27

Darkness beckoned him.

Even as he stood on the sunlit pier in the middle of the crisply and bitterly bright day, even as he looked into the shining, hopeful sky-blue eyes of the girl he loved; even as his eyes watered at the blinding glow of their renewed bond, unrestricted by any of his self-imposed curses now – even then he felt it, this horrible shadow looming behind his back. Shapeless and misty, it swirled behind him like some menacing fog, creeping slowly closer, tentatively reaching its' tentacles to touch his shoulder, and then to back away before he turned and caught a glimpse of it. Even as he stared directly in front of him, unwilling to take his eyes off Belle's retreating back after she bid him her tearful farewell – oh, how her shoulders sagged, though she tried to walk resolutely; oh, how clearly he saw the effort it took her to make each step look firm – how he ached for her, how much he wanted to catch up with her, turn her back, kiss her, and never let her go… Even as he stared at her, unblinking, unwilling to lose a single moment while he still could see her – even then the darkness was there, by his side, lurking at the corner of his eye, wanting to take over, to obscure everything; to steal from him this last, small consolation – the last look at the woman he loved, and would never see again.

The farther she walked away from him, the stronger he felt the darkness, breathing its' damp and cold and poisonous breath on his back, sending a shiver down his spine. As he stepped upon the deck of the ship and was forced to take his eyes off her, to seemingly concentrate on people around him, on tasks at hand, his mind was elsewhere: he was already facing the darkness. It still was not complete; thick gloom surrounding him was still illuminated with something from within. The light of their love, the lifeline of their bond glowed in the mist, rather like the lights of a lonely car looming through the damp fog during a night ride across abandoned roads.

Their love that was so strong and stubborn. Love that she believed in so blindly. Love that was supposed to overcome everything yet failed and tortured them on every turn. So powerful, and so futile. It refused to let go. It called to him, made stronger by the parting words that Belle spoke to him. 'I will see you again'. She put a spell on him at their parting, just as she did many years ago in his castle, cursing him into eternal dependence upon her small chipped cup. He wondered if she saw the resemblance of these two scenes, if she understood the bitter irony of it all. He abandoned her out of selfishness and cowardice then, yet her spell, meant to wreck him, actually made him stronger, for it gave him a symbol of his love to hold on to in the harshest times. He abandoned her for a noble and selfless cause now, yet her spell, meant to give him hope, actually brought him despair, for it filled his parting with life with agony.

It would have been so much easier to die if there was no love. It would have been so much easier to die, to slip into darkness and peace, if he had nothing to lose. He had lost his son; he had no will and no purpose to live; death would have been easy – painless; a deliverance. Yet nothing in his life ever came easy or painless to him. And the fact that She, the girl that always brought him light and hope, by loving him so strongly robbed him of the painless death made him laugh bitterly as he sat in the cabin below deck, having escaped the bickering and the tension between members of their ill-assorted expedition.

The worried face of Snow White, the mindless heroics of her husband, Regina's heartbreaking fear for her boy, suppressed flirting between Emma and her pirate – he could not stand all that. All these emotions were eating away at him, wearing him off, and it took him enormous effort of will to stop himself from snarling at them: 'You don't have to do anything – you don't even have to go unto the cursed island. You will do nothing to help the boy – you cannot save him. The only thing that needs to be done, the only thing that would save him is me facing my past and dying. The rest of you are just a dead weight. Forgive the pun!' But that, of course, would not do. He would have to explain too many things, to reveal too many secrets. It would waste him, and distract him, and weaken his resolve. So he did not snarl at them – he hadn't said a single word to them. He found himself a place for solitude; he sat in the corner in the dark cabin, closed his eyes, and placed his hands on the top of his cane. To any observer he would have appeared sleeping, albeit uncomfortably, or in deep prayer.

He looked reposed. Yet inside he was screaming with pain.

Inside, he was living his life through, over and over again, thinking of the mistakes he made, of the guilt he carried; of betrayals, of hurt. Of love. He was thinking of the first moment when he saw his boy, and held him in his arms, his heart going out towards the babe, changing forever. He was thinking of the first moment when he saw Belle, defiant, beautiful, shining; of all the hopes and fears and trills he felt then. He was thinking of the things he did wrong – thousands of them. He was thinking of all the things he did right; not so many of them, and each one precious. He was thinking of her warm, soft lips, salty with tears. Of her eyes, holding him to her. Of the silkiness of her hair under his touch. He was thinking of her heart, given to him for better and worse; the 'better' never came, the 'worse' was the only thing left to them. 'I will see you again', she said. Oh sweet, sweet, naïve and wonderful girl… Why doesn't she know her power, why doesn't she ever realize the force that her every word carries? She could have phrased it in so many different ways, that spell she used to bind him to her. She could have said that he will come back, that they will see each other, that they will be together. But no; she used a phrase that did not involve him into her well-wishing. She will see him again, he had no doubt of that – magic happened when she said the words, so they will come to pass. She will see him again – it is just that he will not see her, for he will be dead.

Why, oh way does she have to love him so? Why is her love so powerful so as to break all his defenses, leave him open and naked at the face of inevitable end, bringing on new pain, the kind of which he never felt before? He felt the pain of loss and betrayal. He felt the pain of loneliness and isolation. Yet now, when she loved him fully, as he loved her, came a pain that was new to him: the pain that he would inflict on her by dying. The pain she would feel when he would be gone.

He never knew what a terrible burden it is to be loved; what a responsibility. Our very existence is a blessing and a curse for people who love us. We exist, and sometimes it is enough, even in separation. We perish, and there is nothing that can fill the void. He knew how he felt when he lost her – when he lost Bae. Imagine, just imagine her feeling the same pain and desolation, as he would lay dead in her arms.

He shuddered, his eyes still closed.

Yet it will come to pass: he will die, and she will see him dead, for she herself willed it.

He sat in silence, unaware of the tears slowly trickling down his cheeks, escaping closed eyelids. He heard nothing; his mind was closed to the outside world, yet open to the deep pit of despair; he felt nothing other than the softness of her lips, and the agony of her loss. The glow of her love rested on his palm, resisting the darkness, and instead of bringing hope and relief the small flame scorched his skin, burning him to the bone.

And all around him the darkness was gathering, getting deeper and deeper the farther they went into the magic waters, the closer they got to the cursed domain of his cursed father. The land ruled by shadows, the land of eternal night. It was so strange to contemplate that this island used to be a place of sunlight and fun, a place children dreamed of as paradise of happy oblivion. When he first came here, as a little boy, it was light and it felt warm, despite the clouded sky. What soiled this place? Were that perhaps his own bitter tears, the tears that he shed as he sat there alone, having lost his father and feeling completely alone in the world? Or was it the extreme horror his childish heart felt as he was ultimately betrayed by this father, dragged away from him by the terrible Shadow, growing old and wise in an instant – the very same instant that his father changed into a child in front of his eyes? His childhood ended here, on this island – at the age of six he became an old man, bitter and lonely. His father's eternal childhood started here, and as he lived through his many, many endlessly careless years, the place grew darker and darker. He looked at it, sometimes, through his crystal ball; the sun never rose over magical woods and sandy shores. His father never changed as he himself grew up and started aging; and, as he himself got caught in the trap of immortality brought on by his dark powers, their lives suddenly felt… balanced. They were equals and opposites, parts of the whole: a father eternally unnaturally young, a son eternally unnaturally old. They were bonded together by something much, much stronger than blood; they were bonded by magic.

That was why, when the Seer told him of the young boy that would be his undoing, he needed not to look into the future to see who that boy was. It was a weakness, a mere distraction of the mind to entertain a thought that it might be his grandson. He knew, deep in his heart, exactly who that 'boy' will be.

His father.

He had a vision of them, embracing, disappearing into the darkness together.

He knew that the only way to defeat his father is to kill him. No tricks will do; he'd find no loopholes. He who loves nothing but himself cannot be destroyed by anything other than himself. His father's only weakness lay in the price he paid for his youth. That price was his son's ruined, botched life, and that life was the only thing that held him in the world; extinguish it, and Pan would perish. Just as simple as that.

His father loves nothing. He has nothing to lose.

His father's death will be painless.

His would not. He will die flooded with pain of the girl who loves him – feeling her die with him. Just as simple as that.

He suddenly feels very cold, and opens his eyes. Something in the world changed – the ship stopped moving, and everything around is filled with unnatural calm.

The darkness is not just behind him now – it is all around him, but holding its' distance. Waiting, ready to pounce at the slightest sign of weakness.

They have arrived.

His father is waiting for him. His fate is waiting for him.

He looks himself over and notices that his clothes have changed – he is dressed into the sort of garment he used to wear in the Enchanted Forest, and the time when he first met Her… At the thought of her, the darkness stirs, and he quenches the image of her smiling face; don't, don't think of her – through your longing and fear the darkness will invade your soul, and destroy you, he tells himself.

He gives a wry smile, noting that the garment he wears is black. Did he wish it so? Or is it a sign of darkness literally clinging to his skin?

He walks up the deck, realizing along the way that he doesn't need his cane any more: of course not, they are in the land of magic. He ignores the stares and the protestations of the rest of the 'team'. He has no need of them; no one really needs spectators to one's death.

He leaves them to their fears and troubles.

He steps ashore through the air, treading darkness as if it were solid matter.

Finally, he is alone, and ready to face it, and darkness starts shifting again – not just as a mist or a fog, as before; there is conscience behind the movement, darkness rearranges itself, wishing to greet him.

Standing on the windswept sand, he suddenly finds himself looking into the huge, dark, looming image of his father's youthful face – smiling at him. And the light of Belle's love, which still manages to penetrate the gloom, is transformed into a gleam in the darkness's eyes.

And then the face is gone, and he is alone with the wind, the whisper of the trees, and the sound of children weeping in the stillness on the night; and amongst their voices he seems to recognize his own.