Peter Pan OUAT One-Shots/Imagines

Only in Sleep

Warning: Sad Imagine.

It was the green of his eyes. At first, I was afraid of him. I was 6 and though I was mature for my age, I was frightened. But I looked into those deep green pools and found them kind. His eyes were what made me reach out my hand and clasp his, only to fly away to Neverland. The smells of the sea were pleasant when we arrived. Felix came to me, his hair disheveled, and Peter with his neat.

In Neverland, time was forgotten. Nothing mattered anymore, but it would only last for a night, and then I was gone. But I would return each time the sun ended its reign, to play in the woods with Peter- my friend, my brother. Every detail was magnificent and magnified. The oak tree at the turn of the path and the strongest vine we could find to swing on. The spot where Peter had first shown me magic, and the twinkles of fireflies.

The faces of the boys greeted me. Time had not sharpened their smooth, round, childlike faces. I met their eyes and found them mild. We all laughed in a jubilant manner, the magic of worlds I had never known enveloping me until my soul was one with Neverland. They smiled and laughed as we played, and Peter would plays those beautiful pipes of his.

Peter: he was the most important. He was my brother and my closest companion. He took me away to the beach and we would build sand castles and sing songs under the cool blanket of stars. Sleep wasn't necessary, so we would just live our lives to the fullest, packing every second with as much meaning as we could, because I couldn't stay on Neverland. I was a girl, it just wouldn't work. I would age in the human world, and I would die eventually. Death was inevitable, but I never worried. Peter was with me and that's all that mattered. In the green of his eyes, time was forgotten.

I awoke with a sob.

No, my dream wasn't right. In sleep, time was also unrestrained. That's why I could dream of childhood days long ago. Now, at age 77, things weren't the way they were. When I turned 18, Peter stopped coming for me. Years would blur by, but I knew he was okay. He wanted to bring his sister back, but he couldn't.

He will never come back.

But he's alive. Thinking back on my dream, on a reflection of the happy times I used to know, I wonder, does he, too dream of me? And in his dreams, do I look like I do now? An elderly woman, alone, forgotten, and beaten down?

Or in his dreams, am I too a child?