Disclaimer: As you can probably tell from the fact I'm rewriting seasons in fanfiction, I don't own Once Upon a Time or any of its characters.
Emma missed the simplicity of being a bail bondsperson. She got a name, she tracked them down, she turned them in. No questions, just results.
Now as sheriff and part of...the royal family, she had to figure out what to do about the remains of a stranger without exposing Storybrooke's existence. The easiest, and least ethical, would just be to put him back in the car and call it in to state patrol. She could play the part of concerned citizen, reporting the accident and leaving it at that... But what if they got curious?
Honestly, could they keep the real world at arm's length anymore? For that matter, how had Storybrooke operated so independently under the curse? Did the curse just make them think they were doing commerce with the rest of the world or was the curse somehow interacting with it on Storybrooke's behalf?
Too much, she needed to take baby steps or her head would explode.
She jolted upright as something dropped on top of her torso. It was her baby blanket, draped over her by a disapproving Henry.
"You guys were out all night," he scolded, "Where were you? What'd I miss?"
Emma straightened, stretching out the soreness of sleeping in a chair. Better than risking waking him up though. "There was an accident at the town line."
"Who was it?"
"We don't know yet, he's a stranger."
Henry's eyebrows shot up, "A stranger? In Storybrooke?"
"And not the Pinocchio kind, far as we can tell." Emma folded the blanket up and set it over the back of the chair, getting up, "Come on, I should probably feed you before reporting back to the hospital."
"So the town line curse is broken? Anyone can come in here?" She herded him downstairs, praying to god someone thought of coffee, "What happened to him? Is he okay? Do we have to brainwash him? There are spells for that."
David and Mary Margaret glanced up from their respective tasks; David pulling out a box of cereal and Mary Margaret nursing a cup of tea. Their concerned faces turned to Henry first but soon moved to Emma. She braced herself, turning towards her son and crouching down to his level.
"...he didn't make it," Emma admitted gently, "Dr. Whale tried his best but there was too much damage done to him by the crash."
Henry frowned, "What about magic? Couldn't somebody just fix him?"
Yeah, the Golds could've in a heartbeat, Emma thought bitterly. They just didn't feel like doing it, because the easier option was to let him die. She held her tongue though; Henry might've been old enough to accept death but she wasn't sure she was ready to have something as morally complex as the "needs of the many" talk with him.
"Magic's complicated," Mary Margaret explained softly, "I'm sure if there was a way, they would've saved him."
Henry nodded somberly, "Magic always comes with a price."
David and Mary Margaret exchanged a look.
Emma stood back up, "Speaking of magic, think I'm going to need some Lucky Charms to get me going. It's gonna be a long day."
They hadn't even sat down at the counter before there was a knock at the door. She flipped through her mental Roladex to try and figure out who would a) be here this early and b) would bother with knocking. She barely got through the first couple of guesses before the door opened regardless.
Speak of the devil. He apparently had managed to find the time to get cleaned up and changed into a fresh suit.
"Gold, we've all had a long night," she reminded him.
He continued undeterred, "You remember that favor you owed me, Miss Swan?"
"Yeah?" How could she forget?
"I'm cashing it in."
Out of the corner of her eye Emma saw David moving closer. She couldn't blame him; while Gold's asshole mode had clearly carried over from last night, there was an extra bite to his brogue this morning. His dark eyes feigned detachment, but the way his lips curled away from his teeth made her think of an animal ready to attack.
"Now's not a good-"
He held up a finger to silence her, then pointed it at her, "You do honor your agreements, don't you?"
David planted his hands on his hips, drawing himself up to his full height. Henry slid between his grandfather and mother, glancing between all of them in concerned confusion.
Mr. Gold averted his eyes, "I need to find someone, so we're leaving today." His gaze cut sharply back to her, "Pack a bag."
"Leaving?" Mary Margaret echoed.
"W-where?" Henry asked.
That wasn't the part that caught Emma's attention, "Find someone... Who?" For someone who acted like he was ten steps ahead, it seemed odd he'd need help looking for anyone in a town this small.
"My son." He didn't wait for that tidbit to sink in too deep, "We'll be leaving town for an indeterminate amount of time... It's up to you how long exactly, Miss Swan."
"You can't just take off with our daughter," Mary Margaret protested, "Regina's still on the loose somewhere and if Emma leaves-"
"You've dealt with Regina for years, one more round isn't likely to make much of a difference. Besides..." He sneered, "Belle graciously offered to stay behind, if you need your hand held."
And there it was; trouble in paradise. That was the reason his demeanor was fraying at the seams. And now that he'd said her name, his rage was bubbling right under the surface for all of them to witness.
"I'll see you at noon," he hissed at Emma, turning to leave. Then, thinking better of it, he wheeled back around and addressed the group, "We have a long history... So know this, and know it to be true. If any harm comes to Belle while I'm gone, I'm killing all of you." His eyes drifted pointedly down to Henry as he finished.
Emma wrapped an arm protectively around her son but he hardly seemed to notice. He watched the Dark One's retreating back with confusion rather than fear, his brow furrowing as he puzzled over the interaction.
"...why would his son be here?" He asked quietly.
Why were her parents Snow White and Prince Charming, and why was she the savior meant to break the Evil Queen's curse? It was just apparently the way things were... And frankly she was going to need some more sleep before tackling the implications of Rumplestiltskin having a son they needed to find.
III
Maybe he wasn't home.
The thought struck Belle after she had checked the main hall, the kitchen, the gardens, and the tower in search of her master. The tea she had prepared for him was stone cold now, though that just meant she'd get a bratty remark and he'd have to heat it up with his magic. Maybe some extra laundry would be thrown in her wash basket if he was in a foul mood.
He told her when he was going out though, if just to mock her. And it wasn't like him to miss tea, even on his darker days. But she wasn't sure where else to look for him. No other solutions coming to mind, she just methodically checked every other room.
The temptation to snoop almost overpowered her several times but she resisted. And she did manage to find him, though what he was up to she had no idea.
This room's walls were plastered with calendars. Some were recent years, some were ancient, still others were on systems she didn't recognize. Clocks that told minutes, hours, days and even years ticked chaotically offset from each other, lining shelves and set upon tables. And in the center of the room, towering a couple stories tall, was what looked like an hourglass. There was no sand pouring to the bottom; it wasn't even filled with sand but something larger and earth toned. A step ladder rested against its side with Rumplestiltskin perched at the top, examining the few remaining bits in the upper half.
"What are you doing here, dearie?" He asked, not looking up from the notepad he was scribbling into.
"It's tea time," she reminded him, taking it as permission to approach, "What are you doing here?"
"Bean counting."
Sure enough, upon closer inspection she saw the hourglass was filled with beans. Beans as large as cabbages, but beans all the same. Rumplestiltskin tucked his pad away and slid down the ladder.
"What are they counting down to?" She asked, steeling herself for a "none of your business dearie".
Rumplestiltskin landed gracefully and stared at the mass of legumes, "...the next harvest."
"Next harvest of what?"
He frowned, seeming to debate internally whether he'd explain it to her. Finally, he focused his attention on her, "...what do you know about giants, dearie?"
"Not much, I'm afraid. The histories mostly focus on them as traders but that ended generations ago."
"Indeed. They were valued for their crops, especially their magic beans." He turned to look up at the smattering of beans at the top, "Once every century, the giants harvest their fields. This is counting down to the next crop." He faced her, moving a couple steps closer. His voice lost its high pitch, "If I miss this harvest, the world as we know it will end."
She waited, expecting him to burst into giggles. But he was dead serious.
He leaned closer, searching her face. She kept still, even as her heart beat faster, "...maybe if you're still around by the time the counter empties, you could save the world."
"Why me?" She wondered, "What could I possibly do that you can't?"
"Lie to the giants, of course!" The high pitch crept back into his voice as he straightened, "I've already tried dealing with them but they don't want that sort of power handed off to the Dark One. But a doe-eyed maiden with a sob story, oh that's much more noble. Now, you said something about tea?"
He was already strutting towards the door, ready to put the entire conversation behind him. Belle stared up at the bean counter. She had no idea what increments of time this hourglass was using; could be hours or days or weeks. Either way, there wasn't much time left. And Rumple eluding to the idea of letting her help with one of his schemes instead of insisting she sweep or dust...
Belle shook her head, trotting after him, "I'm not doe-eyed," she muttered.
"Misty-eyed?" Rumplestiltskin offered.
"No!"
"Well there is definitely something in your eyes that cries "damsel"."
"Is that what you saw in me? A damsel?"
"Precisely," he insisted.
She didn't believe it for a moment.
II
No matter what came into or what left his life, Rumplestiltskin always had this.
The old wheel creaked as it rotated and Mr. Gold guided the wool through the contraption. It was not one of his finer spinning wheels, large enough for him to stand and silent as the grave. This was the wedding gift he received from the spinsters that had raised him, a wheel that had watched the creation and destruction of his family. It was temperamental, awkward and needed more maintenance than it was worth... But it was his darling.
He was packed and while physically he was ready to go... He wasn't sure if he was truly prepared. It didn't help that he hadn't seen Belle all day, hadn't even found a note letting him know where she was or wishing him luck. He had left a message with her cell phone's voice mail box twice now, but as the clock ticked closer to noon, he lost hope of hearing any of her usual words of encouragement.
He felt utterly alone.
The bell on the shop's door chimed at 11:45 and he couldn't keep his heart from a hopeful skip. He dropped the thread, grabbed his cane, and went to see who had entered.
"Miss Swan." He swallowed his disappointment.
"Figured I'd meet you here instead of waiting around at the apartment. You ready?"
No.
"I suppose." He reached for his suitcase and rolled it awkwardly behind him.
He followed her all the way to the door and then hesitated. Emma looked back questioningly, hand on the doorknob.
"One moment, I..." The sentence trailed off as he reached into his pocket, pulling his phone out.
She glanced at it and then nodded, "I'll be waiting outside," she assured him.
She left him alone in the shop. Mr. Gold opened the cell, dialed his home number, steadied himself, and pressed "send".
Henry, who had been hiding as instructed in the back of the yellow bug, popped up when he saw Emma coming. Concerned when he saw he coming back alone, he scrambled out of the car.
"Did you tell him? Did he change his mind?"
"No, kid, he's...preoccupied." She crossed her arms, "What makes you so sure he's not going to take one look at you and have us drop you back off at the apartment?"
"I know his weaknesses," he said confidently.
Emma would've liked to refute this, but he'd manage to convince her to take him along on this mystery road trip, hadn't he? He must've learned how to find and push buttons from Regina, because he could certainly play her like a fiddle.
Mr. Gold emerged from the store, noticing Henry instantly, "I thought I made myself clear that this invitation was strictly intended for you, Miss Swan."
"No offense to Belle but if there's going to be a civil war sprouting, I want Henry as far from here as possible," Emma said, "We're a package item, take us or leave us."
"That's not the way I do business," he said, stepping closer to Emma, "You don't get to decide the terms of our arrangement; the fine print of how I want my favor fulfilled is up to me."
He could feel the anger winding up in him, poised to strike. He was not ready for an entire trip of her calling the shots on what was his mission, his sole purpose for centuries coming to a head. He didn't want the complication of worrying about a child and their inconvenient timing and needs. It was already going to be complicated enough, trying to navigate a world so much bigger and more populous than any other he was used to, his son a proverbial needle in a haystack...
"You need me."
Mr. Gold turned his attention to the boy, "Excuse me?"
"You need a translator," Henry explained, "You're from the Enchanted Forest, she's from here. She knows this world and you know your son. You need someone who can speak fairy tale and world without magic fluently."
"I have my cursed memories," Mr. Gold reminded him.
"It's not the same, like reading a book about London and then actually going to London," he paused, frowning as his confidence faltered, "I didn't get to see much of Boston when I went to find Emma... I've spent my whole life in Storybrooke. I thought it'd be cool to go on an adventure and get to see more..."
And the boy knew exactly how to work his big brown puppy dog eyes. Eyes that reminded him entirely too much of Baelfire. And without Belle there to be a buffer...
"We'll take my car," he decided.
Two suitcases and a worn duffel bag filled the trunk of the Cadillac, joining a few miscellaneous items he had thrown in there beforehand as he thought of them. Henry slid into the backseat while Emma rode shotgun, watching Mr. Gold as he started the vehicle. Bae's shawl was in his fist and slowly, reverently, he wrapped it around his neck.
"Cold?" Emma asked.
He shook his head, "It's a talisman so I retain my memories... I lose this, I forget all about Rumplestiltskin."
"What happens if you forget?"
Mr. Gold pressed down on the brake, shifting into reverse, "There's a folder in my suitcase with detailed notes about who the cursed Mr. Gold is, the research that's been done so far about my son, the best ways to convince him to come back to Storybrooke..."
He glanced in the rearview mirror, then out both sides of the car. There was no traffic in sight but he still didn't pull out. He checked again, then a third time. There was no hint of her, rushing to find him before he was gone.
"Let's hope it doesn't come to that," he finished, signaling. One last check all around and then he surrendered, backing out of the parking space and driving onto the road.
The car ride was silent, even as a detour was made to the residential streets. He slowed to a crawl in front of his home, searching each window for a sign of her. Hell, even if he saw the cat he'd stop; he could make an excuse for going in, claim it was clawing up the curtains, or that he forgot to feed it.
"...do you want me to go check, Mr. Gold?" Henry asked.
His jaw clenched, "No... She said she wanted to stay, she can stay. She's a big girl."
He picked up his speed and navigated his way back to the main road, heart thrumming. He reassured himself that the potion wouldn't have worn off so soon, that it should hold for years to come. He had wrapped it exactly this way for his test. There was no reason the magic should fail.
But still...
The back of the Welcome to Storybrooke sign came into view, as well as what was left of the night before's incident. His foot shifted off of the gas and hovered over the brake. He glanced in the rearview mirror and saw nothing or no one but asphalt and trees.
"So, what's the first stop on our itinerary?" Emma asked, trying to distract him.
The fluorescent spray painted line drew nearer and nearer, then passed under the wheels. Emma held her breath.
Mr. Gold pressed down on the gas again, gripping the wheel harder as he regained confidence, "Logan International Airport."
Across town in the queen's bedroom, a pirate stood stewing in his frustrations. The Dark One was slipping right through his fingers, off into the greater world where he was powerless and mortal and Killian was stuck here, back on babysitting duty after a short reprieve. His charge sat on the windowsill, legs drawn up to her chest as she stared out at the yard in a spiritual attempt to escape.
"I'm not sure how I feel about this," Cora's voice was muffled by the bathroom door.
Regina rolled her eyes, "It's the fashion here, mother. Corsets and full gowns haven't been in vogue for a hundred years."
"I wouldn't exactly call this peasantry fashion."
The door opened and Cora stood self-consciously, her clothes much plainer than the dress she had arrived in. From what he'd seen of this land she'd blend into a crowd, though he didn't understand the point of trying to fit in at all. They came for revenge, not to hide.
Regina sized him up, "I don't have anything that would fit you. You'll have to raid Rumple's closet."
"I'm fine, thanks," he hissed, "Switching out coats won't do much good; a face this handsome is hard to forget."
Belle rolled her eyes, then grimaced and gripped her arm, curling into herself. She had to clench her teeth to keep an agonized scream from slipping out.
"What's happening to her?" Hook asked.
Cora glanced at the girl, "It appears Rumplestiltskin has crossed the town line... And we have one full Dark One at our disposal."
She curled tighter into herself, trembling at the pain. Her face was buried in her legs and she began rocking back and forth.
"Dark One, look at me," Cora commanded.
Belle's head snapped up, face streaked with tears. Her lips curled back in a defiant snarl, "Don't call me that."
"I'll call you whatever I like. If I want to change your name to Lacey and parade you naked down the street I can." Cora (rather stupidly, in his opinion) approached her, "We don't need to be hostile to each other, though. We can both benefit from this arrangement."
"Give me the dagger back then, if you're so confident I'll help you willingly," Belle growled.
Cora shook her head, "Fine, be difficult. I've done things the hard way for so long I wouldn't even know what to do with the easy way. Tell me where the giant is."
"What giant?"
"You know what giant."
"I don't know what giant, you'll have to be more specific."
"The giant you were imprisoned with."
"The giant asshole I was imprisoned with? He's right there," she pointed at Hook.
"The actual giant."
"He didn't look so giant from where I sat."
"Tell her where Anton the giant is," Hook finally cut in, saving all of them some time and sanity.
Belle pressed her lips as tightly together as she could. One second passed, then two. On the third second, the answer tumbled out, "He's at Granny's."
"Granny's?" Cora echoed.
"Widow Lucas has a bed and breakfast, along with the diner," Regina explained.
"We should exhaust that avenue before trotting out the Dark One," Cora said before turning back to Hook, "Take her back to that...pink monstrosity. I'll let you know when we need her."
"How kind of you," he drawled.
Ignoring him, she focused on Belle, "You will obey him and stay within his sight at all times. Understood?"
"Unfortunately yes," Belle muttered.
Regina seemed about as pleased as he was about the arrangement, donning a jacket and leaving with her mother. He was marooned with one hellcat of a woman which, under better circumstances, might make for a fun night. The way she was glaring at him promised vengeance if he abused his newfound power over her.
This...wasn't the sort of control over a human being he was used to. It didn't sit right with him.
"Shall we depart then?" He asked.
Her nose wrinkled, "I don't know... Shall we?"
"You don't need to give me attitude, I'm not the one who stole the dagger."
"But you're complicit," she rose from her seat, walking stiffly over to him. She crossed her arms over her chest, "So, captain my captain, what would you have me do?"
Honestly those eyes were death traps that he should know better than to trigger. Bright and blue as the sky on a clear day, but currently so full of anger and rage, desperation and despair... It reminded him too much of the fateful night Milah boarded his ship and begged to be taken away.
"Do the magic smoke thing," he gestured vaguely with his arm, "And take us to your abode."
He would never get used to this method of transport but at least they wouldn't be spotted, and he didn't have to change his outfit.
III
Belle stood with Rumplestiltskin in front of the giant hourglass in a silent vigil, eyes focused upwards. Plenty had changed since she had first found him in this room counting down the days until the harvest; for one she was holding his hand, scarcely daring to breathe. And for two...she understood the obsession with time in this room.
The last bean at the top slowly began to roll towards the center, taking its sweet time before dropping down to join its brothers. Rumple squeezed her hand and she squeezed back, looking at him.
"Now what?" She murmured.
"We have a couple days," he said, eyes not leaving the finally emptied top, "They'll need time to actually gather them."
"And then what? We just...stroll up and make a deal?"
"...about that." He turned to face her, pulling his hand away and rubbing his fingers together, hemming and hawing as he tried to find the right words, "You remember when I said you might get a chance to save the world?"
Tidbits of the conversation came back to her. She narrowed her eyes, "You also mentioned something about lying... To giants. Because they don't want the Dark One to have that sort of power. And a sob story."
"Don't think of it as lying," he waved his hand dismissively, "Think of it as... Someone else's tale you're recounting to them!"
"And what exactly would they do to me if they found out I was "recounting someone else's tale"?"
"They won't find out, we'll practice on the way there."
"Rumple..."
"Belle..." He stepped closer to her, giving his best puppy eyes, "Have I ever let anything bad happen to you? Knowingly let anything bad happen to you?" He quickly amended as she opened her mouth.
She considered a moment, then closed her mouth.
"Exactly. We'll climb up a beanstalk, get a bean, climb back down. Easy peasy."
His fingers rubbed together even more frantically and the air between them filled with facts too obvious to be said aloud. He had not been exaggerating about the fate of the world; if they could manage to get a magic bean, they could go to the World Without Magic and look for Bae years ahead of schedule. Without the Dark One protecting and grooming Regina, the curse was far less likely to be cast and hundreds of lives would be spared from their existence as they knew it falling apart.
They had one last chance before the curse became their only option. She could save everyone from the pain and suffering she knew was coming and truly be a hero.
"...what's my story?"
His shoulders eased and his nervous tick paused, "That's up to you, dearie. Just make sure it's convincing."
While she never needed a reason for thorough research, she appreciated the excuse to dive into anything she could find about giants. Primary sources were rare and exclusively from the human's side. Even then it didn't paint them in a good light. Honestly it was no wonder why the giants had decided dealing with humans was too much of a hassle.
She occasionally saw Rumple during her intense study. They were mostly wellness checkups, making sure she was remembering to eat, sleep and drink. A bubbly nervous energy danced around him and he was unable to sit still for long, even for as brief as his interruptions were. When she finally emerged from her literary cocoon with as much knowledge as she could arm herself with, she found him in their bedroom fussing over trunks.
"I'm forgetting something," he muttered, checking the contents over, "What am I forgetting?"
"Me?" Belle offered.
Rumplestiltskin straightened, grimacing in embarrassment, "I want to be ready," he explained needlessly, "So that when we come back we can just... We'll grab them and..."
She crossed the room to his side, his fist clenching and unclenching as he searched through their belongings. She rested a hand on his shoulder and he turned towards her.
"The magic in the bean doesn't expire, does it?"
"Not if it's harvested properly."
"And since the giants are in charge of the harvest, doing what they've been doing for centuries, that won't be a problem," she reached up to stroke his cheek and he finally focused on her, "We'll have time to make sure we're ready."
"But what if I forget something?" His voice didn't raise above a whisper.
"Then we'll figure it out," she rocked onto the balls of her feet, pressing her forehead to his, "Even if we don't know what that world will bring, there's one thing we can count on. We'll have each other and that's far more important than anything we'd leave behind."
"...socks," Rumplestiltskin said, "I forgot wool socks."
"Well we'll be sure to pack them when we return, you silly man," she bumped his nose with her own before pulling back, "Now, let's go make a deal."
Rumors had spread of a giant beanstalk near the borders of King George's territory. Even if there was little explanation as to why, it would be a much safer way to enter the Cloudlands than testing if they had magical barriers via teleporting or flying. Some men were idling around the stalk when they arrived but one look at the Dark One sent them running back to the nearby village.
Belle sized up the organic ladder before them, "Forgive me for stating the obvious but you're the Dark One."
"Yes."
"And I'm a human."
"Yes."
"Neither of which giants are particularly fond of."
"Correct."
"Are we just going to go up there and hope for the best?"
"Dearie, your lack of faith in my foresight is hurtful."
Rumplestiltskin reached into her bag to retrieve a white puffy chunk of...something that he had managed to slip in when she wasn't paying attention. He offered it to her, "Snack?"
"What is that?"
"A bit of a certain kind of mushroom."
Belle took it, examining it, "How big was this mushroom?"
"Big. Go ahead and eat up. All of it," he nodded encouragingly.
She raised an eyebrow, "I'm not in the habit of putting things in my mouth if I don't know what they are or what they'll do to me."
"I remember our honeymoon very differently than you do, apparently."
She rolled her eyes but started eating the fist-sized chunk of mushroom. She had to pick her battles when he got into one of these moods where he didn't feel warnings were necessary. The mushroom had a sweet tang to it, a cousin to citrus, with a chalky texture. Decent enough to continue eating, even as Rumplestiltskin ran away. She sighed and brushed her hand off on her skirts, waiting for whatever change that came from ingesting "a bit of" this mushroom to occur.
For several beats she felt completely normal. Then she was rocketing up into the air, the world spinning and shrinking below her as she reached higher and higher. Her scream amplified into a bellow that rolled over the farmlands, startling livestock and farmers. The upward launch ended as soon as it had begun and somehow, her feet were still on the ground. Her wagon-sized feet.
Belle marveled at the change of perspective. She towered over the trees, the cottages, even the windmills. Her adorably tiny husband only came up to her ankle now.
"How are you liking the view, dearie?" He called, cupping his hands around his mouth.
She giggled, "See for yourself."
She squatted down and offered her hand to him. He stepped on and she lifted him to her shoulder.
"Now, if anyone asks, you can just say you're from the sister settlement," he explained, taking a seat against her neck and holding onto her necklace as a lifeline.
"And they'll buy that?"
"We better hope they do."
She craned her head back to look up at the stalk. Less daunting than at her normal size, but still daunting nonetheless. She fished out of her bag a pair of gloves and a charm-breaking cuff in case of any magical enchantments to the beanstalk.
"Are you going to be alright in that spot? Or do I need to put you in my pocket?"
"Don't worry about me, love. I already know where I'll be aiming to land if I slip."
She twisted her head to see what he was talking about. Sure enough, the little pervert was eyeing her bosom and cavernous cleavage.
"I hope you break your spine," she muttered before starting her ascent.
She learned very quickly not to trust the leaves and to get a hold as close to the base of the stem as possible. She kept her eyes focused upwards, only glancing down occasionally to make sure she found her foothole. Heights had thankfully never been a huge fear of hers and with her magic she would survive a tumble. She was more worried about property damage or accidentally crushing a poor bystander. Rumplestiltskin stayed quiet and let her concentrate, his weight on her shoulder reassuring her that he was still there.
A slow, meticulous hour later, her head breached the clouds. A courtyard was spread out on top of the soft puffs and looked incredibly substantial considering what it was built on. She kept climbing until she could safely hop over to the solid ground, taking in her surroundings.
"Hello?" She called.
There wasn't a sound to be heard.
Belle moved quietly, waiting for guards or residents to show up. No one did.
"Do you think it's a trap?" She whispered.
"Not sure," Rumplestiltskin confessed, pulling some of her curls around himself to hide.
She stepped through the doorway and into the castle, a sense of dread settling into her stomach. Was this place abandoned? It couldn't have been for long, there was no dust or cobwebs. Did giants have giant spiders to worry about?
Her foot nudged something and she glanced down. She screamed in horror as she saw a giant face down in a pool of his own blood, his hand still gripping an axe.
II
Too much. It was all too much. He could feel himself stretching tighter and tighter, a rubber band ready to snap.
He was no longer used to cities and large crowds; that on top of the completely alien setting made his heart pound through his ears. He managed the check-in, mostly because there was little fuss. They had no baggage to check, they weren't going out of the country, and everyone was in a hurry. The clerk didn't look twice at the driver's license and school i.d. from a town that hadn't even existed until a few weeks ago. Maybe Emma's Boston license lent the Storybrooke natives some credibility.
Meekly he followed Emma to yet another line, where people stood too close and talked too loud as they were herded through a metal gate.
"Have you ever been outside of Storybrooke before, Mr. Gold?"
He stared down at Henry, wondering how such an intelligent boy could ask such an asinine question, as if he didn't know a thing about the curse he had been lobbying to break for months, "...no."
"Are you nervous?"
Emma's eyes were on him, watching his reactions.
"No," he said dismissively.
The line moved.
"Are you worried about meeting your son?"
"No, Henry, I'm fine."
"How about we talk about all this later, kid?" Emma intervened, "We're next."
Henry, apparently used to wearing down his victims, ignored her, "It must be really hard not to use magic," he sympathized, grabbing a bin, "Being like everyone else."
The boy had no idea.
Mr. Gold glanced around but there were no signs instructing him what he should do. Henry had grabbed a bin and was sliding his backpack into it. Should he put his bag down? Did it have to be in a bin? How did a boy with no prior concept of an airport's internal workings grasp what he was supposed to be doing better than him, a centuries old powerful magician?
...a centuries old not-so-powerful-right-now magician.
"You've got to put your shoes in," Emma prompted.
He stared at her, not sure if she was joking. When both her and Henry placed their footwear alongside the rest of their belongings, he knew she wasn't.
"...how terribly uncivilized."
He did take them off though, sliding the bins along into what he could only guess was some sort of x-ray machine. Henry skipped right through the frame without a care in the world and it was his turn.
"Scarf and cane go in the basket."
He turned towards the uniformed agent to see in fact, he was talking to him, "...what?"
"Scarf and cane go in the basket," he repeated, pointing at the items and then at the bin as if Mr. Gold were an idiot.
But...no. He could hobble through without his cane but Bae's shawl? The only thing keeping his memories intact? He was expected to part with one of the last belongings he had of his son, no matter how brief?
He spun around to Emma, his tone pleading, "I can't."
"You have to," she murmured, glancing quickly at the agent and then remorsefully back to him.
If Emma Swan didn't see a way out of this, there was no hope for him to think of something, not with the way his head was spinning.
"It ain't rocket science, buddy," The man behind Emma groused, "You ever been on a plane before?"
"Have you ever been impaled upon a cane before?!" He held up the instrument, fully ready to show this man he wasn't to be talked down to or treated like an inferior.
Emma quickly grabbed his shoulder and arm, looking apologetically at the offender, "My...father's a little nervous. We're headed to a family reunion. Sorry."
"Father?" He echoed, setting the cane down.
"Just... Put your shawl in the bin. I'll help you get through," Emma promised.
He pulled away, shaking his head, "If I let this go, I could forget who I am," he reminded her.
"I'm not going to let that happen."
A tense moment passed. Emma showed no uncertainty, only her father's tenacity and her mother's compassion. She would have made a fine ruler in her own right, in another time and place.
She had gotten him this far, this daughter of true love, his hope along with the rest of the Enchanted Forest's. He would just have to trust she could get him a little farther.
"...okay." Shakily, he took off the shawl and his coat.
The effect was instantaneous. He was disoriented, his mind threatening to fragment. He gripped the pieces, even as he lost his balance. My name is Rumplestiltskin, father of Baelfire, husband of Belle.
A hand rested on his back and he faced the frame. My name is Rumplestiltskin, father of Baelfire, husband of Belle. He tottered, both because of his lack of cane and the confusion threatening to overwhelm him. He pressed forward, staring unfocused. My name is Rumplestiltskin, father of Baelfire, husband of...Rose? No, that's not right. I'm someone's husband though... I know her face but what's her NAME?
The world came back into sharp focus as he felt the familiar weight of wool around his shoulders. Belle. Belle is my wife, and I am Rumplestiltskin, and I'm going to find my son Baelfire. Emma watched his face and he gave her a reassuring nod, even as he was still reeling from the close call.
"Guys, there's a Cinnabons here!" Henry exclaimed, his only warning before running off.
The rubber band stretches thinner and thinner as the last minute serves to remind him how helpless he's become and how quickly he can fail. He numbly followed Emma to the terminal, only to find they're expected to wait even longer.
Back in Storybrooke, Belle's own rubber band stretched taunter. Waiting was the cruelest thing Cora could make her do right now. Somewhere in town the Mills women were busy trying to track down and use poor Anton for whatever reason he was here for, and there was nothing she could do to help him.
All she could do was hold Figgy and watch Hook pillage her home. "Pillage" might've been a strong word though; right now he was just assessing, occasionally setting something that looked valuable aside for later theft.
"While I am quite the specimen to admire, you really don't have to stand there and stare," he assured her, turning away from another forgotten box of antiques.
The scratch marks running down one side of his face gave Belle tremendous pleasure; at least one of them got to give him a proper welcome to the Gold residence. Despite giving Figaro all the chin scritches he could ask for, he was still glaring and grumbling about the intruder. Hook seemed to reciprocate his feelings tenfold.
"Cora said I'm to stay within your sights at all times," she reminded him, "So here I am, being visible."
"Does every command have to be taken so literally?" He wondered, swaggering back towards the doorway.
Belle stepped aside to let him pass, "For the most part, especially with more specific language. The vaguer the response, such as "do the magic smoke thing", the more open to interpretation it is and the more intent comes into play."
He squinted his eyes, smirking, "For not being the Dark One yourself you sure seem to have a grasp on the rules."
Belle smirked back, "Lots of experimentation. Sexual experimentation."
Shockingly he lost interest very quickly at the reminder of his enemy's sex life.
He strode to the next room, which just so happened to be their bedroom. She couldn't think of anything that would be devastating for him to find, though now she was very curious as to where the handcuffs ended up.
"So when did Cora let you into the inner circle?" She asked as he started with the dresser, "Last I heard she was using the knowledge of the dagger as a threat against me."
"This morning," he said, only mildly interested in their wardrobe, "Not much earlier than her reveal of you in the garden shed. I suppose she didn't want me trying to wrestle the dagger away from her."
His eyes lit up as he opened the top drawer, pulling out a pair of red satin panties with his hook. He wiggled his eyebrows at her but she didn't deign to give him a reaction. Figaro batted an arm as if to make him put them away. Hook, disappointed in her stoicism, put them back.
"Awfully convenient of her, wasn't it?"
"If you're aiming to get me to mutiny, you're doing a poor job of it," he crossed the room, meandering around their private quarters, "The winds are still in her favor and I have no reason to aid you."
"Except for the fact that you'll need someone in your corner after Rumple returns and the Charmings find out about Cora and Regina's scheming."
"And when will that old crocodile be back? In a few days? A few weeks? Could get a lot done by then." He continued taking things here and there. Jewelry? Fine. Cufflinks? Rumple would just get more.
He started nosing around the nightstand and, as humorous as it would be for him to open the drawer, she wasn't sure if she was ready to explain the wonders of this world's adult entertainment. Suddenly her arms gave out and Figaro dropped to the ground.
"Don't touch that!"
Hook glanced quizzically at her but, of course, that only made him even more curious. "What, this?" He picked up the porcelain tea cup with his prosthetic, the fragile trinket dangling helplessly by its handle.
Belle reached a helpless hand out. Figaro hissed, drawing himself up to his full height.
"Just...put it back down."
"Why? It's broken." He swung the cup back and forth, threatening to toss it right off his hook.
"It's not broken, it's chipped."
She knew that Rumple was in a magical dead zone, that he had no idea what was going on in Storybrooke. But if anything would trigger him unconsciously, it would be his most hated enemy playing with one of his most prized possessions. She half expected him to appear despite everything in a cloud of sheer rage.
Hook approached her, continuing to manhandle the antique, "What's so special about this? Of all the gold and silver, of all the priceless artifacts and finery in this ostentatious mansion, why do you care about this little chipped cup?"
Figaro didn't move. Belle fought the urge to reach out and grab it.
He looked her dead in the eyes, "Tell me."
She fumbled, both trying to find the right words to explain and to keep the dagger's compulsion from having her blurt out any words that came to mind. She shook her head.
"The first night I was in the Dark Castle, I...dropped it. Made that chip. I guess he keeps it as a reminder of how far we've come or something."
He frowned, "So it's an ordinary cup? No magic, no value, just...something you drink out of?"
Belle shrugged, trying not to smile, "Yeah. I honestly don't know why it's so precious to him. He's a sentimental old fool."
Hook studied her, possibly to see if she were lying. His concentration was interrupted by a muted ringing from downstairs.
"What is that?"
"The telephone, it's a way to communicate with people," she explained.
He brushed past her, following the noise. Belle was right on his heels, a new terror flooding her veins. Best case scenario it was the Charmings asking for help, worst case scenario... Her husband would hear Hook's voice at their home and turn right back around, giving the pirate plenty of time to plan a trap.
The gods were still on her side. By the time they reached the landline the ringing had stopped and the answering machine was going through its instructions. Clearly confused, Hook thankfully didn't think to pick up the receiver, just staring at the magical contraption as the voice went from female to male.
"...hi Belle... It's me again," Miles away he gave a self-deprecating snort, "I'm ah, we just got through security here at the airport and I thought I'd let you know... I'm not sure if you want all these updates but I, I thought you should know, since you're..."
Belle moved closer to the phone, crossing her arms as if to hold herself. She leaned against the wall, within reach of her husband's voice, but unable to lift a finger.
"Anyway, you wouldn't believe the size of these planes... I mean you would, I know you read about flight back when, ah, when you were going to... You should see Henry, he's so excited. I wish I shared his enthusiasm but you know how much I hate flying..." He paused and she could imagine him, swallowing hard as he tried to keep his composure, "...I wish you were here. I wish with every fiber in my being you were here. I try to imagine what you'd say to me but I just... The you in my head isn't as articulate or convincing. ...she just sounds like me." He cleared his throat and tears welled in her eyes, "I'll, ah, I'll call you when we land, and when we're settled in the hotel room. I can't believe I paid extra for a pool when... Nevermind, doesn't matter. You have your reasons for staying and I, I have to respect that. I'll find our boy...my boy...and I'll come home to you, and we can figure this out. I want to figure this out. Please..." His voice cracked, "...I love you Belle. Whatever I did I'll fix, just please...please don't...don't give up on me." There were a few ragged breaths as he tried to calm himself down, then the message ended.
Belle wiped at her eyes. What she wouldn't give to be there with him right now, as she promised to be so many times. To think Cora had sank her poisonous claws so deep into his mind he couldn't even see how paper thin the masquerade was. Years of faithfulness destroyed in a few days.
She glanced at Hook, fearing his reaction. Would he demand she call him back? Insist on the details of Rumple's itinerary so he could track him down like a bloodhound after a fox? No, oddly enough the captain's face was unreadable, the chipped cup in his hand instead of on his hook.
When Mr. Gold emerged from the men's restroom to be corralled into the tin cylinder they were entrusting their lives to, he was grateful Emma didn't ask about his knuckles. Henry wouldn't have noticed much of anything, pleased as he was with his cinnamon roll and the thrill of travel. The outburst had done nothing to alleviate his anxiety; it only brought him more shame. A reminder of his weakness, both physically and emotionally.
Numbly he sank into the uncomfortably tight seat, brushing up against Emma. The claustrophobic atmosphere and the anticipation of take off had his mind racing in circles while his body stayed completely still. He should be listening to the emergency instructions so if this godforsaken thing did crash he could at least try to save himself.
"Hey."
He turned to Emma, who was scrutinizing him. Trying to figure out when he was going to crack, most likely, and how badly.
"It's going to be alright. We're going to find your son."
"I know," he said dismissively, facing forward again. They were moving, rolling down a runway he couldn't see, getting ready to hurtle into the air by the grace of science alone.
Coward. The word hissed through his mind as his jaw tightened and his fingers rubbed over themselves, no thread to work but needing to move all the same. Belle's name was on his tongue despite how pathetic it would be to plead to a woman who wasn't there, who wouldn't even pick up the phone when he called. He hated flying but this waiting, this entrapment, this depending on a force he didn't understand or control...
Coward.
Stripped of power, stripped of his wife's comfort, he was right back to being the lame spinner who couldn't even protect his son from being drafted into war.
III
The fallen giant's body was cold and stiff, the blood long dried. Belle barely had the presence of mind to make sure Rumplestiltskin could hold on before she ran, checking each room. She found a couple more bodies, along with those of some human soldiers bearing King George's crest. A meal was set on the dining table, the lettuce a little wilted but still edible.
If she had to guess, they hadn't missed the slaughter by more than a day.
"The beans, Belle!" Rumplestiltskin screamed at her, tugging on her ear, "The beans!"
Tears welled in her eyes but she blinked them back, turning away from the scene and fleeing to find the fields.
There were no more crops. Raised beds of earth that were settled into the clouds bore nothing more than ash and salt. Still more giants and soldiers were littered across stone pathways, forgotten after their sacrifices. Belle sprinted forward, her foot going through an unpaved section of cloud and tripping her. She regained her balance and threw herself at the nearest bed, clawing through the dirt and ash. Rumplestiltskin had already teleported over to another bed, frantically searching.
Whoever had destroyed the beans had done a very thorough job. They combed through every inch of soil, shifting through it for even a fraction of a bean. Once they scoured them all, they went through a second time, and a third, and a fourth.
As the mushroom's effects wore off and Belle was returned to her 5'2" size, defeat finally weighed her down. Whatever hope had been here had gone up in flames.
Belle willed herself to Rumplestiltskin's side and found him on the edge of a patio, legs dangling into open air. She sank down beside him, having no words to console him. She didn't even have the words to express her own bottomless sorrow.
"I knew we wouldn't find anything," he said, staring down at the world below them. His hollow tone and blank face terrified her almost more than his rage, "It doesn't matter what I try, all roads lead to a dead end."
"Don't say that," she begged, taking his hand, "We'll find a way, we won't give up on Baelfire."
He didn't pull away, spitting back nasty comments about what would she know about what was and wasn't possible. He didn't lean into her, breaking down and pleading with her to promise they'd find Bae. He just continued to sit perfectly still, looking every bit his centenarian age as exhaustion lined his face.
"There's only one way. There's only ever been one way, and maybe I've wasted precious time trying to avoid it." He took a deep breath and let it out slowly, "...he'll never forgive me for this curse."
Belle's own mixed feelings about the curse bubbled up but she pushed them aside. Rumplestiltskin had made it clear nothing would stop him from trying to find his son; she had taken her vows with no pretense she'd be able to persuade him. Had she hoped there was another way, researching as much as she could about portal jumping and time turning and world bending to find a sliver of hope? Of course.
But her role was to help him and, if she could, keep casualties to a minimum. And now that she witnessed how hard he tried to find other ways, she was begrudgingly closer to accepting that a dark curse was the sole outcome of this tragedy.
"You'll never forgive yourself if you don't try absolutely everything," she said.
The corner of his mouth twitched, "I suppose not."
She rested her head on his shoulder, watching the world from afar. The world that they would destroy in a few short years. Maybe a land without magic was a decent idea; magic seemed to do at least as much harm as good. Maybe a fresh start was called for.
"This was supposed to be celebratory," he said before gesturing with his free hand. A picnic basket appeared beside him, filled with all of their favorite goodies.
They picked at the food politely, despite their lack of hunger. The bottle of wine however was drained almost as soon as it was opened.
II
"You have your reasons for staying and I, I have to respect that. I'll find our boy...my boy...and I'll come home to you, and we can figure this out. I want to figure this out. Please..."
Belle stroked Figaro as she lay on the sofa, staring up at the ceiling. She wasn't sure how many times she had replayed his messages just to hear his voice; enough to be pathetic. She was too distracted to read and too anxious to do anything else with Hook gone. She was alone in the house but couldn't think of a single thing that might give her more of an advantage. She couldn't let anyone know what was going on, she couldn't get a weapon because she couldn't use it on the people she wanted to, and she wasn't willing to test the boundaries yet and risk getting into a worse position.
Or risk getting her vulnerable currently-magicless husband into a worse position.
"...I love you Belle. Whatever I did I'll fix, just please...please don't...don't give up on me."
"I won't, Rumple," she promised softly, squeezing Figgy in a hug, "Just don't give up on me either."
The door opened and Figaro squirmed down, standing defensively next to the sofa.
"To repeat this message, press 1. To delete this message-" Belle lifted the receiver and hung it back up.
Hook stepped into the parlor, glancing at the phone, "Are you listening to those recordings again?"
"You haven't commanded me not to," she sat up, glaring at him, "How was your Evil League of Evil meeting?"
"Disheartening," he flopped down into an arm chair, "The giant distraction failed."
"Is Anton alright?"
"Seems to be. Looks like after the mistaken identity was sorted out everything was smooth sailing. So now it's down to you," he pointed at her.
Belle did her best to act as aloof as the captain, "Any plans yet?"
"Not any that they're willing to divulge," he shrugged, "Sounds like you get to sleep in at least."
"Oh goody."
She looked over at the grandfather clock, apparently less subtly than she hoped. Hook followed her gaze.
"Have a date?" He asked condescendingly. Belle turned her head away from him, folding her arms over her chest. This only encouraged him, "That's right, he's supposed to check in with you soon. Do you think he's finally given up and gotten the hint?"
In response, the phone rang. She dug her nails into her flesh, staring at the back of the couch.
"How do you go about answering a call? Picking up the long bit?"
It was rhetorical, she didn't have to answer. It was rhetorical, she didn't have to answer. It was rhetorical, she didn't have to-
"You've reached the Gold residence. Leave your name and number and we'll get back to you promptly." The machine added a "beep" after Rosaline Gold's lackluster greeting.
"...hi Belle. I apologize, I know I said I'd call after we landed but... Henry heard about the pool." He gave a soft laugh, "We ah, had to stop at the store to pick up some swim trunks. I was put on lifeguard duty while Miss Swan went to track down some preliminary research. He demonstrated various ways to go about jumping into the pool, including a "cannonball" and a "jackknife"." She fought back a smile, picturing his amusement and secret joy of babysitting duty, "He's going to be quite disappointed in all other quests going forward... I doubt Heracles himself received pizza during his labors."
She wished she could be a fly on the wall, to witness Rumple and Henry interact. They were both probably having a blast, even if Rumple would never admit it. Henry must be so excited, seeing New York City for the first time.
"...I'm scared, Belle," he admitted softly, "Scared of finding him, scared of not finding him... I've had so long to think of how to approach him, what to say... Even if I wrote it down I don't think I could find the words when the time comes. I know, I know, you've told me I should just speak from my heart... I don't know if it'll be enough. I'm only going to get one shot to make things right." A beat of silence passed, "Sorry Belle, sounds like the delivery's here. I'll update you on our progress tomorrow... I love you."
She closed her eyes, willing herself to stay put together. She could put aside her pride and beg to call him back, to promise not to let him know anything was wrong, just for a minute so he wouldn't feel so alone. To know she supported him and would always support him, that she believed in him to know the right words to say as he came face-to-face with their son. Hundreds of years couldn't change true love.
"The curse was never Regina's idea, was it?"
She sat up. Hook was on the edge of his seat, glaring at her while he twisted the rings on his fingers.
"Somehow he managed to convince her it was, but this whole world-tearing curse happened because he wanted it to, right?"
"What would make you think that?" The question sounded flat even to her own ears.
He stood up, crossing the short distance between them, "I don't know much about magic but from what I've witnessed Regina is...average. Downright adequate. She could use objects to jump between realms with the best of them. Cora is a step up; she knew how to ride the waves of the curse to ensure we wouldn't lose precious time once it broke. But to actually create a curse that powerful, that it could create a world within a world and maintain it for twenty-eight years... That calls for quite the ability."
The tip of his hook rested under her chin. She knew her silence was damning, but any explanation she gave he'd twist, fueling his rage further. She didn't need to fan the flames.
"And to think... If he'd taken the right hand so much tragedy would have been spared."
He curled the hook forward, the tip no longer pressing against the underside of her jaw, rather the curve of the steel. He tilted her chin back to force her to look up at him.
"He's looking for Baelfire."
Not a question. A statement of fact.
"...how do you know about Baelfire?" She asked.
He laughed mirthlessly, "I'm sure the crocodile likes to pretend Milah forgot all about her son, but she didn't. You could see the way the decision haunted her, if you knew what to look for. There were many nights she stared out over the waters, especially if we came too near her home port. She never forgot, and she never forgave herself."
"Did you ever see him?"
She caught him off-guard. He lowered his hook, unsure how to answer, "Once or twice."
"What did he look like?" The timing could've been better; it looked like a horribly disguised way to sidetrack him from talking about Rumplestiltskin's list of sins. But here he was, another person who had been there and seen what she hadn't, knew Rumple's first family.
As far away as she was from the actual search for Baelfire, this was all she had.
Hook pondered a moment, "...like Rumplestiltskin," he begrudgingly admitted, "Hair wasn't dark enough to be like Milah's, and his eyes were brown. Tiny scrawny thing... But he carried himself like his mother. Didn't shy away from confrontation, spoke with conviction beyond his years. I imagined him becoming quite the man someday."
"...and what was she like?"
He searched her face, looking for a sign of mal intent. Belle didn't back down. Was Milah her favorite person of all time? No but she was curious, and it might help the captain to talk about her.
He shook his head, "I'm going to need some rum for that."
Belle smirked, "Luckily for you, we have some."
In a moderately priced chain hotel room in Manhattan, Mr. Gold picked at his single slice of pizza. He knew he should eat, if only out of obligation, but his stomach was twisted into so many knots he worried it wouldn't hold anything. Henry and Emma ate their fair share, the boy taking solely from the pepperoni side and Emma taking one from the pepperoni side and one from the supreme side. The savior had retreated to the room's desk once she had her rations, returning to a hoard of lists and phone books and a beat-up laptop. Henry seemed content to sit on the same bed as Mr. Gold, resting against the headboard and blissed out of his eleven-year-old mind.
Mr. Gold sat at the end, checking his cell phone every few minutes. Belle hadn't tried to call at all, hadn't even bothered to pick up. For all he knew she was completely ignoring his messages.
"So what's your story?"
He glanced over at Henry, "My story?"
"You know, as Rumplestiltskin," Henry chewed and swallowed his bite, "It's not in the book."
"I'm in there several times," Mr. Gold corrected him.
"But those aren't your stories," he protested, "You're just a character with very specific roles, like the Beast in "Beauty and the Beast". They don't say why you're the Dark One besides "he has a curse", they don't mention a son at all. I guess because you're so old, not many people know how your story starts."
Mr. Gold picked at his toppings, "I'm not sure I want people to know my story..."
"We can't find your son if we don't have any clues," Henry insisted, "And we promise not to tell anyone your origin story, right Emma?"
Emma raised her left hand, miming an "x" over her chest with the right, "Cross my heart, hope to die."
Henry mimicked her but Mr. Gold still wasn't convinced. His boy had been a secret for so long, and even fewer knew how he had come to be lost. He couldn't imagine airing out his painful past for all of Storybrooke to see, to realize he was nothing more than a cowardly peasant behind all the showmanship and spectacle.
"We could start with his name," Henry offered, "Names have power."
Mr. Gold took a deep breath, staring down at his banged-up knuckles, "...Baelfire."
"Baelfire?" Emma echoed.
"That's such a cool name," Henry gushed.
He gave a small smile, "Yeah... His mother named him. He...he has my eyes, dark curly hair... When he grew it out he looked like a sheepdog." He was keenly aware of Emma absently jotting down notes, pretending she wasn't paying attention to them.
"What was he like?" Henry asked.
Mr. Gold set his plate aside, looking at him, "...he was like you," he confessed, "Brave and curious, playful, a heart of gold that I don't know where for the life of me he got it from."
"Were you royalty?"
"Gods no," he shook his head, chuckling at the idea, "We were...peasants. I...spun wool for a living."
"So that's where the spinning comes from!" Henry said excitedly, glossing over his years of poverty without concern, "What happened to his mom?"
"...she died."
It wasn't like telling Belle his past, where she had quietly listened and only occasionally prompted him. It was a conversation with a very curious, very eager interviewer. Details didn't seem to matter to him, such as how Bae's mother died or the politics behind sending children to the front line of a war. He wanted a fairy tale version, a simple tale of adventure and excitement. The validation was nice; Henry didn't seem to care about the moral ambiguity of burning down the castle of an "evil" duke or killing the Dark One to become the Dark One.
As it came to its painful conclusion, Henry didn't look at him with disdain.
"Sometimes heroes make mistakes," he said simply, "And sometimes bad things need to happen in order for good things to follow. I might not have even been born if you didn't lose Baelfire." Henry yawned and Emma took her cue to enforce bedtime.
The savior, bless her, was trying not to be judgey. But he still sensed a little judgment wafting his way.
He lay awake for hours, long after Emma and Henry had fallen asleep in their bed. He should sleep, should do everything in his power to be ready for tomorrow's search. But Henry's words bounced around in his head, preventing him from drifting off.
Sometimes heroes make mistakes, and sometimes bad things need to happen in order for good things to follow.
IIIIII
Hey look, this didn't take me three years to write. Maybe this fic'll be done by 2030 (watch me jinx myself).
Sneak peek: Did you want some more angst on top of your angst to go with your angst? Rumple and Belle both hit their low points. We'll see if I can keep my desire to write flashbacks of events that don't contain Rumple or Belle and contain mostly OCs in check.