A/N: And the verdict is clear: an Epilogue you shall have! :)

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

~Epilogue~

Nigh giddy with the prospect of what he was about to do, Rumplestiltskin traipsed down the hallway leading to the guest room he and Baelfire had transformed into a small library and home office for Belle. The door remained open, beams of golden sunlight filtering through the window and illuminating the oak floors. Smiling softly, Rumplestiltskin paused in the threshold, leaning against the sill and crossing his arms as he regarded the beauty seated behind the writing desk.

She wore a forest green dress today, with three-quarter-length sleeves and a square neckline that showcased the elegant slope of her neck and clavicles. Her long auburn curls were tied back in a plait with several sweet tendrils falling about her face, which was bent toward the files covering the desk's glossy surface. Sunlight shone against her back, framing her head in a halo of light so that she appeared every bit the angel Rumplestiltskin knew her to be.

His eyes traveled to the fingers of her left hand, and when they landed on the faintly glimmering gold band resting just above her pearl engagement ring, Rumplestiltskin welcomed the memories that flooded his mind. A light smile curving his lips, he recalled the simple, yet beautiful ceremony that would forever stand out as one of the happiest moments of his life. Although they had only personally invited a handful of guests, including Belle's father, who had eventually given his blessing once Belle had indignantly assured him that the wedding would take place with or without it, half the town had attended. They had, unsurprisingly, fallen in love with Belle in the year-long engagement that had followed their return to Storybrooke.

Belle had insisted on a long engagement, and once he realized just how much time and effort raising and locating the families of five boisterous boys was, Rumplestiltskin had agreed. It had allowed them more time to grow closer emotionally as well, to develop an unshakeable trust that left no room for secrets or half-truths. They shared everything concealed in their hearts: dreams, fears, hopes, past crimes... Rumplestiltskin had even confessed to the sound beating he had given Belle's father upon discovering that he had stolen her chipped cup, which he had believed to be the sole physical reminder of her in this world.

After a long, terrifying pause, she had miraculously forgiven him, under the condition that he personally explain himself and apologize to the man.

He had, of course, and the entire occasion still ranked as the most awkward afternoon tea in Rumplestiltskin's life. Maurice had at first denied the former Dark One even the promise of forgiveness, but the subsequent ten months of seeing him provide love and a home for the Lost Boys and Belle had eventually convinced the once-king that Rumplestiltskin was a changed man. Rumplestiltskin cared little for the man's opinion—if he was completely honest—but, Belle had been happy, and with no more skeletons in the cupboard, they had set their sights even more eagerly on their approaching wedding.

By the time the joyous day had arrived, he and Belle had succeeded in finding living relatives of four of the formerly-Lost Boys: Pox, Slightly, Curly, and Nibs, all of whom, they were surprised to learn, were originally from the Enchanted Forest. They and their families had also attended the wedding; Rumplestiltskin distinctly remembered Slightly mischievously chucking a rolled up scrap of paper at Baelfire, who had been standing at his father's side as his best man. When the ceremony had ended, and Rumplestiltskin and Belle had shared their first kiss as husband and wife, he had just been able to make out the boys' chuckles and perhaps even a few playful gagging noises beneath the applause.

But no part of that glorious day could compare to the night that followed. Pleasant chills still tingled along Rumplestiltskin's spine at the memory of Belle's stunning, porcelain skin gently glowing beneath his own in the flickering candlelight that had surrounded them. Although new to that entire world of intimacy, his brave Belle had surprised him with her ardent enthusiasm, and he, breathless with awe, had cherished each and every moment for the precious gift that it was.

Two months had passed since, and still Rumplestiltskin found himself frequently spellbound by a mere glance from his wife's turquoise eyes or the lilting notes of her laughter down the hall. Even now, as he leaned against the doorframe and watched her fuss with the contents of her desk, his heart pounded with love for the way her forehead creased in thought.

It was easy for Rumplestiltskin to guess what plagued his darling Belle as she sifted through her files, for he, too, had often felt troubled with the very same mystery: the identities of Tootles' parents. In the past year he and Belle had searched relentlessly through ancient censuses and conscription records preserved from the Enchanted Forest—curiously stored in his very own pawnshop—for any description of a boy matching Tootles in age and appearance that had gone missing. They had stumbled across a few promising leads, but further investigation had dispelled them. Fliers posted with his likeness printed on them remained unanswered, even when they, taking a significant risk concerning the town's anonymity, had submitted them to worldwide missing and abandoned children databases.

So, in the place of his absent parents, Belle and Rumplestiltskin had offered him all the love and attention that they offered Bae, rejoicing in his successes and consoling him in his downfalls. He flourished under their care, and in the approaching fall they would enroll him in Storybrooke Elementary. While playing a rather rowdy game of checkers last month, he had accidentally echoed Baelfire and called Rumplestiltskin "Papa."

In that moment something had suddenly clicked into place in Rumplestiltskin's mind—or perhaps, his heart—and he had spent the next four weeks pulling strings and navigating the town's bureaucracy, all leading up to this moment. Placing a hand above the right side of his waistcoat and feeling the papers tucked beneath it, Rumplestiltskin gently cleared his throat.

Belle's head jerked up at the sudden noise in the doorway, and her stomach performed a pleasant little flip as her eyes found her husband standing there. He wore a soft blue collared shirt, half-concealed beneath a grey waistcoat with the first few buttons undone, revealing the soft skin of his chest that her fingertips so enjoyed tracing. A pair of slimming, grey pants covered his lean legs, the hem resting atop worn brown Oxfords. His sleeves were rolled to his elbows, and in the glare of the sunlight filtering in through her home office's window she could just discern the raised, pale scar that Hook had given him what seemed a lifetime ago.

Leaning nonchalantly in the doorway, his arms crossed in front of his chest, Rumplestiltskin was the picture of ease, and the tender smile he wore as his eyes met hers sent Belle's pulse racing.

"Wife," he greeted, his mouth stretching into a grin as she chuckled lightly. That one title, and everything it meant, would always sound like music to Belle's ears when it came from Rumplestiltskin's lips.

"Husband," she returned softly, and her skin tingled at the pride and passion that flashed in Rumplestiltskin's chestnut eyes at the word. Her gaze flickered to the gold band wrapped around the ring finger of his left hand, and her heart swelled at the memory of how it felt to slide it in place, knowing that forever it would stay there, a tangible reminder of their true love.

"Where are the boys?" She asked eventually, returning her gaze to his face with a smile.

"Causing trouble with Henry and the other Lost Boys at the park," he answered with a chuckle, languidly stepping into the office.

Baelfire and Henry had become fast friends since their return to the sleepy coastal town, and Tootles practically idolized them both. For a while Henry was rarely seen unaccompanied by Emma or the Charming's, what with Regina still furiously trying to claim sole guardianship over the poor boy. Things had calmed down in the following months, however, especially—and surprisingly—after Rumplestiltskin had confronted the jilted queen. Apprehension still coiled uncomfortably in Belle's stomach at the memory of that encounter, how Rumplestiltskin, his face grim and eyes bright with anger, had simply thrust the bean they had used to leave Neverland into the woman's hand.

"I've had my chance at redemption; here's yours, dearie," he had hissed into her wide-eyed and shocked face, "You can take the boy and flee, like I know you want to, and forever be the villain in his eyes. Or, you can stay and prove yourself worthy of his love, and maybe be allowed a place in his life. The choice is yours."

Belle had nearly wept with relief when Rumplestiltskin had simply turned on his heel and left the gaping Queen standing there. Shortly afterwards, Regina had chosen to remain in Storybrooke, and although occasional spats still arose between the two families, and between the Queen and other town residents, affairs had yet to escalate to the "final battle" stage Rumplestiltskin had prophesied. Regardless, the fairies could frequently be seen at the parameters of their home, making good on their promise to protect Rumplestiltskin and his family and reinforcing the enchantments they had put in place shortly after their return.

"They should return home around noon for lunch," Rumplestiltskin added softly, jolting Belle from her thoughts as he carefully seated himself on the edge of her desk. With a deep sigh Belle rubbed a hand across her eyes, closing the bursting binder of files resting on the desk before her.

"Good," she murmured, lowering her hand and wearily meeting Rumplestiltskin's gaze, "That gives us a couple hours before we have to tell Tootles again that we've still received no news about any living relatives."

To her surprise Rumplestiltskin actually smiled at her words, reaching over to pluck the binder out from in front of her and drop it haphazardly in the wastebasket. Belle gasped at the action, her eyebrows raised in silent inquiry as Rumplestiltskin chuckled and rounded the desk to kneel before her.

"I've been thinking a lot about our search for the lad's parents, and I know you have been as well," he said quietly, reaching out to take both of her hands in his own, "Belle, what if we stopped searching?"

Belle stared down at the man kneeling before her, her mind grappling to understand what he had just asked. Her heart felt as though it might sprint through her ribs, and she knew that if Rumplestiltskin were not holding her hands, they would be trembling.

"Y-you mean, if we became his parents?" She whispered, her throat already beginning to constrict at the wonderful idea.

"We love him as much as we do Bae, and Bae already loves him as a brother," he responded, his broad smile tender as he reached beneath his waistcoat to extract a small stack of papers, "And I know he already considers you his momma."

Belle could not stifle a small, happy sob as she glimpsed all of their names on the forms Rumplestiltskin held: adoption papers.

"And you his papa," she choked around her tearful joy, her quivering lips curving into a smile as she placed the papers onto her desk, before returning her hands to Rumplestiltskin's.

"We need only file these documents, then there will be a hearing in a few weeks to finalize the adoption," he informed her excitedly, his fingers gently squeezing her own, "And then..."

"He'll be ours," Belle finished, her voice caught somewhere between a laugh and a sob, "Oh, Rumple..."

She threw herself into his arms, weeping into his neck with unrestrained happiness. Throughout the past year she had tucked the sweet boy into bed every night, had woken to his laughter every morning, had rejoiced with him when he finished reading his first book, had reasoned him out of the occasional tantrum, and measured his growth on the frame of the kitchen door. To know that she would have many more years of this incredible joy—of motherhood to not just one, but both of these beautiful boys—yet, filled her with more joy than she thought was possible. Laughing, she pressed kiss after kiss to Rumplestiltskin's face, not caring in the slightest that he would likely be covered in rouge when she finished.

"I love you so much," she murmured against his lips as she wound her fingers into his hair. He pulled away briefly, tucking an errant curl behind her ear as he smiled down at her.

"And I love you," he responded softly, before closing the distance between them once more.

Unable to contain the surprise any longer, Rumplestiltskin and Belle told the boys about their plans to adopt Tootles as they lunched on sandwiches and watermelon that afternoon. Tootles, the dear boy, had actually wept at the news, launching himself first into Rumplestiltskin's arms and then Belle's, clinging to her shoulders as he told her he had been "wishing on every single star" that they would keep him. Baelfire's eyes had swum with tears as well, and his beaming smile warred that which he had worn at his parents' wedding.

They had passed the rest of the afternoon and early evening explaining the process to the boys and celebrating with hearty bowls of frozen cream. Bellies full of the delicious dessert and dinner thoroughly spoiled—"Just this once," Belle had allowed with a grin—they had watched the sun set through the hedges in the backyard, squeezed together on the porch swing.

Night now enveloped the town, its canvass of twinkling stars just barely visible through the wispy clouds that seemed omnipresent in coastal Maine's skies. Belle and Tootles sat huddled together on the parlor floor, pouring over a book of names following Tootles' declaration that he wanted to choose a new one, to match his "new family." For a while Rumplestiltskin watched them fondly from the sofa, chuckling with Belle as the tiny boy tried out every moniker that drew his attention.

It was only when Tootles suggested the name Bailey that Rumplestiltskin realized his other son was no longer in the room. Pulling himself to his feet, Rumplestiltskin glanced in the direction of the staircase, glimpsing the faint glow of electric light spilling out from one of the rooms above. Belle looked over her shoulder at him, her brow lightly furrowed in concern. Rumplestiltskin offered a reassuring smile, nodding for her to return to her task with Tootles, before turning and making his way toward the stairs.

When he arrived outside his son's door, he paused, raising his fist to deliver two soft knocks on its wooden surface.

"Come in," Baelfire granted quietly from within the room, and Rumplestiltskin felt a surge of relief at the absence of anger or sadness in the boy's tone. He opened the door and stepped inside the bedroom his son had chosen to be his own, with its off-white walls and wide, east-facing windows.

His son sat cross-legged on the windowsill, a large leather tome open in his lap. As Rumplestiltskin approached, Baelfire closed the book, revealing the glossy letters of the title on the cover: Once Upon a Time.

"Henry let me borrow it," he supplied in response to his father's quirked eyebrow, "It has everyone's story in it, even ours." As though to prove his observation, Baelfire opened the book again, flipping slowly through several of its pages. Rumplestiltskin strode over to him, gently seating himself beside the boy on the sill.

Together they peered down into a vibrantly colored illustration of Neverland's forest, the willows' swaying branches captured so delicately it appeared as though they moved even on the page.

"Remarkable detail," Rumplestiltskin heard himself murmur as his son flipped to another magnificent depiction of the island, this time with two small figures curled beside a fire; he recognized the night as his and Belle's first in Neverland.

Baelfire flipped ahead a number of pages, and Rumplestiltskin's ears suddenly grew uncomfortably hot at the illustration that appeared next. The sketched versions of himself and Belle stood close together in a small cabin, her hands on his chest and he tracing a fingertip along her neck. Their eyelids were heavy and their heads tilted close in clear anticipation of a kiss.

"Too much detail," Baelfire muttered bashfully, and Rumplestiltskin could not smother a chuckle as the boy hastily turned a few more pages.

This time the drawing entailed a pale and unmoving Baelfire lying prone on the beach, Belle and Rumplestiltskin crouched at his side, their faces crumpled in grief as their initial attempts to resuscitate the boy continued to fail. Rumplestiltskin's chest tightened at the memory of the sheer hopelessness that had caved in around him when his boy remained lifeless.

He felt Baelfire stiffen at his side, and a glance through the corner of his eye revealed the gravity of his son's expression. Although his son had already known the lengths to which they had striven to save him, Rumplestiltskin imagined that seeing the nightmarish experience so blatantly depicted on paper only reopened the wounds of that fateful day.

Slowly, the boy proceeded to the next page, the picture on which depicted Rumplestiltskin, his fingertips glowing violet, using the last of his magic to save his son. A small smile curved Baelfire's lips as he gazed down at the vivid image, but it was short-lived when another page depicted the lad apparently berating his father, his eyes painted almost completely black. Rumplestiltskin heard Baelfire inhale deeply at the sight, his hand stilling at the corner of the page.

Concerned that his son was allowing himself to feel guilt for the scathing words he had dealt under Hook's influence, Rumplestiltskin gingerly turned to the next page. This time, the detailed painting illustrated them both huddled on the floor of a cabin, Baelfire clutching his father's shirt in earnest while Rumplestiltskin's arms enveloped him.

Rumplestiltskin watched his son intently, his own eyes following Baelfire's as they darted back and forth across the page, taking in the words inked there.

"...'a father never willing to let go,'" the boy read aloud in a voice just louder than a whisper and thick with emotion.

Their eyes met then, and Baelfire silently pulled himself to his feet, placing the magical storybook carefully on the windowsill behind him. He turned to face Rumplestiltskin, his expression solemn and eyes unblinking.

"What is it, son?" Rumplestiltskin asked quietly, rising to his feet as well.

Without another moment's hesitation, Baelfire stepped forward and embraced his father, pressing his cheek against the man's shoulder.

Sighing contently, Rumplestiltskin curled his arms about his son, laying his head atop his dark curls. Even after more than a year with his brave boy by his side, Rumplestiltskin still marveled at every moment they shared.

"Thank you, Papa," Baelfire whispered, tightening his grip briefly.

"For what?" Rumplestiltskin asked, frowning slightly in his confusion.

"Everything," the boy responded quietly, before pulling away gently and grinning up at his father.

Not for the first time, Rumplestiltskin found himself at a loss for words in the face of his son's maturity and good heart. It was a bittersweet notion, knowing that he had missed out on so many of the moments that had transformed the boy into the young man that stood before him now. But, they were building a new life together, and with his wife and two sons to wake up to every morning, Rumplestiltskin could not compel himself to regret their past.

He returned Baelfire's smile, clapping a hand on his shoulder, which was now nearly parallel to his own. For a long moment they simply gazed at each other, before a contemplative look suddenly entered Baelfire's eyes.

"You know," the boy began, turning to retrieve the book they had been reading, "It's missing something, our story."

"Oh?" Rumplestiltskin responded, turning to look at the open tome as well, "And what is that?"

"A proper title," Baelfire answered thoughtfully, tracing the words printed above the illustration with a fingertip, "It shouldn't be called Peter Pan; it's not just about one person."

Rumplestiltskin's eyebrows raised in interest, a soft smile upturning the corners of his lips as he waited for the boy to continue.

"The force that tore us apart is the same one that brought us together. None of this," he continued, glancing around the room, at the makings of their happy ending, "Would have been possible if we hadn't all been, well..." His voice trailed off, his expression growing pensive.

"What?" Rumplestiltskin prompted gently.

The corner of Baelfire's mouth twitched into a half-smile as his eyes found their printed story once more. Rumplestiltskin followed his gaze, and watched in amazement as the winding, calligraphic letters of the title suddenly began to reshape themselves. They twisted about each other, most of them vanishing until a single, faintly glowing word gradually manifested on the page in stark, black text.

"Hooked."

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A/N: Thank you all for reading this far! We are truly , truly blessed to have received so much wonderful support and feedback. We also have some incredible news: our story is in the running for Best Multi-Chapter Fan Fiction at the 2013 Once Upon a Fan Awards, along with two other amazing stories! You can vote for your favorite story as well as other categories by going to Google and typing in OUAF Awards 2013. We hope you have enjoyed this epic adventure as much as we have! :) Thank you again!