Chapter Text
The next few days were spent in the woods in the daytime and exploring the quiet town of StoryBrooke from the shadows at night. They stuck to places behind houses, quiet, cautious and always, together.
Six months in the basement and then, three days. Three days they moved in the shadows. Rested during the day in the woods. Out of sight. And walked the empty street at night. Cautious, careful, but free. They rationed their food, making sure they could run with the one week supply for longer.
He didn’t like the crowds, the people. The noise. She didn’t either. After so long of quiet oppressive solitude, everything was overwhelming. Too overwhelming. For both but especially for Spinner. It felt too much.
They ducked into alleyways when footsteps at night sounded too close. Hiding behind crates, Spinner holding Rose close. Forgotten things. That’s who they were. Forgotten things that wanted to remain forgotten. They didn’t want to be discovered. Especially after discovering the woman that held them both was the mayor of this town.
This place was dangerous, but for now, it was all they had.
Their hiding and moving wore on them in different ways. Rose was sharp with it. Eyes quick, footsteps light. She searched rooftops and corners, measured every path before she took it. Tension was tight in her bones. Even at night they couldn’t let their guard down. Not yet. She would be two steps ahead, always.
Quick and befitting of her nickname.
For Spinner… it was different. He drifted.
One moment he was playful. Tossing crooked grins and sharp smirks when she pulled close. He murmured little jokes. About the houses, the single street, the broken clock tower, even the pigeons, comparing them to his favourite spiders and rats. Other times, he was tired. His limp more pronounced, his steps heavy and faltering.
He would still quip.
He wouldn’t be Spinner without the quips. In those times, she stuck close to him, answering back to his quips with her own. Supporting his weight. Rolling her eyes and grinning because this was her normal. Being with him.
The fifth night was another one of those nights. Her steps in time with his limping ones. They were wearing newer clothes, found from the town Lost and Found.
His limp was worse tonight.
“Little bird, I think my leg is plotting a mutiny.”
Rose glanced at him, at the way he held his walking stick. “You’re talking about it like it has a mind of its own.”
“It does.” Spinner grinned back, a hand pressing down on his knee, as if it could stop the pain in his ankle. “Haven’t you seen the strategic tripping that has occurred these past few days? Treasonous little thing, this ankle. Should’ve seen it coming.”
“Still, mutiny?”
“Sabatoge, dearie. Tripping at the worst possible times. Definitely sabatoge.”
Rose chuckled, lips twitching despite herself. “Maybe it wouldn’t plot against you if you gave it some rest.”
Which was true. But Spinner never rested when Rose was on the move. He wouldn’t, couldn’t. Too afraid to let her out of his sight. Partly because of the fear she would be taken and they would be separated and partly from the fear that she would go one day and realise she could go and never return. And Spinner… Spinner was too selfish to let her go now. Not now. Not anymore.
Spinner clutched dramatically at his chest. “Oh, betrayal! You side with the ankle, do you? My own little bird, conspiring against me!”
Rose rolled her eyes and nudged his arm gently. “I’m siding with common sense. Sit for a while before it really does mutiny.”
He tilted his head at her, mock-thoughtful. “…If I sit, will you stand guard? Fierce and noble, protecting me from my own traitorous limb?”
She gave him a flat look. “…Sit, Spinner.”
And though he smirked, he sat down, leg folding awkwardly because of the ankle. But not before grabbing her wrist. She smiled and settled next to him. Resting her head against his shoulder.
“I won’t leave you know?” Her voice was gentle, quiet. Drifting after a few moments. “I know that’s why you insist on walking with me, despite the pain.”
Spinner gave a wry smile. “Pretenfing to know me far to well, Rose? Didn’t I say that was a bad habit?”
Rose shrugged, her voice cheeky. “I pick bad habits from you. Besides, you can always try to know me just like I know you.”
“I already do.”
She scoffed. “Sure you do, rat king.”
“What happened to being a sly fox?” He exclaimed in mock-indigination. “Why did I get demoted to being a rat king?”
And they bickered in low voices. But their attention never drifted. Their ears were sharp, ready to run and hide at the first sign of danger. Hand in hand, one ready to pull the other, ready to protect. Ragged and tired and hiding.
And as always, together.
__________
It was on the fifth day of their nightly town visits that Rose saw it.
They had never gotten to the clock tower. Yet that day, she was determined to go to the center of town. This was the furthest they had dared to come in five days. The clock tower was broken. Spinner looked at it, his gaze curious.
He couldn’t help but feel he should have known why it didn’t tick. Why was it stuck at such a specific time? Why wasn't it fixed?
Rose didn’t look at the tower, the clock didn’t interest her. Instead she stepped closer, towards the door that was locked and bolted. Chained and closed, windows dust-filmed and boarded. Forgotten. Locked away. She peeked in, and through them, wanting to know what was inside. And her breath caught at the sight.
Shelves. And… books. She stopped back, looking at the building, a laugh bubbling. This was a library. Of all things it could have been, this was one of the most useful things that could have been. And moreso, it was abandoned. Locked and boarded.
“And what has the little bird fluttering her wings?” Spinner asked, coming to stand beside her. “What is it, Rose?”
“It’s a library.”
Her eyes were brighter than he had ever seen. He tilted his head. “And here I thought you’d found gold, the way you’re looking.” His grin spread crooked and sharp. “All this fuss over dead trees and ink?”
Rose gasped, scandalised. She glared and actually punched his shoulder, lightly, though that didn’t stop him from rubbing his shoulder as if he really had been hurt.
“They’re books.” Her voice wavered between indignation and bubbling joy. “Don’t you see? Books. That’s— that’s everything. Cooking, healing, herbs, maps, skills. We could—”
“Rose, I was joking.” Spinner interrupted her, still rubbing his shoulder, grinning. “Remind me never to insult literature if this is your reaction. Were you perhaps a book-loving boxer?”
Rose folded her arms, brow raised. “And you say you’re not dramatic? I didn’t hit you that hard.”
She didn’t. And yet she still stepped closer, worried. Placed her hand where she had hit him, giving it a squeeze. Spinner’s smile softened. “I’m theatrical, dearie. Nothing to worry about.”
She turned back to the window, pressing her palms against the dusty glass. “If we can find a way in—we don’t have to guess anymore. We don’t have to… be blind.”
He leaned in just enough to follow her gaze, the dust making him wrinkle his nose. Then, his smirk widened. “Ah. Knowledge. A treasure hoard for the mind.” His eyes glimmered in the dim streetlight. “Little bird, you might be cleverer than me yet.”
She shot him a look. “Might?”
“I am a sly fox. I’m always cleverer.”
“One of these days, I will be hiding your stick.”
Spinner laughed. Then, with a hum low in his throat, he leaned against the chained door, tugging at one of the locks. “Well then. Best we get inside, hm?”
She blinked. “Inside?”
“Where else?” His grin flashed. “No fun staring at treasure you can’t touch. Come now, you were so excited at the prospect of books. Do you not even want to go in?”
Her heart hammered. She looked up at the tower, then back at the door. “It’s bolted shut. Chained.”
“Hah.” Spinner crouched low, running his fingers along the bottom frame, testing it. “Bolts can rust. Chains can break. And—” he rapped the wood with his knuckles, tilting his head “—doors can be persuaded.”
Rose frowned. “Persuaded?”
“You persuaded my cage, Rose. Now, it’s my turn to find a way to convince the one holding your treasure.”
“Should I get another angle grinder?” Rose laughed.
“Tempting—” Spinner looked at the building. “—but no. If we want this place to ourselves, we can’t let anyone know we’re here.”
They circled the building together, her boots crunching against gravel. She kept close, his hand in hers, not wanting to lose him in the dark, though she doubted she could with Spinner humming nonsense. He searched for a way in and she kept an ear out for anyone roaming. And then, he stopped.
“There,” Spinner murmured. At last, they found it, a narrow window at the back, half-boarded but not sealed. The glass was cracked, one panel loose.
Rose hesitated. “It’s… small.”
Spinner smirked. “Good thing you’re smaller.”
Rose pressed her palm to it, testing. “Yeah, I think I can fit.”
Spinner leaned against the wall, his brown hair falling into his face as he grinned. “Though, if you get stuck, I shall simply live here on the outside, pining away until winter takes me. Tragic.”
“Or you could come after me and we both can be stuck.”
“I don’t think these old bones would let me.” He tapped his ankle pointedly, that same ankle she’d seen him rub. His smirk softened just a fraction. “Go on, little bird. Find us a roost.”
Rose swallowed, staring at the narrow gap. Her fingers itched. Her heart raced. But, the thought of books, of shelter, of a place to stay, to learn. These thoughts steadied her. Spinner took off the coat he was wearing, putting it on her. It was large on him so it covered all of her, her hands disappearing under the sleeves.
“Window’s broken.” His voice was soft. “Can’t have you getting hurt.”
Rose nodded. She pushed at the board, nails squealing, until the rotten wood gave way. The gap yawned wider.
She wriggled through, arms scraping against wood and glass, dust clinging to her clothes. Then, she dropped inside. The smell hit her first. Dust and old paper. The air was thick, unmoving, but beneath it—something warmer. Familiar.
Rose straightened slowly, her breath catching.
Shelves rose around her in the gloom, towering, endless, filled with books. Whole lives pressed into spines. Whole worlds. Her heart fluttered at this.
“Rose?” Spinner’s voice floated through the crack. “Still alive, are we?”
She coughed once, dust finally catching up, then grinned despite herself. “It’s beautiful.”
From outside, his laugh floated in—sharp, bright. “Then open the door, Rose. Let me see this beauty of yours.”
She hurried across the floor, unlatching the back door from the inside. It creaked, stiff from disuse, but it opened enough for Spinner to slip in. He dusted his shirt as if offended by the cobwebs, then straightened, looking around.
Rows upon rows of shelves rose into the gloom. Books sagged, dust-thick, some toppled onto the floor. The place was dim, forgotten, but whole.
Rose turned in a slow circle, breathless. “There’s so much here.”
Spinner tipped his head, watching her rather than the shelves. His grin softened, not sharp this time. “So there is, little bird. So there is.”
Her fingers brushed the spines reverently, eyes darting over faded titles. They wouldn’t sleep in the cold. This… they could make this place their own. Until they left this place. They could learn so much, ways to stay safe and find food and not starve, especially since their rations were running low. They could… learn about themselves too maybe.
“So much knowledge. Medicine, herbs, history, gardening…”
“Or,” Spinner said, sauntering closer, “we could discover a marvelous book of cookery and at last learn the arcane art of soup.”
She laughed, the sound bright in the dusty stillness. “Soup would be a start.”
He chuckled too, low and quiet, then let his eyes wander the shelves at last. His hand drifted to a cracked spine, tracing the faded letters.
“Words,” he murmured. “All these words. Maybe they’ll tell us who we are.”
Rose glanced at him. And for the first time, she thought—maybe he wanted answers too. But they knew, they may want answers but didn’t need them. Answers weren’t their priority. Never had been. Just each other. Just Spinner and Rose. That’s all they needed to know.
Spinner moved forward, perusing the sections with interest. They both had been surprised to note the books were intact. Dust covered, yellow paged, with some cracked spines, yes. But the words were whole, no water damage, no moth-eaten pages.
“Guess we won’t have to worry about sudden storms flooding this place.”
Rose nodded, carefully taking out a book with gentle hands. ““They’re… they’re not ruined.”
Spinner gave a theatrical sniff, waving a hand at the shelves. “They’re just the picture of health, aren’t they? Fit as fiddles, these books. Why, I’d wager they’ve been positively thriving without readers.”
She smirked faintly, brushing dust from the cover. “You’re impossible.”
“Impossible—” he grinned, leaning close, “—yet charming enough that you let me follow you around.”
Rose huffed out a laugh, her face alight with joy Spinner had seen only once before, when she had come back with that angle grinder. He gazed at the books on a cart, taking out one after the other. One title, a book about herbs and gardening. Another about campfires. A third, an atlas. And yet another, a fairytale. Spinner couldn’t help the wry chuckle that left his lips, looking at the books then at her face.
“I feel like I will be replaced by these trees soon.” He picked one up, his voice dramatic. “Once upon a time— really? Once upon a time? Isn’t that the most common phrase to use for a story?” Rose narrowed her eyes, swiping the book away, making Spinner protest in mock-indignation. “I was reading that.”
“Behave, you annoying fox.”
Spinner’s grin turned sharp, the one he got when he was in a mood that Rose found amusing, though she would never admit it. “Demotion has been pushed on me once more. Not even a king now. Just annoying. You wound me.”
She turned away from him, hiding her smile, pulling one book free, then another. Titles leapt out: botany, old history, first aid, fairy tales. She tucked them against her chest, heart beating strangely fast.
“Little bird hoards her twigs,” Spinner teased, eyeing the growing pile, seeing her take an atlas. “What’s next? Nest-building in the rafters?”
“If I could, I would,” she shot back, hugging the books tighter, trying to make sure they didn’t spill.
Spinner rolled his eyes at her struggles and, setting his walking stick aside, took most of the pile from her, his teasing grin becoming wider when Rose muttered out a ‘thank you’, face red. From carrying the books or being embarrassed, Spinner didn’t particularly care. In his eyes, she looked hilariously adorable. Especially with the coat she was still wearing.
He snorted, amused, then pointed with his chin. “Corner there. Cushions, if you can call them that.”
The cushions were faded, fabric threadbare, but soft enough to sink into. Rose set her pile next to where she would sit, took the books from Spinner's hands next and finally dropped into the cushions herself with a sigh.
“This is infinitely better than straw.”
“Hey now, don’t let the straw hear you, it might get offended.”
Spinner muttered, sprawling without hesitation, dropping down beside her. Then, with exaggerated care, he shifted, head landing squarely in her lap.
“Spinner—”
“Shh,” he hummed, closing his eyes. “Pillow now. No complaints.”
“Really?” she asked, though her voice wasn’t sharp.
“Mmhm.” His grin crooked sideways, eyes closing. “Best seat in the house. Reserved for me.”
“Impossible man.”
“Tolerant woman.”
Spinner closed his eyes, and Rose’s hand twitched, going to his hair. His eyes snapped open, confusion laced in them, but she didn’t say anything, just smiled softly. He stared at her, yet the motion was soothing enough that his eyes fluttered shut, leaning into the hand, reminding Rose of a cat.
“Enjoying yourself, Spinner?”
“Very.”
Her smile softened at his tone. Gone was the mischief in it. It just sounded… content. Satisfied. Rose picked the first book from the pile, the same one Spinner had started reading. It was quiet hearing. Silent
The silence was different. Not the wary silence of alleys and shadows. Not the wild silence of the forest either. And especially not the oppressive silence of the basement. This was a hush meant for words—thick with dust and pages and possibility.
She began to read.
Her voice was quiet at first, careful. The words stumbled in places, but she pressed on, her tone softening as she found the rhythm. It was an old story about kingdoms and roads, about a boy who lost his way and found it again. About a hero that would save those he loved. Rose didn’t bother with the name of the book.
Slowly, Spinner’s breathing slowed. His hand, which had been fiddling with the button of Rose's coat, went still. His head grew heavier against her lap. She glanced down. His lashes brushed his cheek, mouth parted just slightly, that restless energy of his finally lulled, face smooth. For once, he looked peaceful.
Rose swallowed, her voice softening further as she turned the page, her hand finally stilling.
He didn’t stir.
And for the first time in longer than she could remember, Rose felt safe. Safe enough to breathe and read aloud without someone finding them. Safe enough to not keep checking corners, to not keep one eye out for people or danger.
Safe enough to just be.
And she knew, so did Spinner.