Wendy did not have the reflexes or - after his last thrashing - the condition to respond to a hand swinging at his nose and Van's balled fist connected, skin-to-skin. He staggered backwards, eyes shut, and sprawled to the floor, hands clutching his nose.
A few drops of red trickled between his fingers, but Wendy did not look chastised or pained. In fact, he almost looked... exhilarated.
He could smell fear.
Wendy's shadow seemed to be larger than it should be, like it would jump off from the ground and lunge at any second. The air had grown colder, the world quieter. Around them, the shadows grew longer, darker, sharper. "You are afraid," Wendy intoned, drawing his hands away. "What are you so afraid of, Van? Being alone? That everyone will keep abandoning you?"