Mr. Gold is not accustomed to screaming.
He's not really accustomed to having people in his house either. He's really not accustomed to being jolted awake by terrified shrieks.
So, yes, when he woke up, Mr. Gold was in a bewilderment. Then he put the pieces together.
"Isabelle?" He scrambled out of bed, missing his cane in the dark. Somehow he made it to her room without it, but his leg was likely beyond easy repair.
Mr. Gold leaned heavily on the door as he thrust it open, staggering into Belle's room. She was sitting up in bed, staring at something he couldn't see, shaking and wailing.
"B- Isabelle? What's wrong?" He limps towards her, half sitting and half collapsing onto her bed.
"Pills," Isabelle mumbles, her blue eyes gaping at him like empty tunnels. "Pills." Then she starts screeching again, cowering as if she's being struck.
"Isabelle-"
"Pills!" She ducks under get covers. "Pills, pills, pills!" He's suddenly sure she wants the medication downstairs, the ones he tried to destroy. Mr. Gold is certain those are no good for her, certain this is some kind of ploy to make her mentally unstable. But he can't just sit here and listen to her scream. It only puts images of Belle-his Belle- laying in a tower with clerics and flayers.
But his Belle would be too strong to scream, he tries to convince himself as he stumbles down the stairs. Anyone would give up after a while, though. No one could withstand that every day for even a week.
With trembling fingertips, he scoops them up, failing to fit all four containers in one hand. He's partially glad he doesn't have his cane so he can carry them all. But it only makes it harder to walk.
As an afterthought, Mr. Gold snatches the paper of the dosages as he half-crawls back to his shrieking Belle.
She's tucked herself into a ball on her pillow when he returns, whimpering now, rocking back and forth. Her eyes are pale with terror. His Belle could never look so scared.
Mr. Gold trips onto the bed next to her, fumbling to put the jars in her hands. But Isabelle can't hold them. She's to busy shaking and staring. Staring at some nightmare he has no hope of seeing.
He struggles to open the jars himself, but his hands are wobbling a little, too. Finally Mr. Hold wrenches one open, peering at the list of dosages in the dark. Two...three? Rumplestiltskin had impeccable night vision. A perk of being the Dark One, he supposed. Even the peasant could see well at night. But Mr. Gold's was only as good as the average human, the one that waited several minutes for their eyes to adjust.
Mr. Gold did not have several minutes.
"Olanzapine..." He struggled to read the words. "Two...five? No, no three." Mr. Gold muttered like a mad man, squinting and unscrewing with little success. "Two. Olanzapine, two." He scrambled for the name. Zyprexa. That was the brand name. Why couldn't it simply have said Olanzapine? He scooped two from the container. "Oh. I should get you some water. One moment..." Mr. Gold's eyes scoured the room for his cane.
"No!" Belle snarled, launching herself at him. Mr. Gold flinched, something he hadn't done once in Storybrooke. No, no. This was Isabelle. She was not lunging for him but the pills in his hand, which she swallowed without water. Isabelle calmed a little, it seemed. Like less of the visions were haunting her.
"More." Isabelle's voice shook as hard as her body.
"R-right." Mr. Gold consulted his sheet once more. "Um...quetiaplane. No, quetiapine. Doasage...s-seven." That seemed like too much. He wouldn't give it to her. How could they put his Belle on medication?
His Belle.
No. This was Isabelle the mental patient. Isabelle who needed these pills.
When he didn't offer them to her, Isabelle ripped the container from his hands, yellow pills scattering like cockroaches. She gulped these down too, and all he could do was sit and stare at her in bafflement. His Belle would not do this. His Belle was strong. She was brave, and clever. She knew just the right strings to pull to make the beast fall for her.
"Birds!" She shrieked. Mr. Gold followed her line of vision to find empty space, one of her many hallucinations. Her empty eyes turned to him with more focus than he'd seen all night. "Make it stop." Her voice was commanding, but hollow. "Turn off the music."
Mr. Gold's heart wrenched. Not-Belle or not, he couldn't watch someone with her face be in this pain. "Okay," He opened his arms to her, waiting for the nostalgic feeling of Belle against him. But instead she snatched up the other two packages of pills, mumbling to herself.
"No more music." Be-Isabelle ducked as if something had flown right over her head. "No more music!" She wrenched the container open savagely, tossing four pills of what he supposed was the risperidone in her mouth.
"Belle," He could hear his voice breaking along with his heart. "Belle-"
"No!" She caterwauled. Then she tried to open the final medication with fingers that shook so hard he couldn't see them.
"Belle." Mr. Gold dropped his hand onto her wrist, gripping her until she released the pills. But her eyes were filled with a hatred that cut him to the core. "Belle." He tried to form words, but the only thing his tongue wanted to say was her name. Her real name. Not a half-hearted attempt at a reminder. "Belle."
"NO!" She bellowed. But the eyes were enough to stop him. The pain they produced inside him was far worse than what the medication could do. So solemnly he handed the last bottle of pills to her. Belle swallowed three without a sound; and the hatred and fury leaked out of her, replaced by something that was almost calm. But she was still trembling, and her blue eyes had a terribly haunted look that didn't belong.
"Belle." The name didn't taste so sweet anymore, but it hurt not to say it. "Belle." Gingerly, hesitantly, he reached out and stroked her hair. Belle accepted his embrace now, and curled up in his arms. She was sobbing, silently, but it watched him. Fighting the submission and cowardice inside him, he tightened his grip and stroked her back. He wouldn't let go this time.
She shook all night.