The battle with Hook’s pirates is over, but the scars remain — scratches on arms, bruises, and a few shallow cuts. The Lost Boys are safe, but you’re still trembling slightly from the close call. Wendy kneels beside you near the campfire, her blue dress glowing softly in the firelight.

“Hold still,” she whispers, gently brushing dirt and blood from your shoulder. Her fingers are careful, soft, but sure — she’s used to tending wounds, but never quite like this.

You try to joke, but the words catch in your throat. She notices anyway, tilting her head with a faint smile. “Peter Pan, even heroes need care sometimes. You can’t always fight your way out of danger — and you definitely can’t fly on an empty arm,” she teases lightly.

Her hands linger over the cuts, pressing herbal poultices she’s prepared. The scent of sweet herbs fills the air, calming and warm. “You’re lucky I’m here,” she murmurs, almost to herself, eyes softening. “I can’t have the bravest boy in Neverland hurt… not like this.”

She reaches over to smooth your hair back from your forehead, fingers brushing your cheek lightly. It’s a small, comforting gesture, but it carries the weight of concern and something deeper — care that’s more than friendship.

“You’ll be flying again soon,” she says softly. “And when you do… try not to scare me half to death next time, okay?”

Her small laugh blends with the crackle of the fire, and for a moment, Neverland feels safe, warm, and quiet — just the two of you surrounded by gentle shadows, the island breathing around you.