The Rabbitt Hole
"I never realized children could scare people." Jefferson replied with a snort, sliding his fingers along the rim of his own glass. He’d never been to the place, but he’d heard stories every so often when Rumple was in a particular type of mood-a land ruled not by royalty, but by the what the dark one termed a demon. He wasn’t convinced it beat the force of nature that was the Queen of Hearts. He had the scars to prove it.
"Games? Games. Moving people on a chessboard. Fun, fun," Jefferson absentmindedly played with the bowl of pretzels, the barkeep draped in front of them.. "Say the wrong thing to the Queen of hearts means losing … your head!"
"You don't know Pan; the boy's a bloody demon," Hook spat back, his eyes narrowed at Jefferson, as he gripped his glass tightly. AS if fighting off the images then and there. And in a way, he was. He was always fighting off the images. The reminders. Of Pan's little games. "Messing around with Pan loses your life, or worse. You lose everyone around you, you lose your very soul. Nothing so simple as the loss of a head--that's then sewn back on with no damage done."












