Summary: There will always be a new game to play, just with higher stakes and battling odds. This time, Peter Pan finds himself in a world he can't control, chasing after a woman he never thought he would need, while dodging the promise of death on his heels. But he's never once broken a promise, and he isn't about to start now. Sequel to "Isle of Thorns."
AN: And so begins the first chapter of Isle of the Lost. All comments, suggestions, likes, dislikes, and requests are welcome!
~Isle of the Lost~
"I've been settling scores
I've been fighting so long
But I've lost your war
And our kingdom is gone."
– Pentatonix, "Run to You"
Part I: Paradise Lost
When Peter opened his eyes and the world stopped spinning, he was sitting on grass and dead leaves, looking up at trees that stretched into the sky.
And he was alone.
The feel of Wendy lingered against his skin, but he was all too aware of the emptiness now that he sat in the middle of nowhere. He stood up and was about to call out for her, but the sounds of others shouting to one another silenced him. Peter could see that he was just within the edge of a forest that broke abruptly into a large and open field, an expanse of green where a crowd was gathered near a gazebo. There a young couple, finely dressed and understandably shocked, beckoned them closer. Both had the air of royalty about them, and he was willing to bet they were the king and queen of this part of the land.
Peter ducked into the nearest bushes, as close to the edge as he dared, waited for them to come closer into view, and eventually recognized the Prince and Snow White amongst scatterings of Storybrook residents. He listened as they spoke of how the land had changed in their absence, of how the ogres had been finally defeated, how there was finally peace. But Peter detected a subtle shift in the young queen's gaze when she spoke, something in her eyes that betrayed a silent unease, though she pretended differently. He filed that observation away for later and focused on the fact that the Prince and Snow White's castle still stood, and they would be making sure Regina came along.
Only then did Peter realize the witch stood slightly behind Snow White, a mask of indifference hiding deep pain that Peter knew he'd caused. He didn't see Emma or Henry. They must have escaped the curse, making Regina pay the price of altering it. It was almost satisfying.
But not enough.
He needed to see it in her eyes, hear her beg for surrender from the agony he'd felt. And how could he forget the misery the Evil Queen had inflicted on Wendy? Sentencing her father to a fate worse than death, followed by sending Wendy off to what she'd believed was an even lesser fortune.
So when they finally turned away from the couple, Peter followed within the cover of the trees and listened for how they decided to continue. He watched as one of the dwarves—Grumpy, one of many he remembered meeting in Storybrook—approached the Prince and told him of fifty or so people from the town that had just landed a couple miles off, and something within Peter involuntarily lurched.
"Is everyone accounted for?" Snow asked.
"No, we think some of them landed farther away, since not everyone was in the square when we were sent back," her husband replied.
"That explains why I can't find my father." That one was Neal. Peter couldn't see him properly, but he immediately recognized his voice, then that of Belle. At first he'd thought she was Wendy; they were of similar build and complexion, and long dark waves of hair. But the voice was not the soft lilt he knew, nor were her eyes green, though they were as vibrant and expressive, displaying all the worry and determination one could possess at the thought of their loved one being lost.
"Maybe we could swing by his place if we can't find him with the others, see if he's there."
"We've already given word to the others to meet at our castle," David pointed out. "Why don't you wait to see if he's with them? If not, we'll see if he's at home."
Neither Neal nor Belle looked particularly happy about waiting, but Neal nodded and moved on with the rest. Peter followed at a distance as the group trekked through the forest, only pausing to watch as the others reacted to a sudden attack on Regina and Snow White. He hadn't seen what happened, but the fact that Regina had injured her pride by being saved by a common thief brought him some amusement.
Regina's voice made Peter's blood boil, but he let the anger simmer under the surface. He needed to be of clear mind before he made any step forward. He couldn't rely on his own power anymore, and now couldn't even rely on Wendy. Both stung.
She could be with the others than landed, you haven't seen everyone yet, he thought. But even then, they would be sure to bring her forward, question her as to his whereabouts for sure. Then again, he didn't know how much Rumpelstiltskin told them, perhaps that Pan had spared his life. Peter wanted to rub his temples in sheer frustration. He'd lost his power, his Lost Boys, his island—everything that made him who he was, everything he'd fought so long and so hard to keep with mind games and deals and magic. He lost his kingdom.
And where the hell am I now? he thought. Alone in the Enchanted-fucking-Forest watching the people who want to kill me.
Peter inwardly sighed, crouched into the safety of low-hanging trees and bushes when the group stopped at the road to the castle ahead, and continued his silent observations. Regina stepped forward and tentatively reached out a hand, starting slightly when a green force field blocked her path and became visible. It covered the entire kingdom, a powerful spell that made Peter curious as to who could have placed it. Regina looked furious as hell, determined to figure out exactly that.
"Rushing in there is a bad plan, Regina. You know that," Snow White implored, trying to placate the queen who already seemed to be in a delicate state of emotions.
"I can offer safe harbor in Sherwood Forest, it's not far," said the thief, though Peter still didn't know his name. "There is food, shelter, and a thick canopy no creature can tear through."
"Do you have weapons?" asked the Prince.
"Some, yes."
"Fine, lead the way. But we're coming back," Regina insisted. "And whoever did this…is going to suffer."
"Regina, it's our home," said Snow. "We'll make it safe again."
Peter reluctantly followed them to Sherwood Forest, biding his time as more and more Storybrook residents began to come through the campsite and reunite with friends and loved ones. He watched Neal become exceedingly restless as the Dark One had yet to arrive, which in and of itself was odd considering both his son and Belle waited for him.
While he scanned the crowds for any sign of familiar russet hair, Peter mulled over the new threat to Snow White and the Prince's kingdom, the Wicked Witch. He'd never met her, but if she managed to ruffle Regina's feathers without even a proper introduction, who was he to get in the middle of any of it? All he wanted was to find Wendy and get the hell out, by any means necessary.
"It's been hours and some are still missing," Peter heard Grumpy say to the Prince. "It's like they've disappeared."
"Are you sure? You've scouted far enough?"
"We're sure. We had Red on it," said the dwarf. "She caught the mingled scents of a crowd a few miles away, but they cut off without a trace."
David looked pensive, matching the sudden unease in the pit of Peter's stomach. If the trail was suddenly lost, magic was sure to be involved. And if his instincts were right, then this…Wicked Witch was the soon to be regretful culprit. This was only confirmed in his mind when he saw Wendy's brothers, John and Michael, arrive at the campsite without their sister. Something had gone wrong.
It was then that he noticed Neal and Belle making their escape into the woods heading south. Now he had a choice to make: either follow the Prince's band of dwarves and whoever else he would send to find the missing, or follow after Neal and track down Rumpelstiltskin, the one person who would be powerful enough, and willing to help Peter get to Wendy.
He ducked into the shadows, trailing his grandson's wake.
"It shouldn't be much farther than another mile or so," said Neal, and Belle looked over at him with a soft smile. This was Rumple's son, so stubborn and determined like his father. She could see the resemblance plain as day. But she also noted a similar look in his eyes, a soul that had lost love in life, and not just the recent loss of Emma and Henry that she knew was eating at him.
"You think?" she asked. It made her want to get to know him even more, to befriend the man Rumple spoke of so fondly and reverently.
"Yeah, I remember this hill in the road here," he said, and turned to help Belle up the steepest part of the incline. "We could have gone around it, now that I think about it."
"Ah, well," Belle tried not to huff a breath once they were over and nearly on level ground. "What's a little exercise?"
Neal cracked a small grin in response, but paused when he heard the crunch of dead leaves and a snapped branch. His expression went blank, but he gestured with his eyes for Belle to keep walking with him.
"That may be true, but I think we can cut through these trees," he said, steering them left. "If I remember right, the castle isn't too far."
Peter inwardly cursed, kicking himself for making such an amateur mistake. But to be fair, he hadn't had to walk this far for anything in a very long time, and hadn't had to be much stealthy about it either. He let them wander ahead, retreating farther into the cover of the trees as they crossed from the road into the forest. After a few beats he followed after them, mentally cursing again when their path was no longer obvious. He couldn't hear them either.
That's odd.
And then a branch nearly took his head off, would have if his instincts hadn't screamed at him to duck and turn, taking in the dagger being pointed in his direction by Neal and the hefty branch Belle brandished.
"You," Neal seethed.
"Ah, Baelfire, not happy to see me?" Peter quipped, making sure to keep an adequate distance between them.
"Oh no, I'm damn near ecstatic," Neal spat. "My evil teenage grandfather is paying me a visit after separating me from my son. And I hear you don't have your mojo anymore. Kinda stupid if you ask me."
"Oh yes, sorry about that," Peter said darkly, voice dripping with sarcasm and mock sincerity, "but I do believe that makes us even."
Neal looked confused for a second, but it only took that long for him to realize Peter's meaning.
"That was an accident."
"But it was your fault all the same." Peter's eyes were hard and cold, the anger simmering just under the surface. His hands itched with the magic he no longer had at his disposal. "Count yourself lucky you know they are safe, and alive. I thought she was dead."
Belle looked over at Neal with wide eyes, confused as to how he could have been responsible for Wendy's coma. Neal's jaw clenched, but he realized then that there was a great deal that Peter Pan and Rumpelstiltskin had in common. Their views on revenge, the high price they put on those who crossed them, seemed to run in the family. Along with acquiring power.
"Then what do you want? My father told us you woke her."
That he gave up his power to wake her, which at the time he could hardly believe after everything Pan had put him and his family through. Neal watched as Pan's expression became somewhat guarded.
"She's missing," he admitted after a moment's hesitance. "She didn't arrive here with me, and she wasn't with the others that found their way to Sherwood Forest. Like our dear Rumple."
"So…what, you want my father's help? Or you think they're in the same place, wherever they are," asked Neal, trying to make sense of Peter's motives.
"Well, that depends on what happens when we find him," Peter said with a slight smirk.
"Wait, wait, 'we?'" said Belle, watching Peter warily.
"Why should we trust you?" Neal asked in agreement. He kept the dagger pointed towards Peter.
"Is it not obvious?" Peter asked, feigning innocence. "We share a common goal: finding the ones we have lost. After we succeed, I'll be off, never to be seen by you again. I made a deal with Rumple before we crash-landed here."
"Oh yeah? What was it then?" Neal asked, restraining the urge to roll his eyes. He knew his father had said Pan would no longer be a threat, but he hadn't specified any kind of arrangement other than saying Pan was now powerless.
"If I left his family alone from now on, he would do the same for me."
"And not bring you to Regina," Belle added. Peter glanced at her and smirked at her boldness.
"Ah, that's right. She isn't quite fond of me at the moment, is she?"
"That's why you were hiding and sneaking around," Neal supplied. "Something tells me she would love to have a chat with you over coffee."
"Sadly, I prefer tea," Peter said flatly. After a tense silence of Peter and Neal staring at one another, the latter weighing the pros and cons of his next choice, and Belle watching at both uneasily, Neal sighed.
"I'm not letting you out of my sight for a second, hear me?"
"I wouldn't dream of anything else."
"If there's anyone that can defeat that witch and get you back to your family, it's the Dark One," Belle told Neal as she flipped through book after book. "He might not be here, but a way to find him has to be."
They'd searched the entire castle, but hadn't found Rumpelstiltskin. They hadn't even found anything of his to use for a locator spell. His clothes and spinning wheel and anything that could have been deemed exclusively Rumpelstiltskin's was missing, which Belle thought was more than strange. All that was left were things he had acquired through deals, and neither Neal nor Peter thought that counted. That didn't mean they were entirely out of luck, however.
"You really believe in him, don't you?" asked Neal, turning to her as he thumbed through a dusty tome.
"I love him," she said simply. With a smile, she leaned against the long wooden table that spanned the room. "All of him. Even…even the parts that belong to the darkness."
Peter, though he outwardly seemed to be engrossed in skimming books in the far corner of the study, heard the hope and wistfulness in her tone, the deep emotions she obviously felt for his son. It sounded achingly familiar.
How can there be such people in this world that could be so naïve, so trusting as to give their heart to…to a monster, a beast knowing so very little of love? How can they be so strong of spirit, yet so fragile?
"…Yeah, it took me a while to see past all that," he admitted. "The good man trying to get out."
"He did get out," she corrected. After a moment, Neal nodded and turned to her.
"Yeah…he did get out. Irony is, now I need the dark part in order to get to the ones I care about."
He toyed with a chain that hung from his gloved hand, smiled when Belle asked what it was. So curious, was his father's Belle.
"A necklace," he held it up to show her, the swan impressed in the silver coin glinting in the firelight. "It was Emma's…was supposed to represent our life together…I don't know how it survived the trip."
Belle smiled warmly.
"Because, it was born out of true love," she said softly, then raised her voice so that the other occupant of the room would hear her. "Now come on, both of you, I think I know where we can find what we need."
She led them to the library, a large and spacious room filled with more books than one person could read in a lifetime.
"You think there's magic in here?" Neal asked.
"No, something better than magic," said Belle, and Peter raised a skeptical brow while she crossed the room to light three candles that stood on a single stand. "Books. Books on history, witchcraft, and hopefully, something about the Dark One too."
"I'm sure he has all the ingredients for a locator spell," Peter pointed out.
"Do you have something of his stashed in your pockets?" Neal asked dryly.
"If you haven't noticed, we're in his house."
"And half the stuff in here is missing, if you haven't noticed."
"Well, hello there," greeted a voice in an accent that sounded distinctly foreign—French. Peter looked over his shoulder at Belle.
"Did you…say something?"
"Uh…no?"
"Over here!" The three of them turned to see the candles on the candle stand burn brighter, their flames rising to create the mirage of a man's face. "Allow me to introduce myself."
"What the hell?" Neal muttered.
"No need to be frightened, I am but a humble servant of this castle," said the candle stand. "My name is Lumierre."
"I don't understand," Belle started. "I've dusted every nook and cranny in this place. How have our paths never crossed?"
"It's a big castle," he remarked. "And I was woefully underutilized. Sadly, I only awaken when my candles are lit. Those are the rules of my punishment."
"Punishment by who?" asked Neal.
"Who do you think?" Lumierre quipped, then shifted his gaze back to Belle. "Does he even know where he is? Rumpelstiltskin, of course. I made a deal long ago, and when I couldn't live up to my end he made sure I paid the price…he's not here, is he?"
"No, he's…he's missing," said Belle with a frown.
"We're trying to find him, he could be anywhere in the Enchanted Forest," said Neal. "And all these objects stored here are other people's things he's won in deals, so a locator spell might be a bit complicated…do you know of anything else that we could use to find him, or summon him like his dagger?"
"I know a great many things…" Lumierre trailed.
"Listen, candle—" Peter began, but Neal interjected before Peter could get too annoyed.
"Please, you gotta help us," he implored. "If you don't…I'll never see my family again."
"Boohoo," the candle mocked. "Why should I help find the man who put me in this wax prison?"
"The Rumpelstiltskin you knew may have been cold and hard, but…he's changed since then," said Belle. Lumierre made a noncommittal sound. "If you help us, I know he will restore you to your human form…please."
"…The bookcase behind you," Lumierre said at last. "Bottom cabinet. You shall know it once you see it…it's a volume befitting the Dark One."
Belle went as directed, opening large cabinet doors and finding a large book with a leather jacket the color of scarlet, the binding painted with intricate, pale gold designs. She brought it to a small table toward the middle of the room and flipped through the frayed pages. Peter and Neal looked on from either side of her.
"What the hell kind of book is that?" The words were in a language he didn't recognize, and there were some pictures of strange creatures that he had never seen before.
"It's not a book," said Belle, relieving him. "It's a hiding place."
She took out a large key, seemingly made of bronze. On the back of it was a triangle with stray markings along each side.
"Clever girl," Peter murmured.
"It's a key to the vault of the Dark One," Lumierre clarified.
"'The Vault of the Dark One,'" Belle repeated dubiously.
"Where the first Dark One was made," said the candle. "Born out of the…well, darkness. If you wish to summon him it is quite possibly the only place that has something that may help you."
"Will you guide us on our journey?" asked Belle. Peter cast her a glance.
"That may not be wise, love," he said. She gave him a curious look.
"Why not? We can help one another."
"Yes, but perhaps our flammable friend is not as trustworthy a source as he seems," said Peter, casting a doubtful gaze at the fiery mirage. "Let us find the vault ourselves. If we are successful in finding my son, then you can return for the candle if you want."
"But we don't even know where it is," Belle said stubbornly. "Who could Lumierre have talked to for the past years he's been here? No one would dare trespass on the Dark One's castle."
"If your promise that the Dark One will return me to my human form is true, then yes, I will guide you," said Lumierre.
"Seems as if we have a deal," said Neal. "We leave first thing in the morning."
Peter raised a brow. Something about this wasn't quite right, but even without his magic he was confident he could escape any situation they may come across. He wasn't a master of guiles for nothing.
"Fine, don't say I didn't warn you."
They began their journey while the sun was only a sliver peaking over the horizon. Lumierre, his candles put out for now, lied safely in Belle's knapsack. Conversation was idle, mostly between Belle and Neal, until the latter posed a question to the former Lost Boy.
"So what will you do if Rumpelstiltskin can't find Wendy?" Peter admired his bluntness, and though outwardly he showed nothing of his thoughts, he would be lying if he said the question didn't take him off guard.
"I'll track down this supposed Wicked Witch. If my son can't find Wendy, it is because she has been taken." If that was the case, which he was almost completely sure of by now, then there was nothing that could stand in his way after all he had done to keep her at his side.
It was that thought that nearly stopped him in his tracks.
Is that what I've been doing? I never noticed. But perhaps this, too, was a lie. Perhaps that was the reason he locked her away, tried the "out of sight, out of mind" idea. It hadn't worked. He'd tried to pretend that the reason he kept her on the island was because she was his to play with, his alone to torment. Half of that was true.
She was his.
"The Prince has already deployed a search for those who have not found their way to Sherwood Forest," he continued, breaking himself from his own thoughts.
"How will you join them?" asked Belle.
"You mean considering most of them would like to see me dead?" Peter remarked. "It is not my intention to join them. I can get her myself."
Neal's brows rose doubtfully, but he chose not to voice the thoughts so obvious in his expression. Conversation tapered off after that, until they noticed the air becoming marginally colder as patches of snow met their path. Soon the ground was covered in white, and before long the trees broke into a clearing. Belle retrieved Lumierre from her satchel and Neal set it on a tree stump after sticking the torch he held into a mound of snow. After lighting each candle, Lumierre's face appeared, relieved and possibly excited at the prospect of soon being set free.
"You found it! Thank heavens…"
"Now what?" asked Neal.
"Head to the center of the clearing. Under the ice and snow you should find the entryway to the vault."
Both Neal and Peter brushed away the snow to find a platform of metal carved with intricate symbols, all surrounding a triangle that appeared to be where the key fit perfectly. The two looked at one another, but it was Neal who held the key in his hand.
"After you," Peter said with mock politeness. Neal returned a smile with as much sincerity, then turned back to the candle.
"Are you sure about this?" he asked.
"I spent two-hundred years in Rumpelstiltskin's library, witnessing more dark magic and sorcery than any living creature has ever seen," Lumierre said indignantly.
"I thought he was a 'woefully underutilized' candle," Peter said, growing as suspicious as Belle now appeared.
"Um, I'm sorry, how long did you say you were there?" she asked.
"Two-hundred years! At least."
She raised a brow and whispered to Neal, "He's lying." Neal looked up at her in surprise as she stood and faced the nervous candle.
"Rumple built that library for me not long before the curse. It's been there barely thirty years," she said. Both Neal and Peter stood angrily.
"Who are you?" Neal shouted, "Unless you want to spend eternity under a snowdrift you better start talking."
"…I am who I appear to be," Lumierre began. "Only it wasn't Rumpelstiltskin who turned me into this wretched form, it was…the Wicked Witch of the West."
"I won't say I didn't tell you so," Peter said, glaring darkly. This is why he needed his Lost Boys, boys who obeyed his every command because they trusted him, knew why he was their leader. They were smarter in their obedience than his grandson and this woman were in their stupidity, though Peter realized that may have been born out of their understandable mistrust of him than anything else.
"She told you to lead us here, the Wicked Witch?" Belle said incredulously.
"She wants you to open the vault. Only the Dark One's kin can do it," he said, gesturing to both Neal and Peter. How he knew they were related to Rumpelstiltskin when they hadn't offered that information was a testament to the truth in Lumierre's words. "In it is a powerful enchantment that can summon the Dark One's dagger. She wishes to control him."
Belle shook her head and turned to Neal.
"We need to leave this place."
"Belle wait, that means we can find him. Who cares how we got here?" he asked. Belle looked at him incredulously.
"Rumpelstiltskin didn't save your son and become a better man so he could become a slave to evil."
"My father is the king of loopholes, I'm sure he'll figure out a way."
"What if he can't? Think of what she could do if he was under her control?" asked Belle, placing an earnest hand over his. "We'll find another way to find him."
"What if there is no other way? I can't waste any more time," Neal refused.
"Are you so quick to forget our deal?" asked Peter, finally speaking up in the conversation. It had taken him a moment to decide in his mind what the best course of action to take was, and he still wasn't entirely sure. But going ahead blind was a foolish idea. "If the Wicked Witch gets her hands on such a spell and takes control of Rumple, how will I be able to find Wendy?"
"If we're quick enough, we can burn the spell after we get his dagger," said Neal. "And after we have the dagger, we'll be able to summon my father. The way I see it, this is the only shot we've got of finding him. If you'd rather take your chances with Regina, Mary Margaret and David, be my guest."
When Peter offered no reply, just stared at Neal blankly, Neal moved back over to the center of the clearing and placed the key. He was able to turn it, and the sound of gears shifting prompted him to usher Belle backwards. The metal in his hand grew suddenly unbearably hot, searing flesh and eliciting a cry of pain as he threw himself back and plunged his hand into the snow. The mark of the triangle had branded itself into Neal's hand. Belle rushed forward and helped him away from the platform as it opened up, leaving a gaping hole of darkness. On further inspection, Peter saw stairs that led to the vault below.
He retrieved the torch stuck in the snow while wrapped a handkerchief around Neal's wound. He used his good hand to grasp the base of the candle stand.
"After you," said Neal.
The Vault of the Dark One was old, ancient. But Rumpelstiltskin had clearly been here before. There were ingredients for spells, some tools that had been left behind but clearly used before. The room was smaller than Peter expected, but big enough that it would take time for them to find what they were looking for. Or so he thought.
"I think I may have found it," said Belle, a worn volume in hand. Peter was beginning to see a trend with this woman and books.
It was open to a page with a rather long incantation and a hand-drawn picture of the Dark One's dagger in the other.
"What does the spell call for?" Peter asked. Belle listed off the ingredients and, luckily enough, Peter was able to find each one and crush them into a powder using the left behind tools. Neal set the substance aflame using the torch, and the magical properties protected the bowl from burning. But Peter hesitated.
"What are you waiting for?" Neal asked. Peter glanced at him, but took a moment to respond.
"I'm not sure I can do this," Peter admitted. "My magic was taken away from me."
"But you still have the ability," Belle said. This was the last place she thought they should be, but they had already begun. Any time they spent waiting around was any moment the Wicked Witch could be upon them. "Rumple once told me…once someone has the potential to use magic, it can be relearned, even if it's forgotten."
It was a day she had questioned him on how people could learn to use magic, who had the ability, could it be forgotten, and so on. He had been unusually patient with her on a winter afternoon, the two of them sat near the hearth, and answered her many questions long after the sun retreated. She wanted to understand magic better. Why the power was so appealing.
And now the infamous Peter Pan regarded her silently, weighing her words. He began reading. With every line said aloud, the flame glowed brighter, changing from red to orange to a bright green, until the final words were spoken, and the Dark One's dagger dropped into Peter's waiting hands. There was a moment of silence in which the three, as well as Lumierre, stared at the object, almost disbelieving.
I…I've done it, Peter thought. The thrill of magic once again flowing through him, if only for that minute, was enough. It meant he could regain his power.
"Is that…" Neal asked.
"I believe so, yes."
"Can I see it?" It was a subtle test, but Peter caught it. Part of him wanted to hold onto it. The leverage of controlling the Rumpelstiltskin's powers was tempting…but reluctantly, he handed it over to his grandson.
And then Neal summoned the Dark One.
Rumpelstiltskin appeared, worse for wear, as the crocodile he once was.
"Belle?" he asked coarsely. She nodded with a watery smile and ran to him. Peter looked away as the two shared a loving embrace, but his eyes widened when he looked over to Neal.
"Baelfire!" His warning was in vain, however, as none other than the Wicked Witch of the West stabbed a dagger into Neal's spine and twisted it, watching dispassionately as the man crumpled to the floor in agony. The weapon in her hand dissolved into smoke, and she leaned down to take the Dark One's dagger from Neal's hand. She circled farther into the room and smiled at Rumpelstiltskin's cry of both fury and despair. He sunk to his knees before his son and half cradled his torso while Belle knelt behind him on his other side.
"Well that's a pity," she said, and her appearance was everything Peter expected. Tall, clothed in black from head to toe, green. Like the storybooks he'd heard of. "He wanted so much to get to his son. Just couldn't learn from his father's mistakes. But I must say, it wasn't hard to lead you in the right direction." The tone of her voice fell flat toward the end as she glanced at the candle, but Lumierre remained quiet, and ashamed.
"There was nothing missing from the castle, by the way," she added. "Just a little illusion spell."
"How…dare you," Rumpelstiltskin seethed. But the moment he lifted a hand to attack her, she brandished his dagger, compelling him to cease. He struggled against the opposition, but eventually relented, looked down at his son who struggled for breath.
"It's going to be okay, son," he said gently.
"I rather doubt that," the Witch remarked, then glanced over at Peter.
"Well hello, dear. I don't believe we've properly met," she greeted. He inclined his head, and it was only then that Rumpelstiltskin seemed to notice his father.
"No, we haven't. Allow me to introduce myself," he said, and gave a proper bow despite his mocking tone. "Peter Pan."
"Zelena," the Witch said with a small curtsy.
"Now that we've exchanged pleasantries, I must say it's rather rude to steal what doesn't belong to you."
"Oh?" she asked coyly.
"I think you know as to who I'm referring."
Zelena smirked and crossed one arm, using the other to hold the dagger.
"I do have a few friends staying over at my place, but from what I hear, you're a smart boy, Pan. I'm sure you can figure out for yourself where my guests are staying," she teased, then turned her eyes on Rumpelstiltskin. He grit his teeth, then turned to Belle.
"Run, Belle. Go." She started up the stairs, but paused and turned to see Rumpelstiltskin…absorbing Neal's body into his own.
"Hmm, imagine that," said Zelena. "You've got your son, but you've lost yourself."
Rumpelstiltskin's eyes grew vacant, miles away, as he began to mutter to himself. Belle stared with wide, tear-filled eyes while Peter was just as shocked, but remained outwardly guarded, steeled for whatever the Witch decided to throw at him. He slowly sidestepped his way to the foot of the stairs where Belle stood.
"Rumple?" she asked, tears beginning to fall.
"N-No…not Rumple," he said raggedly. "No room…no room…"
"Enough of this," Zelena said, clearly bored. "Your madness is your burden, not mine. It's time to go. But before we do…kill her." She glanced at Belle, who's breath had become labored with her sudden fear and anxiety over watching her love succumb to madness, and now as he looked up at her with conflict in his eyes.
"Move," Peter ordered, though her legs seemed cemented where she stood. Rumpelstiltskin shakily began to stand, making matter more pressing. "Up the stairs. Now, Belle."
Their saving grace was Lumierre, who blew a fiery entrapment that wrapped around Zelena's body and mouth like rope, but didn't burn her.
"I can't keep her for long, go! Hurry," said the candle. "Don't make me regret this burst of conscience."
"You won't," said Peter, but before he could push Belle up the stairs, she ran over to the table and grabbed Lumierre, then raced up the stairs as tears streamed her face. Peter was right behind her, keeping a hand at her back to make sure she wouldn't try to double back. He could hear the Wicked Witch struggling against her restraints.
Soon enough they would be miles away and he, despite his better judgment, allowed Belle to take comfort against his side as they walked, until her tears were spent. There was something in her nature, that familiar stubbornness to hold her own against Peter Pan; the demon, child-stealer, and a master of guiles. But also how much of herself she was willing to give, how much she was willing to love.
It reminded him so much—too much—of Wendy.
He missed her.
But even with all of these thoughts, with that clearing so very far behind them, the mingled, agonized cries of his son and grandson would haunt the darkest corners of his mind.
She woke to blackness.
The only shred of light came from a solitary torch hung upon the wall; it barely illuminated iron bars and stone walls that made up the small cell she found herself in. Then there were the shackles that restrained her wrists and ankles, heavy and rusted with use.
"H-Hello?" Her voice cracked and she swallowed to try and sooth its coarseness. "Is…is anyone else here?"
Was she alone?
The thought made her want to scream in frustration and cry at the same time. Had she traded one prison for another?
I am alone.
And in the dark.
Wendy couldn't help the tears that began to fall.
"Peter?"