#char: baelfire

[dragonbat2011]

Reaching Out Till We Reach the Circle’s End — Chapter 5

For the chapter index: https://dragonbat2011.tumblr.com/post/621379453957865473/reaching-out-til-we-reach-the-circles-end-toc

A/N: Some dialogue adapted from S5E14: Devil's Due. Tolkien aficionados may recall that athelas is a healing plant native to Middle Earth. Knobweed appears in Brandon Sanderson's Cosmere series.

TW: brief mentions of past abuse. Nothing graphic.

 Chapter Five

Rumple pretended to be asleep, as he watched his son get up quietly and make his way over to the hearth. He took a fresh brick of dried peat from the storage bin and set it on the embers of last night's fire, using a poker to push it about. Satisfied, Bae moved toward a covered wooden bucket carried it over to a modest-sized cauldron, removed the bucket's wooden lid, and poured its clean water into the pot. Rumple knew that Bae would have drawn two such buckets from the well in the square yesterday and would draw two more this afternoon.

Bae set the cauldron on the hearth over the fire. Next, he took several handfuls of an ivory-colored coarse-ground meal and added them to the pot. He started to move away, then glanced quickly at the bed where Rumple pretended to yet be asleep and added another two handfuls.

Breakfast started, the boy reached for his cloak, and slid his bare feet into a pair of patched leather ankle boots that waited by the wool-curtained entryway. He took a moment to lace them, stooped down, and picked up the empty bucket that rested in the corner near where they had been. Then, he pushed back the curtain and Rumple could see that dawn had broken now, as Bae slipped outside.

Rumple considered for a moment. His younger self would likely be abed for another hour or so—spinning didn't require one to arise quite this early. Still, when he did arise, he was certain to want to have a conversation that Rumple wasn't sure he was ready for.

Besides, he was loath to let Bae out of his sight now.

Rumple hesitated only a moment before pushing back his blanket, slipping on his own boots, and making his way out of the hovel. He fought down a wave of nervousness as he headed for the sheepfold, where he knew Bae would go. He only meant to observe, for now. But if his son spied him, he could always claim that he'd thought he might have left something behind in the straw last night, and was only going to look for it.

He was just pushing back the wooden gate, when he caught a snatch of conversation coming from the shelter. Bae wasn't alone.

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"You're sure it's no trouble," Moraine said, as she set down the bag of fleece, taking care that the top didn't open to spill its cargo.

Bae smiled, and then turned back to the ewe he was milking. "No, Papa has time. And," he added, "if you hadn't had oats to spare last winter, we might not have made it through." He sighed. "I don't know if we'll do better this year either."

"Your garden isn't giving enough?"

Bae hesitated. "Maybe it will by harvest time, but Papa says the soil's like us: overworked and can't get time for rest." He made a face. "At least, the mint and horseradish should come up; they can grow in anything."

Moraine nodded. "Mama says okra, too. I can let you have some seeds, if you like."

"Really?" Bae asked, smiling.

Moraine nodded again. "We can't really pay much for your papa spinning our fleece, but we can spare some seeds. Okra, mustard, I think chard too. Sparrow grass," she sounded apologetic, "remind me next winter; it's too late to plant it now." She hesitated. "I mean… if I'm still here."

"You're going away?" Bae couldn't hide his dismay.

Moraine sighed. "I hope not. But Mama and Papa think that if I can get out of this village, maybe they won't bother coming after me when I turn fifteen."

Bae didn't have to ask who 'they' were. "But where would you go?"

"We have cousins in Mare's Hollow," Moraine hedged. Then she added quickly, "And Papa thinks to wed me to one of them."

"Moraine!"

"Baelfire, I'm thirteen. At fifteen, the army will take me. U-unless I'm expecting a child. Or I've already become a mother," she added. "Aiken is twenty. And a blacksmith; the army wanted him for that more than for soldiering." She shook her head. "You know that in some villages, girls are marrying men old enough to be their fathers if it'll save them from being drafted. Seven years is… it's not so bad."

"Do you love him?"

"Baelfire, he's my cousin! Third cousin," she amended hastily. "Of course, I love him. But not like…" She broke off. "I met him once, when I was eight, at the district fair in Longbourne. He was nice, I guess. I mean, he didn't tease me or treat me like I was stupid or anything, but… well, it's not like we had much to say to each other." She sighed. "He was fifteen and making horseshoes with some of the other apprentices when we stopped by the forge. It was so noisy, I had to shout 'hello' so he could hear me over that hammering, and it was so hot, even out in the open. But he had a nice smile. And when he had time to come by Papa's stall later, he didn't talk down to me like so many other grownups did."

"Maybe…" Bae hesitated. "I mean, if it's not about love… Moraine," he took a breath, "we've been friends all our lives. Sometimes, I feel like you're the only person my age I can really talk to."

"I'm not your age, silly," Moraine smiled. "I'm three days older than you."

It was old banter and not really funny, but Bae smiled back just the same. "Look, we know each other, we get along… If you loved this Aiken guy, I'd understand, but if it's just to not have to go into the army, I…" He took another breath. "I-could-marry-you," he said quickly.

"What?"

"I might not be a blacksmith, but Papa's shown me how to spin; I can ask him to teach me more. I can sow and plant and raise sheep, and I know my way around a set of tools. And you wouldn't have to leave here. I know your parents would miss you if you did." He looked away. "And I know I would, too." He hesitated. "We're friends, Moraine. Good friends. Maybe that would be enough to start with."

Moraine flung her arms about him. "Oh, Bae," she whispered, "if it were my choice… I-I don't want to leave here either. And I'd miss you, too."

"We can talk to your papa," Bae said. "We can talk to my papa."

"I'll talk to him," Moraine said. "Usually, once he makes up his mind, it stays made up; I have to catch him in the right mood. And anyway, there's a year and a season 'til my fifteenth birthday. There's no hurry; we haven't even had a reply from Aiken, yet. If he says 'no', then Papa will be of a better mind to listen to us. And even if Aiken says 'yes,' it'll be at least a month—three or more would be likelier—before he could come for me or I could go to him. There's no reason to rush."

"Okay," Bae said. "Hey. Maybe the war will be over by the time he replies! Then for sure, you won't have to leave!"

Moraine heaved a sigh. "Wouldn't that be wonderful?" Then, in a completely different tone of voice, "It's getting late. I still need to feed the chickens."

"And I have to put milk in the porridge before it boils dry," Bae nodded. "Thanks for the goat cheese and the eggs."

"Thanks for saying your papa will spin our fleece. I'll bring okra seed next time; you plant it late spring."

"Got it. And Moraine?" He hesitated for a moment. "I-I'll see you in the square in a bit, when I drive the sheep to the common."

Moraine gave him a dazzling smile. "I hope so."

Bae watched her leave. Then he went back to his milking.

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As the sheep-hut door began to creak open, Rumpelstiltskin spared a quick glance behind him and, reassured that his younger self was nowhere in sight, hurriedly teleported outside of the fold, behind the hut. He hadn't meant to eavesdrop, truly, but now that he had, he needed a moment or two to collect himself.

He'd always done his best to shield Bae from certain harsh realities. In part, of course, it had been because any discussion of the Ogre War would have certainly led to questions about his own experience. His son might be the only person in the entire village who didn't yet know that he was a coward, and he had no wish to enlighten him. But of course, there had been cowardice involved in that very decision not to converse overmuch on the topic. Cowardice, and a foolish notion that if he didn't talk about the war, then perhaps, somehow, Bae wouldn't be drafted into it. Stupid, of course. He'd known that the Duke's soldiers would come for his boy eventually, but at the very least, he'd believed he'd been able to give Bae a sheltered childhood, more or less unplagued by concerns about going to war.

He'd just learned that he'd been a bigger fool than he'd ever believed. Of course, Bae would have known what was coming. And if he hadn't, then Rumple's failure to inform him, would have scarcely been a kindness on the day that the Duke's soldiers finally came. But Bae had known all along. And even understanding that his fate was set, he was ready to spare another that fate.

Rumple wiped his linen sleeve across his eyes. He'd always thought of Moraine as 'Bae's little friend'. It hadn't occurred to him that she was, even at thirteen, of marriageable age. And so was Bae, he realized with a pang. Oh, he'd known that, but he hadn't known it.

Did they love one another? Rumple wasn't certain. But they definitely liked one another, and not all love happened at first sight. Young people in their situation could do far, far worse than marry close friends, and…

And what was he even thinking? He knew full well that nothing would come of such childish plans. Bae had never approached him regarding the subject, which meant that either Moraine had never spoken to her father, or that her father had been loath to see his daughter wed to the son of a coward. Or they'd thought that they had over a year to make their case, when they had barely three months.

But they did have three months. And perhaps, that would be enough time… If he involved himself.

A new thought struck him. Zelena was still out there and not far away. She might not realize where she was, but she'd heard Charlotte Long-scar mention the name of this village. There was every reason to believe she'd come here to try to wrest the dagger from him again. Well, he clenched his jaw, just let her try!

And then, his blood went cold. Suppose she threatened the life of his younger self if he didn't surrender it to her? Suppose she threatened Bae? She'd already killed him once.

For a moment, he fretted. Then he remembered two things: first, Zelena currently had no magic. And, when last he'd seen her, she'd had no weapon either. Maybe she wasn't in any position to threaten anybody, at least, not yet. But second, he'd informed Charlotte Long-scar that Zelena's green-stone choker was more than some decorative trinket. When a bandit chieftain obtained an item of magical value, she had two options, either to use it or to sell it. And since, from what Rumple knew of such artifacts, Charlotte wouldn't be able to use an artifact of such power—not with no magic of her own, at any rate—she would choose the second option.

Aside from Zelena herself, there was only one person in the area who was likely to be in the market for such an item. And, Rumple reflected, he just might be of a mind to make a deal. Or change one…

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Zelena had been on the road at daybreak, bound for the 'Longbourne' place that the hostler had mentioned the night before. She didn't know what she'd find there, but she hoped that it would be a bigger place than this sleepy, run-down little village where people didn't seem to know what lay past the next town over! Fancy not even knowing the name of your kingdom!

She'd saved a hunk of bread and a pear from last night's dinner and ate both on the way, but the sun was nearing its zenith and she was perspiring heavily when she finally saw something in the distance. Unlike Pen Marmor, Longbourne was a fortified town, surrounded by a high stone wall. There was a bored-looking sentry at the gate, who waved her through with barely a cursory glance.

Instead of proceeding on her way, though, she flashed him her most winning smile. "I was just wondering whether you could direct me to your hall of records?"

The sentry blinked at her. "Pardon?"

Zelena kept smiling. "Where would one go in this town to see a map of the kingdoms?" When the sentry continued to scrutinize her, she continued, "A long time ago, I met someone from another land I'd like to find again. Only, at the time, his kingdom was at war with another and I don't know which side of the border his town would be on, now. And well, since the countries all seem to change names when they change rulers, I was hoping to see a current map." She prayed he wouldn't question her further, but she knew that the Enchanted Forest was hardly a peaceful place. Some kingdom always seemed to be at war with another. Not like Oz, with one central seat of power in the Emerald City; once she'd deposed the Wizard, the entire land had been hers to rule—apart from a few stubborn pockets of resistance she'd very nearly stamped out.

The sentry stared at her just long enough for her to begin to grow nervous. Then, he gestured for her to pass through the gate. "You might try the merchant's guild," he said finally. "They'll know who they trade with. They may have the information you seek. If not, about five leagues back the way you came is the Duke's summer palace. His Grace keeps a library, and you might petition his clerk for permission to peruse it."

Zelena wanted to shriek her frustration. She had indeed passed that palace on her way, and had she known that what she sought might be there, she could have saved herself another fifteen miles in the hot sun! Well. As long as she was here, she might as well seek out the merchant's guild so that this jaunt wouldn't be a complete waste of time. She mumbled a thank you and started forward.

Now, the sentry moved into her path. "Generally speaking, Goodwife, when one requests information, it's customary to show a mite of gratitude when one gets it."

Zelena forced herself to smile. "I'll remember that. Thanks for the advice."

"I didn't just mean to the guild record-keeper," the sentry answered, still blocking her.

If she'd had her magic, she would have turned him into a monkey by now, or some other creature equally amusing. But she didn't. "I was set upon by bandits yesterday," she said, letting a bit of her frustration show. "They took everything."

"Those gloves look well-made," the sentry replied. "Kid leather?"

"Well, they won't fit you!" Zelena exclaimed.

The sentry merely peered down his nose at her.

"Forget it!" she snapped, starting to turn back the way she'd come. The sentry seized her arm and spun her roughly back to face him.

"I gave you information in good faith," the sentry snarled. "Now, you can pay me for it, or I can have the watch here in moments. I'm sure they'll be interested in the business of a woman, clearly a stranger here, asking all sorts of questions she has no business asking, because if she did, she'd already know the answers."

"You're mad!" Zelena hissed. "If you really believed that, you wouldn't let me pass for a pair of gloves!"

"Don't matter what I believe, Goodwife," the sentry said. "What matters is what the watch will believe when I turn you over to them. They might merely ask you a few questions of their own and let you go. They might just turn you back out the gate. Or they might decide to question you in detail… and at length." The sentry drew the words out slowly and Zelena had no doubt as to what he truly meant. Her step-father might have knocked her about a few times—particularly when he'd been drinking—but interrogation via torture was something altogether different.

"All right," she snapped, struggling to pull off the gloves while he kept his grip on her arm. "All right, here! Take them!" She gave a little involuntary yelp, as he snatched the gloves with his free hand and propelled her through the gate.

When she looked back in fury, he touched his cap mockingly and smiled. "Welcome to Longbourne, Goodwife."

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At first, Rumple wasn't certain he could find the way; it had been centuries since he'd trod it, after all, and he'd only paid three visits to the place in total. But he recognized an odd rock formation here, and a twisted lightning-charred tree there, and it wasn't long before he found himself approaching the healer's tent.

The tattooed man was standing in the open stirring a cauldron, and from the fragrance emanating from the pot, he wasn't cooking up anything more magical than breakfast.

"Fendrake," Rumple said quietly.

The healer turned slowly and his eyes grew slightly wider. "Your circumstances have changed since our last meeting," he remarked. "In more ways than one, from what I can see."

"They have," Rumple nodded. "The man I was, the man you remember, was both mortal and moral. But he was a man in a desperate situation," he continued, a chill creeping into his words. "One you took full advantage of. Now, I admire that a great deal. Full points. However… I don't like carrying debt."

Fendrake shook his head slowly. "Unfortunately, Dark One, the contract is binding. Even if I wanted to change it, I couldn't. You owe me."

"Oh, I'm not disputing that, dearie!" Rumple chuckled, as a bit of his other persona struggled to the surface. "I wasn't saying I don't pay my debts. But, perhaps, we can come to some other accommodation. You saved my boy's life when there was nowhere else to turn, and for that, I am grateful. So, perhaps… I can save yours."

"If you mean to say you'll kill me if I don't void the contract—"

"Oh, I'll do that in about a hundred years or so," Rumple cut him off. "But I wasn't talking about voiding it. Say, rather, that we might alter the terms in a way that can benefit us both. And then, I won't have to come back that other time," he added.

Fendrake's eyes narrowed. "What did you have in mind? And if you didn't come here to kill me," he added, "then what did you mean about saving my life?"

"You know, dearie," Rumple giggled, "most people would've asked the second question first. But I don't mind getting that answer out of the way. There aren't many in these parts with the resources to purchase items of great Magic. But then, there aren't many people in these parts who ask one hundred gold pieces of people who've likely never owned a single such coin. So. I've reason to believe that you're about to be offered an emerald pendant—one that can store, stoke, and harness… magic. It was stolen yesterday from an adversary of mine, and sooner or later, she's likely to come a-poking her head through your tent flap in search of it."

"Interesting," Fendrake allowed. "Though I'm not sure I understand the relevance."

"The pendant currently holds her magic. All her magic. So, if she learns you have it, well, I may be a seer now, dearie, but even if I weren't, I'd predict that she'd either try to kill you to reclaim it, or ask to apprentice herself to you in hopes that studying magic with you would reawaken her currently-blocked-off talents. Once she does that," he giggled, "then she'll kill you!"

Fendrake nodded slowly. "I won't say I don't appreciate the warning," he said. "If all is as you say, then we may have a deal. But she might never learn of my existence. And she might not be quite so ruthless as you paint her."

"Yes, well, you made a claim against my second-born child, with no idea whether I'd ever have one, so I shouldn't think that dealing in hypotheticals ought to be a problem." Rumple pointed out, still smiling. "However, before I entered into that agreement with you, you had offered another one: one hundred gold coins for a draught of Atlanthean rat snake antivenin." At a snap of his fingers, a spinning wheel, a stool, and a bucket of straw appeared beside them. "Would you accept gold wire instead?" He chuckled, sat down at the wheel, and took up a piece of straw, which he threaded onto the bobbin shaft. A moment later, a piece of gleaming gold dropped to the ground and the healer picked it up, his eyes widening. Rumple flashed him a knowing smile and reached for another piece of straw. "I can spin you as much as you like…"

Fendrake's eyebrows climbed even higher. He gestured to the long handle of the wooden ladle in the cauldron. "Stir this a moment," he said. "I'll be right back." He retreated into his tent and returned almost at once, carrying a balance scale, a rolled up piece of parchment, and two wooden bowls and spoons. He laid the parchment in one balance pan. "One hundred gold coins," Fendrake remarked, "weighs approximately seven pounds. When ten times that weight is in this balance pan," he continued, gesturing toward the empty pan, "our contract will be nullified."

"Ten times the original price?" Rumple asked, a trifle tetchily. "Still driving hard bargains, I see."

"It's been nearly a decade since the deal was struck. Delaying the payment increases the debt. But in appreciation for your warning," he set the golden straw he'd pocketed moments earlier down in the empty pan, "Let's dispense with two of those years. Fifty-six pounds."

Rumple smiled. "As I said, Master Fendrake, you do drive hard bargains. Still, over the years, I've had occasion to learn for myself that magical ingredients can run a mite pricy. Especially in a backwater region like this one. Fifty-six pounds will buy you a lot of athelas and knobweed. But let me make you a counter-offer: I'll add back one of those years, for sixty-three pounds. And the next time some poor villager comes searching for a cure for their ailing loved one, you'll give it to them at a price that they can actually afford to pay."

Fendrake smiled. He waved his hand over the contract and flame of azure blue played over it for a brief instant before it flickered out. "The deal is struck," he said.

"Then I suppose I know how I'm spending the rest of my morning," Rumple sniffed. He passed the ladle back to the healer and headed for the wheel.

"Wait a moment," Fendrake called, staying him. He ladled a fruit-and-grain porridge into one of the bowls and handed it to Rumple. "There's no charge for this," he assured him, "nor for additional bowls, should you desire them." At Rumple's raised eyebrow, he shrugged. "You'll be at this for hours. I imagine you'll want sustenance at some point."

"Just to be clear, dearie," Rumple said suspiciously, "when you offered additional bowls…?"

"I meant for you to ladle more porridge into the one you're holding, yes." He smiled. "You're right. I do drive hard bargains. But I also try to state my terms as clearly and straightforwardly as possible and I do my best not to… shall we say, use my customers' natural perceptions to deceive them."

A surprised smile flashed briefly across Rumple's face. "Then I thank you," he said, lifting a spoonful to his lips. After his second, he looked at the healer once more. "You have that emerald already," he guessed, "don't you?"

"Of course."

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When he'd been caged, first in his own castle and then later, in Zelena's storm cellar, he'd thought to himself that if he ever got free of her, it would be a long time before he'd so much as look at another spinning wheel. After days, weeks, months where—apart from the witch and her gloating and taunting—the thing had been his sole pastime, he'd grown thoroughly sick of it. And yet, here he was, volunteering to spin for hours on end, and actually enjoying himself.

Every straw spun was bringing him that much closer to his goal. Every straw spun was paying down a debt that had hung over him for decades—and had he ever considered that an option like this one might have been available, even a century from now, perhaps he wouldn't have chosen another way to clear accounts.

But then, he'd been more impulsive back then. He hadn't fully appreciated that, simply because he had the power to make others suffer, it didn't necessarily follow that he needed to indulge it. There were other ways. At times they were harder ways, but they were also better. The man he was today might have resented the healer for taking advantage of his desperation. But he'd also saved Bae's life. And spared his own, when Rumple had stolen upon him, bent on murder and theft.

Moreover, Rumple had recently returned from the Realm of the Dead. And while he hadn't met Fendrake there during his short sojourn, he had encountered other souls with unfinished business, prevented from moving on until all scores were settled and all debts paid. At the time, Rumple had believed that his time in that realm was due to unfinished business with those few individuals who had reneged on their deals with him, and whose debts were small enough or irrelevant enough that he hadn't troubled himself to hunt them down. But today, when he'd realized that the healer was the likeliest buyer for Zelena's pendant, it had occurred to him that, perhaps, his own debt hadn't been discharged after all.

And Rumpelstiltskin always pays his debts, he reminded himself, as he reached for another piece of straw. A moment later, he set another strand of bright yellow gold into the balance pan and the scale began to glow with an iridescent, pearly light.

Rumple shielded his eyes with his hand for a moment, and when he removed it, the healer stood before him once more. Fendrake plucked the contract from the other balance pan and unfurled it. "Your obligation to me has been met," he intoned formally, holding the page by the upper corners. As he started to tear it, Rumple held up a hand.

"Wait! Please. Could I have it? There's someone I need to show it to."

Fendrake shrugged. "Such is your right," he said. "And to avoid misunderstandings…" From a fold of his mantle, he brought forth a goose-feather quill and a small vial. Bracing the contract against the side of the still-warm cauldron, he wrote the words 'discharged in full' in a careful hand at the bottom beneath the signature that Rumple had inscribed so many years ago and underlined it with a flourish. Then he held the document out to him.

As Rumple accepted it, he felt as though a millstone had rolled away from him. He wasn't entirely certain that he needed to thank the healer for the privilege of spinning more than sixty pounds of gold for him, but he did so anyway. Then, still smiling, he made his way back to the hovel, pausing only long enough to purchase some roasted chickpeas and cheese pasties—his contribution to tonight's supper.

When he pushed his way through the curtained entrance to the hovel, however, his younger self rose heavily to his feet, leaning on his walking stick with a grim expression.

"I think it's time you explained yourself," he said firmly, though Rumple noticed that he was keeping his other hand jammed in his pocket where its shaking would not be so obvious. "I grant the resemblance is unmistakable and we well might be related, but my mother left before I was ever named. You claim to be my uncle, but yet, after tracking me down, you choose to bed down in my sheepfold."

"I told you—"

"Oh, I know what you told me. I just don't believe a word of it. So now," his younger self continued either not caring or not knowing that his knees were trembling, "you're going to tell me who you really are, why you've come, and," for the first time Rumple heard the slightest of quavers in his younger self's voice, "what your interest is in my boy."

[wotliveblog]

Lightning stabbed from the cloudless sky. Rand wove Fire and Air to meet Fire and Air, a slow-spreading shield racing lightnings’ fall. Too slow. One bolt struck the shield directly above his head, shattering in a blinding glare, but others grounded themselves, and his hair lifted as the air itself seemed to hammer him down. Almost he lost the weave, almost the Void itself, but he wove what he could not see through eyes still filled with coruscating light, spread the shield against bolts from the heavens.

...

There had been more than one bolt in that first volley, but not all had been aimed at him. Mat’s smoking boots lay a dozen paces from where Mat himself sprawled on his back. Tendrils of smoke rose from the black haft of his spear, too, from his coat, even from the silver foxhead, hanging out of his shirt, that had not saved him from a man’s channeling. Asmodean was a twisted shape of char, recognizable only from the blackened harpcase still strapped to his back. And Aviendha . . . Unmarked, she could have laid down to rest—if she could have rested staring unblinking at the sun.

That's a quarter of the main characters. Aviendha's death I could see, but I don't think Mat was built up this way only to die now. I think Rand is going to use Baelfire. I hope there are consequences.

[treatian]

The Chronicles of the Dark One:  The Dark Curse

Chapter 13:  Dealing with the Wolf

He never left the woods with the girl, just used his magic to take them to another glade where the hunters couldn't track them. It was a campfire, a place with logs around it and charred wood, where youth probably liked to come late at night for privacy from their parents or to test who was brave enough to stay out in the same woods as the beast for the longest. But for now there was no threat, not while the monster was silent and human again.

Monster…who would have ever suspected that the monster was a woman. It wasn't outside the realm of possibility, of course, he knew that werewolves could be women just as well as men, but in his mind, he'd never once thought he'd be dealing with a female. Suddenly he wished the spell allowed him to change the color of the cloak spread over her now. A mild green or light blue? Then again, it did match the rosiness of her cheeks and nose. He supposed it suited her. But the girl…

"Oh…" he stepped away as the woman gave a sigh and rolled over as if in sleep. He'd healed the dent in her head, but not to perfection. It was mostly healed, but he'd purposefully left just enough of the injury to give her a headache when she woke up. If he was lucky, she might also feel a bit weak. She'd be fine after a day or so, but the remaining injury was just enough to make sure that she couldn't get up and walk away from him when they needed to talk; or if she'd tried, she'd at least be slower.

While she was out, he took the opportunity to search her clothes. Knowing that she would be asleep until dawn, he looked, seeking out anything that might identify who she was, that would give him a name! A letter, a tax reciept, even a-

He gasped as his fingers brushed her hand and visions flashed before his eyes.

A building with a sign that said "Granny's Diner."

"Widow Lucus," his voice whispered in his own ear.

Ruby-red.

A woman who bore similar facial features.

Her granddaughter.

Extra pickles.

A brown haired woman sitting across from him. He wasn't focused on her but her hands. He wanted desperately wanted to reach over and touch her again.

"They smell delicious, Granny!"

"They are delicious! Didn't take any Dark Magic either! Oh, and uh, I charge extra for the pickles!"

He avoided the old woman's eyes.

"I have a complicated relationship with her."

He pulled away from the woman as the visions faded. He was overwhelmed by the information he'd received, but rather remarkably, he'd understood some of it. Most of it. Her name was Widow Lucas, or at least it would be one day. She would have a daughter who would have a daughter named…was it Ruby? Red? What he'd seen after that, the images…they were of a world not like this one, though somehow the walls had resembled this forest. He squeezed his eyes shut tight and tried to piece it back together. All he saw were trees on the walls. And Granny…she was Granny.

Though…as he opened his eyes and looked her over…he reckoned she was a teenager but ages could be difficult to pinpoint. Still, she was certainly no more than twenty. Old enough to be a mother, possibly, maybe be newly married, but not enough to have grandchildren! Granny?

And what the hell was a diner and why was it hers?!

Before him, she gave another sigh and continued to sleep, but the noise brought him out of the future and into the present. When she woke, she'd be hungry, all werewolves were, at least that was what the books said. A little bit of his magic shielded them from the hoard, and a little bit more had the fire blazing, and fish cooking close to morning's light. Waiting was no longer an issue for him. Perhaps it had been when Bae had first gone away, but now hours could pass as though they were seconds, and by the time the fish were done cooking, the sun had risen over the horizon and it felt like no time at all. He placed the delicacies on a leaf and pushed the leaf close to the woman's face, then stepped back and watched.

Like a dog, her nose sniffed, sensing something different in the air. Her body jerked and moved, as if suddenly the feeling of cold from the snow had finally overwhelmed her. Then, finally, she opened one bleary eye, opened the other, and gazed at the fish before her…and pounced!

"Oh!" She was quick to dive into what was presented there for her. She was lucky he'd taken out the bones, otherwise she would have easily choked on the things as she shoved it all into her mouth. She ate it faster than he'd ever seen Baelfire eat, and considering the fact that his boy had been well into his adolescence, that said something.

"Careful, Dearie!" he hollered out from the other side of the fire circle. "Wouldn't want to fall prey to poisoned fish now, would you?"

The girl looked up at him and stared. It was a different kind of stare than he'd expected. Usually, when he revealed himself, people were quick to jump up and stay back, startled and frightened. She was startled, her heartbeat revealed that much, but she didn't jump to her feet. She didn't even alter the way she was laying there perched over her food! Instead, she just stared quietly at him from under her eyelashes, suddenly aware she wasn't alone. He watched as she took a deep breath through her nose, subtly smelling what she held before popping the last of it in her mouth.

"The only poison there is that it's overcooked," she challenged as she chewed. After her last bite was devoured, she finally sat up and looked around. She lived in the village, there was no doubt about it. As she looked at the woods around her, he watched as the confusion on her face melted into recognition, and she zeroed in on trees just over her shoulder. The way home, he assumed.

"Who are you?" she asked, turning back to him with suspicious eyes. "How did I get here? And…what am I wearing?!" she exclaimed, suddenly holding her arms out and observing the cloak around her shoulders.

He smiled as he pushed himself off the log he'd been resting on. She was intrigued. That was good. He needed her to be intrigued.

"Call it 'payment in advance'!" he chimed, being purposefully mysterious. "Allow me to introduce myself, I am...Rumpelstiltskin!" he announced, lowering himself into a bow, "also known as The Dark One. And you are…"

He offered his hand to her, and she looked up at it from her spot on the ground before finally turning instead to play with the cloak's clasp.

"Going home!" she responded before pushing her legs under her and trying to stand. Fortunately, he'd thought ahead, and what was left of her injury had her stumbling and reaching out for him to regain her balance.

"Careful, Dearie!" he exclaimed as he helped her sit down on the log behind her. "That was a nasty knock you took to the head last night." Immediately her hand flew to the front of her head, the place where the dent would have been, and he watched as confusion and worry clouded her eyes. She hardly noticed when he took her arm in his hand. "And that is a nasty bite you have there…"

Their eyes met for a moment as they both considered what he was looking at, then she yanked her arm away from him.

"That's none of your concern."

"Oh, on the contrary! 'Tis the concern of every gentleman and woman you threaten in this town!"

"Threaten?!"

"Well, of course! I wonder, how long have you been afflicted by that little mark there?"

"It's nothing!" she yelled, getting to her feet again, though he noted that she was shaking. "A gift…from the creature who killed my father and brothers."

He let himself giggle in amusement because that was the least of what that scar was. It was the point of infection. "A gift from a creature like what you've become…a werewolf!"

Her gaze was maddening. It was something he'd never seen before. Neither fear nor attraction lay in it, only anger. And perhaps a bit of stubbornness. She leaned forward when most people looked for any excuse to move away from him.

"No," she stated clearly through clenched teeth.

He laughed again because though she'd denied it, the truth of it was in her eyes. She knew, she just didn't want to admit it. "Well, surely, you must have figured it out by now!"

"No!" she stated, getting up and moving away from the circle. Her footsteps fell so hard her wobble nearly disappeared.

"Haven't you noticed…the way smells and tastes come to you like they hadn't before?"

"No."

"An odd urge to run and jump, an even odder urge to bathe in the moonlight as it flutters through the trees?"

"No!"

He grabbed her by the arm before she could get too far away. "Yes!"

"Let me go!"

But he didn't! He couldn't. "You have noticed, three days a month, you disappear, wake up somewhere you didn't fall asleep, because you are fighting what you've become!"

Truth. There was nothing but truth in her hard, steely eyes as they watered, but no tears came of it. "What I have become is none of your business," she spat before yanking her arm out of his grasp and turning away. But it was his business, especially while she still wore his cloak.

"None of that, Dearie!" he proclaimed before using his magic to take them farther into the forest, so they stood on the edge of a cliff. There were few places she could go now. And it scared her. Though she had anger and severe tension in her face when she turned back to him, he'd seen the way her shoulders had shaken before she'd turned.

"Who are you?!" she cried. "What do you want?! Why won't you just let me go?! You must have something better to do than harass a woman like me!" Demands. No crying, no begging, no pleading. Just furious, logical questions. It seemed for this one fear only led to more anger.

"Not until you've heard my proposal?"

"Proposal...what 'proposal'?"

He smiled as he stepped closer, sensing her curiosity even through her frustration. "I…can…help you!" he declared with a happy laugh, hoping that if he was excited, she might get excited as well. This girl wasn't the fearful, unhappy being he'd anticipated dealing with, but she was strong enough that she could help him with what he needed, and he'd sensed enough pain in her denial to know that he'd come prepared to make deals. Hell, she was already wearing exactly what he'd have given her to help with her self-loathing problem.

"Behold!" he announced, flinging his arms out toward her, "a cloak of red! Made it myself right down to the last thread! Bit big…but you'll grow into it."

The woman, "Granny", as he was coming to think of her grabbed the edges of the cloak that was still buckled over her shoulders and examined it. After a few moments, she shook her head and let the mantle fall down around her shoulders.

"How does a red cloak help me?" she questioned with irritation. He couldn't tell if she was growing furious with him, or with herself for giving in.

"Because this cloak…" -he stepped up next to her again so he could whisper the secret in her ear- "is magic!" When he moved away he let his mouth hang open, and his eyes go wide with the shock she should be feeling; the shock that she wasn't showing on her face at all. Perhaps she just didn't understand what that magic had done for her last night, and what it could do for her tonight. "Wear this cloak on the nights of the full moon, and you'll find that your mind is your own. Your body won't change. You'll remain just as human as…well…as human as I once was."

She squinted her eyes at him in suspicion, looking him over skeptically before one of those hands reached out to her side to grab the cape once more. She glanced at it again, but only for a few moments before looking back up at him with distrust. A keen one this "Granny" was. Whatever children or grandchildren she managed to have, Ruby Red, would not soon evade her sharp mind.

"Why?" she finally asked, tossing it back over her shoulder as if it was nothing. She was trying to detach herself from it, trying not to get her hopes up. "Why would you do this? Why…why would you help me? Nothing in this world is for free."

He took in a dramatic gasp that made her jump. "At last! Someone who speaks my language!" he exclaimed before putting his fingertips together and beginning to circle. She was tough, but she was still a woman, and they were delicate. She had a fear of being the wolf that she was, which meant she knew what death and murder could do to others. He had to tread very lightly with this one. Perhaps even take his time. But what was time for him? The contract had held no time restrictions; therefore he had quite literally all the time in the world.

"Alas, I find myself with a bit of a pest problem that needs to be taken care of. It's not the job for a woman, but just the right job for a wolf."

She didn't let him circle the way others usually did. Her gaze followed him, turning as he moved around him, her eyes hawk-like, ever vigilant, taking in every detail. It was a shame she'd never become cursed as he was, he had the dreadful feeling she might be just as good at it as he was. A worthy opponent.

"Pest problem? Bugs?"

He let out a giggle. Knowing what Alexandra's husband had done, that wasn't an inaccurate description.

"A bug of sort. A very tricky species. But trust me, the world would be far better off without this particular insect if you agree to help me."

She shook her head and swallowed. "I'm not a fool, Rumpelstiltskin. This is no bug we're talking about. This is a person, a human being, isn't it?!"

He let himself laugh if only because there would be no use at denying it. Ignorance was bliss. If she'd agreed to help, he would have made all the arrangements, and in her blackout, she need never have known exactly what she'd done. Now, there was no denying it.

"Clever girl. It would be easy, a simple agreement. Simply cast away the cloak one night, and I'll bring this pest to you! And from there, what happens…happens!" he shrugged. He watched carefully as her eyes narrowed even more than they already had, and she took a step away from him. That was bad, a very bad sign indeed. The deal was failing, he was losing her, and all over one little detail he'd tried to avoid! "Don't make rash decisions, Dearie!" he inserted before she could disagree. "I'll tell you what…keep the cloak, try it out, wear it for a month. I'll be back at the end of the next full moon. Until then…enjoy!"

With a snap of his fingers, he burst into smoke and vanished from her gaze.

[themadlostgirl]

Not Dead Yet (Part 65)

*ha ha ha...i hate myself...*

Pairing: Reader x Peter Pan

Warnings: language

There were many ways to start a day. Mine started wrapped in the arms of my Peter. I was still kinda miffed about last night but it had dimmed. Peter keeps secrets. Always have. Always will. I need to accept that. Watching him try to make it up to me was nice though. I wouldn’t call Peter Pan a person who looks for cuddles but he wouldn’t let me go that morning. I even pretended that it meant something more than him trying to keep himself in my good graces.

I was able to get him to get up and we walked back to camp. That is where the day went from pleasantly serene to a hot mess in less than five minutes. No one had been keeping an eye on Wendy last night so she attempted an escape via one of the row boats we stole from the pirates. She got caught by said pirates when they noticed her clumsily making her way across the waves and had just sent word they were holding her ransom.

“It is too early for this shit.” I muttered. “I’ll get her.”

I whistled and Candace flew to my shoulder. I didn’t give any of the boys the chance to react before I was marching towards the beach with my club at my side and murder in my eyes. I spotted the Jolly Roger out in the distance and told Candace to take me to it. She grabbed my shoulders in her talons and flew out across the sea. It hurt but it was the quickest way to get across the ocean without having to rely on Peter’s magic.

With my shoulders bleeding and anger set I landed on the pirate ship. Immediately the crew drew their weapons and aimed them at me. I was not having it. They had my Wendy-bird. If they wanted blood there would be blood.

“Watch where you point those.” I strolled pass them unbothered, “Where’s Captain Rum Keg?”

“If it isn’t the she-demon of Neverland.” Hook came up from below the ship, “I believe you’re here for the lass.”

“Yes. Where is she?”

“In my quarters resting.”

“How noble. Is that standard procedure when you find a girl running away from the island?” I snatched the flask of rum off him and took a nip. “Remember what happened last time?”

“Aye. The same mistake was not repeated.”

I tried to move past him towards his quarters but was blocked. “Captain, stand aside before you make my bad mood worse.”

“If you want the lass back then free us of this realm.”

“Or alternately I could bash that scruffy head of yours in and let my phoenix set your ship ablaze and watch as the mermaids devour your charred remains. What’s it gonna be?”

He studied me for a moment and stood aside. “Wise decision.”

“Captain!” one of the crew shouted, “You’re just gonna let her have her way? She’s one person! Without her demon how can she be any threat?”

I stopped and turned back around. Hook looked like he was ready to throw the man overboard himself. “You’re new to this crew, aren’t you?” I dragged my club across the wooden planks as I crossed to him. “The fact that I exist is a threat to you. I will kill every last rum soaked scabby pirate on this ship without any remorse or difficulty. If you did manage to overpower me and kill me then you would incite the ravenous bloodlust of the boy that controls this realm and my brothers that he leads. I would not be so irritated if it wasn’t for the fact that I was having a nice morning up until now.”

With one swift swing of my club the pirate crumpled to the ground, his neck bent at an unnatural angle and blood trickling from his lifeless face. “You took my friend. Threatened her harm. That’s not something I take lightly. Anyone else want to try me or can I collect my bird and be off?”

No one spoke. I huffed pass them and threw open the door to the captain’s quarters. Wendy was sitting on the bed. Her hands and feet bound together with rope. “Hello Darling,” I went over to her and started to saw through the rope, “Are you alright?”

“Y/N, I’m so happy to see you!” she hugged me once I got her free.

“And I’m glad to see you still in one piece.” I hugged her back, “What were you thinking trying to escape like that? You could have been attacked by mermaids or caught up in a storm or starved to death because I doubt you thought to bring rations with you on your escape attempt.”

“I was just thinking of home. Peter wouldn’t let me leave.”

“Come here,” I grabbed her hand and led her back onto the deck, “We need to have a talk.”

I instructed Hook to sail us to shore. Begrudgingly he did as commanded and began the trip back towards the island. Once I was sure that Wendy was alright, save for some bruises and chafe marks from the rope, I relaxed. I sat on the railing of the ship and explained to Wendy something I knew she wasn’t going to like hearing.

“You won’t help me leave?!” she screeched so loudly I nearly fell off the ship.

I shot a dirty look to the pirates to mind their own business before focusing back on Wendy. It took everything in me not to give in. I knew Wendy would want to go home but I couldn’t help her. The last time I tried to help someone leave the island it tore Peter and I apart. She could hate me if she wanted but I wasn’t crossing Peter again. I couldn’t bear it.

“I am truly sorry, Wendy.” I laid a hand on her shoulder, “I know you don’t want to be here but you had your chance to leave before. You got a choice and then you went ahead and came back anyways.”

“I needed to save Baelfire! I wouldn’t have come back if it wasn’t for you people insisting on taking one of my brothers!” she smacked my hand away and crossed to the other side of the ship.

I understood her anger but it still hurt to hear her talking to me like this. “I didn’t know that Peter would take one of your brothers. When I found out it was too late.”

“You could have gotten him sent back though! I know you could have!”

“Wendy, there is a lot you don’t know about what happened while you were gone. There is a lot of history between Peter and Baelfire and it made things complicated. If it was one of your actual brothers it may have been different but with Baelfire…”

“History? How did Peter know Bae?”

“It’s not my place to say.” Especially when about a dozen pirates were eavesdropping, “But you should know I did try to help him leave. I told him how to get off the island. He almost made it but someone overheard me helping him and ratted us out to Peter. Things went downhill after that.”

“And...you left…” she calmed down slightly. She almost seemed guilty.

“Yeah…”

“What happened here? Why did you leave? I tried to weasel it out of Peter but he wouldn’t say anything.”

I motioned for her to come closer. I turned her around and started to braid her hair back from her face as I explained. “We fought, stopped talking to each other, I couldn’t take it anymore so I left. That’s all there is to say.”

She was quiet for a moment before she spoke again, barely above a whisper, “Did he...has he said anything to you? Anything new?”

“No. Why? Do you know something?” My heart picked up for some reason.

“Not a thing.” she sighed.

“You’re a terrible liar, Darling.”

“Not all of us have as much practice as you.”

“But I’ve never lied to you.” I whispered in her ear as I tied off the braid. “I need you to know that I am sorry about all of this. About you being stuck here and about Bae. I am sorry for everything but there’s nothing I can do about it now.”

She turned towards me with her head hung low. I tilted her head back up. I needed her to know I was being sincere. “Neverland can be a great home if you let it. The boys and I. There’s Tigerlily and a new ex-fairy named Tinkerbell who seems nice so we aren’t the only girls on the island. It can be fun here. You can have a family here...if you want.”

“I--I--” she had gone pure red.

“Sorry.” I retreated up into the rigging, “You’ve been through a lot. Take your time and sort through all this at your own pace.”

We got to the beach and Peter was waiting with a group of boys. They didn’t look to happy. Wendy reached for my hand squeezing it tight. “Don’t worry about them. I won’t let them lock you up again.” I tugged her along behind me.

“That was reckless, pet.” Peter chastised.

“I had it under control.” I assured him, “Did you doubt me?”

“Never.” he kissed my cheek, “I adore it when you get that murderous gleam in your eye.”

“I know you do.” I smirked back at him. “Disappointed you didn’t get to witness the result of my anger?”

“Kill someone, did we?”

“One blow to the head.” I tossed him my bloodied club.

“Gods I’ve missed you,” he kissed me again. A laugh bubbled up in my throat as he did.

“Ahem,” Wendy cleared her throat.

“Sorry Darling,” I broke the kiss with an embarrassed smile, “He’s insatiable.”

“Right,” Peter peered behind me narrowing his eyes at Wendy, “What are we going to do with you?”

“Don’t,” I pushed him away from her, “We talked. She’s okay.”

“Are you sure about that? She’s already proven to be an issue. Her promises don’t mean anything.”

“You have my word, she isn’t going to cause any more problems. If she does then you can lock her up.”

“Y/N!” Wendy whined.

“Don’t look at me like that, you’re the one that tried to leave after promising not to cause more trouble.” I rolled my eyes and glanced down at her bare feet. “Let’s go get you some shoes.”

We went back to camp and I tossed her some shoes and change of clothes. I even gave her my tent to stay in for the foreseeable future. Outside of the time Peter and I weren’t talking to each other I usually stayed in his tent at night. Mine was just collecting dust.

She was quiet and when I tried to talk her into going to training she ignored me and stayed in the tent. This is not going to be as easy as the first time around. “Keep near her,” I told Candace as I set off for training with the rest of the boys.

I paired off with Peter during training. We had an agreement that he wouldn’t use magic while we fought. It evened the battlefield and kept his skills sharp in case he ever didn’t have magic to help him in fights. Even with magic though I would have been able to beat him. Wendy probably would have been able to pin him today!

“Come now, chief,” I pinned him again, “Don’t tell me you’re going easy on me.”

“I’d never insult you so, pet,” he sighed. “I guess I don’t have the energy today.”

“Maybe if you didn’t stay up all night you wouldn’t be so tired.”

“Maybe if you weren’t giving me a reason to stay up all night I would actually get some sleep.”

“That can be arranged.”

“No.” he grabbed me and rolled on top of me, “Sleep is for the weak anyway.” He traced the lines of my face. That same soft look in his eyes from yesterday that I couldn’t quite place.

“Do you want us to leave?” Nick said drawing our attention back to the training ground where all the Lost Boys were watching us with differing levels of discomfort.

“No.”

“Yes.”

“Peter!”

“What?”

“I swear…” I broke out of his hold and recollected my club from the ground. “If you’re so tired go take a nap. I’m gonna keep training.”

“I’m not tired.”

“Tell that to the five times I beat you to the ground in the past half hour.” I grabbed Nick and dragged his smirking ass towards the archery targets. “Nick, if you don’t stop with that smug look you are going to be what I’m shooting at.”

~~~

This is unfair. He’s already dying. Why does he have to throw up blood too?

Peter spit out the taste of blood and bile still souring his tongue.

“I didn’t even do anything this time. Can I no longer flirt with my Lost Girl now?” Another wave of nausea washed over him and he steadied himself against a tree as he heaved. “Dammit.”

“Peter?”

Fuck.

He turned around and saw Wendy watching him her face etched with concern.

“Afternoon,” he waved his hand and the bloody vomit disappeared down into the earth. “Heading to training?”

“No. I was going to go visit Tigerlily and the new fairy. Are you alright?”

“Fine. Go on with your visit.” he tried to walk away before the pain in his abdomen made him double over again. He pressed a hand to his stomach to quell the damage that was being done to his insides.

“You are not fine,” Wendy knelt next to him. She pressed a hand to his forehead. “You’re burning up.”

“Shove off,” he swatted her hand away. “I can handle this.”

“Are you sure about that? You’re as white as a sheet.” she handed him a canteen of water, “Drink.”

“I told you--” he felt a small rush of puke rise in his throat. He swallowed it back.

“I’m getting Y/N.”

“No!” he grabbed her wrist, “You can’t tell Y/N.”

“Why not?”

Peter stayed silent.

Wendy pushed the canteen into his hands once again. He took a sip knowing it wouldn’t help but it would be nice to get this terrible taste out of his mouth.

“How long has this been going on?”

“Since yesterday.”

“When Y/N returned?”

He got quiet again.

“How does her returning tie into you being sick?”

“Reasons you cannot begin to understand.”

“Magic reasons.”

“Yes.”

“Why aren’t you telling Y/N? If it has to do with her then I think she ought to know. She’ll find out eventually no matter what. Why keep her in the dark like this?”

Peter debated how much he should confide in the girl that tried to escape and knew more about his feelings for Y/N than even he did. He didn’t have much to lose either way.

“I just got her back.” he murmured, “I’m not going to worry her over something as trivial as an upset stomach.”

“You’d rather keep secrets about something that is physically hurting you and risk Y/N getting upset and maybe even angry about it? For someone who is doing this because you just got her back this seems a great way to drive her away again. Don’t you think?”

“I hate you,”

“Maybe.” she nodded unbothered, “But I know that you’re sick. You can’t get rid of me because Y/N won’t allow it. There is nothing stopping me from going and telling her all of this.”

“What do you want?”

“That you tell her the truth.”

“I’m not telling her about some magically induced curse vomit.”

“That’s not what I was referring to.” She stood to her feet. “You don’t want her to leave again? You want to give her a reason to forgive you when she finds out you’re keeping this from her? Then tell her the truth. This isn’t an ultimatum, Pan. It’s advice. I suggest you take it.”

Peter watched her walk away. The truth...how can he tell her the truth when it’ll literally kill him to do so?

(First) (Previous) (Next)

[lilacmoon83]

Dreaming Out Loud

Also on Fanfiction.net and A03

Chapter 111: Shadows of Evil

"Terrible News!" Leroy cried, as he hurried in with the other dwarves following him.

"Leroy...what is it?" David questioned.

"There's trouble in town. There's this kid flying around and he's got some shadowy thing with him," Leroy reported.

"And the shadowy thing is ripping shadowy things from people. And the people aren't getting back up," Happy added.

"One of them did," Doc reminded.

"Oh yeah, one guy got back up, but he wasn't the same," Happy added.

"His eyes were glazed and it looked like he was in a trance or something," Leroy confirmed.

"Pan…" Rumple growled.

"And the shadowy things?" Snow asked.

"The one doing the ripping is Pan's shadow. It does his bidding and rips the shadows from others," Rumple answered.

"Does it kill them?" David asked.

"If the shadow is not reunited with the body...then yes, the body will begin to decay. A shadow is akin to a person's soul," Rumple explained.

"Wait...are you saying we could have decaying bodies walking aimlessly around Storybrooke?" Neal asked.

"Not aimlessly...without a soul, they will be under Pan's control and terrorize the living so Pan can rip their shadows as well. They will have to be put down," Rumple replied.

"Rumple? We cannot put people down! Can't they be reunited with their shadow?" Belle asked.

"If we get them before the souls are consumed," Rumple replied.

"Consumed?" Emma asked.

"Yes...that's how Pan and his lost boys stay young. They consume the shadows or souls of people. The younger the person...the longer it sustains them. And if that person has magic...it's like giving Pan a hundred extra lives like a character in one of Henry's video games," Rumple answered.

"The baby…" Persephone muttered. He nodded curtly.

"The baby is pretty much his ticket to eternal life, though Henry or Emma would also nearly get him there as well," he said.

"But Henry doesn't have magic," Regina said, as she put her arms around her son.

"No, but he is born of two very significant bloodlines. Mine, which is riddled in dark magic and Snow and Charming's, which is the direct opposite and rooted in light magic," Rumple reminded.

"Anyone in Persephone's bloodline would add significant years to his youth," Hades agreed.

"So these soulless people that have already had their shadows consumed are just going to wander town and attack people?" Neal questioned.

"I'm afraid so," Rumple confirmed.

"So essentially, they're like zombies," Emma said.

"They don't eat brains, but it's a fairly accurate comparison," Rumple answered.

"Because we needed zombies. We didn't have enough problems as it is," Regina spat bitterly.

"How do we stop him?" Snow asked.

"You don't. You're not going anywhere near this," Persephone protested.

"Mother...I'm not just going to sit back and let Pan reign terror on my town without trying to stop him," Snow protested.

"Snow...it's too dangerous. You need to stay with the baby," Eli said.

"Our baby has Granny and Red to protect him while we deal with this. And Nana Demeter," Snow reminded, as she looked at her step-father.

"Papa Hades…" she said, with pleading eyes.

"Oh, don't look at me like that," he complained and then sighed, as he waved his hand. Gone were hers and David's formal clothing and it was replaced with their warrior clothing, complete with the weapons.

"What the hell?" Persephone questioned her husband.

"You know they're just going to follow us anyway," he argued and she rolled her eyes, a signal that she knew he was right.

"We're coming too," Emma said, as she looked at Regina. The Queen gave them all Storybrooke clothing and weapons as well.

"What about me?" Henry asked.

"Oh hell no, kid. You're staying with Red," Emma replied, as Henry pouted. Persephone sighed and gave herself, Eli, Robert, James, and Hades a change of clothing as well.

"Let's go…" she said, reluctant to take her family into this, but knew they would refuse to stand on the sidelines when it came to protecting their people.

"Need some extra help?" Lancelot asked, as he stepped forward and David smiled, as they shook hands. The exchange was unknowingly witnessed by Arthur, who seemed very intrigued.

"Of course," David agreed.

"We will help as well," Mulan said, as she stepped forward and shed her helmet. The fiery redhead, armed with a bow, agreed with a nod.

"Let me guess...you're Merida," Henry said. She smiled.

"I am...how did you know that?" she asked.

"I like stories," the boy answered simply.

"I'm not sure what a zombie is...but I doubt they like ice. I'm in too," Elsa said, as she hugged her sister, who was going to stay behind.

"Go Red...there's enough of us to stay with the children. They'll need you," Granny said. Red nodded and shed her cloak.

"Let's move out," Rumple said, as he prepared to lead the fight against his own deranged father.

~*~

People ran and screamed and he found himself screaming, as he watched the shadowy creature literally rip something shadowy from a man. The man screamed in agony as he did it and then fell dead to the ground.

"What the hell is this…" Landon uttered, as he hid under a table on the patio and watched the spectacle with curious horror. And if watching shadows be ripped from people wasn't horrible enough, he watched in disbelief as the man floating in the sky seemed to suck the shadow up and consume the apparition through his olfactory senses.

"It's not enough," he heard the boy tell another boy that looked to be slightly older.

"Adults never are...especially non magical ones," the older boy confirmed. Adding horror to the whole unbelievable situation, the former detective watched one man, who had his shadow ripped from him, stand up suddenly. But the look in his eyes was glazed and his monotone stare indicated that something was definitely off.

"I need children…" Pan stated.

"Well, with all the realms united now, gathering them should be easy," Felix confirmed. Pan smirked and pulled out his wooden flute.

"Yes…" he agreed, but just as he was about to play the instrument, a fireball hit the object and destroyed it. Pan looked down to find his son there, along with many others that would attempt to stop him. He smirked and lowered himself to the ground.

"Hello son…" he hissed, as he looked at the rest of them.

"Where's the new babe?" he questioned, as he looked at Snow.

"You know...I felt him the minute he was born. I haven't felt magic like that in a very long time. I think twenty-nine years to be exact," Pan added and David's eyes narrowed.

"Is he talking about Emma?" he questioned to Gold.

"I'm afraid so. His life's mission is to preserve his youth and children do that best. It's why he lures them to Neverland," Rumple answered.

"Yes...and no one escapes Neverland," Pan added.

"I did," Neal challenged and Pan chuckled.

"Oh, you think you escaped?" the demon countered and Neal frowned.

"I let you go, Baelfire…" he revealed.

"Why? Because I'm your grandson?" Neal questioned.

"Oh no...I abandoned Rumple when he was very young. I would have thought nothing of eating your soul, but I knew what you would go on to do...or rather who you would go on to spawn," he continued.

"Henry…" Neal uttered.

"No way psycho...there's no way you're getting anywhere near our son," Emma growled.

"He'll make a nice addition to my lifespan, but it's your baby brother that's the key to my immortality," he replied. David drew his sword and pointed it at the evil being.

"You're not getting anywhere near our son," the prince growled.

"He's right...you're severely outnumbered and out magicked," Persephone concurred. Pan chuckled.

"You can't kill me…" he claimed.

"And why the hell not?" Emma countered.

"Go ahead...take your best shot," Pan tempted, as Regina took his bait and tossed a fireball at him. It engulfed him in a fiery display and Snow gasped, as they saw a charred and burned Pan when the smoke cleared. It was a gruesome sight and while Snow turned away to hide her eyes in Charming's shoulder, Regina smirked smugly. But her mirth faded, as they watched in disbelief. They burned and charred skin melted away and Pan shook the ash out of his hair, as he was not only alive, but completely unharmed.

"That smarted...I don't let people do that very often," he boasted.

"How?" David questioned, as his eyes were wide. Pan smirked.

"Because a person's shadow essentially contains a person's soul. Normal, non-magic people become zombie-like creatures and die if not reunited quickly with their shadows," Rumple reminded.

"But for Pan, without his shadow attached to him, he cannot be killed. And because he has consumed so many shadows...they sustain his physical being. He can only die when he cannot consume shadows or we destroy his shadow," The Dark One continued.

"Which would essentially be his soul," Mulan surmised, catching on to the concept.

"And finding souls to sustain me just got a bit easier with this grand United Realms. When you're all sleeping in your beds, I'll lure the children of Storybrooke and all the realms to me," Pan said.

"The hell you will," David growled, as he drew his sword. Pan smirked and they watched, as dozens of ragged looking boys landed behind Pan from the sky.

"Who are they?" Snow asked.

"The Lost Boys...Pan's victims. Do not let their cherub faces fool you...they are without their souls," Rumple warned.

"Then how come they aren't zombie-like?" Neal asked his father.

"Because that's what happens to adults. For children, once their shadows are consumed by Pan, they become the lost, completely loyal and subservient to Pan. Do not hesitate to kill, for they are savage," Rumple responded.

"Surely they can be saved?" Snow questioned.

"They might as well already be dead," Rumple refuted, as the boys moved in and attacked with savagery that they had rarely seen, not even from grown soldiers in their time fighting George's and Arawn's armies in both time lines.

"Spread out...don't let them seek out any children or anymore shadows!" Persephone called, as they spread out to protect the town.

Though she loathed it, Elsa used her ice powers to subdue the ones she could, while Regina didn't hesitate to turn them to ash. Mulan and Merida joined Lancelot in a more conventional, but no less effective fight, as they engaged in hand to hand combat.

Snow threaded an arrow and hit one boy in the chest, which disturbed her greatly, as he fell lifeless to the ground. Another boy glared at her and flew over her, before diving down on her husband. She gasped, as David's back was turned, while fighting another boy off and she called out to him.

"DAVID!" she cried and then screamed, as the boy tried to rip her husband's shadow from him. There was no hesitation this time and she put another arrow in this one, dropping him. David fell to the ground, as his shadow went back inside his body and she rushed to him.

"I'm okay…" he assured, as she cradled him in her arms.

"But for how long?" Pan mused, as several boys hovered in the air around the couple.

"They gave life to the child that can grant my immortality. They'll make a nice feast for me tonight," Pan hissed. Persephone saw the precarious situation facing her daughter and son-in-law, so she called on her ultimate power. The lightning coursed through her veins and her eyes became lit with power, as her power erupted and struck down Pan and his lost boys. Pan seethed, as he stood up with Felix, the only surviving boy, and glared at her.

"This isn't over. Lost Boys are a cheap commodity for me and we will feed on the children of Storybrooke," he hissed, as he looked at Snow and David.

"Take good care of the babe...he's my ticket to immortality and ruling the United Realms," Pan said, as he and Felix flew off and back to their island for now.

Snow and David breathed in relief, as Emma hurried to them.

"Are you guys okay?" she asked.

"Yeah...I think so, honey," Snow replied, as she caressed her husband's face.

"David…" she said.

"I'm fine, my darling...just a bit sore," he replied, as she and Emma helped him up.

"How do we kill him?" David questioned.

"His shadow...we have to capture it," Hades answered.

"And then we have to destroy it," Rumple confirmed.

"And how do we destroy his shadow?" Eli asked.

"That's the real trick," Hades answered.

"What can destroy the shadow?" Snow questioned her step-father.

"Well, pure hellfire is one way. But since I'm not King of the Underworld anymore, I don't really have access to the fire of Acheron anymore," he replied.

"Who is ruling the Underworld now?" Emma asked.

"Good question and as Goddess Supreme, it's an answer I'll have to find out soon. It's not so easy though. Only the Gold of the Underworld and Hermes can access that realm...alive anyway," Persephone responded.

"But Mother...you're Queen of the Underworld still, aren't you?" Snow asked.

"I'm afraid not, sweetheart. My rule there was by marriage only," she reminded.

"And Hermes is a worm, who can't be trusted. But when he comes out of his hidey hole like the snake he is...I'll persuade him to tell me what we want to know," Hades said.

"Persuade?" Persephone asked, quirking an eyebrow.

"Persuade, torture, beat it out of him...it's all relevant," he quipped.

"Hades…" she warned, with a disapproving tone.

"Don't worry...I won't torture him. I might make him wet himself a little though, you know, for fun," he said, in an amused tone. She sighed.

"Back to the matter at hand," she said.

"Oh right...hellfire. Well, there is bald mountain and since Frollo has little interest in going near the place that can imprison him again, that's an option," Hades continued.

"You mean the magma inside the mountain?" Emma recalled. He nodded.

"When we created the mountain, originally to hold the black God or Chernabog, I used hellfire from Tartarus to fill that pit. It was the only way to keep a creature as powerful as the Chernabog sealed away," Hades answered.

"Great...then we capture Pan's shadow and toss it in the pit," David stated.

"Unfortunately, he'll see that coming a mile away and stop us. Pan is not easily fooled. He won't go near that mountain or let us get his shadow near it either," Rumple refuted.

"Then we bring the mountain to him or rather the fire inside it," Persephone interjected and Hades smirked.

"Now that might actually work. Still not easy though," he said.

"Sounds like it's our best chance though. What do we need to do?" David asked.

"Let's go back to the palace. We can discuss it on the way," Persephone suggested, as they began the trek back.

Meanwhile, the former Detective that had observed the whole thing came out of his hiding spot. He had never been so confused or mystified in all his life. He would have truly thought he was in some kind of twilight zone, but then he realized that not even the twilight zone would be this crazy. He took out his phone again and pressed redial.

"Zach...it's Landon again. You got some personal time you can take?" he asked.

"A lot of it, why?" he asked.

"I've got a GPS location and I want you to come to it," Landon replied.

"Griffin...what the hell is going on?" Zach questioned, using Landon's surname.

"I don't know...that's just the thing. I told you that I'm in this crazy little town and there's some seriously weird shit going on here. So weird that you have to see it to believe! Hell, I'm seeing and I still don't believe," he rambled.

"Look Landon...I don't know what's going on with you, but I can't just drop my cases right now to come up there and chase ghosts with you," Zach replied in exasperation.

"Zach...I'm telling you that something weird is going on here. I'm talking changing the world type stuff," Landon argued.

"You sound crazy...and unless you have some kind of concrete case with some evidence of criminal activity, then I'm not coming up there to sniff the dirt with you," Zach replied, as the line went dead. Landon cursed inwardly.

"The cops won't even entertain your ideas without proof, right?" a voice said and the former detective turned to find a man standing there.

"Who the hell are you?" he asked.

"My name is Greg Mendell, but I was born Owen Flynn. I told the cops about all the strange things that happen in this crazy little town, twenty-nine years ago, but they didn't believe me either, because once I left, I was never able to find it again...until just a few months ago," Greg explained.

"You were here as a kid?" Landon questioned.

"Yeah...it's a bit different now, even weirder. The castles are new...but the town, yeah that's been here for almost thirty years now," Greg answered.

"Owen Flynn...that sounds familiar," Landon recalled and Greg pulled something up on his phone.

"It should to a former detective in this area…" he responded, as he showed the detective the now digitized thirty-year old article about him.

"Your father's disappearance...Kurt Flynn. I remember they thought he up and abandoned you," Landon remembered.

"He didn't abandon me!" Greg snapped.

"He was held against his will by an evil witch. I ran to find help, but could never find the town again, just like your friend couldn't ping your cell phone, despite a cell tower right over there," Greg said, pointing to it.

"Fine...then what happened to your dad?" Landon questioned.

"He was murdered and he's buried in these woods somewhere. You help me find the body and then we'll have proof to take to the cops," Greg offered.

"Even if we get proof...how do the cops even find this place? Seems to not be an easy thing. I'm still not even sure how I found it," Landon countered.

"I have ways of getting people in here now," Greg responded cryptically.

"Fine...but if we're looking for remains that are thirty-years old, that won't be easy, even if I did have a cadaver dog. Which I don't," Landon reminded.

"We don't need one. We just need these," Greg stated, as he held up a vial and a ratty old plaid shirt. Landon quirked an eyebrow.

"I'm not even going to pretend to know what either of those have to do with finding decayed remains," the former detective said. Greg poured the liquid substance on the old shirt and Landon's eyes widened, as it floated.

"It's a locator spell…I borrowed it from the same witch that I know killed my father," Greg stated.

"Okay man...start talking and explain to me what the hell this place is and who those strange people were," Landon demanded.

"I'll talk while we follow this," Greg said, as the shirt began to float toward the woods and they trekked after it.

~*~

Henry sighed and pushed his comic book away, as they waited for news from his loved ones.

"Hey...since when are the adventures of…" Granny said, as she looked at the comic.

"The adventures of the Avengers so uninteresting?" she asked.

"Who needs to read comics when my life is better than one, except I'm on the sidelines," Henry complained. Granny chuckled.

"Are you comparing your family to the Avengers?" she teased.

"Wouldn't you?" Henry countered and she nodded.

"I suppose you have a point. We do kind of have our own little team of Avengers here. But they need to know you're safe here," Granny reminded, as she held the baby.

"I guess…" he said dejectedly.

"What's an Avenger?" Kristoff asked curiously and Henry simply handed him the comic book.

"I just wanna be out there too," Henry lamented.

"And someday...you will be," Granny promised.

"Now...why don't you read from the book to your baby Uncle," she suggested. Henry smirked.

"Is it weird that my uncle is younger than me?" Henry asked.

"Yeah...that's definitely weird, but then your Mom is the same age as her parents," Anna chimed in.

"Maybe...but this is Storybrooke. Weird is a prerequisite," Granny quipped, as Henry picked a story and began to read.

~*~

By the time they returned to the palace, the summons had mostly ended and the palace had emptied, except for the staff they had hired. Emma and Neal had put a sleepy Henry to bed, while Snow and David retired with the baby. She sighed, as she exited the bathroom. Upon moving into the castle, the first thing her mother had done was modernize it, including modern appliances in the kitchen, central heat and air, and most importantly, running water and indoor plumbing. They were planning to innovate all the homes and castles with all the amenities as part of the campaign they were calling the best of both worlds. Regina was actually eager to help them with the project as well, surprisingly, but then she was trying to channel her energy into positive things for Henry's sake.

"Are you okay?" David asked, as he turned to her and she smiled at him. The sight of him holding their baby melted her heart every time.

"I am...I guess it just seems that people that might want to hurt us keep multiplying," she mentioned, as she slipped her arms around his waist.

"And now...there is a literal flying demon that wants to eat our baby's soul," she added.

"Hey...that's not happening," he promised.

"Your mother and Hades put every protection around the castle that they know," he reminded.

"And I don't care what lengths I have to go to, because Pan is not getting our baby and I'm not going to hesitate when it comes to his demise," he added. She nodded. This was definitely one time that mercy was neither an option or warranted. Pan was a straight up evil seed with no redeeming qualities. Rumple had been vague, but her mother had gone into a bit more detail. Apparently, to become what he was and have eternal youth, Pan had willingly and gladly abandoned his son and to her, that was pure, unadulterated evil. And if that wasn't evil enough, he had basically promised to kill all the children of the United Realms and build an army of lost children to help him rule the rest of them.

"Papa Hades was pretty vague about how exactly he's going to use the hellfire though," she said, as she bit her bottom lip.

"Only because he thinks Pan has ears everywhere," he reminded. She nodded. It made sense. Their plan basically hinged on tricking someone Rumple said was almost un-trickable and the element of surprise was crucial. Snow watched her husband gently put their sleeping angel in his bassinet, which was right beside their bed. She peered down at him and fussed a bit over his blanket and made sure he was tucked snugly. She felt comfort at him behind her, as he put his arms around her.

"We still need to name him," David mentioned.

"I've been thinking about that," she replied.

"You have a name you like?" he inquired.

"Well...I know we talked about naming him after someone and there are a lot of people that would deserve such. But then I've been thinking about how you said you wanted him to have his own identity too," she mentioned.

"I did...but if you want to name him after someone, that's fine too," he said agreeably.

"Maybe the middle name...but I think I want to name our son Alexander and call him Xander for short," she announced. He smiled and kissed her cheek.

"Alexander...Latin meaning defender of the people. Appropriate," he agreed.

"I love it," he agreed.

"Me too…" she replied, as they shared a tender kiss and watched their baby sleep.

[undead-kennedy]

L’appel du vide || Leo & Baelfire (closed)

Leo had heard Baelfire’s heart beat the moment he’d entered the house. He knew the wolf was alive and his heart beat seemed healthy enough. There were stacks of his belongings from the study in the hallway, set carefully but obviously hastily. The vampire stepped back outside and went around the house, looking at the damage the fire had done to the study. The rafters exposed like charred bones, the windows missing their glass. Smoke stains blackening the sides of the bricks. Through one broken and burnt window frame he could see Baelfire asleep against the door. Leo looked at the wolf quietly for a moment before he climbed through the window, his feet crunched lightly on the broken glass but he moved with the intention of being quiet. Once inside he surveyed the damage. Books, curled into themselves due to heat exposure. The skeleton that had once been on the ceiling now broken on the floor where it had fallen, the broken table obviously having broken it’s fall. Almost half of the room burnt, starting from one corner of the ceiling. He went to his partially burnt desk. Baelfire had saved the computer. There were things he needed to look for, but first things first. He went to the wolf and kneeled down, “Baelfire.”

@baelfire-doyle

[therumbellehappyendingaward-blog]

Chapter writer: @mysticknightsofscotland

PROMPT: QUESTION

AO3: HERE

As Belle's high school graduation drew closer, Rumplestiltskin saw less and less of his little witch. More often than not these days, when she was able to visit, she spent more time studying arithmetic and science than magic.

He supposed it was only a matter of time, after all. Crossing realms from the Land Without Magic was nearly impossible for mortals. The innocent belief of youth was what made “imaginary friends” and places like Neverland possible. But all childhoods must come to an end, even Belle's. As the time between visits grew longer, Rumple wondered if the day would come when his little witch lost her belief, her magic, and her interest in spending time with and old imp like him.

He stood at his tower window most afternoons, watching for any sign of her return. He'd seen her coming that first day, too. The fool of a hatter thought he'd been doing him a favor, sending the last daughter of Blanche to his castle, gift-wrapped for slaughter. What monster in his right mind would turn down the chance to be free from its chains? Perhaps Rumple was the fool after all, because monster or no, he had not been willing to kill a child. Even more so now that he had watched this particular child grow into a young woman over the years of their acquaintance.

The trouble with myths is that they almost never contain the whole truth on their subject. Both Belle and Jefferson thought they knew the story of the Dames Blanches, but they had opposing sides of the tale, distorted through generations, and both incomplete. Rumple would know.

He was there.

He'd been an ordinary peasant once. A good, moral man with a beautiful family. When the war came, he refused to fight, refused to harm another thinking being. His elderly father mocked him for a coward, but his fairy godmother blessed him with healing magics for his convictions. She trained him to aid the wounded, and after the war to use his power to help crops and livestock grow. He had a purpose, and it was good.

But his father and wife soured on his generosity. They wanted him to charge more for his services so that they could live in luxury, gambling away more than they earned. He refused. Things got so bad between them that Rumple divorced Milah and took their son Baelfire with him.

They settled in a town far away from home where father and son could start over. Rumple struck a deal with the largest farmstead, to teach the Blanche family harvest magics in exchange for a small cottage on the property. Life was good for a time. He even tried to teach Bae magic, but the boy showed no aptitude for it, preferring to tend to the sheep whose wool Rumple would spin and weave into cloth.

But all good things come burning down.

He'd thought Bae was safe inside the cottage when he'd whisked it away out of reach of the flames. He'd been too busy trying to save the Blanches from the mob of anti-magic townsfolk that he didn't realize the price of that night's magic until it was over.

He found Bae among the charred remains of the sheep. They hadn't even made it out of sight of the paddock.

Annabelle Blanche, the youngest and only surviving daughter, found him there and demanded his help in cursing the land so that the townsfolk would suffer and starve for what they did. Bereft of his only son, Rumple knew he would have agreed to any punishment Annabelle might have asked for in that moment. He took the long knife Bae had carried for protecting the sheep and stabbed the blade into the ground, channeling their curse directly into the scorched earth.

The corruption of his magic manifested immediately, crawling across his skin in glistening golden scales from his hands to his face until every inch of him was changed. The worst of it wouldn't be revealed until later: with his life in ruins at his feet, having nothing left to live for, Rumple would come to realize that even death now shunned him.

Annabelle had escaped to another realm by the time he thought to try to undo the curse.

That was some time ago. He'd given up hope of redemption long before Jefferson sent the little witch his way. Now the means of breaking the curse were in his grasp, but it all seemed so less urgent now. What did it matter if the land around an abandoned town remained fallow? Rumple had certainly done worse with his darkened magic since then, starting with turning his enemies into snails, to state the most obvious example. He'd much rather watch his not-so-little-anymore witch graduate high school.

It wasn't the first time he'd visited Storybrooke. He'd often had to bring Belle home himself in the beginning, before her magic had grown strong enough not to wear her out after a few simple spells. But it was the first time he would venture out in public.

The lack of magic in this land always made him feel weak. It wasn't much of a problem when he was just dropping Belle off and returning home, but today he would be here for a few hours at least. The only good thing was that he wouldn't need a glamour spell to hide his appearance. Within minutes of arriving in Storybrooke, his scales always faded and he would appear as he had when he was mortal.

No one paid him much mind as he worked his way along the stands, searching for a seat among the crowd. They were too busy watching the steady stream of students in matching robes cross the makeshift dais in the middle of the field as their names were read aloud. He reached the end without finding an opening around the time the herald announced a lad named Fitzcairn. Rumple sighed and resigned himself to standing off to the side.

Isabelle French was announced not long after. The lonely shout of pride from somewhere in the crowd could only have been her father, but Rumple was transfixed by his little witch teetering on ridiculous heels as she crossed the dais.

She was beautiful, even from a distance. Strong, confident, brilliant, poised to take on a future that left little time for realm-crossing liaisons to learn magic that was unpredictable at best in this land. She belonged here, and the thought made his blood run cold.

The ceremony was concluding when Rumple realized the cold had nothing to do with his fears for the future. The chill was in the air, but only noticeable to a few. He scanned the crowd, searching. If only he could find the source before the evil spirit made its move. The cold was bone-deep down, a sign of a dangerously strong spirit. Parents were reuniting with their graduates now, and he had lost track of Belle. He had to move.

As the stands emptied, he went against the flow and climbed several rows in order to get a better vantage point. One robed youth looked much like the next. That is, except for the one that seemed to walk through people as if they weren't there.

Rumple trailed the spirit as best he could from six rows up. When it passed a gap in the crowd, he got a better look at it and almost lost his footing.

Seven hells, no!

He scrambled to get down the stands before the spirit could find Belle, cursing himself for ever thinking it was a good idea to come here. That spirit... it ought to be coming after him, not her. Never her. It was his fault it was here. It must have followed when he crossed realms.

He'd made it to the lowest bench when he caught a glimpse of Belle with her father. She was smiling, unaware of the danger. He drew in a breath to warn her, but it was too late. The spirit grabbed her, and they disappeared in an instant.

“No!”

Rumple teleported himself back to his realm, not caring what people might think if they saw. There was only one place the spirit could have taken Belle, and it was the last place Rumple would have wanted this confrontation.

He reappeared in a barren field. There was no sign of the evil spirit, but Belle gave a cry of relief and hurled herself into his arms, sobbing in terror.

“It's all right, pet,” he lied. “I'm here now.” He stroked her hair while keeping a sharp eye on their surroundings.

“It came out of nowhere, Rumple. It was so strong.” Belle trembled in his arms. “How did it get to Storybrooke?”

“Hush now, pet. It's not done with us yet.”

“What?” Belle looked up to him for an explanation, but he didn't take his eyes off the spirit standing in front of him.

It had been over a century since Rumplestiltskin had stood on Blanche lands, mourning his beautiful boy, but the spirit seemed little changed from who it had been in life. Angrier, for certain, but still the same slight frame and brown curls.

“Why are you here, Bae?” he asked. “Why now, after all this time?” His heart was breaking in his chest, torn between fear and despair. His son wasn't supposed to be trapped in the spirit realm. He'd comforted himself in the knowledge that a boy so pure and innocent and brave couldn't possibly be punished by the gods in such a way. Baelfire deserved nothing less than to be at peace.

And yet, here he was. The spirit raised an arm to point at the ground between them. Half-buried by ash and debris was the long knife Rumple and Annabelle had used to curse the land.

“Rumple?” Belle asked, looking from the spirit to the knife, and back to him. “What does he mean? Who is he?”

“Was,” Rumplestiltskin corrected. “It's a spirit, dearie. It hasn't been who it was for some time now.”

The spirit scowled and advanced until it stood directly over the knife. Its fists clenched at its sides and its ink black eyes locked on Rumple's.

Kill her, papa. Kill the witch and I'll be free.

“Bae, no.” His son's voice in his head shook him. It sounded just like him, so real, more real than his memories could ever match.

It's her family's fault I died! It's her family's fault I couldn't move on! Kill her, and the curse breaks.

“No,” Rumple whispered. “Not her fault. Mine. It's my fault.” His throat was tight.

“Rumple? What did he say?” Belle squeezed his arm. “Why are you crying?”

The breath he drew was shaky, but he summoned all the fierceness he could and stepped away from his little witch.

“You're not my son,” he snarled at the spirit. “I don't know who you are or who sent you, but Baelfire would never wish for an innocent's death.”

It's the only way, papa!

“Stop! You are not my son!” His voice cracked, and he tasted salt on his lips. “Stop sounding like him.”

Gentle hands pulled him back, and his brave little witch stepped between him and the spirit.

“Baelfire,” Belle said, “I'm so sorry you died. It was a fire, wasn't it?” As she spoke, she inched forward until she could reach down and pick up the knife. “It's okay if you don't want to talk to me, because I promise I will make things right. I'll break the curse.” Slow movements, soft words, all unbelievably strong or incredibly naive.

The evil spirit slammed into her when she moved to stand, knocking her back to the ground. Rumple's hand reached out to push it away from her with his magic before he even realized what he was doing. Bae's face looked at him with such betrayal, he almost apologized. Instead, he helped Belle to her feet.

“Did it hurt you, pet?” he asked.

You're choosing her over your own son? Papa, why?

Belle dusted herself off and shook her head. “I'm okay. I can break the curse, but I'm going to need your help.” To his bewilderment, she knelt on the ground and began drawing symbols in the dirt with the knife.

You can't trust her, papa! You have to stop her!

The evil spirit rushed at Belle again, but this time Rumple stepped between them and caught it in his arms. The force of it almost knocked him over, but then something shifted and suddenly it was inside him.

He fell to his knees. He could feel it moving, a second consciousness settling in beside his own. Possessing him? He tried to gather his thoughts, figure out how to expel it from his body. But then it spoke.

Papa.

Rumple gasped, fresh tears springing to his eyes. It was really him. Baelfire's memories were there, just as easy to see as his own. Every moment, right up to their last conversation when Rumple had told him to stay in the cottage while he went to help the Blanches escape the mob.

“Oh, Bae. I'm sorry, son.”

You can't let her do this, papa. You'll die.

“What about you, Bae? With the curse broken, you'll be at peace, yes?”

Yes, but Papa –

“My life would be a small price to pay for your happiness, Bae. I'd finally be able to join you.”

Tuning out the continued objections, Rumple turned to Belle. A quick glance at the runes she had drawn told him she must have been studying for this moment for some time. She'd known of her importance, then, even though he'd never spoken of it.

“My great-great grandmother tried to lift this curse once, but couldn't do it,” Belle explained as she finished up the last of the markings. “That's because she needed light and dark magic to do it.”

“Yes,” he said, simply. He took the knife from her, wrapping his fingers around the hilt and placing her hand atop his. He held her there until her blue eyes met his. “At least I got to see you one last time... Belle.”

Before her confused look could give way to questions, Rumplestiltskin plunged the knife into the ground. Bright light radiated out from the blade, sweeping across the ground. A wave of green followed as plants sprung back to life. Grass, moss, and wildflowers transformed the dismal dirt and ash into a field full of promise.

A tingling in his hands made him look down. Golden scales were fading back into pink, mortal skin. The transformation worked its way up his arms just as it had a century ago. When the sensation reached his chest, he drew in a deep breath full of the fresh scents of spring and felt Bae's spirit leaving him.

I love you, papa.

As the light faded, he responded in his heart and mind, And I love you, Bae. See you soon.

 The moment the spell ended, Rumplestiltskin collapsed. Panicked, Belle tried to shake him awake, calling his name over and over. He looked human now, but that was a good thing, wasn't it? She had suspected that he had been cursed, but removing the curse shouldn't have harmed him, she thought. Remembering the movies and television shows she'd seen, she checked his pulse. She couldn't find it, and he didn't seem to be breathing either. Her hands flew to her mouth. Had she killed her best friend?

She looked around frantically, but there was no one to help. Even the evil spirit that may have been his son was gone. She had so many questions that she might never get answers to now if Rumple was dead.

Blinking away her tears, she kissed him goodbye.

His last words lingered in her thoughts. Despite everything, he seemed to have known it would be his end, and that was the comfort she would cling to. The final stroke had been his choice to make, and he hadn't hesitated.

Pulling away from him, she was startled to see him staring at her.

“Belle?”

“You're alive!” she exclaimed. “Oh, thank God, Rumple. I thought you were dead.” She helped him sit up, then wrapped him in a hug. Slowly, his hand came to rest on her back.

“I can't feel my magic,” Rumple said.

Belle sat back to look him in the eyes. They were brown now, and harder to read than his amber eyes had been. “It's a bit like losing a limb, isn't it?”

Rumple frowned. “Not quite so painful. Just... missing. Empty.”

She took his hands in hers. “Then I know the perfect way for you to adjust until it comes back. Come home to Storybrooke with me?”

[timelordthirteen]

Out of the Ashes

Mr. Gold/Belle French, Explicit (eventually), all chapters Teen+

Chapter 2: Aftermath

Summary: After the events of season 5A, Rumplestiltskin is no longer the Dark One. As he struggles with the anxiety and PTSD left behind by Zelena’s cruelties and centuries of a dark curse, Belle is by his side. But their relationship is tenuous, and as much she tries to support Rumple, there are issues of her own she has to deal with. Will therapy, time, and True Love be enough to hold them together?

Chapter Summary: Belle starts forming a plan to help her husband, while also having unacknowledged issues of her own, and Rumple has an accident at the pawn shop.

Notes: I tried to balance the darker, sadder parts of this chapter with a nice dinner and some minor fluff at the end. I already want to shove these two together and make them face their issues, but I know we aren't ready for that yet. I am suffering along with all of you. This chapter starts to get into a little bit of self-harm, but not in the traditional sense. I wanted to update earlier than this but RCIJ came first.

Warnings for blood, descriptions of a minor hand injury, and references to fake/cursed memories involving domestic violence in this chapter.

Blessings to @mariequitecontrarie and @thescholarlystrumpet who help me work out so many things in my brain.

[AO3]

In the morning Belle awoke alone, again, and huffed in frustration. She needed to do something to move Rumplestiltskin forward, to move them forward, but she wasn’t sure what that something was. They needed to talk, for starters. Talking about their days, talking about the random goings on in town, or reminiscing about the past wasn’t really talking, it was just filling the silence so it didn’t become unbearable. Communication meant saying some ugly, uncomfortable, honest things, and she knew they would never manage that on their own.

Maybe they could talk to Dr. Hopper? Archie knew enough about what had happened to everyone to offer at least some advice in most situations. He was a good listener, and he had a gentle way about him that put everyone at ease. If she talked to him, then perhaps together they could get Rumple to consider therapy. He needed to talk to someone if he wasn’t going to talk to her, and perhaps they could go together. Before the curse had broken, he'd gone to talk to Archie about Baelfire, so she was fairly certain he didn't hate the idea of therapy entirely. A neutral party might be the thing they both needed to get some perspective and finally break the rut they had fallen into.

Maybe then some of the things she needed to get out wouldn’t turn into a fight, or make her feel like she was kicking Rumple when he was down. Yes, he’d changed, a lot in fact, but that didn’t erase what he’d done before. Or what she’d done either. Therapy could mean a fresh start for both of them.

Resolved to her new plan, she pushed herself up and got out of bed.

As expected, her husband was nowhere to be found in the house, but there was a note on the kitchen counter. It was only a few words, telling her he’d awoke early and gone to the shop. There was nothing else, no loving sentiment, no promise to be home early to make up for it. She crumpled the paper up and threw it angrily at the trash can. Sometimes she wondered how Rumplestiltskin even felt about her. There were moments where he’d be so sweet and tender, but then he would do something like this, something that left her with a cold and distant feeling, like they were living miles apart.

Still frowning, she started to make herself some breakfast, but after getting out the eggs for an omelet, she stopped. She stared down at the eggs as they wobbled on the counter and sighed. There was a hollow, sick feeling in her stomach, a build up of nervous energy from constantly worrying about Rumple. Her appetite fading, she decided to make some tea. While the kettle was warming, her stomach bubbled and gurgled with the most wretched sound, so she made some buttered toast as well. The tea helped calm her, and gave her a comfortable, warm feeling, but all she could manage to eat was a few feeble bites of toast, before heading back upstairs to get dressed.

Before Belle left home, she dared to venture back down to the basement. She held her breath as she took the last step, swearing she could still feel the intense heat on her face despite the cold dampness of the space. Her eyes immediately settled on the circle of ashes where the large spinning wheel had once stood. Her eyes welled up as memories came flooding back to her of the Dark Castle and those first, fragile days when she had been so afraid but so curious, too.

The first time she had seen Rumplestiltskin use the wheel it was like he was a different person. He was calm and relaxed, his eyes intent on the motion of the wheel and his fingers. The creaking and whirring were oddly soothing in the quiet evening, complementing the occasional snap of the fire. After a long moment of her watching him and hoping he wouldn’t notice, he looked up and smiled slightly, just a curve of one corner of his mouth. It wasn’t sneering or sarcastic.

It felt like an exchange between friends, warm and quiet, and after that she slept in her own room on a bed that felt like a fluffy cloud instead of a dungeon floor. It may have been the moment where she knew there was more to him than the Dark One.

In a way, Belle felt like by destroying the wheel he had also destroyed a piece of them; it made her even more determined to help Rumple and fix things between them.

On a whim, she hurried back up the stairs to the short hallway off the kitchen. She opened the door to the small linen closet where they kept the cleaning supplies, and grabbed a dustpan and brush. Then she stopped in the kitchen to get a mason jar from a cabinet, and headed back down to the basement. Carefully, she brushed the remains of the spinning wheel into a pile and then scooped them up with the dustpan, using it to transfer them to the jar. When she was sure she had all of it, and maybe a little dirt from the floor too, just to be sure, she screwed on the lid.

Belle smiled sadly as she stood and brushed off her knees. It might seem silly, but if he could keep the broken pieces of a chipped cup, then she could keep the remains of a spinning wheel. She stashed the jar in the back of the cleaning closet behind a stack of towels, and hung up the dustpan and brush. As she stepped out of the house, she hoped the library wasn’t too busy today. She wasn’t feeling very social, and her heart definitely wasn’t going to be in her work, not with it being tied up in knots over the state of Rumplestiltskin and their relationship.

Rumplestiltskin rested his head in his hands, elbows on the counter, rubbing futility with his fingertips at the lingering pain in his temples. He knew he’d be paying for his little outburst, but he’d forgotten how annoying it was. The wheel was gone now, reduced to char and ashes in his basement by his own hand, just as the other one had been in his shop. He felt mixed about both, if he was being honest. He’d had the smaller wheel a long time, since he lived with Milah. It was the wheel he’d used to teach Baelfire how to spin. The larger wheel he'd obtained later, just before Bae fell through the portal. It would be expensive to replace in this world, but it had sentimental value as well. It was the wheel that sat in the great hall of the Dark Castle, turning and creaking while Belle sat near him on the sofa and read late into the night. Before that it was his only solace through the decades he’d spent alone. But it was also too much of a reminder.

He moved to the front door and flipped the sign from open to closed, then made his way to the back room of the shop. His leg was killing him so he yanked open a drawer on his desk and took out a bottle of pills. He shook out two into his palm and tossed them in his mouth, washing them down with the remains of a cup of tea from earlier in the day. He grimaced at the cold, flat taste and shuffled to the small sink to rinse out the mug and his mouth.

Dr. Whale had prescribed the medication for him years ago, when he was still Mr. Gold, and did so again after he’d awakened from losing his curse. The pain had been especially bad then, rushing back to him full force after centuries of being held at bay by magic. Even under the original curse it hadn't felt as bad. Perhaps that had been part of the comfort Regina had allowed him as part of their deal. Enough that he was functional and not in constant agony, but not so much that he didn't have a daily reminder of a vague memory of a horrible accident that was all his fault.

While he felt better in some respects, without the curse weighing on his soul, the loss of power had been startling. He still had magic, but it was weaker and so much more taxing on his body to use. Regina had complained about pain a few times, headaches and the like when he’d pushed her or when she’d tried a spell that was above her level. He had never given it much mind at the time, but it was clear now. The curse alleviated all of the side effects for the low, low price of his mortal soul.

Rumple let out a humourless snort and set the cup down on the workbench. He moved to take his overcoat from the rack by the back door, but caught a glimpse of himself in the mirror and paused. It was a large floor mirror with a thick wood frame, propped up against the wall by the cot. He’d forgotten that Henry had helped him moved it a few days ago so he could fix a split in the wood at the bottom corner.

Against his better judgement he turned and stood there, staring at his reflection.

He looked and felt older. Since being freed from the Dark Curse, his hair, which had been streaked with silver for centuries, was graying even more. It was nearly all silver now and it brought out the lines on his face. His middle was, well, fat. He'd always been slight and frail before, his skin sometimes hanging off his bones when times in the village were lean. He would always go without so Baelfire didn't. Since the original curse had broken, he'd steadily gained weight. At first it was welcome, and for the first time he'd been able to enjoy eating, enjoy having as much as he wanted of everything.

Now, all he saw was a useless, cowardly, middle aged man who had nothing to offer his beautiful, young wife. He wasn't powerful or strong anymore, and he’d never been handsome. His curse was gone and their future with it. They were merely existing now, trapped in limbo and unable to move forward, unable to have their happy ending. He was still a villain in many people’s minds anyway. He’d done so many horrible things that even without the curse, even without being the Dark One, he wasn’t sure he deserved a happy ending.

But Belle? She deserved one, and she deserved someone better.

She deserved more.

Someone brave. Someone young. Someone handsome. Someone worthy.

Tears blurred his sight and he wobbled. His head spun, making him unsteady even as he gripped his cane harder and ground it into the floor. He stared at his reflection and watched in horror as it morphed into his cursed self, the sickly green scales and narrow eyes flooding his vision. The image sneered at him with its blackened teeth, taunting him even as it said nothing, reminding him of what he really was on the inside. Ugly, twisted, and unlovable.

The first thing Rumplestiltskin registered was the sharp pain in his hand. His knuckles throbbed, but there was a deeper, stabbing sensation beneath it. He looked down in confusion, watching as a rivulet of blood trickled from between the joints of his index and middle finger. It moved down over his skin, dripping off his fingernail to the floor. It splattered lightly, stretching in every direction like a star, and he frowned.

Blood.

Why am I bleeding?

He looked up and saw his reflection again, this time his real self, suited and uncursed, but in pieces. Harsh lines slashed through the image, a piece of his cheek was missing, and he blinked several times before he realized that it was because the mirror was broken. It took another few seconds before he put two and two together and understood that he’d shattered it with his bare hand. He’d punched it squarely in the center, hard enough that he’d cut himself and was now bleeding steadily.

He flexed his hand and winced, another rivulet of blood running down his index finger. But behind the pain was something else, something that radiated, rippling in waves through his hand and into his body. His eyes closed and he took a slow, steady breath. It felt like the world was simultaneously crisper and clearer, but also a little fuzzy at the edges, like he’d had too much wine. The corner of his mouth twitched. The last time he could say he’d had too much drink had been ages ago.

Rumple shook his head and the odd, almost euphoric, sensation slipped away. He hissed as he raised his hand, and pulled his handkerchief out of his lapel pocket. He wrapped it around his knuckles and squeezed the ends in his fist, the flexing of his hand sharper and more painful than just a moment ago. The cuts weren’t deep, but there were several of them. He didn’t think he needed stitches or anything serious, but he’d need to make sure Belle didn’t see what he’d done until he had time to bandage it. Once the headache wore off, he could probably heal it most of the way with a spell. And pay for that healing by feeling even worse afterwards.

Sighing, he limped towards the back door and stepped out of the shop, leaving the mirror and the mess for tomorrow.

Belle stepped inside the pink Victorian and glanced at the clock above the table in the entryway. It would be at least two hours before Rumplestiltskin would be home, if he locked up the shop at the usual time. She moved down the hallway, stopping at the door to the basement, her hand hesitating over the knob. After a quick glance down the hall at the door, she pulled it open. The smell of burned things lingered in the air and she took a deep breath, letting the scent tickle her brain, plucking out thoughts of dimly lit bars and the burn of cheap alcohol.

The memories were both hers and not hers, real enough to be triggered by smell and sound, but fracturing, like her reflection in a broken mirror, when she tried to dig deeper. She wasn’t sure if she’d ever sort out where the lines were, between Lacey and Belle, the missing year in the Enchanted Forest, the years in a tiny basement cell. Maybe none of them ever would.

“And maybe it doesn’t matter,” she muttered, closing the basement door. She wanted to believe it didn’t, anyway.

With a sigh, Belle moved into the kitchen and started making dinner. There weren't many recipes that she could make well, unless it involved flour, sugar, and baking, but putting a roast and some vegetables in the oven was something she could manage without setting the house on fire. A sly smile curved her lips as she recalled the last time she’d had an incident in the kitchen. She was quite partial to the grilled cheese sandwiches that Ruby made at the diner. She had watched Ruby made them on the grill in the kitchen, licking her lips as the cheese melted into a delicious, gooey layer between those buttery crisp toasts. How hard could it be to make one herself?

Apparently a lot harder than it was to accidentally set an oven mitt on fire.

She pulled all the ingredients out of the fridge and lined them up on the counter. While the oven heated, she chopped the vegetables and dropped them in a roasting pan by the handful. After that was done she measure out some of the dry herbs they kept in bottles and a few other spices, mixing it all in a small dish. She started sprinkling it over the meat but when she shook the little dish side-to-side, a big clump of spices came out and landed all in the same spot. She panicked, frustrated that she’d ruined dinner, and tried to brush some of it off. It was sticky and wet from the raw meat so she did her best to spread it around evenly. The end result was a lump of meat encrusted in herbs and spices.

It smelled amazing.

Tilting her head, Belle decided to just go with it. If food smelled good it usually tasted good. The oven beeped its readiness, so she spread the rest of the mix around on the vegetables, set the roast on top, and shoved it all in the oven. It would take a while to be done enough to eat, but in the meantime she could throw together a quick salad as a starter. Maybe she could ease Rumple into talking about things, and subtly bring up her idea to talk to Archie. Then she might have an idea of how much resistance she’d encounter.

Sighing, she looked down and noticed smears of red on her hand. Blood from the beef, she assumed, so she moved to the sink to wash it off. A deep red mixed with the water and soap, leaving it all tinged pink and smelling slightly of metal. She watched it whirl around, when a flash of memory startled her.

She was bent low over a grungy bathroom sink. There were rust stains around the drain and the water sputtered from the pipes, spraying unevenly. Blood swirled around the white porcelain and she frowned. Where had it come from?

Father.

She gasped.

He’d caught her with a boy and the next thing she knew the back of his hand had struck her cheek and she could taste blood. She spit and a blob of red mixed with saliva landed with a sickening splat. The water caught at the edges of it, but it was too sticky to wash down by itself. She had to scrub at it with her fingers to make it go away. Sniffling, she looked up and saw her reflection in a dusty mirror. Her hair was piled up on her head with a clip, her shirt was low cut, and her bra strap stuck out on her left shoulder. Her lip was swollen and her makeup had run, leaving her eyes looking dark and angry.

Belle blinked and the image went away, replaced with the small window over the kitchen sink that looked out into the garden. She stood there for a long moment, feeling her bottom lip throb with an injury that wasn’t there, smelling the stale air of a small house. The warm water ran over her hands as she tried to piece together what she’d experienced. There was no such incident in her past. Despite her shaky relationship with her father, he had never hit her, though he had not made the best choices or listened to what she really wanted. As she was drying her hands off, she realized the memory wasn’t really hers.

It was Lacey’s.

Lacey’s past was a mishmash of fights with her father, grief over her mother’s death, and a string of nights in a bar with nameless faces. Sometimes things would float to the surface in a more concrete way, but it was mostly impressions or feelings, like she’d had with the smell of the basement. Aside from a few days after everyone had left for Neverland, when being Lacey was only a few days ago, Belle had never had a flashback like that. She’d never fully recalled any one thing about Lacey, and it bothered her that it had happened now. That was more than two years in the past, depending on how long they’d really spent in the Enchanted Forest and Camelot, which was something no one had fully sorted out yet. It didn’t make any sense why she’d have such a strong reaction now.

Belle checked on the roast, smiling at how good it smelled. She pushed the memory and thoughts of Lacey to the back of her mind, and started cleaning up the kitchen.

Rumplestiltskin winced as he pulled on his coat sleeve. His hand was tender, the cuts stinging as every movement pulled open the skin and caused more blood and fluid to ooze out. The handkerchief he’d wrapped around it was damp and sticking as well. He reminded himself to hide the injury from Belle until he could clean and bandage it. There were a million little things he could cut himself on in the shop; he was certain he could come up with something believable to tell her.

He hung his coat on one of the hooks and turned, catching the scent of something. He inhaled deeply and smiled. The house smelled delicious, and there was a light, musical humming coming from down the hallway. He knew it was Belle and the scene pulled at his heart. His home felt warm and inviting, and combined with the wonderful smell of supper cooking and Belle’s sweet voice, he was as near to heaven as he’d been in a long time.

Rumple made his way to the stairs, but stopped when he heard the sharp click of heels on the wood floor. Belle was coming towards him, smiling.

“Hey,” she said, folding her hands at her waist, her fingers clasping at each other.

He swallowed and tried to hide his hand by holding his cane close to his body. She seemed nervous and he wondered if it was his presence that caused it or something else. “Hey.”

She bit at her lip, and looked away for a second. “Did you, um, have a nice day?”

Rumple shrugged. “I suppose,” he lied. He wasn’t about to tell her that he had a horrible day filled with pain and stupidity. He glanced down the hall towards the kitchen. “The house smells good.”

Belle smiled again, widely. “Yeah, it does. I, uh, made a roast.”

His eyebrows lifted and his lips curved a bit. “Well, it seems much more successful than your attempt at grilled cheese.”

“Shut up,” she said, rolling her eyes, but still smiling. “I think this may have happened more by accident than anything. Things sort of - fell into place, I guess.”

He grinned a little at that, dropping his head. He looked up at her through his lashes and fringe of hair, remembering a specific time she had been the the thing that fell. “The best things often do.”

She blushed a little, and he suspected she had been thinking the same thing, then she turned and started down the hall. “It should be ready in another hour or so.”

He nodded and exhaled. If she stayed in the kitchen a few minutes, he could get upstairs and take care of his hand. He watched her go and then started up the steps again, but he’d only made it to the first landing before he heard the clomp of her shoes again. He gritted his teeth as a stab of pain shot through his hand and made him flex his fingers around the handle of his cane.

“Where are you - oh,” Belle gasped, looking down at the floor. “Rumple, what - is this blood?”

Rumple closed his eyes for a moment and then looked down at her. She was bent over something on the floor and he lifted his hand to see that the blood had oozed out of the cloth and run down his hand to drip on the floor.

Belle straightened and looked up at him, her eyes wide. “What happened? Are you -?” She stepped closer to the stairs and peered at him through the railing. “You’re bleeding!”

“No,” he protested. “N-no, I just -”

Her brow furrowed as she moved around to the foot of the stairs. She came up to his level and reached for his injured hand, and he winced and pulled his hand to his chest, where the blood-soaked handkerchief stain his shirt and tie.

“It’s nothing,” he said, trying to keep her from seeing his battered hand.

She looked up at him, her face tight with concern. “It’s not nothing, Rumple,” she said, her voice insistent but soft. “Let me help you, please?”

Rumple visibly relaxed, and let her peel his hand away from his chest. She barely bit back a gasp once she saw how the blood had saturated the cloth, leaving it sticky and damp.

“How did this happen?” she asked, lifting the matted handkerchief a little until he hissed in pain.

Her eyes lifted and met his, and he gave her a sheepish shrug. “I broke a mirror.”

Her bottom lip pushed out a bit in a small, sympathetic pout. “Let’s go upstairs and get this cleaned up, all right?”

Rumplestiltskin nodded, and a few minutes later he found himself sitting on little stool from Belle’s vanity while she rummages in the bathroom cabinet for the first aid ointment she insisted was there. It was an antique he’d brought home from his shop after she moved in, but originally it had been in her room in the Dark Castle. Little things like that had overjoyed her in the early days after the first curse broke, and even now they still cheered her, reminded her of better times. She gave small cheer and held up the tube she was searching for, and moved to sit on the toilet lid across from him.

“This reminds me I need to declutter that cupboard,” she said. It was a completely mundane comment, but she no longer knew how to say the words that needed saying. Her husband had come home injured and tried to hide it from her, and that set off all sorts of alarm bells. He wasn’t the Dark One anymore, but that didn’t mean he was incapable of lying or doing deceitful things. She didn’t want to think that way, but there it was. Old fears died hard, she supposed.

Rumple sucked in a breath as she dabbed at his wound with a cotton ball soaked in antiseptic. It was a small gash, but deep and in a rather tender place, just between the knuckles of his middle and index finger. She frowned and dropped the cotton ball in the little trash bin, then reached for the tube of antibiotic ointment.

“Was it a mirror in your shop?” she asked, squeezing some of the ointment onto his hand.

He blinked and looked up. “What?”

“The mirror you broke,” she said, starting to unroll some gauze. Her eyes flicked to his face and then back to what she was doing. “Was it one in your shop?”

“Oh, yes.” He shifted on the stool, his hand and arm tensing like he wanted to pull away. “I, um, I knocked it over.”

Belle made a quiet ah sound and started wrapping the gauze over his hand, along the row of knuckles, and then down between his fingers. She continued in a sort of figure eight pattern, making sure to cover the wound completely.

“How did it happen then?”

Rumple frowned. “How did what happen?”

“Your, uh, your cut,” she said. She tucked in the end of the gauze and put a piece of tape over it, catching herself in the middle of wishing that he could just heal it with magic. “Was it when you were cleaning up the glass or -?”

“Yes.” His replied was very curt, and she glanced up. “Yes, it - it just caught me wrong is all,” he added.

She sighed. “Rumple -”

“Just leave it alone,” he pleaded, chin trembling. “Please, Belle.”

Belle pressed her lips together and nodded. She could feel him withdrawing as he had so many times before, always she would press him to talk about something, and always when he needed to get it out the most. It was maddening, yet understandable. Something had happened in his shop today, but he wasn’t willing or able to tell her.

She cupped his cheek and brushed her thumb over the bit of scruff that had grown in the last day. His face pushed against her palm as a tear rolled free from his eye, and she felt her own eyes start to well up. “It’s all right, it’s all fixed now.”

A loud beep sounded from downstairs, signalling that the roast was done. She put on a smile and stood up. “How about some dinner then?”

Rumple looked up at her and gave her a shaky smile in return. “You can, uh, go on downstairs. I’ll - clean up.” He look down at his blood streaked shirt, and then up at her.

Belle tilted her head and reached out her hand to help pull him to his feet. It would be a rough few days using his cane until his hand healed. “Okay.”

She left him to change, and went to check on dinner, smiling as she pulled out the roasting pan. Everything looked perfect, and as she set the table an uneasy hollow feeling settled in her gut. That was the thing, wasn’t it? Everything looked perfect. She had Rumple, he was awake and alive, his heart cleansed by the Sorcerer’s Hat, and they were together.

But it wasn’t perfect and they weren’t really together.

Rumplestiltskin entered the dining room, limping more than usual as he tried not to lean too hard on his cane and his injured hand. He had on a fresh shirt, a deep blue with a paisley pattern that she recalled from so long ago. Tonight felt almost the same as then. Rumple was pulling away, trying to hide even when it seemed he was desperate for help, and she insisted that she had to stay, had to help him. Still, it pulled at something in her heart to see him in a colorful, patterned shirt again. She missed that little bit of vibrancy and flamboyance, those things that reminded her of their early days. Her chest ached as she smiled and moved around the table to help pull out his chair.

He reached for her, taking her hand and giving it a squeeze. “This looks amazing, Belle.”

She nodded and swallowed, feeling him pull a little on her arm. She shuffled closer and he pressed a soft, lingering kiss to her cheek, his nose brushing her skin as he pulled back. Her eyes fluttered closed for a moment, and when she opened them he was gazing at her intently, as though he was searching for something. She squeezed his hand in return, and they separated, sitting down to eat.

Belle sliced into the roast, her mouth watering as she inhaled the scent of the herbs. The potatoes and carrots were perfect, soft enough to eat but not mushy, and the meat was a perfect medium, pink and juicy in the middle. She glanced at Rumple before stabbing one of the slices with the serving fork, and his eyes were wide. She gave them each a small portion of the salad, using the awkwardly large tongs to put it into bowls, while he plated up meat, potatoes, and vegetables. For a while there was nothing but an uncomfortable silence, broken only by the click and scrap of their forks and knives against the fine china.

It occurred to Rumplestiltskin that this was something he’d been missing from life for some time, maybe always. Hearth, home, and comfort. Even if Belle didn’t love him the way she used to, or at all anymore, she still tended his wounds and made a lovely dinner, and that had to mean she still cared. He didn’t dare to hope for more beyond that, but it comforted him to know they could have something, however small.

Rumplestiltskin sighed contentedly and smiled. “This is delicious, Belle.”

Belle blushed and ducked her head. “It’s just a roast.”

He reached out without thinking and put his hand over hers. “It isn’t,” he said. When he went to pull his hand away, she turned hers over and wrapped her fingers around his, keeping him in place. He felt his face flush and unconsciously he squeezed his injured hand just a little. The pain grounded him and kept his thoughts from running rampant.

“It - it means a lot,” he managed, and she smiled. Then he pulled his hand back and shifted in the chair. “So, how was the library today?”

Belle shrugged, a little sad that whatever moment they’d had was over. He rarely touched her first anymore or touched her at all in any kind of friendly or intimate way and he had done so twice this evening. She missed the ease with which they used to interact, the lingering touches and heated looks that reminded her of the depth of his feelings. He was harder to read now and closed off, but she would take these small victories one dinner at a time if she had to.

“It was - a bit slow, actually,” she finally said. “School starts next week, and I think the children are preoccupied.” Rumple hummed and nodded, and she sighed. “Henry came by, though.”

“Oh?” Rumple glanced at her before shoving a forkful of potatoes in his mouth. He had gotten to see more of his grandson recently, which was both a blessing and a constant reminder of how he’d lost his son.

She smiled. “He was bringing by flyers for the Harvest Days thing David and Snow want to start. It’s mostly for the folks from Camelot, so they can feel a bit more at home, but it will be nice to have something to celebrate.”

Rumple put his fork down and sat back in his chair. “I always liked fall. Cooler weather, the changing leaves, it feels -” He made a motion with his hand and frowned, the headache from earlier lingered in his temples and made it hard to think.

“Cozy?” Belle offered with a little grin.

He smiled and nodded. “Aye.”

They lapsed into silence until Belle finally started to clear the table. Rumple moved to help her, but she shooed him and his bandaged hand to the living room with orders to find a movie or something to watch. She joined him a few minutes later, saddened to find him in one of the wing back chairs and not on the sofa where they could share space.

He must have picked up on her disappointment, because he fidgeted in the chair before he asked, “Did you, uh, want me to sit there instead?”

“Only if you want to,” she replied, taking a seat at one end of the couch.

He pushed himself to his feet and moved the short distance to sit down near her, but not touching. The same as always. The movie ended up being quite good, an interesting murder mystery set in the 1920s. Rumple told her there was an entire series of books and short stories based on the same characters and the way her eyes had lit up made him laugh. It was the highpoint of her evening, and a part of her was finally coming to terms with how pathetic that was.

Just after the opening title, she slipped her shoes off and tucked her feet up on the sofa, and then cautiously stretched her legs out. When her feet touched his thigh, he almost jumped, but after a moment he visibly relaxed. Midway through the show, Belle realized Rumple’s hand had made its way to rest on her leg, and she smiled at the innocent, comforting contact. His thumb was idly rubbing back and forth over the bone on the outside of her ankle, and she steeled herself against any reaction that might make him notice what he was doing and stop. It would have to do for now.

“I’m going to get ready for bed,” Belle said some time later as the credits rolled on the screen.

Rumple nodded and pushed to his feet with his cane. He winced at the pain in his hand as he used it to balance. “Goodnight.”

She bit her lip. “You’re not -?” She gestured with her thumb over her shoulder, pointing towards the stairs.

He shook his head slightly and gave her a tight smile, squeezing his hand around the handle of his cane. The zing of pain that went through his hand and into his arm distracted him from the revived throb in his skull. “I need to, uh, read over some things in the study.”

She stood there staring at him for a long moment, wondering if what he said was true, what he might really be doing, or if he’d go down to the basement and notice it was cleaned up. He looked tired and she wanted to push him a little more and urge him to come upstairs with her, but the way he was standing made it feel like there were miles between them.

“All right then,” she said finally, forcing a smile. “Good night, Rumple.”

Belle heard him make his way into the hall as she reached the stop of the stairs. She glanced down and saw him leaning against the wall to take the pressure off his hand. He disappeared around the corner and she sighed, continuing on to their bedroom. She went through the motions of changing and washing her face, and climbed into bed only to stare up at the ceiling, not feeling the least bit tired.

It’s all right, it’s all fixed now.

Her earlier words floated back into her mind, but it wasn’t fixed, none of it was. Not by a longshot. She felt as though they were reaching a critical stage, that something would have to give between her and Rumple soon, and she was more determined than ever to make them true.

[distinct-elements-of-speech]

as we go on (1/?)

[read on ao3] [part 2]

(5B canon divergence, featuring: reunions! ladies kicking ass! and my really old theories from 5B spoiler pics because I started writing this back then and lost it until now! Part 2 will be posted soon.]

“Get out of the way!”

Emma barely has time to register the voice before a blur of something (someone?) hits her. They both stumble into an alley, Emma's shoulder hitting the bricks with a painful thud, and she curses under her breath. The faint light from the street lamps fades as they move into the shadows, the stranger gripping Emma's arm.

“What the f-” Emma starts, but a hand covers her mouth immediately, muffling her voice. The alley is narrow enough that there's only a few inches between them, and she can just make out a pair of bright blue eyes in a pale, pretty face.

“Quiet,” the woman hisses. “They'll hear you.”

She raises her eyebrows, staring intently at Emma until she finally nods. Taking her hand away from Emma's face, she quietly pulls a sword from the sheath at her waist, moving to the edge of the alley. Emma peers past her to the street, inhaling sharply as a column of hooded figures marches past.

“They're gone,” the woman says finally, though she doesn't lower her blade. “Come on, quickly, before the next shift.”

Emma follows her out of the alley and onto the abandoned street. “What are those things?”

“A bloody nuisance, is what they are,” the woman mutters. “And dangerous, for people like you.” She turns back to Emma, and out of the shadows there's no mistaking it- there's something about the slant of her chin and the shape of her eyes that's utterly familiar.

“Thanks for the help,” Emma says hesitantly.

“Part of the job,” she says, gesturing down at her outfit. “Sort of.”

“There are crossing guards here?” Emma snorts, staring at the woman's safety vest.

“Really? You’ve somehow ended up in the Underworld, and you’re curious about my job?”

“Well- no,” Emma says, crossing her arms. “What I actually want to right now is who the hell you are.”

“Interesting choice of words.” The woman smirks, and Emma huffs out a reluctant laugh. “But I’m the least of your worries right now. I don't know what someone who's still alive is doing down here, but you need to get back home before Hades finds you.”

“I'm not leaving without what I came for,” Emma shoots back.

The woman quirks an eyebrow. “Must be someone important to you, then.”

“Very,” Emma says softly. “And it's my fault that he's here. I have to fix this.”

“Listen to me carefully.” She slides her sword back into its scabbard, her mouth thinning in a hard line as she studies Emma’s face. “I’ve been here for ages now, okay? In all that time, I’ve seen very few people return to life, and none of them have managed it without an immense sacrifice. It doesn’t matter how you feel about this person- trust me, they aren’t worth it. The price is too high.”

“There’s no price too high,” Emma says. “I know it’s dangerous. I already sent my family back home, but I’m not leaving without him.”

“Fine,” the woman sighs. “Fine. I’m not sure why I bothered saving someone on a suicide mission, but- fine. Don’t try to blame me when you’re trapped here for all eternity.” Shaking her head, she turns to walk back to the crosswalk down the street.

“Hey, wait,” Emma calls, taking a few steps after her. “You never told me your name!”

“Milah,” she tosses over her shoulder, not breaking stride, and Emma feels the ground shift beneath her feet.

“What?” she croaks out, because there's no way, she can't possibly have just stumbled into her.

But her mind is racing now, remembering the notebook full of sketches Killian had shown her on the Jolly, the portraits of a woman with dark curls and laughing eyes and-

“It is you,” she breathes, and god, but she hadn't even considered the fact that Killian's first love might be down here, that she could run into Neal's mother, that she could ever have the chance to talk to this woman who created such tidal waves in her life.

Milah stops her retreat, glancing back at Emma suspiciously. Whirling on the spot, she pulls her sword out again, stepping forward to bring it just under Emma's chin. “You know me. How?”

“Whoa, whoa, whoa,” Emma says, raising her hands in surrender and taking a step away from the blade. “I'm not here to hurt you, I didn't even realize you'd-”

“Don't move,” Milah snaps, and Emma halts, shifting her weight between her feet. “Now. Why don't you tell me who you are and how you know me, because I've never forgotten a face and I don't recognize yours.”

“My name is Emma. Emma Swan. And I know you because-” She hesitates, weighing the odds of Milah believing her against the odds of getting stabbed over how utterly ridiculous the story will sound. “It's complicated.”

“I'm waiting,” Milah says, raising her eyebrows.

Emma sucks in a deep breath. “I knew your son, Baelfire. And- and I'm here for Killian Jones.”

Silence stretches between them, heavy in the air. “How?” she says finally, not lowering the sword. “It's been centuries, and you're clearly not from my time. How could you possibly-”

“Like I said, it's complicated.” Emma nods at the blade. “I'll tell you everything, I promise, but- could you maybe put the sword down?”

Milah narrows her eyes, staring at her for a long moment, before she finally replaces the sword in its scabbard. “I'm listening.”

It takes a while- and they have to take cover in the alley twice, even with Emma only telling the bare bones of the story- but Milah doesn’t interrupt her, face inscrutably blank, one hand always at the hilt of her sword. When Emma finishes (her voice catching slightly as she details Killian’s sacrifice, and god, it hurts), Milah stares at her for a long moment.

“You said you have his ring?” she says finally, her face still blank. Emma nods. “Show me.”

Slowly, Emma reaches for the chain around her neck, tugging the ring out from under her sweater and taking a step closer. Milah gently runs a finger over the engraved band, tilting it until the red gemstone catches the light.

“It’s true, then,” Milah says. She looks up, meeting Emma’s gaze for the first time in several long minutes.

“Yes.” Emma can’t keep the longing from her voice. “I have to bring him home.”

“Well, what are we waiting for?” Milah grins, the wide and vibrant smile that Emma recognizes from the sketches, and loops her arm through Emma’s. “Let’s go find him.”

“Wait, you- you’ll help me?” Emma says, blinking rapidly. “You’re not, I don’t know, angry?”

“Angry? Why would I be angry?” She begins towing Emma along the sidewalk.

“Because I-” Emma hesitates, nearly tripping over the edge of the curb as she stares at the other woman. “Because I’m in love with your, er, lover?”

Milah’s forehead wrinkles in confusion. “Why would that make me angry?”

“Because I- because he-” Emma blows out a frustrated breath, nearly jogging to keep up with Milah’s pace. “Look, most of the people I’ve met from your world are a bit- possessive.”

“Right.” Milah nods, pursing her lips as she considers Emma’s words. “Well, you have met my husband, who is still just as possessive as ever.”

“No kidding,” Emma mutters. Milah flashes her a smile.

“But no,” Milah continues, glancing over her shoulder as they turn onto a side street, “I’m not angry. Killian was- is- gifted in many areas, but he’s not good at being alone. If you love him as he deserves- which it seems you do, as you’re down here to claim him- I’m glad of it.”

“Oh.” She lets the words settle over her for a few seconds. “Wow. Thanks?”

“Besides,” Milah continues, unlocking the front door to a slightly-charred house and steering Emma inside, “he’s not good at being alone. He needs something to devote himself to, whether it’s a cause or a person.” She slams the door behind them, shucking off her safety vest. “He does much better if it’s a person. Causes make him dramatic.”

“Everything makes him dramatic,” Emma says under her breath, and Milah laughs.

“That sounds like Killian.” She opens a small coat closet and begins to dig through it, voice slightly muffled. “Which reminds me, does he still do that thing in bed where he-”

“I, uh, wouldn’t know,” Emma cuts her off. Her face heats up as Milah turns to stare at her, and she’s fairly certain that even her ears are turning pink. “We haven’t exactly- I mean, there hasn’t really been a chance- we’ve, um, been-”

“Wait.” Milah’s eyes widen, and the expression reminds Emma so strongly of Killian that all of the air vanishes from her lungs. “You mean you haven’t?”

“It’s not like we aren’t trying to get there,” Emma insists. Milah shakes her head slowly.

“You’re in love with Killian Jones,” she says dramatically, “and you haven’t even experienced what he’s like in bed? What do you do, just look at each other?”

“We’re usually fighting monsters,” Emma mumbles.

“Gods, this is urgent.” She winks at Emma, diving back into the closet. “We need to get both of you home as soon as possible.”

“Thanks,” Emma says dryly. “I appreciate your support.”

“I haven’t seen him in town, so we’ll have to go find him ourselves.” Milah finally steps back into the hallway, several dark cloaks over her arm, and slams the door. “Which means we probably need to go to the Vaults, unfortunately. Here, put this on, you’ll blend in a bit more.”

“The Vaults?” Emma asks, taking the cloak the Milah shoves into her hands. “What exactly are the Vaults?”

“It’s where Hades keeps the important people,” Milah says, the happy look on her face fading, and rolls her eyes. “That’s where he kept Rumpelstiltskin when he came down here.”

“You’ve been there?”

“I was summoned,” she says, a note of disgust creeping into her voice as she pulls on her cloak. “Hades thought that seeing me would make my former husband unhappy, since he’d found love elsewhere. He was right.”

Emma sweeps the cloak around her shoulders, pulling her gun out of her inner pocket and checking the safety. “Do you think you can get back there?”

“It’s not going to be easy, but yes.” Milah leads the way down the hall and into a small, grotty kitchen. The scarred wooden table glitters with an assortment of swords and daggers, all carefully polished to a bright shine. “You’ll need better weapons. That gun won’t be much help if we encounter any Reapers.”

“What’s wrong with it?”

“Was it made in the mortal world?” she asks. Emma nods, and Milah shrugs. “Won’t work. Only weapons crafted here in the Underworld have any effect on them, and for some reason guns haven’t caught on.”

“Huh. Okay then.” She flips the safety back on, tucking it into an inside pocket, and surveys the blades spread across the table. “Swords it is.”

“Do you know how to use one?” Milah raises an eyebrow. “Do people even use swords in your time?”

Emma lifts one of the swords from the table, twirling it easily in a decent approximation of one of Killian’s showier moves. “Think so.”

“I knew I liked you,” Milah says, adding a pair of daggers to her own collection. “Take whatever you want. The swordsmith’s an old friend, and he gets bored easily- he’s always asking me to take new toys off his hands.”

Emma nods, giving the sword another experimental swing. Eyeing the table, she picks up a leather cuff that looks suspiciously similar to the one they’d used on Zelena. The familiar tingle of magic snakes up her fingers, and she carefully hooks it through one of her belt loops. Finally, she drops an oddly-modern switchblade down the side of her boot.

A bell rings out, low and eerie, echoing through the tiny house.

Milah freezes, tilting her head slightly. “Seven, not too bad,” she says quietly, reaching over to pull the hood of Emma’s cloak over her head. “New additions.”

“Will that change anything?”

She shrugs. “Anything’s possible down here. If they’re going to the Vaults, we’ll have to take the back way in, but at least the main guards will be focused on the fresh meat.”  Tugging up her own hood, she shoots Emma a wink. “Let’s go find our man, shall we?”

[dragonbat2011]

Reaching Out ‘Til We Reach the Circle’s End — Chapter 4

For the chapter index: https://dragonbat2011.tumblr.com/post/621379453957865473/reaching-out-til-we-reach-the-circles-end-toc

A/N: According to the Pook Press website, the name "Rumpelstiltskin" comes to us from the Brothers Grimm but, as with so many of the fairytales we know, versions of his story are found in other cultures. He is known as "Tom-Tit-Tot" in the English folktale, "Whuppity Stoorie" in the Scottish (from Robert Chambers' Popular Rhymes of Scotland), "Gilitrutt" in the Icelandic, "Joaidane" in the Arabic ('he who talks too much'), "Khlamushka Хламушка" ('junker') in the Russian, and "Ruidoquedito" (meaning 'little noise') in the South American. 

Chapter 4

Under normal circumstances, Rumple would never have been caught this off-guard. He would have planned. He would have prepared. And even had that not been possible, he would have bluffed. But these circumstances were anything but normal. Even overlooking the small matter of having just travelled through time—which wasn't supposed to be possible in the first place—in the past year, he had died, been resurrected, and held Bae's mind inside his own. He'd been a slave and he'd lost Bae and now, he had his freedom, and Bae was standing not five feet away from him, and he had a second chance to make it all go right. But what could he say to his son and his younger self now that wouldn't be taken for the ramblings of a madman?

He'd been so… ignorant back then. Back now. Miserable, powerless, weak… The man he'd been then would scarcely be able to wrap his head about anything Rumple might tell him now. And Bae… Bae would probably run out of the hut tonight in search of the Blue gnat and that infernal bean.

Actions had consequences. If he told them too much of what the future held, would they embrace it, accept it, or try to change it? He'd long believed that Destiny was Destiny, but he'd also believe that time travel was impossible. If he'd been wrong about the latter, then perhaps he'd been wrong about the former, too. Perhaps, the past could be changed. But should it be?

Pick at one thread in time's fabric and risk unravelling the whole cloth. Perhaps it was warranted. Perhaps it was worth it. But the time to make that judgment call wasn't when he was tired, flustered, newly arrived, and face to face with the son he'd never thought to see again.

Well. He did have a history of lying to himself. He took a breath. "My name is Gilitrutt," he said, falling back on an alias he'd had occasion to use when he'd journeyed to the Huldufólk of the far north. "I'm your uncle."

His younger self blinked. "On which side?" he demanded suspiciously.

"I'm your mother's brother," Rumple replied quickly, playing it safest. At this point in time, his younger self knew nothing of his mother, not even her name. And trying to pass himself off as one of Malcolm's relations would have begged the question of why his father would never have sought out so prosperous a family member in hope of a handout. His eyes and his smile were locked on Bae as he continued, "I've been looking for you for a very long time…"

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Zelena hadn't had to wash a dish since she'd left the man she'd once believe to be her father behind and set out for the Emerald City, certain that meeting the Wizard would be the solution to every problem that had ever plagued her. She'd been so young, then. So, naïve it made her cringe to think about it now.

She bit back a curse as the dirty soup bowl slipped from her grasp to sink to the bottom of the cauldron of boiling water. Really, she hadn't expected the Enchanted Forest to have Maytag dishwashers, but surely there had to be something less primitive than an outdoor cauldron, even in a backwoods hollow like this! Even at home, they'd had a sink and poured boiling water over the dishes or just taken them to the brook if they weren't too heavily soiled.

"Don't drop the tongs in after them," a red-cheeked, brown-braided serving maid in the low-cut bodice that seemed to be the uniform for every woman in this land advised. "Or you'll have to reach in after them."

Zelena said nothing. The tarp canopy overhead offered some protection from the rain, but little from the wind and she moved a quarter turn about the cauldron to avoid the smoke now blowing toward her. Another bowl, she told herself. Another plate. Another hour or two. Then you'll have earned enough for some dinner and roof over your head for the night. Yes, this was humiliating—or would be if she ran into anybody who'd recognize her. But it was better than sleeping by the roadside in the rain, and it was only for one night.

Nobody here seemed to have heard of Princess Ava, and when she'd asked about the Northern Kingdom, she'd been greeted by blank looks and shrugs.

"Longbourne's the next town north of here and I've never been past it," one of the hostlers had informed her cheerfully. "You might ask of the merchant caravans when they pass through come harvest time. People in these parts seldom leave the area, without it being to the battlefield. And most of those don't come back without it being wrapped in burlap. Most are just let to lie where they fall, unless there's someone cares enough to haul them back."

"Well which kingdom is this?" she'd asked, not caring to dwell overmuch on the fate of some nameless fallen, but still hoping for a bit of information that might prove useful.

The hostler shrugged. "We're in the Frontlands, Goodwife. That's all I know of it. Now, if you'll excuse my saying, there's work enough for both of us if we want to eat tonight and I've tarried too long." And off he'd gone again, whistling toward the stables.

Zelena bent down and picked up the tongs, plunging them into the cauldron so that she could fish for the dropped bowl.

It was only for tonight, she assured herself. In the morning, she'd head on to someplace larger where someone would be able to answer her questions!

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When Rumpelstiltskin had first become the Dark One, he'd been nigh-indiscriminate in what he chose to use his magic for. After years of hunger and deprivation, he'd taken great delight in conjuring up sumptuous repasts, replete with dishes he'd seen or heard tell of, but could never afford. Frumenties and fowl, sweetmeats and subtleties, the delicacies of every region of the Enchanted Forest and more than a few lands beyond it. Somewhere along the way, he'd lost his appreciation for the simpler dishes of earlier times.

Now, as he tucked into a pottage of root vegetables and wild mushrooms, thickened with barley and seasoned with the herbs he knew had been harvested from the small garden patch next to the hut and carefully dried for use during the year, he couldn't recall when he'd tasted anything finer.

When he'd purchased the meat pasties, he hadn't yet decided on his course of action. Had Bae not spotted him tonight, had he decided in the morning that he was better off avoiding this meeting, then his purchase would have sustained him for a day or two. But since Bae had spotted him, and since he knew full well his younger self was giving him food he could scarcely afford to part with, Rumple was happy to set his oilcloth parcel down on the rough-hewn table and disclose its treasures—which were quickly and enthusiastically snapped up.

"But two of these are for you, surely," his younger self protested, when he failed to take any for himself.

Rumple shook his head. "I ate one earlier," he explained. "I'm afraid it's hardly a fair trade for this bowl, but it's all I can offer at the moment." He took a breath. "I was set upon by Charlotte Long-scar's band about two leagues south of here and," he thought quickly, "while she did get away with most of what I had with me, she missed a few coins I'd concealed in a separate purse for just that sort of emergency."

"Charlotte Long-Scar!" Bae exclaimed excitedly.

"Only two leagues from here…" his younger self repeated nervously.

"Well," Rumple said, plunging his spoon into the pottage once more, "I doubt she'll come here." He'd have remembered it if she had. "When last I saw her, she was heading in a different direction." Or she almost certainly would be, after she'd given him directions on how to get here. But even if she did plan a visit to Pen Marmor, she'd go after far richer quarry than this hovel. He shrugged. "At any rate, I didn't want to spend what remained of my resources on a room at the tavern. My good fortune," he gestured to his clothing, "is actually a recent development; I'm no stranger to sheltering in barns and sheepfolds and while it wasn't my preference, it certainly would have been adequate." Then he added quickly, "Not that I'm ungrateful for your hospitality, of course."

His younger self smiled. "Not at all. You are family." But there was still just the faintest note of suspicion in his voice and Rumple realized that, while he thought back on the man he'd once been as gullible and naïve, he clearly hadn't been that naïve. "Well," his younger self went on, "I don't know the way of things in the place you've come from, but here, a day begins before it breaks. So, I'd suggest we finish our supper before it has much time to cool and then we'll get out the straw tick."

Rumple pushed back his stool at once. "I can help with that much," he said, starting to move automatically toward Bae's bed. He caught himself nearly at once, remembering that this was the first time he'd supposedly been here. Instead, he waited for Bae to stoop down and pull the mattress out from under the wooden frame that was his bedstead, but his younger self was frowning again.

"How would you know where that tick is stored?" he demanded.

Rumple shrugged with a faint smile, "Well, there aren't many other places here where you could be storing it, are there?"

His younger self seemed unconvinced, but he let the matter drop, though Rumple did feel his eyes boring into his back, as he and Bae pulled out the mattress and covered it with a rough sheet and a woolen blanket.

The pottage didn't taste quite as inviting when he returned to it.

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He'd never known he snored before. Sleep came to him rarely, even under the most ideal of circumstances, though he'd been weary enough to get some in the sheepfold, however briefly. But now, his mind would not quiet. He hadn't been able to dwell on his circumstances much in the past year. For most of it, he hadn't been rational enough to. And then, he'd been grieving and angry and seething with frustration, knowing that the best he could hope for was a loophole he could exploit in some order that the witch might issue him—and she was usually far too careful to leave him any such opening. Now, he was still riding a wave of giddiness at his newfound freedom and good fortune, but it was already being reined in by his usual caution.

His younger self might be more innocent, but he was no fool—no matter what Zoso had said with his dying breath. Even if he wouldn't guess the truth, Rumple knew that he wouldn't believe any lies for long.

And for Rumple to see Bae now, to pretend he'd never laid eyes on the boy before and play the part of a friendly stranger was harder than he'd imagined.

In the morning, he'd tell them everything. He'd explain about the duke lowering the draft age, tell his younger self to flee now, like Milah had wanted him to nearly a decade earlier.

But if he did that, then his younger self would never become the Dark One. And what would that mean for the person he'd since become? Rumple covered his eyes with one hand. If he'd never become the Dark One, then, for one thing, he'd have died long ago. If he talked his younger self out of stabbing Zoso, would he then fade from existence?

And there was more to consider.

The Blue Fairy had once demanded of him whether he'd be willing to 'sacrifice this world for the next'. At the time, he'd considered that deal a bargain. But now?

If he never made that sacrifice, how many events… how many people would he erase? There would be no need for a Dark Curse, nor a need to break it. So, there would be no need for a savior. But if Emma never existed, then Bae would never encounter her. There would be no Henry. He wouldn't need to groom a curse-caster, so no need for Cora or Regina. Cora would likely be executed by King Xavier after claiming she could spin straw into gold. Queen Ava would never be poisoned. And with no Regina in the picture, it was doubtful that the genie would ever consider using the Agrabahn viper to murder King Leopold. He'd never procure James for King George; Snow would probably be married to the prince of some neighboring kingdom to form a strategic alliance.

Belle.

Well, she'd likely marry that Gaston fellow, or some other noble. Rumple went cold. No. No, she wouldn't. He'd forgotten something rather significant.

If he never became the Dark One, then he would never stop the Ogre War. And if he never stopped the Ogre War… Rumple was no fool. An impoverished land, a rapidly-falling draft age, higher taxes and fewer people able to pay them… The war was not going well and would soon be lost. And if that happened, then Belle would never exist at all.

Today, this district was known as the Frontlands, because it bordered Ogre territory and any time that the ogres sought to increase that territory, this district inevitably became the field on which the war would be fought. But when he stopped the war a few months from now, it would be over two centuries before the Ogres would dare to embark on another campaign of conquest. And in the interim, as peace became the new status quo, people would cease to call it the Frontlands.

They would call it instead by its original name: Avonlea.

One day, well over two centuries hence, the great-granddaughter of Duke Bowden's great-grandson would pen a missive to the Dark One pleading for his aid, and she would become the first light in his life since Bae was lost to him.

Yes. He had indeed unraveled this world, this… chain of events, this history for one in which he would find his son once more. It hadn't felt like much of a sacrifice at the time. Without Bae, his life had truly been hollow and empty. Oh, his power had masked much of his pain, but beneath it, he was still lame, friendless, and alone. But in the life he'd re-spun from those threads, he'd found love and family and, well, if not friends, at least people who needed him.

If he never became the Dark One, he would, in effect, be sacrificing that other world for this one. And he and Bae might spend years on the run, fugitives from the Duke's soldiers, or the soldiers of whichever other noble held the land to which they might flee. And if they did take Bae after all… He'd be powerless to stop them.

Rumple gripped the edge of his blanket with both hands and twisted hard. He couldn't bear to watch events unfold again as they had once. But he didn't know what to change, or when to change it. Perhaps, he should allow his younger self to become the Dark One. Perhaps, if he shared his knowledge of what was to come, trained his younger self to have some greater modicum of control, so that he didn't go about turning itinerant peddlers into snails and murdering maids, then Bae wouldn't go looking for help from fairies. Or perhaps, his younger self would simply perceive him as a threat to his newfound power.

Rumple had to admit that such a scenario was more likely.

He spent the rest of the night tossing and turning as he tried to determine his best course of action, and when Bae awoke before daybreak, he was still no wiser.

He'd wait, he resolved. There were still three months before matters would come to a head. Three months to decide. Meanwhile, he'd bide his time and observe. And hope that somehow, whatever he determined, he'd find the will, the wherewithal, and the courage to see it through.

[timelordthirteen]

WIP: end / boring / pain

More WIPs than any of you care about, but here we go!

End:

Lacey pushed off the table and turned to leave, but was stopped by Gold’s hand on her arm. She tensed, but he didn’t grab or pull her, just held her in place. Swallowing, she faced him.

“You’re leaving?” he asked, eyebrows lifting slightly.

She shrugged and he let go of her arm. “Kept my end, didn’t I? Tripled your money in ten minutes. That’s probably the best return on investment you’ll ever get in this town.”

(Pretty Vegas, Golden Lace Vegas AU)

Belle smiled sweetly and leaned into Rumple’s side, her hand squeezing his arm. The merchant’s frown and remark on their age difference had unnerved her, so she pushed up on her toes, intending to give him a quick peck on the cheek. They hadn’t discussed displays of affection, but it was a harmless gesture, and in the end she hoped it was enough to demonstrate they were indeed a married couple out visiting the market.

(As My Lady Commands, Chapter 12, Sir Rumple & Belle AU)

Boring:

Even the Queen’s most hated enemy, Snow White, had been given nothing more than a boring, lonely life, forced to look upon her true love and never know who he really was. Lacey’s life had been almost nothing but hardship. It didn’t make sense.

(All We Want Baby (Is Everything), Golden Lace/Rumbelle S1 cursed AU)

“This isn’t the Transport Department is it,” she said, and it was definitely not a question. “And you’re not Tom.”

He grinned and shook his head. “Nah, Tom in Transport’s a boring fuck, and so is his department. It’s all about cars, buses, trains, boring fucking stuff. Look, I’m in desperate need of a good PA, and even though I don’t know you from Eve, you’re here and you haven’t run screaming yet, fuck knows why. The job is yours if you want it.”

Sam blinked.

(His Girl Friday, Malcolm x Sam, The Thick of It)

Pain:

Rumplestiltskin rested his head in his hands, elbows on the counter, rubbing futility with his fingertips at the lingering pain in his temples. He knew he’d be paying for his little outburst, he’d just forgotten how annoying it was. The wheel was gone now, reduced to char and ashes in his basement by his own hand, just as the other one had been in his shop. He felt mixed about both, if he was being honest. He’d had the smaller wheel a long time, since he lived with Milah. It was the wheel he’d used to teach Baelfire how to spin. The larger wheel he’d obtained later, just before Bae fell through the portal. It had sentimental value as well. It was the wheel that sat in the great hall of the Dark Castle, turning and creaking while Belle sat near him on the sofa and read late into the night. But it was also too much of a reminder.

(Out of the Ashes, Chapter 2, Rumbelle PTSD AU)

He waited a moment, gritting his teeth, and climbed to his feet again. Stumbling forward, pain shot through him like lightning and overwhelmed his senses. His legs tingled, like the pins and needles of numbness, and he pitched forward, landing on his hands and knees in the dust. The heat of the red clay scorched his palms, but it was nothing compared to the radiating ache in his chest. 

The air was filled with toxic fumes from the crashed ships, heavy with the blood and ash of the fallen, but he gasped it in anyway. Breathing would only hasten his demise, but his respiratory bypass wouldn’t work properly with only one heart. He coughed, wincing at the pain, and spit out a thick mixture of blood and dirt at the ground, barely hearing the sizzle when it hit the burning earth.

(Love Save the Empty, Nine x Rose post-Doomsday Pete’s World AU)