Disclaimer: As you can probably tell from the fact I'm rewriting seasons in fanfiction, I don't own Once Upon a Time or any of its characters.

Rumplestiltskin could do anything.

Even just sitting at the table, the potential of the magic hummed through his veins, more vibrant than any energy he had ever felt before. There was a twisted twinge to it that reminded him this was not a good thing, but he didn't care. He had walked onto the field of battle, and made it stop. He led the children home and saved thousands of lives.

The Ogres' War that had raged since before Bae's birth was finally over.

There was an exhaustion to his body despite the magic's promise of unlimited power. It was nothing compared to the elation of standing up to those who had mocked him, being the hero for once. Hell, for the first time in his life he walked without the limp he had been burdened with since birth. The limp that had promised him he wouldn't survive the battlefield as certainly as the Seer's words.

He was itching to get started on upgrading their hovel to a proper house, maybe even a manor! But he had promised a feast to the village to celebrate the troop's return home, so he should save his strength.

"You've had quite the productive first day."

Rumplestiltskin jolted to his feet. Casually sitting across from him, the old beggar- the Dark One- Zoso examined the hem of his sleeve.

"Biggest thing I did on my first day was summon a bag of gold, I think," he reflected, "Bought the entire bar a round of drinks after buying the tavern itself. Horrible business venture, I wouldn't recommend it."

"What are you doing here?!" Rumplestiltskin exclaimed, "You're dead!"

"Thanks for that, by the way. I'm still bound to the curse but at least I don't have to deal with the Duke anymore," he leaned back in his seat, sizing Rumplestiltskin up, "I'm here to be your guide, help you with your...transition into the darkness."

Rumplestiltskin swallowed roughly, "I'm not going to embrace the darkness. I'm going to use it for good."

Zoso snorted, "That's what they all say, in the beginning. But everyone who sips from this well enjoys the taste too much. The only way to stop is to be stopped," he shrugged, "It's the fate of all Dark Ones."

"I won't need to be stopped," he insisted dismissively, then considered the last statement. His eyebrows furrowed, "Dark Ones? How many have there been?"

"14 or so, hard to keep track when we're all spiritual entities. It's tradition for the recently deceased Dark One to take the new one under their wing," he grinned, "If you're uncomfortable, I can let the dark curse take another personality? Though I wouldn't recommend Gorgon the Invincible, unless you speak Calydonian Boar."

Rumplestiltskin waved the suggestion off, "No, you'll do."

"Great," The ghost, or figment, or whatever he was, got to his feet, "You gotta be careful with this generosity, people will start to get the wrong idea."

"Wrong idea?" He echoed, eyeing Zoso as he strolled around the hovel, "What wrong idea could they get? I'm doing the things I've always wanted to do if I had power."

"Lotta "I"s in that sentence," Zoso remarked, folding his hands behind his back, "I think you like the attention more than actually wanting to help all these bastards who didn't give two shits about you a couple days ago," he shrugged, "Nothing wrong with enjoying celebrity, you just need to be careful. Power's not going to give you friends, it's only going to make you think you have friends. They'll turn on you the moment you stop being useful."

"Go away," Rumplestiltskin muttered, trying not to let his words sink in.

Zoso shook his head, "I can't. You're stuck with me...with all of us...forever."

He vanished obligingly, but Rumplestiltskin knew he was right. He could feel him, the Dark Ones, the dark curse, like a buzzing in the back of his mind. It was no matter; what was another threatening voice to join the anxiety and self-loathing he'd known since he was old enough to realize his father's shadow loomed over him?

II

Rumple would kill her if he knew she was walking around with the chipped cup in her jacket pocket without so much as a protection spell on it. There was even a sick humor to it; the idea of him noticing her fingering it with Cora just a few feet away (ignoring that he'd be much more concerned with her proximity to Cora than a tea cup). The impulse to hurl it at Cora's head made her smirk and imagining it almost sent her into a fit. The borderline hysteria she was holding back convinced her if she did laugh, it would come out sounding like Rumple's high-pitched giggle.

Regina cut her a look but said nothing, turning back to her mother's current target.

She should be grateful the pirate's deportment was saving her a few minutes of grief. He had barely made it out of bed, looking ready to vomit all over Cora's boots. She'd kiss him if he did... on the cheek though. Prim and proper Cora getting puked on...

She was starting to understand why Rumple had been so giggly; absurd humor was the only thing distracting her from the dread of this meeting and the anxiety of her husband's last update.

Belle should have ignored the voicemail. She shouldn't be listening to his desperate pleas for her to pick up the phone, to reassure him everything was and would be alright. Right now he was out there, in the same city as his son, looking for him. The finish line of a centuries old race was in sight... But really it was just the start of a new race. Of healing a deep wound and trying to mend the relationship.

She'd give anything for Rumplestiltskin to have that chance.

"And you..." Belle glanced at Cora as she was addressed for her turn, clearing her mind. "...bring me Snow White."

Belle bowed her head in understanding, turning and leaving before Cora could make any amendments. Even though the order buzzed in the back of her head, her babysitter was hungover and neither of the Mills women seemed inclined to follow her. She might find an opportunity while she searched for Snow White.

Seven and a half hours away, the rubber band finally snapped. Emma's intuition had proven invaluable; she had managed to find him at the first apartment they tried. But he had run, and of course Mr. Gold couldn't chase after him, and so Emma went and he stayed behind with Henry. But when Emma came back there was no one with her and she claimed he had gotten away and of course he wasn't going to leave empty-handed and really out of all the things he had done to get here lock-picking was very very low on the list of his offenses.

And he could feel him in this small Manhattan apartment. There was art everywhere but the furniture was plain and practical, fairly tidy for a bachelor pad. He would've loved to spend hours combing through everything, rediscovering his son's interests, finding out what he had been doing for all these years. But he doubted Emma had the patience to indulge his voyeurism.

She was staring at something, a dreamcatcher. He pulled himself away from Bae's room to the living space, "You find something, dearie?"

"No," she stammered, "Uh, it just looks like a dream catcher."

"Yeah, well, if it's nothing, why are you still holding it?" She stared at him, holding the piece against her chest, "You're lying to me."

"Let's just get back to looking, okay?" She hurriedly hung it back up where it had presumably been, hanging in the window.

Maybe it was all in his head. Maybe the stress was fueling an unfounded paranoia, and it really was just a dreamcatcher, and Emma was just very fond of dreamcatchers. But maybe his instinct was right. Maybe he wasn't imagining the guilt on her face or the uneasiness in her body language.

Maybe it hadn't been a mistake that a former bounty hunter had given up so easily on her quarry.

His lips curled back, his grip tightening on his cane, "No, no, no. You saw something. Tell me."

"You don't know what you're talk-"

"TELL ME!"

"Henry go wait outside."

"But I can help-"

"Henry go!" She ushered the boy behind her, guiding him towards the fire escape.

Henry glanced between them before ducking out. Mr. Gold could only feel his anger intensify as Emma insisted on lying to his face.

"You think I'm a fool?" He hissed, "You're holding back. I want to know what, and why."

She glanced down at the ground, "I'm not holding back."

He stepped towards her, barely keeping himself in check, "Did he tell you something?"

"Gold-"

"Did he tell you something?!"

"Nothing, he didn't say anything!"

"But you talked to-"

"Don't put words in my mouth."

"Tell me! You tell me..." He was almost within striking distance of her, "...or I'm going to make you tell me."

"You really want to do this?"

"Do not push me."

"Don't push me."

"We had a deal! A deal!" He knocked over a nearby table, his voice thundering now, "No one! No one breaks deals with me!"

The front door flew open, "HEY!" They both turned towards the man in the doorframe, drawn up to his full height. He swallowed hard, his voice lowering to a murmur, "...leave her alone."

Mr. Gold shrank back, all of the fury blown out of him in an instant. There he was. His beautiful boy... Grown now, with scruff on his face and casual modern clothes. But he saw his son in his brown curls, his dark soft eyes, the determined set of his jaw. He was ashamed that this was his first impression upon their reunion... But he was so very, very relieved. And happy.

"Bae..." The word came out in a breath, his lips quivering into a smile, "...you came back for me."

"I came to make sure you didn't hurt her," he pointed at Emma, "I've seen what you do to people who break deals."

"Please, Bae... Let's just talk."

"I have no interest in talking to you, you can go," he pointed at the door.

He knew this was a strong possibility and yes, it stung every bit as much as he thought it would. But he wasn't going to let go this time.

He shook his head, "I'm not going anywhere."

"Get out of my apartment!"

"Neal..."

"Emma, I got this."

And then it was back to the dreamcatcher. Mr. Gold glanced between the two of them.

"You two know each other… How?"

"You sent me chasing after him," Emma muttered.

"No, no, no. Stop it! You're lying." He gestured between the two of them, "How do you two know each other?!"

"It's none of your business!" Baelfire...Neal...snapped.

Emma turned her head ever so slightly, looking out of the corner of her eye towards the fire escape. Henry stood with his back pressed against the wall, doing his best to not be seen but to be able to overhear the conversation. Just like Bae listening to...

Mr. Gold stared at Emma, who refused to look at him. And he knew. With painful clarity he knew he was a grandfather without his son even knowing about his child... Because Bae would have never abandoned his boy the way he had been abandoned.

"Since you're apparently still fond of deals, how about we make one, huh?" Bae continued, "I give you three minutes, then you go and you never bother me again."

Three minutes... That was hardly enough time, after over three centuries apart. What could he say in three minutes to convince him he was changed? That he could do right by him now and he could be a better man?

"Five minutes?"

"You don't get to negotiate. Those are my terms, take 'em or leave 'em."

No, nononono this wasn't enough, it'd never be enough. But he nodded and Emma slipped out to the fire escape, shutting the window behind her, and it was the two of them and he was clawing through his mind trying to remember the best of the practice sessions he and Belle had gone through, the words he had written time and time again so he wouldn't forget, so he'd be ready...

...but he was never going to be ready. He'd be lucky if he spoke at all.

"Clock's ticking," Baelfire said, crossing his arms.

Mr. Gold took a steadying breath and pictured Belle, the Belle he loved, the Belle before he ruined everything, being there, supporting him. Promising it would all be okay.

"You were right, Bae," he admitted softly, "You were always right. I was a coward, and I never should've let you go." He paused but his boy was silent, and he didn't dare to look up to see how he was reacting. He continued on, "I know it's little consolation, but… I just want you to know, that ever since you left, ever since you crossed the barriers of time and space, in every waking moment… I've been looking for you. And now that I've finally found you… I know I can't make up for the past, for the lost time. All I can do, is to ask you to do what you've always done. And that's to be the bigger man… And forgive me." His voice shook as he tried not to cry, "I'm so sorry, son. I'm so sorry, Bae."

He said it. He got the words out, he did okay. Now Bae knew and maybe they could fix things.

"Pretty words," Baelfire said, "But you've always been good with words. It's the actions you have trouble with following through on." Mr. Gold looked up and saw Bae's hard, cold eyes boring into him, "I practiced my own speech, you know. About how I never needed any of that crap you brought in on my fourteenth birthday, how all I've ever needed was you and how you were the only one there for me before you decided power was more important."

"Bae-"

"It's Neal!" He clenched his teeth, "You have no idea what I've been through, how every night, the last thing I see before sleep, is the image of you. You and me, over that pit, and your hand… Wrapped around mine. And then, you open your grip. And as I fall away, all I can see is your face. Choosing all...this..." He made a gesture reminiscent of the Dark One's showmanship, "Over me. I'm not going to give you the chance to choose it over me again."

"I won't." He blinked back tears, "Never again."

"So you found me all on your own? In a borough of 1.6 million people? No magic whatsoever?"

He wanted to protest, because there had been very little magic in this last leg beyond Emma's intuition. But narrowing it down to this city, to this neighborhood...

Neal snorted, "That's what I thought. Addicts always find a way," he pointed towards the door, "Time's up."

"B- Neal..."

"Nope. I'm not a stupid kid anymore; I've grown up. And now I'm the one letting you go."

Just like that.

He wanted to root himself to the spot, make Baelfire drag him out kicking and screaming, to promise he wouldn't give up that easily. But a deal was a deal, and his boy didn't owe him forgiveness. He was alive and doing well and somehow Mr. Gold would have to live with that knowledge. He took a few shaky steps towards the door.

A hug. If he could just hug him one last time...

"Stop, where are you going?!"

He spun around to see Henry opening the window and scrambling back inside, Emma on his heels.

"Mr. Gold you can't just give up! He's your son!"

Neal squinted in confusion, "Who are you kid?!"

"I'm Henry, I helped break the curse."

Emma grabbed Henry's shoulder, pulling him back, "He's my son."

"Son...?" Emma held tightly to Henry as the gears turned in Neal's mind, "Wait how old are you?"

"Don't answer him."

"How old are you?!"

"ELEVEN!"

Neal stared at Emma, unable to form the question. Emma nodded anyways. Henry glanced up at her.

"...what's going on?" He asked, "Why does Baelfire want to know how old I am?"

Mr. Gold shrank back, an unwilling observer to the bomb dropped on his son (and grandson's) life.

III

It turned out that even in a positive light, Rumplestiltskin couldn't stand being the center of attention. He just wanted to enjoy the festivities, bask in the glow of his village's happiness. But people kept approaching him, praising and thanking him and buttering him up more than a slice of bread.

"Kiss asses," Zoso grumbled, his hood pulled over his eyes as he leaned back in a seat that no one else seemed to be paying attention to.

He couldn't argue. Not a single one of them would've spat to douse him if he were on fire last week. Several of them would've fanned the flames just for the entertainment. But maybe now that he had proven himself, now that he was no longer a coward, maybe they were finally seeing him as more than a cripple. This could be the start of a new life.

Bae seemed to be enjoying himself, playing with the other boys and girls. Being a kid for once. He'd deal with an army of sycophants if his boy got to just be normal.

Still, he found himself getting up and walking steadily to the edges of the town center. He had drunk more mead tonight than he'd ever in his life but hardly felt its effects. Another side effect, he supposed. He wandered to his sheep pen, clucking his tongue at his flock.

"Persi, Dite, Hera," he called.

As they had since his return, they kept as far away from him as the fences would allow. Maybe he didn't smell right, or look right. He barely recognized himself, how could he expect them to?

"They'll warm back up to you soon."

He glanced over and smiled, "Bae, what are you doing here? You should be enjoying the party."

"I needed some air," he said, reaching his hand into the pen.

Persi, arguably the bravest of the ewes, stepped forward. She kept a close eye on Rumple but approached Baelfire, who scratched behind her ear.

"Are they asking you for things too?" Bae murmured.

Rumplestiltskin swallowed hard, "Not directly. Getting a few marriage offers though... Some of them are a bit young for me. Are you in the market for a bride?"

Baelfire smirked and shook his head, "Not yet, Papa."

The humor wasn't enough to dissipate the tension of the question though. Of course, Bae would be dragged along into this, would be used as a way around dealing directly with Rumplestiltskin. Baelfire should be liked for his own (numerous) merits, not just as someone who could whisper in the Dark One's ear.

"Do you think we'll be this popular forever?" Baelfire asked.

Rumplestiltskin considered, "More, probably. Word will spread to other lands. We'll be seeing all sorts of people come to our front door." He didn't miss the grimace on his son's face, "But we'll get used to it. Just think of all the possibilities; you can be whoever you want to be now. You don't have to follow in my footsteps."

Baelfire shrugged, scratching under Persi's chin, "Maybe I want to be a spinner. Never seemed like a bad fate."

"You don't know any better."

He hadn't meant it to come out as bitter as it had, but Bae gave him a sideways glance. Rumplestiltskin muttered a half excuse and took off, the whole conversation leaving him flustered. He had gotten so caught up in the euphoria of freedom he hadn't stopped to think of the cost, despite Zoso's dying words.

He wanted the happiness in his life to last for once.

"Did you get lost on your way back?"

Rumplestiltskin was startled out of his thoughts by a familiar figure. Thenadia, the widow of the man who used to run Milah's favorite tavern, was leaning against a tree, whittling away at a piece of wood. Long dark hair framed a lovely face, tendrils drawing unsuspecting men down to her lowcut blouse. She often laughed about her "effective advertising" to Milah, and Rumple could only guess as to what her husband thought of all the men oogling his wife's...display.

"I, uh..." He glanced around, getting his bearings. He had wandered even further away from the village, almost into the forest, "...was getting some air. Hello Thena."

"Rumple, long time no see."

"Well you know, there wasn't...wasn't much of a reason for me to visit...after..."

"I would think being a single father would make you come even more often." Thena tucked away her carving and approached him.

"I was sorry to hear about Jondret..."

"I'm not."

He forgot about how close she liked to stand, and how she smelled of spirits he had never tried. He glanced away reflexively, his heart pounding.

She laughed, "Looks like you're still the shy spinner I've always known. The one who'd pop in just to make sure his wife was okay."

"I, ah, don't want to alarm you but, ah, my skin is, it's ah..."

A hand brushed his cheek. He wasn't sure if a Dark One could blush but he felt the heat rising in his face anyway.

"It's smooth," she said, drawing her hand away, "Not snake smooth either. Human smooth."

He shook his head, "I'm…not, anymore. I'm…"

"More," she supplied, "Beyond. And yet… Rumplestiltskin, nonetheless."

Old instincts shot spikes of adrenaline through him and he subconsciously checked his escape routes. But…he wasn't in danger. There was no reason for him to be afraid anymore. The whole town could be waiting to ambush him and he'd be able to defend himself easily. So there'd be no point in treating him nicely just to make a fool out of him.

"I have a confession to make," she bowed her head shyly, "I've always thought you were a handsome man."

Rumplestiltskin snorted, "Now there's no need for teasing…"

"I'm serious!" She leaned closer, "I had the biggest crush on you. I'd be so excited when Milah came in, knowing that meant I'd get to see you." Her finger started at the hollow of his throat, sliding down his chest and torso, "Don't you think I'M pretty, Rumple?"

It wasn't as though his urges curled up and died after Milah left; he noticed women in the village and at the market. Even bone tired after a day of work, his mind would occasionally wander to a fictitious lady who didn't mind her lover being a crippled wool spinner. But the heat that coursed through his veins right now put even his teenage lust to shame. His fingers fidgeted at his sides, fighting the urge to grab her. His mouth was too dry to respond.

Her finger stopped at his hips and she grinned, "Apparently so."

There was no room for embarrassment or guilt. Nothing but a primal hunger remained, a fury he could barely contain as she stepped away, turning her back on him. She strolled towards the forest, glancing over her shoulder briefly before disappearing into the cover of trees and brush. It was all the consent he needed and he stalked her, a wolf hunting his prey.

She led him deep into the shadows and he took no time in devouring her. Against a tree, bent on all fours, with her back grinding into the dirt, with his back grinding into the dirt, he didn't care. She didn't seem to mind; he had to cover her mouth several times to keep her screams from echoing through the forest. If people came though, he wouldn't care. He'd just keep going, letting them see he wasn't as pathetic as Milah made him out to be. He could please a woman just fine; he could get a woman just fine.

His best guess was that hours had passed by the time they'd had their fill, panting on the ground, leaves and twigs in their hair and clinging to what clothes were still on them. She laughed breathlessly.

"I think Milah had you confused with a different Rumplestiltskin."

He smiled up at the canopy of leaves, "In her defense, the limp tended to get in the way."

"Hey, give credit where credit is due," Another voice complained, "The Dark One's curse isn't all sunshine and roses, but it certainly has its perks."

Rumplestiltskin sighed, closing his eyes. At least Zoso had the courtesy to wait until afterwards to show back up, sitting on a boulder nearby.

"Man I had some crazy nights," he reminisced, "You would not believe the possibilities with that stamina, half a dozen ladies with no limits, and a wild imagination."

"Please…" Rumplestiltskin begged.

Thena propped herself up on an elbow, looking over at him, "What was that?"

"Nothing," he shook his head, moving closer to her, "I should've at least gotten you to a bed," he admitted. A bed would make for a better afterglow.

"I like it out here," she insisted, "Makes it more exciting. Now, down to business."

"Business?" He echoed.

"Of course. You can't get something for nothing, after all." She sat upright, tucking her legs under her and counting off her fingers, "For starters, a few new dresses would be nice. A proper horse, not one of those cart ponies, something that'll make me look like a lady. Then I suppose the tavern needs some updates but eventually-"

"Wait…" Rumplestiltskin slowly sat up, "I thought…"

"That this was free? Oh no, honey, I'm not that kind of woman. Much more practical than that, even if it was good."

"You called me handsome," he whimpered, "…you said you had a crush on me."

Zoso shook his head. Thena frowned, her expression full of pity.

"Don't you know by now that women lie to get what they want too?" She reached over to find her dress, "Anyway, it would be an awful thing if our new local hero were to, shall we say, force himself on a widow? It's not like she could do anything to stop him… It'd be much easier if you just-"

There was no thought behind it. One moment she was speaking and the next her neck was snapping under the force of his hand. He jerked away and scrambled back, Thena's lifeless body flopping over.

"Thank you," Zoso drawled, standing up, "I hate it when they get entitled."

"Nonononono," Rumplestiltskin moved back to her side, drawing the magic up and trying to work it, "That was a mistake, I didn't mean to… How do I fix this?!"

"You don't," Zoso said, "There's three basic rules of magic. One, always a price, you learned that already. Two, you can't force true love. Infatuation? Maybe. Lust? Definitely. Never true love. And three…dead. Is dead."

Even as he shot the magic through her body, he knew Zoso was right. Nothing was reacting to him; there were no hints of what to do, no suggestions. It was just…lifeless. Rumplestiltskin started to shake, tears welling in his eyes.

"I didn't mean to… I didn't mean to…"

"Intentions are meaningless. Get rid of the body and let's call it a night."

He vanished Thena's remains as far as he could away from him, but it wasn't enough. He knew what he had done and soon the town would realize she was missing. The soldiers, it could be argued, had it coming, but this…this was his first innocent kill.

Or…was it? She had tried to blackmail him, lied to him, laid with him under false pretenses. She should've realized the consequences of deceiving the Dark One. He was just carrying out justice, that was all. She got what she deserved.

Whatever was left of his humanity tried to convince him otherwise, but the darkness wouldn't hear of it. He held the power now; he would make the decisions that were right for him. And Bae.

II

"What is this?" Cora snarled at the object Belle had set on the mayoral desk.

Belle tilted her head, giving her best innocent expression, "Snow White. That's what you asked for, right?"

Regina gave a heavy, exasperated sigh.

Cora stood up, circling the desk with the DVD cover in hand. Belle knew better than to further antagonize the Queen of Hearts, especially if she wanted to keep her heart where it was, but she just couldn't summon a single care even if her life depended on it.

"You'd be amazed how difficult it was to find," she continued, "There's half a dozen versions but the library didn't have this one and really, I had to make sure to get the most authentic Snow White. Thankfully Sneezy had a copy-"

The rest of the sentence came out in a choked garble. Belle welcomed the invisible pressure crushing her throat and stared Cora down. She wished she'd kill her; not out of a desire for death, but just knowing that if he came home and she was gone... The town would be ash, regardless of whether Cora had the dagger.

Black spots were starting to dance in front of her eyes when Cora's magic finally released its grip. She hated herself for gulping in the air, for showing any sort of weakness to this monster.

Cora composed herself, her sardonic smirk returning, "It seems magic wasn't the only thing he taught you."

As if he needed to teach her how to be clever.

Belle's hand went into her pocket. Regina and Cora both watched the gesture, attentive as bloodhounds. Belle traced the chip she made in that cup all those years ago. She had found the courage to tell the Dark One on her first day of captivity she damaged his tea set; she could outlast the Mills and their twisted games.

"Clearly we need to take it up a notch," Regina said, narrowing her eyes at her. Belle braced herself, ready to twist the words as they came, bend the command to her will, "Bring us Snow White's heart."

"The actual Snow White's," Cora clarified.

"The one in her-"

"I know what a heart is."

Both of them sneered at her but as long as they didn't notice what she had just done, she didn't care. She was surprised to find that she could interrupt an order. It wasn't a trick she could call upon often but just having it was a relief.

"Then go and get it," Cora hissed.

Mary Margaret had no idea what to expect when Emma called her their first full day gone. Of course she had called the night before, to let them know Gold hadn't murdered anyone yet and that Henry was loving the road trip so far. But this call...

Never mind the bombshell that was Henry's parentage. Emma's voice cracking as she anguished over wanting to protect Henry broke her own heart. She wished she could reach through the phone and hold her, comfort her like a mother should. Calling her in her time of need was a good sign, right? That Emma was opening up to her?

"So," David began, working through the revelation, "If Henry's father is Gold's son, that makes Rumplestiltskin his..."

"Yeah."

"Which means that he's..." David's finger tapped through the air as if he were consulting a genealogy chart, "co-parents not-in-law with us by blood?"

"I guess, if we want to put a label on it." She didn't want to. It had been enough of a headache realizing that Regina was both Henry's adoptive mother and step-great-grandmother.

That poor boy didn't deserve such a tangled Christmas lights pile of a family tree.

David leaned back in his seat at the kitchen table and folded his arms, expression still set in a concerned frown, "I am not looking forward to Thanksgiving..."

The floorboards above their heads creaked. With a glance, they silently confirmed neither of them were expecting company.

David went for the umbrella stand and Mary Margaret went for the kitchen. She drew a cleaver out of the knife block. He unsheathed his sword from its not-so-hiding place. Together they approached the staircase, weapons poised. A brief pantomimed argument took place over who would be facing the threat first and who would be backup.

After he pointed out the difference between their blade's sizes, Mary Margaret rolled her eyes and gestured for him to lead. He charged into the guest room with the confidence of a bull facing a matador's cape.

"Belle!"

"Hi Charming."

"What are you-"

"Please, no questions, just let me finish my business and I'll be on my way."

"You're going through my wife's belongings, I think I'm entitled to a few questions. For instance, what's wrong with the front door?"

"Too risky."

"Too risky?! I was ready to run you through!"

"Charming, please, I don't have time for this. I need her heart."

Mary Margaret's hand went to her chest protectively.

"Her heart?" David echoed, "What do you mean?"

"I can't- Just- I have to be careful. Very careful. So just please, tell me where to find it, give it to me, before..."

There was more shuffling noise, as frantic as the tone of her voice. David reappeared at the top of the stairs, looking down at Mary Margaret with a mix of confusion and dread. Her mind raced as she tried to decipher Belle's words.

She considered them for a moment longer before going down to her jewelry box. She found the heart-shaped pendant easily enough and wordlessly returned to give it to David. He stared at her, perplexed, but she didn't elaborate. Hopefully this was enough, and the darker insinuation could be ignored.

He disappeared back into the room and the tension in the loft eased.

"Thank you."

Mary Margaret, cleaver still in hand, joined them. Belle couldn't have been in the bedroom that long but it was still violently dismembered. Drawers emptied, closet gouged, even Emma's things weren't untouched. Belle refused to meet Mary Margaret's eye, raising her hand in preparation to vanish.

"Wait a second," David protested, "You can't just poof out of here without an explanation."

"I have to," she said simply, "I'm sorry."

"That's not going to cut it anymore. Both of you have been shady since your return, and it's not the usual cheeky shadiness we've put up with in the past." He pointed his sword at her accusingly, "You let Regina escape after she tried to kill Emma. Granny said you were strange when you came in and dropped Anton off. And there's the whole "not joining your husband to find his son" thing."

"Have you talked to Emma?"

David scowled, "Of course we have. Welcome to the family, by the way."

Belle frowned, finally glancing at Mary Margaret, "Family?"

"Rumplestiltskin hasn't talked to you today?" She asked.

Belle shook her head, "I've been busy. What did she say, what happened?"

"They found his son, almost right away," she said, "He's Emma's... Well, he's Henry's father."

She watched as Belle slowly processed both pieces of information. Shock, replaced by fear, then surprise, and finally, joy.

"...Henry's my grandson?" Mary Margaret nodded and Belle beamed. She wiped at her eyes as tears started to spill out, "So then they must be coming home soon then?"

"She didn't give us a timeline, it sounded like they were all still in shock."

"I bet." Belle swayed forward, as if going to embrace Mary Margaret, but she stayed where she was. She sniffed and tried to gain control of herself, "Thank you. You have no idea what this news means to me."

"You probably have a dozen messages waiting," David said.

Belle straightened up, "You're right! He's probably been trying all day! I need to go!"

Before either of them could protest again, she disappeared. David turned to his wife, irritated, "She still didn't answer any of my questions."

Mary Margaret took a deep breath, "She's not talking to her husband, and she came here to take my heart. There's something very wrong going on."

Belle nearly tripped over Hook's legs as she appeared in the parlor, the pirate stretched out half on the couch, half on the floor.

"He found him!" She exclaimed, startling him out of his introspection, "Rumple found Bae! And Henry's my grandson!"

Hook pushed himself fully back up onto the couch, "Love, I don't think you should..."

But she was already at the phone, playing the first new message. She pulled their chipped cup out of her pocket and was holding it like a good luck talisman, hardly able to sit still. The first few seconds of the recording were silent, before his voice snarled into the receiver.

"You. Promised. Me."

All of the excitement and relief drained from her. This wasn't the joy of a father reunited with his son, or even an anxious father trying to figure out how to handle a grown son with resentment. This was agony. This was grief.

"You promised me you'd be here. You promised that you would be by my side, every step of the way. You promised we'd find him and that you'd be there to help if I struggled." He gulped in a breath, "But you lied. You weren't here when I needed you. You left me to face this alone and guess what? I failed. He gave me three minutes and that was it. He wants nothing to do with me. My son is never going to forgive me and I am coming back empty-handed." There was a sharp sniff, a clearing of his throat, "...I don't even know if I'm going to come back, honestly. If I don't have you and I don't have him, I have nothing. Goodbye Belle." His voice cracked over her name.

It didn't register at first, because even though logically she knew it was a possibility, she never dreamed there would be no happy ending. Conflict, yes, but that there would be no redemption, no chance to make things right? What was it all for if the very reason they were here walked away?

She never even got to meet him.

"It's not your fault, lass," Hook attempted to soothe her.

But it was. She had promised all those things and more, had let worlds suffer, had turned a blind eye to her husband's scheming and every horrible thing that came from what "needed to be done".

And for what? Three minutes and two broken hearts?

She didn't even realize she had thrown the cup until she heard the crash of porcelain against wood. The remains lay shattered on the floor, impossible to fit back together again even with the most careful search for all the pieces. Belle fell to her knees and broke apart with it.

III

The afterglow of victory went sour by the middle of the next day. Thena was discovered missing and while he thought he had been discreet, apparently they had been spotted together going into the forest. No one dared to confront him directly but there were the whispers, the quick glances and hurried dispersing if he approached.

He never realized that mocking him to his face had been a decency. Never before had he needed to question how people felt about the village coward; the Dark One however, they didn't share their opinions so boldly to. He couldn't tell how much Bae had heard but it was impossible for him not to notice the shift of the tide.

Maybe it would blow over, like gossip tended to do. Or maybe he'd find a way to redeem himself and put the incident out of their minds.

He wasn't expecting the knock on the door and from the way he jumped, neither had Baelfire. Baelfire glanced worriedly at him and he waved his hand dismissively, going to the door. He was the Dark One, who did he have to fear?

He was greeted by a man cloaked in the fish and wheat sigil of the Frontlands. He shied away at the sight of Rumplestiltskin's complexion.

"Grrreetings, Dark One," The herald spoke, "I am here on, on the behalf of the Duke. He, he wishes to meet with you to discuss matters."

"Oh does he now?" Rumplestiltskin smirked, "From what I remember His Grace has a very busy schedule... But perhaps it's opened up since I am no longer a peasant begging for his son's life."

The herald took a shaky breath before continuing his message, "He requests to meet with you tomorrow-"

"Tomorrow? Well why not today? Surely he can rrrrrearrange his schedule if he wants to meet with me so badly?"

He didn't seem to have an answer for that. Not that Rumplestiltskin expected one; after all he was just a messenger.

He turned around, "I'll be right back, Bae, this shouldn't take long."

"Papa-"

But Rumplestiltskin had already vanished, his anger already boiling from the mild simmer just mentioning the Duke caused.

He had tried to gain an audience with the Duke; most parents worth their salt had. He had brought his best thread, silken and strong and dyed vibrantly, as a gift. He had stood all day in a waiting room with dozens of others, watching as peasants were ignored and noblemen skipped the line completely. The guards had quickly forced him away when he tried to rest near a tapestry (for good reason, it turned out).

He outlasted even the most stubborn guests, half awake and facing a full night of walking home on an aching leg. And what had he been told when they realized he was still there?

Unless you can spin gold instead of wool, His Grace doesn't want to see you.

Rumplestiltskin appeared in the courtyard and got a thrill from seeing how many servants he surprised. He confidently strode into the building, marching towards the Duke's presence chamber.

"Don't underestimate him," The ghost of Zoso whispered into his conscious.

"Just because he got the best of you it doesn't mean he'll get the best of me," Rumplestiltskin muttered under his breath.

The haunting of the former Dark One had been fading gradually; whether it was because he was getting used to the mantle or his guilt was waning he wasn't sure. It was of little relief because there was still something in him, faceless or no, that he felt just as heavily as Zoso's presence. It fed on his impulsiveness, goaded his temper, reminded him what he owed his new life to. It was terrifying in the moments he stopped to think about it, but he tried to do that as little as possible.

The spinner was dead. Long live the Dark One.

He forced the doors of the presence room with a thought, throwing them open dramatically. A man sat at a desk, not even looking up from the parchment he was writing on.

"Good afternoon, Rumplestiltskin." He set his quill back into the inkwell, "Or do you prefer Dark One now?"

Here he had meant to surprise the Duke, but the Duke had surprised him, "You...know my name?"

"Of course." He pushed back away from his desk and stood, "You know I could use some fresh air. Do you mind if we go for a walk?"

Rumplestiltskin was too dumbstruck to object.

The duke in his imagination had always been a tall, broad soldier of a man, shouting orders and sentencing men to their deaths. But the real Duke was even shorter than him, and just as slight. He was dressed completely in black and Rumplestiltskin racked his mind for news of a death. He had been so preoccupied with the war that he hadn't bothered with any other slivers of royal gossip.

Absentmindedly, he fell into step beside the Duke, as if they were just going for a casual stroll.

"I know you met the Seer," he said, "But did she tell you that you were the one destined to end the war?"

"No," he admitted. The only prophecy she'd given him was the one that had caused him to run, the threat that his actions on the battlefield would leave his child fatherless.

"You were, which is why you got a special invitation despite your..." He glanced meaningfully down at Rumple's leg, "...handicap. I was so very disappointed to hear of your desertion. Imagine my surprise when fourteen years later, you did indeed end the war."

The Duke led him up a staircase, up onto the battlements of the castle. If he looked over he could still see scorch marks from the fire he had set marking spots difficult to climb to.

"You will go down in history no doubt; no one will ever forget the name Rumplestiltskin. But are you prepared for that sort of notoriety?"

"I haven't done half bad with it so far," he insisted.

The other man snorted, "Matter of opinion. Right now I'm dealing with a wave of unemployed soldiers, blacksmiths, healers, farriers, tacticians, mechanics, et cetera, et cetera. War's not pretty, but it's a decent business."

Fury burned through Rumplestiltskin, "And what about the dead sacrificed for that business? The families torn apart? The children who will never be children again?!"

"There are no promises in life besides that it will end," The Duke said flippantly, "And being torn apart by ogres is faster than starving."

Rumplestiltskin slammed the Duke against the wall, "Then do something! You have the power, help them! Find a better way!"

He gave Rumplestiltskin a patronizing smirk, "I forget that you're still in the idealist phase, despite the arson and murder. Rest assured, reality gets the best of every revolutionary. And that's even without a curse speeding things along. I give it a few months before you start seeing everyone as pawns as well."

The Duke's shoulders and head were already bent over the side; it wouldn't take much to push him over and watch him fall to his death. How satisfying that would be, to kill the man who tried to take Bae from him.

"Did he tell you about Cassandra before you killed him?" He asked offhandedly.

Rumplestiltskin hesitated, "...no." The hair on the back of his neck prickled as his veins filled with a resentment that wasn't his own.

"How dare he speak her name," Zoso seethed.

"Cassandra was the name of the Seer you spoke to. From my understanding she was a sort of adopted daughter of Zoso. Really was a shame to let her go, but how could I refuse the Dark One and his dagger?"

"He STOLE her from me," Zoso hissed, "He threatened to kill her if I didn't hand it over."

The Duke looked calmly at Rumplestiltskin, "Hordor mentioned your son's name. Strawflint? Bundlespark?"

"Baelfire," he whispered.

"That's it. Anyway I've already told my men if I should meet an...untimely demise. Like this," he gestured to the open air behind him, "They should make a housecall."

"They won't beat me to him. I can be there in an instant."

"But can you always be there? Can you watch him every single moment of every single day and night? More importantly, will he let you hover over him like that?" The Duke shrugged, "Mortals, we die so easily."

"Kill him," Zoso urged, "Kill him before you're trapped under his control."

Rumplestiltskin released his grip on the Duke's tunic and stepped back. The Duke brushed himself off, smoothing his dark hair. In the sunlight, he noticed it wasn't fully black, closer to a dark azure.

"I think we could be very good allies, Rumplestiltskin," he said, smiling, "But I understand if you need some time to mull it over. Consider a dove or a crow instead of barging in next time?"

He didn't give him the courtesy of a goodbye, a billow of smoke taking him back home to Bae. Baelfire got to his feet, looking him over.

"What happened, Papa? What did he say?"

Rumplestiltskin shook his head, "Nothing much, just wanted to size up the new Dark One, I suspect."

"That's all?" Baelfire challenged, "You set his castle on fire, stole his magic power and he just wanted to say "hello"?"

"Guess he's not much of a grudgeholder," he said.

He wouldn't, couldn't tell Bae the rest. He didn't want his boy to live in fear; as a coward he knew that was no life to live. He would protect him, keep an eye out for the Duke's spies, and in the meantime figure out a way to outwit the fox.

II

Ironically, he felt more sober once the whiskey made his way to his brain, numbing the sharp edge of his emotions. He had gone back to the hotel (where else did he have to go) and found a stool at its bar to sulk.

Mr. Gold sat with his cell phone on the counter, staring at it as though he expected a call. From who? The wife who had been ignoring him? The son that wanted nothing to do with him? Charming checking up on him? No, no one cared where he was or what he was doing, as long as he was away from them.

"Another," he told the bartender, gesturing with his empty glass.

"And a rum and coke, please, but hold the rum."

He glanced over as Henry of all people hopped up onto the stool, as nonchalant as if they were in a video game arcade. The bartender opened his mouth but Mr. Gold's "don't even think about it" glare shut him up and sent him to the tap.

"Aren't you supposed to be with your parents?" He grumbled.

"Too much tension, I told them I was going to go back to the hotel."

Mr. Gold raised an eyebrow, "And they trusted you?"

"They started arguing about whether I was old enough to take a taxi by myself, or be alone in a hotel room by myself. I think they need some time to figure things out."

"Very gracious of you."

Henry frowned and quietly added, "I also wanted to make sure you were okay."

Mr. Gold snorted, "I'm fine, dearie."

"I don't think you are."

The bartender returned with their drinks, being very careful not to mix them up. Mr. Gold took a large gulp, reflexively glancing at his phone again.

"You know, every hero goes through this," Henry said, "The low point, where it doesn't seem like there's any hope and they can't go on. I know it's hard, but it'll be okay, I promise."

"You're forgetting a very important detail; I'm a villain. Low points are as normal to us as victories are to heroes."

"Would Belle call you a villain?"

The question cut deep, "...I don't know what she'd call me right now," he admitted.

"You saved her. Doesn't that make you a hero, at least to one person?"

Mr. Gold didn't respond, not sure how to explain the complexities of morality to a sixth grader. Henry took a self-satisfied sip of his Coke.

"We'll get through this," he said confidently.

He wanted to blame the optimism on the Charming side of the family...but Baelfire had been optimistic too, before everything went downhill. He hoped Henry didn't lose this, even with the current insanity. He hoped that he'd never become as bitter and jaded as the paternal side of his family tree got after one too many hits to the heart.

"Have you eaten anything? You should eat," Mr. Gold decided, looking for a menu.

Henry grabbed the table tent, flipping through appetizers, "So..." He began, watching Mr. Gold out of the corner of his eye, "...should I call you grandpa now?"

Mr. Gold guffawed, "Call me whatever you'd like."

Henry wasn't sure if he had accidentally crossed a line. Mr. Gold's face was stern, but he did catch a twinkle in the old pawnbroker's eye. So maybe he wouldn't be turned into a toad when they returned home.

Back in Storybrooke, the darkness was taking over Belle. She had bought Mary Margaret a little more time with the "heart" but Cora was done trying to puppeteer Belle. Her and Regina were discussing matters tonight and, come tomorrow, the game was over.

So tonight she was going to get piss drunk and forget everything for awhile. Hook hadn't even tried to stop her when she walked out the door in an indecently short dress and impossibly high heels, probably sensing her lack of fucks. She went straight to The Rabbit Hole, climbed up on a stool, and started throwing them back.

One for losing the dagger and thus her free will. One for the pain her absence caused Rumple. One for the son she almost had. A preemptive one for the death of a childhood friend, possibly by her own hand.

Rumple had mentioned the insane tolerance the curse gave him but this was frustrating. Every time she approached drunkenness it would scamper away and she'd need more shots to chase it again. All she wanted to do was escape, just for a night.

"Another round for the lady."

Belle slowly swiveled her head towards the voice and squinted. It took her a moment but she finally placed him. The Sheriff of Nottingham. The man Rumple ripped the tongue out of for suggesting he whore her out for information.

He took it as an invitation and moved closer, grinning, "I've had my eye on you for a while."

"Yeah I remember."

"You do?" That seemed to jog his memory, "Rumplestiltskin..."

"Is out of town," she assured him.

The grin returned, "You know, you've gained quite a reputation yourself. Are you really as dark as people say?" His tone bordered on mockery.

She smirked, the Dark One's curse wriggling restlessly through her veins, "Darker, dearie. Much darker."

IIIII

I'm ashamed of you chapter, you should not have taken me this long. Story of this story though. Totally changed up the flashbacks from my original outline, though it still resulted in OCs.

Sneak peek: Things continue to escalate in Storybrooke and NYC, and time to check in on some minor characters we haven't seen in awhile. How have they been since curse break? How do they feel about Belle disappearing, coming back, hanging with the bad girls, and Gold just taking off?