She's doing it again. He imagines the sound of long fingernails scratching against wood emanating from the wardrobe. Always in the wardrobe. Her little hiding place where the darkness provides the security that she seeks, security that he's unable to offer. He'll never understand how they had come to this. No. He knows the cause but he is afraid to go deeper into it lest he ends up as lost as her. He needs to hold himself together for them—for her. His train of thoughts shatter at her agonising whimpers akin to a wounded pup, cutting his heart into little pieces that he's certain it'll turn to dust, eventually. Hiccups break the wailing in between. He wonders if this will be the final straw, the blade that'll slice through his fragile sanity. This has to be it, right?
A brittle laugh escapes him. What is up and what is down? Nothing makes sense anymore and he is tired of fighting and being their only source strength. He vowed to love her in sickness and in health, but this sickness is too much for him to handle. He is not strong enough to carry such weight. She had always been his source of strength; with her gone, he is a friendless invalid doing his best in holding them together. Is this the price to pay for being the monster that he once was and still is? He wonders if he has racked up insurmountable sins that ripping his soul is the only atonement there is. For that's what she is—his soul.
The house is quieter and he tries to recall why it matters. When he remembers he exhales loudly and relaxes his shoulder. Finally it is over—for now. Creaking knees bend down to pick up his discarded cane with a trembling hand. It is too close to the fireplace and his eyes caught the light bouncing off its metal handle—glinting at him scornfully as if mocking his gimp state. When he encloses his hand around the handle he feels the heat absorbed by it. Sadly, he thinks it is the only source of heat and comfort he's familiar with these days. Leaning heavily on his cane he begins the slow walk to the stairs leading to their bedroom.
As he grips the hand rail for support, his body contracts at the sound of another scream. String of profanities follow not long after. He whimpers in response and closes his eyes, praying for the strength to get him through the night. His consciousness focuses on the cold metal band on his ring finger. The ring that binds them as husband and wife. Did he not vow that he is now and for all the future, hers? Did he not vow that he'll protect her? He protects her from herself, from the evil of this world, and from those who wish her harm. But who is there to protect him from her and the voices in his head? The voices whisper poisonous thoughts and squeeze his heart till he lay broken on the floor—just like the china scattered on the floor of what they used to call home. His heart nearly stops at the thought of their chipped cup joining the mosaic of shattered china.
The heavy air and flickering lights of their home only succeeded in pulling him deeper into darkness. Loneliness visits him once again and he welcomes the numbness it feeds him. Soon enough, his will to live fled him. And living becomes a chore. Every day he tries to keep his head above water, and there were times where he nearly drowned. On those days he stays away from the house and locks himself in his shop.
The sound of slammed doors releases him from his cluttered thoughts. Bile rises in his throat and he wonders briefly if it's strong enough to dissolve through his skin, leaving him gasping for air and twitching on the stairs to die. When another scream escapes from their bedroom, he hobbles quickly up the stairs before hesitating at their door. His hand freezes mid-air to the half-opened door. Is he mentally prepared to handle what lies beyond it? The last thing they need is two fragile minds clawing at each other. But he made a promise. And he swears that he'll never back out on that promise. So he pushes the door open.
He squints his eyes in the dark room and spots a figure huddled next to a wardrobe. The room is too quiet. She is too quiet. He leans his cane against the wall before approaching her with deliberate, soft and slow steps. As he gets closer he can see her blank eyes staring into nothingness. Scarred and bleeding arms lay motionless at her sides. He feels the blood pounding in his ears as he nears her. A metallic smell fills his nose. Alarms go off in his head and his fears were proved right when he steps on something wet. His chest and lungs burn as if they are on fire. He instantly drops to the floor, crawling towards the lifeless woman. He shakes her and calls out her name, but she doesn't respond. Her breath becomes shallower as time passes.
A few days later, news of the Golds spread like wildfire. Rumpelstiltskin was found in a pool of his and his wife's blood. Speculations of how it happened run amok among Storybrooke's residents, but all agree that Rumpelstiltskin had accumulated too much debt that it needed a payment of equal measure. Sadly, more than one person had to pay the price.