Angel (Peter Pan Fanfic)

Pick Up the Pieces

Lyla blinked once. Twice. She stared up at a dark wood ceiling, tracing every grain and strand with her eyes. Am I dead...? Is this what it feels like...? She stretched her arms out in curiosity to find she was lying on a bed with soft fur blankets smooth under her. The teenage girl sat up to take in her new surroundings.

Her eyes swept the room, she finally noticed Peter Pan sitting in a chair next to the bed. His arms were crossed in hostility and his brows furrowed. Lyla's breath hitched. Oh... Shit...

The Boy King's eyes snapped to hers. Lyla flinched at the angry gaze and cast her eyes down. She fiddled with her hands in her lap, anxious under Pan's scrutiny.

"You should've let me die," Lyla stated numbly. I shouldn't be alive right now... She saw Peter's fists clench unclench a few times in a subpar attempt to relieve his anger.

"Why?" Peter Pan grit out. He had so much to say, but now was not the time. He needed answers.

"I told you why on the Cliff," Lyla spoke dreamily, as if she was in a trance. " I'm in pain. So much pain. And...it never stops. There's no end. There's no hope."

His heartstrings tugged. Pan couldn't help but feel responsible for this. It was his job to look after his Lost Girl and he had failed. He felt so incredibly stupid. How could he have missed all the signs? In hindsight, it was painfully obvious the turmoil Lyla faced.

He leaned forward to grasp her cold hand in his. He turned it over and traced the fine lines on her dainty hand. "Of course there's hope, Angel. You can be happy here... I can make you happy..." Peter trailed off his sentence to look up at her.

He looked so terribly innocent and sincere that Lyla wished she could believe him. But all the evidence against him flashed before her eyes: Michael, the countless bruises, the cage, the malicious words...the abusive treatment. Physically, emotionally, mentally. Lyla believed that is was possible that he cared about her in his own severely twisted way. But he just couldn't help himself from hurting her and others. It's just who he is.

"I... I can't. I'll never be happy. I've never been happy. I've been holding on for so long, Peter.  And for what? I'm so tired of fighting when there's no way out..." Lyla pleaded with him, attempting to make him understand. It only served to frustrate the boy.

"Lyla, you're on Neverland. This place is full of magic and hope. There are... endless possibilities and adventures. You'll be happy here... eventually," Peter promised her.

Lyla looked up from her hand in his comforting grip. Why can't he understand...? "I wanted to die Peter. I wanted to escape. And the only way to escape Neverland... is through death," she said, still aloof and unattached.

Pan felt his typical anger flare up at her words. At her disrespect of Neverland. His home. His island, perfect in every way. The literal definition of paradise. "Well I hate to break it to you, Angel, but death isn't an escape route anymore. You're not dying ever. You'll stay on this island for eternity with me," Pan informed her possessively.

He was unwilling to let her go. It was too late. He had already grown too attached. The boy didn't care how selfish he was being by denying Lyla her freedom. All he cared about was that he wanted her. He wanted her and Peter Pan always got what he wanted.

Lyla seemed to snap out of her daze at the bold statement. She sputtered," Excuse me?"

He tilted his head and fixed his dark gaze on her. The air felt inexplicably thin and stale. It was suffocating. Lyla missed the rigorous wind of the Cliff. How it pummeled her, forcing her to feel something.

Pan spoke slowly as if talking to a child, mocking Lyla," You are never leaving, Lyla. I won't let you. Neverland is your home now. Pick up the pieces and move on."