Author's Note:

An AU of the aftermath of the spell of Shattered Sight in 4x10. Tumblr prompt by oneresilientheart.

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The gory slice down the side of her thigh is scathing, making her head buzz and throb with pain. Her feet are ignoring it, continuing her brisk walk down Main Street for her next victim she's going to hurt.

The attempt to sword fight with Mary-Margaret may not have been her best idea she's ever gotten; she didn't know that Mary-Margaret knew how to fight so well. Nonetheless, she's not apologetic about doing it. And she's not apologetic about leaving the precious little Snow White in the same jail cell as her husband, who currently hates all of her guts as much as Regina does.

Presently, though, she's promenading to find that insipid savior, the Swan. The one that she should've gotten rid of four years ago – or even better, when she was a baby.

She's condemned herself for it all along, not going to take the child herself and making her dark knight do it instead. She knew better than to let idiotic minds do something so important.

Her feet are recognizing the pain she's in, and her legs are wanting to fail her. She has her cloak tied around her thigh that's still tight in the leather (with a gash down the side) and she's wanting to fall on the hard, cold sidewalk, but her mind is telling her to push on and find Emma. Kill her. Finally get her revenge for taking what was rightfully hers, away. She's wanting to just go to her vault and try to doctor her leg, because hitherto her magic has failed to heal her.

She's limping past the psychiatrists office, murmuring, "Damn Cricket" while there's more and more people starting to follow her. She turns as one is shooting an arrow at her, catching it and incinerating it to pieces. "Who shot that?!" Her voice booms, echoes through the streets of Storybrooke.

No one fessed up, but no one backed down, either. People were coming for her every-which way, swarming around her like they were about to devour their own Queen. And right about now, she's starting to think that's what they're going to do. She moves her arms around her, but she's feeling weak, feeble – and her magic is failing her like her feet were trying to do. "Stay back!" She orders, her tone of command making a few in the group move back, but most of them still stand tall.

The mob consisted of almost everyone in Storybrooke, still swarming around her. A few would jump at her, but someone would hold them back, yelling, "Make her feel the pain first" and "Don't let her die so quick".

At this point, that's what maybe sounded like the best way out. Death. She knows if she tries staying calm, her magic will come back gradually, but how long can she just stand here until someone hurts her? Until someone really does kill her or torture her to death? She straightens her shoulders, getting her queenly aura back and snapping, "Leave me, citizens of Storybrooke, or I will keep my promise on ruining all of your lives. Peasants, that's all you are. None of you know what it's like to even eat without hunting it first." before walking in a very tight circle, looking all of her predators in their eyes.

She avoids letting them see that she's injured by holding her skirt in front of her thigh, making them think it's for more drama. It's not working – all of her threats. Leroy steps from the crowd and pushes her back, slamming her back into more of the mob and starting a fight amongst themselves with Regina right in the middle. "Get off of me!" She demands, never losing her anger with these stupid people. "I will burn you!"

"Oh yeah, sister?" Leroy starts, pushing her back again, "I'm beginning to think you don't have magic, your majesty." He quips, looking her in the dark eyes.

Scoffing, she pushes him back but is grabbed from behind, "That's none of your concern, I can use it whenever I want." and she's beginning to think that wasn't her best comeback by the time they're all around her, pushing her down to the ground.

She's growing more and more nervous, looking for ways to escape. It's showing on her face, now, and the mob of people are taking advantage of that. They're tearing at her corset, ripping the diamonds off and hurting her leg even more. A hand slaps across her face, another across her ear and making her eardrum pound inside. They're going to kill me, she thinks. She's almost sure, that she'll die as the Evil Queen now. She doesn't care, let them see what she really is. Let her die as what she's always been, and always will be.

She's pulled from her thoughts by a swift kick in the upper ribs, under her left arm. She cries out in pain, but tries to kick back with her better leg. "You're all going to pay." She growls, finally finding enough strength somewhere inside of her to dissolve into a purple cloud of smoke, reappearing somewhere in the woods.

Her eyes desperately roam the woods around her for something just to pull herself up with, something close enough that she could pull herself there with the little strength she has left. Carefully, she rolls and winces as the hard ground hits her ribs. This is still Swan's fault. Her shaky, bloodied hands pull under her chest and try to push herself backwards into a catlike position so she can sit on her knees. Ah! That damn gash. Damn Snow. Damn Swan. Damn her life.

Falling to her stomach again, she is on the verge of angry tears. Frustration is something that's driven the Evil Queen all of her life, and that's something that will possibly end it right now as well.

Her leg is searing with pain, her chest throbbing from what feels like broken ribs, and her heart hurting from the lack of magic in it. She knows what she needs to do, she needs to crush it. But she can't do it just yet, something is telling her to stop.

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One more day passes by, and she's barely moved. She's only gotten roughly two hours of sleep in the last twenty-four, and she's getting famished and so overly parched. She's rolled over in her puddles of blood three times by now, and she has that horrible sense that she's going to bleed out right here in this forest.

She tries again, probably the fifth time now, to get up and try to move. Nothing is moving. This is useless. Completely useless.

She has made it to the tree, though, and she can support herself against it enough to sit up. As she does, her cough gets the best of her and it's filled with blood, now on her dress and on her chest. Her corset is completely ruined, her chest bare if it weren't for the cloak she's turned around to be backwards.

Her hand searches under the wrong-way cloak, finding her breast and sliding upward in pain. Her fingers dance over the area above her pounding heart for a moment as her mind races to decide if this is a good idea or not.

Deciding it was, her hand gently goes into her chest and pulls a dim, beating heart out. As she looks at it, she feels no remorse. No emotional pain, no sorrow for what she's about to do, none of it can possibly be compared to what physical pain she's feeling in this moment. Her fingers squeeze, and her eyes start rolling into the back of her head.

Her eyes, though, catch something. What the hell is that? She asks herself, looking up through the trees and gasping silently. Her heart gets so loose in her fingers that she almost drops it, but catches it quickly and returns to her gawking at the rushing wave that's coming toward her. Like a sonic boom, it hits her.

Her heart falls to her lap, and her eyes widen then shut. Nostrils are being filled with the forest air, and her first reaction is, "Robin." as she gasps greedily for more air.

She looks at the throbbing heart, seeing it in her lap and knowing it's hers. She needs to get help, she needs to find someone and get her leg healed. She carefully places her heart back in her chest, and takes another try to stand up. Her tries are useless, and that's when more tears come.

She's going to die by sunset.

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He's at the edge of the town in the woods, unchaining himself once Will gets to him and gives him the key to do so. He tells Robin that no one can find Regina, that they don't know where she even went other than to the forest. How they knew that? He didn't ask. His thoughts are too busy buzzing through his mind, and he just hopes she didn't hurt anyone and is safe.

He knows that she's not evil anymore, that she wouldn't kill someone if she were in her right mind. But for the past day, she hasn't been. She's been in the mindset of the hellbent-on-revenge Evil Queen, equipped with dangerous dark magic to fulfill those dreams.

He has to find her. He has to get to her and help her. But the journey is taking so long, and he's missing his boy. About midway through the day, he stops and sits on a fallen tree. Opening his satchel, he pulls out the picture that appeared that day in the library. It seemed like such a long time ago – today – that it appeared, but he knows it's only been a few days. It feels like a lifetime since he's seen her, since he's seen his son.

It's times like these that he misses Sherwood. It was carefree, easy living. He didn't have to worry about protecting his son from these so-called "villains" who cast insane curses like this just to get things they want. He could let his son go run and play with the other kids in their village – some days he would come back with bruises. Robin would ask, "What happened?" and Roland would just go on to say that he fell down the hill. And Robin never had to worry if that was the truth or not, because he knows exactly how clumsy his boy is.

Sighing, his shoulders fall as he whispers, "I need to find you." down to the picture and starts to fold it back into fours before standing up. He tucks the paper in his satchel again, closes it, slings it across his muscular back, and continues his journey home. Home.

Though his physical home may be a camp in the forest with his Merry Men, his home will forever lie in Regina's heart.

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Another whole day Robin searches, surprised he hadn't run out of forest to search, yet. It's been a whole day since the curse of shattered sight broke, and two days, now, since Regina has been missing.

He's desperate; hasn't eaten anything, has barely sipped at a canteen of water. Mostly in his time away from walking, he finds somewhere to sit and just stare at their picture. The picture he knows never happened, but the picture that he wishes he knew personally. They look so in love, so free...so perfect. He just wants her back, and he won't stop searching until he finds her.

His steps are getting shakier from lack of food, his judgment a little off. Because of that, he leans against a tree with one arm extended against it, wiping the cool sweat from his brow. "Where are you, Regina?" He whispers up into the open space, looking out through the trees. His eyes start to tear up (not for the first time in this journey) as he thinks about the possibility of she may be dead.

The possibility of her being dead came along with the harsh facts: We never got to take that picnic she wanted with the horses. I didn't get the chance to wish her a happy birthday. We didn't spend Christmas together, Thanksgiving...I didn't kiss her enough and tell her I love her. She didn't get to read to Roland like she wanted to, yet.

All of it made his head hurt worse, and he started hearing things. He knew the hallucinations would come sooner or later, seeing as he hasn't eaten. But he feels like he doesn't even deserve to eat, because if she's been gone this long, she probably hasn't eaten either. Because of that, it drives him to his own famine.

The sounds get worse, and he looks in the direction he seems to be hearing them from. His vision is still blurry, his mind is cloudy and fogged. His hold against the tree lets up a just barely as he peeks around to see, and he sees what he was just thinking about. Who he was just thinking about.

His satchel slides right off of his arm and he runs to her, calling her name, "Regina! Regina..." and sliding on his knees beside her. The first thing he notices: she's concious.

"Robin..." She groans, her voice scratchy from her throat being overly parched. Her hand shakily, tiredly reaches out for his, as she tries to speak again, mumbling, "I love you..." and closing her eyes.

"Regina, m'lady, please stay with me. Come here..." He says, grabbing for his satchel that's no longer on his back. He practically growls as he's scrambling to his feet, tripping from being so hungry himself. Grabbing the bag and bringing it back to her, he flings it open and digs through for the pre-packed sandwich he'd gotten from Granny's. It was just a simple peanut butter and jelly sandwich, nothing that would spoil. Continuing his search through his bag, he finds his canteen and takes the lid off. "Drink up, lovely." He commands in a gentle yet frantic tone, lifting her chin back some so it'll go down her throat as he tips the water to run out into her mouth.

The cold water hits her tongue, brisk and a brutal wake up call. Her eyes slowly open, still feeling sick to her stomach. She shakes her head, shivering under the cloak. "You...drink it..." She manages to say, breaking his heart even more. But he can't, he can't drink that when she's this bad off. She's not dead, and that's a complete surprise to him after all the blood he walked through.

"My love, you have to drink it. It'll make you feel better." He whispers, tilting it back into her mouth again.

Her body is wanting to reject such things, making her choke this time and hunch forward. The cloak slides down her body, but she makes no effort to pull it up. She's too tired to, her body hurts too bad, and she is okay knowing Robin is okay. She's okay to die. She's wishing she could die.

Being the gentleman he usually is, his eyes tilt up and he reaches his hand down to pull the cloak up to her shoulders, covering her bare chest from his eyes. "What happened to you..." He mumbles to himself, holding her gently in his arms. He has positioned her, by now, so that she's between his straddled legs, lying against his chest. He's rubbing her belly with the tips of his fingers, using feather-like touches in circles.

Laying beside them is the baggy with the sandwich, a whole sandwich. "Are you ready for food?" He asks, and it takes her a while to even recognize what he said.

But she nods, nonetheless, and languidly turns her head to see the food. He picks it up, being careful of her fragile body. He doesn't know, yet, what's hurting her exactly, but when he moved her she yelped a little in pain. And he knows Regina Mills – Regina Mills doesn't yelp unless she's hurting.

Opening the baggy, taking the sandwich out for her, he says, "I don't know what happened to you, lovely, but as soon as you're feeling good enough to tell me, I can get us out of here. I can't until then, because I don't know whether you want to go back there or not." then hands her the sandwich.

Her trembling hands try to reach up for it, but she helplessly shakes her head. She hates feeling this way, feeling like a child who can't help herself. But then another shock of pain shoots through her ribs, and she remembers why she can't help herself right now. Them.

He quickly understands her helplessness, bashing himself in his mind for even handing her the sandwich in the first place instead of just feeding it to her like he's doing now. He knows better than that, but his clouded mind must've gotten in his way again.

So he feeds it to her, bite-by-bite. Tears little pieces off so he can just gently place them in her mouth, small enough that it won't take much chewing for her to be able to eat them.

All through this nursing, Regina can't help but wish she had the strength to talk. She wishes she could thank Robin for being there, for being here, for feeding her and taking care of her. No one else would help her like this. No one. And she knows she will thank him for this as soon as she can, and then kiss the shit out of him like she never has before.

After each little bite has been munched, he helps her sit up a little more for some water. "Are you feeling any better?" He asks, a concerned tone ringing through his gentle voice.

She sips and sips at the canteen, washing the peanut butter down her throat. An mmmm was the only reply he got, and he was happy with that. Beyond happy that she was comprehending his words okay and overjoyed that she was feeling a little better.

"Can you point to what hurts you?" He asks quietly, his lips near her ear. When she nods, she slowly reaches up to point at her head, nodding gently.

He dismisses that as the hunger issue, knowing she hasn't eaten. Her (still trembling) hand shakes it's way down some more, wrapping across her ribs to her left side and pointing there, tearing up from the pain again. She nods, letting him know it's hurting there too. Her hand stops, rests at her belly and she takes the chance to close her eyes before gliding it down her leg. "Gash." She whispers in a scratchy way, letting her hand finally fall to her side again.

Nodding, he takes all of the injuries into account and digs through his satchel. "This will hurt, m'lady, but it'll make it clean up a little." He states, keeping his voice calm and gentle as he opens a flask, filled full of whiskey. He positions himself so he can reach her leg better, moving the cloak away from the leather and trickling the whiskey down onto it.

Her pain is evident by her wince, her quick snapped-shut eyelids, and her fists clenching tightly. He thinks for a moment he can hear her teeth gritting, too, and he sighs from knowing how much pain he just put her in. "I'm sorry." He admits, watching the whiskey run off of her leg. "Why don't I tell you a story? It takes the pain away some." He says, knowing it would sting for a few minutes.

Once she nods, he starts his story. It starts off with the introduction of a man he once knew, and him being around ten years old. He was new in the village, and he hadn't met very many young boys to play with yet. The man introduced him to his son, and he would let him come over every so often and play at their house. One day, little Robin got hurt. He had a bad scrape on his elbow, making it bleed a lot like Regina's did. Although he had gotten it earlier in the day, no adult knew about it until they were brought in for dinner time. The old man saw it and immediately went for his cabinet, opening a bottle of whiskey and pouring it on young Robin's arm.

He knew since that day that it heals, cleanses, and has used it on himself, Roland, and some of his Merry Men many-a-time.

The story takes Regina's mind off of the pain long enough for the whiskey to settle itself in, and she finally gathers the strength for a sentence. "Thank you, Robin..." and then another, "I'm not in trouble...there...I need to get...back..." before squeezing his hand. She looks down at their clasped hands and tears start to gently slide down her cheeks, "I love you."

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