Never Moon

part 19

"They gathered round him, all eyes averted from the thing that was coming aboard. They had no thought of fighting it. It was Fate."

Peter Pan, "The Pirate Ship."

-----

He was triumph, he was revenge, he was the electricity before a storm. He was the rain that came down and the fire that swept through the trees, he was the killing blow and the end of the arrow. He was youth, born from the island and kept that way.

He was Peter Pan, and he was remade.

The world below him grew insignificant as he shot through the air, water turning to steam, which hissed off his skin. He watched Scott's eyes widen with surprise, with shock--what, Peter wondered, did the pirate see--and relished the power that hummed through his veins, burning through muscle and bone, eating him from inside out.

"I am Peter Pan!" He announced, and the whole island was struck dumb, a heavy silence falling from beach to beach. "And I have come to save Neverland!" He raised his arm and focused, and watched the dagger--currently embedded in the side of the boat--rise up and fit itself against his palm. It vibrated faintly, enjoying the power that rolled off of Peter--duly made, newly reborn, as his younger self had dictated--and seemed to tug him down towards the deck, towards Scott.

Peter's feet touched the wooden deck and Scott visibly startled, but quickly regained himself. For an adult, Peter supposed, he bore himself well enough.

"You're back," Scott drawled, though the tension did not leave his shoulders.

Peter smirked. It felt jagged even on his own face. "And leave you in one piece?" He laughed, something in his chest recoiling slightly at the sound.

"Unfortunate that you had to return," Scott remarked conversationally, and the two began to circle each other, Peter's patience already wearing thin. "I had really hoped that you'd drowned yourself."

Peter--once two, but now one--remembered Wendy. She was no longer lodged so firmly in his heart but instead drifted aimlessly in his chest, circling the hole where the last part of his heart had beaten bravely on as only a child's heart can, long-ruined but still ticking. "I had to save Wendy," he found himself saying.

It didn't feel like him, not really. It felt disconnected, like he was watching through a stranger's eyes. Power burned through his veins, nearly scalding.

"Sorry," Peter said carelessly, and then he was leaping out of the air towards Scott and their blades clashed, the knife easily slipping past the hardened shield of magic Scott had encased himself in for so long. Scott then seemed to realize that no amount of honeyed words would drive Peter to the edge. A quiet, gripping sort of desperation stole over him and his mind skipped ahead, plotting, planning, searching for a solution--he couldn't fail, not now, he had to prove to everyone that he could do this, that he could kill this boy, and burn down his home--and upon hearing the quiet swear, he had his plan.

"Ah, Pan," Scott said, finding his words as he ducked another deadly blow, parrying with more ease now that he had a goal in mind. "You're glowing with power. Look at you." Indeed, waves of orange-white light rolled off of Peter, vibrant and pulsing.

This light, dear reader, was the first warning. There will be two more; look out for them. They do not bear good news.

"It's because," Peter said, gritting his teeth as the heat in his veins mounted, edging on painful, "I'm stronger. I can beat you."

"But at what price?" Scott asked, voice mocking. "Three of your men are nowhere to be found. The fourth has surely drowned--how conveniently you forgot him. The Wendy in your heart has been carved out and the girl is in the boat. You've merged two parts of you that shouldn't have ever touched. The power inside of you will burn your body to a husk before you can even touch me with that damn knife."