<div style="text-align: center"><b><u>Tinkerbell</u></b><br/>
<i>The Starstruck on Wright</i>​</div><br/>Her fingers had been dancing over the handle of the small little knife she kept tucked into her waistband, ready to plunge it into this stinky man’s side.  He’d’ve known that too if he’d paid attention to the way her eyes literally flashed red.<br/><br/>Then Peter saved her.<br/><br/>Peter with his quickness and agility and clever quips.<br/><br/>He was<i>brilliant</i>.<br/><br/>Her eyes turned golden again, golden like that strange foamy drink the man was holding until Peter launched himself over and around the man, egging him on.  The mug went flying and she stepped forward to catch it neatly then lifted it up to take a cautious sniff of its contents.  Her nose wrinkled.  Gross.  How on earth did pirates drink this slop?  Tink tossed the mug aside carelessly, ignoring the sound of it shattering on the floor and the shocked cries of those splashed with its contents.<br/><br/>Peter seemed to have the fight well in hand. He always was the best at fighting the pirates.  That’s why he was their leader.  He was best.  Trusting that her best friend would soon put the yucky man out of his misery, she wandered toward the center of the room where a strange outcropping had been built out of gleaming wood.  An old wrinkled man was in the middle with so many glass bottles full of strange liquids lining shelves behind him.  In the center of it all, high above the bottles, were two crossed hooks.<br/><br/><i>Hook</i>.<br/><br/>Black flashed in her eyes but the gold returned in a heartbeat at the sound of Peter saying her name.  Tink turned to see him just behind her wearing his new jacket.  She clapped delightedly and pressed herself against his side, practically wedging herself under his arm.<br/><br/>This old man could be perfect, just what they needed.  Peter was so smart to think of him first.  He, above anyone else they found, would appreciate being young again.  A gasp slipped from her lips when the man said Peter’s name.  Was he truly a pirate tricking them?  How else would he know of Peter in this realm?<br/><br/>“Aye, son.  Peter Pan, the Boy Who Never Grew Up.  You’ve never heard the stories of Peter and Wendy and the Lost Boys? What about their grand adventures and fighting off evil Captain Hook?  You know those stories?”<br/><br/>Tink’s mouth dropped.  Her fingers skated across Peter’s new jacket, searching for purchase on the smoothness of his strange new jacket to cling to him.  Who was this pirate?<br/><br/><hr class="bbc-hr bbc-hr--3"/><br/><div style="text-align: center"><b><u>Wendy Darling</u></b><br/>
<i>The City</i>​</div><br/><i>Silence.</i><br/><br/>Wendy quite liked the silence.  It meant she didn’t have to pretend that her stories were a grand gathering of bits and pieces of imagination.  She didn’t have to plaster on a smile like a mask and interact with adoring fans like George Darling wanted her to.<i>They’re the ones who pay the bills and keep food on the table, Wendy.  Would it kill you to just smile and talk to them for a minute?</i>was the constant refrain, one of which she inevitably grew tired before lashing out.<br/><br/>Lashing out was what got her sent away.<br/><br/>She blinked a few times, leaving those horrible memories behind and returning her attention to the here-and-now.  Gentle fingers traced the circle scar as a whisper of a smile formed on her lips.<br/><br/>She angled herself to face him, wanting to watch his face carefully for any reactions.<br/><br/>“When Peter lost his shadow, he sent Tinkerbell to our house to find it.  She did find it,” nodded Wendy, “but she could not get it to stick back to his feet.”  Her smile grew at the fond memories.  “Soap doesn’t actually help shadows stick back on, you know.  It’s not sticky enough.”<br/><br/>“Peter came himself.  I remember hearing him crying because he wanted his shadow back but the darn thing kept misbehaving.”  She paused, her eyes staring off into the distance.  “It woke me up, his crying, but I wasn’t scared.  I helped him.  He sat right on the end of my bed as I sewed his shadow back onto his feet.”<br/><br/>Fingertips traced the scar in the center of her chest and her eyes focused again, searching James Dameron’s face as he maneuvered the car down the road.<br/><br/>“And then I gave him a kiss.”  Two spots of color flamed high on the apples of her cheeks.  “Not a real kiss.  A thimble.  I gave him my thimble and told him it was a kiss.  He didn’t know any better.  He gave me a kiss too.  A button.  I wore it around my neck.”  Her fingers followed the line of the imaginary necklace she could almost imagine was still hanging around her neck.<br/><br/>“We went to Neverland that night.  He sprinkled me and John and Michael with some of Tink’s fairy dust, told us to think happy thoughts, and off we went.  Flying is magnificent, Mr. Dameron.  I highly suggest you try it.  And the directions he gave us - second star to the right and straight on ‘til morning! - such strange ones but they made so much sense.”<br/><br/>Wendy shifted on the seat.  One hand patted the pocket of her jacket, searching for reassurance that her cigarettes were still where she had left them even if she wasn’t going to be so rude as to light one in his car.  The other hand slipped between her knees for warmth.  The fog made the air feel chilly.<br/><br/>“Tinkerbell hated me.  She probably still does.  Because Peter loved me and she wanted him to love her.  She flew on ahead and found one of the Boys - Tootles, the most sweetest lovingest boy ever.”  Wendy’s voice sounded sweeter when she mentioned Tootles, happy and lost in good memories.  “That wretched little fairy told him that I was a big bird and that shooting me down would make Peter very happy.  So he did.”<br/><br/>She leaned forward, unzipping the hoodie just a bit more, to bring the button-shaped scar into the light.<br/><br/>“Peter’s kiss saved me.”