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~Chapter XXX~
Belle and Rumplestiltskin sprinted through Neverland's forest, their chests heaving and feet pounding heavily on the nearly even ground spreading before them. Beams of brilliant moonlight filtered through the tree canopy, illuminating the trail before them. Protruding roots flattened and upended stones rolled out of their path; vines withdrew rapidly and bushes jumped to the side. Amidst all the anxiety roiling within him, Rumplestiltskin felt a quick surge of gratitude at the island's attempts to help them in their efforts to save its favorite inhabitant.
When they reached a large boulder with a small waterfall trickling down its side, Belle grabbed Rumplestiltskin's hand and pulled him along the path to the left.
"This way," she panted, leading them toward a narrow, circular gap in the heavy brush along the tree line. Rumplestiltskin could hear the distant sound of waves crashing against the shoreline.
They scrambled through the opening, both of them freezing in place as their eyes scanned the site before them for any sign of Baelfire.
The dark water of the ocean crashed and slid along the milky shore, glittering brilliantly in the ivory light of Neverland's two moons. Thick storm clouds billowed on the horizon, their dark silhouettes framed by the deep crimson haze of Neverland's sun, fighting to rise above the horizon and banish the terrible night. Low rumbles of thunder echoed in time with the push and pull of the tide as the clouds neared the island. A lone pier protruded several meters into the sea, its wooden surface slick from the foam and mist of the waves.
Releasing Rumplestiltskin's hand, Belle ran toward the dock, Rumplestiltskin following closely behind. Sand flew into the air under the power of their strides. They nearly slipped as their feet came into contact with the damp wood, taking a moment to regain their balance before pressing onward.
"Baelfire!" Rumplestiltskin called out, his hands cupped around his mouth.
Belle turned around several times, her eyes searching for any sign of the boy she had come to love as her own son. Just as Rumplestiltskin turned to ask her if she had perhaps been mistaken, Belle gasped sharply.
She ran toward the end of the pier, her hair flying wildly in the increasing wind. Rumplestiltskin followed, nearly colliding with her back when she skidded to a precarious stop at the edge. Bending down, she retrieved something from its surface. She turned toward Rumplestiltskin, the color draining from her face. In her hands was Baelfire's sword.
Hands shaking, Belle passed him the weapon. Rumplestiltskin clutched it, glancing at it before turning his gaze to where she had found it.
"You don't think he-he's," Belle stuttered, staring into the churning water. She felt sudden movement beside her, and turned to see Rumplestiltskin hastily removing his dagger and shoes, dropping them and Baelfire's sword on the dock.
Belle started to remove her own shoes as Rumplestiltskin approached the edge of the dock.
"No, stay here," he commanded, and before Belle could even think to utter a protest, he dove into the sea.
The cold water embraced Rumplestiltskin with the tenderness of a thousand blades, but its intensity was eclipsed by the sheer terror welling in his chest.
The salty water burned his eyes as he desperately scanned the murky depths for any sign of movement. His dive had disturbed the sand on the ocean floor; plumes of it swelled around him, making it even more difficult to see. A flash of light a few meters away caught his attention, and he propelled himself in its direction.
Rumplestitlskin could hardly believe it when the links of a thin silver chain came into view, reflecting the pearly moonlight from its solitary seat within the shallow crevasse of a reef: It was his son's bracelet
But the bracelet was not alone in hollow; it was coiled around the crook of Hook's silver namesake, which had somehow tipped in the current and now anchored the piece of jewelry in place. The image sent a jolt of recognition through Rumplestiltskin: twice before he had seen this most unnerving arrangement, and in both circumstances his son's heart had stopped beating all together.
A surge of hot adrenaline coursed through Rumplestiltskin's veins as he realized the boy must be nearby. His gaze darted about madly, scanning the rocks, the reefs, the ripples in the sandy floor, until finally, with a terror that momentarily paralyzed his whole being, it landed on the bluish, unmoving form of his teenage son.
Baelfire hovered over the floor of the ocean, his mouth slightly agape and eyes half-open, staring lifelessly ahead.
Relying on strength he did not know he had, Rumplestiltskin curled his arms around his son's torso and heaved him upright. Black blotches clouded his vision as he kicked off the sea floor and swam for the surface.
Although his lungs rejoiced at the fresh gulps of air, Rumplestiltskin felt no relief as he frantically towed his son's body back to shore. He heard Belle cry out and vaguely registered the sound of splashing as she made her way to them, but could not tear his gaze away from the pale, lifeless boy he held in his arms.
"Oh, gods...gods, no..." Belle's voice shook as she grabbed the boy's ankles and helped Rumplestiltskin haul him back to dry land.
They laid Baelfire's pale body on the sand, and a sort of calm desperation seized the boy's father as he looked and felt for any signs of life. Hands trembling, Belle frenetically brushed the damp curls from Baelfire's forehead and rubbed his arms, trying to return even a degree of warmth to the bluish limbs. Her whole body seemed to tremble as she watched, terrified, as Rumplestiltskin brought his ear close to the boy's nose and mouth. A flash of something crossed the man's features, twisting them in a way that magnified Belle's panic tenfold.
"Is he—he's not—"
"Belle, I need you to watch carefully," Rumplestiltskin interrupted, crouching low over his son's face.
Hearing her name seemed to act as both a tonic for nerves and a stimulant; Belle quieted her gasping breaths and watched closely as Rumplestiltskin tilted his son's head back, pinched his nose, and then covering the boy's mouth with his own, blew two steady breaths into his lungs. His son's chest rose with each given breath, and rattled quietly, frighteningly as the air slipped through his cold, bluish lips.
Rumplestiltskin's hands shook as he reached for Belle's arm and pulled her closer.
"I need you to do that when I tell you to, do you understand?"
Belle nodded, the desperation in Rumplestiltskin's voice frightening her beyond speech, and curled in closer to Baelfire's face.
Rumplestiltskin moved so that he was kneeling beside his son. He overlapped his hands, lacing them together, and placed them at the center of the boy's chest.
Elbows locked, Rumplestiltskin pressed down hard. With a steadying breath, he rapidly repeated the motion, his own heart clenching as he felt his son's chest sink a couple inches with each compression. He knew that the force he was using was necessary, but it terrified him to think his motions were the only thing allowing his boys' heart to beat at all.
"One, two, three, four..." Rumplestiltskin murmured with each shove of his hands, ignoring the twinge of pain radiating from his recently stitched arm wound. His thoughts whirled in his head, trying desperately to remember if it was twenty or thirty compressions per cycle. He decided on thirty.
"Now," He panted toward Belle, who copied his earlier movements and pressed her mouth over the boy's to breathe for him.
"Again."
Belle repeated the action. A false sense of relief permeated Rumplestiltskin each time he felt his son's chest rise and fall beneath his hands, but it was quelled instantly when the boy did not respond on his own.
Rumplestiltskin resumed compressions. He counted silently, distress threatening to consume him as his son's head bobbed lifelessly with every push of his hands. Baelfire's half-lidded eyes stared up at him, and Rumplestiltskin wondered wildly if his son could see anything through them. His blood ran like ice in his veins as he realized their depths appeared just as empty as Hook's had been.
Again he directed Belle to breathe for his son. Baelfire remained still.
"Come on, boy." He quickened his pace, his breaths coming out in gasps. Hot tears rolled down Belle's cheeks.
"Breathe, Bae!" He felt a rib crack beneath his palm.
"Rum, I don't think—"
He cut Belle off with another harsh command to breathe. It took all her strength to force the air past the lump in her throat.
The wind increased its intensity, wailing around them as though weeping, but no rain fell. Rumplestiltskin pressed two fingers against the boy's neck, fear gripping his heart as still no pulse thrummed beneath his fingertips.
"Please, son—" His voice broke. His arms trembled as he placed them again over Baelfire's unmoving chest, pressing down even harder in hopes that it might encourage his son's heart to beat on its own.
"Rumplestil—"
"No!"
"It's not working!" Belle shrieked as they heard another rib crack.
Rumplestiltskin ignored her, pushing her aside so he could deliver the two breaths himself. After the first breath, Rumplestiltskin laid his forehead against his son's. His hand shook slightly as he clutched the center of Baelfire's tunic.
"Please..." He whispered, hoping in some way his son could hear him. "Come back to me."
Releasing his grasp, Rumplestiltskin tilted the boy's head back and pinched his nose, pressing his mouth against Baelfire's once more.
Sorrow unlike any she had ever experienced clenched tight about Belle's heart as she watched Rumplestiltskin return his hands to his son's still chest, this time each compression punctuated by a deep sob from the boy's father.
And then it happened. Hope welled so powerfully within Belle that she felt almost dizzy with relief at its warm presence.
"The magic," she breathed.
Gasping, she reached over and clutched the sides of Rumplestiltskin's face, forcing him to meet her gaze. "You can save him, you can use the magic to save him!"
He stared at her, brow furrowed, eyes filled with uncertainty.
His magic was limited; once used, it could never be replaced. Rumplestiltskin closed his eyes.
If he used magic now, magic would be lost to him forever.
If he did not use magic now, his son would be lost to him forever.
Rumplestiltskin opened his eyes.
"I'm not going to lose you again, Bae."
Belle sobbed in relief, moving back to give Rumplestiltskin more room. He placed his hands over the boy's chest, and then stilled. The brief moment where he had summoned the magic during their earlier confrontation with Hook must have expended more than he anticipated; his supply had been limited before, but now he could feel it was positively dwindling.
"Rum..." Belle murmured, her brow creasing with confusion as she watched him intently.
He did not respond, instead desperately searching his thoughts for a way to utilize the power most efficiently. With such a limited supply, he would need to exhibit caution, to ensure that every tendril of magic was put to the best use.
"We don't have much time!" Belle cried out urgently, her turquoise eyes reflecting the same panic Rumplestiltskin was fighting to keep at bay.
"I know that!" He snapped in response, striving to maintain his focus. "This has to be done right, Belle," he explained in a calm but fervent tone. "If it isn't, we won't get a second chance."
"What are you going to do?" She asked, her voice quaking and teetering on the edge of hysterics.
Rumplestiltskin stared down at his lifeless boy, swallowing thickly and inhaling several deep breaths. He needed to get his son's heart to beat once more. The compressions had failed; it needed something stronger, more effective…
A blinding blade of lightning sliced the sky above, and an obscure symbol suddenly appeared in Rumplestiltskin's thoughts: a red, two-dimensional drawing of a heart with a lightning bolt at the center. He had seen it inscribed on a white box nailed to one of the walls of Storybrooke's town hall; a box, his cursed memories told him, contained a contraption that conducted electrical currents.
Looking up with eyes blazing with determination, Rumplestiltskin breathed, "I am going to shock his heart."
Alarm flashed across Belle's features and she gasped, but said nothing, watching apprehensively as Rumplestiltskin moved his hands over his son's torso. He clutched the center of Baelfire's tunic, tearing it open with two swift jerks, and exposing the boy's pale chest. He would aim brief bursts of magic directly into his son's heart, in hopes of jolting it back to life.
His eyelids slid closed, and he drowned out the sounds of the crashing waves and the approaching thunder, focusing all of his attention on the miniscule store of energy buried within him. He wrapped his willpower around it, yanking it from its sanctuary until it slid into the pads of his fingertips, encasing them in a violet glow.
He laid his hands on the center of his son's sternum, overlapping them so that his fingers splayed precisely above the boy's heart, his fingertips lightly pressing into the pale flesh. Taking a deep, steadying breath, he forced a surge of energy through the tips of his fingers. Baelfire's body jerked, and Rumplestiltskin flattened his palm against his chest, searching for a heartbeat. He found none.
A loud rumble of thunder echoed around them as Rumplestiltskin flexed his fingers again, delivering another, stronger burst of magic into his son's heart.
Baelfire's body jerked more strongly, his back bowing slightly. Rumplestiltskin pressed his palm once more against the center of the boy's chest.
"Come on, son," he murmured, his voice cracking, as he returned his fingertips to their previous position above Baelfire's heart.
Rumplestiltskin pressed down firmly this time, sending an even more powerful jolt into the boy. Fear and despair churned his stomach as his son's body jerked sharply upward, and then fell back against the sand, unmoving.
The wind began to howl, whipping their hair about their heads and drowning out the gasping sobs Belle was trying to stifle with her hands. Only a sliver of moonlight escaped the thick black clouds swirling ominously above them, and the scarlet haze of the rising sun bled along the entire horizon.
Shoulders heaving with rasping, exhausted breaths, Rumplestiltskin poised his hands to deliver yet another shock. But it did not come, and the violet aura surrounding his fingertips sputtered feebly, before vanishing altogether. A strangled cry slipped past Rumplestiltskin's lips as he stared in horrified disbelief at his hands.
"What is it?" Belle asked fearfully in a thick, gasping voice.
"The magic...It can't be—" Rumplestiltskin murmured, his breath hitching as he shook his hand, desperate to see the aura return. "There has to be more!"
His eyes met Belle's, utter desperation shining in their depths. She stared back at him, tears rolling down her cheeks as she slowly shook her head.
"No," she choked around her sobs, "Rum..."
Panic roiled within him, threatening to paralyze both his mind and body. Willing his panting breaths to slow, he closed his eyes once more, searching feverishly for even the slightest trace of magic within himself. He gasped in uncontained relief upon finding a miniscule, yet powerful tendril waiting to be expended.
Knowing that it would only suffice for one final jolt to his son's heart, Rumplestiltskin summoned it to his hands with a strength he did not know he possessed. It slid like tar to the ends of his fingers, engulfing them once again in a vibrant purple glow.
He opened his eyes, squinting against the tears stinging at the corners. With a steadying breath, he pressed his fingertips once more against the boy's flesh...
"I need you, Bae," he whispered, relying on every ounce of his will to thrust the last of his magic through the ends of his fingers. It surged through his fingertips with an intensity that nearly hurt, sinking deep into his son's cold chest. A loud crack of thunder pierced the air around them as Baelfire arched high off the ground, his head falling back and mouth ajar.
After a long moment, his back fell to the earth with a dull thud, his half-lidded eyes still staring lifelessly at the tumultuous heavens.
Rumplestiltskin's vision blurred as he stared intently at his unmoving son, begging him to show even the barest sign of life.
Belle covered her face, her small form shaking as she wept.
"No...No, please," Rumplestiltskin gasped, blinking back the moisture in his eyes as he desperately felt his son's chest and neck for a pulse, his hands trembling. He felt nothing.
Sobbing, he cupped his son's face, brushing a stray curl from his forehead. White-capped waves thrashed against the shoreline. The cold wind wailed around them as Rumplestiltskin stared into the vacant depths of his son's eyes, silently pleading.
The boy's eyelids suddenly squeezed shut, then opened slightly.
Rumplestiltskin froze, gazing at his son's face, wondering if he had imagined it. But then, Baelfire's eyes squinted again, and his chest rose, rattling lightly.
"That's it, son! Breathe," Rumplestiltskin encouraged, his hand lightly patting Baelfire's cheek. Belle lowered her hands, her glistening eyes wide as she stared at Rumplestiltskin and his son.
Rumplestiltskin watched as the boy's chest spasmed slightly, struggling to pull in air.
"Breathe," Rumplestiltskin urged again, his lips slowly forming a smile as the most beautiful sound he could hear at that moment reached his ears.
Opening his eyes fully, Baelfire inhaled a long, shuddering breath, his chest heaving as his body strived to pull in more air. Then, a harsh, wheezing cough rattled his lungs.
With a sound somewhere between a laugh and a sob, Rumplestiltskin turned his son onto his side, patting his back. The boy coughed and sputtered, expelling water from his mouth. Belle cried out in joyous relief, moving closer to support Baelfire's head with her hand.
They watched as the color gradually returned to Baelfire's face and limbs, his lips slowly turning to their normal, healthy tint. Eventually, the boy drew in a deep, tremulous breath.
"That's right, Bae, slowly," Rumplestiltskin soothed, rubbing his son's back.
When the boy had at last managed to clear his lungs of most of the seawater, Rumplestiltskin slowly rolled him onto his back, Belle gently lifting his son's head to rest in her lap.
Baelfire stared up at Rumplestiltskin, his eyes once more illuminated with life. "Papa," he mouthed weakly, the merest hint of a smile on his lips. Rumplestiltskin smiled back as he cupped his son's cheek, tears slowly rolling down his own face.
The howling wind had now calmed to a gentle breeze, playfully ruffling their hair and sending stray flower petals tumbling along the dunes. Rumbling softly with the last notes of thunder, the black storm clouds gradually dissipated, displaying the canvas of twilight hidden behind them. It was as though the land were breathing a sigh of relief, overjoyed that its beloved Peter Pan had escaped death once more.
Belle softly ran her fingers through the boy's damp curls, smiling up at the sky as an unexpected ray of golden sunlight slipped above the horizon, dancing off the waves and white sand and chasing away the red haze. Baelfire's eyelids slid closed as his body slowly succumbed to sleep, his father's hand a warm, comforting weight on the center of his chest.
Rumplestiltskin turned his gaze to Belle, smiling softly at the tender way she stroked his son's forehead. As though sensing him watching her, Belle looked up, matching his smile with a gentle one of her own.
Rumplestiltskin closed his eyes, reveling in the strong heartbeat beneath his fingers. Despite his overwhelming joy, however, one question managed to echo in his mind:
Why had it stopped in the first place?