Fire-Wielder (Peter Pan X Female!Reader X Wendy) OUAT

The Bottle Jack

Above: bottle jack (it helps with cooking meat)

I still had the Dreamshade and my shell after my father had gone. Peter sat with me on the beach as we waved them off and after they disappeared into a glowing hole in the sea using the second magic bean. I cried for a long time; painful sobbing and coughing until the sorrow became unbearable. The whole time, Peter sat with me, his arm hanging around my shoulders, keeping me close to him, keeping me safe... just as he had promised. He didn't speak, and neither did I. What would we say? There was nothing to say that would have calmed me down nor cheered me up in that moment, except for: "Do you want to stay and watch the sunset, or meet the Lost Boys?"

"The what?" I asked as I looked up at him, still sniffing a bit. Peter smirked as he sensed my usual self slowly returning.

"I'll show you," he replied, suddenly picking me up in his arms. Because of the pain in my throat, I did not yelp or squeal as I would have done normally - I gasped instead. Peter chuckled and started walking in the direction of the forest.

"You don't need to carry me," I replied. "I can walk just fine."

He stopped walking and put me down. We stood face to face. He waved his hand in front of my face and I felt my sinuses clear as he removed the tears and any evidence of me crying. "You look better, now." He said, smiling. Before I could respond, he'd scooped me into his arms again and walked into the forest.

~

I heard it before I saw it: boys whooping, chanting and dancing around a crackling, high-burning log fire with sunset-orange flames licking the air. The boys didn't seem to care that they were snapping twigs left, right and centre, as well as almost catching their hooded cloaks in the fire. They all wore masks on their faces, but whatever skin on them that was bare almost glowed in the firelight. "Whoa..." I breathed. I guessed this lively place was the camp. Peter placed me down on the soft earth of the ground and guided me to a boy who wasn't dancing. He was tall with blonde hair and had a long scar across his face.

"Rizon, this is Felix," Peter introduced. Felix took a large wooden bludgeon from his shoulder and planted it in the soil.

"Hello, Rizon," he began in an eerie voice, leaning on the bludgeon. "It's nice to meet you."

"Nice to meet you too, Felix. How'd you get that nice scar on your-..."

"Let us not dwell on injuries," Peter cut in, throwing me a warning look. I huffed, folding my arms. As a pirate, I saw scars as little victories. To me, it was an insult to the person who put them there: 'all you did was wound me, but I'm still alive!' My father saw losing his hand very differently, though. Perhaps I shouldn't have mentioned it...

"Rizon, Felix is my most trusted friend. He'll make sure you're safe here when I'm not around." I nodded in thanks. Although, I couldn't help wondering if he felt obliged to keep me safe, or if it was only because of the deal with my father. I didn't allow the thought to bother me. Peter left and Felix kept an eye on me as I wandered around the camp.

~

I saw two boys – around my height, perhaps taller – who were turning various meats above a fire on spits: not the large fire that the others were dancing around. This one was smaller and less feisty. I knelt next to the boys, who shot me a few uncertain glances. "Bloody hell, were you raised in the Stone Age?" I asked.

"What are you talking about?" One of the boys asked, sitting back on his hindquarters to look at me.

"A bottle jack would make this so much easier," I replied. "D'you know what that is, mate?"

"Never heard of it," the other boy responded as he took the spits off the fire and placed them on a large slate. He turned to me and held out his hand for me to shake. "My name's Siggy." I shook his hand. It felt bumpy. I turned his hand over to see burn scars on his fingers. He quickly snapped his hand back, hiding it in the pocket of his tattered cloak.

"A bottle jack would be safer, too," I added. "I'm Rizon." I shook the other boy's hand – Ed was his name.

"We don't need a mother, so if that's what you're trying to be, the Shadow may as well take you back home," Siggy said. I was taken aback.

"Shadow...? Look, Siggy, if I could go back home, I bloody would. And I'm pretty sure Peter wouldn't have me here to be a mother to a group of boys when some of them are older than me," I replied, looking over at the tall boys who were dancing around the fire.

"You even call him by his first name," Siggy spat. "And why are you dressed like that?"

"Why are you dressed like that?!" I exclaimed, before sighing. "Siggy, I just got here... I don't want to make enemies... have you got any metal here: Blacksmith equipment? For the bottle jack, I mean."

"It's Neverland," Ed piped in. "Whatever you want, you imagine." I imagined a bottle jack, and sure enough, one appeared in my hands. I almost dropped it, shocked by the sudden weight. The boys seemed shocked too. "How did you do that?" Ed asked.

"You said to imagine, so I did..." I replied. I was a little baffled: I figured it had never worked for anyone before - except for Pan, most probably.