RATING CHANGED: M. It took one chapter before this thing turned from a T to an M. ^_^; Sorry about that, folks. Cursing, violence, a bit of gore, tiny bit of innuendo, and more cursing up ahead. I'm serious though, if you can't stomach the semi-graphic violence, skip it! YE BE WARNED!

Author's Note: So this chapter is a lot more dark than the previous one, due to a certain scene... and I am almost positive that you have lots and lots of questions. And that's a good thing. There's lots of confusing parts but as a famous character from Fringe once said, "When you get one answer, three more questions pop up." So, I hope you stick with this story. Those questions of yours will be answered. Promise. See you in the next chapter.

Disclaimers: This story is a combination of lots of different influences, such as Disney's film Tangled, the television show White Collar, Criminal Minds, and Castle, as well as other works of fiction mainly Diadem by John Peel, "Rumpelstiltskin", and the original "Rapunzel" story; my story is an homage to these works. I do not, in any way shape or form, own any of these works; they are used as inspirational purposes in my universe. I gain no profit nor claim ownership of any of the characters or situations in this story... except Jimmy Collins. He's my character. =D In short, please don't sue. Thank you.

"There are some that only employ words for the purpose of disguising their thoughts." - Voltaire

Chapter 2: What Fresh Hell

Jimmy Collins was a fine man: medium build, sandy brown hair, looked relatively young for his age, and had a face that most people would find trusting. He's learned a lot of things during his time in the military, things that he would have never imagined learning in his small rural hometown of Manton, Ca., population 402. He's done enough missions during his tour to be proficient at his job and his job was one very crucial thing: get the evidence on film no matter what. Staking out a joint though is not as glamorous as television shows and Hollywood movies make them out to be. In reality, stakeout work is extremely tedious and time-consuming. An officer may need to watch a target's home for an entire eight-hour shift without a single development. Even small things most people take for granted, such as using a bathroom or grabbing lunch, become risky in an effective stationary surveillance operation. An investigator that leaves his vehicle may miss an important event, especially if the targets know they are being watched.

Collins was not up for a stake out this evening and felt a yawn come on, tickling his nose first before it contorted his mouth into a funny lopsided 'O'. All this month, Vinny Falcone had setup extra meetings with the shipping company to make sure the drop off of their special "golden crate" went without a hitch. His back was sore from sitting in the van for so long and he kept checking under the driver's seat to make sure his bag was still there, just in case he needed to make a run for it.

Suddenly, from the corner of his eye, Collins saw a figure skirt around the corner of the warehouse across from where he was parked in the bushes. Pulling out his binoculars from the glove compartment, he brought it up to see what was dancing in the shadows. His eyes narrowed as he watched two large figures picking the lock on the back door. Grabbing his camera and his pocket knife, Collins jumped down as quietly as possible and maneuvered his way around to the other side of the gate. Pressing up against the thick trunk of a tree, he checked to make sure his film was in the camera before turning around and zooming in to take shots of the scene. The sounds of the clicker was muffled by the boat horns that rumbled out on the dock. The men had gone inside and the light in the warehouse blinked on. Collins took this opportunity to check and make sure there was enough film before turning off the camera. Coming out from behind the tree, he walked only a few feet before he slammed straight into a wall of muscle that seemed to have emerged from the shadows.

Stumbling backwards, Collins cursed out loud as he felt his camera stab into his back when he backed up against the fence.

"Well, well. What do we have here? I think we have a snitch on our hands, Kay." said the eye patched man, towering over Collins like the most vicious looking bear in a pirate get-up.

"Gentlemen. The hell are you doing here? Aren't you suppose to be in some back alley beating the living shit out of a bum? We non-muscle folk actually have important work to do." Collins said, trying to mask his nerves as best as he could. As long as he can out smart these goons, he could get home to his rickety motel bed. He could do sit-ups before he washing up which would always remind him of his father's night time regimen. He could complain to the ugly yellow wallpaper that he's not getting paid enough for the shit he does, like he did every night. He could call his wife and daughter before falling into another dreamless sleep.

But that will have to wait for another night.

"Well, it seems that the boss told us to keep an eye out for a certain somebody. A mole. We've been getting a lot of heat from the feds lately-" Jay said casually strolling up to Collins who tried his best glare at the brothers.

"You think I don't know that? I was there last time their raided Fernelli's. We got so much merchandise there, there ain't no way we would have gotten anything less than 25-30." Collins snapped back at the brothers, who seemed unfazed by his threats.

"Well, if you're not muscle, then why did we find a hot weapon under your seat?" Kay said holding up Collins's gun gingerly in his hands as though it were alive and could get up and shoot him on its own accord.

"What? You make it as if no one besides you fuckheads carry at least one concealed weapon on their persons at all times." Collins said, trying to mask the desperation in his face.

"Yeah, that's true. But no one I know carries a Glock-17. That's law enforcement issued. You know someone who carries this type of firearm, Kay?" Jay asked his brother. Kay grunted before saying, "Cops."

Fear etched in his eyes, Collins thought twice about making a grab for his pocketknife, the wheels in his head spinning out of control, trying to find a way out but was nearly out of options. "How do you know I didn't snatch it from a po-po on the way in today?"

"Well... there's only one way to be sure. We'll take you to see The Madam. No one lies to The Madam." Jay said before headbutting Collins in the face.

Jimmy Collins had learned 3 very important things while he was undercover as a low level mobster for the Organized Crime Division of the CPD: 1) you don't ask the boss about the "golden crate." 2) the mob runs under a different set of rules than the judicial system: you are guilty until proven innocent, not the other way around. 3) if someone takes you to see The Madam... run. And don't look back.

The hour or so it took to process Flynn's release, the tension in the air was almost palpable. There was a lot of overt glaring involved and complete and utter disbelief followed by murderous vocalizations from the captain but Flynn didn't mind, so long as he got his belongings and was free to go home once the captain forcibly strapped Flynn with his new best friend: The Anklet.

"If you so much as think about cutting this thing, I will have you hanged." The captain snapped before turning around to grab his coat. "And don't think you're off the hook for the crown either-"

"I know, I know. Shessh, Wallie. You have got to lighten up. I'll get the crown back. I'm sure it's right where I left it." Flynn remembered all too well what Elizabeth had told him before she and the mayor departed. "Oh, and Mr. Rider. That tiara belongs to my daughter. I expect it will be returned to the glass case it was in before you took it, as soon as possible."

He felt gooseflesh take over his arms at the thought of Elizabeth's cold voice. The voice promised great retribution for not following through with the safe return of the crown.

After being processed and filling out the necessary paperwork, Flynn left the police station without even a glace back. First order of business: Find that stupid bag. So, he sets off down Cota Street, barely noticing how cold the night was. He was too happy (and somewhat anxious) to let the chill bring down his mood. Digging into his pocket, Flynn pulled out a beat up mobile phone. Searching through his contacts, he stopped at a name about a quarter of the way down that read "Hookhand." He shook his head, already regretting the mistake of calling the older man but felt like he couldn't trust anyone else with this information.

It rang 5 times before going to voice mail but before could leave a message, he felt his phone buzz signaling that someone was on the other line. Rolling his eyes, Flynn hung up his current call and then picked up the other by greeting, "What the hell took you so long?"

"Well, some of us actually have a job, Rider," the deep baritone voice answered back, "What do ya want?"

"As a matter of fact, I have a little freelance work that needs to be done discreetly. Are you hooked yet?" Flynn asked smirking at himself as he winked at two girls on their way to the train station.

"Hahaha. You're so clever! I've never heard that one before." Hookhand said in a freakishly high pitched voice that left Flynn's skin crawling. "Look whatever it is that you're asking for, I'm not doing shit for ya until I get my cut from last time! You already put too many of these damn favors on that non-existent "tab" of yers and I don't give a flying fuck if ya got the money right yer hand: I ain't doing shit fer ya until that dough is in my pocket!"

Flynn gritted his teeth, as he hopped on the inner city bus fishing out coins from his pocket. "Fair enough. I won't get paid until this job is over though, so-"

"Then we got nothin' else to talk about, now do we?" Hookhand replied sharply. Flynn sat down in the back of the bus staring blankly out into the street. It had started to lightly drizzle when he got on the bus but now it was coming down like someone took a fire-hose and doused Corona with it.

"Look, for old time sakes, Hook. I really need to get this job done as fast as possible. Do you really think I like owing you for the last two jobs?"

"Eight jobs."

"Fine. Eight jobs."

"Plus the two favors in Riverside."

"Plus the two favors in Riverside."

"Plus the round of drinks that the gang kept paying fer ya."

"That was for my birthday!" Flynn protested.

"Really? Yer birthday was on January 12, March 2, March 11, and May 14th?"

"That's creepy that you remember those dates."

"I've got a little black book."

"You write music in your 'little black book' too?"

"Fuck off, Rider." Hookhand snarled before sighing, "Whatever it is that ya need, ya might as well take it up with someone else. This hand is closed for business."

And that was that. Flynn was about to hang up until he heard something on the other end, "Unless..."

Flynn jumped on it. "Unless?"

Hookhand was silent for a long moment before he said, "Unless you can do something for me."

Now, Flynn was a very smart man. And a smart man would immediately agree to a "favor for a favor." But, as stated previously, Flynn was a very smart man, and he knew better than to blindly agree to anything Hookhand offered, no matter how much he needed the older man's assistance.

Treading softly, Flynn replied, "What does that something involve?"

"A job." Hookhand said cryptically.

"A job? Sorry, Hook, you're gonna have to be way more descriptive than that." Flynn said.

"We're gonna be short one this Friday night. We need a Look-Out man."

From where Flynn sat, there was a couple cuddled up in the front seat of the bus, and an old woman and a bum about half from them and himself but Flynn still felt paranoid enough to speak softer when he inquired, "Isn't Atilla your usual Look Out man? Where's he gonna be on Friday?"

"Baking contest. Said the winner gonna get their baked goods displayed at the Corona Cultural Fest." Hookhand said absentmindedly, as if it was something obvious and not at all weird for a grown body builder to be baking for festivals, "Anyway, you in or not?"

Pulling on the cord to signal the driver that his stop was coming up, Flynn replied, "Yeah. Rendezvous point?"

"Warehouse 6. Near the docks. 11:30." Then a click could be heard from the other end followed by two beeps, signaling that the conversation was over.

When Jimmy Collins came around, he was sure that he was dead. Everything in his body hurt and his head was foggy from the pain that drummed in his mind. And yet, he felt his fingers move and his legs protest, so at least he's not paralyzed. His was stripped down to his boxers and his back was cold against what felt like a metal operating table. He had been here for a while and he can't remember if he had passed out two or three times.

'This is not good.' Collins thought hazily. 'Why... why am I still alive? There can't possibly be blood left in me...'

He weakly pulled at the restraints that pin him down at his wrist and ankles but they wouldn't budge.

"Now, now, Mr. Collins. We don't need you to hurt yourself on your own. I can do that plenty, for you." came the silky voice of a demon. She slithered and slink her way over to him, latex gloves snapping over her arms. He tried to open his eyes but could only open one half way. The other must have been so swollen over from the nasty beatings his face received from the Stabbington brothers. They take pleasure in that kind of thing.

"What have you done to me?" Collins croaked, his throat dry from hours of dehydration.

"Oh, you know... poked, prodded, dissected, removed... God's realm of work. You of course died but we haven't gotten the information we needed from you yet..." She said casually, coming over and caressing his face lovingly. Then, like a disappointed mother, she chided him, "so we had to bring you back again. And after the third time... I wasn't sure if you were going to return. Each time your heart stopped it was taking you longer and longer for you to regain consciousness. But don't worry, I have a feeling this will be the last time. My patience wears thin after the fourth time."

And with that, Collins heard the whirling of a what could only be a saw-drill. He closed his eyes and dreamt of his little girl, safe at home with his wife, and screamed as the blades made contact with his exposed stomach.

Flynn looked around the dock once more before moving out from the shadows. He was not in a good mood at all. The captain had been calling him every five hours to check up on him since he got out of jail and it was starting to get really annoying. Especially since he went back to the alley and combed the place for his messenger bag and came up short. That crown could be any where by now and Flynn was becoming more and more desperate. He traced his steps back all the way from the mayor's office to the fence where he got pinned by the stupid dog and couldn't think of anywhere else it could have been. He debated about whether the kid that he saw that night had it but would have felt her swipe it if she did. Although he was pretty preoccupied that night so maybe she did without him feeling it. The thought made him even angrier.

The rest of the gang were situated next to the entrance of a warehouse across from the one they were about to raid. Making sure the security camera pivoted to the other side, he took a breath before sprinting to the other side of the parking lot.

"Thought you weren't going to show. You must be real desperate, Rider." drawled the beefy man with a hook for a hand.

"Yeah, yeah, whatever. Let's just get this thing over with. I have a bad feeling about tonight-" but was silenced by Bruiser who glared at him.

"Don't jinx it, Rider! I hear this place has the craziest security system. Like a... a ghost or somethin'-"

Everyone groaned and Ulf rolled his eyes. "Damnit Rider! Don't you even get him started. You know how superstitious Bruiser is. Last time we had to fuckin' play a game of toss-the-horseshoe while wearin' his custom knitted four leaf clover sweaters and holdin' freshly cut rabbit feet!"

Bruiser looked offended by the thug's tone at his noble intentions but didn't press the matter since it seemed the job at hand was far more important. Besides, he'll probably bitch about it on the ride back to the pub anyway.

"So, anyway, the plan is: Shorty, Big Nose, and myself will take the north entrance and check upstairs. Vladimir, Torr, and Gunter you take out the muscle at the south entrance and check downstairs. Fang, Ulf, you guys keep the vans running a block away. And Rider, you be look out from the roof top. Don't get caught by the cameras! There's like 50 of those damn things all over the rooftops, constantly movin' and scannin' and shit."

"Why am I the only one getting scolded? You guys better not get caught either!" Flynn said shooting worried looks at the rooftops, silently cursing his luck. If he gets caught, he wouldn't know how to talk his way out of this one when the mayor gets wind of it.

"You just worry 'bout yerself and we'll be throwin' back pints before ya know it." Hookhand said, pocketing the map and pulling out his trusty hatchet. "Let's go, boys."

Everyone dispersed into the darkness. Flynn crept around corners and, like a seasoned cat burglar, scaled the outside of warehouse where the cameras' blind spots were. Finding a nice spot to sit down under the witness of moon, Flynn smiled as he relaxed against a vent. A chill went up his spine as that nagging feeling that something just wasn't right crept back again. The thief shrugged it off as the night time breeze and nothing more. Yet, he couldn't help but get up once again just to make sure that the coast is clear. And right as he was about to turn back to take a seat when he came face to face with the security system: a 12' frying pan to the head.

Yeah, that's gonna bruise.

Flynn's eyes snapped open for a second, barely long enough to take in his surroundings before he felt the dark take over once again.

In the dream Flynn was having, it was warm. He was basking underneath the summer sun on the hot beaches of Malibu getting his skin lathered with sunblock by a busty brunette with blue eyes. We'll call her Angel. Angel would smile at him as she handed him his beer and then just sit a play with his amazing hair as he sat back and listened to the audiobook of The Tales of Flynnigan Rider. The day couldn't be any better. No beach balls falling on top of him. No noisy kids or screaming babies. No annoying seagulls using him for target practice. No lifeguard kicking him off the beach for lewd behavior when he groped Angel. No, this was the perfect dream. And it was just getting good when Angel leaned in to lick the outer shell of his ear before biting his lobe. He smirked and turned towards the girl when she morphed into a bright green chameleon on his shoulder.

"GAH!"

"Eep!"

"Ack!"

Flynn looked around to see that he was in some kind of room. There was a heater next to him and the warm glow of the ceiling fan lights were on, casting a warm halo over his assailant. His assailant who smelled of wild honeysuckle and spring rain. Letting his eyes focus, Flynn squinted at the light and thought, for a second, he was looking at an angel... except this angel had bright emerald green eyes and platinum blonde hair. Then it hit him...

"It's you!"