Peter lived alone.
An entire magical island, all to himself. Of course, the occasional pirate wandered past the palm tree barrier, but they were easy to deal with. Once the crocodile incident took place, fewer and fewer eye-patch-wearing bastards appeared.
The faeries kept him company sometimes, but those happenings were few and far between.
He began to hear whispering voices and children's giggles. To put faces and names to these voices, Peter flew out to the Mainland.
Ending up in a dark and smoggy place called "London," Peter searched for buildings with open windows. He came to a tall one. A loud gate out front spelled G-A-R-R-E-T-T-S H-O-M-E F-O-R O-R-P-H-A-N-S, but Peter wasted no time trying to understand it, as he was illiterate.
He floated through the nearest third story window and was met with 30 beds, all clad in white sheets, inhabited by a boy in each of them. The young intruder studied the children before him. He noticed that none of them looked over 16. 'Good,' Peter thought, 'Just like me.' As he watched the faces of other boys...
Mattress springs creaked as an 11-year-old sat up in a corner bed, rubbing his face. Peter spun around so fast he thought his neck would snap. He was startled when the kid smiled at him.
"Peter Pan! I knew you'd come!" The boy whispered to the floating teen. He threw his blankets off and doubled over to grab a prosthetic leg from under the bed frame. After fixing it on, he spoke again, "Mean Old Mr. Garrett said you weren't real, but you're here right now. Please, won't you take us to Neverland?"
Peter nodded hesitantly, "Wake up the other boys. Then we'll be on our way. Keep quiet, though..."
