Where Shadows Lie (Once Upon A Time)

Neither of them spoke for a while as they made their way back to camp. Peter appeared somewhat anxious. He kept glancing around, as if watching out for something. It was very dark in the woods. Any light that did poke through, Peter, for whatever reason, avoided it.
Wendy thought better of asking any more questions.
Just then, Wendy felt something cut into her ankle. A shard of glass. A thin line appeared just above her ankle. Blood welled up from the wound. Drops of ruby red blood trickled down.
She looked around, but Peter was gone. Wendy could see where the foliage was disturbed by his passing. Other than that there was no sign of him. As if he had not just been there a second ago.
He's just as strange as the island, she thought. I'd say he never leaves.

Thoughts played through her head, as she tore a piece from one of her skirts, and wrapped it around her leg. It would have to do for now.
Wendy realised that she had no idea where to go. So she followed Peter's footsteps, deeper into the woods. The footsteps were unnaturally light. They were faint--it was very hard to see them. Sometimes, they would be several metres apart, as if he had taken a jump. But they would be just as light, if not lighter. Soon, they vanished altogether. Wendy looked about, puzzled. He couldn't just have disappeared.
Or flown away.
Right?

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Peter ran full sprint. He had to get away. Away from the sight, the smell.
What was wrong with him? He thought he had finally got over blood. The Lost Boys got injured all the time. And he got used to it. He didn't take much notice of blood anymore. Not after. . . He didn't want to think about that.
He had killed more people than he cared to remember. It was impossible to keep track.
Then what's one more?, an evil part of him asked. It's not like you're never going to kill again.

He felt a burn on the back of his hand. Sunlight. Of course it was. He was foolish to be running this time of the day. He drew to a halt, and leaned against a tree, eyes closed.

"You better be more careful, dearie.", a voice cackled from somewhere in the trees. "Can't have you smouldering to smithereens when you still have a prophecy to fill."

Peter jumped. His eyes snapped open. That was a voice he was hoping he would never hear again.

"Rumplestilskin.", Peter acknowledged stonily, quickly regaining himself. "Show yourself, Dark One."

"I'm right here, dearie." Rumple appeared, sitting on a low branch. He was just as creepy and malicious as Peter remembered.

"What do you want of me?", asked Peter. "That you have come all this way?"

"Oh, I just wanted to pay an old friend a visit. Or, I suppose, a very young friend. It's been a long time, dearie. You haven't changed a bit!" He giggled. "I hope you got what you wanted."

It took a moment for Peter to remember what he meant. Back in London, before he rescued Killian from jail, he asked Rumplestilskin for the secret to eternal youth.
They were in a tavern. Both had hoods over their heads, masking their identities, and, in Peter's case, his tender age. Peter had heard of the Dark One, and his frequent visits to a small, dinghy tavern on Fleet Street. If there was anywhere he could meet the mysterious Dark One, it would be there.
And, one day, Peter's luck had born into fruition.

Peter was up at the counter, by the wall, his unsettled eyes drifting here and there, never gazing fixedly at anywhere for two long. Until a man in a black, hooded cloak, came through the door. How Peter could tell instantly that it was the Dark One, he was not sure, but it was him alright. He cast an aura, a feeling of wrongness, about him. A burning smell, an inconcievable energy, hung in the air.
Magic. Dark magic. And he reeked of it.