Betaed by Vena Grey.
Disclaimer: I only own Alilyn and my ideas.
"Young hearts broken in,
Stolen parts, secondhand.
You came, you came around,
I was dried up, was broken down."
Loveless – X Ambassadors
It was as though Alilyn were watching the scene through a window: the wind off the sea carried a chill that rolled through everyone in its maritime capitol, causing passers-by to clutch their coats and clothes tighter around their bodies. Fishing boats and merchant ships bobbed up and down from where they were anchored. The buildings along its edge were weathered, their colors faded to pale pastels and dreary greys that befitted the weather of their region.
Outside one of the many pubs, brothels, and warehouses that serviced the sailors who passed through their port, a man was playing a game with a crowd gathered before him. He dealt out cards, asking players to put down money to see if they could follow a single card as he mixed it up among several others. The current player picked a card and then groaned when it turned out to be the wrong one.
"Better luck next time," the man running the game said, pocketing the player's money. "Anyone else want to give it a shot?"
Another man stepped up and put down a few coins. The man dealing the game nodded at the new player, a lazy grin stretching across his face. He started shuffling, his brown eyes twinkling as he asked the player to pick a card from the deck. He spread out the card the man had chosen along with a few random ones before he started moving them around the table, mixing them up.
He started telling the crowd a story, his voice smooth and confident. His hands moved with effortless grace as he slipped the chosen card into his sleeve and replaced it with another card from his other one. No one in the crowd blinked. No one had seen it – they were all chuckling over his story as he straightened and asked the player to find his card.
The man grabbed at a card, confident. The gamemaster quirked an eyebrow when it turned out to be the dummy card he had replaced the real one with.
"Oh, too bad," he said, shaking his head sadly. "Looks like you missed it!"
The player sputtered in surprise and glared at the other man.
"That's impossible!" He eyed the cards on the table. "You must have cheated!"
The man held up his hands, his voice dropping to a calming hum.
"Hold on there, friend. Don't go around accusing an honest man of cheating." He gestured to the cards. "You are welcome to take a look if you doubt me."
The player flipped through the cards, his face hardening when he realized that the card he had been looking for was indeed in the pack. Throwing the cards down on the table in disgust, he stomped away, muttering under his breath. The man grinned as he watched him go, carefully picking up each coin his unwitting victim had lost. The player hadn't even noticed when he had slipped the card back into the mix.
He turned back to the crowd and asked for another player, the process starting all over again.
Inside, sailors sat at tables, drinking beer and laughing at each other's stories. Bar maids wandered around, handing out drinks, serving food, and flirting with customers too drunk to walk. At the very back of the pub, behind the bar, a woman was leaning over the counter, listening intently to a richly dressed man.
She wasn't as beautiful as many of the other bar maids, but there was something about her that pulled people in. It wasn't in any physical attribute, but in the way she overflowed with magnetic energy. Anyone close by was caught up in her wild hand gestures and bright grey-green eyes as she told stories she had heard from other patrons.
The man in front of her was one of the pub's most frequent visitors. Several of the other bar maids whispered that he only came to see her and she never hesitated to drop everything to attend to him. They glanced outside at the man playing the card game as they watched the woman flirt with the man, knowing looks in their eyes.
Behind the pub, the warehouses and brothels gave way to slum shacks where the workers lived. Dirty children played in dirty streets. Above, women yelled at each other as they did laundry or cooked dinner, while dogs wandered around looking for scraps.
Inside one of the small, one-room shacks, a young boy sat on the floor, weaving straw into the shape of a man. Brown hair hung down over his dark brown eyes, obscuring a face smudged with dirt the way all children's were. Threadbare clothes hung limply off of his body.
He sat on the dirt floor, quietly working on his doll. Behind him, a fire crackled in a black-tinged fire place, a small wooden box in front of it. Inside the box, resting on a holey blanket, lay a baby. The baby shared the boy's brown hair, but his eyes, blinking open from sleep, were a bright grey-green.
The baby started to fuss once he was fully awake, waving his fists around in the air. The older boy turned and leaned over the box, reaching down to pick the baby out and into his arms. He cradled his brother gently, just like his mother had showed him.
"Hey," he said, rocking the baby to try and calm him down. "What's wrong?"
The baby continued to wrinkle his face and cry, his wails picking up volume.
The boy looked around the room, his face pinched with concern, but whatever he was looking for, he didn't see.
"Are you hungry?" He asked the baby. "I bet that's what's wrong. I don't have any food, you'll have to wait until Mama gets home. I'm sorry."
He turned back to his straw doll and picked it up off the floor. He looked at it for a moment before waving it in the baby's face. The baby's crying tapered off as he stared at the doll before reaching out and grasping at it.
"Do you like it?" The boy folded his legs and placed the baby on his lap. "I made it all by myself. You can have it if you want."
He let the baby grab it and laughed when he immediately stuffed it in his mouth.
"You can't eat that, Peter," the boy said, pulling it from his brother's mouth.
The baby waved the doll around in the air, grinning at it. The boy smiled down at him.
"His name is Gregory the Great," he told Peter, who watched him with wide eyes. "And he was a great warrior. He grew up in the slums, just like us, but when he was older, he became a knight and killed a whole lot of monsters."
The boy continued to weave a story for the straw doll in his brother's hand. Alilyn watched Peter watch him and wave Gregory the Great around in the air. The sky outside the shack grew darker and darker as the two boys waited for their parents return, entertaining themselves with the dirty straw man.
The scene changed before Alilyn's eyes. Now, it was evening. What stars could be seen above the city had just started to shine. Children were being called inside by mothers while workers streamed from the warehouses toward homes or pubs. Inside the shack, the boy was trying to feed his little brother the porridge their mother had left for them to eat.
Suddenly, the door burst open and both of them looked up in surprise. The toddler grinned and reached for the woman who came inside, babbling for his mother. The woman – the barmaid Alilyn had seen from before, behind the bar – didn't spare the children a glance as she rushed into the back of the room, where two pallets were spread on the floor for sleeping.
"Mama?" The boy left his brother and followed his mother. "What are you doing home so soon?"
The woman ignored him and grabbed a bag from where it hung on a hook, stuffing dresses and undergarments into it. The boy watched her, his face furrowed with confusion.
"What are you doing?" He asked. "Do you need help?"
She threw him an annoyed look, her hands moving to shove as much into the bag as she could.
"Don't ask me any questions, Rumple. Go tend to Peter and leave me alone."
The boy watched her for half a second more before turning and walking back to where his brother was trying to eat the small wooden spoon in his hand. Rumple took the spoon from him and dipped it in the runny porridge, offering it to Peter once it was full. The toddler giggled and ate it, oblivious to how his brother glanced at their mother every few seconds.
Rumple kept an eye on his mother, watching as she lifted the lid of a trunk and started to grab things from it to put into the bag. He bit his lip and looked at the door, as if expecting someone to come inside, but didn't say a word. He continued to feed his brother like his mother had told him to.
Once more, the door burst open, startling Rumple into dropping the spoon in his hand, and the gamemaster rushed inside. His face was flushed and his chest heaved with his labored breathing. His gaze slipped over the two boys and landed on the woman in the back. He moved forward just as she stood straight and pulled the bag's strap over her chest.
The two adults stared at each other.
The woman held the bag against her chest as if using it to protect herself from the gamemaster, her face hard. He looked at her like one would look at a wild animal, cautious in case it decided to attack. Rumple watched his parents with wide eyes, frozen, Peter babbling in front of him.
"Don't try to stop me, Malcolm," the woman warned, breaking the silence.
"You're my wife, Damia. You can't just leave." Malcolm gestured to the room. "You belong here."
"Belong here?" Damia barked out a laugh, pulling the bag tighter against her chest. "You're telling me that I belong in the slums, waiting tables for drunk men while my sorry excuse for a husband cheats sailors for a few coins?"
Malcolm took a step closer to her, keeping his hands up, his eyes pleading.
"You know it's just for now," he said. "Once I get a bit more cash, we can leave. Move further into the city, get a better house, find a real job."
"You've been saying that for years!" Damia yelled, causing Rumple to jump and Peter to start crying. Rumple picked him up, bouncing him on his hip to get him to calm down, looking like he was near tears himself.
Neither of the adults even glanced over at their youngest son as he sobbed.
"I told you over and over about the opportunity to join the army," Damia continued over the sound of Peter's cries. "There's going to be a war with the ogres soon, Malcolm! How many other men have left to learn how to fight for our kingdom? They get to move deeper into the city, live in real homes, and bring home enough food for their families. And you won't even consider it!"
"I'll consider it!" Malcolm begged. "I'll do it! I swear! Just please don't leave!"
"It's too late." Damia stuck her chin in the air. "Harrison is going to take me away from here and I'm not going to miss this chance. I may have been forced to marry you, but I'm not going to let you force me to stay. I'm making my own choice this time."
Rumple's mouth dropped open at his mother's words, his face growing pale. Tears gathered in his eyes and he blinked at them, holding Peter closer. Malcolm sneered, the desperation in his face morphing into anger.
"Harrison?" He laughed harshly. "You're leaving to be a brothel owner's whore?"
"At least he's rich!" She snapped, her eyes bright. "I'd rather be his mistress than spend one more moment married to a rat like you!"
Damia brushed past him roughly, on her way to the door. Malcolm reached out to grab her arm, but Damia spun and slapped him hard across the face, sending him stumbling backwards. She turned and ran for the door, sidestepping her son, who watched her with horror in his eyes. She jerked it open and disappeared into the night.
"DAMIA!" Malcolm jumped forward and ran outside, screaming curses from the middle of the street where all the neighbors could hear.
"Mama!" Rumple followed his father, Peter in his arms, still crying. "MAMA!"
Malcolm grabbed Rumple's arm, jerking the boy to a sudden stop as he tried to race after his mother.
"She's gone!" He snarled, dragging Rumple back inside. "She left us!"
Rumple turned on his father, his breath coming out in broken sobs.
"This is all your fault!" He yelled, pulling away from Malcolm. "You made her leave! I hate you!"
Malcolm glared at his son for a few moments before turning and storming back outside, curses raining down from his breath. Rumple gulped in air, trying to keep the tears inside. Peter still screamed in his arms, the toddler's face red and streaked with tears. Rumple moved to dip a corner of his shirt into a basin of lukewarm water. He wiped off Peter's face, ignoring the tears on his own cheeks.
"Shhh," Rumple said, trying to mimic his mother's voice. "It's going to be okay, Peter. I'm still here. I'm never going to leave you, okay? I'll always take care of you. I promise."
Peter's screams started to fade as Rumple bounced him in his arms, humming a bar song he had heard his mother sing. Finally, the little boy fell asleep. Rumple laid him down in his box and covered him with one of their father's old shirts.
Rumple leaned back against the wall, staring forlornly toward the back of the room where his mother's possessions had been only an hour before. The things she hadn't taken scattered were across the floor, forgotten.
The scene became night. It was peaceful. The fire threw shadows around the shack while the two boys on the pallet against the wall slept soundly, their chests rising and falling with steady breaths. Rumple lay curled up on his side, exhausted from running back and forth on the docks, doing odd jobs for anyone who would pay him.
Peter lay next to him, sprawled out, arms and legs everywhere. He was still too young to wander around, so half of his day had been spent with his father, watching Malcolm play his card game. The other half of his day had been spent in the streets: playing with neighbor children, pretending to fight, playing with the straw dolls Rumple had made them, and showing them his father's game using a deck of old cards.
Without warning, the door burst open and Malcolm stumbled in. His face was bruised and bleeding and he walked with a slight limp. Both of the boys bolted awake, fear lurking in their eyes until they saw it was their father. Their eyes widened further as they took in his condition.
"Get up!" He said, moving to the back of the room. "Get up and start packing as much stuff as you can. We're leaving."
He glanced over his shoulder at the dark window next to the door as he threw two bags at his sons. Rumple and Peter did as well, afraid that whoever had beaten up their father would be lurking in the window.
"Where are we going?" Rumple asked, obeying his father and shoving as much into the bags as he could.
"Away from here," Malcolm replied, wiping the blood off of his face with the sleeve of his shirt. "I have two aunts that live in a town a few days walk from here, we're going to go stay with them for a while."
Rumple and Peter exchanged a look, uneasy. They had never been out of the city before. They had never even been out of the slums. Their world began and ended with the docks, the pub they lived behind, and the small shack they were standing in.
"Do we have to, Papa?" Peter asked, crossing his arms across his chest. "I don't want to leave!"
"We don't have a choice!" Malcolm snapped, shoving a half-packed bag onto each of the boys' shoulders. "If we don't leave now, we'll be dead."
The boys secured the bags on their bodies and followed their father out of the house and into the street. He led them through the dark streets and across the city. By the time they were in the forest and on the king's road, heading south, the sun was starting to rise.
They walked for three days. There was little to eat or drink, fear lurking in their bellies as Malcolm looked over his shoulder every few miles. Peter tried to get Rumple to retell him the stories he had made up for the straw dolls, but their father quickly put a stop to that, telling them they were being too loud.
By nightfall the third day they finally arrived at the town where Malcolm's aunts lived. It was smaller than the city they had left, but it was much larger than any of the villages they had passed through on their journey. Malcolm led them through town to the border of the forest, where a small wooden house stood, a small pen full of sheep behind it.
Malcolm knocked on the door. When it opened, an older, grey-haired woman looked at the three of them with surprise.
"Malcolm?" She asked, looking at him through narrowed eyes. "What are you doing here?"
Malcolm smiled warmly at her, putting his hands on the boys' backs and pushing them in front of him.
"Looking for a change of scenery for my boys," he told her. "I lost my job in the city and wasn't able to find another one. Thought I would come look for one out this way. Do you think we could stay with you until I do? It shouldn't be for long."
The woman studied him then glanced at Rumple and Peter, all three were covered with dust and looked like they had been walking for days, which they had. She huffed and backed away from the door, opening it wide enough for the three of them to walk in.
"I suppose you can," she said, herding them inside where another greyed woman was watching from where she sat, spinning wool into thread on one of the large spindles in the center of the room.
"Look who came to stay, Theadora," the first woman said. "Malcolm and his two sons."
"How lovely!" The woman at the spindle said, halting her spinning and moving out from behind the wooden structure. She moved to stand next to her sister, looking down at Rumple and Peter with warm smiles. "How old are your boys, Malcolm? They look just like you."
"Thank you," Malcolm said, squeezing the boys' shoulders. "Rumple is my oldest, he'll be fifteen this summer. Peter is eight."
"What precious little men," Theadora cooed, reaching over to pinch each of the boys' cheeks. "Come with me boys and I'll get you both something to eat. You looked famished."
Rumple and Peter eagerly followed her into the next room where a fire burned merrily while a pot stewed over the flames. Theadora gestured for them to sit while she prepared two bowls for them. Peter and Rumple dug in, eating as quickly as they could.
Theadora chuckled and told them to help themselves to seconds as she prepared another bowl and took it out into the other room.
The sound of his voice drifted into the kitchen as he talked to both of the women. Rumple and Peter heard them ask him about their mother and his voice dropped until they couldn't make out what he was saying.
"How long do you think we'll have to say here?" Peter asked once he was finished eating, licking his bowl clean.
"I don't know." Rumple shrugged, staring at his empty spoon. "Until Father makes more enemies and we have to leave, I guess."
There was another moment of silence as they both contemplated Rumple's statement.
"I don't know if I like it here," Peter said, pushing his bowl away. "I miss my friends. And the ocean. There are too many trees here."
"I know," Rumple told him. He reached over and bumped his brother's shoulder with his own. "But I'm still here, aren't I? We'll be fine, I promise."
Peter nodded and dug his toe into a crack in the wooden floor.
"If you say so," he said, uncertain.
"I do," Rumple said, sounding more confident this time. "As long as the two of us stay together, nothing bad can happen."
A smile tugged at the corner of Peter's lips. The two boys lapsed back into silence, Rumple finishing his stew and Peter studying the kitchen, the voices of the adults droning on in the background.
"All right, boys," Theadora said, standing in front of the kitchen table, clapping her hands. "Your father has left to continue searching for a job, so this morning we're going to put you two to good use as well."
Rumple and Peter looked up at her in surprise, spoons full of porridge suspended in the air. Theadora's announcement brought disappointment to their faces.
"Doing what?" Rumple asked, skeptical.
"Why, spinning, of course!" Angela, Theadora's sister, said, looking at them sternly. "That's what we do here. We're spinners."
"But we're not," Peter protested. "Why do we have to?"
Angela narrowed her eyes at Peter and he looked back at her grumpily.
"Because it's important to have a trade," she said, hands on her hips. "That way you two don't grow into cheaters and liars like your-"
"That's enough!" Theadora said loudly, throwing a look at Angela, who broke off. "The least you two should do is give it a try. Who knows? You might be good at it."
Rumple didn't look happy, but he finished his breakfast and followed his aunts into the next room without complaint. Peter grumbled as he washed out his bowl, following the others much slower.
Theadora and Angela took turns showing the boys how to spin the wool into fine thread.
Rumple, surprisingly, picked it up quickly. But Peter lacked the patience needed to do it right and Angela soon banned him from the spindle, complaining about how he always managed to get the wool tangled.
Instead, he sat on the floor by Rumple, playing with his old deck of cards and practicing the game his father played. He was already pretty good, hiding the cards with an ease that only came with naturally quick hands. It was quiet in the room until Theadora caught sight of him and made him put the cards away, telling him that playing cards only let to trouble.
Peter slumped against the wall, bored.
"Rumple," he said after a moment. "Could you make me another doll? I didn't have time to grab all of my other ones before we had to leave the city."
Rumple glanced at Angela, who sighed in exasperation, but nodded for him to do it. Peter grinned and ran outside to grab some straw from the bushels that sat next to the sheep pen. Once back inside, he shoved the straw into his brother's hands.
Rumple turned away from his spinning and worked on twisting the straw into the appropriate shape as Peter watched on, tapping his foot impatiently.
When he was done, Rumple handed the doll to Peter and went back to spinning.
"Tell me a story about this one," Peter asked, fingering the doll. "Is he a pirate like Black Jack? A knight like Gregory the Great?"
"Goodness," Theadora exclaimed. "Those names. What an imagination you two must have."
Peter glanced at her and rolled his eyes before looking up at Rumple again. Rumple smiled, wool sliding through his fingers and wrapping around the spinning wheel. He dropped his voice, speaking just loud enough for Peter to hear.
"Nope," he said. "This one is a warlock."
"Really?" Peter's eyes sparkled and he leaned closer.
Rumple nodded.
"Oh, yes. He is the most powerful warlock in the world. His magic is so great that he can even raise people from the dead. People come to him from all over, asking for his help, and he's able to save them all."
"Wow," Peter breathed, holding the doll tightly.
"One time," Rumple said, holding up a finger. "He even saved a princess and her father was so grateful, he let the warlock marry her."
Peter's nose wrinkling in disgust, as if marriage were the worst thing that could possibly happen to a person.
"A girl?" He asked, skeptical. "Why would he want to marry a girl when he had magic? Seems pretty stupid to me."
Rumple laughed.
"Well, her father also gave him the kingdom, so he got to be king, too. He became the richest and most powerful man in the kingdom."
Peter thought about that for a moment before shrugging.
"I guess if he got all that, getting married wasn't too terrible," he admitted.
Rumple rolled his eyes. He tied off the roll of thread he had just finished and grabbed some more wool from a bag next to the spindle.
"What's his name?" Peter asked.
Rumple thought about it for a moment, working with the new wool, keeping an eye on how it wrapped around the bobbin.
"Peter," he said finally, grinning at his brother.
"But that's my name!" Peter protested. "He can't have the same name as me!"
"Why?" Rumple asked, his eyes twinkling. "Afraid it'll mean you'll have to marry a girl?"
Peter glowered at Rumple and the older boy laughed.
"I'm never getting married," Peter said firmly. "Girls are dumb. Now, give him a better name."
"Fine." Rumple thought for another moment. "How about Peter Pan?"
Peter studied the doll hard as if weighing the merits of sharing his name with it. He finally nodded and looked back up.
"Okay," he relented. "Peter Pan it is."
Rumple smiled and turned his attention back to his spinning. Peter sat on the floor and played with the straw man, creating all kinds of adventures for Peter Pan, the most powerful warlock in the kingdom.
When Peter and Rumple came down for breakfast, their aunts were sitting at the table, their faces grave. They looked up at the boys, then at each other. Rumple stopped and looked at them, wary. Peter ignored them and helped himself to a bowl of porridge.
"Boys," Theadora said, clearing her throat. "Angela and I have something we need to tell you."
Rumple looked at Peter, who just glanced from his bowl at his aunts without a trace of concern for whatever they were planning on telling him.
"Your father left," Angela said stiffly. "He won't be coming back."
Peter's spoon fell into his porridge and he stared at the two women with an open mouth and hurt welling up in his eyes. Theadora quickly moved to stand next to him, her hand on his shoulder. Rumple blinked at the news, but there was acceptance in his face as though he had been expecting Malcolm to pick up and leave for years.
"Why would he leave?" Peter asked, aghast.
Theadora stroked his hair soothingly and opened her mouth to respond, but Angela beat her to it.
"Because he's a coward and a cheat," she said matter-of-factly.
"Angela!" Theadora gasped, her hand over her heart.
Peter glared at his other aunt, the spoon clenched in his hand like he was preparing to use it as a weapon to defend his father's honor.
"Not a word!" Angela snapped, waving a finger at both Theadora and Peter. "You deserve to hear the truth. Your father swindled the wrong person once again and left before they could find him. I'm amazed he lasted so long in the city without running into trouble. He managed to find it here in just two years."
"But why would he leave us?" Peter asked, his voice rising. "He's our Papa!"
Theadora gave Angela a dirty glance, bending down to wrap an arm around Peter's shoulders.
"I know, dear," she said calmly. "And I'm sure he was thinking about you when he did it. He knew if you two stayed with us, you would be comfortable and safe."
"It's best this way," Angela huffed, looking at Rumple. "That man was never meant to be a father. You know that, don't you, boy?"
Rumple stared at his hands, his jaw clenching.
"Yes," he muttered. "We're better off without him."
Throwing Rumple a look of betrayal, Peter shoved away from the table and dashed outside. He ran into the forest, escaping from the awful truth that lay inside the house. After running for a while, he collapsed beside a tree, sniffling as the tears choked him.
Peter wrapped his arms around his legs and drew his knees into his chest. He buried his head into his pants and closed his eyes tightly, blocking out the rest of the world. He didn't even look up when Rumple crunched through the undergrowth and sat down next to him, putting a hand on the younger boy's back.
"Theadora and Angela are right, Peter," he said softly. "Our father is a coward. You know it's his fault our mother is gone, and he didn't even care enough about us to say goodbye. We're better off without him, okay? We have each other and that's all that matters. We can be happy here."
Peter raised his head off of his knees, his eyes red with spent tears. He wiped at the streaks across his face, his expression changing. Rumple watched him, a look of understanding on his face.
"I hate him." Peter said through clenched teeth. "I hate him so much."
Rumple leaned back against the truck of the tree and nodded. There was a weariness in his face that came from watching both of his parents walk out of his life without even a backwards glance.
"I know," he said, sighing. "I do too."
The boys sat there together, staring out into the forest, abandoned once again.
Peter observed the hustle and bustle of Market Day. He came with Rumple who started selling the thread he spun in the town square with the rest of the fine good venders. After Peter helped unpack the thread and set up the stand, he pulled out his deck of cards and set up a game next to Rumple's stand.
Rumple was furious when he saw it. He accused the younger boy of turning into their father. Peter tried to explain that he was just having some fun, that he was good at the game and wouldn't make the mistakes their father did, but Rumple refused to listen.
Annoyed, Peter left to set up the game on the other side of the square when Rumple was too busy to wonder where he was.
He knew that the key to the game was smiling and speaking with confidence so that the players were more likely to trust him. It also helped to throw a few games now and then to divert suspicion. He started collecting quite a pile of coins as he continued to play.
Finishing a game, coins in his hand, Peter stopped by the bread vender on his way back to Rumple. He eyed the pastries that sat on a small shelf, their scent tickling his nose. He fingered the coins in his pocket and was looking up to order one when something caught his eye.
A blond boy – no more than a year older than Peter, around fourteen or so – was inching his way closer to the bread stand. He was clearly a street rat. His clothes were torn and filthy and too small for his growing body. There was a leanness about him, a hunger in his eyes that spoke of too many days without meals. He eyed the bread as if it were the first real food he had seen in weeks.
Peter watched as the boy got closer and closer to the stand, reaching out to grab one of the loaves of bread that sat to the side, cooling in the shade of the stand. His fingers were almost on it when the baker turned in that direction.
"Hey," Peter said, stepping up and drawing his attention. "Could I get some of those pastries?"
The man took one look at Peter, at the clothes that had no doubt started off clean and had taken him probably four seconds to get dirty, and snorted.
"Get out of here, boy," the baker said, waving a hand in Peter's face. "I don't serve street urchins."
Peter held up his bag of coins and quirked an eyebrow.
"I'm not a street urchin," he said. "I can pay."
The man narrowed his eyes suspiciously at Peter, but then grunted and moved to collect the pastries Peter had pointed out. Peter glanced over at the blond boy who now had the loaf of bread in his hand. The older boy gave him a nod of thanks and Peter grinned, watching as the boy disappeared into the crowd.
The baker held out the bag of pastries and Peter turned to grab it, dropping the appropriate amount of coins in the man's hand. With his purchase safely in tow, Peter turned and continued to make his way toward Rumple's stand.
Passing through a dark alley, Peter jumped when three bodies materialized in front of him from the darkness. They were older boys, mid-teens, with dirty clothes and mean smiles. Peter held his bags closer to him and glanced toward the exit of the alley, completely blocked by the three boys.
"Where do you think you're going, kid?" One sneered.
Peter frowned and tried to push past them but the boy in the middle grabbed his arm and pulled him back. Peter yanked his arm away from the older boy, sneering at him.
"Leave me alone," he snapped.
"Love to," the third boy said, leaning up against an alley wall. "Once you give us that bag of coins we saw you show the baker."
"And those pastries of yours," the first boy said, taking a deep breath. "It's been awhile since I've had something that smelled that good."
Peter gritted his teeth and refused to look away from the three bullies. His knuckles were white as he held on tightly to his bag of coins and his pastries.
"No," he said firmly. "They're mine."
The three boys pulled themselves up and glared at Peter. Peter lifted his chin and met their eyes, even though he was outnumbered and the only fighting he had ever done was with his friends from the city, too playful to be any sort of use in this situation.
The boys stalked closer, circling him like wolves. Peter glanced at each boy, studying them warily. One of them reached forward to shove him and Peter stumbled, causing the boys to laugh. A second boy kicked at Peter's leg and he went down on the cobble-stones.
Pushing himself into a sitting position, he looked up as they approached again. His body stiffened, preparing for the blows that were coming. But before they could get to him, another figure appeared, distracting the boys.
Peter's eyes widened in surprise as he recognized the blond boy from the bread stand. The boy eyed, Peter then turned to face the three bullies.
"You're just in time," one of the older boys said. "We're about to get ourselves some lunch and a few coins."
The blond boy moved closer and showed the other three the loaf of bread in his hands.
"Where'd you get that?" One of them demanded, looking at him incredulously.
"Stole it." The blond boy shrugged then nodded towards Peter. "The kid you're about to beat up covered for me."
The older boys turned and studied Peter, surprised. Peter didn't say anything. He just stared back at them, unsure if the blond boy's testimony would make a difference.
"Fine," one of the older boys grumbled. "I guess you can go, then. We don't hurt those who help one of us."
Peter released the breath he had been holding and stood up, brushing mud from the knees of his pants. He walked around the boys, giving them looks as he passed by. He was almost out of the alley when the blond boy caught up to him and forced him to stop. Peter looked at the end of the alley, then back at his rescuer.
"Thank you," Peter said, eyeing him. "You didn't have to do that."
The boy smirked and ran a hand through his ratty hair.
"It makes us even," he said. "You help me out, I help you out. You would've have died without me."
Peter frowned and crossed his arms.
"What?" He said. "You don't think I could have taken them?"
The blond boy snorted, a smile playing around his lips.
"No," he said firmly. "You looked as though you haven't fought a day in your life."
Peter looked at the boy. He was lean, but with broad shoulders, and looked like he could probably take Peter down without a second thought.
"You look like you have," Peter responded.
"Yeah," the boy said. "It's kind of necessary when you live on the street."
Peter thought about that for a moment, an idea turning over in his brain. He then looked up at the boy and grinned at him.
"I want to learn how to fight like that," he told him. "Like you do, so I can defend myself if that ever happens again. If you agree to do it, I'll pay you."
He held up the bag of coins he had in his hand. The blond boy snorted like he didn't care, but his grey eyes locked on the bag and there was a smile lurking on his lips.
"You sure?" He asked.
Peter nodded, a fire starting to burn in his eyes.
"Yeah. I don't want to be like my father. I want to know how to take care of myself."
The boy studied him for a moment longer before shrugging.
"Fine," he agreed. "I'll do it. My name is Felix."
Peter smiled.
"Nice to meet you, Felix," he said. "I'm Peter."
As the sun started to set, venders all over the town square started to pack up their stands and head home. Peter stuffed his cards into his pocket and headed back to Rumple's stand. He rubbed his bloody lip and the bruise on his cheekbone.
Rumple's stand came into view and Peter smiled when he saw a pretty, dark-haired woman standing next to it, talking to Rumple as he packed up his thread. Peter walked up and leaned against a pole, tilting his head so that only the good side of his face showed. Rumple and the woman both looked up and he gave them a wave.
"Milah," he said, tipping an imaginary hat in the direction of the woman.
"Peter." She gave him a smile before turning to Rumple and giving him a kiss on the cheek. "I'll see you later, okay?"
"Okay." Rumple smiled and watched as she walked away down the street.
Peter snickered and shook his head.
"You've got it bad," he said. "You can't even go a day without seeing her."
"We were discussing wedding plans," Rumple defended, picking up the bags of thread. "Weddings take preparation."
"You have until the spring," Peter reminded him.
Rumple shrugged, the smile turning sheepish.
"I love her," he told his brother. "I want to be able to see her every day."
Peter pretended to look disgusted and bent down to grab some bags himself, throwing them over his shoulder. Rumple moved to stand next to him and froze as he caught sight of Peter's face.
"Peter," he said, a warning in his voice. "Who did that to you?"
Peter stiffened and looked his brother in the eye, tilting his chin up.
"A player," he said. "It happens sometimes."
Rumple's knuckles turned white as he gripped the bags on his shoulder.
"How many times have I told you to stop playing that stupid card game?" His voice was low, angry. "This isn't the first time you've come back beaten. Why can't you just give it up before it kills you?"
"Because this is what I do," Peter snapped back. "I play the game. I'm good at it, Rumple. It's my job."
Rumple scoffed. "You're turning into Father."
The anger in Peter's eyes was hot as fire, his face tense. Every muscle in his body was taut.
"I am not our father," he snarled. "I am nothing like him!"
Rumple moved forward, jabbing a finger into Peter's chest.
"You are exactly like him!" Rumple yelled. "You're a coward, Peter! You're too scared to try something else, just like he was. You're not a child anymore! Grow up already and find a real job! This game has become a crutch. You only think about yourself and what you want. What about the rest of us? You don't even consider what kind of danger you're putting yourself and us in!"
"There is no danger!" Peter insisted, throwing his arms into the air. "It was just one player!"
"Today!" Rumple snapped. "What if it happens next month? What if that one wants to kill you and everyone associated with you?"
Peter rolled his eyes.
"Don't so be dramatic, Rumple," he scoffed.
Rumple stared angrily at his brother before stepping back, shaking his head.
"I can't do this anymore, Peter." He's voice was weary.
Peter blinked.
"Do what?" He asked.
"Put up with you," Rumple replied. "I'm getting married soon. I'm going to have a wife and a family. I can't be worrying constantly about you or if one of the people who get mad at you will try to take it out on me. I can't be selfish I have to think about Milah now."
Peter's eyes widened and he stepped back, hurt flashing through his eyes.
"What are you saying, Rumple?" His voice was hushed.
"I want you to leave," Rumple choked out, glancing at the ground. "I want you to get out of town, Peter. You're going to do it eventually. Might as well get it over with and do it now."
The hurt in Peter's eyes grew. He clenched his fists, his nails digging into the skin. There was disbelief in his face.
"You said it would be us against the world, Rumple," he reminded him. "You said that we would take care of each other."
Rumple's face reflected the hurt in Peter's, but there was also resolve.
"That was before you decided to take care of yourself." He turned away, pausing for just a moment. "Goodbye, Peter."
Peter stared at his brother's retreating back, unable to speak as he watched the only family he had walk away and into the darkness. He spun on his heel and marched off blindly, the hurt on his face turning angrier and angrier at yet another abandonment.
He was so deep in his thoughts that he didn't notice the four men surrounding him until he bumped into one of them.
"Look who we have, here," the man Peter ran into sneered. "It's the kid who stole our money."
Peter's anger fueled him into ignoring the unease that filled him, seeing how alone they were in the street.
"Maybe you should be more careful with you play card games with," he said, smirking.
The man gritted his teeth and got in Peter's face, glaring at him.
"You're gonna regret saying that, kid," he sneered.
The four men fell on Peter with fists and feet. The anger inside of Peter enabled him to get a few good hits in, knocking one of the men out, but the other three had size and strength on their side and they quickly overwhelmed him.
He collapsed onto the ground as the punches continued to rain down. The men searched his body, taking his coins and giving him a few more kicks, laughing at the blood that gushed from his nose and mouth.
They walked away, helping up their friend up and leaving Peter broken and bloody on the street. For a few moments, the darkness was still. Then, in a corner, the wind started to pick up and the smoky form of a man appeared.
The creature floated over to Peter and stared down at him with glowing yellow eyes. It studied him for a minute before waving an inky hand over his body. Peter moaned as his body started healing, bruises disappearing and blood melting into the stone.
He blinked his eyes open and stared up at the creature with surprise.
"What do you want?" He asked, confused. "Why did you save me?"
Because I believe you have potential, the creature said and held out a hand. And I'm offering you a chance at a life much different from this one.
Peter stared at the outstretched hand then looked at the creature. The uncertainly was replaced with determination and he clenched his jaw, reaching out to take hold of the creature.
"Then let's go," he told it.
The creature smiled and pulled Peter into the air.
A/N
And that is Peter's backstory! Sorry it was so long. Alilyn got four chapters that revolved around her life before Neverland so I thought Peter should have at least one long chapter, haha. He is officially not Rumple's father, yay! I still wanted him to be related though, so I went with them being brothers. I kind of have a thing for brothers who go from being best friends to mortal enemies, haha. I kept Malcolm's character because I thought he was great (in a terrible person kind of way) but I did have to create a mother. I love how in OUAT, history tends to repeat itself so I had Rumple and Peter's mother leave them, like Milah left Baelfire, although Rumple and Peter's mother never looked back. I also covered how Peter came up with his name and how he met Felix, two events I thought you guys would appreciate knowing. At the end, I wanted to create a situation that would cause Peter to want to leave his home with the Shadow (even though he had no idea what he was getting into) as well as explain why he is so angry with Rumple. It never really made sense to me why he was so mad in the show as he was the one who abandoned Rumple, not the other way around. Am I the only one who was confused with that? With this ending their bitterness and anger at each other is understandable from both sides (they are both really bad about holding grudges). I always think that the most potent kind of hatred comes from love that was betrayed and this sets the stage for so much when we finally get into the OUAT timeline.
Next chapter will be Alilyn dealing with all of this. With learning Peter's backstory, realizing he now knows hers, and her finally coming to terms with what she feels toward Peter. I don't know if you guys have noticed, but she has never actually admitted, even to herself, that she's in love with him. That's going to change. But Alilyn doesn't do well with being attached to other people (or at least she doesn't think she does well) so there will be all kinds of drama to look forward to. However, I promise that you guys will get a butt load of romance in the next chapter. Including several kisses and the "official" start of Peter/Alilyn's relationship (speaking of which, I'm still trying to come up with a ship name).
As always, a giant thank you to my reviewers, favoriters, and followers! You guys are the absolute best! Hugs and cookies to all of you! You guys are the reason I've been able to update so quickly these last few weeks. Love you all!
Until next time!
~Sunshine
P.S. The song I picked for this chapter is honestly one of my favorites for Peter/Alilyn. It's tied with the song I'm using for the next chapter.