Here it is guys, the big reveal of who finds out. I guess I kind of suck at leaving clues but congrats to the one person who did get it right (Vinny and Nex). This is a dynamic I really hope they don't just gloss over in the show and had a lot of fun writing.
Also, I'm working on a SwanThief playlist. Once 8track is back up I'll put a link in my profile. Let me know what you think.
"Hello?" he said, opening the door to the library but nobody answered. A part of him was kind of glad; he wasn't really in the mood to talk right now. He just wanted to get his books and get out.
Neal had never been much of a reader. Although his father had made sure he could both read and write (not the most common skill set where he came from) it hadn't really helped him all that much here. There had been too much for him to learn here to survive on books alone. To keep himself out of the nut house, only the TV had helped, giving him enough information about the new world to keep the adults off his back.
And really, it didn't help that so much literature here had magic and myth.
The first book someone had given him in this world was a book of stories. The matron of the group home said the classics were meant to give people hope, but Neal could see the truth. She only saw him as broken and wanted to keep his implosion from happening until he was well out of her hair.
He had taken it and read. Despite the all the magic and all the reminders of a home he could never go back to, he had enjoyed the tales…until he came across one about the miller's daughter and the imp who helped her.
Part of him wanted to deny what kind of man his father had become, but he just couldn't do it. Deep down, he knew that somehow, the story wrung true. He had thrown the book so hard, it had shattered the window.
From then until the moment he ran away again—this time to make his way in the world alone—he hadn't said more than a handful of words.
Now he found himself standing in the occult section in the library of a semi-cursed town full of fairytales including his father…all for Emma.
His eyes skimmed the spines, looking for something promising. Neal knew this could be a gigantic waste of time, but if any library in the world had a chance of carrying the real thing, it would be Storybrooke.
"Baelfire?" a soft voice says from behind him and he couldn't help the flinch of his hand as he stood there, arm raised to get a book off the shelve.
All the turmoil of the last few days must have been really missing with him—normally he would have noticed the girl approach, but he had been too wrapped up in his thoughts to pay much attention. And that didn't make the surprise of hearing that name any less.
It was odd just how conflicted that one word made him. it was like both home and hell, even if it was his name.
"Who?" he said turning to face Belle.
The corners of her mouth twitch a little. "I never said it was a who."
Neal's mind exploded in curses. Of all the shit to happen to him today, this very well could be the worst. He couldn't even think to cover his tracks—to come up with something to convince this woman that she was wrong. All he could do was tip his head back and watch as his world did what it did best: collapsed around him like a sandcastle in a hurricane.
He was shocked silent for a moment as the woman studied his face. "I could see it."
Neal had to fight to keep from flinching again. She hadn't meant it as an insult so it would be unfair of him to take it as one…but he had spent far too long trying to be everything Rumplestiltskin wasn't. Brave. Good. Kind. And even if he didn't always succeed at it, he had tried… and that counted, right?
"What gave me away?" he muttered, almost afraid of the answer. If it was something a complete stranger could notice, what was the chance that the Imp had missed it? Not that it really mattered all that much anyways. After today he would know, if he didn't already.
"I saw your face after the fight."
Neal took a deep breath and rested his head the books. Of all the things…wasn't he supposed to have a better poker face then that.
"Why haven't you said anything?" She asked and Neal could tell she was honestly upset at the idea. Like she thought his top priority would be patching things up with someone who no longer existed.
"I'm not going to if I can help it." He said, walking over and sitting on the edge of one of the many study tables that filled the larger spaces between shelves.
"Isn't that why you're here?" she asked, the confusion evident in her voice. He didn't blame her really. As far as she knew, the old man was the only connection Neal had to Storybrooke—the only reason he had to come here. But, as always, the truth was so much more complicated than that.
"No. I'm here for a completely different reason. If I had my way, I'd be a million miles from anywhere he is." There was a kind of release in this level of honesty—a level he hadn't been able to have with anyone in a very long time, a level he hadn't even had with Emma.
Too many people in his life wouldn't have believed the truth, so he never spoke of it, even during the few moments he really needed to. August was the only one who knew, and honestly, though they were kind of friends, Neal wouldn't really trust August enough to confide in him like that.
It was all too personal—too private—and the puppet liked pulling strings a bit too much.
Belle came over and sat beside him on the edge of the table.
"But he loves you. He's been looking for a way to get to you for years." There was no judgment in her voice, just a deep desire to understand.
Neal couldn't help but be thankful for that. The last thing he needed right now was this strangers accusations just because he wasn't here for a tear soaked reunion…at least with the old man.
"The Curse?" Neal asked. He had suspected that from the moment August had first told him about the curse, but he had never been completely sure. A part of him had always held onto that small thread of hope that he had been jumping at shadows—that the Dark One hadn't done this—but as he looked at Belle, he knew that one thread was about to be severed.
She nodded and that was all he needed for the blinding hate from earlier to come bubbling to the surface again.
"And that's supposed to make everything alright? Am I just supposed to ignore the destruction? All the lives ripped apart by his curse? All the families?"
Including his. His one shot of happiness had been destroyed just as surely as everyone else's. Emma hated him. Henry didn't know him. And he had spent eleven years alone in purgatory after knowing heaven.
He didn't mention any of this though and he didn't have to because Neal wasn't the only empathetic one in the room.
Neal could tell that she was disturbed—that she had thought of that same thing at least once since the curse broke. Good. He needed that. He needed to know that he wasn't being selfish and ungrateful. Was it wrong of him to hate the fact that his father had done so much for him if every action was evil?
"He's not a perfect man," she muttered and Neal had to suppress a snort. That's all she could say? That's supposed to justify it all?
And honestly, who was the justification for? Was she just trying to patch things up between Neal and the Imp? Or was these the same things she had told herself over and over again to calm her own conscious?
He hoped it wasn't the latter. Belle seemed like a good girl and his father had corrupted enough pure things…in both worlds.
"I never expected him to be," he said and it was true. Even before, when his father had just been the town coward, Neal had accepted that and loved him despite it. Had he wish his father was better? That his father would stop letting his fears define him? Of course. That's what made that one moment of courage at the duke's castle—the one moment when his father had truly been everything he could be and not defined by his fear or his power—all the more etched in his memory.
It had given him a single taste of what it all could be just before it all got sent to hell…not unlike his trip with Emma.
"I just don't want him to be a monster," he muttered.
Belle rested a comforting hand on his shoulder. "He is trying to be better."
Neal shrugged her hand off and stood up, looking at her as if she were the one crazy. How long can she go on defending him? Especially after what happened this morning?
"Is he?" he said, looking at her as if she were the one with their morals in question, his voice more a hiss then he intended. "Or is he just trying to make sure you don't see it?"
Belle looked down and Neal could tell he had hit a nerve again and so Neal latched on like a terrier with a bone.
"He would have killed me back there."
"He didn't know." Even Belle sounded like she was partially disgusted with herself for making excuses for him. She had thought about it all before, he knew this and a part of him was disgusted at her for it, and yet…
What if it had been Emma that went bat shit crazy? Would he feel any different about her? Would he have ignored the postcard, unable to watch her that way? That was a more difficult thing to judge.
But it didn't make today's truth any less harsh and any less true.
"Why should it make a difference if I'm his son or just some stranger off the street? He shouldn't do that shit."
He shouldn't curse people for his mistakes. He shouldn't turn them into squish-able snails for some minor transgression. He shouldn't leave his kid alone to a strange world just because he didn't have the balls to live without power. He shouldn't have brought magic to Neal's sanctuary. He shouldn't have involved Emma in this. He shouldn't have ripped her away from a family that loves her…from parents that seem like they actually deserve her.
Neal could go on…
Belle took a deep breath before steeling herself, gaining confidence, and Neal could tell that no matter what she thought of everything else he had said, she believed her next words with everything she was.
"I know that, but when you love someone you don't just love them for their strengths. I've been trying to get him to change, to stop using magic, but he won't. He sees magic as the only way to find you."
Great. Another thing to rest at Neal's feet.
"Maybe he needs both of us to reminded him of his humanity."
That sent Neal off and, later, he would feel bad for yelling at her, but it was all too much—had been building and stewing all too long—and the words all to cathartic for him to stop them if he tried.
"Why should we be the voice in his ear reminding him that it's wrong to kill people just because he feels like it? How is that fair to us?"
She looked him dead in the eye and said as if it were some irrefutable truth, "It's not. But he still needs us and if you love someone you have to be there for them."
Neal sighed. Torn between the boy he was and the man he is. Between everything he wanted to be and what he had to be. Between reality and what the boy inside him had always prayed for.
But he wasn't a boy anymore and there was more at stake than just having his papa back. He couldn't afford to be caught up in her delusions…as much as he may want to be.
"If he really were still my papa, I'd tell him, but I have too many treasures in my life now to let the dark one in. And I can't really tell the difference between them." It killed him to say it, to admit the desires that lay buried beneath all that anger, but that didn't stop the next truth from coming out in nothing but a painful whisper. "I'm sorry."
She sighed and Neal knew it was time to go back to his room at Grannies. He hadn't really slept in a long time and today had been exhausting. As horrifying as his dreams may be, his bed was looking more and more welcoming by the moment.
"I know asking you this puts you in a bad position," he said, "but can you not tell him? I'm…I'm just not ready."
He felt bad for asking, really he did, but he couldn't help it. Maybe he would be ready for that after all this crap with Emma settled. Or maybe he would never be ready. Either way, he wasn't ready now and he prayed she could see that.
She considered silently for a moment and for a blinding second, Neal was afraid she would refuse. That she would chose his father over him. He wouldn't have blamed her though…
"Aright," she said and Neal's heart soared in relief, I'll make you a deal."
He raised an eyebrow, remembering his track record for regretting the deals he had made.
"I won't tell him," she said, her voice picking up force, "but you can't fight with him again. What happened earlier will hurt him enough when he finds out…he doesn't need any more to feel guilty about."
Neal nods. It might not be easy, but it was a fair enough price.
"Alright," he said, sticking out his hand. She took it and gave it a firm shake.
Neal couldn't help the darkly ironic little smile that tugged at his lips.
"And the deal is struck," he said, praying that this time the deal doesn't leave him with a lifetime of nightmare fuel.