Chapter 6

"And then the realization will hit... that death has already come."

- Mr. Gold (5.11 Swan Song)

I'd expected to wake up in hell, but the crushing physical pain in my chest made me want to curl up on a cloud and sleep eternity away. After a while, I was able to breathe again with only a minor ache if I moved the wrong way or breathed too deep. My other senses returned then: heat, motion, noise. There was a wooden creaking and rattling in sync with the swaying, sometimes jostling motion beneath me, suggesting a cart of some sort. I also noted the rustling, footfalls, and murmurings of a number of people, though none spoke loud enough to make out any words.

I opened my eyes and sat up. A caravan of canopied wagons stretched across a desert landscape, a canyon of red rock dropping off to one side not too far away. My wagon was somewhere in the middle of the train, though it was impossible to tell where it began or ended because of how the path wound along beside the cliff, disappearing behind pillars of rock or great clusters of boulders perched on the edge of the drop. People walked in a loose line alongside the wagons, climbing up when they wanted a rest, and helping others down while the train kept moving.

There were five others stretched out asleep in my wagon, and it was then that I noticed the differences in clothes. I still wore my dragonhide leathers, but each of the other sleepers wore outfits from different realms: the Land Without Color, Wonderland, Camelot, Agrabah, even the Land Without Magic. The walkers were similarly diverse, but tended to pair off when they found a fellow traveler from their own realm.

An Atlantian saw that I was awake and reached out a hand to help me down. I blinked in surprise when my hand met his. I was human again; my curse had no reach here. As I stumbled to get my footing, I decided it was just as well. No telling how these people would have reacted to finding the Dark One asleep in their midst. I was anonymous for the first time in so very long, and I was grateful for it.

The memory of Belle and Henry lying dead in that dreadful cove next to Bae hung over me, but the pain was little more than a shadow. I should be dead after crushing my heart, but this was not the Underworld, at least not the one I'd been to before. Perhaps it was an in-between place, like the Netherworld or Purgatory, a place souls pass through on their way to whatever came after?

When I tried to ask the Atlantian where we were, the sound of my voice was muffled in my ears, though all other sounds were normal. How strange. The Atlantian noticed my confusion and mumbled something in another language, holding up his hands and shrugging.

So all speech is like that. It was a very strange concept, but logical at the same time. What use was speech to the dead? What did it matter where we were when it wasn't where we were going?

The Atlantian climbed into the wagon not long after helping me out, and he never came back. None of them did. The wooden slats on the sides of the wagon made it difficult to identify the sleepers. I kept an eye on the wagon, curious. One moment, the Atlantian was there, but then I happened to look away, and when I looked again, someone else was in his place.

A short while later, that person woke and sat up. She was helped out of the wagon, just as I was, wearing black robes and a green and silver scarf. Several departures/arrivals later, she too left.

We walked for miles, the landscape never changing save for variations in rock formations around the canyon. Even the light remained the same dawn/dusk glow, with no visible sun to mark the time. I started measuring time in terms of traveling companions.

It was then that I began to question my previous assumptions. If those who returned to the wagons were doing so with the intention of taking a rest from walking, then why had I yet to begin feeling any signs of fatigue after all this time? My ankle hadn't bothered me for one moment since waking up here, not even a phantom twinge, as was common with this much walking, regardless of any magical influence. Of course, this place might as well exist outside of time, if it was the in-between place I thought it was.

Eventually, we came to a place where something changed. The caravan continued around us, but our wagon pulled aside, herding us to the edge of the canyon, where a fraying rope bridge stretched across to the other side. There was no confusion, no panic at the change. It was simply the next stage of the journey. Those who were awake began preparing themselves to cross. The ritualistic materials were readily available, pulled from some unknowable part of the wagon and passed around.

This was the end, then. Whatever lay in wait on the other side, it was time to move on. My preparations were simple. A part of me had been ready for this since I went to Neverland believing Bae was dead. I had so much more to mourn now. I dipped three fingers into dark, ashy ink and repainted those lines over my right eye. I could only hope they would allow me to be reunited with everyone I had lost. It was superstitious to believe such a thing, but the last time I had worn this mask, Bae had been returned to me. Oh, what I wouldn't give to be back there, to find a way to defeat Pan without sacrificing myself, to avert the undoing that never ends.

Looking up, I saw movement on the other side of the canyon. A familiar figure stood there, watching me. Waiting for me, just as he had since the moment I saw my name on his dagger. He'd looked like Zoso at first, responding to my desperate pleas for guidance, but after losing Bae through the portal, I banished him from my mind. When he returned, inevitable as it was, he wore a different face – my own. I learned to match his mockery, and those habits worked their way into my dealings. He'd come and go as he pleased. Only Belle could chase him away, so thoroughly that it never occurred to me to mention him when she was near. I hadn't seen him since the Dark Curse brought us all to Storybrooke, though I could feel his presence every time I used magic, urging me on. Always watching, always eager.

Was this his end too, then? What new hell was I destined for if he awaited me on the other side? Or was this one last apparition for my dying mind as magic left my body? Was I unleashing him on the world, or had I destroyed him as well as myself?

The questions had no weight. They drifted from my thoughts as easily as the observation that one of the bridge's support ropes was frayed beyond hope of lasting long enough to cross. All that mattered was the crossing, and it appeared that I would be first.

I stepped out onto the bridge. It held, but several steps later, the wooden slats beneath my feet dissolved under an illusion spell, making it appear as if I was walking on air between two guide ropes. I kept going, but now there were voices calling me. Every voice that had ever called my name whispered around me.

Rumple. Gold. Spindleshanks. Coward. Dark One. Hobblefoot. Threadwhistle. Beast. Crocodile. Monster. Worm. Laddie. Rumplestiltskin. Doll.

Papa.

The bridge shook as an invisible rope snapped. I lost my footing, falling to my hands and knees, burying my dagger into the unseen planks as an anchor. I hadn't even realized I was holding it.

The voices grew louder. Bae, my precious boy, reassuring me I'm not the same as my father, forgiving me, loving me. Henry, wanting to work in the shop with me, to learn magic, because I'm the last link he has to his father. Belle, begging me to put aside my hate, to be a better man, a good man, pledging her life and love to me, becoming my wife. Regina, swearing that she would be the one to kill me, not Pan, not his shadow, not some centuries old prophecy, and certainly not my own stupidity. Tears filled my eyes.

"Rumple!"

Another rope snapped, and I fell sideways, dangling over the canyon by a dagger seemingly embedded in the clouds. I gasped, grasping at invisible straws, unable to get a grip on either wood or rope.

"Grandpa!"

The dagger began to slip as the angle of its blade crept from horizontal to vertical. I cast around for anything to cling to. The remaining ropes were out of reach, the planks of the bridge invisible, the caravan to one side and my dark companion to the other too far away to help. And below me, a bottomless canyon, stretching onward, forever, void without end.

I need you to waken up, Papa. I love you.

"Bae!" I cried, watching my grip on the dagger loosen, horrified. "Son, help me!"

Waken up. I forgive you, Papa.

I don't want to die. I don't want to fall.

"Bae, save me!"

I can't hold on much longer. I can feel the dagger slipping free of the wood even as my fingers lose their strength.

"Bae!"

I fall.