Disclaimer: I don't own OUAT, if I did I would have a whole lot more money in my bank account.

A/N: Yeah, this wasn't supposed to happen. My muse was not supposed to attack me again, but alas, here we are.I've always wanted to do a Non Curse AU set in Storybrooke and finally inspiration struck. I was actually sitting on this idea but my friends on tumblr really wanted this fic. I'm still working on all of my other stories, I promise, my muse is just easily amused and since there is only one me, it takes time to write. Anyways, I hope you all enjoy this new fic.

WARNING: There is an underage relationship in this fic. Technically since the age of consent in Maine is 16 there is no underage issue, but I know some people can still find that weird so I thought I'd put that out there first.

Prologue: Burying the Dead

It was a cold day in March when the church bell's sang a solemn tune. The town of Storybrooke, Maine was silent. No children played in the lingering snow, shops were dark and locked tight. The only sign of life came from the church as the congregation left the bleak halls to carry on with the dismal deed ahead.

No one spoke a word as they followed Father Langston up the hill to the rows and rows of headstones and the mirthless monuments to the ones who had long gone. Behind the grim priest, Tristan Gold walked alone. Normally his limp and his can would make him one of the stragglers, but today he was at the head of the assembly. He looked at no one but he kept his eyes on the path ahead. Someone had the foresight to shovel and salt the gravel walkway. His shiny loafers were soon coated with dust left from the salt, but that mattered not at all to him. There was little to care for anymore.

Ahead of the good father and Gold, six young men carried a gleaming mahogany casket. It was handcrafted, sanded and polished until was blinding in the morning sunlight. Gold never too his eyes off the wooden box that held all he truly held dear.

The pallbearers stopped at one empty plot in one of the rows of headstones, nestled beneath two barren oak trees. The men carefully put the coffin on the apparatus under the canopy that shielded the six foot hole cut into the earth. Gold took his place beside the coffin. The others gathered around, spectators to his grief.

A brand new stone rested at the top of the hole. The words were carved into it's clean, granite face:

Neal Bailey Gold

Beloved Son and Friend

February 17th 1989—March 8th, 2007

Gold didn't listen to Father Langston's final speech. He kept reading the headstone over and over. Beloved Son. Somehow those words just couldn't convey the depths of how beloved he was. Only two weeks ago they had celebrated his birthday. Eighteen, a few months away from graduating, his whole life ahead of him and one cruel twist of fate ended that. Two weeks. Not his whole life ahead, just two short weeks.

"Mr. Gold?" He tore his gaze away from the stone to look at the priest. "It's time to say your final goodbye."

Someone pressed a white rose into his hand. His legs were wooden as he walked to the coffin. The flower quivered in his fingers before he put it on top of the casket. He stopped and lay his palm flat on the lid. The wood was cold, no breath of life stirring beneath it. He knew that, but this was the last moment he would have with his boy.

Everyone held their breaths, waiting for something: for him to bury his face into his hands and cry, for him to rip the lid off the coffin and hold his only child, for him to scream at God for taking his son away too soon. He did nothing. He shuffled away from the casket to let the others say their goodbyes.

Neal had been loved by all. He was popular in his school and in town, unlike his father. Gold watched as his son's classmates and teacher all filed up to place their flowers. Only one dared to look at him.

Belle French sniffled as she put her rose down amongst the others, when she turned around and looked to Gold. Her pale blue eyes were so vibrant against the black dress she wore, dusted with snow. She had been Neal's friend since he was fourteen and she a year younger. Even Gold had been surprised when Neal had taken in the skinny bookworm under his wing back when she had first arrived from Australia. She was a good girl, sweet and just as beloved by the small town as Neal. She had blossomed into quite the beauty since her gawky adolescent years. Neal had never said, but Gold always thought perhaps their odd little friendship had grown into something more. Seeing her tearstained face, her cheeks and nose red, Gold actually felt a bit more than just his own grief.

When the last flower was laid, nearly blanketing the top with white petals, Father Langston bid them all to grieve, but to remember that Neal was in a better place. They did not fill Gold with cheer.

His final act for the whole ceremony was to walk forward and throw a handful of dirt over the coffin. He stood and watched as the casket was lowered, slowly sinking into bowels of the earth, disappearing from view. Once the joists stopped, Gold limped to the mound of soil. It was surprisingly large, a miniature mountain of brown sitting beside the grave. Was all of this to sit on top of his son for all eternity? He dug his hand into the first. It was cold, almost solid. The diggers must have toiled to break the frozen ground for him in the dark hours of the morning. He squeezed the dirt into his fist, feeling a pebble dig into his palm. That small bite of stone was all that kept him from falling apart. He stopped at the foot of the grave and stared at the coffin below him.

No parent thinks about this moment as they hold their newborn baby in their arms, when they first drop him off to school, or feed him cookies when his first crush rebuffs him. They think of seeing his face light up when he gets his first car, the pride they feel when he walks across the stage to get his diploma, or the joy he will feel when he is holding his first child. Gold would have none of that. This was the end of all of those dreams. His future lay six feet below him in a wooden box.

Slowly, he let the dirt slip from his fingers. It rained down onto the coffin, disturbing a few of the roses. And it was done.

He didn't move from his spot. He wasn't even aware of the other mourners leaving. They had said their goodbyes, they would grieve for a few days, but for them life would return to normal in a week or two. Not for him. Everything he'd worked for, his whole purpose in life was gone.

The warmth of a hand slipping into his startled him. He turned and met the watery blue eyes of Belle. She attempted a smile, but her lips only curled up part of the way. He stared down at their joined hand then met her eyes again.

Everyone else had gone. It was just the two of them and the diggers who each had a shovel, ready to put the earth back in the hole. So they stood there in silence together as shovel after shovelful of dirt was dropped onto the coffin. There was surely a gathering at Granny's with food and commiserating over the love of one so young, but it seemed neither was ready to leave Neal yet.

It wasn't until the final shovelful hit the loose earth, the last scrape of soil against metal, that Gold felt the final piece of his heart shatter. The tears he had held back fell in earnest, perhaps never to end. His boy! His precious boy was gone!

All that kept him from going mad was the warmth of Belle's hand as she squeezed his fingers.