The shop had never been so loud.
So.
So.
So.
Loud.
That was her first thought, absurd and useless as it was the moment the first sharp crack split the air. Sound rebounded off the crowded walls of the once-peaceful pawnshop and Belle’s immediate stupid thought was that the first edition of Paradise Lost on the counter could be ripped in half.
Then came the second crack.
Then the third.
It was no sound that belonged among the gentle ticking of grandfather clocks or the easy aroma of polishing wax. It was one that belonged to the heavy iron doors of the ward, near a match to the clang of orderlies slamming shut doors as it rattled antique glass in displays and shook thirty years of settled dust from the drapes.
Belle only realized she was screaming as her throat burned, ears ringing far too powerfully for her own sound to reach her the normal way. She hadn’t decided to make the sound as her hands clamped over her ears, knees nearly dropping to the scuffed hardwood.
It just tore itself free from her mouth, raw and desperate.
Old pocket watches shook against their velvet pillows just inches from her face as thin smoke vanished to nothing in the narrow space between the counters. The scent coated the back of her tongue, harsh and metallic.
Chest heaving, wide eyes darting through her panic, Belle French finally clamped her mouth shut and pushed down her fear as the sound finally faded. The librarian ignored the way her pulse hammered in her teeth and did the unthinkable; she forced her head up and over the glass counter.
Over the rim of the glass, Belle could not fight the shudder that passed through her at the sight of a young man. Chad O’Donaghue stood there with the gun held in just one hand, hair still neat and swept back as that not-smile he wore remained in place.
He wasn’t shaking.
Belle whipped her head around, heart nearly stalling in her chest. Rumple…
She expected the worst.
She expected Rumple to be falling, fine wool of his suit torn open as blood pooled beneath his chest; the terrible reality of mortality finally catching up to her love in a place full of ticking clocks.
But no…Plink.
Plink.
Plink.Three flattened pieces of metal dropped from the breast of his immaculate suit jacket to the scuffed hardwood below, lead mangled as if striking something they could never pierce.
Rumplestiltskin stood perfectly still by the upright leather ledger, no splatter of red anywhere to be found as the man simply tilted his head. The worsted wool of his waistcoat bore three neat holes over his chest but there was no mortal wound to accompany them.
Merely the smell of singed thread.
Rumple’s gaze stayed on the boy across from him, the smile never having left his face. It was far from the warm look of caution he saved for her when she brought him tea or they watched the sunset together; the one of a man trying to remember what gentleness was.
No, it was the other one.
The one that made his eyes look like empty pits with that slow awful curl of the lip that treated the entire room like a joke only he understood.
The smile of the Beast.
"Jesus. What—" The boy lowered the barrel just the smallest bit, smile falling from his own face as his chest began to rise and fall fast. He blinked at Rumple, jaw tightening. The boy staggered backward, eyes dropping down to properly take in the sight of the bullets doing absolutely nothing. "What the hell are you?"
“Well, lad, that’s a very interesting question.” Like the rest of him, her love’s eyes did not fall, no attention paid to the ruined fabric or the bullets that had struck him and failed. “I used tae be known…” He didn’t even bother brushing the soot from his lapel as he tilted his head. "...as the Darrrk One. He leaned slightly onto the silver pommel of his cane, smile pulling wider at the corner of his mouth. All of a sudden, the room seemed to shrink — narrowing until it held only the three of them. “These days, I go by Gold."
Chad blinked, eyes still down the sights of his weapon as his gaze flicked from the bullet holes in the fabric to the man’s unbothered face. He blinked again, a short breath hitching in his chest as the barrel of the gun wavered in his grip.
"Stark difference. I know." The silver pommel tapped the floorboards as Rumple purred the words with a polite cadence that was anything but. "But the core is... largely the same. Trust me."
The silver cane lifted, pale fingers curled tighter around the silver handle and the air in the shop collapsed inward all at once. Belle’s pulse jumped at the sudden pressure, like diving too deep into a lake in the dead of winter, her heart stilling as the dust motes hovering in the light did the exact same.
Without so much as a scream, Chadwick was thrown off his feet by something Belle couldn’t see. The brass bell chimed frantically as the boy’s back struck the heavy oak of the door with a bone-jarring thud, the glass pane rattling as it refused to crack.
Yet, despite his flight, Chad did not slide down to the floor
Instead, he hung in place, suspended a full foot above the wood floors — pinned like a butterfly to a corkboard.
Belle stumbled, her legs failing her until her own back met wood — the shelves behind the counter catching her — and a hand flew to her chest. Magic terrified her as much as anything else did, even in the hands of Rumple.
Often, especially in the hands of Rumple.
It was so absolute, so overwhelming, so impossible to stand against.
When the Dark One used his magic, people were nothing against it; simple helpless marionettes on invisible strings of his power.
But something was wrong.
Chad was moving.
Shoes scraped against the door frame, soles digging for leverage against the varnish while the fabric of his jacket pulled taut across his shoulders. Cords of muscle in his neck stood out as the boy forced his chin down, somehow fighting the invisible pressure keeping his head upright and throat exposed. His right arm trembled and shook, veins bulging in the young man’s wrist as he somehow — impossibly — kept the barrel of his gun raised and pointed right at the man wielding the magic.
"You walk in my shop." Despite Chad’s actions, Rumple seemed not to care one bit as his cane hit the floorboards again with a crack nearly as loud as gunfire. "Pull a gun... and shoot me?"
The cane hit the wood again as the shop owner took another step forward. "Who the hell do you think you are?"
"Yeah, well..." The boy coughed, face flushed an angry pink. A short breathy huff forced its way through gritted teeth, the sound almost a laugh. "Hear your town's lookin' for a new deputy. Might be me."
Rumple stopped, cane paused halfway through his third step. An eyebrow rose high for all of a moment as it stayed firmly aimed at the blond young man grunting and groaning. “And so quick to police brutality? A shining example of the law if there ever was one.”“Am I supposed to give a shit?” Blue eyes sharpened, narrowed to near slits back at the man with the cane. “I don’t care about the law. I want you dead.”
A low hiss of a breath pushed through Rumplestiltskin’s teeth, the sound like a rusted hinge swinging shut. “You and so many others, young man.”“Huh.” A small half-smile hitched the corner of his mouth even as the pink of his face began to darken to a mottled red under the invisible pressure. “Y-you got their numbers? Maybe we can start a club.”
“You know…” Rumple was silent for a moment as he breathed out louder, a laugh that wasn’t spreading out through the shop. "You're more than just a lookalike. You and Mr. McHale... are too similar."
"C'mon…” The boy’s face tightened, a flinch crossing his face. "That hurt worse than the magic."
"Then let me…” Rumplestiltskin’s pale fingers curled inward, clenching tight into a fist. “Fix that."
The boy gagged, the sound wet and immediate.
His hands flew up, the gun finally clattering uselessly to the ground beneath his feet, as he clawed at his own throat. His heels kicked at the oak door, black scuff marks darkening on the wood. Those veins in his neck pushed against the skin, face darkening from red to a deepening bruised purple as he fought against a grip he couldn't even touch.
No.
Belle tasted bile even as her eyes shut, flashes of straitjackets in the back of her mind. The way the patients fought when the straps went tight, all that suffocating loss of control. No.
She rushed out, movement a frantic stumble as Belle pushed her way past the counter. Her knee cracked hard against the display case, but the flare of pain was nothing, “No!”
Bell French forced herself directly between the ledger and the front door, right in Rumple’s line of sight. "Rumplestiltskin! Please. No."
His jaw tight, those dark eyes remained locked on the boy writhing against the wood of his front door. “Belle.”“S-stop it!” Her voice shook, sounding as fragile as porcelain to her ears.
Hand still held high, that gaze refused to lower to her. "Belle, he shot me.”
"And he is a boy!" Belle shot back, anger finally breaking through. “He’s a boy, Rumple!”“Please.” He tried to snarl, but the look and the sound of it died halfway through. “By any standard, he’s at the very least a young man. Old enough for war by at least a half-decade.”“Rumple…”“Belle, I do what I must for you.”“And… and if…” Her eyes narrowed at those words, fists clenching tight at her sides. "If you kill him... I will leave. Right now."
“Wh-what?”Belle held her shoulders tight, staring firmly at Rumple. The words weren’t shouted, not that they needed to be as she stared directly into his dark eyes. The truth of it was simple and strong in her heart as anything could be. “You do this and I will walk out that door."
"Belle—"
"I mean it!"
The cane trembled against the floorboards, the shop suddenly silent except for the boy's wet gasping.
"I mean it, Rumple"
Rumplestiltskin stared at her, a muscle in his jaw jumping tight beneath his skin. That darkness churned in his gaze; frustration, disappointment and so much else she wished she could understand roiling in his eyes as he looked at her.
Slowly, pale fingers uncurled.
Chad dropped like a stone, the young man hitting the floor hard as he collapsed onto hands and knees. A greedy heave of air left him, the blond boy sucking air into bruised lungs as his shoulders shook.
Belle let out a trembling breath, fear and tension bleeding from her own shoulders as she looked back at the man she loved.
Rumplestiltskin refused to look at her as he adjusted his cuff, the movement slow and measured. “I would never have killed the brat.” He sounded almost offended at the idea as he clicked his tongue, posture softening all of a suddening with that dark coldness giving way in place of a familiar — if oily — warmth. "This was just... teaching him a lesson. For putting you in danger."
“Me?” Belle blinked at him, brow furrowed. “How?”
The tip of the cane gestured down at the scattered shell casings resting near his shoes. "If he had missed. You might have been harmed."
“M-missed?” A harsh scrape of a cough came from the front door, the sound devolving into a ragged laugh. The boy was pushing himself up, one hand rubbing the angry welt already blooming around his throat. He leaned heavily against the frame of the door, blue eyes watering and chest still heaving.
"That spread?" Somehow, that did little to stop the smirk spreading over his face. "You think I'd miss? Don't be stupid."
Gold slowly turned his head, looking down his nose at the boy. "Please leave my shop... Mr. O'Donaghue."
Despite the look he wore, Chad didn’t bother to argue.
He forced himself to stand on shaky legs, reaching out to scoop the handgun off the floorboards before rising to his full height. Shaky hands slid the handgun into his jacket before he paused to smooth his collar, breathing still ragged.
That smirk died as he turned to look back one more time. “Be seeing you, Gold.” The brass bell chimed brightly, completely at odds with the violence of the room, before the door finally clicked shut.
Belle didn’t wait.She crossed the last few feet between them in a rush, throwing her arms around him until her face was pressed against his immaculately-tailored chest. The familiar scent of him — old paper, expensive wool, and that last little bit she could never make out — flooded her nose with all of Rumple that she knew.
"Thank you.” She breathed the words into the fabric as her voice collapsed into him. "Thank you for letting him go."
"... "
Belle pulled back just enough to look up at his face, the silence enough to make her worry.
"What?" The question hung in the quiet air of the shop. "What is it?"
Rumple didn't look at her, eyes still fixed on the closed oak door as he refused to move them from the empty space where the boy had been. He swallowed before answering, two simple words seeming to take a world of effort."I didn't."
Belle let her hands drop from his waist, mouth pulling into a small frown. "You didn't what?"
"Let him go."