Chapter 10

Neverland, Three Hundred One Years After Rumple Became the Dark One

The three Lost Boys and their guests are lounging by the fire, picking their teeth and laughing as Rumple reads to them from the dragon book. Nibs has some definite ideas about the psychology and physiology of dragons, so he keeps criticizing the author; none of his claims are accurate, however, so Rumple doubts if Nibs' ideas are based on actual observation. The father instinct nudges Rumple to make this a teaching moment, but he's supposed to be twelve, so he ignores the instinct—and the urge to take Tootles onto his lap and give him the hug the boy needs more than air and water.

"Are there others, or is Peter the only other guy?" Rumple asks.

"We got others. They'll be back when the sun sets," Slightly says. His tough-guy act has slipped a little; Rumple senses the beginning of trust between them. He reads another story and they laugh some more. They're so relaxed now, their bellies full and their bodies warmed by the afternoon sun, that they're about to doze off. It's time now, Rumple realizes, for the information exploration.

He begins by asking about each of the missing members of this motley tribe, and Nibs and Tootles describe them. He focuses most of his questions on Peter, which is to be expected, since Peter will decide Rumple's fate with the Lost Boys, but then he swings the conversation around. "So that's six of you. Anybody else? No girls?"

"Girls don't come here," Tootles squeaks. "We don't want 'em."

"There was one here once, but she didn't stay," Slightly recalls. "Wendy."

"She was our mother." Tootles swallows hard. "It was nice, but then she had to go back."

To change the subject, Slightly says, "There was another kid; he left just two weeks ago. He stayed a long time. The pirates took him and Peter tried to get him back. He had a big fight with Hook, but—" Slightly shrugs.

"He was nice too," Tootles adds. "He showed me how to make a fishin' stick. Wanna see?" Before Rumple can respond, Tootles trots off to one of the caves.

"So he's with the pirates now, this other boy?"

"Peter went back to look for him, but the ship was gone. A big hole opened in the sea and the ship fell into it. It didn't come back."

"Maybe Bae got away," Nibs says. "Maybe he fell over and the mermaids got him. Maybe he drowded."

Rumple shudders involuntarily. He reaches out with his magic, searching for a scent or a sign, but he finds none. If Bae were dead, there would be a trace of him in the wind, in the water, in the land. Rumple has seen enough of death to know that the earth remembers long after people have forgotten.

But wherever Bae is now, he's with pirates, and—Rumple forbids himself to finish the thought. Bae is brave and resourceful; he will survive.

Tootles returns with a smooth pole; a nearly invisible line with a tiny silver hook is attached to one end. "See?" He's proud as a peacock. "I made it. Bae showed me."

Rumple touches the hook and his magic informs him it's true: Baelfire strung this pole. Baelfire was here, just two weeks ago. This is the closest Rumple has been to his son in three centuries: his throat aches with longing. "Did he have any toys or anything he left behind?"

"Yeah, he left all his stuff."

"Can I see?"

Slightly shrugs his permission, and Tootles leads Rumple to one of the caves. Past the sleeping mats and the piles of dirty clothes and handmade toys, Tootles shows him a wooden box. "We put his stuff here, in case he comes back."

Rumple kneels and sorts through, his hands shaking. With everything he touches, the magic sends him all sorts of valuable information: Bae was healthy, Bae had had enough to eat, Bae had slept, though fitfully, Bae had cut his arm but it had healed without infection. But, the magic agrees, Bae hadn't been here in two weeks. Rumple finds no writings, no maps, no drawings, nothing that indicates where Bae has gone.

Rumple wishes to hold the clothes to his nose and breathe in Bae's scent, but Tootles is watching. With a little sleight of hand, Rumple slips a sock from the pile into his pocket. It's just a dirty, holey sock but it was Bae's.

A rooster's crow echoes off the mountains that appeared just moments ago beyond the clearing. Nibs scrambles to his feet. "Peter! Come on, Toot!" The pair run off in different directions, and soon a chair and a plate of food are waiting for the Prince of Neverland.

He arrives in grand style, flying in and crowing, his magic radiating; he lands on top of the table and stands with his hands on his hips, staring down his nose at the newcomer. "Who are you? Hi, Tink. Welcome back."

Three mere mortals trudge into the camp and position themselves behind Pan. The tallest wears a hooded jacket that, along with his shaggy blond bangs, hides his eyes. He's smiling as though the world is his, compliments of his leader, of course. The middle boy also wears a hood. He swipes a slice of pork from Nibs' plate and eats it, standing with his back half-turned. The third boy is a blue-eyed red-head whose hood hangs down his back. He doesn't really look at anyone.

"My name is Clochette," the pixie corrects. "Hi, Peter."

"This is Ailwin," Slightly says. "He was lost. I said he could stay 'til you got here."

Peter leans forward to stare at the newcomer. "Ailwin, huh?" Having completed his assessment, he struts up and down the table, his boots nimbly dancing around the plates of food. "We'll see, if he follows the rules. Did you tell him the rules yet?" Slightly shakes his head and Peter continues, "First rule: I'm the boss. You do what I say. You don't and—tell 'im, Felix."

The boy with the hooded jacket and hooded eyes grabs Rumple by the collars to sneer in his face. "R-r-r-rip. Your shadow, he's gonna rip it off, slow, so that it hurts real bad. You know what happens then, when your shadow's gone?"

Rumple shakes his head.

Felix shoves Rumple backwards and the latter falls. "You're nothin'. You're like a skin after a snake shed it." Felix reaches backward, grabbing the red-haired boy by the shoulder and thrusting him forward for Rumple's inspection. "Like this. He used to be Bertrand. Now he's nothin', so he don't have a name."

Looking into the redhead's empty eyes, Rumple can believe it. The kid's lack of expression reminds him of the victims of heart theft—the emotionless creatures that are left when a sorcerer has removed a heart. But as Felix pushes Bertrand's face toward Rumple's, Rumple sniffs—and detects no odor. No scent at all. Not the milky smell of a child or the flop-sweat smell of a teenage boy, not the brimstone odor of demons, not even the stench of the dying. Rumple draws back, stunned. He's never encountered this before, though he read about it in some book in the Dark Castle library. He'd read the page, then he'd thrown the book across the room—in disbelief, he'd told himself then, but the truth was, he'd been horrified. Not much could shock the Dark One, but that page did.

A lack of a scent is one of the indicators of the absence of a soul.

One whose heart has been removed by a sorcerer can still walk and talk and think, can live a life, though an empty one; but one whose soul has been removed. . . .According to the book, that victim is neither alive nor dead.

All the evil committed by all the Dark Ones throughout time can't compete with the evil that lies within the sorcerer who would take a soul.

"This is what He can do. This is what He will do to those who disobey him. Do you get it, Ailwin?"

Rumple nods, avoiding eye contact, but he manages a furtive glance. Boys can lie like rugs when they boast, but Felix isn't exaggerating, the magic tells Rumple. Magic is blaring every alarm it can reach. Rumple's skin crawls—and beneath Peter's creepiness, there's something that makes Rumple's heart pound. He can't place it—something in the boy's voice, an accent that sounds faintly of Loameth, but long ago.

But stronger than the accent, stronger by far than any threat Felix can utter or Bertrand can represent, is the scent rippling off Pan: brimstone, the odor of a dark magic; and ash, the odor of a demon. Pan is the real deal. However he came by his powers, he must have dealt directly with the Original Evil, and his magic came to him undiluted.

"Second rule: Nobody owns anything but me. Everything belongs to everyone, except what's mine. Got that?"

Rumple nods, and Slightly pipes up, "He already shared." He points to the now-empty bag and the toys strewn across the ground.

"Good. Third rule: Everybody works. What can you do?"

"My papa was a spinner. I can do that."

"What's a spinner?"

"Makes clothes."

"That's a good thing. How long are you thinking of staying?"

Rumple shrugs and Peter grins nastily. "Well, here's news for you: nobody can leave Neverland."

Rumple has news for him: he'll be leaving with Jefferson tomorrow at noon, and since he can't take Bae, he'll take one of the Lost Boys. But of course Pan will have to find that out the hard way. A nerve in Rumple's cheek tweaks and he throws a quick glance at Clochette. She nods slightly; she won't abandon him.

Neverland, Present Day

"Before you encounter Pan, you need to know how he works." Clochette is still pacing across her boulder. "His powers aren't as many and varied as Rumplestiltskin's, nor as blatant as Regina's, nor as pure as Emma's, but they are entirely capable of controlling this island and everyone on it, and he can defeat every one of you. Allow me to demonstrate." She sprinkles more dust on the boulder and a new vision appears upon it. Team Emma gathers back around for a close look.

They see an apple orchard and floating from tree to tree, little lights that they have come to recognize as pixies. "Spring, nineteen years ago. We were gathering apple blossoms; we make wine from them." The image focuses in on one exceptionally bright light, which resolves itself into an auburn haired, crown-wearing pixie who's sniffing a blossom. "Reine, our queen."

Suddenly a patch of darkness falls across the branch upon which Reine stands and she looks up with a gasp. Her light intensifies and her wings flap in preparation for flight, but horror takes control of her face and she freezes, staring into the darkness. The image on the rock flutters and changes: now Team Emma is shown an auburn-haired pixie-child playing in a pile of autumn leaves.

Clochette explains, "Pan has pulled this memory from her. He's forcing her to relive it."

There is a warning shriek from above and before the pixie-child can run, a black blur dives at her and talons dig into her shoulders. Imprisoned, she is taken into the sky, her captor streaking into the sky like a bolt of lighting returning to the clouds. The pixie-child cries but collects herself: she grabs one of the talons and sends an electrical shock into it. Her captor screams and the talons open, releasing her. She plummets, her legs pumping, falling faster and faster.

The image on the rock flutters and changes once more, returning now to the adult pixie queen standing frozen on the branch. The dark shape hovering over her grows darker and engulfs her, yet she doesn't move, and then complete darkness falls. When the darkness passes and light pours in again, the pixie has vanished.

"And that's how he took her. So easy for him. He reaches into your mind, sorts through your memories and your nightmares and your fantasies, and as he forces you to relive them, he gains control of you. If he chooses, he can drive you to madness, to suicide."

"A block," Emma suggests. "There must be a block of some sort to keep him out of your head. A shield, a cloak, I dunno." She spins on Rumple. "Gold?"

Rumplestiltskin shakes his head, lost in his own thoughts.

"He was granted this power by the Original Dark One. It has a strength and purity of evil that's unmatched. How can a person protect himself against himself?"

"For some of us, we are our own worst enemy," Hook mutters. "It's a beautiful weapon."

"Yeah," Emma says slowly, "but not for all of us. Some of us have less material-less guilt and less fear-for him to work with." She glances at her father and smiles.

He frowns. "What are you thinking, Emma?"

Snow catches on. "She's right. Your heart is cleaner than anyone else's, including mine."

"Ah, the benefits of a simple mind," Hook comments.

"What if, instead of seeing us, Pan saw only David?" Emma muses. "Everywhere he looks, another clean-hearted David. Uncorruptible."

"I'm hardly as innocent as that," David mumbles, casting his eyes downward. "I have my own crimes and regrets."

"Not anywhere as many as the rest of us," Snow says softly. "You haven't murdered."

"Even if it just bought us some time," Emma persists. "It would be worth trying."

Hook plays with his beard. "Let me understand this. You're suggesting a transformation?" With his hook he gestures to his body. "You want me to give up this for—" He now gestures to David and wrinkles his nose as though a foul odor has suddenly filled his nostrils. "That?"

"Hey," David growls.

"You should be so lucky," Snow blurts. "My husband has an incredible physique and classically handsome features."

David and Emma both blush, Emma adding, "Uhm, Mom, don't go all mushy in public, okay? You're embarrassing me."

"Sorry, darling."

Emma changes the subject quickly. "So, Clochette, can you do it? Give us all a—a David makeover? Just for a couple of hours while we storm the enemy camp."

"A glamour?" Clochette shrugs. "As you humans say, it's a piece of pie."

"Cake," David corrects. "Piece of cake. Which reminds me, it's nearly lunchtime."

Hook shrugs and smiles at Emma. "Perhaps you're right, my blonde beauty. Not so much there for Pan to work with."

Clochette hands over to Sabina the task of casting the glamours on Hook, Emma and Snow. Rumple is standing aside; Clochette flies to his shoulder and he walks away from the crowd so he can speak with her in private.

"This won't fool Pan," Rumple warns.

"No, of course not, but the goal is for them to distract the Lost Boys and Pan's lieutenants, keep them preoccupied—and safe from the real battle." Clochette squirms as she searches for a comfortable seat on Rumple's shoulder. "You have bony shoulders." She finally relocates to the span of muscle between his collarbone and his neck.

He pulls a mouth. "Would I be correct in assuming your intention is for me to fight Pan?"

"It is."

"I can't."

"Yes you can. Your magic is as powerful as his, and you have a wider arsenal than he does." Clochette leans back, making a pillow of his earlobe. "More importantly, your motive places you on the side of right, for a change. And most importantly, prophesy is on your side. The Bearer of Light will defeat the Evil Prince of Neverland."

Rumplestiltskin snorts. "You might've pulled the wool over the Charming clan's eyes, but I'm an old wool spinner, dearie. Where did you come up with this 'Bearer of Light' crap, anyway?"

"Might as well believe it now, Rumplestiltskin. It'll save some time later."

"Nothing 'light' about me, my girl. I'm the Dark One, the Snail Crusher, the Baby Stealer, Cruelty's Poster Boy. I've been evil since the day I was born."

"Now who's talking crap? But never mind. For someone who places so much stock in names, you aren't paying attention to your label. 'Bearer of Light.' It's about what you're bringing to the table when the game starts. No one on earth or in heaven has fought as long or as earnestly for the sake of love."

"Regardless, I can't fight Pan."

"You're right to assume that to defeat him you'll have to kill him."

"You're not listening. I can't fight Pan."

"You will, and you'll kill him. Only you can. The Fates have decreed it."

"Shouldn't 'the Bearer of Light' not go around killing people?"

"Pan isn't a person. He's a demon."

Rumple spins his head around to snap at the pixie, "He's my brother!"

"That's why you have to kill him."

The intensity of their conversation is broken by laughter from the camp, where both pixies and humans are giggling over the results of the makeover. Where, a moment ago, a tall blonde in a red jacket, a pirate in black and a sweet-faced brunette in a fur vest stood, there are now identical Prince Charmings. They even laugh the same.

The original folds his arms and admires his copies. "Well! The perfect army."

"How strange," David/Snow remarks. "For the first time, I actually feel attracted to you, Hook. But don't get ideas. I can still tell you from David: you smell like dead fish."

"If you should become confused and wander into my arms," Hook smirks, "as you Americans say, 'No harm, no foul.'"

Emma squirms in her new body. "It itches! So now I know why guys are always scratching themselves." She reaches for her Glock and sighs in relief to find it's still in her waistband. "So, Gold, you joining us or what?"

"While you rescue Henry and Regina, and free the Lost Boys, Clochette and I will take a meeting with Pan." His face is impassive as he makes this statement, just as calmly as if he'd said "take tea with Pan."

Emma doesn't buy the act. "Look, if you're going after Pan, you're gonna need help. I think I should–"

"Thank you, Ms. Swan, but you have a child to rescue," Rumple says. "it has to be me. And I will have help." He tilts his head toward the pixie riding on his shoulder.

Emma ponders for a moment, then acquiesces. "All right then, but let me give you something before you go." She approaches, reaching out her hands, and he assumes she means to hug him, but instead she grasps his hands and closes her eyes. Her magic surges through her fingers, every bit of her power, and floods his veins, sending him into a momentary power overload, his body shaking, his teeth rattling, his eyes glowing gold. Minutes pass as Emma pours her magic into him; when she releases him at last, dark circles have appeared under her eyes and her voice is weak. "Do you have it all?"

He nods. "Why–"

"You'll make better use of it than I would have." Her voice is stronger now. "good luck, Gold. Remember, Henry needs both his grandpas." She removes her gun from her waistband. "Let's move, people. The sooner we get Henry back, the sooner we can get out of this body." She gestures forward with the gun; Sabina barks an order and the airborne pixies fall into a wing-shaped formation. Another bark and they start forward, followed on the ground by the army of Davids.

"And me?" Rumple asks Clochette.

"And we," she corrects, "have a trip to sea to make. You, me and Belle."