Disclaimer: Tangled belongs to Disney.

Author's Note: Not the most original AU scenario, but I had it in my head and it needed to come out. Enjoy! This will be a two-chapter short piece.

Rated for violence.

Half Pint

Part One

Rapunzel nervously hunched over her mug of ale, sliding into the long shadows and trying her best to appear inconspicuous. It should have been easy; she was the smallest person in the Snuggly Duckling Inn now, and she had covered up in a long black cloak, pulling the hood over her head with its unevenly cut short brown hair. She was also seated on the far end of the bar, hoping that fewer people would look in that direction. Yet despite her best efforts, every time she dared to peek out at the crowd, she noticed a different set of eyes—or, for some of the ruffians, a single eye—leering at her. The fears that roiled within her were vague and indefinite, but nonetheless somehow deeply primal and instinctive.

"They can't really be that threatening, Pascal," she whispered to the chameleon that sat coiled up under her hood, turned a fear-soaked unnaturally pale shade of green. "I mean, my hair is short and ordinary now"—she quickly pushed that thought out of her head; even though the fire a week ago that seared right through the formerly blonde tresses had been an accident, even though her mother had been the one to let the blazing hot coals fall from the tongs onto the long silky hair that weaved across the room, the hideous memory of what followed after still filled her mind, and her sense of heightened vulnerability remained—"and the ruffians that were here at lunch turned out all right. I'm just jumpy... right?" Her whisper ended in a high-pitched, terribly uncertain squeak. Pascal glanced back at her dubiously. He was not convinced either.

Anxiously she glanced around. A huge, savage-looking thug with one good eye and one horrible-looking, blind, dead, deformed eye that looked like it had seen the wrong end of an arrow was now leering evilly at her in a way that sent shivers down her spine. Gulping in fear, she turned her head toward her mug again, staring at the table without really seeing, blinking hard. Her heart pounded.

Snippets of the happy, free-wheeling song about dreams in which she had inadvertently led a different group of ruffians earlier in the day came back to her. There had been some rough-looking characters then too, she told herself fiercely. One of them had a mustache filled with blood, and one of them with a hook for a hand had even boasted in his impromptu lines about his violent temper. They were certainly unsavory-looking individuals, she thought, and they had also leered at her when she stepped hesitantly into the inn, half starved. And they had turned out harmless, at least as far as she was concerned.

But something about them was different from this group, something intangible perhaps, but still perceptible. Even their leers had been subtly different. Their initial grins had been those of a set of bullies who found it highly amusing that a slight, visibly nervous young woman would patronize their place by herself. Had she not become angry at the violent-tempered hook-handed ruffian when he lifted Pascal off her shoulder by his tail, had she not stood up to him, ultimately starting the bar song, they would have continued taking advantage of her fear to pick on her. But she realized now that their ultimate intention had been to scare her away, thinking it was all great fun—not to actually harm her, and probably not even Pascal. The looks she was getting from this group of ruffians were suggestive of something far more sinister. Somehow she knew that she could not get this crowd to start a song.

She wished, not for the first time today, that she had never left her tower. That she had just stayed there, even if it meant starving to death. Her hands shook as she gripped her mug. She thought about going to the innkeeper and telling him she was scared of most of these people, but the one who had been out during the daylight hours—the one who had sung along with the impromptu song—was nowhere to be found, not that she could blame him, and the bartender dealing with this night crowd looked just as bad as any of them. She had regretted getting his attention as soon as he had turned around to take her order. He would be no friend.

It is a very strange thing how some people can sense when they are being stared at, or pick out a particular set of noises that indicate when someone is approaching them. Despite all the vulgar, violent noise in the Snuggly Duckling tonight, all the curses and punches and uproarious drunk bellowing, Rapunzel's ears still pricked up at the sound of boots on creaky wooden planks. One of these ruffians had finally imbibed enough alcohol to take this beyond threatening leers and actually act—no, wait, there were two pairs of boots, one heavy and one lighter, but both were moving toward her.

The lighter footfalls stopped. The hair on the back of Rapunzel's neck suddenly stood on end, and she knew—she knew—that the boots' owner was standing right behind her. She whirled around on her bar stool, deciding to at least go down fighting—but before she could, she felt a lean, but strong, arm wrap tightly around her waist. She opened her mouth to scream, but at once a hand clamped over her mouth. She squirmed hard, but the stranger had her pinned tightly.

"I swear I'm not going to hurt you," the owner of the arms whispered against her ear. His tone was urgent, even scared, which so startled her that she stopped squirming. "When that thug comes over here, act like you're with me. I'll handle the rest. All right?" He lifted his hand off her mouth, but his other one remained in place around her waist.

She took a deep, shuddering breath. "And then what?" she hissed back. The heavy boots, no doubt those of the thug that he was talking about, were still approaching.

"Then I'll escort you out of this dump. This place isn't safe at night, and you'd better keep traveling."

The thug that had been headed her way stopped cold somewhere behind her. Trying hard to swallow her terror, Rapunzel turned slowly around to face him and nearly gasped aloud in fright when she saw him. Tall, stocky, and mean, he looked somehow malformed, as if his neck was too short by half and his arms were too long for his body. He had both his eyes, but as they leered at her, she noticed a certain coldness in them that made her stomach drop. It was the look of utter brutality—the face of a remorseless, unfeeling killer.

Instinctively Rapunzel then turned to have a look at her rescuer, if such he really was, and almost gasped again—but for a different reason. He was also hooded and cloaked, but under that hood was the handsomest face she had ever seen, with a pair of lively—but fearful—brown eyes. –Not that she had seen very many faces yet, having been out of the tower for not quite a full day, but this young man still looked different from anyone she had yet encountered. She knew from her experience with the singing ruffians that looks were not everything, but given her two alternatives, she instantly knew that she would take her chances with the one who at least had life in his eyes—and who had betrayed fear for her in the tone of his voice.

"Back off," the young man told the evil-looking thug in an aggressive voice, wrapping the arm that was around her waist even tighter. "She's mine."

Rapunzel's thoughts were a blur. Most of all, she really hoped that this gambit would work... she hoped that the large thug would not try to attack them even with the young man's presence. Though the rock-like strength of his grip spoke to some hidden muscular power, he was not of much more than average proportions. She had to hope he was much stronger than he looked.

The rest of her thoughts roiled around the claim he had just made. Even in this situation, her active imagination had immediately run with the remark. She had been struck with his appearance and his apparent gallantry... and she had proven already that she was able to make friends. The idea flitted through her mind that she would really like to get to know this young man better... if his plan worked out.

"That true?" the thug grunted.

He was glaring at Rapunzel. She didn't like that one bit, being in this creep's line of sight. Instinctively she leaned into the young man who was holding her around the waist. "Yes, it is," she spat out with as much courage as she could muster.

The young man glared out at the thug. His other hand shifted subtly under his cloak, as if he were reaching for a knife on his belt. With that small act, something changed imperceptibly, but significantly, between the two males. The thug looked rather less confident. Rapunzel could almost see the evil resolve draining from his face. Giving her one last leer, he turned and walked off.

The young man released her at once. Rapunzel heaved a huge sigh of relief, and inside her hood, she heard a tiny sigh escape from Pascal as well. She turned to the young man gratefully. "Thank you so much," she breathed. She really hoped, now that the tension had passed, that he wouldn't leave immediately.

He showed no signs of going anywhere. Instead, he smiled in acknowledgment and steered her carefully away from the bar into a shadowy part of the common room just to the side. They sat down at a tiny table for two. He watched, a faint, gentle smile on his face, as she finished her ale. Finally, when she was left with only a residue of foam, he spoke again.

"You know, I have to wonder... Why in the world would a half pint like you want to come into a place like this?"

Rapunzel glanced up. "Half pint?" she said, raising an eyebrow. Her gaze shifted briefly to her empty stein. That was a full pint.

"You're a small person," he explained. "No offense... you're quite cute"—he winked flirtatiously at her, and she felt a blush overspread her face—"but it's like I said, this is a dangerous place. You'll need more than a frog with you to be safe."

What? Rapunzel was utterly confused for a moment, and then she realized that he was talking about Pascal. The chameleon was probably visible to him now. "He's a chameleon," she said pointedly.

The young man smirked. "Nuance. Either way, I can't imagine that he could help you out here. What brought you here anyway?"

"I was hungry," she explained. "Well, earlier in the day I was. I've been here for most of the afternoon."

"Why?" The young man seemed genuinely puzzled.

She felt embarrassed. "I... well..." she stammered. She gazed at Pascal for a moment, and that brief eye contact seemed to give her the courage she needed. "I don't really have a home anymore," she said. "At least, there's no food in it, and not much else either. There was a fire that... killed my mother," she choked out. That was basically true. It was easier to explain than the full truth, anyway. "I stayed there as long as I could... but the food ran out."

Concern had come over the young man's face when she mentioned that she had no home, and it had only intensified as she explained more. He looked dismayed. "I'm so sorry," he said, reaching across the table and taking her hands in his. "I know how that feels. I haven't got a home either."

She didn't know what to say. They sat in an uncomfortable silence for a moment before he spoke again.

"Well, I think we ought to be going." He released her hands and stood up. Silently she followed suit, taking his hand as he came around the table... after all, he had said to act like they were together. He raised an eyebrow at her when she did this, but he did not object or try to pull away. He gripped her hand tighter and navigated their way through the obnoxious crowd, heading for the front door. His hand was pretty large, and the warm pressure was a very pleasant sensation to her...

The autumn chill met them as they stepped outside. Silently he continued walking into the woods until the dodgy inn was no longer in view. Then he stopped and turned to her.

"I don't know what to tell you except if you still have any kind of a shelter, you probably ought to go back to it—unless you were headed somewhere in particular."

She was not. Though it was still her dream to see them, the floating lights that appeared only on her birthday had come and gone months ago, and she had no idea that they came from a town. She had no particular idea of what she had wanted to do when she finally left the half-burned tower; all she knew was that she could not stand to stay there another minute. "I wasn't," she said quietly. "I guess I could go back... it still provides shelter... but I don't know what I'm going to do." Her voice broke at the end, and she turned away from him in shame.

The young man looked conflicted about something, standing there silently as she tried to pull herself together. At last he spoke again. "I'll take you back there, then, and stay overnight if you want. Then you can think things over in the morning. It'll all seem easier by day, I guarantee it."

That was probably true. It was in the dark of night that her own guilt over what had happened had gnawed at her the whole past week. It was at the late hours that the terror for the future, now that her mother was gone and her tower was ruined and her hair had no magic virtue, overwhelmed her. Things did seem better by daylight.

"All right," she said in a soft voice. She squeezed the young man's hand and smiled shyly at him. He smiled back.

All of a sudden, Rapunzel felt compelled to do something more. Earlier today, when the singing, dreaming ruffians had left the inn, she had impulsively kissed the hook-handed one on the cheek. It was a mark of friendship only, but at this particular moment, Rapunzel felt that it was wrong to not give that to this young man, who had arguably done more for her... the singing ruffians had never been a real threat to her, after all. So while the impulse was still powerful, she leaned in, stood on her tiptoes, and pecked him on the cheek.

He was clearly startled, but as she moved away and met his eyes, she could tell that he was quite pleased about it. His eyes were gleaming, and a smirk was growing on his face.

Rapunzel did not quite understand what she was feeling. She did know that she still was not satisfied with what she had given him. After all, if he had done more than the hook-handed ruffian, then he deserved more than a tiny kiss... but she knew, somehow, that it wasn't just that. That smirk and those gleaming eyes had something to do with this. She was proud to have caused them, she wanted to cause them again (and cause them more), and yet, she felt a little self-conscious under that intense gaze. The effect was not just from her to him; it was working in reverse too. She knew she wanted to give him more, but she could not explain what it was that made her heart thump a little harder, or her lower stomach seem to flip over quite pleasurably, at the thought.

So she didn't question it.

She reached for the sides of his traveling cloak. Standing on tiptoe once more, she took hold of the heavy black fabric and gripped it tightly as she leaned in. He realized what she was doing and brought a hand up to the back of her head, fingers slipping under the hood and into her hair, pushing her head gently toward him. For the tiniest fraction of a second she hesitated, but then she plunged ahead. Their lips met.

A low growl escaped involuntarily from him and a whimpering moan from her. She had definitely never felt anything like this before, but it was really nice. She didn't know exactly what she needed to do, but acting naturally seemed to make this young man respond. Maybe this was instinctive to some degree, she thought. It startled her at first when she felt his tongue running over her lower lip, but when she got used to the sweet tingly thrill, it seemed only natural—and it was also natural to part her lips and grant him entrance. He gripped her waist once more, squeezing her and holding her close, even as she clung to him like a lifeline.

At last they broke apart. He looked half wild, his brown eyes glittering in the starlight, and she got the distinct impression that he could go for more of that if she was willing. She felt quite satisfied with herself, happy about the new sensations she had experienced, the feeling of closeness, and her own courage to do this. Then it hit her: She had just been kissing a person, rather intensely at that, without either of them knowing each other's name.

Embarrassment flooded her. She turned away, flustered and suddenly ashamed. He noticed at once.

"What's wrong?" he exclaimed, reaching for her. "Didn't you like that?"

"I did—I really did—it's not that," she said. "It's just—I don't—oh, what was I thinking? I feel so stupid now. My name is Rapunzel. I'm so sorry—"

"There's no need to be sorry!" Now that he understood the source of her anxiety, it was all he could do to keep from laughing about it. He reached out and stroked her cheek gently. "It's quite all right, and I'm pleased to have met you, Rapunzel. My na—"

He broke off abruptly just as she was turning back around to face him. The mirth on his face had vanished, replaced by stark terror. A shiver shot down her spine. Whatever had frightened him could not be good for either of them. Her mind instantly ran through the catalog of terrifying possibilities. Maybe some thugs from the inn had followed them. Maybe there were predatory wild animals in the woods, like wolves. The possibilities seemed endless.

To be continued with part 2...