Chapter 12: A Family


Echoes warn Rumplestiltskin that visitors are approaching in plenty of time for him and Belle to set a bit of distance between them. When she slides her hand into his, however, Rumplestiltskin clasps it tightly.

"Oh, your coat," Belle says, and she bends and helps him into it, straightens his shirt, and fixes his hair, then takes his hand again. Her touches are warm, and soft, and seemingly multiplying with every moment, which leaves Rumplestiltskin feeling dazed, nearly drunk on her.

There's no sound in his mind. No voices. No whispers. No lingering insanity, crooning nonsensical sayings to him in the dark. No memories, far fresher than time dictates they should be.

It's a staggering change, though he blames his constant checks on the newly restored injury in his ankle for the way he keeps lurching off-balance.

Torchlight flickers and flares, and a group of people turn into the cave that holds his cage. Despite himself—despite all his personal promises to try to be as brave as Belle deserves for him to be for her—he tightens his grip on her hand. It takes all his willpower to keep from backing into the rear of the cage.

"Papa!" Bae calls, and Rumplestiltskin's heart leaps in his chest.

"Bae!" He presses against the door of the cage, straining for his son. "Bae, are you all right, son?"

"I am. I've come to get you out." Bae separates from the group, his hand outstretched—and then he freezes. His mouth gapes as he stares at his papa.

As usual, whenever he's stared at, Rumplestiltskin feels himself shriveling up, desperate to not be called out for all the flaws he knows he holds within himself. Just hours earlier, he didn't want Bae to see him as the Dark One he'd been so loathe to live with. Now, he cringes to think that after everything—after Neverland, and magic portals, and Pan himself—Bae is left with the same old, weak, lame, terrified spinner.

But Bae doesn't frown or turn away. Instead, he grabs his father's hand and exclaims, "Emma knew it. She knew it was for you!"

"Told you!" says the woman behind him. "Neal, seriously, I've grown up on stories of True Love's Kiss my whole life."

"I didn't doubt you," Bae says, as if she's talking to him rather than any of the guards nearby who might be named Neal. "Belle told me she loves him."

At his side, Belle flushes even as she meets Bae's gaze without flinching. Rumplestiltskin, however, ducks his head in embarrassment. He can imagine what everyone here must be thinking, because he's thought it himself. He knows he doesn't deserve Belle—that she deserves so much better than him—but she chose him, she loves him, and Rumplestiltskin weaves his fingers through between hers.

"I hope you're not disappointed, Baelfire," Belle says as she offers him a sweet smile.

Rumplestiltskin doesn't even have time to be nervous before Bae is assuring her he couldn't be happier.

"Okay, okay," one of the dwarfs from earlier grumbles. "This is all well and good, but are we letting them out or not?"

When a pair step out from the crowd, Rumplestiltskin doesn't need an introduction to know that these are the King and Queen.

"Rumplestiltskin," says Queen Snow White, "are you truly no longer the Dark One?"

"I'm not," he says. The peasant him would bow and scrape and beg for mercy—or failing that, at least plead for a moment here and there with his son. But he's come too far for that, and something in him rebels at the thought of bowing his head to this woman who might have been complicit in the cage that keeps him separate from his son.

"Do you mean anyone harm?" King David asks.

"Only those who try to harm my boy," he answers honestly.

There's a murmur among the dwarfs, but David actually smiles.

"Well," he says, "hopefully, as future King, Neal will be quite well protected."

Rumplestiltskin blinks. Then blinks again. The words refuse to come clear.

"Baelfire?" Belle asks before he can puzzle it out.

The smile that widens Bae's mouth is one Rumplestiltskin has never seen on him before—it's shy, and happy, and wondering, and proud all at once. Rumplestiltskin watches as his son reaches out his hand for the blonde woman's. She takes it, weaves their fingers together, and smiles nervously at Rumplestiltskin.

"Papa, Belle, I want you to meet Emma. She's my fiancée. And the King and Queen's daughter."


Belle nearly cheers when the padlock is unlocked, when Rumplestiltskin takes his first shaky step outside the cage and into his boy's arms—free for the first time in centuries—and when she is hugged by Snow without the slightest hesitation though it's been longer than Belle really wants to think since she's last washed. She does cheer, just a bit, when she's led to an expansive set of chambers and sees a bathtub full of steaming water and bubbling suds.

After a long soak and a vigorous scrubbing, Belle dons the pretty nightgown left for her, crawls into bed, and sleeps for nearly a full day. By the time she wakes, her stomach is growling, her limbs are aching from the long period of inactivity, and her heart is keening for Rumplestiltskin.

The night before, exhausted and exuberant, she'd thought it best to give Rumplestiltskin time with his son—the first real time he's had with Baelfire since they were trapped in the Land Without Magic. But now, rested and awake, Belle is eager to see her True Love. Eager to remind herself that it is True, that he loves her back, that they are safe and together and Baelfire didn't look horrified to realize she'd fallen in love with his papa.

Mentally trying to retrace the route Snow used to escort her to her chambers, Belle pulls open the door and steps out into the palace corridor. She comes face to face with Rumplestiltskin, sitting against the opposite wall, who startles at her appearance.

"Rumple?" she asks, a delighted smile springing to her lips. "I was just going to go look for you."

"Belle." He fumbles at his side for a moment before finding a staff that is, she soon realizes, a crutch. He uses it to drag himself to his feet, and by the time Belle thinks that maybe she should have looked away to spare his pride, he's already limping toward her. Just before reaching her, he hesitates, his eyes flying to hers, but Belle doesn't allow him the withdrawal. She steps into his chest, her arms looping around his waist, and smiles against his throat to feel his left arm wrap securely around her.

She'd have been satisfied if they stayed like that for an eternity, but the complaints of her stomach have Rumplestiltskin untangling himself from her. He's determined to get her food while Belle is determined not to let him out of her sight so soon, so together they find a servant and ask for a tray of food and tea, and then Rumplestiltskin escorts her back to her room. At his hesitation, Belle clasps his hand and pulls him in behind her.

The sunset paints the sitting room in shades of reds—maroon and burgundy and scarlet, with just a dash of salmon pink—and in this passionate light, Belle examines her True Love. There is still that lightness to him, but it is offset, now, by a learned tentativeness she wishes would melt back into the confidence she so often saw in him in Neverland. Only now does it occur to her to wonder if it's magic that lent him that boldness.

She wonders if he misses that magic.

If he wants it back.

If he wishes she hadn't kissed him.

A knock at the door saves them both for the moment, and they busy themselves with pulling two chairs together and doling out sandwiches, ladling bowls of soup, pouring cups of tea. Belle gulps down a glass of water first, then tucks straight into the food and hopes Rumplestiltskin won't judge her for her less than ladylike manners. She can't even remember she last time she ate.

"How's Baelfire?" she asks, when she cautions herself to be careful, and sips tea in order to let her food settle before deciding on seconds. "I thought you'd be holed up with him for days." She smiles at him. "I was envisioning having to pull you apart to get a moment with you myself."

Rumplestiltskin ducks his head as he fiddles with his teacup. "No. No, he was tired. The boy hasn't slept in far too long." His voice lowers so that Belle has to lean in toward him to hear his next words. "I met my grandson. He's a father now, my son, father to a prince. A future king."

Belle can't help her gasp. "He…he has a son?" It was hard enough reconciling that soft look in Emma's eyes when Baelfire introduced her as his fiancée; Belle can't imagine that half-boy, half-man she knew so well as a father himself. "When did this happen?"

"Apparently, Emma helped him recover after his last sojourn in Neverland. She's the one who found him a way back. I guess, along the way, they fell in love."

"You must be so happy for him," Belle says, laying her hand over his.

Rumplestiltskin cringes. "Yes. Happy. Of course."

"Rumple?"

Sliding his hand from under hers, Rumplestiltskin stands and limps toward the cold fireplace. Belle places her napkin over her plate and follows him, though she leaves him a bit of space, not wanting to crowd him.

"A good father would be happy for him," Rumplestiltskin murmurs. "So why aren't I? All I can think is that…he has a family. A new family. A better family. He'll never have to flee between worlds just to save them. He'll never be trapped and tormented for centuries for their sake. And if he is to be king—and he deserves it, Belle, he deserves all the good things in life—but he won't want a lame old spinner dragging him back down to the dirt. He's even taken on a new name, one that has nothing at all to do with his life with me. I'll have to let him go again. He doesn't need me. How could he ever want me in this new, grander life of his—"

"Rumple!" Belle decides space is overrated and steps directly into him, frames his face in her hands, and forces him to meet her eyes. "Baelfire hasn't said any of this, has he? These are just your fears rising to the surface. Your son went through everything he did because he loves you. He won't forget you now. He'd never abandon you. And yes, he has a new family, but that's your family too, Rumple. You have more people to love, more people who will learn to love you."

"He didn't even want to stay with me," Rumplestiltskin whispers. "He went back to his own room."

"With Emma?" she asks, quirking a brow at him.

He blinks, and then his cheeks flush. "I suppose so."

"Rumple…" Belle bites her lip to try to keep her laughter in. "If it bothers you so much, sleeping alone…" Do the brave thing, she thinks, and finishes all in a rush, "Then you can stay with me tonight."

His eyes widen as he sucks in a sharp breath, and Belle's cheeks flare hot. Perhaps she went too far, too fast. He's still adjusting to the new changes in his life. She shouldn't—

Rumplestiltskin ducks his head and kisses her, his staff clattering to the floor as he clutches her close. Only when his hands grip tight handfuls of the silk around her hips does Belle realize that she's wearing nothing more than a nightgown and a thin nightrobe. As Rumplestiltskin's lips move against hers, it seems like too much clothing altogether.

"Belle," he gasps. "Beautiful Belle."

The tenor of his voice, the achingly sincere endearment, has Belle shuddering and pawing frantically at his coat, his tunic, searching for warm skin to cool her burning fingers against. His mouth paints entire poems against hers while his tongue speaks love directly to hers, and Belle nearly sobs when he tears himself away.

"Belle," he says again. His eyes are dark and warm, glowing almost gold in the sunset. "Will you marry me? I know…I know you're a lady and I'm just a spinner, but—"

"Yes," she says, smiling and laughing and nearly crying, as she pulls him toward her, her feet backing them both in the general direction of the bedroom. He stumbles, but she catches him up, helps him stay upright, and his hand splays against the small of her back, his eyes are intent on nothing but her, and she's not tired but she doesn't plan on leaving her bed for the rest of the night. "Yes, Rumplestiltskin, I will marry you. I'm going to spend the rest of my life with you."

"You will?" he breathes, awestruck, and Belle has never loved anything so much as she loves him in that moment, with that look in his eyes, with his hand on her cheek and hers over his heart.

"Yes," she says. "Forever, Rumple. Starting right now."

His soft, crooked smile turns nearly devious as they fall into the darkness of the bedroom, lit only by a lantern hanging from a hook near the door. The bed stands in a pool of golden light, and as Belle presses Rumplestiltskin down onto the edge of the mattress, his skin looks nearly gilded. Belle's fingers trace the path of that gold down his skin.

"Forever," Rumplestiltskin says. "That sounds like a vow, my darling Belle."

"It is," she says. "I do."

And his eyes burst into liquid light, and Belle tumbles down into him, and she thinks this is the best beginning to a forever she could possibly imagine.


"He's beautiful," Neal says. It's the only thing he's managed to say in almost an hour, but it's so true that he can't help but reiterate it over and over again.

"He is," Emma agrees, showing no signs of growing tired of hearing it. "I'm so glad you got to meet him, Neal. I'm so glad you're here."

He tears his eyes from his slumbering son to look at her. "Me too," he says. "Emma, I…I never dreamed that this could be…that I could—"

She laughs at him. "I know," she says. "Trust me, this isn't exactly what I envisioned my life being either."

His heart tightens in his chest. "What did you imagine?" he makes himself ask—because she makes him brave. Because he can't live in fear of the future anymore.

"Anything that would take me away from here," she says. "There's a reason I was so willing to go to Neverland with you, Neal. I know this is the life I was born into, and I know my parents have given me a lot of leeway, but…I don't know. These palace walls can feel like a prison sometimes. Or they used to." Emma splays her hand over Nolan's rounded stomach while with her other, she traces the edges of Neal's face. "Now, with you here, with Nolan…it just feels like home. And I'm willing to do anything—even sit on a throne and rule over people who should be able to figure these things out themselves—just to make his life better."

"No regrets?" he asks, curling his own fingers around her wrist to keep her touch close.

"None," she says. "Not anymore. You're my home, Neal, not this place. You and Nolan."

"I love you," he says in case he hasn't said it enough yet.

Once his papa and Belle were free, Neal had thought of little else but getting back to his little boy. As much as his papa seemed nearly unrecognizable to him now, Neal had thrilled to introduce his own little baby to his papa, and seeing Nolan curled up in the crook of Papa's arm had done much to alleviate whatever uncomfortable feeling had sprung to life inside him the moment Belle smiled at him with her fingers twined in his papa's uncursed hand.

But when Emma had shown him and his papa to a set of rooms, Neal had been desperate not to be separated from Emma. He'd told his papa something about already having a room and coming back to see him in the morning, and he'd chased Emma down—not hard to do when she was waiting outside for him at their fountain—and then they'd run back to his room, hand in hand and laughing. But once there, trading soft kisses, exhaustion crashed down on top of Neal.

"Sleep," Emma had whispered. "We'll still be here when you wake up."

And she was. He must have slept for nearly twelve hours, but when he woke up, the first thing he saw was Emma rocking their son in her arms, pacing back and forth along the balcony, backlit by the brilliant sun.

Neal had gotten up, drank down some water, joined her on the balcony, and kissed both her and his son.

He doesn't know how long ago that was. What he does know is that neither one of them have made a single move toward the door leading outside this room. Servants have brought food and supplies for the baby, Emma and he have taken advantage of every one of Nolan's naps to relearn each other, and they've even dozed off and on with their son between them, and through it all, he's never been out of arm's reach of either of them.

It's been the best day of Neal's entire life, but that uncomfortable feeling inside him is only growing. It makes him squirm a bit, trying to accommodate its growth inside his straining chest, even as he bends all his focus, all his love, to his little family.

"When do you think we'll be married?" he asks.

"Not soon enough," Emma says with a groan. "Mom is intent on making a big ceremony out of it, and Dad's going to back every delay just to put it off."

"He still doesn't like me?" Neal guesses with a wince.

"No, that's not it." Emma strokes his hand reassuringly. "He just doesn't like the idea of giving me away." She rolls her eyes. "He's old-fashioned. Don't worry, he'll get over it."

Neal keeps his eyes on Nolan. "Can Papa come?" he asks quietly.

Emma is silent for a moment. "Neal," she says, very evenly, "why wouldn't he come?"

"I guess I…" Neal sighs as he realizes he's mis-stepped. With the reference to Papa, he's broken the bubble around them, reminded them both that they can't just stay alone in here forever. Or maybe it's only him who's been pretending. "I'm not sure where we stand, I guess. Papa and me."

"With each other? Or with my parents?"

"Any of it," he admits.

"Neal, he's not the Dark One anymore. Whatever crimes he committed happened hundreds of years ago. He's a free man. And as your father, he's an honored one."

Neal only nods.

"He was really gentle with Nolan," Emma says, clearly trying to feel her way through this conversation. Neal wishes he could help her, but he's not even sure himself why he feels nearly ready to break into pieces.

"Yeah. Papa's really good with kids. And dogs. It's everyone else he has a hard time with."

"Except Belle."

That lump in Neal's throat doubles in size. "Yeah," he croaks. "Apparently."

"Neal…" Emma tips her head and leans forward until he has no choice but to meet her eyes. "Are you…are you jealous of Belle?"

"That's ridiculous," he scoffs. "I love Belle."

"Right. But she got to stay with your father in Neverland while he made you come back here."

"She…she must have stayed because she wanted to get him out with her."

"And then she broke his curse. And you weren't even there to see it."

"Papa deserves to be loved," Neal says staunchly. Despite the fact that Nolan's sleeping peacefully, he scoops the baby up into his arms and stands to walk around the room with his tiny, precious weight. "Belle's good for him. And maybe he's good for her. She seems happy whenever she's with him."

"Well, then, that's good, right? Your father's happy and in love, Belle's in love, they're happy together, and—"

"And what about me?" Neal demands. The words slip from him without him even realizing they were waiting to be asked. He stares down at his own son. "Does Papa even need me anymore?"

For a long moment, Emma says nothing. Finally, he hears her standing.

"Neal, don't take this the wrong way, okay? But Nolan didn't need you either these past six months. He's been fed and bathed and kept warm and given a place to sleep. He has everything he needs without you or me. But we love him, and he loves us, and that's worth just as much. So let's just say for the sake of argument that your father doesn't need you anymore." She steps closer. "He loves you, and that's everything."

"How can he still love me?" Neal asks into the soft cap over his son's head. "I'm responsible for every bad thing that's ever happened to him."

The smack Emma lands on his arm with the back of her hand startles him and leaves him gaping at her.

"What was that for?"

"You're ridiculous," she says fondly. "Here, give me Nolan."

"What, why?" Neal asks even as she takes his waking son from his arms.

"Because you are going to go talk to your father."

"Now?" he asks.

As if on cue, Nolan squirms and begins to cry.

"As soon as it's morning," Emma relents. "Promise me, Neal."

He looks into her eyes and sees only love—for him. She wants what's best for him…and she's sending him to Papa.

"I promise," he says.

When Emma's situated Nolan at her chest, a blanket draped over his back, Neal bumps his knuckles up against hers, safe against the warmed back of their son.

"Emma," he says." Are we okay?"

Her eyes narrow. "What do you mean?"

"I mean…" He swallows. "I did leave you. I didn't… I never wanted to hurt you."

Twisting her mouth, she looks down at their son. "You did hurt me," she mutters, quiet, gentle even, but it still hits like a knife. "But Pinocchio explained what he told you, and I knew…well, you weren't the best at opening up in the whole time I knew you, Neal. It's not like I didn't know what I was getting into."

"But when you found out there was a baby?"

Her pensive look melts into a smile. "Don't you get it, Neal? You believe in fate, right? Well, he's the reason we met when we did. He's worth it all. I knew that even if I never saw you again, I could never regret you. You left, but…you didn't leave me alone. And I…I knew you'd come back."

"How?" he asks, helpless and uncomprehending. He hadn't even known he'd come back.

"Because that's kind of what happens in True Love stories, Neal. We always find each other. No matter what."

"I love you," he says again, unable to voice anything else.

Emma rolls her eyes, but her cheeks are pink and she bites her lip to keep in a smile. "Yeah, I love you too. But you still have to go talk to your father."


It's Belle who answers the door to Neal's knock. Which makes sense since it's her rooms that he was directed to, but Neal still blinks at her for a long moment. This might take a bit of adjustment, he thinks.

"Baelfire!" she exclaims, and she pulls him down into a tight hug he can't help but return. Smelling the roses in her hair, feeling how tiny she is compared to him now, Neal can't help but remember all the reasons he grew to love her. That time of traveling with her, the only one who believed in him, sleeping in rooms where she lulled him to sleep with stories, seems so long ago, but the memories are soft and worn with fondness.

"I'm so happy you're safe, Belle," he tells her. More than that, he thinks as he lets go of her and really takes her in, she looks absolutely brilliant. He's never seen her so bright, so smiley, so happy. Dressed in a simple blue dress, her hair spilling down her back, her feet clad only in thin slippers, she nonetheless looks as content as a queen. "I can't tell you how worried I was for you."

"I couldn't leave without him. Him or his dagger," Belle says, though she delays saying it until she's closed the door tightly between them and the rest of the palace. "But I knew you'd come back for us."

A flash of guilt assails him at the memory of how he fought against having to do exactly that.

"Don't think of it as leaving me behind," Belle tells him so gently that he nearly folds into her. "Think of it as you planting a weapon behind for later use. I don't think Pan really expected me or anything I did. He certainly seemed surprised that I cared for your father."

"Thank you," Neal says, "for taking care of him."

"Of course!" She actually looks surprised. "Baelfire, we went to Neverland to save Rumple. That was our whole mission." She pauses, bites her lip, then says, "You remember this, don't you?"

He watches as she heads to a pile of things that don't look as if they belong in the room: dirty leather, tattered wool, mangled pack. From the pack, she retrieves that chipped cup. He wonders at the way she holds it as if it's beyond precious to her.

"It's the cup I broke, the first time we met," he says. "Isn't it?"

"It is. I kept it, all this time, to remind me of all the reasons I first set out on this quest. And when I first met Rumple, I…" Her lips twist into a new, softer, more private smile. "He asked me to tell him about you. You were all he wanted to know about. I gave him this cup, and he wouldn't stop touching it because, once, you touched it. For a while, it was all he had of you."

"He had you," Neal says, that lump in his throat mysteriously gone.

"Yes." She smiles again. "But you're his son, and he's loved you his whole life."

Neal laughs. "Not his whole life."

"Yes," his papa says from the doorway to the inner bedroom. "Yes, my whole life, Bae. Even before I knew your name, before a seer told me that you existed…I loved the very idea of you. The thought of a family that I could devote myself to."

It's his papa. His papa with a staff in his hand, a limp to his steps, wearing only a simple shirt and trousers that could, if they weren't so well-made, almost be the homespun clothes a spinner used to wear. His papa's eyes. His papa's lined face. His papa's calloused hands.

Belle smiles and squeezes Rumplestiltskin's hand once. "I'll go find us some breakfast," she says. "I'm so happy for you, Baelfire," she tells him, and gifts him with another hug, before she slips out the door.

Leaving Neal alone with his papa.

"How's wee Nolan?" Papa asks before the silence grows too uncomfortable.

"Good. He's sleeping right now. Emma's with him."

"Emma." His father elongates the syllables of her name. "You love her?"

"I really, really do," he says.

"I could tell she loves you too."

"You could?"

"She came to let the Dark One out of his cage just for your sake," Papa says, looking away. "That's proof enough."

Neal tries on a smile. "She does love me, Papa. But…Emma hates injustice. And she really likes helping people who've been treated unfairly. So I think she might have helped you anyway."

Papa doesn't believe him, Neal can tell, but that's okay. Papa's always had a hard time fighting off cynicism. That's why Neal used to do it for him.

"Hey," he says. "Emma told me that a dog just had puppies in the stables. We should go see them." Daringly, he reaches out to nudge his papa's elbow. "Maybe you can pick one out. I don't know what you and Belle are planning, but if it involves sheep at all, you know you'll need a good dog."

"I-I'd like that."

They set out toward the stables, and Neal finds that it's second nature to match his steps with his papa's staggered stride. He hasn't done this since he was a boy, gangly and coltish, but even in this grown body that still occasionally takes him aback, Neal doesn't outstrip his papa, nor does he make it obvious how much he's shortening his steps.

It was Emma's suggestion to find something they can both use to distract themselves during their conversation, but Neal's idea to use the puppies. He's so glad for it, when they are ensconced in a quiet stall, a mother dog taking advantage of their presence to catch up on some sleep in the corner, her tiny puppies squeaking and swimming through straw. Neal pets the little spines of several while his papa cradles one tiny body in his hands. The whole place smells of straw and milk and puppy breath, and for a moment, Neal can almost fool himself into imagining that the past couple hundred years never happened.

"Are you okay, Papa?" Neal asks one of the puppies trying to nurse the lace of his shoe.

He feels it, the weight of the stare as his papa looks up at him. "I'm fine, son," he says. "How are you? I know…I know it can't have been easy, facing Pan down. Hearing those truths."

The utterance of that name rattles the world itself. Neal shudders and shifts in the straw. He's not sure if it's purposeful or not, the way he ends up with one knee pressed up against his papa's hip.

"I can't believe he was your father," he blurts.

Rumplestiltskin shrinks into himself. Buying himself time, he exchanges one puppy for another, letting it mouth at the tip of his finger. Neal sets his own hand down in front of a few wriggling bodies and watches them do their best to climb over it, falling and rolling all over each other.

"He traded me away for immortality," Rumplestiltskin finally whispers. "I took him to Neverland with a magic bean to try to find a place where he could be honest. Where he could do something besides lie and con and trick. But instead…he abandoned me. And I swore I would never do that to my own child."

"Papa…" Neal stares. Another bean. Another world. Another father and son separated with the best of intentions.

"But then I did it anyway." The puppy in Rumplestiltskin's hand licks up the tear that splashes against his palm. "Pan had my dagger, son. But I…I should have been strong enough to fight it. I should never have let you think that I didn't want you. That I would choose power over you. Oh, my boy, I'm sorry. I'm so sorry."

"Papa!" Neal abuses the trust the mother dog has placed in him by nearly squashing a couple of the puppies as he crawls to his papa's side. Rumplestiltskin sweeps the little babies to safety and wraps his arm around Neal's shoulders. He has to lean up to do it, but Neal bends his head and rounds his shoulders and burrows into his father's hold. "It wasn't your fault, Papa," he says. "I know that. You wanted me to be safe. I know. I understand. I want the same thing for my son."

In this moment, he is the little boy that watched his papa walk alone into the dark woods with a stolen dagger in his hands.

"But I never should have let you be taken by Pan in the first place. I should have—"

"You stayed with me," Bae whispers. He wraps his arms around his papa's middle and breathes in the scent of straw and wool. "You did everything you could. It was the dagger. The curse. It wasn't your fault."

"Oh, Bae…" His papa shudders and weeps on his shoulder, and suddenly, it's Bae holding onto his papa rather than the other way around. "I'm not good. In the Land Without Magic, even without the curse…oh, Bae, there were men. They tried to take the dagger, and I…I couldn't…they wouldn't stop. I had to…I had to…"

"Papa—"

"I don't deserve you," Papa cries. "I've always been a coward, but now I'm a murderer too, and you deserve so much better—"

"That's not true!" Bae says hotly. He pulls away and snatches up his father's hand, holds it to his heart, his face furrowed into a fierce frown. "Papa, you did what you had to do. Okay? I understand, really, I do. I'm not that little boy anymore. I…"

A puppy squeaks and snuffles against Bae's knee, while the rest tumble over his feet and into Papa's lap. Papa's lips tilt in the merest hint of a smile as he steadies the round, awkward bodies.

"It's all my fault," Bae blurts.

Papa frowns as he looks up at him. "Bae?"

"I dragged you to that world. You were dying, and I left you behind. You never would have ended up in Neverland if it weren't for me. Pan never would have gotten your dagger if I hadn't dropped it. And…and if I'd only kissed you before any of it, if I'd ever—"

"Bae, no."

"You don't think True Love works that way?" he asks, stung despite himself.

"Bae, the love I have for you is the truest thing I've ever known in my entire life. But it was not your responsibility to save me. And neither of us knew."

"But I could have saved you! You never would have had to go to the Land Without Magic!"

"And you never would have met Emma. Little Nolan never would have been born. I…I would never have lived to see Belle. She never would have fallen in love with me. Bae, these things happen for a reason."

Bae's laugh is almost bitter. "Fate?" he asks.

"Maybe," Papa says. "Or maybe it's just True Love, fighting to exist."

"I do love you, Papa."

"I know you do, son."

"Even though I left you?"

"You only left so you could save me," Papa says, and Bae nearly gasps because this is the first time that his papa actually looks like he believes that. Like it was true all along and Bae wasn't just making excuses to be a coward. "And you always came back."

"You're…you and Belle aren't going to move very far away, are you?" he asks in a voice altogether too small for a grown man who's already a father and is months away from being a husband.

Papa flushes and distracts himself with the blind puppy rooting at the base of his hand. "I doubt it, no. Belle…she loves you, son, and I don't think she'll want to be far away. Besides, she's a lady. She deserves far more than some hut with sheep and a spinning wheel."

Bae leans his shoulder against Papa's and tickles a puppy's soft stomach. "I think she'd be happy anywhere you are. I mean, she stayed in Neverland for you."

"She stayed," Rumplestiltskin repeats in a voice so soft Bae almost misses it.

"So, Papa," Bae says in a teasing voice, "when's the wedding?"

Rumplestiltskin smiles. "Today," he says. "If you think your wife-to-be can help arrange it for us?"


It turns out that Emma knows little about marriages, which suits Rumplestiltskin just fine. Since Belle hasn't stopped smiling from the moment Emma dragged them in front of a cricket who can talk and insisted she and Bae counted as witnesses, Rumplestiltskin allows himself to believe that Belle is just as happy with the short and simple ceremony.

At dinner, David—the King himself—pulled Rumplestiltskin into a conversation about sheep and wool and the best ways of growing a herd, and Snow White assured him he could have as many of the puppies Bae showed him as he wished, and Pinocchio mentioned a croft left empty just outside the palace walls before granting his own father's request to tell them all one of his new stories. Rumplestiltskin felt like everything was moving far too quickly, but Belle squeezed his hand and Bae beamed as brilliantly as he used to as a wee boy, and maybe Rumplestiltskin really isn't a villain. Villains, he knows, don't get happy endings, but every moment, every breath, is so dipped in joy that he can't help but breathe in extra deeply and savor each moment.

"Would you be happy?" he asks Belle in a quiet moment. Her hand plays with the laces at the neck of his shirt, and Rumplestiltskin shudders at the reminder that this is their wedding night.

"I am happier than I've ever been," she murmurs.

"But if I were nothing but a spinner? If you lived in a wood cottage with chores and sheep and drying wool hanging everywhere? You wouldn't—"

"I can't think of anything better," she proclaims. Then she bites her lip and says, "Well, as long as there's room for a couple bookcases and some time to read occasionally."

"Anything you want," he promises rashly, and cannot regret it when she kisses him as fervently, as unabashedly, as she does everything.

Now, she readies herself in their bedchambers—theirs, shared and promised to always be there waiting for them whenever they visit the palace, which will, Bae made him promise, be often—and Rumplestiltskin has stolen down to the nursery to peer over the edge of the crib at his sleeping grandson.

He's so tiny, all scrunched up and covered by a shawl of red and gray. It makes Rumplestiltskin think of the old shawl his son once loved, and out of everything he left behind when following his son to a new world, he wishes he'd brought that with him. Slowly, carefully, Rumplestiltskin strokes his grandson's little belly.

"Hey, Papa," Bae whispers as he slips into the nursery to join him. "What are you doing here?"

"I just…thought I'd wish him good night."

Rumplestiltskin feels contentment wash through him as he studies his son's face. Bae looks utterly happy, all soft and devoted—and all grown up, as he stares down at Nolan.

"And what are you doing here?" he asks his son.

Bae looks a little sheepish. "I don't like him sleeping all alone all the way down here. Emma said if I was going to worry so much I could go get him. I think she wants him close too, she'd just rather tease me than admit it."

"I could never let you sleep a whole night in your bassinet," Rumplestiltskin admits. "Even if you didn't cry, I'd be up and checking on you, and then I'd have to hold you, and it was so much easier to fall asleep when I was holding onto you."

"Yeah?" Bae smiles at him. It's an open smile. No tentativeness, no wariness, just love.

In the crib, Nolan snuffles and lets out a sound, not quite a cry but headed that way. At Bae's nod, Rumplestiltskin scoops him up.

The feel of him in his arms feels just like Bae did, once upon a time.

"Here, Papa," Bae says as he guides him back to a rocking chair. "Tell him a story."

His grandson shifts and nuzzles against Rumplestiltskin's shirt, content for the moment. His son sits at his feet and leans against his good leg. Down a neighboring corridor, his new wife waits for him, and in another room, his daughter-in-law sleeps in his son's bed.

Rumplestiltskin breathes deep to imprint every memorable detail into his heart, and then he places his hand in his son's hair and lets his favorite story spool out around them.


It all begins, he says, with a family…

The End


A/N: Thank you to everyone who's read, commented, favorited, and followed this story - every bit of encouragement really means the world to me! I hope to see you all on the next one!