Disclaimer: Not mine.
Summary: Pan reflects (Or, Pan's self-loathing because he knew when he picked up that doll that he'd made the wrong decision and he had to live with it, and that was to be his penance)
because we're a fandom that rationalizes the awful, awful things some of these characters do, i don't know. moreso blaming Robbie Kay for actually providing motivation to write this through his awesomely conflicted portrayal. that look on his face when the shadow carried bb!Rumple away? UGH. excellent; probably even giving him a little too much credit, idk. Gets a bit dark at the end; title taken from "Hurt", the Johnny Cash cover.
Pan doesn't sleep.
Felix knows this, but he's only asked him about it once and then he learned never to ask again. He knows there's a back story there and he knows it has something to do with the Dark One, but he doesn't press because he likes his position as second in command. He just stands watch as their leader sits on a large stone jutting out over the water across from Skull Island, and stares up at the moon and stars.
When he first began his nightly reverie's, it was to try and decide how he would solve the problem the Shadow creature had laid at his feet. He was not immortal; he would not age, but he would, eventually, die. And so he had to figure out how to keep that from happening. And as he did, collecting boys who feel unloved, luring them to island as he tries to find The Truest Believer. He is able to find a drawing of a child early on from a soothsayer in another realm, but none of the boys he comes across seem to resemble the sketch at all.
Until he finds Baelfire.
He lures the boys with a tune, and they dance into the night, laughing and playing, with no thoughts of responsibility or chores. There is one boy in particular that slinks out of the dark, and he looks at Pan like he's a God in the night, and while the Pan raises his eyebrows at the possibility that this is THE boy, as he learns more about him, a pit he had almost forgotten about reopens in his stomach.
This boy, others whisper, is the child of the Dark One. They say that he shouldn't be here, that the Dark One will be angry and will take his revenge. He will discover them.
Peter scowls at that. He allays their fears, tells them to not worry, that he will take care of it. And when Rumple shows his face and pulls his hood back, Pan smiles past his shame and channels that energy, and knows just how to cut the Imp the deepest.
He has heard stories, of the Dark One. Of how he used to be a hobbled farmer, a coward from the first Ogre wars. And that all he cares for is his boy.
"You're not afraid Baelfire will be taken from you, you're afraid he'll leave. After all, being abandoned is what you're good at, isn't it? Everyone you've ever known has left, haven't they? Like Bae's mother, Milah...not to mention, your own father."
Satisfaction surges through him as Rumple winces as if struck, but like a high from too much drink, the pain isn't worth the pleasure in the end. He pushes his shame and regret away, ignores it as he charges on, ripping into the broken man in front of him for making him feel any of that in the first place, the most feared man in so many lands, and reduces him once again to feeling like a little boy in rags wailing for his Papa.
His rage when he returns to Neverland lasts for 3 days and he destroys one of his quiet hideaways in the forest. Felix is the only one to know.
In the end, he is retching, crying, wheezing, down on all fours as he gasps for air, exhausted. The Shadow appears and laughs.
"It is everything you wanted, no?"
He flies away when Peter glares up at him, leaving him alone, a lost boy in his own right. He hears his own voice in his head from days before at the village dance.
"Beneath all that power, you're nothing but an unloved, lonely, lost boy."
He closes his eyes.
Everything changes when Henry arrives.
There are moments where he hates this predicament he's created, he realizes one night, roughly brushing tears off his cheeks as they fall. He dwells on the thoughts for only a few moments, because he must not think too much on being an adult. But while Henry is the key to his survival, his presence has also introduced a whole host of problems because now there are adults on this island, parents who will jump into mermaid infested waters, who are willing to give their lives, who will sacrifice and never give up, and he couldn't do that, and every time one of them does something stupid and noble, a knife twists inside of him, white hot and sharp.
Sometimes he knows he didn't try hard enough. Sometimes he let's him think of a little boy in tattered clothes with wide eyes that stare, looking at him as if he makes the world spin and it scares him all over again. Sometimes, if he thinks too long, he swears the skin of hands begins to wrinkle and weather, so he pushes the thoughts away again from his mind; for what the flesh longs to forget, the heart remembers, ever strong.
He has given away too much to stop now.
He can truly say that he feels nothing for Henry, except for mere irritation. He is not as pliable as Pan had counted on him being, but Wendy he finds is the ace up his sleeve. The idea of the boy giving up his heart doesn't make him blink; if anything, he wonders, can he have him stay this time? If he is immortal...if he is what keeps the island full of magic, surely it is his decision? He will do for Rumple what the Shadow once did for him, and they can live forever, together, and never want again for anything. Just as it should have been, so long ago.
But Rumple is not easily swayed; he is no different from the others, it appears, in the end. He quells the rage that spurs inside of him at this realization, that he has truly lost any traction he has with the man. When Rumple refuses, he twists his face into a scowl; he doesn't want to do this to him, he doesn't, but his boy has left him no choice. He hasn't! He lifts the lid with an empty apology, and Rumple disappears into the air. He ignores how lost he feels when he finds himself alone.
Baelfire is furious, surprisingly enough. He demands to know where his father is, and when Pan tries to sway him to believe he has run once more, Bae is frustratingly adamant that it cannot be the truth. When he juggles the magic box back and forth, Emma has to stop Bae from getting himself killed.
"Neal, he still has Henry's heart! You can't!"
But his grandson manages a cut on the the his forearm, which surprises them all. He is supposed to be immortal! When he doesn't heal, he growls loudly and needing to escape quickly, he tosses the box at them, catching them off guard as he flies into the air. His rage echoes in the night.
They really are insufferable, he finds. And it's not only their self-sacrificing nature, any longer, but that they are truly messing up his entire game. Regina is able to magick Henry's heart from his own chest from far away, as she couples her magic with the lost Princess. He has no choice but to follow them back to Storybrooke. It's their own fault, he fumes. They have left him with no other choice.
He is so close, too, in the end. He let's himself become too assured, when it appears he has killed the Queen. He looms over her body, splayed on the asphalt for all to see while Henry sobs beside her, and he is so alone, so vulnerable, that he draws it out a few moments too long. He stretches tall, crowing loudly, but is interrupted by the only thing that has ever been able to make him think twice about anything.
"Pan."
He is spun around quicker than he has a chance to react and Rumple pulls him close, his lips twisted in a snarl as he growls audibly. "Get away from my grandson."
He gasps as the dagger is driven deep into his back, the air escaping from his body so quickly, everyone around him gasps.
Of course, that could also be because of the green mist that begins to surround them both, leaving him feeling more tired and old than he has in a hundred or so years. He feels heavier, dirtier, more worn; he can feel himself getting weaker, and he instinctively wraps his arm around the waist of the man he still calls laddie.
"Rumple..." He rasps, a copper taste at the back of his throat. "Rumple, I..."
"I'm nothing like you." Rumple snarls. "I put my boy first, my family first. You never did. You never cared, but I'm not going to throw this chance away. It's too late for I'm sorry's, old man." The last part as uttered as a taunt. This time, there are no sharp words for him to offer. This time, he wallows in the shame.
Rumpelstiltskin twisted the knife before pulling it from the wound, and Pan-now Malcolm once again-gasps in pain, closing his eyes as his legs wobble unsteadily beneath him. He can feel the darkness framing his sight. "My pocket...Rumple, I made another...I never, Rumple...I never..."
Rumple lowers him to the ground, and the world is growing gray, but he focuses on his son's expression in these last few moments, finding it unapologetic and satisfied, looking like he has finally found closure. That's alright, he thinks; he deserves that.
But he has taken the doll Pan had remade from his jacket, and he is holding it tightly.
Malcolm holds onto that, as his world fades away. He has given him something, at least, finally something worthwhile-a reminder of what to be better than, even if it is just marginally. And it was all a parent wants in this world, is for their child to have better...to be better than they were before them; at least, that is what he's been telling himself all this time.
There is so much that was wasted though. His last breath is tainted with regret, and he sees Rumple stand up to embrace Bae as his own light flickers out.
He dies alone.