Taking the Wheel

Author's Notes: Part one of what I hope to be a multi-parter story. Submitted to Airplaned's Tangled Fic Exchange, Round 2.

Hands brown with dirt, nails dirty, up to her elbows in weeds, Rapunzel paused to chide Pascal gently, tucking the carrots into her purse as the aging turtle slowly reached to bite at one. She shook her head, long hair falling loose from the plain bun it was pinned back into, as she chuckled,

"Now, now- You know better, silly turtle! If mother finds even one missing, you know what will happen. I don't like the idea of turtle soup, and neither do you."

He pulled back and looked at her reluctantly, wary, and snorted, turning with slow, aching steps to place his shell to her. She leaned back on her palms and sighed, tucking back her golden locks with a distant smirk, "Come on- I know you're not that mad! Besides, you get plenty of lettuce, and tomatoes, and crickets around here!"

Pascal did not budge, and she obliged to scoop him up, tickling at the bottom of his shell as he hid from her, grousing from the inside. She giggled, "Come out here! I can promise you a carrot later, okay?"

The small, wrinkled nose protruded, and he licked his lips slowly, smacking them open and shut. He peered at her carefully, then stuck out his head, and wiggled his legs, both in asking to be let down and in thanks. She set him down, and patted him on the head, "See? Nothing to worry abou-"

"Rapunzel! Rapunzel, my flower- It's time to come inside for dinner!"

Startled, she half-turned, brushing away the weeds and debris as she stood quickly, with dirt clinging to her knees she called back to the house, "Coming, mother!"

She looked down to Pascal and whispered, "Don't forget to hide!"

Before dashing back to the small farmhouse, clamoring the screen door behind her and scrambling through the dilapidated wood frame, she paused to take a final look at Pascal who ambled in the direction of a leafy bush beside the garden, and pulled a leaf aside to cover his head. Smiling, she turned into the dimly lit home and laughed, "Hello, Mother-"

"What, may I ask, is so funny, Rapunzel?"

Rapunzel straightened instantly, but her smile remained as her posture corrected, "Nothing, mother- I was just having a nice time in the garden- The plants are coming in nicely, and I weeded everything, just like you asked!"

Gothel cast a critical look up and down, frowning faintly. She smoothed her hand over her dress, a plain, black affair of nondescript shape, that served little purpose but to cover. The neckline ended beneath her collarbone, and was rounded with gold, reflecting dully against her skin, soft, pale, faintly wrinkled. She was a woman not quite on in her years, and her mouth was a taught line beneath large eyes with excessive lashes, slightly wrinkled at the corners. No laugh lines marred her features, and her hair was pulled back tightly, though it did little to obscure the dark, curling masses. She sneered vaguely, and sighed dramatically,
"Rapunzel, darling-" Rapunzel cringed, this was not a tone that indicated anything decent- "You do know you'll have to wash up before we head out. There's dirt all over your knees and elbows, and you've nearly ruined that dress. Whatever am I to do with you?"

Rapunzel sunk her head in shame and bit her lip, glancing sideward with a soft mumble, "Yes, mother."

"And what have I told you about the mumbling…?"

A lecture, a pint of guilt, and some deeply embedded shame later, Rapunzel had pulled herself from the tub, dried her hair as best she could- There was much of it, after all, as Gothel didn't think much for the short styles that populated the town's youth- and had wrangled herself into the demur black church gown. The only color to it was some small, thinly stitched white flowers at the sleeves, which closed tightly over her wrists. She was constantly pulling at them; they were too tight and too high, and she hated being unable to flex her hands and feel everything around her, to explore. They restricted her, and the starched neckline choked her a little if she moved too much.

This was the routine.

The drive to the church was the same every Sunday. The windows in the back were blackened, and she and Gothel would drive in silence. The paint across the windows had cracked and faded some over the years, enough so that Rapunzel had been left the visage of the Church tower, hovering over the town like a long shadow as they drove, and the sign into the town.

"Welcome to GoldTown" it had proclaimed, with a lackluster enthusiasm. Any more to the sign had gone unseen, and she looked forward to it every week- It was her only link to the people who lived there, beyond seeing them, unspeaking at the Church. They would march in and sit, sturdy and quiet in the silent rooms above everyone else, listening, away from the masses. No noise but the preacher and the occasional crying child, scuffle of shoes, cough of colds through the winter, and the long, droning hymns she sang with a quiet, gentle clarity each Sunday.

Gothel had told her, 'Don't sing too loudly, don't ask questions, don't talk to the towns people,' and she had long since learned to listen. One evening when Gothel had slipped away from her to speak to the pastor outside, she had stood with the rest of the town in the twilight while they walked and spoke, eating ice cream and chattering after the service. Rapunzel had stood to the side, wide-eyed- She'd wanted too, prayed that she could approach them! These strangers, so common and like herself, so far away! And yet- They didn't cast more than the cursory, curious look towards her. Even the curious children spoke only in whispers, and each found themselves pulled away before she could smile back. She had just barley, almost, been so, so close to working up the courage to speak to someone—When her arm had been pulled away, a grip tight as iron as Mother's voice hit her ears, ice cold, "Come alone, Rapunzel. We've been here long enough as it is."
And she was wrenched away—But, it was not before she caught the eye of a curious young man, leaning against the brick wall. He had not been in the service, she remembered- She knew everyone who had been, by his or her hair, stance, clothes. This man was young, a patch of facial hair beneath his lips, pulled into a faint smirk as she was pulled away, shining an apple on the gentle blue of his vest. She'd seen him wink before the car door had shut, and had pressed her hands to the glass-

Who was he?

Flynn, Eugene Rider. Twenty-something or other, rogue, scallion, mechanic- He spun the apple between his calloused hands as he watched the strange young woman be lead back to her car. She was cute, but other things were weighing on his mind. He chewed his lip, looking across the crowd, his smirk fading gradually—

The Stabbington Brothers, proprietors of the town's yearly circus festivities, and good… Friends, he supposed, of his, were supposed to have met him here after the sermon. It was good to mingle with the people, they'd argued- And sure, what was he to disagree? They saw them every year, paid the exorbitant prices to wander their glass mirror and crepe paper mazes, see the steel-bent cages of beasts, ride the spinning Ferris wheel that defined the fair. It was only right for them to show up and smile a little before they robbed them blind—And this was something Flynn found he had adapted. Give them a show- Then steal it from under them! Simple, right?

Not so much anymore. He was in a spot of trouble, now—His shop hadn't been doing so well. It turns out that the occasional failed gamble of a piece of junk, and the more-than-occasional night on the town tended to attract unwanted attention. The head of police had called him out on his antics, and had warned him- One more slip up and it was the chain gang, busting rocks. Figures!

Flynn forced a smile as the townsfolk wandered past, his thoughts grousing against the muscles, This damn town is too uptight sometimes.

And, perhaps, in a way, the shining example set by Goldtown was a bit of a higher standard than most. The mayor was a decorated war hero, and they were, to put none too fine a point on it, traditionalists- They'd fought to reinstate the mounted police as a tribute to some bygone, golden age, had limited curfews to eleven P.M., and had reinstated the laws for a dry county. Flynn, frankly, wasn't buying it, and would have none of it—Why preserve a forgotten relic when the rest of the place was in shambles? Crime was through the roof. He knew- He'd committed his fair share of it, between petty thievery, bribery, liquor running, false impersonation of an armed officer, among other smaller, less noteworthy crimes, and larger tales of his exploits. He wasn't perhaps proud of his actions, but he knew they all served a bigger purpose than their intent alone.

What would it like to be unremembered? The thought came to him with a shudder, and he licked his lips in disdain as he shuffled against the building, bracing against the faint cold the wind carried. Thankfully, his thoughts didn't have to last long- Bearing posts and glue, the men came down the streets, plastering the signs wherever they passed. He straightened, and flashed a smile, "Hello, guys-"

Their response was only to elicit a low grunt. The taller of the two, distinguished by his muttonchops and mossy vest, opposing his only inches shorter brother with his eyepatch. Ronald and Kay- Vicious criminals, smooth dealers, hard gamblers—And Flynn had a debt to be repaid. Their smiles were grim as they approached, standing tall and casting him in shadow, "Rider," growled Kay, his eye-patch lending the shadowed face a menacing sneer.

"Kay! Ronald! Hey, now, how's it been? Gosh, almost a whole year since we've met! Lots of things have changed, now, haven't they?"

"Not as much as you'd think, Rider." Ronald spat, and Flynn felt something cold press into his stomach. He blinked, and paled, "Oh."

"Oh is right. You lost us a lot with the misplacement of that booze, Rider."

"Well, fellas, I mean-"

"Doesn't matter what you mean or meant, Rider." The knife shifted, and Kay moved to the side, "We still want our money."

"Well, I've got it, I do, it's right—"

They had failed to hear the steps of the horse approaching, and the soft 'whush' of hot breath hit their necks. The brothers turned slowly, and the knife retracted like it had never been there, like smoke clearing the area from a small, doused fire. A voice rumbled over them, slow and determined, "We have trouble here, boys?"

"No, no!" Flynn shoved his way to the front and cast a smile, disarming, he prayed, and chuckled, "Not a problem at all."

The police officer's mustache twitched as Flynn spoke, and Flynn paled slightly. This would not end well- he could feel it in the soles of his feet, now, and he swallowed hard. The officer smirked slowly as Flynn continued to smile, cocking a brow, "In fact, we were just out for a stroll!"

"Were you, now, boy?" Flynn did his best not to wince- Boy did not carry any decent connotation here in the setting sun and the quiet. Leaves rustled past, carrying the dead weight of the breeze and setting a bright red pattern of light across Flynn's feet as it was carried away. He nodded, failing to notice the brothers stepping around him, Ronald rounding to the right of the horse, "Yes, just a lovely night for it, don't you think? Rather sweet, the air, and-"

"Good night to be running to get some gin back into the county."

The silence was heavier than his vest, and his chest struggled to maintain breath beneath the pounding of his heart- And then, without another word, there was a shhssskkk and a flash of silver-

The leaves scattered and there was a gurgling gasp. Where had been crimson leaves, the horse screamed out into the night and reared up. The officer grappled for his gun, his baton, anything, but his eyes rolled back and he slumped off the horse as Ronald pulled his arm back, ungrimmacing, and glaring.

"Talked too much."

The knife was tossed to Flynn's feet, and he, pressed in horror, did not register the scream from the woman across the street. She had seen- What had she seen-

Ronald had been in front of him. The officer lay on the ground, bleeding out into unfeeling streets. Flynn rounded to cry out to them, but they had left him with only a scattering of posters, the knife and blood across his feet, and an empty road with only the single witness.
Without another word, Flynn Rider turned and ran into the oncoming night.

"Rapunzel, tomorrow I need to take the harvest in."

"Yes, mother."

"You know I'll be gone for several days."

"Yes, mother."

"Good, darling. Now, finish your soup- It'll get cold, and we don't want anything to go to waste, now, do we?"

"Of course not, Mother! It's- It's very good. My-"

"Your favorite."

"Yes!"

The smiles cast across the table warmed the air slightly, and Rapunzel straightened, finding her smile brighter and the weight of her curiosity lighter. She cleared her throat gently, "Mother..?"

"Yes, my flower?" The singsong voice made Rapunzel giggle a little, and she smiled,

"Do you think I could, maybe, if it's possible, I mean, if we have room in the car-"

"Spit it out, Rapunzel!" Another chuckle, "Really, you know I can't hear you when you mumble!"

"Do you think…Do you—That—Maybe I could… Go with you, this time?"

The smile faded and the spoon hit the table with a low thud. Gothel's eyes blinked slowly in the dim candlelight, and she murmured, "Go…With me, Rapunzel?"

"Yes! To- To the festival, and to the wheel with the lights! To the harvest! I helped grow it, I know, and I've worked hard and been very good- And you know, it is my birthday. I just want to see the wheel!"

Gothel chuckled, but the merriment was gone, "The wheel? It's just like any other. Go to the wagon, the car, the cart, Rapunzel! Don't worry yourself. You will stay here, like always, where you- Where you are safe."

"But- I can handle myself, mother!" The chair scraped backwards as she stood, as though the act of standing would better herself in preparation for the argument, wringing her hands. Her smile did not fade, "I took care of the cow when she was ill, in the winter! And I beat away the coyote from the newborn sheep! I can do this, I can handle it!"

"Rapunzel, you aren't coming with me-"

"But, Mother-"

"Rapunzel, I've already said-"

"Please, if you'd just-"

"No!"

The slam of the bowl hitting the wall caused Rapunzel to fall back. It'd gone- It went right by my head. She's never- never been this..Angry before. Why-? I- I made that for her…

Gothel rounded on Rapunzel, advancing across the floor where the floorboards seemed to grown shorter and shorter, warping with her passage, making her loom like a giant overcoming Jack for his harp. Rapunzel's breath grew quick and she trembled- She had seen her thrash the cattle. It had not been an illness. She had known. Gothel's voice was low as she moved from the house quickly, grabbing the basket of her wares, "And that is the end of this, Rapunzel. Or, you should better hope it is."

The door slammed, and Rapunzel sank into a ball, sobs escaping her.

The soup dribbled down the wall and formed a pool behind her- In her tears, she missed the locking of the door, and the slam of a board as it crossed the frame outside, the starting of the car following shortly…

—-

"I need to get out of here, make sure they didn't follow. Christ-" Flynn's hands slammed the steering wheel as he struggled to keep the car moving, trembling as his headlights cast long roads ahead of him.

"They just- And now— God, Someone's dead. Someone important is dead."

Blinded by his panic, he drove into the night, away from Goldtown and down a rural road he hadn't explored before. How did he get here, anyway? How did he get involved in this?
You make one wrong choice, cast one die wrong and suddenly everything's in the river, you're avoiding being tickled by a knife in the throat, you're running for your life from a murder you didn't commit. He should have stayed home, had some pancakes, read the paper- Hell, he should have found a home to stay at! None of this was right, and now, here he was, driving down a road he didn't know in the dead of night, his headlights flickering in and out and-

"OH, GOD-"

He swerved to avoid the oncoming headlights. Where had they come fro-

Before he could think, he was crashing through a cornfield. Crying out, he slammed on the brakes as the car roared down the road behind him, the black tinted windows gleaming like eyes in the night. They hadn't even seen him. He clamored from the car, panting, and stood in the field, wide-eyed.

Now what?

To the west, the town shimmered in the dark, the gas lamps like reflective lanterns on the skyline, the Ferris wheel mounted high above everything, swaying cars lazily in the night air. And to his left?

Distantly, a house. The windows were dim, but there was light- Beyond it, if he squinted, he could make out a barn. Where had these come from? It was like they'd just sprung up from nowhere- Or, maybe they'd always been there. Rolling his shoulders, he looked back to his car.

It was useless, now. The damn thing wouldn't start, nor budge, and the night was getting cold. He needed someplace to go, someplace to think things through, somewhere to get things out of the way, out of the mind.

Shrugging, he headed towards the barn. It was night- Who'd be outside in the dark, anyway? Besides, he could always hide- they were the perfect getaway spot. Like a ship seeking a lighthouse, he pushed through the corn, and on his way.

Rapunzel had snuck out a window. She wasn't stupid- She knew her mother had locked her in. After she'd calmed down and cleaned up the mess, she needed some air- and had wandered out. The road was dark in the night, and she ignored it- It served no meaning to her if she didn't know the way there. She moved to the barn quickly, ignoring the chill- She needed a place to be alone with her thoughts and the animals. Pascal, tucked under her arm, shared her sentiment, and had buried his head in her armpit.

The barn door opened with a heavy creak- It was a little loose, which she considered odd. She was certain she'd locked it… Sighing, she shook her head and lit the lantern—
And was very surprised to see a man sitting in the hay, seemingly interrupted from his conversation with the cow. He blinked, and looked her up and down, "Hel-"

The slam of the manure shovel into the side of his head cut off further conversation, as she squeaked, and nearly dropped the lantern.

"There's a man in the barn."

Slow nod.

"A man-" A small, audible turtle sigh, "IN-" A poignant glare, "My-"

He bit her foot. She cried out again and bent to scoop up Pascal, frowning, and glaring at him, "This is serious!" He blinked slowly.

"No, I don't know who he is or how he got here!"

"Well, I mean- I had to hit him with the shovel! Who knows what he wanted?"

"…What? A goose laying golden eggs- Oh! I see, you're being sarcastic. Well, mister shell, what do you propose?"

Flynn groaned, and she squeaked. He managed out, "I propose not hitting the man with a shovel again until he can expl-"

At which point, he was slapped in the face with an irate garden turtle.

"Don't you MOVE!" The young woman wielded the turtle with alarming accuracy. The turtle just looked pissed. She glared, and looked down to the creature, then mumbled a quick apology, before reaching for the shovel and pointing it at him. He rather wished he hadn't- This was the business end of the shovel, and frankly, it smelled like the end that dealt with a lot of end business. He moved it from the way with one hand,

"Whoa, whoa, relax-" His head smarted, but he knew enough to draw back when she swung it back directly at him, as he put up his hands, "I just needed a place to crash, alright?"

"And who, exactly, are you?"

He dusted himself off as much as possible for a may lying in a hay pile, and flashed a smile, despite the starts in his eyes. "Name's Flynn. Flynn Rider. Hi."

She was unimpressed. He sighed, and offered a hand she did not accept, "Look- I'm just…passing through, alright? I'm in a little trouble, I needed someplace to crash."
"

Trouble? You're bringing trouble here?"

"What? No- no! I don't mean that, I mean, I wasn't followed or anything-"

"Oh. Well. Good."

He saw the shovel relax slightly, and exhaled, smirking faintly. Good- He could use this. He looked up, adjusting to the light as the stars and throbbing dimmed, then stopped, blinking, finding himself caught by surprise, "Wait- You—I saw you earlier. That woman rushed you out of the Church. Does she do that every week?"

Rapunzel stumbled back, and peered at him. The shovel went up again, and he grimaced,
"Alright, alright- I'll take that for a yes. Easy, Blondie."

"Rapunzel-"

"IS that what this is?" He picked up a handful of the hay, and let it fall through his fingers.

She glared, "No. Rapunzel is my name. That is what I shovel with this."

"Oh."

The pause was static, before Flynn let up, "Oh! OH! Oh, no- Is it- Is it on my pants? I've only got this one pair- I—Really! Stop smiling at me! This doesn't mean you've won anything!"

Rapunzel's smile faded, as she scowled, again, "Stop that! Sit down! Tell me, why are you here!"

"Hey! Don't swing that so close, alright? I've already told you." He scrambled, both trying to avoid sitting in the hay and sinking into it again, nose wrinkling. The cow beside him swatted at him in annoyance. He frowned, "What are you doing out here?"

The air was quiet but for the swish of the cow's tail, the slow noise of the turtle, and some breathing. Rapunzel swallowed, and lowered the shovel- He'd caught her. She shuffled quietly, bringing the blade to rest beside her as she looked up into the hayloft, murmuring,
"I came to look at the wheel. With the lights."

"The- The Ferris Wheel?" He was perplexed. He'd seen it coming and going- It was nothing special, nothing grand like the ones the cities would put up. It was sort've humble, dinky, prone to breaking down, but it did tend to gleam beautifully some nights. He furrowed his brow, and she looked at him, startled but flush with excitement,

"Yes! It has a name?"

"Er, no-" He stood, carefully this time, and stepped forward. She made no motion to stop him as she looked, excitedly, to the top the barn, where an open window let in a breeze. "That's just what they're called."

"Ah!" Her excitement didn't diminish, and she smiled, looking back to him, all previous hesitations lost.

"Then- Then you've seen it! You know what it's like?"

"Well, sure-" He shrugged. No harm in telling her- If she was really the girl he'd seen and heard about from the church, she was a recluse. A loner. A little crazy. He'd have to be careful, but he considered something- She was pretty. He could use her. The Stabbington's loved a girl, right? And her eyes alone, the way she smiled, that weird innocence was worth a barrel or two of gin. The rest he could repay—So they wouldn't do him as they did the copper. He smiled lowly, and chuckled,

"'Course I have."

Hell, if she was really the girl, then maybe she'd be too much to handle. Maybe she'd do them in. It was a wild hope, but it was one against a sea of disaster, and he stuck to it, smiling slowly all the while as he moved beside her. Her next question was a whisper,
"Could you take me?"

He laughed quietly, and glanced over to her, brows raised, "I could take you anywhere."