"Bye Papa!" Baelfire yelled as he careened down the path, barely glancing over his shoulder at his father. He ran with the haphazard joy of a boy allowed to walk himself to a friend's house for the very first time.
Rumplestiltskin watched his son, his pride and joy, his only reason for living if he was being honest, get smaller and smaller against the horizon. He sagged against the doorframe to their small home. When had Bae gotten so big, he wondered. His eyes slipped shut as he contemplated the past three years.
Milah had finally abandoned them, choosing a life of piracy over her family. A flash of anger stole through Rumplestiltskin's heart before he reminded himself to quench it with understanding. He couldn't give Milah anything she wanted, he could barely give Bae anything. As angry as he was that his boy had to grow up without a mother, he couldn't begrudge Milah attempting to find happiness.
It had taken Rumplestiltskin many years, almost as many as Milah had been gone, to master the ability to quench the anger inside instead of acting on it. Now, with Bae getting older and wanting to go off by himself, the anger was creeping back into his life. Rumplestiltskin knew that eventually Bae would leave to lead his own life and his only partner then would be the cold anger, simmering just out of reach.
With Baelfire completely out of sight, Rumplestiltskin turned back towards the small hut he and Bae called home. The huts for people of his class weren't the nicest in their small village, but they certainly weren't desolate. There was a roof over their head and a hearth with a fire. He kept a clean house, needing the space for his wheel and supplies, but Bae being a seven year old boy wasn't making things any easier.
Heaving a heavy sigh from his lungs felt like more work than dragging Bae's mat away from its place beside the hearth. The hut was small enough to be warm but Rumplestiltskin wasn't about to take any chances of Bae falling ill. He could barely spin enough to put food in their mouths, if Bae fell ill, there wouldn't be any hope of calling a doctor. There wouldn't be any hope.
Rumplestiltskin was past hoping for much in his life. Once Milah was gone, he knew nothing special would ever come for him again. Bae, however, was still in the place in his life were everything was hope. It astonished Rumple to see how Bae saw the world. There wasn't anything bad yet. Everyone had a chance to be redeemed. Even if it killed him, he would do anything he could to protect that feeling in his boy.
With Bae's mats finally cleared out of the way, and their two breakfast dishes in the washing bucket, Rumple turned towards his beloved spinning wheel, tucked away in the corner to avoid Bae's playtime. He tugged the wheel towards the middle of the room, taking advantage of the soft light that was flittering in through a crack in their roof. That crack would cause much pain during the rainy months and even more so when the snow came, but for now, it brought just enough cheer into the room.
With the wheel in place, Rumple picked his way over to the shelves he had built into one of the far walls and grabbed his spinning basket. The tattered basket was overflowing with bits of used string and fluffy balls of wool waiting to be spun. Rumple dragged his hand over his face as his eyes took in exactly what his basket was offering him to work with. Times were tough. More and more people were using every possible coin they could get their hands on for necessities like food. There wasn't time for new clothes and frivolous ribbons.
Most of the wares that had been selling as of late were the tougher ropes and hearty twine, staples of a spinners inventory. The only downside to catering to the people of the village was that it took all the enjoyment out of his work. Rumple enjoyed finding the perfect berries and flowers to crush into dyes to make iridescent colors for his ribbons. He enjoyed finding the beauty in things that weren't often considered beautiful.
A cough, or perhaps a feeling, was trapped in the space between Rumple's heart and lungs. He hated his life. He hated feeling trapped by the very things that allowed them to live. If he didn't spend his entire day creating the damned rope and twine, he wouldn't have anything to hope to trade for food, and Bae would go hungry.
If there was one mantra Rumplestiltskin lived wholeheartedly by, it was that Bae must not go hungry. Ever.
Swallowing the lump, Rumple picked up the first ball of wool to begin separating the fibers.
It was going to be a long day.
Rumplestiltskin had managed to spin a respectable amount of material into a small coil of hearty rope and four smaller spools of twine. It definitely wasn't a lot, by any means, but, if he was lucky, the townspeople would take pity on Bae and purchase something. They couldn't argue that what he was selling wasn't useful.
Rumple glanced up, surprised at how dark his hut had gotten. The fire in the hearth had dwindled to mere glowing embers. Bae had been given the chore of collecting more logs for the fire a year ago and been ecstatic with the burgeoning responsibility. Since then, Rumple had been mindful of giving his boy enough to feel useful in his world.
Rumple glanced up towards the faithful crack in the roof. It was definitely evening. Not so dark as to be considered night, but the sun had definitely already descended for the evening. Rumple glanced up towards the door. He had told Bae to be home no later than sunset.
A slice of fear stole through Rumple's chest. Bae was a good boy. If he wasn't home already, he was on his way. Rumple kept repeating the words, he was coming, in his head as he pushed himself up off the small stool with help of his walking stick.
The fact that he'd spent his day in the presence of only his creaking spinning wheel made itself known in the form of his creaking body. Rumplestiltskin knew he wasn't a young man, but it was moments like these that made him truly feel old.
The hut was so small he was able to cross to the front door in a matter of steps. Grasping the rope he'd attached to the wood to form some sort of handle, he wrenched the door open. He was instantly assaulted with the night. The summer was still stubbornly holding on and sending its warm breeze through the lands they called home. Rumple could smell the village tavern, a thick smell part meat, part ale, and above that, the pale smell of wildflowers.
He cast his eyes towards the horizon eagerly searching for Bae's jaunting form. The sun had slipped below the hills leaving orange and indigo fighting for supremacy. Where was Bae? He stood as tense minute after minute passed. Bae knew he was waiting for him. He had trusted Bae to go see Morriane and come home. His boy wouldn't leave him. He'd come home.
Rumplestiltskin stood against his threshold with his small hut behind and the entire world in front and waited for the only family he had to come home.