No Faith, No Trust, And Lots of Pixie Dust

When Kate finds herself once again in another world, she stumbles upon a large cabin in the middle of the forest home to a gang of thieves and a rather sad young man named James just outside it. Finding out how to get home is the number one priority, but it seems like, unfortunately, she'll be dragged into the drama of life in this house until she can get some answers.

James could feel the tension in the room. All eyes were on him, and for once, it wasn't because he was wanted.

Bella sat beside him on the bench on the edge of the room, holding a glass of rum in one hand and a bottle of vodka in the other. She was the only one, now, who would willfully sit beside him after his mistake caused Ron's death on their last heist. And what made it all the worse was that Rita actually encouraged everyone's bitterness. She didn't talk around it, or avoid mentioning it. Any time it was brought up, all eyes would turn to him and he'd become the object of ridicule and pent-up hatred.

The reputation he'd built was shattering. He had Bella's trust because she'd been the first to trust him, and he'd slipped a few times with her, letting his true self show. She knew he wasn't everything he pretended to be, but it was more than just putting on a mask and appearing happier than he was.

She knew him as Liam. His name was James. She knew him as an aimless vagabond, and while that was partially true, he was also a wanted man.

That, though, was a secret kept between him and Rita. But he could feel the days chipping away until it surfaced. He needed to get away soon. Soon. Before it all blew up in his face.

But there was hardly ever a quiet moment for him to slip out for more than a minute. There were always people doing rounds around the cabin, watching for intruders - but they would definitely notice him fleeing. His stomach started doing flips.

It was at that point that he downed another shot. Regrettably so, but he was in too deep.

The room was busy with chatter. The air was warm, and hanging lanterns on the ceiling lit up the entire room in an orange and yellow glow that matched the warm tones of the wooden walls and floors. People filled the tables of the crowded dining room, sipping drinks, playing petty betting games, and singing off-tune songs in the corner. There was laughter and yelling and gossip. He and Bella had the rare seat of those who chose to disengage from the bonding amongst the gang of thieves.

Bella was putting herself at risk by associating with him.

She chuckled beside him. He looked over at her, watching as she slouched forward and the dark strands of hair that fell out of her ponytail framed her face. This was his first time seeing her with a hint of dark circles under her eyes.

"Want another?" she asked, lifting the bottle of vodka.

James felt like he could vomit.

He laughed back. It had become so easy to imitate laughter. Even to him, it felt real to a degree. Bella smiled, but her eyes were still downcast.

"I don't think another drink will do much more for me," he said. "I'm already-" he lifted a hand in the air as high as he could estimate. In reality, it was not that high, but his depth perception felt a little skewed. Though by now, it was a familiar feeling. Still dreadful all the same.

"Here," he said before his hand flopped back down. He chuckled.

Bella smiled and rolled her eyes, pushing him a little too hard in the arm. He spilled what was left of his drink on the floor. She snorted. He laughed too because he was supposed to. It made sense to.

As he sat back up he felt a wave of something pass over him.

"Aha..." he breathed. Bella's face took on a knowing look, and she met his eyes.

James stood up, even though the room was starting to spin.

"I'll be back," he said. She just sighed and lifted her glass.

"Good luck, lightweight."

And then James ran.

Down the hall, out the door, onto the porch, down the steps. This was the only vacation he was permitted with understanding. James was expected to throw up if he drank too much. Everyone knew at that point, and they knew he would be a minute. James would bet on it. If he could spare even one moment's peace alone, he could weather the storm to come. That's what he told himself.

The warm glow of the lights inside spilled out the windows into the forest, but he ran deep into the trees to where the light hardly reached him.

In the darkness, where no one could see, he could pretend it was all just a bad dream.

The deck creaked and swayed beneath her, the ocean spray gathering on her glasses as she squinted out at the darkening sea. The island was far behind them, out of sight to her back as she stood at the base of the forecast. The storm that swirled ever faster around them, riling the water into bigger and bigger waves.

Her first mate stood just behind her to the side, prepared for orders as the rest of the crew already dashed furiously this way and that in a practiced, chaotic dance. Storms never did come with warning here in these unnatural seas, and so their routine was practiced and practiced and practiced. Kate had to say, the crew had it down by now.

"We can whether this with a skeleton crew," Kate decided.

"Understood," her first mate said - ever so formal - and dashed off to order all the crew members who weren't needed on deck to get down into the belly of the ship. Kate wasn't going to have a repeat of the last time they had to face a storm this far from shore.

Most of her crew still hadn't found solid enough sea legs to not get tossed off the boat the moment some puny wave swept over the deck.

Kate herself had a job to do, especially with a reduced crew.

So she tucked her glasses into the inner pocket of her coat and got to work helping out the crew.

Time passed in a whirlwind as the storm grew and grew, tossing the ship in its grasp like a child's toy.

"Brace!" someone shouted and another wave slammed into the deck. Kate held tightly to a length of rope secured to the rail, forcing her feet to stay beneath her even as gallons of water pushed with incredible might to make her slip.

And so the storm went, on and on until, as suddenly as it started, it dissipated back to clear skies. Mocking prick.

Kate gave a heavy sigh, punctuated by a muttered tirade of colorful language.

As she straightened, the familiar feel of the ship beneath her feet shifted, and her vision swirled. Suddenly she was stumbling forward on a ground that was too still, and too uneven and- thunk.

She rubbed her head, scowling at the tree that hit her. "Fucker," she accused.

James doubled over by the tree, leaning forward and holding his hair away from his face. He felt his stomach gurgle with a wretched bubbling before he threw up.

He couldn't see clearly in the darkness, but he was careful not to get any on himself. That didn't really take care of the smell, of course, but that was why he'd fled to the forest.

He groaned as his throat burned and leaned back, reaching for the book hidden in the nook at the bottom of the tree. He felt for the binding, pulling it out slowly as he scooted away from his own vomit.

And then he heard a thunk, and the curse that followed. His mind started racing, ringing alarm bells, and screaming at him all at once. But his body was slow. It always felt slow when he was like this.

As quickly as he could, he shoved the book back in its hiding place. Someone else was out here too.

Kate paused in her grumbling to listen. Shifting in the brush. An animal? No, too big. A person. And not a child. She could tell these weren't the woods of the island, though. The trees were too dark, too looming, and even the Lost Boys couldn't travel between worlds like their leader, thank fuck.

Not a Lost Boy, then, but potentially still a lost person in general.

She narrowed her eyes as she padded quietly through the trees in the direction of the sound, watching her step carefully as she focused on stopping only on patches of soft moss and tree roots. Nothing to crunch or rustle.

When she spotted the guy, she snorted.

Crossing her arms, she leaned against the nearest tree, "Hey, wannabe hipster. Where the fuck am I?" She resisted the urge to brush her bangs out of her face. Slicked down like they were, they fell into her eyes, making her squint ever so slightly. They'd puff back op when they were dry, but until then they were a nuisance.

James shot up, kicking brush and leaves up in a hurried gesture over the bottom of the tree. He swayed on his feet for a moment before he grabbed the tree beside him for balance, unintentionally mirroring the girl's posture.

He looked over at her, his mind annoyingly sluggish as it processed what he was seeing.

She had tinted glasses and looked like she was dressed like a sailor from the isles. Her hair, her clothes, and her everything was wet, like she'd just fallen in a lake, or a very, very big puddle. Had she come from the stream? The river? Both would've been a long walk in the dark of the night. But what was most worrisome was that he didn't recognize her. She was a stranger, and she didn't know what she'd walked into.

He blinked at her. He didn't know what a hipster was, but her question was crystal clear.

She was lost.

"About ten miles north of Munin. That's the nearest town from here," he answered.

Kate nodded slowly. Right.

Theory confirmed, this was not Neverland.

"What were you kicking up all the leaves for?" she changed the subject. She'd figure out how she flopped worlds later.

James's head was still spinning as he stood. The tree was his anchor at the moment, but he knew if the girl came any closer she'd smell that he was drunk even if she couldn't tell from the obvious.

"Shh-uhm-I-nothing," he said. That didn't come out right at all. She wasn't going to buy that. "I - uh - vomit." He gestured beside the tree. It definitely wasn't where he'd kicked the leaves.

"To cover it."

"Yeah, moron, you're too drunk to make that lie convincing." The liquid courage had betrayed him, apparently. He looked like he was about five minutes from ending up sobbing in a bathroom somewhere clutching a bottle of orange juice.

She shoved her glasses up on her nose and scanned the trees around her. Bit, dark, foreboding. She wrinkled her nose. Stereotypical much?

James let out a weak, defeated laugh and slouched forward, then leaned to the side on the tree. He knew that.

"Okay. So you're right. You have a name?"

"Kate," she said, "Yourself?"

He probably had some boring name. John, Mark, David, or something equally off the top of the 'top 100 baby names' list.

“Liam,” he answered, flicking a brief gaze down to the bottom of the tree. He should step away from it. He inched forward, a little shaky on his feet. The darkness of the night was not helping his depth perception and equilibrium.

“How’d yous get out here?” he asked, slurring.

She raised an eyebrow, "Ey, drunkard, if you want to be understood, sober up first."

She did get the gist of the question, really, she just didn't feel like answering it. It was a stupid question. Whether or not she knew the answer was irrelevant.

Besides, she was soaked, didn't people usually get sick when they were soaking wet? She thought she'd heard something about that back when she was little. Here, it was probably best to not bring up her dietary requirements for the time being. She didn't know if they had vamps here, and even if they did, Connery existed in a world with vamps.

James let out a defeated sigh and padded forward, drawing a little closer to Kate so he didn’t have to talk as loud. He found another tree to lean on and looked at her. His legs were wobbly, and he surrendered to his body as his knees unlocked and he slid down on his butt at the bottom of the tree.

“Sorry,” he said quietly. “You caught me at a bad time.”

She looked to the sky as though daring the gods to stop this bullshit. When nothing happened, she knelt down beside him, finally giving in to the temptation to brush her bangs out of her face.

"Yeah? You and me both." She nudged his shoulder, "Come on, get up. We're getting you to wherever home is for you."

She only cared because literally anyone else would be easier to deal with, and there was no way someone who was this bad at handling his alcohol lived alone. He'd've choked to death on his own vomit by now if he did.