A/N: Thank you all again for the lovely reviews! Your feedback is truly a beautiful source of inspiration!
Disclaimer: We do not own Once Upon a Time. May credit be given where credit is due.
~Chapter IX~
Although the walk to the tree house stretched for at least several miles, the Lost Boys' incessant questions and squabbling made time pass quickly. They asked her where she was from, what her favorite color was, whether she'd ever eaten a bug. Belle laughed at the last one, assuring them she had not, and then paled as Slightly plucked a beetle off a nearby tree and popped it into his mouth.
"See? It's not so bad. Tastes like chicken," he told her, chewing loudly and smacking his lips. He laughed loudly at Belle's grimace, before turning about and challenging Nibs to a race.
Belle smiled as she watched the two sprint forward. When they were not asking questions or trying to get a rise out of Belle, the Lost Boys were always playing. They were remarkably creative and seemed to possess a never-ending store of energy, transforming hanging vines into swings and rotting logs into jumping contests, pretending shrubs were pirates and the soil a sea of lava. Tootles eventually released his grip on Belle's hand, wandering off to play with Nibs, to whom he was closest in age.
Belle saw many remarkable things as they walked: butterflies whose wings stretched wider than a foot, stones which rolled of their own accord (much to the enjoyment of the Lost Boys, who tried to chase them), a pond with purple water. But nothing was quite as remarkable as the adolescent boy who soared above their heads, shaking branches so that the willows' tiny leaves rained down on them in a thick, multi-colored haze. He seemed so...free, untroubled by fear or sorrow. As Belle watched him flying amongst the treetops, she could not help but envy him.
Fear twisted painfully in her stomach. She still could not remember how she had ended up bound at the bottom of a hill she did not remember descending. Unexplainable scratches and bruises peppered her arms and chest. And, most frightening of all, she still had not seen a single sign of Ru—
"There it is!" Peter cried, hovering a few feet above the Lost Boys and Belle and pointing ahead toward a massive white oak tree. The Lost Boys cheered loudly, darting forward.
"Last one there has to eat a toadstool!" Pox yelled, his long legs propelling him past the shorter boys. The boys shouted indignantly, chasing after him and trying to elbow each other out of the way. Peter remained behind, lowering himself from the air to stand beside Belle. He smiled at her, before grabbing her hand and leading her closer to the tree.
As they approached, Belle felt her brow crease in confusion. It was just a tree. A massive one, truly, but Belle could not see a single plank of the boys' supposed home. She turned her gaze to Peter, quirking an eyebrow. Smirking slightly at Belle's bemused expression, Peter pointed up at the branches.
"Look closer," he advised, his grin widening. Belle obeyed, stepping closer and squinting up at the tree's winding, vine-covered branches.
As though Peter's outstretched arm and pointing finger lifted a fog from her eyes, Belle saw it. Thin stairs composed of logs and braided vines coiled around the massive trunk, leading upward toward a domed hut nestled between the oak's two largest branches. To Belle's surprise the spiraling vine staircase did not stop there. It continued upward through the middle of the hut, leading to a smaller one built slightly to the left. A catwalk balanced on a thick branch on the opposite side, vines twisting about its railing and fastening it in place. At first Belle thought the catwalk led nowhere specific, but as she stared more closely she could make out what looked like four little platforms suspended above and beside it. Piles of leaves and cloth rested on two of the platforms, and Belle realized they must be some of the boys' beds. The third one was empty, except for a wreath of brightly colored flowers.
"That's where I sleep," Peter said, pointing not at the floating platforms, but at a much smaller hut toward the very top of the tree that Belle had not yet noticed. It was round with a domed ceiling, and seemed to be covered in sewn leaves not unlike those which composed the boy's tunic. As they neared the base of the tree, Belle could see a thin rope ladder leading up to it. How could these children accomplish such advanced architecture, Belle silently asked herself, her mouth slightly agape as she took in the impressive structure.
"We've been here a while," Peter explained as though reading her thoughts. "We had a little help from the fairies, too," he added, grinning.
"Come on, Belle!" Tootles cried from halfway up the spiral stairs, waving happily at her before turning back around and bolting up the remaining steps.
"If you think the outside is neat, just wait till you see the inside," Peter said proudly, before crouching slightly and launching himself into the air. Belle gasped lightly, wondering if she would ever grow accustomed to seeing a person fly with more ease and grace than a bird on the wind. Smiling softly to herself, she started up the vine staircase.
Surprisingly, it did not break or even quiver under her weight. Upon closer inspection she realized the vines and logs had been reinforced with globs of hardened tree sap. When her head passed the floor of the first hut, Belle's jaw dropped. Peter was right: the outside was the work of an amateur compared to the inside.
Thick vines covered in iridescent leaves wound about the domed ceiling and some parts of the smoothed walls; the sunlight reflected brilliantly off of their surfaces, lighting the entire room. A wooden sign bearing the words "The Drey" hung in the middle of one of the walls.
"I am not eating a toadstool!" Curly yelled, tackling Pox to the hut's floor with a loud thud. Raucous laughter and more thuds followed as the boys piled on each other; Peter hovered above them, pretending to place bets on who would win. Once Belle was certain the tree house was not going to collapse from the ruckus, and the boys were not going to commit serious harm against each other, she resumed her exploration.
The vines low enough for the boys to reach were covered in intricate carvings: animals, stick figures, a ship with large sails. She reached out a hand, trailing the tips of her finger over a carving of Neverland's moons. There seemed to be a sequence to the pictures, and with a smile Belle realized the boys were chronicling their adventures.
"I made this one," a tiny voice said from beside her. Tootles pointed up at two roughly engraved stick figures. "That's me," he clarified, pointing at the shorter of the two.
"Who's that?" Belle asked, pointing at the slightly taller figure beside his.
"That's Scout," he murmured, looking down at his feet. The other boys' laughter abruptly ended, and they slowly untangled themselves, their faces surprisingly solemn. Peter slowly lowered to the floor.
"He's gone," Tootles said quietly, still staring at his feet. A sense of foreboding filled Belle at his tone and the boys' behavior; she placed a gentle hand on the little boy's shoulder as she saw a tear splash on the ground.
"Hook killed him," Peter said flatly, walking over to them. He pointed at another carving, one which clearly depicted a man with a hook in place of his left hand standing on the chest of his young victim. The image was painted black. A chill ran through Belle at the thought of these sweet boys facing such a cruel enemy. She turned to face them, her own throat constricting at their tear-filled eyes.
The silence stretched on for a few moments as she assumed they were reliving the horrifying experience of losing one of their own. Only Peter's eyes remained dry, though his demeanor was somber.
"Come on," Peter murmured, reaching again for Belle's hand, "I'll show you the rest of the Drey."
He led her back to the vine staircase as the other boys slowly withdrew themselves from their grief. Pox sat down in the middle of the floor, gesturing for the others to follow. They sat in a circle, starting a somewhat lackluster game of pass the parcel.
Peter and Belle reached the second, slightly smaller hut. Clambering through the hatch in its floor, Belle's breath caught at all the objects strewn about the inside.
Brass candlesticks, fish netting, articles of moth-eaten clothing, and an assortment of other artifacts littered the floor and makeshift shelves that had been mounted on the walls.
"This is where we keep our treasure," Peter explained, grinning as they stepped farther into the room. "And where Tootles and Nibs like to sleep," he added, pointed at two bundles of blankets against the farthest wall.
Belle wandered over to one of the shelves. It almost resembled a desk, holding a few sheets of parchment, an ink well, and, to Belle's surprise, a scarlet leather-bound book with gold along the edges of its pages. She ran her fingertips along its smooth surface, picking it up.
"Nicked that from Hook's cabin on the Jolly Roger," Peter explained, peering over Belle's shoulder. "Most of this stuff is his."
Belle frowned slightly at how nonchalantly the boy admitted to thievery. "You stole his property?"
"He stole our friend," Peter countered, a note of finality to his tone that reminded Belle of someone. But before she could think who, Peter spoke again. "Want to see the rest of the tree house?"
Belle nodded, placing the red book back on the shelf and following Peter back down the hatch.
He led her along the catwalk, which Belle was surprised to find was just as sturdy as the rest of the tree house, despite its precarious position on the edge of a branch. Four platforms hung from vines coiled around a higher branch. Above each of them was a small canopy of leaves and palm fronds.
"This is where Pox sleeps," Peter explained, pointing at a long, slim platform hanging slightly to the right of the catwalk. "This is where Curly sleeps." He gestured to a wider platform hovering next to Pox's. "And this is where Slightly sleeps," he said, walking to stand beside the platform hovering to the left of the catwalk. Belle stretched her neck to peer around him at the platform all the way at the end of the catwalk.
"Is that where you sleep?" She asked, returning her gaze to Peter. He shook his head.
"No one sleeps there," he answered, clenching his jaw slightly and walking back toward the vine staircase.
Belle stepped closer to the platform, brow furrowed. With a wave of sadness and sympathy for the boys, she realized why no one slept on that platform. A wreath of flowers lay on it, as well as a tiny wooden sign with the word "Scout" carved into its sanded surface. Her heart ached for the truly lost boy, as well as the friends he had left behind.
Casting one more look at the untouched platform, Belle turned around, walking over to where Peter stood.
"I'll show you my place next. It's got the best view," he said, smiling softly.
"Lead the way," Belle responded, returning his smile with one of her own.
Unlike the rest of the tree house, the rope ladder leading to Peter's room was not stable, and there were several moments when Belle felt certain her heart had stopped as the ladder swung slightly under their weight. When they finally reached the hut at the top of the tree, Belle could not stifle a heavy sigh of relief.
"You're afraid of heights?" Peter asked, raising an eyebrow.
"Not all of us can fly if we lose our footing," Belle responded, smiling lightly as the boy laughed. She looked around, taking in the hut's interior.
The walls were completely covered with leaves and vines, so that it seemed as if the room had grown with the tree itself. A pile of leaves covered with a blanket sewn from several articles of clothing sat in the middle of the floor. On the eastern wall was a small window; Peter was right, he did have the best view. She could see the sparkling blue waters of an ocean in the distance.
A light buzzing sound echoed behind her, and Belle turned sharply on her heel, expecting a large insect. She gasped in surprise when she realized it was a pair of fairies hovering above Peter's shoulders. Like Peter, they wore tunics composed of Neverland's vegetation.
"Belle, this is Buidhe," he nodded his head in the direction of the orange fairy, "And Flannach," he point a thumb at the purple fairy hovering over his right shoulder. "I've known them for as long as I can remember," he said, grinning at the tiny winged beings. Belle gave them each a nod, smiling lightly.
"There's someone we need you to find. Belle came here with a man, but they were separated. Can you help us?" Peter asked, holding out a hand for them to sit down.
"What is his name?" Buidhe asked, turning to face Belle.
"His name is...it's..." Belle's voice trailed off, a jolt of anxiety filling her as she frantically tried to locate the name in her mind. "I think it...it begins with an 'R'..." She felt a lump swell in her throat as her attempts to remember his name failed. The fairies looked at one another, concern filling their gazes. Peter furrowed his eyebrows, seeming more confused than amused that Belle could not remember the name of the man with whom she traveled here.
"I don't know why I—I can't remember... He's a good man, I promise. I love him. I don't know how we were separated, but I...I think he might be in danger. Please, can you find him?" Belle pleaded, her eyes darting between the two fairies. They nodded.
"Of course. We'll tell the others, send out a group to search the island. We'll come back if we learn anything," they promised, rising to their feet and flying toward the window.
"Wait," Peter called, walking over to the window. The fairies paused, hovering over the wooden ledge. "Be sure to check the Jolly Roger, too, just in case," he added quietly, casting a quick look at Belle and the dark purple bruise painting the side of her forehead.
The fairies nodded, Flannach looking a little apprehensive at the idea of approaching Hook's ship. They bowed quickly, Buidhe sending a soft, reassuring smile toward Belle, before darting out of Peter's window and into the afternoon sun.
Belle watched them until their little lights faded in the distance. She worried her bottom lip between her teeth, fear coiling in her chest at the thought that they might not find him at all.
"Don't worry," Peter said, coming to stand beside her. "The fairies will find him. And if he's in danger, well, you're staying with the best warriors in all of Neverland," he smiled widely, before plopping down to sit on his makeshift mattress.
Belle smiled softly at his confidence, hoping with every fiber of her being that he was right. She walked over to sit down in front of him, her legs immensely grateful for the rest. She watched as Peter pulled the silver chain he had found earlier from his pocket, fiddling with the broken ends. He stared at it as he had in the forest, with that same marveled mixture of confusion and familiarity.
"If you'd like, I could try to fix it for you," Belle offered quietly. It was the least she could do in return for his hospitality, and he seemed to have a fondness for the little trinket. His head snapped up at her voice, as though he had forgotten she was there. He nodded slowly.
"I'd like that," he murmured, returning his gaze once more to the thin chain glittering in his palm.
A/N: Fear not, dearies! We promise there will be more interaction between Rumplestiltskin and Hook!
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