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Prologue
"You can tell yourself that you would be willing to lose everything you have in order to get something you want. But it's a catch-22: all of those things you're willing to lose are what make you recognizable. Lose them, and you've lost yourself."
― Jodi Picoult, Handle With Care
Hold.
It was a universal word that had many uses and meanings. You could hold on to someone. You could hold off doing something. You could "hold down the fort" or hold back your feelings. There were strongholds, strangleholds, footholds and households. You could hold hands, uphold ideals or withhold information.
It was one thing to do the holding. It was a completely different state of being held, particularly against your will.
Rumplestiltskin stepped up to the spray painted line on the road. Stepping over it meant he would lose his memories as Rumplestiltskin. He would forget Bae. He would forget his purpose, his reason for being in this world.
But he would also forgot three hundred years of being the Dark One. He would be able forget all his sins and crimes, every dark deed he had performed to get to this world. If he forgot who he really was, he would no longer be a threat to the town. They would leave him peace. He wouldn't need to worry about protection for himself or for Belle.
Belle.
He took a small step back from the line. She had been through so much already, him taking the coward's way out would only add to her troubles. He needed to stay in control for her, to protect her from Regina. One day, they could find Bae together, if the boundary ever came down completely.
The monster inside him railed at being kept behind bars once more. Dark, cloudy memories of being imprisoned curled around his mind. His sanity had slipped immensely during that time. The Dark One was powerful for a reason and to confine that power with no outlet was equivalent to having an energy overload that eventually robbed the person of any sane thought. He had barely held on to his rational thought long enough to get the savior's name from Snow White.
That couldn't happen again. He had unleashed magic into this world, it had settled into his fingertips once more and the boundary around the town may be a larger cage than the one Charming had used but it was a cage none the less. His sanity would slip once more. The town would suffer. Belle would suffer and he wouldn't have that, not anymore.
Going back to the car, he pulled out a small notebook and ripped a page out of it. He wasn't sure if it was going to be enough but it was the best idea he could come up with at the moment. He wrote two words onto the paper and tucked it in the breast pocket of his suit jacket. He kept his hand over it for a moment, pressing it against his heart, willing the words to sink through flesh and blood, to become engraved on his soul. He left the car and stepped back to the garish orange line.
Being held back from a singular purpose was the worst kind of imprisonment. All magic had a price and if the payment was himself, then so be it. He only hoped by letting go of who he was would be enough to break the grip of this curse. He hoped it was enough of a payment that he would still be able to find Bae.
There was something else that could be held: hope. And he clutched it close to him as he placed one foot over the line, followed by the other.