Upon his father’s gesture of reaching out a hand towards him, Neal allowed for his eyes to briefly flick towards the man’s outstretched limb, his thoughts clouded with darkness—-yet he managed to keep the darkest ideas at bay. However, when Rumpelstiltskin suggested taking things back to his shop, his son’s glowering eyes narrowed. To him it was yet another sign of his father’s age-old habit to try and turn every situation to his hand. No more.Rumple took a shaking step back from his son, eyes wide with fear. What had he done?! He had no idea what magic was at play here, what trickery had caused his outburst of wishing his son to see things his way to be twisted into this portrayal of his wish….but it terrified him. And for the first time in centuries…
…Rumpelstiltskin felt weak.
His body felt hollow, the absence of his powers making his limbs feel limp without the crackling magic within him, the tangled roots of darkness wrapping around his veins reminding him that he was powerful. Reminding him who was in control…not Rumple, but the Dark Magic itself…it was gone. His shattered leg ached more, no magic to soothe the constant pain of his splintered and poorly-healed knee joint. His eyes felt exhausted…having seen more than any mortal man should, witnessed years beyond what any mortal man could…
…And gods…he felt tired…old.
And yet, despite Rumple’s whole body suffering for his power disappearing, his mind seemed that much clearer. His thoughts seemed softer, easier to hear, his whole mind seeming…calmer. Quieter. No whirling thoughts in voices not his own, no chattering and hissing of dark, evil corrupting words that, for some reason, made all the sense in the world in the moments they snaked out and convinced him of their words.
Rumple had no time to relish in this newfound peace of mind, nor rest his ridiculously weary body (was he always this tired, and the magic just masked it?). Neal’s frightful glower chased any concerns for his own health away, and the man stepped forward cautiously, a hand outstretched to his son.
“B—Neal…” He quickly corrected himself, knowing better than to anger a man who’d just been hit with the full force of the Dark One’s powers. Rumple knew all too well how hard it was to control; Such limitless power suddenly lighting up one’s veins made even the most moral and pure of men giddy with strength, the euphoria of feeling the need to do everything yet having no idea what to do. The bliss of freedom it granted, at the silent cost of it stealing your sanity away bit by bit, so gradually, so softly, you didn’t even see yourself change…but everyone else did… “Neal, I-I have no idea what just happened, but it’s vital that we contain it…M-maybe we should head back t-to my shop…” Rumple tried to phrase his words in a way that didn’t make it seem like he was demanding anything of Neal, hoping not to invoke the whiplash mood-swings of the Dark One that he knew all to well. The dark magic controlled everything…its chaos corrupting every inch of the wielder, from their personality to their emotions, making them an unstable and dangerous version of themselves.
“No. No, I don’t think we should. I don’t need containing.”
And in came the dark thoughts once more, stronger than they had initially been. It was only through sheer force of will that Neal did not tear his father into two messy halves. A flick of his wrist brought the man to his knees, with every intention to have him land on his bad leg as payment for his cowardice. And then, for a fraction of a moment, the haze seemed to clear away before his eyes, and despair was clearly visible in his expression. It was clear, then, that he was fighting. He was caught up in a fight against himself.
"P-Papa…how do I—-?”
