Title: Son of a Woodworker
Chapter Title: The Slow Hand Quickens
Setting: During 2x14 (ooo, two chapters for one episode)
Author's Note: OH MY GOD, WHERE I HAVE BEEN. I know, it's been forever, and now I'm posting so you're probably like "OMFG, yay! Cassie's got a second chapter for Manhattan, that's awesome!" And then you're gonna read it and then you're gonna be like "... I will pee on everything you love." SO HAVE FUN. *maniacal laugh* Read, review, tell a friend if that's your thing, and above all, enjoy the chapter! That being said, oh my god, I can't believe it took me so long to get this out. With any luck, I'll go on another 4 chapter run after this and get this thing close to the conclusion. Also, for your listening pleasure, I highly recommend Too High by Dave Matthews as a Wooden Swan song. Beautiful.
This is what it's like when you don't tell the truth.
His heart is pounding, his stomach is swimming in a nauseatingly guilty fashion as his wooden legs finally give out somewhere in the woods between the convent and the well, he's not sure where.
He collapses in a heap of kindling, rattling as loudly as his ears are ringing with the Blue Fairy's words.
You're a coward, August. This is your responsibility, and I cannot help you.
Even though he knows there's no actual blood running through his veins - might be sap, though, he has no desire to test that theory - there's a roaring of sound as shuddering pain wracks through him. He's curling up without thinking, loosely clutching at his own sides. He doesn't know if it's a pain borne completely of the body, or of the mind, but he knows it's unbearable and in this moment, he deserves it. His arm is throbbing, the sensation snaking up to his shoulder, then blossoming down through his entire chest in raw, scorching sensation. Exhaustion threatens to force his eyes closed, dragging him down into unconsciousness.
All the while, all he can see and all he can hear is the Blue Fairy telling him what he's always known about himself.
You said it yourself: you ruined her life.
Rolling onto his back, he's forced to stare at the gray, threatening sky and take account of his monumental failures. He thought he could do this, that he could reach Emma, apologize for everything and be honest about how he knows Neal and what he's done to her over all these years. Instead, he's given a part of himself to Rumpelstiltskin to be used whenever the Dark One wants. The shudder of genuine terror that rocks through him isn't lessened by the knowledge that Gold is gone, and that Emma is with him.
He wasn't sure before seeing the Fairy, but now? Now he just knows.
She's gone. And even when she comes back, if they've found Neal, he has most certainly lost any chance at reconciliation with her.
You have everything, and it is your fault that you trusted Gold.
The Blue Fairy is right. August is alive, he should have gone to Emma the moment she was back in Storybrooke. He has his family, and he could've made good on his promises to fix the mistakes of his past...
But, there's nothing to be done now. Chances blown, he's done. And really, what does he expect?
That after countless mistakes you would somehow be forgiven? Do you think she will trust you?
The guilt that swims around in his gut just confirms what he doesn't want to admit. He knows that's what he's been hoping for. Maybe... just maybe, she can forgive him.
Yeah. As if that's all that likely anymore.
Eventually, panic gives way to solid depression and melancholy, punctuated by a soft, throbbing pain that seems to leech out energy from him as well. He can tell it's centered on the gash in his arm, the marred loss that Rumplestiltskin now holds... somewhere. For a moment, August is reminded that Gold is gone, and it's very likely that after their argument he's taken the shaving with him.
August's face is a muted mask of concern. What happens if part of him leaves Storybrooke without the rest of him? He's pulling himself to a sitting position and trying to work his leather-clad figures under the hem of his black shirt underneath his jacket...
"I suppose the adage is true. If a tree falls in a forest and no one's there to hear it, it doesn't make much of a sound."
August freezes. He knows that voice. It's not a voice he's particularly fond of.
"Regina..." He mutters, forcing his eyes upwards to the former Mayor of Storybrooke, and the evil queen of his childhood. There's a woman beside her, all propriety and a ginger mane of ringlets piled upon her head. August feels like he should know her, but he's not sure why.
"Mister Booth, I have to say, this was not how I expected to see you resurface in town." Regina sounds so casual, but he can hear the cat eating the canary snark that she's barely keeping in check.
"That makes two of us..." August quips, grunting as he pulls himself to his feet. His bravado has kicked in, even though his heart is thudding from somewhere deep in his barrel chest. He's considering possibly trying to escape - if he was still whole, he'd even lie - but he knows there's nowhere for him to go. He's in the middle of the woods, for Pete's sake. "Believe me, Mayor Mills, I'd much rather not be the butt of every wood-based joke you can think of." All two of them, he thinks, but he barely manages to keep that one from flying. Magic has been brought to this world, it's working through his veins and his body.
It also means Regina has it, too.
"Curious creature you are." The older woman muses. Her voice slithers and trickles down August's neck, but his determination to stay as stoic as he can in the face of the Evil Queen keeps him neutral. He brushes his gloved hands free of dust, cautious and casual, even if he's very aware that this might be the last five minutes of his life. He's not too sure. "He was far more talkative when he thought I was that unseemly Blue Fairy." That relaxed barb makes August's stomach tighten as he's hit with the realization that what he's heard, the words he's taken to heart... weren't from the Blue Fairy. He's been duped. And he gave away the very secret he's been trying to keep...
Who the hell is she? August quips, hoping to find out. "Call me crazy, but it's not nice to pretend to be other people. Especially when I don't even know your name."
"I suggest you treat my mother with a little more respect, Pinocchio." The crisp click of his name on Regina's tongue feels like a slap to the face. That name is still so foreign to him, and he feels like it's already been weaponized against him. "Frankly, I'm not all that interested in how you feel, considering you've been lying since you came into town." Regina saunters forward, a tight smirk gracing lips that are deceptively beautiful, hiding the darkness beneath. Others might have sympathy for her, like Snow, but August has none. He knows her as one of the monsters of his youth, a phantom he dreamt of in the darkness between nightmares of the Dark One. To him, the two are hand in hand.
And this woman's Regina's mother? How evil was she?
"I shouldn't be surprised." Regina continues, moving in a slow circle around August. She gives him a wide berth, but it's not like he's in a position to act anyway. With Regina's mother in front of him, and the queen herself circling behind, August finds himself having to choose which one to follow. "Pinocchio, mother, in case you were unaware of the current bedtime story, is a marionette carved from an enchanted tree by the old man, Geppetto - "
"Ah, yes, the woodcarver who built the very wardrobe Snow White's daughter snuck through." She knows about the wardrobe. August can feel his heartbeat speed up a little more. "How quaint, it mimics concern."
"Right, because the pretending I'm not a real boy thing never got old," August grumbles, exasperated and offended. "If you have something to say, I think all of us would be much happier if you just said it."
Regina simply tightens her smile and continues as if she'd never been interrupted. "And this marionette is very naughty. He likes to tell lies, and has no real conscience to speak of. From my understanding, that's pretty close to how it actually happened. Only when Pinocchio was a boy, he saved his father in a storm and as a reward, the Blue Fairy turned him into a 'real boy.'" Perfectly manicured fingers actually mime air quotes. August can feel his molars grinding. "I believe there were a few stipulations to that particular magic, though, and well, the long and short of it is that as long as Pinocchio was a good boy, he'd be real forever." Regina has stopped, leaving him in the unenviable position of having to pivot, trying to keep both women at least in his peripheral vision. "What on earth did you do to suffer this fate, August?"
"Perhaps it was his father's gift of life outside of the curse, Regina. He's an adult, and you told me Pinocchio was a boy when you took the Enchanted Forest. Clearly, something happened." August finds himself debating if he can, in fact, make a run for it. He doesn't trust these two as far as he can throw them, but more than that, they aren't even hiding that there's a sort of sinister edge to Regina's voice, and her mother is clearly not there to plant daisies. "Perhaps the lying runs in the family. Maybe the wardrobe could take more than one." August's heart jumps, thudding faster, and there's a new gleam in the woman's eyes. "I see. Yes, that's exactly what it is, isn't it? Your heart's racing even while it's trapped in that interesting shell. Your father lied and sent you along with Emma, didn't he?"
"Don't talk about my father." He hisses, failing miserably at keeping the tone casual. "This conversation is over. If you'll excuse me, ladies..."
His feet move, one step after another, to walk past them.
Until they won't.
All at once, his joints have locked. The magical propulsion that gives his wooden muscles their ability to contract and extend, the very act of breathing that he knows inherently he doesn't require, all of it suddenly has come to a screeching, terrifying halt. He can't even move his eyes.
Weightlessness and a sudden pressure have overcome him, halting his senses as he tries to ignore the very raw fear that has iced over him in addition to whatever is keeping him still.
"You were right." Regina breathes. "It works."
"Of course I'm right, my dear. I told you, there is so much you can learn, and this is just the beginning." He can't see the other woman, but he knows she's there, even as his body starts to throb with unnatural restraint. It feels like he's turning back to wood again, and once the thought passes through his head, he can't dislodge it.
Regina has noticed, and for a moment, he thinks her face flickers with pity. "He looks like he's in pain."
"Don't be absurd. He's a puppet, he can't feel anything. He is a product of magic, and as such, can be honed and wielded for a purpose." August can feel himself moving. At least his vision is slowly shifting towards the voice, until she's right in front of him, a glowing hand caressing his cheek. "If we sent him onto the other side of that town line you referred to, there would be nothing to keep him alive. He'd just cease to be."
The edges of his vision start to go black.
"So... he's a tool." Regina again.
"Exactly. And like any tool, we will put it away until we need it." There's a flourish of that hand that was once on his cheek, and August's vision is fading as he sees some sort of building manifest from dark smoke beyond the two women.
"And what do we need him for?"
"This young man made a very foolish deal with Rumpelstiltskin, and you said he was close to Emma. Really, the purpose is up to us. He's given us so many to choose from, and frankly..." August can feel himself giving in to the black, haunting words echoing. "They will never see him coming when he stabs them in the back."