Arrival

The bus dropped Bae off just outside Portland, Maine, and he stepped off and adjusted his duffel bag on his shoulder. He quickly spotted a couple walking to their car and asked them where they were going. When they said they were on their way north, he asked for a ride, which they willingly obliged to. They dropped him off outside a small town several miles north of Portland. He waved as they drove away and then walked north.

He only had to go a mile before seeing the sign declaring that he was now entering Storybrooke. He took a deep breath and passed over the line the sign indicated. He felt the air change almost immediately. "It's okay, you can do this," he said to himself.

The town proper soon appeared through the dense forest which surrounded it. In the dying light, the people were still animated, and it looked as if something had sent the town into disarray. "What the hell happened here?" he asked.

"A wraith," a bespectacled man holding an umbrella said.

"Did it get what it wanted?"

"Last I heard, disappeared to parts unknown, alongside Snow and Emma." He nodded in understanding, but the names meant nothing to him besides what his friend had told him.

"Know where I can stay that's cheap and not totally in shambles?"

"Anybody that comes here always stays at Granny's: Emma, Pinnocchio...well, those've been the only visitors we had. Who're you?"

"Name's Ben. Ben Andersson."

"Jiminy Cricket." The man extended his hand toward Ben, and he shook it. Maybe it was okay to use a fairy tale name here, but he didn't want anyone knowing his yet.

"Thanks."

"No problem."

Ben nodded to Jiminy and walked toward Granny's, a bed and breakfast. An elderly woman and her granddaughter stood behind the desk, the latter behind the former, and Ben soon saw why. A man in a suit was leaning on a cane before them. The young woman excused herself and turned to help the customer, and the man turned. Ben recognized him at once, and lumps formed in his throat and stomach.

"Can I help you?" the young woman asked.

"What-oh, uh, yes. I'd like a room, but I spent the last of what I had on a ticket to get here."

"Why don't you stay with me?" the man with the cane asked. Ben refused to acknowledge that he recognized the voice, as well.

"What do you want for it?"

"What do you mean?"

"People always want something. I don't have a lot to give, so I want to know what I'm getting into before I get screwed over."

The man stepped forward and said in a low voice, "If you're who I think you are, I already have space."

"Do you expect me to produce some kind of proof?"

"I tell you what, if you can prove yourself, I'll let you stay with me."

"Let's talk outside." The man followed Ben onto the sidewalk and then into an alley. "What do you want to know? Ask me anything. Except a math question. I'm bad at math."

The man laughed. "I had a son," he said solemnly after he recovered himself, "and I lost him."

"You didn't lose him," Ben said at once. "You let him go. He screamed at you to come with him, and you refused. You hung onto that knife, that stupid knife, but you let your flesh and blood go. Why? Because you're a coward."

"I know. I'm a coward and a fool, and every day I've paid for it, because I lost him."

"Don't say it like that."

The man sighed, closed his eyes, and bowed his head. "I let my boy go, my beautiful boy, and my only hope is that he'll forgive me, but oh, how I doubt it."

"If I see him, I have a feeling if he'll ask if you even tried to get him back, because I'm sure he loved you."

"If you see him, tell him that I spent every waking moment of every day, every century, looking for him and trying to get him back."

Ben met the man's eyes and recognized in them the sadness he felt. "Anything else?" he asked.

"What do you think he would've done, after arriving in a land without magic?"

"Learned to fight, maybe. Learn to write, definitely. Maybe try to make a living as a storyteller."

"Would he be successful?"

"A lot of people want to be storytellers. Not a lot of them can tell the truth of a story."

The man nodded and held his hand out to Ben. "What do you call yourself now?"

"Ben," he said, shaking the man's hand. "You?"

"Mr. Gold."

"No first name?"

"Never felt the need for one." Ben nodded. "Well, if you're going to stay with me, you'd better come now. I don't want you spending your first night in town in an alley." Ben nodded again and followed Mr. Gold down the street.

They came to a large home with a beige facade. It was three stories tall, and to Ben, all concepts of the man's modesty flew out the window. Mr. Gold unlocked the front door and gestured for Ben to enter. "Your room is upstairs. I've kept it locked, for fear of anyone stealing anything from it. I hope you understand," Mr. Gold said.

"I live in New York. Trust me, I get it," Ben replied.

"Oh, good. I'll be back. Please, feel free to make yourself at home." But as Mr. Gold walked upstairs, Ben remained at his spot.

OUAT

Rumpelstiltskin unlocked the second-story room that he had reserved for Baelfire, almost overwhelmed by the fact that the room's intended inhabitant was potentially standing in his foyer. But he couldn't rush to judgement just yet. He'd been duped once by someone he thought was his long-lost son.

He returned to the foyer and asked for Ben to follow him, which he did. "So," he asked, "what brings you to Storybrooke?"

"I recieved a postcard from an old friend. The card said that the curse had been broken, in not so many words," Ben replied.

"I see."

Rumpelstiltskin stopped in front of the doorway and gestured for Ben to enter. Ben nodded his thanks and slipped inside. Rumpelstiltskin waited until Ben closed the door before descending the stairwell again.