Fic: Peter's Pan Shadow 2/? (WIP)

[nieseryjna]

Title: Peter's Pan Shadow 2/? (WIP)

Characters: Peter Burke, Other

Rating: PG-13

Warnings: AU

Spoilers: none

Word Count: ~ 4200 (this part)

Summary: There was once, a magic world. A world in which you were never afraid of darkness. A world in which your destiny shaped your life. It's all changed in time, but some things reminded.

Beta: by mam711 of fanfiction.net

Disclaimer: Not mine, just borrowing them for fun. White Collar belongs to Jeff Eastin and USA Network.

 All remaining mistakes are mine alone.

June 1972 - Ithaca, NY

The carnival trucks rolled through the city at late afternoon. The colorful trucks carried pieces of rides, concession stands and homes; some were followed by that freshly-popped popcorn smell. The kids already out of school ran behind the trucks, whooping and shouting happily. School would be out in a day and the carnival in town meant it was vacation time.

Peter followed the trucks with his eyes, his mind clearly not on the math problem currently on the board. His right leg twitched slightly, still acting up all these months after the accident; he moved it slightly and bent it to change the position. He was still visiting the hospital every other week for some more physical therapy. It worked for a while, then everything went back to the same stage. He sighed and directed his attention back to the notes; the math was easy—he was already halfway through the tasks listed on the board. He cast a careful look at the nearest student's page: he was still on the first problem. He could feel the anxiety rising, this strange feeling he associated with all his current problems in life. Quickly solving the rest of the problems, he gave his test back to the teacher and asked for a bathroom pass.

With the pink slip in his hand he ran, as quickly as his still-throbbing and slowing-him-down leg allowed. It was his last period; he took a quick stop at his locker, thankful it was on the same floor as the exit doors, and snuck out before anyone noticed him gone.

He followed the trucks to get a better look at the fields they would occupy. It was actually the same spot they took over year after year. His father once told him that he actually proposed at the top of the Ferris wheel at the same carnival ten years prior, and it was set up in the same place. He was lucky—their house wasn't very far away from the field; he stashed his backpack under a bush, carefully looking around that none of the neighbors were looking. Then he took off to look at the work.

The field was full of vehicles set in three circles: the built-in concession trucks in the center, followed by a ring of caravans and separate trailers, with last row being the big transport trucks; they left just enough space to create an entrance alley. He found a tree close to a inner ring and climbed it, wincing with pain. Now he had the best view of the setting up. They actually didn't start with unpacking—the first thing they did was sit together and eat. Peter's stomach grumbled, reminding him that he hadn't eaten his own lunch and it wouldn't be a bad idea to go home and eat something. He ignored it, remembering the unexpected disgust he'd felt upon unpacking his lunch—it was his favorite deviled ham sandwich, but he couldn't get himself to eat it today.

The unpacking finally started—the tents, booths, and then the smaller tents with wooden stages, and the various attractions started to grow. The last thing he saw that day was the entry sign made out of white lightbulbs being put up and lit—showing everyone interested where exactly the carnival was waiting for them to come.

He was slowly coming down the tree when a shout scared him and he lost his footing, falling down the last three feet.

"Hey, you!" he heard again, as he slowly opened his eyes. That had hurt.

"Kid? You okay?" The blonde-haired person with green eyes was looking at him curiously. The girl took his hand and put him on his legs again.

He nodded, not able to say a word.

"Well then, good; I wouldn't want to be responsible for you breaking your neck." She smiled widely, showing yellow teeth with one distinct brown gap. At first glance Peter could tell she was only a few years older than him, like the neighbor's daughter Lisa who was a freshman in high school. But after she smiled, he wasn't so sure anymore; only older people had problems with their teeth, right?

She regarded him for a moment before turning him in the direction of the city and pushing slightly. "Now scat; we open tomorrow evening. You can come by then if you have a dollar or two. Take off, kid." This time when she smiled, her teeth were white and neat, and it was so inviting.…

He stumbled and limped away, every few steps looking over his shoulder, checking on the girl. She still stood in the same place, each time he looked back, making a shooing move with her hand. Well, he was going home anyway.

---

The evening was brisk; the mass of people going in the direction of the colorful sign at the entrance to the carnival didn't seem to mind. He wrapped the jacket around himself, strolling behind a couple that he could pass off as his older sibling with a girlfriend if trouble found him, as it always did lately.

Last evening, he'd tested out his sneaking abilities. The fake body in the bed seemed to work flawlessly as his father didn't even comment at the breakfast table. If he'd paid more attention, he might have noticed the concerned look in his father's eyes, or the way he eyed the phone, as if recalling a conversation with someone over it. He quickly ate breakfast and without looking back called goodbye to his father and ran for the school bus. It was the last day of school, luckily, as the teachers and students were too excited about next few weeks of freedom to actually bother with him. The math teacher just gave him his worksheet back with an additional note, "don't sneak out again, even if you deserve an A for the problems", and let it be. The school bullies found some girls to torment and left him alone. Suddenly school was done and a crowd of kids ran from the building screaming with joy.

As he planned to sneak later to the carnival, he decided to actually play the role of good kid and go home straight from school. He was almost at the screen door when via the open kitchen window he heard his father on the phone.

"No, Helen, I didn't tell him yet... What do you think he'll do...? He's eight years old; he doesn't get to decide this... No... I know but he ran before I could tell him... Yes... As soon as he's back... Yeah, see you tomorrow; thanks."

He stood there listening, trying to put together the conversation; what were they talking about? Were they going on vacation to visit Aunt Helen tomorrow? It was like a hundred hours' drive and his mom usually told him at least two weeks before; he loved going to his aunt. Although after two weeks he was at war with his cousins and moped around till his mom decided it was time to go home, usually a day or two later. He almost had the doorknob turned when something stopped him. There was this strange feeling that something wasn't as it should be, that something would change. He shook his head and entered the house; it was time to give his father a chance to explain himself.

"Dad! I'm home!" he called with a cheerfulness he didn't feel.

"Peter!" Simon called, surprised, his hand still on the phone. He nervously wiped his hands on his jeans and gestured for the boy to come closer.

"Come on, sit; I have something to tell you." He moved nervously around, taking two glasses out of the cabinet and filling them with juice. He set one before Peter and then quickly drank his.

"Dad?" Peter asked, the tense situation getting to him.

His shadow flickered, unnoticed by the kitchen occupants. One arm moved slowly to tug on its own leg, the right seemed to divide itself from Peter's right heel without problem, but when it tugged on the left one it didn't even stir.

"We're moving to Aunt Helen's tomorrow." There, he'd said it.

The shadow stilled, both of its hands on the left leg, the head rising slowly, looking with interest over the shoulder to the older man.

"What do you mean, moving?" Peter's mind went blank, moving? "We aren't even packed. We can't move, we can't leave Mom!"

The older Burke ran his hand over his hair, messing it up. "Peter, look around you. Most things are already packed. I only left behind a little of your stuff. The furniture will be sold; we don't need it at Helen's place."

Peter finally really looked around at the kitchen and through the open door to the living room. For the past few weeks he'd rarely been home, mostly wandering around town and coming back after dark. He hadn't paid attention to what was going on in the house; he'd run away in the mornings without looking back. But now he could see empty shelves, packed cartons, everything ready.

"But..."

Simon knelt before him, grabbing his son's arms. "I allowed this situation to go too far; I'm sorry, but it's either this or Social Services. And I don't want to lose you, Peter; whatever is going on with you, we can solve it. The first thing is to change the environment, so we are going to move away and start fresh. I have a job lined up with a construction company, and you'll have some time to get used to the change before starting a new school." He looked Peter directly in the eyes. "We're gonna make it work, but you have to work with me, buddy." He saw an unfamiliar flicker in the boy's eyes.

Peter was terrified: move away from the only house he knew? From all the memories of his mom? The town he grew up in? And to a never-land of his aunt's farm? That would be a disaster; what had his father been thinking? Annoyance grew in him, followed by anger.

His shadow straightened itself, leaving off the attempt of freeing its leg. The hands moved in a threatening manner.

"No!" Peter shouted, getting away from his father's arms. "I won't go away! I want to stay here!"

Simon's own temper flared; he caught Peter's arm and without thinking smacked the boy's bottom. It seemed to fuel the kid's odd behavior; he tore his arm out of his father's grip and without another word fled through the door.

And that was how he ended up first lurking around the town, then hiding in his treehouse while his father was away searching, and then following the teenage pair out to the carnival. In all the drama he'd forgotten a very important date. Tomorrow was his ninth birthday.

---

The carnival lights swirled around, trying to draw attention to all the possible attractions. There were magic tricks, extremely bendy people, a shooting range, a carousel, sweets stands and so many more that Peter's eyes couldn't stay long in one spot. He moved limping from one tent to another, stretching his neck trying to see what was going on inside and if it was worth his money to see. After one and half an hours, when he'd spent almost half of his money already, his throbbing leg forced him to slow down and sit. It wasn't the usual muscle spasm, it was the familiar tingling that caused him to stop. His mind started to be clouded, his emotions running high, and then he saw her. The girl that had chased him away yesterday: she stood by a fortuneteller's tent. The long blonde hair was now let loose and cascaded down her back; it almost reached her waist. She was smiling to all comers, chatting and inviting them in; today her smile was brilliantly white.

He looked at her, mesmerized; she was so different from yesterday. His lips curled in a smile; he would talk to her, right now. The throbbing in his leg suddenly disappeared, and he walked swiftly towards the tent. He was almost there when he saw his father only a few feet away. He quickly ducked into the nearest alley, hiding behind people and trucks for cover. Sneaking past the back entrance to the fortuneteller's tent he saw another interesting thing. The candied apple vendor was only a few steps ahead, and his cart had been left untended. He was two feet away from it when a strange tingling sensation on his neck stopped him mid-step.

"What do you think you're doing, boy?" the old, slightly-creaky voice asked.

There it was again: the hair on his neck stood up, his stomach clenched; something was wrong.

"That's not an answer, you're not supposed to be here..." There'd been no answer to the first question, so what was going on? Peter took a step back and turned around.

At the entrance to the soothsayer's tent stood an old woman; she had black hair mostly hidden under a colorful scarf, and her blouse was crispy white with red ornaments. The skirt was black with a colorful floral pattern, and she was barefoot. The bracelets on her hand jingled when she shook a dark form she was holding with her hand.

Peter stilled; she was grabbing onto the shadow of a person, holding it by the collar of its tee-shirt. And when he looked closely at it he noticed with even more surprise that it was his shadow, which held an apple on a stick in one hand. He dropped his gaze, surprised, to check his own hand but it was empty.

"What...?" he tried to ask, but when her black eyes were directed at him he tried to take a step back out of fear and discovered he couldn't. The panic should have set in then; he knew it should. Every time he'd been caught stealing, or sneaking around places he shouldn't be, it always ended in panic. It was a familiar feeling now, just like the anger that rose each time he didn't like the world, and decided to set it his way. But not this time; this time he froze, the only feeling still within him being fear.

The lady shook the gray shade in her hand again. "Do you see what you did?"

Then, as if the shadow being moved by someone else wasn't enough of a surprise, it moved on its own. Peter could almost hear soft sounds coming from where he could imagine lips; the hands moved fast in gestures he couldn't comprehend.

Back in the city, on the dark and empty streets wind howled, moving the garbage around. On the city hall's clock tower the small and big hands of the clock slid into the same position. It was midnight.

"Come with me." Still with the shadow boy in hand she turned and directed her steps into the tent. Peter felt the tugging on his legs; it was again the familiar feeling: when he didn't want to do something and his feelings took control of him. The tugging grew almost impossible to ignore.

"Are you coming, Peter?" he heard, and his legs moved on their own.

She sat in a comfortable-looking chair by a small round table with a glass ball on it, a very typical setting for someone convincing you that they could tell the future. That would tell you everything you wanted to hear and empty your wallet at the same time. Peter cast a curious look around, searching this time for his shadow; when he didn't notice it he stopped in the middle of the tent.

She sent him an understanding look and pointed with a finger behind his back. When he looked past his shoulder he could see the shadow back where it belonged, but not looking exactly how it should look. The shadow looked straight forward and waved at him, causing him to jump a little; he quickly turned his head back and sat hesitantly on a chair beside the woman.

Peter didn't know what to expect but what happened next was even more surprising. The woman took a long look at him, swiftly making him uncomfortable in the seat, but he couldn't stop looking at her. There was something mesmerizing in her look that made him forget everything but her eyes.

Peter's eyes closed slowly as if he had fallen asleep; the sight of the diviner was hypnotic. The old lady rose from her seat and, slowly brushing hair from his brow, she whispered spells in a foreign language, drawing invisible symbols on his forehead. Finishing, she kissed his temple and murmured directly into his ear again.

"Sleep, Peter Burke, sleep. When you wake the world will be in order once again. I can't fix everything that happened, but I will take your shadow and your burdens, thus allowing you to grow up before you have to face them again," she whispered into his ear. "Remember this: your shadow pushed you to choose a side, a decision you are not ready to make, because it's man's decision, not a boy's one. When you grow up, your decisions will lead you back and you can have your shadow back."

The boy's shade flickered on the chair where it sat, hands moving in panicked gestures. The woman's hand smacked him on the head. "Calm down; I will get to you next."

She stroked Peter's head again. "Remember, your decisions will shape your life; make them wisely." She snapped her fingers and the young girl that chatted to people in the front came in.

"Tamara, call Noah and tell him to come here and take the boy outside the camp; someone will find him in the morning."

The girl just nodded and ran out of the tent without another glance.

The soothsayer sat on her chair again, took a long sip of her tea and stared wordlessly on the boy sleeping on the chair. "Sleep well, Peter Burke, choose well." She sat without a sound till a big man came in and took Peter away, careful not to wake him up.

When everyone else left she concentrated again on the shadow of the boy that still sat in the chair opposite her. Her hand shook when she took the glass ball in hand and concentrated on looking into the shadow world. It wasn't as easy as catching the shadow and containing it in one place. Now she had to really sever the connection between the boy and his shade.

The gray mass in the glass sphere flickered and started taking the shape of the boy. The shadow on the chair flickered again and again; the hands moved, trying to convey a message. She ignored him, knowing well the tricks of darken folk—it was better not to trust them. The muffled voice was now easier to hear—he was pleading to be let back to the boy. She concentrated more and saw the weak spot that could be used to finally separate the two.

She took a silver knife and first cut her own hand, allowing blood to coat the blade. Then, murmuring an old spell, she grabbed the shade's right leg and cut just by the heel. Blinding light shone for a second from the cut then closed up, creating a slightly darker line. Now she could hear the howling of the wind mixed with the shadow's cries. There was no time to stop now—she caught the left leg and did the same. This time the light was muted and she had to make another cut before the golden light coming from the cut blinded her.

The howling of the wind stilled, but she could still hear a child's scream. When she opened her eyes, on the chair by her table sat a boy with blue eyes and fair skin, dark hair mussed by the wind, his face terrified when his shape changed from those of a boy into shadow and back again.

Her eyes widened in surprise and her hand shot into her pocket to grab a simple twine. She quickly wrapped it around the boy's left ankle, murmuring charms and spells, a colorful rainbow of sparks shooting around her hand and the cord with each word. The boy stopped changing and was a shadow again when she finished; wiping perspiration from her forehead she wrapped the other end around her wrist.

She sat, tired, at the table and took another look into her glass ball. The previous shadows cleared and now she could see the future, but what she saw was not what she expected to see. Her brows furrowed and she took a sideways look at the shade on the chair again.

"You are not an average shadow child, are you?"

The shadow shook his head.

"What's your name, child?" she asked with false gentleness.

The shadow flickered into the boy again; he seized her with a look beyond his years—he knew well not to give up a name—then he was shadow again.

"I'm not letting you go; you are too valuable." Her voice lowered to whisper, "Holding secrets and powers that I.…"

The shadow seemed to listen even to her whispers, then he spoke, but only she could hear the answer. Her eyes widened with surprise again, and the shadow just shrugged.

"Impossible..." she murmured carefully, then straightened herself, continuing, "The curse I put on the boy will make him come back if he makes the correct decisions; you will be free when he sets you free—he is the only one now that can. Mark my words, whatever you do, he and I will be able to find you, so don't try to run."

The shadow protested visibly but she ignored him, standing up and starting to walk toward her trailer. The cord on her hand dragged him like a doll behind her; at the van she put the cord beside another one on an iron handle at the back of the car. The shadows of two people flickered, welcoming the new addition.

When she leaves he is standing in the middle, his hands in invisible pockets, slowly swinging on the balls of his feet.

---

For the second time in six months he woke up disoriented and not where he expected. He was at the hospital again, this time with only a few wires attached, and fully mobile. The dawn light was seeping through the windows; his father's slumped form was visible on a nearby chair. He was snoring softly, his chin was covered in stubble and he looked tired and old.

Peter looked at him, wondering was he the reason his dad looked so bad? The feelings he'd gotten accustomed to in the last months were suddenly absent. He scratched his ear in silent wonder; what had happened? He remembered running away from home after dad told him they were moving away to Aunt Helen's, but then... His brows came together as he thought; it didn't make sense, he couldn't remember.

"Peter?" The voice calling him was quiet, then a little bit louder. He hadn't noticed his father waking up and sitting on his bed. He looked at the tired man and all he could feel was sadness and guilt; he wrapped his arms about his father's neck, allowing tears to fall.

Simon hugged his son tightly, worry for his child finally subsiding. The boy was finally awake and seemed much better than in the past months. Whatever had happened, he was grateful the child was unhurt.

When he'd found Peter on the edge of the carnival field, the boy was unconscious, his body limp and unresponsive. He took him to the hospital and spent two days by his side while doctors ran every test they could imagine, trying to determine what had happened. In the end they didn't find anything, declared Peter in a coma, and told him to be ready: that if the boy didn't wake up in next few days, he may never.

"You missed your birthday. Happy birthday, Peter Pan. Happy birthday, son," he was murmuring. He was happy they were wrong.

The night at the carnival seemed to change Peter back into the lovely and happy child he was before the accident. He helped pack the rest of the house and sell whatever they didn't take with them in a garage sale. He even dragged his father to the cemetery to say goodbye to his mother, promising they would come see her from time to time. It was like now, he couldn't wait to leave, instead of dragging his heels like before.

Simon was glad; the last six months had at first been a nightmare then a constant emotional roller coaster. He knew raising a child on his own would not be easy, but now he had more hope that he would be successful. They were starting fresh in a new place with some old friends nearby. The future looked promising.

TBC

Back to chapter 1