A/N: Sorry for the three week late update, I've been swamped with stuff. Hoping this will get me back on schedule every Monday lol. Enjoy Peter and his jerk-wad-ness xD

"What are you doing here?" I demand, glaring at the boy who has decided to curl up in my bed without permission. He doesn't appear to hear me. "I know you're awake, Peter!"

Actually, I don't know that. I'm guessing. But since my thoughts are so loud, I don't see how he could possibly still be asleep.

He doesn't react, and I contemplate hitting him with the pillow. I think about shoving him off the bed and onto the hard, cold floor. I think about strangling him with the sheet. I half wish I'd tried to buy a dagger, because then I could stab him with it.

He doesn't react to any of my rude, murderous thoughts, and with a muttered curse I climb out of bed, throw my jeans and t-shirt on, and stalk out of the room. I don't have to deal with him. Stupid jerk.

Why did he even come back? What does he want? Things were just starting to get better here, and he has to come and ruin everything.

My thoughts are huffy, but there's less anger in me than I'd like. I tell myself that I'm not glad to see him, but it tastes like a lie. It's so stupid.

Why would I be glad that he came back? He's a rude, heartless jerk who doesn't care about anyone but himself. He even said in as many words that he wishes I was dead!

That thought still stings more than I want it to. It settles in my gut like a rock, dragging my heart down so it feels too heavy for its place. I rub my chest as I go down the stairs. I half want to stomp, but I don't because it will wake the guests and Mila won't be happy.

In the kitchen, everything is eerily still, the movement from earlier halted with the absence of the Tin's faerie mistress. Out the back door, down the steps, into the tiny herb and vegetable garden she maintains. The night air is crisp and cool against my skin, stars shining on a world that barely breathes.

I stand by the well and wonder what on Earth I'm doing. I could have gone to another room, there are a couple vacant. I could have kicked Peter out--how, I don't know, but I'm sure I could've done something about it. Why did I run away--and why am I out here?

The night feels oppressive, like the silence in the city. Goosebumps prickle over my skin and I clutch my arms, wishing my t-shirt had long sleeves or I'd thought to grab my dress instead of this.

There must be an ice storm coming.

I should go back inside.

I'm just being stupid, out here in the cold like a child. Peter doesn't care. He probably only came back because he comes here often, and as for why he's in my bed, who knows? I don't care.

I won't let him mess up my life. I chose this path for myself, and I like it here in the City of Quiet. If I want to stay here, I will. Mila will get used to having me around.

Maybe I can even learn Quaiaan and become useful.

I turn back to the door, feeling silly for running out here like a four year old, but freeze in my tracks.

Two hollow children stand on the steps, looking at me.

"Hello Gwendy," they say, their empty voices in perfect unison--and it sounds as if more than just two kids are talking through their mouths. Their heads tilt to the left at the same moment, as if they're carbon copies of each other though they look different--one a black haired girl of five or six, the other a taller, older boy.

The night air shivers over my skin and crawls down my back as if it's trying to hide in my shirt. I retreat a few steps, but can't go much farther without falling into the well or crushing Mila's peas and rosemary.

"Wh-" My voice is too high, coming out like a squeak. I take a breath that feels ragged, clear my throat, and try again. "What do you want?"

Better. Not perfect... but better.

I wish the well wasn't up against the low stone wall. I'd like to put it between myself and these kids.

Why are they blocking the way into the inn? Where is Mila? Where is Peter? I know he wasn't asleep.

Did he bring them here?

I'm starting to panic and I know that I can't let it get to me, I have to stop, I have to breathe.

They're just kids.

Creepy, wooden, puppet-like kids, but kids nonetheless.

Suddenly I wonder what made them this way, if there's a reason the children born in Neverland are hollow-eyed shells.

If all of them are this way, how has the population not died out?

"You, Gwendy," the little girl says.

"Come home," the boy agrees, in the same tone--empty, like a grain silo that isn't being used, when you drop a coin in it just echoes and echoes and echoes...

"I don't know what you're talking about," I say, hiding my shaking hands by tucking them into each other. Where is everyone? Why am I out here alone?

Why did I even come out here?

Are they going to kill me? Or worse?

"You will though," the boy says, tilting his head again in that creepy, disjointed way. The girl follows the motion a second later as if their heads are connected by some invisible string.

"I don't want to," I snap, proud of the bite in my voice--even if it isn't very strong.

"But you're our mother, Gwendy," the little girl says, and I'd think she was confused or hurt if not for the blank look on her face and the constant, writhing emptiness in her voice.

"No, I am not," I say vehemently.

"Yes," the boy says, as if correcting me. "You are. You birthed us. You created us."

I did what now?

Since when? I haven't even been here that long! I'm not even from here! I'm practically an alien, for the love of all things chocolate. I had nothing to do with these kids.

"No," I say, trying to calm my breathing. "I didn't."

The hollow girl's eyebrows draw together, the first sign of emotion--but that emotion doesn't reach her eyes or any other part of her face, so it looks as if someone has reached out two fingers and pushed her brows together on purpose.

"Why are you lying, Gwendy?"

"I'm not lying!" In fact, I don't have the strength to lie right now. I'm too creeped out to even think about moving--how is my tongue even working? That's a better question. My tongue. Moving. How is that possible when everything else on my body feels frozen?

The hollow boy takes a step forward, coming down the stairs. I flinch back and trip over the edge of the well, the sensation of falling instant and breathtaking, the air dragging me back. The well is wide and I don't even scrape the other side.

I'm too shocked to even scream as I scrabble for the rope and miss.

I wonder what that water will feel like... everything in my vision is going dark so I probably won't even get to see it.

Why do I want to see it? What is wrong with me?

I'm... falling.

The fear is like a vise. I can't breathe.

How long have I been falling?

Where is the water?

I stare up at the stars visible through the little hole that is now the top of the well. The heads of the hollow children encroach, peering down at me, and I scream then.

I can't stop screaming.

There's a hand over my mouth.

"Woman, how many times do I have to tell you to shut up?"

I scream again and jerk away, jumping out of Peter's arms. I'm falling again and this time I'm terrified. I reach for Peter, the blackness below like a hand reaching up to grab me--

He sighs as his arms come around me again. I feel weightless, as if I'm moving even though I'm still now.

"You can't follow even the simplest instructions, can you?" He asks, his voice tight. I can't make out his face in the shadows, but his eyes glisten. My hands curl into fists.

"It's not my fault you're incapable of answering questions," I say, and I try to snap the words, but they come out quiet and subdued. I hate myself for that, and for clinging to him as we fly upward. The hollow children are gone, and I'm glad, though I wonder where they went and why they were here.

Somehow they're less scary when Peter is here. I don't like that.

Peter doesn't answer me--neither the words I spoke aloud nor the questions in my mind. He never answers, so I'm not surprised.

I'm just... drained. My body is still shaking, too much adrenalin in my system and not enough time to process it.

We don't stop flying, not even when we duck through the doorway into the kitchen. Peter flies all the way up the stairs to my room and doesn't put me down until we're there and the door has been kicked closed.

The faerie light is still making things glow, lighting up the darkness. The bed looks inviting, but I'll never sleep with him around.

I hug my arms around my middle and stand where he put me, deciding that I simply won't move. He doesn't pay attention to me, why should I pay attention to him?

"If I wasn't paying attention to you," he says, his tone a mixture of that neutrality and something sharper that I can't quite put my finger on, "you'd be dead at the bottom of the well."

He doesn't sound particularly broken up about that, nor does he look like he cares as he flops back onto my bed and throws an arm over his eyes.

My fists clench again. "What are you doing here, Peter?" I demand, or try to. My voice remains quiet, though. Why can't I put any feeling into my words? It's like I've just gone through the scariest theme park ride ever and I need a moment to realize that my feet are back on the ground, but my chest is all hollow and my breaths are shallow and I can't...

I rub my face with one hand, trying to get rid of the tingling coldness that remains. There's a gale starting up outside, I can hear it beating against the walls, shards of ice and snow in the air. One of those storms from the nearby planet.

"Trying to sleep," Peter says dryly.

"Sleep somewhere else," I tell him.

He snorts and doesn't respond. Why did I expect him to? I'm so... tired. I just want to know what's going on. I can't take much more of this. It's like I'm in some movie but no one has told me the script or the plot and I don't know what to do. It's probably a horror movie, too.

"Explain the hollow children," I say, but I don't expect him to answer. I wish he would. I need to understand.

Why are they so... creepy? Why do they think I had something to do with their creation? They think I'm their mother or something. I don't get it. I haven't even been here for a full two weeks! I'm sure the hollow children have existed for a lot longer than that.

Peter is silent.

"Fine, don't then," I mutter, and turn away. I'll just find another room to sleep in. I'll sleep downstairs by the fire, maybe. Mila keeps a nice, thick rug down there.

It's probably not safe to sleep in the open like that, especially in an inn. But I don't care. Things can't get much worse than they already are, and they certainly can't get any creepier.

Peter doesn't stop me as I leave the room and close the door.