To Die Would Be An Awfully Big Adventure // Self Para
He felt guilty for leaving Wendy alone, but he was suffocating in there. His head pounded, his heart clenching painfully. The thoughts and memories of Tootles which flooded his mind were enough to make him want to scream. There was only one place he could ever think straight, and thats where he was headed.
Stumbling through the woods, Peter tried to focus on breathing. The tears showed no sign of stopping, and they clouded his vision, causing him to trip over the roots which snaked across the forest floor. Nearly falling over, he grabbed onto the trunk of a tree. With labored breathing, he leaned against the tree for support, sobs shuddering through his body. No matter how hard he tried to focus on something else, that face kept returning to his thoughts. Tootles. His lost boy. Part of his family.
Mustering what strength he could, Peter pushed away from the tree, making his way clumsily towards the treehouse. If you asked anyone, they would say that Peter usually carried himself gracefully, rarely appearing clumsy in the slightest. Not this time though. Now he looked like a bumbling fool, tripping on rocks as he tried to walk through the forest. It was strange, what heartbreak and pain could do to a person.
By the time he reached the treehouse, Peter was losing his grip on sanity. Shaking from the pain and tears, he started to climb. A few steps up the ladder, his hand slipped, and for a moment he wished that the ground was further below him. Then he could let go and fall, away from all the pain. Everything hurt. It was too much. It would be so easyâŠto give up, and fall.
Peter jerked his head up, looking around wildly. That voiceâŠit was⊠âTootles?â He called out weakly, his voice vulnerable. Nothing happened. Then it dawned on Peter. The voice, it was in his head. He was hearing Tootlesâ voice in his head now. The tears fell harder, and he shut his eyes tightly, trying to imagine that it really was the lost boy talking to him.
He saw the boy clearly, but now how he was in Storybrooke- the boy he used to be, in Neverland. Peter saw the face of a shy boy, the most humble boy he had ever seen. âPeter!â The boy waved, a small smile lighting up his face. âFelix said I did well on the huntâŠI thoughtâŠ,â Tootles bit his lip, sounding nervous but hopeful. âI thought you would be proud of me.â
Peter cried harder. Inside it felt like his heart was made of glass, and someone was smashing it with a dozen hammers. The pain was sharp. Unbearable. For a moment he considered climbing up to the top of the tree andâŠfalling. It wasnât far, just a short climb.
He used what little strength he had left to pull himself up a few more rungs of the ladder. Just a few more, he told himself. Then he could fall.
His hand slipped again, and he gasped, fear climbing itâs way into his heart. His breathing ragged, he tried to find his footing again, hardly able to see anything through his tears.
"Peter?" The voice filled his head again, causing Peter to let out a pained whimper. He closed his eyes again, and saw the lost boy once more, but this time he was wiping a few tears from his cheeks.
"Th-thank you," Tootles looked up at Peter with that small and hesitant smile. "Iâve never felt l-like I belong anywhereâŠb-but I feel like that now. S-so thank you, Peter. IâveâŠIâve never had a family beforeâŠbut I do now." The boy reached for Peterâs handâŠ
Finding the memory too painful, Peter opened his eyes before the lost boyâs hand grabbed his own. Family. That word was supposed to bring hope, and happiness. But now? All it did was break his heart.
He thought again of falling, but something stopped him this time. No, not something: Tootles. Falling might take away his pain, but Peter still had a family, and he couldnât leave them. Thatâs not what Tootles would want.
Despite his shaking arms, he managed to pull himself up to the treehouse. Wiping furiously at his tears, he looked out of the window, trying to remember the times that the boys had gathered there together. That was what people said, wasnât it? Remember the good memories, not the bad ones? He let out a bitter chuckle at the thought. If happy memories were supposed to make you smile, then why was he so damn sad?
"Tootles," he said his name aloud, and that single word, that name, was enough to break him. The last of his strength vanished, and he collapsed to the floor, harsh sobs racking his body. "Itâs my fault," he said miserably. "I sh-shouldâve been there f-for you!" Peter was yelling now, though he still remained a crumpled heap on the floor. "I-I told you I would p-protect you!" Tootles. His family. "Iâm sorry!" His friend. "Iâm sorry!" His lost boy. "Im sorry," his voice was a desperate whisper now."I am so sorry."
Anger mixed with pain, and he let out a loud yell, pounding his fists against the floor of the treehouse. âThis is my family!â He yelled, desperation clear in every word. âAnd nobody c-can take my family away fromâŠfromâŠ,â he punched the wooden floor again, ignoring the flare if pain in his hand. ââŠme.â He finished weakly.
For a long while he stayed there, crying until the tears seemed to run out. Then he stood shakily, trying to balance himself by leaning against the wall. Looking around the empty treehouse, Peter Pan made a promise to himself. Nobody would ever hurt his family again, not as long as he was alive. âIâll protect you.â He whispered, hoping that somehow, someway, they could all hear him.
