It feels like coming home, which, much like the spiral of fear and utter mindless joy coiled tight in his belly, makes a great deal of sense when looked at right.
Because, though the wooded road leading down, down, into Storybrooke is not just physically miles from the metropolitan sprawl of New York, which is as much 'home' as anywhere else these days, it's certainly reminiscent of his boyhood village.
Thinking about 'back then', about who he had been before and after magic had so throughly tainted his life, makes him feel both suddenly old and more than a little regretful for all he'd lost in the process.
It also has him wanting to bolt once more, to follow through the terrible habit of running when things got a little uncomfy that had, regretfully, become habit over the years.
He'd had his chance though back in the apartment when even looking at that one, life changing, word had had him so very certain that, actually, he much preferred being who he was now, forgetting that he'd ever had another life or a parent who loved him rather than the revenue keeping him generated.
So he'd started securing money, packing what little he'd need to make it across state tp his next bolt hole nd then...
Then his phone's ringing.
His honest to goodness land line and, though there's only one person who has the number, he'd still answered because why bother with the postcard if he was just going to ring anyway?
"Bae."
"Pi. A sigh, as always, for the nickname that's as much tease as work about the other's frankly ridiculous birth name, then,
"You're running again." That it hadn't been a question is a tell of how long they've known on another and, it'd irked him terribly, had him falling back into the old argument all over again and somehow driving him out here just to spite the other.
A breath, to let go the nervous little boy who's suddenly resurfaced after years of being repressed without much argument, then he fumbles free his mobile and dials his friends before he can place anymore thought about the idea...talk himself out of it again,
"So I'm here...kind of...and I suddenly got back onto wondering just why you'd bother calling me after sending that postcard."
"I knew you'd need pushing and so when transforming back took a little longer than I'd thought I sent the postcard...of course then things turned out a little more complex than it'd initially seemed and I had thought to warn you about that..."
"But then things got heated."
"Right,"
"Ok, so describe 'complicated' for me."
"Stepping outside the town border apparently wipes away any trace of who you were in the other world."
"It shouldn't affect me though, right? I mean it's not as though I was ever directly involved in the whole matter of the curse."
"No, but someone brought magic back and that's made everything uncertain."
"Papa."
"Of course, but..."
"Don't start making excuses for him."
"Right, fair enough."A beat then, "Don't let this drive you off Bae, this was always about more than your father, after all."
"I know...I just..."
"I have whisky."
"Pour me a dram then."
Another deep breath, this one in the wild hope of somehow beating down the bad thoughts without a little liquid help and then he's taking a tentative step over the bright orange line sprayed out on the tarmac.
