Shane = Bold

Cleo = Italics

"No one's dying, are they?"

"No. Why on earth would you think that?"

"Because last time you called me someone was."

"So you think I just have a habit of finding dying bodies?"

"Yes."

"Because of one time?"

"Pretty much."

"That's some messed up logic you've got right there, Lost Boy."

"I take pride in it. But, if you're not calling me because you found a dead body then, why are you?"

"I wanted to say thanks."

"For stopping your cousin from bleeding to death?"

"I guess... I would use the word assisting."

"I don't care whether I was just assisting or not. It still calls for an upgrade."

"Upgrade?"

"Yup. I think it's time for Lost Boy to flap his wings and become Peter Pan."

"Peter Pan doesn't have wings."

"Then how does he fly?"

"Pixie du- hang on a second. Have you never watched Peter Pan?"

"No."

"WHAT?"

"No."

"I heard you."

"Then why did you say, 'what'?"

"Because that's absolutely ludicrous. It's a classic childhood film."

"I didn't have a normal childhood."

"YOU CAN SAY THAT AGAIN, WHAT KIND OF IDIOT HASN'T WATCHED PETER PAN?"

"Me."

"You just admitted to being an idiot."

"Did I? Wait...hang on a second. Damn. I did as well."

"So... why did you call?"

"To say thank you."

"For making the world a better place?"

"Not exactly. I've already said it actually. You saved my cousin's life. I called to say thank you." 

"..."

"You alright there, Lost Boy?"

"Yeah...yeah. I'm fine. It's just been a while since anyone has ever thanked me for anything. And Super-girl?"

"Yeah?"

"You're welcome."

"You're welcome for making you feel like I'm welcome."

"That doesn't make any sense."

"It did in my head."

"So...how's that bleeding cousin of yours?"

"He's... alright, I guess. I mean, he's not perfectly healed because if he was that would mean he was some kind of werewolf or something."

"Werewolf?"

"Yeah. Werewolves have really fast healing."

"How on earth do you know that?"

"I have a lot of free time to read werewolf books."

"Why?"

"What do you mean, 'why'?"

"Why do you choose to do that in your free time?"

"Read?"

"Yeah, I mean, you could be doing anything. You could go meet up with some friends or lose your worries with a glass of champagne or something like that."

"I can't afford champagne."

"Then buy cheap shots."

"No."

"Why not?"

"We've already had this conversation. I'm not into drinking. Besides, a book is much better to lose yourself in."

"How so?"

"Reading is the definition of letting go of your problems. Instead of worrying about your own you're suddenly pulled into another person's problems. I get so caught up in the problems of a fictional person that I forget about my own. It's my escape from the world. And do you know what the best part is?"

"What?"

"It doesn't give you a hangover."

"I feel like that was a rehearsed speech."

"It was."

"It was?"

"Yeah."

"How could you possibly have known that we were going to have this conversation?"

"I didn't."

"Then h-"

"A couple years ago my dad got so into drinking that he would need me to drive to whatever pub he was at and pick him up because I knew that if he drove himself he would surely end up in some kind of accident. I mean, I couldn't drive either but it seemed like a safer option than letting him drive when he was drunk. Eventually, it started affecting my grades as I didn't get enough sleep, jumping out of bed at a ridiculous hour just to pick him up. So I wrote it for him, to help him stop drinking."

"Did...did it work?"

"No."

"Why not?"

"I was too late. By then he was already addicted."

"How long had he been drinking?"

"Since I was five years old."

"Let me guess: your mum died when you were five years old."

"No."

"No? You mean you're not a typical parentless teenager?"

"No. My mum is dead. She just didn't die when I was five."

"Then when did she die?"

"When I was seven. She'd seen two years of my dad drinking his life away and couldn't take it anymore."

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"She committed suicide on my seventh birthday."