.

"Maybe one day I'll come back here

Maybe one day I'll be able to love you like I should

I know it looks like I'm running

I never said that what we had here wasn't good

If I don't try now, I'll go crazy"

-Tyler Ward

It wasn't until they'd reached Massachusetts that he considered the fact that maybe running off with a total stranger in the middle of the night wasn't such a great idea. By then, Bae had somewhat unwillingly caught a few hours of sleep, and he'd calmed down enough that he was almost able to think coherently.

It wasn't until they reached New Jersey that he started to question whether this man was even who he said he was.

Sure, Killian Jones had an I.D. that said he indeed worked for the county. But would the county really send someone for him in the dead of night? Would the county go to such lengths to remove him from his life entirely?

…Would the county stop at a motel near the shore in Jersey and insist that he cut his mop of hair shorter so that he'd be less recognizable?

No, Bae really didn't think Jones worked for the county at all. But it was strange. Where a feeling of fear should be settling in his stomach at the thought of being kidnapped and taken away from his life in Storybrooke, Bae felt…. hope? Maybe it was hope. Hope that he could finally get the freedom he'd always desired. Hope that he could still have a chance to experience the world outside of Storybrooke, Maine. Was there even such a thing?

Who was he kidding? He was bloody terrified. He didn't know when he'd unconsciously decided to go with this man that he'd be taken to far away from his home, that he'd never get to see his friends or family (or at least what was left of it) again… He was a child, being dragged away from the only world he'd ever known on a midnight journey with complete stranger who was lying about who he was.

So yeah, he was terrified.

Too terrified to back down.

Too terrified to try to run away from Jones.

There was no going back now. He pushed his fear to the back of his mind and followed Jones into the motel, where the older man made quick work of giving him a hair cut. One simple change and yet, when Bae glanced in the mirror afterwards, he hardly recognized himself. Gone was his mop top of his childhood. Perhaps it wasn't only the haircut, but the look in his eyes that made his own reflection look strange. This wasn't Baelfire Gold whose face met him in the mirror. No, this was someone else entirely.

Jones told him they'd spend the night at the motel before heading back out later for the rest of their trip. He still wouldn't tell Bae where it was they were going; all he knew was that they were going south. But south could mean anything.

That was the night that Jones filled him in on more of the details of this escape, as Bae was now thinking of it as. He still didn't know all that much about his mother's murder, what had caused it, how Killian had known where to find him… What he did know was that he had a new name. Neal Cassidy. He sort of liked that. A new name for a new person.

He just wished becoming this Neal character didn't mean leaving Bae's friends behind.

But hey, Neal could make friends too, right?

But could Neal meet someone as beautiful, sweet, and kind as Emma Swan?

Damn it, what had he done? Leaving that beautiful young girl just after finally working up the nerve to kiss her at last.

No one could ever truly replace Emma… or August or the Darlings, either. Maybe he could go against Killian's wishes, return to Storybrooke, if only to visit. But the look on Jones' face when he'd told Bae that he could never return gave him the impression that it'd be incredibly dangerous to return, if only because Jones might decide to drop the nice guy act and hurt him.

He didn't doubt that he was capable of that.

Bae, err, Neal (as he really should start thinking of himself) allowed himself to settle onto one of the two beds in the motel room, collapsing and drifting into a deep sleep despite the fact that it was about two o'clock in the afternoon when they'd stopped and he'd slept in the car for the last few hours. Jones, however, wasn't keen on continuing to drive much longer without a proper rest. So that was that. It was nightfall again by the time they both woke again, threw their few belongings back into the car (was it even Killian's car? Neal wasn't sure of anything in this situation anymore) and headed out.

Jones drove through the night, only stopping to pick up some take out for the both of them to eat, and a few times for bathroom breaks. About four hours after passing the "Welcome to Virginia!" sign, Neal fell asleep again. He couldn't trust Jones as far as he could throw him, but somehow his weary body won over and he kept falling asleep in the man's presence.

When Neal woke again, the car was coming to a stop outside of a large, two-story house. He peered at the building through sleep-clouded eyes. The grey-blue paint was chipping, and a few shingles were out of place, but altogether it wasn't in bad shape. Looking past the house, Neal's eyes widened when he realized they were right by the shore.

"Where are we?" He asked slowly, still so unsure about interacting with Jones.

"North Carolina. Jacksonville. Say hello to your new house."

"This? This is where I'm living?" Neal choked out a response. How the hell had Jones come across an oceanfront property? He decided not to question it. Jones, in the short time he'd known him, had proved to not be a fan of too many questions.

"Correction: This is where we're living. Someone's got to look out for you."

Neal decided not to comment on that either. He'd basically been looking out for himself ever since his parents had decided their feud was more important than their child. He'd gone many nights with having to provide his own dinner, because his mother wasn't around and his father was too burdened with his anger to even realize that Baelfire was even there. He'd found himself spending more and more time with Emma and his other friends, looking for any excuse not to be home.

Rather than ask for anymore information for the time being, Neal opened the car door and stepped out slowly, taking in the view.

The house sat on top of a small, grassy hill. A curved, gravel driveway led from the house, back out to the road that they had come from, lined with scattered magnolia trees. The house itself was an old, clapboard-style beach home, two stories high. Neal slowly wandered around the side of the house, to the backyard. A small expanse of green grass greeted him, with a large pecan tree off to one side. About thirty yards down, the grass met sand, and beyond that, an enormous body of water.

Neal hadn't realized that Jones had followed him from the car until he came up behind him. He turned back to the expansive bay, noting the wooden docks that started popping out from the beach about a dozen yards or so past the backyard of their new home. His eyes followed the line of docks, admiring the many scattered ships that were docked among them, until he finally took in the large marina in full. It was quite massive, and Neal figured that a great deal of business must be carried out through those ports.

Without saying anything to Jones, he turned and walked towards the house, the elder man silently following. Jones unlocked the front door and they both stepped inside. Neal slowly paced the lower floor, exploring the worn house. The interior wasn't in much better shape than the outside of the house. Chipping paint adorned some walls, while old wallpaper hung from others. The place was scarcely furnished. Really the only furniture on the lower floor was a worn out leather sofa, a small table, and a few chairs.

During his absentminded scan of the ground floor, Neal heard what sounded like footsteps above him. His heart rate quickened and he looked back at Jones. Where they not alone after all? But Jones looked rather calm. He must have known somebody else was here.

Neal turned back around and his eyes met those of a figure on the stairs. Eyes that should not have that much light in them. Eyes that should be closed for good, buried six feet underground.

And suddenly it was clear why Jones would never allow Neal to return to Storybrooke. He couldn't risk anyone finding out about his dirty little secret. He couldn't risk anyone knowing that Robert Gold was innocent.

For staring back at him, a light smile upon her face, was his mother.

A/N: Yes, this was a rather short chapter. I'll make up for it in the next chapter or two. And oh, how about that whole Milah not actually being dead thing? That wasn't a part of the original story plan, but I kind of like it….

Anyway… Review and let me know what you're thinking! The more feedback I get, the faster I update. Thank you all.