winter, always a little too long. So Peter’s days were, boredom to centuries, and fun in the blink of an eye. Though sometimes they would reverse, but Peter held that this was only kept for special occasions like a silver tea set or the good china.

The wind was sighing through the limbs of the trees and rattling leaves, as Peter lay along a branch and watched the progress of a line of ants. They had found a sweet patch of sticky sap from which to gather, and now they heaved and hoed in an amazing manner. Each one a tiny workman, so that Peter felt that at any moment he aught to see one standing slightly aside with a whip, and a cone in which to holler orders.

A sliver of sound meandered its way across the trees, filtering in and out and around, dancing in a way that only music can, with freedom, movement, and mysticism. It nestled between Peter’s shoulder blades and wriggled against his neck before it slipped into his ears like honey, sweet, slightly dangerous, and still containing the memory of bees.

Peter was unused to hearing music like this other than from his own set of pipes, which in a glance he reassured himself were still by his side. With a thought he was gliding on the wind that sighed so softly, his ears pricking from the stings of the musical bees as he went in search of the source of the sound.

Near a corner of the forest, where paths of sea and land met in a wet kiss of sand and water, there was a pocket as if ripped from an old coat. It was ragged and shaped in a rough U of fringed trees, a miniature hillock of green, flowers in clumps, vines that nestled as if snakes in hidden spots. In this little valley of a pocket sat a boy, there was a straightness to his spine and a tilt to his head that seemed familiar. His golden hair reflected the sky and his face was turned just out of reach of the eye.

Peter was at once a thrill of excitement; at last a new boy had come to Neverland to replace the ones he had lost. At last someone to play and fight with, boss and bully, and to nestle against when the cold was too much and the heat too little. His heart, which never spoke to him but always whispered to his ego, cried out a sheer scream of joy and Peter at once rushed to his new comrade, for surely that was the only thing this boy could be.

But his enthusiasm slapped the ground with a palpable force and sound when the boy turned. If Peter had known what a mirror was he could have named the image that faced him, though instead he merely cried, “I know you!” At this the boy made a face of such familiarity that Peter’s own expression in turn screwed up to echo it in sympathy.

“And I know you,” said the entirely too known voice, for of course it was Peter’s own.

“What is your name, if you know me so well?” Peter asked at once, all cleverness and pride.

“Why you should know it as surely as you know in which direction lies the sun, for it reflects yours like the water to the setting of the rays.”

“Then it would be Nap!” cried Peter, grinning like a thief as he felt he’d stolen this answer from a well-locked vault.

“Nap Retep, of course,” agreed the boy with nonchalance.

Peter frowned then, he may have never learned to spell or to write, but the name of the boy struck him as his own, which seemed a new and strange thing. Peter didn’t really care for strange new things unless they were his own idea.

At once he thought to assert himself, he was Peter Pan, and all who had come before had been under his leadership, there was no reason this boy should be any different. “You’ll follow my lead and be my new boy,” Peter told Nap in all seriousness.

“I won’t.”

But instead of a sharply rapped ‘you will’ Peter shrugged. “We can work out a deal like the Redskins then, and make a trade,” he said in what he thought was a rather reasonable way.

“No.”

Anger from Peter was a rare thing, or any emotion above gladness, but now his temper came to life, circling like a shark fin on windy waters. It shone silver and looked dangerous if seen from the wrong angle. “I shall give you reason.” Peter said, not normally a cruel or insensitive boy but always a leader and king.

“And I will give it back,” said Nap, just as calmly.

“Anything I give you, you should be glad to take!” and now Peter’s voice rose, beginning the climb of a short mountain.

“I’ll take what I want, whether you give it or not!” and Nap stood, coming face to face with Peter. Both boys clenching their hands into fists, each glare a replica.

Unnoticed by the two boys, sparks began to gather, like the light from fairies. It danced about them, touching here or there but never seeming to settle.

“I am always leader,” Peter said hotly.

“I am always leader!” Nap shouted.

The sparks gathered into a bright, hot flame, much like anger itself - the air becoming heavy around them, pressure filling ears and electrifying the hair on arms. It was as if a storm were coming, and quickly, scudding in from the sea and gathering forces as it rode.

Nap swung first, his fist leaving a void behind it as it arced towards Peter, a flame in its path.

It was this that broke the storm.

tbc...
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NeverRememberLand