Put up your barricades
There's money to be made
Continue your charade
Money to be made
What you're asking for means the world to me
You draw close as you whisper precisely
Precisely
- The Hoosiers, Money To Be Made
The portal roared beneath them, lighting up the forest with its hungry green glow. The last time Rumpelstiltskin had felt terror like this, it was just before he'd cut and run from the Ogre Wars. In his bones, he knew that he wasn't going to go through with this deal because gods was he afraid. His blood was frozen in his veins, he couldn't breathe, he could barely think.
Bae was screaming at him, pleading with him, come with me dad come with me, and he wanted to, he wanted to be brave and be a dad and if only that light weren't so bright or that noise so loud maybe I wouldn't be so scared
Rumpelstiltskin's grip was slipping, he could feel his son's fingers sliding away, but he couldn't let go of the dagger, he couldn't because it kept him safe, it gave him power, it kept his back straight and his shoulders squared.
But he couldn't hold both.
The air was suddenly deathly quiet, and he was alone in the crater the portal had left behind.
There was that regret again, but he replaced it with anger as quickly as he could, because anger hurt less. He decided that he hated the world and everyone in it (including himself).
He used bitterness to pull himself to his feet and resentment to walk with. He was the Dark One. It was time to start acting like it.