We don't exit through the door.

Instead, Peter scoops me up and flies through one of the holes in the roof, taking us into the waning light of an evening sky. I cling to him, face flaming, totally and completely confused.

There are so many things whirling around in my head that I can't think at all, let alone straight.

Peter puts me down on a rooftop. If I'm not mistaken, it's the rooftop of Mila's inn, but I'm not sure and I wasn't really paying enough attention to be sure.

I stare at Peter, who leans against a broken pillar which is randomly sticking up from one corner of the roof. He stares out over the City of Quiet, arms folded across his chest.

If the silence was any more awkward, I would die. Unless I'm already dead, in which case... well then I'm a zombie, which means I can't talk, which means it's not getting fixed, which means--

"Stop," Peter snaps, lifting a hand to pinch the bridge of his nose. "Stars, you are so loud."

"I- I didn't say anything..."

"You never have to," he mutters, sighing. I blink at him. Is he saying I think loud? How is that my fault exactly? He should just stop reading my mind!

"I can't stop, Gwendolyn," Peter says, almost tiredly.

"Why not?" I cross my own arms, frowning. It's really not fair for him to be in my head when I never even know what he's saying, much less what's going on in his mind.

Peter sighs again. "Because I can't. What more of an explanation do you need?"

"How about a real one?"

"That was a real explanation," he says, waving a hand. "I can't deal with you right now. Go inside."

"Don't tell me what to do, Peter."

"I'll tell you whatever I please, little girl," he responds, looking at me. All the colors are fully visible in his eyes--green and gold and black and an echo of something else. I wonder what it means when his eyes do that.

"How about you tell me why you kissed me back there, then?" I'm proud of myself--my voice only shakes a little bit, and I'm pretty sure I'm only blushing faintly.

"You were going to scream," Peter says, as if it's obvious. "I couldn't think of any other way to shut you up."

I gape at him. "So you... you... that was my first kiss, you jerk!"

Peter waves me off. "No it wasn't."

"Excuse me?" I'm taken aback, staring at him. "Hello, I think I would know."

Peter shrugs. Shrugs.

I struggle with my temper. "Have you been perving on me in my sleep?!"

He shoots me a disgusted look. "Grow up, Gwendolyn."

I'm hearing that from Peter Pan, of all people. The irony isn't lost on me. I clench my fists and try to keep my breathing even.

"Why was it so important that I not scream, then?" I ask, and it takes everything in me to keep my voice level. Peter sighs very heavily.

"I told you to keep your mouth shut and be quiet, but you couldn't even do that, could you? No, of course not." I open my mouth in self defense, but Peter strides toward me, those colors in his eyes, and he isn't done. "Listen closely, because I will only explain this once. There are three types of Nightmares, and only three." What? I'm caught completely off guard by this change in topic. Where is he going with this...?

"The first, weakest, and most common," Peter continues, "are those formed from the usual kind of sleeping nightmares. The second, slightly less common and more powerful, are those formed of waking nightmares. The third, the least common and the most powerful, are living nightmares--beings who were once mortal but couldn't handle the trauma of whatever happened to them, and so gave up on life without actually dying. Princess Aurora," that's Sleeping Beauty's name... was she the skeleton? "Is one such living nightmare. However, so long as she's asleep, she's contained within that castle. If someone were to wake her up, we'd have a massacre on our hands, so I spelled the people of this city into silence." Peter did that? I can only stare at him, standing in front of me, those muscled arms crossed over his chest, expression hard. I can't tell what he's thinking, I just know that he certainly isn't happy with me.

"So if someone were to say, go into the castle and start screaming, what do you think would happen, Gwendolyn?" When I don't reply, he snorts, his lip curling into something that looks like a sneer. "That's right, she'd wake up. And since I have no desire to deal with that, I did what I thought was necessary to keep it from happening. Don't take it personally."

Personally. So the fact that he kissed me--stealing my first kiss--is nothing personal. He just did it to stop a nightmare from waking up and killing everyone.

Which, while perfectly logical, doesn't help me at all.

"You're a cold hearted bastard, you know that?" I seethe, glaring up at him.

"Yes, I'm well aware," Peter responds, and he doesn't look like he cares overmuch. "The next time I tell you to do something, Gwendolyn, do it."

"You didn't even bother to explain," I snap, shoving at his chest. He's like a mountain, unmovable, and all I succeed in doing is hurting my arms. "If you had, I never would have gone near the castle. But no, you can't even answer the simplest questions, so how am I supposed to know anything?"

"You don't need to understand," he says, his expression like an unyielding stone. "You just need to follow orders."

"What, like everyone else does? Well I'm sorry, Your Majesty, but I don't take orders from you!" I smack his chest again, even though I know it won't do any good. It makes me feel a little better.

"Yes, you do," he says, smacking my hands away. "In case you've forgotten, you agreed to come here, and when you did that, you agreed to follow the rules of Neverland--rules which I set in place."

"That wasn't in the deal," I counter, scowling at him.

"I don't have to stand here and argue with you." Peter steps past me, heading for a trapdoor a few feet away. I stare at the ground, fists clenched, everything warring inside me.

I whisper, "Why do you hate me so much? What did I ever do to you?"

Peter snorts, the sound derisive. "You didn't die."

I flinch, feeling like I've just been kicked in the chest by a horse. I stare at the ground and the only sound in the silence is the trapdoor closing with a click.

I thought that I didn't have any tears left in me, but as I sink to the rooftop and hug my knees, I prove myself wrong.

I don't know whether I'm angry that I'm crying, or angry that I'm crying over him, but neither emotion does me any good.

I stay on the roof until long after night falls--until it's so dark that I can't see my hand in front of my face, and the remembered fear of being in the castle with the skeleton and the hollow child drives me inside where there is light and warmth and Mila's pie, which turns out to be amazing.

Peter isn't in the Faerie Tin. Mila tells me that he didn't say when he's coming back--or if he's coming back at all.

I tell myself that I don't care either way, and that the wetness on my lumpy pillow is rain coming through a hole in the roof.