Chapter 47: The Things We Lost

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'You're a coward, Pan!' I spat in fury.

'A coward?' Peter mused because, in all of his time as a Lost Boy, he had strived to be anything but a coward. He folded his arms in front of his chest in a way of challenging me and counter argued, 'Is that so? Well, no more of a coward than Oliver.'

'Oliver is stronger than you.' I protested defiantly, rising to my feet. I was no longer just mourning Oliver's death, I was furious with the one that caused it. 'He's so strong that, unlike your weakness, he has the attribute to forgive you.'

'Forgive me?' Peter spluttered, raising an eyebrow at me, as if I  had gone completely mad. 'Oliver hasn't forgiven me for what I have done to you and how I imprisoned him.'

'Of course he has.' I replied impatiently, but then I took a step closer and my fingers wavered across Pan's, staring into his eyes. 'We must always forgive our enemies. If we can't see sense behind it, then at least know that nothing annoys them more.'

'I don't forgive him though,' Peter said eventually, turning around to face the body of Oliver, who he already had had revenge on. 'He's dead now, I cannot hurt him anymore.'

'I suppose that's the same thing, isn't it?' I mused and Pan frowned, watching me in curiosity and confusion. 'You've let your enemies go, you have forgiven them. Therefore now they are not your enemies any more: you have destroyed them.'

'But it's not just about Oliver, is it?' Pan pointed out and I frowned, but also bit my lip because I knew that I was selfish, I just didn't like to be reminded about it. 'It's about you. It's about what you want. You're complicated.' He accused.

'I'm not complicated, nothing about this is complicated! You should've let him live!' I stated with fury, then said far more softly, 'Then maybe you might still have me.'

'I'm not going to lose you,' Peter chuckled confidently and he was right. We wouldn't lose each other and maybe, if we kept on dreaming, we could reach a perfect happy ending.

I'd never felt closer to being alive when I was with Pan and the world was so calm.

Pan took my hand and squeezed it gently but firmly and very reassuringly, before admitting, 'I agree with you, thinking about it. It's cowardly to kill an unarmed person, but not to let them go. I just wish I didn't kill him now.'

'Why?' I asked, hopeful that part of Pan's heart hadn't blackened.

'Because I wanted Oliver, like Henry's family, to live long enough to see all of my successes with you and with Henry.' Peter mused and he laughed.

Holding on to the memories of what Peter Pan had done would be like holding on to a breath: it would only suffocate me.

'You say the worst things. You act like a life is nothing, even the life of my friend. You can be so evil sometimes,' I sobbed.

'Fine, I'm evil. I'm not perfect. Guilty.' He said holding his hands up, irritated by what I was saying.

I glared at him angrily, because he was making light of something that was really angering me at that moment, like my feelings meant nothing, like this was amusing to him

'You didn't have to kill him, you didn't have to murder Oliver,' I seethed angrily. 'You should have had mercy on him. After everything, he was one of the few things I had left. You've taken away so much from me, destroyed so many people, hurt so many of the people I love: Malcolm, Rumple, Baelfire, Henry, the natives, Liam, Hook, Wendy and now Oliver too. What more is there for you to hurt me with?'

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