The light in Belle's eyes, brighter than any gem even in old age, slowly faded. They closed as if in sleep. But, Rumplestiltskin, clutching her hand, could feel the life dwindling and slipping away inside her.
"No," he pleaded. "Don't leave me. Please, don't leave me." He remembered that long ago day when he had sent her away—and she had left. Surely, some part of him thought, if, this time, he begged her to stay, she would.
But, there were some battles even Belle's love couldn't fight. And she wouldn't let him fight this one for her.
The last, small ember died away. He was alone in their home at the edge of the world.
"Oh, Belle. . . ." Rumplestiltskin bowed his head and wept.
Gold's face was still wet with tears when he woke alone in his bed.
There was no Belle. There never had been, not in this world. For twenty-eight years, he had lived peacefully here, not feeling the empty wound that was Belle's loss.
Then, the Savior had come. He had heard her name, and all his memories returned. Including Belle, Belle who was dead because of him.
In the dream, she had been alive, alive and hidden all these years. The details were already slipping away, but he remembered that. Belle had been alive, and they had had a son. Not Baelfire. Baelfire was dead.
Or had he been Baelfire? He had been lost to them and faced Gold with all the anger he expected from the child he had let go so many years before, if Baelfire had been his and Belle's child.
He shook his head. It was a dream, all his forgotten regrets spinning themselves into a new tale, nothing more. Belle was gone, lost to the blind, stupid fear of a coward who couldn't believe in her love for him even when the proof of it was right in front of his eyes.
Baelfire, though. His son still lived. And the Savior was here. The final, most delicate steps of his long plan were finally ready to be taken. He must help her, watch over her, and see that everything happened just as it should.
If Baelfire rejected him, then that was how it would be. But, not before he heard the words his father needed to say: That he was sorry, that not a day had gone by in 300 years when he hadn't thought of him, that he had reshaped worlds just for the chance to see him again and let him know that.
He got up, wincing at the ache in his leg. Between dreams and memories, he had almost forgotten that familiar pain.
He needed to focus. Nothing could go wrong, now. He could not allow himself to be distracted by what was lost, not when the one thing he had left was nearly in his grasp. Miss Swan, that was what he needed to concentrate on, watching over her as she took the first, tottering steps towards her destiny. Later that day, he passed Dr. Whale on the street. They exchanged brief, perfunctory greetings. But, after the good doctor had passed, Gold found himself looking in the direction of the town hospital, a hospital that, if dreams were to be believed, had a hidden asylum beneath and a single, precious rose hidden inside.
He shook his head and pushed the thought aside.