A/N: We hope that you enjoy reading this! :)

Disclaimer: We do not own Once Upon a Time. If we did, the episodes would air every evening instead of every week! May credit be given where credit is due.

~Chapter XXII~

Neither the shine of the stars nor the waning moonlight penetrated the thick blanket of fog covering the land and sea below. Even the gentle lapping of the waves against the wooden hull seemed muffled by the clinging mist. The apparent dismay of the outside world was shared by the slim, disheveled man imprisoned behind the bars of Jolly Roger's brig.

Rumplestiltskin slumped against the bulkhead, both hands fisted in his silver-streaked hair. He had spent the entirety of the previous day and most of the night searching desperately for a way to protect Belle in spite of Hook's command. Potential deals he could strike with his son presented themselves at a dizzying rate in Rumplestiltskin's mind, but none seemed likely to dissuade the pirate from his current plot. He thirsted not for gold or a return to youth, only for the blood of the boy who cut off his hand. Besides, the terms and provisions of any deal they struck would be severely narrow given the limited magic at Rumplestiltskin's disposal.

His lowest moment had taken place mere hours after the blazing sun had set. The hopelessness of his situation had gripped him like a vice, forcing hot tears to well up in his eyes. "He'll kill her," Rumplestiltskin had whispered despairingly, "And it will be all my fault."

Just when he had been moments away from succumbing completely to his anguish, from sagging back against the wall and letting his dark thoughts reign unencumbered, a voice drifted toward him from the island. It was unlike any other voice he had heard, breathy and soft as the caress of starlight on the ocean surface. The melody and lyrics, however, he recognized immediately: it was the lullaby Belle had sung two nights ago.

As the soothing words and the sweet images they conjured had filled his mind, he felt hope spark once more within him. Belle had not given up on him, had in fact resolved to jeopardize her own safety for his, and he would be no better than this fiendish shadow of his son if he did not at least try to do the same for her.

He spent the remainder of the night deep in thought, his eyes darting back and forth as he considered plot after plot.

Sinking the ship had crossed his mind several times. The magic he possessed might be sufficient to create several large fissures in the hull, perhaps even light the entire craft ablaze, but there was no way to ensure the captain would not escape on one of the jollyboats. Every option was a gamble, and with the life of his true love hanging in the balance, Rumplestiltskin could not afford the risk.

He now sat in grim silence, watching helplessly through the porthole as the fog lifted and dawn approached. Although he had not heard the captain rise and leave the ship, he had no doubt in his mind that he was on his way right now to the southeastern shore. The man moved like a shadow, and was twice as dark inside.

Drip, drip, drip.

Rumplestiltskin started at the new sound, his eyes searching for the source. The light plopping noises continued, until the length of time between each drop shortened, transforming the sounds into a steady stream.

Without warning, gallons of frigid seawater surged over the floor of the brig, swirling around the iron bars of the door.

For one wild moment Rumplestiltskin wondered if he had accidentally used his magic to pierce the hull of the ship after all, but the water did not seem to be pouring in through a solitary puncture. It gushed through every crack and crevice of the wood, filling the bowels of the ship at an alarming rate.

As the water rose, swallowing the bars of his prison, Rumplestiltskin rose with it, trying desperately to keep his head above the water. He yanked on the brig's door and banged on the ceiling, searching for any means of escape. Soon, very soon, he would no longer be able to do so, and Rumplestiltskin would be forced to fill his lungs with the salty water until it claimed his life.

Only a few inches of air remained between the rising water and the planks of the upper deck. Rumplestiltskin pressed his face as close to the ceiling as possible, his body trembling as he drew in one last deep breath.

The moment the water surpassed his head, the brig vanished, as did the entire hull. Rumplestitlskin stared unblinkingly, his brow furrowed in bewilderment at his new surroundings. A wide expanse of deep blue lay before him, and with a rush of relief Rumplestiltskin realized he no longer felt the scorching need to draw breath.

His eyes scanned the deep, vast stretch of water in which he was now submerged, taking in the blurry shapes of coral reefs strewn across the sandy floor. He turned about several times, squinting against the salty tide, but the Jolly Roger seemed nowhere to be found.

Rumplestiltskin swam ahead, feeling a bizarrely powerful need to continue forward instead of toward the surface. His movements felt oddly sluggish, as though he were swimming in thick mud instead of clear blue water. He struggled for several moments, before a flash of silver somewhere along the sea floor caught his eye. Rumplestiltskin propelled himself in its' direction, but then froze. A faint thumping sound, which he determined could only be a heartbeat, began to pulse in his ears, gradually growing louder. The louder it became, the more it seemed to echo from every direction, filling the entirety of the ocean with its heavy thuds.

Rumplestiltskin placed a hand against his chest, realizing with a chill that the heartbeat was not his own, and wondering confusedly whose it could be. He returned his gaze once more to the silver artifact below, forcing his muscles to move him in its direction. As he swam closer, the rhythmic thumping began to pulse erratically. A new sound then met his ears, striking fear into the very core of his own heart: a woman sobbing uncontrollably, her breath catching between each wave of wrenching sorrow. Like the erratic heartbeat, this sound also seemed to carry throughout the entire sea, its decibels growing louder with every passing second.

In spite of the anxiety twisting in his abdomen, Rumplestiltskin swam onward, watching as the contours of the object became clearer. The ubiquitous heartbeat suddenly began to slow down, transforming Rumplestiltskin's desire to approach the silver object into a gripping desperation. Now within arm's reach of the flashing silver, Rumplestiltskin realized with a wave of surprised perplexity what it was: a hook, sharpened to a lethal point and somehow detached from the wrist on which it belonged.. But it was the glittering chain dangling from its end that truly captured Rumplestiltskin's attention: it was the bracelet he had crafted for his son all those years ago, before he had let his hunger for power drive them apart.

Anticipation writhing beneath his ribs, Rumplestiltskin reached out a hand to grab the chain. The heartbeat slowed even further, the bone-chilling sobs of the woman growing ever-louder. Just as his fingers closed around it, the heartbeat stopped, and time stood still. For one long moment, all was completely silent, but then the sobbing voice crescendoed.

The water around Rumplestiltskin began to ripple violently, and with a surge of paralyzing panic, he realized that the voice, filled with such overwhelming sorrow,belonged to his beloved Belle.

Rumplestiltskin jolted back to the present, gasping sharply and glancing wildly about at the dry, solid components of his prison. He slouched back against the bulkhead, passing a trembling hand through his hair.

Shudders wracked his entire body as he endeavored desperately to assure himself that what he had seen was merely another horrid effect of this land's strange magic. Yet, he could not ignore how different it had seemed from the others, how it had not been conjured from his darkest memories. He had never before heard his true love release such wrenching sobs. The mere memory of her weeping sent an icy chill down Rumplestiltskin's spine that settled as an anvil of dread in his core. And what was the significance of that sonorous, bodiless heartbeat? Why had it ceased its sporadic thumping the moment he had reached for his son's bracelet?

A series of dull thuds and low groans interrupted Rumplestiltskin's thoughts suddenly drawing his attention instead to the burly body hurling head-over-foot down the ladder. The pirate landed in a disheveled heap on the floor, his cutlass clanging loudly on the iron bars of the brig. Rumplestiltskin's eyebrows shot up at the sight which followed soon after: a boy, fifteen years-old at most and dressed in a tunic of autumn leaves, pursued the crewman. In his right hand he clasped the hilt of a sword, which he wielded with an expertise unexpected of one so young.

The red-bearded pirate pulled himself off the floor, his cutlass swinging wildly at the boy. Undeterred by the brown curls falling in and practically concealing his face, the lad dodged every slash with the grace of someone engaged in a waltz rather than a duel. Their blades crossed and clanked harshly, occasionally shooting a shower of sparks into the air. One particularly powerful swipe of the pirate's weapon knocked the boy's sword from his grip. Sneering triumphantly, he lunged toward the boy. But the lad was prepared; he leapt effortlessly into the air, twisting about and kicking the cutlass out of the pirate's grasp with a grunt.

Rumplestiltskin leapt to his feet as the pair collided against the door of his prison, each wrestling and swinging his fists to subdue the other. The boy groaned as the pirate landed a blow on his side, and before the brawny cur could raise his fist again, Rumplestiltskin bolted forward and grabbed the back of his vest. With all of his weight, he yanked the pirate backward into the barred door. The lad ran forward and clutched the crewman's head, forcing it back against the iron bars with a loud clunk.

The pirate's eyes rolled into the back of his head and he slumped to the floor, unmoving save for the rise and fall of his broad chest. They both stared at the body for a moment, chests heaving from the exertion. The boy bent down, placing his hands on his knees as he fought to steady his breath, before collecting his sword from where it lay on the floor and tucking it back into his belt.

"Thanks," he panted, and with a low cough he straightened, pushing his hair back from his eyes.

Rumplestiltskin froze. All the air in his lungs rushed past his lips as he gaped disbelievingly at the sight before him. The world might have started crumbling about him, and he would not have noticed.

Standing right in front of him, looking no different than the day he had disappeared through the emerald vortex, but for the flush in his cheeks and sweat on his brow, was his son. His son, with his dark locks and warm, kind eyes. The boy stared back, quirking an eyebrow as his lips slowly stretched into a grin.

"Bae..." Rumplestiltskin breathed, his throat constricting as he struggled to control the shock and relief and unparalleled joy bursting in his chest.

The boy's brow furrowed, confusion replacing the playful spirit in his gaze. "Is...is that your son? The one you're looking for? Belle told me—"

Whatever words the boy said next did not register in Rumplestiltskin's mind. The realization that his son did not remember him pierced Rumplestiltskin like a thousand silver hooks. His breath caught painfully in his throat as he gazed hopelessly into the brown eyes of a son who did not know his own father.

"I'm Peter, Peter Pan," the lad said, surveying Rumplestiltskin with his head tilted to the side.

Rumplestiltskin forced himself to listen, clearing his constricted throat. "Di-did you say Peter?" Rumplestiltskin stumbled, his thoughts racing back to the murderous plot Hook had intended for him to fulfill.

"That's right," the boy responded, grinning broadly.

Rage and revulsion welled like a wave of liquid fire in Rumplestiltskin's chest. Hook had been planning to compel him to slaughter his very own son, to destroy the very reason he came to Neverland in the first place.

Why had the pirate claimed to be his son? Was it merely a clever ruse to deter his prisoner from attacking him, should the opportunity present itself? If he had only been lying, how did he know so much?

"Are you alight?" the boy's concerned voice snapped Rumplestiltskin from his frantic pondering.

"No," Rumplestiltskin answered almost absentmindedly, but then, his gaze softened as he looked into the worried eyes of his long-lost son. With a tentative, albeit hopeful, smile he added, "But I will be."

Scrambling footsteps suddenly thundered above and the gruff shouts of several crewmembers echoed from the ship's bow, spurring the young lad into motion.

"I think they've noticed he's missing," he explained in a hushed tone, pointing at the defeated shipmate. "We should get out of here before they realize I'm aboard."

He withdrew a ring of keys from the belt of palm fronds tied at his waist. Clutching the most rusted of them, he lifted the lock and thrust the toothed end inside.

With a flick of his wrist and a sharp clink, the lock fell open and the door swung wide. Grinning broadly, the boy turned about, stepping over the unconscious pirate and heading toward the ladder. Rumplestiltskin made to follow, but his muscles seized just shy of the doorway, freezing him in place.

"I can't," he admitted quietly, his tone not revealing the fury he felt toward his curse and the fiend controlling it.

"What do you mean? Come on," Peter insisted, and Rumplestiltskin nearly jumped out of his skin at the sensation which followed the lad's words. The magic of his malediction tightened about his will, but it possessed not the same icy talons that gripped him whenever Hook delivered a command. Instead, it felt more like an embrace, a gentle but firm nudge in the direction of the brig's open door.

Rumplestiltskin stared in amazement at the boy who called himself "Peter Pan" as he exited his prison. Hook had explicitly compelled him to stay within the brig until he commanded otherwise. How in all the realms did this boy, his boy-

"Just wait until Belle sees you," Peter whispered excitedly, breaking Rumplestiltskin's stream of thought. "She doesn't know I've come here. She'll be so happy, she'll probably fly—"

"Hook has her," Rumplestiltskin interrupted hastily, his fear for her safety returning with the force of a tempest. Peter froze on the steps, his head whipping to the side.

"What?" the boy asked breathlessly, gaping at the older man.

"She sent a letter," Rumplestiltskin continued hurriedly, "They're to meet on the southeastern shore at dawn."

Peter's eyes widened in terror at his words. "Oh, no..." The boy murmured, raising a hand to clutch at his tousled hair. "I should have listened…"

They both turned their gazes to the porthole, blanching as they saw that the sun was almost entirely above the horizon. Their gazes met briefly, reflecting each other's darkest fears. They had both borne the brunt of Hook's cruelty, Peter as his archenemy and Rumplestiltskin as his prisoner; the very thought of Belle at his mercy filled them with abject horror. Not wasting another moment, Rumplestiltskin and Peter scrambled up the ladder.

Just before they reached the deck, Peter stretched out a hand, signaling for Rumplestiltskin to halt his movements. He scanned the deck, his eyes widening as they settled on the rope steadying the main sail.

"I'm going to distract them," he whispered, nodding in the direction of the pirates lumbering about the bow. "Once I do, we can escape off the stern."

Before Rumplestiltskin could stop his son from marching straight into danger, the boy soared silently into the air. He floated on the ocean wind with more practiced ease than a sea hawk. Curling his arms and legs close to his torso, the boy somersaulted twice, his shadow remaining remarkably undetected by the pirates on the deck of the ship. Rumplestiltskin's mouth fell open slightly as he watched his son alight unnoticed on the gaff of the main sail.

Withdrawing his sword, the lad sliced through the thick ropes fastening the sail to the main mast. Shouts of alarm and outrage echoed from the crew below as the massive sail fluttered toward the deck. The pirates shuffled to catch the falling material, some of them becoming trapped beneath its folds. None of them seemed to have noticed the limber figure flying above them.

Faster than Rumplestiltskin would have thought possible, his son dove back down to the deck and landed at the top of the ladder. He beckoned for Rumplestiltskin to follow as he bolted toward the quarter deck at the stern of the ship. Rumplestiltskin chased after him, stopping only when they stood at the southernmost point of the craft.

"You can fly?" Rumplestiltskin heard himself ask, his voice laced with awe and incomprehension despite their perilous situation.

"Well, I didn't swim here," the boy answered matter-of-factly, a faint smirk curving his lips. "It's easy. Here, hold onto me." He grabbed Rumplestiltskin's arm and placed it over his shoulders, hooking his own arm around the older man's waist.

It took all of Rumplestiltskin's resolve not to pull the boy even closer, overjoyed to have his precious son once more at his side.

"Don't let go," Peter said quietly, and the words struck Rumplestiltskin not as a command, but as a stark reminder of the reason he and his beloved son had been separated for so long: he had let him go.

"Never again," Rumplestiltskin silently vowed as the boy swiftly launched them into the air. He could not help but tighten his grip around the lad's shoulders, his unease at the foreignness of flight conflicting with his relief at no longer being trapped aboard the Jolly Roger.

The wind whistled past their ears as they rose higher and higher, drowning out the furious yells of the crew as they finally discovered the source of the turmoil. Low-hanging clouds enveloped them, their cool caress a blessed relief compared to the sweltering bowels of the ship. A gunshot sounded behind the flying pair, but Peter did not flinch. He steered them toward the lush green island in the distance, his jaw set in grave determination. Rumplestiltskin could not help but stare at him, at this brave, wonderful boy—his boy—who had come to free him, who had somehow negated Hook's command. But, how? He wondered as they drifted lower now that they were outside of the Jolly Roger's range.

Perhaps the captain was not lying when he claimed to be his son. The anguish in his black eyes and his fury at the mention of his birth name had been far too real to be the mere tools of an imposter. Rumplestiltskin's gaze became unfocused as Hook's words from the previous day echoed in his thoughts.

"You know as well as I, magic always comes with a price...That vortex was meant for you as well."

Could it be…Rumplestiltskin tried to make sense of it…that the magical vortex, expecting two persons and receiving one, somehow compensated by splitting his son's soul? Was it possible that these mortal enemies were, in all actuality, the same—

Rumplestiltskin's quiet speculation went unfinished as the golden sands of the southeastern shore came into view. A weathered, wooden stock protruded into the water, and at the end of it two figures struggled violently. He heard Peter gasp sharply before their speed increased and they twisted into a dive. Rumplestiltskin's stomach somersaulted at the change, and he gritted his teeth, wincing at the harsh wind that bit at his skin.

His eyes narrowed, Rumplestiltskin watched as the smallest of the fighting pair jabbed a blade at the taller one's chest, but Belle had underestimated Hook's swiftness; whirling around, he grasped her wrist, jerking it so that she dropped the blade with a cry.

As he and the boy soared nearer, Rumplestiltskin watched, horrified, as the pirate twisted his fingers into Belle's long hair, yanked her head back, and pressed his silver hook against her throat.

A/N: Want to read more? :-)