Dark Night of the Soul

Chapter 1

"The only way for you to die, is if we both die." Rumple struggled with Pan, who was still in his vice like hold. "And now…and now, I'm ready." Plunging the dagger into his father's back, killing them both to save those he loved.

He woke again, feeling the haze lifting from him if only a little further than before, pulling him once more from this continuous nightmare. In his dazed state he realized he was on a floor, dirty, its wood cracked and broken. How many days had he lain here now, the image of his father dying at his hands haunting him?

Each time he used the dagger on his father, he felt himself being pulled away from the emptiness. The cold darkness that he had been sure was death.

Something crawled over him, and his eyes flew open. The pain and glare were so unbearable that it forced his eyes to shut. Too much, too fast he thought. He opened them again, slowly this time. As he did this, he also took note of the noises around him. The tree branches swaying from the breeze, birds chirping and singing, bugs crawling and flying about, and what sounded like a window shutter knocking back and forth. Rumplestiltskin tried to make sense of his surroundings.

He opened his mouth, but it felt dry, too hoarse to speak yet, Rumplestiltskin wondered where he was.

As his eyes continued to adjust Rumple realized this place was an old home. Very old and no longer lived in, and by the looks of it more of a ruin than anything. The sun shone through the holes, in what would have been a roof. Plants and vines had taken over a large part of the walls and floor. Turning to look at the floor, he sighed 'Just how long have I been here?'

It ached to move, but Rumple had to try. He struggled, grabbing a nearby vine to help pull him up. He felt it give some, but then tighten, and used the little strength he could muster to pull his torso up. After several attempts Rumple grunted, causing a few nearby birds and creatures to take notice of his movement.

Falling back onto the floor, Rumple wiped the moisture from his face. He felt tears washing over the traces of dried ones, and the growth of facial hair. His thoughts were still a jumble as he stared blankly up at the ceiling. Where was he? What happened? He tried to keep a coherent thought but he felt exhaustion sweep over him.

Rumple was again lost to the nightmare. A group of people he couldn't make out standing by while he and his father confronted each other. Words flew through his dream, worm, happy ending, papa, I love you, you make me stronger, I sent it away with something to hide, but nothing connected. He felt a boy crying for his papa, wondering why he was alone and unloved. He couldn't find this boy, which made him cry all the more. He plunged a dagger into his father again as the nightmare continued to play out for him.

After some time Rumple woke to a new sensation and pain. Thirst and hunger were urging him on. Finding strength to move, Rumple dragged himself over to a small puddle on the floor, serving as a reminder of a recent rain storm that had passed through. He drank from it out of need, and then pulling himself a little further to some berry vines that had spread across the floor and what once was the entrance to this hovel. He ate his fill, leaving nothing left for the birds and insects that scattered at his approach. Looking around trying to figure why this place felt familiar, Rumple used his weakened, dry voice. "What is this place?"

Slowly standing, Rumple held the wall for support. He noticed a table and chairs at the one end mostly eaten away from the decay of time then termites. He looked at the clothes he was wearing. It was the same as in the dream he kept having. Expect now they were torn and soiled. He would repair them while he tried to gain his strength back. As Rumple made his way towards the old chairs he saw something shining out of the corner of his eye. He walked along the walls as best he could to hold himself up and see what the object was.

His eyes widened as he approached the object. It was the dagger from his dreams. He bent to pick it up, his eyes growing bigger as he saw the name on the blade, Rumplestiltskin.

Like a force, it knocked him backwards. Memories came rushing back like a torrent, flooding his mind. It was too much to take in, and Rumple slid down to the floor. Memories, childhood, papa, Peter Pan, spinning wheel, Milah, losing Bae, Belle, curse, Storybrooke, Neverland, death, it all came crashing back. Sweating, Rumple glanced at his hands, they were normal; he felt his face, normal. Was he still the Dark One? He didn't feel magic coursing in him, but the dagger still held his name.

He needed to spin and think. To figure where he was, and where he was going, but first he needed food, and fresh water.

Rumple took the dagger and made quick work of the vines blocking the door frame. Still not completely healed or strong, Rumple decided he would just glance at the outside surroundings to get an idea of where he was. He saw a well that was covered by overgrown weeds, an old stone wall that was mostly rubble now. And homes or the remains of homes that had now been claimed by nature and had fallen into ruin or had been burned to the ground. Not a living soul was nearby. Feeling some relief at that, he started to connect the pieces. This was his old home and village where he raised Bae, worked and became the Dark One.