forever a lost boy

[lost_boy]

I woke with a start, my eyes open suddenly, instantly awake and without the slightest bit of grogginess that sometimes followed me into the morning. In Darrow, I had allowed myself to relax. When I slept, especially the nights I snuck into Eddie's room, I slept heavily. I slept like someone who felt safe, but this morning as I came awake, I knew everything had changed.

Somehow, I had known it even before my eyes were open, but now that they were, I could see everything in the dim sunlight that filtered in through the roots of the tree.

Slowly I sat up. The animal skins and furs piled on top of me fell away and it was a strange sort of relief to discover I was still wearing the t-shirt and striped pyjamas pants I had fallen asleep in. If nothing else, that meant Darrow hadn't been a dream, I hadn't gone there in my mind in some desperate attempt to escape Peter. Darrow was real and I was no longer there.

The very thought of it broke my heart.

I inhaled shakily, stifling the sob that wanted to slip out, then looked to my left. If I was here, it would be time to wake the other boys. Time to tell them what Peter was really like, but as I reached for the shape I thought would be Charlie or Nod or Crow, I realized the person lying next to me was familiar, but not for the reasons I would have thought.

I gaped at them, then turned to my other side and flung back the animal furs. I stood, stepping over shapes, pulling back the furs and skins so I could see those around me and another sob almost slipped out of me as I realized I wasn't alone. My friends were here. My friends from Darrow. I was overwhelmed with relief and gratitude for just a second before an absolute terror the likes of which I had only felt once before replaced my pleasure.

If they were here, they weren't safe. Not a single one of them. Peter would know I cared for them far more than I could ever care for him. He would see them as a threat.

As if my very thoughts had summoned him, a shape from the other end of the tree moved. Peter, holding a sharp blade in one hand and a rough piece of wood he'd been carving in the other, stepped into the midst of bodies, most of them still groggy, having just been pulled from sleep. He looked them over, a king surveying his domain, then smiled at me.

His teeth were perfect, tiny white pearls; his baby teeth. The ones I had knocked out the last time I'd seen him.

"Hullo, Jamie," he said cheerfully. "Welcome home."

[Initial post for anyone under 18. Feel free to use this for explanations, adventure, run-ins with fairies or mermaids or Peter, who will be outwardly cool to everyone, but won't be violent yet. In a few days I'll post a new top level for Jamie and Peter's fight.]

Comments

[lost_boy]

I was scared. I didn’t want to admit it and I didn’t want anyone to see, but I was deeply frightened. All these people here on the Island shouldn’t have been here. They were in danger simply due to the fact that they were here and they were important to me. Peter might be smiling at them now, but it wasn’t going to last long.

It wasn’t a real smile either. I wondered now if he had always smiled like this, if I had just never noticed until now because until the week before I came to Darrow, I had loved Peter too much to really see what he was like.

I wanted to get everyone out. I wanted to get them to safety, but I didn’t know where might be considered safe on an Island that was Peter. There was always the pirate ship, but I didn’t really know if that would be safe or just a different kind of danger. I wanted to try to find the tree that led to London, just to see if it was still destroyed or if maybe there was an escape for us there. But if I went there and Peter followed, he would destroy it if he hasn’t already.

I sighed heavily and climbed out of the tree, looking at my friends. I wanted them to be safe and they weren’t. Not with Peter lingering so nearby.

[daughterofawolf]

Eponine knows well enough how to smile and act pleasant to a man -- or a boy, in this case -- who she doesn't like. She's been pleasing and friendly and excited as anything, and to be absolutely honest, this island does seem like a beautiful place, full of more to do and see than she could imagine.

She also knows already what she thinks of this Peter, for she's been there for a fair number of times Jamie's been reminded of him by one thing or another. Jamie's not an easily shaken person, and he's never done anything to make her think his judgment is simply wrong. If anything, more trustworthy than her own, in some ways.

She's scavenged some supplies she's found here and there, mostly so she's not dressed only in a night-shirt. She'd found a knife, too, though not as menacing as the ones she has at home, once Lila's and cared for all this time. She pulls her hair out of her face as she used to when she was pretending at being a boy, and climbs down after him, ignoring the cling and scratch of foreign flora as she strides to catch up.

"You had to know you weren't going out here alone."

[lost_boy]

"I'm not going anywhere without the rest of you," I answered, still surveying the group of them. Not everyone seemed as worried as I felt, but they didn't know Peter like I did and no matter what I said, no matter the stories I told, I knew there was nothing that came close to actually experiencing what Peter could be like.

He'd been kind enough to Eponine so far, but I could see the ice in his eyes when he looked at her. Peter didn't like girls. They weren't allowed on the Island. I knew he thought they would take me away from him like Sal had done and I was relieved all over again I hadn't seen Eddie yet. I missed him, of course, but after being at Regan's home, I had to assume this was much of the same. I knew I would get to go back to him.

"There isn't really anywhere for us to go," I admitted, looking over at Eponine. "Peter is everywhere."

[negative_feedback]

She'd have to be blind not to see the hatred and fear in Jamie's body language at the arrival of this new person. She still feels a little off-kilter from everything that had happened in her weird dream-home, but right now, the more important thing is Jamie. Eddie's not here, not that she can see, and Jamie is one of her best friends. He needs her, right now.

So she stays close, and when she can catch his eye, there's a question on her face. "Are you okay?"

[lost_boy]

It was with some relief I realized Peter wouldn't be able to read sign language and while I still wasn't fluent, after spending so much time with Regan in her home where I had had no other choice, I was better than I used to be.

I shook my head, then signed, "It's Peter."

"What are you doing?" Peter demanded, then whirled around to look at Regan. "And who are you?"

[forthsofar]

When Rosie sleeps, it's with a slightly wild, sprawling, almost uncharacteristic abandon; one pale foot hanging off the edge of the bed, her arm outflung and a hand curved around the top corner of the mattress, her dark curls spilling in a tangle across the pillowcase. Sometimes, too--though she'd never admit it when awake--the faintest of snores. That night, she goes to sleep exactly like that in a familiar bed, wearing soft pajama pants and a t-shirt she'd borrowed from Nick and had yet to give back.

But when she wakes, she wakes to a different world entirely. There's a change to the light, to the temperature of the air, even to the angle of her sprawling limbs now that the mattress below her has gone, but it's the altered state of the blankets cocooned around her that Rosie notices first. They're heavy, for one--and furry, for another. For a moment, half-awake as she is, she almost thinks it's Beau or even Salem somehow, curled up both against and atop her. Making a soft, displeased little sound, she pushes at the covers and opens her eyes.

Then, blinks again. And again. None of it dispels the sight above her, the bedroom ceiling somehow replaced with a network of roots and the sun filtering down through the gaps between them. Shoving the pile of blankets--no, furs, a whole multicolored jumble of pelts, and where in Darrow would there ever be a place like this?--off of her as much as she can, Rosie struggles into a sitting position and looks around.

[lost_boy]

It was impossible to keep everyone from Peter. I was trying, but he had always been sneakier than I was, always able to show up somewhere he hadn't been only a moment ago, which made it difficult to keep track of him. With all these new people, he was flitting about -- not flying, because he seemed not to realize that I knew -- and trying to speak to each and every one of them.

It frightened me badly to see him talking with my friends.

When I spotted a familiar head of curls, it seemed to me that Peter noticed her at the same time. I stepped between furs and over people who were still just waking up, hoping to get there before he did, but I wasn't quick enough. Before I could stop it, Peter was right there in front of Rosie, smiling at her cheerfully.

"Hullo," he said. "Are you a friend of Jamie's, too?"

[forthsofar]

The covered forms she can see scattered around--other sleepers, some of whom she even recognizes--don't make the situation any less baffling. Rosie can feel a panic building low in her gut, almost a twin of the distress that had washed over her in Anterwold when she'd found the doorway home had closed without her knowing, and she sucks in a shaky breath that does nothing at all to calm her. She might have started crying, or screaming, or gotten up and run, if not for the fact that she sees Jamie picking his way towards her. Though there's what looks almost like a wariness in his expression, the sight of him is enough to keep her where she is for the moment. Wherever they are, whatever strangeness the city has visited upon them both, at least neither of them are alone in it.

She doesn't expect the other boy until he's there, standing above her, staring down at her with a grin on his face. "Hullo," Rosie echoes, her eyes cutting over to meet Jamie's, just for a moment, before she looks up at the other boy. Unthinkingly, maybe instinctively, she pulls up one of the furs, holding it against her chest. "I...yes, I'm a friend of Jamie's. Wh-where are we?"

[ithastobeseven]

Luke's having a nightmare about being back in the House: Nellie keeps telling him to follow her, only every time he gets there she's not, like he can keep running and running and can't reach her. She's in a white dress he's never seen and the longer it takes him the more insistent and scared she is, or maybe it's just him.

He's pulled, abruptly, out of it, saying, "Nell--" and realizes he's not in the Home either, and shuts his mouth, fear gripping his chest in a totally different way.

There are animal furs as blankets, like in a movie, and they're surrounded by what looks like branches or roots, like in a tree house. He fumbles panickedly to see if his glasses are there, squinting. Thankfully, they're right next to him, and he puts them on, trying to figure out what's going on.

[lost_boy]

Luke was too small to be here.

The moment I saw him as he fumbled to put on his glasses, I felt something in my chest seize tight. He was so small and Peter hated the little ones. He had brought Charlie who had been Luke's age and then he had tried to kill him over and over when it turned out Charlie was too little to be a useful playmate.

I had to do everything I could to keep Luke and Peter away from each other, but as Peter picked lightly through the group, I realized that wouldn't be as easy as I had hoped. He wasn't much bigger than Luke was and he crouched when he reached him, grinning easily. I wasn't far behind.

"Hullo," Peter said to Luke. "What's your name?"

[daughterofawolf]

Eponine doesn't ever sleep particularly deeply -- nearly every time she's started to, something has happened to make it less likely -- but she would still say that it's more soundly these days than she had for all of the years since her family had moved into Paris from Montfermeil.

When she wakes, though, it's always abrupt and all at once. This morning it's as if her body knows there's a change in the air: an unfamiliar temperature, something more like outside than the Home's beds. She stays very very still and opens her eyes.

She's covered by furs, the unmistakable musk of animal thick in her nose. From where she lies, she can see familiar forms -- some that shouldn't be in the Home at all. Light filters in in a mid-morning orange. It's not cold like it ought be mid-October, either.

Is this like when they woke up in Regan's home? Is this going to be a habit now? And if it is --

She rolls slowly onto her side to get a look at the place.

[forthsofar]

Jamie's gone to comfort someone else, or distract Peter, maybe both. Still overwhelmed and at a loss for anything else to do, Rosie's back inside the tree, finding a small pile of pelts in one corner to curl up on as she waits for some hint of whatever might come next. No matter how long we stay, she thinks, somewhat hysterically, I won't play at being the Lost Boys' mother. Even if I'm the only girl in Neverland. I won't do it, it's ridiculous.

She's pulled from the absurd whirl of her thoughts by a soft groan from one of the lumps nearby--one that reveals itself to be Eponine, blinking at her surroundings as groggily as Rosie had done when she'd awoken. "Oh, goodness," she says, unfolding herself from where she'd been sitting and hurrying over to the other girl. "Hey, it's...well, it's not alright, obviously, but. I'm here too."

[wildmage_daine]

After some time spent on the ship, it's clear enough that none of the other Darrow folk there are exactly at home, here. Daine's starting to develop her own suspicions about where they are -- the list of folk she knows who come from realms with actual pirates isn't a long one -- but she can't say for certain without a bit more exploration.

So she finds a sheltered spot on the beach where she can shed her clothes and take hawk shape, and she takes to the air.

It's only from up high that she can say for certain that the landmass is an island and not the end of a long peninsula. That gives her suspicion a fair bit more weight, and she tries to remember what little Jamie told her of where he'd come from. It isn't much, not least of all because the Island had sounded fair miserable, and she'd never wanted to press.

But if this is his Island, then he must be here somewhere. And he might not even know how many others he's brought with him.

What she does remember is him talking of a tree, and while there are plenty of those on the Island, there's only one that looks big enough to house a number of lost boys under its roots. Daine folds her wings and drops, shifting into crow shape just before landing on one of said roots and looking around. It doesn't take too long for her to spot a familiar face, and she ruffles her feathers.

"Psst," she says, blinking at them.

[lost_boy]

This was awful.

My friends were here, so many of them, and although I knew all this seemed like it could be fun, they were in danger. Peter had been charming enough, smiling and engaging and even trying to get them to play games with him, but I could see there was something darker behind his eyes. These are my friends. They weren't his. I had told them stories of him and unlike the other boys he had brought from London, my friends weren't so easily manipulated by a charming, cheeky boy in deerskin pants.

That was a relief, of course, but I was still constantly on edge. They were in real danger.

At the sound of a whisper next to my ear, I started, then turned to find a lovely bird perched next to me. I stared, because even on Peter's Island the birds couldn't talk, and then I whispered, "Daine?"

[finally_ahead]

Stan goes to sleep in his very neat, precisely made bed with the sound of Richie breathing, and the knowledge that Eddie and Jamie were close by. He can't say he wouldn't sleep better knowing Bev was close, but he knows she's safe, having met Hopper now. All of it is a different sort of security than he would have used to in Derry, but he thinks he might even be getting used to it.

That changes.

What wakes him up is that his blankets feel strange, too heavy and hot, scratchy somehow. He realizes he's touching animal hair while he's still mostly asleep, and he sits up with a garbled yelp. He shoves the skins away from him and scrabbles to the closest wall-like surface.

With the instincts of someone who has been bullied his whole life, he spots the kid with a fucking knife, and he whimpers, clapping his hands over his mouth too late.

[lost_boy]

I was still trying to take inventory of everyone who was here from Darrow when Stan suddenly shot up and I glanced sharply in his direction. Of course, Peter looked over at him, too, and while I was quick, Peter had always been just the slightest bit quicker. He was closer, too, and he stepped over sleeping bodies with the delicate sort of grace reserved only for little boys like him, boys who have only ever had to live in trees and in plains and on the edge of cliffs.

I had lost some of that grace in Darrow. I was growing up.

"Hullo," Peter said when he reached Stan. He was still casually whittling the piece of wood, the knife flashing in the sunlight that filtered through the roots of the trees. "You're new. I don't remember bringing you from London. Are you Jamie's friend, then?"

The way he asked if Stan was my friend almost sounded like a threat. As if being my friend would put him in more danger.

I stepped in just at that moment and stood close to Stan, looking back at Peter with my jaw set tight. "Yes," I answered. "He's my friend."

[the_trashmouth]

When Richie wakes up, Stan's the first familiar face he sees. He spots Bev's familiar shock of red hair out of the corner of his eye, and sees Jamie not far from them all, though.

Eddie's not there.

"What the fuck is going on?" he asks, adjusting his glasses as he looks over at his friend, and he frowns, noticing how scared Stan looks.

[the_trashmouth]

For the second time in the past few weeks, Richie goes to sleep back at the Home and wakes up somewhere else. He sits up, pushing aside what looks like animal furs and reaches blindly for his glasses. They're laid on the ground next to him, where they'd normally be on the table next to his bed.

"What the fuck..." he breathes, but the people around him are familiar at least.

Except for the kid with the knife. He's new.

[lost_boy]

It was impossible to get to everyone before Peter did and he had seen Richie before I had. Watching him lightly pick his way between my groggy friends toward the one who had died not all that long ago sent a gut wrenching fear through me. Peter would never kill anyone outright, he'd never had to when I was here to do the dirty work with the pirates, and the Many-Eyed were there for the lost boys he grew tired of, but it still terrified me.

I couldn't let anything happen to Richie. Not again.

"Hullo," Peter said as I made my way over to them. "I didn't bring you from London. Where do you come from?"

[lost_boy]

Days had gone by. Days. I was constantly on edge, watching and waiting and keeping guard as best I could. I checked the traps and I helped my friends fish and find the right berries and roots and mushrooms that were safe to eat, but I did all of it while watching Peter. And he did everything while watching me.

He was planning something and I knew it, but I couldn't be certain what it was. Mostly he focused on Richie, sensing something in him that he had once liked in me, something that made him pick certain boys over others, and while he hadn't gone so far as to actively try and turn Richie against me like he had with Charlie, he was paying an exceptional bit of attention to him. Taking him under his wing, so to speak, teaching him about the Island. He was doing it to others, too, watching me as he paid them extra attention. I wasn't his any longer and he knew it, so he wanted to take people from me if he could.

It wouldn't be long before he tried something. I could feel it in the air. It was something heavy, like humidity on a particularly hot summer day.

I was cleaning fish when it happened. Quick, efficient, I was gutting them, removing the scales, putting the meat aside so we could cook it later. Suddenly, without warning, Peter was standing in front of me and I glanced up at him, then looked back down at my work. The less he and I spoke, the better.

"You're almost a man now, Jamie," he said, his tone conversational. "Have you noticed?"

I looked up again, faintly wary now, but said nothing.

"You're not supposed to be here. Not if you're a man," he continued, slowly walking around me. He had his own knife and I knew it wasn't really possible, but it felt as if the scar on my thigh throbbed in reaction at the sight of it. "That was always the way, wasn't it? The boys who grew up, we sent them off to face the Many-Eyed."

"Or to join the pirates," I reminded him mildly. I could sense others watching us, but I didn't want to look at any of my friends and risk shifting Peter's attention to them. As long as he was focused on me, they would be safe.

"Or to join the pirates," Peter echoed, agreeing with me. "But I think you'd be better off with the Many-Eyed. You've already killed one of them, haven't you? And they were very upset with that. I almost think I owe you to them for what you've done, breaking our agreement with them like you did."

"The agreement I didn't know about," I answered through gritted teeth. "Because you didn't tell me."

Peter continued as if he hadn't heard me, stepping closer. "They would be happy to see you, I think. Maybe it's time, Jamie. You're not my Jamie anymore, you're not the boy I did everything for."

He stepped closer still and I tightened my grip on my knife, but it didn't matter. Even if I stabbed Peter properly, he would never die and I knew it. As he smiled and watched me, I stared back at him, the both of us holding our knifes, the both of us waiting to see who would make the first move.

In the end it was him. He reached out in a flash and grabbed me by the hair. My knife came up and I slashed out, but Peter was suddenly gone. And yet he wasn't. He was still holding me by the hair, but he was no longer standing on the ground, and I knew he was flying again. Finally doing it in front of me, letting me see for the first time, and I cried out both in pain and in rage. Peter's small fingers twisted in my hair and suddenly he was dragging me, yanking me away from my work with the fish, pulling me with all his strength in the direction of the Many-Eyed.

I dropped my knife when he yanked again and no matter how hard to scrabbled for it, my fingers wouldn't close down around the handle again. All I could do was swing blindly at Peter, hoping I would connect.

[Okay! So this is Jamie's top level for anyone who wants to defend him from Peter. If you don't want to be involved in the actual physical fight, you can also tag Jamie after the fact and help him come to the decision that it's time to go join the pirates!]

[daughterofawolf]

It's a little like Regan's, when it comes down to the nuts and bolts: a lurking sense of danger without much she can do about it, and she finds herself missing the modern technology she's grown adapted to, but not nearly as terrible as it could get in Paris sometimes. She's had to gather edible fruits and nuts and knows how to clean game and fish, and so that's where she makes herself useful here, just as she did there.

She's hulling nuts not far from Jamie, seated casually turned sidelong so that she can keep one eye on the others while he's got his head down working. At first she can't hear what they're saying, but Peter's voice, already higher than Jamie's with youth, pitches up as he says You're not my Jamie. She sees Jamie's shoulders tense. It seems so ludicrous, this petite, wiry boy staring down Jamie, nearly a man. And yet, she's seen gamins in Paris take down a full grown man, without any magic at all. If someone's smart, and brutal, and quick...

They're all waiting. Waiting for what?

Peter strikes forward, and she sees Jamie's knife flash -- and she's on her feet, but suddenly Peter's in the air. It steals her breath, but Jamie's knife goes tumbling from his fingers and she lunges for it, throwing herself forward and closing her fingers around it, scrabbling up onto her feet to brandish it.

"Put him down."

[finally_ahead]

Stan can say this is the most fucked up camping trip he's ever been on, and he's pretty sure he wants to throw up most of the time. Maybe he needs to pick up the slack left by Eddie, or honestly, maybe it's just how fucked up all of this is.

He can work hard, at least, and while he wouldn't be doing anything particularly squeamish, his obsessive need for order and sameness means there are tasks here and there he can disappear into doing. It at least seems to mostly keep that little asshole off his back, though Stan knows instinctively he's not safe.

When he sees what's happening between that tiny creep and Jamie, his stomach drops out, and he freezes up a little bit. It feels like his mind is trying to leave his body somehow, like he's coming apart, for the flicker of a moment it's three lights, and teeth, and darkness everywhere else.

Jamie yells, and Stan can move again. "Shit," he says, knowing the ass-kicking that's coming, but not able to watch Jamie die. He goes for something tried and true. scrabbling on the ground for a decently sized rock, and when he thinks he's close enough, he lobs it right at Peter's back.

[runtowardsomething]

As awful as it is, she's used to this. Not the specifics of it, not in the slightest, but Beverly spent most of her life waking up in a place where she didn't feel safe, ruled over by someone who meant her harm. She knows how to keep her head down and not draw attention to herself. She knows how to fight back when needed, too, though her memories of doing so are so distant that it sometimes feels as if that was someone else, or perhaps she just dreamed it. What she is certain of, though, is that it's always been easier to stick up for someone else than to defend herself. That's as true as ever when she hears Jamie's voice cry out in pain, then looks up to see Peter hovering off the ground, dragging Jamie by the hair.

She feels a little ill, and for a moment, she's so blindingly furious that she doesn't feel like she's present in her own body, like someone else is moving her limbs and deciding what she'll do next, her vision unfocused and herself on some strange sort of autopilot.

Only once she hurls it through the air as hard as she can is she even aware of having picked up a rock in the first place. It connects with its target — Peter's head — hard, and a sick sort of satisfaction washes over her, though there's no relief yet. He won't give up without a fight, she's sure, but she's willing to give him one. "Hey, asshole!" she shouts, another rock ready in her hands. "Put him the fuck down, you psycho creep."

[runtowardsomething]

When she first woke up at Regan's, there'd been a hand covering her mouth. Beverly remembers that part well, because she also remembers the panic and the surge of nausea that came with it, before she realized who it was and what was happening. Even though it quickly made sense why Regan would have done that, it was still a startlingly unpleasant way to come to. This time, at least that doesn't happen. She's warm, wrapped in furs, the air smells like wood and greenery, and as her vision clears, she realizes she's far from the only person in the space. That much is a relief, but otherwise, all she can think is, Not again.

Some of the other earlier fear she'd felt when she initially woke up in a different place has faded, but she's cautious all the same, keeping her movements small and slow and careful as she starts to sit up. Still disoriented, she can't make sense of where she is, but at least she sees a few familiar faces already, Richie and Stan and Jamie, a few others. Maybe this is like before and they're all still back in Darrow, safe. Before has had her feeling fucked up for weeks, though, and it's no less unsettling to consider that she has a home she'd actually want to go back to now.

Sitting with her knees drawn up to her chest, she glances around, trying to catch one of her friends' gaze without overtly drawing attention to herself.

[lost_boy]

Peter didn't like girls. It was stupid and unfair, but he was still just a boy and I knew he thought they were no fun, unable to engage in the kinds of adventures he wanted, and so he didn't like them. It didn't matter what they were like, how smart or quick or capable they were, Peter had a very low opinion of girls and for that reason alone I was concerned for Beverly.

I caught sight of her, but so had Peter, and before I could reach her, he was standing in front of her. Then he crouched, bringing himself down to eye level with her and he stared for a long moment.

"Who are you?" he asked as I made my way over to them. I was moving cautiously, watching Peter, but I glanced at Beverly and tried to catch her eye.