A Bug's Life

It was the same car. It had to be. The dent in the back fender, the result of a small incident he'd had with a parking meter years ago, was visible even from across the street. What were the odds that another yellow Bug carried the same scratches as the one he'd lost years ago. He'd loved that car. It was a relic from the past when he'd first obtained it, and it seemed, based on it's current location on the main drag of town, to still be chugging along despite its advanced age.

He suddenly wondered how many owners his baby had had through the years. Whoever hands it eventually fell into must have loved it considering it was still on the road. Not many original Bugs were left on the roadway nowadays. Of course, this was Storybrooke. He shouldn't have been surprised to find his baby sitting before him. This town, with the strange aura surrounding it, had a way of twisting him inside out, and this was only his first day inside the city limits.

As he stood staring at the Bug and pondering how he'd let a certain puppet talk him into returning with him to Storybrooke, he noticed a movement from within. Somebody was inside. Slowly, the driver's side window began to unwind as a guy with a badge hanging from his belt walked purposefully toward the open window and leaned in to talk to whoever was perched inside the car. From his unassuming spot across the street, he saw the stranger hold up his hand in what he assumed was the number five and then point to the diner a few doors down. Without another word, the guy with the badge turned and disappeared into the Storybrooke Police Station and left the car's occupant alone.

As he looked into the open window, he noticed it wasn't an adult at all, but a boy, much too young to drive, seated behind the wheel. Why would the lawman allow a young boy to remain behind the wheel of a car, he wondered silently as he began to step down from the curb and make his way over to his long lost baby. Not wanting to scare the boy who now rested his head out of the open window, he whistled as he lovingly ran his hand along the car's hood and came to stand before the boy.

Propping his hip against the front wheel, he said casually, "This is one fine car. They sure don't make 'em like this anymore."

The boy looked startled at he gazed up at the stranger before him. "Wwhho are you?"

"The name is Neal," he replied to the boy who, after his initial surprise was now on alert and full of suspicion. "And you are?"

"How'd you get into Storybrooke?" the young boy asked accusingly.

Thinking back on the advice his friend gave him as they entered town, Neal realized he'd have to tread lightly and not give out too much information.

"How do you know I'm not a resident?" he questioned the boy.

"If you were from Storybrooke," the boy answered, "I'd know you."

Looking down at the kid, who he was beginning to realize was smarter than he initially thought, Neal responded, "You don't know everyone in town, now do you?"

"Considering my mom is, or was, the mayor, I'd say yeah, I do know practically everyone," the young boy sharply retorted. "And you'd definitely know my name. So how did you get into town. Nobody comes to or leaves Storybrooke."

"I wouldn't say nobody," Neal answered with patronizing smile. "I bet you know at least one person who has visited this place." Not willing to voluntarily give out any information, the boy stared silently at the man leaning against the car.

"So what's the name? Or shall I guess it?" Neal asked. "You know names are important. Most people don't realize that. Names have power."

"Now you sound like Mr. Gold," the young boy commented, missing the slight shudder the stranger kept well hidden from watchful eyes. "He's always saying stuff like that."

"Yeah?" he asked. Realizing the kid hadn't revealed his name and wanting to get back to the subject at hand, the stranger began guessing , "Hmm. Is it Brian? No, Keith."

"Henry," the boy finally volunteered.

"Now that's a fine name," Neal commented. "Strong, regal. You're mom must have been a fan of English history."

"My mom didn't name me," the young Henry answered. "Well…my real mom didn't. My adoptive mom named me after her father."

"Ahh…," Neal responded. "Now that sounds like an interesting story."

"How did you get into Storybrooke? Why are you here?" Henry asked once again, ignoring the stranger's inquiry about his family history

"Let's just say I have a friend in town I came to visit," he answered.

Lifting his head to meet his stranger named Neal's eyes, Henry asked, "August?"

"No, it's October, not August." Neal retorted.

"I'm not talking about the month," Henry said. "You're here to see August."

"Did you just pull out some resident's name at random?" he asked the boy

"August is the only one besides my mom that can enter Storybrooke." Henry answered. "It has to be him. Which means you're somebody else, too."

"Kid, you're real corker," Neal smiled. "You know that. Here I am, I just came over to admire the car and now I'm getting the third degree from a pipsqueak. You should really be a detective when you get older.

Smiling up at the stranger, Henry answered, "Well, my mom is the Sheriff so it must run in the family."

"I thought you said your mom was the Mayor. She's the Sheriff, too?" Neal whistled, "She must be some woman."

"My real mom is the Sheriff, my adoptive mom is the Mayor." Henry answered.

"You really do have an interesting family life. And the man who was talking to you as I crossed the street, the one with the badge, he's your dad?" Neal asked. "You must have the lawman's gene's running through your blood."

"No," Henry smiled. "That's my Grandpa. He's acting Sheriff while my mom is….busy."

Laughing at his story, Neal continued, "Wow, kid, you really do have some stories to tell."

Seeing the boy's grin quickly transform into a frown, the stranger asked him, "What'd I say?"

"Nothing," Henry answered dejectedly. "It's just that my mom, my real mom, calls me kid all the time. She's been…occupied… for awhile now."

"And you're sitting here because…" Neal asked.

Henry responded, "I miss her. I like to sit in her car sometimes. It makes me feel less lonely."

"I hope you don't drive it around, too," he commented.

"I'm only eleven," Henry chuckled.

"Ahh," Neal responded. "I must admit, since you've obviously ferreted out my secret that I'm not native to Storybrooke, I'll confess another. I used to have a car exactly like this one once upon a time. I can understand your attachment to it?"

"Yeah?" Henry commented.. "Emma's had this thing for years, she said." Looking down at his watch, he noticed the time and hurriedly added, "Oh, I'm going to be late. I'm supposed to meet my Gramps at Granny's." Eager to get to the diner just a short distance away, Henry quickly jumped out of the car, not noticing the startled look that suddenly came over the newcomer's face.

Trying to recover from the shifting earth only he felt, Neal struggled to find a casual tone as he commented to young boy closing the door, "Nice to meet you Henry. Hope to see you around."

Turning back to the stranger, with a grin and a wave that was eerily familiar to Neal, Henry commented, "See ya. Tell August I said 'hi'."

Watching the boy race down the sidewalk and into the nearby diner, Neal closed his eyes as a million thoughts and feelings flooded through his system. The car, the name, the age all fit like pieces of some twisted puzzle as he fled down the street in search of the one ally he had in town…and hopefully some answers.

I couldn't resist. I haven't abandoned my other stories, just real life throws stuff at you that you have to deal with. This little ficlet just had to be written before the next episode comes out and ruins my head cannon. Hope you liked it.