A/N: This is going to be my 7th season spec fic (including a cursed Regina, a really messed up Emma, a missing Storybrooke, adult Henry, his daughter Lucy and lots of otherwise insanity, trauma and angst). So yeah, it's going to get very very very dark.

Appropriate warnings will be placed before each section (for instance, Hook is in this chapter), but this won't be for the faint of heart so if that's you, you might want to skip this one. The story is pretty much canon until the end of S6 so CS did get married (which means, yes, Hook is here...until he's not, and that will happen far quicker than you might think).

This is a SQ story, but it's...super slow burn so please be patient.

This story will contain three timelines, but ONLY this prologue will feature all of them in one. The first half of the story will contain Before and Then and the second will address the Now.

Now: Current

Before: Past tense, ten years ago, when shit went bad.

Then: Ten years after the before but just before the Now.

Enjoy and please let me know what you think.

-Prologue-

### ###

now.

The tires squeal loudly, overheated rubber melting and shearing away as the orange Mustang comes to a dramatic spinning stop just a few inches over the faded yellow town line. Emma doesn't have time for the relief of realizing where they are – where they've finally gotten back to after all this time - because there are sirens in the distance, their squeals getting louder by the moment as they draw closer and closer to the "dangerous fugitives" whom they've chased halfway across the great state of Maine.

Emma almost wants to laugh at that, but now's hardly the time for such mirth.

Not with all the shouting going on inside the car she's in.

And not with Regina currently in the middle of what appears to be a sudden and violent seizure.

A seizure, which had started, the moment they'd crossed into a town which had originally been created by anger and vengeance; and had ended up being nourished by magic and hope. Both which are concepts which the damaged side of Emma Swan's mind knows better than to believe in. She's been through too much at this point, seen too much, and had too much ripped away to still believe in miracles of any kind. She knows better, and pretending she doesn't is masochistic.

And yet here they all are anyway: two damaged mothers who have never quite learned their lessons as well as they should have, a lost son who stumbled from his path and became a father and his daughter – the child who had taken his place as the one with the heart of the truest believer - who adores him. They have no excuse for believing; and yet, they're in this together, each of them caught in a wave of cruel madness that none of them have ever really deserved.

"Mom, what do I do?" Henry calls out, the words coming out as a choked plea. He's spread out uncomfortably against bucket-seats, his arms wrapped around Regina as she shudders violently against him, his fingers clutching at the garish pastel blue hospital robe that she's still wearing.

With her senses returning to her, Emma shoves the door of the car open and nearly falls out of it; stumbling a few steps before she's spinning around and yanking the seat forward, barking out at Henry, "Don't restrain her!"

"But –"

"The space you're in is too small, and she is beating the shit out of herself; we need to get her onto the ground and just make sure she doesn't do any more harm to herself," Emma insists. Her mind flickers through hours of training she'd taken while doing her bounty hunter job. It's been a very long time since those days, but still the memories and lessons learned stick to her.

Still, she recalls how to make it through situations that seem impossible to imagine surviving.

Surviving has become almost like breathing for her.

For all of them, she thinks grimly.

"Shouldn't we get her to somewhere safe?" Henry asks, glancing back at the road. The sirens are getting so much louder now, at least half a dozen police cars coming at them quickly. "We don't know if they can see this side of the line. What if the rules have changed, Emma?"

"If the rules have changed, and they can cross over, there's nowhere we can hide from them," Emma tells him, her voice heavy, and her fears and doubts laid bare for him in a way that she never would have dared years ago. She softens her voice. "We have to take care of her right now or…none of this matters. We didn't do all this to lose her." She reaches out her arms to him, and he hesitates. Not because he doesn't trust her, but because the woman shaking in his hold has been lost to him for so long, and maybe she's finally home now – maybe they all are.

Almost as if she hears his thoughts, Regina suddenly goes still, her chest rising and falling, her hands opening and closing. There's no rhythm to her movements, though, and even her breathing seems short and choppy, coming out in terrible heaving gasps.

"Mom?" he says, his hand on her face, the clamminess of her skin as unsettling to him as the bruises and cuts that are there. "Tell me you recognize me. Tell me you know who I am."

"Henry," Emma gently admonishes, squeezing his wrist.

"I know," he says softly." He takes a breath to center himself, to remind himself that he's not a young boy anymore, and he can handle anything. "It's gonna be okay, Mom."

She doesn't respond, doesn't even look at him, and he thinks that maybe he feels his heart crack just a little bit.

Because what if...

"Henry, I need you to let me take her," Emma presses. She glances back at the road, her eyes passing over the wide worried ones of Henry's daughter.

So intelligent and thoughtful – so much like her father and both of her grandmothers.

"Dad, let Emma help," Lucy urges, and she doesn't understand any of this – couldn't possibly.

But she's looking over the seat at Emma, a woman she knows is one of her grandmothers, and she's watching father who is clutching the nearly unconscious form of her other grandmother, and it's like he's the sun and the moon to her, and there's nothing that this family can't do.

But there is, and the last few weeks have made their inadequateness disturbingly clear to him.

With the eyes of a terrified child, he looks up at Emma, his eyes wet with pleading and hope;, and though he's twenty-eight years old now, he might as well be just a small boy once again.

So much time has passed, and yet what he needs right in this moment is the same thing he'd needed so many years ago (though he hadn't known it for what it was – not at the time) and that is for one of his mothers to save the other one. He'd thought that she had – that she once again had broken through a wall of resistance and saved them all, but now there's this and…

He's afraid.

He's so afraid.

"Henry, please. You know I won't hurt her. You know," Emma practically begs of him. There's a frantic edge to her voice, like she knows that she has to be very careful here;, but she's terrified because the sirens keep getting louder, and Regina is so very still, and she can see blood on the knuckles of Regina's left hand; proof of the violence of her situation. Not that they need any more proof, Emma thinks sourly, and tries not to dwell on the rest of the evidence which exists.

"Okay," Henry agrees, and then he's releasing his mother, and they're slowly bringing her out of the car; both of them aware as only adults can be that they could be hurting Regina even more by doing this without proper medical assistance. But there isn't time for that, and neither one of them is as sure as they would like to be that there's anything to be found down this road.

They're home – they're across the line and into Storybrooke now, but what does it mean?

What if the only thing on this side of this line are reminders of all of their failures?

What if there's nothing in front of them and only more imprisonment behind them?

"Easy, Henry. Just…take it easy, okay?" Emma says (and even though she's talking about how they're carrying Regina, he thinks she means that for both of them and their many whirling doubts), and it snaps Henry back to the now – to the fact that they're carrying his mother and depositing her atop a blanket which Lucy had retrieved from the trunk. But she's still on the ground, and the ground is so wet and dirty; and even with her mind as damaged as it is by the curse and everything that's happened, she's still a Queen, and Henry wants to laugh at because it's such an absurd thought considering everything that all of them have gone through.

Considering who she was just a few minutes ago.

Considering who she might still be, he fears.

"Mom?" Henry says as he leans over Regina, both hands touching her face. "Can you hear me?"

If Regina can hear him, she shows no sign of it, instead starring up at the late evening sky, her eyes slowly blinking, her breaths continuing to come out in short harsh gasps. Every few seconds or so, her lips move like she's trying to say something, but actual words never come.

"She's not responding," Henry says needlessly. "Emma, why isn't –"

"I don't know, Kid," she cuts in, her tone sharper than she intended it to be. Seeing the way, he pulls back and away from her, a thousand shadows loaded down with guilt and remorse crossing his handsome young face, she gentles her tone. "I don't know," she repeats as she reaches out and squeezes his wrist for a moment before returning her attention to Regina. "Hey, time to come back to us." She slowly leans over Regina, being careful not to startle her (assuming that's even possible in Regina's current state; but so far, Regina's showing no awareness) and places both of her hands on either side of Regina's badly bruised, blankly staring face. She glances up at the sky, noticing how it's started darkening as if nature itself has become aware of a shift.

In balance, in life, perhaps in the whole good versus evil kind of war. Or something like that.

Right now, Emma's less concerned with being righteous and a lot more concerned with the woman in her arms – the one she'd thought Storybrooke would bring back to her and their son.

Now, she's terrified that all she's done is destroy Regina even more than this terrible curse has.

There's an irony to all of this, of course; but it's sick and twisted, and she wants no part of it.

"I need you to look at me, okay?" Emma pleads, her voice barely a whisper. "I'm hoping you remember who you actually are right now. If you do, then you're probably really confused, and I imagine this is all pretty scary, and…I know that you're in a lot of pain, Regina. I know, and I'm so sorry I couldn't stop that from happening. That I couldn't stop any of this from this happening. I tried…I…but I think we're home now. This town wasn't here and now it is so…I think maybe we made it." She feels tears fall down her cheeks, but chooses to ignore them, her voice softening as she continues speaking. "We're home. But I need you to look at me, okay? I need you to tell me that you understand what I'm saying." A smear of blood catches Emma's thumb as she runs it over the planes of Regina's face, and Henry notes the way Emma cringes – Emma's nerve and fight fading as her helpless fear grows.

As she realizes just how helpless she is to do anything besides wait for Regina to respond (they've only been on this side of the town line for about five minutes, but it feels like hours), and realizes that everything they've done – everything she and Henry have done to bring Regina back to them and to get home to the rest of their family – might be meaningless.

And that, God; that's the one thing that she can't even begin to accept as reality.

Just as she can't accept the red and blue lights which are now flashing against the darkness, the sirens becoming obscenely loud as the vehicles rumble towards them. She has no idea if the cops can see them on the other side of the line or if they just see open air ahead of them; but she figures if there's even been a time for needing hope to pay off, it's right here and now.

"Is she leaving us, too?" Lucy asks suddenly, her voice too sad for a child of her age. Henry swallows, and reaches for her, pulling her against his chest, his eyes finding Emma's and a look of shared grief for the easy unaware childhood Lucy will never have.

A child of her age shouldn't be aware of the awful things that she knows about; she shouldn't know about violence and cruelty and unimaginable amounts of pain and heartbreak. She shouldn't know about the terrible things that can be done to a person in the name of hatred, and she shouldn't know that even strong people full of faith can be brought to their knees.

She shouldn't know what it's like to have to hold your parent up while they're collapsing.

But she does know, and as much as he wishes he could protect her from everything, he remembers that his moms had wanted to do the same – both of them had been as upset about him supporting them as he is about Lucy - and they'd all ended up here anyway.

"No, she's not leaving us," Henry promises, amazed by just how quickly Lucy has gotten attached to a woman who can't remember the reason why this child would be drawn to her.

"Then what's wrong with her?" Lucy asks, her fingers clutching her father's shirt

"We need to get her to a hospital. That is, if there's still a hospital in this town; but either way, we need to get her help," Henry babbles on to both his daughter and to Emma. "It was too soon to take her out of the other –" he swallows hard as the world goes just a little bit fuzzy for him.

As he thinks about how they'd come to this frantic desperate place.

Remembering holding his mother in his arms just a few days ago, dirt and grime and rain-water under them.

Blood and broken bones, and glass splintering beneath his boots.

Hands on his face leaving smears of red against his cheeks.

His name whispered.

Behind them, cursing and shouting and the sound of a fist meeting something equally solid.

And then…then, the echoing booming sound of a single gunshot.

Followed by more shouting and him screaming, "You gotta go. Go!"

He closes his eyes, and tries to find calm.

Tries to not feel the way his heart is pounding.

Tries to not hear the sirens as they grow deafeningly loud.

"It's not her injuries," Emma says, hands still on Regina's face. They drop down, and check for a pulse, but it's an unnecessary motion because Regina's chest is still rising and falling even as her eyes remain disturbingly unfocused. "This is the curse," she continues, her eyes widening as realization hits her that yes, at least in that much, they had succeeded. "We broke the curse."

"You're sure?"

"The town exists, Henry. Whether it's invisible to them –" she gestures back towards the cops as they crest the last hill before the town line. "I don't know how, but it exists. It didn't exist before, and now it does. That has to mean something. It has to."

Above them, as if response to her words, the clouds continue to darken, cold rain falling now, splashes of it against their faces.

"Okay, okay. But I don't understand," Henry says, his arms still around his daughter even as he looks to his mothers. "We've broken the curse before, and it didn't cause…it didn't do this. Why now?"

The immediate thought which jumps to her mind is that the danger isn't over; they still haven't defeated the person who had sentenced them all to nearly ten years of darkness. They haven't stopped the evil which had torn apart their family and turned their lives into infernos of pain and hurt and so much loneliness. There's still another battle to be fought, she thinks bitterly.

But that's not the reason why Regina is laid out on the cold wet cement, Emma realizes with something of an emotional jolt. One look around as the town continues to come into vibrant color around them, and the sky continues to open up atop them, and she knows the real why.

"Because she's this town," Emma replies, sounding almost breathless as the gravity of the realization hits her. "A dozen dark curses can come and go – they can be cast by a thousand different villains…but Regina built Storybrooke; she's the reason it exists. Maybe she created it for evil in the beginning, but it became more than that. It became real." Emma smiles almost wistfully at the thought of that. "Whatever else, she's its beating heart. It couldn't exist without her, and now it's…back because she remembers it."

"At what cost to her?" Henry asks gravely, no anger there, just the weariness of his journey.

Emma looks down at the mostly still woman who remains cradled in her arms, her dark terrified eyes wide and open and staring upwards at the turbulent sky even as drops of water fall onto all of their faces. A stream of it curls over Regina's overly-defined cheekbones, mixing with the trickling blood coming from an open cut on her face before dripping down to the dirty ground beneath her. "Too much," Emma admits as she leans down and presses her forehead against Regina's, holding it there as water and tears mix together. "Too much cost to all of us."

"But we're still all here," Henry says, and it's almost easy to forget that he's no longer the fourteen-year-old boy whose hope had once been unwavering. It's almost easy to forget that he's a father now, and his list of failures is as long as hers and Regina's.

"I know," Emma assures him. "We know, Kid."

One hand settled lightly against Regina's chest, her palm against the roughness of the hospital robe which Regina had been wearing when they'd broken her out, she smiles slightly when Henry bends down next to her and threads his fingers with hers, both of them against Regina.

The next thing she feels is one of Lucy's hands joining theirs.

A terrible wonderful reminder of the way family always pulls tight and strong when it must.

It's then that she hears Regina's voice.

Low and broken.

Softer than the rain; even softer than the sound of her own breathing.

"Em…Emma? Hen-Henry?"

As a hand – Regina's hand – turns and closes over the ones which had been over hers.

Fingers gripping tighter than Emma would have believed possible just a moment ago.

"Yeah, we're here," Emma assures her looking over at Henry, neither one of them quite believing, but both desperately needing to.

"Are…are we…did we?" Gasping, choked, pained, but still fighting to be heard.

Emma's eyes close, and she thinks she might laugh or cry; perhaps both.

Behind them, doors open and then slam shut, the sirens off but lights still whirling.

She hears the cops talking, maybe shouting.

Maybe at each other, maybe at her and Henry.

Emma doesn't know. Maybe it's all about to come apart (again) but for the moment, she doesn't care.

So she offers up a watery smile and says softly, "Yeah, Regina, we made it home."

before.

"I promise," Henry says, his face splitting into a massive grin as he tries to reassure his mother for probably the hundredth time that he's not running away forever, and that he will be back.

Not that this is running away, and not that she's telling him that she wants him to come home – he hasn't even left yet – but he can see how worried she is that once he leaves, he'll never want to return. It's stupid, Henry thinks, because Storybrooke will always be his home. It's where his family is, and though many of the memories have been terrible, more have been wonderful.

"Regina, let the kid off the hot-seat," Emma chides good-naturedly as she comes up behind her co-mother. "It's his party."

It most certainly is that; Granny's has been decorated in a thousand different colors and it seems like the whole town has been dropping by over the last few hours. Whatever they might think of the craziness which seems to follow the Charming family around (and maybe, Emma reasons, it's the nature of those from the Enchanted Forest because they all seem to just roll with the weirdness of it all), Henry's reputation and place in Storybrooke remains pristine.

He is an adored prince of two houses and a respected young man welcomed into all others.

Which is probably why this Going Away party has been so emotional. Throughout the afternoon, there's been toasts and hugs, a lot of laughter and even some tears shed.

And now, apparently, some threats, too.

"Oh, don't you take that patient 'handling the Queen' tone with me, Miss Swan," Regina warns, gesturing dramatically.

"Miss Swan," Henry notes with a smirk.

Emma cringes. "Yeah." Then, her hands out in a placating manner, "Regina, I'm not try to handle you –"

Henry snickers, but waves away their looks.

"The hell you aren't. Need I remind you that we shared an entire bottle of whiskey last night?"

"And the two of you can walk straight?" Henry questions.

"We can; we were celebrating your heading off to college," Emma offers up.

"They were sobbing like mother hens," Hook chirps as he crosses over, dropping a kiss down onto Emma's head. Henry doesn't miss the look of exasperation Emma throws him nor Regina's dramatic eye roll; while Hook and Regina might have come to a truce over the years, calling it friendship would be a stretch. But at least she never looks more than annoyed by his mere presence anymore.

And Emma? Well, she's long given up on trying to get them to more than tolerate each other.

Their family has love for the most part, and peace where it matters, and that's enough.

"Mother hens," Regina repeats, looking like she's seriously considering ripping his heart out.

"Women and liquor," he teases, and he never did know when to quit. He has a bit of alcohol of his own rushing through his system right now, and it's making him far braver than is wise.

Sensing Regina's growing ire and recognizing Hook's inebriation, Emma steps in, "Her Majesty here put away most of the bottle."

Hook chuckles. "Oh, I'm sure that she did."

"And most certainly was not sobbing like a mother hen," Regina adds in. "But if you would like to see who can drink whom under a table, Captain, I'm happy to go. Just not rum. If we're going to see who has the largest balls, let's at least add some class to it, yes?"

"Guys," Henry sighs, more amused than annoyed.

Emma, on the other hand, is clearly not interested in this continuing. "Killian, please?"

"Ah, seems my lady is formally requesting that I show you mercy, Your Majesty," Hook says and he's grinning ear-to-ear. "So I shall." He winks at them, and then meanders away, picking up a mug of beer as he approaches Snow and David who have been watching everything from across the diner. David immediately puts an arm around him, and eases the mug from his hand, and Emma's fairly certain that he's asking Hook if maybe he shouldn't slow up.

But well, it's a party, and Hook has always enjoyed a good party.

She sighs and turns back towards Regina and Henry, startling when she sees the way Regina is still staring at Hook's back, like she's still contemplating violence.

"Killing is bad," Emma states, stepping closer, her voice lowering conspiratorially.

"Not always," Regina challenges, her brow furrowing like she's seriously considering it.

"Mom, he was just screwing with you."

Regina grunts in disgust, earning her a look of horror from Henry and bemusement from Emma.

"I meant…playing…teasing…you know what I meant," Henry babbles, and these are the times when he almost forgets that he's an eighteen-year-old on his way to college. When they're all together like this, and his moms are both being weird and off-beat, it's easy to feel like a kid.

It's easy to live in this moment, and wrap it tight around him.

"Maybe so…you'd think he'd have learned by now," Regina says, waving her hand. "Either way, you have to admit that killing him would be a favor. To Emma. My best friend."

"Gee, thanks," Emma drawls. "But then I'd have to arrest you."

"Or help me cover it up," Regina shrugs. "I'd be doing it for you. Least you could do is help."

"Congrats, you two," Henry sighs. "This is your most disturbing conversation ever."

"Ever?" Emma challenges. "Probably not ever." She looks at Regina who shrugs again. "Anyway, I'm pretty sure you'd be doing it for you," Emma insists. "I am married to him, after all."

"Exactly why it'd be for you," Regina counters. "You know there's nothing I wouldn't do for you." She flashes a dazzling smile when she says this, but it's like a lioness showing off teeth.

That's what I'm worried about," Emma laughs. "But I still think we stay away from murder."

"If you insist."

"I'd really prefer it."

"Prefer is not insist."

"Fine: I insist you stay away from murder."

"Anyway," Henry says, clearing his throat. "Back to me. What were you two doing last night?"

"We shared a few drinks in celebration of you," Emma says again. "There was no sobbing."

"But Emma did admit that she's going to miss you as well. Didn't you, Miss Swan?"

"All right, what exactly did I do to keep getting called that? Is this because of the no murder request? Because I still think it's a reasonable request to make being I'm the Sheriff and all."

"Yes, and also because you squirm when I call you it," Regina replies with a malicious smirk.

"You see what you're leaving me with, Kid?" Emma asks, an arm sweeping around him. He's so much taller than both of them now, practically towering over them even when they're in heels.

"Somehow, I think you'll manage," Henry assures them, his tone dry and bemused. Because this has been what it's been like for years now – comfortable and safe and wonderfully warm.

"I suppose," Regina allows, her smile more honest now, more easy and soft and happy.

"She loves me," Emma tells him with a short laugh and an easy grin. "You know she does."

"I know," he nods, seeming almost serious, like maybe he doesn't find it as funny as she does.

Before he can expand on his thoughts – before they can push on them (but they won't, he knows, and that's a shame) – the front door to the diner is opening and Zelena is entering in a rush of her typical frenetic energy. She grins over at her sister and then nods over at David.

"What are they up to?" Henry asks, looking back at his mothers.

"You'll see," Emma replies as a very keyed-up and openly excited David and Zelena make their way over to where the three of them are standing, Hook and Snow trailing close behind them.

"We have a present for you, Henry," Zelena blurts out.

"That wasn't the plan," David tells her. "We had a plan, Zelena."

"I don't like plans," she reminds him archly. "And being that I got it washed –"

"You used magic. I hardly think that –"

"Got it washed?" Henry picks up. "Wait…is it a car? Is there a car outside?"

"Yes!" Zelena hoots, and then she's grabbing his arm and yanking him out of the diner and onto the street before he can even think to protest her actions (not that he would).

"I guess she's running the show," Regina chuckles and then she's leading the rest of the group out behind Henry and Zelena, ignoring David's grumbling and ignoring the conversation that Emma and Hook are having as they slightly linger back. Or well, at least she's attempting to.

Truth is, she's never been good at ignoring much of anything about Emma, and this is no different. Though, this is just a normal kind of moment between the two of them – Emma pushing a glass of water into his hand, and Hook murmuring a soft, "Sorry, love," in response.

It's their marriage, and her job is to support Emma however she needs her to, Regina reminds herself.

She keeps reminding herself.

Almost four years have passed since Hook and Emma had gotten married on that rooftop (with song, and yeah, that's still weird, and she very much appreciates that none of them have any desire to talk about it or Rumple's long-dead curse-weaving lunatic of a mother) and she supposes that tolerance has become her own normal.

Because apparently there truly is nothing which she won't do for Emma Swan.

In any case, that hardly matters. All that does, right now, is Henry and seeing him smile.

And, oh does he smile when his eyes fall onto the stunning vintage 1967 Ford Mustang parked out in front of the diner. Bright orange, rebuilt from the nuts and bolts all the way up and fitted with leather bucket seats, it glistens in the beaming afternoon sunlight of a perfect Maine day.

"What do you think?" David asks, gesturing towards the car, a massive grin on his face.

"Mine?" Henry asks, looking back at all of them, and telling himself not to cry.

"Yours," Emma says as she comes up behind him and wraps her arms around him, giving him a good hard squeeze before stepping back and moving to stand beside Regina. "It was a family effort." She gestures around to the others – his grandparents, Zelena, Hook, Granny, and Leroy. "We all took turns finding parts, locating labor, doing some of it when needed. Whatever. But we wanted you to have this, Kid. As a gift from all of us as you start you new journey."

A lump in his throat, he looks at Regina. "I thought you wanted me in something sensible?"

"Your mother drives an audacious sardine can and your grandfather drives a geriatric tetanus shot waiting to happen and those idiots over there –" she gestures over at Hook and Zelena, shaking her head as she does – "And between the two of them, they've crashed at least five cars because the cars weren't 'going fast enough'. Sensible is hardly in the DNA of this family," Regina replies dryly.

"That was four insults in one," David notes, extending his hand and offering Henry the keys.

"She's quite skilled," Emma nods and then nudges Regina's shoulder with hers. "But she doesn't really have a lot of room to talk considering she's still driving her Queenly 1980's Mercedes."

Regina cranes her head back towards Snow, "Why did I want into this ridiculous family?"

"Our Thanksgiving dinners are wonderful. Also…we kind of wore you down."

"Uh huh." Then, to Henry, "I might have wanted sensible…but I want you to be you…more."

"It's perfect, Moms," Henry grins.

And then he turning towards both of his mothers, and his arms are sweeping out, and he might as well be twelve again because he's hugging them both so tight.

He's not afraid of leaving town – and he knows that he'll be back – but tomorrow starts a new adventure, and everything is going to change.

Hopefully for the best, but still, it's change.

So he wants to hold on to this memory like it's something fragile and precious.

There will be other ones like this, he tells himself, but still, this one is perfect.

He feels both of his mothers kiss his head, and whisper how much the love and adore him.

How proud they are of him.

How much they can't wait to see how he's going to change the world.

For a few seconds, his eyes are wet, and he thinks he actually might cry, but then the door to the diner is opening, and people are flooding out to see his new car, and he's stepping away from them.

All the while grinning at his mothers as they stand side-by-side, both of them teasing each other because neither one of them is managing to hold back their emotions.

He holds up his keys, then, and asks, "Who wants to go on a ride with me?"

then.

He's tossing out the tenth sheet of paper of the day when he hears the sound of the bus stopping just up the street from the apartment; a few minutes later, the door opens, and she's plowing through the door in a way that only a child of her age can. A smile crossing his face even in spite of his previous agitation, Henry stands up from his desk, pulls the cover down on his typewriter, lowers the lid of his laptop, and turns to greet his nine and a half-year-old daughter.

"Hey, Luce," he says as he takes her bag from her, "How was your day?"

"Usual," Lucy replies as she shrugs off her coat. "How was yours?"

"Good," he nods like he's trying to convince himself of his own lies. Then, because it's easier than thinking about the words which refuse to come to him, he asks, "Nothing interesting?"

"Lots interesting. Kevin asked me to be his girlfriend."

"Kevin? Who's Kevin? Do I know Kevin? Do I need to have a talk with Kevin?"

"I told him 'no', Dad," she assures him as she makes her way over to the cupboards.

"Oh good." His eyes widen as she watches her opening the cupboards. His face falling in horror as realization sweeps over him, he says, "Oh shit, there was something…I was supposed to –"

"Go shopping," she says with a scowl as they both peer up at the mostly empty cupboard above them. Oh, there are about half a dozen cans of beef barley soup and there's a very old very tragic looking box of Kraft Mac and cheese up there, but nothing worthwhile beyond that.

"I lost track of time," Henry admits. He runs his hands through his dark brown hair, and then looks down at her apologetically. His sheepish smile is meant to make the moment light, but it's hard to step back from the disappointment he sees in her dark eyes; it's hard not to see how much of a failure he has become at pretty much everything that means anything to him.

"Dad," she admonishes, because she has a fair idea that "lost track of time" had involved him sitting at his typewriter staring at a blank sheet of paper like it almost always does these days. One glance at the typewriter and then down at the trash basket, and she knows she's right.

Unfortunately, this isn't new; she's too young to entirely understand his obsession with making these old somewhat forgotten stories come back to him (she knows that it has something to do with his grandparents and his two moms and the town he'd grown up in, and how they'd all disappeared ten years ago), but she knows that they're meaningful. She knows that something good that happens on the typewriter can cause something to happen on the laptop. Or at least, something used to happen, but it's been a long time since she's seen her dad excited about it.

A long time since she's seen him looking anything close to happy.

"I'm sorry," Henry sighs. "But we can go now –"

She shakes her head and grins at him, "Nah. We'll shop tomorrow. I want pancakes tonight."

"You want pancakes?"

"Pancakes," she nods. "Apple pancakes."

"Apples. Right," he murmurs, and a soft smile comes over his lips (he tells himself that this is because he's been thinking about them again, thanks to the dreams and the stories and that damn Google Maps image that only he can see; but then again, it's not like his moms are ever far from his thoughts). "Okay, let's do pancakes." Henry frowns, then, the sheepish expression returning to his heavily stubbled face. "Really stupid question time. Is tonight a school night?"

She rolls her eyes; this isn't a new question for him. He rarely seems to know what day of the week it is. "Nope, tomorrow is Saturday. Which means that we can sleep in."

"Cool." He looks out the window, noticing that it's gotten fairly overcast, and looks like rain might be imminent. It's the season for impressive storms here in Bangor – not Storybrooke impressive – but few things are that. "You wanna go close or far? Looking like it might storm."

"Somewhere new," she says.

"Somewhere new it is, Kiddo," Henry replies. He leans down, then, and kisses her on the top of the head. Maybe he holds his lips there a moment longer than is strictly necessary, a hundred chaotic thoughts suddenly rushing through him. These days, she is the only good thing in his life; and he's pretty sure that she could do better if her father were one of those crazy-bible thumpers who seem to materialize out of thin air. She could do so much better, and he tells himself he's going to be better for her. If he can just get the world to slow down long enough for the words to come so that he can tell the stories he needs to in order to fix everything…

But he's been trying to do that for so long…

Trying and failing, his doubt-ridden mind reminds him. And it's right, of course. For almost ten years now, he's been searching in every way that he knows how to find his lost family. A year ago, he thought he'd made a breakthrough. He thought he'd seen Storybrooke show up on the satellite image that he always has up on his laptop – the one where the town should be. He's sure it had been there, shimmering, the faded town line there, the sign bright green.

It'd been there, and then it'd been gone, and he thinks maybe it was never there.

But he hasn't been able to completely stop believing.

Because the night it has been there, he'd been remembering a story he had forgotten.

About a Queen and a Savior and how they'd moved the moon together.

Since then, he's tried to remember more of the stories.

He's tried to remember everything he'd read and been through enough to write them down on the typewriter that his grandfather had given him the night before his moms had taken him to college.

The last night he'd seen his family.

He's tried to remember and…

…and it's gotten him…nowhere.

They're still lost and he's still here with a typewriter and an idea and neither is going anywhere.

Maybe it's time to give up, and focus on what's in front of him instead of on a past which no one believes is real because…because fairytales are just stories. Nothing more than stories.

He knows better, of course, but he's not sure that matters.

So yeah, maybe soon it will be time to give up.

Maybe soon, it'll be time to put away the typewriter and stop looking at the satellite images.

Maybe it'll be time to realize he doesn't have the strength everyone always thought he had.

For now, though, there's just the warmth of how much Lucy loves him in spite of his failures.

So he holds her until it's too much for his heart to bare, and then twenty-eight year old Henry Mills stands up, offers her a big smile, and says, "Okay, Luce, let's go get us some pancakes."

###

It starts raining almost the moment they step outside, but luckily, there's a new all-night diner not far from their apartment. He holds the umbrella over both of them, listening as she talks about her day at school and the schemes she'd been hatching – she's a firecracker, and she's always up to something. He finds it all much more amusing than the school does, but that's probably because she reminds him of himself.

Maybe that's not a good thing.

Well, she also reminds him of his –

Henry shakes his head, eyes straight ahead. "Here," he says as they reach the diner. One which looks vaguely old-school in style, and reminds him of a past that he keeps trying to get back to.

She looks up at him, frowning when she hears the change in his tone. But she knows him well enough to know that he won't answer her directly – won't ever admit to whatever is bothering him. "Here?" she repeats, and they're just words to bring him back to her.

He nods, and pushes the door open. Immediately, they're both hit with the smell of bacon and grease. Looking around, Henry takes in the room, observing the dated décor. It's a bit strange for a new place, but he assumes that they'd taken the building over from some other business, and around here, there really isn't a need to upscale. Despite his healthy financials, they're living in the quieter more unassuming and away from the high-life part of Bangor.

"Two," Henry says to the guy leaning over the cash register, his eyes on his cell phone.

"Whatever table you'd like," the guy replies, and then looks down again.

"Friendly," Henry mutters, and then he's steering the two of them to a table near the back of the diner, away from a guy in a clean looking suit who is sitting in a booth looking like he's trying to use a massive stack of pancakes to get himself sober before he has to go home.

But that's what this place looks like, Henry thinks, and maybe it's his writer's brain, and he's coming up with stories for everyone, but when he looks around, all he sees are lost souls.

Desperate souls, Henry.

"This one," he stammers and does a quick turn towards a booth in a quieter section.

"Dad?"

"Fine," he replies instinctively, and hates the question she was about to ask.

He wonders if his mother had hated it as well – seeing his worry for her.

All the while worrying that he'd seen her as broken or somehow insufficient.

He hadn't seen his mother that way, but he wonders if his daughter sees him as such.

"Do you have a story for me?" she asks once they're both seated. Her hands folds in front of her, and she leans towards him, as if she's eager for him to tell her something fantastic.

He shakes his head. "Not today. Nothing came."

"So you didn't see the town?"

"No," he replies quietly, and feels shame wind its way through him. Because she's nine, and she's never seen the town, and yet she believes that he has because she believes in him.

She shouldn't, he thinks darkly, but she does, and he loves her for it more than she knows.

"That's okay. Something will come tomorrow, and you can tell me then," Lucy nods, eyes scanning across the room until she finds the waitress who will be taking care of them; she's over at the register now, her head dipped down low, long brown hair curtaining her face as she closes out one of her table's checks. "Then tell me an old story. Something you do remember."

"An old story, huh?" He runs his hand past his eyes, thinking for a moment. "You want me to tell you a story about your mom?" he smiles when he says this, his hand falling away. There's sadness in talking of her, but it's not terrible because their story had played out, and even though he misses his wife terribly, the short time they'd had together had been beautiful.

"Nuh uh. Tell me one of the stories from your book. The ones you have written down."

He frowns at that because if she only knew how few are actually written down; the real book is as lost as his family is, and he thinks maybe that's part of the problem. The ones he's been able to remember and rewrite? Drops in a bucket compared to the forgotten rich tapestry of it all.

Is it possible that losing the book and forgetting the stories has done what Emma's temporary loss of faith so many years ago had almost done to the realms? Had he wiped out his family?

He's had this thought entirely too many times, and each time, it drives him to near madness.

But not tonight, he vows.

Tonight, he's going to at least try to be a good father.

"Maybe not today, Kiddo. You dream of that stuff. Nightmares."

She stares back at him, not much of a kid in this moment. "You get nightmares."

He's about to respond, about to try to joke this off and try to make this moment less awful, but then there's the quiet – too quiet for this room, Henry thinks – sound of footsteps approaching.

"Hi," Lucy says to the approaching waitress, her voice bright as only a child's can be.

"Hi, Sweetheart," the waitress replies, her voice deep and low and disturbingly familiar.

But it's Lucy words which make him look up – "You look just like my grandma."

His head jerks up, and true to his daughter's words, he finds himself starring into the face of Regina Mills – a face Lucy has seen before thanks to a crumpled picture inside his wallet.

Oh, she looks remarkably different than the woman he'd grown up with, for sure. This woman standing in front of him looks small and almost desperately fragile. Her hair is longer than he'd ever seen it on his mother, down her back, and strangely limp. She's dressed in a black skirt with a cheap – though neatly pressed – white blouse, a black thin windbreaker on over it presumably to keep her warm. Looking down, he notices that she's not wearing heels, simplistic flats instead on her feet. What he notices most of all, though, is how unnaturally heavy her make-up is, like maybe it's there to cover up more than just the age and exhaustion of life.

But that's just it, he thinks – that's why this can't be his mother. Because it's been ten years since the last time he'd seen her, and this woman for all of her apparent exhaustion looks the same age as Regina had looked the day that his moms had dropped him off at college.

Which means that no, this can't be her.

Which means that his family is still missing, and there's still nothing where –

"Do I now?" the waitress replies, and it's then that he sees the woman who looks so much like his mother lift her hand up and brush her hair away as she smiles back at Lucy. It's then that he sees the deep scar above her upper lip, the slope of it cutting down in an unmistakable way.

Henry's mouth falls open. "Mom?"

She turns towards him, her eyebrow up, and for a moment, he can't breathe because her dark eyes are so familiar to him, and yet in this moment, also so unrecognizable. She's looking right at him, but for all the awareness she shows, he might as well be a stranger. To her, he is one; and that become abundantly clear to him when she asks - her expression changing from one of docile somewhat disinterested pleasantness to annoyance and perhaps even wariness, "You two putting me on? Because it's been a very long day, and if you're here to play around -"

"You do look like an old picture of my grandma," Lucy inserts, her youthful energy almost immediately disarming the waitress who looks like Regina. "Dad's a writer. Which means he spends all day entertaining himself. He thinks he's being funny." She shakes her head.

"Thanks, Kiddo," Henry says feebly, the words like marbles in his mouth.

"I see," the waitress answers with a short laugh which doesn't sound as amused as she likely means it to. He watches as her hands move into the pockets of her windbreaker (it's then that he realizes that she hadn't come over with a scratch pad for their orders – presumably being able to take them from memory; and he finds himself thinking about growing up knowing that his mother would never forget anything that happened around her), each hand landing on something solid in there. When she speaks again, there's an edge of professional distance that almost feels familiar in an unsettling way. "Funny boy. Well, my name is Elizabeth not Mom, and I'll be your waitress." She looks at Henry, "I assume that you'd like some coffee?""

"Coffee," he repeats, and then nods. "Elizabeth." He points to himself. "Henry."

Unware of the reaction he's desperately hoping for – the awareness he's feverishly praying for - she turns and looks at Lucy, an eyebrow up. "I assume this is still him trying to be funny?"

Lucy rolls her eyes and grins up at her. "So he thinks." Then, lowering her voice in a way which is clearly meant to be conspiratorial between the two of them, "Better make it decaf."

Elizabeth – no, Regina, he insists – chuckles. Her hands come out of her pockets (he sees her flex her left hand, and it almost seems instinctive – something to file away for later), and her posture relaxes as she engages with Lucy. "It's coming down pretty good outside," she notes as she glances over at the now rain-smeared windows. "How about some hot chocolate for you?"

"With cinnamon?"

The words all sweep away from him in that moment, his vision blurring, his heart pounding.

Henry hears the woman – his mother – reply softly, "Of course, dear."

After that, he's just falling, a thousand images behind his eyes crashing together to form one.

One story.

About a town that has been lost for ten years.

About a family that has been missing for ten years as well.

About his mothers who he misses more than he can put into words.

His eyes go white for a moment, and then roll back as he hits the ground.

The satellite image on his laptop changes for the first time in almost a year.

And still the story goes on.

:D