I walk out of the station to sit on the front steps. Hook's taken my statement and called my parents. All I've left to do is wait. I tried to sleep on a couch in the officer's break room, but I kept waking up terrified that I had to fight Peter again. So I washed the paint and blood off my skin and left.

The sun's rising now, but the concrete's still cold when I sit down. I don't feel so disconnected, so in shock anymore. Peter's been dead for hours, and the world hasn't ended.

"Your parents will be here shortly," Hook says, standing on the top step. "I almost feel sorry for you."

A smile without happiness or hope, but with plenty of amusement, appears on my face. "I can't believe you're making me go home still."

"And what if you stay here?" Hook asks, looking out at the street. "Depending on who assumes power, the Lost Boys may hate you. Vigils who feel the same will join them, power lines will be redrawn, and you'll be at the center of a perpetual war. Despite the fact that you're an inconvenience to me, I highly doubt that is the kind of world you wish to live in."

He's right. I hate that he's right.

I have to ask one more question. "How much did you already know? Before I came to deal with you." I look at him over my shoulder. "I was so proud of my negotiating too."

"I knew about the Vigils and the Wolves," he says, humoring me. He looks ten years younger without the twisting shadow of hate behind his eyes. "That they were not all allied with Peter was a new prospect. The sheer numbers, and that gang of girls. Those were surprises."

"I should warn you to watch yourself at the pool from now on." I grin, pleased by his answer. "Some of those girls are worse than me."

He sighs. "I can only imagine."

"You did a good job," I say after a moment of silence, listening to the cars drive past. "I never suspected for a minute."

Captain Hook says nothing in return, but I catch a brief smile on his face before he turns to go back inside. Resting my chin on my knees, I curl my hands over my feet and wait for my friends to say goodbye.

I still feel like someone ran me over, but that doesn't mean I don't respect the artistry behind Hook's plan. Well. Hook and Tink's plan.

I meant that Hook was right. I wouldn't want to live here and watch the Lost Boys and the Vigils and everyone else kill each other. They'll still be mad at each other, but only a little. Their anger will leave with me.

Though if Tink shows up today to say goodbye, I'll kick her ass.

I jump up and back when someone touches my leg and says, "Wendy?"

My brain is a little slow to wake up, but my instincts tell me that the voice is unfamiliar and adult. My mistrust backs me up almost to the doors while I blink and try to process the face. The startled face of the woman in front of me and the face of the man behind her sort themselves in my memory.

"Oh. You." I stick a hand in my pocket and push my hair out of my face with the other. "Mom. Dad. Hi, I guess." We stare at each other for a couple minutes without speaking. Oh, whatever. I reach into my pocket and find a cigarette. I light it and smile for the nicotine and my parents' expressions.

I know what they see when they look at me. A girl grown too thin with cigarette-birthed shadows under her eyes and worn clothes, pants dirty from the last night's fight. Usually they're clean. But my parents don't know that.

They see the purple hair though it's faded, grown out roots showing, long and damaged by sun and chlorine. A ring in my eyebrow, a stud in my nose, bars in my ears. There's a glass ring in my stomach, hidden by John's muscle shirt. Tattoo on my arm, LOST, in gothic, blue-purple letters. Leather spiked cuff, good for battles like the one just past, boy's cargo pants, and scuffed boots.

"So," I say, breathing out smoke. They look at me like I've got horns. Bet they haven't seen Michael or John, then.

"Oh, Wendy." That, from her.

I smile. They don't know me anymore. They're just more people, staring, afraid. I don't know them either.

It's my metal and ink and bones that scare them. It's their flesh and lies and excuses that scare me.

"Where are your brothers?" my father asks, trying to sound in charge.

"Off saying their goodbyes." I walk over to the other side of the steps, opposite my parents, and sit down again. My parents continue to stare at me.

"Hey, Wendy, do you--" John rounds the box hedge corner fully and sees our parents. "Oh, shit."

"John, I believe you know our mother and father." The two adults take in John's appearance, from his pummeled face to his muscled arms and chains hanging out of his pockets.

He nods his head jerkily at them and comes to sit by me, squeezing into the space between me and the railing. His tendency to sacrifice me for his personal safety is sometimes a little annoying. John flicks his fingers at my cigarette, so I hand him the pack and hold out my lighter.

"What happened to you?" our mother asks, pressing her hand to her mouth in shock and fear. It's a rather stupid question, if you ask me.

"Subversion. Cult actions. All sorts of strange things," John muses, staring off into the distance. "Once there was this thing with chickens."

I snigger.

"John, Wendy, have you--" Michael stops abruptly once he sees our parents. He blinks twice, fast. "Well fuck me."

John and I howl with laughter, practically sliding down the steps as we rock from side to side. I hold my arms out for Michael who, sulking at our amusement, parks himself between John's feet and mine. He looks a lot like John does. Chains and boots and spiked up hair. The last of his baby fat is burning away to be replaced by leanness and muscle. Michael spares a glance for our parents before taking out his pocket knife to clean his nails.

"Tell me who did this to you!" All three of us look up at our father with identical blank expressions. He rants and raves for a minute about how he'll make the guilty party pay, and we go back to ignoring him. "Come on, we're getting out of here!"

I raise my head quickly. "No. No, we're not." The adults stare. "I haven't said goodbye to my friends yet."

"Look here," our father says, waving his arm. "You've got a lot to answer for, dragging your brothers after you, disappearing. If you think you can just tell me, your own father, what to do here--"

With a shake of my head, I cut him off. "You can't make me do anything. And I'm not going until I've said my goodbyes." Watching their eyes bug out is really quite funny. My expression hardens. "Go inside. I'm sure Hook has something for you to sign, or some great and important things to tell you."

They huff, but they leave. Probably because over the last, well, however long I was gone, I've developed the look of a person who might stick a switchblade in your ribs. Guess my secret's out.

I smile at my brothers, who are looking disgusted. "I can't believe they said all that. Like they deserve to have any say in what we do." John crushes the butt of his cigarette with his foot. "How soon are we moving out?" he asks me.

I shrug and flick my cig onto the sidewalk. I'll have to find a job first, and what kind of place would I work in? I cannot imagine myself being a dulcet secretary, or a cubicle monkey. I couldn't work for the public, which practically takes out every single job anyone my age might work at.

Maybe the mafia will start hiring purple-haired, pierced, tattooed ex-gang leader chicks.

John elbows me, so I look up to see Charles and a handful of Wolves walking down the sidewalk. He grins, face scrubbed clean of paint. I jump up, nearly kicking Michael down the stairs, and do my best to tackle the Wolf leader.

"Thank you, thank you," I mumble, hugging him. "You have no idea how grateful I am."

Charles dislodges me with a gentle shrug, flushing with pride. "The Wolves don't forget people who help us. And we don't forget the people who try to kill us."

Unsure whether it's a good thing or a bad thing, I Say, "Well, I tried to kill you once. Sort of."

"Did you?" Charles asks, tapping his fingers against his chin in mock consideration. "Also, the Mermaids requested that I tell you they won't be here to say goodbye, because it's far too sad, and they'll be invading your local pool anyway."

I chuckle. I can just imagine how well that would go over. "Since when do you hang out at the pool?" Charles waggles his eyebrows with a leer.

"Wendy, please remove your parents!" Hook shouts from the door. I can only imagine how they've been harassing him. "I have work to do!"

"All right, all right!" I grin as he ushers my parents out of the station. The look on his face is hilarious. "Why don't you guys park it?" I gesture at the bench to the side of the stairs and box hedges.

"I will not be ordered around by my own child!" my father roars. His face turns an interesting shade of magenta. "We didn't discipline you enough, I see that now. Well starting this minute, that changes!"

"Course you didn't discipline her, she was perfectly behaved!" John snaps. His expression lowers into a furious glare.

"But you didn't pay enough attention to us anyway," Michael says, eyes on our parents, watching carefully. "We wanted your attention for years. It's time you learned to want ours."

Our mother begins to weep, and all the Wolves and my brothers roll their eyes. My father goes from magenta to purple. I imagine Michael learned that from John, that cutting way of speaking. For a moment though, it makes me sad.

"Take care," Charles tells me. He smiles, a wicked look in his eyes. "It's too bad you have to go. Someday I might have done something to make you really want to make out with me. More than you already do, of course."

I fan myself and bat my eyes, playing along. Just below the surface, I feel the pain of knowing that I will have to miss out on these things. And that I wasted my time in the past, not getting to know Charles when I had the chance.

Oh, the people I've lost without ever knowing.

"Hey, the only one she wants to make out with is me," Spots says, walking up with my Vigil crew - Adder, C.B., Jag, T, Farraday, and Quest. "Isn't that right?"

"Fighting over me," I coo, amused.

"We must duel for her honor now." Charles pulls out his knife.

Spots takes his out as well, dipping into a mock bow. "To the death!"

"How disgusting," John mutters.

"No fighting to the death," I say, standing between the boys. "No fighting, period. There's enough of me to go around." We share a laugh, and I shake hands with my friends and comrades. "I'm going to miss you all so much. You have to come visit!" A lump forms in my throat, and I try to smile instead of talk.

"I will not have these hoodlums in my house!" No one acknowledges my father.

"We'll visit." Farraday smirks. "As if we'd let you go senile in our old age."

"Old age!" I shriek. Of all the things to say. "Ungrateful, that's what you lot are!"

"If anyone's been ungrateful, it's been me." Knives come out of pockets as Vigils push themselves between me and Romeo. It doesn't matter, really. The Lost Boy's leaning unsteadily on crutches, his leg hanging at an awkward angle. "And--and I'd like to apologize."

"Scoot." I flutter my hands, and the Vigils do as I say. I stare at him. His face is swollen and bruised, almost unrecognizable as the beautiful boy I loved. When he doesn't seem to know how to continue, I say, "You have to actually say what you're sorry for, when you apologize."

"Oh, God, where to start." Romeo shifts on his crutches and licks his lips. "I'm sorry for the way I treated you, and I'm sorry for letting Peter do everything he did to you. I'm sorry about everything that happened. I'm sorry I didn't do more. And I know you probably don't want to forgive me, but all I want to see is if someday you might."

I smile, but it's tired and old, nothing like how I want to smile. I've already forgiven him for those old hurts, though it's nice he said sorry for them anyway. But the other things, I forgave those when he stood up for my brothers, stood up to Peter. "I forgive you."

Guess that wasn't what he expected. Some of the defensive look behind his eyes breaks, and he rushes on to say, "They want me to be leader. I'm not sure if I can do it, but I know I won't be Peter. Somebody has to move them and calm them down and take care of them, but I don't know why they picked me." He catches his breath and stops.

Oh, I see what he wants. The cynical smile disappears, replaced by the genuine, happy smile I wanted in the first place. "They picked you cause you will take care of them. You always have. I think you'll do great." As softly as I can, I touch the sides of his face where it looks less pummeled - my fault, I know - and tilt his head down. I very gently kiss his forehead as a sign of my blessing.

"You can't possibly be talking to her, after what she did!" Nibs runs from the opposite sidewalk, across the street, to charge me. He pushes me square in the chest, knocking air out of me. "You stupid whore, stupid bitch!" He pushes me again, and I'm so surprised that I land on my ass and stare at him.

And then I laugh.

Pushing myself up, hands on my thighs, I grin at him. "You're just mad you were out for all the fun. That's what happens with you get clocked in the head."

"I'm not joking!" Nibs pulls out his knife. I mirror him, faster almost than he is, and hold my switchblade low.

"Wendy, you're in front of a police station," Spots reminds me, as if I'd forgotten, but doesn't move to stop me.

"I know." I smile, curl up my fist, and punch Nibs square in the face. He yells and trips. "Romeo, let your first official favor to me be taking him home."

Romeo places himself in front of the other Lost Boy. "Go back, now. Shit's still got to be moved, and I don't remember giving you permission to tag along. Go!" Nibs stumbles away, clutching his nose.

Before Romeo can hobble away, I ask, "So will any of them talk to me again? Other than to yell things at me like Nibs?"

He shrugs but won't look me in the eye. Well, I knew. "Some of them might come around. A lot of them won't. I think if Lily ever stops crying, she'll try to kill you. And you hurt Metal, really bad." I shake my head. Metal hurt me first. "On the up side - well, I'm not sure, but let's pretend - Jack says, and I quote so don't hit me please, 'Tell that bitch not to get all sentimental, but I'll be visiting, and if she calls me a misogynist, hit her.'" Romeo backs up a little.

I make an exaggerated frown. "How horrible. Tell the bastard he better visit or I'll hit him."

He smiles. "Goodbye, Wendy. Things won't be the same without you."

"I should hope not." I smile pleasantly. "See ya, and good luck. I'd say break a leg, but alas." Romeo rolls his eyes, which ruins his salute, before limping slowly down the sidewalk.

Hook opens the door to the station as I turn around. Never a moment's peace. I glance at Spots, wanting to say my goodbye. "Without further delay, and in hope you cretins will stop obstructing the front steps, I return to you something I promised."

Dressed in plain clothes and looking a little pale, Sir Henry walks past Hook and stops at the top stair. He waves. "Hey, all." I tackle him, and Spots tackles us both, and the two of us babble our hello's. "I missed you, too. But I think you did an excellent job." His eyes are serious. We fall silent. "I couldn't have asked for more." I tear up and hug him.

"I'm so tired," Spots says. "I didn't think we'd make it. I don't know how you managed."

"Brilliance knows no bounds," Sir Henry answers, wiggling, "now get up. I can't breathe."

As I scramble to the side, I look up at Hook. "Thank you. Thank you for keeping your word."

He nods stiffly, but he doesn't look as remote as he used to. "Thank you for keeping yours." In a move inexplicable to me, he raises his arm and pats me on the shoulder before looking embarrassed. He turns and goes inside quickly. I stare.

Looking around suspiciously for flying pigs, I descend the stairs again to talk to Spots. "It won't be the same, beating people up without you," he says. He rests his head against mine, drawing me closer by my shoulders. "No one will miss you more than me, you know," he whispers. "You changed my entire life. Missing you is an understatement."

Tears sting my eyes, yet I try to smile. "You can visit. But it won't be the same, you're right." Hot tears streak down my face because I know that there's no one left to say goodbye to after this. This is it. I have to go home. I keep it together, barely, by reminding myself that until I leave, I'm still a leader. "I never told you how much it meant that you had my back and never gave up."

He shrugs. "You started it." I reach into my pocket and pull out my switchblade. I don't even look at the worn handle I know so well or think about the weight, just perfect, as I press the unopened knife into Spots's hand. "Wendy, I can't take this."

"I won't need it where I'm going. I'll just have to make do."

He shakes his head and puts a hand on the back of my neck. "You are too crazy for words." Spots looks at me like he's trying to memorize my face.

"What're you doing? You're going to see me soon." I fidget a little embarrassed.

He smiles and jerks a shoulder, a half-shrug. "What we always do when we're about to do something completely stupid or life-changing." He kisses my forehead with a smile.

I kiss his cheek and hug him. This won't be the end, I tell myself. He'll still visit. I pull away and hold my hands out to my brothers. "Let's go," I tell our parents. The exertion from trying not to cry makes me shake. They must take it as a sign that I'm close to psychotic, because, other than our mother continuing to sob, they make no fuss about leaving.

John and Michael sling their arms around my shoulders and waist, and we walk down the sidewalk, trailing after our parents for the first time in over a year. Behind me, I hear steps, too deliberate to just be straggling after us. I can't look, I can't. I couldn't stand to. They get louder.

"Wendy," Michael says, poking me in the ribs with his free hand. "Look." He stops walking and turns to face the way we came.

I try to steady myself, but it's useless.

As far as I can see behind me, the sidewalk is filled with kids. They spill onto the street. Mermaids, Wolves, Vigils, kids I've never seen before, kids I didn't expect to see. Each one has a lighter held up in front of their faces. They stand there as I look at each one of them.

From my pocket I pull my own lighter, the dragon almost worn off the front. I hold the flame up before me with a steady hand, head held high, proud as I have ever felt. Raising my left hand, still braceleted in steel spikes, I snap the lid shut on the flame.