amicustenebris | PSL - For Archie, Set After 4a

Entry tags:

PSL - For Archie, Set After 4a

With a kind of numbness that he hadn't felt since he cast Belle out of his castle and destroyed half his collection, Rumpelstiltskin made his way to civilization the very same night he was sent away. Once he hit the interstate it was not long before someone pulled over to offer help to the hobbling man, who looked like he'd wandered from a wreck. The stranger said they'd seen an abandoned car down the way a bit and offered to get him into town to call a tow truck.

He took advantage of his good fortune and was quickly able to access food, an ATM, a cane, and finally a place to collapse and eventually rent a car the following morning. He had thoughts of what he would have to do to figure out a way back over the town line. He understood the magic at work there, knew he could only go back in if summoned back in. But already the scheming began. Belle didn't understand his motivations, and he'd been incapable of correctly explaining. That was all there was to it. Part of him believed if he could say it right, if he could make sense of it all himself -- if he could just convince her that all she'd seen never meant he didn't love her? Then he could fix everything. Then he could be home with his wife, able to visit his son, able to walk and use magic.

He tried to call her from the phone in the motel. No answer. He tried a few times. There was an answer once. He couldn't speak.

Gold haunted that little hamlet outside of Ogunquit for a few days, with limited access to the internet or contact, just hoping he'd find some loophole that'd let him back in, afraid to wander out too far lest he lose his chance.

As far as he knew, Belle never caught on that he was calling. If she did, then she was patient. She stayed on the line longer than she needed. Spoke, and waited. Spoke. Then said goodbye. He couldn't work out why he could never say anything back, or even beg forgiveness. He kept doing it, knowing he couldn't stop himself crying afterward, knowing it was going to hurt every time, because he'd gotten so used to hearing her in the morning when she woke. And now when he called just to hear her it came with apprehension, certainty he'd hear that litany of accusations all over again, but he needed to. Maybe if he did speak, if he did let her know it was him, and he allowed it to happen, she might see he was sincere. She would forgive him. Remember she loved him. He would hand her the dagger and be her slave, be everything Zelena wanted him to be for her if that was what it took.

But he couldn't even bring himself to do that. It took him days to figure out why. That was when he headed south.

His rental car died just inside of Vermont. There were questions about his license. He switched to travel by bus from there -- crowded (good that he was traveling light), slow as sin -- he saw far more of the state than he really ever cared to. It felt ridiculously long for where he was headed, given how short a trip it had been by plane, but he didn't know if he could handle flying again. Not alone.

In Manhattan, the first place that he tried was Neal's old apartment, of course, and he did not expect to find it occupied -- by the Queen's married beau and his family, no less. They offered to leave it to him, which he declined. After a cursory search of the place, he found one or two familiar baubles, things his son held onto from his childhood all these years, somehow, things from their world, and he pocketed those, feeling an uncomfortable tightness that told him to get away, and he left as quickly as his legs could carry him.

Marion seemed especially keen to convince him to stay, at least until he found better accommodations.

He didn't trust it. He got away.

Crossing out into the evening air, he felt a rush of pent emotion and memory. Unkind words said in this very place. Hook's attack and his near death.

Then his actual death.

Then Neal's.

He went numb.

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only | Expand All

Once again, Gold did not expect to be faced with people he knew. Least of all Storybrooke's conscience and resident therapist or his dog. And perhaps it was because he still felt out of sorts, or he had been caught in a moment he would have preferred privacy for. But either way his mind did not go to any of the possible positives that a man of good standing from their little cursed town seemed pleased to see him.

"What in blazes are you doing here?" he demanded.

"Looking for you," Archie said as Pongo finished his treat and shoved his head towards Gold, the loyal dog immediately settling into his position as therapy dog. "Emma gave me Neal's old apartment information to give me a starting point."

As though stung, Gold pulled his hand back, feeling less of the dog's fur or cold wet nose and more a tingle like his limb had fallen asleep. He shook it off in irritation. Though there was still some irritation, as though his privacy were being invaded, because something about all this was not the way it should have been (even though he had no idea how it was supposed to be exactly), something else penetrated, at least momentarily.

Did Belle send him?

...Did something happen to her?

"...Why."

"Because casting you out of Storybrooke was wrong. You didn't deserve that."

Pongo sat down beside Gold, patiently waiting for Gold to decide if he wanted to pet the dog to help calm himself.

"You've been through a lot, and I wanted to help you."

A rather simple desire, probably foolish, and likely a drive birthed by his own traumas and guilt (though he made it a point not to psychoanalyze himself lest he drive himself mad in the process), but it was what he wanted to do. He had to at least try and offer assistance in any way he could.

"I didn't ask for--" He was likely about to spill far more bile than that were it not for the voice carrying from the stoop.

"Mister Gold?"

Marion stood venturingly at the door. Likely come to ask one more time if there is more that can be done, or even to let the man know he had either forgotten or that she had found something.

The world felt like it was spinning, and all it really did for Gold's demeanor was look as though he was about to unhinge his jaw and swallow the woman whole.

That tingling feeling had spread down to the tips of his toes.

Edited 2023-05-18 11:42 (UTC)

There was something off about Marian's smell. It reminded Pongo of when Cora had made herself look like Regina and took Archie: The smell was close but not quite right. (It had frustrated the dog to no end that he couldn't speak and tell them that something was off even if he didn't know what. The spell the humans had used only showed visual information, ignoring other more important senses.)

Pongo's ancestors had been war dogs, guardians of the land where they'd been originally bred. Right now, those ancient instincts kicked in as he moved to stand between Marian and the two humans he was with. He didn't growl but he was on high alert in case of trouble.

It had taken Archie a moment to realize that it wasn't just surprise that was affecting Gold: The man was going into shock. He almost asked Marian if it'd be all right if they came inside for a moment to let Gold rest and get something warm in him, but seeing Pongo's stiff, protective posture made Archie pause. For not the first time, he wished he could talk with the intelligent dog (clearly another storybook creature who'd been pulled to the cursed little town).

Instead, he gave a pleasant smile to Marian, grip on Pongo's leash tight in case the dog decided to take matters into his own paws. He gave a subtle little tug on the leash.

Pongo glanced back in his direction before focusing on Marian again, the dog understanding that he was only allowed to lunge if Archie dropped the leash. It was a signal they'd worked out after the whole Cora affair.

"Hi, Marian," Archie greeted her. "Was there something you needed? Gold and I were about to find a place to get coffee."

Edited 2023-05-18 12:07 (UTC)

Marian seemed surprised to see another familiar face. Apparently it was just a day for visitors from that strange little town to start falling from the sky. She hesitated at the doorstep, whether because of the dog or Gold's demeanor, one could not be sure. "I just wished to--"

"Go. Away." The Dark One didn't have much room to be polite anymore. Another face was just another thing whirling around him at breakneck speed that he hadn't the presence of mind to deal with.

His vision swam, and he felt himself lean into the light pole he was next to. An effort to catch himself, but he lost hold of any certainty where his equilibrium was supposed to be.

"I'm sorry," he apologized to the woman as he moved to steady Gold. "We'll be going. Have a good day!"

Before Marian could say anything else, Archie started guiding the other man.

In his head, he was going through the basic treatment steps for shock and scratching out the ones that didn't apply or marking them as a "check when I've got Gold somewhere to rest".

Pongo followed, initially staying poised to attack if Marian tried to pursue and Archie gave the signal. However, once they were a significant distance away, he moved to be closer to Gold, swapping back into "therapy dog" mode.

Archie's eyes darted about the various bodegas and other shops lining the streets. Honestly, being in New York made him extremely uncomfortable and not simply because this was a strange new world. No, his Cursed memories had changed him living in a wagon with his parents to living in an RV with them as they drove around stealing from people. What he was doing now was basically "casing" the area, swiftly assessing each storefront to see if it fit the bill. The tips of his fingers buzzed with memory as he noted everyone was too busy focused on their own agendas or their phones to pay much mind to the trio passing them by. It'd be so easy to lift a few wallets and disappear into the crowd long before their owners even realized they were missing.

He hated cities and Enchanted Forest towns. They were target-rich environments that his bad blood was always eager to take advantage of. His Cursed memories of his time at Stanforth had him at times shivering with the itch to make his life just a little easier by "borrowing" from the more well-off students or city residents. He wasn't a kleptomaniac (he didn't fit the criteria for it), but when you were raised since childhood to be a thief, some of the old habits would creep back in. Like an alcoholic being sober for years but having the sudden urge for a drink after a particularly stressful day.

Days like this when he needed to use even one of those old skills while stressed always brought the itch back.

He took a calming breath as he finally spied a little cafe with outdoor seating. That would work. He guided Gold into a seat and gave him Pongo's leash.

"Hold onto him for me. Don't think they'll like it if we bring him inside. Besides, don't want to tempt fate with all the goodies in there."

Pongo huffed indignantly as he put his head in Gold's lap. As if he'd do something like that! The nerve!

Gold could do little but allow himself to be led away, though the hand that grabbed at Hopper was nearly as tight as the one he had on his cane. Everything was still moving, enough that if he opened his eyes for too long at all, he'd feel his stomach start to turn. (He was suddenly very aware and very grateful that he hadn't eaten in the last day.) The street lights seemed a little too bright, and for the moment at least, the strangeness of the vertigo stole enough of his attention to stop any further barking or grousing.

The dog's leash was shifted into the hand on his cane, as the other one gave him something to brace himself on and block out the light from the cafe. His forehead had begun to bead with sweat.

Knowing Gold, the man had either neglected to or forgotten to eat anything for quite a while. Add that to all the stress, and he was probably getting a double whammy of shock and blood sugar crashing.

Well, at least it was Archie who'd found him in such a state. The medical training his psychiatry degree required (even if it was technically forged, he could still pass the exams to get a real one if he ever left Storybrooke for good) allowed him to come up with some basic treatment which should help. If things got worse, their next stop was the ER.

He spent a few minutes inside, ordering a few items and asking for something that Gold could use if he needed to be sick. The girl at the counter had been very sympathetic to the situation and had gone to the back to retrieve a grocery bag from some shopping they'd had to do earlier.

He returned to the table with the bag, a small bottle of orange juice, and a promise that she'd bring the rest of their order out to them. He sat down across from Gold, glad the table wasn't that big, and opened the orange juice bottle, setting it down within easy reach for the man.

"I know you're feeling rough right now, but I've got something I want you to drink slowly, all right? It should help. You don't need to open your eyes. I'll hand you what you need."

When Gold reached for it, there was something clearly off in his aim, an unsureness in his grip. No, no he didn't miss feeling fully human. Usually the panicking stayed inside his head and didn't spread to the rest of his body, and the current state of things was utterly unacceptable. But there was familiarity in only some of it.

That was how, once he was rooted somewhere, even if the world seemed to be spinning every time he lifted his head, he knew there was something wrong.

The Dark One tried to shake his head with a wince. "That's going to come right back up again and I would rather not."

"I figured so I got a bag for if you need it. I also ordered you a mint tea which should help calm your stomach down but then I want you to try the juice. Right now it looks like you're having blood sugar issues in addition to a panic attack, and that's a nasty combination."

Pongo gave a little huff as a reminder to Gold that his head was right there and ready for ear scratches to help calm him down.

"If you want, I can talk for a bit to help distract you and calm you down or I can sit here quietly while you pet Pongo.

"I still do not recall asking for your expertise," the man half-groaned.

And if he merely felt ill and had some understanding of it, and nothing else, perhaps he would have been more internally grateful that someone was worrying about him. No matter how much he rejected the idea.

"I'll drink something when the world stops spinning," he finally relented. And when light stops feeling like he's being stabbed in the eye.

Archie mentions the dog and he cracks an eye open, only then realizing that Pongo had been touching him the entire time. He could feel it now that he looked. But it was distant. Somewhere under the buzz of his limbs feeling asleep.

That was not normal.

He started to fish his flip phone out of his pocket, but it escaped stumbling fingers and clattered to the ground.

Seeing the phone drop, Archie pulled out his own and start dialing even as Pongo gave that whine that told him that further steps needed to be taken. "You didn't but you're getting it anyway."

The server came out and saw him on the phone.

"I'm sorry, but we need to go. You and your coworker can have those if you want it."

"Oh," she said, clearly concerned. She glanced at Gold uncomfortably. "I hope you feel better, sir."

She retreated as the operator picked up with a "911, what's the nature of your emergency?"

"I need an ambulance at..." He gave the address. "Potential stroke victim. Older male."

"Ambulance is on the way. What are his symptoms?"

Archie calmly got up and bent down to pick up Gold's flip phone, pocketing it for the moment. "Severe headache, light sensitivity, difficulty walking, difficulty with basic motor skills in the hands." He paused and knelt in front of Gold to look him in the face. "Gold, I need you to do a few things for me, okay? Just to give the paramedics a baseline so they can start treating you once they get here."

Edited 2023-05-18 17:28 (UTC)

Even though he had been the first to bring his phone out on instinct, the second the doctor leaped into action the message on his face, with increasing alarm, was clear: What are you doing? Stop doing that. His eyes were immediately scanning the ground for what he dropped, but everything blurred and spun again. He winced.

A moment of internal clarity. Do not die out here, you idiot. Whatever is happening, shut up and survive.

He sucked in a breath. "I hear you. Tell me."

"I know it sounds ridiculous, but I need you to smile."

He needed to check to see if half of his face drooped. The operator on the phone waited patiently, only the clicking of keys alerting him to the fact that the connection was still live. Good. He didn't need the operator to constantly buzz in his ear when he already knew the basic steps.

"That sounds too complicated."

After a groggy moment of trying to remember that yes he could at some point command the muscles in his face to do things, he tried. But mostly the effort felt fatiguing.

But then even without this going on that would have felt like a lot of work.

"Very little reaction from the face muscles," Archie reported, hearing more keys clicking. "You can stop that. Can you lift your arms for me?"

His left arm, the one free and on the table came up. The other, holding the handle of his cane and the leash, not so much. Gold glanced down. "Feels heavier than it should. But mostly just asleep."

"I heard that," the 911 operator said in his ear, tapping away on the keyboard again. "The ambulance is about five minutes away. You should start to hear the sirens. What's the patient's name?"

"You can put your arms back down," Archie told Gold as the sound of an emergency siren started to cut through the noise of the city. To the operator, he answered, "Malcolm Gold."

"And your name, sir?"

"Archie Hopper. I'm a friend of his."

The ambulance pulled up, honking at a cab driver who cut it off.

"The paramedics are here," Archie said.

"Okay, I'm going to hang up now. Your friend is in good hands."

"Thank you."

Archie ended the call as two paramedics exited the ambulance and headed in their direction.

The way he visibly bristled when Archie said his full cursed name. The sound of the sirens kicked up something tense inside him, and he was looking on the ground again. His hand on the cane suddenly tightened -- an anchor when things began to turn round again, otherwise he might have toppled out of the chair just then.

At this point he couldn't tell if he felt numb because of what was coming over him, or purely from it sinking in that what was about to happen was just going to happen.

"You're going to be okay, sir."

Archie watched with Pongo as the paramedics loaded up Gold, one of them kindly telling him where the hospital was so that Archie could get there in his car. (There was no way Pongo would be allowed in the back of an ambulance, after all.)

When Archie reached his car at the parking garage he'd paid way too much money at, he had to lean his forehead against the steering wheel as he took slow, steadying breaths.

Crisis wasn't entirely averted, but Gold was in safe hands. He was now free to have a minor meltdown.

Pongo placed his head in Archie's lap, Archie blindly reaching down to pet him.

"Thanks. I'll be okay in a minute."

----------

It took a little while to first calm down and then navigate New York City's confusing traffic patterns to reach the hospital. Technically, Pongo's papers as a therapy dog were forged, but the dog still had the training due to his own Cursed memories. (Another thing that Archie could easily obtain authentic papers for if he ever chose to leave Storybrooke for good.) Unfortunately, Pongo's gear flagging him as a therapy dog was buried under a thick layer of dust at home since he normally had no need for it: The people of Storybrooke all knew Pongo was his four-legged partner in his practice. (After his Enchanted Forest memories had returned, Archie had been tempted to change the sign on his door to make it official.)

So Pongo had to wait in the car while Archie checked in on Gold and hopefully found a way to get them to bend the rules just a little to let Pongo inside. The Dalmatian might be able to help with any anxiety Gold was experiencing at the moment.

The hospital was a number of ordeals all wrapped into one. Though Malcolm Gold as a patient recovered faster than expected, for the first night it looked a lot more like he was going to come out of it with a lot more damage. 'Miraculous' would be a word that might get thrown around, as within a couple days he had most of his dexterity and speech back.

Doctors said that it must have been caught quickly. But for the fact that Malcolm Gold was cagey at best and uncooperative at worst, it was a success story for that wing that might not be forgotten.

He seemed surprised that Hopper had followed along. But the visitor he had before he managed to get up there probably shocked him more. The most he had let on was that yes, something had happened, and he left it at that.

He needed his magic back. Because as much as doctors who did not understand what they were seeing attributed all this to stress, he knew it was more because what made him the Dark One was still inside him. But without the means to control it or let it thrive, it was just sitting in his body like a disease.

Preparing for discharge and quite glad to be shot of this place, Gold was very much almost exactly as he had been left before the incident. Perhaps the limp was a little more pronounced, but that could have been agitation over anything else.

"Did you give any thought at all to how you're getting back over the town line before following me, Doctor?"

Hotels that were pet-friendly in New York City and close to the hospital were expensive, and Archie's wallet had taken a serious hit, but it'd been worth it. Even if the hospital let him stay past regular visiting hours, they wouldn't allow in Pongo, and he couldn't just keep the dog in the car. It was unnecessarily cruel for starters.

"I did, actually," Archie said. He glanced to see if the nurse was coming back with word that Gold was a free man. Once satisfied, he opened his jacket to reveal a rolled-up piece of parchment in his pocket. "Emma did more than tell me where to start looking for you."

The man didn't know whether to feel impressed or irritated at that. He finished knotting his tie before he set to closing his vest. He didn't have but the suit he came in with, and while it appeared to be a little frayed in places, he had been especially meticulous about keeping it clean.

The nurse had been adamant that he wouldn't be given a razor or nail clippers or anything sharp while up on the rehab floor. Gold would appear more put together if he didn't have the beginnings of a beard on his face, and its presence leaves him more on edge than anything.

"So you can come back and resume your job once you're certain I haven't hung myself from some dingy hotel rafter somewhere, yes?"

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject