The concrete jungle was Pan's playground. It didn't matter how he got here, what he'd been through â€" what mattered was the here and now. Here he was, a young boy, high on the thrill of newness and looking for adventure. Now, he was scouring the place with a purpose, his bright eyes twinkling as he picked up small shards of metal and glass, enjoying the way the light caught from the edges. There is a grin on his face, boyish and playful, and as he walked through the deserted streets at sunrise, he hummed a shanty song that he seemed to remember from somewhere... but God knew he couldn't remember where.

The fairy boy is in his element, content to be roaming and exploring, albeit a bit lonely. When he tried to think of what had come before, there is only a fuzziness that clouds his mind... but Pan didn't let it bother him. Instead he simply shimmied up the open door of a shipping container, hopping between them with an effortless sort of grace (aided by his wings, though he preferred to believe it was fairydust that made him fly). And here they would find the child, laughing and playing in the streets as if he were born to do so.

For if this place was his new Neverland, then Peter Pan would simply adjust to it. He wasn't the type of boy to dwell on what had been... instead he was content to look ahead to brighter horizons. In his wake scurried his only friend, a sleek brown otter that mimicked its master, gathering bright pieces of plastic and broken shards of trash. The two were cut from the same cloth, and Pan smiled at the otter even as he scooped both Oliver and his treasure into the dingy backpack, peering around the corner at shadows and imagining them to be some sort of pirates.

"Who's there?" The boy cried to the shadows. "Show yourself, you yellow-bellied coward!" But the curse was yelled with a grin, for Pan could never really harm anyone. The boisterous child tapped his foot impatiently, waiting to see who would step forward into the sunlight.