Spin me a Tale

Rumplestiltskin; also known as Mr Gold, the imp, the beast, the crocodile, the Dark One, cripple, spinner, husband, coward, father, lost boy. As Rumple lies in stasis his heart becomes a blank page. It is up to the residents of Storybrooke to retrieve, witness and record his memories if they are to have any hope of awakening the one man who can understand the Dark Swan, and clip her chaotic wings. But as each takes a turn, they are thrust not only into an unfamiliar time and place, but into a personal grappling with their own identity as heroes and bystanders.

Warnings: Rating may increase. Mentions of violence and rape/non-con occur later, and chapters will be appropriately marked. Season Five AU.

Disclaimer: I don't own Once Upon a Time, much as I'd love to!

Operation Dart-Frog

'Purest evil, blackest bloom (A), / darkness, too, can find its doom [tomb?] (A). / Never dying, but [[estranged]] contained (B), / bound inside the falcon's [talon's?] chamber (C). / Shorn of anger, thornless [sic] danger (C), / there forever to remain' (B).

Belle clicked her ballpoint pen impatiently, and circled the last word of each alternative line. Doom. Chamber. Remain. Sighing, she returned to the keyboard of the old library computer, clunking the letters in carefully.

'F-a-l-c-o-n* c-h-a-m-b-e-r'

She scanned the search results wearily. Real estate agents in London, solicitor services in New York, various raptor mews. No magic, no myths. Still nothing of use.

Her notebook was covered in delineations and re-phrasings, library index numbers and scrawled out questions. She'd started with the basics, jotting down the simple definition of each word, in case there was something obvious connecting them.

Falcon: ˈfɔː(l)k(ə)n,ˈfɒlk(ə)n/ - noun - a diurnal bird of prey with long pointed wings and a notched beak, typically catching prey by diving on it from above.

When that heralded no success, she experimented with rhymes and poetry structure. If she was correct in separating the stanza into six lines then it was a sestet, with the rhyming pattern AABCCB. But she'd found nothing to indicate that the metre of a spell affected what it did.

"I don't even know if I remembered the words correctly," she murmured. And one wrong word could throw everything off.

With a soft groan she lowered her head into her hands, thinking. Last night she'd fallen asleep, surrounded by books, her head leaning against shelf 146: Natural History. The same shelf that he'd stood by just after giving her the keys to the library that day. When he'd confessed that she had been right: he was a coward. And then he'd—

The library door creaked open.

"Uh, sorry we're close—" she blinked, looking up, "Oh. Hi Henry"

"Hey Belle"

The lad didn't look so good—dark circles ringing his eyes, fatigued expression—he must be getting about the same amount of sleep as I am.

"Can I—can I help you?" she asked, slightly puzzled.

With all his usual, easy familiarity Henry pushed himself up to sit on the counter of the circulation desk. He smiled slightly when he caught sight of her calculations.

"You're . . . trying to figure out the Apprentice's spell?" he tilted his head, reading, "Why the Sorcerer's hat couldn't contain the darkness?"

"Uh, not exactly," Belle started to gather her papers more neatly, "I'm trying to understand what happened to Rumple's heart" she closed the cover of her notebook.

"You mean after all the darkness was sucked out of it? It went all white and glowing, then the Apprentice put it back inside him"

Belle hesitated. Perhaps it would be useful to get a second opinion. Putting down her pen, she joined Henry, pushing herself up to sit on the other side of the counter, her legs resting on the receptionist's chair below. She looked down at her hands, fingers fidgeting with a bookmark she'd plucked from the stationary pot.

"I think there's more to it than that," she confided, glancing across at her—grandson? Friend?

Henry looked back at her expectantly. Confidently. The librarian straightened slightly and took a breath.

"Well, when the Apprentice cast his spell, the darkness imbued in Rumple's heart did enter the hat. But so did something else. Even then, right at the end, there was still that tiny speck of red. His humanity," she added, her voice softening, "his ability to love". A flicker of light in an ocean of darkness.

The young boy nodded in understanding, "So, you're trying to work out where that went?"

"I am," she nodded, "After that night I spent every waking moment sitting in a chair at the hospital, but it's been three days and nothing's changed. Yesterday evening I realised that I wasn't really doing anything. Not really—not to help. If his humanity stayed sealed in that hat, I need to figure out a way to free it: to wake him up"

Henry bit his lip, "I thought you two weren't . . . After you ban—uh, after Mr. Gold left Storybrooke . . ." he trailed off.

Belle heaved a light sigh. "We're not. But I—I would like to talk to him. We didn't really get any chance to discuss things before. Everything happened so quickly," I didn't give him the chance. At the town line, I told him it was my turn to talk. "And . . . just before the Apprentice took his heart, Rumple said something that he'd said once before, years ago, and I guess it makes me want to know what he was thinking".

A moment passed.

Henry looked across at his perhaps-grandmother, his hands in his coat pockets, "And if that speck of red isn't in the hat? If you can't find his humanity?"

"Then I suppose I'll have to find another way to wake him from the preservation spell," she replied glumly, setting the bookmark down.

"We," Henry corrected. Belle tilted her head, her gaze questioning, and he continued, "We'll have to find another way to wake him"

"You—you want to help me? Help Rumple?" her blue eyes narrowed slightly.

Henry jumped lightly down from the counter, and turned to face her.

His voice held a thread of guilt, "I came here because I wanted to know if you wanted to help him. I know he's done some pretty bad stuff to you as well as the others, so I just wanted to check where you stood, I guess, before I asked you"

"Huh," Belle slid off the counter, digesting his words carefully, "Asked me what?"

"If you'll take part in Operation Dart-Frog"

It had taken Belle less than a minute to shut down the computer and lock the library doors—after all, there was no need to tidy up properly. She was keeping the facility out of use to the general public this week, popping up her little handwritten 'Town Emergency'note in the window with her phone number. She tried not to think about how frequently that poor, battered sign had been in use since she'd made it. As she and Henry made their way along the road to Granny's, he began to fill her in.

"So after my Mom took on the darkness and disappeared, she left the dagger behind. Hook tried to summon her, but it didn't work—Mom said it's because she isn't in our world, so it's like she can't hear him calling"

"Right," Belle nodded, trying rapidly to puzzle out which of his mothers Henry was referring to in any given moment; it seemed to make sense to him at least, which was a miracle in itself, "Go on"

"Since then Mom and Robin have been looking through all the spell books in her vault, and Gramps and Grandma Snow have been talking with Leroy and the others, and working at the Apprentice's house to try to figure out a way to open a portal to take them to my Mom. And Hook and I have been going through items in the shop to see if anything has a link to Camelot or Merlin"

"Hook," Belle said tightly, failing to hide her distaste. Of all the people Rumple wouldn't want to find rifling through his shop, the pirate was surely chalked up as number one. Henry seemed not to notice her aversion.

"Yeah, he's been alive for nearly as long as Mr. Gold has, and spent plenty of it travelling across different lands, so he's pretty good at recognising insignia and stuff"

"So what do you want me for?" the librarian wrapped her unbuttoned coat more closely about her, folding her arms, "And what was it you were saying about a frog?"

"I think we're going in the wrong direction. No-one seems to be thinking about what we're going to do when we get to Camelot, or when we get to my Mom"

He pushed open the door to the diner, and Belle followed him in. She was surprised to find herself face to face with a room full of heroes. And a pirate. Charming and Snow were eying her wordlessly, Leroy seemed pleased to see her; Regina and Robin were mid-conversation at one of the booths, Hook was sitting at the bar, and Granny was wiping down glasses. Ruby came out of the kitchen and, on catching sight of her friend, flashed her a quick smile.

Last time I came in here it was to ask for help—the Dark One was about to consume Rumple once and for all. And after the darkness burst free, not one of them came back. Not to check on me, not to help me move Rumple. One word from Emma and the others had rushed to make the Apprentice comfortable. But for the unconscious body of the actual owner of the shop, a man they've known for years? Not even a second glance. I had to call an ambulance.

"What am I doing here, Henry?" Belle asked curtly.

"I was about to ask the same thing" Regina replied with a slight sneer, "We're supposed to be finding Emma, not librarians". But a glance from Robin and a slight squeeze of the hand left her trail of thought there. Belle subconsciously rested a hand over her heart as she watched the Mayor.

"I know," Henry replied, holding out his hands as if to pause them all from barbing each other for a second, "But we're doing it wrong"

Snow shifted restlessly, and it didn't take Belle long to recognise that the former princess looked the worst of all of them.

Before he could be interrupted Henry ploughed onwards, "Who is the only living ex-Dark One? Who is the only one among us who we have reason to believe has travelled to Camelot—who may have even met Merlin himself? Who is the only one who knows how the darkness works, and what happens immediately after you take it on? Perhaps even, where you go? Mr. Go—"

"Rumplestiltskin is nothing like her," Snow interrupted, "My daughter is good—"

"Because you forced her to be" Regina retorted, "And now she's totally unprepared for any kind of darkness, let alone the darkness"

"That's not fair," Charming interjected, "We were told—"

Crash. A glass tumbler shattered against the wall, nearly knocking the dart-board from its nail. It took a moment for Belle to trace its flight back to a now-clenched fist, cased in black leather. The smell of rum coiled in the air.

"Let the boy finish" Hook growled.

In the guilty silence that followed, Henry pushed his plan harder, "We need to find a way to wake up Mr. Gold as soon as we can. Otherwise, we're just stabbing in the dark," he insisted, trying not to linger on the accidental pun, "We've spent three days looking for clues to help us get to locations, and we don't even have a plan for when we get there. You're all strong people," he pleaded, looking around the room, "but I think we need to be smart too—plan ahead like Mr. Gold always did, otherwise we might make things worse," he took a deep breath, "I want to find my Mom. But when I do, I want to be able to help her"

Charming nodded, feeling a warm surge of pride for how naturally Henry seemed to have taken to acting the hero—gathering the community, leading them together with a common purpose, a powerful speech. A few others in the room gave their own nods of consent—Leroy and Robin seemed convinced—and Henry allowed himself a grin.

"So this . . . this is Operation Dart-Frog?" Belle said slowly from behind him. Ruby had laid out an iced tea on the counter for her, and she took it with a grateful glance. Granny slid a mug of cinnamon-covered hot chocolate over to Henry. He tried to ignore the pang he felt when he saw it. There should be two.

"Yep. Or rather, Operation Golden Poison Dart-Frog. The Phyllobates terribilis species is said to be the world's most poisonous vertebrate. But I reckoned Dart-Frog was catchier. And I thought it was appropriate 'cause, you know. Mr. Gold," Henry slid onto a stool, and scooped up a dollop of cream with his finger.

"Huh, better than Operation Golden Labrador," Charming murmured, standing alone, arms-folded in the centre of the diner, while Belle shook her head admiringly, appreciative of a fellow bookworm. He thinks we can do it. He believes we can bring back Rumple.

"You're pretty smart for your age Henry," Leroy noted, raising a finger to ask for a refill. Charming glanced down, but Snow must have slipped off to the bathroom.

"I was the only kid in my classes getting older for five years. It wasn't all that hard to get ahead and read outside the curriculum," he shrugged his coat off.

"Henry"

Looking up from his cocoa, the boy found Regina beside him, her eyes filled with worry and ringed with exhaustion.

"Hey Mom"

"Henry, listen," she began, resting a hand on his shoulder, "I know you want to help find Emma. We all do, and we're all trying our best. But one thing is certain—the Dark One is immortal, which means that Emma is alive. Alive and waiting for us somewhere. But Gold doesn't have that going for him anymore. There's no telling when or if he'll ever wake up, and if—" she shot a warning glance at Belle, who had moved forward and was scowling back at her, "if he does, he won't have any magic—any power to—"

The librarian cut her off, "Knowledge is power. Rumple was the Dark One for three centuries—"

"Yeah," the Mayor shot back, "and he is now a mortal man over three hundred years old, who's lost his favourite crutch and whose main concern will probably be rheumatism, if he wakes up from his coma". Hands on her hips, Regina squared her shoulders and gave a short bark of laughter, "How long do you think that will last? Before, no-one in Storybrooke could match him in power, now, heaven knows, no practitioner of magic here can match him in being elderly"

"Actually," a low voice spoke from behind them, "that's not true, sister". Leroy turned to look at Regina, raising his hands as if it were obvious, "Fairies?"

"Mother Superior," Charming breathed, "Her power is an ancient one. She might know something"

Regina frowned, "Has anyone even seen Blue since Isaac and Gold created their little topsy-turvy land? Was she in that version?"

"I didn't have the time to read the whole book," Henry admitted, scalding his tongue as he knocked back the dregs of his hot chocolate. He grabbed his coat, "But I can guess where we might find her"

Charming looked around for Snow, his tone apologetic, "We left Neal with Ashley"

"Don't worry about it," Henry replied, flashing a flippant smile, "I'd like the driving practice"

Seeing the colour drain from the prince's face, Belle chipped in quickly, "I'll go with him. I want to hear what Mother Superior has to say"

"Take my keys," Regina insisted. She rolled her eyes at Charming's incredulity, "I cast a protection spell on the car"

Across the room Killian cleared his throat, his voice hoarse. "Well, this has been a real riot," the pirate stood up, "But I'm sorry lad: my money's not on the crocodile. I'll be heading back to the shop"

As he made to swing from the stool, a hand reached out and grabbed his hook, pinning his arm against the counter.

Granny's eyes were fierce, "But before you do that, you're going to take this dustpan and brush and clean up the glass you broke. This ain't some brigand's tavern" she growled.

Killian freed his arm and waved it at her, "Hook!"

She waved the brush back, "Apathetic!"

Leaving them to bicker, Belle and the boy slipped out of the diner.

Henry waited, trying not to rap his fingers impatiently on the banister of the stairs, as Belle took a series of deep breaths. The sooner we can wake up Mr. Gold, the sooner we find a way to bring Mom back—to defeat the darkness. And the sooner everything gets back to normal—or as normal as it can get around here.

"Ah, come on Belle—I didn't drive that badly"

"No, no. You were great," the librarian replied, wincing.

"May I help you?" a slight young woman with auburn hair had appeared at the door of the covenant, a long blue scarf trailing from her neck.

"Oh, Sister Astrid," Belle straightened up, still a little nauseous, "We were hoping to have a word with Blue"

The nun smiled at them, hesitant, "She-she's in the gardens, but she doesn't always like having vi—"

"Thanks Astrid!" Henry was already bounding down the steps, calling a thank you over his shoulder, so, with an apologetic smile to the fairy, Belle followed him, a hand on her stomach.

They found Mother Superior tending to a briar of roses growing beside a stone fountain, which was surrounded by perfectly symmetrical square hedges. Pruning the dying heads and trimming back the thorns, the nun must have heard them coming, for she spoke without turning from her task.

"And what brings you two to the gardens of the Sisters of Saint Meissa? Gardening here is a meditative task, and not one usually disturbed," her voice was light, airy, but Belle thought she could sense the edge of steel beneath it.

"Uh, we, well we're sorry for disturbing you, Mother," she began, "It's just that we wanted to ask for the advice of someone who has been around for a bit . . . longer. About something magical?"

The Abbess continued pruning.

"Do you know what happened after I undid Isaac's story?" Henry asked, "What the Apprentice tried to do with the darkness?"

"Of course," she turned with a small smile, pruning shears glinting in the light, "And now you both wish to find Miss Swan. Well, I'm afraid it's beyond even my power to locate the Dark On—"

"That's not what we want," Henry interjected, "I mean, it is, but that's not what we came here to ask. We want to know how to wake up Mr. Gold"

Mother Superior stared at him for a second, her voice incredulous, "You wish to wake up Rumplestiltskin, the instigator of the curse which trapped us all here? The imp who brought more destruction and evil to the Enchanted Forest than the combined efforts of all other practitioners of magic?" she continued, ignoring Belle, who was shaking her head silently, eyes wide, "You wish to revive the darkest sorcerer the world has ever suffered to experience? The very embodiment of deceit, cruelty and manipulation?"

"Wh-what?" Belle spluttered, "How can you say that? He had the darkness in him, just like Emma does now—he fought against it, tried to be a good man—"

"To you, perhaps, for a time. But have no doubt, dear girl, that you were just another pawn in the game. Indeed, it seems almost as if you two were his favourite victims" the nun's words were calm, absent of emotion, "Even here, even without magic for 28 years he was a tyrant, impoverishing those who could not meet his demands. Storybrooke, and all the realms beyond it, are safer for him being unable to wake"

"Unable? What do you mean unable? The Apprentice said if the strength was there—"

"And the Apprentice also said that the Sorcerer's hat could contain the darkness, did he not?" Blue's eyes flashed with a cold fire, "Never trust the work of someone still in his lessons". She turned to leave, gathering her skirts.

Belle strode forward, clasping the nun's elbow desperately, "But what about his humanity? The speck of red that—"

"—has long since been consumed by the darkness, if it was ever there," Blue delicately lifted her hand and removed Belle's grasp, her grip firm and matronly, "Try John 3:19-20, if you can only believe what you read in books. Any dream of goodness you saw in that creature is just that—a dream," she stepped away from them.

"So you truly believe that his humanity is gone?" Belle pushed, "I thought perhaps—with a white heart . . ."

Mother Superior paused, her back to them and her voice barely audible, "White, you say?"

Henry and Belle exchanged a glance.

"Yeah, and sort of glowing," the boy answered.

Mother Superior turned to face them, a small smile growing on her lips, "Then we have nothing to fear"

Belle fidgeted, her eyes wide and confused.

The Abbess smoothed her skirts, and tucked a loose strand of hair back into her bun, before continuing, "If his heart is white, then the imp Rumplestiltskinis no more—he's a blank slate, a clean page, and without his memories, without his dark and twisted little pieces of identity, he will never wake," she spread her hands, eyeing the shocked faces of the librarian and the boy, "To put it in a way you'd both understand: his book is empty"

Belle exhaled sharply, as if she'd been dealt a blow to the stomach. Her mind racked over the events of the last few days. If he can't remember, maybe that means . . . it would have worked. The sing-song speeches and solemn statements in her head began to blur. It's forever, dearie. He will never wake. Never. Forever. Henry stared at the nun as she turned once more to leave, his heart sinking.

"Oh, and which of my novices welcomed you, may I ask?"

"I don't remember" Henry answered firmly. A moment passed.

The nun nodded, "Good day"

The sun appeared from behind a cloud, and bathed the garden in a gentle light. Belle seated herself on the edge of the water fountain, placing her palms against the cool stone. Henry sat down to her right, thinking hard and trying to come up with a positive. It was several minutes before he spoke.

"At least we know more about what happened to Mr. Gold's heart"

She shook her head, "No . . . no, I refuse to believe that this is it; that we should just give up hope. If the good in him—if our love was just a dream . . ." Then I've spent far too many years slumbering instead of living.

"Don't put it away," a gentle hand rested on top of Belle's and a voice spoke to her left.

"Astrid," Belle hadn't noticed the slight young woman approach, let alone join her in perching on the edge of the fountain, "What are you doing here?"

"Oh," the fairy replied, with a little giggle, "I live here. I'm a nun" she pointed to her habit.

"Yes," Belle replied with a sad smile, "I know"

"Thanks for not ratting me out," the novice said quietly to Henry, peering round Belle's back, "I don't tend to do much right around here"

"As a nun, or as a fairy?" Henry asked curiously.

The smile faded from Astrid's eyes, and she bit her lip. "Both," she looked down at her hands, realised one was still on Belle's and took it back into her own lap, "but I heard you talking"

"Ah, yes," Belle said, her shoulders sagging slightly, "Looks like Operation Dart-Frog has hit a bit of a road-block"

Astrid's brows furrowed, but she shook the confusion off with a toss of her head, "Well, I think I might know of something that can help"

She reached into her habit and withdrew a small, transparent stone, which she placed in Belle's open palm. The librarian's mouth dropped open, and she raised the offering carefully to the light.

Astrid smiled, "It's a—"

"A memory stone," Belle breathed, "Yes, I know. I was given one once before. But how did you—W-what are you saying?"

The novice nodded towards the stone, "This one's empty. Normally there's a memory inside, and you have to return to the place in which the memory was first experienced, boil the stone and drink the water to remember"

Or make it into tea. I guess that was a personal touch. "But how could this help Rumple? I'm afraid if what Blue said is true, he hasn't lost one memory—he's lost all of them. And he's been so many places, I don't think I could ever brew enough tea, even with an unlimited supply of magic beans and all the time in the world. I wouldn't know where to start"

"That's the thing. With an empty one like this, if you use an item that connects you and the, uh, memory-loser, you can walk among their memories yourself. Then when you wake up, well, I'm afraid that's the tricky part. You need to get the author to write it all down, exactly as you saw it. From what I've heard Isaac isn't the most congenial of fellows, but if he's safe in the Sheriff's jail, you might be able to convince him to help," she smiled, slightly anxious for their reactions.

Henry's face broke into a smile, and he leapt up from the fountain, "But we don't even need Isaac: I'm the author. I can do it—Belle, I can write it all down!" the librarian jumped up to join him, "We'll get one of those blank books from the Sorcerer's house and then I . . ." he trailed off suddenly, and he reached into the inside pocket of his coat. He drew out two halves of an old-fashioned pen.

"What's that?" Belle asked, the hope faltering in her blue eyes.

"The Author's pen," he replied, regret swirling in his chest. I was an idiot to snap this thing in half. It may have been tempting to write the stories as I wanted them to go, but I still need to be able to record everything. His heart wrenched as he saw Belle's face fall—she was the only one who'd really shown any enthusiasm for Operation Dart-Frog, and now he was the one causing obstacles for it—for her happy ending, whatever that was. Being with Grandpa Gold, having closure enough to move on—whatever, I can't let her down now. And, even more than that, my Mom needs me. This is our best shot. "It's OK," he forced a smile, "I'll start collecting Mr. Gold's memories, and I'll write them down in a normal book for now, and you can research how to fix the pen. Does that—"

He stopped short as voices rose across the gardens, "Astrid? Astrid!"

The fairy jumped up in a flutter of panic, "Oh, the others are looking for me. I'm supposed to be, uh, washing the vegetables. Oh, I am sorry, but I have to go," she threw the tail of her scarf haphazardly over her shoulder.

The voices were growing in volume and proximity, and with a farewell glance the novice disappeared behind the hedges, trotting towards the convent.

Belle stared after her, something in her gaze conflicted. Why would she help us so much? Give away such a valuable item? But as the sun once again broke free from the clouds, the optimistic streak in her won through. Perhaps she's a fan of true love.

"Mom! . . . Mom? Hello?"

Henry made his way down the steps into the vault, a hand clutched around the memory stone, and the two pieces of the broken pen tucked away safely in his inner coat pocket. He'd texted Belle a photo of the latter, and she'd headed for the library to begin research, via a hospital detour to check in on Gold. They'd argued briefly about which of the two of them should be the one to venture into Mr. Gold's memories, as Belle held reservations about the intrusion into her husband's—ex-husband's?—privacy. She'd blushingly implied that there would some violent actions within his memories, but also possibly some "uh, a-adult" ones. Gross. In return, he'd reasoned both that being the Author and witnessing the stories of others was now his professional responsibility, and also that he was a teenager, and this was technically the time in his life in which he was supposed to be finding out about such dark and dangerous things. Though most teenagers use the internet, rather than their comatose grandfather's memories. Ugh.

But it was his next point that made enough sense to Belle as a reader to convince her; as the Author he would have to write it all down anyway, so if he witnessed the memories first-hand, they'd be less likely to become distorted through re-telling.

"Mom, Belle and I just got back from the convent. You'll never guess what—"

There was a strange scuffling noise from below, and as Henry rounded the corner Regina and Robin broke apart. For a brief moment he thought he may have interrupted something "a-adult", and immediately wished he could turn in his 'teenager' status and stay a kid forever—nothing will ever prepare me for witnessing that. But then he noticed his Mom's eyes, red and puffy, and noted that she was leaning rather heavily on the table behind her.

"Are . . . are you OK?" he faltered, unsure whether or not to back-track up the steps.

"I'm fine Henry, just a little tired," Regina replied, with a smile that didn't quite reach her eyes. Robin looked at her without masking his worry, "What was your news?"

"Uh, well, actually Blue was pretty against the idea of waking up Mr. Gold"

Regina snorted, "No surprises there," and for a moment looked far more like her normal self.

"But Astrid was really helpful," he continued, "Apparently when his heart got turned white, all of Mr. Gold's memories were kind of wiped, but she gave us this so that we can get them back," he held out the stone.

Regina immediately started forward, and took the stone carefully in her hands, turning it over in the light.

"What is it?" Robin asked, resting a gentle hand on her back.

"It's an empty memory stone," she answered, impressed, "Remarkable. I haven't seen one in person before; it's said that using this in conjunction with a connecting item will allow you to walk the memories of another," she lowered the stone, "but it would only allow for so many memories—these things have a finite amount of space, you know"

"Oh," Henry bit his lip. He hadn't thought of that, "Astrid had to go before she could explain fully how to use it. But she did say that if we were able to witness Mr. Gold's memories and then write them down, uh, Author-style, we should be able to wake him up," he raised his eyes from the stone, hopeful.

"Hmm," Regina turned and placed the stone carefully on the table, extending a small coil of magic to probe it.

Robin glanced up at Henry, and back at Regina, "Wouldn't it be a bit . . . dangerous, to go diving into the mind of one such as Rumplestiltskin?"

Regina gave a small shrug, "You can't effect someone else's memories and so they can't effect you, at least not in that way. Though there are stories of people who have starved to death, or woken to find hundreds of years have gone by," she caught Henry's worried look, "Stories in the Enchanted Forest that is . . . we have vending machines here," she added.

Robin cleared his throat, wondering briefly if a vending machine was the non-magic equivalent to a preservation spell. He made a mental note to ask Regina later. The Mayor handed the stone back to Henry, who placed it carefully into the inside pocket of his coat, to join the broken pen.

"Well, at least diving into the memory realms will keep that little librarian and her ridiculously over-ambitious heels out of my way for a spell," Regina smiled. With a warning glance at Robin, who was frowning doubtfully, Henry decided to wait until his Mom had a glass of wine with dinner before mentioning that he was actually going to be the realm-diver.

He looked at his mother, changing the subject swiftly, "But what are we going to do about the memory stone running out of space? Three centuries is a long time, and it's a pretty small stone"

Regina leant back against the table, her arms crossed thoughtfully, "Well, I haven't done a huge amount of reading around memory manipulation, beyond practical experience with hearts," she winced at her own honesty, but Robin seemed to bring that out in her, "But I think the general idea is that memories are connected by a very delicate web—like threads in a dreamcatcher, so little things in one memory; an object, a landscape or phrase, for example, can trigger the return of other memories. In theory, if you gathered a wide enough variety, the subject's mind would start to fill in the blanks". Suddenly noticing her son's entranced expression as she spoke, the former Evil Queen felt a rush of warmth in her chest. I'm teaching him about our world. How could I ever have tried to make him believe he was deluded?

She couldn't resist reaching out to brush his hair back with her hand, and was satisfied that at least now if he ducked away it was from embarrassment, not revulsion.

Robin gave a wry smile—looking at Henry was like looking at a grown-up vision of Roland, and his heart soared at the possibility that he and Regina together would be mussing their lad's hair, and seeing his teenage discomfiture as—well, as parents.

"Uh, guys?" Henry waved his hands at them a little, "Standing around smiling is nice and all, but perhaps we could go to Granny's and do it where they serve food?"

With a chuckle Robin assented, "Yeah, it would probably do our lungs good too to get back into the open air. It's really dusty down here," he ran a demonstrative finger down the table, and jumped when Regina suddenly clapped her hands.

"Dust! That's it!" she exclaimed, and Henry raised an eyebrow.

"You want us to do some cleaning down here before dinner?" he joked.

"No, no, don't you see? Why do you think the dwarves and fairies grind up diamonds, rather than just harnessing the raw power of the stone?"

"To create more employment opportunities?" Robin guessed with a smile.

Regina swatted him playfully, "No. It's to spread out the power of the stones—powder can be used more sparingly than chunks of rock. And if they can make fairy dust . . ."

Henry caught on, "We can make memory dust!"

He grinned and gave his Mom a quick hug before dashing up the steps, calling out for them to hurry up over his shoulder.

"Wait, Henry, where are we going?" Regina asked, her heels clicking against the stone stairs, smiling as she felt Robin take her hand.

"To see a dwarf about a pickaxe"

"Are you sure about this?" Ruby asked, peering over Leroy's shoulder at the small stone, and trying to avoid losing an eye as he swung around, the pickaxe resting over his shoulder.

"Are you questioning the mining ability of a dwarf?" he barked back gruffly, "Next to stealing from us, no-one does that, sister"

Ashley gave the waitress an anxious look, "I'd be more worried about your cape, Rubes. Is it going to be alright with a stone being smashed right on top of it?"

Ruby gave a wry smile, "If it can cope with me wolfing out for years, I think it can cope with acting as a dust-collector. Besides, I don't really need it anymore. No wonder I never took to running in human form. Once you've done it properly, it's not easy to sett—"

Henry coughed rather pointedly.

"Alright, alright," Leroy said, and indicated that the others should stand back.

"Do you know which item you're going to use, Henry?" Robin asked, "Do you have anything connecting you to Rumplestiltskin?"

"Yeah, I do," the boy smiled, drawing out the pendant from his pocket and glancing at his Mom, who acknowledged it reluctantly with a small smile, still bristling at the revelation that he intended to dive into the memories of her former mentor himself. It probably hadn't helped that he'd also arranged to stay at the Charming household tonight, to be all the closer to the hospital for an early start. "I thought it would be better than the napkin from a hotdog he bought me in Manhattan"

"You kept a napkin?" Ruby snorted.

Henry smiled, "It was my first road trip with my Mom. I kept everything—plane tickets, shop receipts, even napkins"

Regina's smile faltered.

Henry stood a little closer to her, "And maybe once all this is over, you and I could take a road-trip? I've always wanted to see—"

Leroy grunted, and it was only then that Henry realised he'd been holding the pickaxe above his head, ready to strike, and waiting for silence for some time.

"Sorry," he murmured, and conversation ceased. The wind picked up, rustling the clothes of the small crowd gathered in the street outside the diner. Henry took a deep breath.

This is it. Operation Dart-Frog. If this works, we may have enough dust for me to retrieve plenty of memories to wake up Mr. Gold with. And then we can figure out how to free Mom from the darkness. . . And if it doesn't . . .

With a deep grunt of effort, Leroy brought the pickaxe down.