If the first waking minutes of Robin Locksley's thirties are any indication of how they'll turn out, then this decade does not look promising.
He was supposed to be sleeping the day away but instead it's barely nine and someone is incessantly banging on his door. He has one hell of a hangover which, besides proving without a doubt that his twenties are officially gone, is slowing down his ability to get out of bed and shut the knocking sadist up.
"One minute," he yells, unable to keep the frustration out of his voice as he pulls on the first t-shirt and pair of jeans he can find.
He swings open the door to find a man in an expensive looking suit, instantly confirming that he doesn't live in the building. The man is shorter than him, older too, though there's something about the man making it difficult to tell by how much. He's leaning on a cane, which Robin assumes is meant to affect a non-threatening air. It might, at a distance, but up close the look in the man's eyes gives him away and makes the hairs on the back of Robin's neck stand up. The feeling only intensifies when the man smiles.
"Remember me dearie?" the man asks in a slick Scottish accent, easily making the innocuous words sound threatening.
Robin stands there wracking his brain for the connection until it slams into him like a ton of bricks, making him nauseous reasons entirely unrelated to his considerable late-night alcohol consumption.
After closing at the bar last night his friends, or their band of Merry Men as Mulan affectionately refers to them, gathered there for celebratory drinks. Mulan and Ruby had broken out the top shelf whiskey he's been admiring every shift for as long as he's worked at their bar and the merriment had progressed from there.
Before he knew it one drink turned into several, midnight turned into 2 a.m., and he was parting ways with Will and Ana at Columbia Road to begin the walk back to his apartment. It must have been just as the couple faded out of sight that he stumbled straight into a man he could swear hadn't been there before.
His visual memory is hazy, barely more than the gold glint off the handle of the man's cane. But the chill that came over him on that abnormally dark street is something Robin will never forget. He's not easily rattled, has never felt unsafe in his neighborhood regardless of crime rates, and yet in that moment he was terrified.
He was able to put aside his fear and apologize, but the man simply waved him away. They parted ways and Robin might have written off the encounter had he not heard a gleeful oh and happy birthday dearie come from behind him, only to whip around to find the street completely empty.
The memory makes his heart race, his fight or flight instincts kicking in.
"Who are you?" he asks, fists clenching involuntarily, though Robin has a feeling he isn't in any physical danger.
"Why that is a tricky question. My name is Rumpelstiltskin, though the fairytale takes quite the poetic license," he replies with a wink, apparently unperturbed by Robin's anger. "I've been called many things over the years, but I believe the closest analogue in this time period is," he pauses and Robin's dread only grows," the devil," the man - or whatever he is - finishes with a disturbingly affected giggle.
Robin stands there, open mouthed and desperate to believe the man is crazy or lying even though something inside of him knows it's the truth.
"Aren't you going to let me in Robin? It's a bit rude to keep me out here disturbing all of your neighbors," he mocks, his delivery almost sing-song.
And against all of his better judgments, Robin stands aside, allowing the man - the devil - into his living room.
Rumpelstiltskin saunters in with a slight limp and Robin is about to close the door when a beautiful dark-haired woman whips around the corner and practically stomps into his apartment.
Her arms are crossed and her lips (red, full, with a scar just above them - none of which he should be noticing given the situation) are pursed in a way that looks almost like pouting. Her absurdly high heels put them at the same height and when she passes their eyes meet for a moment. Hers are narrowed, furious, and yet he can't help the intense stab of attraction.
"Oh now I'm the rude one," he continues, putting extra emphasis on the r. "This is my protégé Regina. You two will be seeing a lot of each other."
Regina - apparently - makes a big show of rolling her eyes like a petulant teenager who's just been grounded. The de- Rumpelstiltskin, Robin decides is the best way to think of the man - in turn makes a show of ignoring her clear lack of enthusiasm like any unamused parent.
"I don't understand. If you really are," he starts and then lowers his voice to a whisper, unable to say the word too loud, "the devil," he raises his voice again, "what do you want from me? I know I'm far from perfect but I don't exactly think my actions warrant your attention," he responds, trying for glib but perhaps the panic he's trying to push down comes through because for an instant he sees something almost like sympathy pass across Regina's face.
"It isn't your actions that brought me here, but your grandfather's. He made a deal and I'm here to collect," Rumpelstiltskin says, suddenly deadly serious.
Robin can't help the laugh that bursts out of him.
"My grandfather was as close to sainthood as someone can get without performing miracles. You must have the wrong man."
His conviction is quickly swept away as the next words he hears teach him that in fact blood running cold is more than just a figure of speech.
"I was referring to your paternal grandfather," Rumpelstiltskin responds gleefully, clearly enjoying the distress he's causing.
"I… I've never even met the man," he sputters out, at a loss for anything else to say.
"But nevertheless you are his blood. You see the family fortune was drying up. As you can imagine, profits from the slave trade could only sustain so many generations of lavish spenders. I was all too happy to help in his hour of need and ensure the prosperity of your family." His tone has been all ridicule until now, but it turns into something much darker as he goes on. "For a price of course. Upon his death the soul of his first born grandchild would belong to me. And as luck would have it," he smiles that bone-chilling smile again, "he was just taken off life support last night."
Robin's head is spinning at the information he's just heard, but the bitter good he mutters upon hearing that the selfish, dishonest, and abusive man who raised his father is gone slips out involuntarily.
The rest of the information takes time to sink in. One moment he's angry and the next it's like no one else is there. Something like grief washes over him with the understanding and all he can focus on is keeping his knees from buckling.
"And if I don't have any interest in cleaning up after that bastard's messes?" he replies when the rest of the room finally comes back into focus, infusing the words with far more bravado than he feels.
Robin doesn't get a response, just a flourish of the - fuck - devil's hands.
The contract appears as if by magic, the gold signature of Thomas Locksley obvious as the document is presented to him. It takes a closer look to find his answer. Printed in small black letters is the stipulation that if the price isn't paid, the debt will be taken on by the subject's closest living relative. And as an only child, it has to be his parents.
He has no choice, he won't allow anyone else - let alone them - to suffer in his place. The only option is to honor the deal.
He takes deep breaths, the kind he learned back when and Marian used to go to yoga, until he doesn't feel so much like punching the devil in the face.
"And what exactly does this debt entail?"
"Don't sound so hostile dearie, I have the perfect assignment for your heroic nature." Robin's skepticism must be written all over his face because Rumpelstiltskin continues with "It's true. Along with the lovely Regina you will be tracking down and capturing hell's escaped souls. Really you'll be protecting everyone from all the nasty habits that got then sent to my domain in the first place," said in a far too cheery tone for Robin to believe that Rumpelstiltskin is actually concerned with the safety of Boston's citizens.
All things considered, it doesn't sound like the kind of seedy work he was expecting, even if he doesn't trust there won't be more objectionable orders coming. Even so, he's hardly qualified to track down anyone who managed to escape hell.
"How?" he asks cautiously.
With another dramatic hand gesture, Rumpelstiltskin produces a collapsed bow and a case of arrows.
"I trust your archery skills haven't faded?" Robin nods, still wary. "Well when you shoot the escapees, they'll be trapped in here," he continues, tossing the arrows to Robin so unexpectedly that he almost doesn't catch them, "until Regina can bring them back to me," he finishes, handing off the bow to Robin.
Before he has the chance to say anything else, Regina finally speaks.
"I didn't do anything to deserve babysitting duty," she whines, most definitely pouting now.
"As we've already discussed, this is not a punishment," Rumpelstiltskin answers sternly.
She carries on like Robin isn't even there, stepping closer to Rumpelstiltskin until their lips are practically touching. Rumpelstiltskin reaches out a hand to grab her chin, stopping her in place.
The grip looks more than tight enough to be painful but as Robin steps towards them to intervene she addresses him for the first time with a terse this doesn't concern you. Against his every instinct, he backs off and watches the bewildering shift in the relationship between his two… guests.
"We both know my talents would be wasted here, don't we Rumple," she purrs, before violently and audibly smacking his hand away.
"I am well aware of your objections dearie but you forget that I make the decisions here," he snarls back, more menacingly and, well, more like the devil than he has been so far. "Now I have other business to attend to, so I trust you can handle everything else with Mr. Locksley on your own," he finishes coldly, ignoring the hissed fuck you from Regina as he calmly strolls out of the apartment and shuts the door.
Robin lets the bow and arrows drop next to him before collapsing onto the couch, head in his hands, letting the reality of the situation crash into him. He's always been fairly religious but never in a way that believed the devil was anything more than a metaphorical concept. And now he has no choice but to work for the very real devil until he dies and probably spend eternity in hell.
He doesn't know how long he sits there, contemplating it all, but eventually Robin feels a nail poke into his shoulder.
"Please do not take this as any kind of invitation or indication that I give a shit," Regina starts, detached, "but I know this must be a lot so maybe you should find someone to talk to," she continues slowly, as though she's carefully considering each word, straining to blunt her natural caustic instincts. He's about to thank her, but before he can she's already back to haughtiness. "We have a soul to catch and I can't have you moping instead of helping."
She awkwardly pats his shoulder in what he can only assume, contrary to her proclamation of not caring, is supposed to be a gesture of comfort.
When he looks up, Regina is busying herself with putting his new bow and arrows into her large handbag.
He thinks again about offering his thanks but he has a sneaking suspicion that she wouldn't take kindly to it.
"So how are we planning to find… well whoever it is we have to find?" Robin asks, realizing at once how little he knows about any of this.
"We are not going to do anything. You are going to give me your number and then I will find out where the soul is. When you're needed to shoot your… sticks," she says, disdain evident in her voice and the raise of her eyebrow, "I will let you know."
She starts to walk away but he easily blocks her access to the door.
"Despite the fact that neither of us likes it," because really if he's stuck in this situation he would at least prefer a nicer partner, "we will have to work together. So wherever you're going, I'm coming with you," he answers firmly, hoping that he's read her right and that the way to earn this woman's respect is not to kowtow but to stand his ground.
She considers for a moment and ultimately acquiesces with a gruff don't get in my way.
"I wouldn't dream of it," he replies, mock bowing and making sure she can see the exaggerated rolling of his eyes.
Her retaliating slam of his door brings back his hangover headache with twice the force.
It's only been nine hours, but Robin thinks he can safely crown today as his worst birthday ever.