"We found him Marco," Snow White said over the phone. "We found August; we found your son."
The joy leapt within him. He'd been looking for his Pinocchio for so long, so long. The curse had broken, memories were restored, and loved ones were reunited, and yet through it all, his little boy remained missing. Now, finally, he'd been found.
"Where? Where is he?" Marco asked, afraid to hope.
"He's been living in a trailer deep in the woods," Snow answered.
"But why?" he pressed. "If he's been here and his memories restored, why has he done such a thing? Did he not know how frantic I was searching for him?"
There was a long beat of silence on the other end of the line. "Marco…" she said slowly, "there's something you need to know."
Slowly the dread, the fear began to take over his previous elation. "Tell me. Please."
"He's…" she began again, "well, he's still made of wood."
And just like that his elation ended. In its place came the crushing, overwhelming guilt.
This was his fault. His fault. He'd been a coward, allowed himself to be ruled by his fear. He'd feared what may come of his little boy in a land without magic. Would he turn back into wood? Would he lose his animation and return to a lifeless puppet? He couldn't take the chance; he couldn't.
So he'd done a terrible, terrible, selfish thing. Something that could have had catastrophic consequences for the entire kingdom. If the savior had been lost because of his action….if she'd died….if she'd never found her way to Storybrooke to break the curse…he'd have doomed them all.
And Pinocchio. What he'd done to his little boy was unforgivable. He'd placed a burden on a seven year old boy that he should never have been forced to carry. Marco knew his son needed his guidance, knew he needed a father's love and teaching to remain selfless, brave, and true as he needed to be.
In giving into his fear, in failing to trust that all would work out as it should, in taking matters into his own hands to keep his son from turning back into wood, he'd doomed the boy to that very fate.
He didn't know how he could ever right his wrong, but he intended to try. "Take me to him," he said finally. "Take me to my boy."