"Wait," he whispered. "I'll catch you, Taddy. I'll catch you."

The fuzzy old bear fell toward him, but as his hands closed about its stuffed body, it was not Taddy he held, but Jack-bright-eyed and smiling at four years of age.

"Jack! Jack!" he called out to his son.

“Fly me, Daddy, fly me!'' another, familiar voice cried.

“Maggie! Baby!''

He caught his daughter in his arms, holding them both close, twirling them about wildly. They laughed and shouted with glee. Moira appeared and joined their circle, her arms coming about his waist, the soft scent of her skin filling him up. He kissed and hugged them, and they kissed and hugged him back.

"Yes!" he cried happily. "My family-Jack, Maggie, Moira, 1 love you so much! I love being with you, having you close. Oh, I'm so lucky! Yes, Tink! Tink, this is my family, my wonderful, incredible family. They're back! They're …"

His eyes snapped wide-for they had been closed on his vision-and he stared about in confusion. He was fifteen feet above the floor, hanging in midair. A surge of panic swept through him. He flailed at nothing and began to drop.

"No, Peter!" Tink howled, pushing up from beneath to keep him in place. "That's your happy thought! Don't lose it!"

He continued to fall, frantically trying to regain control of himself, shouting, "How? What?"

"It's yours forever!" Tink squealed. "Hold that thought!"

Peter's eyes squinched, his body tensed, and he brought back the image of Jack, Maggie, Moira, and himself twirling about and laughing merrily, of the warmth and depth of feeling his family gave to him, of the love they shared…

He felt himself slow and then stop. His eyes opened. He felt himself begin to rise again.

"Yes!" breathed Tink, suddenly eye to eye with him. "Yes, Peter Pan!"

"I've done it!" Peter whispered, still rising, flooded with emotions he could not begin to describe. "Look at me! Look at me, Tink!"

He twisted about sharply and caromed off a wall. Down he dipped and then up again. The grown-up within him faded like a ghost at dawn and the sleeping child came awake. All the trappings of all the years he had struggled to find what he had lost vanished. Twisting and tumbling about, he embraced anew the dreams that had belonged to Peter Pan.

"Tink, I can fly!" he shouted. "I can really fly!"

"Then follow me and all will be well!" Tinkerbell cried in glee. "I love you!"

And up through the hollowed trunk of the Nevertree they flew.

^{Pixie Dust}

Oh, it was a glorious moment for Peter as he soared upward through the Nevertree, his earthbound restraints shed, his identity recovered, and his boyhood found anew.

With Tinkerbell leading the way, he spiraled through the gloom, gaining speed and confidence as he went, his exhilaration welling up inside until he thought he must burst. Out through a split in the giant trunk they exploded, faerie and boy, twisting this way and that, darting among the ancient limbs like fireflies at night. Down and around they sped, whipping through leafy boughs, spinning like tops and whirling like pinwheels. Tree houses flashed by in snippets of wood and colored cloth. Birds scattered with wild cries.

Oh, look! Peter Pan is back!

He cannoned out the top of the Nevertree and rose toward the clouds beyond, laughing in delight. He was transformed, become the essence of the spirit that lives within us, that wondrous spark of childhood we all too frequently manage to leave behind in growing. It flared within him like a fire fanned, and suddenly he could contain himself no longer.

Back arched, neck stretched forth, head thrown back, he began to crow.

"Yes, Peter, yes!" he heard Tink shout. "Oh, welcome home, Peter Pan!"

Together they flew into the clouds, there to mimic each other's attempts at foolishness, to do swan dives and belly flops, to fly upside down and backward, to race against shadows and sunbeams, to play at tag and hide-and-seek. When they had exhausted themselves, when the initial thrill of flying together once again had diminished just enough, they lay back upon a cloud to float in the breeze.

There, for the first time, Peter looked down at himself and was startled by what he saw. He was no longer a fat, old Peter Banning. He was a younger, lighter version. Pounds had somehow been shed, muscles had somehow reemerged. He was sleek and hard and younger looking by years. He threw his head back and laughed at the impossibility of it all-at the wonder of what he had become.

"Oh, the cleverness of me!" he exclaimed, the boldness of the little boy easing past the grown man's restraint.

Then he leaped back to his feet and dived through the clouds toward Neverland's green jewel. Down he went, faster and faster, a mischievous gleam in his eye. Tink caught up with him, as reckless and willing as he, saw that gleam, and knew instinctively what he was about.

Where are they? he asked himself, scanning the pillar of rock and the Nevertree that sat atop it. Where are the Lost Boys?

He found them gathered at summer where it faded into autumn, bunched in a tight circle about Rufio. A stick traced patterns in the earth as Rufio outlined a plan of attack against Hook and the pirates. Heads arched forward in concentration as his stick moved.

Peter came in like a tornado, spinning over their heads, autumn's leaves cascading downward in his wake. Pockets, at the back edge of the crowd, was the first to look up, floppy cap knocked askew. His eyes went wide as he saw Peter, and he tumbled over onto his back.

"Id's hib!" he gasped, pulling at the clothing of those closest. "Id's really hib!"

Peter laughed and spun back again, Tink at his heels. Down he flew a second time, whooping in triumph. Other Lost Boys were looking now, turning to stare, then jumping to their feet. Latchboy and Too Small were screaming in delight, arms waving and gesturing. Rufio, distracted finally from the description of his battle plan, rose to confront the cause of the interruption.

Peter swooped low across the sea of heads, snatched a Lost Boy's dagger from its sheath, and with a single pass severed Rufio's belt. Down went Rufio's pants to lie in a tangle about his feet. Lost Boys everywhere cheered and shouted, trying to follow Peter's flight. Peter came back a final time, skimmed the surface of the pond with his hands, and sent a spray of water cascading directly into Rufio's astonished face.

Landing finally in their midst, Peter found himself the delighted recipient of high-fives, backslaps, and congratulations of every form. Pan was back! Peter Pan had returned! They were all with him now, and in that instant they would have followed him anywhere.

Rufio realized the truth of things, and his face fell. All but forgotten by the others, he tugged up his pants and charged up a rope ladder into the Nevertree. He disappeared inside his house and emerged again brandishing the Pan sword. Back he came, climbing down a knotted rope, his eyes wild and hot, the blade of the Pan sword glittering in the bright sunlight.

Peter, with Too Small on his shoulders, Pockets in his arms, and adoring Lost Boys all about, didn't see him coming. It was not until Rufio had reached the ground and given forth a piercing crow that everyone turned to discover him bounding toward Peter with the Pan sword held high.

All of the Lost Boys scattered, terrified. Peter dropped Pockets and swung Too Small away.

"Defend yourself, Peter Pan!" shouted Ace as he ducked from view.

But it was too late for that. Rufio was already on top of Peter, who crouched to fly.

Then, astonishingly, Rufio dropped to his knees, tears streaking his coffee-colored face, his red-streaked hair in wild disarray, a look of agony and awe reflected in his eyes.