Wanted, an once upon a time fanfic

Note: Be warned: This story is Anti-Hook, and Emma comes off pretty badly as well.

School was out, but no one was home. The boy knew better than to go through the cupboards, looking for food. He got in trouble for making messes. He'd fallen off the counter once, climbing up to get the bread and peanut butter. The jelly he'd already gotten out of the fridge went crashing onto the floor, the glass shattering. He'd cut his hand cleaning it up. Though he'd tried to get it all wiped up, it hadn't been good enough. He'd gotten into so much trouble when they came home.

So, instead of looking for food, he changed into jeans and a t-shirt (getting his school uniform dirty was another way to get into trouble). The clothes had been two sizes too large when he got them. Now, they were getting tight. No one noticed or cared if they got dirty.

The ambulance didn't bother with sirens when it took the bodies away. It wasn't like they would make a difference.

Emma watched as her parents were loaded in. Hook stood beside her, his arm around her shoulders. He shifted restlessly now and then, as if he wanted to lead her away, but he restrained himself. Emma never looked up to see the bored impatience in his eyes.

"I—I didn't think. . . ." Emma trailed off, searching for the right words. "We've always found a way," she said. "Things always worked out. I didn't think. . . . I didn't. . . ."

"It's not your fault, love," Hook said. "Your mother made her choice."

"I thought we'd save them, her and David. I didn't think. . . ." I didn't think we'd fail. I didn't think we wouldn't find a way to save them. She tried, but the words kept getting caught inside her.

"Your mother loved you, Emma," Hook said.

Emma flinched at that word. Loved. Past tense. As if she were dead. Your mother loved you.

Hook went on, not noticing. "She wanted you to be happy." He pulled her closer. "And you will be."

The EMTs were closing the doors and getting ready to drive quietly away. Hook, with a look on his face that said finally! tried to lead her away.

A baby started to cry in another room. Emma's eyes went wide, horrified, as she realized what she had forgotten.

The library had been closed for years, ever since Mrs. Gold and her husband left. He didn't need to be afraid of them, no matter what some people said. He'd heard stories about them all his life, about the child-stealing monster and his terrible deals. Grownups—some grownups—told little kids the Dark One would get them if they didn't watch out.

But, he wasn't a little kid anymore and he didn't believe those stories.

Even if the Dark One had stolen him.

"He took you the day you were born," that's what he'd been told. "He would have killed you to make a spell. You'd be dead if it wasn't for us." Usually, at the end of the story, he got a disgusted look that said they shouldn't have bothered. But, they didn't say that. Instead, they said, "You should be grateful."

It was what they always told him. They'd saved him from the monsters. He should be grateful. He shouldn't cause trouble. He should stay out of the way and stop being such a greedy, selfish burden. For years, he'd been afraid that, if he was bad, if he caused too much trouble, they'd change their minds and tell the monsters to come back and take him.

But, he was a big boy now. He didn't believe the stories. There weren't any monsters in the library.

Maybe even the monsters didn't want him.

Mr. Gold might have been a monster—everyone knew that—but he wasn't sure about Mrs. Gold. Sometimes, he heard grownups get mad that she wasn't there anymore. They said she could always find answers when you needed them. She'd also run the library. They'd locked it up when she was gone. There was no one else to keep it running.

He thought she might have been a nice person. The library was a nice place. It felt safe to him in a way home never did.

He'd been seven when he found his way in. After school, when no one was home, he was supposed to keep himself busy. He would go outside and explore. It was easier than being around the food and knowing he wasn't supposed to touch it.

He'd looked in the windows in the back of the library before, the ones that were still there. Some had been boarded up. But, that day, there had been one window that was open.

It was a funny window. It didn't slide up or down, like most. Instead, it was on hinges and opened out, like a door—or like a book. Now he was bigger, he thought maybe it was on purpose, a kind of joke, to give the library windows like a book.

But, back then, when he was little, all he knew was that it was open. It was low enough he could reach it without much trouble. He could see there was a metal latch that was supposed to hold the window closed, but it was all rusted. He'd hesitated, perched on the windowsill. He'd thought of all the scary stories he'd heard about Mr. Gold and wondered what was inside. Then, he'd swung his leg over and gone in.

Everything was covered with dust. He left a trail of footprints in them everywhere he went. The books were covered in it. Curious, he pulled one off the shelf and took it over by the window he'd crawled in through, where the light was better. It was all about dragons. They looked big and beautiful in the pictures, though he knew dragons were supposed to be scary. There'd been one under the town once, till his sister's husband had gotten rid of it. Who knew? There might be others. It was probably a bad thing to make them look beautiful, like all the candy in the witch's house in Hansel and Gretel (his sister's husband liked to tell him that story and remind him what happened to greedy little boys who stole food—or anything else—they weren't supposed to).

But, he looked at all the pictures and, when he was done, he found another book. That was about children left alone all day and the trouble they got into when a cat in a funny, striped hat got into the house. But, instead of getting eaten by a witch or killed in Neverland, like the bad children in the stories

He went there often after that. He figured out how to use sticks to keep the window closed, so no one would know it was broken and fix it. It was his own place, his safe place.

Mr. Gold might have been a monster, and maybe Mrs. Gold was just like the witch with her house full of candy. But, he didn't think so, not if this had been her place.

Maybe—maybe a good person could marry someone bad.

He thought about his sister's husband. But, that wasn't the same. They took care of him and they didn't have to. He was always making trouble and costing them money. He was the one who was bad. Things had been so much better for them without him.

Not telling anyone about the library was probably a bad thing, too. But, good or bad, he decided he wasn't going to give it up. Another thing he had to be careful about was time. Not that anyone asked where he'd been, not so long as he was back before too late. But, if he missed dinner, he'd have to go to bed without and he didn't want to do that.

"We're keeping Neal," Emma told Hook.

He'd scowled, looking at the baby. "What are we going to do with him? You can't watch him while you're at work."

"I can leave him with the nuns. They watched him while we were in the Underworld. Or there's Ashley. We could pay her to babysit."

Hook scowled again at the word 'pay.' "She owes you. She wouldn't even have her own brat if it weren't for you. Why should we pay her?"

"She could use the money."

"And we can't? Why not just give him to her? She's already got one. How much trouble would another one be?"

Emma was wavering. "People—people would think it was strange," she said. Then, the resolve came back into her voice. "We have to. It's my fault my parents aren't here. We have to take care of him."

"Fine," Hook said. "But, you take care of it. I don't want him getting in the way."

"You should be grateful." That's what the captain always said (that's what his sister's husband liked to be called, 'the captain').

He knew it and he tried to be.

He was grateful they'd saved him when he was born.

He was grateful they kept him after his parents were gone.

He was grateful they fed him, gave him clothes, made sure he had a roof over his head, for all the things the captain was always telling him he was a greedy, ungrateful brat for needing. In return, he tried not to make messes or cause trouble. He tried not to ask for things. At school, they bought meal tickets and got them punched each time they bought a school lunch. When your ticket was full, it was time to buy a new one. He would tell his sister but, if she forgot about it, he tried not to make trouble.

There had been one time he'd told her when the captain was there. The captain hit the roof, yelling and screaming about what all the money it cost to talk care of Neal and how it had never been his idea to take him. "We should have let the Dark One cut you open or whatever he was going to do," he'd ranted. "It would have saved us all a lot of trouble."

Later, when his sister put him to bed, she said, "He doesn't mean it. Money's been tight. That's all. He doesn't mean it when he says stuff like that."

Neal nodded, trying to believe her, but he couldn't, not really. By then, he'd heard the story about his parents. They had sacrificed their lives to save the captain and to help his sister. Not him.

For the first couple years, the nuns seemed good enough. They had a crib for Neal what had been an old, storage closet. They fed him on a regular schedule, and Astrid (when she was there) made a point of bringing him with her as she went about her tasks, talking to him and giving him a chance to explore. But, then Astrid had her famous fight with the Mother Superior and left to marry Leroy. Not long after, the Mother Superior told Emma Neal was "getting to that fussy age" and they could no longer take care of him.

Ashley was running a day care, along with her new mommy classes, about then, and was willing to take Neal on. But, money was always running short.

Hook had trouble budgeting, not that Emma blamed him. As he always pointed out, things had been different back in the Enchanted Forest. And he'd been the captain of his own ship with an entire crew following his orders and taking care of things for him. There'd been plenty of money ready to hand back in those days. But (as he also pointed out), he'd given it all up for Emma. It wasn't his fault if he found her world hard to deal with.

Emma agreed and tried to cut costs. After all, there were plenty of things both she and Neal could do without. It wasn't as if Hook were selfish. He always insisted she spend money on things like her clothes and keeping up her appearance. If he thought they could cut back on Neal, well, he was right, little boys did go through a lot of clothes. What was the point of buying him good ones if he only wore them out? And why replace them if the next set would be looking just as bad in a day or two?

When Neal started school, Hook said they could do without Ashley. Neal could play with friends when he wasn't in class. This was Storybrooke, after all. It was a safe, small town (which it usually was, small bouts of magic aside). It was how children spent the day back the Enchanted Forest, doing chores and playing on the village green, the ones who'd been lucky enough to have people to look after them.

Emma had winced at that. That was always Hook's winning card, the hard childhood he'd had. Emma thought she'd had it rough, but (as Hook pointed out) there was always someone there to see to it she had a roof over her head and food to eat. Her parents had done everything they did because they loved her—in the end, they'd given up their own lives to make sure she and Hook could be together. She hadn't been sold off like a slave and (no matter what she'd thought at the time) she hadn't been abandoned.

She also hadn't seen her only family die because she couldn't make them listen to her, the way Hook had seen Liam die. It wasn't a mistake he was going to make again. If Emma was doing something that would ruin their happiness, he would stop her. It was for her own good.

He was eight the first time he saw his parents. The school took the children to the hospital on a field trip. They brought flowers and talked to some of the people who worked there who explained why you shouldn't be scared of doctors who were only there to help you.

Somehow, when they were putting little vases of flowers on tables by bedsides, he took a wrong turn and saw a doorway where no one had gone. He trotted up to it, the small bunch of flowers clutched in his hand, and saw the names on the door.

Nolan.

His name.

David Nolan. Snow Nolan. That's what it said.

He didn't know who they were or what it meant. But, they were patients. And he had flowers for them. He went inside.

The teacher found him there a few minutes later, as if she'd known where to look for him. She had a funny look, like she understood something he didn't, something sad.

"They're asleep," he told her.

She nodded.

"Do you think they'll like the flowers when they wake up?"

"They'll love them," she said. "And they love you."

"Huh?" That was a weird thing to say. Not that grownups didn't say a lot of weird things.

"Your parents," she said. "Your parents will love the flowers you brought them."

He spent the rest of the day thinking about it. He asked Emma when she found some leftovers for him to eat that night (it was a Friday, which meant he had to go to bed early while Emma went out with the captain. But, it also meant the captain wasn't there while he was having dinner, so it was safe to ask things). "Do I have parents?" he asked her.

Emma stopped searching the fridge and stared at him. "What?"

"There were sleeping people at the hospital," he said. "Teacher said they were my parents."

"Uh. . . . yeah," Emma said. "That's them. Your mom and dad. Our mom and dad."

"When they wake up, will I live with them?"

"They're . . . they're not going to wake up, Neal."

"Why not?"

She tried to explain. She used words like 'curse' and 'magic.' Most of it didn't make any sense to him. All he knew was something bad had happened, and no one could fix it.

Emma must have talked to the captain about it. He gave him his own explanation later.

"Emma says you've been asking about your parents. Is that right?" the captain asked.

He nodded cautiously. It was always dangerous when the captain paid too much attention to him.

"It's the fault of that Crocodile," the captain said. "His apprentice cursed your parents. Then, that brat of his sent me away. There was magic that could have saved them, but I had to use it to get back. He's always hated this family. Remember that."

He did. It was the first time he had the idea. It was just a glimmer of an idea then, nothing more. But, it was the first time he began to see a way to fix things, a way to make everything right that was wrong because of him.

But, that was all it was, a bit of an idea. It wasn't even a plan. It would take a long time for it to become anything more.

In the meantime, he began to make trips to the hospital. He did it Saturday mornings, leaving the house when Emma and Hook were still asleep. He would go by the library and, for the first time, find a book and bring it out. No one stopped him. The teacher had explained "visiting hours." So long as he came during visiting hours, it was OK to be here.

All the same, when a nurse asked if was there by himself, he said, "My sister brought me." There was no reason not to play it safe. "I'm here to see our parents."

He thought he sounded very grownup when he said that. The nurse must have, too, since she brought him to his parents' room.

Each Saturday, he read a book to them. At first, he was still reading slowly, sometimes sounding out the longer words. Over time, he got better. When he was done with the book, he told them about his week.

Then, he took the book back to the library and went home.

The THursday before his birthday when he fell out of the window and landed hard on his left arm. He was tired and hungry. There hadn't been anything at home for breakfast and his meal ticket was all used up again. The book he was trying to get out was larger than usual. He was trying to hold onto it and his school backpack when he lost his balance and came tumbling out. He put out his arm to catch himself and felt pain jar through as he hit the ground.

Shifting the book to his other arm, he tried to ignore the pain, waiting for it to go away. Instead, it got worse. It was a hot, wet feeling inside, like burning and water all mixed together. By the time he got home, it was swollen with purple bruises spreading between his wrist and elbow. His sister and the captain weren't home yet, so he went to the bathroom and washed off the dirt, trying not to wince. Then, he went and changed out of his t-shirt into his sweatshirt. His sister had bought it for him just a year ago, and it was still way too big, the long sleeves hiding his arm. That done, he went to his room, hid the book under his bed, and did homework before dinner.

He thought about asking his sister for some medicine to make it hurt less, but the captain was mad about her for something again. Dinner was mostly stony silences interrupted by the captain saying something snide or sarcastic. He didn't dare ask for anything when the captain was like that.

It was hard to sleep that night. Every time he drifted off, he moved and hurt his arm, waking him up again. Even his sister seemed to notice something was wrong. "Is something wrong?" she asked as he stumbled into the kitchen.

"Stop coddling the boy!" the captain snapped. "And you, brat," he said to Neal. "What's wrong with you? Sleeping the day half away. Think the world revolves around you, don't you? Eating my food, spending my money. I worked for a living when I was your age."

He kept his head down, not looking the captain in the eye, mumbling, "Yes, sir," and "No, sir," when the captain demanded an answer. He was late for the bus by the time the captain was done.

That was bad. If he ran to school, he'd still be late and need a note the next day. If he was really late, the school would call, and the captain would be even angrier. But, it might be even worse if he asked for a ride.

Fortunately, his sister made the decision for him. "C'mon, Neal, time to get going," she said when the captain finally wore down. She grabbed him (by his right arm) before the captain could say anything and hurried him into her car. She made a brief stop at Granny's, running in and coming out with a big bag of donuts and muffings. They were probably a peace offering for the captain, but she reached in and handed him a cinnamon roll.

"It's not his fault," she told him. "Money's been tight, and the school called yesterday about your meal ticket—honestly, Neal, how many times have I told you to tell me when it runs out? And then you forget to bring a lunch? What's wrong with you?"

He shrugged, mumbling something.

"You just need to stop making him mad," she went on. "You know what he's like in the morning. You have to be careful with him."

"OK."

She seemed to want something more, but he couldn't think what else he could say. The captain was angry. It was his fault. He had to do better. It was the same thing she always said—and he tried, but it seemed like he never knew how to keep the captain happy.

"Your birthday's coming up," she said, changing the subject. "Granny wants you to come by. She hasn't seen you in a while. It can be sort of a party. Would you like that?"

He nodded cautiously. Parties were expensive. He never had a real party, not like other kids did. But, maybe an almost party would be OK, especially if Granny did it. She was a nice lady. He could sort of remember how, when he was littler, Granny used to come around sometimes with baskets of food, asking how he was. She was older now and didn't come by anymore, but he was pretty sure she was a nice person.

Before his sister dropped him off at school, he got up the courage to ask one other question.

"Our parents," he said. "Mom and Dad, do you miss them?"

As soon as he said it, he wished he hadn't. His sister looked the way she had lost night when the captain was tearing her apart.

"Every day, Neal," she said. Then, she looked away from him till he closed the door and walked into the school.

There was PE at school that day, but he got through it all right. He'd brought his sweatshirt and managed to pull it on before anyone got a look at his arm. When someone asked, he just shrugged and said, "It's cold." They were doing a running unit, so he didn't have to worry too much about his arm getting hit. A few people bumped into him, but he managed to get through it.

He didn't go back to the library after school. Instead, he got out the book and began looking through it. It was on magic. There weren't many books like that in the library. He thought Mr. and Mrs. Gold must have taken most of them with them. But, this one was still there.

It was hard to understand some parts and hard to concentrate when his arm kept hurting. Even if it hadn't been, the writing was all weird and squiggly. He had to keep staring at the letters to try and figure out what they were saying. But, he could understand what he needed to.

The idea that had started all that time ago had grown and. . . .

Maybe he could do it.

It scared him, but . . . maybe he could.

He put the book away and tried to go to sleep, but it wasn't any easier than it had been the night before.

Emma didn't let herself get mad at Hook, not usually. He'd changed, she told herself, and she knew it wasn't always easy for him. But, somehow, Neal's question kept going through her head. Mom and Dad, do you miss them?

The school secretary had called up and sounded cold and angry when she explained that Neal's meal ticket needed to be replaced again. Emma wanted to argue with her. They had a system in place for when kids forgot to pay, a way of crediting it to the future account, but they sent a letter when they did that, a letter Hook would see and get angry about, the way he always did.

It wasn't that taking care of Neal cost so much or that she and Hook didn't make good wages at the sheriff's office. She knew Hook ran up a tab at The Rabbit Hole and that he liked to gamble. To be fair, he was pretty good at cards—or he was when he was sober. Usually, she tried to be understanding. She remembered all the things Hook told her about how difficult this world was for him—and what a disappointment she'd been, how she'd let him down time after time since they got married.

But, tonight, telling herself that wasn't enough. She thought about her mother, giving up her chance to have a normal life—the life, after twenty-eight years under a curse and years before that fighting wars and just trying to stay alive, that she'd earned. She had a right to it, after all this time. And her father had had a right to raise his son and come to his daughter's wedding, a right to all the things they'd given up so Emma could have her own happily ever after.

When Hook got up and started flirting with some girl twenty years younger than Emma, instead of swallowing the humiliation the way she always did, she'd had enough. She marched over to the girl (who looked too young to have a paper route, much less drink) and said, "Hi, I'm his wife." Then, she glared at Hook. "And I'm leaving."

She marched out, and Hook ran after her. The argued all the way home. Hook said (yelled) the things he usually did. If Emma wouldn't be such a disappointment, if she would just be a proper wife, if she wouldn't do this, if she didn't do that—Tonight, Emma had had enough of it. She told Hook she'd had enough—enough of the insults, of being ignored, of him getting drunk every Friday night and expecting her to haul him home, enough of him hitting up girls (and they were girls, probably because it made him feel young if some toddler who hadn't met her first pimple could get taken in by his handsome pirate routine).

They were still screaming at each other when they got home. "You think you're something special?" Hook sneered. "Emma Swan, the Savior. When was the last time you saved anyone? Look what happened to your parents. They're gone because of you—"

"They saved your life!"

"I didn't need saving! But, you can't go five minutes without putting your nose in my business. I don't know why I stay with you. I said it when I met you. You're nothing but a dried up, useless orphan. It's all you are and it's all you'll ever be."

And then there was someone between them yelling, "Leave her alone! Don't talk to my sister like that! Leave her alone!"

Their screaming must have woken up Neal. He was standing between them, yelling at Hook.

Hook turned his wrath on Neal. "You!" he sneered. "What are you? Even your own parents didn't want you. Emma would still have parents if it weren't for you."

"That's not true!" Neal yelled. "You're a liar!"

"Oh, am I? Your parents wanted to save Emma, but they didn't even care about you. They told her goodbye, but they didn't even bother with you. If they hadn't felt guilty—"

"Killian, that's enough!" Emma said.

Neal reached up to push Hook away. "You're a liar!" he screamed again. "A liar!"

Hook smiled maliciously and grabbed Neal's arm, twisting it.

Neal screamed. It was a raw, blood-curdling scream, unlike anything Emma had ever heard from him.

"Oh, shut up!" Hook said, slapping him across the face and knocking him to the floor. Then, he stormed past the pair of them into the bedroom, slamming the door behind him.

Neal was sobbing, his arm at an odd angle. Emma knelt down beside him and, gently as she could, rolled up the sleeve.

"Neal, what happened to you?"

"I'm sorry," he said between sobs. "I'm sorry."

He told the doctor the truth, that he'd fallen and hurt his arm. Then, he hurt it again. The doctor explained things to Emma, who seemed to understand him. There'd been a "hairline fracture" that had been left untreated. Now, it was "a compound break." The doctor checked the bruise on his face but said it was nothing to worry about.

"You need to be more careful," the doctor said. "What were you doing when you got that?"

"Climbing," he said.

The doctor shook his head. "Little boys. Well, you're a brave one. But, next time, tell someone you've hurt yourself before you go and make it worse. You're going to need a cast on that now."

He nodded. His sister had been angry at the captain, but that went away after he got hurt. She said the things she always said, "He doesn't meant it," she kept telling him. "You know he doesn't mean it."

They put his arm in a cast. After that, the doctor wanted to talk to his sister. He was supposed to wait in the hall. But, it was only a little way from his parents' room. While no one was looking he went down to talk to them.

Only, when he got there, there was nothing to say. The captain was right. They were there because of him. Because they loved Emma more. Because she needed them more. And no one had ever needed him.

Except once.

He remembered what the book had said. It wasn't hard magic. It was so easy, it was silly. He could have fixed this when he was tiny. Then, maybe his parents could fix things with Emma.

And, if they couldn't . . . it would still fix things for his parents. Wouldn't it?

He remembered what the captain said. The Crocodile had tried wanted to use him in a spell on the day he was born.

So, the Crocodile had wanted him. Maybe he still would, no matter what he wanted to do with him.

"Rumplestiltskin," he whispered. "Rumplestiltskin, Rumplestiltskin."

There was a small draft behind him.

"Didn't anyone ever warn you not to call me?" an unfamiliar voice said behind him. "It's dangerous."

The captain always described the Dark One—or the Crocodile, as he liked to call him—as scaled with sharp teeth and claws and with eyes like a snake. This was a human man with hair long enough to brush the collar of his dark suit, his hand resting on a gold-handled cane.

The man looked past him to his parents. His face turned sad. Then, the man looked at the boy. "Are you Neal, then?"

The boy nodded. He wondered what the monster would do once he knew.

"I'm Rumplestiltskin," the monster (or was he a man?) said. His voice wasn't scary at all, not the way they boy had imagined. It was soft and gently, nothing at all like the captain's. "You wanted me?"

"You—you tried to kill me."

The monster froze for just a second. "Did I? Who told you that?"

"The captain," the boy said. "The day I was born. You stole me to do a spell. The captain saved me."

"A witch stole you," the monster snapped. "She was able to keep even me under a spell. Killian Jones, if that's your captain, behaved like a fool through all of it."

The small hope the boy felt drained out of him along with something else, something he couldn't name. "So, you didn't want me?" He felt empty and alone saying that.

The monster looked at him carefully. "I don't steal children, whatever you've heard," he told him. The boy shrunk a little farther. "I do, however, make deals with them. And for them. Perhaps I want you, after all. You're named after my son, did you know?"

"Your son?"

The man nodded. "He died stopping the witch who stole you."

"The captain—"

"I wouldn't believe everything the captain told you. His memory seems to be going. Not surprising, really, at his age, though I say it who shouldn't. Still, some of us deal more gracefully with the years than others. But, tell me about yourself. I should know with whom I make a bargain. . . ."

Emma stood outside the room where Neal sat reading to their parents.

"He comes here often, so I'm told," a familiar voice said behind her.

Emma whirled. "Gold!"

"The same, dearie," the old sorcerer said. "How often have you visited them since they were cursed?"

Emma turned away. "It doesn't matter, does it? They can't hear me."

"Are you so certain?"

"What would you know about it?" she snapped. "Or did you give people surveys after you cursed them?"

"You'd be surprised. Although, the sleeping curse was never in my line. However, when I was in that enchanted sleep—the one you dragged me out of, if you'll recall?—I could hear Belle's voice. It was the only thing that kept me anchored in this world."

"It's not the same."

"No, it's not. They'll survive when he goes away, even if a part of them misses him."

"It wouldn't change anything if I came!" Emma said. "They'd still be cursed!"

"And that's why you don't come. Because you had the chance to break the curse and you chose otherwise."

"I had no choice. Killian—"

"Oh, don't lie to yourself, dearie. Everyone has a choice. And you made yours. Just because people like myself don't agree with it doesn't mean you can't feel proud of what you did—although you can't, can you?"

"Gold. . . ."

"My apologies, Miss Swan. Excuse me, it's Mrs. Jones now, isn't it? Or do you prefer Ms? Forgive me for not attending the wedding, but mail travels so slowly between realms. Belle and I are still waiting for our invitation."

"Whatever you want, I'm not going to give it to you. So, go away."

"Oh, I'm not here to make a deal with you, Emma. Believe me, you have nothing I want, not anymore. Though you used to have quite a few things I envied, your integrity, your heroism, your sense of what was right. Of course, no one can take those from you, can they? You can give them away, of course, but it's no profit to anyone else. All they do is vanish, like a puff of smoke. There's nothing left an imp like me could carry off in a basket. And you have given them away, haven't you? Do you have even a scrap left?"

"You're one to talk."

"Yes, I am. Do you know why I'm here, Emma?" He nodded towards Neal. "Your brother summoned me. He wanted to make a deal. His life for your parents."

Fear clutched her. "You didn't—"

"Oh, I can't wake them either. If I could, I might do it for nothing, for old times' sake, for the look of shock on their faces." He nodded towards Neal. "Or to see to it that a child didn't grow up without a family."

"I'm Neal's family."

"Are you? You didn't even notice when he broke his arm. He wears rags while your captain drinks away the money he doesn't gamble. He goes without food because you don't want to make anyone angry by spending money to feed a child. There's a scar on his hand that should have had stitches but all he got was punishment for daring to bleed on your floor. He's afraid to have friends for fear of them asking the questions he can't answer. There's a bruise on his face your husband put there, one you made him lie to the doctor about."

"I didn't—"

"Didn't you? You didn't tell him not to blame Hook? That it wasn't the good captain's fault, that you shouldn't have made him so angry he struck a defenseless child?"

"You're twisting it. It wasn't like that."

"Do you know why your brother summoned me, Emma? Because he thought you'd be better off without him. Somehow, he's gotten it into his head that everything wrong with your life is because of him. He believes—no, he knows his parents didn't even think of him when they chose your happiness over theirs. And you let them. You had the chance to save them, and this is what you chose.

"He summoned me because, in all the stories you and Jones have told him, I'm the only one who ever wanted him, who ever needed him, even if it was just as sacrifice in a spell." Gold stood stiffly and calmly, but his eyes were full of cold fury.

Emma felt a twinge of guilt. She'd let Killian make Gold the boogeyman in all the stories he told Neal. It hadn't seemed to matter when Gold, after all, wasn't here. But, facing him, she remembered that one thing Gold had never done—one thing she admitted he would never do—was harm a child.

"It's no matter what he said about me, but what he's done to that child—what you've let him do to that child—that matters. It matters a great deal.

"So, I've made a bargain with him." A scroll appeared in his hand. Emma looked at it and saw Neal's name at the bottom. "I've let him know someone wants him, even if you don't. He will stay with me and Belle in our world. In return, I will search for a way to save his parents. Because, I want him. You named this child after my son and you let him grow up fatherless and alone. I cannot let that stand, Emma. I will not let that stand. You don't want him, you don't care for him, so I am taking him to live with people who do and will."

"You—you can't. He's just a kid. He can't trade himself away."

"Can't I? If you treated him as family, you might have a point. All the same, I made another bargain tonight." He produced a second scroll and showed it to her. Killian Jones was scrawled at the bottom. "Your captain drove a dear bargain, the boy's weight in gold. I suppose he wishes now he'd fed him better."

Emma lunged for the scrolls, but both had vanished. "You can't!"

"You keep saying that Emma, but I think you'll find that I can. And you won't stop me. Or do you want to be the one to tell the captain you're the one stopping his deal?"

Emma froze, thinking of an angry Killian.

The moment passed. This was Neal they were talking about. But, it was too late. Gold looked at her with disgust. "As I thought." He began to walk towards the room where her parents and Neal were, then stopped and looked back at her. "Oh, there's one other thing you might tell your captain. It's a small thing, but it may have passed his attention. Everyone in The Rabbit Hole saw me speaking with him. More than a few were eavesdropping on what we had to say. By this time tomorrow, everyone in Storybrooke will know he sold a child away. And you know how people talk. Before the week is out, they'll remember everything they've turned a blind eye to. How you've abandoned your brother, how you've starved him and dressed him in rags. No matter what you say, they'll know how he came here tonight with an arm your captain broke and a bruise across his face where his guardian struck him, and they'll also know how you made a child lie about what had happened to him to protect a grown man. Life in this town might be a bit more interesting for you in the future, Savior. Have a good day."

With that, he walked away.

They appeared in a large room that looked like something from a castle in a storybook. A woman in a blue dress was just finishing setting food on a table. She looked up and smiled. It didn't surprise her when people appeared out of nowhere. The boy thought she must be used to it.

"Hello, Neal," she said. "Do you remember me? I'm Belle. I used to look after you when you were just a baby."

"I read your books," the boy said. "In your library. The books you left. I read them."

Another boy, about a year or so younger than him, popped out from behind the woman where he'd been hiding shyly. "You like books?' he said. The little boy handed one to him. Her Handsome Hero it said on the cover. "Happy birthday," he said. "I'm Gideon. It is your birthday, isn't it? Mama said it was."

The boy nodded, not sure what to say.

"Happy birthday, Neal," the woman said. She waved him towards the table. Surrounded by all sorts of food was a cake with ten candles on it. A small pile of presents was stacked up behind.

The monster (only the boy was beginning to think he wasn't a monster) snapped his fingers. The candles on the cake lit up. "There you go, Neal, the man said. It's your birthday. You get to wish for the thing you've most wanted."