Exhaustion has finally caught up with them. Most of the hammocks are filled. A few lost boys are still up at the fire, claiming they don’t need sleep at all.

        Jacob tugs on my hand. His eyes are heavy under his blond curls. “Wendy?” His voice slurs.

        I smile and pick him up. He leans his head against my shoulder. “Which one is your bed?”

        But the little boy’s eyes are closed, his breathing deep and even.

        “That one.” Daine shifts in the darkest corner. He points at a hammock near him.

        “Thank you.” I whisper and tiptoe across the room. Jacob moves slightly. “Shh…” I pull his arms away from my neck and gently lay him down in the swaying hammock.

        What a strange way to sleep. But it beats the cobblestone streets.

        I tuck a blue blanket around his shoulders.

        Jacob’s long blond eyelashes flutter. “Mother?” He whispers, his fingers curling around my hand.

        My heart breaks. I open my mouth to answer, but his hand goes limp. He’s asleep.

        I brush back his curls and kiss his forehead. “I’m here.”

        I pull away from the sleeping boy. My eyes catch on Daine. I swallow and sit down next to him. The shadows wrap around us, the peaceful and rather loud snoring of the other boys fills the silence between us.

        Daine digs his knife into a piece of wood. Many times I have watched him turn a shapeless block into a masterpiece. I wonder what he will make this time. Sometimes he’ll carve more stars, but usually it is some sort of animal. Only once did he carve a girl.

        “Mothers.” Daine grunts and shakes his head.

        I sit back. Now-surrounded by snoring boys-he is willing to talk?

        “What about them?”

        “They aren’t all-” he waves his hand in the air. “All that.”

        I wet my lips and choose my words carefully. “I don’t know where my mother is. I don’t even know who she is. But most mothers do their job and do it well. I’ve seen them walking with their children or carrying their babies-for hours at a time. Being a mother must be hard, but most of them do their best.”

        “Not most.” His dagger rips off the bark. The chunk of wood falls to the floor, but the loud thud is lost in the synchronized snores. “Because if most of them actually did do their job, there wouldn’t be so many lost boys and girls. And don’t get me started on fathers. If they actually do stick around, they are always busy or working. Or-have you seen Felix’s face? That is what a father does.”

        “Fathers and mothers are people, Daine. They mess up like anyone else.” I bite the inside of my cheek. “I wish they didn’t. But you still can’t generalize like that. They aren’t all bad.”

        Daine’s dagger flashes as he rips away pieces from his block. It is quickly disappearing. “Well, I don’t need them. I’ve survived fine without ‘loving parents’.”

        “It’s not just about surviving. It’s about living.” I fold my arms around my legs. “I wish I knew my parents. I wish they cared enough to keep me, but I don’t know what happened. They might have died or something. Wherever your parents are-they probably still love you. And miss you.”

        “My parents are dead.” He scrapes away at the last sliver of wood. “Gone. Peter brought me here right after Hook was banished. It was a long time ago.”

        “Were they-” I soften my voice. “Were they dead when you first came to Neverland?”

        Daine grits his teeth. “My mother was. But my father-he was the town drunk. He didn’t care about anything, much less his own son. I hate him. I hate them all!” Wood splinters as his dagger slips on the remaining piece and cuts his finger.

        “Daine!” I cry.

        “Ugh.” He drops his knife and holds up his thumb. Blood drips from the gash.

        I flinch. “Should I call Peter? What do I do? How-”

        Daine stares at me. He swallows hard. “I’m fine, Wendy. It wasn’t deep.” He wraps the end of his shirt around the cut. His eyes are still studying my face.

        “Are you sure? Should we clean it or something?” I reach for his hand. “I don’t know what to do!”

        “It’s okay.” He says slowly.

        “Why are you looking at me like that?”

        “It’s just-” Daine tightens the material around his finger. He bites his lip. “You really do care, don’t you?”

        I smile. “Of course I care. You’re my friend.”

        “You’re more than a friend, Wendy.” Daine looks over his sleeping brothers, his eyes pausing on Jacob. “You’re family.”

**

        I walk through the meadow. It is night, like always. I came here as soon as I left Daine. The moonlight scatters shadows over the rose bushes.

        And even though the grass looks black instead of green and the roses gray instead of blue-it is still beautiful.

        I sit down and stretch my legs out. Pants are much more practical than a skirt. But I still miss the feel of satin swishing around my knees. The scent of blue roses that didn’t fade-not even when it burned.  

        My fingers hover over my bag, but before I can pull out my treasures, a shadow flies past and scoops up the bag.

        “Hey!” I cry and jump to my feet.

        The trouble maker darts in the air above me. “Let’s see. What do we have here?”

        “Peter Pan! Come down here this instant or-” I perch my hands on my waist. “Or I’ll go up!”

        “Was that a threat?” Peter smirks. “I’d like to see you try.”

        I try to hide my smile. He is annoying-as usual, but he isn’t as mean as he used to be. “I’m counting to three.”

        “You do that.”

        “One!”

        Peter hovers above me, sticking his hand in my bag. “Ahh-a little bear. Of course.” He waves the stuffed animal in the air. “No wonder you wouldn’t touch the bear meat.”

        “Two!” I shake out my arms and lift my heels slightly. He’s fast, but I still might be able to catch him. Although probably not…

        “What’s this?” Peter continues loudly. He pulls the hat out of the bag. “Looks like a-” His voice trails off.

        I leap into the air and tackle his legs. “Three!”

        Surprised, Peter drops to the ground. We roll onto the grass, squishing several disgruntled roses.

        “That was too easy.” I laugh and untangle myself. “Peter?”

        He swallows, his eyes tracing over the hat in his hand. Oh. I wonder if he knew Tink had kept it the whole time.

        “I should have given it to you. I’m sorry.” I gently pull my bag from his hand.

        “Where did you get this?” He runs his fingers over the red feather.

        I blink. “Tink.” He doesn’t seem mad, just sad. Lost in a time before the darkness. When his best friend was a fairy and he was the hero who saved lost boys from broken homes and Indian princesses from pirates.