Chapter Seventy-Five—"Broken"

"Why don't you try a tastier meal on for size, dearie?"

He was an utter fool, but what better meal to offer the Jabberwocky than a man who had been a coward his entire life? So, he spoke the words with as much brash confidence as he could muster—and being the Dark One, there was quite a lot of bluster available to hide his inner fears—standing casually with his hands folded over his cane and watching the Jabberwocky as if he had not a care in the world. They'd never met before, of course, but each knew the other by reputation. Similar types of darkness lay at their core, although the Jabberwocky was half-human and half-demon of some sort, whereas the Dark One was elemental darkness chained to a fragile human soul. Still, each knew the hunger that arose from that deep pit of evil and power, and each dealt with it in their own ways.

Hers, of course, was by nearly consuming the souls of others, digging into their fears until she could suck away some of their light to give herself something approaching peace. He made deals to appease his own darkness, twisted and manipulated and tricked. They were not the same, but they were not so different, either.

"The Dark One," Jabber replied, her dark eyes lighting up as he watched her impassively. Rumplestiltskin was already calling upon all the darkness he had to shield his soul, letting the power wind around himself as his first line of defense. The Jabberwocky, however, was not bothered by that in the slightest; she drifted towards him immediately, ignoring the way Emma slumped in relief, suddenly free of Jabber's toxic grasp.

"At your service," Rumplestiltskin quipped as lightly as he could, refusing to feel the chill in the air surrounding him. He waved a hand flippantly. "Or not, as the case may be."

"Do you think that your power can shield you from me?" the Jabberwocky asked, laughing softly. "Nothing can."

"Gold, what the hell are you doing here?" Emma demanded even as the Jabberwocky closed the distance between them. The Savior had picked up Charming's sword again, but still looked shaky and pale.

"Well, it looks as if I'm helping you, despite what others might expect," he replied dryly, feeling the strain as the Jabberwocky closed the distance between them to less than ten feet. "Now, go save your boy."

Emma hesitated, but she didn't have to be told twice. Shooting one last look his way, the Savior turned and jogged deeper into the caverns, and towards Henry. Leaving Rumplestiltskin to face the Jabberwocky.

Alone.

She approached cautiously, as if wondering when he'd attack her using some spell or another. But Rumplestiltskin had done some quick research—aided and abetted by his wife's excellent skills in that area—and knew that most dark magics would not fight the Jabberwocky off. Oh, he could beat her, but she was potent enough that she'd probably be able to escape him if he tried, and letting her get away would defeat the entire purpose of coming down here. So, he had to wait until she was good and focused on him, until she was in too deep to go after Emma again. Then, and only then, he would be able to trap her. If he could.

"You know you can't protect yourself, don't you?" the Jabberwocky purred, her intelligent eyes narrowing. "But then why are you here?"

The longer he kept her talking, the less she focused her terrifying powers on him, so Rumplestiltskin answered that directly: "Your presence prevents Miss Swan from breaking a curse I would very much like to be done with," he said as calmly as he could manage, keeping one eye on Emma. She was almost far enough away, now. "So I thought some interference was in order."

"Curse?" Jabber asked curiously. "What curse?"

"Cora never has liked to share much," he snorted.

There. Emma had rounded a corner, and Rumplestiltskin's right hand came up. Magic swirled out of his fingers, and the Jabberwocky dodged quickly, but he hadn't been aiming at her. His spell raced to the bend in the cave Emma had just rounded, sparkling faintly, and erecting a shield that would keep anyone—Jabber in particular—from following her. Unfortunately, his opponent realized immediately what he had done, and he felt her magic slam into him even as his spell prevented her from going after Emma.

The cold impact of old fears and terror actually made Rumplestiltskin stumble back a step. Or was that an instinctive reaction born of the fact that the Jabberwocky was rapidly closing the distance between them? Shivering, he struggled to hold his ground, tendrils of fear working their way into his mind, out of his mind, and slipping through the cracks in the darkness he'd been trying to use to shield himself.

"You're clever," Jabber said approvingly. "But not clever enough. Your spell will collapse if you flee."

"I know." Rumplestiltskin managed to force the words out, but only barely. Let me out, his curse whispered within his mind. Let me rule, and I will protect you. You never need fear again. I will destroy this pathetic creature of terror. And it was so tempting. But he couldn't.

I'm here to protect my family, he thought desperately. I need the curse broken, or I can't find Bae. This is for my family.

However, although thoughts of his family might have pushed his curse back, they only gave the Jabberwocky something to feed upon.

"Your family?" she whispered, suddenly beside him. "Do you mean the boy who you failed so long ago, or the wife and daughter Cora will slaughter the first chance she gets?"

"I…" Words would not come. He, the master wordsmith, was speechless with terror.

"You've already failed them. You'll always fail them." Jabber was circling him, now, and Rumplestiltskin could feel his terror ebbing and flowing with her movements, could feel the fears rising within him, drowning out even the angry screams of his curse. This was the spinner he had been, the coward he would always be. He could not protect his family, never had been able to, not really, but without them, he was nothing.

The Jabberwocky reached out to touch his face, and he jerked back, stumbling away, images of Baelfire falling through the portal, of Belle and Gabrielle burning in the library when he could not save them, and of a fairy trying to take his little girl away all rolling through his mind. He, Rumplestiltskin, was worthless. It was only the Dark One who had ever been able to protect his family, and even then his human weaknesses made him fail. The darkness inside him was not vulnerable, but he always was: he was a worthless coward, not fit to love or be loved. Sooner or later, Belle would realize that, and she would leave him because he didn't deserve to be loved. Maybe it would be after he failed her again. Maybe it would be today.

"They all leave you for a reason, you know," the Jabberwocky continued, leaning in look Rumplestiltskin in the face. He knew his eyes were wide and frightened; his curse reported that he was the spineless coward, yet again, in a distant way, but he couldn't help himself. "Because who could ever love you?"

He was lost. He was being sucked into a darker vortex than even the one that lived inside him, dragged down by three centuries of fear and abandonment. His father had abandoned him in exchange for eternal youth and power. Milah had left him because she had been miserable, because she had never loved him. Cora had left him because she wanted secular power, wanted to be a queen when all he had wanted to do was love her. He had abandoned Baelfire because he'd been too terrified to let go of his power, and sooner or later, Belle would take Gabrielle and leave him, too, because he deserved to be left. Because that was what he was good at, and no one could ever really love the man he was deep inside—

"I do," a new voice said, and somehow the words made it through the vicious waves of fear rolling through his mind. "And I'm not leaving him. Not ever."

Somehow, Rumplestiltskin managed to turn his head to look at Belle, his fears still crashing around him like waves of a tsunami against shattering rocks. She had come via the elevator while he had teleported in, going the long way so that they could both buy Emma time in their own ways. But now Belle was here, and just seeing her pushed some of his doubts aside. Somehow, the Jabberwocky hadn't noticed her until she was too close, probably because she'd been so focused on the delicious treat Rumplestiltskin's psyche provided. But Belle was a shining light of bravery and hope, and when she put her right hand in his left, it was like a jolt of electricity slamming into his system.

True Love. It was the most powerful magic of all, and True Love was enough to push the despair back when smaller fingers squeezed his own. He had not thought he would react quite this badly, had not thought he would be so utterly incapable of defending himself. Rumplestiltskin had planned to overcome the Jabberwocky with magic as soon as he'd put that shield up, and to only need Belle as a fallback, but the Jabberwocky had slipped under his guard so quickly that he'd been paralyzed. Until now.

Now, with his wife's hand in his and the way she was radiating her love for him, he could find strength. Belle had always made him stronger, and now he would prove that to her. He could fight for her in ways he'd never be able to fight for himself.

"The brave little wife," Jabber said, oblivious to the way her hold on Rumplestiltskin's mind was unravelling. "But not so brave. Deathly afraid of failing—"

He felt Belle flinch even has his right hand came up, slamming magic into the Jabberwocky. But it wasn't his usual choice of darkness. This was light magic, magic borne out of his love and protectiveness for the wonderful woman at his side. Jabber yelped nonetheless, thrown back roughly, her eyes wide and shocked.

"You can't—"

"Leave my wife alone," Rumplestiltskin growled, his magic wrapping around the wild-eyed woman-demon as she fought wildly. "You've had your little picnic in my psyche. Playtime is over, Jabber. Run back to Cora before I rip you to shreds."

Now that was his darkness talking, with the Dark One eager to come out and wreak havoc upon the creature that had dared torment its host. Oh, it wasn't happy that he hadn't let it take over, let it utterly blot out Rumplestiltskin and rule his body forever, but it would be delighted to help him get revenge. For a moment, love and fury warred within him, the curse intimidated by—and furiously hating—his love for Belle, but Rumplestiltskin came back on balance as the Jabberwocky shook her head desperately.

"She told me to come down here and stop Emma Swan—"

"And so you have," he cut in. "I know a little about compulsions, dearie. You've fulfilled the commands she gave. Now leave, lest I decide to discover exactly how long it takes to kill a near immortal creature such as yourself."

After all, Rumplestiltskin knew that the Vorpal Blade could—more or less—control the Jabberwocky, but not kill her. Her circumstances were not like his; the holder of the Vorpal Blade was protected from her little mind games and could use it to stop Jabber (tradition said by pinning her against a wall with the blade in her gut), but the control was not all-encompassing. There was wiggle room, particularly if Jabber felt she had already done what she was told to do. Its control was nowhere near as complete as his own Achilles' heel of a dagger, and Jabber had choices.

Ones she clearly chose to exercise, because one jerky nod later, and the Jabberwocky scurried away—and not in the direction that Emma had jogged off in. Rumplestiltskin watched her go, a helpless shudder of relief tearing through his body. Through her tight grip on his hand, he could feel Belle's matching shudder, and he turned to wrap his arms around her as soon as the Jabberwocky was out of sight.

"Are you all right, sweetheart?" he asked once he trusted his voice not to break.

"Me?" Belle asked immediately. "I'm more worried about you! I heard what she said, Rumple. I can guess what she did."

Those words made him look away until a small hand came up to touch his cheek, and Rumplestiltskin could not help melting into her touch. His next words came out raggedly, his temporary confidence shattering. "Belle, I—"

"I love you," his wife whispered. "And I'm so proud of you."

"Proud?"

"Immensely," Belle replied, leaning in to kiss him lightly. Power arced through him, and love of the highest order, and for a moment, Rumplestiltskin almost thoughtlessly let his curse go, let it rip out of him and search for another host. He loved her so very much—but no, he couldn't. He needed the power, and he had no idea what would happen if he let the darkness out. Better for it to remain under control, even if it meant he would always have to fight back his inner demons. Belle, however, knew nothing of that internal struggle as she continued: "Now, let's go back to the shop so we can be there when the curse breaks."

"Of course," he breathed, and his magic swirled around them.

Gold had been the most unlikely savior Emma could ever have expected, but she wasn't about to look a gift horse in the mouth. He told her to save Henry, so she ran to do just that. The path between her and her son was remarkably clear; apparently that horribly terrifying Jabberwocky had been the last line of defense. Soon enough, a glass coffin came into view, propped up on a rock shelf of some sort and containing the shaking and whimpering form of her son.

"Oh, Henry…" The whisper tore out of Emma on its own, and she felt her heart breaking into pieces in her chest.

He was twitching and crying and he looked so damn young, lying there in the coffin, cursed into a land of terrible nightmares from which there was no escape. For a moment, Emma wondered if taking him out of Storybrooke, if carrying him out of there and driving for the town line as fast as she could, really was the right way to stop this. It would be so easy, so straightforward! Maybe Gold had been wrong and Cora had been right. Maybe that was the only way. If it was, she needed to get moving, needed to get him out of here now. Henry was paler than she'd ever seen him, and although Emma knew basic first aid, she had no idea how to help him. His breathing was ragged and strained; sometimes he would gasp for air, and then he would start panting wildly, clearly getting enough oxygen even if his body didn't know what to do with it. She knew how to give CPR and how to bind up most wounds, but this was utterly beyond her. So, Emma bent over the coffin and picked Henry up, not even thinking about how she'd explain their hurried departure to Mary Margaret.

Yet, again, the memory of Henry's words stopped her:

"But you don't have to take me out of town to cure me," her son had said, his voice full of hope and confidence. "True Love's kiss can break any curse, and there's magic here. You can break the curse on me and break the curse on Storybrooke at the same time! All you have to do is believe."

Stopping with his shaking body cradled in her arms, Emma slowly sank down to her knees.

"I believe in you," Henry had said, right before he bit into the damned apple that had done this to him.

And Emma believed in him, too. So, she bent forward and kissed him on the forehead, pouring all of her love and her desperate hope into that one kiss, and praying it would work.

Magic tore away from them both in a beautiful golden whoosh of power, but Emma never noticed. She was too focused on Henry's face, too riveted by the way the lines in his forehead suddenly eased, by the way he went still. For a moment, terror spiked in her. What if Henry was dead? What if Cora had done something to him so that he would never wake up, no matter how much Emma loved him or believed? Her heart had all but stopped in her chest by the time brown eyes flew open.

"Mom!" Henry gasped, calling her that for the first time ever and bringing tears to Emma's eyes. "You did it!"

Her son flung his arms around her, and Emma hugged him back tightly, relieved tears streaming down her face. "I love you," she whispered.

"I love you, too," Henry replied. "And you broke the curse! You saved me, and you broke the curse!"

Emma had, but she didn't really care. All she cared about was that Henry was safe. Everything else could wait.

"I can't believe it," Zelena snarled, staring at the television screen as if she wanted to murder someone. Emma Swan had made it to Henry's side, and the moment she knelt down with the boy in her arms, Cora knew her curse was at an end.

Then again, I am somewhat surprised that Zelena has not actually attempted murder, Cora reflected, and was almost proud of her eldest daughter for demonstrating such control. Until Zelena ruined that by whining loudly:

"I thought that creature was supposed to destroy her! How could Rumple dare get in the way of this? And that Jabberwocky, just leaving when he told it to—"

"Calmly, darling," Cora finally broke in, unwilling to subject herself to such wailing any longer. Zelena was going to give her a headache, soon. She would have said more, but then the damn Savior bent to kiss Henry's forehead, and magic slammed into both Evil Queen and Wicked Witch.

Whoosh.

"Can I kill her now?" Zelena pleaded, and Cora was tempted to say yes. If nothing else, that would be a sight to see; letting Snow watch precious daughter die before her eyes would be marvelous.

"Not yet," she said, a little regretfully. "But soon, yes. We will make them all pay."

"I don't understand how you can take this so calmly," her daughter huffed, slouching in her chair.

"I am calm because I have always had a Plan B," Cora replied, rising from her seat. "Now, let us see what the heroes do first. That will determine our next course of action."

Zelena seemed to get ahold of herself, standing as well. "Of course, Mother," she said, much more composed now that her outburst was over with. "I will do whatever you think is best."

"Thank you, my dear," she said, and then remembered to smile at Zelena. Zelena needed approval as much as she needed guidance, but providing a little affection always bore great fruit. Snow can't turn to Regina while I have her under a sleeping curse, but will she dare turn to Rumple? If so, I have something that will stop that in its tracks, she thought, wearing a small but satisfied smile. "I'm terribly proud of you, you know. None of this is your fault."

"No, it's hers," Zelena spat. "Emma Swan. And Rumple."

"Don't worry. We'll have plenty of revenge," Cora promised. "For now, however, we have work to do. Come."

Together, they teleported back to Cora's in-town mansion; she'd keep the summer house as a place to retreat to, or at least a sanctuary the heroes would think she was 'retreating' to. Someone would certainly try for revenge today; the only question was who. Cora was fascinated to discover who it would be. The only think she was sure of was that it wouldn't be Rumplestiltskin. He would play the long game, would let his revenge simmer for a day or two longer, and then act. In some ways, the Dark One was terribly predictable…

And Cora knew exactly what to do about that.

Awareness hit him like the proverbial ton of bricks. One moment, Errol Forrester had been helping his son get ready for school. The next, Robin of Locksley was staring at Roland and wondering what in the world kind of land they were in.

"Papa?" Roland asked quietly, and Robin swept him up in a hug.

"Yes, it's me," he replied, remembering how 'Jamie' had been calling himself Roland for weeks. Errol had thought it was insane, or just a child's way of playing games, but now he knew better. "It's finally me."

"Good," Roland declared, wrapping his arms around his father's neck. "I wanted you back."

"I'm glad to be back, too," Robin breathed, his mind whirling with two sets of memories and two lives. A moment later, the door to the second bedroom in their three bedroom flat burst open, revealing a disheveled and barely awake Little John, formerly known as Melville Anzo.

"Robin?" the large man asked, scratching at his beard.

"Hello, John. It's—well, it hasn't been a long time at all, has it?" he managed to say with a laugh.

"About ten hours, technically," John replied, glancing at the clock.

"That's only because some of us go to sleep at a regular time," Robin shot back, and they exchanged grins. Melville had been a night owl, whereas John never had. This is going to take some getting used to.

"Papa?" Roland spoke up again. "Do I have to go to school today?"

"Uh…" For a moment, Robin wasn't sure what to say. Errol would have said yes, of course, but Errol really didn't believe in the curse, or at least not completely. Robin knew it was real, and he knew that everything would be different, starting today. "I think you should probably stay home today, okay?"

"Okay!" was the cheerful answer, and Robin put his boy down so that he could run over to play with his—oh, goodness. Did I really buy him those?—Robin Hood action figures.

Yes, yes he had. John's gaze followed Robin's to the corner where Roland's playset was, and they burst out laughing together.

"I guess that's appropriate," John guffawed, and Robin shrugged. "Not that your ego needed any stroking!"

"Oh, shut up," he retorted, punching his old friend in the shoulder. But not too hard. John was the type who could take your arm off, and Melville's obsession with weight lifting only made that more true in this world.

"So, what now?" his friend—and lieutenant in both worlds—asked. "We remember who we are, but we're still here. Obviously that big curse happened, but I guess this world isn't too bad, all things considered."

"I…I'm not sure, to be honest," Robin said after a moment, watching Roland obliviously set up his toys. "I guess everything changes, or at least most things."

"What about that lady friend of yours, Regina?" John wondered. "You going to keep things up with her now that you know who you are? And who might she be, anyway? Aside from—"

"The Evil Queen's daughter." The words burst out of him with so much regret that it hurt. For a moment, Robin couldn't believe it, wanted to deny it, but he knew that Regina was Cora's daughter. This is why she never wanted to tell me, he realized, devastated. I fell in love with…with what? With who?

"Ah, that's bad luck, man," his friend said, but Robin hardly heard him.

He'd heard too much about the 'Dark Princess' to want her anywhere near his son. He couldn't do that to Roland, couldn't replace Marian with someone evil. Had Regina been cursed to be the opposite of what she'd been in their world? Had the woman Errol fallen for known what she would become? Was that why she'd been so sad when she had refused to tell him who she was? At the time, he'd wondered if his identity as a thief and an outlaw was the problem, but it had been her real self all along. Why couldn't she warn me? he wanted to scream at the world. Part of him wanted to call her, wanted to demand answers and for her to tell him he was wrong about everything, but Robin resisted the urge to pick up his phone.

For about ten seconds.

Then he found himself dialing her number, desperately needing to hear the voice of the woman Errol had fallen in love with. Because Robin was pretty sure he loved that Regina, too, and he needed to know if that woman still existed. But the phone went straight to voicemail, and he was left to wonder.

Robin was not the only one for whom the curse breaking brought grief. In his room at Granny's, August—now Pinocchio, again, he presumed—simply stared at his wooden legs in despair. He had not succeeded in getting turned back from the nearly wooden state he was in, and now he doubted that the Evil Queen would keep her promises. She'd have too many heroes, like Emma and her parents, trying to take her down. August's problems would be far from anyone's minds…which he would have liked, under other circumstances. But turning back to wood wasn't even the biggest concern he had.

No, his real worries were with his papa, who had to now remember who he was, remember the son he had sent through the wardrobe. But August could not go to him. Geppetto was somewhere in Cora's hands, and August didn't know if he was ever going to see him again.

Magic swept over her, leaving Snow White in its wake, and suddenly waiting was much easier.

A few minutes earlier, Mary Margaret Blanchard had been fretting in the ruins of the half-rebuilt library, waiting for Emma and desperately hoping she was doing the right thing. Lacey French had come by about ten minutes after Emma went down, and Mary Margaret had lowered the elevator for her, too, wishing she could go along. But someone had to stay up here, and Emma had trusted her to be here when she needed to bring Henry up. The sight of Henry biting into an apple and disappearing had been a little too much for Mary Margaret's nerves, but Snow remembered doing just that, remembered Charming fighting his way to her and breaking the nightmare curse Cora had put her under. And now Emma was doing the same for Henry.

For my grandson, she thought, the world sliding into place. Like father, like daughter. The second thought made her smile, and helped her stay patient in the few minutes between the curse breaking and Emma's voice floating up to her to bring the elevator up. Snow did, with a portion of her mind marveling at the ease in which her muscle memory operated the elevator, allowing her daughter and her grandson to step through.

"Emma," she breathed, finally really seeing the remarkable young woman her baby had grown into. She'd known her—and lived with her!—as Mary Margaret, but seeing her walk out of the elevator was something else entirely. And then there was Henry, her grandson, and suddenly Snow's life felt more complete than it had in years.

"Hi," Emma replied, sounding terribly small and out of place, and Snow reached out hesitantly to touch her face. Emma didn't pull away, instead giving her a watery smile, and Snow finally took a chance and wrapped her arms around her daughter.

Emma's return hug was fierce, and Snow couldn't help saying softly: "You found us."

"I guess I did," her daughter replied, and Snow pulled back to beam at her. Emma was everything she ever could have dreamed her daughter could be: brave and heroic, and oh so stubborn.

"Grandma?" Henry suddenly spoke up, and Snow found a giddy giggle rising.

"Yes," she replied. "Yes, I am. And I know that now."

Henry grinned back. "I told you so."

"So you did."

"Don't say that too loudly," Emma cut in. "Then he'll never let us live it down."

The three laughed together, until events suddenly caught up with Snow, and she remembered listening—as Mary Margaret—while Henry told Emma what had happened. Suddenly, her blood ran cold, and she looked down at her utterly brilliant and brave grandson.

"Oh, no. You said Cora put Regina under a sleeping curse?"

Henry grimaced. "That's what she said. I don't know where Mom is."

"And Charming's heart was taken." Snow felt sick as Emma nodded. She didn't want to ask the next question, but it came on its own. "When?"

"Regina said that she thought it was before he started acting strangely," her daughter answered. "Way before that mess with Kathryn Cole."

"Oh."

Breaking the Dark Curse was supposed to fix everything. Things were supposed to get better. This was supposed to be their victory! While she remembered who she was, now—everyone probably did—nothing else had changed. Cora was still several steps ahead of them, and now she had Regina hidden away somewhere and she had Charming's heart. They were still trapped in Storybrooke, still under the thumb of the Evil Queen. Despair warred for control of Snow's heart: she had gained a daughter but lost a sister, and had gained a grandson but might very well have lost her husband. But she refused to let it. Squaring her shoulders, she pushed the horror and the heartbreak aside, even as Henry spoke up:

"We'll find them both. Right, Emma?"

"Yeah," Emma replied after a moment, glancing worriedly at Snow. "Whatever it takes. For both of them."

His name was Will Scarlet, and he'd been a right bastard.

Worst of all, he'd sent his wife into some epic hellhole where she'd been turned into some unwilling whore. Some kind of bloody horrible True Love this is turning out to be, Will thought, staring at himself in the mirror. He'd retreated to the men's room at the Daily Mirror the moment that wave of golden magic had swept through and his memories had reasserted themselves, not knowing what to do or even who he was. Oh, he knew his name and he knew who he'd been under the curse, but Will could barely believe the things he'd done.

She has my bleeding heart, he suddenly remembered, recalling the dirty little deeds Cora had demanded of him back in their world. Had that kind of control worked with no magic? Because there wasn't magic in this world, and hearts were supposed to be magical. Or had her horrible curse just made him do those things?

"Ana's never going to forgive me," Will whispered, staring at his suddenly bloodshot eyes and burning for a drink. But he couldn't do that. Not yet. As much as he wanted to get rip-roaring drunk and drown his sorrows and confusion in a bottle or three, he needed to find Ana first. Even if she was rightfully furious with him—because she seemed to remember everything, which made no sense but had to be right—he had to find her. Will had to say he was sorry before (and probably after) she walloped the sense out of him.

Maybe the sheriff would tell him where Ana was now that the curse was broken. She seemed to be at the center of everything, involved in driving Cora insane (always a noble goal) and making this curse breaking happen while everyone else lived out their fake lives obliviously. Will—or Francis—had certainly been oblivious enough. He'd forgotten all about the love of his life being in an insane asylum, and then hand delivered her to—

"Oh, bloody hell," he groaned, smacking his forehead against the mirror hard enough that he heard the glass creak ominously. "I sent Ana to Maleficent. That's just what we needed!"

Well. There was no changing what had happened, but he needed to find his wife, and fast. Before Cora can make me do something with my heart, he thought desperately. Hopefully, the town had enough heroes to keep the Evil Queen occupied for now, and keep her attention off of one unimportant thief and his wife.

Only if my luck changes, he thought morosely, pulled himself together, and headed for the growing crowds outside on Main Street.

He'd been in the cage for almost full two days. Food had just shown up twice a day—which freaked poor Marco out more than a little—but otherwise, no one had come down at all. Neal knew that he'd come to Storybrooke on March 4th, though, and that meant today had to be the sixth. Still, forty-three hours stuck in a little six foot by six foot cage left you lots of time to be bored, particularly when there wasn't much room to pace. He talked to Marco frequently, learning that the old man was a carpenter and a general handyman, but the poor old bastard had no idea why he was there, and certainly didn't know anything about magic or the curse. He did have quite a bit to say about how terrible Mayor Mills was, but that was hardly a surprise. After all, if she was supposed to be the 'Evil Queen' out of Snow White, she had to be pretty awful.

Sometimes, Neal passed time wondering if anyone would make Mayor Mills dance in a pair of burning metal shoes. He had read the original versions of this world's fairytales, after all, and that seemed like it would be a really fitting ending for the crazy bitch who had locked him up. Unfortunately, however, he couldn't see any way to make that happen when he was stuck in some basement cage.

Until a slight flash of light illuminated even the darkest corners of the cellar, and Marco jerked up short.

"Do you remember who you are?" the old man asked, making Neal turn to him in surprise.

"I, uh, never forgot," he managed to say.

"Of course you did," Marco replied. "We all did. But now the curse must be broken, because I remember."

"Wait, I thought you didn't know about the curse?" He'd asked Marco about that yesterday. Or had it been the day before?

"I didn't. But I do now. My name is Geppetto," the old man said, turning to face him. "Who are you?"

"Uh…still Neal Cassidy," Neal answered cautiously. After all, it wasn't like any one here had even been born when he'd left the Enchanted Forest, so unless someone knew Pan…

Oh, shit. That thought certainly wasn't pleasant. But villains talked to one another, didn't they? What if this crazy Evil Queen knew Pan? Was that why she wanted him? Neal knew that Pan had always been pissed off about his escape, and he'd dodged Pan's agents—and Pan's shadow—several times in the last decade. He was really in trouble if the queen wanted to give him back to Pan. But who else in this town could she want leverage against? That had been the only thing she'd said, and although Neal hoped to hell that Pan wasn't here, well, he wouldn't put it past the obnoxious teenaged demon to send his shadow over. Or just send it to pick me up, he thought, shivering.

"You have to have some other name," Geppetto pressed. "Unless…you did say you were new to Storybrooke?"

"Yup. Just arrived the day you met me. Came across the town line to meet with a friend, and found out that he'd sold me out to your Evil Queen." Thinking of August made Neal turn his head to stare at the old man. "Wait a minute. You said 'Geppetto'. Like from Pinocchio?"

"That is my boy's name, yes." Geppetto blinked. "Though…yes. There also was a movie. That is very strange."

"Trust me, it gets weirder," he breathed. "Look, I met your son. He's going by August, now, and—"

Truth be told, Neal wasn't sure if he was going to tell Geppetto that August was fine or that August was a lying bastard who had sold him out, but he never got the chance to decide. A squeaky door opened at the top of the stairs, and footsteps—wearing heels, he'd wager—started coming their way. That made him snap his mouth shut, and wave Geppetto into silence when the old man started to say:

"My boy? You've seen him?"

"Not now!" Neal hissed, trying to ignore the way the sheer love in Geppetto's voice made him feel uncomfortable.

"Your son is why you're here," the Evil Queen's voice interjected as she walked across the cellar to stand in front of the two cages. "But if he behaves himself, you might just survive."

"You can't use me against him," Geppetto said, standing bravely to face the crazy woman. "I won't allow it."

She laughed. "I already have. Now, be quiet before I rip your heart out and force you to be."

Well, didn't that tell Neal what kind of woman she was? Apparently evil sorceresses got up to that business, too, though he'd only seen his father do it after the Dark One had taken him over. But Neal tried really hard not to think about those days, now, preferring to remember his father for who he'd been before the darkness consumed him. Thinking of the monster who'd worn a face somewhat like his papa's was still too painful, even over two centuries later. Instead, he slowly climbed to his feet, too, warily watching 'Mayor Mills', or whatever her name was in this world.

"So, is this where you tell me what you want me for?" he asked, trying to sound like he didn't care. And failing, of course.

She smiled. "I already told you that you're leverage, Baelfire."

"Yeah, but for what?"

"Why, against your father, of course." Dark eyes flashed, but Neal felt like she'd hit him in the head with a two by four.

"My…father?" he squeaked.

"You didn't think that dear Rumplestiltskin didn't make it through with the curse, did you?" the Evil Queen purred. "He's here, of course. With the sole goal of finding the beloved son he lost—he's quite tormented by that little act of cowardice of his, actually. But I found you first."

Okay. Well, at least his father wouldn't want to kill him. Neal might have wanted nothing to do with the demon that walked around in his father's body, but there always had been some Rumplestiltskin left in there. Just not enough. He hadn't expected his father to be alive, but, well, Pan would have been worse. So, Neal told himself to look on the bright side. Yet, if this was the bright side, why was the Evil Queen grinning so damn wickedly? And why was she telling him that his father was tormented by losing him?

"Rumple may require some convincing that it's you, of course," she continued when he stared at her warily. "But I think some blood will do the trick on that front. Still, I do have to convince him that you're in mortal danger to ensure he does what I want."

"Which is what?" Neal made himself ask, not liking the references to blood or mortal danger, or the fact that this woman seemed to use the nickname that he knew his father stopped going by once he became the Dark One.

Another sharp-edged smile. "If you're half as clever as your father, I'm sure you can guess. Now, let's get you screaming, shall we?"

A/N: Wow! Thank you again to everyone for the reviews—I am blown away. Thank you so much!

Next up, Chapter Seventy-Six—"Hope and Despair," in which Storybrooke weathers the aftermath of the curse and people begin to remember. Meanwhile, the Queens of Darkness set out for revenge, the Charmings go to Rumplestiltskin for help, and Cora faces a lynch mob.