Never (NOT a OUAT fanfic)

Chapter two

"Wells Darling, how would you feel about going to Neverland?"

A few things raced through Wells' mind. Number one was the sanity of this boy—or lack thereof. Number two was dumbfound curiosity. Number three was that Neverland, wherever the fuck that turned out to be, sounded a lot better than being in her bedroom when her father came in.

The thought of fighting with him again was overwhelming. Explaining the broken lamp on the floor made her light headed. Anywhere, anywhere sounded better than being in the same room as her father.

Perhaps she should have given her reply more thought. Perhaps Wells should have swallowed a little bit of responsibility and taken her beating.

Perhaps Mr. Darling shouldn't have pushed her limits to the point where she felt that she had no other choice but to reply: "Yeah, whatever, just get me out of here."

Peter Pan loosened his grip on her wrist as his chest sank. Wells noticed that the muscles in his jaw had been tightly wound in anticipation of her answer, but he let his teeth fall open in his mouth.

"Tink, pixie dust?" He asked, motioning for the fairy. Wells was confused, glancing between the mythical creature, and, well, the mystical boy.

The fairy shared a few pinches of the gold sparkles that flowed so freely from her figure, into Peter's open palm. It was like salt out of a shaker. As if Wells had not come across enough flabbergasting content that night.

What was the purpose of pixie dust?

"Wells," her father's voiced seethed, from closer this time. His footsteps were heavier. Nearer.

"Wells Darling, you are about to fly," Peter said, brown eyes animated. The gold sparkles seemed to waltz in them, or maybe the Wells was still more partially asleep than she thought.

This boy was just uttering one absurd thing after the other. Like they just rolled off his tongue as easily as 'good morning' or 'good night' would.

"I'm sorry, I'm about to what?" Wells began, but there was hardly any time for her to get the words out.

Peter showered her in gold sparkles. They were weightless. They made her feel weightless. They made her chest swell and a tingling feeling flourish over her body.

"We're gonna fly. Don't freak out," he casually exclaimed, flashing a cursory grin. He pulled her towards the open window by her wrist and Wells suddenly became hyper-aware of the fact that she was only wearing pajama shorts and an oversized hoodie.

The door nob jangled. The broken lock would buy them a few seconds. Her farther only had to apply a little force before it would swing open.

"Don't freak out?!" Wells repeated, her voice much sharper than his had been.

Peter Pan was already halfway out the window.

"Exactly," he flashed her that grin again, tugging Wells.

"Wait, I need my phone!" She exclaimed, pulling him back for a second and using the hand that was not caught in his grasp to snatch her phone off her desk.

"Your what? Never mind, we don't have time," Peter shook his head and gave a harsh tug on Wells' arm.

She was now crouched on the sill, looking down the three story drop from her apartment to the floor of a cold London street.

Flying was not possible.

Then how did she suddenly find herself leaning out her window to do so?

Shakily, the frostbitten air swayed in and out of her lips. Peter Pan was flying. He floated effortlessly in the murky, midnight air beyond her window. His hand was still curled around her wrist and he wasn't about to let go, in fear she would run away. It was almost as if this was some kind of majestic, wonderful trick.