You can have anything in life if you will sacrifice everything else for it. - Peter Pan, J.M. Barrie
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The town burst into existence in the lonely, quiet forest.
The foliage was remarkably undisturbed, and the ones that had grown where the town now was simply moved over to join their siblings. It was a bit cramped for the forest, but it made room. Once the forest was settled, it stayed and the brief bout of magic settled over its leaves, keeping it still for the next twenty eight years.
Inside, the citizens of Storybrooke awakened.
Rumpelstiltskin looked outside the window, where the clock tower loomed over the little town. It looked old and grand, and it certainly made a pretty relic for this small place. Of course, it wasn't perfect. The hands were stuck, after all. And they would stay stuck for the next twenty-eight years.
A twenty-eight year break from everything. How relaxing. It should grow dull after a while, but when he surrendered himself to the curse - and a splendid piece of magic that was, if he did say so himself - he wouldn't notice the passing of time. The Queen would be the only one driven insane by the monotonous life.
There were also other benefits to this magic-less world, he supposed.
He peered at his reflection in the glass, and allowed himself to preen a little. His skin was smooth - a few wrinkles here and there, but no scales for the first time in centuries. Rumpelstiltskin giggled to himself.
A world without magic, he mused again, every little bit of it gone except the curse holding them all in place. And then, that too would be gone and he'd search every corner of this new world for his boy. Who could already be dead, and if he isn't, he certainly doesn't want to see you.
He squashed the thought down.
Rumpelstiltskin's eyes roved over his shop - and yes, he owned a pawnshop now, and it was filled with all these mementos, wasn't that lovely?
The new-world's memories were pricking at his brain, but he held them back for the moment. He didn't want the lines of reality and curse-fiction to blur just yet. There was still so much left to do, and he could examine the people without them knowing him, being wary of him, and wouldn't it be amusing to add to his collection at this shop? He'd let the memories overcome him before Queenie came, because she'd know if he slipped up and forgot something from the new memories, and it really wouldn't do to have her hounding him for the next three decades.
The door slammed open.
"The sign says closed - " Rumpelstiltskin began automatically, before his brain caught up with his eyes.
The boy's hair was tousled from the autumn wind, and his cheeks and nose were flushed red. He was wearing a heavy green coat that swallowed his figure, and brightly-colored rubber boots which must have been something of the norm in this world. The eyes that blinked bits of droplets of water out of them were forest-green and horribly familiar, even if he hadn't seen them in centuries.
"Sorry I'm late," Peter Pan said breathlessly.
The eternal child sat in a crouch, eyes fixated on the dark cloud in the distance.
He'd meant to leave. A short jaunt through the Enchanted Forest, play his pipes, observe the boys who came, go back to Neverland. It had been a simple plan, one he'd carried out dozens of times over the centuries.
Then he'd sensed it. Something rippling through the air, and headed his way fast. Before long, the something manifested in black thunderclouds that creeped in through the air and ate everything in its path.
Magic, he'd thought with the reverence of one who'd lived off of the thing for nearly three hundred years.
He'd briefly entertaining the idea of fleeing, but he recognized that brand of black magic - and if Rumple wanted to get his attention in such a dramatic way, who was he to say no?
His lips curled into a smile. The lad was no doubt trying to intimidate him with the Dark One's power - the Dark One's power, and no matter what else he felt about Rumple, pride was certainly there - while his own magic was mainly tied to Neverland.
But he knew his boy, Dark One or not, knew exactly how to play him like a fiddle and pick at the insecurities and wounds left untended for - how long had it been? Two, three centuries? He'd win in the end, and the boy would be left picking at another scab in his fraying mind. Honestly, the boy was so sentimental. But that kind of sentiment was something he could rely on. That kind of sentiment meant that Rumple didn't have it in him to kill family.
And if he were being a bit more honest with himself, he did also want to see the lad - missed him a little, in his own way.
Pan looked at the distance with something like excitement, feeling dark magic thunder through the lands and thrum in his veins.
The discrepancy struck him.
The lands. The entire realm was being affected, he could feel it. People from peasants and royalty disappearing, vanishing from not only their houses but their world, disappearing from the Enchanted Forest.
Maybe, the thought crept into Pan's head and grew as quickly as the spell spreading across the lands, Rumple hadn't really known he was there. Maybe this was something else, something not directed at him.
Rumplestiltskin would hesitate before killing him. But perhaps not for killing everyone else, perhaps not the entire Enchanted Forest. Pan had rarely cared for anyone but himself, nor for anyone his decisions influenced, and it was likely his son had inherited that trait.
He turned and ran.
The spell - a curse type, how had he missed that? - was closing in, snapping at his heels. He'd waited too long. He couldn't outrun it, but perhaps his shadow -
The magic snagged him, suffocated him, and dragged him down into what ever his son had unleashed.
His shadow flickered into existence, but it was too slow.
The curse ate at him and Peter Pan disappeared.
So that's the first chapter. RnR Please! Thoughts, comments, suggestions?
