A/N: Hello all, and welcome to Once Sunday! I haven't had a chance to watch the premiere yet, as I wanted to get this chapter finished tonight without the new season's premiere flavoring my outlook on the show at all. I've got it lined up to go, so I'll keep this initial note short and leave my remarks for the end.
(Edited and updated 11/14/2015)
A Gambit in Trust
Neal I
Neal knew people. How to read them, to talk to them, to get them around to his way of thinking or figure out their next play before they did. With enough prep time, he felt confident he could be thrown into any situation and be able to talk his way out of it, but he found himself at a loss as he fell victim to speechlessness.
What could you possibly say to a kid after finding out he was your son?
Neal couldn't come up with something, but forced his brain to work as the kid looked more and more uncomfortable with each passing moment. Alright Neal, he thought, just start talking.
"So, what toppings do you want? Mushrooms, olives?" Brilliant Cassidy. Just what the kid wants to talk about. After a quick stop back at his apartment – avoiding his father on the way – to make himself not look like a hobo fresh off the street, Neal offered to treat the kid to lunch, early as it was. The boy agreed readily enough, and Emma did not seem to have it in her to say no to him.
It didn't stop her from following, though. Neal figured she and his father were a good couple dozen feet behind them. Far enough away to give the illusion of privacy, but close enough to come running.
The kid – Henry, he repeated the name to himself, committing it to memory – shrugged. "Never really had anything but pepperoni." He looked up at the buildings in awe as they walked, and Neal wondered if he had ever been to a city before. He marked that as conversation possibility number two and adopted a scandalized tone.
"That's it? Well this guy we're going to see, Vinny, he can work magic with a brick oven. Anything you want to try from anchovies to pineapple, he can make it happen."
Henry scrunched up his nose. "Pineapple?"
Neal chuckled. "I've seen weirder. Saw one guy ask for Oreos and fries on his."
"That sounds gross," Henry said with a grimace.
"Yeah, but you should've seen how happy he was when Vinny actually made it. He has a gift for making people's days."
"With pizza?"
"Gotta enjoy the little things, kid," Neal said with a smile. Henry looked taken aback for a second before nodding.
They rounded the block next to Neal's apartment and found Vinny's pizzeria deserted. As good as he was, Neal mused, it wasn't even eleven yet. It was a small place, taking up part of the first floor in a shorter than average high-rise. The front of house was simple, a dozen tiny tables that sat two a piece lined the wall alongside the building's entrance made mostly of plexiglass windows, with the cash counter not five feet beyond. The wall behind was decorated with a mix of memorabilia from every New York sports team – even the Liberty – which was only broken up by the door that led to the back of house.
Vinny was never in this early, but Neal heard at least one of his minions moving around in the kitchen. "So what'll it be?"
"I think I should just stick with pepperoni…"
Neal acted shocked. "What? Where's your sense of adventure? We're all in new territory here, Henry. Go bold!" He held his hands wide, and his enthusiasm must have been infections because Henry grinned.
"Alright. What do you think is good?" Neal smiled, summoned Vinny's cook, and went all in for an insane number of toppings. "What did you just order?" Henry asked after the pizza guy went back to the kitchen.
"Something very delicious and extremely unhealthy."
Neal chose one of the tiny tables and brushed up on his small talking ability. From school (he enjoyed history), to hobbies (he was learning how to fight with a sword from his grandfather, Prince Charming), Neal kept the conversation light. Henry seemed to be a talker, content to get a topic and run with it with minimal prodding, and seemed more at ease with each passing moment.
The entire time he could see Emma and his father on the opposite side of the street, watching the restaurant. Neither looked thrilled.
It was when Henry's eyes widened at the sight of their lunch, Neal decided he was enjoying himself as well.
"Don't think my mom would let me have this," Henry said even as he took a slice towering with every type of meat the dough could hold, grinning from ear to ear.
Amused, Neal said, "I never pictured Emma as someone who would be much of a disciplinarian." He took his own slice and embraced heaven.
Henry swallowed a gargantuan bite. "I meant my other mom," he said with an apologetic smile. "I'm pretty sure Emma would be all in on this."
Neal blinked, mind firing off to several interesting conclusions. "Other mom?"
"Yeah," he said around another mouthful of food. "She's the mayor, or used to be before Emma broke the curse." He considered for a moment. "You know about the curse, right?"
Only what a crazy asshole on a motorcycle claimed, Neal thought. "A little," he said instead, still caught up in the first revelation. "This other mom. Are she and Emma… together?"
Henry furrowed his brows in confusion before realization clicked and his mouth formed an 'O' of recognition. "I don't think so?" He asked more than said. "They didn't really like each other for a long time, and only started talking because Cora's after my mom and Emma wants to protect her. They are spending a lot of time with each other, though." He shrugged, eyes going out of focus as he thought.
Neal grunted, getting more questions by the moment. "Who's Cora?"
"My mom's mom," Henry said, coming back to earth. "Even Mr. Gold is afraid of her, at least a little bit." Henry nodded toward Neal's father, and Neal had to stop himself from cracking up at the pretentious pseudonym.
"I think you're going to need to start at the beginning, kid. Might need a couple graphs and diagrams to wrap my head around this."
Thirty minutes, a pizza, and a pair of sundaes later, and Neal was left wondering how Henry could possibly have made it to almost the age of twelve with as good a heart as he possessed.
"And what was your mother's name?" Henry asked as he tried to fill out his family tree on an unfolded napkin.
"Milah." Henry grinned and scribbled the name down just above Neal's. He looked to his son in wonder.
Growing up in a town frozen in time where he was the only one that aged, living under the thumb of a woman who earned the title 'Evil Queen,' and having to be the one to not only bring Emma to the impossible town, but also convince her that magic was real and that she had a destiny?
"Henry," he said, and the boy looked up from his drawing with his wide, inquisitive eyes. "You're a good kid." He grinned at the praise and bowed his head. Neal slid the family tree toward his side of the table and studied it, shaking his head. The thing was almost a circle at this point.
"So…" Henry spoke as Neal tried to wrap his head around the day he'd been having. "How did you and Emma meet?" He was glad that he was not looking at Henry in that second, because he could not stop the panicked expression from flickering across his features.
It was probably not a good idea to tell your kid that you met their mother when you both accidentally stole the same car.
"I think that story," he said as he schooled his expression. "Is best left until later." Henry pouted for a moment, but followed Neal's example when he stood from their table. He slapped a pair of twenties on the counter. "But we should probably face the music." He nodded toward Emma and his father, still standing across the way.
"Are you going to talk to him?" Henry asked in a hesitant tone. Neal shoved his hands in his pockets and kept his tone neutral.
"I don't think he's going to leave me much of a choice."
"I think he's just as nervous as you are."
Neal grimaced. "Nervous isn't the word I'd use." Henry raised a skeptical eyebrow.
"Then why are we just standing here?" Neal looked to his son with an empty chuckle. If there was an easy way to explain decades of simmering anger, frustration, and depression, Neal did not know it. Instead, he let Henry have the win and held the door open for the kid.
"Henry," he said after spotting Emma's anxious expression as they crossed the street. "Try not to hold Emma lying about me against her." Henry's hands balled into fists and he stared at his feet as they walked. "Ten years ago I did a bad thing, and I don't think she ever thought she would see me again."
Neal had thought the same.
"Doesn't make it okay to lie. It doesn't make her right." Neal had to hand it to this former mayor slash evil queen. The kid had a well-developed set of morals.
"No," Neal agreed. "But it makes her human."
"Aren't you mad?"
Neal chewed on the thought for a moment, trying to figure out how to word his answer. "Yes and no," he said. "I'm upset that I didn't know about you before, but I understand why Emma decided to give you up." He rested a hand between his son's shoulders. It unnerved him how natural the act seemed. "She was trying to give you your best chance. And that was not with me."
Henry didn't say anything as they reached the opposite sidewalk, but he did not shake away Neal's hand, either.
"Hey," Emma said in a quiet voice. Her shoulders sagged as she crossed her arms, looking every bit the frightened girl Neal knew once upon a time. The kid stayed quiet.
"Hey." Neal returned, if only to fill the quiet. He nodded to the man behind Emma. "Papa," he said in way of greeting. May as well start trying to set a good example for the kid.
"Bae…" His father's tone echoed with a hundred different emotions, regret the most prominent of them all.
He swallowed bile. "Henry's convinced me to give you a shot." He ignored how his father's entire demeanor brightened. "Where are you parked?"
"A garage. A couple miles from your home."
Twenty minutes, max, he thought and gathered his will. You can do this. "Lead the way."
They made it two blocks into the trip before Neal's father figured out he was going to have to be the one to break the silence.
"Baelfire…" The Dark One mulled over with indecision. The brief sound of his father's voice was enough for Neal to realize he did not want to hear it at all, and he forced himself to remember his kid –his kid – was watching from not far behind them.
"Don't know what to say? How many years has it been?" Neal had lost count with all the time that blended together when he was stranded on Neverland. "Never thought of an opening line? Some excuse?"
"I never stopped searching," his father said, emphatic. "Every day… every moment I spent searching for a way to find you. And I've done it, Bae." He reached out a hand toward Neal's shoulder, but Neal jerked it away, drawing odd looks from several passersby.
"Seems to me that you could have made it a lot easier on yourself," Neal said with a sneer. "If you chose your son over your power."
"I made a mistake." He acknowledged, tone still earnest "The worst of my life. I wasn't strong enough then, and I am truly sorry, Bae." The old man's voice hitched with emotion, and Neal considered the possibility that he was being genuine. "But I'm here now, and you have a son yourself. We could be a family again."
Neal glanced behind him to see Emma easing a few words from Henry and they had fallen a good dozen yards behind. A part of Neal that he longed to deny existed sparked in a mild hope, but he crushed it. He knew the Dark One too well. "Did you know? About Henry?"
"I knew the savior would return on her twenty-eighth birthday to break the curse. I had no idea she would have a child." He cocked his head to the side with a smile. "Much less that that child would be yours."
"What a coincidence," Neal said, deadpan.
"The strings of fate can be fickle things." His father agreed with a tight, wry grin. "Henry is the one that convinced Emma to come to Storybrooke in the first place. His unending faith in magic was the only reason she was able to believe. In a way, he is responsible for our reunion."
"And if he knew the entire story, I doubt he would have wanted to bring us together." Neal laughed a dour chuckle. "I'm curious what you've had to do, what evils you've committed, all in the name of returning to the son you abandoned."
"I did whatever I had to do," his father said. There was no hesitation from the man, a sign of surest confidence of having done the right thing. "And I don't regret a moment of the time I've spent making up for my failing."
Neal shook his head, sick to his stomach. "Of course not," he said. "Henry mentioned that you still have your powers. Is that true?"
The man nodded, his brief burst of confidence waning. "As long as I remain in the confines of Storybrooke, I do possess my magic, yes."
"Must've been a wonderful thing in your head." Neal said, barely keeping a rising anger in check. "Keeping your magic and finding your son welcoming you back with open arms? One hell of a dream, Papa."
"Son—"
"No." Neal put a hand to his father's chest, bringing them both to a stop. For a split second, an expression of sheer incredulity crossed his father's features. "Don't even bother. You haven't changed, Papa."
"You aren't even giving me a chance, Bae." His father was the picture of desperate frustration, fidgeting with his cane.
"My name is Neal." He was acutely aware of Henry and Emma catching up, wearing matching pensive expressions. "And I stopped being your son the moment I landed in London without a father." He made to stride away, but his father's cane hooked around his arm. He could have broken the hold with ease, and in a flash of petulant immaturity he considered yanking the cane away entirely. He pushed it back as he felt Henry's eyes on him.
He met his father's eyes, and the man spoke with shades of the man Neal once knew shining through. "You never stopped being my son. Do you want to know how I know?"
He paused, a silent prompt for Neal to ask, but he remained silent and his father continued on, unperturbed by the lack of response.
"You are a survivor. You were little more than a child, thrust into a world so very different from our own. The odds were against you, but you found a way." His father grinned a smirk of pride. "Even as the years flowed past until a mortal man would have perished; even as I watched entire generations come and go; I never once doubted that I would find you whole and well. And here you are."
"Not by choice," Neal said, trying to block out the memories of Pan's hell from resurfacing. "It wasn't something I tried to do. It just… happened." He started moving again rather than stand under three sets of curious eyes. "And I would have traded it all," he said, making sure his voice would carry. "For the life we would have had."
"We could have that still." His father rushed to catch up, cane thumping in rhythm with his quick gait. "You just have to be willing to give me a chance."
Neal sighed and glanced back once again. Henry seemed to have taken his advice and was chattering at Emma again, though the woman still looked off her game. A bundle of old emotions rose to the surface at the sight, but Neal simply didn't have the brainspace to process them at the moment.
"You've done nothing," he said, turning his attention forward. "But go further down the path that caused all of this in the first place." He shook his head. "There's no reason for me to trust that you've changed." He looked his father in the eyes as he finished, hoping to drive his point home. "Once you get back in that car and leave New York, we're done."
The man's frown deepened with every passing word with the lines aging his face standing out, scars of time gone by. When he spoke, Neal had to wonder if the words tasted as bitter as they sounded. "You will come around." Neal could not help the laugh that bubbled up. Sharp eyes cut toward him. "You will doubtlessly wish to be a part of Henry's life."
"And you have no way of stopping it," Neal said.
The man's brows rose in surprise. "I wouldn't dream of it." He almost sounded insulted. "But in order to be part of Henry's life." He held up his free hand, palm skyward. "You will have to come to Storybrooke." He flipped his hand, fingers splayed. "And I will be there, always."
"I'm sure I can manage without seeing you."
"But Henry is a curious boy," he said with a cheerful edge to his voice. The hairs on the back of Neal's neck stood on end. "And he just found out that I'm his grandfather." He glanced behind them, eyes soft. "He'll have questions, I'm sure."
"You're blackmailing me." Neal wondered if it was a good thing he could even be surprised anymore.
"I wouldn't dream of it, but I know Henry, and I know his heart." He smiled. It was a vicious thing, and Neal had only ever seen it after the power had taken his father. "And he will seek to repair our shattered bond, no matter how long it takes." Neal attempted to think of a retort, but his thoughts grinded to a halt at the sight that greeted them as they turned the corner.
Glass was scattered all over the sidewalk and street, all having been knocked out the windows of older car straight from the nineties. From the distance, Neal could see two of its tires had been slashed open until the tread had been ripped completely from the wheel well. From the way the car leaned, he assumed the other pair had received the same treatment.
"Let me guess," Neal said, embracing the shit show that was his morning. "That's your car."
"Yes." His father's face was set in a scowl and he stalked forward with the thunk-thunk of his cane striking against asphalt in a rhythm matching his purposeful pace.
Emma and Henry came around the corner a moment later and stopped in their tracks. Emma took one look at the situation before her body language morphed from weary anxiousness to hyper aware and ready for conflict. "Stay close behind me Henry," she said while reaching to the small of her back. Neal heard the snap of a metal latch being released and his eyebrows raised in surprise.
He hadn't realized she'd been packing.
She didn't draw the weapon, but held it in a feather-light grip as she stepped past him, cutting him a sideways glance but otherwise not acknowledging his presence. Henry followed his mother with no hesitation in his steps. Only his wide eyes and flexing hands gave away his anxiousness.
With a shake of his head and little in the way of choices, Neal jogged after them. None of the other cars lining the sidewalk had been touched, which meant personal. Neal's father had brought one of his enemies here with him. Someone with one hell of a grudge, he supposed, as the damage seemed worse the closer they got to the relic.
It was a shame too. His father did not lack for taste, and Neal figured the old Caddy might have been quite something before the beating
The tires had been slashed and long, shallow cuts covered the entire vehicle's body. The mirrors were nowhere to be seen, and the word 'CROCODILE' had been carved across the hood. Emma saw the word and immediately began scanning their surroundings.
Neal thought he would be immune to surprises, but the bottom of his stomach still fell out. "Hook's here too?"
"You know Captain Hook?" Henry asked, surprised.
"Another one of those long stories, kid. " Neal reached a careful hand into one of the cuts, testing its depth and edge. It had been made by a sword. Likely a cutlass, he judged from the depth and angle. "Let's just say Neverland isn't what Disney makes it out to be." Henry's eyes went to the size of saucers as he muttered 'Neverland is real…' under his breath.
His father recoiled at the mention of the realm and stared at him, rivaling his grandson's expression. "You were in Neverland?" Neal was put off by the mild panic in the man's voice, but nodded. "Baelfire…" That way he said the name held the most genuine regret Neal had ever heard from the Dark One.
"Can we reminisce later?" Emma spun in a slow circle, having drawn her gun. "We need to get out of here."
"Shouldn't we call the police?" Henry asked.
"I get the feeling we don't have the time." Her eyes darted from building to building, alley to alley.
"And what makes you think that, Miss Swan?" His father shook himself from his surprise and cast his gaze around with a cool precision.
"Because we're the only ones on the street, and it's the middle of the day in New York City." Neal blinked, disbelieving, but Emma was right. The street his father had parked on was far from the bustling heart of New York - the buildings didn't exceed about ten stories and were mostly marked as office residential use, but there was no activity. "Any idea how he managed to leave the town, Gold?" Emma asked, still keeping her head on a swivel.
"He was never affected by the original curse. It stands to reason he doesn't have to deal with the side effects."
Emma cursed and jogged toward the alley across the way in a burst of urgent motion. Neal hurried after her, finding her kneeling next to a short, heavyset man lying face down on the asphalt, his red knit hat flopping in the breeze. The rest of him was completely motionless as Emma checked for a pulse.
"Is he okay?" Henry asked, his voice small. He stood just behind Neal, his young face pale. Neal put a reassuring hand on his shoulder. The kid did not seem to notice.
"Just knocked out, I think." Emma grunted as she hoisted herself back up, looking further down the alleyway. "There's more down there." Neal could make out at least a dozen people passed out, their positions making it look like someone had dragged them into a haphazard pile. The sight sent a chill down his spine.
"That's... not natural," he said.
"How could he have done it?" Henry asked.
"Magic, most likely." the Dark One limped up and glanced toward the piled bodies with a light grimace. He tapped the shawl he wore. "He must have stolen some artifact and brought it with him."
"Your shop?" Emma asked the man.
"Impossible," he said without hesitation.
"Then where could—" Emma cut herself off, shaking her head and shouldering past them back onto the street. "Doesn't matter," she said and braced both hands on her gun. "We need to get back to Neal's apartment. At least get somewhere public."
"We can't just leave them here!" Henry's voice raised more in surprise than anger. "We've got to help them!" Emma stopped short, her eyes locked on the ground at her feet. She did not answer, and Neal knew she had to be trying to figure out how to explain to the kid she was putting his wellbeing above those of strangers.
"That wouldn't be the heroic thing to do, would it, Savior?" A voice Neal had not heard in decades called out in time with two gray screens of light that zipped across the street five feet away from them on both sides like a fire down a fuse. The faint hum of active magic persisted even after the light faded.
Neal made the leap of logic that they were trapped and ancient instincts grumbled and protested as he tried to pull them to the surface. He began to stretch as subtly as he could manage, limbering up for a fight.
"Fairy dust," his father said in disgust.
"Hook!" Emma shouted, backing closer to Henry to put herself between him and the source of the voice. "Rethink what you're doing here, we've got you outnumbered!" Neal closed ranks alongside her, scanning the area and trying to spot the pirate.
"You know," he spoke to calm his fight or flight nerves. "I was having a pretty good week." Nobody acknowledged him as Hook poked his head out of the door to the building across the way. Emma had her gun trained on him in a split second and Hook pulled back.
"I'd advise you take the shot the moment you have it, Miss Swan." His father spoke with a forced calm and Neal was curiously reminded of the days before his fourteenth birthday, when the soldiers had threatened to take him away. "He will not show mercy, I suggest you extend the same courtesy."
Neal recognized it as a trace of fear; something he had not seen from the man since before he had taken up the dagger.
"All things considered, I'd rather not have to shoot anyone today." She spoke quietly but firmly before turning up the volume. "You've got no play here, Hook!"
"That is where I disagree!" Hook stepped into the doorway, but he wasn't alone. He had a brunette held in front of him, her arms pinned behind her back and his hook pressed underneath her chin. She had been gagged by a length of rope, and her brown eyes shone with fear as Hook marched them down the stoop and onto the road with slow steps until he and Emma stood on opposite sidewalks. A pair locked in a high noon duel.
The woman's long, grey-blue tunic fluttered in the breeze at her ankles, and Neal recognized it as a habit. Incredulous, Neal wondered how in the hell Hook had found a nun to hold hostage.
Emma cursed under her breath in a steady stream, stepping forward again. Her gun did not waver, but the woman Hook held hostage stood only a few inches shorter than him. There was no way Emma would get a clean shot.
"Let her go, Hook." The steel in Emma's voice brooked no argument.
The pirate laughed. "I've always found the use of ranged weaponry in these situations as a type of cowardice," he said. "Perhaps if you tossed yours over the barrier, we could discuss a friendly trade." He wore a jaunty grin.
"Not happening." Emma took another step forward and braced herself in a shooter's stance, legs wide and shoulders square. The nun's eyes widened as Hook's jovial expression fell.
"Now that would be plain foolish," he said. He traced the point of his hook up his hostage's jawline until it looped around the gag. He yanked it free and the nun yelped as the rope's violent motion abraded her pale skin. "Tell her just how bad of an idea that would be, love."
The nun didn't speak, from defiance or fear Neal could not guess.
"Has he hurt you at all, Nova?" Emma asked, eyes not leaving the three inches of Hook's exposed head. Neal blinked in surprise.
"You know her?" That made the situation all the trickier.
"I-I'm not Nova. Why does everyone keep calling me that?" Apparently not, Neal concluded. The nun shivered as Hook's cold steel pressed into her neck again. She squeezed her eyes shut and Neal spotted a few tears leak out. "Sheriff please, I don't even know what's going on. I woke up hogtied on a godforsaken pirate ship."
"Shit," Emma muttered, wincing with regret shining in her eyes.
"The curse…" Henry said, the picture of fear, anger, and sadness.
"Sister Astrid." The hostage's gaze snapped to focus at the name and she looked to Emma in desperation. "I'm getting you out of this." Neal felt lost at the back and forth.
"Heartwarming," Hook said, jerking Astrid tighter against him. "The weapon, Swan, or I open up her throat."
"You do that and you get a bullet between the eyes." Emma's words were ice. "You'd get to die knowing Rumplestiltskin outlived you."
"Emma-" Henry sounded incredulous, but Emma cut him off with a sharp shush before he continue. The kid fell quiet, and Neal noticed him shaking. Despite everything, Neal figured the kid's life had been relatively mundane. Seeing his innocence shatter was not something the former vagabond wished to see.
Neal repositioned himself to block the kid's view entirely.
"I had the suspicion you might be difficult, Swan, but I always come prepared." Neal braced himself for more magic or another form of trickery, but Hook made no move. He just stared between Emma and his target with his cocksure grin unwavering.
The crunch of glass behind them was their only warning.
The four of them whirled around to find the red-capped man very much awake with a sword flying toward Emma's face mid-swing. A moment of panic froze Neal in place as old fighting instincts clawed their way back to the surface. They did not come in time to help his ex.
Emma tried to bring her weapon around, but the man was far too close for her to aim and her desperate shot missed its mark, shattering a car window across the way.
"Smee?" Neal's father seemed frozen as well, eyes wide.
Henry reacted faster than any of them and saved his mother's life.
Smee had chosen poor angle of attack and leaned most of his mass forward in a power swing above Henry's head, so when the kid kicked the man's shin with all his might, Smee's leg flew out from under him and pitched him to the left. Smee yelped in surprised pain, his battle face melting into shock as he tumbled forward. His slice went fell short of its mark, cutting along Emma's arm rather than cleaving her face in two.
"Fuck!" Emma cursed and hissed in pain as scarlet bloomed through the brown leather of her jacket, her gun falling to the asphalt as she gripped the wound with her good hand out of instinct. Neal's mind finally flipped into action mode even as his father started wailing on the downed Smee with his cane, earning high pitched cries from the ambusher.
Neal took quick stock of their position and found Hook charging at them with his cutlass drawn, the nun laying in a heap on the ground behind him. Neal reached for Emma's fallen gun and brought it up to aim, but the metal was heavy and foreign in his hands, his grip clumsy. Hook ducked and rolled at the sight of the weapon, and Neal couldn't track the pirate fast enough as he closed the gap quicker than Neal expected.
Hook took a page out of Henry's book and drove his shoulders into Neal's legs below the knee. Neal had no hope of keeping balance and tried to throw out his hands to brace himself, but the ground rushed up too quickly for him and his face became well acquainted with the asphalt, his head snapping back from the whiplash.
The world blurred around him and he tried to roll over, but Neal received a shallow slash across the back for his troubles.
"Stay down, Baelfire." Neal knew he was concussed as his brain registered regret in the pirate's voice. He groaned his protest and tried to move again, but a sharp kick from Hook had Neal's forehead whacking against the concrete again.
Nausea joined his splitting headache and burning back for dominance in Neal's extravaganza of pain.
He did not move for a good minute after the blow, trying to urge his brain into some semblance of functionality and gather his thoughts. When he finally got all his extremities to listen to his command to roll over, his blurred vision spotted Emma using Smee's sword, giving ground as she tried to go blow for blow with the pirate. Neal's addled mind could make out rivulets of blood flowing off Emma's right arm as she hugged it close to her chest.
Neal's heart sunk as three quick strikes drove Emma closer and closer to where the Dark One stood over an unconscious or dead Smee, Henry held firmly behind him even as the boy struggled to go help his mother. Neal managed to get himself up to one steady knee.
The outcome of the fight was already decided, and they all knew it. Emma was losing a worrying amount of blood and fighting with her off hand. Neal had seen Hook in action against enemies with much more skill than Emma's awkward and wild strikes and he had always made it look easy. The pirate batted away Emma's sword after a sloppy attack and stopped to taunt her.
Neal hauled himself up to wobbly feet and used every ounce of his will to trudge one foot in front of the other.
The process repeated itself several times, but, to Emma's credit, she managed to keep herself between Hook and his true target after every repartee of steel, and whatever words she used to spit back at the man between each kept his interest on her. She grew paler and slower with every passing moment, and when Hook finally chose to end the show, she could not stop it. She overextended and he knocked the sword from her hand with a strike of the flat of his blade against her wrist. A moment later the curve of his hook struck Emma across the jaw in a vicious backhand.
He said something to her as she flailed to the ground, a devilish grin on his face, before he turned his attention to Neal's father. The man stood without an ounce of fear in his expression, the picture of defiance. Henry raced out from behind him and toward the fallen Emma, her name shouting from his lips.
Neal forced himself to move faster, within a dozen feet of the pair now.
His father tried to lash out at Hook with his cane, but Hook caught the blow on his blade and struck the Dark One on his bad leg, sending the man to his knees, cane tumbling off to the side.
Hook laughed. "The mighty Dark One, on his knees before me." He raised his hook until the light of noontime sun gleamed off its steel. He stared at it with an almost loving look. "A quick death would be far from enough for you, Crocodile. I'm told this poison is excruciating." Hook met eyes with Neal's father. "And incurable."
His father sneered in defiance, not offering Hook the satisfaction of last words. Hook laughed at the sight, loud and victorious, and moved to drive the hook home.
In that moment, some distant part of Neal's mind knew the Dark One about to get his comeuppance; that Hook's quest for revenge may have been justified. The louder, more primal part that drove him only knew one thing: His papa was about to be killed.
Neal stumbled more than lunged, but neither of the men had paid any heed to his approach. He fell in between the two, and screamed as cold steel stabbed into his upper back, digging out a jagged section of flesh as gravity did its work. He hit the ground, unable to register anything but the blinding pain in his back and the burning wrongness that seemed to flow hot through his veins.
"Bae…" His father's voice was a distant whisper and, as three sharp barks of gunfire sounded, Neal felt the darkness take him.
E/N: I know at the end of last chapter I mentioned this one was going to be a Henry PoV, but I found that he simply knew too much for the first half of the chapter, and way too little for the second half. Neal fit the bill better, and offered a perfect viewpoints for the events of this chapter.
That said, how'd you enjoy being in his head? I know a good portion of Swen (and the fandom in general) is not fond of the vagabond, but I find his redeeming qualities are interesting enough to explore. He's a great counterpoint to everyone else in the show as someone who is more mundane than most of the rest - age not withstanding.
So what do you think will happen to him? I'm curious as to your thoughts. The end of this "Manhattan" arc was quite a bit more chaotic than in canon, mostly due to the fact that I made sure Hook had an actual, you know, plan going in. A lot of details are left off the page here to be figured out. Let me know what you think happened!
(Next chapter is definitely Regina, btw)