Felix x Reader (From Once Upon a Time)

Chapter 7

"You don't have to answer him," I said quickly, my voice firm despite the dizziness still weighing me down. I didn't like how Peter was playing with him.

Henry hesitated, then swallowed. "Because my dad's dead."

Peter blinked slowly, a pause hanging in the air like a drop of poison waiting to fall.

"I'm sorry, Henry," he said at last, his tone wrapped in faux sincerity. But I wasn't buying it.

Liar.

"It makes sense," Peter continued smoothly. "To dream of the things we've lost. The people we wish would come back. Like your father. Or your mother."

My blood ran cold.

"Hey!" I snapped, standing up too fast. "That is not something to say to a kid! His parents are coming for him."

Peter ignored me. His gaze never left Henry.

"But eventually," he said gently, "you'll find new dreams. And when you do, Henry... they'll start to come true."

"How do you know?" Henry asked, a sliver of hope in his voice that made my stomach twist.

"Because that's what I did," Peter said. "And now you're here. Neverland used to be a place where new dreams were born. You can bring that magic back. You can have a real family here."

I felt my chest tighten. Not with fear—but with fury.

"You don't know anything about family," I hissed.

Peter's head snapped toward me, and the mask dropped. "Oh, and you do?"

I stiffened. His eyes glittered with something cruel, something ancient.

"I've watched you," he said. "Your 'mighty crew' getting drunk night after night. Your father, grief-stricken and distant after your mother died. And you... left to raise yourself."

"Don't you dare talk about my father!" I snapped, my voice cracking.

But he wasn't finished.

"He couldn't even look at you without seeing her. And so you learned not to ask for anything. You became your own parent, your own protector. Isn't that right?"

I froze.

The fire popped beside us, sending embers into the dark. Peter's words rang like bells in my skull, each one louder than the last.

He wasn't just mocking me. He knew. Somehow, he knew.

I clutched my head as the pressure built. The memories I tried to bury—the nights alone, the silent dinners, the empty bottles on the table—rose like a tide I couldn't escape. My breath hitched. My chest seized.

No. Not here. Not now—

"Y/N?" Henry's voice felt distant, like he was speaking through water. "Are you okay?"

Panic surged through me. My vision blurred. I couldn't breathe. My hands trembled, curling against my chest like I could physically hold my heart together.

"She'll be just fine, Henry," Peter said, rising slowly from his place by the fire. His voice rolled like honey laced with venom. "She just doesn't understand the real meaning of family like we do. But don't worry. I'll play something special now. A song for our guest of honor—you."

And then he turned, raising his pipe to his lips.

Even in the middle of a panic attack, I knew better than to listen to that sound.