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They meet Henry when they need him the most.
Felix is bloody and torn, silver bullet in his leg, leaning heavily on Peter as they limp to the house where Wendy’s waiting. His teeth are still elongated, eyes glowing as the moon fades behind them and Peter shifts his grip, Felix’s bare side damp with sweat as the house looms in the distance. It’s secluded, sun coming up on the front and Wendy’s not waiting on the front step like she normally would be; Peter notes it, but Felix lets out a low groan and trips, drags them to the ground. Felix groans, louder and claws at his leg, nails catching on the wound and opening it more, bullet keeping him from healing or turning human again and Peter could remove it, but he’d rather Wendy do it, more trained at it than he is.
The hunters were following them, two guys, taller and bigger than Felix and Peter and trained to hunt them, take out Felix even though he couldn’t help what he was, even though he was the sun to Peter’s moon and Wendy’s stars and Peter presses a hand to Felix’s leg, ignoring the long groan the boy lets out. Peter can’t hear anything behind him anymore and he gets up, presses a kiss to Felix’s forehead before he sprints to the house, flings the door open, and winces when it slams into the wall and there’s a crash further in. Wendy appears in front of him, sleep mussed and eyes bleary, and he tangles their fingers together, tugging her out of the door.
Felix isn’t alone, a lanky, dark-haired boy leaning over him and Wendy shudders; Peter can see Felix’s bared teeth, knows Wendy can feel Felix’s anger in the air, and he runs, Wendy at his heels. Wendy throws herself down next to Felix, shields him with her own body and Peter grabs the back of the kid’s shirt, yanks him back and the boy gasps when he looks up; Peter felt his eyes roll back when he was running, grins at the boy’s wide eyes and open mouth.
“Scary, isn’t it, little one?” He asks and the boy is floundering as Peter crouches down, rests his elbows on his knees and his chin on his enjoined hands. “What should we do with you? Were you the one that shot Felix?”
“No! I wanted to help him!”
Felix howls in pain and Peter freezes, shifts to put himself in front of Felix and Wendy and the boy looks up at him with honey eyes. Peter can tell when people are lying, can read body language perfectly and Wendy can feel the vibrations in the air from people, can read their auras and the boy isn’t lying, his hand hasn’t moved to the gun strapped to his thigh or the knife in his belt. Felix is whimpering quietly behind him and Wendy’s murmuring softly, one of her hands on Peter’s back; the boy isn’t moving, watching Peter.
“Do you know the other two?” He asks and the boy nods.
“They’re supposed to be training me, but they’re more focused on finding you.”
Peter looks over his shoulder and catches Wendy’s eye; Felix has his face pushed into her chest and his hairline is damp with sweat. She nods and Peter gets up, drags the boy up too and marches towards the house; he can hear Felix and Wendy following, Wendy’s gentle words to keep Felix moving into safety. Peter points to a chair and the boy takes it while Wendy leads Felix further into the house, the soft click of the bedroom door echoing down the hall. Peter stares at the boy who stares back.
“My name’s Henry, I became a hunter because neither of my moms would let me do anything I wanted and I thought it would be better than staying at home. I was wrong. I lead the Winchesters here because I wanted to meet you.”
Peter narrows his eyes at Henry; he’s staring at Peter with honey eyes still, dark hair in gentle curls so similar to Felix’s, and Peter knows this boy is good. Too good, too pure, too innocent to be a hunter. But there’s a gun holster on his leg and a knife in his belt that proves Peter wrong and then Wendy bangs into the room, eyes swirling with fire and fingers darkened with blood. Her hair is back in a messy bun, blonde curls escaping and framing her face and she’s fierce, drawn up to her full height and towering at Henry curled into the chair. Peter rests a hand on her lower back, slips his fingers under her shirt and rubs in slow circles until the muscles relax; she’s still staring at Henry with fire, but it’s lighter now and Peter knows she’s reading him.
“Why’d you try to kill Felix?” She asks and her voice lilts, is thick with held back tears and Peter presses against her back, noses at the nape of her neck; the boy isn’t going back to the hunters unless he’s dead anyway, might as well comfort Wendy.
“It wasn’t me! I wouldn’t; it’s why I’m not a good hunter. I don’t want to kill,” he says and Wendy must believe him because she relaxes, presses her fingers into the wrist of Peter’s arm that’s snuck around her waist and Peter kisses her neck, bites at it gently, smiles when her nails dig into his wrist sharply. “Is he okay?”
Peter feels Wendy sigh and nuzzles into the space between her shoulder blades.
“He’ll be fine. He just needs time. Good thing the house is protected.” Short. Succinct. Terrifyingly filled with anger and ice. Wendy Darling was not a witch to cross paths with; Peter and Felix learned that the hard way.
“How did you ward against hunters?” Henry asks and he’s looking at Wendy with awe and curiousity, glancing over her shoulder at where Peter is pressed.
“I don’t give out my secrets.” Wendy traces a symbol into Peter’s wrist and he peels himself away from her back, looking out the window after he crosses the kitchen; the Winchesters aren’t anywhere to be seen, but Peter know they wouldn’t just leave their apprentice behind. Possibly. He’s only heard rumors from others before he stopped communicating with the other demons, tired of the snark and jokes that came with being with Felix and Wendy.
Henry’s face is an open book as he looks at Wendy, open and adoring as he listens to her talk about the herbs and magic she used on Felix and his stomach twists. He knows Henry won’t be able to do anything with what Wendy is telling him, doesn’t have the skill to, but it’s Felix and Peter would go Hell for him. Has gone to Hell for him.
“I’ll help you. Keep them away from you,” Henry says and Peter looks at him, rolls his eyes back to black and Wendy steadies him with a hand on his shoulder; Henry shrinks back minutely, but straightens up, stares Peter back in the eye. “Don’t trust me?”
“I don’t trust anyone, Henry. I’m Peter, Peter Pan.”
Henry smiles and it’s the slightest bit crooked, a miniscule amount of twisted at the edges and Peter knows that there is something wild in this boy, something hidden behind the light that billows from his pores and Peter wants to claw until it falls out and consumes him and Wendy and Felix.
“Welcome to our house, little prince.”