Response to jungle_ride's prompt: "Emma and Neal bump into each other at a Christmas tree lot (this can be canon, aka after they get back from Neverland, or an AU first time meet I don't mind) and they both want the same tree and neither of them are willing to give it up. Shenanagins ensue."

Chapter 1: Christmas is here

He woke up in the morning of Christmas Eve to the sound of clashing wooden boards.

Part of the fragile rooftop of his shack had collapsed again, and snow was finding its way in.

"Oh not this again..." he complained, pulling back a blanket full of holes as he rose from an equally worn-out mattress. His eyes were still half-closed when he picked a broom to sweep the accumulated snow on the ground - a chore whose uselessness he took less than one minute to realize.

He looked up at the hole above his head, a little smile curling his lips as snowflakes fell on his face. He liked winter, even though his shack had no heating and that meant he spent a great deal of time wrapped up in old blankets.

He liked that time of the year.

He had just closed his eyes to imagine himself eating a delicious roasted turkey instead of the can of beans he was about to open when a heavy wooden board fell from the roof and hit him square on the nose.

"Son of a..." he cussed, tears filling his eyes as he touched a freshly open cut on his cheek.

He tried to ignore the sting on his face while he looked around for a roll of toilet paper; upon not finding any, he cut a piece of an empty box of cereal and placed it under his eye to stop the bleeding.

What a way to start the day, he thought, peeking through the tiny window on the wall.

'Greeting cards have all been sent, the Christmas rush is through...'

Apparently, the family from the house on the other side of the street had woken up as well, their selection of Christmas carols filling the air as well as the smell of bacon and fresh coffee.

His stomach grumbled.

'But I still have one wish to make, a special one for you... Merry Christmas, darling...We're apart, that's true..."

He let his gaze drop to his feet, the song feeling his heart with unexplainable sadness. Sometimes, he felt like a widower, pining for a love or for a family he used to have.

If only he had been married, at least. Or known love. But, as far as he could remember, he had always been alone.

'But I can dream, and in my dreams... I'm Christmasing with you..."

"I'm gonna buy a Christmas tree," he whispered to himself, as he watched a couple of kids run joyfully from the house to play in the snow.

After splashing his face with the icy water he kept on a basin, he started searching around for things he could sell among those he had collected in his last trip to the nearest dumpster. Luckily for him, people seemed to get rid of lots of unwanted stuff during Holiday Season.

His eyes lingered on the tiny, beaten up dreamcatcher he had found in the garbage in the other day. For some reason, he got the feeling there was something wrong with it: its reddish and yellow feathers somehow not matching a mental image he carried from somewhere in his past. The one he kept seeing when he closed his eyes was bigger, and in much better shape.

He shrugged - skipping meals was becoming a pattern and probably making him hallucinate.

After pocketing all the coins he had been keeping in an empty peanut butter jar, he grabbed an old radio resting in one of the shelves, put on his coat and took a long, deep breath before going outside.

"Mr. Gold?" he called out, approaching the shack next to his and trying to keep his voice steady as his teeth clattered. "M-Mr Gold?"

"Hmmm?"

"Huh..."

"What?"

A skinny older man, wearing scruffy earmuffs and a very thick scarf, raised his eyes from the old newspaper he was reading to look at his face.

"Been thinking... Isn't it funny that your name is Gold?" said the younger man, stuffing one of his hands in his pocket. "Sounds ironic for a man living in a cardboard shack..."

"You know, that reminds me of someone in the very same condition..." Mr. Gold replied, with a pretense thoughtful expression on his face. "Now, who is that? Oh, I remember. You."

"Yeah. But your name... it's not as if our existence is exactly that precious, is it?"

"Speak for yourself."

"Just saying. No offense meant."

"None taken."

"Hey... Wanna buy a radio?"

He switched the device on, and the sound of static was the only one he managed to get out of it.

"A broken radio, you mean."

"It's not broken, it's just..." he replied, turning the dial in a useless attempt to make the radio work. "...broken."

The man by his side snorted, folding the paper and putting it away as he raised an eyebrow.

"How much do you want for it?"

"How much do you think it's worth?"

"Three dollars... and ninety-eight cents," said Mr. Gold, after giving him a handful of coins he had in the pocket of his shabby coat. "That's all I got."

"Thanks, man..."

His grin widened when he counted the money he had, his eyes shining like a young boy who had just been given the best of all Christmas gifts.

"I'm gonna buy a Christmas tree."

When he looked at the older man, though, he realized his enthusiasm was by no means reciprocated.

"Gimme my money back."

"Come on, it's Christmas."

"What do you want a tree for?" Mr. Gold asked, his voice full of the purest form of disbelief. "We are homeless! Where you gonna put it, in the middle of the street?"

"I'm not gonna buy a big one, I'll get one that fits inside."

Mr. Gold shook his head, once again reaching for his newspaper.

"You can help me decorate it."

The glare he got in return made the man's answer very obvious.

"Or not..." he muttered in response. "Anyway, I'm gonna buy some stuff to eat. Wanna join me?"

This time, he didn't even get a glare in response - only the most absolute silence.

"No big deal. Just some... mac and cheese," he added. "And gingerbread."

"I'll think about it," said Mr. Gold, from behind the newspaper.

He had no idea why he felt so happy with the man's response. It sucked to be alone in Christmas, and for some reason... he couldn't help but feel Mr. Gold, a stranger whose life he knew nothing about, except that he had lived on the street for as long as he had known him, was the closest thing to a family he would ever get.