A/N: Thank you all for your continuous support of this story! We have decided to post the entire story under my account instead. Enjoy! :)

Disclaimer: We do not own Once Upon a Time. May credit be given where credit is due.

~Chapter XXV~

Excluding the narrow strip of Neverland's coast, the island appeared to be almost completely devoid of color as the sun plummeted below the horizon. The sky remained empty of its usual two moons, and in the absence of light, gray replaced the myriad vibrant colors that normally enshrouded Neverland's flowers. The long vines of the willows cast winding ribbons of darkness all over the forest floor, and when they swayed in the breeze their shadows transformed into gnarled claws that seemed to stretch hungrily toward the boy flying above.

Peter soared in the direction of the Drey, his body so familiar with the journey that his mind had the liberty to wander back to what he had witnessed on the low-lying dock.

Hook was dead: of that much Peter was certain, although he had not seen the body itself. Perhaps Rumplestiltskin had detached the hook during the duel and the captain had fallen into the sea. Or perhaps the crocodile had finally swallowed him whole, his unrelenting hunger for the sinister pirate finally sated after all these years. But then, the boy worried, why was Belle's true love crying? The image of the broken man still shook him to his core. There had been blood on his off-white shirt, Peter recalled;maybe he was injured. But his cries had not seemed like the sort he heard the Lost Boys make when they hurt themselves. They were unlike anything he had ever heard, as though Rumplestiltskin had lost a very part of himself.

Brow furrowed in thought, Peter slowly began his descent toward the island. The thatched roof of his cabin appeared in the distance, and he swiveled in its direction. He could see the Lost Boys playing several meters away from their home, and Belle, standing right where he had left her and nervously twisting her hands.

Slowly so as not to startle her, the boy descended, landing with a gentle thud on the ground across from her. Her stunning turquoise eyes stared beseechingly at him, and he saw that her hands were red from being wrung so vigorously.

His face must have reflected his solemn and unnerved mood, for Belle's anxious expression immediately intensified and her lips paled.

"It's not what you think," Peter declared gently before her fears could magnify, "He's still at the dock."

"Is he—is he all right?" Belle asked anxiously, and she felt she might faint when the boy seemed to hesitate.

Peter thought back to Rumplestiltskin once more, to what he had witnessed, knowing that the tragic scene would be forever engrained in his memory. He nodded shakily, choosing not to tell her what he had seen, and not knowing if it was out of respect for the privacy of the moment, or shame for watching it take place.

"Aibreann's with him," he added quietly, averting his gaze to the forest floor. He heard Belle release a small sigh of relief.

"I hope they return soon. This weather is strange," she noted quietly, wrapping her arms around herself, "Cold and...it sounds silly, I know, but...tense, like there's a storm coming, even though the skies are clear."

Peter did not respond, his gaze remaining fixed on the forest floor even as Belle took a step closer to him.

"Peter," she prompted tenderly after a moment, "Are you all right?"

The constricting emotions Peter had been fighting to stifle in her presence suddenly rushed to the surface: the distraught confusion from the sight at the dock, the uncertainty of how to feel about the demise of his archenemy, and something else, something heavy that had settled deep inside him and made the hairs on the back of his neck stand. He turned away from her, his chest feeling uncomfortably tight.

"Hook is dead," he murmured so quietly he was surprised when he heard her soft gasp echo behind him. Silence passed between them, and for a moment Peter wondered if he had mistaken her gasp as a response to his revelation.

But then her petite hand settled on his shoulder, encouraging him to turn and face her. After a brief pause, he complied, slowly raising his eyes to meet hers.

Though he was only a boy, his gaze reminded Belle of the conscripted soldiers returning from the frontlines, the poor souls who had never asked to see the horrors of battle and yet endured them all the same. It made her want to weep, finding such a haunted look in Peter's eyes.

Before either of them could say another word, Belle pulled him into an embrace, wrapping her arms snugly about his shoulders. Peter momentarily tensed at the gesture; he could not recall ever being held like this, with such warmth and tenderness. She gently tightened her arms when he did not respond, rubbing his back with one of her hands.

His tension melted immediately, and he brought his own arms around her, laying his head on her shoulder as she continued to make soothing circles between his shoulder blades. She turned her head, and a moment later he felt her press a soft kiss to his temple. Despite the trauma and confusion of the day's events, Peter could not restrain the small smile that curved his lips at her kiss. Never before had he felt so comforted, as though a solid wall of his happiest memories shielded him from any pain.

Only one word came to mind that could properly describe this unique feeling:

Mother.

After a few more silent moments, Belle slowly unwrapped her arms from around the boy. She smiled tenderly at him, brushing his hair back from his forehead.

"Come on," she said softly, her eyes traveling down to the cut on his neck, "Let's get that cleaned up."

Although a tiny red sliver of the sun still remained above the horizon, night seemed eager to fall, its dark shadows and indigo sky swiftly spreading across the land. The warm breeze that breathed along the coast grew cooler, sweeping past the lone man seated on the dock and raising the hairs on his arms. Rumplestiltskin no longer wept, his red-rimmed eyes staring blankly at the silver hook still gripped in his hand. Every now and then he drew in a deep breath, closing his eyes against another stab of sorrow.

A bright flash of light suddenly appeared near the sand dunes, causing Rumplestiltskin to crick his neck as he jerked his head in its direction.

"Who's there?" Rumplestiltskin called loudly, his fist tightening its hold around the source of his son's menacing moniker.

No response met his ears, but he could just distinguish a glowing green light hovering behind the bountiful leaves.

"I know you're out there," Rumplestiltskin declared angrily, glaring in the direction of the bushes, "You might as well come out."

A moment of stillness passed before a shimmering orb floated out from behind the shrubbery, propelling itself toward him with the soft humming sound of beating wings.

A young lad, no older than seven winters, huddled within the hollow trunk of an old oak tree, weeping for someone to find him. Darkness had fallen over the forest long ago, and the poor boy's teeth chattered with both fear and cold. His eyes were screwed shut against the strange and frightening sounds the woods made at night. Suddenly, a low whirring sound echoed in the distance, seeming closer and closer with every passing second. The boy tentatively opened one eye lid, and nearly cried out at the sight that greeted him: a sphere of emerald light soaring gracefully in his direction.

Rumplestiltskin watched her warily, his narrowed eyes instinctively trailing over her miniscule shape in search of a bag of fairy dust to be used against him. He had seen her aura earlier and felt certain she had been spying on him.

"You should wrap that," the emerald fairy advised calmly, her tiny eyes fixed on the still-bleeding slice on Rumplestiltskin's arm. The man's eyes darted to her face, his eyebrows raising incredulously.

"Excuse me?" He scoffed, frowning as she continued to fly toward him down the length of the dock. His eyes quickly glanced down at his arm wound, widening slightly as they took in how deep it was.

"Who are you?" Rumplestiltskin demanded, his eyes fixed suspiciously on her even as he tore a strip of fabric from his shirt to wind about his forearm.

"Don't be frightened," The green fairy said soothingly. The young boy huddled within the tree hugged his knees to his chest, shivering as the night cold bit at his skin.

"I'm lost," he murmured as a tear slid down his cheek.

"I know," the fairy smiled, "I'm here to help you." With a curtsy and a small laugh, she introduced herself: "My name is Aibreann."

"We met many years ago," Aibreann answered quietly, "You were just a lad."

Rumplestiltkin shook his head in denial, but then paused. His eyes gazed past the green fairy, glazing over as the memory filled his mind.

"What is your name, dear heart?" Aibreann asked the young boy, who hiccupped slightly as his crying ceased. The boy looked around briefly, his limbs still tense with fear, before taking in the fairies' kind, sympathetic face.

"Rumplestiltskin."

"Do you remember now?" Aibreann asked, her eyes brightening with hope. Rumplestiltskin stared up at her for a long moment, before opening his mouth to speak.

"Yes," he murmured, watching as the corners of the fairy's lips twitched upward. "How did you know it was me?" He asked suddenly, his voice mirroring the suspicion within his gaze.

"What a peculiar name!" The fairy said to the young boy, her tinkling laugh nearly inspiring one of his own. "I'm pleased to meet you, Rumplestiltskin," she added happily, stretching out a little hand for him to meet with his fingertip. He did so, staring in awe at her beauty, at the way her smile seemed to shine even brighter than her green aura.

"I didn't, at first," Aibreann explained quietly, a delicate smile still curving her tiny lips, "Not until Belle said your name. Then I was certain."

Rumplestiltskin looked down at his knees, frowning slightly. "Why are you here?"

Aibreann withdrew her hand, beckoning for the young boy to follow her. He slowly rose to his feet, unable to take his eyes off of her, and for a moment, he forgot all about his fear.

"I helped you find your way home once," Aibreann explained softly. Rumplestiltskin's gaze remained fixed on the wooden planks of the dock, a muscle jumping in his jaw as he clenched his teeth.

"Why should I let you help me now?" He grated, looking up, "Why should I listen to anything you have to say to me?"

"Because I am a friend," Aibreann answered gently, "And at one point in your life, you trusted me."

Rumplestiltskin shook his head, staring back down at the hook in his hand. "Well, that was before all you cockroaches—" he paused at the hurt expression on Aibreann's face, sighing deeply before continuing in a less aggressive tone. "Let's just say that fairies and I don't mix well anymore."

Aibreann watched him silently, sadness sliding into her soft gaze. "You've changed," she whispered eventually.

"Whatever gave you that idea?" Rumplestiltskin sneered sardonically, annoyance flashing in his brown eyes.

The fairy did not acknowledge his harsh words, continuing to gaze intently down at him. "When did you?"

The cruel smirk that had twisted Rumplestiltskin's lips slowly vanished as he inhaled deeply, his gaze traveling to the dark waves lapping at the dock.

"When I let power make me lose sight of the most important person in my life," he answered in a voice too quiet for anyone but a fairy to hear. Aibreann hovered closer to him, her brow furrowing in sympathy.

"He was your son," she stated softly, gesturing down at the hook still clasped in Rumplestiltskin's hand.

Rumplestiltskin continued to stare ahead at the water, nodding shakily as tears slowly welled up in his eyes once more. Aibreann watched him for a long moment, taking in the emptiness of his gaze, the defeated slouch of his shoulders. Rumplestiltskin was the picture of a man who had lost everything.

"But you have haven't lost everything," she said suddenly, alighting on the ledge of the pier so that she was eye-level with the man.

Rumplestiltskin rubbed his eyes, blinking back fresh tears. "I have lost my son," he countered, his voice breaking.

"No, you have not," the fairy responded gently, "Peter still lives. Have you forgotten him in the midst of all your grief?"

Rumplestiltskin averted his gaze, shaking his head slowly. "He has forgotten me," he murmured dejectedly, his voice thick with emotion. Empathy and guilt tugged at Aibreann's heartstrings, and it was only after taking a steadying breath that she was able to continue.

"He will remember, Rumplestiltskin," she assured him fervently, her voice shaking slightly, "You must help him to."

The man stared out at the still water, watching as the last rays of the sun slipped beneath the horizon and the indigo sky rapidly closed in on the resultant gold and purple haze. His gaze suddenly darted to the fairy, and Aibreann found she could not quite read his expression.

"What is it?" Aibreann pressed gently, concern flashing in her eyes.

"You protected me," Rumplestiltskin said quietly, recalling how relieved and safe he had felt as a young boy to have her near. The sweetness of the memory was quickly eclipsed by rage, however, as Rumplestiltskin realized his son had obviously not received the same guardianship.

"Why didn't you protect my son?" He asked suddenly, his tone harsh with accusation, "That little blue pest said she sent you here to protect him."

The fairy closed her eyes for a moment, breathing in deeply as she tried to calm the dread welling in her chest at what she was about to admit.

"We thought we were, when we used magic to teach him to fly, to forget. He was so hurt when he arrived..." Her voice trailed off at the tortured look of shame and sorrow that flashed across the grieving father's face.

"The more he flew, the more he forgot. I thought we were helping," she continued after a moment, silently begging Rumplestiltskin to understand, "I never expected that his painful memories would create such a..." Her gaze traveled down to the silver hook held fast in Rumplestiltskin's bloodstained fist, "Monster."

Rumplestiltskin's forehead creased at her admission, the corners of his mouth twisting down in a slight frown. "Are you saying Hook did not come through the vortex? That his creation was not the price of the bean's magic?"

Aibreann nodded, her own eyebrows drawing together in her confusion.

"He only appeared later, just after Peter had forgotten everything. All his pain, it-it must have coagulated. Oh, if only I had possessed the foresight..."

Rumplestiltskin started at her words, his eyes narrowing as he digested what she had said. "'Must have?' You didn't know?"

"No," she answered, shaking her head as her features twisted in anguish, "They were so different...and neither mentioned anything of their shared past. There have been pirates in Neverland for ages; according to the Indians, the crew arrived much like your son did: through a glowing vortex. But Hook just...appeared. We assumed he was some kind of magical creature: inhuman, evil. There was even a rumor that he shed tears of blood—"

"It wasn't a rumor," Rumplestiltskin interrupted quietly, and Aibreann fought to suppress a shudder.

"I did not realize they were two halves of the same person, until today," she continued, swallowing back her unease at Rumplestiltskin's revelation, "When they both compelled you."

Rumplestiltskin sighed heavily, running his free hand through his hair as the memory of those chilling magical chains forced its way to the front of his mind.

He pulled himself to his feet, walking slowly to the end of the dock. His hand still clutched the detached silver hook and he stared at its glinting reflection in the murky water. The hum of Aibreann's tiny wings beside him signaled that she had followed.

"I think I am haunted, Aibreann," he said after a moment, in a voice no louder than a whisper, "I have seen things, heard things, here in this land that cannot possibly be real. Terrible things..." He inhaled shakily, shuddering at the memory of the disembodied scream he heard in the forest, the blood he had almost drunk, the rotting corpses in the ocean, the cruel whispers...

"Things from your past?" The fairy asked calmly from beside him, releasing a small sigh when the man nodded.

"Neverland...is a mysterious place. When we brought magic here, the land embraced it more fully than we could have ever expected. It spread, until every leaf and stone was coated in it. I think..." her voice trailed off for a moment as she stared out at the water, deep in thought, "I think the land mimics what we did with Peter, when we helped him forget. Neverland makes anyone who visits gradually forget the sources of their greatest pain. The boys have forgotten their parents, by whom they felt abandoned. Belle began to forget—" She stopped speaking when Rumplestiltskin flinched, his shoulders tensing as he undoubtedly realized she was about to say "you."

"Then why have I not forgotten my pain?" He snapped, his fist tightening around the hook until his knuckles shone white. "If what you say is even true, why have I been haunted by it every day?"

"Because you carry it with you every day," she answered ardently, "There is so much darkness within you... This land made you face it, so that you'd have to deal with your pain. You're a cursed man, Rumplestiltskin," she paused when the man inhaled sharply at her words, before continuing gently, "Neverland knows that, and it wants you to be free, just like your son is now."

A gentle breeze suddenly wafted over them, as though the land were voicing its agreement with the fairy's words. It teased at the hair of the dock's two occupants, briefly warming their flesh before drifting back out toward the sea.

"Rumplestiltskin, your son needs you."

"I have killed my son," the man responded despairingly.

"No, you have saved him," she insisted, her voice thick with emotion.

Rumplestiltskin turned his gaze away from the water to meet hers, his forehead creasing in confusion.

"Hook was a personification of your son's bitterness and rage, magnified tenfold," Aibreann explained passionately, hovering beside his right shoulder. "By slaying one, you have freed the other."

The man stared wordlessly at her, and she could see that he was beginning to believe what she was saying.

"Rumplestiltskin," the fairy insisted, hope lacing every syllable she uttered, "You have given yourself your second chance. All you need to do now is take it. Forgive yourself. Only then can you ask your son to forgive you."

Aibreann's voice quivered with unrepressed optimism, her kind eyes pleading for Rumplestiltskin to listen. The man returned his gaze to the hook in his hand, swallowing thickly.

"I have hurt so many..." he whispered, the knuckles of his right hand shining white as he clasped his fingers more tightly around the base of the hook. An unbidden tear slid halfway down his cheek before he wiped it away, looking down.

"And you have paid the price," Aibreann responded, her eyes tracing the wounds on his body and the years of misery written in the lines of his face.

The cobalt evening sky blurred in Rumplestiltskin's vision once more, his throat constricting, as his mind wrapped around the fairy's words. He took a step forward, placing both hands on the ledge of the pier and slouching forward as his shoulders shook with restrained grief.

Silence stretched between them before Rumplestiltskin slowly lowered his head against the pier's wooden ledge, closing his eyes. Choking back a sob, he swallowed thickly against the conflicting emotions welling in his chest, and Aibreann felt her heart ache as she watched on helplessly at the man's inner struggle.

They remained like that for what might have been hours, when Rumplestiltskin's demeanor suddenly changed. He raised his head, straightening his posture while wiping a hand over his face. After inhaling several steadying breaths, he opened his eyes, and the sheer determination within their depths nearly took the fairy's breath away.

Hesitatingly, he reached the arm bearing the hook out over the water, staring silently at the lethal object that had come to symbolize all of the pain he had sewn, the betrayal he had inflicted on his own son.

"Let go," Aibreann whispered from beside him. Rumplestiltskin inhaled deeply, his hand trembling as he held it over the still water. Slowly, he uncurled his bruised fingers, watching as the hook fell from his grasp and shattered the water's surface. It sank rapidly, tumbling lightly in the tide before disappearing out of sight altogether.

Aibreann alighted on his shoulder, saying nothing as they both stared at the ripples surrounding where the hook had sunk. Rumplestiltskin glared at her closeness from the corner of his eye, but did not brush the pixie away.

"I need to find my son, Aibreann," he said after staring back at the water for a long moment, and the fairy was relieved to detect a trace of hope in his tone. He bent down to retrieve the sword he had borrowed from the boy, standing and tucking it beneath the sash at his waist. He pivoted his head to look at the island, his eyes scanning the tree line for any sign of a path.

"It's all right," Aibreann interjected calmly, launching from his shoulder and soaring toward a narrow break in the trees. "I'll lead you."

Rumplestiltskin watched her float several meters ahead, before murmuring with a slight smirk, "I know."

A/N: Tell you what, dearies, if we receive 10 reviews for this chapter, we will post the next one in two days (or even sooner)! Do we have a deal? ;)