A/N: I'm really hoping that someone out there is working on a 5a rewrite. In the meantime, I couldn't wait, and even if it's sloppy on account of the speed and sleep deprivation involved in its writing...well, it can't be much worse then what actually happened, right?

Feathers.

All Regina could see above the sill were feathers.

She wondered if the darkness in Emma had sought out to pervert her mother's obsession. Wondered if all those feathers would come with matching songbird carcasses.

It would be the worst thing she'd done here. But considering their missing six weeks, Regina knew it was hopeful thinking to have that be the worst overall.

Dammit. She owed Snow another quarter.

Now she really wanted those feathers to come with dead birds.

She also prayed they would be something she could use.

She had always understood Emma's reluctance to be The Savior, innately, having been forced into a role she wanted to believe she didn't fit by fate, a role that took away all her humanity and made her into something only meaningful in its effect on others. Devastation on her side—and Salvation on Emma's. There had been times where the idea of that heroism appealed, where of course it must be better to be on the side of the good. But then there would be moments—moments where even the supposed heroes of heroes Snow and Charming would turn to their daughter with these looks on their faces—pleading, hopeful, blindly accepting all at once—like when Henry had come home from school one day and asked her about Santa being real—like she held the truth of the world in her hands and the power to decide one way or another.

Santa was one thing. But when it meant their very survival—Regina sometimes felt that it must be better to have people expect the worst of you. At least you have nowhere to fall.

And here, wrapping Henry's scarf around her fist to break through the window, desperately hoping that the incompetent pirate would somehow manage to keep Emma distracted long enough so she could find something, anything to help with finding out what happened in Camelot and saving Emma from the darkness, she knew—Savior was a terrible title.

And at least Emma had lived up to it. Coming through all their life or death situations decidedly alive. Sacrificing herself…

"Shit."

Regina unsnagged her pants from an embedded piece of glass and managed to tumble through into the shed uninjured, at least. Even if her pants appeared irreparable. Some Savior she was. She wasn't even wearing the right clothes for a break-in, apparently. For all her misdeeds, she didn't have the practical skills Emma had picked up along the way—her own version of knight's training. Regina wasn't meant to be this, do this. Her proclamations of being just fine, having it in her—it was all bluster. Emma's words, I know you don't, rattled through her head. They had never truly left—Regina knew logically this Emma was not the same. She knew this Emma was speaking through the filter of the Darkness, and the darkness wanted her broken—just like it always had. More so even, to prevent her from interfering with whatever it had planned. She also knew that Henry, from whom she had wanted it more than anything, truly did believe in her. Henry should've been more than enough to fight the creeping self-doubt. But he hadn't been. Her Emma didn't lie. And there had been weeks of her trying to be the Savior, and apparently she had failed. Emma was dark. Dark enough to curse them all back to town, to erase their memories—

But not apparently to kill a bunch of songbirds.

All around her, hanging from every beam, from hooks, from each other, were dreamcatchers. Intricate, beautiful dreamcatchers, large and small, polished and hurried, all adorned with the feathers she had seen.

So Emma had been telling the truth once more when she said her curse didn't need a Savior. Their memories were here. Literally here, in this shed. Unaffected by any potential act of true love.

Regina reached out to touch the closest one to her but stopped short. Emma may have set a barrier on these as well, considering the locks and spells she had set on the door. Regina looked around again for a solution. She didn't have the magical capability to release them all at once, especially not when they were still protected by the barrier that covered Emma's property and any additional wards. There was a chance that she'd be able to get some out non-magically, if the wards weren't strong and if Emma stayed distracted for long enough. But which ones?

Regina made her way through the rows, wondering if there was any logic to their arrangement, any indicator of which belonged to whom, but there didn't appear to be at all. No two were alike, but there weren't any names, any distinctive markers. She didn't have much time—she would just have to pick some at random and hope that those people knew what she desperately needed to know—

How had they failed Emma?

But just as she had reached the back and was preparing her magic for her departure, a particular set caught her eye. She didn't quite understand why—they weren't set apart in any dramatic fashion, but there was a large one there, one of the largest she had seen, that had a perfectly red feather hanging from the bottom.

She quickly glanced around once more—there were a few darker shades of maroon, feathers hanging from a side, or in the string, it wasn't entirely unique—but still.

This one, next to a few others, one smaller and incredibly well made, a pair of equal size and coloring, one fringed with dark feathers…somehow Regina knew. This one was hers. And it was all she really needed.

She quickly grabbed it and stared deep into the threading, waving her hand over it, releasing the magic—

The Vortex—Granny's in Camelot—Emma in rags—

—The dagger. A promise—

—Arthur—Merlin's tree—control—the Savior—Emma's anger—acceptance—save the Savior—a hideous necklace—her stupidity—the ball—her the imposter—dancing with Charming—the Savior-a killer—

—Robin—

-Emma's magic Emma's dark magic Emma tasting the darkness for her. Again. The real Savior—

—Working harder ignoring Zelena ignoring Snow ignoring sleep—Arthur's betrayal—Charming injured—Emma slipping slipping slipping—

-Emma in Arthur's blood. Emma in snow-white hair and dark leather. Emma the Dark One—

-Emma raging—Snow's heart breaking—Charming's heart breaking—Pirate disgusted—Regina crushed—Emma with hurt Emma with anger Emma with magic Emma slipping still—psychic and physical wounds—Daniel.

-Freeing Merlin—Promethean fire—too late—too dark—beyond saving—

-"Emma, what are you doing?!"

"Your promise Regina. I need you to keep your promise."

"No, Emma, it's not too late, we haven't given up. There's going to be a way."

"There isn't. And there will never be. I don't want to give it up. The darkness will be everything you all could never be for me. The Savior is dead."

"Emma. I know the taste of that power. I know. And I know what I did. I know I wasn't strong enough. But you are. You're strong enough. You're stronger than anyone I've ever met, Emma Swan, and I hate you for it. But I'm here. And Henry's here. And Snow, and David. Even your pi—Killian. We—love you. You have us to help you be strong. You can—"

—Constricted throat, lifted off the ground, dagger in hand, Mother—

"Enough. End me, Regina. That's the only way out of this."

—A flash of green in gold flecked eyes, a slouch, on the ground, air to breathe, Emma—

"Please."

"Emma, it's not the only way. We're not done! I—can't."

—Rage—bark against her back—blood—dropped dagger—flash of light—a stolen heart—cast a curse—golden light—green smoke—

Regina gulped down air. She couldn't get enough. She couldn't stop the tears rolling down her face.

"So now you know."

Regina managed to whirl around, fireball at the ready. But it was weak. She was weak. And at the sight of Emma before her, still in her white hair and black leather, evidence of what had happened, she could barely stifle a sob. But still, she choked out an answer:

"Yes."

"Really, Regina, breaking and entering. It's so beneath you."

"I'm sorry."

"Hmm, I suppose I could consider that in whether to press charges. I'm sure Charming won't mind arresting you."

Regina just shook her head, the tears continuing even as she regained her breathing.

"No. I'm sorry, Emma. I'm sorry—so sorry—I failed you."

Regina wished she could tear off the mantle of the Savior if she tore at her skin—if she reduced herself to tatters then she could have fitting punishment for being so unworthy of the mantle.

But Emma did not seem to be gloating. Her head cocked to the side, analyzing the scene before her. Regina continued, not knowing what else could come of their meeting.

"Why wouldn't you want me to know? Why take away my memory when it could have been eating at me every moment of every day? Isn't that what you wanted? For me to know how worthless I am? What a mistake it was to save me?"

"What? No."

Regina's eyes snapped to Emma's. That was not the Dark One talking, with her calm deep tones and simmering rage. That was her Emma.

"Emma?"

"…I thought I'd spare you—or your self-destructive tendencies might have lead to your actual end. I couldn't let that happen when I wanted the honor myself."

Regina shook her head again, forcefully this time. Emma was still there. She hadn't seen it yet in Storybrooke, but Emma was there and that was weak.

"Not a chance, Miss Swan. You're one to talk, with the self-destructive tendencies by the way. Why did you take away my memory? Why, if you wanted me to know how badly I failed you."

"Don't call me Miss Swan."

"Show me Emma and I'll call you Emma. Show me that you're there. Why didn't you want me to know? Why would you spare me any suffering?"

Regina pushed at Emma's temper, knowing how easy it was to get it to flare—and was rewarded in the sharp gestures of the woman she knew.

"I hurt you! I hurt Henry. I killed people. How—how can you be the one apologizing?"

Regina was amazed with the depth of the woman before her—even as claimed by the darkness as she was, she was still left with empathy, with guilt, with regret—things that had left her quickly once she had become the Evil Queen. Regina's heart ached with her.

"Emma. I have also hurt you. I have hurt Henry." Regina's heart broke a little more. "I have killed people. And I was never the Dark One."

Emma's rage was back, tinged darker this time—

"Enough with this self-hating Evil Queen bullshit, your Majesty."

But Regina would still allow her her name.

"Emma, I apologized because I've found out for certain I didn't help you. And I didn't keep my promise. You were entirely right. I did fail you. But even if that weren't the case, Emma, even if I had found the solution in our first week there and you had outright rejected it many times over to instead go on a killing spree in Camelot—

"I could forgive you anything if you just came back to us."

Emma froze, not hiding her surprise, her—something else. Something warm and sad and longing. Regina stood tall under her gaze, just as thrown by her behavior, hoping that it wouldn't end with a fight, the likes of which they had apparently had in Camelot.

Finally, Emma spoke, her voice low and coiled once more.

"You may have the dreamcatchers. Best of luck finding who they belong to, Savior."

A thrown hand and a poof of smoke, and before Regina even had time to react, she found herself in her own foyer—

—With hundreds of dreamcatchers hanging from her ceiling.

She sighed, taking in her change of environs.

"I am not giving up on you, Emma Swan," she murmured to the air around her. "Never."