“Sit up, Peter. Drink this, okay?”
Tinkerbell was desperately trying to get him into an upright position. She managed to slide him up against a brick wall and then moved around him. He focused on her and saw that she was in her human form and that she was now kneeling in front of him. She held a bottle out toward him. He didn’t recognize the brand or the beverage, but the pixie dust that sparkled all along the rim of the mouth of the bottle was familiar enough.
“What happened?” he asked. His voice seemed hoarse and quiet. He cleared his throat and reached for the bottle. His arm wouldn’t move.
He looked down at it. It lay limp at his side. He tried to reach for the bottle again. Again, it wouldn’t move.
“I can’t move my arm, Tink.”
“It’s broken. Here, drink.” Tinkerbell held the bottle to his lips, but he just stared at her. Shock and disbelief warred with each other for possession of his features.
“It’s broken?” He had never been broken before. He’d never been hurt. Not really.
“Yes, Peter. You tried to catch yourself, but you weren’t able to fly right,” Tink explained as she gestured for him to drink. He took a sip as she continued. “I was able to slow you down, but not enough. You slammed into the top of a chimney and then into a roof and rolled off into this alley.” Her expression was stricken. “I think there are a lot of broken bones, Peter. More than just your arm.”
Peter stopped drinking and pulled back. He looked down at his legs. He tried to move them. They wouldn’t move. He realized, then, that that was why he hadn’t been able to help Tinkerbell get him into a sitting position. He’d unconsciously wanted to – but his body wouldn’t obey.
“My legs . . . .” he croaked.
“Drink!” Tinkerbell shoved the bottle up against his mouth, smashing his bottom lip in between his teeth and the rim of the glass. He flinched. “Sorry!” she said, desperately. Her emerald eyes were watering. “Please, just drink. It’ll heal you. But it’ll take some time. A lot longer than normal and you’ll need to rest.”
Peter tried to move his other arm and, thankfully, it, at least, did as he wanted it to. He grabbed the bottle and held it for himself. Tinkerbell stood and looked around, the wheels in her head obviously spinning at a thousand miles a minute.
“We have to get you back to the cottage. But you can’t fly and I can’t carry you.” She glanced at him. “No offense. You’re just bigger than you used to be.” She bit her bottom lip and gazed down the alley, lost in thought.
“The Lost Boys!” she suddenly exclaimed.
“What?” Peter asked, after he’d finished off the entire bottle of - . He looked down at it. Welch’s Grape soda. It wasn’t half bad.
Tinkerbell spun around to face him. “The Lost Boys. They can help!”
“A bunch of little boys? How can they?” Peter blinked. Of course, they wouldn’t be little boys any more, would they? He’d grown so used to them in Neverland, never aging, never growing up, that he’d forgotten: Everyone grows up in the real world.
“I think that Tootles is actually nearby, in fact,” Tinkerbell said, her green eyes glittering with possibility. She knelt down beside him again and, with a snap of her fingers, a thick soft blanket appeared, draped over her arms. She tucked the blanket around Peter. “I’m going to get him and have him help us, okay?”
Peter nodded, once, grimacing when it hurt.
She then stood again and moved to a trash can nearby. She pulled off the top and, out of sheer curiosity, took a whiff.
“Ugh! Oh my god, what in the name of -” She shook her head in disgust. “These humans really make a lot of foul-smelling stuff.” She stepped back and concentrated. She squeezed her eyes shut tight and drew a deep, deep breath. Then, seemingly with all of her might, she waved her arms at the trash can and shoved as much pixie dust at it as she could muster.
The trash can flickered in and out of existence for a moment. Then it re-solidified, only this time, as a stone fire place. A warm blaze crackled in its depths. Smoke billowed out of its small carved chimney.
Peter couldn’t help but smile. “Impressive, Tink.”
Tinkerbell wiped her brow and bent over as if to catch her breath. “Yeah, but I think I’m just about tapped out. It took a lot just to slow down your fall,” she muttered. Then she straightened again and nodded at him. “I’ll be back soon. Don’t go anywhere.”
“Couldn’t,” Peter replied. “Even if I wanted to.”
Tink studied his face for a moment, noting the brief flicker of brevity in his once-more green eyes. And then she was gone.