Friends Apart

Chapter 6

It was dark by the time Peter reached the house. Wendy and him had pretty basically spent the whole walk just talking and picking up where they left off. Suddenly they both froze when they heard glass cracking. Peter looked down at his foot to see pieces of glass under his shoe. His eyes shot up to the shattered second story window. Wendy's nursery window. Dread filled Wendy and she clung for dear life as Peter ran. His long legs carried him quickly through the house, running like he never had before. Gone was his calm demeanor. Wendy was in no better condition. All she knew was she needed to get to her home. She needed to see her parents. Her beautiful adopted mother, always with a laugh and a smile for her, no matter what she'd done. Her adopted father, stern but with a twinkle in his eye that showed he truly cared. She had to be there for them, like they'd been there for her all those years ago, when they'd saved her life from goodness knows what. Regret ached at her, if something happened to her family, she had to get to them. She had to save them. They could be in danger and it would all be because of her - because one night eight years ago they'd decided to save her life. All her fault. Peter's legs ached at the effort. Not once in his life had he run that fast. But even as fast as Peter had ran, it wasn't fast enough. It could never have been fast enough to save them. Feeling Peter suddenly stop, Wendy climbed out of his pocket and climbed down him to the floor. Her boots thumped almost hollowly through the ruins of her old room. The curtains were utterly shredded,and objects were strewn across the floor. Peter could only stare at the devastation, before he saw something under Wendy's dollhouse. Her old dollhouse was overturned. Whoever had done this had known what they were doing. She knew. It hadn't been a regular dream the night before. She should have told them... warned them! Once Peter had tilted the dollhouse back upright, she crept closer to the once overturned dollhouse, letting out a sob when she saw what had been trapped under it. Wendy crumpled to the ground, clutching her aching heart. 'No,' she moaned quietly to herself. 'Not them, not because of me.... all they ever did was save my life, and this is where it got them... all my fault... I should have protected them better...' The cold started to creep in while she was collapsed there, alone in the remains of her old room. The cold of a world that didn't care. The cold of a world turned against her. It chilled her to the bone, limbs becoming heavier and weaker with every passing moment. Time slipped away. As she sat there, ensconced in her despair, she slowly became aware of trembles that rattled the floor under her. Something was in the room. And here she was, out in the open. Exposed. Unprotected.  She couldn't bring herself to care. What did it matter if she got herself captured now? Her family was gone. First her birth family, now her adopted parents. She couldn't help but feel it was all her fault. Like she was a jinx. The source of the problem instead of the victim.
The shaking grew more powerful, a shadow blocking the light from the world above Wendy while discarded dollhouse furnishings shook in time with her. Wendy shut her eyes tightly, afraid to look up. But instead of the crushing pain and fire she was expecting after what she'd been through these last few days, after what her family had just gone through, she was instead wrapped in warmth, her entire body gently cushioned as she was lifted away from the only world she'd known for eight years. The cold vanished, bringing back her strength. She opened her eyes. Finding herself surrounded by carefully curled fingers the same size as her, she craned her neck, looking up out of the cupped hands that were supporting her. Surrounding her. Familiar dark chocolate brown eyes peered sorrowfully down at her. Peter. Her friend. Her best friend. The only person that Wendy could rely on in a world turned hostile. Her friend’s voice rumbled around her. "I'm sorry, Wendy. I'm so sorry," Peter said helplessly. Hesitantly, the huge hands wrapped around Wendy, pulling her gently against the wall of Peter's chest, the only hug her friend could give her now. A knuckle almost the size of  Wendy's back rubbed against her supportively, as gentle as it could be. Wendy buried her face in the soft shirt she was held against, letting out her fear and anger and frustration. Her inability to protect her family. Her failure to warn them. The steady drumming of Peter's heart thrummed through Wendy. Reassuring her. Calming her. She buried herself in the safety and comfort Peter provided, even if only for a little while. Wendy slowly started to calm down, her body no longer shaking with the silent sobs she couldn't let out. An almost endless amount of time passed between them like that. Attempting to give her a reassuring hug was not so easy when he was trying to hug someone smaller than the size of his finger. To his surprise, Wendy clutched at the shirt, back heaving with deep breaths. She was hyperventilating. Hoping to calm her down a little, Peter used his free hand to rub Wendy's back. He was too big to do anything else helpful. He settled down on his knees, getting comfortable while keeping his tiny friend cupped against his chest. There was no way he was going to move from this spot until Wendy was better. He wasn't about to leave Wendy here on her own, all alone in this destroyed room, and he didn't want to take Wendy away against her will, without even knowing where she was being taken. That just seemed cruel after everything else she'd been put through. They sat like that for the better part of an hour, Wendy struggling to regain control of himself with Peter patiently waiting, still cautiously running his finger down Wendy's tiny back on occasion, well aware of how careful he had to be. The only movement he'd made in that time was a shift in position so he was leaning against the wall that was next to the dollhouse, giving his knees a well-deserved rest. His friend hadn't reacted at all when he moved. Wendy finally pushed away from Peter's chest, leaning back in the hand against the curled fingers behind her. Peter pulled his other hand away, giving her space. It was a few moments more before Wendy managed to say anything. "Peter," she started. Her voice broke. She scrubbed at her face, clearing away any wetness left with angry determination. "No rush, Wendy, I'm not going anywhere." Peter gave her what he hoped was a reassuring smile. Feeling weird talking down to Wendy like this, he lifted the hand his friend was sitting in, slumped back against Peter's curled fingers, closer to eye level. Wendy seemed to gather herself again. "Peter, I..." Peter cut her off, not wanting to make this more painful for his friend after everything she'd been through. "Wendy, it's alright. As much as I want you to come with me, I'd never force you. Never make you do anything you don't want to. You have to do what's best for you." Out of all reactions Peter was expecting, irritation honestly wasn't one of them. "Peter...please don't leave me alone again..." She sounded so broken, frightened, lost...just like Peter himself had been so long ago. "I swear, when I find out who did this... They will pay." Wendy muttered as she stood up in his hand. Peter had to force his hand to freeze at the strange feeling. The tiny boots were so light, they tickled when Wendy shifted in place. One of his own friends was small enough to stand in his hand with plenty of room to move left over. "Wendy..." Peter could barely find the words he was searching for. "I'm sorry I never got to meet them." A tiny smile quirked Wendy's lips before fading again. "I don't think my adopted father would have wanted to meet you... but my adopted mother... I think she would've given you a chance..." Even that gentle reminder of how afraid Wendy's family had been of him made Peter cringe inside, especially since they weren't wrong. He was dangerous to them. And to Wendy. Just seeing Wendy sitting in his hand, so small and so vulnerable compared to Peter, drove it home. Not to mention, if it hadn't been Wendy he'd found in the room, anything could have happened. Peter didn't bother fooling himself. If he'd seen them as a threat, it would have been all over... "Well, if we're going back to Neverland, we should leave now." Peter said. "Yes, of course." Wendy said. "Peter... I..." She looked up at Peter, eyes starting to shine again with tears. "I'm not going anywhere without you, Wendy." Peter said softly. "Do what you have to." He lowered his hand back down to the floor, keeping it steady for Wendy. He could feel his friend still shaking slightly on his palm, either from bottled up anger or sadness. It was a full minute before Wendy gathered herself enough to step off the palm, and into the teeny tiny passageway in the wall. Peter kept his hand down there, not wanting to leave his Wendy alone for even a second after everything that had happened. He wasn't about to lose his friend a second time. And Wendy seemed to feel the same way as Peter about being left alone at the moment.  Just that sense told Peter he was starting to truly gain back Wendy's trust, but it was a start. While Wendy was going through her little home after bringing some items out, something caught Peter's eye. Reaching out with his free hand, he picked up a tiny book he guessed was Wendy's. The small binding was soft under his fingertips. Curious, he flipped open to a random page with his thumb, holding it as close to his eyes as he could, but discovered the writing was too small for him to even try to read. Practically microscopic. "Peter!" Surprised out of his train of thought, Peter glanced back down into the tiny entrance. Wendy was glaring up at him, hands on her hips. "Have I not told you before it is rude to be snooping through people's private belongings?" Wendy snipped. "Sorry!" Peter said, amused at at Wendy's reaction. So his friend still had a backbone after all. "I was just wondering what it was... I've just never seen a book that small, aside from the ones Tink reads." Wendy snatched it back from Peter when he lowered it down. "It was from the dollhouse, I think. But it was the only book I've seen this size, I couldn't pass it up." She tucked it protectively in the satchel by her feet. The next few minutes Peter just got to sit there and watch Wendy grab whatever she thought she'd need, probably trying to hurry so she could get away from the scene of such a tragedy, clear reminders of what she'd lost. It was like watching a Tinker fairy at work. Wendy tossed anything that didn't fit in her bag onto the hand that was still resting by the tiny passageway, Peter keeping it steady with the palm up for Wendy. Clothing and other odds and ends went onto the palm, turning into a small pile. Some things were so little Peter couldn't truthfully make them out from where he was sitting, still towering over everything. For the first time in his life, he felt completely out of place. Like the time when he unintentionally entered Pixie Hollow. One wrong move and he'd knock something flying. Wendy came to a stop when she was finished, quickly surveying everything sitting in Peter's palm. "There, that should be enough." She clambered into Peter's palm willingly. Peter lifted her away from her home, checking over everything in his hand curiously. It all just seemed so small... it was hard to imagine that Wendy and everything she owned could fit in the palm of his hand. Easily. A thought occurred to him while he was checking out the tiny possessions. "There's one thing you forgot." Wendy looked confused, squinting up at him. "What do you mean?" Peter reached back into the dollhouse with his free hand, scooping up a  bed from inside. "I can't imagine you'll be comfortable using a hard surface for a bed. And anything I could come up with wouldn't be the same as having your own bed." Wendy smiled gratefully. "Thank you." Peter hauled himself to his feet, Wendy clutching the fingers next to her for balance. Peter stuck the bed in his side pants pocket for safekeeping.  They left the ruins of  Wendy's home behind them.