Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

It was cold. And he shivered on the side of the cold, wet road.

It was late. The stars in the sky, the power he'd tried to harness, winked at him, laughing and taunting as the voices in his head once had.

But now it was quiet. Inside and out. No voices. No sign of humans. No sign that there was an orange line and a community of characters out of this realm's fairytales right down the road. The magic of Storybrooke hid her safely away from everyone outside of her town line.

Including him.

For a long time, he'd sat there in the middle of the road trying to figure out how Belle had vanished from his sight so easily. Despite his familiarity and understanding of the curse, he could not wrap his mind around how it was possible that she'd been there one second and then gone the next. In desperation and despair, he'd cried out her name, apologized for all the world to hear, and wept with a hope that any second, by some miracle, she'd come back into view. He prayed that, whether out of love or guilt or just the goodness in her heart, she'd step across the line and be with him. Her presence might have made this easier.

He wasn't angry.

Not with her. He couldn't be.

For a few moments, just before he'd crossed into a world without magic, down the bond they shared, he'd felt everything that she had felt. He'd felt everything that he'd done to her. Anger, rage, disappointment, hope, fear, heartbreak…he'd broken her heart. The very heart he'd sworn to always look after. Fuck, it felt as though he'd torn it to shreds!

And so he wasn't angry with her. He didn't blame her for what she'd done. He was even willing to accept that it might have been for the better! He'd convinced himself that if she appeared again, if she was willing to leave Storybrooke and come with him into exile, then he'd harbor no ill will. He'd be grateful. He'd win her heart back, he'd put it back together with tape and glue if he had to, and protect it until the day his mortal life came to an end.

And it truly was a mortal life…

He tried to use magic. At one point at least. He'd taken the potion for confidence so that his magic would grow in the Realm Without Magic, over time, perhaps, but grow at least. He'd hoped that with that confidence, he might be able to use his magic on the outside as he'd once seen Emma use hers. However, as hard as he tried to do something, anything…heal his leg, disappear, move a rock, lift a pebble…nothing happened. That theory he'd had about leaving Storybrooke with his magic intact was only supposed to work if he'd managed to free himself from the dagger.

Which he hadn't…

He'd been thirty seconds away from everything he ever wanted.

And now just thinking about it made his heart tighten in his chest. That kind of thinking, that plan that he'd had…that was what he'd done to utterly decimate the love of his life.

He'd been here a long time now, waiting for something that he was slowly coming to fear wasn't coming. And in his mind, he saw every opportunity he'd had to fix what he'd broken; he'd played out every scenario.

He saw himself leaving the hat he'd found at the mansion, burying it in the woods, showing it to Belle and explaining what it was, giving it to Emma.

He imagined himself being honest with Belle after his nightmares, and playing out conversations in his mind where he told her of how much he hated and feared and needed the dagger, admitting that he'd killed Zelena.

He saw himself telling her the truth when she woke from the Curse of Shattered Sight; when they'd fought over it after he'd first been made aware of the dust; when they'd gotten back from the ice cavern. He saw himself telling her at every opportunity he'd had in their entire lives, and that included the castle.

He rewrote their past. Anything that might have changed his ultimate destination. Here.

But the past was the past. It wasn't something that could be changed! Even if he had access to his magic, he knew enacting Zelena's spell wouldn't have been the answer.

The past was gone. There was only one long road in front of him now, an unknown future, assuming he found the courage to get up from this place and move down that road.

What would his future be now? Yesterday he'd seen it so clearly, but as the sun started to rise over the horizon, taking the stars from him and offering light like a cruel joke, it seemed like nothing but darkness awaited him.

What was his future now? There was no answer for him. He had no choice. He was foolish in thinking that just because he was capable of doing great things, he'd be able to accomplish them. All because someone, somewhere, had once decided that he wasn't a hero, not even in his own story. He was a villain. And...what was it that Regina had said?

Villains didn't get happy endings.

He'd been foolish to think that he might ever have been the exception. That he could beat fate. That he could rewrite the role some unknown author of a magical book had assigned him.

It was foolish to think he could change his future any more than he could change his past.

Than he could change his past.

Unless...

Fuck. Here he sat with absolutely nothing, still smarting from his last plan, and he was already scheming again. Wasn't plotting and planning what had gotten him here in the first place? Wasn't that what had broken Belle's heart so badly she couldn't even look at him as he cried out for her? Would he never learn?

Did Villains ever learn?

It was easy to dream about what his life might have been like if he had been rewritten as a hero, though. Maybe too easy. Belle would sure as hell have everything she ever wanted from him. Courage, loyalty, honesty…

What must it be like to be a man like David, who didn't struggle with those things, who didn't have demons or succumb to temptations, who didn't have memories of past Dark Ones in his head constantly filling his mind with their plans, their desires, their thoughts! Hell, if it hadn't been for them, for that constant noise and chattering, would he even be here?!

It was their idea to take the hat, their idea to pursue a grudge against Merlin's Apprentice for millennia, their ideas that had led him to go down this path when he should have known how it ended all along!

The Seer had told him! She'd fucking told him this was how it would end! With nothing but time, he'd had very little to do but replay his life, rethink every memory, precious and profound, from the last few days, and that was when he'd remembered the Seer's prediction about Ingrid so long ago! The wall of ice, the mirror imbued with Dark Magic, the three sisters drawn together through a bond preserved in ribbons, "when the time was right." And what had she said about all of it?

"You shall try."

Not, "you shall succeed." He would try!

"Kill the spares. Spare your family. Try you shall."

Fuck she'd told him not once but twice how this plan of his would end! He knew the memories of the Dark Ones were nothing but a danger in his head! But he'd still indulged them. Still pursued their plans. Still given in to them. Like he always did, because what other choice did he have?

Regina was right.

They were villains. They had been since the day their tale was first written, and they always would be unless…

Unless.

He shook the thought away. There was no point in dwelling on the impossible. He'd learned when he was in Hadestown that unless he could rewrite his story, redemption wasn't an option. And Regina had been on to something with that. The idea of finding the Author and getting him to change their tales, to make them redeemed heroes instead of persistent villains, it was attractive.

But it was useless.

For one, he'd been honest with Regina when they were together; he didn't know who the Author was. Frankly, until he'd gone to the Underworld, he'd never even put much stock in the idea that the Author even existed! He'd seen it as a fairytale. And Henry's little book…he'd never thought twice about it.

And for another, even if he did know who the Author was…what good would it do him now? If he could go back and do things over again, he would do everything differently. From the beginning! Hell, with the knowledge he had now, if it was up to him, he'd have let his curse break when Belle had first kissed him in his castle. If he'd done that, then he wouldn't have the voices of the Dark One in his head; he'd have had no real power over the Dark Curse, no ability to orchestrate it as he had. It might never have been a threat. And true, if he'd done that, he might never have met his son again, but now he knew that the alternative was that Neal would be alive and well today. Maybe he and Emma would never have broken up. Maybe they would have raised Henry together, and he would have had a small but simple life with Belle in the Enchanted Forest. It likely wouldn't have been glamorous or rich, but she'd never really cared about those things. She'd have had him, which was all she ever claimed to want. She'd have had the life she deserved.

That life wasn't with him.

He'd have to not be the Dark One anymore for that to happen, and the way he'd bound the Curse to him after that kiss, it would never happen. He'd always be wrong for her. He'd always be something that dragged her down.

And even if he could get into Storybrooke to find the Author, he was certain that there'd be villainy attached to it; he was certain he'd once more be on the opposite side of her, and like always, he'd lose, and she'd be heartbroken all over again. Because he was a villain. He was her villain. And perhaps the only way to truly give her the life she deserved was to follow the instinct he'd had in the very beginning and let her go.

Chapter Text

To be human was to be in pain.

In every way.

The sun came up the next morning. It was almost cruel. It felt like after such an awful, eventful night, the sun had no business rising into the sky, no right to herald a new day, no need to remind him that time was moving forward. And yet, the great celestial orb still followed its trajectory into the sky without a car for how he'd spent his night.

Along with it came new aches and pains from his long night slumped against a tree, hoping against hope that Belle might appear at any minute to come with him in this new life. No one ever came for him. But pain did.

And it wasn't just the familiar pain in his ankle or the soreness from where his back had pressed into the tree all night. His heart hurt. He wept again when the sun rose. Or at least he tried to. His shoulders shook, and his lungs gasped. But for the spectacle he made, there were very few tears involved. He was dehydrated. And hungry. His mouth was dry, and his stomach was growling. And that was ultimately what made him realize that he had a choice.

He could sit there in the dirt against a tree until he died of starvation or dehydration. Or he could get up and start walking.

Given his circumstances, he didn't think lying down and ceasing to exist would be the worst option. But his body obviously disagreed because, whether he liked it or not, he found himself rising off the ground. His ankle protested the movement, but close by, he noticed an old branch that had fallen from a tree. It was thick, not unlike his first walking stick, though he knew the roughness of the bark would no doubt leave calluses on his hands. It would do.

Before he left, he cast one last backward glance at the place he knew Storybrooke to be, the place he'd never see again, along with everyone else in the outside world, as evidenced by the lack of cars that had come this way all night. Home was a mere hundred yards away by his estimation…but it might as well have been on the other side of the world. For whatever reason, maybe in honor of who he'd been or maybe just so he'd know he wasn't crazy if he ever made it back this way one day, he removed his tie, and hung it on a nearby tree branch. Then he turned. And started walking away from everything he'd ever loved.

And it hurt.

His chest felt tight with emotion and distress. His lungs burned. After hours of hobbling along the road, re-learning how to move with a branch for a cane, the soles of his feet ached. His legs shook, struggling to support his weight. Years of driving himself around and using magic to appear where he needed to go had taken their toll. Judging by the sun in the sky and how far he'd managed to drag himself, he'd gone roughly two miles, though it felt like fifty, before he saw the first sign of life up ahead.

A crossroads.

A place for weary travelers like himself.

At one corner, a gas station. At another, a small food mart. And at another, a diner with only a few cars parked in it.

When he'd left this way with Emma over a year ago to go find his son, he'd passed right through this intersection with barely a passing thought. Now, every bit of him hurt, his stomach longed for something to eat, and the diner appeared as though it was an oasis in a hot desert.

He'd been dehydrated before he'd started this little hike, now he felt like his tongue was sandpaper, and he longed for anything that might help. He needed something, water, at least. But he had no money, no wallet, no cards, not even a stray dollar bill. Still, desperate as he was, he didn't see the harm in going into the diner at least asking for a glass of water.

Oh, he knew he must have been a sight. Dirty from his night on the forest floor, a branch in his hand for a cane. He felt disgusting. May in Maine wasn't exactly balmy, and last night had easily gotten down into the forties. He doubted the temperature had risen much this morning as he walked, but between his jacket, vest, and shirt, he was sweating like a pig. He'd been tempted more than once on the hike into town to drop the jacket or the vest somewhere, but his earlier years of living without a roof over his head reminded him not to discard anything more than his tie. Come nightfall, he'd need every extra layer he could get his hands on.

Come nightfall…a glance at the diner clock told him it was two in the afternoon. Nightfall was a lot closer than he thought.

"Please, could I trouble you for a seat and a cup of water?" he asked of the woman in the waitress uniform who greeted him with caution. He did look a sight…

"Frank…" she called. "Can you come out here!"

From somewhere in the back, a man yelled, "Yeah." No doubt Frank was a manager or a cook. Maybe both. He looked around the diner to find only one other patron there with a coffee, scrolling through one of the fancy phones Emma had.

"Hi, how can I help you?" the man named Frank asked breathlessly, before giving him a look over. He looked as caught off guard as the woman looked cautious.

"Please, if I could trouble you for a seat and a cup of water, it's…it's been a long night."

"Uh…" Frank looked him over once more, his eyes lingering on the branch that he'd brought in with him, before he glanced at the woman and finally nodded. "Yeah, yeah, sure…" He moved to escort him to a counter, not unlike the one at Granny's, but the sound of the stick hitting the linoleum tile behind him made him look back and observe his difficulty in walking. Instead, he pointed to a chair by a table and held the seat out for him.

"You hurt, buddy?"

"It's an old injury," he explained as he let himself collapse into the seat.

"Here, I'll take that," Frank exclaimed, reaching for the branch and taking it to prop it up against the door. "Don't you have a wheelchair or a cane or…"

"No, no, last night I was…I was mugged."

Mugged. It was the first thing he thought of. But he supposed he would need a story for why he was out here. And if he tried to explain what had really happened, he doubted people would believe the tale of a bunch of fairy tale characters living down the road. Mugged seemed to be a decent story to tell from where he stood, but Frank…

Frank wasn't so sure.

"Mugged…" he questioned skeptically.

"You don't believe me?"

"No, it's not that, it's just that…we don't get a whole lot of muggings out here."

"It was a fair distance from here. I walked."

"On that leg?" Frank balked in surprise.

He didn't answer. He was too afraid that what would come out of his mouth would be another snarky comment, and that was surely the last thing he needed to give to the man who was allowing him a glass of water. Besides, he didn't feel like he had much of a voice. At least not until the waitress arrived again with that glass of water.

She brought a straw for it, still wrapped in its wrapper, but he ignored it and drank it down in big gulps. His lungs burned for air, but his body craved the water more, and so he drank until the cup was drained and he had to take gulps of air when he finished to catch his breath. The water did very little to alleviate the growling of his stomach, or the ache in his legs, or the tightness in his chest, or the heaviness of his body…but it did help.

"Jenna," Frank stopped the waitress before she could move away. "Can you call the police and tell them-"

"No, no, that's not necessary!" he urged, leaving Jenna standing there looking between the pair of them, conflicted.

"I thought you said you were mugged," Frank challenged.

"I was."

"I'm assuming, given this state you are in, that they got everything?"

He nodded, letting Frank craft for himself whatever tale he needed in order to believe. "Everything. My wallet, my car-"

"Was that where your wheelchair was?"

"My cane, yes. But…I don't want to press charges, I just need a bit of water to get my strength up, and then I'll be on my way."

"A guy steals your car, and you don't want to press charges?"

He swallowed hard. Perhaps saying he was mugged wasn't the best idea he could come up with. The trouble was, he couldn't come up with anything else to explain himself.

"Please, it's been a long night. I just…I won't be long. I just need a minute."

Frank's look of skepticism didn't change. But he at least nodded. "Stay right here, Jenna and I are going to grab you some of today's soup and some bread."

Before he could say anything, the pair of them left. He didn't particularly like that. But it wasn't as though he had any option other than to let them go. His power was gone. His authority and respectability were all gone, along with his mobility. Even though he didn't trust either of them, Frank had left his cane, his tree branch, leaning against the wall across the room. Even if he wanted to get up and leave, he couldn't do it quickly or quietly. He didn't like this. He didn't like it one bit.

At least not until he smelled the food. Along with another glass of water, Frank brought him a plate with a roll of bread and a bowl of chicken noodle soup. His mouth watered at the sight of it. He was so desperate for it that he didn't even mind when Frank took the seat opposite him.

"Listen, is there someone else I can call for you?" he asked as he ate.

"Else?"

That word sat uneasily with him.

"Other than the cops."

"I don't need the police."

"Right, but…anyone else we can call? A friend or co-worker…a wife?" he suggested, pointing to the ring he still wore on his hand. The ring he would always wear…

He moved that hand off the table and into his lap. It was a struggle suddenly not to cry out the water he'd just taken in all over again.

Making a phone call now was useless. His phone was still in his pocket; his phone and his keys were the only things he'd had in his pocket when he'd gone, but it was the item of least use to him. He'd thought about making calls throughout the night. He dismissed calling Belle. He knew that she likely wouldn't pick up anyway, given the state she'd been in when he'd last seen her.

He'd thought very seriously about calling Dove, but their relationship has always been tit for tat. With Dove he had to get something to give something and though the man had access to everything that he'd need, though he could tell him to put money and cane in a bag and toss it across the town line, he wasn't sure there was anything he could give him that would make the bird come. Yes, he worked for him, but only because he needed the money. He longed for his freedom and he had a feeling that if Dove knew he'd left town and couldn't come back and it was up to him to get his finances handled, Dove would likely just take the money for himself, laugh, and open a bottle of wine with his newfound wealth to celebrate.

Regina was the only one left, but after she heard about what happened with Hook in the tower from Emma and Belle…he couldn't be sure she'd come running to assist him either. Especially not after their talk yesterday. She'd likely only say he got what he deserved. He wasn't sure she'd be wrong.

Those three, he figured, were his best chance. And if they couldn't or wouldn't help, then what was the point?

"No…there's no one," he admitted, glancing down at the now-empty soup bowl and reaching for the bread before he paused and remembered…

"And…I can't pay for this. They took my wallet."

Frank waved a hand in the air as if swatting at a fly. "On the house…maybe some food will help you remember someone you can call."

He nodded, and as Frank got up to leave, he dug into the bit of bread he'd given him.

A few minutes later, the police arrived.

Chapter Text

He was in trouble, serious trouble, in more ways than one.

Frank, the owner of the diner, had called the police after all. He tried to remember that the man was only trying to help. Hell, if someone had shown up at Granny's in the state that he was in, Granny herself would have probably done the same thing, fed the victim, and called Emma. He knew that he'd only been trying to do the right thing, but he did so much wish that he'd stayed out of it.

Before the police took him to their station, also a damn near copy of Storybrooke's just with more people working it, Frank had handed him a curved wooden cane. "It's been in lost and found forever, just take it. Good luck, buddy."

Now he had a full belly and something better than a tree branch to help him walk, but he also had two other problems that he wasn't quite sure how to fix.

The first was that he was here, at the police station, and it was quite clear what they wanted him to do. Report the crime he'd told Frank had been committed against him.

"Look, Mr. Gold, we just want the facts."

"I told him not to call the police. I don't want to press charges."

"We understand that," the Emma Swan wannabe had continued to press as he sat by his desk. "But if a crime has been committed, then we want to help you."

"I don't need charity."

"Fine, if a crime has been committed, we want to help society," he'd stated, changing his tactic as if it would work. "If there's someone out there mugging old men, I want to put a stop to it. Don't you want to make sure this doesn't happen to someone else?"

His instinct was to say that he didn't care, but he knew that would be the wrong answer. He was on their good side for now, and he needed it to stay that way, given his circumstances. The easiest thing, he knew, would be to file the criminal report like they wanted and put all this behind him. The trouble was that the lawyer in him knew that it was a crime to give the police false statements. Without a way into Storybrooke, making false accusations was the last thing he needed to do. But he also knew that, given the situation, they weren't going to let him go without some kind of explanation. And he didn't know what explanation he could give that would be good enough!

He was panicking. His heart was racing, his chest was squeezing, tightening.

"Could I use the restroom?" he'd asked, retreating when the officer pointed in the direction of the bathroom. Now he stood, hunched over the sink, looking in the mirror, one hand hanging onto the sink, the wall, the stall, anything he could grab while the other clutched at his chest. As he stood there staring into the mirror, trying to figure out why his heart couldn't stop racing or squeezing, he realized he'd only ever felt pain like this once before and…

And suddenly he knew he had another, much bigger problem.

His heart…

Throughout the night, he'd assumed that the pains he was feeling in his heart were emotional; that they were caused by the sadness and grief that he felt over losing Belle, hurting her, breaking her heart! And throughout the morning, on the road to the diner, talking to Frank, the drive to the police station, then being questioned…he'd assumed that the tightness he was feeling in his chest was stress and fear and nerves and panic.

But now, looking at himself in the mirror, hand clutched to his chest the same way Hook had clutched his chest when he squeezed his heart, he realized…he remembered…these pangs weren't physical. Or emotional.

They were magical.

He'd felt this pain before. A long, long time ago, living in the Enchanted Forest, he'd felt this exact same pain in his chest, a tightness and squeezing in his chest. It had been introduced to him by Nimue. She'd gotten his attention with the pain and then taken him up on the hill where the original Dark One had been born, and she told him about the trouble that only three Dark Ones, besides himself, had ever been known to face: a black heart.

Being the Dark One, causing destruction and turmoil, spreading evil and wickedness had a cost. It turned the heart black. Most Dark Ones never lived to see the day, the curse was passed on long before the effects of a black heart took over, which was why only three others had ever experienced the pain before. Back then, he'd had decades before it became a problem, at least that was what Nimue had told him. But that was decades ago. Before he'd made deal after deal with Ingrid. Before he'd betrayed Belle. Before he'd tried to sever the bond with the dagger. Before he'd stolen Hook's heart and attempted to crush it. Before so many other sins he'd committed, both in the Enchanted Forest and Storybrooke, had accumulated in his heart.

Back then, he'd had decades. Had. He'd had decades. He'd used them.

In Storybrooke, when he'd been Mr. Gold and no one else, he'd had medicine for his heart that he took on occasion to assist with what he recalled was "a bad heart." Once he'd brought magic back, he'd done what Nimue had told him to do in the Enchanted Forest, he'd used magic to block the pain of it, and he'd searched for a way to cure himself.

But not nearly hard enough.

She'd tried to warn him. Weeks ago, when he'd been free of the witch's thrall, Nimue had told him that he needed to start concentrating on his heart more.

But then he'd found the hat. And while he hadn't entirely put her warning out of his mind, he'd certainly let himself be distracted enough. He'd let himself believe that severing his ties to the dagger would help his heart, that it would give him more time to figure out something to keep his heart from turning completely black, keep him from becoming a true monster.

But he'd never gotten the chance.

And now he never would get the chance.

He was fucked.

He breathed as another wave passed through him, as he felt like he could feel the muscle in his chest tightening, struggling to pump blood. No, there was no magic in this place. But his heart would still suffer some effects. It would likely thicken his blood, making his heart work twice as hard to perform even the most basic tasks.

What the fuck was he going to do?!

He leaned against the bathroom wall and took easier gulps of air as the pain eased, and he tried to remember. Pain and lack of magic certainly made memories harder to come by, but he was a planner. Especially when he'd been in the Enchanted Forest and had nothing to fill his time with except for making plans. The conversation he'd had with Nimue on the hill, he'd wanted to plan for this day? She'd told him that he could use magic to aid him at that time, and he'd wanted to know what he could do when magic no longer worked. And she'd told him about…an Elixir.

Yes. That was it. Not just any elixir but one that Merlin himself had been working on for his own heart. One that had been stolen, removed from Merlin's tower, and ended up in…Oz.

Fuck. Now he remembered. Now he remembered all too well.

The last Dark One to have chest pains like these had tracked the Elixir down to Oz before he died. And then he had sent none other than Robin Hood after the Elixir because by that point Zelena had been living there, had taken over the Wizard's collection, including the Elixir of the Wounded Heart, and he'd known that she wouldn't give that vial over to him for anything.

He'd found and sent Robin Hood in his place. But Robin Hood had never delivered. And he'd let him go because…

Because of the Seer. Because of a vision she'd gifted to him of Robin Hood fulfilling his end of the deal much later in life, just when he needed it. And the Seer was never wrong but…

Obviously, she was wrong about a lot.

He knew now that she was wrong about a lot because she'd granted him visions that had never come to pass. Visions of himself in Storybrooke, with Belle and people like Robin Hood, visions that could never be, because this fate of his meant that he would never see them again. He'd never see Belle again.

Robin Hood would never make good on his delivery. But maybe…maybe he didn't need to. Maybe there was another way.

The Elixir of the Wounded Heart…he'd seen it. Once before, it was…it was in his castle. But it…it wasn't his?

His head began to hurt, pounding as he struggled to remember and realized why the memories he had were coming across blurry and fragmented. That alone told him why. Zelena. The memories he'd banished from when he'd had both himself and Neal in his head…that was where he caught sight of the Elixir of the Wounded Heart. Sitting on his dining room table with several other Ozian artifacts, rounded up because…because…

The monkey. It had something to do with the monkey. The monkey wasn't really a monkey, it was…the Wizard. Yes, he remembered coming to that conclusion. The Wizard had gone missing from Oz after Zelena arrived, but she'd transformed him back into a man before his eyes, and he remembered the moment he realized what had happened to him. He'd made some inane comment through the bars of his cage, and Zelena had rounded on him.

"You know you could try to be helpful," Zelena had said to him. "You were a shop owner, were you not? Our friend, Walsh, here is going to need some cover while he's watching over the Savior, and I'm sending him ahead with some goodies from our world for insurance. Clever, isn't it? I got the idea from you, darling! So what do you say? From one former shop owner to another? Any advice? Any suggestions for what to call it?"

The memory cut out. Bae. He'd probably come through and said something just then because when the memory reformed, Zelena was steps away from him and calling over her shoulder. "Don't mind him, he's just a little sore, living on borrowed time, you see."

She'd spoken to the man, but the man, the wizard, seemed dazed, unrattled by Zelena or what he or even Neal must have said with his mouth.

The memory cut again.

And again.

And again.

Neal had been fighting during this time, probably because Zelena had mentioned Emma. She was sending the Wizard, Walsh, to look after her. Sending him with insurance policies. Magical tokens from their world. Sending them all to where Emma was. In New York City.

The Elixir of the Wounded Heart was in New York City.

In a shop.

What was it…what had she called it?

"Don't listen to him, pet, soon you…I know you can…it'll be easy…"

The memory kept cutting out the more Neal had interfered, leaving him wishing he hadn't entirely wrenched those memories from his mind. Still, despite his headache, despite the tightness in his chest, he kept trying to piece it together.

"We'll put it right on the street…flirt with her…same apartment building…propose if you must…better call it…keep an eye on her…focus…Wizard of…"

Chapter Text

Stepping out of the bathroom, he had two problems. One magical, one situational. He needed to get to New York. He needed to find the Elixir of the Wounded Heart and pray that what it contained would be enough to last him a long time. He needed that potion he'd taken for belief to allow him to believe the magic could work on him now. That was his path to solve the magical problem at hand. But, unfortunately, there was nothing he could do about the magical problem, so long as he was still in the situation he was in.

So he had a plan.

It wasn't a smart plan. It wasn't a plan that he wanted to go through with. As far as plans went, this would certainly rank up there with one of the dumbest plans he'd ever thought up and followed through on. But the way he saw it, it was a plan that would get him out of this police station and onward.

How?

He hadn't quite thought that part through yet. But given the circumstances, he'd much rather his brain power go toward getting out of here swiftly and without a charge brought against him. He was fairly certain no jailhouse medicine kit would include an Elixir like the one he needed.

"I'll make a statement," he informed the officer when he sat back down. "But I don't wish to press charges, nor do I wish to be further contacted."

"With what?! I thought they took your phone!"

"Jerry!"

"What?!" The officer he was speaking to, Jerry Mulligan, shouted over his shoulder at his partner. Mulligan had been skeptical about him from the very beginning when he'd picked him up, and though he hadn't made comments to his face, he had overheard him mutter the word "bum" to Officer Martinez. It was a ridiculous notion, even though he begrudgingly admitted it was a true one at the moment. But still, what homeless man had he ever met who wore a suit like this, even if he was missing his tie? Still, the Officer's skepticism was doing nothing for her nerves. And his nerves were doing nothing for his heart. As much as he felt the coward creeping up on him in this moment, he needed to rely on who he'd been as Mr. Gold. Sauve, confident, and assertive.

"Okay," Officer Martinez sighed, sitting down and taking Mulligan's spot, much to his joy. "Let's go over it…"

Giving false statements to the police was illegal in this country. But only so long as it could be proved that the statements were false. So, he made sure, to the best of his ability, that it would be impossible to ever prove what he said was false. He told a story of being on the road at night when someone had flagged him down on the side of the road. He'd assumed that someone had a breakdown; he had been going in and out of service and was the only car he'd seen on the road for miles, so, good citizen that he was, he'd decided to pull over and offer the young man a ride. The moment he'd rolled down his window, there was a gun pointed at his face.

The man had ordered him to exit the vehicle. He'd agreed, mentioning he was just going to reach over for his cane, but the man had cocked his gun and screamed at him to get out of the car. Terrified, he'd listened and gotten out of the car. The man asked him if he had anything in his pockets. He'd taken his cell phone and his wallet, told him to get off the road, then gotten into his car and sped away.

He described his car, including the license plate, knowing that it was in Storybrooke and would never be recovered.

He gave them his cell phone number, thankful that he'd remembered to turn it on silent so they wouldn't find it on him if they chose to call it. He didn't need to explain to them why he had a phone on him but had never called for help.

And he described the gentleman who had mugged him. Knowing there was no chance they'd ever find him.

"Slim, black hair, black clothes, stubble, like a boy trying to grow facial hair."

"You think he was a teenager?"

"No, he was a man, just a very poor one. He wore makeup of some kind around his eyes and spoke with an accent, English, I think. Oh…and this one other little thing…he was missing a hand, had a hook there instead."

"Jesus, you want us to believe Captain Hook stole your car?!"

"Jerry!"

"Aren't you a little old to be telling a story about pirates, buddy?"

"Jerry!"

"You know, come to think of it, he did call me 'mate' once. Perhaps Captain Hook is precisely who you should be looking for," he quipped back at Officer Mulligan when Officer Martinez couldn't get a handle on him.

"Take a walk, Jerry."

"Ridiculous! Absolutely ridiculous!"

"Take a walk, Jerry!"

Finally, the man relented and left his desk, leaving him and Officer Martinez in peace.

"Hook for a hand…got it," Martinez muttered, typing something else into his computer. "So, cell phone, car, wallet with ID, a bank card, two platinum credit cards, and you think approximately $200 in cash, cane…anything else of value in the car? Laptop?"

"Laptop," he lied with a nod. Because why not? "The only other thing I was traveling with was a coffee and…"

And…

All night on the road, and he'd just remembered…

He'd put something in his pocket the night of the Spell of Shattered Sight. And that item hadn't left his pocket, even when he'd changed clothes, he'd kept it close!

At the memory, he began to pat himself down, checking his jacket pockets and then his pant pockets before the pocket at his right thigh made a noise.

"What's that?" Officer Martinez questioned.

Keys.

He'd felt them there earlier and hadn't thought anything of them out of habit. That was where he always kept his keys. But now that he had a moment to reflect and remember...they weren't his keys. Those were still at the shop. These were Neal's keys.

The key's he'd taken from the Charmings' Apartment because he'd had plans to take Belle and Henry there when he got them out of Storybrooke. Neal's apartment in New York City.

The cure was in New York City.

Neal's apartment was in New York City.

It was like fate. And he hadn't even needed the Seer for this. Or…had he?

"In exchange for helping another, they will see your own fate, your presence here, is resolved."

Perhaps this was part of his reward for helping with Orpheus and Eurydice. Perhaps the Fate's help hadn't been limited to the Underworld. Maybe they were helping him here as well. Given what he'd had in Storybrooke, just getting out of the Underworld was a shitty reward. But beggars weren't in any position to be choosers. And neither was he. Was it possible that this was part of their bargain?

"Mr. Gold? Mr. Gold?"

"Yes, I'm sorry, I…I was lost in thought," he muttered when he became suddenly aware that Officer Martinez was speaking to him. "I'm sorry, you asked a question…"

"I only wondered if those were your keys."

"No, they're…they're my son's. He gave them to me, I must have forgotten."

"Forgotten?"

"When the uh…when the mugger told me to empty my pockets."

"Where is your son? Is he close by? Can we call him for you?"

He had to take a steady, trained breath. His chest hurt again. He wasn't sure that this time had anything to do with a black heart.

"New York. He's in New York City. That's where I was trying to go, to see him. To return them."

"To return some keys?"

"You doubt me."

"I have no reason to doubt you, Mr. Gold. Though I will admit it's just…it's all a little strange to me."

He huffed as he pocketed the keys once more and drew his hands in front of him. "'There are more things in heaven and earth…'" he quoted, only to find a smile begin to form at the corner of Officer Martinez' mouth.

"'…than are dreamt of in your philosophy," he finished, surprising him. "That's Hamlet."

Yes. Yes, it was. It was from a play he'd brought Belle way back in the beginning when he'd brought books to her to keep her occupied. And that was a quote that she'd been rather fond of, showing him one night over dinner.

He found himself smiling at the memory there with Martinez. "Yeah...my wife, she's…" and then he looked down at his ring. And he remembered. "She was…" Could he even still say that he was married? "She…" Was he?

"I'm sorry for your loss," Officer Martinez muttered, his expression suddenly dour. "When did she pass?"

He didn't respond. He couldn't bring himself to. He didn't know how to explain her absence and his current relationship status to Martinez. At least he didn't know how to explain it in a way that would be believable to him. And he hated letting him believe that instead of his own idiocy pushing her away and getting him banished from his home and her arms, he also recognized that at the moment, he required help and sympathy. He couldn't afford to let Martinez not find sympathy in him.

So he stayed quiet and let himself get lost in the wedding ring that he'd never take off, and let Martinez think what he wanted to think.

Chapter Text

It had been a long 48 hours.

After he'd reported the so-called "crime" that had left him stranded and had an awkward, sad conversation with Officer Martinez, the man rose, went to a coffee machine, and poured two cups. When he returned, he sat one down before him, then turned his attention to his computer, and tapped away at the keyboard.

For a long while, he was happy to let him type, content to let him begin the next topic of conversation when he wanted, but when he noted the darkening sky out the window, he felt he had no choice but to turn his attention to what was going to come next.

"Excuse me…is…is there a pawn shop in town, perhaps?" he questioned.

"Ah…yeah, one. But you don't need to worry about it. We'll call them as soon as we're done here and let them know to keep an eye out for anything fishy. If we recover any of your belongings, we'll let you know."

"No, it's…it's not that. It's just…I was on my way to my son in New York. It would now seem I'm in need of some cash to get there."

He didn't have much. There was no chance on this earth he'd ever pawn his wedding ring. But his tie clip was pure gold, and his cufflinks should be worth a couple of hundred dollars. That should be enough to buy himself a bus ticket to New York. There he'd at least have shelter.

"We'd be happy to call your son for you, Mr. Gold."

"No, I don't know his number."

"You don't know your son's phone number?"

"Officer Martinez, in this day and age, how many phone numbers do you have memorized?"

"Touché. What's his name, I'll look it up."

"He doesn't answer numbers he doesn't recognize," he excused, trying to make it sound like an unfortunate trait. He was well aware that he was nearing a certain threshold with the officer where he was going to become suspicious.

"Then I'll leave him a message and we'll hope he calls me back."

He gave him the name Neal Cassidy and when he stated that he found a number he called. But he wasn't surprised to hear a few tones from the phone before that robotic female voice said "we're sorry, your number cannot be completed as dialed."

Officer Martinez glanced over at him. "Has he changed his number recently?"

He shook his head. "Not to my knowledge, but our relationship is...well, it's a bit complicated. I'd probably be the last person he would tell."

"You have the keys to his apartment," he pointed out suspiciously again.

He nodded. Again. "It's a complicated relationship. He was...he was closer to my wife."

It was a low card to play, but for someone with a heart as black as his, what did he care? He needed to get out of here, and he'd found a soft spot with Martinez that he could exploit. He'd do what he had to do.

"Well, we do have some funding for victims, but it moves slowly. Of course, we don't use it all that often around here..." the Officer mentioned.

"No, no, I need to get to my son. As soon as possible."

"I understand that, Mr. Gold, so tonight we'll put you up in a hotel, and if I can't get through to your son, then hopefully the funding comes through tomorrow, and we can get you on your way."

The funding did not come through the next day. He'd spent the night in a shitty motel. And for the first few minutes, it was easy to judge, until he remembered that if not for this room, he'd be sleeping in the forest again tonight. That knowledge, and a shower, were all he needed to get a night of heavy, dreamless sleep. That was surprising given his circumstances, but he chalked it off to sheer exhaustion. Being up for twenty-four hours straight or more as the Dark One was common. Being up for twenty-four hours as a mortal meant he felt the effects.

The next day, he'd contacted Officer Martinez. Each time he called, the officer promised he was working on the funding and needed more time, but he could rest assured that he would have the motel room again that night. He dropped off a few meal vouchers for some fast food places in town, and that night he slept less easily. The next day was more of the same. More vouchers. More phone calls. More free time sitting in front of the television, acquainting himself with the current events beyond Storybrooke.

The sun was setting on his second day, and he'd just determined that if Officer Martinez didn't come through with the funding for him first thing in the morning, he was going to go to the pawn shop, pawn his cufflinks, and buy himself a ticket to New York when the phone rang. It was the front desk, informing him that he had a visitor. The visitor turned out to be Officer Martinez, and in his hand was a ticket to New York City.

Officer Martinz had driven him to the bus stop that evening. He'd handed him a coffee, twenty bucks, a bag with a golden "M" on it, and one last surprise….

A small black cell phone.

"It's a track phone. Only about sixty minutes on it, but I figured, this way if I need to get a hold of you for the case-"

"You'll know where to find me." He'd have to rid himself of the thing in New York the first chance he got. Or maybe he could find someone on the street willing to exchange it for twenty bucks. If Officer Martinez ever looked into it, throwing it away quickly seemed suspicious, whereas giving it away to a homeless man might appear an act of charity. Or trade, depending on how the Officer saw him.

"And…just in case you remembered your son's number and wanted to call," he pushed. "I'm sure he'd want to hear from you. He must be worried by now."

He ignored the comment and thanked the officer for his kindness before he boarded the bus. The bus departed, and they spent the night on the road. Eight hours later, he was in New York.

Tired, weary, chest feeling tighter and tighter by the second…there was nothing he could do today to find the Wizard of…whatever it was. The best thing he could do was get to Neal's apartment and begin to get comfortable with his new, sad reality. Villains couldn't have happy endings, but out here, he was stripped of all that had once made him who he was. Maybe he could find something to bring some modicum of joy to his life.

The building was just as he remembered it. And standing outside staring up at it did something completely new in his chest. It made the tightness loosen all the while he felt a new ache begin to grow as he looked over the door his son had once come and gone from so easily, as he considered how nervous and anxious he'd been the last time he stood before that door.

He'd never wanted to come back here after finding Baelfire. This was the side of his son that he'd forced upon him when he'd jumped through that portal. The fact that he now had no choice but to live in his life and wallow in his failure, he was certain, someone would find poetic. He knew it was going to be torture.

But his chest hurt. And his leg hurt. And his hand from gripping the cane as he'd walked. Hell, even his ass hurt from the eight-hour bus ride. He was stiff and sore and tired. He could wallow tomorrow while he tried to locate the Elixir. Today, he needed a shower and some rest.

There were three keys on the key ring he'd taken from the loft. A small one, as if for a mailbox, that he ignored. He'd check the mailbox another time. There was one key with the number 407 etched into it that he assumed was for the front door. The third key, he assumed, was for the gate that had caused so many problems the first time he'd been here. Now, it swung forward for him at the turn of the key, and he made his way, slowly, up to the stairs to the fourth floor.

He was exhausted by the time he made up, which he figured might have been a good thing. Exhaustion would give him blinders, making him ignore what he was about to do, get into the shower, and go to sleep so he could wake up better the next morning...in his dead son's apartment. He needed his exhaustion. It was the only thing that was going to keep him sane through the stress of the next twenty-four hours.

With a deep breath, he unlocked the door-

And missed a step when he opened the door and found it occupied!

By familiar faces…

"What the hell are you doing here?" he questioned, looking for Robin, standing there with a knife in his hand as if ready to attack, and Marian shielding the boy from…him?!

"What are you doing here?" Robin echoed, as if he were the one who had surprised them and was in the wrong. Oh, he'd suspected that day at the town line that Robin Hood and Marian were leaving because they couldn't be happy in the same town as Regina, but he didn't expect they'd come here! How in the hell had they even gotten in?! And why were they scrutinizing him in his own son's apartment?!

"That's none of your concern. Your concern is removing yourself from the premises. This…this is my son's home. You're trespassing."

"No. This is our home now, and we're not going anywhere."

He could feel his heart beating again, and his chest began to squeeze as it accelerated. Stress…was stress bad for whatever the magic was doing to his heart? Why hadn't he thought to think about that before?

"Look," he sighed, tossing the keys onto the table he was fairly sure he'd once bled over. "I really don't have time for this. I've got business to attend to."

"What business could you possibly have in a world without magic?"

"The business of my happiness." Or whatever is left of it. "Now get out."

Robin narrowed his gaze at his words. "Oh, you're here to find the Author, aren't you?"

No, but he didn't like that Robin had brought it up just now, too. It felt a bit too taunting after the last few days he'd had. But…he couldn't be sure what kind of contact Robin had with Regina right now, and if he reported back to her, he had no interest in really confessing the reason he was here, so…if he wanted to think that, then he could let him think it. So long as it got him the hell out of the apartment!

"So, she told you. Of course she did. Well, then you'll also know that if I don't find the Author, Regina won't get her happy ending, either. Which might be good for you, too." There was no way that the Author was in New York; no way the Author was anywhere other than Storybrooke. But he'd say anything to make him leave. He needed a home base of some kind to start his miserable life over again. He needed…he needed to sit down and rest.

"I'm sorry, but I will not succumb to your games. I know better than to trust you. I have a wife and child. We need this home, and we're keeping it!"

"No, no."

No, he couldn't stay here. And just declaring the home was his because he needed it...it wasn't...it wasn't how things worked in this world. He...he couldn't…he couldn't…

He couldn't bear the pain!

And suddenly he felt so…light…

"Gold?" Robin's voice was slow and low, warped as black appeared at the edge of his vision and then swallowed him whole.

Chapter Text

He thought he was dreaming. He hoped he was dreaming. But he knew that even in his wildest imagination, which could be extraordinary for a coward like himself, he would never in a million years dream up something like what was happening to him now.

First being caught red-handed. Then banishment from Storybrooke, filing a false police report, realizing his heart was too black for a human to maintain, arriving in New York to find his son's apartment, his only promise of any kind of shelter, being unexpectedly occupied! And now…this…

He knew, somehow, that he was in the hospital even before he opened his eyes. He had scattered memories of arriving in Bae's apartment and clutching his chest, of hearing someone call his name, phasing in and out of blackness in the back of a moving vehicle while someone tried to get him to answer questions, and now here he was. Lying in a hospital room in a gown he didn't put on, needles and tubes coming out of him, monitors beeping out his heart rate.

His chest still dangerously tight…

Oh, he needed to find that elixir yesterday.

"Mr. Gold!"

He looked to his left. There was a door there, he hated that his back would be to it as he lay here, but in this case, the woman in scrubs smiled down at him before she glanced up at the monitors, then back down at him.

"How are you feeling?"

"Confused," he answered, honestly, though probably not for the same reason she thought. The nurse made some comment about that being expected and told him to "sit tight" while she went to get the doctor. As if he could do anything other than lie there in the first place!

What felt like damn near an hour later, the woman in scrubs reappeared with a woman in a long white coat and a stethoscope draped around her neck.

"Mr. Gold, nice to meet you. I'm Dr. Young. Can you tell me your name and where you are?"

"You've just told me my name, it's Mr. Gold. I'm in New York, obviously in the hospital."

"Do you know how you got here or why?"

He couldn't answer the first question, not with certainty. His best guess was that an ambulance had brought him. But as to why…

"My chest felt tight…it was hard to breathe and then my vision went black. Everything after that is in bits and pieces."

"Yeah…you collapsed at your friend's apartment. A neighbor called 911. We think you had a heart attack, maybe have been having small ones for some time now."

He nodded. What he'd felt outside of Storybrooke and walking to the diner, he already knew that it hadn't been entirely stress-related. But they wouldn't understand that.

"My chest…it's been tight for a few days now."

"Okay…so, what we need to do…" Dr. Young began to talk. He began to tune her out. He was sure she was a very good doctor when it came to people from this world, but he didn't need their knowledge. He had his own. And he knew what had happened. He also knew how to fix it. He just had to figure out how.

He nodded along with the doctor, something about monitoring him for twenty-four hours before another test to check something or other he neither cared about nor believed in. When the doctor left, the nurse told him to try his best to relax and get some rest. Stress was his enemy. If his chest started to feel tight again, he should sit still and breathe slowly and deeply, inhale, exhale, and use the call button; she'd come running.

He nodded, and she made an excuse about getting back to rounds and coming to check in on him and grab some more information from him in a bit, but he reached for her arm before she could get too far away. He had to figure something out, and sitting here trying to breathe slowly and deeply wasn't going to lead to less stress. That required information.

"Excuse me…sorry, I…it's just that I came to the city to find something, but I can't quite remember the name of the store. It was Wizard of…Wizard of…Wizard of Something, I just can't remember."

"I don't know that should really be a concern right now, Mr. Gold."

"No, I know, I know, it's just…you said to relax, and you know that feeling like you know something but can't quite recall it? When you walk into a room and can't remember why you did it or…or you're looking for a word that's on the tip of your tongue, but it never comes to mind. I just…it's bothering me. It's an irritant, and I know if I could remember, it would ease me. Please. The Wizard of anything…doesn't it sound familiar?"

She heaved a heavy sigh before reaching into her pocket and pulling out a phone. The sounds of mechanical clicking filled the room as she stared down at the tiny screen, her fingers tapping against it, before she raised her eyebrows in interest.

"There's a place called the Wizard of Oak, not too far from here. Looks like it might be an antique store of some kind. Says here it's closed though," she offered, reading from the screen before rattling off an address. "Does that sound familiar?"

The Wizard of Oak. That was about as close to the Wizard of Oz as it could get. And it wasn't too far from here….

"Yes…yes, very much so, thank you."

The nurse left him to lie there and practice his "deep and slow" breathing. He obliged her because, aside from letting his mind think through possibilities, it was about the only thing that he could do to pass the time. That and worry. The nurse said she'd come back to take his information…

He glanced up at the heart monitor beeping at his side, at the small room they'd put him in that obviously wasn't the best they probably had, but was likely very expensive. He had money and he had insurance…in Storybrooke. Here, he wasn't quite sure what he was supposed to do about that. Legally speaking, they had to stabilize him before they could make him leave. But if this was going to happen again until he got his hands on that vial, would they just expect him to camp out in their ER?

There were footsteps at the entrance to his doorway, and he took a breath, half expecting to see the nurse again, back to take that information and tell him he had to go when he saw that it wasn't the nurse. It was Robin Hood.

Oh, of course, the thief was still there. He was, no doubt, the reason he was here to begin with. Surely, he'd stayed to ease that kind, moral soul of his.

He scoffed at the idea.

Until he realized that his kind, moral soul might be precisely what he needed in this situation. His kind, moral soul…and his two strong, healthy legs.

"What did the doctors say?" Robin questioned awkwardly.

"Well, only what their small minds can comprehend. Prattling on about diets and exercise. They tell me it was a heart attack."

"But you have other ideas."

"My problem isn't physical. It's moral. All the dark deeds I've done…they've taken their toll, poisoned my heart…thickened the blood. Back in Storybrooke, I used magic to protect myself. But out here…I won't last without some."

"Well, unfortunately for you, Dark One, there is no magic in this world."

"True. We can't create magic here. But we can use magical items if they were brought from elsewhere."

His chest was starting to tighten again. But he didn't press the call button. Instead, he just tried to breathe slowly and deeply, like the nurse said. It was hard not to have stress when sitting in the hospital, feeling nothing but stress over an impending bit of karma coming for him! Unless he stopped it. No pressure there.

"Remember something from our past…the Elixir of the Wounded Heart. Something I asked you to steal?"

Robin nodded. Good. That was very good. He may yet pay his debt. Just as the Seer predicted. That bitch was never wrong, which was good because right now he needed to believe in it more than anything else.

"Well, I think I might know where some of it exists. Right here in New York City. And I need you to get it for me."

"And why would I help you?"

Robin Hood…how was that even a question coming out of his mouth?!

Out of instinct and desperation, he reached out and grabbed the man by the shirt, yanked him down to eye level, only to feel his chest tightening again. It was getting worse.

"For the same reason you left the woman you love. You left Regina because you're a man with a code, a man of honor. And that, despite everything, is the reason why you will save me."

Robin Hood sneered as he backed away. He looked torn, which he took as a good sign. He could have freed himself and walked out of the room without a second thought. Instead, he'd remained. He needed to take advantage before he decided to grow a spine.

He recited the address the nurse gave him when he'd asked about the Wizard of Oak, and then he gave him the number to his phone.

"Indulge me, go to that address and tell me what you find."

"Well…what exactly do you think I'm going to find there?"

"An old haunt of Zelena's flying monkey."

"You can't be serious."

"She sent the Wizard of Oz here under a pseudonym, a cover, before she arrived. You just need to find where he set up shop."

Robin Hood still looked hesitant. Fortunately for him, his chest tightened dangerously. He suspected that if he'd been standing, as he had been at Robin's, he might have collapsed, but this time, knowing what it was and what was going on, he lay there and practiced the breathing the nurse told him. Slowly and deeply. But it wasn't enough to stop the nurse from running and checking on him.

"I'm fine!" he insisted. "I'm fine, just…practicing my breathing."

"Slowly and deeply," she urged. "Inhale, exhale, okay…"

"Slowly and deeply. Inhale, exhale," he echoed with a nod before she left.

He hadn't orchestrated that on purpose, but when he glanced back up at Robin, he could see that her sudden appearance had just swayed his hero in his favor. So he took a risk.

"Just…check this one location. If it's not there, you can go home and never come back; a clear conscience."

"And if I find something there?"

"If you find the Elixir of the Wounded Heart, then you will have saved my life."

Chapter Text

The waiting had been the worst part of it.

"Breathe slowly and deeply," the nurse had said. Inhale, exhale…

He'd practiced that when Robin had gone, but knowing that no official deal had been made had him on pins and needles. There was nothing stopping Robin Hood from wiping his hands clean of this entire mess and just going back to Neal's apartment, leaving him to die here in this hellhole.

Breathe slowly and deeply, inhale, exhale…he'd done it every time that thought came to mind.

He'd thought it was potentially working until the nurse returned from her rounds and finally took the information she needed from him. A fairly easy task given the fact that there was no information to give.

He explained the situation, giving her the story almost as he'd given it to Officer Martinez but with a few altered details. In this version, he'd been on his way to New York to pick up a trinket from Wizard of Oak when he'd been mugged. He didn't have his ID, his insurance, or his credit cards. And, saddest of all, there was no one for him to contact.

"No one? What about your friend or…or your wife?" she'd suggested, looking at the ring on his finger as Officer Martinez had days ago.

"The friend you are referring to, who called 911, isn't a friend he was…just a man. There was a housing mix-up when I arrived; he's staying where I thought I was supposed to stay."

"I see, you were double-booked. And your wife?"

He'd swallowed hard. Tried to remember to breathe deeply and slowly as he remembered Officer Martinez's assumption.

"She's no longer with me," he muttered by way of explanation. He couldn't bring himself to say anything more than that. Hell, he still wasn't sure what he could say that was more truthful than that. And fortunately for him, the nurse didn't ask. She wrote down what he could remember about his insurance, name, social security, all the relevant numbers that were of no concern to him, and then mentioned something about trying to find him in the system, his first strike of luck.

The magic that had brought him and all of Storybrooke to this world had been thorough. They existed in their various systems, they all had social security numbers and birth certificates, everything the government required to know they existed and belonged here, that was all part of the curse. Also part of the curse was that no one ever really needed to actually check those things. If Regina had helped Mary Margaret to cast the last curse and she'd been as thorough as she had been before, then he might just be "in the system."

But that didn't stop him from feeling like he was still on pins and needles as she checked.

Breathe slowly and deeply, inhale, exhale, that was his new mantra until his cell phone trilled.

"Yes?" he breathed, his voice a ragged hiss as his chest clenched again when he answered.

"I've arrived at the address you gave me. There's a store here, looks like it's been closed for some time…The Wizard of Oak?" Robin Hook explained on the other end as he lay there, suddenly feeling more relieved than he knew was humanly possible. Almost instantly, the pain in his chest had eased, proving that stress really was the killer people in this realm warned it was. "That was his cover while in our world?!"

"Well, apparently being great and powerful did not mean witty. But he was effective. Zelena sent him to New York to keep an eye on Emma. She would have been a fool to send him without precautions…magic charms, potions." At least that was what he remembered seeing in his fragmented memory.

"And Zelena's no fool."

"No, she wasn't."

Inhale, exhale…slowly and deeply…

Zelena was no fool. He hated to admit that fact, but it was the truth. Crazy she might have been, but if she were a fool as well, defeating her would not have been half as difficult as it had been.

The beeps on the heart monitor had begun to rise, and he realized that thinking about Zelena did him little good. So, he'd gone back to waiting, resting in the knowledge that Robin was where he'd told him to be, that he was a good thief, and so no locked door to a shuttered building would stop him from having a clear conscience. He practiced his breathing, biding his time for what felt like hours until he heard…footsteps.

He swallowed hard as he glanced over, telling himself not to get excited, that it could just be the nurse coming to do some of the tests that were ordered or tell him whether or not they'd found his insurance.

But no, it was Robin Hood. Robin Hood and a vial of fuchsia liquid with a heart-shaped cap. Finally, an end to this!

"You found it!" he gasped, reaching forward to take it, only for Robin to move a step too far away. His chest tightened again. Oh, he couldn't wait for this to go away!

"Indeed," Robin confirmed as he gasped for breath and instinctively reached for his heart. "And now that I've made good on my promise, we need to strike a deal."

Of course…he had a feeling he knew what was coming. He was willing to give it up. He wasn't happy about it, but to not give it up was to surrender to death, and he wasn't ready for that.

Well…there was something new!

He wanted to live…

"Well, make it quick," he urged, despite his new realization. He could be shocked by it when he was better, not before.

"When this potion heals you, you will move on. Your son's apartment belongs to me now, and I never want to see you there again."

"It's yours. Take it. Now give me what's mine."

Robin set the potion upon the table before him. "Good riddance, Rumpelstiltskin. Our dealings are done." Before he could reach forward and snatch the potion from him, he was gone and out the door.

"Goodbye, thief," he whispered in cheers before he knocked the drink back.

Chapter Text

Three swallows, that was all that was in the vial Robin Hood offered. The Elixir of the Wounded Heart wasn't a miracle cure, nor was it medicine. What was in there was going to do its work for as long as it would. Whether he took it all at once or little by little over time, it would make no difference. It was a powerful potion, out here, where there was no magic to worry about, those swallows could release him from his symptoms for two or three decades. Certainly long enough to figure out what came next.

Life.

Life was what would come next. What a curious way to realize one wasn't ready to completely throw in the towel and give up on living.

He lay there for a moment, trying to do what the nurse had instructed him, taking deep breaths in and out to let the pain he felt in his chest pass. He expected that it would lift off him like a weight off his shoulders.

But it didn't.

In the seconds when he should feel relief, should feel loosening, freedom, ease, anything...!

He felt nothing.

"It's not working," he realized as his chest began to tighten all over again. "It's not working."

He couldn't understand. It was his one and only chance; he couldn't remember perfectly, but he was so sure that he remembered well enough, and it had led to something! It was Merlin's magic, not Walsh's, not Zelena's! Merlin's magic should be strong enough to cross realms and still work! Why was his chest only getting tighter?!

"Why isn't it working?" he yelled, throwing the vile across the room.

"Because it's not real magic," a voice spoke from outside the room.

In his panic, he turned to the door to find Maid Marian sauntering into the pitiful hospital room. In her hand was a bottle with that same fuchsia colored liquid he'd just drained.

"What?"

"I tried to convince Robin to let you die, but he just wouldn't listen to reason. So here I am," she explained, coming to a stop at the foot of his bed.

He was damn near speechless at what he realized was likely her confession.

"You switched the vials," he assumed aloud.

"I did. The one you drank won't cure your heart, but it will lessen the effects of seven cold and flu symptoms. Don't worry, it's non-drowsy."

She spoke so easily, so matter-of-factly and he couldn't for the life of him figure out why or how she would do what she'd done! Why she'd advocate for Robin Hood to let him die! He'd done a lot of terrible things in his life, thus the black heart, but he was certain that Marian was not someone he'd ever harmed. Hell, he'd never known Marian before this, he'd seen her only a few times he'd spied on the thief! And those times he had looked in on her, she was always tough, but never cold-hearted, at least not like this! Was it because he'd threatened Roland? Had Robin Hood told her? He hadn't had a choice in that, he was positive that even Robin understood that situation.

"Why are you doing this? I've done you no harm."

"That's not exactly true."

He watched as the woman rolled her eyes and bit her lip in an almost playful way. It was a childish gesture, and it felt…familiar somehow. She fidgeted with a chain around her neck, bringing the pendant to her fingers only…

When he finally got a good look at it, he found it wasn't a pendant or other piece of jewelry at all. It was a relic, an object of their world, one that he recognized.

The six-leaf clover…an infamous charm with a glamor spell set on it.

Marian wasn't who she said she was.

He had that terrifying realization before the relic began to glow a familiar shade of green, and his chest tightened in disbelief. It couldn't be. It couldn't!

But it was.

"Zelena!"

Red curly hair replaced straight brown, tan skin faded into a pale complexion, and her smile…it became that crazed, child-like grin that he was all too familiar with, that he swore he'd never confront again! It haunted his nightmares!

His chest was beginning to hurt, not tighten but hurt! He struggled, desperate to get out of this bed, but his body shook with effort. He couldn't allow himself to fade into blackness again, not in her presence!

"How is this possible?!"

He'd killed her! She'd died! He'd seen it!

He was hallucinating. Dreaming! Something, anything!

"Imported magic, dear. Never travel between realms without it. You remember the six-leaf clover from Oz, don't you? It's quite the effective glamor spell."

She was speaking. She was explaining, but he…he was struggling to breathe again, struggling to stay conscious! Where was the nurse?! Slowly and deeply! Inhale! Exhale! He had to breathe slowly and deeply!

How the hell was he supposed to breathe slowly and deeply in the middle of this?!

"No. No, I killed you."

"You tried. When you stabbed me in that jail cell, I didn't die. My life force simply fled my body before it shattered. I had somewhere to go. Or should I say some time?"

Inhale! Exhale!

He'd stabbed her, and her death hadn't been normal. She'd become a statue and then she'd fled to a different place in time. The portal! The one that had mysteriously opened the morning after she'd died.

"You followed Emma through the time portal."

Her magic had triggered it, wasn't that the theory for how it had opened?

He couldn't remember, the room was…fuzzy.

"That I did. And when I realized what Emma had planned for Marian, well, I knew I had to get in while the getting was good. So, I bided my time watching Emma and her one-handed lover scurrying about trying to right their mistakes, and…when I saw they planned on bringing Robin's wife back, I mean…inspiration struck!"

She laughed! That insane, crazy smile she'd stared at him with a million times during his year of hell!

"And then I struck. For a few careless moments, they left her unattended, and that was all I needed."

Oh, he knew where this was leading. How could it not?!

"I killed her…"

Just like she was going to do to him! Just like she was doing if he couldn't get his heart to stop racing! The pain!

"And then I became her. I took her form. Do you know it wasn't easy not being me, but…knowing that it would ruin Regina's happiness…I mean, that made it worth every dull moment in her body."

It had been her! All along! He'd killed Zelena only for a few hours at best! She'd never been gone!

"Marian…never made the trip…to Storybrooke!"

"No. No, dear. It was me all along."

Oh no.

He couldn't breathe…again…

Inhale. Inhale. Inhale!

He needed air!

"And, you know, no one's been the wiser," she recounted as she moved.

Closer to him, not farther.

Breathe slowly and deeply!

He needed her farther, not closer!

Where was the nurse?

"Not her husband-"

Inhale!

Slowly, deeply, he didn't care how!

"Not even her child."

Air!

"I mean, she's as dead as, well…your son."

Pain!

"Oh. Oh, that's right. I suppose that means you never avenged his death. That…you failed. Oops…"

Pain ripped through him in a flash, overtaking him like the worst orgasm he'd ever had. It threw him over a cliff of a different kind, into a terrible oblivion he didn't know he could come back from.

She'd done it.

She'd finally killed him.

Chapter Text

He felt…awful!

His eyelids felt as though they had been glued together as part of some sick, practical joke. It took effort to peel them apart at the seams and open them, something he was remiss in doing because of the possibility of what he might see when he woke.

It had been a dream, hadn't it? Just a nightmare. Zelena was dead. And Robin…Robin probably had never even gone to the store; he'd probably just gone home. Maybe he'd never even been here at all, perhaps when the nurse had first left him to rest as she made her rounds, that was when he'd fallen asleep.

Or perhaps it was something more. Perhaps, they had taken him away for those tests the doctors had talked about and given him drugs of some kind that made it difficult for him to remember that part. Maybe that was the reason his body felt so heavy, and it was hard to open his eyes. Maybe the test was still going on! There was a strange new sound that had joined the familiar metronome of the heart monitor; it was something like air hissing, and his throat hurt. Something was in his mouth, and…there was someone beside him. Someone was touching his forehead, dabbing at it with something cool.

Belle? Maybe the hospital had been able to reach her? Maybe she'd come after him when she heard...

Hope made him open his eyes, stupidly, foolishly wondering if he'd see the one person in the whole world he wanted to see more than anyone else.

But all it took was one glimpse of a red lock of hair, mere inches from his face, to have him grasping at his chest all over again.

Zelena.

It hadn't been a nightmare. It was real. She'd damn near killed him, and now here she was to finish the job!

He moved to push her away, but his arm wasn't working right, not the way it should. He wanted the call button, and groped for it before he realized he should just fucking call for the nurse or security, someone to take her out of here only-

Suddenly, he was aware of his need to gag, of exactly how sore his throat was, and how his lungs were screaming at him! And that something he'd felt in his mouth earlier, pulled as he thrashed and wiggled in the bed, connected to something that had been doing the hissing.

He caught a glimpse of blue tubing, felt something wrapped around his mouth and the back of his head, and the thing in his mouth…it was in his throat too! Scratching and rubbing the more he moved-

He needed to scream!

"Shh. Shush, dear," Zelena mocked, as if to read his mind. Or maybe it was just his desperate flailing. "Don't try to talk. Look at the magic in this world, Rumple. A tube that breathes for you."

A breathing tube. They'd given him a breathing tube. She'd damn near killed him.

And now the woman who had nearly killed him once today hovered terrifyingly close to that tube. Her fingers teasing along it, threatening to squeeze. He didn't understand that tube, but he suspected he knew what it was doing. He tried to breathe in through his nose, unsure how much he needed that particular tube at the moment. No air filled his lungs.

"My, your predicament does look painful. You know, there's a time I would have relished this."

And then she squeezed. And he learned just how precious that blue tube was. His chest burned with every squeeze this time.

"And with your vendetta against me for the death of your son, that would make this a strong practical choice. But, see, I'm not done telling you about my clever plan."

She released the tube, and he felt a rush of air come into his lungs.

The call button! He needed the call button!

"I was going to use my little Marian-glamor to steal Robin's heart, to make him fall in love with me, to steal Regina's fated true love. How ultimate, you know? But I think that loss could finally be a wound that doesn't heal." She looked back at him then, as if she was simply talking to a girlfriend or that monkey of hers, as if they were out to lunch and he wasn't at her mercy all over again!

Where was the damn call button?!

"Sadly, it didn't take."

Suddenly, the hand he had groping for that button was outside of his control. Zelena had captured it in his own and was examining his ring as she spoke of Regina and Robin's love.

"I can't win his heart. Something is standing in the way like a…like a stone wall."

He tried to shove her off. However, his body wasn't cooperating as he wanted it to. He wasn't strong in this world, and the doctors…what had they given him to save his life?

"Could be fate," Zelena prattled on as he weighed his options and tried to think, tried to scream, tried to draw attention, tried to do anything other than be here in this room with her.

"Could be true love or some other bias in the universe towards those who deserve happiness. But whatever it is, I am certain that there is an author who can simply force a happy ending for me. And if there's anyone that could find him and bend him to their will, well, my money's on the Dark One."

She laughed but…

There it was again. This persistent repetition of a plan that wasn't his own but belonged to Regina. What the hell had she and Robin been doing while he'd been trying to free himself from that dagger? Perhaps he should have paid more attention. But in what universe had he ever paid attention to a plan Regina had unless he'd set it in motion in the first place?! Although, maybe if he had paid a but more attention to his former protege's interests, he might have smelled Zelena's magic.

Now it was too late. Now she was here, invading his space, making it hard to breathe, applying pressure where he couldn't afford to have pressure.

"Or should I say the deathly pale one? Anyway, whatever your plan is with the Author, I want my happy ending built into it. You'd also have to stop trying to kill me, of course."

Was she…was she attempting to make a deal?

"But dearie, what does old Rumple get out of it?" she laughed again, rolling her "r" in that ridiculous way he used to when he made deals. Oh, he didn't think it was possible. But she'd gone even more insane than he remembered her to be. "I mean, you are aware I have a certain potion that fixes hearts. And I don't know if it could cure this little lump of coal you've got in your narrow little chest…"

He tried to push back, push his body into the bed so she'd stop touching him, but she was already too close. It wasn't possible.

"But it will get you back home…" she nodded as if those words should assure him.

Home. What he'd give to get back home. To his True Love.

"Your life for mine. That seems rather fair."

Unfair. Completely unfair.

"Do we have a deal? So, what do you think if we do…simply blink."

He wanted to swallow. He wanted to breathe. He wanted to live!

But he needed Zelena to back away in order to do any of those things. He hated the thought that he would exchange his life for hers, let her go, and stop trying to kill her. But he was the King of Loopholes once, and if he lived, he might be again. Life left a lot of time to figure his way around her deal. Death left him with nothing.

Against his better judgement, he blinked.

Zelena smiled wide, her face only inches from his. He felt something smooth and small in the palm of his hand, suddenly. The vial!

He made to grab it, only to have it pulled away again at the last second.

"And of course, it stands to reason you won't tell Robin or Regina about this little visit, no cute little messages to spoil my fun!"

He nodded vigorously and desperately. He may as well, what the hell did he care? He'd already sold his soul to the devil.

Now he wanted his prize.

Chapter Text

He was in the hospital for two weeks.

Zelena might have left him with a "Too-da-loo" and the Elixir he needed to help his heart, but her sudden appearance that day had also left him with another problem, namely the breathing tube blocking the potion's way to his stomach.

Seconds after Zelena left his room, the nurse reappeared, and he managed to press the vial the witch had given him between his leg and his hand, hiding it from her sight as the nurse hovered over him, calling for a doctor, and trying her best to get him to calm down. It was a funny thing. Even if he never thought of it consciously, he always used breathing to calm himself down, even in the past, even before now, when it was so imperative. But now, because of that damn tube, he found that he couldn't rely on his old tricks. So, he listened to the nurse's voice as she spoke, explaining to him that he'd had another cardiac event and intubation was standard practice in patients who experienced cardiac arrest.

Cardiac arrest. Zelena had killed him.

She explained that they were pushing blood thinners in him and some drugs to help the plaque in his heart, and that later they would do tests to see if they needed to give him a bypass. If he could go 48 hours without another cardiac event, then they'd extubate and talk about next steps.

She'd handed him a remote to the TV. And told him not to stress his body, just rest.

The cure he'd needed was in his hand all the while, but he couldn't figure out a way to tell her that. And he feared that if he tried, she'd take the vial from him and never see it again. So for days he lay there in that bed, shitting in a pan, watching reruns of some show about a bunch of people stranded on an island, and eating through a tube.

He slept when he could, gave blood when they required, allowed the tests to continue because he had no choice, did his best to breathe when they checked to see if he could on his own, and waited with that vial by his side.

After three days of failed breath tests, on the fourth he finally passed. On the fifth, they did another one just to be sure, and finally they extubated him; he tried not to let himself be excited. After all, he was only convinced that the reason his heart hadn't given out on him again was because he had not allowed himself to be excited, to dwell on his situation, or see Zelena.

Finally, they sat him up in bed, removed the strap around his head, then the tube providing air, had him cough, and just like that, he was finally breathing on his own. At least that was what it felt like. For two more days, they had him on support oxygen, a precaution, they told him, even though he was doing "miraculously well."

It was no miracle.

For days after the extubation, his throat was raw and sore, too raw and sore to talk. And it made swallowing painful. But despite the pain, the first second the doctor and nurses had left the room, he'd begun sipping away at the Elixir until it was gone.

This time it had worked.

With a wave of relief, it worked exactly as he'd thought it would. The tightness that he'd learned to live with as he lay there for days finally eased, exactly like a weight off his shoulders. It was a wonderful sensation, though a terrifying reality that had him recognizing how bad it had been to begin with.

The next nine days were spent on recovery. The elixir healed his heart, but being human had taken its toll, and after lying damn near motionless in bed for five days, he was weak. The first time they allowed him to stand and use the bathroom like a human being, his legs and feet felt foreign to him. And the time it took for him to get across the room to the bathroom door was excruciating. Soon, it was more than just doctors and nurses coming to see him; physical therapists were too. At first, they wanted him to practice sitting up and moving to sit in the chair more. Then they moved on to wanting him to walk farther and farther distances. One of them realized that the cane he'd been given wasn't the right size for him, and when he explained the situation, they came back with another one that fit him.

And then, finally, two weeks later, after his initial arrival in New York, the doctor came to see him one last time to sign the discharge papers. She talked about how lucky he was and how she couldn't explain his recovery, so he needed to be careful. They prescribed him some medication he was certain he no longer needed, and brought the clothes he'd come in with back to him.

"I gave your friend a call to let him know we're releasing you," the nurse said as the sky darkened and he prepared to leave.

"Friend?" he questioned, his blood chilling.

"Robin, I think, is his name. Sweet guy, calls every day."

Oh, he didn't like that. Not because of Robin, loathed as he was to admit it, "sweet" was probably an accurate description word for that man, and he was sure that he meant no harm in checking in. But as long as Robin was with Zelena and he had no idea, he didn't like the idea that he might have been sharing information with her. It would have been innocent, of course. But the thought that Zelena might know he might be out in the world…he wanted to be far away from here.

It was dark when they finally released him. The night was young, but it smelled of fresh rain. Oh, how he'd missed air, even city air! And how he longed for…

To his shock and amazement, when he walked out of the hospital, he found a familiar face, standing by the exit, holding a brown cardboard box.

Robin Hood.

Panic flooded his system. Panic had him looking left and right at the people around him, searching for Zelena with the face of Marian, and for a boy who might indicate that the entire "family" was there. But he saw no one, only Robin. And out of sheer instinct from the last few days, he let himself become aware of his heartbeat and breathed in and out deeply, even though it was no longer necessary.

"I thought you never wanted to see me again," he muttered, moving to Robin. There was no point in avoiding him; he'd obviously seen him. And he could try to outrun him, but weak as he was, lame as he was, the boy would catch up without ever losing his breath. He was just thanking the gods that Robin had come alone.

"Well, after all the trouble I went to, I wanted to make sure you were well."

"Well" wouldn't exactly be what he'd call it. He was free from the hospital, that was true. But as he looked around for a quick exit, for an excuse to make to free himself from this conversation, he was suddenly aware that he had nothing. No money, no place to stay, no magic, no son, no Belle…about the only thing he had in his possession was a withering heart temporarily treated and a sudden determination to live on that he barely understood. So much of his focus these last few days had been on getting out of the hospital. Now that he was out, he was suddenly aware that he had nowhere to go and no plan whatsoever. "Well" would not be the word he'd use.

But, of course, if he said all that to Robin Hood, "sweet" as the thief was, he'd probably want to help. And he was certain, in this case, that "helping" would look like taking him back to the apartment with Zelena.

And he'd rather sleep in a cardboard box on the street.

"Well, I am. Thank you," he lied.

"And I wanted to give you something. It's from the apartment, your son, Baelfire's things. There wasn't much left, I thought you might want to have it."

He felt his throat begin to close up as he looked down at the box. The tightening in his chest now…was that his heart? Or something else?

Something else.

He'd taken the Elixir, so it had to have been something else.

Sentiment. Over…over Baelfire, but not Baelfire at the same time.

A man he'd never known.

"No. No, thank you."

"No? Why not?"

"Because these are the remnants of Neal Cassidy, a boy who was in this land alone. And all because his father was too much of a coward to hold on to what he had. I don't want a reminder of my failure, a reminder that all I really wanted was happiness. And when I had it…couldn't recognize it."

He didn't want that box. He didn't want that box, and he didn't have any place to put it if he did. And he did not. Whatever was out there for him now that he was determined to live was going to be found in his future. Not his son's past.

"I know what you mean," Robin pouted. "With Marian…I wished her to come back every day. And then when she did…"

"You were in love with another woman," he finished for him, though if he was honest, he failed to see how that was even remotely the same thing as not recognizing happiness. Especially knowing what he knew now, he'd say it was likely his own instinct warning him about the danger he was in. Not that he could tell him that.

Fucking deals…

"It's more than just that. She's…she's like a stranger to me now."

"Why did you marry her in the first place?"

"'Cause I loved her," he shrugged easily enough, as if all answers from their world were that simple.

"And you thought she was gonna be your happy ending."

"Yes."

"And is she?"

Robin Hood hesitated. For a moment, he looked as though he was about to break into tears as he looked at him, but finally, he shook his head. "I don't know."

He couldn't tell him what he knew, he didn't dare. But for Regina's sake, perhaps there was a way to persuade without saying it, a way to push Robin in a direction that would force Zelena to reveal herself because as long as she was pretending to be helpless Maid Marian…he didn't think he'd ever be able to let his dead wife go and return to Regina, the woman he knew beyond a shadow of a doubt actually loved him and might have stood a chance to get what he didn't. After all, the Seer was never wrong…he was her heart.

"Well, maybe you should take a piece of advice from a man who has pushed away every chance at happiness because it was never enough. If it's within your grasp, if you know…where it is and who it's with…then you should run to it, grasp it, and never let go."

He left then, walking away from Robin and his son's belongings. He was ready to wash his hands of Zelena, disappear into the crowd, get off her radar in every way he possibly could. Despite their deal, he'd done his best to explain, the only loophole he could find on such short notice, and help Robin and Regina, but the rest would be up to them, to fix this and-

"Gold!"

His heart stopped when he heard his name called. And he held his breath for a moment as he waited for it to beat again and confirm it was only a small skip of a beat. He wondered how long it would be before that fear went away. If ever.

When he turned back, Robin was chasing after him, not that he needed much "chasing," he hadn't exactly made it very far.

"Listen…" he breathed when he caught up to him. He set the box of Neal's things down and reached into his pocket. "Regina gave us more than enough to start with so…here…"

He held out his hand at the realization that he wanted to give him something, and then tried not to let his jaw drop at the wad of bills he set there in his hands. The only one he saw on top was a hundred-dollar bill. And it was enough to make him nervously look around at the people who might see this exchange as he quickly took the bills and folded them to fit in his hand as discreetly as possible. How the hell had this kid not been mugged in this city yet?!

"It's the last of the starter money that Regina gave us," Robin explained innocently. "We have no need of it."

"No, you…you keep your money," he refused, stepping up to put it in his pocket.

Robin Hood only backed away and shook his head. "Come on, what do you have? And I might be getting a job at the end of the week, so just…take it!" the thief insisted, stepping forward suddenly to take it out of his hand and put it in his breast pocket.

He hated the idea of taking charity almost as much as the fact that he needed charity. But the boy was right. What did he have? Hell, after this interaction was over, he wasn't even sure where he was going to go, whereas Robin at least had Neal's apartment to return to. An apartment that was currently being paid for with his money on direct fucking deposit. Maybe he didn't need to consider it charity. Maybe he just needed to consider it as rent.

"Still taking from the rich and giving to the poor?" he questioned in acceptance.

He shrugged. "I'm Robin Hood…it's what I do. Take care of yourself, Rumpelstiltskin."

"Same to you."

Chapter Text

He had a little more than $1,000.

He didn't dare take that money Robin had given him out of his pocket to count it when he'd first put it there. Instead, he'd walked. And walked. And walked some more until it began to rain and his stomach growled. As if in answer to a prayer, he found a grocery store with big flashing lights on it, some kind of big-name store the real world had that Storybrooke didn't, and ducked inside. He let himself into the back bathroom stall and counted out what he had then. When he finished counting the hundred-dollar bills and then the ones, tens, and twenties he found illogically stuffed in between the larger bills, it came to about $1,188. It wasn't much, but it was enough to make him feel like a very rich pauper.

With his funds, he purchased a sandwich from the deli and a bag of potato chips for later. The doctors at the hospital would probably have screamed to see him eat it after what he'd been through. But as far as he was concerned, after the chicken and rice they'd been feeding him, it would be a feast.

And then, at the counter, on a whim, he purchased a monthly, unlimited MetroCard for $112. It was expensive, but the city was expansive. And though he didn't quite know exactly where he was going to go or what he was going to do, he knew that he'd get around. And with his bum leg…any kind of wheels would be preferable to his own two legs.

Food and card bought, it was getting late. He was getting tired.

And for the first time in a very long time, maybe his entire life, he didn't have a plan.

Only options. Should he take his sandwich, and his meager money, and attempt to find some dark place to sleep in the city? Or put his new Metro Pass to good use and ride the bus around? It wasn't ideal, but at least on the bus, there would be a driver, and if anyone attempted to touch him or get to his small savings, there would be a witness.

So, he boarded the bus, empty save for another man sleeping in the back seats, found a place to call his own, and sat down to eat his sandwich and chips.

He supposed they were good. Certainly better than the food he'd had in the hospital. But the impending fear of what would come when he finally stepped off the bus added a strange aftertaste that threatened to sicken him if he thought too much about it.

Between the sandwich and the MetroCard, he was down to $1068.

It was certainly more than the average bum on the street had, but less than necessary to survive in a place like New York City. He could remember the cost of his trip here with Emma. Even before he'd had to pay extra for Henry, it had been an expensive trip. Tired as he was, that money could get him a room for a night somewhere nearby, but it would also eat into what he had. It wasn't smart.

And he supposed that he could look for a shelter…

But the very idea of it threatened to bring his sandwich up from his stomach. He didn't think he could bear such a thing. And even if his pride allowed him to, with the kind of money he had in his jacket on the line, what kind of sleep would he get huddled together in a room with other people desperate for what he possessed? He couldn't risk falling asleep and waking to find the little that he had was gone.

But he also couldn't live the rest of his life on this bus.

The rest of his life…what a concept.

Back at the town line, he'd have thought that he'd have no expectation of life, whatsoever. In the aftermath of his banishment, without Bae and Belle, without his family, he would have thought that if his life ceased at that moment, it would make no difference to him. Hell, if his life ceased at that moment, he probably would have seen it as a good thing. The Dark One Curse would have had no one to pass on to, and he'd have died with the knowledge that the curse would die with him, just like so many had once hoped it might. That might have been his one good thing on earth. But then he'd woken, and Zelena appeared. And in the chaos of the Elixir, he came to the startling conclusion that it would all be worth it if he lived.

He'd traded his life for his revenge. That was how he had to think about it. It wasn't trading his life for Zelena's; it was just trading his life for the opportunity to kill her himself. However, there were several loopholes in that deal he'd made. He'd orchestrated far more difficult outcomes than the death of one crazed witch before; he could do it again when the opportunity struck. And he was certain the opportunity would strike. There was no reason for him to believe that. It was just a belief. The Fates or the gods or whoever was in charge of running his life seemed to take pleasure in giving him challenge after challenge. That would no doubt be a fun drama for them to watch unfold, too good for it not to come his way. So, he was certain it would come about at some point in his life, but in the meantime, between this point and that point…what was he to do with this life that he'd bought?

What was he going to do with himself here? What would he make of himself?

What did he want to make of himself?

He leaned his forehead up against the cool bus window, watching the drops of rain slide down as he considered a question he hadn't had to answer for over two hundred years.

What now?

It felt like all his life had culminated in finding Baelfire, and then when he finally had him back, even for a short while, Belle had been his new passion. He'd planned on making himself into a family man. Healing his relationship with Baelfire and then making Belle happy, maybe having that child he'd seen in a vision once upon a time.

He felt the corner of his mouth curl at that memory. That future he'd imagined…he still wanted it. He still wanted it with every fiber of his being.

But only half of it was even remotely possible. Bae was gone. Belle was not.

And he knew that he should probably feel some sense of anger toward her after what had happened. But the brief connection they'd shared through the dagger, where he'd been able to feel her heartbreak, haunted him. He didn't hold any grudges against her. He was disappointed in himself. Disappointed in the fact that he'd let her down, that after vowing to make her happy and setting his sights on that, the appearance of that hat had been all it took to veer off that path. He'd hurt her. And now she'd hurt him.

But perhaps there was a way to make it up to her. Perhaps there was a way to fix it!

But how!

For what felt like the millionth time in the last few weeks, he flipped open his phone and scrolled through the contacts, evaluating each one for help. Just like always, he stopped at Belle. He wondered what would happen if he called her. He wondered if he'd find forgiveness. He wondered why she'd ever deem him worthy of it after their last interaction. What he'd always feared had come to pass. She'd believed that despite who he was, he could be like her. That he could be a hero, reformed.

But that was never going to be an option, and she'd finally seen that. He was every bit the villain he'd warned her he was. Every bit the villain the Author had made him to be.

There was no outrunning that particular fate.

He swallowed hard as he closed his phone and went back to looking out the window.

The Author…that was the problem. He wanted happiness, just like everyone else. And so many times it had been within his grasp only to be yanked away at the last possible second. Not because of him, but because he'd been cast in this role he'd never agreed to. Why?!

Regina had tried to find The Author, wanted to answer that very question, it seemed. She wanted Robin with every fiber of her being, but she was destined always to lose him just because she was a villain in someone else's story. How was that fair to Robin, a hero who still, to this day, apparently, was giving to the less fortunate? If Regina was his happy ending, but she didn't deserve one, how was that supposed to work? How was that fair to Robin to always be denied because of Regina?

How was that fair to Belle, to always be denied because of him?

Belle deserved a happy ending. She was his True Love, and he was hers. He didn't doubt that for a second. Was it because of him she'd never have everything he wanted for her, for them? Everything he'd once seen in his visions?

No.

No, it couldn't be true. If there was nothing else that he'd learned after all of this, it was that the Seer was always right.

Always.

He'd doubted when he was on the outside of Storybrooke, when he remembered all he'd seen within it that he'd left undone. But then he'd seen Robin, and the vision of him in the burgundy room came true. Maybe not how he'd ever expected, but it had still happened. Here! In a world without magic! And if it could happen here, then…

The Seer was always right. She was right about this. And she would be right about all that he hadn't yet seen come to pass yet, which meant that he was going to get back to Storybrooke. He was going to have that life that he'd just traded his vengeance for. Belle was going to hold that child he'd seen in her arms one day! But how?!

He didn't know how.

But what he did know was that he couldn't do this forever. He couldn't sit here on this bus circling the same route for the rest of his human life. If he wanted to change his fate, change his status, then he needed to talk to the man who had written it in the first place, and he certainly wasn't going to do that here.

It was time to stop feeling sorry for himself, get to work, and start thinking.

Chapter Text

For the next two weeks, he fell into a routine that revolved around two things: survival and returning to Storybrooke.

He was never one to ask for help, even when he'd probably needed it. During military training, he'd done as much work by himself as possible. After he'd injured himself, he'd refused to wait for a cart to take him home. Even when he probably could have sought more help from Zoso to retrieve the dagger, long before he'd known who the man was, he probably should have asked for it. But asking for help was weakness. And at times when he felt too weak as it was, his pride often kept him from stooping to that low even at his worst.

But times changed. Situations changed. And it was pride that demanded he stay off the streets as long as he could while he came up with some kind of plan to get himself back to Storybrooke, to talk to the Author, and figure out how to get his story, and, much to his disgruntlement, Zelena's stories, rewritten. Because that was the key, wasn't it? He wasn't going to change his future by altering his present. He wasn't going to change his future by going back in time, like Zelena. So long as Emma breathed, he was fairly certain that it was impossible. So instead, he was going to change the odds by rewriting the story. Or getting the Author to rewrite the story. He hadn't worked through all of the details just yet; homelessness had a way of occupying one's mind. And so he'd done what he had to do.

He asked for help.

He'd ridden the bus around that first night. When the driver got suspicious of him, he got off, went to another stop, and got on the next bus. At one particular stop, he arrived at, he saw an advertisement, a number to call for help if needed. 311. His phone still had battery. Fortunately, a kind soul at the hospital had given him a charger they'd had sitting at home collecting dust because "no one uses those old things anymore." But he still didn't have a place to actually charge his phone. So he figured if he was going to call, he had better do it before the battery drained away and he lost his nerve.

There was a lot of button pushing on that call, a lot of listening to directories and figuring out what he needed, but when he finally spoke to a woman on the other end, he hung up with a plan in mind. A plan he had quickly enacted.

He moved out of the city. Why not? He didn't know why he hadn't thought about it before. Without Baelfire, the apartment, or the Elixir, there was no need to stay where the rent was so high he couldn't afford anything. Of course, with the little he had, he still couldn't go too far. But the woman had helped him understand which buses he could take and where his MetroCard would get him. And so he left the city and found himself in New Jersey, where he moved into an extended stay hotel.

It was cheap in every sense of the word, but at least it was one step above standing in line for hours and hours every day, hoping there was a bed at the shelter and sleeping with one eye open, fixed on his meager supply of cash if there was an opening. Other perks included some resources for individuals who were also down on their luck, within walking distance. A local soup kitchen served lunch and dinner, and also had clothes for the taking. He found himself a couple of new shirts and pants to cycle through, but bought new underwear and socks.

In those times when survival was managed, when he wasn't hungry or counting his money, or worrying about getting shot in his room, he thought through plans to get back into Storybrooke.

First and foremost, on his mind was whether or not he'd be able to stay if he re-entered, or if the magic of the dagger would simply kick him right back out again. After nights of mulling over that question, he determined that so long as he could get back into Storybrooke under the radar, he would be fine. Belle's command was to leave Storybrooke. She did not say "stay away from Storybrooke," or "Never come back," and he'd left as told, so the magic of the dagger should be satisfied. The only thing that might threaten to kick him back out again was if Belle's willpower was consistent enough to keep him out. If she learned he was there and still didn't want him there, then the magic would likely expel him again. But…

It had been a while since he was last at home. He'd lost track of days in the hospital, and keeping track of them now was a challenge, but he knew that he'd been gone perhaps two weeks when he left the hospital. He was hopeful that by now her will to keep him out would be pliant enough for him to get in and stay so long as she had no knowledge of his presence. Which would be a difficult thing, given one of his reasons for returning was her. However, if the goal was to find the Author and change the story, then seeing her immediately wouldn't need to be in the short-term plan, as it would be in the long-term plan. Rewriting the story would fix everything for him!

Though he did acknowledge that getting the dagger back from her would need to be a priority when he returned.

And as for getting back, there was only one way that he could figure. Ingrid's scroll. The one that Belle had in her possession, the one that she's been studying, because that was apparently how the Apprentice had gotten Ingrid into Storybrooke during the Curse.

It wasn't a sure thing. He was making a lot of assumptions with a scroll he'd only laid eyes on once. The Curse on the town line was different now, but the magic protecting the town from the outside world…that should be the same, he concluded. If Dove was right about Mary Margaret casting the Curse when they were working together in the Enchanted Forest, then he could assume it was Regina's magic she'd used. What other magic users did that woman know who could have done it?

Yes, whatever curse Ingrid or Zelena had placed on the town line to keep anyone from returning, that was something different. But getting through the magic keeping the world out, that should be identical to before. Ingrid's scroll should work. The question was, how to get it. He was going to need someone on the inside to bring it to him.

Again, he found himself going through the same options he had weeks ago at the town line. Belle certainly wouldn't do it. Dove was out because there was nothing in it for him that he couldn't gain one-hundred-fold by keeping him out in the first place. Charmings were out. Regina might, after some time, be willing to help him, but after this much time, his best bet was that she'd side with the Charmings, and there was no assurance that she'd keep his presence a secret from them, and they'd go right to Belle. Henry might be an option, but the circumstances would need to be just right. Emma was unlikely…but not impossible. She was a reasonable person. And though he didn't entirely trust that she wouldn't run straight to Belle, she had shown time and time again that with the right arguments and persuasion, she could play into his hands.

Working through a plan like this was going to take power. And that was something he was sorely low on at the moment. Low…but not without. The way he saw things, there were three types of power in this and any world. Magic, which was currently inaccessible to him. Money, which was currently out of reach. And then Belle's favorite kind of power…knowledge.

So, he took a page out of his wife's book, and each day, he began to take the bus with the rest of the people who couldn't pay their bills to the local library. The first day or two, he'd just sat there, feeling overwhelmed, longing for Belle to tell him where to start and what to do. And then, when he'd wandered around the stacks, searching more for an inkling on how to get an idea than an idea itself, he'd seen someone using an old machine to look through newspaper articles…and he'd finally gotten an idea.

The file he had back in Storybrooke, the one on Emma, it contained everything about her, and he'd kill to have it. He'd kill to have it because if he was going to work with Emma, use blackmail of some kind to get some form of power over her, then knowledge was the ticket. That file would make everything easier. But the easy was unfortunately not an option given his current state. And so, every day, he signed up to use a computer terminal and got to work.

His first stop was almost always to check the online version of the Daily Mirror. It was, ironically, his only window into the workings of the town. For days, he pored over the news from home that he'd missed, catching up on the latest and greatest, hoping that he'd see Belle's name or hear from her. Instead, all he'd found was a small article that talked about him, his banishment, and the use of the Sorcerer's Hat to trap the fairies and other unknown individuals. There was a note that Belle Gold was currently working on the solution, and anyone with information should contact her or Emma Swan immediately.

Oh, that he could contact her…

But he did get a smile out of the fact that she was still using his name.

Regina was mayor again. That seemed to have happened quickly after Robin Hood left. There was a note about that as well, that Ingrid's curse had been impossible to remove from Maid Marian, and so the family had sought refuge from magic in the World Without Magic, and fuck! This was all out there in the world, on the internet, for anyone to see. How did people who stumbled across it explain all of this? Satire? A joke?

He asked himself that every day, and every day he came to the same conclusion. It wasn't his problem. He had other things to worry about. Which was also how every day found him scrolling through headlines, seeking out information on Emma Swan. The days added up, and his time in front of the computer yielded information, but very little that he could actually use.

From her adult years, what he found was mostly small articles that mentioned her in connection with the apprehension of individuals who had skipped bond. Usually, a singular line she likely had used as an advertisement for those who wanted to hire her.

Her childhood years were difficult to research, to say the least. She was a minor in the system, and so even incidents that he knew of from Storybrooke often shielded her identity. The one redeeming quality was her tendency to run away from foster homes. The articles were small, of course, nothing like when a child with two loving parents went missing, but he could usually find her name in articles asking the town where she had been located to look for her. Rarely did they ever report that she'd been found. Once, being the exception…

Two Missing Girls Discovered Together!

The article title described an incident of a teenage girl who had been reported missing and potentially a runaway by her parents as being recovered in the company of a separate runaway girl, Emma Swan. The girl in question was named Lilith Page.

Lilith Page…

That was a name he knew. A name he knew from a whisper in his head.

The Seer…it was her voice in his head that said the name, but…why?

He abandoned his research on Emma to pursue that nagging thought.

Lilith Page, there she was…

In 1997, Lilith Page had gone missing from her bed overnight. There were no signs of a break-in or a struggle, although the police noted that the room appeared to have been ransacked. There was some jewelry from the girl's room that was missing, in addition to a few clothes and a backpack that hadn't turned up. The father's credit card also went missing. The suspicion, according to "Lily's" teachers, was that she'd run away, not been kidnapped. They stated she was a fragile girl with very few close friends, always drawn to the wrong crowd. She was adopted…

It was a simple statement in an article like this, one that should have been a throwaway notation, unimportant to the case, unimportant to finding her, except…apparently, Lily's adoption had caused quite the stir. She'd been found abandoned. In the woods.

Well now…that sounded familiar. Eerily familiar to Ms. Swan. And it sent shivers down his spine. That, and the Seer's voice in his head saying her name, that wasn't a coincidence.

He read on hungrily, devouring every last detail, and then…he found it. The trigger. The last paragraph of the article was a plea for help, urging neighbors and citizens to remain vigilant in the search for Lily, as her parents had missed her and wanted her back. In addition to the teen's picture, there was another picture. It was grainy and the sepia filter did it little good, but it wasn't so much the picture itself that meant something as it was the image in his head of looking at the picture…a picture of a unique, identifying scar on Lily's wrist-a five-point star.

Chapter Text

That was it. He knew that scar. He knew the person it came from; he knew the reason the Seer had given him that name! Or at least knew the reason the Seer had given him most of the name. Starla Lilith Page. That name had been accompanied by the vision of looking at this picture, years ago when he'd watched as the Apprentice himself had done Dark Magic, Dark Magic that he'd never attempted because to do so what so morally black he was sure his heart would have shriveled right then and there!

It had been back in the Enchanted Forest, back when he was preparing to be taken into custody when Snow and David had been pregnant and Regina had been a threat. Snow and David had located Maleficent's egg, managed to trap her in a cave, and taken that egg to the Apprentice, who had performed a spell on the egg and Emma, when she'd still been in the womb. It was a Spell of Intent. Every child born had the potential to be good, bad, or somewhere in between. The Spell of Intent, magic outlawed by Merlin himself, removed the part of an individual's soul that could be intended for bad and swapped it with another's part intended for good. The Apprentice had done the magic, and then a portal had opened up beneath the egg. Ursula and Cruella had arrived just as it all was happening, and then all three of them had been gone. Ursula, Cruella, and the egg…and the Seer had given him a vision of a girl with brown hair and a scar in the shape of a five-point star on her wrist. Starla Lilith Page…

He sat forward at the computer terminal and rubbed his eyes, trying to remember exactly what had been going on to cause such a thing. He remembered what he'd witnessed, but he couldn't for the life of him remember much more than that or even remember at the time why it had been happening. It was possible that he'd forgotten. It was also possible that he simply hadn't known. It was so long ago, and he could remember that time of his life being busy. That event had been in the last months before the Curse was cast, he'd had Regina to worry about, Snow and David and Emma to focus on, Cinderella, Thomas, the baby…there had been so many pieces of the puzzle that fell into place at one time and he could remember being absolutely shocked by what he'd seen. Maybe he'd never known why it had happened; why the Apprentice and Snow and David had done what they'd done, but he remembered it angered him then more or less for the same reason that it angered him now.

Fucking heroes.

They weren't perfect paragons of good. Kidnapping a child from her mother, even if that mother was a shapeshifting, fire-breathing dragon, was certainly not something that he would ever consider "heroic." Villainous, without a question. But "heroic"…not a chance.

And yet, here he sat in a stranger's clothes, fighting off hunger in a library that smelled like lettuce while they were back in Storybrooke with their daughter and son, happy as larks. All because some man, some Author had decided they were heroes, and he was a villain; decided that their good deeds could outweigh their bad deeds and his bad deeds would never overcome his good deeds. Bullshit.

He had words for this Author. He had so many, many words he'd like to bestow upon him in addition to the questions. But dammit, if he had any hope of getting to ask those questions, he had to get back into Storybrooke first!

He slammed his hand down on the table before him in anger. In the silent space, more than a few people looked up at him suspiciously. He took a deep breath, nodded, and smirked in acknowledgement and apology, then returned to his computer.

Starla Lilith Page…

It wasn't a coincidence. There was a reason that the Seer had given him her name, a reason why it had come back into his mind now, of all times. Perhaps she was his ticket back to Storybrooke. Perhaps if he could find her, he could explain things to her, tell her why she was a loner and made friends with the wrong crowd, why she could never catch a break in life. He could tell her that her mother was in Storybrooke. Admittedly, not likely a fully functioning human in Storybrooke, but he could take care of that. And since the girl was already far more prone to falling in with the wrong crowd, he had a good chance that if he could get her to believe, then she'd help him. Perhaps she could get in under the guise of reconnecting with Emma.

So where was she now…?

The article he'd read about the pair of missing girls found indicated that it was her father's credit card that had ultimately been used to find her. She hadn't realized how easy it was to track that money, even back then. The girls had broken into a house close by a store they'd robbed. Neighbors saw flashlights, called the police, and they'd put two and two together, and that was it. Emma was taken back into the system, and Lilith had been taken home. And then run away again…

Another article he found showed the teen had run away again, not long after being returned to her parents. This time, the police were under no false ideas that this was anything besides a girl who had run away. The same information on her was put out as before, citizens were told to be on the lookout, watch for a girl with a star on her wrist, her parents wanted her back. But overall, this article sounded less emergent than the previous attempt. Though given the article he found in follow-up, it probably shouldn't have been.

Apparently, the girl had been involved in an armed robbery! She and a young man they suspected was her boyfriend had robbed a Pawtucket Mini-Mart and Deli! Brazen for a young woman of that age. But that would have been the Spell of Intent, taking away all her good sense and replacing it with something vile. What the Apprentice had done to her, it was no worse than the Author deciding he was a villain and nothing more.

A follow-up article showed that they'd caught the boy, but Lily remained at large. He couldn't find anything to suggest she'd ever been caught, in fact, but there was one more recent article that bore the name Lilith Page. It was an article about a fatal car crash.

The pictures were horrific. In Massachusetts, a sedan had been driving too fast, too late at night and ran itself right into the guardrail. There had been a fire. The only known occupant of the car was one Lilith Page.

Lily was dead.

Almost instantly, he felt the air go out of his lungs. She was dead. A tragic end to a tragic life. But…the picture that he pulled up showed the right woman, the one he'd seen in his vision with the connection to Emma. Long dark hair, same high cheekbones as her mother, scar on the wrist. The Seer was never wrong, but…maybe the vision he'd had was of something in the past, a picture he'd see later?

Disappointed, and out of time at the terminal according to the librarian tapping her watch at him when he looked up, he gathered his things and left the library for the day. He was depressed, too depressed to go to the shelter and eat, so instead he began to make his way back to the bus stop that would take him back to his hotel room.

What a waste of a day. He'd chased a rabbit and gotten nowhere. No, he didn't believe that finding out about Maleficent's daughter was a coincidence. He just didn't know what it meant yet. He was working off of old visions from a Seer that had gone on to a better life, whatever the hell that was. But he knew that of all the people in the world, it wasn't a coincidence that the girls who shared a piece of each other had somehow managed to make a connection in this world. Of course, Emma wouldn't have had any idea who she was when she met her. Hell, Lilith probably wouldn't have had any idea who she was, either! She'd been adopted by two parents from the World Without Magic after she'd come through a portal and been abandoned on the side of the road. Though he knew that at one point the three women had been together during her pregnancy, clearly, Cruella and Ursula had no loyalty when it came to looking after Maleficent's daughter in-

He damn near missed a step.

Ursula and Cruella…they were here!

No, not in this town with him or with the others in Storybrooke, but here, somewhere in the world! What he'd seen in the Enchanted Forest had shown they hadn't been brought over by the Curse; they'd come over with Lily. And if Lily had been brought through that portal to here, then Cruella and Ursula were here too!

And he knew where one of them was!

He must have looked a sight as he stood there at the bus stop, his jaw hanging open as he watched people get off the bus that he should load, but instead the memory took him back to another time, to another place. He'd seen Ursula!

Over a year ago, when he'd taken Emma and Henry to New York to find his son. He'd seen Ursula in the city, getting on a bus in a jumpsuit of some kind. "Aquarium," the monitor on the bus had said.

That was his answer. He knew it almost instantly, even without the Seer. And he found himself sinking down onto the bench at the bus stop, utterly overwhelmed by how easily the puzzle pieces were falling into place. On the bluff, that night when he'd gone back after he'd rescued Belle and retrieved that very same gauntlet that had fucking damned him weeks ago with Belle…the Seer had given him a vision. Him, Ursula, Cruella, and Maleficent, all standing around Regina, who was seated in a chair. They were in the cabin he hadn't been able to recognize so long ago, his cabin. And the Seer had whispered a single word in his ear that had baffled and angered him. "Team."

Someday, the five of them were going to make a team.

The Seer was never wrong. And if it hadn't come to pass yet that meant it was still coming. In Storybrooke! He was going to get back. He was going to go home!

They were it. Lily was the key back to Storybrooke, if only because he had remembered Ursula; she and Cruella would be his ticket back. He didn't quite know how yet, that would still require some teasing. But he knew, deep down in his soul, this was it. If he needed friends on the inside and didn't currently have them on the inside, then he'd have to put them there himself, and so he would! And once he was back on the inside…he'd need a distraction. Something to keep the heroes distracted and looking in another direction than their search for the Author.

Lily.

Her fate was regrettable. But Cruella and Ursula, they knew what Snow and Charming had done in their world. And guilty as he knew the Charmings were over it in the days that followed, he doubted that they'd ever told Emma about what they'd done, and he doubted they'd want to. Between the disappearance of Ursula and Cruella and the Curse and then the supposed death of Maleficent they'd never had to be confronted with what they'd done.

Retrieving Maleficent from her current state and stabilizing her, finding Cruella, and then getting her and Ursula right under the nose of David and Mary Margaret…their squirming would be the perfect distraction to enable him to look for the Author and finally get his happy ending.

"Team," the Seer had said. When the time was right, they'd be a team. He didn't know if this was the right time, but it certainly felt like it might be. The pieces seemed to be falling into place too perfectly for it not to be. Now he just needed to reassemble his former Queens of Darkness and bring them to his side.

And he knew just how to do it.

Chapter Text

He was running out of money. The original bit that Robin had given him had only covered about two weeks of the Extended Stay, which meant that if he wanted to continue to keep that particular roof over his head, he needed to get his hands on some cash, and quickly. With plans for Ursula on the horizon, but not yet within his grasp, he made a difficult decision and entered a pawn shop in the place he was staying to sell his cufflinks. They were made of gold and had a stone set in them. The pawnbroker had given him $500 for them, which would be enough money to earn him another week at the Extended Stay but not much else. And given his task this week, he was sure to have other expenses. So, he sold his tie clip, too. Also gold. The pawnbroker had offered him $150 for it, which would give him enough cash, he was hoping to get through the week.

Of course, the pawnbroker had taken one look at him and what he was selling and made certain assumptions. He'd glanced at the ring on his finger and suggested he'd give him $400 for it. He'd had to swallow hard at that offer. Not because it was tempting, but because the very thought that someone would offer to buy a ring that was clearly a wedding ring right off his finger was insulting. But also, he suspected, kind. He hadn't really known how to respond other than to shake his head and leave, his thumb pressing against the metal of the ring he'd sworn never to take off.

But what the refusal to sell his ring meant was that he had a week, a singular week, to get his plan in order. It was a simple one. Go find Ursula, figure out her work schedule so he could talk to her somewhere public where she couldn't run away from a homeless cripple without judgment, get her to get Cruella, get the pair of them back to Storybrooke, and convince Regina that they were changed Villains just as she was. If all that went according to plan, then he was fairly certain Regina would let them into Storybrooke, and then they'd let him in when no one was looking. From there, he'd enact a much different plan to find the Author and fix his life.

It seemed so simple.

It proved to be more of a challenge than he'd planned.

To begin with, he was in New Jersey, and he'd seen Ursula in New York, just the once, around lunchtime, getting on a bus to the Aquarium, looking like she was going to work. Thanks to the bus route, he very quickly figured out where the Aquarium was, but timing was everything. Of course, the easiest thing to do would be to camp out in the Aquarium until he saw her, but getting in would cost money he didn't have. The second easiest thing to do would be to ask someone at the front if she was working on a particular day and then go inside when he received a yes, but unfortunately, the Aquarium website listed two Ursulas as Aquarists, under the "Meet the Team!" section. But it didn't give pictures or hours they worked, and neither of the last names, "Anderson" or "Cooper," gave away which was the one he needed. Besides, he wanted to surprise her, and doing that risked someone running off to tell her that someone was looking for her. His plan was shoddy enough already; he couldn't afford, literally or figuratively, to give up any potential power he had in this scenario.

So, every day, he left the Extended Stay in New Jersey and took the bus back to New York, where he sat in a discreet area outside the Aquarium. The first day he'd arrived around lunchtime, figuring that since he'd seen her get on the bus at lunchtime on his previous trip, it would be a good bet now. But he'd never seen her show up. Instead, he only caught a glimpse of her when she was leaving for the day, and tempting as it was to follow her back to her home, he resisted. The aquarium was a better place to catch her.

The second day, he'd shown up earlier, but missed her again, watching her leave several hours earlier than the day before. The third day, he almost missed her but finally saw her arriving just as he was leaving for the day, and the Aquarium was set to close. She was working on shifts. It was starting to feel like it was going to take a miracle to catch her, but he persisted. He had to. He only had three more days of money for the hotel, and then he'd have to figure out alternative options. He couldn't give up. On the fourth day, he didn't see her at all, not surprising given she'd worked the night shift the night before. But on the fifth day, finally, he watched her arrive that morning, and knew he could no longer stand to wait. He used his precious little funds to purchase admission for himself. He bought some food in the cafeteria, then sat in the atrium, and waited and watched, keeping his eyes peeled for her and an ideal time to get her alone. The morning was disparaging. Little kids ran around, tugging their parents excitedly after them, wanting food and snacks, it was busy! He wasn't sure how he was ever going to find her or speak with her privately, but he'd manage. He'd have to work with what he had. He didn't have much choice.

He caught a glimpse of her a few times during the day, encouraged by the fact that things were slowing down and it was easier to pick out the workers in their jumpsuits. She didn't seem to notice him sitting there, but he noticed her, and once he did, it was almost hard not to! She looked amazing! It wasn't a compliment; it was just the truth. She looked as though she hadn't aged a single day since he'd last seen her in the Enchanted Forest, which wasn't exactly out of the ordinary for someone from Storybrooke, but for someone living in the World Without Magic, he couldn't work out how she…

The Dragon Egg…Cruella and Ursula had come through the same portal as Lilith Page, but she'd been hatching from her egg. The article about her abandonment stated she'd been found on the side of the road; it mentioned nothing suspicious, like the fact that she might have been found in an egg-shaped basket. Dragon Eggs were rare, but powerful things, used for a multitude of spells and enchantments, one of which was to keep one from aging. Ursula had never seemed quite as vain as Cruella was, but what were the chances the bitches had left the child on the side of the road and taken her egg to give themselves some extra years? Looking at Ursula as she made another pass, he'd say chances were high.

Hours passed as he sat there, catching glimpses of her walking back and forth between a few exhibits, sometimes alone, sometimes carrying nets or pushing carts with food or other strange contraptions. She didn't speak with anyone. Not the patrons, not the kids, not other employees. But not once did he observe a decent time to attempt to catch her alone. Finally, after he'd been there for well over seven hours and they were looking to start shutting the aquarium down for the night, he was resigned to the fact that he was going to have to do it soon. Whether the situation was ideal for him or not, he didn't have much time left. He couldn't afford to do this for another day, especially not knowing her schedule, and her shift had to be ending soon. It had to be…now!

He watched as Ursula wheeled her fish food cart through the atrium once more to another wing of the aquarium, just like she had half a dozen times that day, but this time before she disappeared down the dark hallway he watched as she stopped and found a barrier with a sign on it saying the exhibit was now closed for the evening, put it out and left. That was it! That was his moment. People were coming out of the exhibit but not going in; he was certain it would be fairly private but still public enough that he could get her to hear him out.

It had to be now.

He hobbled over to the entrance, and after looking around and waiting for a few more families to exit, he followed her in. The exhibit was mostly empty. Only one woman with children stopped him to say they'd been asked to leave because the aquarium was closing. He nodded and politely thanked her before stopping before a small tank with something poisonous in it, waiting for her to go, and continuing deeper into the depths before it finally opened into a wide space for a viewing area right next to a tank of unfathomable size. And there was Ursula. She stood at the bottom of the tank, unlocking a small window-like cutout he'd never have noticed. He watched as she scooped heaps of what he assumed was fish food into that cutout, then pushed a button that sent it spewing up into the tank, leaving the sharks and fish swarming as she worked.

"It's all I got," she muttered in a dull tone as she finished locking the cutout back up. "If you're not happy about it, try eating each other."

Now or never.

"I hear cannibalism is frowned upon in the aquatic world," he commented, stepping up into her field of vision. He tried to appear confident, tried to appear as wholly and completely in control and powerful as he once was. But he didn't miss the way her eyes roved over him. "Or maybe you could tell me differently."

She let out a little chuckle as she turned to face him, putting her hands in her pockets and this time looking him up and down in a way that made no attempt to hide her judgment. "So, this is what a man who always wins looks like."

Yes…yes, he had said something like that the last time they'd seen each other. But with a plan finally in mind, he felt far from eating those words, even if he knew he didn't look it.

"I assure you, Ursula, my situation is only temporary."

"Really? How you gonna fix that, play the lotto?"

"I'd like to tell you a story. It's about heroes and villains, where the villains always lose."

"Seems like someone's changed his tune."

He took a deep breath. She was still talking to him, still engaging; that was a good sign. Especially because it was only three days or so until he was homeless, and he had no backup plan.

"I've learned the rules do apply to me, but there's also someone who can change those rules."

"Who?"

"For now, let's call him 'the Author.'"

"Pretentious. I hate him already."

Her tone was joking. But he liked that response. For this, he wasn't going to need Ursula the Aquarist; he was going to need Ursula the villain. And an immediate, unquestioning response like that, even if it was laced with sarcasm, was just enough to tell him that she was still in there.

"Then, let's go see him. Tell him what we think. Unless you prefer life as a fish-food dispenser."

Ursula narrowed her gaze at him. "But if you're coming to me for help, I can assume it won't be easy. Who's standing in our way?"

Oh, she had to go and ask that question, the one part of this that made him most nervous of all, because it was going to paint a bullseye on a very specific group of people; a group of people that his wife considered herself a part of. But, he'd already thought this through. And fortunately, he was sure that no matter who fell into their crosshairs in this new mission of his, he could keep Belle safe. Of that he was confident.

"The usual people…the heroes," he accused. "Let's get your things. We've two more stops to make."

Chapter Text

Ursula was almost too easy to convince. So easy it made him nervous that she knew something he didn't, that she had some sort of ulterior plan in mind. But he couldn't afford not to take a risk on her at the moment, so he went along with her willingness and refused, for his own sake, to let her out of his sight. In his experience with making deals, he found that it was best not to give people too much time to think about it, but to keep them engaged, move from one thing to another, and work quickly; that was the secret. Ursula telling him that she needed to finish her work and that he could meet her in the atrium in thirty minutes was problematic. But he had little choice. If he pushed too hard, she might lose heart and run off.

So, he resumed his position in the atrium and sat there for another thirty minutes, watching the seconds tick by, bouncing his one good foot anxiously before the sea witch appeared before him again.

"Two stops?" she questioned.

He nodded, trying not to let her see the relief she'd summoned in him. "Dinner and Cruella."

"Cruella…" Ursula scoffed. "Haven't seen her in years. Last I heard, she was operating out of Great Neck, scamming whatever poor country club sucker became infatuated with her."

Okay…so…leaving tonight wasn't a possibility given that information, at least not with Cruella, although he suspected that even just bringing Ursula back would work to get him in. However, he couldn't be sure what kind of distraction for the Charming clan just two of the trio would be, especially when Cruella always had been the one who was significantly more of a wild card. He needed more information. He could do that in three days. He hoped.

"Then for now, we'll settle for dinner and finding her," he countered, getting to his feet.

"How about we settle for dinner and an explanation, and I'll decide if this story of yours is really worth my time."

He could settle for that. For now, at least. He was never one to turn over a master plan, and he certainly didn't intend to now, but he was feeling fairly confident in his ability to sway her to his side without giving over every little detail. Tonight, his goal was to forget that he was a lame old man with a blackening heart, and step back into the shoes of the Dark One, figuratively if not temporarily.

Ursula walked with him to a pizza shop by the bus stop and greeted "Sal" at the counter. She told him she'd take her usual in a large today, then looked him over suspiciously. "I take it you haven't got anything to contribute to dinner…" she assumed.

It was difficult to step into the shoes of the Dark One when he couldn't afford a large pizza. Yes, he had money left, but this wasn't what he wanted to spend it on. When he offered nothing, Ursula paid for the pizza. He at least let her know that he had a bus pass. "A relief!" she exclaimed, ushering him on. After about ten minutes, they stopped in the section of town that he'd once seen her board the bus. It was maybe two minutes from where he'd found Baelfire, where he'd no doubt find Zelena still with Robin Hood if he looked, but he had no intention. Just being this close to Zelena made his heart start skipping beats.

Lucky for him, Ursula led him farther away from that place, took him to a completely different apartment building with a similar layout. A front atrium with mailboxes. An iron door that required a key or the residents to buzz them in. This one, thankfully, differed from Baelfire's in that it had an elevator, which Ursula took to the third floor before she unlocked one of the seven doors that he could see.

And suddenly he was back in the aquarium.

"This is where you live."

Oh, it smelled. It smelled like fish and saltwater and algae. Tank after tank sat around the apartment, most holding fish, at least one holding an octopus, another sat empty as far as he could tell, but he still had the distinct feeling that something was watching him from inside. He didn't care to know what it was. Aside from the fish and the smell, her apartment was simple. There was a couch and a TV, a small kitchen set against a wall, with a table and chairs out of what Mr. Gold thought might have been the fifties. There was an additional sitting room that held a computer, much newer than anything he'd used at the library, and a few other doors he assumed were rooms, closets, and bathrooms.

"Yep!" Ursula answered, tossing her keys onto the table. "Hello, babies!" she cooed at one of the fish tanks. "Of course, if you'd be more comfortable, I suppose we could always take this to whatever cardboard box you're calling home these days…"

He felt the corners of his lips turn up in a smirk. "Touche," he muttered. He didn't bother to correct her about her suspicions. Given what he'd had to work with and what he'd sacrificed these last few weeks, he'd done well for himself. But anything that might cause a slight bleed in her heart where he was concerned was something he figured might help him.

So, he let her assume. He let her assume and pass whatever judgment she wanted to pass. When they got back to Storybrooke, it would be her at his mercy.

"Make yourself at home," she urged, opening a cabinet and grabbing some plates. "Now…about this plan of yours, tell me everything!"

And there it was, exactly what he'd been waiting for her to ask since they'd first talked at the aquarium. She hadn't been overly shocked to see him standing there, and she had known about Regina's Curse before she and Cruella had been sent here, so he assumed she was capable of putting two and two together as to how he had ended up in this land. But when it came to details on things like Storybrooke, she'd be lacking.

So he filled her in. Briefly, he told her only what he felt that she really needed to know. Regina had cast her curse, creating a town in Maine where everyone from their world had been sent to live out the last thirty or so years. He explained about Emma, the child Snow and David had, and he judged her expression as he did, looking for signs of weakness where Lily was concerned, but the woman was stoic. She gave no confirmation that she knew or didn't know what the Apprentice had done to the child, no signs of what she and Cruella had done to the child or her egg. So he continued. He told her how Emma had broken the Curse only for more curses to be conjured: Pan's, Zelena's, Ingrid's…he reinforced that the rules in this place hadn't changed. It was a town where magic existed and Villains tried to get ahead, always to find themselves behind. Like him…

He didn't give her details. He didn't want to. So instead, he left a few things open for interpretation and claimed Regina's tale as his own. He told her that he'd observed this injustice during his time in this world and had been looking for a way to fix it. He had been searching, as he always had, for a way to get villains their happy endings. And he had been hot on the trail of the Author when someone got wind of what he was doing, didn't like it, and banished him.

"Banished the Dark One…how's that work?"

"There are ways," he commented as an explanation. He wasn't about to tell her what those ways were, not if he could help it. "The important thing is that I believe you and Cruella might be our ticket back within the town borders. And if we can get me back inside, if we can keep my presence a secret this time, then I believe I might be able to finish what I started and bring happy endings to all villains, including you and dear Cruella."

Ursula huffed in amusement at that, but after a quiet thought to herself, she sat forward almost eagerly. "And they're all just there?!" she questioned. "Everyone from our past. I mean, I know Cruella's not, but…my father? Regina? Maleficent?!"

There was one detail he wasn't keen on giving out yet.

"In one form or another, as far as I know…yes, though I haven't had personal run-ins with everyone," he answered carefully. "I know it sounds far-fetched…"

She let out another huff as she reached forward and took his empty plate from him. "No. What it sounds like is too good to be true!" she called from the sink. "What's the name of this place anyway? You never mentioned…"

"Storybrooke," he answered.

Ursula laughed as she washed the dishes. "Good one! No, really, what's the name of it?"

Her reaction had him shocked. The name was ironic, certainly, but he wouldn't have called it funny. At least not that funny. "Storybrooke!" he insisted.

With a smirk, she glanced over her shoulder at him, judging his face, looking him up and down for reasons he couldn't quite understand. She shut the water off and turned to face him.

"Are you serious right now? You're not joking with me?"

"Why would I be?" he asked with genuine curiosity. Joking and teasing were pastimes of his, but it wasn't appropriate for this moment. And besides, why did he get the feeling that he was the one who was having the wool pulled over his eyes?

"Storybrooke…" she clarified.

"Yes…"

She crossed her arms over her chest and leaned back against the counter. "I never would have pegged you for a D&D fan back in our world…"

"What?"

It was like they were having two conversations. D&D, that game teenagers played? What did that have to do with any of this? An when did he confess to being "a fan"?

"Storybrooke is all my co-worker has been talking about the last few days in the breakroom," she explained. "He won't shut up about it. It's some kind of riddle posted to some major D&D websites by someone who calls himself 'Storybrooke Public Library.' Apparently, it's all the nerds are talking about right now."

Storybrooke Public Library…he felt his stomach drop at her explanation. There was only one person in Storybrooke who would claim that particular title.

"Show me!" he demanded.

Chapter Text

"I'm a princess from a far-off foreign land you have never heard of or seen. Not long ago, a Dark Wizard took a hat made to look like the stars and galaxies from the night sky and trapped a very great, very powerful force of good, fairies of light magic, within the hat. The Dark Wizard is gone, never to be seen or heard from again, and unable to use his magic. I, as the Princess of this realm, have been tasked with freeing the fairies from their prison. What is the answer to my riddle?"

It had taken three searches and finally a text message to Ursula's "nerdy co-worker" to finally find the post written under the name StorybrookePublicLibrary. Once he had the name, and the post, it didn't take him long to find others, all posted on other role-play and fantasy game sites. The oldest was three days old, the newest just a few hours ago. It was a popular post, people from all over the world were responding to it, trying to give the "Princess" suggestions to solve the "riddle" that plagued her.

It was clever. Too clever not to be his Belle. These people all thought this was a joke of some kind, or perhaps just a cute way of passing the time. They had no idea just how real it was. And that included Ursula.

"It's nothing," she dismissed, sitting back on the couch and watching him look over the words on the screen. "Just something from a bunch of nerds on a forum."

"It's not nothing," he corrected. "It's reality masquerading as 'nerds on a forum.' It's a brilliant idea, I'd expect nothing less from the woman who posted it."

"Whoa… 'woman'?"

Fuck.

"You know this person?"

He made sure to keep his face stoic and detached. Whatever was going to happen in Storybrooke to get around the heroes and find the author was going to happen. But he had to keep Belle out of the line of fire as much as possible, especially if he intended to work with some of the most devious villains of their land. It was a tricky line he was going to have to walk. He'd done it before. He could do it again.

"StorybrookePublicLibrary…I'm guessing it's the town librarian. And the situation she's describing is a real one. It's got to do with some of the carnage Storybrooke was left with when I left. And I think I can use it to our advantage…"

Or at least he hoped he could. He thought he could. Scrolling down through the forum, looking at the comments, seeing Belle's responses, and knowing what he knew...yes, if he was careful, perhaps he could use this to his advantage.

She was trying to get the fairies out of the hat. And the fact that she was using the internet and a bunch of "nerds," as Ursula put it, to give her ideas meant that she had likely exhausted all of her options in Storybrooke. She needed a push in the right direction, ideas for how to save the little gnats and likely the Apprentice, too. But there were more than just some fairies and Light Magic in that hat. A push in the right direction, and he might just be able to tip the scales in his favor. In their favor.

"So…we use it to our advantage…to what end?" Ursula drawled. "What's the end goal, Rumpelstiltskin?"

"Reorientation."

"Excuse me?"

He took a deep breath and reminded himself to stay calm when questions like this irritated him. If he was going to follow through with this plan of his, he was going to have to get used to it. Cruella wasn't particularly bright. He was going to have to do a lot of explaining in between the manipulating.

"There is magic in Storybrooke," he explained. "If we get back there, we can-"

"Go back to being villains?"

"Change things," he corrected. Explaining would be a lot easier if her need for sarcasm didn't interrupt him every twelve seconds. "There is magic in Storybrooke, but it's more than that. I suspect the Author is in Storybrooke."

"Right…the one with the power to remake who we are…"

"It's the only way to do this. We are villains. I've learned now more than ever that villains don't stand a chance at getting their happy endings when they are up against the heroes. So…we get in, find the Author, get him to write a new story-"

"Where heroes and villains don't exist and we have every chance of getting a happy ending, just like they do…" Ursula imagined.

"Close enough."

The corner of her lip turned upward as her eyes got glassy, and he knew she was seeing some dream in her mind's eye, picturing it exactly as she wanted to. "Well…I suppose I'd miss the fun that we used to have as villains back in the days, but given my current living situation, I could take a happy ending over fun. But…" she focused her eyes back to him, that same scrutinizing glare she'd given him when she first saw him back at the aquarium. "Is something like this even possible?"

"It is…"

"Is it?" She narrowed her gaze at him skeptically. "I've heard this kind of talk from you before, Dark One. I remember how it ended."

"It ended the way it ends for all villains from our world. But not if we change things."

"Oh! No! I meant the part where you seemed to see me and Maleficent and Cruella as expendable in your plans."

Yes. He'd anticipated there'd be a bit of reluctance on her part, as well as Cruella's, due to how they'd left things with him. He was prepared to deal with that.

"Well, here you are on the other side of the equation, dearie. You hold all the cards. I'm banished. I have no money, no home, no prospects of returning to Storybrooke without your help. Hell…I can't even walk right!" he exclaimed. "I have nothing."

"Maybe that only means you have nothing to lose."

"And everything to gain. But not without your help," he pointed out. "It is me this time who will be dependent upon you and therefore indebted."

"And Rumpelstiltskin always pays his debts…"

"Always," he replied honestly. How he'd paid some of his other debts was suspect. But they all got paid, one way or another. He'd only ever broken one deal in his life. He had no interest in making it two, no matter how tempting that might have been.

"Okay…" Ursula let out a long sigh, then stood up and looked around her apartment. "I have to call a friend at the aquarium to come look after the fish, but then I can pack a bag, I can be ready to go in-"

"Ah! Not so fast, dearie…" he replied before she could get too far down that rabbit hole.

She put her hands on her hips and eyed him suspiciously again. "What's the hold up? It sounded before like you were ready to go at a moment's notice."

And he was…before he'd come here and seen this post. Now…

Now things were different. He had a new plan forming in his head, a better plan. One he wasn't quite sure he could clue her in on just yet.

"The Author…I need to find him."

"I thought you just said he's in Storybrooke."

"No, I said I suspect he's in Storybrooke, but one of the reasons I came out here, one of the reasons I came to you first, is because I followed a lead that suggested he might be here."

"In New York City?"

"Or the real world somewhere. But the last thing I want is to go back to Storybrooke without being certain and alert the heroes prematurely to our plans. I'll need to track him down first."

"Uh-huh…and you're sure this has nothing to do with that post I just showed you?"

Honesty was always the best way to win in a lie.

"It has everything to do with the post you've just shown me. Because now I have an insider in Storybrooke who has opened themselves up to me without knowing it's the devil they're talking to. Now…I can be two places at once."

"Right…and judging by the looks of you, and what you just said about no money and no home…where exactly do you intend to do this 'research '?"

Ah…that particular snag. He tapped his cane nervously on the floor, mostly just for show. Mostly…

"Well…I was hoping…the pair of us being partners now…you might be willing to offer me your guest room."

Ursula let out a snort as a grin stretched over her face. "Guest room? Do you see a guest room around here? Do you know the cost of rent in New York? I'm an aquarist, a 'fish food dispenser', as you put it, you think I've got that kind of money? I can barely afford the extra half bath in this place!"

And he was a truly desperate man if that little speech hadn't turned him immediately off to the idea of staying here. But the thing was that if she didn't agree to this part of the deal, he didn't quite know what he'd do. The prospect of getting back into Storybrooke wouldn't see him turning away from her completely, but he only had just enough for a few more nights at the extended stay. When that money ran out…

"Listen…" Ursula finally drawled. "I like this idea of yours. Certainly sounds a lot better than getting up and feeding fish the rest of my life. And Poseidon knows that if ever there was a villain in our world who got the shit they promised done, it was you. So…while I don't have a fancy guest room or anything, I do have a couch." She patted the one she was standing by now as if it were a loyal friend. "And if you truly think you can deliver on this plan of yours, then it's yours. At least until I come to my senses or lose all manner of trust in you."

He allowed himself to sigh in relief. He'd thought through it and come to the conclusion that it would be appropriate for her to see a little bit of his desperation. Also, that it would be appropriate, just this once, to say, "Thank you."

"Oh, don't thank me!" she refuted. "Find this Author of yours and get us our happy ending. That'll be enough. Oh…and do us both a favor and take a shower…you stink."

He rolled his eyes. "I showered this morning. And you work at an aquarium."

"And if you smelled like fish, I'd have no problem; instead, you smell like sweat and mold and cheap soap. Shower."

Chapter Text

He checked out of the extended stay hotel and moved in with Ursula the next day. A couch and a half bath with a shared shower in her bedroom was not ideal, but without money to last him at the extended stay, it was necessary. And though Ursula found plenty to complain about in letting him into her life, at least she gave freely through the complaining.

That first night he'd been there, she'd looked at the two plastic grocery bags he brought with him, meager belongings he'd acquired while at the hotel, and though she'd made some quip about beggars initially, while he'd been in the shower, he heard a shout come from her bedroom. "Hey, I'm going to leave this box on the bed. It's clothes and shit my last ex never bothered to pick up. He was a little taller than you, but otherwise, I'm betting you'll fit into some of this stuff. Better than nothing."

Better than nothing…barely.

"Sweats and T-shirts…" he commented, coming out of her bedroom in the clothes that did indeed fit him. "I see why you left him."

"Well, what can I say, it seems I've got a thing for bums…" she muttered, glanced at him out of the corner of her eye. "If only I were Julia Roberts..."

"The Queen of the Sea has a love life…how's that work?"

"I could ask you the same question," she said, nodding in his direction, her eyes fixed on his hand...his wedding ring.

"It's a long story."

"Tell it to me."

Not a chance.

"Some things, dearie, are beyond the scope of your involvement. And if you want the happy ending I offer, you'll leave it at that."

And she did.

They bickered, but for the most part, they entered into a silent arrangement where they didn't ask each other particularly deep questions about their lives or pasts; hell, he never even bothered to ask about her day or when she was working. He just lived with her coming and going, learning that when she left in the jumpsuit, he had about eight and a half hours to himself before she returned, usually with a pizza or takeout of some kind. The woman didn't cook. It was all frozen dinners and microwaveable Ramen for lunch, but he happily dealt with that for the privacy she offered, because with the exception of occasionally asking if he was making headway on finding the Author, she didn't ask about his days either. She complained, but she allowed him to sit at her computer day in and day out, working.

She thought finding the Author was his full time job. In reality, his new full-time job was so much bigger than that. And though she never asked, he was, in fact, making headway.

He never would have considered himself a computer person before this. Mr. Gold had used them in the past when necessary, and he'd used them to book plane tickets and make hotel reservations for his trip to New York. However, prior to this, he'd always preferred more old-fashioned techniques to obtaining his information. With the internet, he made strides in ways he'd never imagined possible.

In his spare time, on the first day, he'd located Cruella easily enough. Ursula still went by her name, and Cruella, who lacked both imagination and creativity, was no different. Such a unique and recognizable name, along with the information Ursula had provided him on the first day, regarding Great Neck, meant she came up almost right away. Although it did help that it seemed she was in the middle of a very public upheaval herself.

She'd married in her time here. Multiple times it seemed, but never well. She was widowed twice over. If he had to guess, her husbands were likely poisoned, though he never found any cause of death listed in the sources. Her third husband had been murdered, a single gunshot to the head, the killer had never been found, he suspected it was probably because she was married to a fourth individual who was at the center of an investigation into his finances. Tax evasion, racketeering, fraud…the charges were quite impressive. And despite the fact that it seemed they had a foolproof case and arrests were due to be made any day, the man claimed he was innocent and had no idea how it could have happened. He had an idea. In fact, he had a very good idea how it had happened.

But it was of no matter to him at the moment. Not when he was busy with other things, not the least of which was Starla Lilith Page.

He'd thought that she'd served her purpose in getting him to Ursula, but he'd been wrong. Perhaps. A few days after beginning his work, while Ursula had been out working, he'd gone through her desk. It was another down moment, and he'd been bored, if he was being honest. He'd found nothing even remotely interesting except for a legal pad that had the name "Starla" and "The Coffee Mug Restaurant" scribbled down on it. It caught his attention immediately. "Starla" had been the one part of the Seer's hint about Lily that he had yet to figure out. He'd assumed it was part of her legal name here that the papers simply hadn't mentioned, but when he really stopped to think it through…the Seer had never given him a detail that wasn't important. And so out of curiosity, he'd typed the words into the search bar.

The search took him to a website for the Coffee Mug Restaurant in Massachusetts. It was a diner. Comparable to Granny's and the hellhole he'd taken refuge in after his banishment. But the website, unlike the Aquarium's, actually had pictures of the staff. Not individuals, but rather candid shots that made the environment seem fun and appealing, at least he was almost certain that was the goal. But one particular picture stood out as far more than just a fun, candid shot, at least to him. The picture featured two women in front of a table filled with pie, each of the women grinned with large, fake smiles, as they each held a pie in their hands and extended them toward the viewer as if in invitation.

One of the women, the blonde, was inconsequential to him, but the other…dark brown hair, high cheekbones, and on one of her wrists, clear and easy for the entire world to see, a birthmark in the shape of a five-pointed star.

Jenna and Starla show off our homemade pies, the caption read.

Starla…

"Well, hello Lilith Page," he'd muttered to himself. She wasn't dead. But it did appear that she'd successfully faked her death and found herself a new identity. And that Ursula had, on some level, cared enough to figure this all out and locate her for herself. That was information worth knowing. But it wasn't going to get them back into Storybrooke. At least he was fairly certain it wasn't going to be what got them into Storybrooke. Tempting as it was to go find her and try to enact his first plan with Emma, he was already too deep in this current plan, and too poor, to make changes. However...upon further consideration, perhaps there was something it could do for him.

Emma was going to be a problem. He figured that out on his own, late at night as he lay on the couch staring up at the ceiling. In this grand scheme of his, he was uncertain of many things but one thing he knew was that the power inside of Emma was too strong to be disposed of. No matter how this shook out Emma would always be there, and as long as she was a Savior...that would always spell disaster for his plans. Heroes always won over villains, but he was certain that Saviors could trump even heroes in the long run. So for Emma, he had a plan, one that he was still working through the kinks of exactly, but it involved blackening her heart. No, he didn't quite know what awaited them in the world he was going to create with the Author when he found him, but he knew that he wanted to flip the script. And if he managed to turn villains into heroes and heroes into villains, then there was the possibility that Emma, as the Savior, could turn into something...more. Something worse.

A vision he'd had just after the curse had broken in Storybrooke suddenly prodded at him, a brief flash of something he'd seen when he'd gotten Emma to work her magic with a dreamcatcher. It was Emma Swan as the Dark One. Oh, he prayed that would never come to pass. Because if it did, he could only imagine that this plan of his was a success, and then he'd be the hero having to deal with a stronger version of himself, which wasn't what he wanted at all. He wanted peace in this new life of his. So if he could get Emma to darken her heart, even in the slightest, perhaps the villain she'd become in this new world of his would be something less than that terrifying vision the Seer had once granted him. Perhaps, with Lily's help, he could keep Maleficent and Emma tame in his finished masterpiece and have the happy ending he longed for.

But he was a long way off from any of that; a long way off from Storybrooke in general. Tempting as it was to go ahead and start now, Starla, or Lily, or whatever she wanted to call herself, and Emma Swan were most certainly a plan for later down the line. Especially given the potential in his current plan that saw him involved with Belle once more. Tragic as his life felt at the moment, she brightened his world.

It hadn't taken him long to locate all the posts she'd made asking for help, fishing for ideas. But it had taken him days to go through those posts, to read every idea that others had given her and locate her responses to them, creating for himself a clearer picture of exactly where she was in the process and what had already been tried and failed. Because much to his own disappointment, he didn't have any easy answer for her. When Dark Ones got their hands on the hat, the only thing they cared about was that they got the hat filled with power. He had no idea how to get anyone out of it.

But he did have a few ideas. Ideas that hadn't yet been suggested by other commenters, including one that might just work to free not only the Blue Bug and her friend, but also a problem he knew lurked within the hat, likely no one was aware of.

There was a Chernabog in that hat. At least according to a previous Dark One's research, he could remember that from the Chronicles very clearly. And Chernabogs were rare, damn-near extinct in their world. In fact the only one he'd ever known of was the one in Bald Mountain which had been put there by the fairies and the Apprentice, which meant that if he could come up with a solution that might summon the fairies, or at the very least sound like it might summon the fairies from the hat, perhaps he could get the Chernabog out as well. Limited information on them might be all he needed to create an opening for Ursula and Cruella to offer their expertise and get into Storybrooke. He'd dealt with Chernabogs before, and so had Cruella and Ursula, thanks to him. Of course, no one in Storybrooke would trust him. But with the right pleading and sob story, they might trust the women. And terrifying as the Chernabog was, if they were desperate enough, they might not even think to ask questions. If they could make the right deal, with the right people, they'd be in. And once they were in, he would be. Freeing the Chernabog was their way back into Storybrooke.

The question was, how…

Belle's new "friends" might have been "nerds," as Ursula called them, but they were helpful. Comments and questions, conversations that she'd had with them about the hat, told him that they'd led her down some good experiments with the hat. She'd figured out what the stars on the hat were. She assumed, correctly, that if the fairies were unable to free themselves from the inside, then sending someone inside wasn't going to work either. She'd also concluded that destroying the hat outright was too risky, if she failed, she might destroy all hope of bringing those who were trapped inside back. And, as much as it broke his heart, she'd also concluded that finding him, the Dark Wizard, who had enacted the magic in the first place, was not the answer.

"It sounds like your only option might be the one who was strong enough to make the magic work in the first place. Is there any way to work with the Dark Wizard to fix this? Maybe you could take a few brave souls on a quest to find the Dark Wizard and either destroy him completely or sway him to your side? Maybe there's someone or something he cares enough about that you could hold it over his head and get him to reverse the magic."

He pretended not to care when he saw that post. But when he saw that she'd replied, he was too eager to read her response to it to deny that he wanted to know what she had to say about that.

"As Princess, I ordered the Dark Wizard put to death for his crimes…his magic remains."

He'd needed a deep breath after that one. "Put to death for his crimes." Those words were revealing. Death was final, and it told him that as far as she was concerned, she had no hope that she'd ever see him again, not in this life. But, just as he'd feared that night at the town line, it also told him of the guilt that weighed upon her for her decision. As the princess in this scenario, and in reality, she was taking full responsibility for what had happened to him. She could have said that he was banished, could have come up with any other reason why he couldn't help, but instead she'd chosen to say that she'd had him killed. Probably because knowing Belle, that was what she saw it as. She'd killed him. And now the guilt was likely eating her alive just as it had with Anna of Arendelle.

He needed to get back to her. He needed to find the Author, he needed to fix all of this and get his happy ending if only so she could have the happy ending that she deserved. And fortunately, he had an idea that just much help him do that.

He created a profile for himself, used a name that he was certain would never make her think twice, and then left an idea for her that would hopefully lead to her accomplishing what they both wanted.

It seems to me you have tried everything in regards to the hat itself. If potions, sorcerers, and amulets have proven useless, then it's time to back into it from somewhere else. Perhaps instead of focusing on the hat's magic, it's about the fairies' magic. Instead of trying to figure out a spell that will extract something from the hat, try a spell to extract the fairies from something."

He hit enter and posted his reply. Then sat on the edge of his seat and waited for her response.

Chapter Text

It didn't come until the next morning, after Ursula had left for work. Belle's reply to his suggestion wasn't much, but it was just enough to let him know that she'd taken the bait that he knew would set her on the right path.

Perhaps. I might be able to find a summoning for fairies.

No, she wouldn't. She wouldn't be able to find a summoning for fairies because fairies couldn't be summoned, not in that way, not with a simple spell. However, there were always loopholes, and he was hoping that if she was looking for something that would get the fairies out, then she'd look for something broader than just the fairies. A summoning for Helpers, Protectors, Guardians…all of those would apply to not only the fairies but also, unbeknownst to her, it would also apply to the Chernabog.

So, he waited once more for her reply, for anything that told him she'd figured it out and was going to move on. But no reply ever came. He checked the message boards she'd been posting to every hour on the hour for three days straight, stopping only to eat and sleep. Nothing ever turned up. Her posts got further and further down on the message boards, only getting boosts when others began asking each other what had happened and if they'd solved the riddle. Belle herself had stopped replying, it seemed.

And he panicked.

Without communication from her, he was sorely lacking information about what was happening in Storybrooke. He continued to look through the Mirror every morning and night. Fortunately, the last few days had nothing regarding the Chernabog or the fairies being freed. Yet. But that gave him just as much anxiety as not being able to get hold of her. If the Mirror reported on the Chernabog, that would mean he'd missed his opportunity.

There had to be a way he could look in on her; there had to be a way to figure out what was going on. In Ursula's absence, he paced the room, waiting for emails, checking sites, and contemplating whether there was anyone in Storybrooke he could reach out to who wouldn't recognize him or wouldn't go running to David and Mary Margaret.

He considered a new plan. And by new, he meant the old one. He supposed that if they missed their opportunity he could simply go back to the old idea of just having Ursula and Cruella show up and ask to be let in. He supposed that he could tell them he knew what they'd done to Lily and figure out a way to blackmail Emma into doing it. Hell, at one point he even considered flat out calling Belle and apologizing, asking her how things were going, no strings attached. The small, virtual link he'd possessed to her was gone. And he didn't like it. Not a single bit.

And then…a breakthrough.

Nearly a week after her last post, he'd found her again. Someone on the D&D forums posted an update.

Just letting everyone know that it seems like OP has moved on. My wife is a linguist, and apparently OP has turned up on some of her forums now asking about translating a text they found in their library. No idea if this has anything to do with their riddle, but for now, it seems like the fun has ended. I'll post a link below to one of OP's new posts, just in case anyone can help them with the translation.

OP…another quick search told him it stood for "original poster." Belle. He followed the link and sure enough, there she was. Or rather, there was StorybrookePublicLibrary.

Hello, I've recently come across an interesting text in the archives of my local library and I'm trying to figure out what language they might be in. Below are a few lines of the text. If anyone recognizes this language or thinks they could translate it, could you let me know? Thank you.

He nearly wept reading what she'd written. And what she'd posted. He could read it. He had no idea what it was called in this land, or even if it was a language in this land, but back home, it was an ancient language, one that he'd seen in quite a few older spells that he'd dealt with in his time. And the little bit that she'd posted told him that she was on the right track that he'd sent her down. She was trying to Summon Protectors. Ancient as he knew these spells must have been to be written in this language, that would do it. He hoped.

He was nearly about to type out a translation for her when he realized…no one else on this site was posting translations. Everyone else was posting suggestions, languages that it might be, and things to look for to aid in figuring out the language. He didn't know what the language here was; all he knew was how to translate it. Suddenly, he worried that posting a translation might look a little too suspicious and might lead to questions he couldn't answer, from Belle and others. So instead, he thought up a loophole and took a risk.

I have a very dear friend, a professor from Oxford who studied dead languages for a living. He was just recently forced into retirement, and at lunc,h I showed him your post. He seemed familiar with the language. I didn't quite get the name of it, but I'm sure if you reached out, he'd be happy to help. You can email him at…

He gave the email address that he'd just created. And then he was back to waiting. And languishing. And worrying.

"Why do you look worried?" Ursula questioned before she went to work that night. This was the day she worked the night shift which meant she'd be home most of the day tomorrow. Pity. He did so enjoy the quiet time.

"I'm not worried, just working through some things. And don't you have a job to be at?"

"I'm going…you think you have a lead on the Author, finally?" she prodded.

"Perhaps, but I won't know until I get a response from someone."

"Does that mean he's not in Storybrooke?"

For the love of the gods…

"I won't know until I get a response from someone," he repeated. "I can't tell you what I don't know."

Ursula huffed as she collected her keys. "Of course not. You barely tell me what you know," she snarked before finally slipping out the door.

He sat there on the couch, hunched over, fingertips tapping away as we waited, wondering if he should attempt to go for a walk or something to get his mind right.

And then the computer let out a familiar ding.

The former Oxford Professor had mail.

Chapter Text

Dear Professor Rush,

My name is Belle Gold, I'm the librarian overseeing a small public library in a small town located in Maine. Recently, I discovered a strange set of texts in our archives, and I've been doing some research to try and identify the language of the texts so that it might be translated. A friend of yours informed me that she showed you the language recently at lunch and she stated that you seemed familiar with it and might be able to help. Would you be willing to take a look at it?

Sincerely,

Belle Gold.

It had worked. She'd written him. But she hadn't provided the translations. She was just inquiring as to his interest in helping, which did nothing but waste time, but perhaps, given the time of night, that would be useful. It was late. He imagined that Belle would be leaving the library soon. If she had provided the translation immediately, while Ursula was at work, he knew he might have a problem. Belle wasn't one for sitting on her hands and waiting. The second he sent her the translation, he'd need to get Ursula, collect Cruella, and get them to Storybrooke immediately because Belle wouldn't want to wait to use the spells. There would be only a brief window of opportunity for them to capitalize on the hell he was about to unleash, and Ursula and Cruella might not know it yet, but they couldn't risk missing it.

Besides, it gave him one more chance, one extra opportunity, to communicate with her than he'd had before. She'd hate it when she found out it was him. But for now, it was a small light in his life. And once the Author fixed everything for him, would it really matter?

Hello, Mrs. Gold.

Yes, I do believe I remember my friend showing me your post over tea recently, and if memory serves, I do believe it was familiar. I've only just recently been forced into retirement, but I have quite an extensive background working with ancient and dead languages. Even if the language isn't what I thought it might be, I have every confidence I can be of assistance. If nothing else, I'm certain if I can't help you, I'll be able to connect you with someone who can. Please enclose the pieces you'd like translated in your next email. I await your correspondence.

Sincerely,

Professor Nicholas Rush

It was a long night. A sleepless night. And all for nothing. Late as it was, he knew that Belle likely wouldn't get back to him until morning, and there was no point in staying awake just hoping to hear the computer tell him that there was mail, so he'd set the mail to delay going out. She'd get it in the morning. But the anticipation of it that morning was enough to keep him up. Enough to keep him staring at the ceiling or pacing back and forth when sleep didn't come. If things unraveled as fast as he thought they might the next day, he'd likely regret that. But the feeling of hope that he was soon to hear from Belle…it was worth it.

The next morning, his heart stopped all over again when he heard the computer chime that he had mail.

Professor Rush,

Thank you for being willing to assist me. The following lines are excerpts from the passages in question. Please let me know if you can read them, and I'll send the rest of the passages to you. Thank you again for your help. Good luck!

Sincerely,

Belle Gold.

Oh, he was practically shivering in anticipation.

The texts were not attached to the email. Instead, she'd sent along two sections of about two sentences each. They were easy to translate. And he was eager to do it, but again, he was nervous about getting back to her too quickly. Ursula still had another couple of hours before she would arrive back home. He worried that sending the emails back immediately would be too suspicious. So as much as he wanted to write back, he resisted. He got up, took a shower, looked through the food to see if anything appealed to him more than that email…and quickly concluded nothing did. So he sat back down at the computer and got to work.

Mrs. Gold,

As I suspected, this is a language familiar to me. Below you will find my translation of the sentences you've provided. They are strange to me; their content makes very little sense, but I'm hopeful that with the entire text, they might begin to tell me just how valuable these texts are. When you are prepared to send the texts to me in full, I'll be all too happy to translate them and provide you with my expertise on the matter.

Sincerely,

Nicholas Rush.

The anticipation of it all had him practically bouncing on the balls of his feet as he moved back to the kitchenette, grabbed a cup of ramen noodles, filled it with water, and placed it in the microwave. He needed something to do with himself. Something that would calm him. Ursula would be home soon. With any luck, this would be their last day in this hellhole! But he didn't want her to see that. He needed to stay calm. With her, he simply couldn't let on that any second now, the email could come through that would change their lives.

As if on cue, behind him, he heard the key in the lock, and the door opened and closed before he heard the familiar sound of her keys being thrown onto the table. He fought to breathe deep and settle his nerves, but oh, he did so love it when she wasn't around.

"That means it's ready," she sniped the second the microwave beeped, and he delayed in opening it.

"Yes, I know how to work a microwave, thank you."

"Because the Dark One did so much cooking in his time."

And couldn't wait to cook for a certain someone again, the moment he was free from this hell on earth.

"Well, worry not. My power extends far beyond ramen noodles."

"Yeah, just not in this life. You know, I'm beginning to think you're a lot of talk!" she shouted on her way to her bedroom, where she'd no doubt take a shower to try and rid herself of the smell of fish that never left her. "A lot of empty promises about happy endings, when all you do is eat my food, sleep on my couch-that better not be the last ramen!" she hollered, making a reappearance to shut the microwave. "Do I look like I'm made of money? I work at an aquarium."

"No, that's not what you do. What you do is complain. You know why?"

He glanced over at her to find her already ignoring him and talking to one of the reasons why it was impossible to get the smell of fish off of her skin, the stupid work she brought home with her. "I love you, babies," she was whispering to one he'd noticed was a particular favorite.

"Because your life, for want of a better term, is crap…" he went on, uncaring whether or not she was paying attention. Bickering was good for his nerves, far better than the noodles. It gave him something to do as he waited.

"Hey, are you forgetting who's been taking care of you?"

"Please…providing reheatable noodles and what might charitably be called shelter…no great gift. Certainly not compared to what I'm providing. I'm gonna fix all your problems."

"Yeah, yeah, yeah…I know you well enough to know you don't care about me."

"No, I don't. I care about me. You're lucky our problems just so happen to align."

He took a bite, and she made a move to go back to her room for that shower; their daily spat complete, they'd likely spend the rest of the day trying to ignore one another. Him on the computer, her watching-

Suddenly, a sound that he was growing so addicted to, he could now hear it from across the room, echoed on the computer. He glanced over at it to find the familiar little screen telling him that he had an email.

"You got something?" Ursula asked, still trying to worm her way deeper into the situation than he wanted her.

"The beginning," he answered as his eyes flicked over the page.

Professor Rush,

Thank you so much for the assistance you have provided. No one else has been able to make it this far. Below you will find attached the two passages I am most interested in. I look forward to hearing from you, and thank you again for all your help in this endeavor.

Sincerely,

Belle Gold.

He smiled. The sample translation he'd sent her was sufficient, so she'd now sent him more. Two passages. One that was bogus, but without her understanding the language, it was easy to see why she might have thought it was important. It included a lot of the words she'd likely been looking for, but would be entirely unhelpful. But the second was exactly what he'd hoped that she'd stumble onto, exactly what she needed to free the fairies, and exactly what he needed to summon the Chernabog with them.

An ancient ritual to summon protectors from all corners of the realm. It was perfect. She was perfect.

"Of what?" Ursula asked in a dour tone, still unaware of the miracles he'd worked right in front of her eyes.

"The end of our misery. It's time to visit an old friend. Be ready to leave within an hour."

"An hour! Are you insane?!"

"No, just logical…be ready."

Chapter Text

It took him a little less than an hour to sort out the translations while Ursula was showering and changing. It killed him to waste time on the one that he knew she wouldn't need, but if he only translated the one that Belle needed, it was sure to arouse suspicion. Besides, it wasn't as though he had anything better to do while Ursula was, hopefully, doing as he told her to. By the time the Sea Witch exited her bedroom, the email was sent, and he was changed, ready to go with a plan for which buses to take to Great Neck.

"Finally!" he breathed when Ursula finally opened her door in finery. "Let's go!"

"Wait, no, I haven't packed yet!"

"I told you to be ready to move in the hour!"

"And I asked if you were insane! I'm not packed, I haven't found someone to feed the fish-"

"Then we'll knock on the next-door apartment on the way out! Everything you could ever want or need will be in Storybrooke when we arrive, but we have a very brief window that could open any moment, and we need to be ready."

Because if he knew Belle, the second she had that translation in her hand, he knew that she'd use it. And when they used it, not only would the fairies be released, but also so would the Chernabog. And he knew that everyone, monstrosity included, was going to come out of that hat weak, but it wouldn't be long until it regained its strength, and from there, every moment after that would be a moment they were fighting time against the heroes. He wanted to get there before they could fully comprehend what they were dealing with.

And besides that, even though he knew that it wouldn't be attracted to Belle, he didn't want her around it any longer than necessary, especially given the individuals she had a tendency to associate with. Once the heroes in Storybrooke knew that it was attracted to those whose hearts held the greatest potential for evil, they would assume it was Regina because Regina always thought that about herself. They'd never guess that, thanks to her parents, it was actually Emma who would be the more attractive candidate to the beast. That spell that the Apprentice did had removed Dark Intent from her, but her magic and convictions meant that she had the greatest potential to turn, and she'd act as a beacon. He knew his wife. And he knew the heroes they were up against. In a situation like that, find one and they'd find them all.

"We need to leave now!" he urged.

Ursula rolled her eyes and pulled out her cell phone, making a call, he hoped, to tend to her precious fish. The woman worked at an aquarium; how difficult could it be to find someone to come work some overtime?

Just then, the computer behind him made a noise. That wasn't right. He'd sent the email, Belle was the only one who had the address, what more could she possibly need?

Thank you-that was what she needed.

As Ursula chatted away, he moved back to the computer and opened the message. In true hero fashion, Belle hadn't just taken the translations and run; she'd stopped to say thank you.

Professor Rush,

I can't thank you enough for all your hard work on this project, truly it has been a pleasure. After reading your translations, I'm very interested, are you certain, absolutely positive that they are correct. In particular, the one that seems to detail a ritual to call forth protectors, I know it seems a little odd for this world, but you are certain it's correct.

Sincerely,

Belle Gold.

She was showing her hand, showing her nerves, and not being careful enough with their history, using phrases like "this world" instead of "our world" and not questioning its use of magic. Any other professor would have perhaps been less than confident, given the nature of what he translated. He was not.

Mrs. Gold,

I cannot be sure where you found such an ancient text or how it has been preserved so well. I do not understand why these small passages about a ritual involving so-called 'magical protectors' could possibly be so important. But I'm good at my job and certain that what you are looking at is the correct translation of the passage you provided. Use it well.

Fondest Regards,

Nicholas Rush.

He hit send, and now they really needed to go. Now they would be on the clock in an undeniable way.

He hustled Ursula out the door, stopping only briefly to allow her to leave her key with someone in the mailroom to pass it on to some co-worker who was going to stop by for her.

"Where are we going?"

"Bus stop. Unless you have a car I don't know about…"

Ursula snorted. "It's New York, only rich white guys can afford cars, and none of them live in this neighborhood."

"As I suspected. We need to catch a bus to Great Neck, maybe take a cab once we get there."

"Great Neck?!" she balked as she trailed behind him. "There's nothing out there but some snotty, stuck-up…no!"

"Yes," he confirmed as they made it just in time, scanned their cards, and boarded the bus. She followed, though he could see the surprise in her eyes as they found seats.

"No! I haven't seen her in years!"

"I told you on the first day I intended for us to locate her."

"And you've hardly mentioned her since! I thought you dropped it!"

"Not in the least."

"We can't."

"And why can't we?"

"Because!" she snapped. "Because I haven't spoken to Cruella for years! She's been married twice since the last time!"

"Compelling argument," he muttered. "Cruella and Maleficent are an essential part of my plan. Now that I am certain that the Author is in Storybrooke, I'll need all of you. You worked together so well before…what happened, I wonder."

"Let's just say that we never saw eye to eye on how to survive in this world, so we took different paths."

"Well, perhaps now that you won't have to live in this world, you'll find common ground once more."

Ursula snorted and sat back in her seat. Petulant as a child, just like Regina. For whatever reason, that seemed to be a trait most villains shared. Though given her statement, he couldn't help but wonder if some of those differences of opinion had something to do with Miss Page. Cruella was, as her name stated, cruel. She was heartless and self-absorbed. He'd never put a child in her care. But Ursula…her villainy was born of something different than cruelty toward others. Hers was born more out of revenge than anything. He couldn't see her leaving the babe of their friend on a road to be eaten by wolves. Hell, he didn't know much more about the case than what the old newspaper articles had told him. But he wondered if it was Ursula who had thought to leave her on the side of the road, somewhere she'd be found instead of in the woods where she would most likely have died.

He smiled as he looked out the window and let Ursula get quiet. He did so enjoy having the upper hand. Watching this little drama play out between the Charmings and his Queens of Darkness was going to be fascinating. Watching it play out between Ursula, Maleficent, and Cruella was going to be downright entertaining.

Chapter Text

They were quiet on their drive to Great Neck, only speaking to each other the couple of times that they needed to change buses and when he finally ordered Ursula to get them a cab on the final leg. That was his first sign that something was wrong.

"The Feinberg Estate?" the driver questioned when they climbed in. "Hey, are you also reporters?"

Ursula glared at him. "Do we look like reporters?"

"Ah…no, I guess not…just that everyone has been camped out there for days now. FBI rolled in this morning. Everyone is talking about it."

"Really. Everyone…" she drawled in an unamused tone. "Starving children in Africa are all a-flutter over the Feinberg Estate."

"Yeah," he laughed, entirely unaware that she was making fun of him. "It's a big day for them!"

Ursula opened her mouth to respond, but he glanced over at her and glared. With a shake of his head, she closed that jaw of hers, rolled her eyes again, and sat back in her seat, disengaging. He wasn't sure what his happy ending was going to look like exactly. But he'd pay the Author anything to make sure he never had to come across the likes of Cruella and Ursula again after this.

Ursula seemed oblivious to what the man had said about the FBI. Which either meant that she didn't believe what he was saying, or she wasn't surprised by what he was saying. He'd found Cruella weeks ago easily enough because she'd been all over the news, charges were due to come through any day, the papers had said weeks ago. He wondered if Ursula had kept tabs on Cruella in their time between. She had known that she'd been married twice since they'd last seen each other. And she had kept track of Lily as well. Aside from that, when they pulled up onto Cruella's street and saw the press and security, police, and Federal Agents alike, she didn't bother to question their appearance there. Instead, she just looked at her house and some of the other mansions they passed and muttered, "So, this is where she lives?"

Oh yes…she'd definitely been keeping track of her.

"I guess some of us are doing better than others," he stated. It appeared they had gotten there just in time to catch a glimpse of the man he'd seen in the newspaper articles being led out of the house and away in handcuffs.

And there she was. Cruella de Vil…hair still black and white as ever, clothed in something utterly inappropriate for this time of day. She trailed after her husband, putting on quite the show of the worried wife, but he noticed the way her gaze kept drifting away from him and to their possessions being loaded onto a truck. A show indeed…

"We're doing better," he muttered, watching her. Not because he thought for one second the woman was actually as broken up at this as she was trying to act. But rather because they had a plan to make their lives much better than this. And she didn't. Yet.

Brazenly, he made his way inside the property, watching Cruella snag a familiar-looking fur coat off a rack of other expensive clothes the FBI was carting out of her residence. Former residence?

She slung the coat over her shoulders as the agent talking to her appeared to have some pity and moved away from her. Damn…he was almost positive that was the same coat she'd been wearing the night she and Ursula had fallen into the Apprentice's portal. Wearing it now, looking at skin that, like Ursula's, which hadn't aged a day since then…she was every bit the villain he remembered.

"Cruella de Vil…" he pronounced when they were out of earshot. The woman froze for a moment in her tracks, obviously hearing him, obviously caught.

"No one calls me that here," she muttered before turning to face him.

"Well, I'm sorry, dearie, but Cruella Feinberg doesn't have quite the same ring."

Huddled underneath her coat, her shoulders shrugged dangerously high up to her shoulders, she almost looked scared as she advanced on the pair of them. He didn't buy it for a second.

"What in hell are you two doing here?"

"Looking to regain our greater glory. A glory I can soon return to you both, if you join me."

"I'm not going anywhere with you," she snarled, starting to turn away from him too slowly to be genuinely serious about that answer.

"Well, maybe you should," he responded, only for her to truly turn and begin walking away. Fuck, he hated having to beg.

"Things have changed…" he called after her.

Finally, she stopped and turned back to look at him once more with those big hurt eyes he still refused to believe. He'd had to atone and prostrate a bit with Ursula when he'd first met her; he should have realized Cruella would be no different.

"Mea culpa. Our last time together was less than ideal. But now? Now our interests align once more. You've lost all you have, and so have we. That's why I'm here, to put an end to having everything taken away."

"Oh, not everything," she corrected with a twinkle in her eye that told him she had some card he hadn't considered up her sleeve. Or just perhaps her pocket. She raised her hand and found it was curled around something he couldn't see. A moment later, the garage door behind her began to open. Inside, a jet black car with a license plate bearing the name "DEV IL" appeared. Damn. That would be a card he hadn't accounted for. But also a very convenient card for getting them from here to Storybrooke much faster than any bus.

Still, it could be a problem. What had Ursula said, she'd been married two or three times already? What was to stop her from another marriage now? Perhaps only the promise of what he could offer.

"And where are you gonna go with these paltry material possessions?"

"To get myself some less paltry possessions," she argued, leaning against the garage with a look that told him what he'd known from the moment they'd found her. This was all for show.

"An empty pursuit," he dismissed. "You're gonna end up right back where you started."

"I will never go back to where I started," she muttered darkly before making her way back toward the car.

"I can get back everything you've lost and more."

"You know, you talk a good game, Dark One," she crooned from the driver's side door. "But can you deliver in a world with no magic where apparently walking is a challenge?"

"Ah, but there is magic in this world. You just have to know where you look. I know you don't trust me. But the good news is, if you follow me, you won't have to."

He smiled at the fact that she'd let him take a step forward and hadn't backed away from him. It was the mention of magic that had done it for her; the possibility of it existing somewhere had sparked an interest. And the fact that she'd been the one to bring magic up…that told him something very important.

"Aren't you tired of feeling ordinary?"

Cruella danced for a moment on the balls of her feet. She never said a word, but instead visually hemmed and hawed at his offer, before he finally saw a slight nod of her head that had him nearly ecstatic. He had her.

"Get in," she breathed, motioning in the direction of the car. "Now then, darling, where are we going?"

Well, that was easier than he thought it would be.

"A quaint little town called Storybrooke…"

The second the doors were closed, she peeled out of her residence, threatening to destroy everyone in her path who didn't stand aside.

Chapter Text

Storybrooke was a grueling eight-hour trip from Great Neck. It was time that he'd allotted for, and he believed it would fall within their window of arrival. The way he figured it, once Belle recieved the email, which she had no doubt been sitting by the computer waiting for, it would take her an hour or so to assemble what was needed for the ritual. Then it would take another hour to gather all the interested parties and bring them to a location where they could perform the ritual. He assumed there would be a party of some kind afterward, that was always what happened in Storybrooke. It was during that time he assumed the Chernabog would regain its strength and start to look for a heart of dark potential, which was probably about two hours. By the time it found its target and they realized there was a problem, closed down the schools, got the children and citizens safe, they'd be huddled in Regina's office at about six hours. He figured that before they got to Storybrooke, he'd have the women call Regina.

As it turned out, that was entirely unnecessary.

They were making good time on the road. Excellent time, really, but all magic came at a price. Cruella's driving was atrocious. It was fast and unhindered; it was unhinged. She didn't stop for things like stop lights or pedestrians, she didn't believe in turn signals, if the car even had them, or staying within her lane. If there was empty space, it was hers for the taking. She went as fast as she felt she could go, not as fast as speed limits dictated. How they'd made it to the halfway point in two and a half hours without being pulled over was a complete mystery to him. But of course, it was as he always said...all magic came with a price.

He'd never been more nauseous in all his life.

But Cruella was getting them where they needed to go quickly. And reducing the time he had to spend in the car with the two women by leaps and bounds. So, he sat in that backseat, practiced the deep, steady breathing he'd mastered in the hospital, and let the same story he'd told Ursula weeks ago fall out of his mouth all over again as he explained it to Cruella. She was, of course, craftier than Ursula. Perhaps even a little smarter. Instead of just accepting what she was told, she tried to poke holes, tried to find places where things didn't fit.

"I simply can't conceive of how one banishes the Dark One!" she exclaimed. "One of the most powerful magical creatures in that realm, and someone just tossed you out? No fight?"

He'd had little choice but to tell them about the dagger after that. He didn't give them the details, didn't tell them how the mysterious party had gotten it or what he'd been doing or even who had wielded it against him, he just told them about the dagger, about the power it had over him when it was in the hands of another. It was fine, he told himself. When they arrived back in Storybrooke, he was going to have to keep a low profile until he could get his hands on that dagger again anyway. They may as well know why he had to do that now and understand the risks at hand if someone caught the scent of him before he was at full power.

"I knew it!" Ursula snapped. "There were tales of some magical curse breaker floating around the seas for years before I met you."

"Oh, centuries, no doubt. The tales are old but rarely true, and for good reason. That dagger in the wrong hands has the ability to force the Dark One to do dreadful things."

"Like be banished from a town of dreams…" Cruella crooned as horns blared and a pedestrian made a jump for the relative safety of the sidewalk. He'd lost count of how many red lights she'd run.

"Precisely," he confirmed, trying to remember his breathing. "A friendly reminder, dearie, that while I'm immortal in Storybrooke, out here I am still very mortal, along with both of you."

Cruella grinned.

"So, if you were banished by the dagger, how do we even know you are going to be able to get back into the town?" Ursula demanded with two fingers on her head as though she was trying to fight off a headache.

He explained the logic behind it to them, that the command was not eternal banishment, and therefore, there was a loophole. He'd been ordered to leave, and so he did. Now that he'd been gone for some time, he was certain the individual who had done the deed would have to have a particularly strong will to continue to keep him out in order to prevent him from coming back into the town and staying out.

"And you came to Ursula for help first. I simply don't understand, darling. Why go all the way to New York to find us when you could have just called Mal for help?"

Ah…now the answer to that question wasn't nearly as straightforward as he wanted it to be. But fortunately for him, they'd also just opened a door he'd been waiting for just the right time to walk them through.

"Because, dearie, 'Mal' is, for lack of a better term, dead."

The car made a sharp jerk that, for once, he didn't think had anything to do with Cruella's carelessness. In fact, as her eyes found him in the mirror, he thought it might have been the opposite.

"What?!"

"Excuse me?!" Ursula turned all the way around in her seat to look at him. "What do you mean she's dead?! I asked you, very specifically, about her a week ago, and you said she was there!"

"What you asked was not as specific as you remember, and what I said was that everyone you asked about by name, including Maleficent, was Storybrooke 'in one form or the other,' and Maleficent's form is currently more or less dead."

Ursula stared at him with her mouth gaping. She kept moving her jaw like she was trying to find words, but nothing ever made its way out of her mouth. She was too stunned. And he was happy to keep her in that state until they arrived in Storybrooke and he could confirm what he suspected about dear Maleficent. If his theories were right, then she wasn't exactly dead, but she wasn't exactly alive either. But it was best not to get their hopes up until he could investigate those theories further.

"Well…I think I could use something to drink after news like that…" Cruella muttered.

Ursula shrugged. "I could eat…"

"For the love of…"

He rolled his eyes as Cruella turned off the road. They didn't need food. They wanted food. And, yes, Cruella had bought them time with her driving "skills," but the thing about buying time was that it couldn't be wasted. They didn't have time to sit and eat!

Nevertheless, she pulled off into something called "Mr. Clucks," and Ursula rejoiced, saying the one she had close to home went out of business years ago.

He let out an audible huff, obviously being in a hurry meant nothing to these two. At least she chose the drive-thru lane, although the thought of getting to see firsthand what happened to Cruella's driving when she was trying to do two things at once terrified him potentially more than Zelena.

"So, why should I think this new plan will work when all the others have failed?" Cruella questioned as they waited in line.

"Our failures in the past have been for one reason…" he explained. "The odds were stacked against us. Now, we're gonna change the odds."

"With this Author you keep babbling on about," Ursula commented. It was funny just how quickly her tone had changed now that her old friend was back in the picture. Not to mention how chummy Ursula had gotten with her in the front seat after making such a big deal about going to see her in the first place. Charming.

"His book harnesses a great power, one that exceeds anything you've ever experienced, giving villains and heroes what he deems just desserts. Our collective frustrations? They're because of his will, not our missteps."

"Well, I suppose that's better than blaming bad judgment and gin," Cruella remarked as she finally pulled forward to the damn speaker.

"A welcome to Mr. Cluck's! What can I get you?" the man on the speaker asked.

"One double cluck combo," Cruella ordered.

"Make it two," Ursula shouted.

"Rumple?" Cruella offered.

"No thanks, I'd like to survive for my happy ending," he remarked from the back.

The man on the other end priced out their order and had them pull forward while his stomach turned. And it wasn't just because he was suddenly terribly excited for a burger with extra pickles from Granny's. But because there was one more part of this plan that made him nervous more than anything else. And if it failed to break his way, if the women he was traveling with betrayed him…that doctor's advice about exercising and eating better might come in handy.

"Please hurry up? I'm fairly certain this Author's in Storybrooke. And if we want to enlist his help, we have to get there before the heroes do."

Neither of them questioned this reasoning, just took their orders at the window and began the quick, erratic drive back to Storybrooke.

Chapter Text

The drive to Storybrooke should have been an eight-hour endeavor. Cruella got them there in five. By the grace of the gods or just because she was going to fast to be caught, not once did anyone pull her over for her reckless driving and fortunately not even a single squirrel was harmed in the process, though he couldn't be positive about the numerous pedestrians who had jumped out of the way at intersections, including the one at the diner he'd stopped at weeks ago just after being forced to leave Storybrooke.

They were there. Nearly. He'd retraced his steps back to the town that took him in, passing the dinner, and now they were going down that long road where, despite Cruella's poor driving skills, he kept his eyes peeled on the trees adn their branches at the shoulder. He had to. The way Storybrooke magic worked, if he didn't stop them before they got to the town line, then it was likely the magic wouldn't stop them, but rather deliver them to the other side of the town line and let them just keep going without ever realizing they'd missed the town.

Thus far, he'd managed to get by not having to tell the women about the barriers to get into Storybrooke; he was saving that news for the opportune time. He was worried, if he didn't, they'd have no faith in his plan and wouldn't have followed him this far. If he missed that tie, if he couldn't see where it was and had to have them turn around, he would likely have to explain that part before he was ready to. In his head, he had a very specific way he wanted to do this, to present his case and his plan, and the women to Regina. Doing things out of order wasn't an option.

And then…there it was!

"Stop the car!" he hollered the second he saw it. He hadn't thought to tie the tie that far from where the town line was, maybe a football field! And Cruella was going fast enough that if she didn't stop-

He regretted not wearing his seatbelt as the woman slammed on the brakes and threw him into Ursula's seat. But the second the car stopped, he recovered quickly and got out, hearing the women follow. Yes! There was his tie!

"We're here!" he exclaimed in victory. Finally, he'd done it. Now for the hard part.

"What the hell are you talking about?" Ursula questioned looking around. "Where is this Storybrooke?"

"Look, I confess, things aren't quite as I said."

"For a man who's preaching trust, you are getting off on the wrong foot," Cruella glared at him.

"But i-if I was completely untrustworthy, would I be telling you the truth now? The…the town line is, uh…100 yards up that road," he turned to point it out, and behind him, he heard the woman let out words of understanding. He doubted that it would last long after he told him the next part. "But…it's cloaked by a protection spell. Makes it impossible to see or enter."

"A town you can't see or enter?" Ursula balked.

"But it's the truth. The night I was banished, I-I attached this tie to that tree so I'd be able to find my way home."

"Okay, let's say you are telling the truth," Ursula stated with a little laugh. "How are we supposed to cross that line without any magic?"

He opened his mouth to answer only to hear a chillingly familiar click coming from Cruella. Suddenly, she had a gun pointed at him. His heart skipped a beat as he startled at the sight of it, and suddenly, he remembered the way that one of her husbands had been found dead. One hundred yards down the road, behind the town line, that gun would do absolutely nothing to him. Out here…he might just be another body on the other end of that barrel.

"No more encores, Rumple," Cruella warned. "We're finished with your hazy instructions and your empty promises."

"Please put the gun down. You're overreacting-"

Ursula made a move, and the next thing he knew, he felt the cane he'd been putting his weight on go out from beneath his hand, putting him on his knees. At their mercy.

His mouth was dry. He'd known this wasn't going to be easy; he tried not to panic…but he hadn't planned on a gun being part of the equation.

"No more tricks," Cruella growled. "If we're about to walk into a trap, tell us now, darling, because out here, you're nothing more than a cripple, a coward with a real-world ability to die."

Oh, he was more than aware of that.

"Yes, yes, y-y-your right, you're right!"

"So, you say you're banished. Who banished you and why?" Cruella demanded.

"I bet it was his little maid," Ursula drawled, leaving his stomach in knots all over again. "Is that why we're here? Because of a girl?"

He'd purposefully left Belle out of this as much as he could so as not to put a target on her back if this worked. That wasn't going to hold forever; their history and relationship was going to come out, likely sooner instead of later, but at their mercy as he was now, he felt strongly that he couldn't let her know that she'd guessed right. He couldn't let on to the fact that he had a weakness. Those facts all on their own were sobering enough.

He could do this. He knew this part wasn't going to be easy, and it wasn't. He just had to convince them of his plan for this last little bit, and he'd be golden again. Literally.

"I'm here for the same reason you are. My happy ending. And that is the truth. And what this is? Well…that's my business, just like your reasons are yours. All of what we seek is just beyond that line!" he urged, turning to point over his shoulder to something that neither of them could see.

His past actions hadn't granted them much trust in him. But now he needed their trust. Suddenly, that potion he'd taken before he left felt like it could come in handy now. He just needed to have a bit of confidence that he could do this.

"So please, if you think you can find your way in this town, and…and face all that…that Light Magic without my help, then be my guest. But if you can just trust me…you won't just get inside Storybrooke, you'll be invited."

"Uh-huh…like the people of Storybrooke are gonna invite us in with you by our side," Ursula mocked in disbelief.

He could have sighed with relief at that kind of comment because finally, they'd hit upon the part of this that mattered. His plan. With renewed confidence, he reached for his cane and pulled himself back up.

"Yes, they will, dearie, because I won't be on your side."

Ursula and Cruella glanced at each other. Briefly. Barely for a second. But he could see their agreement, their resolve as they did. Cruella lowered the gun. "All right. Start talking…"

"My time spent at Ursula's, I haven't just been trying to locate the Author, I've been busy setting up what is either happening in that town right now, or soon will happen. The librarian's post, the one your co-worker found…" He glanced at Ursula to confirm that much of the story and was pleased to see Cruella do the same. Fortunately for him, Ursula gave a single nod of assurance. "I told you before that I was banished for chasing my happy ending. It was the hat that the post mentioned. It failed. And that post was part of the heroes' attempt to undo what I'd done, but they don't know the half of what they've stumbled upon.

"Now, they've found a spell that just this morning they've had translated by an Oxford Professor. It's a ritual to summon protectors because they believe the fairies and another magician are in the hat, and they're right, but they aren't the only thing within that hat. You remember our old friend from Bald Mountain, the Chernabog…"

Ursula let out a groan and tossed her hands in the air.

Cruella shook her head and quickly started fumbling for something in her bag again, purse or gun, he didn't know, and had no intention of knowing.

"No! No! Listen, just…listen!" he urged before they could walk away. He was so close. They were so close! "This time, it's nothing you'll have to deal with. They'll do it for you. But your expertise in a time of crisis will be your ticket into the town.

"You'll call Regina, from my phone so she picks up. She's the mayor now, on a journey of self-discovery and change. You'll present yourselves as kindred spirits, two former villains that have changed. You'll tell her you ran into me and I was the one who told you about Storybrooke and that you'd like to prove you've changed, same as her. And you'll do it by finding a way to bring up their current infestation of the Chernabog and leading them in a path that will help them be free of it. They will do the rest for you; you just have to tell them what it is and everything you know about it."

"How can you even be sure that things went according to your plan?" Ursula questioned angrily. "We can't know that they used the hat, and that thing is in there right now. We can't know that Regina won't let us into the town and sacrifice us to the creature."

"We can. Because I know these people. The fairies, by now, have been trapped for weeks, and they won't want to waste a moment trying to free them. And with the Chernabog loose they won't want to waste a minute keeping the people safe. They're going to want to get rid of it as soon as possible, and once they know what you know about it, they'll be able to form a plan, and it'll be all thanks to you. They'll welcome you with open arms and distrust, too, yes. But heroes always want to believe the best in people exists. You are going to give them that chance."

Ursula and Cruella looked at each other skeptically, quietly having a conversation that he strongly suspected revolved around whether or not the women felt they could trust him entirely. They already knew they couldn't. But that couldn't be the focus at the moment. This was the hard part of his plan, and he had to keep pushing it forward.

"Look…" he hobbled away from them and back to the car, where he found his cell phone in the backseat. He met them again at the front of the car as he scrolled through the numbers. "I've got it all planned out and delivered it to you as easily as I can." When he found Regina's number, he pulled it up and handed the phone over. "The number's all cued up. All you have to do is press the 'call' button."

"I know how a phone works!" Ursula snapped, grabbing it from him. "I just don't know if I can trust the man whose phone it is."

"And why is that? I mean, you have my phone, my entire plan. And tonight, if you decide not to come back for me and stay in Storybrooke and abandon me, I couldn't blame you. That's why this time is different, because this time, my entire salvation depends not on you trusting me, but on me trusting you. Now…are we in this together?"

His heart had never hammered so fast or so hard in all his life. He'd never put this much of himself on the line before, not with anyone except perhaps Belle. It was terrifying. But necessary. Great rewards would always require great risks. That was the cost of magic.

Before him, the two women exchanged another glance, this one longer than the last. Whatever happened in their past, it was clearly behind them. They were communicating again, and he didn't particularly like that theirs was one language he didn't speak fluently.

"I guess you'll find out tonight, won't you?" Ursula finally declared before pushing the button.

He stood back and held his breath…

Chapter Text

He stood back and held his breath as Ursula pushed the button. She was kind enough to turn it on speaker, but from where he was standing, it took every fiber of concentration within him to actually hear it as it rang. And then…

"After all this time, now you call? I swear if you are behind this…"

"Guess again, Regina…" Ursula responded, cutting off Regina before she could accuse him of being behind what was undoubtedly happening in Storybrooke. Of course, he supposed, he was behind it, so the accusation was technically correct. Still, he was too proud of the fact that her simple statement betrayed the fact that all had gone according to his plan to consider whether that meant she thought too highly of him and the work he was capable of doing, even from the outside, to blame him for such a thing immediately when he knew there was no proof.

"Regina, who is it?" he heard Emma question from the other end.

Cruella and Ursula looked at him, questioning the extra voice. He gave them a reassuring nod, feeling proud that he'd already guessed one thing right. Where there was one, there was the other. Curella and Ursula would learn soon enough. He hoped.

"The sea bitch…" Regina drawled.

"I've missed you, too. How are you?"

"Mostly wondering how a plate of undercooked calamari ended up with the Dark One's cell phone."

"I stole it from him," she answered smoothly.

"Regina!" Emma gasped.

"And where is he now?" Regina pressed.

"If we're lucky, probably passed out at the dive bar where Cruella and I left him."

"Cruella?"

"Yes, we're back together. Rumple found us in New York, said he needed some old friends. Told us a tearful tale about how he was living in a quaint town until he ruined everything. But he said it was a special place where villains could find redemption."

"Regina, Rumpelstiltskin told us how you've changed and we've changed too. We've learned our lessons, and we'd like a chance to prove it to you. Please. Let us in."

There was a long pause on the other end of the line, where he was suddenly incredibly aware of how very dry his mouth was. He'd gotten everything right thus far, and, as much as it pained him to admit it, Ursula had done well lying about how they'd gotten his phone and where and how they'd found him, despite the fact that he hadn't coached them on that. He was beginning to grow hopeful, a terrifying prospect. He couldn't afford to get this wrong. And he was almost certain his heart wouldn't survive the break if things didn't go the way he wanted them to.

"Sorry, dear, but…we have enough problems without inviting two-"

From the other end of the line, there was a loud screech, a cry of some kind that he recognized from a single encounter he'd had in his life. He hoped the women would too. They looked over at him in the space between, uncertain, clearly, but he nodded again, egging them on and doing his best to assure them this was how it was meant to go. He tried to look confident instead of relieved. This was the part where they shared what they knew, earning Regina's trust and letting them in!

"Is one of those problems a hell-bat with beady eyes and devil horns?" Ursula questioned perfectly.

"How did you know that?" He could practically hear the sneer in Regina's voice.

"Because that's the exact same sound it made before it tried to kill me."

"Oh? So, you've faced this creature before?"

"Yes, and I can tell you exactly what it wants."

"How convenient…" Regina drawled before there was a click on the other end of the phone that made his heart nearly stop. Ursula pulled the phone from her and looked down at it, wondering, much like him, if the call had dropped at an inauspicious time or if Regina had perhaps just chosen to hang up on him. He didn't so much have a plan for that, but he felt confident that he could make one, given how well he knew Regina. However, it had been difficult enough getting Ursula and Cruella to agree to doing this plan, getting them to go along with Plan B was going to be more difficult.

But then Ursula drew the phone back between the two of them without pressing any button, signaling that the call was still active. But silence on the other end…

Emma.

She was with Regina in the room, clearly. They were probably talking. That could only be good for them.

"Fine!" Regina exclaimed suddenly after another click. "Tell us what it wants."

"And then you'll let us in?"

Regina laughed, "Even if I wanted to, I couldn't."

"Well, then, I guess you're on your own."

The clicking sound came through again. And again, Ursula checked the little screen. Cruella and Ursula exchanged looks with each other, and he wanted so much to tell them, it was fine, that the women were just talking, and that was what would get them in! But he knew that his life depended on staying patient and quiet. Even if they doubted.

"All right, Squid," she finally conceded. "If your information pans out, we'll consider letting you in. Those are my terms."

"You've got a deal."

Ursula grinned as she cast a sideways glance at Cruella. She nodded at the woman. "The creature is called a Chernabog. Not quite sure where it's been hiding out all this time, maybe it just got hungry, but if I were you, Regina, I'd take extra care. The Chernabog feeds on the closest heart that has the darkest potential."

"How do we stop it?"

"Never figured that part out myself. I simply managed to outrun it and get to safety."

"That's not exactly an option in a small town. I'm sure that if you met Gold, he told you that we couldn't leave."

"He did, but I can't tell you what I don't know, only what I do. You're a villain, Regina. Use what you know as bait. Trap the beast, catch it, ensnare it, feed it, and send it on its way until it's hungry again; whatever works! So long as you've got a dark soul for bait, trust me, it'll follow."

There was silence on the other end of the line, total quiet that this time didn't even carry with it a click. He imagined that in that silence, Emma and Regina would be doing a lot of what Ursula and Cruella were doing right now, having silent conversations. Only he imagined that theirs were a lot more panicked than Ursula and Cruella's were at the moment.

"If it works, I'll be in touch," Regina's voice finally growled over the phone, followed by a click he knew was most likely her hanging up, but still, he waited for Ursula to check the screen and close the phone before he made his way over to them.

"What now?" Ursula asked, pocketing his phone. He allowed it. It was a necessary risk if he wanted to show he was entirely reliant on them. Cruella alone he'd never trust, but Ursula with that device in her pocket, she had some mercy to her. She'd come back for him out of guilt.

"Now, I disappear into the woods, and you wait here."

"For how long?" Cruella snapped.

"For as long as it takes," he shrugged. Though he suspected it wouldn't be long.

Given the information that they provided, Emma would likely assume that Regina was the one the creature wanted, and Regina would likely hold to that belief simply out of guilt. They'd want to get rid of the creature and ensure Regina's safety, and that meant this would be their top priority. His bet was that this would be over and done within an hour, at the most two. But whether or not that was a bet he was comfortable speaking out loud for Cruella to hear…

"They'll figure it out based on that information, but it may take some time," he clarified.

"And once they do, how will they get us into a town we can't see if magic doesn't exist in this world, and they can't cross the town line?"

"Magic does exist in this world," he corrected. "You just have to believe, which I do. It's a weak brand of magic, but I've seen it work, and it has its benefits. For instance, if you believe, this world will enable you to use objects imbued with magic from our world. Now, in your case, I can't be sure, but I know that inside the borders of Storybrooke, there is a scroll crafted by Merlin's Apprentice. It was given to the Snow Queen to allow her access to the town after Regina's original curse was cast. I believe they're likely to throw it to you as a lifeline of sorts. Once it's in your hands, you should be able to read the scroll and if you believe it's magic should allow you to see the town and enter it just has it did the Snow Queen. From the second you cross the town line, you'll have your own magic back.

"You'll need to make a copy of the scroll, a forgery to give to them should they demand it back when you cross," he instructed, looking at Ursula. Cruella had power, but other than an innate ability to control animals and work potions, he'd never seen evidence that she'd ever managed to master conjuring or spells. Ursula had. She nodded in understanding.

"Upon arrival, you'll go to a place called Granny's and request lodging, have dinner, go about your evening as you like, and settle in. And when Granny and the town fall into sleep, you'll drive right back here to give me the scroll and get me in, from there…we'll enact the rest of our plan."

"You seem very confident for a man about to be entirely on his own," Cruella crooned with a smile. She was enjoying this.

"Well, that's the power of hope, dearie. Frail it may be, but crushed by the world mine is not. I want my happy ending. After centuries of toil and dealmaking and plotting and planning, I want my happy ending more than anything on this earth. And that desire keeps hope alive. I believe I can get my happy ending, and that means I'll stop at nothing and do whatever must be done to achieve it. I'll trust that you'll know the benefit of having someone with that kind of hope on your side."

Hell, he hoped that they'd see the benefit of having someone with that kind of hope on their side. Because if they did, then they'd most certainly come back for him. If they didn't, well…he hoped that his phone in Ursula's pocket was enough of a guilt trip to bring her back at least. Otherwise, the first thing he was going to do when he got back to New York City was break into her apartment and dump those fish she loved into the Hudson River.

"Now go. The town and its people will remain hidden until you read that scroll. We can't know when they'll arrive, might be minutes, more likely hours, but you certainly can't be seen with me."

Chapter Text

He was a patient man.

Patience was his gift.

He was a patient man and patience was his gift…but he had to admit that patience was something a lot easier to possess when he knew the outcome of his predicaments.

He'd been okay when he'd gone off and hid in the woods, allowing Cruella and Ursula to move the car and stand on the side of the road waiting there. He was far enough away and well-hidden that he was confident he was out of sight, but still felt the nerves that someone could be watching him.

He'd left his cell phone with the women. It was a planned move. He'd told them that once they got into town, they should go to Granny's and settle in, but he couldn't be sure that their experience would be as smooth or as simple as all that. He imagined that Mary Margaret and David would want to keep their distance publicly to save face, but he couldn't guarantee that Emma or Regina did, and if they asked for his phone, he wanted them to be able to present it.

It was a calculated move. But that didn't mean that it made him feel safe or secure being outside of the town line without it.

He was a patient man. And so long as he'd been in the woods and they'd been on the road, he'd been fine. Nervous, but fine. And then he'd heard a noise, a clattering to his left, and when he looked back over on the street, he saw something rolling across the road, something that hadn't been there before. It appeared to be from out of nowhere. Despite looking around as discreetly as possible to remain hidden, he was confident that there was no one there, at least no one that he could see, which meant that he was right. Those inside the town had tossed the villains a lifeline. And he watched as Cruella moved forward and picked it up before turning back to Ursula and nodding. He watched as the pair got back into the car and Cruella opened the scroll so they could read it. And he watched smiles curl over their faces when they looked up and the car began to move forward until suddenly…it vanished.

And that was when he felt his nerves begin to tingle, when his fear and anxiety threatened to seize and undo him. It was good, he reminded himself. They'd done what he needed them to do; being shut out for a time was all part of his plan! But it was also the most terrifying part, not knowing when, or if, they'd be back.

He'd thought it best to stay hidden there in the wood until long past dark, just in case Regina was suspicious and decided to guard the line, just in case David or Emma were worried he'd return with them somehow. He waited until he knew that Henry or Mary Margaret would have come to get them, told them that they were being ridiculous and needed to trust people, and then he waited a little bit longer before finally making his way out of the forest and onto the road. He walked as close as he felt he could to the place where he'd seen the car disappear, close enough that he was confident the magic wouldn't deliver him to the other side of the border.

And he waited. This was the part that he was supposed to be good at, the part he'd had so much practice with in the Enchanted Forest, and yet now he found himself utterly floundering.

The road looked just as empty as it had before, but he knew it was a one-way mirror. There could be people on the other side watching him now. Cruella and Ursula could be there now debating. Belle could be there, inches from him, if his plan had been discovered!

He was so close to getting what he'd worked for since the hospital, so close to fixing everything and getting his happy ending, making sure that Belle got the ending she deserved. He was so close! He just hoped this wasn't the closest he'd ever come. There was no plan, no backup that he could think of, no other people out in the world, besides Robin and Zelena, whom he'd go back to over his dead body. And because Cruella and Ursula had his phone, there was no way to call them, no way to get a message to him if something had gone wrong. He had no earthly idea how he would explain all of this to Officer Martinez if he reappeared at the station without a cell phone this time. And he didn't want to find out.

But he was beginning to fear that he would have to.

He'd been waiting on that road for hours now. The sky had long since gone dark, and the moon continued its arc in the sky. But still…nothing. Nothing changed. No scroll ever appeared, no taste of magic suggested they'd done things differently, no note or reassurance or instructions came. There was just…nothing. And he felt the false void that stretched out before him all the way deep down in his chest.

Never trust villains. This was why he worked alone. He couldn't trust anyone. And why should he have trusted them? Wasn't this what he'd done to them all those years ago to get here? Left them behind to die? He'd hoped that they might see him as valuable enough to return for, that the hours they spent together in Storybrooke without him might prove that, but what if they'd done the opposite? What if it had convinced them they didn't need him, that they could do whatever it was they intended to do on their own? What if they had seen an opportunity for revenge and taken it?

He swallowed down tears as he looked at the illusion of a road that led to nowhere. He couldn't stay here forever, waiting, letting his hopes get up.

When he turned to leave, this time he didn't even bother to leave his tie. He'd put everything he had into this plan; there was nothing outside of it. What now? Now there was just nothing. Now there was just surrender. Without Belle, what was life worth?

And then from behind, he heard something fall to the ground, and he felt as though his heart might explode simply from the anticipation of looking back to discover what it might be. Just his luck, it would be a pinecone, or a twig fallen onto the pavement. But if he didn't look back and check?

He intended to get it over with quickly, to look over his shoulder and then move on, to continue to rip this bandage off quickly rather than slowly. But instead of a twig or some other kind of debris on the road, he saw what appeared to be his salvation, a lifeline. Ingrid's scroll.

In a few quick strides, he made his way over to it and made no delay in releasing the ribbon that held it together, letting his eyes fall over the lines he'd only read once before when Belle had brought it home with her for research. He'd read it then, too, which was how he knew that it was that last line that interested him the most.

What is hidden lies in plain sight, for the moment you finish reading this line, the unseen will become visible."

And when he glanced back up and over the scroll…

There was that bloody, ugly orange line!

And the sign telling everyone that they were leaving Storybrooke!

And Cruella and Ursula and that fucking car he couldn't wait to destroy one day!

He'd done it. And he was so happy he could have cried!

"We're back, darling," Cruella smiled at him.

"You didn't think we abandoned you, did you, Dark One?" Ursula mocked.

He'd never been so happy to see them before in his life. "Of course not. We're a team!" he exclaimed before he moved toward them at the closest thing to a run he had in him.

Oh, he'd been dreaming about this moment for weeks, and the second he crossed the town line, he already willed his magic to work for him. To take the pain from his ankle. To wear his own damn clothes. To clean himself up! To return his godsdamned phone to the place that it belonged! With him! Nothing held him back. Though he could feel a connection to another, a sure sign that someone else held the dagger and it was out of his reach, he didn't worry about that at the moment. It felt so good to walk tall and proud again. To toss the cane away to gods knew where and never see it again. But all magic came with a price. Including his own...

"Welcome back, Rumpelstiltskin."

"We knew you'd do it."

"And now we have so many ideas!"

"So many thoughts on this plan of yours!"

"Nice duds. Now what do we do?" Ursula questioned, pulling his mind from the returned buzz of the Dark Ones in his head.

"Now we begin our task." But not way out here, with nothing in sight. Just for the sake of doing it, of using more magic after weeks of being without, he used his magic to transport them all back into town, leaving Cruella's car parked along the street of Storybrooke for all to see. If only he could outrun the returned voices in his head as easily as he could outrun that town line.

"It's simple, really," he announced as they moved down the street. "Continue to repent your wicked ways. Make friends. Build relationships."

"And just what will you be doing?"

"I'll continue my work behind the scenes, of course." At least until he could get his dagger back.

"Sounds like we're doing everything, again."

He came to a standstill in the middle of the street because he may have had to put up with talk like that in the Land Without Magic, but not in here. Fuck, he'd already explained this to them. Did they not fucking see it yet?!

"How do you think we got in here? And how do you think that Chernabog was released? It was me. I'm the Oxford professor who translated the spell for Belle, the spell that released the fairies and also happened to unleash that monstrosity. So, I ask you consider what I was able to do on the outside, at my lowest point, without magic. And then consider what I'm able to do in here. So maybe we should stop bickering and get on with it. So, our team is one member short. It's time to reunite the band," he informed them, starting back toward the library again.

"Y-you don't mean…"

"Maleficent," Ursula finished for Cruella.

"But she's dead?"

"Not entirely," he reminded them. He'd never said dead. He'd said "more or less." More or less wasn't dead.

"Well, just what does that mean?" Cruella questioned.

"It means we have our work cut out, much to prepare," he informed.

"I don't like it. Dead or alive, we got a bigger problem…Regina," Ursula declared.

"And what makes you say that?" he asked.

"That beast was unable to defeat her," she stated as if she were making a point. "As bad as Maleficent is, Regina's dark heart is far worse."

More of what it was in New York. Complaint after complaint after complaint. This was why they needed him in this world. In the Enchanted Forest, Regina might have been the bigger problem, but they obviously hadn't yet heard about the Savior. Ironic, seeing as how they were, in part, to blame for not stopping her from being who she was today.

"You are so filled with assumptions. Regina is not the one we have to worry about."

"What?" Ursula questioned disbelievingly.

"The beast did seek out the heart with the greatest potential for darkness, yes, but it wasn't going after Regina. It was after Emma Swan."

Emma was a savior and a child of True Love; she possessed great magic. And all great magic came with it the potential for great good and the potential for great evil. Yes, her parents had had the Apprentice remove evil intent to keep her magic good, but the shadow of the possibility of what was…that would have been left within her. A Chernabog would have been able to sniff that out in a heartbeat.

"Emma is more than she appears in this town, more than she even knows. A Savior, yes, with great magic, yes, but with great magic always comes great potential. You'll need to steer clear of her, be cautious of where she is, who she is around, and what she thinks about you. The first part of our plan is misdirection."

From Ursula's pocket, there was a chirp that had her pulling out her phone and looking it over.

"And how exactly do you propose we 'misdirect,' darling?"

"And do we know anyone named Mary Margaret and David?" Ursula asked, looking up at him. "They want to meet us. Now, apparently?"

"In this weather?!"

"You see," he smiled. "Your presence here will do the job of misdirection for you. All because of an incident in the Enchanted Forest involving one Miss Lilith Page, witnessed by Mary Margaret Blanchard and David Nolan, whom you will know better as Snow White and Prince Charming, formerly King and Queen."

Ursula's jaw dropped and her eyes widened at his pronouncement. Cruella, on the other hand, just looked confused. "I'm sorry, who?!" she exclaimed. "Lilith Page? It doesn't ring a bell."

He ignored her, continuing to stare at Ursula, the only one of the pair of them who seemed to have any sense of what was happening. "How do you know about that? How could you know about that? There was only one other person there!"

He smiled. "I think you'll find I know a great many things about both of you. Not the least of which is that you need a leader, someone to make the plans so you can execute them effectively. As I've already proven, I am more than capable of providing that for you, so I suggest you do as I say and follow up with Mrs. Nolan. She'll be so busy worrying about the two of you spoiling her precious reputation, she won't even notice what we'll really be doing."

"Finding the Author," Ursula finished.

"And getting our happy endings," Cruella added.

He nodded. "And as you keep the former King and Queen on their toes, I'll be working on reuniting us with the last piece of our puzzle, the one that will care most about Lilith Page, the one who will unite our team entirely so that we can accomplish our goals."

"Maleficent."

"Precisely. So, take the call, dearie. Meet them where they desire, and come to an agreement that seems appropriate. Assure them your villainous ways are in the past, and watch them flinch every time you come into a room from disbelief. We have more important work to do."

On that, he moved around the women and began a slow stroll down the road in the direction of his shop. He had many stops to make tonight, but this would be the first.

"And where will you be? Once we've completed our assignment, where do we find you?" Ursula called out.

"A cabin in the woods, north of here, about twenty minutes. I'll send you the address," he assured them, before using his magic to unlock the door to his shop and step inside.

He did love it when a plan came so perfectly together.

Chapter Text

He locked the women out of his shop. He saw no reason to let them in.

If he was going to succeed in his plans here in Storybrooke, he needed to keep a low profile. Hell, he needed to make sure there was no profile at all! Cruella and Ursula, helpful as they had been thus far, were clingy. And loud. He had no doubt that if he allowed them to follow him around like lost little puppies, then they would inevitably lead to his discovery, and until the dagger was back in his possession, that was something he simply couldn't have. He'd told them what to do. It was simple and easy; he had no doubt that they could do it while he did…other things.

The threat of being seen or noticed forced him to keep the lights turned off in the shop. Prior to Zelena, it wouldn't have mattered, but now that Belle had taken over, he needed a bit of magic to help him find his way because Belle had most certainly "taken over." Again. She'd run the shop when Zelena had strolled into town, and now, in his absence, it seemed as though she'd taken up the project again. He knew it because it smelled like roses and lemons, the floors were immaculate, and as hard as he searched, he couldn't find a single cobweb hanging in any of their usual crevices. Letting loose a bit of his magic, he tested the boundaries of the protection spells that he'd placed around the shop, which felt like eons ago. They were intact.

He smiled at that thought. Her tinkering in his shop wasn't something that brought him to anger or stirred up animosity. Rather, he liked knowing that she was taking care of this place, of his possessions and trinkets. Dedicated as she was to the library, he was sure that it must have been a sign of her guilt. He'd known it would eat her up inside, and while he didn't revel in it, he loved that it at least told him there was potentially hope.

In a perfect world, he would have lingered in the shop for an eternity. But he had a laundry list of things to do now that he was back in Storybrooke, and in order to maintain his invisibility, he was limited to only doing them at night, when so many were asleep, and he could move about a bit more freely. That was going to confine him in ways he wasn't thrilled with, but he did enjoy his privacy, so he supposed he could see the benefits of that. Still, it meant that while lingering was certainly appealing, it wasn't constructive, and so he moved into the back room to do what he'd come here to.

The back room appeared to be damn near untouched. Mostly. It wasn't exactly as he'd left it all those weeks ago, but it appeared to have been reset. The cot and tables were where he always kept them, the artifacts were on the shelves in their place, and any evidence of baggage he'd brought in prior to his banishment was gone. And his black bag still sat on the floor in the exact same place he'd always kept it.

Upon examining it, he found it to be just as he'd remembered. He'd restocked the potions before he'd been banished, and they were all there now, just as he'd left them. His equipment was intact and bore few signs of use. Storybrooke, it seemed, hadn't needed his wife to pretend she was him in his absence, or at least not like they'd needed her when he'd been under Zelena's thumb. That was good. He knew that life didn't appeal to her.

He plucked an unused vial from the bag, confident that Belle wouldn't miss it, then returned the bag to its spot; the lack of dust in Belle's shop would only make it easier to convince her it had never moved. Then he used magic and carried himself over to the lobby of the library. It was eerie this time of night. The streetlights cast shadows when the lights were off that might spook a lesser human, but didn't bother him in the least. No, what bothered him was the smell.

Belle's scent was here, no doubt; lemons and roses, it was the easiest thing to pinpoint. But there were others here too, some that he recognized, like Emma and Killian Jones. But there were also other scents he didn't recognize, strong ones that suggested someone stopping by for more than just the occasional book. He didn't like that. Yes, he supposed he'd sensed that at the shop too, maybe even a couple of the same scents as he did here, but he hadn't thought much of people coming and going at the shop. Here at the library…the feeling it gave him was different, and he wasn't quite sure why it didn't sit well with him. Perhaps he simply wasn't used to seeing the library as something public, like he did the shop. It had only just opened when he'd left, so he hadn't had much time to get used to it. Yes…that must have been it.

In the interest of safety, he checked the wards he'd placed on the library. Just as they had been at the shop, they were still perfectly in place. That, at least, made him feel better about who was coming in. Who was already here, however, that was the real reason he was here…

Keeping himself invisible was going to be one key to pulling this off. Keeping the Charmings busy and practicing that ancient magician's skill of misdirection on them so they wouldn't notice what the others were up to, or see how he was using that misdirection to manipulate Emma's heart, that was going to be just as important and a far greater challenge. Ursula and Cruella were great, but he didn't believe in coincidences, not anymore. He didn't believe that the Seer had once whispered Ms. Page's name in his ear just to reconnect him with his former "Queens of Darkness." No, Ms. Page would be at the heart of this. She would be the tool he needed to turn Emma's heart dark and to keep the Charmings busy, off his scent entirely. But for that part to be effective, he was almost certain he was going to need the last of them.

He'd been avoiding the basement of the library ever since Emma had slain the dragon. Well…"avoiding" was probably the wrong word for it. Avoidance suggested he'd gone out of his way to keep clear when in fact he really hadn't had reason to go anywhere near it. However, he also hadn't allowed his curiosity to get the better of him and explore what remained, as he usually would have.

He had his theories on what Maleficent would have become when Emma killed her, but a corpse was never one of them. Regina had given the witch a job to do, and the kind of magic that the dragon possessed, the kind of healing abilities she had, coupled with slow aging, would have meant that she was tied to some kind of life. Even if it was a life within death. He didn't know exactly what that would look like, but he was confident that he could handle it with his own magic. Whatever she was, she would most certainly be weaker than she'd been before.

Frankly, as he prowled the library beneath the mines, he just prayed that whatever she was would still be active after Mary Margaret had cast this latest Curse. He hadn't thought much about what he'd do if he discovered that somehow the Queen had freed her from her assignment and thus her life the last time they came over and-

Fortunately, he didn't have to wonder.

He'd barely taken two steps inside the wider cavern below the library when he felt the hum of magic, like he'd tripped an alarm of some kind, it stirred to life before the very ground itself began to vibrate, to twitch and move. No, not the ground, the dirt. Fragments, little individual specs of earth rolled over the cavern floor, collecting in the center, coalescing, building into a mound. The dirt transformed, it grew into a column before sprouting arms and legs, and scraps of red that might have been a dress once, but now…

Fuck.

He stared up at the creature before him, disbelief and bewilderment froze him in place as he stared. He was mesmerized. And impressed. And horrified. He was all of them at once as he looked at the scabby, grotesque creature before him, his mind trying to come up with exactly what it was he was seeing. At first, he thought it might have been a wraith, but the red clothing instead of black seemed to disprove that theory. He'd seen what this world would call zombies in another realm once. She was close to that, but as she let out a cry that had him reaching up to instinctively cover his ears, he wondered if she might be a banshee of some kind. And then she started drifting, flying in his direction. Her eyes were covered by some kind of headdress that seemed to mock what she'd worn so long ago. He couldn't see how she'd seen him or sniffed him out, but if Regina had put her here to protect, and that was what preserved her life-

Enough! The creature was coming at him, and he was trying to solve problems?!

He extended his hand, allowed his magic to overcome the magic he felt clinging to her. He watched as she stopped in the air, reacting to what she felt, before he suppressed the magic entirely. She gave another earsplitting cry, but began to sink back down into the earth as her body dried, flaked, chipped, and dissolved back into the earth itself.

No. Not earth. It wasn't earth that he'd seen rolling over the ground before; it had been ash. The dragon had been slain and returned as ash? That was perfect. It was perfect because it all but confirmed a theory that he'd been working on. He still had quite a bit to do in order to prove it, but if his theory shook out the way he wanted it to, then it was what would make resurrection possible, with a little bit of hard work. And some very special books…

He used his magic to keep the woman's ashes overpowered and down on the ground, then removed the vial from his pocket and scooped a few into it for safekeeping before he turned and left the mine. He still had one more stop to make before he settled, one that he was looking forward to and dreading all at once.

Chapter Text

He allowed his magic to take him, not quite to the place he most wanted to be, but instead to the sidewalk just outside, where he stared up at his unchanged pink house, his car parked in the driveway, and an all too familiar heartbeat coming from inside. His prize…

He let out a sigh of relief as he stared up at it. He had been so afraid in the aftermath that Belle would move out, so scared she'd go to Granny's or revert to the apartment over the library, but the fact that she had come back here after it all was relieving. He'd been the one who made the mistake; he wanted her to be taken care of, and knowing she'd been here all this time, safe and protected, at home, it was a bright spot in the last few weeks.

There was a part of him that was eager to see her, eager to touch her face, to hold her, to talk to her. But angry and heartbroken as she'd been before he left, without the dagger in his hand, he couldn't risk it. For that reason alone, he used his magic to cast a powerful sleeping spell over the house, one that would only last an hour or so, before he used his magic to get inside…

And there she was.

Perfectly asleep because of the spell, she lay in their bed, turned onto her side, her arms wrapped around one of his pillows, holding it to her chest like it was a life preserver in a sea of choppy waters. The sheets certainly looked like choppy waters! She never did sleep well when he wasn't around, and the way those sheets were currently flung about the bed, knotted and tangled in odd ways, certainly suggested that she hadn't been doing much sleeping. At least not the peaceful sleeping she always did by his side.

He swallowed hard as he watched her lie there, choking back tears that were threatening to overwhelm him as he dared to move closer and sit by her side at the edge of the bed. It was then that he noticed a new addition on her bedside table, something that hadn't been there before he'd left. Something that hadn't needed to be there before he'd left.

She'd found herself an alarm clock.

And he didn't know why looking at that little box with the time glowing on it and a small dot next to the words "alarm set" threatened to break him more than she did, but he found himself stifling a cry at the discovery.

She was making do. The shop, the library, the pillow, the clock, she was making do without him, but from the way her hands clutched at that pillow and her body folded in on itself, her muscles refusing to relax even under a sleep spell, he knew that "making do" wasn't nearly enough. And oh, how he longed to fix it! How he longed to replace the pillow with his own body and rub her back until she relaxed. He wanted to destroy that fucking clock and wake her the next morning with kisses and tears of a reunion. And more than anything, he wanted to apologize, start over, and keep his vows!

But he was a villain. And until he fixed that, starting over again would do him no good. He would just continue to hurt her time and time again, and she didn't deserve that heartbreak. It had damn near destroyed him feeling hers before he'd gone over the town line; he couldn't let it happen again. He had to fix this, not just in the short term but in the long term as well. So until he did, until he had the dagger safely in his possession, no matter how much he longed to see her, he simply couldn't allow it.

At least not in the way he wanted to. But in small ways…perhaps…

It was tempting to use magic on her, it always was, ever since their first reunion so long ago. But the truth was that he'd found more satisfaction in not using magic to ease her. With her well and truly asleep thanks to the spell, he organized the comforter and blankets, pulling them off of her one at a time before he took the sheet in his hand, straightened it, and covered her with it once more. He repeated that step with the blanket, then comforter, before letting his hand slide down along her arm, under the blankets, and to the fingers clutched around the pillow. Slowly, he managed to get each finger to release and nearly cried when they curled around his own instead. It was impossible for them to be completely and utterly broken with a response like that.

And yet…something was wrong. Something was missing. It nagged at him as he sat there holding on to her hand, willing it to pry loose. It was only when he ran his thumb over each finger and stopped at the fourth that he realized…her wedding ring. She wasn't wearing it. His stomach did a somersault in his gut, forcing him to hold back a new wash of tears as he released her hand and looked around the room as if he might find it sitting on the dresser or on the nightstand. He hoped, foolishly, stupidly, that perhaps in the time since he'd been away, she'd just started removing it for bed. That would have been normal. Couples took off their rings at night when they slept, didn't they?

He didn't see it in plain sight. Not in the place that she usually set her jewelry when she left it out overnight, not on the nightstand.

He could find it, of course. That ring was enchanted. If he wanted to, he could track it, use his magic and figure out where it was in a single second. He wanted to know! Hell, for just a moment, there was a part of him that needed to know where that ring had gotten to!

Until he realized he didn't.

Looking down at her as she slept, feeling her naked finger, left him feeling empty in a way he couldn't have fathomed. And while he hoped he would simply track that ring to her jewelry box or the library or shop, places she might have taken it off and simply forgotten about it, or perhaps stored it away for safe keeping until she was less angry at him, he didn't know how he would handle it if he located that ring in the ocean. Or along the side of a road. Or, gods forbid, in one of the display cases at the shop, or on the finger of another woman. He wasn't ready for that. He wanted to know where it was, but perhaps it was better not to.

He'd get that ring back. One day. Some day he'd feel confident in their relationship enough to ask her about it or track it down with his magic, and he'd return it to her finger where it belonged. If he couldn't do it as a villain in this life, then he'd be damn sure he'd do it as a hero in the next life, the one that he was going to make sure he brought to life when he finally found the Author. He was going to do it. Because he needed to. Because he missed her. Because he missed being the one that she clutched to her side in her sleep, rather than an old pillow that contained his scent. Now more than ever, he was convinced. It was imperative that his plan succeed.

Before he left, he leaned down; he didn't dare kiss her, not when there was a spell cast over her that he couldn't allow True Love to break, so instead he rested his forehead against her shoulder for a moment, breathing in a scent that he'd missed more than anything in the last few weeks. Yes, he could find the other scents on her he despised, customers and Emma and Hook and magic, smells he'd gotten a whiff of at the library, but there underneath it all…lemons and roses. His Belle.

"I love you," he whispered, tilting his head to peer up at her sleeping form. "I love you entirely, and it is because I love you entirely that I am going to fix this. You deserve your happy ending, so I'm going to get it for us."

Chapter Text

He arrived at his cabin in the earliest hours of the next morning with a vial of Maleficent's ashes, some books from the basement of his home, and a heavy heart. His plans had gone well, perfectly, even. He'd held Belle's ringless hand in his own until her body rested and relaxed, he'd checked the spells he'd put on the house to find them intact, just as they had been at his shop and the library, but when he'd begun to look around to collect what he'd wanted from the house, that was when things had taken a turn.

He'd gone to his closet with a mind to take a few things with him for his stay at the cabin, only to find that his closet was empty. His dresser drawers, the bathroom, even some of his knick-knacks and projects, all seemed to have been removed from the house. It wasn't until he went down to the basement that he saw the boxes, all his things bundled up and moved; out of sight, out of mind. Still, he didn't grow angry with her. It was impossible to feel the heartbreak she'd felt that day at the town line and hold any kind of action against her. But the sight of it all did sober him in a way he had been before, in a way her missing ring didn't. It was a reminder of the damage he'd done to a heart that was stronger than any he'd encountered before. Painful as it was to look at, it only made him more determined to fix it all. Which started and ended around two things at the moment: the dagger and the vial of ashes in his pocket.

He'd searched the house for the dagger, up and down in all the places that he could think of, but it never revealed itself. And when he tried to focus his magic on it, trying to pinpoint its location, he found that it wouldn't respond to him. That was new, something he'd never experienced before, but fortunately, one of the previous Dark Ones had, explaining the riddle to him before he could even begin to theorize over it.

"It means the owner doesn't want it to be found," a nameless man informed him from the chair in his office. "Her will wasn't strong enough to keep you out, but it is strong enough to keep you from finding that dagger. Unless you can change her will, you'll need to find it the old-fashioned way. Look…"

There was some hope in that offering, but not nearly as much as he wanted there to be. He didn't want Belle's will for his banishment to simply falter or not be "strong enough" to keep him out; he wanted her to want him back, want him home! His clothes next to hers, his trinkets keeping her own company, both their toothbrushes in the same godsdamn cup by the sink. But he understood that he had a while to go before he'd earn that back. So, in the meantime, he could accept that her will wasn't strong enough to keep him out as a small win, and search for the dagger on his own.

He'd gone back to the shop and checked, but he'd found nothing, though he did locate his wallet in the safe. He debated back and forth with himself before taking it, knowing that his wallet, something so small and specific going missing from the safe, was different than the few basement books, one out of half a dozen cardboard boxes of clothes, and a vial going missing overnight. He was banking on the other things being so small and insignificant that she wouldn't notice, but this…this he was sure she'd notice.

Ultimately, however, it was his fear that he'd be discovered before he wanted to be, discovered before he could get the dagger back and sent back over the town line that made him magically duplicate the wallet and take the original. At least now, if he went over the town line, he'd have some resources to draw from. And until he found the dagger, that was certainly a possibility. Though he might have read the scroll, his inability to track the dagger told him that if she threw him over and willed him to never come back, then it wouldn't matter if he saw through the magic at the border or not. He'd always be doomed to leave Storybrooke the second he set a toe over that line.

He checked everywhere in the shop, every little nook and cranny, every secret compartment, the ones Belle knew about and the ones she didn't. He checked the place they'd kept Pandora's Box, the cabinet, under the cot, everywhere! He searched until he was convinced it wasn't there.

And then he went to the library, and it was the same thing all over again. He stayed clear of the cavern, knowing that Belle wasn't so stupid as to hide it there, but he checked everywhere, every room, every shelf, the apartment, the clocktower, the offices, drawers, desks, everything. It wasn't there.

She'd hidden it. She'd hidden it well. And he'd be proud of her for that one day, after he had the dagger back in his hands, but on this particular day, it was nothing but frustrating. Light was starting to come over the horizon when he realized he needed to call it an evening. People would be out and about in Storybrooke soon, and he couldn't risk being seen, not until he had that dagger. So, he'd taken his books, his vial, and the cardboard box of clothes and other odds and ends he'd packed up, and safely retreated to the privacy of his cabin.

It was hard to believe that only a few short months ago, he and Belle had been honeymooning here. That they'd laughed and exchanged rings in that bed before making love and promising to be together for an eternity. It was hard to believe and even harder to believe that the life he'd had with her on their honeymoon could be something he could return to. But once upon a time, he'd thought that it would be impossible to ever find Baelfire, to have him in his life again. And then he'd done the impossible. The only reason that had fallen apart, in the end, was because he was a villain. Now that he'd found the source of the problem, with a little hard work, he had to remind himself that he was capable of anything, even fixing what had happened with Belle.

Hell, he was already on the right track! Time was passing. And desperate as he was to hurry things along in any way he could, he was being patient. His days were spent holed up in the cabin, researching, reading, theorizing, and experimenting with the ashes he'd collected that first night. And his nights were spent flitting about the town, looking for the dagger in places he thought it might have been, exchanging books when he was done with them, sneaking ingredients and other magical items back to his cabin when no one was looking. Tempting as it was, not once did he ever go looking for the hat. It was the source of so much wreck and ruin in his life; the reason he had to do all of this in the first place. He could learn. He could change! He was determined to prove that not only to Belle but also to himself! And so wherever that thing was, whoever had taken possession of it after he'd been banished, he didn't care.

Plotting, planning, experimenting, staying patient, and ahead of the players in his games-that was his way back, that was who he was, that was how he would change things for the better! That was how he was changing things for the better.

When the time came to find the Author, he wanted the Charming Clan to be well and thoroughly busy. He wanted Mary Margaret and David to be so nervous Emma would be distracted by them, unable to see what was happening to her sense of morality. And he wanted Mary Margaret and David to be so nervous around his villainesses that they couldn't see what was right in front of them.

He'd only seen Ursula and Cruella once. He'd sent them the message about where he was staying, but told them to keep away when he learned that they thought Emma and her parents might be following them. He couldn't be sure. He hadn't seen their behavior himself, and places that the women claimed they kept running into them, places like Granny's and the Pharmacy, in a small town, those could be coincidences just as easily as they could be someone purposefully keeping tabs on them. But whether it was purposeful or not, he was at least sure of one thing: Mary Margaret and David would be spooked by their presence. And soon, they'd be spooked by another.

The one time he'd met Ursula and Cruella, under the cover of darkness, they'd wanted to know about Maleficent, about the state that she was in. After days of experiments, he'd been all too happy to report his findings to them. The "state" she was in was as he'd suspected: undead. To the uninformed, uneducated witches before him, his response had sounded like a joke. After days of reading and doing research, he, however, knew that it was not a joke, but an actual state of being that he'd located and confirmed.

"Undead" was a state entered into in one of two ways. The first instance occurred when a powerful immortal being received a death blow, yet was left unable to heal itself back to a "living" state. The second was when a powerful being was bound to a curse of some sort, something physical that tied their body to a duty. It was Dark Magic that bound them and, when they received a death blow, their body to the duty assigned to them. In cases where the individual was not a powerful being, the soul released and the body simply went on working, the "zombies" he'd seen in another realm were likely somehow connected to that version. But in the case of powerful individuals, who might not be immortal but still possessed some kind of self-healing magic, the soul could become trapped. The body could age and decay without ever releasing the soul to Hades. Without full access to magic, to allow for the self-healing, and without the ability to free themselves from the curse that bound them, their bodies simply held them prisoner until the body decayed to the point that it could no longer operate, or the individual who cast the curse on the other removed it or died.

Maleficent was a powerful dragon. She wasn't exactly immortal, but like so many of her kind, aging was a slow process for them that took hundreds of years, perhaps even thousands of years. She possessed rapid regeneration abilities because of that. The only real way he'd ever really known to kill a dragon was with their own dragon fire or decapitation. He had no idea what Emma had done to Maleficent with her father's sword in that cavern. That had been before he'd had magic, and he hadn't really cared, just so long as he got what he needed in the end, which he had. But no matter what she'd done to incapacitate Maleficent, he doubted that she'd done enough to truly kill her. His best bet was that she'd done something to incapacitate her so that in the span of a few hours, when she'd been "dead" and there had been no magic in town, she couldn't heal herself properly. And because Regina had likely put a curse of a different kind on her, binding her to that cavern, her body hadn't been able to release her soul so that she could move on. And so now she was in that state known as "undead."

But, he wasn't worried, he informed the women once he'd explained things to them. "I'm working on something that can revive our dear Maleficent. I hope to have it ready in only a few more days, and better than that, I hope to have a plan that will put the worst sort of terror into the hearts and minds of Emma's parents because of it."

"What kind of terror is that?" Ursula drawled.

He smiled. "Children expect the same thing of their parents, no matter how old they get, dearie: perfection. Mary Margaret and David, as the heroes of the story, are especially prone to expecting perfection of themselves so that their daughter will see them in that same light."

"So this is about ruining their reputation…" Cruella figured.

"The fear of ruining their reputation, correct. They warned you about telling anyone, specifically Emma, about what happened with Lily, am I right?"

"In not so many words, yes. And I still don't know how you know about all that," Ursula shot back.

"A secret that will remain mine, for a time, at least."

"Yeah, see…I came prepared for an answer like that," Ursula huffed. "Cruella, you want to tell him what we've observed the last few days staying in town?"

"There's a building down from Granny's with your name on it."

"Oh, how very astute of you to notice."

"That's not the interesting thing," Ursula corrected. "The interesting thing is that almost every single day, the girl we once took from your castle goes into the building with your name on it. She spends about half her time working there and half her time working at the library across the street. We asked around town, and it turns out she goes by the name of Belle. Belle Gold, to be specific. Now, where have we heard that before?"

"He mentioned her on the night we came into town. Told us he'd been emailing a woman named Belle under a false identity to get back into town."

"Huh! It's funny because he told me in my apartment that he knew the town librarian. Strange how a man who goes by 'Mr. Gold' and once owned 'Gold's Pawnshop,' would know all the right ways to bend a woman once in his employ, now known as 'Belle Gold,' but wouldn't mention her to us at all."

He felt his heart beat as he looked between the two women. He felt his stomach turn to knots, and anxiety threatened to overtake him at the one piece of information he'd wanted so badly for them not to possess suddenly stared him in the face. But he was convinced that none of it showed on his face or in his body language. They knew. They'd put it together. But what really had they put together? They'd already been on to him all this time, hell, even in the Enchanted Forest when they'd traded for her, they'd known what he hadn't at the time! In New York, Ursula had seen and questioned his ring. At the town line, they'd surmised that his maid had been the one to kick him out. They'd even suspected that he was doing all of this to get back to her!

He'd wanted to keep Belle as safe from them as possible and hoped to do it by keeping her anonymous. But now that it seemed that had all failed, perhaps approaching things from a slightly more direct angle was best for all involved.

"What's to mention? You've already figured it out on your own," he shrugged. "Turns out even Dark Ones can have True Loves, and she is mine, as I'm sure you've pieced together by now. But mark my words, if you are thinking of using her to get to me, if you harm her, or even so much as threaten her in any way, not only will you not learn how I know about the Page girl, you won't live to see your happy endings. Are we clear?" he snarled at them both.

Neither said anything, just gave looks of tempered outrage as Ursula crossed her arms over her chest. He'd take that as an answer to his question. And while he was at it, he'd up the ante, remind them exactly who they were dealing with while he was at it.

"Belle was the last known person to be in possession of the Dark One Dagger. My findings over these last few days have proven that she is still the one in possession of the Dark One Dagger. So, before you consider trapping her, or capturing her, or doing anything to her that should threaten our plan, I'd encourage you to remember it'll be difficult to do any of it without giving her the hint that I'm back in town. And if she knows and if she summons me…you might just find out exactly what I'm capable of doing when that dagger is in the hands of someone who has been wronged by you.

"So continue to go about your business, stay away from Belle, and wait for my next message."

He didn't stay to hear their responses. Just let the sound of their pounding hearts and the smell of fear comfort him as he made his way back to his home.

Chapter Text

The time had finally arrived.

All signs pointed to it.

For one, he wasn't sure who was following whom anymore. He'd had Ursula and Cruella continue to show up in places that the King and Queen of their former home haunted, unsettling them, making them nervous, reminding them, around every corner, exactly what they knew and the damage they could potentially do. But even when the women weren't trying to stalk the Charmings, they reported seeing their car within their vicinity. The first few days, he'd been willing to call that a coincidence, the natural result of people living in a small town. But after such persistence, he now believed it was something more. Mary Margaret and David were nervous. And given what he needed to happen next, he was thrilled. He could play into that with little effort, and they would bring him exactly what he needed for Maleficent, exactly what he needed to increase their paranoia and fear, to keep them properly diverted from what he and his Queens of Darkness were up to.

Experimenting with the ashes of someone he was attempting to raise from the dead was a task he found less than pleasant. And unsettling. The ashes he'd taken from Maleficent didn't know where they were with him, but they obviously knew they weren't in the right place. No matter how he tipped and turned the vial, all week long, they'd defied gravity, sticking to the side of the glass pointed in the direction of the library. It was like living with a compass to Belle, though he was aware those ashes weren't trying to get back to her, just to the rest of Maleficent. About the only time that the ashes behaved as normal ashes should have was when he took them to the townline, rolled the little vial out into the real world, and watched them settle lifelessly at the bottom, confirming for him that whatever he did to Maleficent was going to work for her inside of Storybrooke's borders. But the second he reached his hand out and pulled the vial back into the bounds of Storybrooke, the ashes clung to the side of the vial in the direction of town. It was an ever-present, unsettling reminder that the material he was working with was unlike anything he'd ever worked with before.

But, as with most things he attempted, with a bit of hard work, he'd managed to get the formula right. Last night, he'd gone back to the house when Belle was asleep to exchange more books, including taking one that contained a spell for forcing a creature into its original form. It was Dark Magic, thus the reason it was in the basement books. It was intended for cruelty, probably to force a wood nymph out of hiding or a shifter back into their skin, despite the phase of the moon. But given Maleficent's current state and what she couldn't do in her current state to heal herself, he theorized that forcing her back into a previous form should allow her the time she'd need to properly heal herself so that she could be human again.

Tonight, he returned to his shop to pick up the necessary ingredients for the spell. Most of them at least. He had a rare phoenix feather stashed away that the spell required, and while he was at it, he also grabbed some salt, rose petals, some dragon scales, a bit of ground-up unicorn horn, and some thyme. He added a bit of memory potion into the mix in the hopes that when she took on her previous form, the Dragon-Lady would remember her time in that dungeon as well as what had happened the last time she'd seen Mary Margaret and David…who just so happened to contain the final ingredient he needed to make the spell work.

"The freshly spilt blood of who wronged them most." That was what the spell called for. But despite the way it sounded, it wouldn't require much; a few drops from each would be sufficient. Hell, a few drops from one would probably do it, but he didn't like to leave things to chance. He only hoped that there had never been another in the dragon's long life that had wronged her as much as the heroes who had kidnapped her child and altered her future for the worse.

He had a plan in mind for how he was going to make all things work together, to accomplish all his goals in one fell swoop, to get the blood from David and Mary Margaret as fresh as it could come, to raise Maleficent, to make the heroes look in the wrong direction, all of it! Before the sun rose, he was due to meet Ursula and Cruella to go over the plan he had in mind, but in order to do it, there was one last thing he had to do to make it work.

In his shop, there was a box. Mr. Gold had never paid the box much heed during the curse; it was just an old antique with an interesting design that happened to be in his custody. And it was broken. Despite the hinges on it that he could clearly see, try and try as he might, he never could seem to open the damn thing and see what was rattling around inside of it. To Mr. Gold, it was an irritating oddity. To Rumpelstiltskin, it was precisely what he needed.

He had to find the box using the system Belle had taught him after he'd come back from captivity. And because his wife was nothing short of organized, when he read the little inventory card Mr. Gold had once crafted for the box and followed the sticker and instructions for where Belle had put it, it was easy to find. The box wasn't something that he had marked before coming to this land; it was simply a trick of fate that it ended up in his possession. And what once perplexed and irritated Mr. Gold made him gleam with joy.

The horns on top of the box were not just some fancy decorations. It was Maleficent's emblem. And the box itself wasn't broken, simply bespelled by Maleficent's inferior magic not to open and reveal whatever it was inside. His superior magic broke through that little enchantment without a problem, and when he finally looked inside…

Oh, it was too perfect! As if the gods had planned this themselves!

Inside was what appeared to be a broken piece of a miniaturized version of Maleficent's staff. It was a ball clutched in a dragon's claw only…when he moved it about, it rattled. A baby's rattle. It was broken. Snapped, it seemed, just at the rattle's bauble. Obviously, it had seen better days. But if Maleficent had put it in this box with a spell to keep it locked away safely….well, it wasn't hard for his mind to start doing the math. This was obviously something that had been meant for Ms. Page. Which meant it was not only something that would drive Maleficent a little batty, but also David and Mary Margaret.

He set the rattle back inside the box, closed the lid, and set it back where Belle had it. He used his phone to take a couple of pictures of it. On his way out the front door, an old habit, he checked his pockets and went through his mental list to be sure that he had everything that he'd come into the shop for, and then he saw it-

A small bottle, sitting behind the counter, stashed out of sight of any customers. It was a bottle from his bag. Without hesitation, he reached over, picked up the bottle, opened it up, and sniffed.

Transformation spell…frog, by the smell of it. Crafted with his magic…

A smile grew over his face as he corked it again and set it back where it had been, a place that it most certainly hadn't been in his time here. Suddenly, relief coursed through him.

On his return trips here in the last few nights, when he'd come to gather some odds and ends for his experiments, he'd been noticing that the potions from his black bag were going missing. Bunches and bunches at a time. It had panicked him. He'd been assuming Belle was taking them and either getting rid of them altogether, which worried him given who was in town and his lack of trust in them. Or that she was giving the potions away to be used, though in this quantity, he couldn't imagine who would need them. But now, looking at the little bottle she had close by, he had a third theory.

He turned back to the room and opened his senses up to the magic around him. It took him a few heartbeats to filter out the magic that was naturally everywhere but then…he found it. Everywhere. His potions were still here. Hidden all around the room. Freezing Potions, Temporary Entrapment Potions, Shielding Potions, Transformation Potions, Sleeping Potions, and so many more. They were hidden in the shelves, in drawers, in the back room, and the front room. In this little space, she was never going to be more than three steps from one. All bore his own magical signature and yet…he'd never kept Temporary Entrapment Potions in that black bag. Or Transformation spells. Neither of those was something he'd ever needed or could think of reasons to keep on hand!

But Belle would.

His gold thread…he'd noted that it was dwindling from the black bag but hadn't thought too much about it next to his emptying stash of potions, but suddenly it all made sense. His little minx was back to practicing magic with his own. She was using it to create potions and not just any kind of potions, but potions that would protect her or at least allow her to flee and get help if she were ever under threat.

He'd never been prouder.

She didn't realize the shop was protected as thoroughly as it was; he'd never told her. And so, with the arrival of two of her former kidnappers in town, she'd taken great measures to make sure that she was protected.

And while it was true that he'd never been prouder, the implication of it all also threatened to bring him to his knees. Not just because he was the one who had brought the threat to her, but because he was the one who had promised to protect her from threats like this. Even when his attention had been practically consumed by the hat, her safety was always his first priority, and she had known that. He'd never do anything to put her in danger.

Yet here they were. She was relying on his old magic to keep her safe in his stead. And he was about to bring her more danger, bring some of what scared her most right into a place she was fighting to keep as a safe space.

He hated this next part of the plan, hated what he'd have to put her through if it was successful. True, he knew that the shop would never allow people with bad intentions to cross its door, and so anyone who dared to threaten his wife would have to do it elsewhere, but he also knew that tolls were sometimes not always physical; they could be psychological as well. And with the nightmares Belle was capable of having when she was scared or threatened…

He'd handle it.

He couldn't protect her directly these days, not standing by her side as he had months ago. But he could still do it in other ways. He'd stop by the house tonight, after she went to sleep, and he'd make sure to use some magic on her to keep her dreams sweet. He'd protect her from her own mind. And he'd make sure to spin some more gold thread in the next few days. He could easily hide that somewhere in the store that he knew she'd find it, so that she could make as many new potions as she needed to feel safe.

And as for today…

He knew what he had planned, knew what he had to do, and was aware of the potential danger he was sending into her life because of this plan. But the Transformation Spell wasn't permanent, and if those girls he was working with did threaten his queen, he'd enjoy watching her show them her teeth.

Chapter Text

He loved it when plans came together just as they should. Thank goodness he was a patient man, because if he wasn't then he imagined that waiting about all day as he had been for a few simple text messages might have driven him crazy. But instead, those messages had kept him feeling remarkably calm, tuned in to the tasks he had at hand.

He'd met Ursula and Cruella early that morning as planned, before the sun came up. And he'd gone over the plan that they were to enact that day in great detail. All they'd needed to hear was that it would be the day they'd be getting Maleficent back, and they were all too willing to listen and be compliant. He wasn't entirely sure that he liked that. Back in the day, Maleficent had certainly been the Ringleader of the little band he'd formed and adding her back into the mix made him nervous that their loyalty would sway to her. Which wasn't a problem, he reminded himself. But only so long as Maleficent felt loyal to him, and for that reason alone he was glad that he had the information on Lilith Page in his back pocket. Information that Ursula and Cruella had too, of course, but he couldn't see them handing the information over to her given what they'd done to her. Especially not Cruella, who, to his knowledge, was unaware that the child was still alive and well today.

The magic he was going to use to raise Maleficent was strong Dark Magic. Magic that wouldn't exist outside the town, which meant that no matter what information came to light, if Maleficent tried to leave to find her daughter, she'd be turned right back into the form he'd found her in on his first day back. If she had any hope of ever seeing her daughter again, she was going to have to work with him, and he was hoping that fact would be enough to keep her loyalty, as well as the loyalty of the two lackeys.

He was getting ahead of himself. That wasn't bad; it was merely his mind doing the calculations it needed to in order to make sure his plans were successful, but they were still taking things one step at a time.

Now, he sat in the basement of the library as he had all morning, his magic suppressing Maleficent's new form from attacking him. He was waiting, a rare moment of quiet and calm against the busyness the rest of the day had to offer.

He'd told Ursula and Cruella about the plan, about what they were to do. Part of that plan included returning to Granny's and subtly packing their things. If all went according to plan, they wouldn't be able to return to the Inn tonight. If everything went as planned, he'd text them the cabin's address, where they could stay with him once everything was settled. After they were done, he'd told them to wait until after breakfast to go to the shop and fetch the box that he'd taken pictures of as slyly as possible. And he'd taken great pleasure in threatening them, too.

"Don't make it obvious. Leave it for them to discover you've stolen something on your own. Belle will be suspicious of you from the start; she'll go looking for something amiss. And you should know that the shop is warded against those who may want to enter with ill intentions, so if you have any thoughts of harming Belle, any intention of traumatizing her, or if you so much as touch a single hair on her hair when you get in-"

"Yes, yes, I assume you'll come after us with the wrath of hell…" Cruella drawled.

He'd smiled. "I've been to hell. Trust me, it's nothing compared to the torment I'll have planned for you."

He'd explained the rest of the plan to the women, step by step, informed them of the purpose, that they were essentially leading the Charmings on a wild goose chase to get them to the basement so they could give their blood, the one aspect of the spell that he needed but hadn't gotten purposefully.

"Because you want them to see Maleficent rise," Ursula had realized.

"First rule of misdirection, Dearie, make it dramatic, make it flashy. No better way to do that than to make it happen right before their eyes."

"And you think Mal will be able to do this after just coming back from the dead?" Cruella questioned.

"She's a mother," he said with confidence. "I think, given the chance to confront the two people who stole her baby from her, she'll play right into our hands. And unless you want her to know the role the pair of you played in her child's life these last few years, I recommend you go along with it and do your best to make it look good."

He wasn't worried. But a little bit of incentive never hurt.

Before he'd left the women, he'd given them strict instructions to keep in touch, to text him with updates so that he could be properly prepared. He didn't tell them that the same spells he'd once placed over the shop were also placed over the library. He figured that would just be a perfect test of their loyalty. Not that they'd failed thus far.

They'd gone back to Granny's to pack, and he'd let himself into the library. He'd used that same spell he'd used in the shop to realize that just as the shop had been stocked full of defensive potions, the library had been too. At the sound of keys in the library lock, he'd allowed the magic to take him down to the basement, leaving the elevator intact for when he would be used later.

He used his magic to identify the non-magical individual who had come in, simply to make sure that his plan wasn't going to be threatened by Belle being in the library today instead of the shop. But quickly let out a sigh of relief when he learned it wasn't Belle, but the mysterious stranger she seemed to have hired while he'd been away. That was one of the few things about the town he'd managed to glean from the girls in the last few days. Belle had hired some other woman to come in and look after the library on some days, but there was no pattern they could sense as to when the girl did it versus when Belle did it. All they knew was that when the girl was in the library, Belle was in the shop. The stranger's presence assured him his plan would work. And sure enough, an hour later, he felt a mental ringing in his head that told him someone was in the shop. It was no doubt Belle. Not long afterward, another non-magical individual came and went quickly, followed shortly by a stronger warning that there were magical individuals in the shop.

He'd waited in the tunnels of the library basement while they'd been there. He'd kept his eyes closed as if it would allow him to see or feel what was going on when he knew that all he could truly do was wait for the confirmation that they'd gone. He remembered the bottles he'd seen over and over again, allowed them to give him comfort, and reminded himself that if they pulled something, she'd defend herself. Ursula was smart enough not to do anything but Cruella-

He'd let out a sigh of relief when he felt them leave the shop, and Belle was still, very clearly, inside. He'd resisted the urge to go and check on her by remembering that he had a job to do and pushing himself off against the wall to go do it.

In the bowels of the library, he'd looked over the ashes but took care not to step too far in to activate them when he received a text message from Ursula.

We've got the box, we're on the move.

He'd smiled and put his phone back into his pocket. "Won't be long now, Maleficent…" he muttered to himself before stepping forward and using his magic to contain Regina's spell. The dragon fought, but didn't rise as he crept closer. The magic in Regina's directive was lesser than his own, so though she shuddered against him, she'd stood no chance as he stooped down and picked up a handful of the ash, letting it strain through his fingers. He took that as a good sign.

"Your slumber is nearly over," he'd whispered before getting to work. At the cabin, he'd already ground the dried rose petals and dragon scales down to fine dust. He'd mixed into it the salt, unicorn horn, and thyme before he'd added it to the memory potion and shaken it to let the magics mingle together. He'd poured it over the pile of ash before him, then removed the long phoenix feather from his pocket and gently set it atop the pile. This spell was going to require the ashes of that phoenix feather, and it was better if the ashes were fresh, so he'd let his magic spark on them and burn it to a crisp before standing back and looking over his work.

When it was burned, he remained close and removed a bit of the magic he was using to keep the ashes down. He removed just enough to allow the ashes to shudder, to fight harder against him; enough to allow the potion and the phoenix ashes to combine with Maleficent's ashes.

And now he stood, looking over his work, satisfied and waiting in peace with patience for the final piece of the puzzle to arrive. He felt his phone buzz in his pocket and looked it over. Another message from Ursula.

Sheriff and David are following us as planned.

Perfect. It had been a busy morning and would likely be a busy evening for them. Hopefully, it would be followed by a sleepless night for Prince Charming and his wife.

Draw them back to the library as planned, he typed out. He pushed send, but then had one final thought, one final little touch that just might seal their paranoia and ensure a quicker arrival. And should they pull you over for any reason, comply. If they want to find the box, let them.

Now he just had to sit back and wait for them to come. He loved it when a plan came together.

Chapter Text

They were coming. He had absolutely no doubt that they were coming. But much to his surprise, they were taking their sweet damn time with it. He expected that after he received the message that David and Emma had indeed stopped Ursula and Cruella to search the car, their arrival in the void would have been swift. But it wasn't. The women were worried. They'd apparently made an effort to make it look as though they'd hidden the box, believing that just leaving it out for the pair of them to find would have been too much, which he agreed, it would have been. But apparently, they weren't confident that it had been found. According to them, David had searched the car. And when he returned to where Emma and the pair of them were standing, he reported not finding anything.

He, however, was more confident. David had been the one to search the car and report back that there was nothing inside it. That was the answer he'd have expected David to give when Emma was standing right there. If he'd have brought the box over to them, then he'd have run the risk his daughter asking questions and expecting answers. Which was why, after the pair had gone and Ursula and Cruella were certain they were alone again, he had them check the box, which they apparently had not done before. They reported the box was empty, and that was all he needed to know that David had found it. Cruella still doubted, so she called him herself to confirm that he was certain there was something in it. He barked at her for questioning him and told them to come back to Main Street and wait. When the pair finally arrived, he wanted them here.

Because someone was going to have to do the dirty work of putting on a show for them-and so long as they believed he was still banished, it couldn't be him.

They were coming. He was certain of it. David had taken half the rattle; he wouldn't be able to keep it from Mary Margaret, and from there, their own paranoia should easily lead them to the conclusion that Cruella and Ursula intended to resurrect Maleficent, which should lead them here to try and steal the ashes and stop it before it could happen.

They were coming. He was almost positive. But a day of waiting, a day of draining away his magic to keep Maleficent down so she wouldn't rise and make things more interesting was disparaging. It made his chest hurt. He ground his teeth together and tried not to think of the time that had passed, tried not to be surprised that it was taking this long. Of course, they'd want to wait for dark. Of course, they'd want no one to see them going into the library after hours, of course they would-

Suddenly, his senses piqued again. People in the library, non-magical. He didn't let himself get excited, that had been happening all day with the library and the shop, it always happened, before his little excursion to New York he'd learned to tune it out and would have to again it seemed. But then there was a noise coming from somewhere down the tunnel, the rumble of something mechanical.

His phone buzzed in his pocket, a text message. When he opened it, he found another text message from Ursula.

Look alive. Showed up like you said.

He was torn between celebrating and swearing at the women. Mary Margaret and David were here; that was likely them in the elevator. They'd come!

Then you should get here quickly, lest you lose our chance!

He wrote back quickly.

No sooner had he sent the message than he heard a familiar bang of the elevator door opening followed by footsteps. He hid himself just as a beam of light entered the chamber and hoped Ursula and Cruella would remember to do the same. They were under strict orders not to reveal themselves until the pair found the ashes!

And if the sensing of two more magical souls in the library, close by, but the lack of confrontation told him anything, they'd remembered.

"David! There it is," he heard Mary Margaret exclaim, clearly in the room with him but unknowing. He let his magic fan out over the chamber, keeping Maleficent down and still as could be. After going through all this trouble, the last thing he wanted was for them to run away when they realized what she was.

"Maleficent's ashes," David breathed. More footsteps had him feeling confident enough in his hiding place to look around the rock he'd taken shelter behind. And when he did, right on cue, the individuals he saw first were not Mary Margaret and David, but rather Ursula and Cruella. Right on cue.

The Sea Witch made eye contact with him, as if seeking permission. He responded with a nod.

"We did it. We stopped them!" Mary Margaret gasped only for Ursula to look back at her and declare, "Not exactly."

He saw Ursula unleash her tentacles, and then there was a crash.

"You can come out now, Darling," Cruella stated with a smirk on her face. "Out cold…" After confirming her words with his magic, he allowed himself to round the rock and enter the chamber. They weren't quite "out cold." Ursula had, as instructed, hit them with a blast of magic, neither powerful nor long-lasting. It would keep them down until the sting of pain woke them. Which was exactly what he wanted.

This had almost been too easy. He hoped…

"I trust they don't suspect my hand in all this," he confirmed for safety's sake.

"They had no reason to," Ursula assured him.

"And Belle?" he questioned for purposes he couldn't quite determine himself. Blind as Snow and her Prince Charming could be, if there was anyone who would be instantly suspicious of him, then it would be his wife. She knew him best. "Did she have any suspicions while you were in my shop?"

"You mean, did she ask about you?" Ursula pressed in a tone that told him she was trying to be hurtful. She'd probably spent all day dreaming about twisting that knife in his heart.

"She didn't even mention your name, darling. I'd say she's moved on," Cruella added, he was certain, just to be spiteful. But he doubted her words. Not just because it was Cruella who said the words, but also because of what he knew to be true in this world. What he and Belle shared was True Love; he knew how hurt she'd been before she drove him over the town line, but he doubted very much that one incident would be enough to destroy them entirely. He wasn't worried. He was, however, eager to get this over with.

He reached into his pocket and pulled out a small switchblade. Opening it up, he handed it over to Cruella, the one of the two of them he figured would be far more likely to relish in this sort of dirty work. "You know what you must do."

She nodded. And he turned and moved back down the mine, out of the way and out of their range of vision if the pain woke them. They had no reason to suspect he was the director of the show that they were about to witness, and he wanted to keep it that way.

He didn't want to be seen or accused of what was about to happen, but that didn't mean that he'd come all this way to listen to Cruella and Ursula give him a recap around a suddenly crowded cabin. So as soon as he rounded the corner from the chamber, he stopped. He leaned against a wall and listened. It was only seconds later that he heard cries of pain from Mary Margaret and David. Luckily, they were small cries, whimpers, really. She must have listened this morning to the part about not gutting the pair of them.

Within seconds, he heard a hissing noise and suddenly felt Dark Magic filling the tunnel. His magic and Maleficent's…

"What the hell did you do?" Mary Margaret cried.

"The Dark Magic we're using to raise Maleficent doesn't require some silly little trinket from Gold's shop," he heard Ursula snap at her. "No, that was just a ruse to get you down here. We need something with a little more kick."

"The blood from the people who wronged her most," Ursula explained.

"We're too late!" he heard Mary Margaret realize before he felt a burst of magic, strong and powerful, explode from the room. At first, it was just his magic, the spells that he'd enacted before their arrival, but slowly, certainly, it was Maleficent's that filled the space, that overrode his own power. It was all too easy.

There was a shriek from within the tunnel, exactly like the one that he'd heard when he'd gone in earlier in the week to confirm Maleficent was undead. And then, predictably, a roar as the magic worked to put her back in the state she'd been in just before she'd become undead. And then…then the magic stilled. There was silence for a moment, where the only thing he heard was the sound of frightened heavy breathing and pounding heartbeats before...

"It's good to be back."

He smiled as he heard Maleficent's drawl clear as a bell in the quiet chamber.

Ta-da…

Chapter Text

"Snow White and Prince Charming…" he heard Maleficent snarl.

"Whatever it is you think we did, you don't know the whole story," Mary Margert explained.

"I know enough," the dragon breathed.

"Patience, Mal. We have a plan," Cruella inserted.

"You wanna hurt someone? Well, hurt me," Mary Margaret interrupted. "Leave David alone."

"Hurt you? No. That would be far too easy," she replied.

"You're going to tell everyone what we did first," Mary Margaret whispered so that he wouldn't have heard it if not for his magic.

"I don't care about your secret. You can keep it as long as you like. I only care about one thing…your pain. And that it be as long and terrible and unyielding as my own-the pain you caused."

"I forgot how much I missed her," Ursula muttered in a tone that mocked secrecy.

"It's going to be entertaining," Cruella added perfectly.

"I'm gonna revel in every torturous moment. And you? You're gonna watch your world crumble. See you soon, dears."

He heard footsteps, more than two, which meant the Queens, all of them, were exiting.

"This is all our fault. If we hadn't been so determined to keep our secret…if we'd just asked for help…" he heard Mary Margaret sob as they left.

He pressed himself against the wall and waited as the villains rounded the corner. Maleficent nearly missed a step when she saw him hiding there, and he felt her weak magic flare to life in defense. But he placed a finger to his lips as a cue to the women. Ursula took Maleficent by the arm and shook her head as if to calm the woman and tell her it was all right. Maleficent's own magic was faltering, still weak from what she'd been through, so he used his own to make the women disappear, to send them back to his cabin, where they'd be safe and hidden from the prying eyes of the Charmings.

"You're right. We can't keep lying. We have to tell Emma everything…" he heard David conclude.

Excellent. He had plans for Emma, for turning her heart dark and "telling her everything"…he could only imagine how much the anger and hurt she'd feel would help him in that particular endeavor. This might have been his best diversion yet.

Sudden footsteps from inside the cavern had him using his magic once more to turn himself invisible just as David and Mary Margaret turned the corner he was hiding behind. They didn't see him. Didn't even sense him despite how on edge they both were. David was obviously ready to confront the women again, as if they'd needed the same elevator to get back to the surface level. He was glad he'd sent them ahead and spared that awkward situation.

The King and Queen pulled themselves into the elevator quietly, both clearly shaken. The second the elevator rattled out of sight, he let his invisibility cloaking drop and walked back into the chamber, now quiet and still. Were they actually about to go to Emma and tell her what had happened? He figured it was a fifty-fifty chance. Quiet and shameful as they looked, he was leaning more toward the pair of them losing their nerve, but he could always be wrong. Either way, he won.

Ursula, Cruella, and even Maleficent had all played their roles spectacularly. With not a single mention of the Author, whether they told Emma or not, David and Mary Margaret would surely think that the three of them were only in Storybrooke for revenge over what had happened to Maleficent and her daughter. That would keep focus away from the Author, away from his work. It would give him plenty of time to find the dagger before the time came to reveal himself, if he ever needed to at all. He didn't know what it would be like to have the story rewritten, the kind of magic that would take place, if things would go on here in Storybrooke with everyone taking on new roles, a sort of unexpected plot twist, or if they'd all be reborn again elsewhere. All he knew was that after it happened, he'd be with Belle. And that was really all that mattered.

It was dark when he finally allowed his magic to take him up to the main library floor. He could feel Belle still inside the pawn shop with another non-magical being, probably some customer or other. It was amusing how few of those the shop received during his time. His business was always more of a hobby than a business. He kept the store in the black during the Curse and then never really cared after it had been broken. He had enough money that if his monthly expenses were in the red, at least the shop served its purpose as his lair. But under her hand, it appeared to be thriving just by the number of individuals he'd felt coming and going in the last few days.

It was risky, he knew, to gaze upon her so openly, where anyone, including Belle, could see. But…

He wanted to see her eyes. He wanted to see her face.

His nighttime excursions to the house were nice, but he always made sure that she was asleep and stayed asleep, unmoving. He wanted to see her awake! And with his latest success, he was feeling as though he was on cloud nine, like he was invincible. Just a glance, he told himself as he left the library by the side door that had a direct view of the shop. It was dark out, making it difficult to see him if he stuck to the shadows. He'd just let himself get a glimpse of her, and then he'd be on his way back to the cabin to work with villainesses. He just wanted a look at her.

And there she was. As if his thoughts had summoned her to him, she suddenly appeared perfectly framed in the window of his shop. She was smiling as she worked, tending to some bauble or other he couldn't be bothered to perceive because her joy made his heart soar.

He loved that shop. She knew that he loved that shop. The fact that she was working in it, cleaning, overseeing it in his absence, and wearing a smile stirred fresh hope in him all over again. She didn't hate him. She couldn't, not when she was looking after something he loved with such tenderness. The boxes at home spoke to her anger. This spoke to her love. And her unfailing ability to find joy in everything.

He was happy to see her smiling. Though he knew that guilt would no doubt be gnawing at her because that was the kind of person she was, he was happy to see that after all he'd put her through, she wasn't miserable or depressed. A smile, even in spite of himself, made him happy. And that was a feeling he knew would only be multiplied when he was successful at his task and they reveled in their happy ending like-

His heart automatically skipped a beat when he noticed the second individual, the customer he'd forgotten about, come up behind her. He was overprotective, so used to seeing the shop empty that for a heartbeat, the stranger startled even him. Only…no. That was no stranger in the shop.

That was Will Scarlett. Dove's friend, the one he'd hired to do some work for him during the Curse when Emma had come to town. The same Will Scarlett who had somehow managed to get in good with Robin Hood just before he left. What on earth would he be looking for in his pawn shop?

Belle.

He wasn't looking for trinkets or antiques or even spells. He was looking for Belle.

That seemed abundantly clear as he watched Belle reach out and touch the boy. First his arm, then his shoulder, and then…

He felt himself stumble. Pain shot through his ankle and up his leg as he lost his footing and caught himself on the back wall of the library.

He felt suddenly dizzy and lightheaded as…as…as he watched Will Scarlett kiss his wife.

And he felt the bottom drop out of his world as he watched his beautiful Belle kiss him back.

Tightness seized his chest, a pain unlike his heart attack that reached into his very soul and squeezed until he had a feeling that he knew exactly what it felt like to be on the other end of a crushed heart.

Chapter Text

Desperate for retreat, he stumbled back into his room at the cabin. Hearing the women he'd returned chatting just beyond the closed door, he quickly cast a spell over the space to soundproof it and then let himself scream before he caught his weight on the bed. He was struggling. Struggling to keep the magic in his ankle working. Struggling not to set the cabin on fire. Struggling with the unthinkable image he'd just seen. Struggling not to leave and go kill someone, namely Will Scarlett. And perhaps, most of all, struggling not to just go and reveal his presence to Belle.

Oh, it was hard to breathe.

And that image, that scene he'd just witnessed of the woman he loved unto death kissing Will Scarlett, kissing any other man!

It hurt!

The ache in his chest was torturous. So all-consuming it left him breathless.

He sat down on the bed; the very bed that only months ago had been their marriage bed. Now it taunted him. If he were to set the cabin on fire, it would start with this bed. The secrets had started here, hadn't they?! When they'd both given extra vows the morning after they'd been married, promising to always be there for one another, never to walk alone, all that wishy-washy love stuff that he'd always thought he was above until she'd shown up in his life! And now it was all gone. She'd broken her vows.

But only because he'd broken his.

It hadn't started here. Maybe it had for her, but not for him. It pained him to remember that by the time they'd made it to this cabin, he'd already been keeping secrets. He'd already stolen the dagger and killed Zelena by that point. He had already denied, in front of her, his part in that. And whether or not she was alive right now, that had been something he'd kept from her long before this room, before the hat, before Hook…before Scarlett.

He swallowed hard as he tried to steady his breathing, but his heartbreak, like the kind he'd felt from Belle that night at the town line, was so much more intense than he'd expected, so much more palpable when it was his own and not from a connection like the dagger. It was almost…almost…

Real.

His eyes were swollen. They were watery. He hadn't even known he'd been crying, but as he sat there, suddenly aware he was trying to take deep, slow breaths in and out, he realized…some of this pain wasn't unfamiliar.

He glanced to the door, where he could still hear the women, unaware he was only a few feet away, discussing with Maleficent where she was and what was going on, all part of a plan that he had hatched. What wasn't part of the plan was making sure the door was sealed and properly spelled before he reached into his own chest and removed his heart.

With the pain he felt, he half expected it to come out in pieces. Instead, what he saw before him was an oily, blackened mess, a reminder of one of the reasons why he had bespelled his heart to make it impossible to remove by another, and so rarely did he do so himself. He didn't need to see just how bad his sins had accumulated over the years. But the truly terrifying thing…as he looked at it, he was able to spy a dash of red, a single bright light in that sea of darkness. But that red, it was like seeing a rabbit surrounded by wolves. The blackness swirled around that bead of red, menacing and threatening, eyeing it up for consumption, and to his terror, before his eyes, the red flickered.

He held his breath as he fought back, watched it glow strong and bright again. But the sheer fact that it had flickered in the first place…

"It's fascinating, isn't it?"

Across the room, Nimue sat in the easy chair, her hands clasped in her lap daintily, her eyes zeroed in and focused on the heart in his hand.

No. It wasn't fascinating. Not in the least. It was terrifying.

"What is this?" he questioned.

"It's your heart, Rumple. It's the natural effect of hundreds of years of evil and hate and death."

"I took the Elixir-"

"And when you were in a World Without Magic, that would have likely been sufficient to run your heart for the rest of a natural life, but in the small sliver of this world that has magic, there is nothing about your life that is natural. And while even I had hoped that Elixir might buy some time, it would seem your heart is too far gone for even its magic."

"Shut up."

Nimue smirked and let out a chuckle. "I wouldn't be here if some part of you didn't want me to be."

He doubted that very much right now. She'd come through so many times when she was unwelcome and uncalled for that he no longer believed that old line. But annoying as she was, he didn't doubt the knowledge her memory seemed to carry.

"How long do I have?"

"Until the last flicker of love in your heart goes out? It's hard to say. No Dark One has ever studied it before; no one has ever had to."

"But when it does…what will I become?"

Nimue smiled sinisterly, in a way that had him bracing himself. He wasn't going to like what came out of her mouth; he just knew it.

"A monster," she whispered. "A true monster, one who is incapable of love or happiness, who seeks to cause nothing but misery and wickedness to those around him and thus the world. It would appear that the last fleck of red is all that keeps you from that fate. When it's gone…well…I certainly wouldn't want to be in the shoes of that girl you say you're in love with. Ironic, given that the love you have for her is probably about all that's keeping that little light aglow. For your sake, I do hope it endures given this little…development."

Her words were just as devastating as he feared, just as harsh to believe. And yet what drove him absolutely mad was the smile that teased over her face as she said them.

"Why are you so happy about this?"

"There's just something so satisfying about it. The goal of the Dark Ones has always been to destroy Light Magic, and you've always refused. When there's no more light left in your own heart, I very much doubt you'll have a choice about falling in line."

She laughed. At him. For him. Because of him. He didn't care. All he cared about suddenly was protecting that little space of love he still had in his heart, keeping it long enough to find the Author, to change the story, to cleanse his heart.

He could fix this. Belle with another man…it was correctable. It had to be. Belle was someone who longed for layers in a relationship. He'd met Will Scarlett on a few occasions; he was about as layered as a sheet cake. She'd never be able to feel for that boy what she felt for him. It was no different than the relationship he'd had with Milah. A surface relationship, skin deep, unfulfilling. She'd be back. When his tale was rewritten so he was a hero and this blackness was cleansed from his heart, she'd be back. They'd be together like they were supposed to be. This was an unforeseen situation but not one that he couldn't defeat. Belle's love had always been his saving grace, and it would continue to be in the face of…well…Nimue's laughter.

"I hate you," he spat at the woman in the chair.

She let her laughter die away, but the smile stayed fixed to her face as she rose. "I'd avoid talk like that, if I were you," she stated. "It certainly won't help your affliction. And besides…"

Suddenly, she was there, right in front of him, her hand under his chin, forcing him to meet her gaze. All traces of joy had chillingly been wiped from her face, and he was left staring into eyes cold as iron.

"You can hate me all you want, Rumpelstiltskin. But I live in your mind. Where you go, I go. You carry me with you! And in the end, you will do my bidding just like all the other Dark Ones because I, and not she, am the best relationship you've ever had!"

She released his chin. And then, just like the ghost she was, she vanished before his eyes.

Chapter Text

He could fix this. He knew he could fix this there was still time. The plan that he had now was good. It could undo everything that had been done to him. He could become a hero, he could shed the black from his heart, he was going to be by Belle's side again before he knew it! But before that happened, it was important not to let himself be angry with her or do anything that might be considered revenge or retaliation. His love for her was likely one of the last things keeping his heart from going entirely black; he couldn't afford to feel anything for her other than love. It would, of course, be easier when she could return that love. But he'd endured enough lovelessness in his life before this. Love wasn't something easy to snuff out, especially not in him. He'd be fine. He just had to take this one step at a time and maintain Belle and her love as his end goal. It would all work out just fine.

From within the recesses of his mind, he felt one of the unnamed female Dark Ones roll her eyes at him dramatically. She obviously had opinions about this plan of his.

It's only…you could try talking to her. Wasn't that something she was always complaining about before, that you never talk to her? Why do men never just talk to women?!

Nimue, eager to remind the unknown girl who was in charge, wanted to wring her neck for a comment like that. Half the Dark Ones were rolling their eyes at her for that remark. It was for that reason only that the concept was tempting. The Dark Ones had a tendency to want him to be apart from Belle, not together, so a reaction like that gave him a good reason to sit and consider such a thing.

But no. He couldn't.

And the Dark Ones inside of him heaved sighs of either relief or disdain, or both.

Talking to Belle about what was going on wasn't a half-bad idea. But not before he had the dagger. Until he had the dagger safely back in his possession, talking to Belle would always risk exile. And while exile to the Realm Without Magic, this time with his wallet in hand, might keep his heart from turning fully black, it wasn't what he wanted. He wanted Belle. He wanted her to have a happy ending, and he refused to believe that someone like Will Scarlett would ever be capable of giving that ending to her. He was doing this for Belle. And as long as that was his motivation, he had the time he needed to accomplish his task.

Though he did admit that talking to Belle about his heart, at some point, wasn't the worst idea.

Getting the dagger back was suddenly high on his list of priorities. But for that, he'd need a plan. That was what he could work on in the next few days. And in the meantime…

The Queens of Darkness, alive and well, were all huddled in the small front room of his cabin when he walked out. Now, it was not just two villainesses that he had to oversee, but three. And the one they had just added to their team was far more powerful than the other two, without a doubt. He swallowed hard as he watched them, taking in their dynamics and demeanors.

Maleficent stood in his kitchen, no longer menacing as she had been at the cavern; the weakness of her regeneration showed as she slouched over a counter. But even still, she was yelling at the other two, something about an explanation, clearly angry and confused. Given the way she'd shown up in Storybrooke and the steps that had led her here, he didn't particularly find that reaction unreasonable.

Ursula was the one speaking with her. She was loud enough to make herself heard over Maleficent's shouts, but her tone was almost soothing. The Sea Witch was, in her own defense, attempting to give Maleficent the explanation she sought, and if she would shut up for two minutes, she might just realize that.

And then there was Cruella, leaning against a wall with a small, mini-bar-sized bottle of gin in her hand. He had no idea where she'd stolen that from, but she looked between the other two, occasionally making a comment to absolve herself of Maleficent's anger. In truth, she looked completely and utterly bored.

Until he walked in, that was.

"Oh, you're there," Cruella exclaimed in surprise the moment she noticed him standing in his bedroom.

"You," Maleficent growled from across the room.

"Mal, hear him out!" Ursula urged. "He can answer your questions! We have a plan!"

"A plan?! Do you know what those so-called heroes have done to me?!"

"I'm well aware of what you've lost, what they took from you," he insisted, his words managing to silence the chaos of the room simply by leaving Maleficent speechless. "And, believe it or not, I know the pain that comes from losing a child."

Maleficent snickered. "You?!"

He waited, keeping his face stony and still as her childish look of disgusted disbelief melted into shock before he replied simply with "me."

The room was quiet. His son was something he'd touched upon with Ursula in New York, but not with Cruella, and now he could see her out of the corner of his eye, turn her gaze to Ursula in questioning. How Ursula responded to the quiet request for knowledge he didn't know, because he kept his eyes squarely on the dragon in front of him. He was going to need her on their team. He would need her to be complicit and loyal, at least for a time, for this to work in his favor. Ursula and Cruella weren't the dominant ones in this trio; Maleficent was. She was the one who had to be played just right.

"I know the pain that comes from losing a child. I know your pain. Which is how I also know two things. The first, sometimes, revenge can be far better than knowing. And the second…I know how those so-called 'heroes' you despise are likely to react just knowing that you are back in town."

"That's why you brought me back? For a reaction?!"

"For your help," Ursula insisted behind him.

"And their reaction," he corrected, because he didn't see the point in trying to make her presence any more than it was up until this moment. "We have a plan. A plan that will rewrite all our stories as we know them, a plan that will make the heroes finally see justice for the crimes they commit and get us to our happy endings. And for you, that just might involve your long lost offspring."

"'Might' isn't good enough."

"We're attempting something that has never been attempted before 'might' is all I have to offer."

"Like hell it is. You're the Dark One, you are full of nothing but offers so long as the deal is good for you!"

"And right now, the only deal I'm willing to make with you is one for your involvement. We have a plan," he reiterated. "It's a plan with the potential to get us everything we need, but if the heroes, the ones who took your happiness from you, are looking too closely at us and what we're doing, then rest assured the plan will fail just as every other villain's plan fails because the odds are stacked against us. But if we can reshuffle the deck and deal the cards in our favor while they're busy watching you instead of the dealers' hands, then we stand a chance that this just might work. And, best of all for you…it comes with revenge."

"Revenge?!"

He nodded. "Revenge for what was done to your child."

The anger and confusion so potent on Maleficent's face suddenly faded into horror as she searched his face. He'd never known the Dragon to panic or worry, and yet he heard her heart skip a nervous beat as she searched his face.

"What?" she questioned breathlessly, swallowing hard. "What was done to my child?"

She didn't know. Of course she didn't know, how could she, the only people who did know and might have told her went through the portal with her child. And she'd been stuck in that cave…

"Prince Charming and his beloved Snow White took that egg from you for a purpose," he stated carefully. He had to get this explanation right. Just right. "They took your child to make a trade. Your child's potential for good for their child's potential for evil."

Maleficent's nose wrinkled in anger once more. "That's Dark Magic! Magic beyond Snow White and Prince Charming, what did you do?!"

The dragon lunged for him, but Ursula caught her around the waist with her tentacles. "It wasn't him!"

"If it wasn't him, then who?! Who else would have been capable? The Sorcerer?!"

"His Apprentice," he corrected. "When he was finished, he opened a portal to this realm to send the child away."

"That's how Ursula and I got here," Cruella explained. "We tried to stop him, Mal, truly we did, but we got caught up in the portal."

"So my child is here, somewhere?! How the hell can you get me revenge for a life lost?! One spent without a parent?!"

"Because there is something you don't know. None of you do."

"Excuse me?" Ursula drawled, releasing Maleficent and turning on him.

"We're listening," Cruella rounded.

"Go on!" the Dragon demanded.

Carefully. He had to be oh so careful…

"When we finally find the Author, he won't be able to take out stories back to day one, he won't rewrite them entirely, he'll just be able to change them. From this point on."

"Why?"

"Because of her…because of Emma, the daughter of Snow White and Prince Charming," he supplied for Maleficent's sake. "Because that trade that the charmings did with your child worked its magic, and in this town, the Author wasn't the one who brought back the happy endings, it was Emma. Former thief turned Bailbonds Person, turned Savior, filled with all that light potential. He won't be able to write her out of existence."

"Bailbond's Person?" Maleficent questioned.

"Dreadful people who find other people and ruin their fun," Cruella answered as he hid his smirk. Maleficent had picked up the crumb he'd dropped. And Cruella had fed it to her for him like it was candy. Perfect.

"I fail to see the revenge in your plan," the Dragon spat back.

"Oh no? How's this? We plan to get our happy endings, which only happens if we become the heroes of this tale. And if the villains can become the heroes…?"

"The heroes can become the villains," Ursula supplied.

He gave a curt nod. "We will fill Emma's heart with darkness just as they filled it with light. And a Savior whose heart is filled with Darkness…"

"Is no Savior at all." Maleficent stared at him. Her heart racing, her gaze cold and hard. She hated him. Given their last encounter and the fact that he'd apparently had the ability to free her in the last few years but didn't, he figured that look was explainable.

"So…what are we supposed to do now?" Ursula asked from behind him. "Now that Mal is free, what's the next step in the plan?"

He took his eyes off Maleficent but didn't turn to face Ursula. He wanted the dragon in his periphery at the very least. "Now, you'll behave like villains. The cat's out of the bag with the Charmings. I'd advise you to stay hidden during the day, making only a few public appearances, low profile. You'll do just enough to let them know that you are here and to keep them on their toes. Leave the rest to me."

"I meant, where are we supposed to stay, genius?" Ursula drawled in reply. "You told us to pack our things at the inn, so we did. We can't go back there."

He resisted the urge to let out an uncomfortable sigh. He had said that, hadn't he? And it was the truth, they couldn't go back, certainly couldn't stay with Granny, not that the old lady would let them after this stunt. He hated the only other option he was comfortable with.

"Here is safest," he answered confidently, as if that had been his intention.

"Here? Where?" Cruella scoffed. "There's only one bedroom!"

"Which is mine," he smiled before turning back to Maleficent. He'd had his eyes off of her long enough. He hoped that when he turned back, he'd find her still cooled a bit. That was not the case.

"What about the three of us?!" Cruella demanded.

"I imagine you'll make do. There's always the couch."

"The couch!"

"Is that lake out back salt water or fresh?" Ursula asked.

"Fresh."

"Fine by me," the Sea Witch muttered in a tone that made him think, oddly enough, she might have been serious.

"Mal, what do you-"

"I need some air!" the dragon roared before Cruella could ask her anything about accommodations. Maleficent moved around him without a fight on his behalf, and stormed out the door. To her credit, she didn't slam it dramatically as she left, as he imagined Regina might have, but she did leave him with the feeling that she couldn't be allowed to simply be out in the world on her own.

"Go after her," he ordered of the other two. "Let her blow off some steam and then get her in line."

"You really think we'll have any more luck of 'getting her in line' than you did?" Ursula questioned.

"Given our fates rest on her accepting what we're attempting to do, I have every faith that you'll make her see reason."

"And if she asks about the girl?" Cruella questioned.

Her daughter. She was talking about Lily. Or Starla. And that was a piece of the puzzle he wasn't ready for her to possess yet.

He smiled. "I can't imagine you want her to know your role in that any more than the Charmings want her here at the moment."

Cruella swallowed at that answer. A fitting response for the woman whose magic was easily the weakest of the three.

"Go after her," he ordered again, turning back to his bedroom. "Oh! And get her some clothes while you're out."

"Oh sure, we'll just stop by Macy's before we come back," Ursula spat out sarcastically.

"I believe you'll find an entire wardrobe not being used at Regina's vault, you can use magic to make any adjustments needed."

Chapter Text

He was on edge. Every nerve ending he had sparked with unspent energy, with anger, with stress. Every day felt like he was a circuit board on his way to overloading. He hated it. And he hated that he had no one to blame but himself.

It wasn't the fault of the women he suddenly had living with him, as much as he would have loved to blame it on them. He'd figured a reaction like this would have been inevitable when they'd first moved in and he'd realized they'd practically be living on top of each other in the tiny space, but that was before Maleficent had come walking back in the door with Ursula and Cruella, ready to play his game. Maleficent had added rooms to the cabin that weren't there before. After looking at what exactly a "bathroom" was, she'd added a couple more of those, too. Ursula and Maleficent set up shop for themselves on a little table much like his own for "experiments," as they called it. Though, it was really only Ursula that had any magic to show for it, given the time she'd already had in this world. And while he was a fan of his smaller cabin and couldn't wait to undo the changes she'd made, he had to admit that they were necessary to keeping everyone, including him, sane. So he kept his mouth shut and let them make the changes.

Their living with him had a tendency to work out in his favor anyway. They did everything late. They slept in late. They went to town late. They came home late. Or early, depending on how one saw the day. They were night owls. And for the most part, that meant that they were either in their magically constructed bedrooms, asleep, or gone for the day. They were following his orders, making their presence known around town, keeping sightings of Maleficent less obvious, but enough to keep the Charmings on edge.

"It's just enough to let the rumor mill do its work, Darling, trust me," Cruella assured him. "If anyone knows a thing or two about making society notice you, it's me."

"Trust you? Not likely," he'd snapped back. But the sad truth was that he did trust her. With this, at least. He trusted them and the job they were doing, at least. Unlike him…

He was stumped. Completely and uselessly.

They were coming up on damn near a week since they'd gotten Maleficent back. And what did he have to show for it? Nothing! His quest to find the Author of the book was at a standstill. He'd have loved to look at the research that Regina had done, loved to look at Henry's book again in person, but Regina, clever little witch that she was, had placed spells around all her precious spaces. The Mayor's Office, a duty which was once again hers, her home, even the mausoleum! And yes, of course, he could bring down those wards, but not without leaving some kind of signature or, at the very least, a hint that would leave Regina suspicious of him. He could risk it and hope that she wouldn't look for one, just assume it was the villains suddenly occupying the town's attention. But that was a risk he was unwilling to take while the dagger was still notably absent from his life.

That damn dagger…

That was the reason he was on edge. That was the reason he found himself unable to sleep at night, unable to be patient when he'd never been impatient before! It was the fact that he still hadn't found the dagger! And spending his days watching Belle in the shop, hiding himself and hoping to get an idea or a hint as to where she'd hidden it…that might just have been the true source of his frayed nerves.

He no longer went to the house every night like he used to, just some nights when the women stumbled into his home late, drunk and noisy, he'd pop over. But it didn't ease him. The sight of her naked ring finger, the smell of Will Scarlett clinging to her skin…

It didn't matter that the one place it seemed she never brought Will Scarlett to was home or to her bed, he was still everywhere! In his shop, in the library, in her arms! The boy brought her tea in the morning, he took her to lunch and dinner, he greeted her with kisses, kisses that she happily returned! And watching it had his stomach all twisted into knots. He was constantly on the verge of putting his fist through a wall and crying all at the same time. He was angry. And he was disappointed because he knew that ultimately, he couldn't blame her for it. Not if he wanted to keep that last flicker of red in his heart alive! Which meant it had to be him! There was no one he could blame but himself! He'd made the choices he'd made, he understood that. He just…

Six weeks?! Six weeks was really all it had taken for her to move forward? To hire someone at the library, to find a boyfriend, to hide the dagger, pack his things, get her life together without him. How could she move on after just six weeks when he felt as though he was still drowning?

Self-loathing isn't going to fix this situation you find yourself in, Zoso chastised as he stood there one afternoon, angrily poking at a fire that had nothing to do with his temper. But you know what will…

He knew what would. Actually, he could name a lot of things that would fix his current temperament, but only one that he felt was actually a viable plan. He couldn't just keep poking the fire around the cabin; he needed to do something. And after the previous day, when the women had come home to tell him something he didn't know about a certain someone who had helped Belle with the problem of the hat, he knew how he was going to do it. Was this plan of his a bit reckless? Perhaps. But he was feeling a bit reckless. He was feeling ready to take a calculated risk. If all his plans were successful in the end, what would it matter?

Behind him, the door to the cabin opened and the women walked in. The sun was just starting to peek over the horizon. Another late "night."

"Well, where the hell have you been all night?" he questioned as they hung their coats.

"Don't be nasty," Maleficent chastised. "Regina came to find us. We had some catching up to do."

Regina! That was…an interesting development.

"Regina? What was she after?"

"She was sniffing around for information," Ursula informed him.

"I assume you didn't tell her I'm what you're hiding."

"Oh, we were careful, darling. She doesn't know a thing," Cruella confirmed.

"Very interesting plan, bring us all together…" Maleficent drawled as if trying to find deeper meaning in what had already been done. But he was done with the past and ready to move on into the future, although he had to admit…the idea of Regina with the group, that was something that foolishly hadn't dawned on him yet, something that probably should have given the vision he'd had so long ago.

"My plan's just beginning. But Regina does present an intriguing possibility."

"Do you really think she'll help us?" Maleficent asked with a touch of doubt in her voice.

He didn't know. But the Seer seemed to. Years ago, he'd had a vision of his Queens of Darkness, of them all standing right here in this very cabin. But now, thinking back on that vision and remembering, there was someone missing: Regina. In his vision, she'd been seated in a chair, looking at him right along with the other three when the Seer had whispered the word "team" in his ear. And now here he was hearing about her coming to find his villains. That was intriguing. She had suffered quite the heartbreak as of late. And she had been friends with Maleficent long ago, she'd looked up to her the same way a younger sibling looked up to the elder, or a teenager looked at the latest singing heartthrob, he supposed. It wasn't entirely outside the realm of possibility that she might come looking for her again now that she'd heard she was back.

The only thing stronger than hate was love, and her love for Henry was so strong he wasn't sure he trusted that she would ever be able to truly turn back to the person she'd been, but…

The Seer was never wrong. He'd learned before not to distrust her. He'd had that vision of the four of them. And even now, as he went over the plan that he had in his head over and over again, if he couldn't get the dagger, the one thing in his way of learning more about the Author was Regina. She was the one with the magical skill to suss out his involvement, she was the one who had already done the research, she was the one who had a head start.

It was risky, bringing her on, but also potentially beneficial. He hated the kind of gambling man reckless impatience was turning him into.

"Heartbreak turned her into a monster once. And now her heart's been broken anew. She's lost another love and is in great pain," he reasoned.

"As you and I both know, pain always makes you stronger," Maleficent added. He should have known that out of the three of them, she'd be the one to fight for Regina's inclusion. It wasn't just that Regina had once looked at her with doe eyes; Maleficent had developed a soft spot for the woman who had idolized her. She'd had a relationship with her as a budding young witch, and the pair had been wronged by the same couple. Not to mention their power affinities were similar. And with this crowd, well…he always wondered what Maleficent had in common with two people like Ursula and Cruella. Perhaps she wondered too.

"Indeed, it does. When war hits Storybrooke, everyone's gonna have to pick a side, including Regina."

"And what war is that?" Maleficent questioned.

"Oh, the one we're about to start," he lied with a chuckle. "And tonight…we're gonna throw the first punch. Tonight, I make a play to get my dagger back."

"And then the Dark One finally comes off his leash," Cruella smiled with a dark joy in her eyes.

"It will indeed solve a great many of our problems…so will Regina," Maleficent added, her tone slightly threatening. He knew she wasn't going to be one for playing second fiddle. If he didn't keep a tighter watch on her, he'd lose her before he was ready.

"What did you have in mind?" he questioned, allowing her to think she was taking center stage, allowing her to attempt to make plans.

"A test, to see whose side she's truly on."

"I'm listening…"

Chapter Text

"Regina still doesn't know how to hold her liquor," Maleficent explained in her bored-sounding drawl. "Last night, among the many sins she was wallowing in was regret over yelling at a child."

"A child…"

"Pinocchio, son of Geppetto, you know him?" Ursula questioned.

"I do indeed. But why would Regina have come across him lately?"

"I thought the same thing, so I asked her. Turns out she's been looking for the Author that you claim to be seeking out as well. And apparently the boy had a run-in with some sort of special book when he was 'older', whatever the hell that means. She was hoping that talking to him might shake some old memories loose, but it didn't; she got frustrated, and then there we were, drowning that regret of hers in some very effective potions of this world."

Though he wasn't sure if she would believe him or not, the story that she was telling made ample sense to him. In more ways than one. Pinocchio hadn't always been a little boy; he'd once been August Wayne Booth, a liar and manipulator who had been charged with Emma's safety outside of the Enchanted Forest and failed her. He'd come back to put her on the right track, and together, once he'd learned who and what he was, they'd been successful. After that, of course, he'd had minimal deals with him. After the curse had lifted, August had disappeared. He'd tracked him, but found him to be hiding in the woods, shielding himself with a magic that wasn't worth his time. Later, Mary Margaret had found him living in an RV in those woods, but of course, he'd only learned this after he'd learned that August had been turned back into a boy by the Fairies. He'd been given a second chance, and Emma had come to him to tell him that August had been trying to warn them of something before he became a boy again, something the boy could no longer remember. He'd explained to her then that the memories were gone, something Regina had apparently not taken easily when she'd thought she'd had a lead, but now…magic meant nothing was ever impossible.

"I don't suppose she said anything else that was pertinent to our search as you were drowning those sorrows."

"No. She made peace with the boy's father. He even gave her some of the boy's things, which she gave to her son to help her investigate. But she never said anything about what those things were or if they were important. There's a spark of her old self there, underneath who she is now. But the old Regina wouldn't still be beating herself up after she had someone's forgiveness the way she had the father's. It's depressing, really, to see how much of a shadow she is of her former self. But I think she's still there, just waiting for the right spark to light that fire in her again."

"The way she once did for you."

"Perhaps…"

He hadn't really needed the long, drawn-out explanation about Regina. He knew who she was and what she'd become; he knew the demons that she likely kept still locked inside of her. Hell, he knew Regina well enough that if he wanted to bring that side out of her, he felt that he could with minimal work. He hadn't really been interested in Regina the way that Maleficent had been, or must have thought he was. What he'd really wanted to know was about the "things" Geppetto had given his student to aid her in finding the Author. But clearly, Maleficent had another idea on her mind. And given the vision of the future he'd seen, he wasn't entirely opposed to her interest. The Seer was never wrong, so if it was going to happen, he may as well just sit back and let it. Embracing the future was easier and faster than fighting it.

"So, knowing all this, what do you propose for your little 'test'?" he asked of Maleficent.

"Well, seeing as how you have nothing but questions, and Regina seems to have a lead you do not, I propose the two of us go and get the boy. We'll bring him here to see if he really does remember. It would get you your answers, if there are any to be had, and show us if Regina could be trusted."

Maleficent's plan wasn't half bad. It wasn't half bad at all. Which was potentially terrifying because he needed these women on his side for all this to work, and if they sensed that their old friend was the more dominant between the pair of them, then he ran the risk of them following Maleficent when it was time for her to depart and not him.

However, so long as he kept reminding the others that following after Maleficent might get the dragon her happy ending, but keeping to his plan would get them all their happy ending, he figured he had a good chance of keeping the others in line. And fortunately for him, Maleficent's plan provided ample opportunities for the politician he didn't know he had inside of him to play on that.

"Our plan," he corrected. "This isn't just my plan or my answers, Maleficent. This is for all of us. For everyone who has ever been dubbed a villain, real or imagined," he amended, feeling a magic stir within him. As much as he hated it, he couldn't forget about Zelena. The deal he'd made with her for his life wouldn't allow it.

"The only problem with that is that we can't be sure Regina can be trusted, and it takes trust to trust. We can't just bring her in here and tell her everything. What if she runs back to her little hero friends and tells them?" Ursula challenged.

Cruella glanced over at Maleficent with sympathetic eyes. "She's right, Mal. I know your history with her, but we need to be sure we can trust her before we let her in on all our secrets." Honestly, he had no idea what Maleficent had ever done in her life that justified the soft spot Cruella had for her, or if it was done out of guilt for abandoning her daughter. Whatever the cause, he was grateful for it, because it had just given him an idea.

"So we won't tell her everything. And we'll make sure she knows it," he explained, looking around the room at three utterly confused women. It was an easy solution, one that he should have thought about himself without the help of Maleficent or Cruella, but at least he'd had it.

"How much does Regina really need to know to go through with this plan of Maleficent's to get the boy?" he figured out loud. "Not hardly anything. All she needs to know is that we're looking for the same Author she is and for the same reason, to finally get our happy endings."

"But if she runs off and tells that to her girlfriend's family…" Cruella reiterated.

"She won't," Maleficent insisted.

"She could," Ursula argued.

"She may, but she won't leave our sides because she'll know there's more we're not telling her," he interrupted before a fight broke out. "There is more to our plan than just finding the Author and asking nicely for our happiness. " There's Emma to consider, there's your revenge," he said, motioning toward Maleficent. "There's convincing the Author to help us; all the details she doesn't need to know about right away. But if we play our cards right, if we dangle the fact that we're not telling her everything, right in front of her nose and she isn't loyal to us…"

"Then she'll be forced to play by our rules until she gets that information," Ursula realized.

He nodded. "If she's here because she wants to help the others, she'll have to be careful about what she does and doesn't tell them so that we won't suspect her. They'll have to play by her terms. And the more time we can spend potentially baiting her with the kind of happy ending that she wants…"

"The more time we'll have to bring her over to our side with certainty," Maleficent finished.

"The right side," he emphasized. He looked around the room at the women, aware that at least one of them was still looking to Maleficent for guidance, while one seemed to strain at her leash and another actually seemed willing to play as a team. Bringing Regina into the mix, who saw him as a guide and Maleficent as an idol, was risky when they were balanced this way, but after he had the dagger back in his hands, he was confident that he could sway the votes his way.

"Maleficent, you'll go to Regina tonight. You'll propose your test to her and see if she follows through. If she does, then bring her back to us tonight. If she doesn't, then we'll take the boy ourselves and question the former puppet about what exactly he knows about the Author. The two of you will help Maleficent as she has need of you, but assuming she arrives back here with Regina, your part will be simple enough. You'll be the villains you are while also finding a way to make it clear that Regina doesn't know the half of what we're planning.

"Now, if you'll excuse me," he explained, moving to the door and grabbing his coat. "I have a dagger to retrieve."

Chapter Text

He knew what he had to do.

He'd been watching Belle for a while now, monitoring the comings and goings of people ever since he'd seen Scarlett in his shop and realized it was something more than he'd thought. He knew the people she'd developed trust with and devised a plan to use one of them to get his dagger back.

And he despised himself for it.

He despised himself for it because he knew that it wasn't going to help their relationship. Of course, he was going to do his best to cover his tracks and continue to keep his presence in Storybrooke a secret as long as possible. But unlike the villains back at his cabin, he knew better than to think they'd be able to keep their true plans and his presence a secret the entire time. Maleficent was meant to pose a decent distraction, to keep them busy and on the wrong track as long as possible, but he knew, eventually, they'd figure it out. And when they did, the discovery that he was back in town wasn't likely to be far behind. Belle would be contacted, she'd figure out that he'd tricked her, lied yet again in a way even he considered terribly egregious, given his past with her. Perhaps that was why, after she left the shop for dinner at Granny's, he left a rose lying by the door of the shop. It wouldn't make up for what he was about to do, but perhaps, when all was said and done, she'd realize that it was his apology.

He took no joy in what he was about to do. He couldn't take joy. What he could take from it was determination. If he was going to do this, then there was only one way he could ever come out of this with Belle by his side: success. There was no other choice; his plan had to be successful, and they had to get their happy ending.

Before he'd come to this place, he'd found Captain Hook. Ironically, he'd found him in the exact same place he'd found him months ago, before they'd gone to capture the Apprentice, lying on a picnic table on the dock. He didn't know what he found so appalling about his ship these days, or if this was a way of keeping one foot in his old life of piracy while keeping another firmly on land. Truly, he didn't care. Before Hook could open his eyes or register that he was there, he used magic to put him into a deeper sleep. The pirate would wake eventually; he'd likely think he'd just had an unexpectedly good nap until they all figured out a way to put it together. But by then, he'd have his dagger, and other than Belle's disappointment, he wouldn't care.

With Hook safely out of the way for a few hours, he glamoured his face and body into Hook's. It wasn't an ideal situation, especially given the pirate had only one hand, but he'd chosen Hook for a reason. As much as it irritated him, he'd noted that one of the few among the group that Belle seemed to trust with little interaction was the pirate himself. He wondered if she'd regret that after tonight.

Wearing the pirate's body, he found Belle at Granny's. He expected she'd be getting dinner, but he hadn't expected to walk in and see her sitting opposite Will Scarlet, a single piece of chocolate cake between the two of them. One piece of cake. Two forks. Why was that the detail that made his heart pump faster?

It was as though he didn't have control over his body, over his own legs. All he knew was that without thinking about it, he was walking over the booth they sat in, and then suddenly he was right next to Scarlett, using his own body to push his aside. Anything to disrupt the easy ability he had to simply look up and stare into her eyes. Was that what the thief had been attempting to do? What on earth was he expecting gazes over dessert to lead to? Did he even know her history? Did he know what she'd been through?

"Focus!" Nimue practically yelled at him from where she was sitting on the other side of Will Scarlett. "Get your heart out of your head, or you will ruin this entire operation of ours!"

"Well, look at which two survivors found a dinghy together," he muttered, suddenly sobering just enough to realize he was glaring at Scarlett. He knew he had a history with Hook of some kind, they had to given the way he'd seen Hook deck the boy weeks ago, but he was unaware of what that history was. And now that Scarlett was looking back at him with more fear than anger, he wondered if his own passion for what was going on here was too intense to pull off a convincing Hook.

"I do hope I'm not interrupting," he said, prying his eyes off Will and instead looking at Belle. It was the closest he'd been to her while she was awake since he'd returned. She was at the center of every plan that he had, he should keep his focus on her. Keeping her in his sight was more important than ever now, given the fact that she was the only thing currently keeping his heart from going so dark he'd rip Scarlet's out without a second thought.

"Uh…" Belle's gaze shifted from him to Scarlett and back to him again. "Killian…this is…this is Will. Have the two of you met?"

"Tha' we 'ave, yeah," Scarlett answered.

"Ah-"

"Now before you give into your pugilistic urges, let's take this outside away from the lady, shall we?"

Belle muttered something he missed as he turned back to Scarlet to return the glare he was offering. Perhaps he had been giving the man the appropriate amount of passionate anger after all.

"Get your cock out of the way and focus on the dagger that matters!" Nimue insisted once more, her tone suddenly, impossibly, more irritated than it had been before.

He took a steady inhale. As much as he would always hate admitting Nimue had a point, this was one of those times when she was right. He needed to focus. Getting Scarlet out of the way on this could just be a cherry on top of his chocolate cake.

"As much as I'd enjoy bloodying you again…I'm here for Belle," he swallowed, turning back to face her. That was the face he needed to see. Not Scarlet's, not Nimue's, hers. That was the face that was going to keep his heart just red enough to get their happy ending. "We need to talk. In private."

She gaped for a moment, looking from him to Scarlet and him again. He waited with bated breath. Which man would she choose? Him or Scarlet? Who was the priority for her? A boyfriend? Or the man that worked with the heroes she so often sided with?

"Can you give me one moment?" she finally conceded to Will as she slid out of her booth. He couldn't help but grin at his victory.

"Don't worry, Knave. She'll be safe with me," he taunted as he followed after her. Whatever this was…it was nothing. Clearly.

Belle took him into the back kitchen at Granny's, already dark and closed for the night before she turned and crossed her arms over her chest. "What's wrong? What's going on?"

"Well, by now I'm sure you've heard the news. The dragon lives."

Belle furrowed her brow in confusion. "Maleficent? Of course I know, you were with Emma when she came to tell me and asked me to start trying to figure out how it had happened a few days ago."

Fuck. He'd already made a mistake. "I was?" he questioned, trying to appear as confused as possible before he closed his eyes and sighed. He wanted to give her a feeling like he was tired, downright exhaustion. It was the only way to correct the mistake. "You're right, I was. My apologies, we made several stops that day, together and apart…after a while they all blended together, I'm afraid."

"So…what about it?" she questioned, looking him over skeptically. "If Emma's looking for the spell, I still haven't found it yet-"

"No, it's not that…Emma doesn't know I'm here actually…" he lied, hoping that in the future it might buy him some time. If he told her Emma didn't know she'd assume the Charmings also were in the dark and that was three less people Belle could talk to about what he hoped to accomplish tonight. "The truth is I wanted to come to help you."

"Help me? Help me now?"

"I'm afraid the dagger is in danger."

Her heart skipped a beat on that. And then it sped up almost as fast as his own had when he'd come into the diner and seen her with Scarlet tonight. He hadn't a clue what she thought he might have wanted to talk to her about, but the Dark One Dagger clearly hadn't been what she expected.

"The dagger…but…but why?!" she stuttered trying to compose herself. "What-"

"Regina is working with them now," he insisted. That was putting a lot of hope in Maleficent's plan. But he knew that Regina scared Belle more than she cared to admit after the hell she'd put her through back home and here. If anything was more likely to make Belle move on this, it was Regina. "The witches, she's working with them and they're doing some sort of initiation tonight, to see if they trust her. It's a test, they're worried she isn't one of them and this will somehow prove it."

"But…but she hasn't, has she? I mean, if she had…you wouldn't know all this, right? She's…she feeding them false information, relaying it or…something? Isn't she?"

Clever woman. And perhaps a little more trusting than he remembered. But those nightmares of hers that never went away proved that somewhere, even if it was in her subconscious mind, she believed Regina was difficult to trust.

He shrugged. "Well, with Regina it seems impossible to ever really know for certain." A statement like that from Jones was the pot calling the kettle black in his opinion, but it seemed in character for the pirate. And if it made Belle look at him with less skepticism…

"But that's all irrelevant at the moment. All you need to know is that they are testing her tonight. They've asked her to steal something."

She shook her head, as if rattling her mind a bit might make the information somehow line up better so it would make sense. "And no one knows what these three witches want Regina to help them steal?"

"Not for sure. But they're powerful witches, seeking more power, and who is more powerful than the Dark One? His dagger…it's still in town, isn't it?"

"You think they're after it?"

"What better way to find the Author than getting the Dark One to do it for you?"

"But how?" she questioned, giving her head another shake. "Isn't it useless as long as he's outside of Storybrooke?"

"Unless they found a way to lure him back."

He watched her at that comment. He could feel Nimue and several others rolling their eyes in his head at his eagerness, but he was so desperate to see how she would respond to his potential return. Hate, sadness, anger, fear, joy. He wanted to know. Which prospective emotion would win out?

What he didn't expect to find in her eyes was a bit of each one.

"Any one of them could control him," she finally understood in a sad voice. "Or even worse, use the dagger to kill him. And become the Dark One herself!"

Was he crazy or was there a pause there in that last sentence? Or had those last two statements been one? Was she sad that someone would try to harm him first and foremost? Or just fearful that someone else would become the Dark One? He could have sworn there was a pause there!

"No, we won't let that happen. I'm assuming you hid the dagger somewhere safe?"

"Yeah, of course."

"Then we must move it."

"What?" she balked at the suggestion. Her resistance, as difficult as it might make things, made him just as happy.

"They knew him on the outside, they might have gleaned much about you and where you might hide something," he explained. "We have to put it somewhere they would never think to look."

"But where?"

"Don't worry about that. You wanna bury a treasure where no one could find it? Leave it to a pirate."

Chapter Text

It seemed that he had successfully convinced her to hand over the dagger. And he was equal parts happy and furious about that. However, given the state his heart was in, he chose to ignore the furious part and focus instead on the fact that he was about to get his freedom back. It was a crucial step in his plans. Now, if Regina did as Maleficent hoped she'd do, even if she let the others know that he was in town, there would be nothing they could do to force him to leave. He'd be in control of himself again, at full power!

Gods, he couldn't wait!

In fact, he was so excited, he'd nearly outed himself once more. After she'd gathered her things and he'd been torn between vomiting and snickering at the kiss she placed on Scarlet's cheek before they left, when she led him to where his car was parked, he'd lost his head and gone straight for the driver's side door. It was a habit. He hadn't been thinking; his mind was elsewhere.

Belle slapping his good hand away from the handle brought him back to his mind.

"I drive," she stated without leaving room for argument. "It's my car and I know where the dagger is. If you don't like it, then I can meet you somewhere when I'm done."

No. No, that wouldn't do at all. In situations like this, it was best for him to accompany her himself, so that she wouldn't do something like try to get in touch with the real Killian or verify the story he'd told. Besides, after hunting for where she'd hidden the dagger since he arrived, he wanted to see where she'd actually hidden the thing.

"Forgive me," he excused with a dramatic hand on his heart as he staggered over to the passenger side. "Lost my mind for a moment. Captaining a ship will do that."

She nodded, buying his excuse and folding herself into the car beside him. Then she started the engine and drove them off down the road, his momentary stupidity forgotten. It was a difficult thing for him, to simultaneously enjoy her presence and act as if he wasn't at the same time. He wanted to look at her, to stare, to inhale her scent deep with each breath he took, but he managed to keep his eyes out in front of him, stealing only occasional glances when he could. She smelled like Scarlet. And him, still. She was still living in their house, driving his car, and running his business; it didn't matter if she had boxed up all his things and moved them to the basement or scrubbed her skin clean of his touch, his scent would linger on her for far longer than any human nose would probably detect. But that didn't mean he liked sharing with Scarlet.

"So uh…do you think…do you think I'm in any danger if it's the dagger they're after?" she asked after a few moments of silence.

He sighed and took another glance at her that the opportunity presented. No, he answered wishing he could make it sound more certain. He wanted her to sleep at night, he didn't want her to be haunted by nightmares that he knew this could very well trigger. But he also knew that if he didn't tap into at least a little bit of fear, then she might not hand over the dagger. And if Maleficent was successful tonight with Regina, but he was not able to get the dagger from Belle, that was going to complicate things a great deal.

So he told Belle that he was hopeful that doing this wasn't just to ensure the dagger's safety but also her own. He was hopeful that the witches would avoid her when they didn't find the dagger tonight, that her affiliation with the heroes in town would keep them from involving her as they had before. But this time if they did, they'd likely use their magic to pluck the location of the dagger from her mind and they'd find that she didn't know. If anything, it would lead to him. He and Emma would take care of it.

"I've no doubt you'll be the first person they look to for it," he explained. "If the witches have spoken to the Dark One then they'll begin their search with you, knowing you were the last one who had it. But if he ever spoke of me well…I'm sure that was a less than pleasant conversation. That's why if I take the dagger, we might be able to keep the witches off its scent indefinitely."

He'd lost his train of thought somewhere in that explanation, became aware the second he finished that it didn't necessarily make sense, but if she noticed she didn't say anything. She just kept driving on as it began to rain, and he continued to resist the urge to reach out and hold her hand.

He was surprised when she drove the car off road, onto a patch of sand by the beach. He was shocked. All this time he'd been searching for the dagger in places that he knew she visited, places that meant something to her, but this place…this neglected section of beach across the way from an abandoned factory she'd brought him to and stopped the car on?! If there was a connection, he hadn't a clue what it was. He didn't think he'd ever been here in all his life. If it weren't for the fact that her heartbeat remained steady, he'd have thought that she was on to him and brought him out here to fool him.

"Out here?" he clarified as she unbuckled her seatbelt. "You left it in the middle of nowhere, somewhere that anyone could find it?!"

He had to remember not to sound too emotional.

"It was just temporary, until I could find a better place for it. No one was going to dig it up this time of the year and besides, this place…it's not nowhere to me."

Leave it to Belle to have him suddenly more intrigued than excited. What was this place?

But before he could ask the question, she was out of the car. He scrambled out after her as she walked parallel to the water.

"I didn't know you were quite so fond of abandoned factories," he commented as he caught up with her.

"It's not the factory it's the beach," she explained as her eyes combed over the sand before her. She was looking for something. A marker of some kind, he had no doubt. "This was only temporary, but before…it was further down that way. When Ariel came to me, while you were all in Neverland, it was where I left her with Pandora's box. I watched her and had…the most wonderful feeling. After a week of nothing but dread, I just had this happy thought that after everything we'd been through and were going through there was an end to it. I just knew that eventually everything would be all right. It's here!" she exclaimed suddenly, taking a few steps ahead of him.

He trailed after her, but suddenly had the feeling that his heart had just vanished in his chest. On the surface, it would have seemed that the story she told, that this place was more about her time with Ariel than with him. But for the moment she was still in possession of the dagger, she was still the master of it, which meant the connection they shared because of it was intact. And as she'd spoke, for just the briefest of seconds, he'd gotten another flash of emotion through the bond. Just as he'd felt her heartbreak that night at the town line, he'd felt the hope that came with the memory she was talking about and suddenly it made the memory of her heartbreak that much worse.

The higher the throne the longer the fall…all the more painful, too.

After he'd gone, she'd buried the hope she'd once had along with the dagger.

"I buried my hope and my love, my sadness…I buried my past," she corrected, making him realize that he'd spoken his thoughts aloud.

She was on her knees, digging through the sand. And she was aching. He could feel it again. Without the dagger in her hands it would have taken particularly strong emotions for them to make their way through the bond. All this time he'd been here and never once felt anything, but he was beginning to feel it now. Tastes of sadness, misery, and loneliness, all began to bloom in his own chest. He felt her pain as his own. He'd started picking at a scab, and the blood was beginning to come to the surface. Oh, she may think she was healed, or perhaps even knew that it was acting, but deep down, her wounds were still fresh.

She stood suddenly, a sandy colored cloth illuminated perfectly by the lights of the car in her hands. The dagger was inside that cloth. He knew it was. And he knew that he should feel victory. Finally! He was about to get his freedom back! But with the dagger now solidly in her hands, those feelings he'd felt before were coming through even stronger than before. Not just the pain that she felt, but a small sense of relief and joy that she'd found the dagger, that she'd gotten to it in time before Regina and the other did.

Her emotions…they threatened to overwhelm him. And suddenly he felt no victory in what he was about to do. If anything, it was damn near enough to convince him to disappear right then and there, banish himself just so he didn't have to feel her hurt in his chest again. Just so she didn't have to hurt again.

If he had any thought in his mind that exiling himself once more would actually help that pain she felt, then he would have done it. But as it was, he knew what would make the pain stop. It was him. He was her happy ending. And the only way that she was going to get it was if he found the author and rewrote his role in the bigger story. And the only way he was going to do that, was by getting that dagger her hands were curled around.

"Thank goodness it's safe!" she exclaimed after tossing away the rag around it.

He knew that she meant it.

"Do you uh…do you know where you're going to hide it?"

Speak. He had to speak, to get words out around the lump he had growing in his throat because of her.

"The less you know about it the better," he managed. The coward in him needed to get that dagger out of her hands as soon as possible. Secondhand, the turmoil inside her felt as though it was damn near killing him, he had no idea how she was living through it. "Take Gold's car. You won't see me again until it's in a place where no one will ever find it."

Another wave of relief hit her, and he didn't know if he should be angry at the fact that giving this burden over to his mortal enemy had brought it on, or just happy that she was experiencing relief in some form.

"Thank you, Killian. The idea of Rumple returning after…after everything that happened I…I don't know what I'd do."

Fear. That was fear he tasted in her now, but it wasn't a bad kind of fear. The meaning was subtle, but he felt it there…guilt. She felt guilty. And her fear came from confronting that guilt. Oh, he wanted nothing more than to reach forward and touch her, squeeze her shoulder, hold her close, rub her back. What would she do, he wondered, if he revealed himself to her now? What would she feel, he wondered, when she finally discovered she'd been with him the whole time and he'd tricked her again.

"Least you don't have to worry about that now," he assured her just as much as himself. He just had to do this. And when all was said and done, none of this would matter.

She reached out to hand the dagger over to him. He was slow to receive it, his own guilt gnawing on him but then…she stopped. Her fingers curled tighter. She didn't release it. He swallowed hard, wondering, fearing, hoping she might be onto him.

"What is it, Love? Is something wrong?" he asked as she brought the dagger back, closer to her body.

"Yeah, I just had…the most awful thought! What if…what if Rumple's already here?"

His heart felt ready to explode. Between her turmoil and his nerves, he knew if he was outside Storybrooke at this moment he'd be having another heart attack. It simultaneously urged him to retreat and finish the job all at once.

"You mean inside the town lines? Isn't that-"

"Impossible, yes, but…I don't know I just have this…this terrible feeling."

He took a steadying breath. A magical bond was a two-way street. Even though she wasn't magical it was entirely possible that with the dagger in her hand she was feeling a little bit of him, of his fear and it was feeding her own, she just wouldn't know it. Without magic in her veins whatever she'd be feeling would be small, but it was possible. The sooner this was over, the better it would be for the both of them.

"This is my only protection," she realized sadly, looking down at the blade. Only his Belle would look down at one of the magical world's greatest potential weapons and see a shield.

"Well, if you're concerned he's here, there's one way to know for sure. Use the dagger," he challenged. What he was about to suggest was a risk, but it was a calculated one. And if it worked he was hopeful that it would enable her to get some restful sleep, at least tonight, and turn the dagger over to him. From there, he'd get their happy ending. "Command him to come face you. If he's here…he has no choice."

Oh, there it was again, that well of emotion within her…it would never be dry, he feared. Making that suggestion made sense to her, but it also didn't sit well with her. She didn't like using the dagger on him, thus why she had been the perfect person to guard it. The only reason she'd managed to banish him in the first place was because of that heartache she'd felt and because she'd seen the dagger and her use of it that time as a shield. She was protecting others, a classic hero move. But could she convince herself of that now?

Yes. Yes, she could. Because despite the turmoil rising within her, she managed to curl her fingers around the handle, he saw her grip tighten and for, what he hoped was the last time, he felt every ounce of her rush through his body: nervousness, heartbreak, fear, pain, sorrow, loneliness…hope.

"Dark One!" she called out. "If you're here, come and face me…now!"

He felt magic rise within him, forcing his gaze to land on her as she searched the beach. Searched with hope. It was small, but there was a part of her that hoped he'd come, and it brought him to tears.

She still loved him.

But she didn't notice Hook's face watching her at her command. And so that small kernel of hope inside of her slowly faded away, consumed once more by bigger monsters like fear and rage and sadness, but finally with relief as she turned back to him.

"Well…guess I was wrong," she smiled weakly. Hook might not have seen her disappointment, but he did. He felt it too until-

"Here."

And then the dagger was back in his own hand. That connection he'd had to her snapped closed. The Dark Ones cheered in his head as she quickly turned her back and walked to the car like he'd told her.

He should say something. He wanted to say something.

But the words never came.

Chapter Text

He transformed his appearance as Belle backed his car off the beach. He wasn't confident that she wouldn't see who he became when he did it. It was sloppy, but he didn't really care. The bond between them was broken. It should have come as a relief not to feel her heartbreak anymore, but somehow not being able to feel it along with the memory of it…it was almost too much.

His night wasn't over. His plan wasn't done. Before he surrendered himself back to the cabin and the witches that awaited him there, he wanted to return to her, try to do damage control, and clean up. He wanted and needed to keep the fact that he was back in town and had the dagger contained for as long as possible, and he'd worked out a way to attempt that with her. But it required time. Killian was human and would need time to hide the dagger, and so he found himself with the dagger in hand, watching Belle drive off, with nothing but time to kill and the echo of her heartbreak building in his chest.

Suddenly, the feelings were overwhelming, and he found himself magically taking himself to the clock tower. In his mind, it was a safe place to hide for a little while without going back to the cabin. It hadn't crossed his mind that coming back to the clocktower was as good as coming back to the scene of the crime, where his last plan had come so close to success and everything else had gone so terribly wrong.

When his knees started to wobble beneath him from the sheer anxiety of the last hour, he felt himself collapse onto the metal stairs. And then he cried.

He hadn't wept since the night he'd last been here, the first time he'd been exposed to her heartbreak. Now, his exposure wasn't the problem, but the memory of it — that almost stung more. He knew what he'd done to get to the point that it was just a memory. What he'd had to do to get the dagger back in his grasp and not share that connection with her anymore, not seeing her wedding ring on her finger, knowing she'd likely call Will Scarlet the moment she stepped back into the shop…

The night he'd last been here, it felt as though the world as he knew it had crumbled away. Now it felt like he himself was crumbling away. No matter what the Author wrote for him from here on out, it certainly felt like he'd lost her in this world. She still loved him. And he still loved her. But Belle wasn't a simple person. He couldn't see a way back to her after this latest stunt came to life, couldn't see a scenario in which she let him prove he was worthy of her again, couldn't see a future where she'd ever let him close enough to prove it. Even with the hope he'd felt in her chest when she'd attempted to summon him, there had been fear and anger, too. Her heartbreak was still the most prominent thing about her. And she was smart. She wasn't likely to extend her hand to a snake that had already bitten her so badly.

But for a mouse like Will Scarlet…

Oh, he was a mouse in every sense of the word. Small, meek…that was how he came off at least, that was no doubt what Belle saw in him. To her, he probably seemed to be the exact opposite of him. But he wondered if Belle truly knew everything about that boy. Like the fact that he was a thief who had been on his own payroll at one point.

But then an even more terrifying thought occurred to him. What if she did know everything about him? Payroll, theft, and everything?! He had never left behind any evidence of who got what, nor had he ever spoken directly to Scarlet; Dove had been his second in command during that endeavor. The only way she'd know is if Will told her.

Which, honestly, was potentially the scariest thing about it. Honesty…the one thing that she wanted and desired above all. The one thing she needed from him. The one thing he always felt unable to truly give her. What if Scarlet could?

He knew other men in the world must not struggle with honesty like he did. He doubted that Charming kept any secrets from Mary Margaret. And there were times he wanted to be honest with her, but even when he tried his hardest, it was just so difficult to shake aside his own scars! The idea that it was his own wounds, his lies and deceit, that broke her heart so often!

If Will Scarlet could give her all that…

Belle was back at the shop. Before he'd been banished from town, Belle had come and gone from the shop, and he felt like he'd hardly ever noticed. Now her presence registered. It was sharp and halting. Like a slap to the face.

He knew, given Hook's human abilities, he should probably wait a little bit longer to go to her, but after the way he'd left her, he didn't know if he could bear to wait. Stupid as it might have been, he pocketed the cold piece of metal in his suit's inner pocket and reappeared in the alley just outside the shop. He paused at the front of the store to notice her standing in the brightly lit room and realized that he had yet to don Hook's face again. He honestly wasn't sure if that was a choice he'd made or not. Perhaps, tempting fate as he was, it was good that she'd had her back to him when he appeared.

He disguised himself as Hook once more as he opened the door to the shop, suppressing a smile at the bell that greeted him. Every time he'd been here since he'd returned, he'd used magic to bring himself in and out. It was the first time he'd heard it. And the first time he'd been in here with the lights on. And to see her turn and smile at him from her place by the register, the rose he'd left already sitting in a vase…if it weren't for the hook he was currently using as a hand, for a moment, he might have thought it was months ago.

"Killian…" Her smile disappeared from her face the moment she realized it was him. He ached to know who she thought might have been coming to see her, just as he hated it. "Is uh…is the dagger safe?"

"Yes," he assured her, remembering that he needed to play his part. There was something he was here to do, and that was buy himself even more time. As much as he hated how she was going to feel when all this came to light, he needed as much time as he could possibly get. If he didn't get it, then what was the point in being here with this face?

"And now that it's hidden, we have one last piece of business. We must swear a pirate's oath. We must promise to never talk about what happened today again. To one another or anyone else."

It was dumb. A stupid excuse, really, for what he was about to do, but even though she seemed plenty skeptical of it, she nodded.

"It's the only way to assure the dagger stays safe," he pressured. That was one thing he could take joy in. Today, it had been her fear for him, for his safety, that had motivated her above all. That meant something. Even now, he watched as the reminder had her looking even more determined to follow through on what he required if it meant keeping him safe.

She nodded with certainty. And she didn't argue or question what was happening when he reached forward for her hand and put it on his chest. She took a step back, as if wanting to be farther away from him, but when he stepped forward to place his hand on her heart…she stopped squirming.

And it would have been oh so easy to lose himself to that rhythm beneath his palm. Though it hitched just now from the contact, he had so many blessed memories of falling asleep to that drumbeat, of taking comfort from it, finding peace in its tune. It wanted to carry it with him wherever he went. But alas, it wasn't to be. Not today anyway. Not with this life.

His only chance now was the new life the Author might make for them.

"You have my word," he promised, finding his words.

"And…you have mine."

Tears threatened to spill from him once more when he realized…

He never forgot a deal. Not the terms, not the conditions, not the agreements. And those words…those were the words that had brought her into his life so many years ago. He wondered if she'd said them on purpose. Or if the Fates were trying to send him a sign. Of what, he wondered. That they really were on his side? That this was to be? He could only hope.

The words said, she pulled her hand from his hook and stepped back out of his own grasp. He swallowed his own emotion down hard and looked at the flower he'd left her. She'd only been back a few moments and already it sat in a vase, receiving nourishment. Did she suspect?

"I'm guessing that's a gift from your admirer, Will," he spat out, ignoring the pain it left in his heart.

The smile that returned to her face almost had him doubling over in pain. "Yeah…it was outside when I got here."

"If you don't mind…"

He knew he shouldn't ask. Some deep, dark part of him knew it could do no good. The Dark Ones were telling him to drop it and go before she became too suspicious, that nothing good could come from his curiosity.

"Are things…serious?"

She let out a small laugh at his less-than-innocent question. "What it is is…it's new! And beyond that, I…I don't know."

New. She used to find comfort in the old. In him. And now she was dating in only a few short weeks.

"You're so…different." He hadn't meant to say the words out loud, but there they were.

"I know," she nodded. "And after Rumple, it's just so nice to spend time with someone who's nothing more than who he says he is!"

There it was, his answer. She couldn't know everything. What kind of man would admit to the things Will Scarlet had done?

Unless he had. And she did know. And the knowing was so important that she didn't care.

"So…you're over him, then…Rumpelstiltskin?"

He couldn't recall giving his permission for his mouth to ask that question. But the second the words left his lips, he felt his heart hammer in anticipation of her words, and his mind began to work through her possible answers. She wouldn't answer that. He almost hoped that she wouldn't answer it. If she didn't answer it, then he could go on hoping, go on pretending, go on wondering…

"I don't know if I can ever be 'over' him. But for now, Will makes me smile."

Something in his stomach unclenched. He felt his shoulders spread a little wider in relief. She was smiling, that was good. He wasn't thrilled with how she was getting that smile, but the pain he'd felt in her had been so raw that he was glad she was able to share her smile with the world. He loved that smile more than anything. But he also loved the enduring commitment in her first remark. She did still love him.

"I'm glad to hear that." From the depths of his pocket, he felt his cell phone buzz. A text message, almost certainly from either Cruella or Ursula, given they were supposed to be following her and Regina at a distance and communicating the events of the night, since Maleficent hadn't understood the concept of a phone. He needed to go. Getting the dagger was not the only goal of tonight's plot, and yet pulling himself away from her now…it was terrifying. They had to succeed. If he didn't, then he didn't know how or when he'd ever see her again. Or if that statement of uncertainty would ever change.

"Good night then," he managed to whisper before turning on his heel to go. He focused on the door, on the unknown future ahead of him, of them! There was no choice now, he had to walk through it, no matter what might come and-

"Oh, Killian!"

He stopped in his tracks at her call. He would always stop when she called.

"Uh…about Will…I was wondering what…what happened between you two?"

He didn't turn to face her. He couldn't. Even in this glamor, he was certain that if he did, she would see the heartbreak in his eyes and recognize it as her own. If only she knew…

"Let's just say…he took something I care for…"

Her phone began to ring then. It was merciful. And he took the opportunity to stride out the door before she could ask him anything further.

Chapter Text

He changed back into himself just outside the shop door. Again, he recognized that he was taking chances that were, perhaps, too risky. But he wasn't sure he cared. With the darkness outside and lights on inside the shop, he knew that her chances of being able to see him clearly were minimal, and even if she did…

He wondered what would happen if she did.

Now that it appeared to be something he needed to worry about. She was distracted. She'd picked up her phone and was talking to someone on the other end. Someone who made her smile.

He could have listened in. He could have used his magic to listen to every word she spoke and hear every last sweet nothing the mystery caller was whispering back. But some little part of himself told him that listening to that conversation wasn't something that would help him right now.

And the Dark Ones agreed.

They'd been quiet as he'd talked to her; they always were in her presence, not because they had nothing to say, but around her, their voices always seemed to mute. Now, watching her through the window, so close and yet so far away in so many respects, their voices were loud as could be again. And they reminded him that he had a job to do.

He walked on, disappeared into the little alley beside the shop where the shadows could hide his presence. There, he took the cell phone out of his pocket to read the text message that Cruella had sent him.

She passed. Heading back to the cabin.

Regina. She'd done it. Maleficent had tasked her to help with taking the puppet boy, and she'd actually done it. Ursula, using magic no doubt, would transport herself and Cruella back to the cabin, since Mal had taken Cruella's car for the task. And then, in a few short minutes, given where Geppetto lived, Mal would arrive with the boy and Regina.

He swallowed hard at that prospect. Someone was going to know. Regina, of all people, was going to find out that he was back. There was nothing to worry about, not anymore, not now that the dagger was safely back in his possession where it belonged, but that didn't mean there were other risks associated with this.

But the Seer had shown him a vision of the women. All of the women. The Seer had said they would be his team, and she was never wrong. He had to trust that.

She might not ever be wrong, but she wasn't always known to show us the truth either, some unknown female Dark One whispered in his head.

He felt his jaw clench nervously at that reminder, a reminder he certainly didn't need now. The Seer was never wrong…that was what he needed to remember at a time like this.

"No wonder I always preferred Belle, you all are so much better silent," he muttered to himself before using his magic to take himself back to the cabin.

As he suspected, Cruella and Ursula were in the living area waiting for him.

"She did it, she took the boy," Cruella spat out the second he arrived as if he were awarding prizes to the first person to fill him in.

"Took her time doing it, too," Ursula added.

"I still don't trust her," Cruella inserted.

"Which is why we stick to our plan. Trust is earned, and Regina has earned the right to know some of our plan, but not all of it."

"And will she be learning about you?" Ursula questioned, looking him over. "Did you get it?"

He hesitated to show any of these women that dagger. At the moment, the only one of the four he truly trusted not to steal it and put it through his heart was Regina, ironically enough. But…given the fact that he wasn't intending to let the dagger out of his possession from this moment on, and that he was smarter and stronger than all of them, not to mention that his biggest concern was Cruella and her very limited magic was no threat at all to him, he pulled the dagger from his pocket to show them that tonight had, in fact, been successful for them all.

Ursula smiled. And, as expected, Cruella looked at the dagger with hungry eyes, but he didn't care. Not with the sound of a car rolling into the driveway and his magical alarms alerting him to the presence of Regina, the Dragon, and the Puppet blaring in his ear. He made a motion to the back door.

"Fetch the boy. And take your time, I think this is one reunion you should leave to your old pal and I."

Ursula muttered "let's go" to her friend, and the pair of them walked out the back door, leaving him to himself, hidden from sight when the women walked in. It was dramatic, he had to admit. But then, theatrics always had been a specialty of his.

"Gold's cabin?" he heard Regina question after the door opened.

"We needed somewhere to hang our headdresses and hide our puppets, and this little hovel came available to us," Maleficent answered.

Regina didn't respond. There was nothing but quiet in the room from the two women, and he wasn't sure if it was his knowledge of Regina or the silence that told him, but instantly he knew…

Regina knew.

Even if he never revealed himself. Regina would know.

"No! Your dark object…it's not a spell or an object," she worked out in a tone of disbelief. "It's…"

"That's right, dearie…" he called out, revealing himself in the room before she had to state it herself.

Regina's back was to him when he stepped inside, but the second he said the word, she turned on her heel to face him.

"It's me…"

Her eyes looked him over, as if drawn to the dagger he still had drawn in his hand. If she was indeed not to be trusted, then he hoped that dagger in his hand would show her that she could run back to Belle and tell her all she wanted, but there was nothing anyone could do to cast him out of this town again.

"You didn't really think I'd stay banished for long, now did you?"

His protégé took a deep breath, then brought her gaze back up to his. "No, I didn't." And he knew that whether or not she was putting on an act here and now for Maleficent, that part, at least, was the truth. He always knew she was a good student. And a good teacher.

"I learned quite a bit about myself on my journey outside Storybrooke. You were right, Regina…sometimes the teacher needs to learn from the student. And sometimes, you need to fall very far to finally see the light."

"You finally accepted the same truth I have. You can't get your happy ending without finding the Author. I suppose that puts us on the same side!"

Another truth.

"I suppose it does."

Suddenly, the door burst open behind them, and Cruella entered with an unconscious Pinocchio in her arms. Ursula followed, but the magic that he smelled on the boy, keeping him in sleep, wasn't hers. It was Regina's. She truly had done the deed. That was a step in the right direction.

"And now…with the help of the real boy you've acquired…we can take our first steps."

"What are you going to do?"

"Step aside and I'll show you…or have you gone soft?"

Regina's fist tightened for a moment in her hesitation, but he watched her carefully. Keeping Maleficent in his control might be a task, but Regina…he knew how to handle her easily. If she were here under false pretenses, then she'd be protective of the boy, and the way to get her in line was quite simple: call her on her bluff each and every time.

Predictable as ever, Regina moved aside at his words. "Never," she purred, bidding him forward with her hand.

Like taking candy from a baby.

"What a relief…you see, we're not going to ask young Pinocchio here to remember anything. Because he can't. No amount of torture will work on him. But it will succeed on the man he used to be."

Once again at his full strength, he held the dagger in his hand. He reached out with his magic, sought out the Blue Fairy's magic, and strand by strand began to dismantle it. He felt the muscles in the child's body begin to expand, his skin stretched, hormones began to flood his system; knot by knot he untied the boy from his confines until what was left before him was no longer a little boy bound by a fairy, but a grown man who had once tried to trick him in the worst way in this very place. August Wayne Booth.

"Welcome back, August…" he muttered. Just before he stepped back, he sought out the sleeping spell Regina had used and removed it easily. As if on command, the man opened his eyes and took a look around. His heart skipped a beat at the sight that befell him. "Now…shall we begin?"

Chapter Text

"Now…shall we begin?"

He'd meant for those words to sound sinister and dangerous. He'd meant for August Booth's heart to skip a beat at the tone he took, fearing what might come next if he didn't cooperate. That was why they started easily enough. Of course, he had ideas of torture in mind, great ideas for torture, but the best of his ideas required a few extra things that he was unwilling to send his cadre after without him at the moment. So, yes, they started easy with some background information, things August could answer without having to hide anything or tell lies about. It allowed August to get comfortable with the truth, for him to see how he looked and sounded and acted when he was speaking truthfully. And also allowed August to dream up what might happen to him when the questions got harder.

They spent the night interrogating him on those simple questions, taking breaks as needed. For them at least. Other than a couple of times when he asked to use the bathroom, August remained tied to that chair. Regina acted as his guard for the most part, even got him a damn glass of water once when he asked. The women were suspicious of that all on its own, but he was only confused.

No, he didn't particularly trust Regina just yet. But he wasn't exactly certain they couldn't trust her yet either. It was fascinating. He always knew that he knew Regina better than anyone else in their little world. And he's always assumed that would be a benefit to him, not a hindrance, and yet here he found himself utterly confused by her behavior, and all because he knew her better than anyone else. Was she being kind to August because she'd truly gone soft all these years, and it was just taking her some time to get out of that old habit? Or was she being kind because she was still soft, and working with the heroes in some way, being nice to please them in the end?

He genuinely could not tell. Which was truly embarrassing and frustrating, but the good thing about the interrogation was that every second he spent with Regina gave him more information to work with. Providing him with water and insisting on untying him so he could use the bathroom may not have directly supported his latter theory, but it didn't disprove it either. In the meantime, the information she willingly revealed during August's interrogation…well, it was the same problem. It didn't prove his former theory, but it also didn't disprove it.

Their first few hours were spent discussing the storybook, something he hadn't realized until now that Regina was so deeply connected to, she called it "Henry's Storybook." She was the most familiar with it, not just because it had spent the most time in her house, in Henry's possession, but because she had been the first one to look into it. She had wisdom to offer where that book was concerned, and August was there to fill in the gaps even she knew nothing about.

Henry's Storybook had been in Mary Margaret's classroom during the curse, it seemed. When she was Henry's teacher, the year Emma came to town, Mary Margaret apparently thought Henry was a kid who needed a little bit of hope and gave the book to him to provide just that…hope. Instead, Henry had realized the truth of Storybrooke from it, who they were, and what they were doing here. He was the only kid in town not under the Curse, not aging, and despite Regina's best efforts to convince him it was all in his head, he knew better. That book had been the reason Henry stole Mary Margaret's credit card, found Emma, and left to bring her to Storybrooke, an event that had set all this in motion.

"Tell us about the time Henry's book went missing. I know you removed pages from the book. Why?" Regina prompted. The time that Henry's book went missing was a part of the tale even he was unfamiliar with, and so he'd allowed Regina to take the lead, noting her curiosity. No matter which side she was playing for, the Author was still a very real mystery she was trying desperately to solve. And it showed.

"How do you know pages of the book were removed?" Cruella questioned Regina suspiciously.

"Because a few weeks ago, when I talked to the child and he didn't have answers for me, his beloved father gave me the saddlebags off his motorcycle. Inside, there were spare drawings. They were nothing, but I assume that you removed them from the book when you replaced the pages with your own work."

"That has nothing to do with now," August answered easily enough. "I removed the pages from the back of the book and replaced them with pages that were meant to inspire Emma to find her purpose in Storybrooke. That was my purpose, my charge when I got sent through the portal ahead of Emma. I was supposed to protect her, inspire her, guard her, and let her know her purpose when the time was right. I was supposed to be selfless, brave, and true. When I wasn't, well…I think you know the end of that tale."

By the time the sun rose, it had been a long night, not just for him but also for Regina. The women had come and gone for most of it, taking breaks here and there as August filled in the blanks of a tale he only half knew. He and Regina were the only ones who had not once left the room. Regina was tired. He could see it in her eyes. The others were as well. Maleficent kept wandering about, sitting in various places in the cabin as if she was listening while resting. Ursula kept walking outside, into the cooler air, with a radio. Each time she came back, she looked a little more energized than she had before, but never fully awake. Cruella had been up to make coffee half a dozen times, which August, also clearly sleep-deprived, scented eagerly each time. But August never asked for it, perhaps because he knew they wouldn't give it to him. He certainly had all manner of ideas for torturing the puppet, but for now, sleep deprivation could work wonders to addle the mind and loosen the tongue. And so, by morning, he began to question him about the more important things.

How had he known about the book when he arrived in Storybrooke? What did he know about its creation? Who was the Author?

All night it seemed as though August had been an open book, willing to tell about his early experiences with the book and Henry and Emma, and yet suddenly, he went stiff, clammed up, claiming not to know or giving answers that were unsatisfactory.

"Papa told me about the book before I left. I thought it was a fairy tale when I was growing up, but when I saw it with Henry, I knew it wasn't."

That happened to be a convenient answer…for him.

"I'm a Renaissance man, trained to be a woodworker; paper isn't all that different. And you can find tutorials for binding books on the internet."

Only slightly more convenient.

"I have no idea who the Author is."

Absurd.

"I find that hard to believe," he chuckled.

"Why?" August demanded.

"Degrees of separation, Mr. Booth. You see, your father is a longtime friend of the Blue Fairy, is he not?"

"You know they are, she's the one who made me what I am today…your interference aside."

"And I happen to know that another one of the Blue Fairy's dearest friends over the years has been the Sorcerer's Apprentice, Merlin's very own golden boy."

"So…what's that have to do with anything?"

"Your Papa told you about the book before you left. I wonder who told him of its existence. Could it be the same fairy that assured you passage to this land? The same fairy who is friends with the Apprentice."

"Maybe. Even if the connection exists, I fail to see the point of it."

"The Apprentice knows the identity of the Author. And the Apprentice and the Blue Fairy maintained a correspondence over the years leading up to the Curse, so you see, it makes me wonder what else your father told you that you aren't telling me."

He didn't miss the fact that Regina suddenly swallowed so hard he could hear it or that she shuffled a little at his question, but still he kept his gaze locked on August Booth, even as Cruella returned from the porch with Ursula in tow.

"I already told you…I don't know anything about this author," August repeated for what must have been the millionth time. He was disappointed. He didn't believe him, of course, but at this point, he'd been kept and interrogated for so long that his heart didn't even skip when he was asked a question. It was time to make this morning interesting.

But at that moment, Cruella and Ursula stomped ungracefully back into the room. Ursula grabbed a knife from off some table or other and thrust it in front of the puppet's face. "Well, perhaps you could use a little incentive!"

"Oh, that knife is not gonna make me remember something I don't know!" August whined.

He wanted to roll his eyes at their dramatics. That wasn't exactly the kind of "interesting" he had in mind, but his heartbeat had at least risen at the flash of the knife, proving that fear was at least still a little effective. Dramatic as the tactic used to get it, that at least confirmed it might be time to take a break, let some of the women get some sleep, and enact one of his plans.

"Wait!" Regina cried suddenly. Before his eyes, the blade disappeared from Ursula's hand and reappeared in her own.

Ursula looked down at her empty hand, then over at Cruella. They both found Regina, knife in her hand, easy enough. "Is there a problem?" Ursula demanded.

"I knew she'd never the stomach for this," Cruella chimed.

"Please," Regina spat back, leaving the knife on a table behind her. "I was torturing people back when you were still playing with puppies."

Cruella glared as she rounded on the puppet. She was clearly unhappy with what had just happened; clearly still distrusting of Regina. He understood the distrust, but he'd been dealing with Regina's magic well enough to know it as well as he knew her. He was more inclined to believe her action had been done out of instinct. And it was because of his own instinct that he wanted to watch this scenario play itself out.

"This sorry excuse for a man used to be made of wood. So, let's light a fire under him and see what happens…" Regina threatened, getting up close and personal with the puppet as she sparked a fireball in the palm of her hand.

Maleficent closed in, drawn to the fire like a moth to a flame.

"Okay. All right…." Pinocchio begged with half a voice. "You know something…I actually, uh, do remember something about The Author." He looked between the man and Regina, then watched as Regina tossed her fireball into the fireplace. What an interesting reaction. Hers…and his…

"Um…"

"Don't hold out on us!" Ursula ordered, giving the boy a little shove of disapproval at the time he was taking to answer such a simple damn question.

"W-when I was in Hong Kong, uh, before the curse broke, I met a mystic. His name was The Dragon. I don't know how he knew about the book, but he had been looking for The Author for years."

It was no coincidence that August looked at him as he spoke. He was the one who knew all, but for the life of him, he couldn't think of a single individual who called themselves the Dragon. But to know about the book…surely this mystic must have been from their realm. The Author himself, he wondered.

"And what did this 'dragon' learn?" he questioned.

"He died before I could ask."

"Oh, well, that's something you two are about to have in common," he responded, getting to his feet. The boy feared fire; he could light this entire cabin in flames if that was what it took to-

"And after he died…I took his research. And I brought it with me to Storybrooke," August smiled.

Oh, how he did love researchers.

"Do you really think this man-child is telling us the truth?" Maleficent questioned over his shoulder at him.

"Well, it wouldn't be the first time he's lied to my face." Though he was suddenly full of wonderful ideas to help him determine truth from lies with this puppet. And this did give him a wonderful excuse to follow through on it. "I'm afraid I'm gonna have to pay a visit to his trailer to find out," he lied, going to the door to collect his coat.

"While you're doing that, shall we carry on with the rest of the plan?" Ursula questioned.

"Rest of the plan?" Regina questioned. "What aren't you telling me?"

He nearly smiled. The rest of the plan that Ursula was referring to was simply to figure out a way to let Regina know that there was a "rest of the plan." After such a long night, he'd nearly forgotten. What a good little helper Ursula had turned out to be.

"You're gonna have to do a lot more than just kidnap a marionette and torch a few logs for us to tell you everything," he commented in Regina's direction. "In the meantime, be content that you've finally chosen the winning side."

Cruella snickered as he made his way out the door.

At least they would be the winning side when they got the Author.

Chapter Text

He didn't go to the trailer. He didn't even try. He might have told the women he was going, but what was the point? For as long as he'd known about that trailer, and before, it had always been cloaked in spells, spells that he'd assumed were always designed to keep him away. Those spells had been effective. He'd been able to appear at the place the trailer was, but never actually laid eyes on it, much less gone inside. And it was possible, he assumed, that in all the magic of the Curses that had washed over Storybrooke and the Enchanted Forest in the last few years, the magic had weakened or evaporated enough for him to find and access the trailer, but again, even if they had, what was the point?

He didn't trust the boy. As he'd already informed his accomplices, August had lied to his face, boldly, on more than one occasion. He had no reason to truly believe what had been said and every reason to believe that he was still lying. Once a liar, always a liar. He should know.

But slippery as August was, he needed a way to prove it, to get his answers more effectively. And in watching Regina and Maleficent work the poor puppet over, watching his reaction to fire…it had given him a wonderful idea that he knew would be far more effective than chasing his own tail in an attempt to get into a trailer that may or may not have a reward waiting for him.

If this were years ago, telling that boy's truth from his lies would be as easy as asking a question and staring at his face. He suspected, by now, that nose of his would have grown into tree with this story that he was telling. And if the man now made of flesh and blood was scared of a little fire, think about how terrifying it would be for a man made of wood.

As he left the cabin, he damn near smiled at the thought of the fun to come. Oh, it had been so long since he'd done something like this, since he'd been free to do something like what he had in mind. No, he could acknowledge that it wouldn't be part of his happy ending because he knew Belle would hate it. She was the reason he'd stopped doing things like this in the first place. But in anticipation of things changing very soon, he might as well flex some old muscles and enjoy being bad while he still could.

He used his magic to deliver him to a familiar place where a wretched smell filled his nose. The convent. Though they'd been away for weeks and their power would have been drained by the hat, still working on coming back to full strength, the convent still reeked of Light Magic. That was no matter. It would still make what he was about to do far easier than usual.

Hidden away in the tree line, he stared out at the convent, masking his magic as best he could, knowing that even he couldn't hide all his Darkness, especially from her. Sitting on the porch, dressed in blue, appearing to be simply enjoying the day with a cup of something steaming in her hand, was the Blue Fairy. Oh, if the wind blew the wrong way, she'd likely catch a scent of him, even over whatever was in that coffee mug she held onto for warmth. He had to go about this carefully.

There were answers here, potentially even in more than one way. Thus far in his search for the Author, he hadn't made an attempt to find the Apprentice. Though he would also still be weakened and most likely knew the identity and even the location of the Author, he saw no more point in trying to find him than he did August's trailer. That man hid from him successfully for decades, even with his magic weakened; there was no doubt he could do it all again. But staring now at the Blue Fairy herself sitting so easily on the porch, he did wonder…

The Blue Fairy and the Apprentice had worked together in the Enchanted Forest. They'd corresponded on matters they deemed important, like trying to hide the Dark Curse from him. Ironically, it had been the Apprentice's keeping of that correspondence that had led him to the Dark Curse, but now he wondered…had the Blue Fairy kept hers? Was it possible that there was information contained within it about the Author, who he was, where he was?

The Blue Fairy rose from her seat on the porch. She almost appeared dizzy for a moment, taking a second to reach her hand out for the banister and steady herself before she took timid steps back inside. There was an office in that building. He hadn't been to it since he'd been Mr. Gold, but he knew it existed and now would love to plunder the many filing cabinets he'd once observed and Mother Superior, in her cursed state, had lamented were locked without a key to be found. He could only guess what kind of goodies the Curse's magic had hidden away in there. But it was too risky to find out now. It was too much work with not enough promise of a reward. The Apprentice might have told her something important, and he might be able to find it with time. But he also might have kept those secrets to himself. Thus, it might very well be a fool's errand.

No, getting August to talk was his better bet. And for that, he wanted to, in part, temporarily reverse some of the magic that had been done to him. Not all of it. He had no interest in a man made of wood or a little boy who had no access to his older memories. All he needed was one lovely little side effect of the Blue Fairy's magic to return, and he knew exactly the spell he had to craft in order to do it. Unfortunately, in order to get it done, he also needed Light Magic. Specifically, Fairy Magic.

He had no doubt that if he could get inside the convent, he'd find an ample supply of their magic. Of course, that magic was most likely under guard of some kind, protected by magic itself. But fortunately, fairies spent so much time around their magic that there was a second way he could get it. Fairy blood. The magic was a part of them, in their system, in their blood. Far easier than sneaking into their stores would be to simply locate some of it that was out and about on their own time. Of course, he'd need to be careful so as not to create a disturbance and alert the others. He needed...her…

As if he'd conjured her himself, out the side door of the convent, a young fairy he had no memory of, identically dressed in blue, wandered out of the main building with an apple in her hand. She walked down the stairs and across the lawn. With a smirk on his face, he followed her with his gaze, waiting for someone to join her, but no one ever did. Instead, she sat down on a wooden swinging bench, took a bite of the apple, and stared out at the water before her.

Fairy magic on two feet. Perfect.

Getting closer to the place she was sitting, moving farther out of sight, he cast an illusion, one that a young fairy would be entranced and blessed by. He conjured a white horse with a twisted horn on its head. Valued in their world for the ability to show potential foresight, but also extremely rare, the moment he had it toss its head, the Fairy's eyes fell upon it, and she rose to her feet quickly. He urged the horse to knicker, something cute and inviting. And with perfect predictability, the fairy looked down at the apple in her hand, then back up at the projection. She was a naïve one, unquestioning of where this miracle had come from; she simply did what most in their land would have done with this opportunity and approached it slowly, her breakfast now a potential offering to get whatever insight she desired from the creature.

"Cassie!"

Fuck.

Another fairy he hadn't noticed emerged from the hive, looking around and calling after her friend. She was looking in the wrong direction for the moment, but the woman's attention was divided. He needed to act quickly. He had the horse knicker again, drawing the woman's gaze back to it before he had the apparition trot off into the tree line, close enough to be hidden from the other woman, but near enough to be inviting to his target.

He held his breath as he watched the girl consider her options, leaving the legendary beast alone and heeding her friend's call, or stepping forward into his trap. Her fingers rolled the remainder of the apple she had in her hand nervously for a few seconds, and then, much to his relief, she stepped forward. He held the projection still as she approached slowly, making sure the lure was believable and enticing. And when she was finally in the tree line, out of sight of the building and her little friend, the moment she reached her hand out to feed the creature, he cast a sleeping spell on her and watched as she dropped like a lead weight to the forest floor. It was almost too easy.

Chapter Text

After collecting a few drops of blood from the fairy, he left. Tempting as it was to kill her just to have one of those gnats wiped off the earth, he resisted. The sleeping spell would break within the hour if the others didn't find her, and when she spoke about the Unicorn, they'd likely think she had simply hallucinated or hit her head and had a vivid dream. His hope was that she was one of the fairies who had been dragged into the hat, and they'd suspect it was a sign of weakness. They'd never know he'd been there.

He took his prize back to his basement. Ignoring the boxes that made his chest ache, and the fact that Belle wasn't home and he wasn't sure he wanted to know where she was, he set to work, processing the blood, ripping the magic apart from it so he could use it, bending its properties to his own purposes. When he was done, he had precisely the thing that he needed to tell August's truths from his fictions. And, after cleaning up so Belle wouldn't notice he'd been back, he returned to the cabin to reap the rewards of his decisions.

"Hello, Dearies," he greeted, walking into the cabin with his prize. Three of the women were there, and August, well...he was now sporting a wonderful gag he'd place bets Cruella was responsible for. But his eyes, his eyes had absolutely no fear in them, a sure sign that there was nothing in his trailer. But that fearlessness he wore-he had every confidence he was about to wipe it off his face.

"Did you find anything at the puppet's trailer?" Cruella questioned as the women gathered around.

"Of course not. I didn't even look," he proclaimed as he hung his coat up and glanced at Regina. If she was nervous about his whereabouts, she was doing a good job of hiding it. "The man's a born liar. He would never have cracked so easily. Instead, I paid a visit to the fairies. Or rather, a visit to their ample supply of magic. Now, this potion can temporarily reverse any spell those do-gooders cast. They made him real. This can undo that."

There it was, that beautiful look of fear that he was looking for. Along with a shake of the head and a pleading look not to do what he was threatening, but of course…it wouldn't be much of a threat if he didn't show him there was going to be follow-through, now would it?

"I promise you, dearie…this is gonna hurt."

He removed the gag. August fought. He fought hard, clenching his body, tightening his jaw hard as wood. But he used his magic to soften muscles and pry that mouth of his open so he could tip the liquid down his throat.

The Fairies' Magic worked almost immediately. He could see the boy stiffen in a way that he hadn't before as he started moaning and then gurgling. His hands turned back to wood. Then he could see it on his chest at the opening of his shirt. It traveled up his neck and jaw, over his ears, the features of his face, and finally, the last hair on his head gleamed like he was a puppet freshly polished.

"Now…let's see if we can pull this puppet's strings." And then…just as August was remembering the feel of being in his old wooden body, it receded. From the top down, or so he assumed, seeing as how the wood receded the same way it had crept over him. But the magic…the magic remained. And that was what he was looking for.

"When you said it was temporary, you weren't kidding, were you, darling?" Cruella chastised.

He ignored her and turned back to August to explain. "You see, you may no longer look like the puppet you once were, but it matters not. That potion you just drank has activated that…built-in lie detector of yours."

"I don't know what you're talking about."

But, before his eyes, he and the women watched as Pinocchio's infamous nose did precisely what it was famous for. It grew, exposing the lie he'd told and most certainly exposing the ones he might think to tell if he didn't give in right away.

"Excellent," he smiled down at his work. The look of pain that had flashed over his face as it had happened wasn't something to laugh at either. Finally, an Achilles heel for him to take full advantage of with every villainous bone in his body. "The next lie is gonna hurt!"

He used his magic to twist the boy around, pushed him to the ground so that he was face to face with the worst fear a wooden puppet could have-fire. He held him close enough to feel the heat but not so close that the wooden nose of his would catch. That wasn't what he wanted now. He wanted the threat of it.

"What do you know about the Author?"

"I already told you everything!" he claimed. But his nose groaned as he grew again, closer to the fire with every inch.

"Try again, dearie. Where is he?"

"I don't know."

Another inch.

"Do not fool yourself. I will get my answer."

"Okay."

"Where is he?"

"All right. I'm gonna tell you what you want to know."

This time, his nose didn't grow. Hope fluttered in his chest.

"The Sorcerer, uh, trapped the Author behind a door."

"The Sorcerer? A door? He's speaking in riddles!" Cruella complained.

No, not riddles. He was just being very careful with his words. Like a smart man with a truth-telling spell on them would.

"No, listen to me, Gold. You know about the sorcerer. You know I'm telling the truth. And she…" he turned to look over his shoulder at Regina, "she knows about the door."

His nose didn't grow an inch. Every word he'd spoken was true, and yet…

He'd give Regina credit; she looked truly baffled.

"I know my papa gave you my things. There was a page that I took out of the book. Had an illustration of the door on it…" August prompted.

Still, the nose didn't grow, and still…his former student remained silent.

"Regina?" he questioned.

"They were just scraps of paper," she shrugged.

How clever, using omission to hide what she'd concealed. Perhaps he'd taught her too well.

"Then you'll have no problem sharing them with us now."

"Well, I would if I hadn't already given them to Henry."

Fuck. She was telling the truth, too. That was the tale that Maleficent had told her already. And going to Henry for this…that was a line he was still unwilling to cross, at least at this time. He turned back to August. A picture of a door. What did they need a picture for other than to see what it looked like? August could do that just fine. He was a craftsman after all.

"Do you remember what the door looks like?"

"Uh…made of wood. Hand-carved frame. Gilt in gold."

His nose remained the same. Truth.

"Where is the door?" he pressed.

"All I know…is…it's somewhere in Storybrooke."

Truth.

He smiled and let out a small laugh of victory as he patted the lad on the back. "There we are, now," he muttered, helping him back into his seat, where he could see the sweat rolling down his forehead. "That wasn't so hard, now, was it? Since the sorcerer was the one who did the trapping, we will start our search for the door at his mansion. Maleficent…"

"I'll stay here and watch the puppet," Regina volunteered before he could say her name. But there wasn't a chance in hell he was about to let her sit here. Not when he didn't trust her not to run back to the Charming Clan and reveal what they'd heard. No, he had a better, more vicious animal in mind for that. Besides, there were other reasons he needed her with them

"No, no. Cruella will be our guard dog," he muttered, slipping his coat over his shoulders. "Since you're the only one who's seen the drawing of the door, you're gonna have to help us find it. Where is the Sea Witch?"

"Out," Maleficent concluded for him. "You'll have to live with a Fire and Air Witch."

He didn't ask further questions, not with how curt she'd been. Besides, they were wasting time. They'd catch Ursula up later. With a wave of his hand, he used his magic to take the three of them back to the Sorcerer's Mansion.

Chapter Text

There was, of course, no promise that the door they were looking for was at the Sorcerer's Mansion. He was just working off a hunch, something based on the theory of Occam's Razor. In his experience, the simplest explanation had often proved to be the correct explanation. Often-but not always. In this case, August had said that the Sorcerer had trapped the Author behind a door. He knew that wasn't true, but August's nose hadn't grown, which meant that to August's mind it was Truth. Knowing what he knew over the years of his own research and listening to rumors, knowing what Nimue had locked away in her head, that the Author was a job not a person, that someone different had been doing it for a long time, and that Merlin was in fact still a tree…he knew that Merlin hadn't been the one to imprison the Author.

"His Apprentice, however…" Nimue whispered in his ear.

Yes, his Apprentice was the most likely candidate. And fortunately for him, since his freedom, he'd become all too familiar with the man who had eluded him for centuries. Where he'd been, how he'd lived, even who he'd been in this land. If the simplest explanation was often the correct explanation, then searching the Mansion, and the property where Yen Sid had apparently been living in that run-down old cottage, was the best place to start. Shutting him away behind one of the many doors in that monstrosity, rooms filled with artifacts, magical and ordinary, would have been the simplest explanation. But, unfortunately for them, it obviously wasn't the only explanation.

He brought his witches to the very edge of the property line, so that if any kind of spell had been cast over the place to look over it, then hopefully they wouldn't sense their magical signatures before he removed the spell, but that proved to be useless. There was no spell on the property. If the Apprentice was watching it, he was monitoring it in some other way.

He caught Maleficent up as they walked across the yard, giving her a brief overview of the building, what it housed, and what it didn't house. He let them both know that he sensed magic here, but dulled. And expansive as the house was, this was going to require them to search every room and open every door.

"Even the doors that don't look like doors," Regina muttered as they climbed the stairs. He glanced over at her with curiosity. That kind of comment made very little sense to him, and he wanted desperately to figure out what it meant. Fortunately, with Regina, a look was all it took. "After you'd gone, Henry did some exploring and found a room hidden behind a wall. Obviously, it's not going to be our door, but the door could be inside a hidden room. Don't worry, I'll check."

Indeed, it could. He vaguely remembered finding a wall that felt as though it was emanating magic; he wondered if perhaps his curious grandson had solved the mystery. And the fact that Regina had shared that information so freely had him wondering if perhaps his distrust in her was misguided.

"Remember, we're looking for a door of wood, a hand-carved frame, and gold. Was that accurate?" he questioned, looking to Regina.

"From what I remember?" she shrugged and he gave her a skeptical look, pressing her for more information. "What?! I told you I thought it was just a scrap of paper, I didn't pay much attention to it." Then again, perhaps his distrust was perfectly reasonable. And perhaps his theory was not.

They spent the better part of the day in the Mansion, searching every room and opening every door they came across. Out of an abundance of caution, he'd even had Regina show him the secret room she'd described. A library, it seemed; wall to wall books as far as the eye could see, each touched with magic. This was what he'd felt behind the wall the night of his wedding, when he'd explored. But when he picked one up, eager to see what was in it, he found it blank. And the next and the next and the next. Books for future Authors. Not good for their purposes here today, but still…

When Regina shifted her attention for the slightest moment, he cast one of the books away, back to the cabin. Not only could exploring it come in handy later, but having one on hand for when they found the Author seemed to be a smart idea.

Between the three of them, he figured that they had gone over the place at least twice. There were many doors, all of which were made of wood, and a few that even had special, ornately carved frames, some of which he could sense something magical about. But no gold.

Not surprising...the old wretch was always so simplistic in his choice of homes, Nimue sneered like a proper scorned lover. He ignored her and pressed on without acknowledging her.

In addition, each and every door that they pressed on opened without hindrance or difficulty, and somewhere around the twelfth door, it dawned on him that it was too easy. If the Apprentice had locked someone away up here, he'd have made it a lot harder to free them than simply someone, anyone, even a teenager like Henry or a bookworm like Belle here to explore, opening a door. There had to be more to it. Something they were missing, something August had conveniently left out, or else something that he didn't know. He hadn't known about Merlin, but it had registered as true because his mind wanted to believe it. Perhaps he had told them only what he thought he knew as truth. Maybe there was something more in his head. Maybe he needed to search the Fairy Vaults after all. At the moment, if he had to choose a second place to explore for this doorway, it would be that convent. Knowing those fairies and the relationship Blue had with the Apprentice, it would come as no shock to him if they were housing a very special guest for him.

When the sky finally turned dark, they gave up. They'd plundered the Mansion to the best of their abilities, but found no door. Either the Author wasn't there, or else the door was too well hidden, and they needed more information to reveal it. Either way, he had them walking back out to the edge of the property so that he could place his own detection spell on it. Seeing as how no one else had thought to do that, he wasn't exactly anticipating someone else showing up, but on the off chance they did, it seemed such a silly little thing he might as well do it.

"Well, that was a royal waste of time," Regina growled angrily, breaking the silence between the three of them but certainly not their stride. He had told them, for obvious reasons, to be aware as they walked through the yard, that the Apprentice or the Sorcerer could have had something hidden in plain view, and they should be alert for magical signatures, but as they neared the end of the property, even he knew that wasn't the case. There was nothing here. They'd wasted the day doing nothing, and with a tone that matched his own frustration, he was able to believe that Regina truly had been invested in the hunt. The question, of course, would always be "why".

Still, he was the ringleader in this. He supposed it was his job to be positive. That wasn't often a tone he'd taken in his life, but if Regina was in need of some encouragement, then Maleficent probably would be too, lest she lose faith in him and wander away just before he needed her.

"The door may not be in the sorcerer's mansion, but it's somewhere in Storybrooke. We will find it," he assured the women. That was good enough.

Just then, from just around the bend, there was the sound of an engine's roar, a very specific engine he wouldn't forget in a million years. He didn't even need the wild swerving lights he saw coming out of the dark to tell him who was in that car. But Cruella and the car being all the way up here...that was wrong. Cruella was supposed to be back at the house watching the prisoner. What the fuck was going on?!

Cruella squealed to a sudden stop, just before she would have inevitably run them over, and got out of the car. She made her best attempt at running to them all the while he fought off the lights of the car to check the interior for what he hoped with be August Booth. But it was clear with one glance that it was Cruella and Cruella alone. His stomach knotted, and he felt more than one Dark One swallow nervously with the same assumption. The bitch had finally done it; she'd lost control and killed someone important.

"What are you doing here? Where's August?"

"They rescued him…the heroes," she answered breathlessly.

Fear melted away into anger at her confession. Fuck, that was just as bad.

"You had one simple task!"

"It wasn't my fault!" she exclaimed. "We have a mole…."

A mole…someone working for the other side…he knew it.

"Who would be foolish enough to cross us?" Maleficent questioned immediately, making him almost suspicious of her. He didn't like how she said that word "us"; it was too reminiscent of what he'd been trying to do since he arrived. And besides, while Regina was the easy answer, he could sense that Maleficent was getting tired of playing second fiddle. She wanted her daughter back. He figured he didn't have long before she broke free to go off and find her on her own, as he planned, but if she did it too early, or if she could find a way to ruin his plans and therefore free up her friends to assist her with her own….

It could be either of them. Regina for her weak heart and association with the ones they were working against. Or Maleficent for her desperation.

"I know exactly who…" Cruella growled, Regina danced and sidestepped nervously, drawing his suspicion back to her. "Ursula!"

That was not the answer that he expected as she looked toward Regina.

"She sold us out for a reunion with daddy dearest."

Ursula. The one who had been feeding information to heroes, who had told them where August was and that it was safer to come get him, was Ursula? His first thought was that it seemed ridiculous, but then…the simplest answer was often the most likely. Ursula was the only one not here at the moment. She'd gone missing while he'd been out, and though Maleficent had seemed like she knew why, no explanation had really been given for her sudden absence. She hadn't taken well to the torture of August, often retreating outside; she'd been distant the last few days. His first ally, would she really have thrown it all away for an opportunity to reunite with Triton? For the sea?

Of course she would. The way she'd looked up at the fish in the aquarium, the way she'd brought the sea to her in her apartment, how she'd asked about her father and happy endings…she'd figured out a way to get hers without waiting for the Author. Of course, she would have done that. The simplest explanation was so often the correct explanation.

"All right…" Now they needed to pivot, evaluate, and figure out how to move on. "We may have lost our informant, but we still have his information." He was doing the math in his head, figuring on the distractions he had planned. He might need to move the timetable up on one of them. Now that they had August and were bound to come away with all kinds of information, they were more likely to start locking other pieces of information down. This meant he now needed to do the one thing he didn't want to do.

It was time to involve Henry.

As gently and safely as possible, which obviously didn't involve Cruella. She was the most vicious; he didn't want her to know any more about his grandson than necessary.

He turned to Regina. "Bring us the illustration of the door. Maybe there's something in it the puppet missed." The fact that Regina nodded and disappeared without question gave him the thought that she was just as afraid of Cruella getting near Henry as he was. Hopefully, she understood that the beauty of her going on her own was that he could personally babysit Cruella while Regina was out. He wasn't willing to play games with Henry's safety. As for Maleficent…if he was going to move the timetable up, then he needed her nearby. There was a lot that they needed to do. If Ursula really has let the cat out of the bag, then there will be no more hiding behind what Maleficent might be in Storybrooke to do. They'd know that they were looking for the Author and maybe even know that happy endings were their end goal. They no longer had time to doddle; they needed to move and act. Quickly.

Chapter Text

There was, perhaps, nothing that he hated more in this world than being idle. That was why running the pawn shop was always such a perfect fit for him, why spinning was always a perfect hobby. There was always something to be spun or tinkered with, always something for his hands to do. Waiting with nothing to do was driving him mad. Though, he had to admit, it wasn't bothering him nearly as much as it was bothering Cruella. Back at the cabin, waiting for Regina to return with the page, Maleficent was still as a statue. She moved occasionally, choosing to sit or stand as she desired. He took up residence on a couch. But Cruella, she paced like a caged animal.

At first, she'd been quiet and he'd been patient. It was dark by the time they'd finished in the mansion and sent Regina off, but dark didn't mean late. While he'd shuffled about the cabin, going through some of the belongings and experiements that Ursula had left behind in her hasty exit, his mind worked through the potential timeling.

After the heroes rescued August, they'd no doubt be busy finding a place to put him, somewhere he could recuperate safely while also being hidden away. No doubt August would try to tell them of the page immediately and they would assess its importance but he was hoping that by that time Regina could get in and out without trouble, before they knew about it. Or else she could wait until they were asleep.

At first, they'd been quiet and patient as they waited for her. But as the hours grew from later to earlier, as each one excused themselves to eat and shower and see to other needs, as the sun rose and they found themselves once more convened in the cabin he was growing more worried than impatient. And Cruella was growing restless. And loud.

"This was a mistake. I never should have trusted her. I should have gone and done the job myself! She should have been back by now, why isn't she here? What's taking so long?"

And perhaps, for the first time since he'd met her, he realized just how little he knew about her. Aside from the fact that she came from the other realm and that her magic was lesser, aside from her fondness for gin and fur coats, he knew nothing about what her happy ending might look like. In fact, he knew so little he couldn't even take an educated guess.

When she'd first started to ramble he and Maleficent had taken turns telling her to calm down, making excuses for Regina, but now they'd both given up it seemed, more content to let her release the energy she had than bottle it up all the while casting each other stoic glances that communicated what neither of them wanted to say out loud.

This was taking too long.

He sent his former student a message, asking where she was and if there were any problems. Thus far she hadn't responded. And given Cruella's behavior that meant that he wasn't just coming up with a plan to go after Regina, but also one to stop Cruella when her hot head overwhelmed her. He wouldn't let that woman near Henry, not in a million years.

"Well?! What are we all standing here for?! It's been hours! Don't you think it's time we faced the facts and went out to retrieve the page ourselves!" the girl finally erupted to Maleficent.

"Regina will be here," she answered, still confident in her old friend.

"I'm not so sure," he admitted joining the two of them. Someone needed to go, but it wasn't going to be Cruella and because he wasn't about to let her out of his sight it wasn't going to be him either. He was impatient but he wouldn't play with his family's safety.

"Perhaps it's time you pay our friend a visit," he suggested to Maleficent.

"She hasn't turned, she wouldn't."

"That's a matter of opinion," Cruella snapped at the Dragon. Her tone was cruel, but he did think she had a point. Ursula may have betrayed them, may have seized her own opportunity for a happy ending, but that didn't mean that Regina was on their side. Once a villain, always a villain. And Regina's motives, like all villains, were questionable. The lines between good and bad blurred as they were, he didn't trust her the same way Maleficent did.

And if he sent the Dragon after her, not only did that keep Cruella away from Henry, but if Regina was betraying them, then the Dragon, strong as her opinion of Regina was, could see it with her own two eyes before returning and being brutally honest about their situation.

"You should go," he ordered calmly of Maleficent. "Be discreet, don't interfere, and return when you've discovered the reason behind her delay."

"And what should I do if I find that she's in trouble, or the heroes have taken her?"

"What should we do with her if she'd been lying to us?!" Cruella demanded.

That was the kind of question only a lesser sorceress would have to ask. The answer was so obvious.

"If she's in trouble, you'll inform us, and we'll consider what must be done to get her out of trouble. And if she's lying to us, then put her to sleep, take her to her vault, and hold her there until we arrive to assist."

"I doubt that will be necessary," Maleficent drawled.

"Well, you never know until-"

He felt Regina's magic on the property about a second before the door slammed open and Regina burst in. Finally.

"Oh, at last. I feel I've aged a decade waiting for you," Cruella snapped.

"Well, you certainly look like it," Regina tossed back without missing a beat.

"Where's the page, Regina?" Maleficent snarled.

She, like him, never missed a beat either. Which was how he knew that Maleficent had to be seeing the same hesitation that he was seeing in her now. Eager as Regina had always been, if she had that page, then she would have produced it by now.

"Don't tell me you failed," he assumed.

"The page was under a protection spell!" she defended. "Something cooked up by the Savior. She almost caught me trying to break it. I had to flee."

That would have been a fair story if it weren't so inherently suspicious. He knew what Regina was capable of just as much as he knew what Emma was capable of. Yes, he knew Emma's power was growing, but unless she had some magic lessons while he was away, her abilities were still limited. In fact, the only one he figured would have worked with Emma while he was away was Regina, which meant that she should be able to break a simple protection spell cast by a budding, albeit powerful, witch. Two and two made four; it was simple math! Why did he feel like Regina was trying to convince him that two and two made five?

"Are you sure that's what happened?" he challenged.

Regina's eyes narrowed in his direction, and her heart suddenly skipped a beat. Anger at his accusation? Or nerves from possibly being discovered. "Of course I am."

"It's just that you've been gone an awfully long time…and yet you come back empty-handed." Even if her story was true, finding the page and discovering a protection spell on it before nearly fleeing should not have taken all night. There was time unaccounted for.

"I'm not empty-handed," she smiled cheekily before reaching into her pocket and producing her cell phone. "I got this." She flipped the phone's screen around to show them-

"A photograph."

"Oh, and an incompetent one, too!" Cruella accused, snatching the phone from her grasp. "That glare ruins any clear view of the door."

He took the phone and stared down at the incompetent picture in question. It was a terrible picture, but that so-called "glare"…it was too perfect to be that. He'd seen things like this before, never in a photograph, of course, not in their world, but in paintings and drawings like this one, sometimes in other spells where…

Where someone magical or magic itself was held captive.

Magic wasn't meant to be in stasis; it was meant to move and breathe and act. Magical items were one thing, but when magic was stored involuntarily in a way it shouldn't be, then it found ways to break free, to let others know it was there. He'd seen it winking at him once when a genie had been inappropriately trapped in an hourglass of all things. And in the case of a man he'd once met who never aged but instead kept a portion of his aging essence stored in a painting he'd made for himself, he'd noticed when the sun touched that painting just right there was a ray of light that would interact with that magic. A ray of light that looked suspiciously just like this.

"No, that's not a glare. That's magic," he declared. The Author was hidden behind a door, a door they could not find, and yet the one picture of it that existed was magical…he could think of only one thing that might mean. Two and two made four…

"This door has been sealed by it. This is the door we've been looking for."

All this time, the Author was in the book itself?!

Regina's heart was pounding, but so was his, so were all of their hearts. It was a most remarkable discovery. A fantastical piece of magic with implications he didn't quite understand.

"You think the Author is trapped in an illustration?" Maleficent questioned. "But that would mean…"

"The Sorcerer imprisoned him in the book." Or the Apprentice, seeing as how Merlin was a tree, which they certainly didn't need to know. Looking at this, there was really only one thing they needed, one thing he needed. "We need to get it. Bring us the page."

"That won't be easy. The Savior isn't about to let it out of her sight."

"Don't worry about her. I've got just the thing," Maleficent smiled.

"What were you thinking?" he questioned, looking up at the Sorceress.

"Sleeping Curse," she grinned. "It'll be awfully hard to defend the page if she's passed out asleep, wouldn't you say?"

"A bold, if not predictable, move," he admitted. "But we don't have time. Besides, we'd have to get close enough to them first, and I rather suspect they'll be suspicious of spinning wheels at the moment, given the situation."

"You might still be using spinning wheels and close encounters for your Sleeping Curses, but I moved on long ago. I have something a little different in mind, something a little more dramatic but far more effective."

He was intrigued. If it were Cruella or Ursula making this suggestion, he'd probably want to know more about it, but Maleficent…no other Sorcerer had delved into the power of Sleeping Curses half as much as she did in their world. And her power, great as it was, had a way of erasing doubt from his mind. He smiled at the possibilities before him.

"Lead on…"

Chapter Text

"That hilltop we went to the night I came back, take me there," Maleficent barked at Cruella, staff in hand, when they were outside and packing themselves into the DeVil car. On the one hand he couldn't believe he was getting into the car again and letting Cruella drive him anywhere. On the other hand, "the hilltop they went to the night she came back" was a complete mystery to him, but he was letting Maleficent take the lead, so he obliged one last ride with the craziest driver he'd ever had the displeasure of riding with. Though he did remind himself that, at least this time, if she should threaten his life, he had magic in him and could easily spare himself. Besides, without Ursula, the four of them fit quite comfortably in the car.

Fortunately for his stomach, they were approximately ten minutes into their drive when he suddenly put two and two together and had a hunch about exactly which "hilltop" Maleficent had been referring to. And sure enough, five minutes later, Cruella parked the car in the woods, a spot he knew all too well because it was the spot that every villain, including Ingrid, came to stand at some point to behold what they hoped would one day be their kingdom. From this overlook, one could see almost all of Storybrooke. Because of the clock tower, Main Street stood out easiest of all. If he followed the streets carefully, he could find his own home, the shop, where he could sense Belle when he let himself be conscious of her presence, even the apartments where the Charmings lived.

"It is a lovely view, but I fail to see how it'll help us place the Savior under a Sleeping Curse," he spoke aloud as they climbed higher up the hill.

"Because, unlike those who need to use a potion or pluck an apple of a certain nature, I have perfected the Sleeping Curse, both in potion form and spell form," Maleficent bragged. "At one particular time, I was planning a beautiful little surprise for Stefan's Kingdom just in case that daughter of his ever woke up. Lucky for him, she didn't. And lucky for us, if she ever had, I'd have been perfectly prepared. I'm glad this little trick of mine isn't about to go to waste."

Regina exchanged a nervous glance with him that he couldn't understand, like there was something in her gaze he was supposed to read but couldn't. And then Maleficent cast a gaze at him over her shoulder. "You might want to protect yourselves, unless you're craving a nap yourself."

He understood his job here, a job he wasn't confident Regina was strong enough to do, and Cruella definitely wasn't. Just as he had when Emma's magic had flared dangerously outside the police station, he cast a protective bubble around himself and the other two women besides him. Maleficent stood apart from them, on top of the hill. She took a deep breath, raised her staff in her hands, and even through the protection spell, he felt her gather her magic into her before she pushed it outward once, then twice in a purple pulse that rippled through the town all the way to what he could see of the boarders.

"It's done," she stated, allowing him to drop the protection bubble. "Now let's get to work."

"Done?" Cruella questioned. "What exactly has she done?"

He knew what she'd done. He knew exactly what she'd done and while it was a clever little curse that would certainly be helpful where Emma was concerned, he wasn't all that convinced it would be helpful for the rest of the Charming Family.

"She's done half our job for us," he answered as Maleficent turned back done the hill and the other's followed.

"Half?!" Maleficent questioned.

"How?" Cruella demanded.

"A temporary Sleeping Curse on the entire town…" He smiled as he turned his attention to the Dragon. "It's a good trick, Dearie, a good show and one that no doubt would have allowed you to extract your revenge on Aurora, but with only half the story in your head, your Curse will miss a few key individuals."

"Only those who have been under a Sleeping Curse before."

Regina sighed heavily. "Which includes Snow White and her Prince Charming…great, the dynamic duo will be up and about."

Them, as well as some others.

"The Savior?" Maleficent questioned, uninterested in someone else's rivalry.

"To my knowledge she's never been touched by a Sleeping Curse before."

"And Snow White and her Prince, were they the ones guarding the page this morning?" the Dragon snapped, looking over at Regina.

Regina shook her head. "No. No, I figured they would be with August."

"Then it sounds like we had better get to that page now rather than later! Regina, where do we go?"

With a grimace, Regina sighed again. "The book was under a protection spell in the loft."

She was unhappy. But about what he couldn't quite put his finger on. The spell had bothered her, and he had a terrible feeling in the pit of his stomach he knew what it was. The girl didn't want this to happen. They'd taken steps to get that page, and getting that page was to have the ability to rewrite history, to get their happy endings, and the only reason he could think that wouldn't enthrall one of his villainesses was if she really didn't want the same thing that they did. He could see it, plain as day on her face, in the way she quietly hiked down the mountain without complaint, happy to waste time.

And with one look at Maleficent, he knew that he wasn't alone. She'd seen it too.

"Now, you know what you have to do?" he confirmed with Maleficent out of earshot of the other two. She'd seen it, but it was still just speculation and guesswork. It would take more to prove Regina wasn't really on their side and when they did, was Maleficent prepared for what would come?

"Quite well, the question is, do you?"

Wasn't he the one running the show in the first place? Wasn't he the one who had been suspicious of Regina from the moment she'd come back into the picture?

"Our deal was that you were gonna help me find the Author and our happiness would be secured." There was no "doing" to be done on his part.

"Well, I'm altering the deal because, let's face it, you need that page from the book to get the Author. And to do that, you need me."

"Do I?"

"I just put the town to sleep. I'm useful. And we all know Cruella and Ursula were a means to an end…me. That's why you haven't shed one tear over our tentacled friend's departure…because you have me. And to have me means you have to give me what I want. It's, oh, so simple."

He fought back a smile. Villains always did have such large egos. He supposed it shouldn't be such a shock that one capable of taking on the form of a Dragon thought so much of herself. The irony of it was that while she wasn't wrong, he wasn't necessarily sure she was correct in her assumptions. He did need Maleficent, but he wasn't quite sure that Maleficent understood the true role that she was going to need to be playing in the future. It was all about diversion. She didn't actually think that he needed her because of her power did she?

Did it matter? This was what he was afraid of with Maleficent. She was smarter than the other two, more cunning. She understood that the person who really had the power in a deal was the one who held the most cards in their hands, and as she so easily pointed out, she did. As long as that page was out in the world and not in his hands, as long as he needed eyes on Regina, she might still hold a winning ace. He needed that page. Cruella was incompetent when angry and Regina, while effective and informative he didn't fully trust. That wasn't to say he trusted Maleficent either, only that of his band of merry murderesses, she was the one he still hadn't used to her full potential and thus the most valuable.

"I need to know what happened to my child after those two heroes got rid of it. I need to know its fate," Maleficent paused as Cruella and Regina walked on. "In return, I will get us both The Author. We'll get you the page. And once I know what they really did to my child, those heroes will pay."

He held back a smile of victory. All in all, given what he knew, the plans he had for her, and the terms of the deal that she suggested, he was more than happy to assist. He couldn't show it on his face, but this was what he'd hoped that she'd want, the place that he'd hoped she'd arrive at after her resurrection. She thought she'd been brought back for power when, in reality, he'd really brought her back to divide the attention of the Charming family, force their dark little secret to the surface, and gut Emma Swan so badly that she'd become sloppy. He wanted the Savior's hero instincts to kick in and then, because of the truth of her origins, he wanted her to question those hero instincts and let them drive her to something a bit…darker. Maleficent had arrived right where he wanted her to. A little earlier than planned, he admitted, but seeing as how Ursula had sped up the timeline he'd originally foreseen, this was practically right on schedule. And, of course, there was that one little perk that this was a way to bring the cards back into his favor and bring Maleficent to heel for when he needed her most of all.

"Can you do it?" she questioned when he remained silent.

"Of course I can do it…but I'll need a few things."

"How convenient…"

"But…I accept your deal. If, by the end of the night, that page is in my hand, I'll see to it that you get the information you need. Oh, and uh…I'll need that little trinket you've been hiding away in your pocket since you returned."

A muscle twitched nervously in Maleficent's jaw, a sign that he'd hit a nerve just the way that he'd wanted to. Just because he didn't have an ace in his hand at the moment didn't mean he didn't have a high card to be played.

"Once you have what I need, you'll have what you need!" Maleficent insisted before turning and following after the women.

Excellent. Just excellent.

Chapter Text

There were things he needed to be doing now that he had made a new deal with Maleficent. Fetching the page was surely something he could trust the three women to do, but after the spell had been cast, they'd quickly left for the last place Regina had said it had been, the place that she'd said the Savior had placed such a powerful protection spell over it that she couldn't break it. And now, even though he had other things to be doing, he was curious enough to delay that project, if only because he was confident that when they found nothing, he'd still have all the time he needed as well as all the information.

So, he piled back into the car with the women and drove into town, where even Cruella realized she had to slow the car down to avoid…obstacles. The spell was effective, it seemed, and the closer they got to town, the more and more evidence of it they saw. It started with people asleep in their lawns, beside their cars, where they'd attempted to get to work. Then it evolved to smoke and fire, the smell of oil and metal, as they encountered accident after accident, people who were unlucky enough to be driving when the spell hit. It was a small town, with a speed limit Cruella scoffed at, which meant it was nothing worse than some fender benders, airbags rarely had gone off, with the exception of one vehicle that had run into a telephone pole and was emitting black smoke from the engine. Regina put it out when she saw it and Maleficent cast her a questioning look. "You may be immune to a gas explosion, but the rest of us aren't," she snarked back against her glare.

Main Street was a mess, bodies on the sidewalk, in Granny's, in their cars. Belle was in the shop. She was alone, and he was grateful for that when he passed by one woman alone in her yard. When they'd passed by the shop on their way to the Charmings' loft, he'd noted that the door still said "closed" and the blinds had been down. That meant that most likely she was locked inside. Though most of the town was asleep at the moment, he knew there were some who were not, knowing she was there and safe was a comfort. And if anyone awake did try to go there, he'd be the first to know.

In the loft, he found what he expected. Nothing. Regina strutted right into the place, unlocking the door with ease, and confidently pulling open one of the kitchen drawers. It was too confident for a woman who wanted him to believe that she'd come face to face with a Protection Spell hours ago.

"It was here before!" she explained, rifling through the drawer.

"She must have moved it," Maleficent concluded.

That was one conclusion. It had never been here in the first place was another. He found what he suspected he would in this little outing. Nothing. If there had been a protection spell on the page, he didn't sense one now. Of course, that could be explained by a weak spell. Emma wasn't great at her magic. But if the spell was weak, then Regina should have easily been able to break through it, even if it was the Savior's. The much more logical conclusion was that there was never a spell because the page had never been here. And Regina was lying...

"Well, there she is…" Cruella drawled, ambling into the loft herself. Suddenly, she pointed out what no one had noticed when they'd first stepped inside. Killian Jones and Emma Swan, huddled together almost romantically by the window, sound asleep.

Maleficent joined the woman. "How precious…"

He continued to look around the apartment, feeling for magic, Emma's just as Regina said. He wasn't going to discount her account without full certainty that he was right. There was certainly some magic here, Maleficent's was overwhelming, as it was in most of the town, he could feel some of his own in here, likely residual, the same with Regina and Emma, but nothing so powerful to suggest a spell had been sustained or cast in here besides Maleficent's current Curse. Still, his protégé kept looking, poking around as if certain she'd find the page. He was less than confident.

"The Savior looks a lot less threatening in this state, doesn't she?" Maleficent drawled. To a dragon like Maleficent, no one ever truly looked threatening.

"I'd be lying if I said I wasn't tempted to wring her scrawny neck right now," Cruella snarled. He caught a smile from Maleficent. She, too, knew that it was thinking like that which made her far more valuable than her old friend.

"Don't even think about it," Regina asserted before he could correct the woman. "I think we can all agree that killing the savior at this point would be ill-advised."

He slammed shut the random drawer that he'd opened. He didn't disagree with Regina, temporary as the spell was and far as they potentially were from bringing back the Author to change some things, killing Emma would only rain down a whole lot more trouble than killing her was worth. But the fact that it was Regina who had said it…that bothered him. "You're right about that, yet wrong about the location of the page. It's not here."

Maleficent's magic was overwhelming, but if a protection spell powerful enough to ward off Regina was present, he'd have felt some trace of it by now. Instead, there was nothing.

"We just have to keep looking. The page was here two hours ago. It didn't just grow legs and walk out of here on its own."

That he did believe. He did smell Regina in this apartment, and not a faint trace of her, like he should, because Henry was around or something lingering from weeks ago when Regina might have last been around. No, Regina had been here within the last 24 hours. But there hadn't been a protection spell. Things weren't adding up. He'd pursue that if it weren't for the deal with Maleficent. She had the most on the line. She'd do the work for him. She and Regina. Out of necessity. Because they may have located Emma and Hook, but there were people missing. Other people who should be here but weren't. And he was starting to put it all together. "Unless someone walked out of here with it."

"I put the whole town to sleep," Maleficent argued.

"Except those who have been under a sleeping curse and are immune," he reminded her. Snow White and Prince Charming were so quick to come to mind before, but they were not the only ones in the family who had ever been under a Sleeping Curse. There was one other. "I may know a resourceful young man who's wide awake."

Regina's heartbeat didn't just skip a beat; it damn near stopped before she turned and cast a glare on him that he was certain would have made fire erupt back in the day. She'd missed the obvious before, but now she knew what he was implying just as well as he did.

"One who's very protective of the storybook and all its contents…one who's gonna test his mother's commitment towards helping me."

"Who?" Cruella questioned after a beat of silence.

"My son…" Regina mumbled angrily, striding quickly out the door. The others followed, quick on her heels as she walked away with newfound determination. She seemed angry, but he suspected it was more likely that she was angry Henry had put himself in the middle of a dangerous situation than the fact that he was simply out in the world awake at the moment.

Outside the loft, Regina swung the gate open and headed down the street. "No one goes near Henry but me. If you have a problem with that, you can take it up with one of my fireballs," she snapped protectively.

He liked that response; he liked it very much. He saw the safety in it even if he could see the trouble. With the spotlight on Henry instead of Emma, Regina wouldn't take chances. She'd get that page. She'd do anything to keep Cruella from doing it her way. Which was why he had every confidence when he ordered, "Follow her, and do what's necessary to convince the boy. That page is the key. Let's not lose it when we're this close."

"Where are you off to?" Cruella questioned as he turned down the street in the opposite direction.

He'd seen what he'd needed to see. Or rather, he'd felt what he needed to feel; now it was time to fetch a few things that he was going to need to make sure their plan stayed on track.

"I have other business to attend to," he excused, glancing at Maleficent before continuing on. She'd know. She'd understand; he was not to be bothered.

Chapter Text

He wanted to go to the Pawn Shop. He wanted to see Belle. But there were other duties and obligations that called to him first. So, he promised himself that if he finished those jobs and the sleeping curse was still active, then he'd return. The result was that he felt himself rushing, even though he knew that rushing would only get him so far. Spells were one thing, but potions…potions were another. They dictated what could and could not be rushed, and there was one in particular he wanted to finish, which would take every last second of the required time.

Creating crystal balls was an art form. The reason they were so rare was because the potion to make them was complex. Not only did it involve ingredients that were rare, but it was also painstakingly sensitive to time. He didn't mind the ingredients so much. In his long life, with the collection of things he'd amassed, there was very little that was truly "rare" to him. And as far as time went, well…his recent detour through the city was at least good for one thing.

When he'd gotten free from Zelena, when he'd been down in the basement and the shop working on things like dust and separating himself from the dagger, for no other reason than the fact that he'd had one in the Underworld and missed it, he'd begun working on the potion to craft himself a crystal ball. They had been so very helpful in his past; the only reason that he'd not put one together in his time in Storybrooke yet was simply that they took so long, and he hadn't had the time. Once completed, the potion had to sit for some time. The longer it sat, the clearer and more accurate the images in the ball would be. By chance, he'd set his aside in the basement days before Belle had banished him. Waiting for a crystal ball was the hardest part, they said, but thanks to his little trip, it turned out to be the easiest part.

Back in the basement, he moved aside a few of the things he'd set the potion behind for safekeeping. The potion had to be kept in a dark place as it sat. Under the stairs, behind the chronicles, and a few other things had been the perfect place to store it. It smelled awful when he finally popped the top of it, but that was only further confirmation that it had sat for as long as necessary. Now that it was unsealed, he had to work fast. He had to transfer the magic inside the pot to a ball, and he had just the one.

As he set the liquid in the pot to boil, he summoned from his shop the snow globe he'd once shown Ingrid. Touched by magic already, it was the perfect candidate. He broke it free from its base, used his magic to remove the bits and bobs and glitter inside of it, and once the pot was boiling, he dropped it in and set a timer. Forty-two minutes was how long he had to let it stew, with the lid closed. A second too soon or too late, and it would be useless. From there, he'd wait a few hours for the last of the potion to truly sink in and take effect. Once it started blinking, it would be good enough to use.

But that would be hours after it was pulled out. And he had a terrible feeling that Maleficent wouldn't be willing to wait for what she wanted, and even if she did…the crystal ball was the wrong tool to use. The crystal ball showed only images, without sound. And if he wanted Maleficent to make a proper distraction of herself, to go off seeking Emma's help with her daughter, he had to give her clues, not the answer. The crystal ball wouldn't give him everything that he wanted. He wanted a name. A name should be more than enough for Emma to work her magic, or lack thereof. But for a name, he needed sound. And for sound, that meant that he needed a different kind of spell, one he'd heard about but never actually used for himself. He had some studying to do.

Forty-five minutes later, he was set. The ball was out of the potion, and he'd destroyed the contents it had come out of; no use in making it easy for someone else to do what he'd done. The crystal ball was in his pocket for the time being, where it weighed heavily, but at least he'd be able to know when it was working. And in his mind, he had the magical recipe for an Identifier Spell.

It was perfect. The spell was not designed to locate an individual, nor was it designed to tell the caster where they were; it was only designed to show the caster an individual's identity by showing them the moment they had adopted their name. Like most spells in his collection, it had dark origins. It was meant to find people who had gone into hiding and were living under false names. It assumed magic was in use to conceal their location and current information, and so it was used to peer backward, not in the present day. It was used to discover their new identities, making them easier to find. It was a loophole spell, something that had obviously been designed very specifically for a certain situation in the past and likely hadn't had much use since then. But this was where his study paid off. He was more than happy to give the spell renewed purpose.

And even better, he was thrilled that he'd done it in the proper time frame. He returned to Main Street, found it utterly quiet, although he could feel the magic that Maleficent had used beginning to ebb. They'd never exactly discussed how long this spell of hers was going to hold, but he'd wager not much longer; certainly by nightfall, people would be waking up again. He'd ask the dragon now, but it seemed that his associates were still out in search of the page, which meant that he had more than enough time to do one last thing.

She was there, of course, just as his magic told him she was. The blinds were still drawn, and the sign said closed, but when he unlocked the shop, he immediately spotted a very familiar pair of legs peeking out from behind a glass case. He held his breath as he went to her, feeling like an idiot for not worrying sooner. If she'd fallen here, there were only about a million things she could have hit her head on. But when he finally rounded the corner and spotted her lying there, her arms splayed out on either side, she appeared to have only scratched her cheek on the way down. It was a shallow, skin-deep thing that was easy enough to heal. It was luck. Nothing more.

He moved his hands over her, using healing magic to seek out any other injuries she might have sustained, but other than a few pressure points where she'd crashed to the floor that might have caused some bruises, she appeared to be fine. Now at least. But even if the spell wouldn't last more than another couple of hours, that still meant that she might be sore and achy when she woke, and he couldn't stand the thought.

He could have used magic, but desperate as he was to touch her, he couldn't help but pull her dead weight into his arms and move her into the back himself, leaving her body laid out comfortably on the cot instead of the floor.

There now…if he used his imagination, it was as if it was not all that long ago. He was at work in the back room, and she'd fallen asleep reading a book while she kept him company as she so often did, perfectly comfortable with him, alone in their space.

There was only one little thing keeping him from falling into that memory completely. She smelled like Will Scarlett. Her hair, her clothes, her skin, it all carried her own scent and traces of Will Scarlett, the man who was "nothing more than he claimed to be."

He still scoffed at the memory of those words. If she knew the truth about Will Scarlett… if she knew the truth about him…

He wanted so much to kiss her. He knew that no other human could smell the way that he could, no one would ever notice if he'd put her scent on her the way he would, but he wanted to so badly. It was territorial, and macho, and so many other things that Belle hated, which was why he didn't, but he couldn't escape the fact that he wanted to. And he couldn't escape the fact that he was scared to.

He didn't know how Maleficent's curse worked, but he'd wager that a kiss from her True Love would wake her, and as much as he wanted to talk to her, to touch her, to let her see him, he knew now wasn't the right time. And he wasn't sure he was prepared for what might happen if he kissed her and she didn't wake. That was a hard truth he wasn't prepared to confront, speculative as it was.

And yet…how he wished he'd told her a hard truth or two weeks ago. Decades ago! But then…maybe better late than never. Especially given the state of his heart, he might never get the chance to unburden his soul.

"My love…I need to tell you this while it still matters," he muttered, staring down into her face. He knew she wouldn't remember this; the spell was likely too powerful. But if there was even a chance she might hear. That was better than nothing. And even if she couldn't, well then…at least he'd said it.

"My magic comes at a cost, as you know. And I have racked up so much debt I can never be clear of it…unless I find a way to change the rules."

His heart hurt. He'd let his guard down too much, and now it ached all over again as if reminding him that his one fix was only temporary, that his time was short. How long had the girls been gone by now? His time was short indeed. Hard truths…which ones were his priority?

"But now…here's the hard truth. Something else is changing. So, if I'm gonna change the rules, I'm gonna have to do so quickly."

As if on command, he heard the roar of Cruella's car. They'd find him now. Soon. He had to go. And just as well. He wanted to tell her all this, to truly unburden himself, but doing it this way…it wasn't the same. It wasn't the same as trying to make her see reason while she screamed and argued with him; it wasn't the same as her penetrating stare pulling every last detail from him in anger and desperation. And it certainly wasn't the same as her swooping in to reassure him when he was done, kissing his cheek and running her fingers through his hair as she held him.

It wasn't the same. It also wasn't what he wanted, but suddenly he was filled with the overwhelming urge, the need to do just that. He wanted to tell her all of this in person. He owed her that much. It wouldn't atone for all his sins, but if it made up for even a fraction of one, it would be worth it to return to her, to wake her and tell her for real.

But not now. Not with Cruella's car reminding him that she was nearby. He only hoped there was time. He picked up her hand and placed a protection spell over it so that he could lay a kiss on the back of her hand. "I will come back for you if…"

If the women allowed him. If there was time. If he could get away. If she was willing to listen. So many ifs…

"If I can…" he settled.

He hoped he could; he hoped he'd get the opportunity to confess before her as he should, as she was owed. It would be some hard truths between them if he did, but they'd be worth it.

Chapter Text

"What were you doing in there?" Cruella snapped as he walked out of the shop and suddenly found all three women standing on his property line.

"Mind your own business," he ordered. He wanted Belle to be left out of this as much as possible. He wasn't about to admit, even caught red-handed, that he was visiting his wife. Or that on the way out, he'd carefully tucked her into the cot and left a rose for her on the counter so she wouldn't worry about who had been in to see her as she'd slept. At least, he hoped it wouldn't worry her.

"Did you find the boy?" he questioned, moving on.

"We found the boy," Maleficent assured him.

"I found him," Regina corrected, still the same girl he'd always known, desperate for attention and credit. Or not…

She had changed. The evidence of it was what he now held in his hand. The page that Regina had brought back to him. It wasn't what the others thought it was and yet…somehow it was exactly what he suspected it would be. In a way. The page looked like it came out of Henry's book convincingly enough. And there was magic on it, magic he'd expected to be Regina's but was actually Emma's. And in a way that was all the more disturbing.

"This is rubbish," he stated.

"What?" Regina sputtered almost convincingly. But her heart, that heartbeat of hers, didn't lie. She knew. But of course, she knew, she had to.

"It's a fake. You've spent enough time with the book. You should know the difference."

If they'd been quick to pop over here after seeing Henry he might have believed that she'd been caught up in the moment and missed it, but the fact that they'd had time to get in a car and drive all the way over here…there was no way that she would have missed the fact that Emma had clearly conjured a copy of the page with her magic. Not unless she wanted to miss it, and if she wanted to miss it, then…she was working with the others.

Ursula was a freak accident. Regina was the mole, not to be trusted.

"They tricked me," she insisted childishly. They shouldn't have been able to trick the Evil Queen.

"What, you think I didn't suspect you?" he questioned, tearing up the page. "I've been waiting for this moment," he lied. He'd hoped that he was wrong. But now that he wasn't, what to do with her? "I knew it would come. Maleficent."

"Wait! I can expl-"

Just as they'd planned earlier in the day, when they'd first started suspecting her, he felt Maleficent's magic swell as a sleeping curse fell over his former prodigy. She collapsed on the spot. "Bring her to her vault."

"What do we do about the page?" Cruella questioned.

What to do about the page, indeed. They'd gone to Henry because Henry had it. They'd taken the fake one off of Henry, and so he had to assume that if he didn't have it on him, then Henry at least knew where the real one was. But time was running out. He could feel the spell Maleficent had placed on the town breaking down around him; it wouldn't hold much longer. So what option did that leave them with?

"We wait…if Henry gave this one up willingly, then he's got a head start in running off with it. I have no doubt he'll deliver it to his grandparents, and by now the fact that we're after it will be obvious."

"So, they keep it under lock and key for the rest of our lives?" the villainess argued.

"No," he concluded. "No, that's not Emma. She's a curious one, always getting to the bottom of things. If she knows that we're after it and knows there is someone trapped behind that door, she won't be able to fight the Savior instinct in her." Yes. Yes, the more he thought this out, the more he was coming to like the conclusion he was about to draw. "She'll free him for us."

"Won't that make it even harder to get to him?" Maleficent questioned skeptically.

"Maybe for an ordinary wizard, but not for me." With two of his four witches down, it was time to take matters into his own hands. But first…

"We'll get our Author, but first we deal with this problem…" With a snap of his fingers, they were in the mausoleum. His magic burst right through the protection spell Regina had placed on it, and as the smoke faded, Regina's body still lay crumpled on the ground between the two last loyals that he had. "Check her pockets for anything the Charmings may have given her that she might have been keeping from us."

"You're worried they might be tracking her?" Maleficent assumed, as Cruella, always the eager one, was the first to step forward and do as he said. And no, it didn't escape his knowledge that the pat-down she gave appeared methodical as well. He assumed that came from experience as the one receiving the pat down.

"It's a possibility."

"Well now, what do we have here?" the bitch pondered aloud, looking over a small scrap of paper in her hand. He took it from her easily enough and didn't need her pronouncement of "it looks like a phone number" to tell him it was, in fact, a phone number. And a familiar one too. Oddly familiar. He just couldn't place it.

"Perhaps that's the number she's supposed to call when things go wrong? Or if they go right?" Cruella speculated, but he doubted it. He'd never taken Regina's cell phone, she had Emma's number and probably both Charmings in addition to her son, if she needed to call or text them she could have just done it.

"Leave her," he insisted, pulling his own phone out of his pocket and beginning to go through the names on his own phone to get a hint as to why this number was a familiar one to him. When he arrived at the name Robin of Locksley, he understood. A number that the broken-hearted woman wouldn't leave on her own phone, probably for fear of calling it too many times. But written like this on a scrap of paper, it was a way of still having it, still keeping him close if she felt that she needed it.

Little did she know that Robin didn't need her. It was the other way around. With Robin and Roland both in the presence of Zelena…

He had an idea. A terrible idea. One that he hated so much it nearly made him sick. But in the coming days, when they finally had the Author and stories reversed and Emma's heart was turned dark, he wanted Regina on his side. And in order to do that, he was going to need to bring her to heel. There was currently one very effective method that he could think of. And he didn't like it. But he wasn't sure he had much of a choice.

"Well, I say we just slit her throat right now, get it over with," Cruella suggested. Having finished her task, she now stared down at the girl. Suddenly, Regina was an enemy and nothing more than that, at least to Cruella. To him, she had the potential to be more.

"No."

He couldn't kill Regina. He just couldn't. It was a weakness in him, he knew that. But he couldn't do it. Not like this anyway. He was certain that under the right circumstances, with enough anger and in a situation where he had no choice, he could do it. But this situation was very unlike that. He couldn't do it like this. And yet, he acknowledged that they couldn't just let her go. He didn't have time to babysit or fight against her. Besides, Regina, a shade of gray as she was, in the future where the Savior's heart was dark, contained magic that just might be helpful to him. He couldn't do it.

"Well, if it's too messy for you, darling, Mal can incinerate her."

"We're doing nothing of the sort." Gods, he was a villain, but at times, Cruella's bloodlust made even him shiver.

"She'll never help us," Maleficent chimed in, her tone carefully managed.

"Of course she will. She just doesn't know it yet," he explained. He had a plan. One that he wasn't thrilled with, but a plan nonetheless. He couldn't believe what it would cost, but in the end, he always managed to do what needed to be done, even if it made him sick to his stomach. This plan he had hatching in his mind, the cards he held against Regina, they were awful, wicked as could be. But he needed to make her bend to his will. And he knew exactly how to do it.

"I'll have something that the moment she sees it will make Regina do my bidding…forever." He managed to make his words sound vicious and ominous, all the while he felt his stomach knot. But if this is the price of getting Belle her happy ending…so be it.

Chapter Text

"Watch her, I've more important business to conduct," he muttered before turning and descending the stairs of the vault to Regina's private little chamber of horrors. The calm demeanor he'd managed to display upstairs in his final moments began to fade the second he was out of sight of his sidekicks. He felt fidgety. Twitchy. His fingers were itching as he pulled his cell phone from his pocket, and he suddenly had the oddest urge to bounce on the balls of his feet as nervous energy grew.

He'd never say it out loud, especially not with the women in sight, but he really did hate this plan. Zelena was the last person on earth he wanted to find use for other than to practice magic of the murdering kind. But he needed time. And he wanted Regina in this new world the Author was going to create for him more than he didn't want Zelena. And fuck…standing here, turning his cell phone over and over again in his hands wasn't going to accomplish a single damn thing. It was best to just get it over with. It was best to just do the damnable deed.

The first call that he placed to Robin's phone went unanswered after two rings. How lovely to know that the thief had discovered the joys of simply ignoring a call. But he was a persistent man. And Robin was a man with a bleeding heart. He probably would have lasted four or five persistent calls before giving in, Robin, on the other hand, needed only a second call back before curiosity got the better of him, and he answered.

"I thought we had an arrangement, Dark One."

"We do. That's why I'm calling for your wife, not you."

"Marian? What could you possibly want to speak with her about?"

"Well, I'm certainly not going to tell you, so if you'd like to discover my reasons the hard way, then by all means hang up. If you'd like to know, then I suggest you hand her the phone so that I can speak with her, and I'm sure she'll tell you all about it afterwards. That is what loving, trusting spouses do, do they not?"

There was silence on the other end for a moment as he felt Robin thinking his suggestion over. But eventually he heard a sigh, followed by a distant call for his wife.

"For me?" he heard Zelena question with Marian's voice. "What could he possibly want from me?"

"He says we won't know unless you speak with him. I can hang up if you like."

"No, no, I'll…I'll find out what he wants. Watch Roland?"

He assumed Robin must have nodded as he heard no response, and a second later, Marian's voice was clear as a bell on the line. "You've got a lot of nerve hassling my family again, Dark One." In the background, he heard the distinct thud of a door closing somewhere close by. "I do hope you're not calling because you thought you could tell Robin about our little plan," Zelena's true voice boasted. She must have left the apartment and gone into the hall.

"If I were, would I have asked to speak to you?" he challenged. Fuck, he hated working with amateurs. "I assume he still thinks I'm there in New York."

"Or elsewhere…does that mean you were successful, that you've returned to Storybrooke and you're calling to tell me that my happy ending is but a heartbeat away?" she questioned almost wistfully.

"Back in Storybrooke, yes, but as to our happy endings, we've hit a bump in the road where your sister is concerned."

"Regina? What's she done?"

"Be quiet and listen to me!" he insisted, using the voice of a father. That always somehow used to work on Zelena when she was his student. "I'm going to need permission to go back on our deal."

"Why?!"

"Be quiet! I need to go back on our deal because Regina has become a problem, and I need something to hold over her head, something to make her play nice. Our happy endings may not be a heartbeat away, but we're on the brink of getting everything we need, and Regina is threatening it. If we work together, just the way you always wanted, if Regina knows that you have not just one but two of the people she cares about dearly in this world in her clutches and she knows that you and I are in this together, then she'll bend."

"Well…I'm in New York. What exactly do you expect me to do?"

"Exactly what you've been doing. Go back into that apartment as Marian, Robin's wife and Roland's mother, and keep this phone with you. Allow me to break our deal, not to tell Regina or give hints, and I'll have her call you. When she does, you'll reveal yourself and we'll bring her to heel together."

"Oh, I do love a good surprise!" Zelena added in such a chipper tone that he could practically see her crazed smile.

And he hated everything about it. But he was too close to getting what he wanted to let his hatred and disgust of Zelena stop him now.

"I need your permission to break our deal. Otherwise, it doesn't happen."

He expected that she'd pause, expected that she'd give it consideration, or think that he was tricking her in some way. He expected this to be difficult. But instead, he heard her laugh joyfully on the other end of the line.

"Granted."

He felt some of the magic that bound him to their deal ease at the word.

"Oh, I wish I could see the smug look on Regina's face when she finds out. Do you think you could take a picture for me?"

He ignored that request. "Keep this phone on you at all times, and when Regina calls, make sure she understands what's at stake," he snapped before hanging up on her. He was working with Zelena, but that didn't mean he had to enjoy it or tolerate her madness. Bare minimum contact was going to be the key to surviving this partnership.

With the phone call over, he let out a heavy sigh and stared into Regina's mirror. The last time he'd taken a good, long look at himself in the mirror was months ago, when he'd looked into the mirror that Ingrid had used for the Spell of Shattered Sight. The difference now, of course, was that when he looked into this mirror, he saw who he was today, at this moment, rather than that dark creature he'd been back in the Enchanted Forest.

Honestly? He wasn't sure if this version of himself was better or worse than the imp he'd seen staring back at him weeks ago.

Behind him, he suddenly heard footsteps, slow but timid, descending the same stairs he'd come down only minutes ago. Maleficent. He should have known that with her hearing, she'd be down the second he hung up the phone he now snuck into his pocket.

"Now that you're so confident Regina's taken care of, isn't it time we took care of my needs?" she questioned, looking at him from the mirror's reflection.

Cards in his hand…after this little problem with Regina, he wanted to hold on to as many of those as he possibly could. "You didn't get me the page. You didn't earn your answer. That was the deal."

"That was the deal. But after all I've been through, I've more than earned my answer."

"I know."

But while he did enjoy having all the cards in his hand, he also knew that there were times to play the right cards. Things today had not gone as planned, Regina's loyalty was questionable, working with Zelena was a low point he'd never expected to hit, he didn't have the page, and potentially worst of all the Author was sure to be released as soon as Emma figured out how for him. He wanted as many cards in his hand as he possibly could, but part of playing the game was giving up the right card at the right time. Once Emma figured out how to get the Author out of the book, he was going to need to fetch the Author to work with him and understand him. For that, he was going to need time, and the best way to buy that time was to finally unleash the distraction he'd been planning since the moment he got here: Maleficent for the Charmings, and Lily for Emma. It was time to play a certain card just right so that by the time the seeds he'd already planted in Maleficent matured, it would be at just the right time.

"And I want to give you a last chance to preserve what you have," he offered, trying to sound like a sympathetic friend who was fighting this every step of the way. Maleficent was smarter than Regina and Cruella. If he gave in too willingly, she'd sniff out that she was being led into a trap, that her happiness was being exploited to get his own.

"What I have is pain."

Yes, and how lucky for him that pain could be blinding!

From one parent to another, this could most certainly get him what he needed. He turned to face her, letting his eyes soften and his voice be kind, sympathetic. "And pain fades…unless you feed it. And this…this could be the meal, you really don't want."

He kept his face soft, hiding the smile he wanted to stretch across his face as he saw her continence reflect precisely what his own had been, what he'd felt deep down to the core only a few short years ago. "Well, I've never seen my child. I don't even know what I had…a boy, a girl? I don't care how much it hurts to know its fate. I need this," she was practically in tears when she raised that damn rattle and handed it over to him, the one thing he needed to complete his spell, something that had belonged to Lily. Even if she'd never had the chance to hold it in her arms, Maleficent's love of it made it hers. This would work.

He held the rattle in his hand and tipped it up, moving magic into it, casting the spell that he'd learned earlier in the day just for this purpose. The orb inside glowed purple as the magic inside swirled, conjuring up the image that he wanted. "Now, remember, this was 30 years ago…"

Inside the orb, a baby appeared, perhaps a little older than a newborn, crying, screaming for the kind of motherly comfort she'd never known before a pair of arms picked her up and cradled her.

"Congratulations. Your adoption is finalized," a ghostly voice echoed. "She's all yours. What will you name her?"

"Lilith," a man answered. "We want to name her Lily."

The spell faded, taking away the image of the little girl before turning back to purple and then growing dark all over again.

And Maleficent…she was his. Practically in tears as she stared down into the rattle, he watched as she blinked and swallowed hard. "She's alive. And…"

"In this world," he finished for her.

"I must find her. There has to be a way. If she's out there…someone must know her."

"And so we shall. In this world, there are people who search for other people, who have great success at it. Once we have our happy ending, I've no doubt one of them will be able to track Lily down for you. We just need our happy endings."

No, they didn't. It was his hope that, soon enough, at a hopefully beneficial time, Maleficent would figure that out. It was his hope that the breadcrumb he'd dropped before at the cabin, telling her that Emma was a bail bondsperson, and Cruella's perfect, unprompted description of what that was, would dawn on her, and she'd realize that she didn't need to wait for him to be successful; she just needed to go to Emma. Offer her help in exchange for locating the girl, out of guilt, Emma and the Charmings would give in, and all the while, he'd be working at his own project. It would be too late.

His partnership with Zelena might have been forced, timid at best, but this partnership…this was the best card he had in his hand. And she didn't even realize it.

Chapter Text

"What is that!" Maleficent questioned in an unexpectedly curious tone. He'd never heard that witch use a tone besides anger, irritation, or boredom. The fact that she was still in tears over what she'd just seen from the rattle had softened her significantly. He followed her gaze to the place she was staring at…

His pocket…it was blinking! The crystal ball was ready.

He pulled it from his pocket, watching it blink a white light faster and faster, the magic he'd been letting infuse within it finally set with a final burst of light that he shielded his eyes from before it died down and left him and Maleficent staring at an empty crystal ball, ready for its first command. Finally. He might not have the Seer anymore, but at least he now had this.

"Is that…"

"Yes," he confirmed for the Dragon. "Newly fashioned."

"And when, pray tell, did you have the time to do that?" she questioned suspiciously, her emotion finally drying up and leaving him more and more with the Maleficent he knew. She did hate having things kept from her. "We haven't been here that long, and this isn't the Underworld!"

"This is nothing but luck," he corrected. "I began it before I left, thought it might come in handy, lucky I was right."

He held it firmly in his hand, eager to test it, but on what? As much as he wanted to see Belle, revealing her in front of Maleficent wasn't exactly high on his priority list. But there was something on that list that Maleficent wouldn't mind, that would show her that he was focused on the job at hand. So instead, he focused his thoughts and silently demanded to see the Author.

He was hoping for confirmation of what they already knew, that he might see Emma and her parents, everyone awake and together, staring down at the page he'd been searching for, verification that he was right, and the Author was trapped inside of it. Instead, what he saw was…chaos.

Emma was there. Emma and her parents, August, and the Blue Fairy were all in the same room, but instead of a page at the center of attention, there was a man. One that he'd never seen in Storybrooke before, dressed in old clothes, clothes from the Enchanted Forest, which suggested that he wasn't from Storybrooke. He held his breath as he watched the scene play out in front of him, as he saw the man give a dashing smile and nod almost proudly at Emma, who was staring at him with wide eyes. But then, in a heartbeat, he pulled the curtains over the window down over the fairy and August and rushed out the door. The man was running. And the ball was following him.

The implication of what he was watching was breathtaking. There were only two possible conclusions to be drawn from it, assuming his crystal ball was working. The first was that Emma had somehow opened a portal and pulled someone from their world into this one, and that individual was now in possession of the page and the Author. Or!

Or…

Or the man that he'd just seen was the Author. And he was currently in the process of evading the Savior. Alone in an unfamiliar world. Perhaps the Fates truly were looking after him these days!

"Stay here," he ordered to Maleficent, sending the crystal ball back to the cabin in a puff of smoke so she couldn't use it. "Have Cruella tie up Regina and move her down here for safekeeping. Keep an eye on her."

"Cruella or Regina?" she drawled, unimpressed.

"Both," he spat before allowing his magic to take him away.

He used his magic to take him away, to the place that he'd seen in the crystal ball. Of course, the Author was long gone. For someone who had been trapped behind a door in a book for so long, he had certainly been spry. But fortunately for him, the magic he'd been covered in left a scent, a trail that he could easily follow, and Emma…not so much. She was powerful, but it didn't seem that Regina had gotten to the chapter yet on sensing magic. That, of course, didn't mean anything when it came to Emma. She was resourceful and an expert at finding people, especially those on the run; pair mother with daughter, and he knew that his window for finding the Author before they did was small.

So, without hesitation, he followed the scent into the woods, then deeper, surprised minute by minute just how fast the young man was when-

There! Up ahead!

He spotted him. The man he'd seen in the crystal, the man he'd been using his magic to track. Oh, he stank like the Apprentice's Magic. And underneath something…something else. Something neither light nor dark. It was magic, that much he was certain of. But it was a magic his own was struggling to comprehend. A magic he hadn't encountered before and yet…there was something familiar about it.

Whatever magic was inside of him, now was not the time to question or analyze, not as he ran off again in another direction. He followed with his magic, making note that he was slowing down, getting tired. At his next stopping point, he watched as he stopped and looked around him. For just a moment, it appeared that the Author was only just now figuring out that he had nowhere to go and the reality of his situation. That was ideal for any Dark One. They did love desperate souls. It presented the opportunity to appear to him as a friend only…

Suddenly, he watched as the Author went to a nearby bush and snapped off a branch. It was only when he cocked his head in curiosity, quietly wondering aloud what he was doing, that Nimue spoke up in his mind.

I know exactly what he's attempting to do, which means you do too!

Images filled his mind, memories of Nimue's own past, from long ago. He saw her watching through a crack in the door as Merline met with a man, a stranger that she'd never seen before. He pulled something long and broken from his bag. A feather?

He saw Merlin drag Nimue out onto a hike, the pair of them holding hands and laughing, saw him weave a crown of flowers and place it on her head before heading home. She watched as Merline snapped a branch off a magical oak tree, much the same way that the Author had just done.

He saw Nimue with Merlin as he finished whittling away with something in his tower, words that came too fast for him to understand. But he understood her confusion as she looked the strange invention over. Strange to her…not to him.

He lost his breath as he became aware again of what was going on around him, of the Author just now attempting to whittle from ordinary wood what he'd just seen, what Nimue hadn't understood but he had, a fair price given the fact that she'd recognized it long before he had. It was a pen. Not a quill as Nimue would have been familiar with in her time, but a writing implement that was reminiscent of a fountain pen in this world. A very distinct pen…that just so happened to be in his possession.

His jaw dropped as he summoned it from his basement. A small black case that he'd taken from beneath a floorboard of the Apprentice's Shack in the woods. He'd sensed its strange magic when fetching bristles for a broom and taken it with him. Now, he removed the pen from its little protective case as he watched the Author. It contained the same mysterious magic he sensed in him. And he could remember the first time he'd looked at it, Nimue had known what it was, but he hadn't dwelled on it, not at the time, because she'd outright told him that while the pen was an interesting piece of magic, it was irrelevant to what he'd been doing at the time.

It wasn't relevant at the time. A key without a lock and a door is just a key.

Isaac sat down nearby, working desperately to recreate something that couldn't be recreated, not by anyone except for Merlin himself, which wasn't going to happen.

Sounds like an ideal time for a deal, desperate as that one is… Zoso grinned in his head, despite the fact that Nimue hissed at him to keep quiet. She was a villain; the last thing she wanted was for him to succeed in this plan.

Indeed.

He tucked the quill into his jacket and took a deep breath, he let his shock and joy and amazement fade into the recesses of his mind and allowed himself to become cool and calm once more. Now, he was a salesman and a dealmaker. The best in all the realms.

"Well, I'm not much of a writer, but I do know something about magic quills," he stated, making Isaac stop what he was doing and turn to look at him. He kept himself together; he'd give him that much. Though his heart gave way to his fear, he didn't show it on his face.

"Such as?" the man asked.

"Well, for starters, they must be sculpted from the wood of enchanted trees, which, unfortunately for you, is not an attribute any of the timber in Storybrooke possesses." At least not to his knowledge. But at the moment, he wasn't particularly interested in turning over that piece of information. There was no benefit to it for him.

"Damn it!" the Author roared after a moment, breaking the stick into two. From just over his shoulder, he heard sounds, heartbeats and footfalls, leaves shuffling. He didn't look behind him, he didn't need to, he could smell Emma's magic as easily as the Apprentice's. They'd caught up with him. "I need to go."

"Yes, you do. Or, um…" he took slow, sauntering footsteps in his direction, preventing him from bolting again too quickly. "You could come with me."

The Author chuckled, despite the racing of his heartbeat. "Why would I do that? You're quite possibly the biggest pain in the ass I have ever had the displeasure of writing about."

He smiled. So he did know who he was. Well then…it was time to sweeten the deal. "Yes, there is that. But there's also…this." He pulled the pen free once more from his jacket pocket and watched the Author's eyes widen in the same shock he'd felt only moments ago when he'd realized what he had.

The Author swayed; he glanced behind him, likely at Emma and the others coming closer, before his eyes were drawn back to that pen. "What do you want from me?" he questioned. Smart man, he'd been writing for him long enough to know…all magic comes with a price.

"You are gonna write me a whole bunch of new happy endings," he promised, a deal he had a feeling the Author would understand all too well.

He didn't enjoy the time wasting, the hemming and hawing the Author was doing. Perhaps a little bit more pressure? Behind him, he used his magic to snap a branch. The Author looked around nervously, not behind him but over his shoulder, seeking out people he couldn't see, all the while he stood there unmoved, letting him feel as though they were surrounded on all sides. When he finally met his gaze again, he made a show of tucking the pen, the quill he wanted so much, back into his jacket, making it obvious that if they parted, his chances of getting his hands on it were slim to none.

"Okay," the Author finally agreed.

"I thought so," he muttered. With a wave of his hand, before Emma could ever know he was there, they vanished.

Chapter Text

"What the-"

The Author squirmed when he delivered him to the upper room of Regina's mausoleum. He took one look at the pair of coffins and quickly backed away, pressing himself against a wall and looking around for an exit. He sealed the doors before he could run. He'd only just managed to catch the man; there was no reason to go through all of that a second time.

"What is this? Where are we? Why have you brought me here?"

"Relax," he urged. "I assure you, you are quite safe. And we're on the way to someplace safer; this is merely a pitstop along the road."

"A crypt?!"

"Regina's family crypt," he clarified. "Meet Henry…and Cora."

The Author's eyes widened. "Cora! Cora's dead?!"

Interesting. He was curious about just how long the Author had been trapped in that book of his. Was that potentially a hint? He wasn't shocked that Henry was dead; did that mean he'd written about it? He hadn't really gotten to examine Henry's book to know when the writing stopped, though Henry had known about Emma. Knowing about Emma and knowing that Henry was dead, would suggest that he'd written right up until the end. That the Author had been imprisoned, maybe in the last minutes before the curse. It could have also suggested that he knew Henry was the sacrifice Regina needed to make.

"Cora is a newly deceased," he answered carefully. "Henry has been dead since just before the curse hit."

"She did it," he wondered, looking between the coffins. "She actually did it. I-I always knew that she'd have to sacrifice her father to bring about the Curse, but…I was never sure she'd do it. Not without a little help."

A little help…

"She had it."

The Author's gaze snapped up to him. "You, I presume. She always saw you as something more. Father, lover, teacher, all rolled into one…the potential for it all. How did you do it? How did you convince her to kill the person she loved the most in their world? Magic? A deal? And how did she kill her mother?! How did Cora even get here? She was in Wonderland…"

Interesting indeed. But the boy prattled on and on, giving him more detail than he needed to begin to solve the mystery of his imprisonment. He didn't know as much as he assumed he had. He hadn't known Henry was dead; he simply wasn't surprised by it. He'd known Cora was in Wonderland and was unfamiliar with her return. He was unfamiliar with how he'd gotten Regina to kill her father, frankly, even sounded as though he was unfamiliar with his imprisonment just before the Curse. That would suggest he'd stopped writing before the Curse. And yet…Henry knew about Emma…

The book had Merlin's magic in it. And the Apprentice's…perhaps once he'd been trapped, the book had just kept writing itself? A new spell, maybe? Or had the Apprentice taken up the job himself until he'd been cursed?

"Cora and Henry are both dead," he stated plainly, interrupting his ongoing ranting. "Henry was killed by Regina just before the Curse, and thus his heart was used to enact the Curse. Cora was killed here, a little more than a year ago, by Snow White with-"

"No!" the Author balked. "You're kidding! Snow White?! Unprompted? That's not possible! Snow White would never do such a thing; she doesn't have it in her. Well, not without a little prodding, of course. Someone else would have to be pulling the strings…."

Yes…yes, they would. And he had. But he also found that declaration to be just as interesting as the others. He let the Author rattle on again, but he didn't pay attention to the words; the tone of his previous statement was what held his interest. There was knowledge in his tone, a matter-of-factness that had him suddenly considering the man's imprisonment. Someone had to pull the strings for Snow White to do something evil…why did he know that so such certainty? He could only really think of one thing Snow White had ever done that he'd considered truly evil, one thing that the Apprentice had helped them with that was completely out of character, Dark Magic that he would never have practiced…

And evil things Snow White had done, the Apprentice magic, the Author not quite knowing the end of the story…it was coming together. A picture was forming, and it was beginning to take shape in a way that he hadn't expected. It was like something the Fate's had designed.

The Seer had said that if he helped Orpheus and Eurydice out of the Underworld, the Fates would be in his debt…perhaps that wasn't just talk. And perhaps all the other ways he felt as though he'd seen their hand in his life since returning…perhaps that wasn't just a coincidence.

Maleficent and Cruella…he wanted to know what he'd think of them. He wanted to know what he knew of them! If he was familiar with Lily and the banishment of Cruella and Ursula, that might just give him the final answer he needed.

But the second his magic sought the women out…he found they were gone. Missing.

That was strange. He'd left in a hurry after speaking with Maleficent, but he was certain he'd told her to remain here with Cruella. But the only heartbeat he sensed now, aside from his own, was the Author, and Regina downstairs. That was odd. Very odd. Almost as odd as the strange pulse of magic coming from the Author. Magic that was familiar and yet not…

Something was happening here. If the Fates were on his side, it was as though they were trying to tell him something. It was like having a word on the tip of one's tongue but being unable to find it.

And yet…he could sit here and consider what was happening, could worry about why Maleficent and Cruella had suddenly gone missing. Or he could get to work. He had the Author. And he still had Regina downstairs. And he had plans for her, plans for her to help him control Emma. Even with a blackened heart, when the changes he enacted were in place, there would still be too much light in her to make her truly gray. He needed her. And close as he was to victory, he couldn't waste time.

"Stop talking," he demanded, forcefully enough that the second the Author clamped his jaw shut and stared at him. "Now, I had hoped my associates would be here to meet us and keep an eye on you, but it would appear they've had to vacate the premises."

"Vacate the premises? Why? Are we in danger?"

"We are safe," he assured him with a bored sigh. Hadn't he already said that? "And we only need to be here momentarily before I take you back to where you'll be staying, and there you can meet my associates, but until then, I have a task that I need to do. It'll only be a minute. You need to stay here."

"Stay here? In-in a crypt?!"

"Technically, it's a mausoleum. And you won't be alone, I'll be downstairs the entire time."

"What? And I'll have the company of Cora and Henry?!"

"It'll only be for a moment, and trust me, Cora and Henry aren't much company these days. Unless, of course, you'd like them to be…"

He used his magic to vibrate the walls and then rattle the coffins beside him, making it appear that great magic was happening when he was really only doing something so minor he was certain Emma could have done it with very little effort, but it had the desired effect.

"No!" the Author yelled. "No, no no!" He took that as his cue to still the room once more. "No, this is fine. Just fine. Just eh…just fine…" he stammered, looking around the room as though he'd find something to do.

"Delightful!" he piqued. "Make yourself comfortable, and I'll only be a few minutes."

Chapter Text

Fuck, just when he thought he had the Author under control, he turned to leave, to descend the stairs, only to have the Author cry out after him. "No! Wait, take me with you!" And unwilling to waste time negotiating with him all over again, he used his magic to send the Author into a deep sleep.

He was already tired of the man. The constant talking and prattling, the roundabout answers, and the way he could say a million words and not make a single one of them worthwhile. Why in the name of the gods would Merlin have wanted him to be his Author?

He had a million questions, a million complaints, but he couldn't be distracted by those now. Focus. He had to focus. He couldn't think about the Author, locked away and asleep upstairs. He'd deal with that later. At this moment, he had to deal with Regina. He had to reel her back in. And with the number for Robin Hood burning a hole in his pocket, he hated how he was about to do it; as a husband, a mentor, and even someone who might admit to even liking her on some days. But above all, no matter what he felt for Regina, Belle came first. He'd do what he had to do in order to assure their happiness completely.

Below, he could see that the women had done exactly what he had asked of them, sans the actual watching of the prisoner. He was still clueless as to why they had left, but at least Regina was here, tied up, as he'd ordered. He'd worry about where Cruella and Maleficent were later, but now it was time to wake Regina. Looking at her, he could see that the spell Maleficent had placed on her had worn off. Now she was just sleeping naturally, even as she was unnaturally seated. He understood that. Sleeping spells had a tendency to leave their victims particularly groggy. But he wasn't interested in wasting time waiting for her to wake naturally or even waking her himself gently to help the remnants of the magic ease. Instead, he came to a stop in front of her and cleared his throat loudly.

Light sleeper that she'd always been, Regina roused easily enough, looked around, looked at him, moved to stand with an angry flare in her eye…and finally noted the shackles that had been placed upon her wrists. A quick once-over told him it was Maleficent's work, a spell he could overcome when necessary, but only when he was ready to lift it.

"Your hands are tied, I'm afraid," he commented as she looked down at her new jewelry. "No more magic for you today."

"So, now I'm your prisoner." She sneered at him, glared up at him with a look that, if she had given it a few days ago, would have made her cover so much more convincing. But he'd known her nearly all her life; looks of steel like that might have worked on her subjects once upon a time, but not on him. To him, she may as well have been a pouty, moody teenager.

"You and the Author," he corrected. "Well, actually, he had the good sense to join the team, whereas you…you backed the wrong one."

"What about everything you said to me? You wanted me to find my happiness."

"Well, that's true," he admitted, recalling the day in the car when he'd said just that to her. He'd said it and he meant it, but like so many wishes and desires, that one in particular came with strings attached. "Just not at my expense. You see, the affection I have for you, well…there are limits."

"What happened to you?"

"I lost everything. Just as you will if you don't do as I say," he threatened, reaching into his pocket for the yellow paper he'd found earlier with Robin's number on it. "I found this in your pocket. Telephone number registered to a Robin of Locksley."

"Give that back!" she demanded, jumping out of her seat to face him. There was that passionate fire he always loved about her. Now that the pretense was dropped, he could see so easily how she'd been masking herself these last few days, how she'd only been half of herself. Now that she was here, suddenly on full display as the Regina he'd known before he left…he was a fool to have taken so long to see it.

"I'm guessing you have this number because you're worried about poor Robin Hood out there in the cold, harsh world. And so you should be."

Her heart skipped a beat as she glared at him. "What do you know that I don't?"

Clever girl knew him just as well as he knew her. She'd picked up the bait that she'd dropped for him all too easily, and now he pulled his phone out of his pocket.

"What happened to Robin?"

He used his magic to remove the shackles from her wrists and placed his phone and the number into her free hands. "Ask him yourself," he urged confidently. Scared as she was, he knew that she wouldn't run. There was only one thing she would do after a threat like that. "Call…"

He stepped away from her, and the second he did, she took the bait, dialed the number, and called. "Robin?" she practically shouted into the phone the minute the toned ringing stopped on the other end.

"No, it's not Robin." With his magical hearing, he was unshocked to hear Marian's voice answer as planned. Likely, she only needed a second to get away and change if Robin was around.

"Marian?"

"Not exactly…Hello, sis."

There she was.

"No…" After a brief pause, Marian's voice had become the chillingly familiar voice of Zelena, a voice that he would never forget, and if Regina's reaction of losing her footing and falling back into her seat said anything, it was that she'd never forget that voice either. "No, it can't be."

"Oh, but it is."

"Zelena. But how? I saw you die."

"You thought you saw me die," she corrected.

"Where's Robin? This is his phone. What have you done with him?"

"I haven't done anything except love and honor him in sickness and in health, to have and to hold and all that other wifely nonsense."

He glanced down at his own ring at the recitation of traditional wedding vows, vows he and Belle had not exchanged and yet promised all the same. He hated this. Everything about it. But there were limits to his affection for Regina, and Belle by his side was one of those limits.

"I-I don't understand."

"Well, you don't have to. All you need to know is that while your precious Robin thinks it's his wide-eyed wife cooking dinner for him every night, it's actually me. Oh, I've got to run, sis. He'll be home soon, and I've got a meatloaf in the oven."

"No…" Finally, she glanced up at him, her gaze accusing. He knew exactly what she was thinking; it was only fair that he give a small nod of acknowledgement. "No!"

"Oh, you sound like you need a moment. Take it. I'm sure we'll see each other again very soon. Ta-ta."

The phone dropped from Regina's ear as she stared daggers at him, and he prepared his magic, just in case. "You knew."

"And that's why you will do everything I ask," he acknowledged. "Because one phone call from me and your beloved dies at the hands of your sister."

"She murdered your son!"

"Well, Zelena and I have come to…an understanding," he lied. "And now you and I have an understanding as well. Regina, you are vital to my plan to turn the Savior towards darkness," he admitted, a small piece of the plan he hadn't yet confessed to her.

"You made me a monster. But I won't let you do the same to Emma."

With talk like that, he reached down and took the phone from her. He knew who he was, he knew that Zelena was more or less a false threat, one he was happy to use to hold over Regina's head, but he didn't think he could ever bear the idea of actually following through on it. If she refused to do this for him, he'd need to lock her in this mausoleum until he could figure out an alternative plan.

"So you've made your choice, have you? You're choosing the Savior over your beloved Robin Hood? Is that your final answer?"

Regina's eyelids fluttered in irritation and frustration as he held the phone in his hand, finger carefully poised over the buttons as if Zelena was only a call away.

"What would you intend to do with me?"

"Well, for now, your role becomes simple. I intend for you to do nothing."

"Nothing?"

"Nothing. Agree to my terms and I'll let you go."

"To do nothing."

"Nothing."

Regina narrowed her eyes at him. "What's the catch?"

"The catch is that nothing means 'nothing'. Go home, Regina. Shower, sleep, and awake the next morning. Do nothing."

"And by nothing you mean…"

"Don't get in my way. Or the way of the others. Let us do our work on Emma and stay far away from us as we do it. When the time comes for you to do your part, then we'll talk."

He was careful with his words. He was on the verge of getting what he needed, but he had to get this deal right. If he'd learned anything from his time plotting in the Enchanted Forest, it was to always make plans for the future. That was all he was doing. When Emma's good heart turned a little dark, in this strange new world he was going to have the Author create him, she'd be the new him. A black heart with a bit of bright red left. Regina, easily the more morally gray of the two, was going to be key in fighting her and keeping her under control in this new realm so that he could continue to have his happy ending with Belle and not constantly have to battle against her.

Regina didn't want to turn Emma into a monster? Ironically, when looked at with a certain perspective, that was exactly what he was going to give her the opportunity to do.

"Do we have a deal?"

Chapter Text

"Fine!" Regina spat. "If it means I get to go home and stay far the hell away from you…then fine."

He smiled as a bit of the fight in Regina's tone died away. Good. Good girl. She was complicit, but only for now. Regina had a tendency to let that fire of hers go out and let it be fanned again at inopportune times. So, he decided to make life so much easier for her. He used his own magic and sent her home. Emma and the others were out and about, theoretically still looking for the sleeping Author he had upstairs. Cruella was nowhere to be seen. Regina's magic wouldn't be restored until well after the sun rose, so unless he wanted her walking home, accidentally running into Emma, and reigniting that fire, getting her back to her house was the least he could do. He only wished that he trusted her enough to let her be.

With the help of the crystal ball, he watched Regina, kept a close eye on her as she reappeared in her foyer. He knew her well enough not to be panicked when she went right for the phone because he also knew her well enough not to be surprised when she quickly put it back down. She was on a thin line. He'd caught her, and while she might, if she had enough time, figure out a way to scuttle out of the deal they'd made, she wasn't going to come up with it in the next few hours. When she went upstairs and into the bathroom, turning on the shower, he averted his eyes and instead checked on the other pieces in this game.

He was almost unsurprised to find Maleficent in the cavern below the library, in tears and clutching that little rattle she possessed to her heart. At first, he wasn't entirely sure that the cavern where she'd spent her decades mostly dead would have been his first choice for privacy. However, the more he thought about it, the more he supposed it made sense. Maleficent was always prone to dark and dreary places. The caverns under the library were dark and dreary, if nothing else. And they were private. Gods knew no one ever went down there unless they felt they had to. And it would be familiar to her. She was looking for a quiet, isolated spot, and she'd found one. His only question was how she'd managed to get there without setting off the spells he kept in the library. For now, he'd comfort himself by assuming that she'd found another entrance, one of the many tunnels in Storybrooke that led there. Clearly, one day, he'd need to ward those entrances too.

Cruella was the most unexpected of those he checked in on that night. He didn't know where to expect to find her, given he hadn't a clue why she'd gone missing so suddenly. But she appeared to be huddled beneath that coat of hers, in the back of the car, attempting to sleep. But it was only an attempt because it was clear to him that sleep was eluding her. Her chest never rose or fell in a sleep pattern. She never really even remained still, constantly tossing and turning over. He couldn't understand her behavior. But he also didn't care too. Cruella was Cruella…she was a very minimal part of his plan, one that existed more for show than anything. What she was up to didn't threaten that plan at the moment, and so she was far from his worries. The Charmings, on the other hand…

They were still outside, flashlights in hand, scouring some dark corner of the forest. For that reason alone, he didn't want to go back to the cabin. Every tree in Storybrooke looked similar; for all he knew, they'd be in his backyard soon, and he wouldn't allow them to find his new prize.

Prizes…

As their flashlights swam in his little glass ball, he pulled from his coat the pen, "the quill" that the Author had tried to make, the quill that he'd had in his possession and never even known about. With Regina getting ready for bed, the Author safely asleep, the Charmings occupied, and his partners currently…well, he didn't really know or care what they were doing, just that they were busy doing it…he knew what he wanted to do.

He'd always been one for experiments. And now he had all the pieces that he needed. He sealed the Mausoleum and left the Author there for the time being, then returned to the Sorcerer's Mansion. Inside, he found the room that Regina had shown him, the one Henry had found with empty storybooks, and he plucked one from the shelf. Book and quill in hand, he returned to his own safe and private place, the one place that incidentally held the only person he cared to check in on but wouldn't with his crystal.

He went home.

Just as he always did, he cast a spell over the house to put Belle to sleep and keep her asleep so that he could move freely without waking her. And although the magical tools in his hand called to him, she called to him more. He walked up the stairs, cracked open the bedroom door, and saw her lying there in their bed.

Though she'd made an effort to turn down both sides, it appeared that she'd migrated back over to what would have been called "her side" of the bed. She lay there on her side, the arm she normally would have wrapped around him lay on the covers, her head on the lowest corner of the pillow where his shoulder would have been. Hell, if the lumps in the bed were what he thought they were, the leg that had a tendency to fall over his thigh was currently hiked up in that exact same manner. She slept as though she missed him, as though her body missed him. At least that was what he preferred to think rather than something simple like muscle memory.

He was tempted to wake her. Far more tempted than he ever was with any of his other visits. The last time he'd seen her in the shop, the promise that he'd make a confession to her face, it egged him on now, daring him to wake her and have that conversation. Where better than to do it than here?! Every encounter they'd ever had here had always ended well.

But he didn't do it. Maybe it was doubt that she'd take being woken in the middle of the night by him well. Maybe it was the objects in his hands. Maybe it was the tick of the clock reminding him that he had limited time until the sun rose. Maybe it was cowardice. For whatever reason, he left the book on one of the bedroom chairs and moved closer. He resisted the urge to kiss her, lest he break the spell he'd placed over the home, but he did move the blankets up over her shoulders. He let his fingers dance a few times on her upper back just to watch her face relax into sleep a little more. He fluffed the pillow her head rested on so that it would be a little closer to the height of his shoulder. He resisted kissing her once, then twice, then four, then seven times in that encounter. And when the tenth urge almost overtook him, he collected his things, closed the bedroom door, and retreated to his basement lab.

In the basement, he lay down the pen and the book and swallowed hard. Yes. Now that he was with them, he could sense the same kinds of magic coming off this book as he did Isaac. It was a strange kind of magic. And there was a nagging sense within him that he'd encountered it before; he just couldn't put his fingers on when or how or who…that was an oddity to him. His mind was usually better than that, coming up with images and knowledge with just the faintest hint of…

Was…his mind was better at remembering things like this, had once been better at connecting the dots. Back when he'd had the Seer's gifts at hand.

But her absence didn't matter. He had records, decades of records that he'd made in the Chronicles, and now he had a crystal ball and a quill and a book before him, not to mention hundreds of years of experience and thousands of years of memories at his disposal. He could figure this out. Experimenting had always been a favorite pastime of his. And so he experimented, or perhaps observed was a better word.

The book was identical to the one he'd taken the other day when they'd searched the home for the door the Author was locked behind. While soaked in magic, it held nothing. Not a word, not a picture. The paper he could tell was made from an enchanted tree, one that he couldn't pinpoint, but some Dark One called an Enchanted Bild Tree, something that went extinct because too many people used them. Reminiscing on the library of these books Merlin had created, he had a feeling he knew who had used the lion's share.

The pen, or quill, as the Author had called it, though it was his opinion it looked far too modern to be a "quill" as he'd known them, was also carved from enchanted wood, though this he recognized as an Enchanted Oak. Certainly, something not common in the Enchanted Forest, but he'd always known they existed.

Thousands of books, but only one quill…he had several theories as to what that might mean, but really only one that he felt confident exploring at the moment. He opened the cover of the book in his hand, held the quill in his hand as he would any fountain pen, and began to write out his name.

Nothing.

The quill scratched upon the paper, but didn't leave a mark. Out of curiosity, he summoned from his upper office a fountain pen of his own with a legal pad. As a control, he wrote his name upon it in big swirly writing as he might have done if he wanted to make a show of signing a contract. Naturally, the pen behaved as it should, leaving ink upon the paper. Next, he pulled the book closer to him, poised the pen, and upon the paper before him wrote out the words "Once Upon a Time…"

This time the pen worked, leaving behind the words in bold, black-

Nothing.

One second the letters were there, and the next they were not. They glowed, first yellow, then orange, then finally red, and after a flash of light when he looked down at the page, it was once more blank. The book had rejected his writings.

He dropped the pen back down on the legal pad and let himself rest on a nearby stool as he looked at the quill lying there on the book before him. That answered at least one question. Why have so many books just carelessly lying around the Mansion? It was exactly what Nimue had tried to tell him when he'd realized that he had the quill. A lock was only useful so long as it has a key and a door. The storybooks were doors to different realms, locked away behind the mind and quill of an author, but in order to be opened, the lock needed a key. If the book was the door, and the quill was the lock, then he'd need a key.

Ink…the quill needed ink.

Chapter Text

He learned plenty that night. But not fast enough to be useful or do anything about it. After spending half the night examining the book, the quill, and the chronicles, after testing every kind of ink he had at his disposal and realizing that obviously the ink needed to be something special, something he hadn't yet considered, the sun came up, and he felt the spell he put on the house break. It was barely a second later that he sensed Belle wake too.

He felt it in his bones, even in the noise of the house settling. She was awake, they were in the house together, he could go upstairs and talk to her if he wanted, say what he needed to say. But a heartbeat later, he heard her move, heard her footsteps rushing down the stairs. He quickly used his magic to banish away everything that he'd used throughout the night, to lock the chronicles away. The door to the basement opened, and his heart seized. Now, now was the time; it was going to happen! She was going to catch him. She wouldn't run because she wasn't afraid. And he wouldn't leave because he wanted to desperately to talk to her…

And then he lost his nerve and used his magic to carry him away before she could see him. He was a coward. It was his worst flaw.

Back in the mausoleum, the Author was right where he'd left him, the book and the quill were in his hands, and when he summoned the crystal ball to him, he watched as Belle looked suspiciously around the basement before returning to the first floor.

He leaned against the wall of the mausoleum and breathed; breathing eventually gave way to beaming. He hadn't kissed her thus far because he'd been worried, so worried that their bond might be broken. That was what was at the heart of his fear. Yes, of course, in the moment he hadn't wanted to wake her, and no matter what spell he'd put her under, True Love's Kiss would most certainly work, but if he'd kissed her and it didn't work…!

That was clearly not a problem. He'd sensed her wake. She had, somehow, sensed him in the house. She'd come running down those stairs after him. And in the crystal ball, angry as she'd looked when she'd looked around the basement, she almost looked disappointed to find him gone. None of that was disappointing news. It was hopeful. He was hopeful. Or at least he would be once he finally figured out where the ink to the quill was.

He glanced over at the Author sleeping right where he'd left him.

He wanted to see Belle. He wanted to talk to her, to explain, he wanted to do so much! But there were things that he needed to do first. There were other people in the world who mattered at the moment, and those were the people he needed to focus on.

He used the ball again, wondering how he'd survived for years here without one at his fingertips. Regina was at her home, she was awake and dressed, but sitting in the kitchen staring down into a mug of something. Her phone wasn't in sight, so she didn't seem to be rushing off to anywhere or interested in making a call of any kind. That was good. When it was time for Emma to need a final push into darkness, then she'd come in handy, but for now, sitting at home alone was the best he could hope for with her.

The Charmings seemed to be home, they looked exhausted but not like they were heading to bed.

Cruella was the same; he found her by her car, looking determined, but utterly alone and with bags under her eyes from an obviously very sleepless night. As a matter of fact, as he watched her, she sat down in the driver's seat, reached for some kind of cream or makeup or something that was in a small round container, and dabbed it under her eyes. And Maleficent…she was still in the library caverns. No longer was she as emotional as she'd seen her earlier, no, her face was stoic again, set. She sat upon a rock formation, fingers tapping together deep in thought.

He didn't know what the fuck was happening with her and Cruella. But as long as he had the Author with him, he had to keep his eyes on what was ahead and not get distracted. He had an aura of power and knowledge to maintain. He couldn't start letting on that he was making the plan up as he went.

He woke Isaac, who blinked his eyes open, jumped all over again when he saw the coffins, and then pushed himself up and against the wall on the other side of the mausoleum.

"Oh…" the man blew out a breath from where he sat cornered and plastered a smile over his face that didn't quite match the racing of his heart. "You startled me."

"Was that all?" he questioned, keeping a sneer to himself. "I hope you had a good night's sleep."

"That shouldn't be possible in a place like this," he mumbled more to himself than anyone before his eyes opened wide in realization. "You didn't-"

"Come, there is a lot to get done today. At my cabin, you'll have an opportunity to wash up and rest."

"A cabin!" the Author exclaimed, getting to his feet and dusting himself off. "Why didn't you say so?!" Some mortals were so predictable.

The pair left the Mausoleum and, being sure it was locked up, he used his magic to take himself and Isaac back to the cabin. He made sure to take them just outside the perimeter and used his magic once more to perform a sweep of the house. He found nothing, which was expected. He'd already seen where his accomplices were in the crystal ball, and he knew they weren't there. But there had been a part of him that was hoping something obvious would be wrong that might have kept them from coming back here for the night. However, there was nothing. No bodies, breathing or otherwise, no magic that wasn't his own, no signs that anyone had been here after they'd left. It was odd.

But wondering about what would have caused Cruella and Maleficent to abandon him so quickly was the least of his concerns at the moment. He'd get to the bottom of it later; for now, he wanted to get the Author inside.

"Wow. This is nice! Secluded, perfect for a villain alone, though not quite what I would have pictured for the Dark One. Your style was always a lot grander than the hovel you built."

Fuck, did this man ever stop talking?

He unlocked the door, and the Author strode in as if he were a returning visitor, scrutinizing how the place had changed since he'd last been there.

"Well, this is certainly homey," he declared. "Antlers are a nice touch. Makes me feel like Hemingway. Or maybe Thoreau. Name's Isaac, by the way."

The Author-Isaac, rounded back and extended his hand, offering to shake his own. He didn't take it. Handshakes could mean all sorts of different things to different people, and he wasn't about to agree to any kind of unknown social contracts. The Author contained a magic he couldn't quite understand or place despite its familiarity. Until he knew more about it, or the situation demanded it, he wasn't going to touch him. Besides, after the adventure they'd already had, this was hardly an introduction.

"Do you always talk this much?" he questioned, closing the door behind them.

"Only when I'm nervous. And you still have my quill."

"Yeah. Well, for now, let's call it…my quill." He reached into his jacket pocket and pulled it free from where he'd stashed it earlier.

"You know, it's worthless without its ink."

"Oh, I'm aware!" Now, if only he could be aware of what kind of ink the book actually needed.

Asking the Author what he knew was the simplest way to do it, but he was still trying to suss out exactly how much he could trust the man.

In his mind, he felt Nimue shift uncomfortably. That was different. She knew something…?

"And I plan to obtain some very soon."

"Yeah. And just how are you gonna do that?"

"Simple. Now you're here, I'm gonna turn the Savior dark."

"What will that accomplish?"

"Once her heart has been blackened, everything I need shall fall into place," he lied. It was round about logic, he knew that. Pieces of a puzzle that he didn't yet have. But he'd said it with confidence, and it still amazed him how often a confident tone could be convincing. "You'll see soon enough, when my associates return."

"Your associates…" Isaac stepped closer to the door, toward the place where Cruella had left a jacket of hers hanging up, "seem to have a taste for fur." Isaac raised a sleeve to his nose and gave it a little sniff. "And perfume. Can't wait to meet them." Isaac backed away from the coat, but his thoughts lingered. Wherever Cruella had gone, for whatever reason she'd gone, it obviously wasn't for very long. All of her things were still here, just like Ursula's and Maleficent's. But still, the way that Isaac had moved toward Cruella's coat and identified it as fur and nothing fake off the bat, the way his heart skipped a beat at that sniff of his, it had him wondering…

"Surely you must know them from your stories." After all, he'd known about his hovel.

"Know of them, sure, but an author rarely gets…"

Suddenly, something tugged on his heart, ripping his attention from here to somewhere else. A summoning. Not a strong one, that wasn't possible while he had the dagger, but someone saying his name three times…

"Be quiet!" he hissed. "Don't say another word."

The voice calling for him was as familiar to him as his own. He had the dagger. He had the option of ignoring such a call, but the person doing the calling…he could never ignore her.

She was the entire reason he was here.

"Something's just come up. You stay here till I return."

"Until you return? But who's gonna-"

He didn't wait to hear the end of his sentence; he was already gone.

Chapter Text

There she was. In the middle of the forest, her back turned to him as she peered into the old stone well, where they'd been married only months before.

Months ago…

It was odd just how much could happen over the course of a few months. He had a lot to tell her, a lot he wanted and needed to tell her, but suddenly it felt like there was a rock in his throat, thick and coarse, making it difficult to swallow in her presence, let alone speak.

She didn't have the dagger in her possession anymore. Her call to him was strong but not overwhelming. He could ignore it. He could go back to the cabin. He could retreat. Nimue urged him to leave to the point of begging!

But the second Belle began saying his name again, a second summoning when the first had failed, he felt his heart skip a beat. He'd promised her long ago that if she summoned him, he'd come. How could he even consider denying her?

"Hello, Belle," he blurted out before she could say his name a third time.

He heard her own heartbeat begin to race as she turned to face him, and he wondered if it was possible for the palpitations of two hearts to make the earth tremble beneath his feet. It was either an earthquake he was feeling, or he was shaking.

"Hello," she finally breathed into the space between them.

It was awkward. This was awkward. Things hadn't been awkward between them since the castle, since there had been so much to say and so much hesitation to say it all at once. He had so much that he wanted to say now! And he could see that she did too. He could only imagine the secrets that she had to share with him from these last few weeks apart, but he knew each and every one of his own. He'd kept a list.

"This is a curious place to meet," he commented, looking around only briefly before letting his gaze settle back over her. He was afraid that if he looked away, she might disappear, that it could be a trick of his head that he was seeing her, feeling her in the first place. But it couldn't be. It couldn't be because he'd pictured this meeting between them only half a dozen times since he'd gone away. Never once had he imagined it in this place. The shop, the house, the library, Granny's, even…but never here. Somehow, meeting her here under these conditions felt like it defiled the place somehow. If he was honest, he was surprised she'd done it.

"Do you, uh…do you remember what you told me the night of our vows?" she asked bluntly, automatically sending a stabbing pain of guilt through his belly because how could she ever doubt that he remembered them perfectly, that he'd carry each word with him for the rest of his life?! "How I chased all the darkness out of you?"

He hadn't said it that way exactly.

"Belle, look, I…I'm sorry for everything-"

"No!" she huffed, leaving the well's platform and coming toward him much faster than he'd ever expected she might. Having her so close to him so suddenly was surprising and nerve-racking. But when had it ever not been? It was unexpected, but she was always the one to take those steps forward, to break down the boundaries when he was running scared. Somehow, that made him just as hopeful as it made him terrified.

"No apologies today," she insisted. "For once in my life, I just want the truth. Why are you here, Rumple? Are you-are you trying to win me back or…?"

"It's a bit more complicated than that," he answered. Though he supposed, at the heart of it, it probably wasn't. She was all that he wanted, all he'd ever wanted. And now he was most certainly trying to get back to that so they could have their happy ending! But it wasn't a competition. If it were, Will Scarlett would lose in a heartbeat. It wasn't a competition. There was more to their happy ending than earning back her heart. There was his own to consider.

Not that she'd know that. He'd never told her. And of all the things that he'd wanted to tell her, to show her, to explain since this all began, that was, perhaps, the most important one. So much so that when he'd finished telling her days ago, as she'd lain there asleep from Maleficent's Curse, he'd promised that he'd tell her one day, that she deserved the explanation. And being here, with the woman who possessed the last bit of good and love left in his heart…he supposed there was no better way.

He was the only one who could remove his heart. He'd placed that spell upon it decades ago when Cora was a threat. Since then, he'd only removed it privately, but now, so that she could see what he was about to say was the truth, he reached into his chest and gasped at the gut-wrenching feeling of having it removed. And it was just as he remembered the last time he'd plucked it from his chest. An inky black lump of coal with a single small fluttering beat of red dedicated to the woman before him.

"Rumple!" she gasped as she stared down at it. Clever as she was and with all that she'd learned about magic in the last year, there was no chance that she didn't understand what she was looking at.

"It seems that centuries of dark deeds do take their toll," he confirmed for her. "And all that's left of it is this…"

He pointed out the glittering speck he was perhaps proudest of, but felt a painful sob bubble to the surface. He tapped it down. There was no reason to mourn prematurely, not when he still loved her and that love was proving to be his anchor.

But for how much longer if she does not return the love you give, Rumpelstiltskin! Nimue taunted in his mind.

He knew the answer. Not long.

"And pretty soon…that'll be gone too."

"Well…will…will you die?" she questioned, looking him over, upset written all over her face.

Death would be preferable to what would actually happen.

"In a manner of speaking, yes. I will lose any ability to love. And that goodness that you once saw inside of me…all that will be gone forever. There's only one man who can reverse this process. And that's the Author. That's why I'm here in Storybrooke."

There. He'd done it. He'd kept the promise he made to himself and explained it to her in person. Now she could understand.

He shuddered as he popped his vulnerable heart back into his chest. She stood there, concerned, obviously, but quiet. It was so unlike her not to ask a million questions, to proclaim something optimistic in the face of his pessimism. It took him by surprise.

"I don't expect you to understand, of course-"

"But I…I-I do understand," she stated, her voice trembling.

"You do?"

She did? Perhaps she only thought that she understood. She never understood his ways, why he did the bad things he did, even if it was for a good reason, not without a million questions. Or perhaps she only understood the situation, not what he was doing, but the why of it. She'd always been good at that. She'd always been good at…

Crying. She was crying. Damn near sobbing and the urge to reach forward and comfort her in her grief or anger or fear…

"Sometimes I worry…I worry I threw out the chipped teacup too soon."

…it was overwhelming.

She didn't push, didn't run, didn't give a single inclination when he stepped forward that she didn't want him to be closer. Being apart was awkward, keeping their distance was strange, but this, holding her close and kissing her, had always been and would always be the most natural thing in the world. The tip of her head, the weight of her body, the imprint of her lips on his…this was the happy ending he was working for. This was the eternity he wanted. If the only thing they ever did was stand in the woods and kiss like this, he would have led a happy and fulfilled life.

He was high, happy even, when he suddenly felt an unexpected pressure on his chest. It was her urging him away. He didn't hesitate to break the kiss but still stayed close enough, wondering what might come next, what they could do together to save him when he looked down into her eyes and realized…something was wrong. Something wasn't right. He knew Belle's gaze better than he knew his own; it was soulful and deep. But that wasn't so right now. Her eyes were glassy, as if gazing at something that wasn't there.

Something was very wrong.

"You know what the problem is, though?" she asked as he began to reach his magic out over her body, scanning and searching. "Will is just such a better kisser than you are."

"Wh-what?!" he stumbled, his magic tripping over a faint trace of magic, something small, a residue of something...

"You're pathetic!" Belle roared with a sinister tone that wasn't her own. "Watching you come groveling back to me, it's like a dog begging for scraps!"

"Why are you saying this? This isn't like you, Belle," he wondered aloud before his magic finally stumbled over the problem. It wasn't something that was there. It was something that wasn't. And the trace of magic he found…Regina.

"But it is so like me!" the Evil Queen herself shouted from behind him just as he realized what was happening. When he turned to face the bitch, he wasn't shocked to find Belle's heart in the palm of her hand. But he was panicked. And disgusted.

"Regina," he snarled. He understood what was happening without her having to explain herself. He would have liked to know how she'd pulled it off, of course. He'd been watching her so carefully, he wasn't sure when she would ever have had the time to do this, but Regina's skill at taking hearts and Belle's willingness to see the good in everyone who was bad meant that all she would have needed was five minutes to take his wife's heart from her.

"Now forget all this and run along home!" Regina whispered into her heart. He turned to see Belle go catatonic, her eyes glazed, her heart calmed, and she walked away, he assumed, without any memory that she'd ever been there. That would most likely be good for her in the long run, but it chaffed at his soul. He'd confessed! He'd done the right thing! And Regina had just deprived her of the memory of it.

"You have no idea just how much I'm gonna make you suffer for this," he growled in Regina's direction.

"Oh, you're not gonna do a thing," she shot back. "Unless you wanna see what happens when I take this heart and squeeze."

"Come on. We both know you don't have it in you."

"Don't I?"

She stared him down, searched his eyes, challenging him to be the one to back down first. And when he didn't, she held his Beloved's heart up again, and he heard the first cracks that made his own heart jump in his chest.

"All right, all right," he relented. There were so many ways to play chicken with Regina. But he'd never do it with Belle at risk. He'd promised her too many times that Regina would never hurt her again after what she'd been through, and he wouldn't be able to live with himself if he didn't follow through on that now. "I believe you."

"Good. So, I'm headed to New York now. And if you breathe one word of this to Zelena, you won't be the only one who loses a heart."

Chapter Text

Rage boiled within him. It made his skin feel as though it was on fire, and he twitched with the urge to hit, destroy, explode…

Kill.

However, sitting in the back bedroom of his cabin, clenching his fists together as he tried not to scream and rage, anything to let Isaac know he'd returned, he was also aware of a small kernel of something besides anger and hatred brewing inside of him. Luck? Pride, perhaps? No.

Gratitude.

He was angry with Regina. Furious with her, really. He wanted nothing more than to whisk himself away to her house and strangle her on the spot for what she'd done, not just to Belle, but how she'd taken it a step further and humiliated him with his confession and that kiss and those words he was almost certain she had forced Belle to say about Scarlett.

He wanted to kill her. But there was also one thing that he was aware his magic should be forcing him to do, which he wasn't at the moment. Working for Zelena. He was angry with Regina, but also prideful because, in a way, she was exactly what he'd created her to be. Zelena, on the other hand, was his enemy. He despised her. His stomach ached with nausea when he thought of her. Murder wasn't good enough for that witch. He wanted her dead and her bones burned and kept in an urn on a shelf somewhere he could keep a close watch on them to make sure she never managed to resurrect herself again. The deal he'd made with her in New York had damn near ruined him. Working for her after she'd killed his son…how could he not hate himself for doing it?

But what Regina had done, to him and his accomplices, wherever they are, had at least served a problem she hadn't intended to solve. It had freed him. Zelena had rescinded the deal she'd made with him. If she hadn't, then he'd likely be compelled this moment to call her and tell her what Regina was up to. But he wasn't compelled, not one bit. Regina was free to go to New York, to rescue Robin, and deal with her sister as she saw fit. And shockingly enough, he was all too happy to let it happen.

He was angry with Regina, furious at what she'd done. But aside from the little problem that the Heart-Crusher currently had his Beloved's heart in her possession, he was so fucking proud of her.

As to Belle's heart, he couldn't let what she'd done stand. Obviously. But he'd wait until she returned from New York with Robin Hood to do anything about it because Regina going and disrupting her sister's plan, maybe even killing her, served his purposes just as much as it did his own. Besides, he hadn't been willing to gamble in a game of chicken on that mountain with Belle's life, but he truly didn't think she'd kill Belle over it. Why would she? To kill Belle in order to save Robin Hood would likely destroy her relationship with that hero. Also, with Henry. And Emma. And her parents. For whatever reason, those relationships were important to her. She wouldn't risk them just to kill Belle.

Belle was also smart. Regina and the others had used her mind for their own advantage numerous times; she was practically part of the team, against his numerous objections. She obviously didn't carry the same grudges against her captor that he did against his.

No, Belle would be safe. She was in no danger at the moment, but that didn't mean he was going to allow Regina to keep her heart. He'd have to get it back. Preferably, after she left for New York, when he could track it down and return it to Belle when Regina was off her guard. He needed her to have it before he enacted his own plans.

With that in mind, he pulled the quill from the pocket in his jacket and looked it over. Regina possessing Belle's heart was a problem. Bringing Robin and Roland back into the mix might also be too, it was one more hero in town to deflect from his plans. He needed to be ready. He needed to speed up certain parts of his plan. However, he also needed to gain a better understanding of certain information he suddenly understood was lacking.

He stood from the bed he'd hunched himself over on and used his magic to be sure the soundproof seal he'd placed on the room was still intact. Then he drew the dagger, held it in his hand, and summoned…

"Nimue…" he growled.

"You rang?" she mocked in irritation, lounging far too casually in the chair opposite him. He didn't acknowledge it.

"What kind of ink does the pen use?"

"I don't know."

"You're lying."

"Why would I lie?" she questioned with a huff. "You are on the brink of accomplishing everything I never could, don't you think that would call for honesty on my part?"

"You're incapable of honesty. Just like every Dark One who came after you."

"You wound me," she stated with no emotion.

"And don't pretend as though you are on my side of this. You want me to destroy Light Magic, reversing the roles of Light and Dark…that's the last thing you want."

"Perhaps. But you can look for yourself, my mind, just like the rest of the Dark Ones, is open to you. I have no knowledge of the ink, only the pen."

Look for himself…

"Show me the memory," he demanded.

He caught a glimpse of Nimue's smile before the room around him dissolved

He found himself somewhere old, in a round tower of sorts that he knew, the second he saw it, was Merlin's tower. The man himself sat at a desk with a whittling knife in one hand and in the other…the pen. After looking it over and rolling it between his fingers a few times, Merlin set the knife down and spun around in his chair excitedly.

"What do you think?" he questioned in his direction. He stepped aside to find Nimue had taken his place, her place, in the memory. Only this wasn't the Nimue he was familiar with, the one who haunted and taunted him, her memory dwelling in his head. This was Nimue before. Clean skin, bright, sunny smile. It was sometimes easy to see how a man like Merlin could fall so easily in love with her.

"It's the funniest quill I've ever seen," she declared teasingly.

"It's new to this world, something of my own invention after the last one broke. It's called a pen," he commented as she took it from his fingers and examined it in her own.

"I see. And how do you know what it's called if it's new to this world?" she questioned, as though she was already completely aware of the existence of other worlds.

Because I was...

"Magic, of course," Merlin answered with a smile.

"Magic, right, of course…but…answer me this, Sorcerer Supreme…where does the ink go?"

"Ah!" he plucked the pen from her hands, and he felt an echo of the pride she'd felt in that moment wash over him. She thought she'd had him with that comment, finally outsmarted the great Sorcerer over something as simple as ink. But then…

"This doesn't require ink, at least not ink as you know it," he explained, producing the black box he'd found the pen in when it was still buried beneath the floorboards of the Apprentice's home. In the memory, it was fresh and new, but he watched as he peeled the backing away and then picked up a quill and a piece of paper. As he dipped the quill in ink and quickly jotted something down, Nimue strained to see what he wrote over his shoulder, but he was done before she could move closer and see for herself. He tore the small piece of paper he'd written upon off from the larger piece. "For something as precious as this, something alive, something living and breathing, capable of lending truth to tales of both light and dark, it'll need something far different. A different kind of ink to be worked with a different kind of magic, a magic unique only to the person using it."

Before her eyes, he watched as he folded the tiny slip of paper up and placed it in the back of the quill case, then sealed the backing into place once more.

He heard Nimue giggle uncharacteristically and say, "How mysterious you are, my dear Merlin…"

As the memory faded and his bedroom in the cabin came back into view.

No…no, it couldn't be that simple! It just couldn't!

Putting aside the dagger and sentencing Nimue back into the recesses of his mind, he summoned the case that the pen had been in into his hand, opened it, and felt around the lining. It couldn't be that simple! And yet, beneath the lining, he could feel something, the slightest lip of something hiding beneath. Knowing that whatever Merlin had slipped inside was old, he gingerly pried the lining away from the wooden case until he saw the edge of a slip of paper come into view. With gentility, he worked it free and unfolded it as only someone who dealt with antiques could have.

Though the paper itself reeked of magic, it was not magical. It had merely absorbed the scent of it after all these years. But the words written upon the paper, ordinary as they were, would produce great magic indeed.

Chapter Text

"An ordinary pen I may seem, but at my heart is more than meets the eye.

I tell the stories of which you dream, so you must take a soul and liquefy.

Neither white nor black, a shade of gray I require.

Not light or dark, my magic must be of someone who is higher."

It wasn't a rhyme, nor was it a poem. It was a recipe. It didn't explicitly state it, but given the memory he'd seen of Merlin and Nimue talking, he would venture that it was the recipe for the ink. After all, the heart and soul of a pen was its ink. He wouldn't have known that in the Enchanted Forest, no one would have. But here he understood. And he wasn't sure there ever was a luckier bastard in all the realms.

A soul liquefied…that was blood. He was certain about that. But not just any blood. Blood that was a "shade of gray", not a villain, not a hero, which might have sounded like any ordinary individual would have done, but that last line…that was the kicker. It wasn't the blood of a person who had been ordinary their entire life, it was the blood of someone who was "higher," someone who had fallen from grace in order to be considered no longer Light but neither Dark. A Savior.

A lucky bastard indeed. Turning the Savior dark had been on his list of things to do since he arrived, simply because he knew that turning her heart a shade of gray would make whatever life he encountered when he got to the new world better for him, easier. Now it seemed that he had been on the right path all along. He needed the Savior's heart to darken not just so she'd be less of a problem when the tables flipped, but to get the ink that Isaac needed to flip those tables in the first place!

The blood of a fallen Savior…something alive, something precious, something capable of telling stories both light and dark. Emma…

But to get her to the point of shadow that he was certain he'd need for the ink was going to take more than he'd planned. He'd need something bigger, something stupendous to bring her to truly darken her light to the point of shadow. It would need to be something like-

Alarm bells suddenly flared in the back of his mind. Someone was on the property, a presence he recognized. Cruella DeVil.

Finally.

He didn't know where the hell she'd been or why she hadn't come back to the cabin last night, but it was about damn time she or Maleficent showed up and explained themselves! There was work to be done; he could use a minion to help with his bidding right about now!

He rose from the bed, straightened his tie as he felt her enter the cabin.

"Don't bother studying the greats, darling. You'll never be one of them…"

Fuck. He moved to the door to intercept what was surely already an awkward meeting for Isaac before-

"Hello, Isaac. Never thought you'd see me again, did you?"

Curiosity shot through him as his hand paused on the doorknob. Had he only imagined it? Or had Cruella just said the name of the Author and admitted to meeting him before?!

"I was certainly hoping not to," Isaac replied on the other side as he felt his eyes widen and his blood pressure rise. For "hoping" not to see her again, he didn't sound surprised, but then…

The coat, the one he'd scented with her perfume before identifying his associates as having expensive taste. He'd known even then who they were waiting for. He assumed it was because he'd written about her, but now…now he wondered how many other signs he'd missed. And thanked the gods that while the soundproofing spell he'd placed over this bedroom wouldn't let sound out, it did let sound in.

"Then why don't you make this easy and give me back what you took?"

What he took? This was getting more and more interesting by the moment.

"Can't do it. Sorry."

There were footsteps in the living room, heavy, angry ones, followed by a bang, and while every instinct in him wanted to go out there and protect the Author, he stayed put, straining his ears for a hint of what might have been happening so he could reveal himself at the opportune time.

"With one whistle, I can send a hundred snarling dogs after you," Cruella whispered so low it took magical hearing for the words to come through.

"You could, but you and I both know that even with all your magic, you don't have enough power to hurt me."

"I do hate it when you're right, darling. Though I do like this new shade of confidence. It's so…masculine. Are you sure you can't help a girl out? For old time's sake?"

Her tone was no longer threatening. It was seductive. That, combined with the previous comment Cruella had given, had him wondering…exactly how well had Cruella and Isaac known each other?

"Not a chance," Isaac proclaimed.

"Well, then you will pay for what you did when you made me what I am."

"You know, idle threats don't make for good drama. But I do see one interesting story developing here."

"Really?" Cruella asked, sounding utterly uninterested. "And what's that?"

"Rumpelstiltskin…has no idea that we know each other." Now his ears pricked. "Which means that…you lied to him. So, from one old friend to another, you should probably be gone before he gets back."

"Oh, you always did know how to infuriate a girl, didn't you? Well, enjoy the upper hand while it's still on your wrist, because I think you'll find…there's more than one way to skin an Author."

From out in the next room, a door slammed so hard that dust fell from the bedroom ceiling. Belle would have been mortified. But he magically transported himself outside, to stand by the side of the building and watch Cruella get back in her car and speed off. Was that why she'd left when he'd left the crypt when he'd gone off to find the Author? Why she'd stayed away from the cabin last night? From where he stood now, watching her peel out of the drive at Isaac's threat that he'd come home and find them together, he'd say "yes." Of course, the problem with that was that it didn't explain Maleficent's absence.

Not unless Maleficent had potentially taken the bait he'd given a little bit earlier than expected.

He smiled. The Author assumed a lot. In truth, no traditional lie had been committed. There had been a sort of understanding between him and his associates that they never told either other exactly what they were after by way of happy endings. Cruella hadn't lied to him, but she had withheld some very useful information, it seemed. And now…what would she do, he wondered?

Chapter Text

Cruella had bewitched Maleficent. She had to have.

With Isaac still in the cabin, he summoned the crystal ball into his hand. Though he badly wanted to go after Regina by searching the town to find Belle's heart, he had to acknowledge that at the moment, there wasn't much he could do. Regina was packing to leave for town and likely had Belle's heart guarded. It would be easier with her out of town. But either way, he needed a plan, and that involved holding more cards in his hand than he currently had. So, he turned to his players. What had become of his Queens of Darkness? With Ursula gone and Regina accounted for, there were only two others to locate.

In the aftermath of their conversation, Cruella sped away, and looking in on her was just images of the crazed woman driving. Determined to get some answers to what was going on, he demanded to be shown Maleficent instead, to see if he could get an idea as to what to expect from the witch, if she'd gone to Emma yet with her information. Instead, he found not the woman, but rather the dragon, curled up and sleeping on a road.

Cruella. It had to be. She had no power over humans, but she did over animals. If Maleficent had put the truth together about what happened to her child and realized that Ursula and Cruella had lied to her, then more than likely she would be furious enough to go after her. If she'd lost control and transformed into the dragon, Cruella would easily be able to sedate her like that. But it likely wouldn't hold for long.

Cruella was in trouble. And she knew it. She was likely to be hunted by Maleficent for what she'd done to Lily, hunted by him for lying, and now haunted by the Author for "making her what she was." She was scared, and she was running. So where did she intend to go?

Leaving Storybrooke would be safest. He was so deadset on his plan that he certainly wouldn't follow her, and he wouldn't allow Isaac to follow her either. Maleficent couldn't follow her over the town line, not now. It was magic holding her together; the second she crossed the border, she'd be ash. Of course, if what he'd seen when they'd found her before arriving here was any indication, it was likely that what awaited her outside of Storybrooke was jail time. Not exactly an appealing option to someone who loved power. Which was, he figured, why even though it was likely still her smartest option, she didn't do it.

With all the players in his little story accounted for, he watched Cruella and what she was planning…he couldn't quite figure out.

He watched the crystal ball like it was a TV show, as she pulled up next to Archie, shoved him into a bush, and used her magic on Pongo. The dog ran off. And it was tempting to keep his eyes glued to Cruella, but he knew better. The way she'd gotten out of the car, attacked Archie, and sent Pongo running…there was something going on. And Pongo was part of it. So, he kept his eyes on the dog as he raced down the street, Regina's street, then sat down and waited for something. Or someone….

A school bus pulled up, and a knot formed in his stomach.

Henry.

He watched as Henry spotted Pongo and chased after him.

Into an alley.

Alone.

He knew what would happen even before it did. Cruella's car pulled in, Cruella got out, and after exchanging a few words with Henry, the boy got into the car.

Fuck.

She finally had the one thing he'd been trying to keep from her all along. And yet…why?

He watched them like a hawk as they got in the car. He couldn't go to her. He didn't want to appear inside the car and scare her, not when she drove the way she drove; he might put Henry in danger faster than his magic could work, and besides, he'd never used his magic to jump into a moving car, much less used it to get into anything traveling as fast as Cruella drove. He was helpless to watch as she sped off with his grandson into the woods. And when they finally came to a stop, that was when he acted.

He supposed he could have been a hero, could have jumped right in and gotten to Henry, but curiosity won out. From afar, he cast a protection spell over the boy, an invisible shield so that nothing, not a hand, gun, knife, or magic spell would be able to harm his grandson. And then he watched as she ordered him to pull out his cell phone. He did as was instructed.

"Now listen, we're going to record a very special call for your dear mummies," Cruella insisted.

"What kind of special video?" Henry questioned, his voice wavering nervously.

"It's called a ransom call, darling. Honestly, what do they teach you in schools these days?"

"Not that." Though it was clear Henry was taking this very seriously, he noted the small snort that he'd given in his response. It was subtle, but enough to tell him that though he was scared of what he was caught in the middle of, he wasn't terrified. Cruella wasn't the biggest threat he'd ever faced, and with mothers like Regina and Emma, he couldn't say he blamed the young man. He'd probably have more faith in them than fear in Cruella's ability to harm him. Not that Cruella picked up on that.

"Well then, let me instruct you in the art," the woman answered almost happily. "When I push play, you are going to tell your mums that you are in my custody and if they ever want to see you again, they'll do as I say."

"And the ransom?"

"Well, haven't you been listening? They'll do as I say. Demands are my job, not yours. It's not a task for amateurs."

"So, you've done this before?" Henry questioned. He felt his stomach go sour. Yes, she'd done it before. With Belle. The sand dollar he'd received to come and get her, the magic hadn't been Cruella's, she hadn't been capable, but the message, he had no doubt she was behind that.

"Go on! Hit the button!" she demanded, ignoring Henry. "Record. Video."

Henry held the phone up. "Mom, mom…Cruella has me. If you ever want to see me again, you have to do what she says."

He watched as Cruella took the phone from the boy. "Hello, darlings! As you can see, I have your dreadful son. If you prefer him to remain intact, you'll do exactly as I say…kill the Author. Then, bring me his broken little body or…your boy will meet a very unhappy ending."

No, he wouldn't. He knew he wouldn't because he'd just protected Henry, made sure that he wouldn't, but…Emma wouldn't know that.

Suddenly, he spotted an opportunity, one potentially even greater than what he'd already had planned with Lily and Maleficent.

Emma wouldn't know that Henry was safe. Regina would be able to sense his magic on him, but only if she took a moment to feel for it, and she'd never been great at looking for the danger before she stumbled into it. And Emma would most certainly kill to protect Henry.

That would be one hell of a way to darken a heart. Or at least begin the process. Of course, Emma wouldn't resort to murder first, not if she could help it. First, she would exhaust every possible option to get him back, because she was good, Light Magic incarnate.

But he was Dark Magic to the core. And he was beginning to tire of playing this game Cruella was playing with no sense to it. If she wanted Isaac dead, she'd had the perfect opportunity earlier; why had she not taken it?

He hated to leave Henry alone, but this was an opportunity that would not last forever and therefore took precedence even over Belle's heart. Because after all, Belle's happy ending was his goal. And if he got her heart back but sacrificed this opportunity, then what had he really gained? This was a priority. But he was desperately in need of answers in order to make this opportunity work, and Henry…Henry was safe. Was Cruella his first choice of guardian? No. Especially not when she pulled out a bottle of booze, from where, he couldn't fathom, but she needed Henry alive for whatever she was planning. And even if she lost her temper, his protection spell was on him. He might not be safe from boredom, but he was a lot safer here in the woods than he'd been on Pan's Island.

So he took himself back to the cabin, intent on getting his answers, knowing they had to be quickly received. He entered through the front door, leaving Isaac no opportunity to realize he'd been in the house and heard everything he and Cruella had said to each other. The cabin was just as he remembered leaving it, whatever bang he'd heard earlier from their scuffle had been cleaned up, and he found Isaac perched in an easy chair with one of Belle's books in his hands.

"Finally," he sighed. "The joy of getting lost in a good book just isn't the same. Not after it happens to you literally."

"Stop talking. We haven't much time, now that you and Cruella have been reunited at last."

"Cruella?" Isaac questioned all the while his heart thumped in his chest. "No, I-I-I don't even…"

"Enough. You both lied to me about your past, and now those lies are coming to the surface," he growled as menacingly as possible. He didn't care if Cruella had lied or not; Isaac thought that she had, and he wanted whatever information the Author seemed to possess that he didn't. He would be saying anything it took to get him to talk. This was the time to play whatever card he deemed necessary.

"I'm sorry," Isaac sputtered, getting out of his chair in a hurry and standing behind it as though it might be a shield to him. For someone who had apparently written his life story, he really didn't know him all that well. "Please don't hurt me. I-I didn't think it was…relevant."

"Oh, it's not only relevant, it is essential to my plans. Cruella is so desperate to see you dead, she just kidnapped the Savior's son."

"How do you know that?"

"Well, you have your tools. I have mine," he explained, summoning the crystal ball into his hand. "I watched as Cruella gave the Savior a rather morbid choice…either you die…or her son dies."

"Now hang on. You said you need me to get the Savior to go Dark. This is how you plan to do it? By having her kill me?!"

"Relax. If you died, the mantle of "the Author" simply passes on, perhaps to someone less willing to help me. No, no. I need you alive."

"Then why work with Cruella, if she wants me dead?"

"A person obsessed with vengeance is easy to manipulate. She thought I believed her happy ending was reconciling with her mother. But I knew she was after something else…your death." He rounded on the Author, stepped closer and closer to him before pointing a threatening finger in his direction and relishing the bobbing of his Adam's Apple as he swallowed hard. Dramatics had always been a rather useful tool of his. He'd gotten away from that in his time in Storybrooke; he was pleased to see that he still had the power to make a man quiver with just his presence. Now to see if he could also make him talk. "Now, I wanna know why. I wanna know precisely what you wrote about her, the exact words."

"You wanna know? Here." The Author reached down into his belt and pulled out a piece of old paper, soft and rounded at the corners. It was folded in half and had a stamp of a dog on the outside. "Read it for yourself. I'm better on the page anyway."

Without hesitation, he unfolded the paper and read the curly black script on the paper, "Cruella De Vil can no longer take away the life of another."

No need to worry about Henry then.

Chapter Text

"I risked my own life to write that, right in the nick of time or else she would have killed me herself," Isaac explained as he let his gaze drift up from the page to the Author's face. "We were…involved, I suppose you could say. She came from a realm with magic, but it was unknown to the people there. I gave her that power of hers, and she used it to kill her mother. She would have killed me, too, but the pen and some quick thinking saved me. I lost an entire well of ink when she spilled it all over herself trying to fight me off…"

The Author kept talking, but he stopped listening, his mind doing the calculations in his head. Isaac was Cruella's origin. Jefferson had told him exactly what Isaac had about the place that Cruella came from, that it possessed magic, but no one magical, except for Cruella, and he hadn't known how she'd learned what she had. Now he understood. She hadn't learned anything at all. Isaac was the start of her talent, her gift. And though she was always exceptionally cruel, as her moniker suggested, now that he really thought about it, he'd never seen her kill. Maim, torture, injure, yes…but never kill. That was the woman he'd left Henry with.

Henry was safe, of course. Now he knew for certain. Cruella couldn't kill anyone. And as for the maiming, torturing, and injuring…his protection spell would cover all of that. But Emma didn't know that.

The potential to turn Emma's heart dark before the story was rewritten was before him. And despite all the things he needed to do, despite the fact that Regina currently had possession of Belle's heart, he didn't think that this was an opportunity he could afford to pass up. It would certainly make things more interesting in this other life than he'd planned because Emma, with a gray heart here, would give her a gray heart there. But more importantly, here and now, it would give him the blood that he now knew he required for the ink.

"So, it would seem Henry is safe, you, on the other hand…"

"No," Isaac said with a smile. "The Savior won't kill me, it's too dark for her, too dark for a first step in that direction."

"Perhaps…"

Perhaps right. It was far too dark, but what he actually had planned wasn't going to be murder, per se…it might not even be something that could turn her heart dark, just something to cause a little bit of guilt at the right time and lead her down that path.

But he didn't want Isaac to know that. He needed Isaac to trust him. Sure, he'd been allowing himself to be cooped up in this cabin, but he was positive it was only a temporary thing until he realized that there were other options, or Maleficent or the Charmings came to take custody of him, and while he could deal with magic, an unwilling author wasn't going to aid in his plans. He needed Isaac to trust him, to believe that he was safest with him.

"But also perhaps not…" he hinted. "After all, it's not just Emma you have to worry about, now, is it?"

"What are you talking about?"

He smiled as he pulled the crystal ball from his pocket. "Emma has likely been informed by now that Cruella has her boy, but if you thought Emma was alone in this world, well…let's check in on the family, shall we?"

He willed the crystal ball to show him Emma. On demand, it produced an image of the heroes, including Regina, sitting around the table at Mary Margaret's loft. Emma had her phone in her hand, no doubt examining Cruella's message for clues as to where her son was. He motioned for Isaac to come closer, to look. The Author was hesitant, but nevertheless stepped up closer and watched.

"You have your tools of the trade, I have mine. Crystal balls are helpful for seeing into certain situations. Of course, you won't be able to hear what they're saying, but we can infer their intentions based on their actions, knowledge, and experience.

"Now you see, at this table we have Killian Jones-"

"Captain Hook!"

"-Mary Margaret Blanchard and David Nolan, who you know as-"

"Snow White and Prince Charming."

"Correct. As well as Regina Mills-"

"The Evil Queen!"

"And the adoptive mother of the Savior's son."

"She's Emma's grandmother and her son's mother?!"

"Oh, it's only one part of the very complicated genealogy of Henry Mills. But that will be a story for another time. Because you see that object in the Savior's hand…that's a cell phone, the message box Cruella sent the message on. They are no doubt searching for clues as to where the boy is and-"

Before their eyes, Emma suddenly got to her feet and strode away in determination. Regina and Killian hesitated before following after her, leaving David and Mary Margaret at the table. Emma's determination and bravado worked all well and good for him, even with Hook and Regina trailing after her. He had an idea for that, something he'd acquired from Ursula long ago. And as for the Charmings…

He glanced at Isaac. If he knew that family well, and he did, then he had a feeling they'd be coming for the Author a lot sooner than he suspected. He also had an idea for that.

"I'd ignore that," he excused as Emma stormed off. "Emma and her family have been going through some…let's call them growing pains of late."

"No doubt thanks to you."

"Only in part," he commented through a smile. He couldn't have asked for the Author to walk into the trap he'd set for him any more perfectly than he had. "I only brought to the surface the trouble that Cruella started. Years ago, when the Apprentice transferred all of Emma's ability for darkness into Maleficent's daughter, just before she wound up here."

He watched the Author carefully as he said those words. He observed the way they made him begin to sweat at the forehead, the way his heart skipped a beat, the way he swallowed just a little too hard. He had a theory about Isaac, given everything he'd observed and learned about him in the last twenty-four hours. And he was fairly positive that, given that reaction, he was right enough to confront him with it and remind him just how unsafe this town could be for the Author if he didn't side with him.

"That was you, wasn't it?" he pressed.

"Excuse me?" Isaac blanched.

"It was you…you are the one who arranged to have Snow White and Prince Charming put Emma's potential for evil into Maleficent's child. Just like you arranged for Cruella to be unable to kill, with that pen of yours."

Isaac gaped at him. His jaw dropped, and on the outside, he looked the picture of shock, but on the inside, he could hear his body panicking.

"That's a wild imagination you've got there. I don't know where you would ever get an idea like-"

"You were imprisoned in the book for a reason," he pointed out before Isaac could get much further. "You know about me and Cruella and even Maleficent's daughter, but nothing after. And when we were at the cemetery, you said yourself that Snow White wouldn't be capable of killing anyone like Cora, unprompted.

"It was you, wasn't it? You 'prompted' You used your pen, and you're the reason the Charmings and the Apprentice did what they did. Of course, as I'm sure you know, I'm only a simple spinner, but I believe that's what you call…a plot twist."

Isaac didn't take his eyes off the crystal ball, but he didn't have to. The poor man's stare became too laser-focused, and his heart raced in response. He would call that suspicion confirmed, even if the Author didn't want to admit it.

"Of course, it's of no matter to me if you did," he added as the Author's eyes continued to bore holes into the crystal ball. "The Charmings kept that little secret of theirs from Emma, and now that it's out in the open…she's not taking it well. That's likely the reason behind the dramatic exits."

"That's some heavy family drama," Isaac finally commented when he finished. His task complete, he moved away from the table, preparing for the next stage of his plan. "You got anything light on that, maybe some Jack Benny-"

"You'll have plenty of time to figure it out while I'm gone."

"What? Where are you going?"

He bit back a laugh of disappointment. He was the Author, wasn't he supposed to know everything? "Well, you say you know me well, isn't it obvious?" he questioned, moving to face him once more. "I'm going to take advantage of an opportunity that's presented itself-to pit a hero against a villain to get what I want…"

With his magic, he produced two conch shells he'd found among Ursula's "experiments."

"And what would that be? A recipe for New England Cobb Chowder?" Isaac asked.

"No, no, these are magical shells," he corrected, ignoring his less-than-funny quip. "Left behind by Ursula, and I have a bolder menu plan," he teased with menace as he moved to the door to lock him in. His work was done here. "Don't forget to say hello to the Charmings for me!" he added as he opened the door and blocked it with his own body, leaving no space for Isaac to exit with him.

"Wait, wait, you can't just leave me here, what do you expect me to do when they find me?"

"I expect you to tell them everything, Dearie. Because after all, the success of my plan, and your life, depends on it."

He closed the door behind him, leaving Isaac with a look of fear on his face as he did. His work here was surely done.

Chapter Text

Guilt was a funny little thing. It was born from a seed of darkness and therefore could grow under the strangest of circumstances. For instance, he’d found that guilt could often thrive in environments where others insisted that no wrong was committed. The harder others pushed, the more they reasoned, the more than fought against it…the more guilt dug in.

He didn’t expect that the killing of Cruella would turn Emma dark. No…it was too simple and too gray to do that. In order for it to be a truly dark deed, it would require her to know that Cruella was harmless and for Emma to kill her anyway. However, that didn’t mean that Cruella’s death couldn’t be the gateway to Darkness. All it took, so very often, was one taste, one small, little loosening of the corset to enable more movement, more freedom. All he needed was for her to be so overwhelmed with guilt that she believed she’d done the wrong thing, and then more wrong things would follow because in Emma’s mind, a line had already been crossed.

Cruella’s death would be the seed, but it was her parents that he was counting on to nurture and water it into maturity. That was Isaac’s role, to equip Mary Margaret and David with the information necessary to enable them to make a bad situation worse.

He could have kept them out of the cabin, if he wanted. Magic like his…he could have easily crafted a spell to keep them out of the cabin and keep Isaac in so that neither were at risk. But he wanted them to know his plans for Emma, wanted them to know about Cruella, wanted them to know that he had a plan for her. He wanted them to know so that in the days that followed they could tell her “it’s not your fault” and “you aren’t responsible.” He wanted them to say things like “how could you have known” and “you only did what you thought was best.” He needed them to think they were saying the right thing all the while they watered that seed of guilt and pushed her further in the direction that he wanted her to go toward: a gray heart. One that would get him to the new world of happy endings he dreamed of and make dealing with her in their new world easier. It was a perfect set up.

Isaac would plant the trap for the parents, they’d be so concerned for Emma, they would leave him where he was, he’d only slow them down. But even then…he wouldn’t be fast enough. Emma would do what she thought was necessary to protect Henry. Necessary, because he knew Cruella well enough to know that when she had that much gin and audacity in her there would be no getting her to back down. Emma would feel awful, guilty. And what would her parents do? What would Hook and even Regina do when they learned what Mary Margaret and David knew? They would stoke the fire. They’d tell her it was okay, that it wasn’t her fault. They’d tell her she couldn’t have known.

And then Emma would replay that moment in her mind over and over again, thinking through things she could have done better, ways she could have changed things, It would eat her up until the moment came that she wanted to prove she was truly capable of darkness, prove it just to prove to her friend Lily that she was truly capable of light! And that was when she’d do something to stain her soul because in her mind…she already was stained.

It was a brilliant plan. Especially given he’d thrown it together so fast. But it would only be brilliant if he could make this work and for that…he required Emma and Cruella alone. The woods of Storybrooke were vast, but Cruella wasn’t much of a hiker. The spot she’d taken Henry too would be easy for Emma to find and there was really only one way in and one way out. Still, he didn’t leave anything to chance, not this time. This was almost too easy, but it would require careful monitoring of the situation. Knowing that Emma would likely be leading the charge, most likely to take the most direct route forward, when the time came, he would quickly hide the two shells Ursula had made in the woods on either side of the most direct path. Emma would likely tell Regina to go one way and Hook another when they heard Henry’s voice coming from everywhere.

And as for Henry’s voice…

He wasn’t saying much at this moment. He found Henry and Cruella in the woods, right where he’d found them before. Cruella was already at least one bottle in and distracted, using her phone to fill up the empty space. The bitch had her back to Henry, not even paying him an ounce of attention as he squirmed, watching her when he thought he was too loud.

He was going to escape.

The majority of his plan was based in prediction and speculation, but it was based off these individuals that he had come to know so well. When Henry had been on Pan’s Island, he’d managed to escape and call out for help. Next to Pan, Cruella was going to be a walk in the park. He used his magic to plant the smaller shell in Henry’s pocket, assuring that when he got lost and ran, his voice would come through clear as a bell. He wasn’t worried about Henry finding it on him later. He knew that Ursula and Cruella were friends, he’d likely think Ursula gave the shells to Cruella and she set the trap. And…

There it was. Henry’s opportunity. He saw it plain as day, just as Henry did. Distracted by something or other on her phone, and likely already drunk, Cruella pushed an empty bottle of gin off the car where it shattered dangerously close to Henry. Oh, he wanted to rip the woman’s head off for that alone, even knowing Henry was in no danger. But then he watched as Henry cleverly got a hold of one of the shards and cut through its bindings. As predicted, the first second of opportunity he got, he ran. And the second he started yelling, he knew the time had come.

He used his magic to trace Emma’s magic, to take him to where she was in the woods with, thankfully, only Regina and Hook, flanking her on either side just as he predicted. It was too easy. When they heard Henry’s cries and stopped to listen for the direction, he quickly sent the two shells he had out in the two opposite directions. Their confusion over where the sound was actually coming from was immediate.

He smiled as the three listened carefully, and began to argue over which way was correct before Emma gave the exact orders he’d hoped she would give.

“Split up,” he heard Emma command before she took the path right in front of her, the path most likely to bring her to Henry and more importantly, Cruella DeVil.

Sometimes, it was just too easy.

Tempting as it was to follow after Emma straight away, he recognized that the biggest threat to his plan was Hook. Regina was certain she heard Henry’s voice and so she’d follow after that until the end, but Hook…Hook was most likely to give up halfway through and go after Emma, not Henry. Having him there in the moment would cause problems so he went after the pirate, prepared to magically move him away to another corner of the woods should he get the wrong idea. But he watched in satisfaction from the trees as the pirate followed the voice of his grandson all the way to the seashell he planted before he whispered “Magic…” and finally ran off.

This time he didn’t follow the pirate. This time he took himself right to Emma, to make sure he had bought himself the time he required before the pirate and Regina showed up. With their influence this could go badly so very quickly.

But he had time, it seemed. Ample time. Things were already far better than he expected. When he arrived, he saw Emma, Cruella, and Henry on a cliff. The swine had his grandson in her clutches, a gun drawn and pointing directly at his chest. He knew it was a bluff, but still kept his magic on hand just in case he needed to intervene. After all, he knew it was a bluff, but Henry might not and with the look of madness in her eye Emma certainly did not. Her untrained magic was far more the threat to Henry at the moment than Cruella was.

“Put the gun down, Cruella,” Emma urged, taking the predictable path of attempting conflict resolution even as she bounced on her toes in fear and anger. That was an impressive thing.

But of course, Cruella wouldn’t respond to that. The woman was shaking, energy sizzling through her body so that she probably couldn’t stop even if she wanted to. That foolish girl probably hadn’t expected that Emma would arrive without the Author dead. What she expected to do when that would have happened was anyone’s guess, and the reason that he didn’t let Cruella do the planning when they’d been together, but either way…now her fear was justified. Cruella couldn’t kill anyone. She was defenseless and knew it even if Emma didn’t. Her plan had fallen apart…of course she was shaking.

“Mom!”

“It’s going to be okay Henry,” Emma assured him in a gentle tone, her eyes barely leaving the perceived threat.

“I’ll do it Savior, believe me, I will.”

Emma took a deep breath, and magic suddenly filled the air. Her hands glowed a remarkable gold color with a kind of control he hadn’t yet seen from her, the kind that might have actually made him proud of Regina if he wasn’t currently so angry with her.

“Put your hands down Savior we both know your bluffing,” Cruella rasped out, her shaking growing out of control. She was in danger and she knew it.

Emma didn’t listen.

“That’s my son.”

“And you’re a hero…and heroes don’t ki-”

“There was an explosion of magic before she could finish the word. Henry fell to his knees, and he used his own magic to put up a wall around him, to make sure his grandson didn’t succumb to the same fate Cruella currently was, a long drop and a very sudden stop.

He blinked, and Emma was on the ground, Henry in her arms. It was only then that he removed the magic he’d placed on Henry.

“Emma!” as the girl leaned over the cliff and looked at the work her magic had done, her parents came bursting onto the scene.

But it was too late.

She’d done it. The savior had killed someone who was innocent. Was it enough?  

Chapter Text

He spent the night brooding. Belle hated when he did that, but she, it seemed, wasn't exactly practicing what she preached either. He'd gone back to the cabin after Emma had killed Cruella, he'd told Isaac exactly what had happened, and watched as the man became glassy-eyed. He wouldn't have said that he was distraught over the death of his former fling, but he also wasn't as unaffected as he would have liked him to be. It was concerning. This sudden show of affection that Isaac was demonstrating was a wild card he hadn't planned for, and even now, as his chest suddenly began to ache despite the magic he used to try and stop it, he was ever aware that he needed his plans to go the way they were supposed to. No surprises.

He left Isaac alone for the night. He assured him that the cabin was safe and protected and then left him "to his thoughts," staring into the fire. He went home.

He went home assuming that when he got there, just like every other night, he'd find Belle asleep in her bed, but she wasn't. Inside the house, he could sense her heartbeat; it was wild and erratic, a sure sign that she wasn't yet sleeping. After what happened the morning before, he didn't dare go inside, tempted though he may have been. Instead, he kept his distance, cloaking himself in darkness and sitting outside on the steps with his crystal ball as he watched her wrap herself up in a blanket and sit in the sitting room. She was only feet away, so close that if she got up and looked out the window, she might have spotted him. But she didn't get up.

She fought sleep. Sometimes unsuccessfully. There were moments when her eyes closed, and he could sense her slip into it, but it was never long enough or deep enough for him to get safely inside and use his magic to do what she refused to do. What she couldn't do. It was that heartbeat of hers working against her, and she knew it. Only a few minutes later, she'd jerk back to being wide awake, and almost every time she put her hand to her chest and rubbed. She knew. He knew that she knew. Regina had erased her memories, but she was intelligent and knew magic well enough to put the pieces together. Whether or not she was accepting the conclusion she was coming to was another story, but deep down, he knew that she was aware of what was going on. And he feared she had an idea of who was to blame. The wrong idea.

In the early morning hours, just as the sun was beginning to come up, a boy rode by on a bicycle and tossed the mirror at the door. He supposed it happened every morning, but this was the first time he had witnessed it or been conscious of the thud it made on the front door. Belle had been dozing again when it happened, but suddenly, she sat bolt upright at the sound. After taking stock of herself and rubbing her chest again, he watched as she went to the kitchen, made herself some tea, and then took her seat on, of all places, the basement stairs.

She perched there with her tea between her hands, her gaze roaming over his domain, a million emotions passing across her face. When he diverted some of the magic he was using to keep the pain out of his chest into the house, he could smell some of those emotions permeating off of her as well. In her eyes was sorrow and pain, but fear was what emanated from the house like the smell of ash after a fire. She had put it together, and she was fearful as she sat looking at his workstation, gazing at the place where she'd boxed up and stored his things.

She couldn't possibly think that he'd done this. Could she?

He had to get back to work. The idea that she could even entertain an idea like that damn near broke his heart, and it was broken enough already. His time was limited, and now he had to add getting her heart back on top of it all. He had to go; he had to leave her so that he could help her.

As he rose from the steps, uncloaking himself and preparing to travel, he glanced at the paper that had been carelessly thrown at the door. Folded down the middle, half the face of Cruella DeVil stared up at him with a single eye. He swallowed hard, then reached out and grabbed the paper off the stoop. She wouldn't notice if it went missing. Or if she did, he hoped she'd be quick to think it was a mistake on the part of the Mirror and not theft.

He took himself back to the woods just outside the cabin and slowly strolled inside as he unfolded the paper and read the article. It was for research purposes. He'd been so disconnected from the town that he wanted to know what people were saying. Usually, he'd use Dove for that sort of thing, but he hadn't communicated with the man since he'd left Storybrooke, and bringing him in on this now…he wasn't sure it was something Dove could help with.

He scanned the article carefully as he walked, pleased to find that he was the focus of the front page story, though it was mostly nothing. Five hundred words of theories on why and how the Dark One had returned to Storybrooke, the news that Maleficent had been spotted in dragon form, and what kind of trouble that could be for insurance companies, and on page five, it concluded with a small bit about Cruella DeVil. It did not state that Emma had killed her, only that she'd fallen from a great height and broken her neck. She was to be buried "quietly" in the Storybrooke cemetery in…

He checked his watch. Thirty minutes. Well, that was "quietly" indeed; the sun was only just barely in the sky. In less than twenty-four hours, any investigation into her death had been concluded, a cause had been given, someone had reported to the mirror, and the body was to be buried away in the early morning hours, with no pomp or circumstance. That was bullshit. He hadn't even liked the woman, and he understood it was an injustice. Most likely, it was done by Emma's parents, trying to protect her, which he could appreciate. He certainly would see it as a benefit, as it would only make Emma's guilt weigh heavier. However, he could also see it for what it was. A fucking cover-up.

It was bullshit.

But perhaps it was bullshit he could make use of.

As he stood outside the cabin, watching the smoke rise from the chimney Isaac was no doubt still in front of, likely mourning the woman herself, he had an idea. One that might just help make Isaac loyal to him once and for all.

When he stepped inside the cabin, he found that his speculation was correct. Isaac was in the same chair he'd left him in, looking into the same spot in the fire. He was a little more slumped than when he'd left him yesterday, indicating to him that he'd managed to fall asleep for at least a little bit yesterday, though the dark circles under his eyes suggested that he hadn't had much more success at the task than Belle had.

After coming to a stop beside him, he handed him the paper when he glanced up. "She made the front page, though probably not in any way that counts."

Isaac took the paper, looked at the photo on the cover —an old booking photo from some drunk-driving incident —and then began to read. He watched him, listening to his heartbeat speed up in correlation with the way his body became increasingly engrossed in what he was reading. But it was when he turned to the small snippet of a conclusion on page five that made him hold his own breath in anticipation of-

"Quietly? What the hell is that supposed to mean?!"

That.

"It means that in about fifteen minutes, she'll be lowered into the ground and that will be that."

"What, no-no service? No flowers? No eulogy? Not even an obituary?!"

"All things that our heroes would deem unnecessary for a villain."

"Unnecessary?! It's inhumane! It's disrespectful!" he hollered, getting to his feet and throwing the paper dramatically into the fire. "I may not have been her biggest fan in the end, but no one, hero or villain, deserves to be tossed aside in such a manner. She wasn't always a villain! She had hopes and dreams!"

"Unfortunately, that's all of little consequence to those who consider themselves to be on the side of the hero."

"Not to me. Great characters are made of both light and darkness, it's why we cheer for them, why we love to hate them, why we want them to do the right thing-because we know they can! She was a great villain because she could have been capable of so much more! She was worthy of more than this!"

"I couldn't agree more," he muttered gently. "So…what do you say we go pay our respects?"

Chapter Text

To think Isaac was worried about their ability to get to the cemetery on time…honestly, sometimes it was like the man had completely forgotten who he was.

"But…aren't you worried about being seen?" Isaac questioned him after he assured him that getting there wasn't going to be a problem. "Isn't that why you're hiding out in the middle of nowhere and in Mausoleums?"

"Why bother?" he shrugged. "You read the article, my presence in town is apparently well known."

With little more convincing, Isaac disappeared into the bathroom and reappeared a few minutes later, ready to go. He used his magic to take them to the cemetery, where it took little effort to find the simple pine box being pushed onto a pulley suspended over a pit. There was one worker left in the end. He nearly shat himself at the sight of the Dark One walking toward him, but he quickly raised his hand at the man.

"You'll remember nothing of our presence here. Continue your work."

The man sighed, then, his shoulders relaxed, and he suddenly continued to move about the box, checking the rigging on the pulley system and inspecting the seams of the box.

"It's despicable…" Isaac whispered beside him.

He remained silent. He wanted Isaac on his side, and he could tell that informing him it was possible for this to be both despicable and fitting wasn't going to accomplish that. Yes, he found the Charmings' blatant attempt to cover up their daughter's wrongdoing utterly despicable. But as someone who had known Cruella, he wasn't exactly lamenting her fate. Cruella was rich in life; a pine box was ironic for her lifestyle, but as far as he was concerned, fitting for her soul, her attitude, her…magic?

As they came to stand by the box, he could feel it, magic of some kind, not on the box, but in it. That shouldn't have been possible. Once a magic wielder died, their magic died with them. It wasn't possible, she wasn't still…

He swallowed hard and froze the scene before him. With his own magic ready for anything, he stepped up as close to the coffin as he was willing to get and transported the lid to the ground, nails and all. Inside lay Cruella, her hands folded neatly over her unmoving torso, even as her neck stuck out at an odd angle. No heartbeat. No breath. Definitely dead. But there was also definitely magic in this coffin. Active magic. It was faint but still active enough to be baffling. Just familiar enough to be baffling.

The magic smelled like Isaac.

It was that strange sensation that he knew he'd felt this magic somewhere before Isaac, but still couldn't quite place. It was here somewhere, in this box. He released his magic over the body before him. He started at her toes and began to move up her body, slowly, trying to locate the magic. It was a trinket, something Isaac had given her or she'd stolen, it had to be. It was likely unimportant, likely not worth this effort, but if this plan of his dealt any more wild cards, he wanted as many cards in his own hands as possible. What was it?! Where was it?! It was…it was…

Her hair…

At last, he found the source of it, found the magic itself. It was in her hair. No! It was her hair! There was nothing in it, and yet…it was magic. Active magic. Magic that didn't belong to Cruella but to Isaac and had somehow bonded to her?

He glanced over at the Author, frozen in time, looking at the coffin himself. He'd cleaned up for this, since yesterday, the piece of paper he'd shown him was missing, but…that was it.

The piece of paper that he'd shown him yesterday to show that Cruella couldn't kill, he'd said that he'd nearly died to write it. There had been a fight between the two, in one as weak and impulsive as Cruella, he wouldn't rule out pushing and shoving, but he'd still managed to dip his quill in some ink and…that was it. Cruella spilled ink on herself! That was what Isaac meant when he'd said he lost an entire well of it on her. It must have spilled over her in the commotion. Her hair had ink in it! The ink.

He summoned the dagger into his hand. "Sorry, Dearie…it's only business," he whispered as he reached into the coffin and cut a handful of her black, inky hair free. Oh, this was most definitely it! He could feel the power in it even as he held it in his hand. It was ink. It was bonded to her hair, and he'd have to figure out how to separate it, but…it was something!

He could test it later, try to extract it at a later time, and if he needed more? Well, he'd know right where to find it! But for now, he used his magic to replace the lid of the coffin, nails and all, then folded the locks of hair up into his handkerchief, and placed it into his pocket before returning himself and the dagger to their proper places.

"Just business…" he whispered before he waved his hand over the scene and allowed time to continue.

Isaac's gaze lingered on the coffin as the gravedigger, still unaware of their presence, began to use the pullies to lower Cruella's coffin into the ground. From some pocket or other, Isaac pulled free what appeared to be a napkin. It smelled like Cruella. It was subtle, something she most certainly was not in her life, but the scent was there just as surely as her hair was in his pocket.

As the casket lowered, Isaac reached forward and placed the napkin on the corner of the box, finally allowing him a clear look at it. There was a lipstick kiss on it-Cruella's shade.

Some memento of better times, he assumed. That would explain the subtlety of the smell. It wasn't a matter of tact; it was just old and stale. Not unlike Cruella. How fitting.

"I'll miss her," Isaac stated, or perhaps eulogized with that lilt in his tone. "Furs and all, I'll miss her. She was good to me…in her way. Made me who I am."

If he expected him to do the same, to eulogize the woman before them, he was a madman. But with him emotional, perhaps it could be good for getting some kind of information out of him. "Well, someone had to die at the Savior's hands."

"Did they?" he questioned emotionlessly.

"We won't have what we need to rewrite the book, to secure our happy endings, until Ms. Swan has completed her journey. The Savior has taken the first step down a dark path. And we have to make sure she stays on it…for both our sakes."

It was only by chance that he looked away from the scene before him and into the tree line. It didn't escape his notice that the direction he'd chosen to glance at had been the direction of his son's grave; only, instead of Neal's tombstone, his eyes found something else—someone else.

Emma was there.

Staring at him. Red jacket and all. At first, he thought that he might be hallucinating her, that his mind had conjured up the image, but the slight breeze brought with it the smell of her, and his ears picked up the sound of her heart. Unlike the gravedigger, she could obviously see the pair of them, and he readied magic in his palm, half expecting an attack, but to his surprise, she just stood there. She stood there and continued to stare. At him. At Isaac. At Cruella's coffin coming to rest at the bottom of its earthen pit.

He released some of the magic in his palm as he glanced from her to Isaac and then Cruella's resting place as he realized…of course, she would have come. It was good that she had. Perfect, actually. It meant his plan was working.

By now, she'd have a guilty conscience, one made worse, most likely, by her parents' nagging, yes, but also this display before them. Burying Cruella quickly and quietly to protect her wasn't going to ease her guilt; it was going to add to it, make it worse. Being here meant that she was trying to soothe the seething shame within her.

He fought back a victorious smile as she stared at him, realizing only then that it was the first time anyone, besides Regina and Belle, had laid eyes on him since his arrival. He didn't care. She'd known he was here, seeing him didn't confirm what she already knew; it would, hopefully, only prove to her that villains could win, which would further her desire to stray from a path of Light into the Dark Shadows of the wilderness. He needed that. Cruella might have been an innocent that Emma had killed, but she hadn't known it at the time. It might make for a blackened spot on her heart, but certainly no bigger than a spec. He needed more from her to get that gray blood for his ink. He needed her to tear herself apart.

Like mother, like daughter…

Chapter Text

Things were set in motion. The guilt inside Emma, it seemed, was stewing. Maleficent hadn't yet come back, and so he was hopeful that meant, with a little pushing and prodding, she'd do precisely what he wanted her to do: send Emma after Lily. He was hopeful that seeing the darkness in her manifest in an innocent individual would break her, but now that they had to get to Robin in New York and Zelena was about to be part of the picture again, he was even more hopeful that perhaps the Wicked Witch would be the one to deal with her transformation. He had no choice but to hope for that, given that Regina was no longer part of his plot. Either way, he'd have what he wanted. A Savior whose new, darker heart would ensure less of a problem for him in their new world, and by the blood of that darker heart would make that new world he dreamed of a possibility.

Now he was playing the waiting game. Things were set in motion, and he had no choice but to allow them the time they needed to play out; time he didn't have, if the pain in his chest meant anything. It had been steadily growing since the other day, no longer responding to magic. It was worrisome. But, fortunately for him, he needed a distraction, and there was one thing he could think of, one pressing need that he hadn't planned on, but he couldn't abide being a loose end any longer. Something that just might help the ache he felt in his chest.

It was the matter of Belle's heart.

The second he returned with Isaac from the cemetery, he left the Author to his easy chair by the fire and returned to his room. He stashed the locks of Cruella's hair in a wooden jewelry box, promising himself that he'd test it later, and summoned his crystal ball into the palm of his hand. He did his rounds, locating all the important players in his game before requesting the ball show him the location of Belle's heart. It showed him nothing. But that alone gave him information. It told him that wherever Regina was keeping it, she had also used a spell to keep his magic out.

That was fine. This wasn't the first time that someone had attempted to keep the Dark One from some secret they were hiding. Over two hundred years meant that he had tricks up his sleeve to combat that, loopholes he knew to exploit. In this case…he had Belle. The crystal ball had shown that she was at the house getting ready to go into town. But…she had been using the car to get around lately…

Idea in mind, he stashed away the crystal ball, ignored the sudden, jarring pain that flared in his chest, and the way that Nimue smirked at him across the room before he used his magic to placate his pain and left the room.

"There's an errand I must run in town. I'll be back before nightfall."

"I want to go with you!" Isaac stated, popping out of his easy chair like an over-enthusiastic jack-in-the-box. It reminded him of Belle when the curse first broke. The only problem was that he doubted the excuses he'd used with her would be excuses that he could use with him.

"I'm afraid these are errands I must run where you'll only be a burden."

"Do what you want on your own time, then, but I need to go into town and observe."

Observe? The Dark One's questioned in his head.

"Observe what?"

"The main players, of course. You want me to create a new story, a new realm? I need to know who my characters are. They've been on their own for too long, their lives unrecorded. In order to craft a good story that does everything you want it to, I need to know who I'm working with, what they care about, how best to give them their happy endings or take them away."

Is that true? He asked Nimue and the other Dark Ones in his mind. The memories returned thoughts of skepticism, but nothing they could actually prove. That made not listening to him risky. He didn't like risky.

"I don't have time to babysit you today."

"I don't need a babysitter," Isaac insisted. "What I need is to see where the story I wrote has taken us in order to write a new one."

There was insistence in his tone. But insistence could mean any number of things. It could be desperation to leave the cabin just as much as it could be desperation to research the very thing he was speaking of.

And he truly didn't have time right now to watch after him as he walked around town. But if there was a cost to not letting him wander around town…

"It's a gamble," Zoso confirmed in his head. "Is it one we can afford to be wrong about?"

As if on cue, that pain in his chest began to grow again. Dull and aching, this time, he was able to use his magic quickly to shove it down. No. He couldn't afford to take chances right now, not unless-

"Look, you like a good deal, don't you?" Isaac finally offered, piquing his interest.

Was he about to attempt a deal with him? He couldn't afford not to gamble on this, but if Isaac was going to throw something into the equation to make it even more worth his while, then…he wouldn't say no.

"Take me into town, and I'll tell you what I know about the ink."

This time, the squeeze he felt on his heart had absolutely nothing to do with the color it was turning. Tell him what he knew about the ink?!

"You said-"

"I lied. Sorta. I don't know how to make it. I was informed of the location of a lifetime supply back in the Enchanted Forest-Merlin's Tower. But I know some things about it, things I was told by the man who gave me the quill. Take me to town and I'll tell you what I know."

The Dark Ones in his head were frantic, trying to recall if it seemed like Isaac had lied to them when he said he knew nothing of the ink. They couldn't come up with anything. He was of the belief it wasn't true, that this man could get around over two hundred years of his defenses that easily…but he had already been leaning toward taking him to town anyway. This way, at least, it felt like he would get something out of it. And, he supposed, at least he had something that Isaac didn't. Magic. Both his own and Isaac's, contained in the pen still in his possession.

"Very well…if you insist, then it will be done, but…there are rules."

"I didn't agree to rules."

"Then next time you deal with the Dark One, request a contract and read the fine print, dearie," he spat out at him. "There are rules. And if you don't like it, consider that I am the Dark One and you are the Author with no pen and no ink, rendering you powerless. Are we seeing your situation eye to eye, yet?"

Isaac swallowed. "Perfectly."

"Excellent! Well then…" With a wave of his hand, he summoned from the shop a golden cuff someone had long ago traded with him from a foreign realm called Agrabah. Supposedly, it had once been a Genie's cuff, meaning it could only be taken off by the one who had put it on, or in the Genie's case, by one who wielded Genie magic, but he'd also long ago imbued it with a tracking spell for his own purposes. And now…it was on Isaac's wrist.

He felt the weight of it instantly and pushed his sleeve up to examine his new shackle.

"Worry not, that can only be removed by me. It's a simple tracking spell, one that allows me to know your location at all times."

"A babysitter."

"Protection," he corrected. "For you…out in that world alone, we wouldn't want the heroes to get their hands on you and put you in a deep, dark hole somewhere, now would we? At least this way, no matter where you are, I'll be able to find you."

"How convenient for-"

"And!" he interrupted. "In case you were thinking of wandering off and telling the heroes about our plans, just remember…I still have this in my possession," he removed the pen from his jacket pocket and held it out for him to see. "And if I find out that you have told them to come for it, I won't hesitate for a moment to snap it in two."

At that, Isaac's heart skipped a beat, but a twinge of a smile graced the corner of his mouth as he narrowed his gaze at him. "You're joking…" he suggested, as if trying to call his bluff.

"Oh no," he corrected quickly. "No, you see this…is power. And I've never been one to share power before or risk it falling into the hands of someone I don't trust."

"But to break it just to keep it away from someone else…"

"Well, you tell me, you are the Author after all, theoretically, you should know me better than I know myself. Does that not sound like me?"

There was a quiet pregnant pause as Isaac looked him over and, he assumed, quietly came to the correct conclusion that it was very much something he would do for power.

"You have nothing to fear," he finally told him. "I merely wish to do my research and return prepared. Because I am the Author. It's my job to write."

"And if you want to do that, you'll uphold your end of the bargain."

Isaac smiled, not a timid or uncertain glance, but rather a confident, victorious one that made him want to sneer. "Town first…I know better than to show my hand with you before you've shown me yours."

He made it sound so sinister, as though he was so untrustworthy. How he longed to be the kind of man who could walk away from deals once he'd gotten what he wanted. But his curse simply wouldn't allow it.

Chapter Text

He fucking hated this man. It was amazing how he'd searched for him so long only to despise every moment that they had to spend together. He was annoying before he'd made his little deal with him, but now that it was enacted, he was infuriated with him. If it benefited him to kill the man, he certainly would have done it.

He'd summoned his car to him at the cabin. As Isaac stepped inside, he noticed the stray strands of long brown hair on the seat. Belle's scent saturated it, just as it had the night he'd disguised himself as Hook. He made note of the hair, as it was important to his future plans, but then sat down and promptly followed the Author's instructions. He drove the bastard to town. He played the role of chauffeur and tour guide begrudgingly, but with the promise of more information, he did it. He showed the ass the highlights, the things he'd need most to do his research: the diner, the loft, his shop, the police station. And when he was done, when he finally found a dark, secluded place off of Main Street to park the car and let the little weasel go out into the world…a grin grew over his smug little face.

"I just outsmarted the Dark One!" he declared as a stone fell into the pit in his stomach.

"And how, pray tell, did you manage that?" he questioned, swallowing down his anger, listening as a few of the voices in his head reminded him that he couldn't kill the bastard outright because he still needed him, not unless he wanted to spend time figuring out how the magic chose a new author.

"By finding the loophole," he grinned. "Our deal was that I'd tell you everything I know about the ink, but you seem to know no more about the ink than I do. The ink requires the blood of a Savior gone Dark. Since they are responsible for happy endings, and the book is a story, a product of neither good nor bad, just a tale, it has to have the blood of someone both good and bad, and it has to be magically powerful in order to work the magic it does. Therefore, only the blood of a Dark Savior will do. All of which you already know, as you've been working toward turning the Savior Dark and therefore…I have the high honor of outsmarting the Dark One."

If he didn't need him so badly, he'd wipe that smug little smile off his face and tell him this instant that he had, in fact, just told him something he didn't know. But the deal was cast, fair and square. And since he was busy and wanted to keep the Author happy…

"Well…that's a statement not many can lay claim to truthfully. I believe congratulations are in order, but remember…" he hissed before Isaac could celebrate. "The Dark One doesn't make mistakes twice. You've used your one and only opportunity. Don't think I'll let the details slip by me again. Now…off you go. You have research to do. And I have errands to run."

He supposed it soothed him a bit to watch the arrogant prick scramble out of the car as fast as he did.

"Oh! Where will you be?" he asked before slamming the door shut.

"You'll see me around. And if you don't, then just say my name three times, it's-"

"A summoning for the Dark One, I know." With that, he finally slammed the door and walked off in the direction of the town.

Good riddance. He hoped someone called him an ugly name to his face and wouldn't mind if every other person stepped on his foot. But with other things to do, and an aching chest, he didn't have the willpower to use magic to make sure it happened, and he didn't have the time. Belle was his priority.

In the middle of their tour this morning, he'd felt Belle enter the library, so he felt safe enough driving the car back home. He pulled up a few strands of that long hair he'd spotted earlier, and he hoped maybe a few skin cells. In the basement, he put some granite into a bowl, and with a wave of his hand, it was ground into a fine powder. Then he added unicorn hair and Belle's hair. With another wave of his hand, the concoction was boiling. He mixed it to ensure that Belle's hair was incorporated and let it cool into a thick paste while he went upstairs to retrieve a map of Storybrooke from his office. It wasn't a big map, but he hoped it would do given the circumstances. If this turned up nothing, then he could always find another map. And another. And another. He'd find as many as he needed until he got what he wanted out of this spell.

A location.

Regina had protected certain things from him, from his sight and his magic, fine. He was old; he knew how to get around that. Back in the basement, he added some water to the paste to make it a true liquid, then placed it in the upper corner of the map, and channeled his magic into it so it would work.

Like a wave, the silvery liquid rolled over the map's paper. To his joy, he saw precisely what he wanted to see. Black spots began to emerge across the map of various sizes. There were large ones where the library, shop, and house stood. That wasn't much of a surprise; it was where she spent the most time, and he expected the magic to find more evidence of her there.

He swallowed hard when he realized that there was a small dot on the map where Will Scarlett lived. It made his stomach tighten when he remembered how she'd smelled of him, and the words that she'd said at the well rang out in his ear. But…she hadn't smelled like him in that way. It was something at least. And he knew now that those words had not been her own; they'd been Regina's. A targeted attack to get him hung up, which was exactly what was happening right now. He could be jealous later. Now he needed to work.

He found more spots at the diner, the grocery store, her father's shop, all places he would expect to see…all but one.

Regina's office.

"There you are."

He summoned the crystal ball to him and did a check on the important players, which turned out to be so much simpler than he realized, as they were almost all in the same place. The diner. Maleficent, Emma, her parents, and Regina were all there, talking to one another, and if there was time to be happy, he would have been ecstatic. Maleficent talking to Emma…it was exactly what he wanted in so many ways. He wanted Emma to find Lily, the darkest part of her. He wanted Lily to come to Storybrooke and encounter a side of her she'd never had to come face to face with. He wanted Emma to despise that evil part of herself so much that she did something she'd regret, something she couldn't come back from that would turn her heart unquestionably dark enough for the ink to work.

But what he wanted now was for Belle's heart to be in her chest when that happened.

So, with the assurance that everyone who mattered, including Isaac, who was in the back hallway, listening and taking notes on what was being said, was at Granny's, he cleaned the table with a wave of his hand, got in his car, and went to Town Hall.

Magic would have been preferable, but he wasn't an idiot, and as much as he believed it was true, neither was Regina; he knew to expect some traps if he showed up magically. So, he approached slowly. Parking the car and scanning the building first for magic. It was there. Moreso than it was before, more than just residual magic from a mayor who happened to be magical or the protection spells that he could easily unweave. There was active magic in place. But not on the entire thing. The magic was too small for that.

Slowly, he went into the building, he cloaked himself in magic so the few employees working that day wouldn't notice his presence and report to Regina as he made his way up to her office…and stopped. There it was. Magic.

It was around her office, a wall of it, keeping him out. In fact, if it was what he thought it was, he was certain it was designed to keep any magic user out unless they possessed the blood of the one who had crafted the spell.

Ones…

He smirked as he examined the spell, sniffed, and felt the magic emanating from the office. This spell wasn't just the result of one witch with a grudge. There were two different types of magic at work here, two familiar magical signatures that he wouldn't have bet on uniting for this purpose, but didn't exactly leave him shocked either.

Regina and Emma's magic, he would have expected. Regina and Maleficent's was…surprising, to say the least.

There was another player in this game of chess.

Chapter Text

This was nothing but a game of chess to Regina. The way that she saw it, he had her King and she had his Queen. From there, it didn't exactly take a scholar to put two and two together when he used the crystal ball to observe all the pieces at play. She and Emma were leaving Storybrooke, she'd planned that long ago, and now they were both finally packing while Maleficent lounged in Regina's office, occasionally casting her gaze to Regina's desk, where he all too easily concluded the heart was located.

Regina had formed an alliance with the dragon because she was about to take herself off the board. What Maleficent wanted in the world was her daughter, but she was powerless to cross the town line and retrieve her. Regina wanted Robin, also conveniently across the town line. Even more convenient, if Emma did the same research that he had done on the outside, she'd find out easily that Lily and Robin were only a stone's throw away from one another, so they were going. Emma to find Lily, and Regina to fetch Robin. And in return, the dragon was keeping watch over the prize, his Queen.

The game was set. The problem was that Regina had never much excelled at chess, and it was beginning to show. She hadn't factored in that the King was useless to him and he would leave that King abandoned happily in order to save his Queen, no matter what. So, with nothing to guard, he only had one thing to figure out how. There was the rub.

He couldn't do it alone. And just as Regina failed to excel at chess, he failed to excel in teamwork. He was much better with orchestrations and pulling the strings. Had this been a year ago, or hell, even two months ago, that wouldn't have been a problem! He'd have walked into the Charmings' loft, the jail, or even the diner and been able to recruit some of the help he needed with desperate words and a few heartwarming gestures. Today, as he watched the women packing and preparing for their assignments, he very seriously doubted any of them would help him. Likely not even Henry, not that he'd ever put Henry in such a precarious position.

He needed help. It was the only way. Regina knew he hated working with people and with his minions all gone she'd no doubt expect any threat to Belle's heart to come only from a singular attack, finding a friend would give him an advantage.

He could offer himself, as they expected him to, but he'd merely be the distraction. Meanwhile, someone else, someone without detectable magic, someone who was nimble, could slip into the office and get the heart. It would be easy, Maleficent would see him as the true threat and be tuned to him and his magic only.

However, while he believed it would be an easy feat to perform for himself, he knew it would not be for the second individual. They'd have to have the strength to climb a tree, at the very least. They'd have to be quiet and speedy. They might have to be able to pick a lock quickly, given that the desk had multiple locks on it and he wasn't entirely sure which compartment the heart would be in. All his earlier observations had done was identify that it was likely on the right-hand side. But that was still at least four drawers to check.

Dove wasn't an option. He had yet to contact the man since returning to town, not that making contact would have excused him from his service if he needed him. But even if he was in touch with them, Dove was a spy, not a thief. The only secret acquisition he made was intelligence. And besides, there was a chance that Dove's shapeshifting would alert Maleficent to the presence of other magic.

David or, hell, even Snow White would have been his top picks in the past, but they were out this time around because he couldn't rule out the fact that they were part of the plan.

It was a shame, really. Regina's King, Robin Hood, he would have been a very fine candidate for a situation like this. And with a bleeding heart, he was likely to actually do the thing, even if Regina was involved, but obviously, that was no option.

Robin Hood had men, of course. To his knowledge, that gang of his still lived out in the woods. They were an option, he supposed, but not optimal ones. He'd done very little work with them, because Robin was always the best. He wasn't sure how agile the others were, how fast, how nimble, how good they were with locks. If he were going up against Regina and the wrong man failed, she would most likely smile at his failure and leave well enough alone. But Maleficent, he hadn't spoken to since he gave her the image of Lily. Since she'd up and abandoned him, he could safely assume she wasn't happy with him at the moment, but he didn't want to test how angry she was on Belle's heart. He wasn't going to risk failing and having Maleficent lose her temper and crush her heart.

Still, while not his first option, the Merry Men might be his best option at the moment.

He'd have a few hours; he could potentially observe. It might give him time enough to figure out a deal for one of them since he was certain that a deal was going to be necessary if he went with one of them. None of them would help him with this out of the kindness of their hearts, none of them would trust him with Belle's…

Fuck.

Most of them wouldn't trust him with Belle's heart. But there was one member of the gang who just might. One member who had worked for him before. One member who had even stolen for him under Dove's orders, what felt like a lifetime ago. One member who might be willing to make himself a pawn in this game, not for him…but for Belle.

Will Fucking Scarlet.

Automatically, his eyes looked across the street to where the pawn shop was. He'd chosen a more discreet parking place when he'd seen Maleficent make her way back to the Mayor's office, and he was somewhat confident that Belle wouldn't spot him when she made her way to the shop after lunch, though there was some part of him that always hoped she'd see. Suddenly, he found himself more curious about Will Scarlet.

How serious were they? Not at all, according to Belle, but that was her opinion. Oh, it turned his stomach to think about it, but getting her heart back might depend on his answer to that question. If this was a casual fling, then he wasn't sure that Scarlet would be willing to risk so much, but if it was serious…if it was serious, then he should want to help her. Oh, how much did he want him to want to help her?

He was swallowing hard, looking down the street, and thinking of all the implications of Will Scarlet agreeing to his potential upcoming proposition when the car door opened next to him, and Isaac slid in. There was the very last person he wanted to see at the moment.

"You're letting them leave town?" Isaac scoffed.

Emma and Regina…he must have been talking about Emma and Regina. Strange how just a day ago they'd both been of utmost concern, and now that the wheels were set and already in motion, they were the last thing on his mind.

"For our purposes, where the Savior turns dark is of little consequence." In fact, given his current to-do list, their leaving town was really quite helpful. "I'm confident her latest mission will darken her heart faster than we ever could."

Suddenly, he felt his stomach drop into his chest. There they were. Out the window of the car, walking down the street hand in hand like they were old high school sweethearts. Fuck, it made him want to punch something. It made him want to weep. It made him want to die.

But that smile…that smile on her face didn't quite reach her eyes, and Will Scarlet…he didn't seem to notice it. Foolish two-bit thief. He didn't have a clue.

But he would.

He would because he didn't have a choice. He figured he had twenty-four hours at max before Regina and Emma returned, hopefully one of them with a much darker heart, though he imagined the true action on that might start when the pair of them returned to Storybrooke, and if the aching in his chest was any indicator, when they returned he was going to need to be ready to act quickly with Isaac. That left him only a small window of opportunity, now, to retrieve his Queen's heart. He was in the market for a well-known, successful thief, one without magic, who might just care enough about his wife to do the right thing.

"Now, if you'll excuse me, there's something I need to take care of," he muttered, leaving Isaac in the car and following after the couple to his shop.

It had to be now. It had to be Scarlet.

Chapter Text

It had to be now. There were details that needed to be worked out, but they would be contingent upon who he was working with, and if he was working with Scarlet, then it was time to read him into this situation. And so he waited outside, watching across the street as the pair of them went into the store. Surely now that she'd been escorted inside personally, he was going to leave! He could catch him on the way out, use magic, take him to the cabin, get him briefed, and then come up with a plan…

Only Scarlet didn't leave. But Belle looked as though she might. They'd only just gotten inside, and Belle had taken off her jacket when she reached under the counter for her phone. A few seconds later, Scarlet grabbed her jacket back. The moment she hung up, she put the phone in her pocket, and he slipped her coat back over her shoulders. What the hell was going on?

He took a calculated risk and used magic to get himself into the back room of the shop. The ache in his chest turned positively painful as he redirected the magic, but he managed to stay quiet as he fixed the problem, cloaking himself in shadow once more as he listened to the conversation in the front room.

"I don' mind. No' like I 'ave anywhere else to be. No' like it's 'ard," he heard Will explain. "Mostly I just 'ave to make sure I don' break nothin'."

She laughed at that comment. At least he supposed the noise that she made could have been called a laugh. However, it was half-hearted and lacked genuine emotion. Could he not see that?

"I appreciate it," she whispered. "When I'm back, maybe we can…maybe we can get a bite to eat…talk for a bit?"

"Once you're back from being needed…? I told you I' was all in your 'ead."

"Yes, you did."

He felt his hands tighten into fists at the mysterious words. Talking about something that was just in her head…was that what she saw in him? He liked to talk?! He swallowed hard. He knew that she didn't like it when he spoke in riddles or that he kept secrets, but…did she crave honesty that much?!

"So uh…you're sure you don't mind? David and Mary Margaret just need me to watch the baby for a little bit."

There was no answer. At least nothing that was verbal. And the sound that he heard coming from the other side of the wall…he preferred not to think about it. It only made his heart hurt more. It was one thing to have to watch it through a window; it was another to have to hear it.

If it wasn't for that ache in his chest…he'd have destroyed half of Storybrooke over it right then and there.

"Bye." The bell over the door gave its familiar chime, and he steadied himself, taking a deep breath to control the instinct he had to incinerate Will Scarlet on the spot.

He could do this. He could get his help, work with the idiot to get what he wanted. Then he could kill him after he got Belle her heart back.

Not that an action like that would endear him to her.

Not that it would matter once the rest of his plan was successful.

Kill Will Scarlet or let him live…he'd decide that later.

"When you walk into a man's home…you should ask if you've been invited," he growled from the shadow of the backroom, stepping out when he was certain that Will could see him. The poor kid's heart rate shot up so high that for a second, he worried that perhaps just the sight of him was enough to do him in. But that was what he wanted.

"If you've come here to hurt me, you'd best get on with it. But I warn you…I'm scrappy."

The comment brought him to a stop and pulled at the corner of his lips. Dammit…he was smirking. And he hadn't meant to. He wanted a fear response. He wanted Will Scarlet to know that he knew what he'd been up to and that no matter how close he'd come to Belle, this heist he was about to participate in was only possible because of him. And yet, here he was, smirking at the dumb joke the interloper had made. Fuck…if it weren't for the fact that he'd heard him kissing his wife a moment ago, he might have liked the kid based on that comment alone. He didn't cower, didn't back down. There was something about that which demanded respect. Considering the disrespect he showed simply by kissing his wife in his own shop, that brought them to a lucky-for-him neutral.

Scarlet didn't need to know that, though.

"All right, scrappy. Believe it or not, you may be of some use to me. You're a thief, and I need something stolen."

"And what might that be?"

"Belle's heart."

"Already in the process of doing that. Sorry, mate."

There was that urge again-the urge to kill, drowning out any kind of entertainment or impressiveness he'd found in his previous comment. That was bold. It was brazen. But he couldn't let it affect him. It wouldn't. It was almost too easy not to when he remembered…

He'd known within a minute of talking to Belle, kissing her, that something was wrong. He hadn't known what, but he'd been able to see it, and that had been after weeks of being away. Scarlet had been around her far more than he had in the last few days and still obviously hadn't noticed a thing. Not a change in her personality or a shift in her attention. Apparently, not even a lack of passion in their…no, he wasn't going to finish that sentence. He didn't need to because it needn't bother him. If he could see something was wrong with Belle within minutes and Scarlet couldn't after days, that could only mean one thing.

She wasn't herself around him. Not her true self anyway. So, he at least had that going for him.

"As close as you think you have grown to my wife," he hissed, advancing on Scarlet and relishing in the way he matched his steps backward, a cowardly retreat if there ever was one, "you're clearly not close enough to realize the truth. Her heart is gone."

"You mean it was ripped out of her chest?" he concluded almost too quickly. "Who the bloody hell would do that?"

"Regina. She has her watchdog, Maleficent, caring for it in the mayor's office. Now, I need you to go and get it back."

"Give it to you? Not likely, mate."

"No, you're mistaken…" He let loose the smallest, measured fraction of that heated urge to kill and pushed the man up against the door. The whole damn wall shook with the force of it. "I'm not asking."

Scarlet swallowed hard. For just a brief flash of a second, he thought he saw in him a piousness that always made him nervous in his victims. It was that stubborn insanity that heroes possessed, and he hated it because so often he could do nothing with it if he didn't have the right leverage. It was the kind of valiance that drove people like him to refuse to do anything if it sounded even slightly wrong. As much as he'd like to intimidate the boy into his dirty work, he couldn't. If he did, he ran the risk of him trying to get her heart alone, which he'd certainly fail at. Not that his failure would be a problem to him, but Maleficent fortifying Belle's heart against further theft would be a problem for him. Fuck. He hated compromise.

"And fortunately for your conscious," he growled before Scarlet could refuse him. "I'm not interested in using it for myself as Regina is." He backed off, walked a few steps away from Scarlet so that the man could breathe as he explained. "The only plans I have for Belle's heart are to put it back in her chest with a protection spell over it, so this never happens again."

"If tha's so simple, why didn' you do i' before?" he questioned.

He took a deep breath and managed the pain in his chest. Why hadn't he done it before?

"Because I was foolish. And arrogant," he admitted. "I figured I'd always be around to protect her when someone came to harm her."

But he wasn't. And not just this time, but too many to count. He wished that it wasn't his fault. But he knew that far too often it had been that same foolish, arrogant pride within him that had left her unprotected and in danger. Like now.

"I always figured, incorrectly, that keeping my distance would keep her safe. Now I see that it doesn't matter how far away I am from her…she'll always be at risk because of our love. So, I'll return the heart with a protection spell. I'll make it so no one can ever rip her heart from her chest again. But I need your help to do it. It's the only way…"

Behind him, he heard Scarlet let out a sigh of irritation. There was a light thud that sounded as though he might have let his head fall back against the door behind him. He hoped those were signs of defeat.

"'The only way'…sounds like fun…" the boy spat out in a tone that was anything but fun.

Chapter Text

Fuck…there might have been a small part of him, a minuscule part, really, that actually liked Will Scarlet. It had started with the fact that he was willing to help in the first place. Though it was obvious that neither of them wanted to work with each other, he hadn't refused him for Belle's sake, and that spoke volumes to the man's character. If Hook had wandered in and told him that he needed his help to save Milah, he could honestly say that he wouldn't be half, a quarter, or even an eighth as willing as Scarlet was.

Furthermore, he was impressed by Scarlet's attention to detail under the circumstances. If this were him, and he'd been asked by Hook to help save Milah, and for some ridiculous reason he'd temporarily lost his head and agreed, he knew beyond a shadow of a doubt that he'd work fast. He'd cut corners. He'd do everything within his power to solve the problem quickly, and probably haphazardly, so that he could get it over with. If there was a thought like that in Scarlet's head, he certainly didn't show it. The boy took this job seriously. When they went into the back room to discuss the details of what needed to be done, the beginnings of their conversations and planning were heavy with animosity and double entendres. But now, as they entered their third hour, they'd reached a comfortable place where they almost began to feel like allies. And his favorite part? Scarlet was nearly as meticulous as he was about planning.

He asked question after question. How do we know for certain they have Belle's heart? Where is it? How did you discover it? What's guarding it? What kind of lock is it? What can we expect if they're protecting it? What do you expect me to do? What if we succeed? What if we fail?

"If we succeed, then we'll return here. You'll prepare Belle for my presence, and I'll place the heart back in her chest with a protection spell, so this never happens again."

"And if she doesn' like tha'?"

"I'll use a memory charm to erase her memories of the incident and my involvement."

"And I'm jus' suppose' to lie to 'er forever, is tha' righ'?"

His gut twisted a little at that kind of question. Scarlet was worried about being honest with her, something that he had always failed to be. Something he knew he should have been. Dammit, there might have been more than a minuscule part of him that liked Will Scarlet. However, it didn't erase the jealousy and anger he felt towards the man.

"Well, if you prefer, I can erase your memories too; you can't lie about what you don't remember."

He could tell just by the look on his face that Scarlet didn't like that particular plan. And for good reason, though he hoped it wasn't the same one Scarlet was thinking of. Belle would still hate it. If she ever found out what happened, even if she found out that Scarlet worked with him and agreed to the erasing of memories, she would be furious. And he hated that Scarlet potentially knew that about her just the same as he did.

"The simplest thing for all involved would be for you to prepare her for my presence so I can place the heart back in her chest, no memory erasure needed. No lies involved. Now, as to the other question, what if we fail…that hardly seems worth addressing, as we can't fail and we won't. But should we…then we'll be forced to rely on the mercy of Regina to keep her promise and return Belle's heart when she returns."

"And we don' trus' tha'."

He huffed as he considered such a thing. "The Regina I know is famous for a great many things. Her mercy is not one of them."

"Well, tha's all I need to hear. How soon can we do this? Keep in mind, if she's watchin' Neal she could be back any momen'."

Yes, he could remember her saying something about watching the baby for a little bit. Of course, he remembered a time when a little bit was hours, but Snow White and Prince Charming were currently outside of his watch. He had no idea how long they'd be, and they had already been in the back discussing this for hours.

"We should go," he concluded. "You know the plan?"

"Climb the tree outside the mayor's office. Wai' 'til I 'ear your voice. Break in. Steal the 'ear' from the desk. Run. Pretty clear cu' if you ask me."

"And?"

"No magic."

"Not once you are inside the office, that's right. But for before…" Into his hand, he summoned a small, clear stone he'd been keeping for a special occasion, as well as one of Ursula's conch shells and the smaller shell he'd initially planted on Henry. He handed Scarlet the larger of the shells as he put the smaller in his coat pocket. "If you arrive and the window is closed, then this will enable you to hear when I've arrived. But it is magic, and for the sake of the echo-"

"Don' take it inside, go' i'. And tha'?"

"More magic. An added precaution. When you hold this stone, you will become invisible. It should allow you to get to the offices, climb the tree, without anyone seeing."

"You're 'oldin' i' withou' turnin' invisible."

For fuck's sake…

"I am the Dark One. I can overpower and control its magic, whereas you…"

Without warning, he shoved the small stone into Scarlet's hands, where the boy promptly disappeared from sight.

"'oly!"

There was a sound of a crash, and the conch shell he'd given the man lay at his feet in pieces only seconds before the pebble and Scarlet stood before him again. He struggled not to burst out in anger, to contain the temptation to express disappointment in the kid. This was the plan, it had to work, he couldn't ruin it by having Scarlet get offended or go off on his own to try and do this because he yelled at him.

With a wave of his hand, he cleaned up the broken shell and summoned the second one from where he'd left it in the cabin. "Be careful," he stressed as he put the new one back in his hand. "And smart!" he chastised as he picked up the pebble and held it out for him again. "You cannot take this in with you; you'll need to leave it behind to get the heart. But once you leave the office, should the Dragon pursue you, it could be a very valuable tool. She will be able to sense its magic eventually, but it could present her with the element of surprise."

"And there's you…you need me alive to bring you this 'ear'. You'll keep me alive."

He sneered. Bold of the boy to presume such a thing.

"Let me be clear. Your fate is tied to that box. The only thing I care about, the only person I care about, is Belle. Her heart. While it is in your possession, it benefits you to care for it, but make no mistake. If it comes to choosing you or choosing her-"

"'Er," Scarlet interrupted stoically. "You'll choose 'er."

He nodded. "Without hesitation. Every time."

Scarlet swallowed hard, then let out a sigh that sounded like acceptance, like he understood. Then he nodded and held out his hand for the pebble.

"Guess we'd better go then," he stated, but as he reached out to drop the pebble in Scarlet's hand, he suddenly yanked it back. "If I'm invisible, 'ow will you know I'm ready? I 'ave this to tell me when you are ready? 'Ow will you know I am?"

He sighed. Belle would have known the answer to that. To her, it would have been obvious. And he wasn't sure why that knowledge hurt him in this particular situation; he just knew that it did.

"You'll have my magic," he muttered, gesturing with the pebble. "I'll know right…where…you…are."

With that Scarlet accepted the pebble and vanished from sight but not from mind. Though doing it meant that he had to let the ache in his chest grow again, he used his magic to keep tabs on the boy.

"I'll be watching your progress from nearby, though you may not see me. I'd recommend you use this backdoor so no one sees the shop door open and close for no one. When it's done, I'll find you. We'll confirm the heart is Belle's before bringing it back and placing it in her chest…"

Before Scarlet could get a word out, he left the shop with a whoosh of magic.

Chapter Text

He could travel through magic, but Scarlet couldn't. It made the lead-up to taking Belle's heart entirely anticlimactic and slow, but in the end, he figured that was probably a good thing. Regina, and Maleficent, for that matter, would likely expect him to act rashly. They'd expect him to be quick and showy, desirous of teaching them a lesson. Working with Will, forcing himself to go slow and quietly…it was good for him if only because it was ultimately good for Belle.

Only about five minutes after he left did he feel Scarlet's presence leave his shop. From a block away, he safely walked with the boy as he moved closer and closer to the mayor's office, completely undetected. He timed himself just right, making sure that he stepped onto the grounds at roughly the same time he felt Scarlet step onto the grounds. This way, if Regina did have something set up beyond her office to detect his magic, and Maleficent took a look, she would see him, a plausible reason for his magic to be detected. Hopefully, that would let Will Scarlet slip in under the radar.

He'd hoped to time his arrival inside the building with Scarlet arriving at the base of the tree for the same reason. If she was going to be looking anywhere when Scarlet got that close, he wanted her gaze on him. But instead, he felt Scarlet stop just before the tree. A wise choice. If he didn't know any better, he'd say Scarlet had already thought that through. Dammit…he really wanted that boy to be less of a talented thief than he was. It would have been easier not to like him.

Still, when he strolled into Town Hall, he let out a blast of magic that he'd been keeping back because he knew Maleficent better than she thought he did. Unlike Regina, who relished in showmanship, the dragon was one for confirmation. He wanted her to feel he was coming; he wanted her to get up and out of that room, or at the very least, as far away from that desk as possible. He let his magic bleed out stronger the higher up the stairs he climbed. He moved swiftly and with purpose. She was expecting him to be quick and showy; he'd give her exactly what she wanted.

His heart raced with every step he took, and he didn't encounter her. There was a sliver of him, a small sliver, but a sliver nonetheless, that had hoped he'd be able to pull her out of the office entirely if he was threatening enough. So far, that hadn't happened. But that didn't mean it couldn't. And if it didn't?

He didn't care. This plan would succeed.

It had to.

The door to the Mayor's Office, unfortunately, remained closed. His mind naturally began thinking of alternatives to drawing her out of the office. Freezing the scene was the only thing he could come up with, but powerful as Maleficent was, it wouldn't hold her for long. And with the place guarded against him in particular, he wasn't that confident his magic would work if she didn't step out of the room. Fuck, he hoped Scarlet knew how to be quiet. Dragons could hear a tick sneeze on the other side of their castles. He better know-

The door to the mayor's office burst open before he could knock, and there she stood, the dragon he'd raised from the dead, now only a guard dog. If it weren't so damn effective, it would have been pathetic.

"Looking for your wife's heart?" the Dragon snarled. "Why don't you come inside and get it?"

She gestured to the room behind her, and for a brief second, he swore he felt his heart stop, but even as she gestured, she kept her eyes firmly on him. That was good. This situation wasn't exactly ideal, but as long as her gaze was on him and Will was quiet, it could still work. He was the distraction. Hopefully, he could continue to distract as Will crawled in the window behind her.

He reached forward, slowly, timidly, and with a flick of a finger, he sent the tiniest spark of his magic across the door, only for a thin sheet of purple to appear with a sizzle. He'd barely touched it, and he felt the zip of an electric shock through his body. He was sure his cardiologist would love something like that.

"I'm smarter than that, dearie," he muttered as he turned to walk it off. He wanted to keep moving. A moving target would keep her focus, as well as her eyes, on him instead of Will in the room behind her. At least that's what he hoped. He didn't dare risk a sideways glance anywhere but her, lest he give the pair of them away.

"Our work together is done. Regina and Emma are tracking my daughter as we speak. Soon, I'll have her back. And the Savior will be just fine."

"Really?" And she thought that this was all her idea. Meanwhile, he was nearly to the point of getting everything that he wanted, and the heroes weren't bothering him. And why? Because they were distracted, just as he'd planned. And now she was all caught up in a distraction made for her just as he'd planned, perhaps not so long ago, but he did still love the irony of it. "Now, did you ever think that Lilith might be the one who keeps Ms. Swan on her dark path? That two people tied by fate and history might just have a way of…entangling themselves?"

Success!

Fuck!

Maleficent stood there, still and stoic as a soldier should, and in the absence of movement, his own gaze had been drawn to just behind her, to a movement he'd been trying to ignore. He'd caught only a glance, but it was enough to tell him that he only needed to buy them a minute, maybe even only seconds. Because behind that stoic soldier was a very clever, very quiet thief already climbing out the window. And in his hand…there was a box.

"You can try to scare me all you want," Maleficent sneered. "I won't return your wife's heart."

He let out a small laugh. "No, no, dearie. You misunderstood. I already have it."

The Dragon looked behind her and caught a glimpse of Scarlett, box in hand, climbing through the window before he disappeared. He hadn't done that half as quickly as he'd wanted him to, but he only needed to give him a few moments to reclaim the pebble and disappear.

"Regina's protection spell might keep me out, but it doesn't account for the common thief."

Maleficent turned and strode quickly for the window. He had a singular flash of an idea, something he'd done long ago. Before she could make it to the window, he reached his magic out to touch Regina's.

It stung. Pain like he hadn't felt in years shot through his body, making the muscles in his chest clench so hard it was hard to breathe. Slowly, what felt like an eternity later, he plucked at enough strands in Regina's spell and rewove them into a new tapestry.

Maleficent's scream rallied him as she stepped away from the window and examined her shaking hands, which left her fingers literally smoking.

An imprisonment charm, made from Regina's magic and a little bit of his own. Like all spells that were reworked, it would be far less powerful than the original, especially if it were made to contain maleficent. It would break eventually. But he didn't need it to last forever, just long enough for Will to get away and the pair of them to return Belle's heart to her chest. And after that…?

He wasn't worried. Even if Maleficent did manage to free herself, she had no real skin in the game where Belle was concerned. The worst she'd probably do was call Regina, and Belle was never truly the target for Regina. As long as she got Robin back safe and sound, she'd leave Belle alone. As for him, the sooner he got Belle's heart safely back into her chest, the better.

If only he weren't struggling to feel his own chest at the moment.

"Entrapment spell!" Maleficent roared across the room at him. "How-"

"Oh please," he gasped, trying to catch his breath. "You think you are the only teacher Regina ever had? You may have given her a special kind of fire, dearie, but I taught her everything she knows. My magic knows her magic; it's all too easy to overpower it and use it to make something of my own."

"Easy…then why are you white as a ghost?"

He managed a smirk even through his pain. He should have been able to recover faster than this…why was it taking so damn long for his magic to redirect?!

For the exact same reason, you are 'white as a ghost' and you know it! Nimue hissed triumphantly in his ear. You are running out of time for this gamble of yours to succeed, Rumpelstiltskin, and when it does…I will have won!

"All magic has a price, Dearie," he spat out, putting her words out of his mind. "Now if you'll excuse me…I have a heart to enchant…"

And as much as it pained him, he used his magic to vanish from her sight and go off in search of his partner in crime.