Belle was warm. Nothing hurt. There were blankets and she had a nightgown.

It was a dream. She remembered having dreams like this, where her mother held her and her father spoke to her. She could even hug her father when she saw him and she would feel the deep rumble in his chest as he said her name.

She liked those dreams. Till they became nightmares. She would do something wrong. Maybe she tore her dress or got it dirty. Maybe she didn't pick up her toys. Whatever it was, her parents pushed her away. The guards came and took away everything—her clothes, her toys, her parents—because she couldn't be good. She couldn't take care of what she had. Then, they beat her and locked her in the dark.

But, sometimes, the dreams ended before they got that far. She was still with her parents. They loved her, and she loved them. They were still bad dreams because, when she opened her eyes, she was always in the dark.

The only thing Belle could do was try not to wake up. She ignored the fullness she felt inside her. It didn't matter anyway. There was no place to go except where she was. The wet against her legs would even be warm at first. After a while, it would get cold and sting against her skin. She wouldn't be able to sleep then, not for while.

She was always scared when she was awake. There were terrible things she couldn't see. She knew it.

But, it was worse when the door opened. There was light but it stabbed her eyes. If she was lucky, they would put gruel or water in the small bowl beside her. If she was very lucky, they would just give her a kick before closing the door again.

So, she kept her eyes closed and went where she was. She felt the warm damp. Warm, she thought and tried to go back to the dream of being in a real bed. She twisted a little. She felt the hard stuff come out her bottom and tried to ignore that, too.

Time passed. The damp began to turn cold. She also heard a voice. "Oh, no, little one, you didn't."

Belle woke up. Her blankets were being pulled back. The man—the strange man Papa had brought—was leaning over her, frowning.

That was when Belle realized it wasn't a dream. She really was in a bed wrapped up in blankets.

And she had been bad. She remembered. Good girls—girls who had nightgowns and beds—used chamber pots and garderobes.

Little girls who used their beds were punished.

The man began to lift her out of the bed. "We'll have to clean that up," he said. "Come on, little one, let's get that nightgown off you—"

She'd been bad. He was taking her clothes away. He was going to lock her up in the dark again. "I'm sorry," Belle said, hugging her arms around herself, trying to keep him from taking the nightgown. "I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry. I won't be bad—don't—don't—I'll be good. I promise, I'll be good. Don't send me back. Please, don't send me back—"

X

Rumplestiltskin had conjured up a small stack of spell books and was looking through them, trying to find something that would be of use to his new charge when he smelled urine and feces.

"Oh, no, little one, you didn't," he said. He had a brief memory of the healers' tents during the war and men too weak to call for a bedpan. He shouldn't be surprised, he thought. He'd seen how the girl was kept, squatting in her own filth and no place to escape it. A child left in filthy diaper for a few hours could develop a rash. Her skin had been red and oozing with sores. He should have realized this was something she'd need to relearn. He lifted her up, already conjuring more water into the bath. "Come on, little one, let's get that nightgown off you—"

And the little girl began to scream and beg.

Don't send me back! I'm sorry. I'll be good. Don't send my back. . . !

Rumplestiltskin had heard warriors scream with terror like this as Ogres tore them apart. The Duke of the Frontlands, hunted down by the images of the children he'd killed that Rumplestiltskin had conjured, had screamed like this before he died, as had others over the years. He'd never heard such screams from a child who only needed her nightgown cleaned.

He'd expected this before. He had looked for terror when he cleaned and bandaged her, especially when he had to touch the private parts of her body. She'd stiffened and promised to be good whenever she thought she was going to be beaten. But, there'd been nothing like this.

It took moment to understand her words and another moment more to understand what they meant.

Don't send me back. I won't be bad. Don't send me back.

What they'd done to her, she thought it was her fault, that she was being punished. Because, that was the way children thought. Maybe she'd heard the exasperation in his voice, maybe she'd remembered a little too late that her bed was the wrong place for this. Either way, she thought she was going to be punished. Taking her out of bed, trying to get the nightgown off her, she thought he meant to lock her up again for being bad.

Maurice was dead, he reminded himself. And he couldn't leave Belle to hunt down the guards who'd beaten her. This wasn't the time for revenge, much as he might want it.

Instead, he let go of the hem of the soiled, smelly gown, pulling the hysterical child into his lap. "It's all right, little one. It's all right—" He didn't think she could hear him over her screams, but he tried to calm her, repeating the same assurances over and over again. Finally, he stood up, holding her close as he walked her back and forth, keeping to the back of the small room. If he went near the door, she would be certain he was taking her to some closet or dungeon beyond.

"You're a good girl," he said. "You're a wonderful girl. No one's going to lock you up, Belle. Never. I promise you're safe with me."

In the end, she didn't calm so much as she simply wore out. The screams died to sobs, and the sobs weakened to shudders. She was still shaking in his arms. She was too weak, he thought. Her strength couldn't match her fear. He rubbed her back, thinking of Bae when he was little, when he held his son tight as the soldiers rode by, searching for Ogres who had fought their way too close to the village. Despite it all, Bae had been easier to soothe. But, Bae had believed in him. His power to protect the little girl in his arms was so much greater than the power he'd had then to protect her son, but the child he held didn't know that—and she had no reason to believe he would use it for her if she did.

"Belle," he said softly. "Belle, there's a bath of warm water over there. Will you let me clean you up? It's all right if you don't want to. I understand. But, look, there's another nightgown over there—" It was white with a bit of blue ribbon that matched her eyes, neatly folded up by the towels drying by the fire. At this point, he wasn't entirely sure he cared if she realized it hadn't been there a few minutes ago, so long as it didn't frighten her.

Rumplestiltskin stepped toward the bath. Belle whimpered and clung to him. He stopped. "It's all right, little one. We're not leaving the room. We won't go any farther than the bath. You have my word." He still wasn't sure how much she understood though he remembered she'd said, "Don't send me back." Different words than she'd used earlier and not ones she would have said when she was locked up in the dark, were they? That meant she hadn't forgotten everything , didn't it? He supposed that counted as a bright side in all of this.

He continued to speak to her as he walked over to the bath. Belle held on tight, her little fingers white-knuckled. Was this agreement? Refusal? She didn't have the strength to cry or sob. He knelt down, half-in, half-out of the tub again. He had to bring up a bigger one next time, he thought. If he was going to get his clothes soaked, it might as well be in a tub he could sit down in instead of balancing over the edge.

With a sharp look from him, the bandages he'd wrapped so carefully unraveled on their own, falling into the water. He kept Belle on his lap while scrubbing her, which was not the best way to clean off a child's bottom, but he managed. He could still see the fright in her eyes as he pulled off the soiled gown. She was too tired to fight, he thought, feeling far more like a monster than he usually did. The towels were still damp from her last bath, but that was what magic was for. He dried her off quickly before pulling the blue ribboned gown onto her.

"Little one, what happened wasn't your fault." Soiling the bed, being locked in the dark, how to tell her she wasn't to blame for any of it? "I should have expected that. It was my fault for not thinking. I have something that will take care of that. You'll see."

He took her back to the bed, which now had two little drawers built into the bottom of the frame (and he could only hope he didn't have to come up with any more subtle ways to "find" what he needed before morning). He opened one and pulled out a large, cloth diaper, big enough for a child her size.

"I've seen grown men who had to use these," he told her, wondering if she had a normal five-year-old's prejudice against being treated like a baby. "Men who were—" he probably shouldn't tell her about the horrors of being one of the wounded in the healers' tents during the Ogre War, "—very sick and couldn't use bedpans—Do you know what a bedpan is, little one? It's a sort of chamber pot they can take to beds for sick people—some of the men couldn't use them, so they made big, thick diapers for them. They got better—" some of them, "—and so will you. In the meantime, we'll just use this, shall we?"

He tried to put her down, but she held onto him. She was so worn out and her grip was so weak, he could have brushed her aside as easily as a dry leaf. But, he could imagine how great her terror was if was using the last of her strength to cling to the terrible monster that he was, even now. Reluctantly, he went through the very tricky maneuver of diapering a girl while she held him tight, sitting on his lap. It was a good thing for all concerned he wasn't human anymore or he would have likely impaled both of them on the diaper pins before he was done.

There was still the matter of changing the sheets on the bed.

Rumplestiltskin sighed. The second drawer had more bedding. He'd meant to strip off the sheets, magically mute the smell before putting them aside (the mess in them carefully bound up in the folds), turn the mattress over while using a spell to clean and dry it without Belle noticing, and put on fresh linen. However, while he didn't sleep, Belle wasn't the only one getting worn out. He'd had about enough of juggling one handed. Besides, he didn't think the girl would let him put her down.

He still got rid of the smell.

Rumplestiltskin walked her back and forth, rubbing small circles on the child's back till she fell asleep in his arms.