We've all heard the great tales of Captain Hook. We have all listened and read about his days as a pirate. There is hardly a child in this realm that has no heard his name.
But no one has heard of the feared archer and bandit, his younger sister Na...
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DYLAN WALKER SAT ON A WOODEN park bench, overlooking the small pond. This was his favorite Storybrooke park. Always so calm and quiet. People hardly ever walked the paths, leaving it up to him and his thoughts.
He would come up here all the time with his girlfriend. They would love to have picnics and watch the turtles and frogs make ripples in the water. Those were the good times. Whenever one of them was upset they would come here. They would talk it out, go for a jog, or eat. Eating always helped distract them from their thoughts.
His thoughts. His memories. That's what was bothering him.
The clear, lillipad dotted water was fake. The fresh air was fake. The perfectly green grass was fake. The bench he sat on was fake. The society, the newly made people, the personas they were too sick to see was fake. Their town in "Maine" was fake. It was all fake; a creation of the Queen's. Nothing in the little world of theirs was real.
The whole made-up town housed over 3000 people from the Enchanted Forest who were being brainwashed into living lives that weren't theirs. People he knew, people he loved, were living false realities.
Or did he really love them? Did Dylan Walker love them? Or had the real Bixby grown to love them?
He had begun to notice a pattern. The "villains" of the Forest were now saints. The "heroes" were now ignored and lived simple, risk free lives.
But what was he? Where did he stand on this chain? He had been arrested by the Queen at the time of her curse hitting, but was that really enough to make him a villain? He ran with a clan of bandits for half his life. He took pride in his work. He may have been a hero, but he doubted a hero in the Forest would have been given such a good alternate life in this realm.
He was in between. A middle man. Neither on the high nor low ground.
The middle man had been graced with time with Naomi Jones on both occasions. He was a lucky man.
Naomi.
She didn't know. She didn't remember. She was Naomi Wright. Well loved by the community, adored by coworkers, trusted by the Queen herself; the opposite of his best friend. Nothing more, nothing less.
He couldn't bare to live in a world where Naomi Jones didn't remember who she was.
