A/N: I'll cry if this chapter flops.

The moment Pan had teleported himself with Metanoia and Jeremy's body, he could already feel the thick, tantalising tension befalling the Lost Boys as soon as they let their vision land on Jeremy. His green orbs momentarily gazed upon Jacob, who was stifling a sob, and taking slow, hesitant steps towards his lifelong friend and companion. Pan clenched his jaw angrily, and ripped Metanoia off Jeremy, who was clutching onto him while she silently cried, her tears a never ending waterfall upon her wet cheeks.

Grudgingly hauling the girl's weight against Theodore's chest, Pan grumbled, "Take her to the healing hut and keep her there until I'm back."

Theodore nodded stiffly, gently nudging Metanoia in the direction of the medical space Pan had created centuries ago, but Metanoia was thrashing in Theodore's grip, crying and yelling to be left alone with Jeremy. The second in command's heart shattered at the sight of her broken state, and his eyes briefly fell to her thighs, where her deep burns rested, and he swallowed thickly. She'd been traumatised in such a short span of time — being tortured, and her friend dying in front of her. It was a fate Theodore wished upon no one. He couldn't even bring himself to look back at Jeremy's body; he wouldn't dare. Jeremy was quite possibly the kindest Lost Boy among them all. Quiet, shy and mostly kept to himself. But he had a true heart of gold indeed. Pan kneeled down to place a firm hand on Jeremy's shoulder, and addressed the Lost Boys who stood before him. Theodore didn't linger to listen. He pulled Metanoia with him to the healing hut, and once they were inside, he attempted to wrap his arms around her waist, but Metanoia pushed herself off him harshly.

"No-" She hiccuped, taking a few steps back and away from him. "Don't comfort me. I don't deserve it."

Theodore's brows furrowed achingly. "Em, don't say that."

"Don't call me that!" She bit sourly, her voice raising in fury. "I can't have you calling me that - not when -" Metanoia's eyes welled up in tears again, her voice failing her upon remembering his last words.

"Not when what?" Theodore asked her gently, taking a very small step towards her which would go unnoticeable to her.

"Not when it's what he called me before he died." Metanoia whimpered, the tears falling again and spilling over her already damp cheeks. She shook her head slowly, her vision blurring. "Please. Please don't call me that."

"Okay." Theodore replied hastily, his worried hues breaking at the sight of the broken girl before him, and he took another small step closer. "Okay, I won't call you that, Metanoia. I won't."

Metanoia sniffled, her hands gripping the edge of the narrow bed behind her, her grimy nails digging into the mattress in sheer anxiety and helplessness, and she sobbed. "I could've saved him, Theo. I could've saved him - but I was too stubborn and it - it -"

She gasped and squeezed her eyes shut. "It cost him his life."

Theodore shook his head adamantly, and finally reached her small figure. Cupping her cheeks with his palms, he replied, "You couldn't have done it on purpose, Metanoia. There's no way you could've known he would -"

Metanoia clenched her jaw angrily. "But I did!" Yanking his hands off her face, she heaved sorrowfully as she glared up at him. "I knew he was running out time, and I stretched the limits - and Jeremy got snatched away from me because of it. Theodore, I knew he was dying, and I didn't immediately jump to save him."

Theodore blinked once. Twice. Thrice, before he stepped back from her.

"I know you, Metanoia. You wouldn't purposely hurt anyone - especially those you care for." He uttered, his voice laced with denial.

But Metanoia stood her ground, scoffing as a sarcastic, lifeless smile ghosted her lips, and her eyes had lost the glint they always carried. "Oh, but I knew what I was doing, Theodore. I put my loyalty to Pan before Jeremy's life."

She spat, almost repulsed by herself. "I am no better than him." She recalled Tiger Lily's accusation of being quite like Pan, and she could see it clearly now. The new Indian Chief was telling the truth of this.

Theodore opened his mouth to protest, but Pan's voice cut through like a sharp knife, alerting them both of his presence in the room, and the two of them snapped their heads towards the side of the room, where the door was. He was standing by the doorframe, his arms crossed over his chest, and his shoulder leaning against the doorframe stiffly. It wasn't a lax posture; Pan was tense, for an infinite number of reasons, and he wanted to deal with one crisis at a time.

"Leave us, Theodore."

Theodore turned his head back to gaze at Metanoia, but she had already casted her vision to her feet, her jaw clenched so tight that she could almost feel her teeth getting crushed against each other, and her hair cloaked her face. The second in command sighed, before trudging towards the door to leave.

Pan murmured to him quietly. "I've placed Jeremy in his room. There's a mourning period to be followed before the burial, and anyone can go in to see him. They're free to pay their respects to him, and their duties are dismissed until after he is buried."

Theodore nodded in confirmation, curtly, before he wordlessly walked out. Metanoia avoided looking at him, despite knowing very well that he was already gazing at her with a stare so intense that she could literally feel it course through her skin. She stood immobilised, too wary to move an inch under his gaze, and as she heard his footsteps come closer towards her, Metanoia's breath hitched in her throat, and she swiftly swung her eyes shut.

She felt him before could even touch her. The warmth emanating from his body could be felt around her, and it almost brought a strange sense of comfort to her. She couldn't quite understand how he made her feel - just his presence alone near her, without saying or doing anything, was somehow enough for her to stop crying. She didn't know how he did this to her, but she soon realised that she could no longer stay away from him. She needed him close.

His fingertips brushed against the fabric of her cloak, before the weight of his hands were pressed onto her waist ever so gently - firm, yet considerate of her delicate state. Peter leaned his head forward as he towered over her, his lips lightly brushing against her ear, and his warm breath tickling the side of her face as he whispered, "Can you let me take a look at your wounds, love?"

His hands moved up and down her waist, caressing her with such a firm hold that momentarily caused Metanoia's breathlessness. She quivered under his simple touch, and Peter noticed. He noticed the way her body responded so well to his touch, and he was barely even doing anything. The way her body leaned further into his palms almost caused him to groan and his sexual frustration to rise. But his restraint was something he mastered centuries ago, and he respected her mourning, distraught state of mind, and so instead, he repeated softly into here, "Will you let me have a look, love?"

Metanoia gulped, her eyes still sealed shut, and she nodded briskly, her forehead leaning against his shoulder, depending on him to carry her weight. And he did - Pan's hands found their way down to her bare thighs, purposely avoiding her burns and manoeuvring to the back of her thighs instead as Metanoia's shaky hands slid around his torso for support. He hoisted her up swiftly, and let her sit on the mattress the bed carried. Pan let her remain huddled to his chest for a few seconds, before he cautiously pulled away, and laid one hand to hold her jaw steady. She finally opened her eyes, and was met with Peter's own green orbs staring right back at her. So close. So, painfully close that she could see the golden specs lining his irises before they merged with the forest green in them.

"I need you to take your cloak off, my sweet Lost Girl." Pan murmured quietly to her, admiring her beautiful tear-streaked face. He could never bring himself to admit it, but he was well aware of her breathtaking beauty. He wasn't blind. Anyone with a set of working eyes would be able to tell just how marvellous Metanoia looked, even when she was dishevelled and had dirt smeared into her hair and skin like she did now. Even when she was so broken - especially when she was so broken, to him. He relished in the way she clung onto him at this moment. It brought him no joy in her being traumatised as she was, but he enjoyed knowing that he had an excuse with himself to touch her the way he currently did, and let her touch him the way she did now. Without this excuse, Peter would admit to his undeniable attraction towards her, and he would rather feed himself to piranhas than accept to accept that. It ate at his mind upon the revelation that the way he looked after her at the moment was more than just an attraction. It was more than lust - something he was unfamiliar with for such a painfully long time.

Swallowing harshly as his eyes remained trained on her own blue pair, he mumbled, "Can you do that for me? Hmm? Can you take your cloak off for me?"

Metanoia parted her lips, triggering him to involuntarily glance down at them and lick his own lips in response, Metanoia whispered, "Take it off for me."

She blinked lazily at him as he gazed back at her in bewilderment, but he obliged. Metanoia was too numb to bring herself to lift her arms and take off her cloak. She knew why he wanted her to take it off; he'd noticed her flinching as he held her back in the Indians' shed when his hands touched her back. Pan's hands latched onto the hem of her cloak, before he carefully lifted it up and over her head, and discarding it onto the floor by his feet. It took every ounce of self control within him to not allow his eyes to stray down to her chest.

Not now. It was not the time, nor the state to be thinking of her the way he did. He clenched his jaw adamantly, and focused on her eyes instead. He wouldn't let himself stoop as low as to succumbing to his sinful desires while she was broken over the death of her friend.

Wordlessly, his hand returned to her waist, now bare, and his palm felt her soft skin. He gulped, his gut aching for the heartbroken girl gazing back at him. He couldn't understand why she trusted him of all people to stand so close to her, being vulnerable in front of her, and allowing him to touch her. After all, Peter had caused her so much suffering and pain, and yet, Metanoia still believed there was more to him that that miserable front he lashed out onto everyone coming in his way and blocking his path. How would she have known?

His other hand traveled to her thigh, and cautiously, he exerted his magic onto her scarred flesh, and it quietly healed her skin. Metanoia clamped her mouth shut to refrain from whimpering in pain as the magic healed her, and she glanced down at her thigh. The deep, horrendous burn was gone, and now replaced with a very faint scar. She watched his hand travel to her other thigh, before performing the same magic to heal her. A few seconds later, Pan's hand left Metanoia's waist, and he stepped to the side slowly, his eyes traveling across her back, and his eyes flashed in anger at the sight of the repulsive, cruel and unforgiving burn at her lower back. This one was far worse than the ones on her thighs. This was deeper, more forceful and a worse colour tainting her skin. Peter grit his teeth furiously, and healed her once again.

Turning back to look at her, his eyes wild with inexplicable rage, he demanded lowly, "Tell me exactly what happened, and don't leave out any details, Metanoia."

Metanoia gulped anxiously in response, her eyes darting to the medical hut's door. "I - please Pan. I can't relive this. Please."

But Pan was not fazed by her pleas, and assertively responded, "I can easily penetrate your mind to see for myself, Metanoia, but you and I both know how painful that would be for you, and as much as I enjoy inflicting pain upon people -"

Metanoia rolled her eyes at that.

"- I really believe you've had enough of that." He finished, ignoring her attitude altogether.

"Do it."

Her voice cut through his sharp tone, halting his breaths as he gazed at her in disbelief.

"What?"

Metanoia didn't break eye contact with Neverland's King, repeating herself. "Do it, Pan. Enter my mind and see for yourself what happened, because I'm not going to break down what occurred in excruciating detail for you."

Pan gulped angrily, and shot her a fierce glare. "Are you listening to how foolish you sound right now, Metanoia? You want me to inflict pain onto you?"

Metanoia jutted her chin out obstinately. "Yes."

"How could you even ask me to do such a thing after what you've been through?!" He yelled, his eyes searching hers desperately, wishing he could understand the twisted mentality coursing through her mind and veins.

Metanoia calmly spoke, never being this sure about anything in her life, as the words fled past her lips. "I deserve this pain, and a lot more to come. It's the least I could do to punish myself for not saving Jeremy in time, as a result of my selfish desires."

To say Pan was unfathomably perplexed would be an understatement. He couldn't comprehend the level of tensity laced upon her heartbreaking words, or her heavy heart punctured with self-betrayal and self-loathing. He couldn't understand it, because he'd never seen her break until this moment. And as much as he always repeated to himself that he'd relish in ruining her and ripping her apart until she was nothing but a mere shell of who she is - Pan was furious that it wasn't him who had destroyed her. It wasn't him who had intimately stripped her soul to its core and re-moulded it how he saw fit. It was Tiger Lily who ruined Metanoia, and Peter Pan never felt as jealous as he did now. As envious as he had ever been. He wanted to skin Tiger Lily alive for taking what belongs to him. He wanted to hear her screams as she begged for his mercy.

Metanoia clocked his confusion, and she urgently pleaded, "Please, Pan. Look into my mind and you will understand why. You'll understand why the guilt is eating me alive."

Peter breathed heavily, his self-control deteriorating by the second the longer he looked at her, his longing to exploit her reaching such an uncontrollable peak level, and she was teasing him. She begged him to infiltrate her mind and exploit her private thoughts. She was willingly giving him access to her mind, despite the pain she knew it would leave on her.

She wanted this.

He stepped closer to her, and his voice held a warning tone to it as he stated, "It will severely hurt, Metanoia."

She shot him a bitter smile, tilting her head further into his touch when his palm held her cheek and she replied, "Yes, I'm aware. I've been there, and done that - thanks to you."

Peter brushed his thumb over her cheekbone, entranced by her newfound attitude, and he murmured, "Are you ready, love?"

Despite her fluttering heart at his choice of words to address her, she responded defensively, though softly, "I'm not your love."

Pan couldn't help but smirk at her response, and replying with a rasp, "And yet your eyes tell me otherwise." He breathed, pulling his face closer to hers, their noses brushing gently, and their lips barely apart. "Not to mention how your body is instinctively leaning to my touch."

Metanoia smiled softly, though it didn't reach her eyes, and understandably so. She had lost a dear friend, and was feeling the tremendous guilt chew at her sanity. Draping her own arms around his neck, she whispered, "Doesn't mean I see you in a romantic light."

This seemed to spark something within Pan - something wild, burning in the pit of his stomach and triggering his dominant, controlling nature. It was nothing like what he's experienced with Tinkerbell. The fairy was breathtaking, granted - but she was too predictable. It wasn't exciting to him, rather something to kill his time, and he knew Tinkerbell felt the same way. It's not like they shared an affectionate connection; on the contrary, both Tinkerbell and Pan wanted to use each other to fulfil their sexual desires.

But with Metanoia, Pan felt things he couldn't pinpoint. It was purely sexual, he knew that, although he could sense a hint of concern for her too, and it purely disgusted him. Shoving that thought away from his mind, he focused on how she manages to spark illicit desires only she could satisfy within him. Harshly placing his palms on her temples, Metanoia gasped, and Pan - without warning, entered her mind.

She clamped her mouth shut to refrain from screaming as the hot, searing pain spread across her brain while Peter searched her mind. He saw it.

He could see the panic on her face when Jeremy was dragged away from her. He witnessed the torture Tiger Lily brutally inflicted on Metanoia's flesh, praising her for managing to suppress her screams for that long, and his heart clenching when she finally emitted the most horrifying scream he'd heard come out of her mouth. He wanted to make the new Indian Chief suffer greatly for what she'd done to his Lost Girl.

Sifting further through her memories, Metanoia couldn't help but whimper, her hands sliding down to his chest and gripping the material of his tunic like her life depended on it. He observed how Jeremy was shoved back into the shed with Metanoia, and how Tiger Lily threatened his life if Metanoia did not agree to betray Pan. He felt pride and sheer smugness engulf him as he witnessed the way she repeatedly refused to betray him. But time ticked by, and he could see the way she was conflicted, begging Jeremy to stay strong - until she relented, agreeing to betraying Pan. But he saw right through her face.

She wouldn't do it. She was simply pacifying Tiger Lily.

The vial carrying the cure crashed to the ground, Metanoia burst herself free of the chains keeping her down, and Jeremy begged her not to feel guilty. He saw her scream, right before the tepees caught fire outside.

Pan abruptly stumbled back, his eyes wide and rapidly blinking. Metanoia gasped, as though she'd been drowning and was finally able to breathe again. She panted heavily, her eyes trained on Peter, who was already looking at her, unable to look anywhere else but at her oh so beautiful face. She was terrified, knowing very well that he'd seen her agree to betray him, and looking at the way he was behaving now, she couldn't tell how he would react next.

Gulping in trepidation, Metanoia spoke in a hushed tone. "Pan, I had no choice. He was dying. I - I wasn't going to do it."

Peter took a step closer to her, and her breath hitched in her throat.

"I wasn't going to betray you, Pan." Metanoia repeated. "I just needed to buy time ... I - I didn't know what else to do."

He was finally towering over her once again as she remained seated on the mattress. She craned her neck up to look at him, and felt her breath get knocked out of her. His eyes had darkened by several shades, and his jaw was clenched. His vision wildly darted between her eyes and her lips, and in one swift, harsh movement, his hands were slammed onto her waist, and he tugged her forward against him, stomach to stomach, chest to chest - and he captured her lips with his.

Metanoia didn't even have the chance to brace herself, his soft lips