Neal Cassidy | Baelfire (iwillsoonbegone) wrote in thedoorway, @ 2013-03-12 23:28:00 |
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Baelfire had no intention of sitting down on Sunday evening to watch events he had no recollection of occur on a television for the eyes of millions. He would have avoided it if he could. Yet, his natural curiosity prevented it. It nagged at the back of his mind. One will die. Over and over it cycled through his mind. An advertising ploy, for certain, for its viewers but a statement of dread for himself and likely the others from Storybrooke. Up until the moment that eight o clock chimed, he had been pacing in front of the television in the cookie cutter design flat given to him by Stark Industries, hands slipping up into the strands of his hair, until he heard...a narrator...begin; Previously on Once Upon a Time... He had practically fallen onto the couch at the sound of the voice, hands slipping down from his hair to clasp together in front of his face, as his eyes stared upon the screen. Eyes were glued to the television and he found himself twitching at the sight of himself. He had never been a witness to home movies or filmed school productions or anything that would require him to be on a screen. He didn't have that childhood. He barely was accustomed to having a life with these devices in them. The closest he had to any of this was photographs and they featured a more juvenile version of himself and lined the halls of police stations. His grip tightened as realization hit him. Hook was in New York. It couldn't have been long after the time he met Henry. They were all wearing the same clothes. Hook had harmed Rumple...his father. His father was dying. The color drained from his features and he felt his stomach give a lurch. A foot kicked out, pushing the coffee table out of his way, and he slid to the floor to press his back against the bottom of the couch. Reaching backwards, he snatched up a cushion, and he clung to it against his chest, his chin burrowing into the cushion. He was silent as the events unfolded, though his grip tightened, feeling anxious with each minute that ticked away. It was going to be his Papa. His Papa was the advertising plot. His Papa was the one. His bottom lip sucked in, teeth biting down hard, as he shut his eyes. He did not give any damn of Cora or her ties to the Dark One. He didn't want to know of the Dark One's life once he had left, though he turned his head up slightly when he heard tale of a shared child. A brief, disgusted, look crossed his expression. Did his father mean to replace him? Was that his plan? Had he looked...for him at all? He had said he did and yet he was cavorting deals with scorned women. His voice was on the television and his gaze followed back to the screen. He watched as his Father spoke with the woman, who had so readily defended his Father when Baelfire arrived, and he felt a lump grow in his throat. This was wrong. He shouldn't be watching this. Yet, he was privy to it there. He would be privy to it in time. He cleared his throat, as the fear continued to settle in him, and when he saw himself grasp his father's hand, he dropped his head into the cushion with a choked noise. There he held his head, clinging to the cushion as a young boy once clung to the side of his father, until he was drawn back in by the commotion. A voice unfamiliar, naturally to him, that he now knew to be Emma's mother...and a face to align with the woman named Regina...Cora dropping to her feet...and his Father rising from his deathbed. The cushion fell slack in his arms. It shouldn't have been a trade. None of it should have been a trade. And yet...his Father was there. No matter what moral objection he felt of the circumstances or the situation, he could not deny feeling a sense of mere gratitude that his fears were overturned. His Father had not died. A shaky hand picked up the remote and with a button push, he ended his self torment, letting his head fall back to hit the edge of the couch cushions, finger tips moving to rub his brow as the night marched on. |