"If you'd died there, I wouldn't have been the one to defeat you." He cast around for a reason-an excuse, not the real reason, which he already knew. He hadn't worried about a single thing besides protecting Hook. He had gone back to rescue Hook so unthinkingly, so instinctually, that he was only now beginning to realize he had done it. He breathed out and settled in the feeling of being himself, of being something whole.” He had let his family make him believe that the only way he would ever be a boy was to be born again in a different shape, leaving everything of his body and history behind. He had thought it belonged to Wendy, to the girl he wasn't. Peter ran his hands over himself slowly, breathing tentatively, feeling the weight of his chest under his shirt. The clear, sharp, sullen eyes full of everything he had never been allowed to be. The hair, messy and short, enthusiastically curling without the weight of his old braid to drag it down. This was the face which had haunted him all his life, the one he had looked in the eye on the day he left the Darling house for the last time. But when Peter finally managed to get the collars to lie right and glanced at the reflection he'd carved out of the dust on James's mirror, a shock went through him. The socks bagged in the ankles, and the shirt and sweater were equally large.
“The trousers were miles too long, even when Peter cuffed the legs.
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