*~* In which Pan nurses OC back to health *~*

Fluff Rating: 🌸🌸

PETER PAN X ELLA (OUAT)

Word Count: 2,713

LAST UPDATED: 6/29/2021

"Let me help you."

"No."

"I've been training with you for weeks now, and I think I'm finally ready to go out of my own." I press, "I have to get out of camp or off Neverland and learn on my own, you know. Mistakes are the best teacher."

Peter sends me a small glare and says, "The answer is no, Ella. And that is final."

I scowl at him, knowing it wouldn't do me much good anyway but still doing it. Peter is too busy sharpening his dagger to pay any attention to my disapproving look. "Peter, you can't just keep me locked up in the Treehouse or the camp with twenty lost boys and one ... really creepy, tall, skinny guy that I'm pretty sure has had dreams of killing me. But the point is you can't just keep me locked up without letting me help you. I'm not some village girl that'll sew your clothes or cook you meals every day."

Peter's shoulders slump and he glares up at me through bushy eyebrows, "No one is allowed to harm you on this island," he stands up from his perch by the fire and shoves the newly sharpened weapon into his belt. "Stay inside my Quarters. And never go beyond my borders." The sharpness of his stare softens and he repeats quieter, "I only say this for your protection, Ella. Understand that."

Another scoff comes out of me, "You're just gonna leave me here while you go off and fight?" When Peter turns to ignore me, I grab his arm and pull him back. I feel strangely lucky that Peter only gives me a glare for yanking him than slicing my hand; a punishment many boys have been victimized by. "You know I can do this. You're just being overprotective when you know I can take care of myself. Yes, I have gotten into situations I'm ... not proud of, but I still got out of it."

"Do you not remember that I had to banish Samuel and three others because they hunted you and forced you to run away from their blades while I was away for several weeks." Peter growls, "Ella, I am not discriminating your strength, I am doing what's best for you."

Peter doesn't rip his arm out of my grip, only stares at me through furrowed brows and a twisted frown. I challenge his stare with my own, loosening my grip on his arm from a white-knuckle grip to a lover's caress. "You can't keep me here forever. That's all I'm saying. You know I have your back, Pete, and I know you got mine. That's why I know nothing bad will happen out there." When his expression doesn't change, I say, "Would you rather bring an immature Lost Boy with you or have someone you know you can trust and can listen to orders."

"You've never listened to my orders. You're disobeying me right now." Peter slowly pulls his arm from my grasp but keeps our fingers entangled. "You make it so hard for me to protect you, Ella."

"You're always gonna protect me, Peter," I squeeze his hand. "And you're only going to the Enchanted Forest to get more unloved boys. There's nothing harm in that. Unless there's some evil step-mother who has their kid on a leash."

Peter moves away from my embrace, his eyes quickly hardening back to serious concern instead of glossy fear. I know what he's thinking; after protecting me and sheltering me on his island for so long, he's hesitant to let his only Lost Girl out into the real world of rowdy pirates and sketchy men in village allies. The real reason he's so hesitant and stubborn about letting me leave the island is finally showing the world, and his enemies, that Peter Pan has a weakness. 

He licks his dry lips and stares at me, his eyes ticking back and forth over me. I squeeze his fingers three times. "I promise I won't do anything stupid."

Peter sighs and finally summons a dagger into his hand, yanking me close and clipping the holster to my belt. "You do everything I say. You obey every order. You stay by my side until we come back. Understand?"

"I promise."

Peter gives me another stern look, a small flicker of fear appearing behind his hardness before he briskly turns away and cloaks himself in his red fleece. I clip my own cloak under my chin and hold his arm as we vanish in a cloud of heavy green smoke. 

That conversation feels so ironic now.

* * * * *

The sound of dribbling water wakes me up from an unwilling sleep. The air feels fresh and familiar as my senses slowly recover from my unknown state; my ears recognize the birds and wildlife of Neverland and the rain tapping leathery leaves and plopping into new puddles. The smell of rich smoke and the popping crackles of a fire snap me into focus.

My body is inside a big fluffy bed with pillows that smell of fire smoke and damp earth. The weight of several blankets drape around my shoulders and hips, keeping me warm from the cool rainstorm out the window. 

My body feels numb, achy, and heavy all at the same time. My leg feels as if it were cut open with every muscle and bone replaced with sand, weighing me down into the mattress. A hard lump of heat rests at the base of my throat, growing with pressure and making me almost gasp with the discomfort. I wonder to myself if I swallowed a lump of lava in my time in the Forest, or if some horrible stepmother cursed me for helping her unloved child escape her clutches.

"Shhh, lie still."

I open my eyes and glare into the blur. A face framed by brown hair and bright green eyes greet me through the pain, looking soft and concerned. The rock in my gut sinks faster at the sight.

"This will help." Peter wrings out a cloth and places it folded on my temple.

The rush of cold surges through my heat, calming the wild flames controlling my body and sweat damping my hairline. The cloth fixed the heat surging outside my skin, but not the roaring lava lodged in my throat. I suck in a cool breath of air to try and better the situation, but it only returned when I swallow.

 "What ... " I swallow thickly again, "What happened?"

Peter avoids my gaze as he continues working on something behind his shoulders. Something inside me told me whatever happened enough to knock me out cold and leave my body aching and boiling wasn't something he wanted to talk about or something he did he didn't want to mention. Peter nearly murdered a Lost Boy in cold blood when he found his plan of feeding me to the sirens. The only reason that boy is still alive is that the Captain took pity on him and made him a cabin boy to mop the floors. If it's anything like that, which I hope it wasn't, something horrible must have happened in the Enchanted Forest that night.

Peter continues to hold a grudge as he sits me up against the pillows, wrapping gentle arms around my waist and ribs and making sure the blankets still covered any bare skin. 

"Drink this." He hands me a coconut shell filled with steaming broth and floating leaves and petals. I lean back at the pungent smell of unknown herbs and groan a protest. "Open."

I part my lips and allow him to dribble a small amount of the tea into my mouth. An instant rush of mint and chill surges through my bloodstream and turns everything boiling into frost. The lava bubbling in my throat distinguishes to snow and when I sigh at the relief, steam could have come from my parted lips.

"What happened, Peter?" I try again, "Did something happen?" The memory of the previous conversation ripples into memory and I cringe. "Did I do something bad ... ?"

"No," Peter answers after an eternity of silence. "It wasn't something you did. It was something I did."

It's rare, extremely rare, for Peter to admit that he was wrong, in any situation or scenario. It was all part of his saying, "Peter Pan never fails." To hear him say he was wrong makes me become concerned.

"I was wrong for letting you come with me to the forest," Peter finishes with an uneven growl, "If I had just ignored you and kept you here, you wouldn't be injured with a fever."

Peter begrudgingly tells me the story of what happened in the Enchanted Forest: after luring more unloved boys from their prams and into the pipe's spell, Peter allowed us to explore the village in the shadows (being it was my first time outside Neverland and Storybrooke). It was a beautiful tiny town along the sea and a much more beautiful forest where fireflies dance and mysteries howl with the moon. 

Where unknown trouble also brew under our noses.

"What happened in the forest?" 

Peter shook his head and growled, "Something that shouldn't have happened . . ."

In further explanation, as we tried to cross a bridge over a river canyon, ogres crawled from the darkness like fat slimy spiders and demanded payment for crossing. Money was of no problem to Peter, being he could summon loads of it with just a thought, and paid the ogres in gold, but apparently, gold coins weren't enough. The ogres were either in a horrible mood or weren't feeling charitable, or just wanted to poke Peter enough to make him explode. They refused the payment and instead, wanted to pay with bloodshed. 

Peter wasn't in a good mood either, and did what he did best and ripped out the threatening ogre's shadow from his own soul. He fell off the side of the bridge, causing the others to panic and call Peter a demon of some kind, a new monster that cloaks itself in the flesh of a human body. Shadow ripping wasn't enough to scare all of them off, however, with one ogre capturing me and using me as a hostage in their situation.

"I don't remember that," I muttered, "What did you do?"

Peter took the cloth from my temple and dunked it back into the cold river water, wringing it out again and saying calmly, "It's where it belongs, dearest," he said softly, "In the bottommost depths of Hell."

A normal thought jumped into my head; gasping and demanding in horrified screeches as to why a drunk man would deserve such a fate. Peter wasn't normal, he wasn't even close to anything that was normal, and murdering a creature for trying to take something precious from a powerful immortal God is a death wish. A part of me thinks the poor bastard had it coming to him, but my common sense nagged me that murder wasn't right.

It wouldn't be right if your lover wasn't an immortal God that can rip people's shadows and hearts out of their bodies and kill them with a simple glare. 

There was nothing I could do but mourn the loss of that drunken bastard in silence.

"What else happened?" I asked instead, "Why do I feel hot and . . . and heavy?"

Peter frowned again and muttered, "It wasn't just the improper manners that sent them to the Underworld, but his lack of personal space and petty behavior."

He finished the story by explaining why I was huddled in blankets and feeling sick: when Peter killed the ogre that was holding me, another ogre had toppled backward in fear and did everything he could to scramble back down into the darkness - apparently taking me with it. It explains the reason why I remember a moment of heart-dropping fear, a pounding ache through my head, and something cold crawling through my clothes and hair. 

"He knocked me into the river?" I asked in disbelief.

"I had to dive in and rescue you," Peter said with another growl, "with those events in place, it explains you being in my bed with a particularly large bruise on your head and a high fever."

Peter smiles faintly and pressed the back of his hand to my forehead, his fingers feeling warm but cold enough for me to lean into the touch. His fingers are replaced with something colder and I sink into the pillows.

"I'm sorry," I mumble after being told the whole pathetically embarrassing story of my 'sacrifice'. "I should have listened to you and stayed home."

Peter's eyes flicker with something before being replaced with humor and love, "If you stayed here you'd be waiting for me and not in my bed with a red nose," he says, rubbing the tip of his finger on my nose, "and I will be honest and say a stuffy nose looks beautiful on you."

A blush settles over my cheeks, making my fever redder and causing Peter to chuckle huskily under his breath. "I'll be better in a few days, just let me rest for a bit, and then we can -"

"You're not going anywhere." Peter suddenly becomes stern and low, "I've told Felix he will keep an eye on the others and on the island. My dearest needs me more than twenty rowdy boys."

My heart beats a little faster and I feel it swoon inside my steaming chest. I reach up instead with a hot clammy hand and caress his young dimples. Peter presses his hand on top of mine and kisses my sweaty palm.

"Why are you so nice to me?" I mutter half asleep.

Peter smiles down on me, a smile that is equally as rare as a diamond being forged in Mainland soil while being electrocuted by a bolt of lightning - but it wouldn't be rare if you knew where to look and were holding a metal rod during a lightning storm. It makes me feel confident and joyful to my core that I can pull a genuine smile out of the infamous Peter Pan with just a simple question and true fact.

He brushes a stray strand of hair from my damp temple, "Because I tolerate you least among the others."

"You love me." I translate.

Peter just smilies again and kisses my hand, dipping it back under the warmth of the quilts. "Get some rest now, dearest," he says instead, giving me another kiss. "You'll need your strength for tomorrow, and to fight that wittle fever of yours."

I grumble and want to smack him for it, but as begrudgingly as my situation was, I agreed with him and slouched back under the quilts. The patter of rain filled the curtained room and watched Peter leave the sectioned-off room, blowing out the small candle flickering the room and wishing away the bowl of river water. His broad shoulders created a bold outline against the light, but the smile he flashed me was brighter.

*~* First Fluff piece of the collection! I've thought of creating different Headcanons for each of my comfort characters. What they would do in *this* situation, or How'd they react to *this* scenario. If you want to leave some requests comment on a scenario or situation and I'll write how I'd think they'd react *~*

*~* A few updates on Second Star and Tale of Absinthe, I've introduced both books to you all (on TikTok and Wattpad) and I'm curious as to which book you want me to start? I have a bucket list for the summer to finish a draft of one or the other. TBH I'm more prepared for Absinthe than Second Star, being that Second Star is more up in the air and still not yet been outlined. Absinthe is what I'm more prepared with, being I have an outline and already a few chapters down. I do have a few written chapters of Second Star available, and a written preview for a special 150-Like special for my TikTok account *~*

*~* Go and Vote which book you want me to write first! *~*