Storybrooke had the appearances of a quaint little town tucked into the northernmost contiguous United State. Some might call it idyllic or believe living under Regina's phoenix wing would be a dream come true.
Jefferson disagreed heartily. Oh, sure, things could technically be worse. He could be a character in George R.R. Martin's novel and be molested by his twin or something. God forbid, not Cersei.
He hated Regina with every chamber pot under his skin capable of despising.
In the nightfall's overhang, which should have brought a fancy array of stars in a town that didn't suffer from light pollution, sheets of rain plunged in whirlpools. Yet, his anxiety refused to allow him to wait another night.
With a hooded rain poncho on over his midnight cloak and Regina's mother's book strapped under his green T-shirt to his bare chest, he plowed through the wild weather. Storybrooke didn't often endure such weather in daylight hours. Normally, it came through and fled while a majority of the townsfolk were asleep. By tomorrow morning, it'd be long over, leaving soaked grass in yards leaking with rainwater, broken branches in driveways, and a few upturned outside trashcans as the only evidence it had existed.
He hadn't expected to see anyone out in such weather, even if they were awake. The stores were closed this late. Only someone like him (with an agenda) or an outright idiot would be out.
So when he neared a black iron gate, feeling cold wind shove against his cheek, he would have been surprised to see a man leaning against the dripping gate in his soaked clothes, smoking a cigar and cradling a bottle of straight rum…
…except the man had a familiar face. One which didn't strike Jefferson as particularly intelligent.
He pulled the high collar of his cloak over his cheeks. "What happened to your flask?"
"Lost it. Anyway, right now, I just want a bottle." Will Scarlet licked his lips. "Want to try it? It was sealed, so it's not poison."
Jefferson accepted the bottle as the wind wailed in his ears. Instead of drinking, he muttered, "And I thought I was paranoid." He held the bottle up by the tips of his fingers. The wind snatched it and tore the bottle against the window of a tool shed. Broken glass smashed as the wind slammed the bottle in.
Stuffing his hands in the kangaroo pocket of his darkened heather grey sweater, Will replied with his lips wrapped around the cigar, "Some religious nutters been sneaking in the liquor store." To his credit, he didn't seem upset over losing the drink, making Jefferson deduce it was nearly all gone. "Opening the bottles, and dropping poison in. Saw it on the news at Granny's Diner while I had me Irish coffee this morning."
Defensively, Jefferson wrapped his arms around his chest from within the rustling poncho. The book made an indent in his inner forearms. "It wasn't me."
Will chuckled airily and whipped his cigar out of his mouth. "Course not. This is the work of bored teenagers." Pausing in his smoking, he studied Jefferson a mite too closely. "You're a fully grown man. If it was you, I'd be worried you were morphing into Pan. Or his shadow disguised as the Mad Hatter."
Wishing Will Scarlet, Knave of Hearts, would quit ogling him, Jefferson snarled, "I don't normally make it a habit to tell men how to wear facial hair or pantyhose, but I suggest next chance you get to wrap your thieving fist around a razor, use it." He only said it to get Will to stop looking at him like that. Not to actually criticize his whiskers. But to distract him.
Will choked on a mouthful of cigar. Eyes watering, he gasped, "I see you're not just a rich prat who thinks he's something hot because he…" Will looked repulsed and visibly wrestled with himself before spitting out a word he palpably thought so little of, it was a wonder speaking the word didn't put him in a hospital. "Work," he shuddered and shivered, his face full of grimace. When he calmed down enough to finish his thought, he grew eerily peaceful under the hormonal storm. "You're also quite a priss."
Jefferson raised his eyebrows. "You would think it's a bad thing that I like a smooth face."
"Bad, no. Manly, no. But then, I've known some women who love beards and others who hate them, so I guess some women like to kiss hairless men. Personally, I think they're lesbians, but you do you."
Narrowing his eyes, Jefferson growled, "You daft dimbo. There are some races of men who don't grow facial hair. I like to shave my face. Doesn't make me a woman. Otherwise, you're claiming women shouldn't shave their legs. So shut up."
Grinning broadly, Will informed him, "That's what you get for telling me to shave my three-inch stubble."
Rolling his eyes, Jefferson mused, "You'll have to excuse me for neglecting to acknowledge what a pinhead you are. Now, if you'll excuse me…" he started to wade off.
"Where are you off to at such an hour? Without a drink pumped into your veins of all the crimes…"
"One of these days, it might be your business," quipped Jefferson. In a clear, concise tone, he uttered through a peal of thunder, "That day is not today."
"I'm bored enough to help."
Fate was being goofy, Jefferson decided with a tense mouth. Forcing the two of them to scuffle together.
He could be goofy too.
Rolling his eyes more at himself than Will, he beckoned the drunk man to follow him.
Will didn't talk as they strode to Jefferson's destination, and neither did Jefferson. Will did try to hand Jefferson his cigar, but Jefferson waved it down. The Knave was smoking like he was a chimney and he had to burn heat to keep his frosty home warm.
When they reached the wishing well, Jefferson sat on the brim after tearing off his rain poncho. The storm was ending, and whatever water still leaked from the sky was blocked by the tree branches clustered protectively over the well.
The poncho had kept Jefferson's clothes and body (and Cora's book) dry as a bone. Unfortunately, the hood hadn't prevented rainwater from seeping in and plastering his dark hair to his skull.
He shivered from his cold hair when unstrapping the book from his chest.
A monkey came out of nowhere. It stretched up to the well and leaped off Jefferson's lap.
"What the fu—oh." His mouth jammed shut when the monkey landed in Will's outstretched arms and handed him half a foot of a loaf of bread.
Using swift gestures that were a blur to Jefferson, Will expressed gratitude. The monkey gave him a little neck hug, made a happy chitter, then vanished as suddenly as if he were an Apparating wizard.
Crossly, feeling unnerved by the unexpected encounter, Jefferson commented, "You never told me you had a pet monkey."
"I'd say the subject never came up. I'd be shocked if you'd confided in me you had a pet dragon, considering how little we know each other." Will put out his cigar. "But Abu isn't my pet."
"This is," the Mad Hatter twanged his thumbs, "not the kind of conversation I thought I'd be having while doing this."
Will cocked his head. "You fancied a conversation?"
"No." Jefferson opened the book at the dog-eared crease. "I don't know. Why we're talking about monkeys." He slid his palm down his face. "Yet, I initiated the conversation."
"Yeh, Abu's funky. He likes to run off to big cities to steal pretty jewels. But he won't let the Merry Men touch them. He sometimes shows us…from high in a tree…well away from his secret hidey hole where he stashes his junk…taunting us, I promise you. It's part of why he's so funny. He really likes the jewels, not the money." Will's voice trailed off. Biting into the bread, he plopped on the well, facing a different direction than Jefferson. He was behind Jefferson and on Jefferson's right side. "What're we doing?"
Jefferson coughed into his sleeve. "Summoning a demon."
Will laughed so hard he smacked his knee. It took him upwards of thirty seconds to notice how solemn Jefferson appeared. "Uh, you were serious?"
"'Fraid so. If you want to get while the getting's good," Jefferson nodded toward the town, "scram." He pulled three candles out of his midnight cloak's inside pockets. While setting up, he accidentally dropped one down the well.
Watching him light the other two with a match then place them on the brim of the well so they'd be directly behind Will's sitting position if he weren't tilting his body toward Jefferson, Will interjected, "As long as it won't devour my soul, I'm good."
"As long as you don't handle its medallion with your bare hands, you're fine." Jefferson shook out the flame of the match. "It's a present." He looked directly in Will's eyes, craning his ribs at an uncomfortable angle to do so. "For Regina." He resumed his natural posture, careful not to let the book tumble from his grip and into the well.
Will grinned devilishly. "I'm okay with that!"
"You'd better be," Jefferson joked. "Or in the well you go." He beckoned. Then he dropped his nose and began reading.
Will saw an oddly-shaped, palm-sized pumpkin and plucked it off its vine. It was roughly in the shape of an upside-down teacup. The vine even curled to form a handle.
He tossed it in Jefferson's lap. Jefferson paused in his reading to furrow his brow quizzically at the Merry Man. Shrugging, Will stated, "It felt like you." Jefferson nodded silently to show comprehension before diving distractedly into the book.
To himself, Jefferson muttered, "I'd agree if it was shaped like a top hat. As it is, I'd think it suitable for the March Hare. But if it makes Will feel good…" He stopped talking and stood up, clutching the pumpkin in one palm and the book in the other.
"Don't get in the way," he asserted gruffly. His back was to Will when he crouched on the ground.
An observer would infer Will thought Jefferson had eyes on the back of his head, for he lifted his hands in the air to show he was concealing nothing while asserting, "Wouldn't dream of it."
Jefferson's mouth tightened in a wry smile he was glad Will didn't glimpse. It was for Jefferson alone. A rigid set to his mouth that had the mark of knowing if Will promised he'd let Jefferson do his thing, Jefferson didn't have to cast another thought to the man.
He lay the appropriate herbs on the ground, the ones which would draw the wraith from his current asylum and into our world. Magical herbs the wraith liked but also ones for transportation. He Summoned all of them except the ones growing right by the well.
According to the book, he had to do it just right, each herb in the exact position it asked, or a different demon would burst through the portal.
The herbs had to be arranged like a many-pointed star contained in an octagon.
True to his word, Will kept his mouth shut. A small part of Jefferson found he didn't dislike the company Will provided. He wasn't that bad. At least it wasn't Regina! But they were two different types of people, and Jefferson didn't appreciate being considered "prissy" simply because he didn't like to guzzle alcohol as if he thought his spirit animal was a whale and his equivalent to water was liquid spirits.
When he was done with the herbs, Jefferson hissed, "I have a soul for you, Qui Shen. Show me your face, and I will brand her."
Thunder moistened the air with heat. Lightning flashed so close to Jefferson's face that if it weren't caused by magic, it'd certainly kill him. Drizzles of lightning danced around the well.
A hole big enough for a human hand appeared at Jefferson's nose's height. From the hole, a scaly hand emerged. Then came a bony wrist, followed by a matching forearm. The hole broadened, in height more than width. A cloak came through. Beneath the hood, two glowing red eyes shone. The hole closed after the undead demon fully entered our world.
The medallion fell to the ground with a sharp glint of gold catching the light of Jefferson's two candles. The demon swooped off. Jefferson seized the rope surrounding the medallion. Dangling it over the ground, he studied the swinging symbol.
"What's that?" wondered Will, scratching his hairy jaw.
Grimly, Jefferson answered, "The tool I need for something truly vile." His brain flickered to the past. "Something Regina deserves."
"The demon is going to suck her soul up through its mouth plunger?"
Jefferson nodded slowly. Still fixated on the medallion.
Shrugging impishly, Will mused, "Can't say I know the lady like you obviously do, but the fact a wimp like you is willing to do something so despicable to her suggests…I am very lucky not to know her."
"You are," Jefferson replied coolly, without removing his gaze from his weapon. "I did exactly what she wanted of me. She betrayed me and showed me as much respect, appreciation, and consideration as you'd show the Bubonic plague." His breathing had thickened.
"Sounds like the kind of lass I don't want to know up close and personal," remarked Will, relighting his cigar and going glassy-eyed.
"That's the worst part," mumbled Jefferson, slumping on the well and stroking the pumpkin with his thumb. "I didn't."
With the medallion swinging in front of him and his hand free of the pumpkin supporting it, Jefferson began to feel hypnotized. He knew he wasn't ready to crawl back home to his mansion lacking his daughter. Flaunting haunted memories…
He didn't notice when Will stretched, stood, and slithered off, but Will wasn't in his line of sight then.
Though Jefferson never shut his eyes, he fell into a dreamless sleep. Liquid loss of awareness, darkness crushed him on all sides.
It was one of Snow White's small blue birds chirping overhead that jerked him to consciousness. At this point, the candles' flames had drowned in wax. A squirrel had knocked them both to the ground beside the well. Jefferson's wrist ached from supporting the medallion for three hours, and his hand had welts where the rope had cut into it. His other palm was sweaty from clutching the pumpkin, and at first, he assumed the slickness was candle wax.
Without pausing to consider, he purposefully kicked Cora's spell book into the well.
Then he danced with the trees' shadows as he hurried home with no intention of being seen in midnight under the lovely periwinkle sky that would not conceal darkness in its bosom.