Quick Disclaimer: Sadly, and most regretfully, I do not own the characters or the essential storyline of OUAT. Wish I did, but somebody got there before I did. However, I did spin up this little tale for you all and really hope you enjoy it :) Also, this story takes place in a bit of an alternate timeline: It picks up towards the end of the episode "the outsider", skipping over the last scene with Belle and Rumpel (which I won't mention in case any of you lovelies hasn't seen it yet. This is what would have happened if Belle and Rumpel had gone home, not yet venturing to the town's line...enjoy.

Chapter One: Backfire

To awaken, face down in a pile of wet, mushy leaves, had not been Rumple's initial plan. No, this hadn't been it all. Never in his extensive memory, had his magic ever backfired on him.

But something wasn't right. He was sure of it.

He rolled onto his back, the continuous throbbing of his legs and neck kept him wanting to hold still for as long as possible. He looked up at the dark night sky, littered with stars. Storybrooke, while nothing special, at least had a decent nightscape.

But what had gone wrong? The curse, the one he had cast in secret, had landed him…here? In the woods? It made no sense; not a lick of it. But sure enough, he was outside. The smell of damp foliage and the distant chirping of bugs made that abundantly real.

The curse he'd cast had to remain a secret, though. And he hoped whatever little mishap he'd encountered hadn't put that in jeopardy. After the confrontation on the ship, after setting….him….free, Rumple had no choice but it curse Hook behind Belle's back. She'd be devastated if she knew….but if anything ever happened to her, to them, Rumple swallowed hard and sat up. He would never forgive himself.

The curse had been easy enough to set up. An oldie but goodie, if he might dabble in common language. The curse would seek out Hook, wherever he may be, and trap him somewhere he would find absolutely torturous. The mere thought of Hook spending an eternity in his own personal hell made Rumple giddy with the sort of devilish glee he was no stranger too. The curse, although he had never performed it himself, was well known and quite powerful. Perhaps the mishap had come with him being rusty? No, not even applicable. Rumple knew he was good at what he did and that left little room for error. So then why was he here, miles from home and his casting space?

With the pain receding, he began to move around. The stiffness in his bones had come from a firm landing, that much was certain. An unmistakable soreness in his rump cemented that and he stretched, trying to alleviate the discomfort. With some struggle, he got to his feet. Instantly, he found himself unsteady. His head spun like a top and he wobbled, gripping at a low lying branch for support.

But something happened. His hand did not grasp. Instead he snagged, still jerking back slightly but finding a strange, hanging balance overcome him. Rumple turned his head, frowning and the sight that followed caused a cold, hard lump to form in the base of his stomach.

A hook held his balance. A silver, pointed hook clung to the tree to keep him steady.

"Not possible." He murmured and felt sick upon hearing the deep, smooth voice of his rival.

His free hand found his throat, grasping it as if to stop the sound from coming out. Rough specks of stubble met his fingertips and he drew away again. The thought sickened him. The mere idea repulsed him. It could not be. There was no way, no possible way….

His balance returned to him ten-fold. He was on his feet and running through the trees at a speed his limp wouldn't normally allow. His heart swelled and fell and his stomach churned and tossed about as he tried to reason, tried to understand….why?

The forest was a dark maze, a confusing tangle of dead and living trees and brush. He shoved through dried branches, stomping them into the ground and kicking up dirt on his booted heels. He found himself soon enough approaching the well. The town wasn't far now.

He ran for what felt like an eternity. His body, or perhaps Hook's, was on a sort of autopilot that navigated him into a small, residential area. He never tired as he ran. He felt stronger, more nimble than he had in years. He was swift and agile, avoiding trees and potholes with the greatest of ease. As he came upon a row of middle class homes, he instinctually chose the nearest one. The windows were all dark at the house he came upon and no car was parked in the drive. He approached cautiously though, still mindful that he could be wearing the face of a not-so-well received man.

He walked up to the window, staring at the reflection glaring back. The dark hair, the sharp, handsome face, the lean, strong body all of which belonged to a younger man. Rumple lifted his good hand to stroke his youthful face then leaned close, giving the mirror his best Hook smirk.

The sight was revolting. The accuracy could make a man sick.

He wanted to stumble away, to shake his head and force his face to resurface in the glass, but nothing came of it. He was still staring into the eyes of Killian Jones.

"What have I done?" he asked in a hushed voice.

It was still Hook's voice penetrating his ears. Slowly, he looked down at the body he was residing in. He saw the lean chest, clad in a leather vest. The well worn boots adorned his feet and the buttons at the very top of his shirt was opened, revealing the beginnings of his chest. Rumple closed his eyes and allowed himself to sit for a moment. He needed a moment to collect his thoughts, to quell his confusion, to defuse his rage….and to resist the urge to purge.

He fought for his clarity. He was somehow Hook. It had something to do with the curse he'd cast, but how? How had this revolting turn of events sprung from his magic? A sudden, horrifying thought came over him.

He was inside of Hook's body. Therefore, Hook must be residing inside of him. For a moment, his brain cried out in anger how Hook hadn't left the way Rumple had demanded of him and was stalking about in the surrounding woods inside of sailing far away. But then common sense brought him back to the clear and present danger….it was quite possible that Hook was alone with Belle.

He was on his feet, wobbling a little on his longer legs. But it didn't matter. He needed to get to Belle. It was urgent. If he was alone with her, he might…

He was stopped by the hushed calling in the trees behind him. He turned, surprised by the noise. That small, older man who Hook associated with came toddling towards him. His red, floppy hat wobbling to and fro while his round, plump face giggled up and down.

"Captain!" he said in a rushed, out-of-breath way. He seemed relieved to have found him.

Rumple tried to keep the surprised look off his face and keep his features as pacified as possible.

"I've been looking everywhere for you!" he said hurriedly. "Captain, you're needed back at the ship immediately!"

"I'm busy." Was all Rumple could muster while he fought to remember the man's name. "Can't you see that?"

"But Captain" He urged as Rumple tried to walk around him. "it's urgent! It's Cora, sir. She wants to see you right away."

"Then why didn't she come find me herself?" He snapped, not meaning to sound quite as much as Hook as he did. His own impatience boiled over into his tone.

The man who Rumple remembered name was Smee, had wide eyes.

"Not the slightest idea, Captain." He said, sounding afraid. "But she sent me to get you and she was terribly serious."

Rumple allowed himself a few brief seconds to think. To not go with the portly man would indeed get him to Belle, but if Cora came to find him, moreover Hook, he could be putting her life in further danger. He pressed his lips hard together and gave a small, curt nod.

"Lead the way." He told Smee, trying to sound more bothered by the situation than to let the worry he felt show.

Smee nodded and began to bustle, if one might even call it that, back into the darkness. Rumple breathed out slowly then strode after him.

"Rumple…..Rumple?"

From far away, Killian Jones could hear a woman's voice. He turned his head slightly and tried to open his eyes. His vision blurred and the room tilted from side to side. He could see the outline of a pretty face over him. She was speaking to him, it seemed, but her words sounded like jumbled nonsense. Over both their heads seemed to hang some kind of light…a lamp, they were called? Light bulbs and such; how queer. His thoughts, clearly, were a little on the scattered side.

He tried to ask her what had happened, but his lips were dry and formed soundless words. He had been walking in the woods, last he recalled, when something hard had struck him. He could still feel the pain in the center of his chest where whatever it had hit him. His back and head also ached, hinting he might have struck something hard upon his fall.

The woman over him was calling to someone for help. He could hear another voice, this one belonging to a man.

"I came as soon as I could!" he said urgently. Killian noticed another blurry outline entered the room. "What happened?"
"I-I don't know!" the woman sputtered. "There was a flash and I heard a crash!"

"Maybe something electrical blew. Here, I'll check after we get him upstairs."

Killian, or Hook as he's better known, felt both his arms lifted. He felt a bit like a child's doll, hanging limp and loose in the arms of others.

"Grab his cane!" he heard the man instruct the woman.

Cane? What cane?

The pair of strangers dragged him up the stairs, his toes scooting across the ground. He was lead down a small hallway and into a room, where was laid down on a large, plush bed. The pair continued to speak to each other (something about magic?) but he wasn't listening. His body felt strange, pained when he tried to move. His eyes finally adjusted to the dim, artificial lighting and the room came into focus. He was certainly nowhere near where he'd been what seemed like moments ago. He rolled onto his side, spying a small door. He struggled to sit up, finding his equilibrium off upon doing so. He blinked hard, forcing his mind to calm and stop swaying like a ship on rough seas. He placed his feet on the floor and stood, still mindful of the dizzy spells.

Upon trying to take his first step, he felt a strange, out-of-place pain up his leg. He jolted, feeling his muscles seize up and cause the leg to drag. He must of injured himself in the fall, he concluding as he limped for the door. The pain was tingling, like his leg was asleep. He opened up the small door, leading with his right hand of course, and found himself in a bathroom. He stared at the toilet curiously, gathering quickly its purpose and meaning. He turned to face the sink, taking in everything very slowly and with the curiosity of a small child. He lifted his eyes to the mirror, looking over it at first like it was nothing, but then stalling. His eyes wouldn't draw from the sight and he was suddenly alarmed.

His appearance wasn't his own. Hook stared in a daft amazement as his rival glared intently back at him. He grabbed a fistful of Rumpelstiltskin's longer, thinner hair and then threw his arms out in front of him in amazement. He wiggled the fingers on his left hand over and over again, basking in the sensation he had sworn had been long lost. He looked back up at the mirror, soaking in things like the age and height difference, the thin face and pointed features. The dark looming eyes that sent small shivers of hate throughout his form. Hook had to catch his breath. With both hands, he gripped the sink, closed his eyes, than re-met his reflection.

No change. He was, indeed, Rumple.

He remained silent for a few moments, trying to decide on an emotion. Confusion? Panic? Anger? They were all definite forerunners. The biggest question was why, though. Perhaps, he reasoned while he stared down at the cold tile floor, he was dreaming. Perhaps something had struck him in the woods, like he remembered, and he was but trapped in a horrific nightmare. Or maybe, he couldn't help but chuckle darkly, whatever struck him had killed him and now this was hell.

To live on in a second life as the dreaded Rumpelstitlskin sure sounded like hell to him.

"Rumpel?"

He looked up upon hearing the voice in the doorway. Now that his eyes had adjusted, he could clearly see Belle standing there. Her long, dark hair hung on the right side of her face and her eyes, small and gentle, were full of concern for, whom she thought was, her dearest.

"Are you alright? What're you doing up out of bed?" she came to him gently, touching his arm gingerly.

Hook's first instinct was the jerk away, keeping his arm close to his chest and shooting her daggers.

"Am I dreaming?" he asked her abruptly, ignoring the strange look she was giving him.

"Dreaming?" she laughed kindly. "No of course not. Rumpel, you've had an accident. James thinks something caused a circuit to blow and you were too close. You really need to rest."

"James?" he echoed, the realization of what was going on truly dawning on him.

"Um…David?" she scrunched her face up while she tried to remember his Storybrooke name. "You know….Snow's husband?"

"Oh…yes, of course."

Belle reached out to touch him again and he allowed her to lead him to the bedroom. She helped him back down onto the bed, all while he winced at the pain in his leg. Perhaps it was the confusion settling in, but he found himself uncharacteristically passive. She leaned over him, touching his face softly and smiling at him. It was a shame, she truly was a beauty. He found himself studying her soft, feminine features the way he might one of the women he picked up on shore when he sailed about.

"Do you need anything?" she asked him tenderly.

Yes, he thought in his own bodies voice, your heart on a plate and my body back. Tute Sweet, if you please.

"I'm fine." Rumpel's rough accent peppered Hook's words in a way that made his lips twitch with dislike.

Belle nodded, giving him a tender kiss on the cheek. Her lips were surprisingly warm against his skin. Alligator skin, Hook thought bitterly as she left the room, remarking about getting some rest.

When she was gone and he was finally alone, he leaned over the side of the bed and put his face into his hands, exhaling slowly. His rubbed Rumpel's face, which was a lot smoother than he would have gathered. Perhaps, he pondered as he leaned back in thought, this didn't have to be so bad. Perhaps this could be a blessing, for the time being anyway.

Obviously, something with magic had taken place. He was almost completely certain Rumpel himself was behind it. What his motive could possibly have been switching places with him was beyond his realm of understanding. But then again, was it possible this had been an accident?

The thought made him smile wickedly. He tapped the side of his face while he mulled it over, processing the possibilities. In that case, it was only a matter of time until the tricky little bastard decided to show up.

Belle's voice floated up the stairs and he smirked again. He could do away with her quickly, or he could have some fun with it. He wanted to ensure the suffering of his rival for as long as he could muster. He would decide, he nodded, once his head and body had calmed down. Right now, he was still so shaken from the spell (or whatever it was) that perhaps the little miss's instructions to rest weren't so bad after all.

The mental image of the soft beauty came to mind once more as he settled down into Rumpel's bed. The smell of the man emitted off the pillows and sheets, along with his own clothes, and he wrinkled his nose in revolt. He would have to deal with it for now. He closed his eyes, starting to smirk as his tired body was easily eased into a slumber.

She was close enough to kill, close enough to take out without a second thought. She'd never see it coming, he scowled.

Just like Milah never did.