A/N: Mention of suicidal thoughts in this chapter. Yes, I am leaning hard into Groundhog Day here.

Chapter Four

The hard ground—even padded with leaves and moss, it was still hard—woke Neal up at the darkest part of the night. The fire had gone down and it was chilly enough for him to feel gooseflesh rising underneath his cotton shirt. As appreciative as he was of his father's efforts to hang onto him this time, he had to admit it would have been better if Papa hadn't had such a firm hold on his jacket! It would have been nice to have around about now. The sound of the stream coursing several yards away roused him with the urge to attend to certain biological functions. On his way back, he scooped up some more fallen branches to use as firewood.

Returning to the campsite, he realized that Henry was already awake and sitting under a tree some yards away. He dropped a branch onto the still-smoldering logs and walked over to him. "Can't sleep, kid?"

Henry shook his head. "I kept dreaming about being in a fire."

Neal chuckled and ruffled his son's hair. "Those flames," he said, gesturing to the glowing embers, "were probably the last thing you saw before you fell asleep. Not surprised if that impacted your dream. Well," he sighed, "with any luck, we'll be out of these woods and sleeping in an inn tomorrow night."

"I though the curse brought everyone to Storybrooke," Henry said.

That gave Neal pause. Then he shrugged. "The people, maybe, but the buildings should be here. And I don't know about you, but I'd rather have four good walls and a roof over my head if it's raining. Meanwhile, if you're up, you can help me get some more wood."

Henry started to get up. Then he shook his head. "If Regina wakes up and we're both gone, she'll think we left her."

"Right," Neal nodded. "I guess that would be scary for her. Okay, sport. You wait here. I won't be long." The flames were going well enough now that he could add the rest of the load he'd brought without smothering it. He watched for a moment, waiting for them to catch, before he left the clearing again.

Henry smiled until his father was out of sight. Then he shook his head. Regina wasn't scared of anything! On the other hand, if she thought she'd been left behind, she'd be furious. And Henry knew full well that with our without her magic, a furious Regina was a force to be reckoned with.

He settled back to wait.

Emma was having a miserable night. It wasn't the first she'd spent without Neal; when first she'd come to Storybrooke, he'd been in Alaska and he'd only joined her some weeks later. She hadn't been alone then, though. After Granny had been forced to evict her from the bed and breakfast, she'd crashed at Mary Margaret's until Neal arrived and they'd found this rental together.

A few days ago, reeling under the realization that she barely knew anything about the man she'd thought she knew better than anyone, she'd told him that she needed time to process and he'd reluctantly taken a room at Granny's himself.

Now, it looked like she had more time than she'd expected and, ironically, faced with the possibility that he might be permanently lost to her, she didn't need it. If Neal came back, if he still wanted her, she would welcome him. But now, as she tossed and turned in bed, trying to find a comfortable spot, and rolled into the empty space where he should have been lying, the feelings she'd been walling up since he'd first tried coming clean about his past came crashing in on her and she hugged his pillow to her and curled up around it.

And then, she was getting out of bed and pulling on clean clothes in the dark. She was too upset to sleep right now; she needed a good drive in the night air to settle her thoughts. She had no idea where she was going to drive to at this time of night, but she'd figure it out when she got there.

She was almost to the town line when she realized that she wasn't leaving. Her best chance to get Neal and Henry back was right here in Storybrooke. Leaving town now would be resigning herself to their being gone for good.

It would mean losing her parents all over again. Her feelings about them, much like her feelings about Neal were complicated at the moment. Intellectually, she knew that if Neal had told her the truth from the start, she never would have believed him and she almost certainly wouldn't have stayed with him. Emotionally, she was still dealing with the fact that he'd been lying to her—mostly by omission, but occasionally outright—from the day they'd met. After more than eleven years of deceit, she didn't know if she'd ever fully trust him again.

Similarly, intellectually, she could understand that in sending her to this world ahead of the Dark Curse, her parents had tried to give her her best chance. They'd had to act fast, and even had they known that she'd grow up bouncing from foster placement to foster placement, never really fitting in, never truly loved, they might still have done the same thing, because the alternative would have been to spend the rest of her life as a newborn in Storybrooke, with nobody to break the curse.

…And that's if Regina hadn't murdered you. David's words from earlier came back to her now. She came to our castle just before the Curse struck, planning on it.

She could understand it, but she'd had a lonely, miserable childhood without them, and even if they'd done the best they could, inside of her now, a little lost girl was crying out, "It wasn't enough!"

But just because she was still angry—at Neal, at her parents, at Regina, at… Maybe she ought to make a list—that didn't mean that she didn't want to leave them behind!

She made a U-turn at the sign and headed back toward town.

Rumple passed his hands over the hat one more time before handing it to Jefferson. "Well," he sighed, "I daresay you'll look elegant enough walking down Main Street in it, but as for the hat's original magic, it would appear that there wasn't enough left in the scraps you salvaged."

Jefferson nodded. He ran his fingers gently over the stitching. He'd sewn the torn fragments of the brim of his original hat onto one of the many he'd stitched over the years, hoping that they might infuse it with enough of the old enchantment to finally create a new working model, but not even the Dark One's efforts had been able to do what was necessary. "I guess I knew it was a longshot," he admitted. "But I had hopes."

"As did I," Rumple said bleakly. "I would suspect that it's the original problem: the hat was never designed to visit a non-magical realm and the magic I brought here was transplanted from our land. It sufficed to awaken the original device, but," he shook his head, "its remains are now grafted onto a hat fashioned in a Land without Magic. The sheep and silkworms that created the threads of its fabric never breathed the air of a magical realm, nor ate food grown in the soil of one. It's not enough."

"I'm sorry," Jefferson sighed.

Belle had been listening to the exchange. Now, she rested an understanding hand on Rumple's shoulder and turned her blue eyes to Jefferson. "I… uh… want to thank you for freeing me from the asylum," she murmured. "How did you even know I was there?"

Jefferson gave her a faint smile. "I've been awake for twenty-eight years," he reminded her. "After the first few days, I couldn't take the monotony. I started pushing the boundaries, trying to see how far I could go."

"Go?" Belle repeated. "You mean, you left town?"

"No," Jefferson said, still smiling. "Not like that. I realized that no matter what I did each day, I woke up at eight-fifteen, in the middle of the first chorus of Sonny and Cher's 'When You Say Love,' just at 'If you took everything you heard and tried to make a magic word…'". He scowled briefly as he went on. "On my first morning in Storybrooke, I woke up to find a chair by my bed with a bathrobe draped over it, a copy of Lewis Carroll's The Hunting of the Snark on my night table with a bookmark at the chapter titled 'Fit the First: The Landing'. And no matter what I did: put the bathrobe in the closet, laid out a suit before going to bed, moved the bookmark, changed the radio station… The next morning, I woke up at eight-fifteen, in the same room, at the same line of the same song, with the same bathrobe and the same bookmark in the same place…"

He shook his head. "So I went further. I tried accosting people I recognized and trying to tell them what was going on. Sheriff Graham arrested me and I went to sleep that night in a holding cell, but I woke up in my room at eight-fifteen the next morning. After a few months, I couldn't take it anymore. I tried to end it all. I bought all the sleeping pills Clark had on the shelves and took them in one sitting. Still got up at eight-fifteen the next morning, no worse for wear, and when I walked into the pharmacy that afternoon, the pills were back on the shelves. The town boundaries include a section of railway track and five times a day, the Amtrak Downeaster passes by. One time, I parked on the track. I can't tell you if the train stopped, if the engineer even knew they'd hit me or if something about the Curse made the town invisible to them… All I know," he rolled his eyes heavenward, "is that I woke up at eight-fifteen the next morning, alive and well, in my own bed."

He sighed. "I tried talking to Archie about it. I thought maybe there was some medication he could prescribe that would help me forget, so I could wander around as oblivious as everyone else." He smiled at Belle. "And instead, he had me sent to the asylum for observation. As they were showing me to my new room, I happened to see someone leading you back to yours. Your hair was in a towel, so I guess they must've let you out to shower or something. I recognized you straight off, but there wasn't much I could do except file away the information."

"I suppose I can understand why you wouldn't have come to me with it," Rumple said.

"I came to you before I knew Belle was there," Jefferson replied. "You were," he went on apologetically, "one of the people Graham locked me up for assaulting. That was when I realized that you'd also forgotten everything. I don't know when you woke up, but I when I saw that you were moving against Regina, I knew that there was a good chance you had. And yes, okay," he said, "I'd helped Regina get the apple she wanted in exchange for her waking Grace up and letting the two of us leave. She reneged. I thought maybe you'd be able to come through instead, but I knew better than to try blackmailing you."

He turned to Belle. "I'm sorry I didn't do it sooner, but the one time I managed it, um… when I woke up at eight-fifteen the next morning, you weren't there. When time started moving again, I thought about trying again, but if I'd failed, Regina's killed people for less.

"And, like I said," he added, turning back to Rumple, "I didn't know if you were awake." He smiled bitterly. "So, I waited until I was positive that you were, and that the hospital staff was more or less preoccupied with the first real emergency they'd ever had. Sorry my reasons weren't entirely altruistic, but selfless or not, I… finally did the right thing." His smile flickered. "Being able to stick it to Regina at the same time was just the sugar in the Earl Grey."

Rumple regarded him silently for a moment, his expression inscrutable. Then he nodded. "Well. It would appear that I'm in your debt. As that's not a situation that occurs often, might I advise you to choose carefully how you'd like me to discharge it? Obviously, with the Curse ended, you don't need my assistance to reunite with your daughter now, do you, dearie?"

Jefferson's face fell. "I've spent more than twenty-eight years longing to have her back, but now that I can… I don't know how I can begin to explain to her how I lost her all those years ago. Maybe she's better off with her new family."

Rumple frowned. "I could—" Whatever he might have said was interrupted by the ringing of the doorbell. One of his eyebrows shot up. "I'm certainly not expecting anyone at this hour," he said, as he turned to head for the foyer. Belle started to follow, but he motioned for her to stay back.

"If it's a mob come looking for a new target now Regina's gone," he remarked, "I'll deal with them better if I know you're in no danger of being in the crossfire."

Belle looked worried. "You won't…" she started to say, as he pulled the door open.

Rumple stiffened in surprise, but his voice was calm as he greeted his caller. "Sheriff Swan," he said with the smallest hint of mockery. "To what do I owe the pleasure?"

Emma swallowed hard. Suddenly, this didn't seem like a good idea after all. "I couldn't sleep," she said, wanting to look down, but forcing herself to meet Gold's eyes. "I-I saw your light on and I thought…" She shook her head. "I don't know what I thought. You made it clear before that you wanted to be alone. I should respect that. I'm sorry."

She turned and started walking back to her car. One step. Two. Thr—

"Sheriff."

She stopped and turned around slowly to face him.

"Emma." Gold sighed and shook his head with a sad smile. "It's a chilly night, sheriff," he said. "I've just put a fresh pot of coffee on if you'd care for a cup before you head off."

Emma hesitated. "I don't want to put you out if you're just being polite."

"I see," Gold returned. "Well. The offer is made. And if you'd prefer to think I've some ulterior motive for inviting you inside, you'd hardly be the first." More softly, he added, "If you'd prefer less caffeine at this hour, I do believe I might be able to scrounge up some cocoa."

Emma smiled and followed him inside. Her eyes widened when she realized that he had company. "I didn't mean to intrude," she murmured.

Gold shook his head. "You aren't, sheriff. Now I know you and Belle met earlier; do you know Jefferson?"

Emma's face hardened at the name. "Neal's mentioned him," she said coldly.

Jefferson winced. "Sorry about that," he said quickly.

"What's this?" Gold asked and Jefferson shrank a bit in his chair.

"Guess you could say he and I started out on the wrong foot," he mumbled.

Gold started to say something else, but Belle had already risen from the sofa to approach. "Welcome, sheriff," she greeted her.

Emma returned her smile. "Emma," she said at once. She looked at Gold again. "You're sure I'm not interrupting anything?"

"Nothing useful," Gold assured her. "I was attempting to restore what's left of Jefferson's hat, but the effort proved futile."

Belle placed a hand on his shoulder. "You'll find another way," she said, her voice gentle.

Gold shook his head. "In this land, that hat was our best chance." He heaved a sigh. "If the Curse had brought over all the contents of my castle—"

"You had a castle?" Emma interrupted, and Gold gave her a hard look.

"One hardly needs to be royal to possess one," he informed her tartly.

Emma held up her hands, palms out. "Okay, okay, sorry. I'm still trying to wrap my head around everything."

Gold gave her a slight nod. "As I was beginning to say, in my efforts to find Bae, or Neal if you prefer, I acquired a number of artifacts capable of crossing from one magical realm to another. Such items are rather scarce," he continued, "but not really that difficult to come by."

"Well, which is it?" Emma asked with a puzzled frown.

"It might help to recall," Gold said, "that precious metals and gemstones are scarce, and it is for that reason that their cost is relatively high. And yet, if you wished to purchase a diamond, or a twenty-two-karat gold necklace, I imagine you'd have little difficulty finding one. You see, sheriff, there is 'scarce' and there is 'scarce'." He waited for Emma's nod of comprehension. "The real trick is finding a way to cross from a magical realm to one without magic. Initially, I'd hoped that with some tweaking, I could retool an existing artifact to do it. Sadly, my efforts met with failure, and I had no choice but to develop the Dark Curse, but now that there is magic in Storybrooke," his expression turned bleak, "if any of those objects had been brought here by the Curse, then we would have the means to journey back to Misthaven—"

"Misthaven?"

"If you'd rather call it the Enchanted Forest, dearie, I'll not correct you, but since there's more to it than just forest, I prefer Misthaven."

"What he's trying to tell you," Jefferson spoke up, "is that my hat was the only device we had that could have taken us back there from here, and now that it's been destroyed, we're effectively cut off."

"It's a pity we can't get a message to them," Belle said sadly. "If they could only get to Rumple's castle, then they'd have a way to return."

Gold sighed. "Well, there's no use belaboring what can't…" His eyes widened suddenly and a wild hope seemed to flicker in them.

"Rumple?" Belle asked.

And then Gold smiled. "Sheriff Swan," he said slowly, "I would request of you that, at your earliest convenience, you ask your mother how well she's been sleeping these days."

Neal fell asleep again eventually. When he opened his eyes, the sun was filtering down through the heavy tree cover and Regina was starting to stir. Henry was down by the stream splashing water on his face.

He frowned. There wasn't anything like enough protein to be had on leaves and berries. He was going to have to figure out some way to hunt or fish soon. His eye fell on a cluster of bramble shrubs nearby. While their berries would be a welcome breakfast, their branches could be put to other uses as well. He reached into his pocket, hoping for something useful and pulled out his car keys. One eyebrow shot up. He selected one key and brought the jagged edge of the blade to a vine that was trailing the ground, wincing as one of the thorns dug into his hand.

"What are you doing?" Regina demanded suddenly.

Neal looked up. "Without a decent whittling knife, I can't make a fishhook, and I need leather for a slingshot. A bow and arrow are possibilities, but again, I'm low on materials. Until I can find them, a fishing net is our best chance at improving our food prospects. Unfortunately, while you can weave with brambles, at this time of year, most of the vines have gone to thorn. Unless you've got a decent pair of gloves on you, it's one more thing I can't do unless we happen on the remains of some creature with enough of the hide left to salvage some leather. Even then," he added, "I don't think I'll be able to tan the hide, so we'll only have so long before it starts to rot."

Regina snorted. "You're assuming we won't be eaten by trolls or wild beasts, first."

"I'm hopeful," Neal replied. "And anyway, if the trolls get us, it'll be quicker than malnutrition."

Regina winced. "All right," she said, a bit more subdued. "You have a point."

"Maybe," Neal admitted, but I still don't have a net. Look. We foraged enough yesterday to take care of breakfast, at least for you two. How about, while you're eating, I go looking for something better than a bramble?"

Regina frowned. "If you get lost…"

"I'll find my way back," Neal said. "I'm just going to follow the stream for a couple of miles."

"Can I come?" Henry had rejoined them in time to hear the last of it.

Neal smiled. "Maybe stick with Regina for now," he said. "I won't be long."

He didn't miss the look of relief on the Evil Queen's face.

He'd gone nearly half a mile before he realized that there might be an easier way to get their bearings. He shook his head, smiling a bit as he shinnied up a tree. Time was when that would have been his first move, but growing up had blunted a lot of old instincts. Climbing a tree, though, was much like learning to swim: once mastered, the skill wasn't lost.

Thirty feet up, he could spy the red-brown earth of a dirt road. Eyeballing it, he judged the distance to be about three or four miles west of the stream. He knew, though, that without a compass, it would be easy to get turned around once they left their one landmark. He started the downward climb. Once he was on the ground, he could start marking trees, so that they would find the way more easily.

He was halfway down when he spied a deer ambling along. He smiled. It had been a long time since he'd seen one outside of a petting zoo, and the stag was a thing of beauty. Deadly beauty, he thought, eyeing its hoofs and antlers. He held his position, waiting for the animal to move on.

From out of a copse of trees, a small missile streaked, burying itself in the stag's throat. Neal froze as the beast dropped with the feathered shaft of an arrow protruding from its neck.

If Henry, Regina and me are the only ones here, he thought furiously, then who the hell just fired that arrow?