Disclaimer: I don't own Once Upon a Time.

Contains dialogue from the Pilot.

Chapter 1: Wish on a star

"What the heck do you know about family, huh?"

A horse's mane, running past. Ice cream. A safe place to sleep. A calming hand on her shoulder and a cup of hot chocolate sprinkled with cinnamon after a nightmare. Karaoke in the living room. A gentle hand, braiding her hair. Christmas, Hanukah and New Year all packed up into one. Pancakes and the best hamburgers in the world at Granny's diner. A hug. A smile. A mom. "I love you."

Lies. Clocks. Hearts. 'Magic.' Betrayal. A waste of space. A stumbling man with a glass bottle in his hand. Nightmares. All alone. Worthless. Shivering, in the dark.

She reached out and instinctively knocked him unconscious, before letting out a melancholy sigh.

"Nothing."

...

She kicked her heels off as she walked into her apartment, mentally cursing herself for letting it get to her.

She quickly took out the cupcake from its paper bag, putting it on the counter. Birthdays were always the worst days of the year. The next thing out of the bag almost made her smile. Star shaped candles, that was nice of them. What was she, twelve?

Another year flashed into her mind, an actual cake – and a homemade one at that – with people talking around her, to her, and she quickly pulled herself back. You couldn't stay in the past. She knew that, better than anyone.

"Another banner year," she whispered under her breath, sighing.

She closed her eyes, thinking, wishing, and eventually making a promise: Next time, she wouldn't be alone. Next time, there'd be someone to celebrate her birthday with.

The ring of the doorbell jolted her out of her stupor, and she quickly wiped away the tear that had been about to fall, collecting herself in the space of two seconds, before going to face the visitor.

She had not expected him to be half her height, or a kid.

"Uh… Can I help you?" she asked, ready to shut the door at a moment's notice.

"Are you Emma Swan?"

She eyed him carefully, unsure why he knew her name. She quickly decided on her strategy – play it cool.

"Yeah, who are you?"

"My name's Henry," he paused, looking at her hesitantly, but with a small smile on his face, "I'm your son."

He wasn't her son. She was never going to see him again, and it would be better for him, wherever he was, and whoever he was, if he didn't. No, she was not going down that path. Before she could contemplate that further however, he was ducking under her arm and into the apartment.

"Whoa, hey, kid!" she called, trying to stop him, to no avail, "Kid! Kid! I don't have a son!"

One of her neighbors could have a kid, right? It wasn't like she socialized. Yes, of course, that was what was happening. She had no reason to be panicking. None at all.

"Where are your parents?"

"10 years ago, did you give up a baby for adoption?"

The sound of silence in the room was enveloping her, and she felt her breath hitched in her throat, waiting for what he would say next.

"That was me."

No. It couldn't be happening. Why would he be there? But she could see Neale in him, when she looked. And she had noticed that he shared her dark, hazel-colored eyes.

"Give me a minute," she said, practically running to hide.

He was her son. He was her son! And he was alright; at least it didn't look like he'd been through to hell and back. Which was good. But then, why was he here?

Through the door, she heard, "Hey, you have any juice? … Oh, never mind, found some."

He was her son, he had come to find her, and he didn't look like he wanted to rip her to shreds, as she once did – well, still did – her own biological parents. He seemed like a normal 10-year-old kid.

She really should've stopped freaking out by then. Gathering her courage, she walked back out to the kitchen, only to find him guzzling down her orange juice.

"You know, we should really get going."

What? Play it cool, "Going where?" she asked casually.

He smiled again, and replied, "I want you to come home with me."

Alarm bells went off in her head. But she looked at his face, and how he was still smiling - genuinely, so his home life couldn't be completely awful.

No, she decided, changing her mind, there was no way her kid was actually there; this was just a stupid prank.

"I'm calling the cops."

"Then I'll tell them you've kidnapped me," he said, evenly.

Why did he have to be smart?

"And they'll believe you because I'm your birth mother."

"Yep."

But he's an amateur at this game; she's been playing it for years.

"You're not gonna do that."

"Try me."

"You're pretty good. But here's the thing, there's not a lot I'm great at in life, but I have one skill – let's call it a superpower," she pauses, making sure he's watching her, "I can tell when anyone's lying. And you kid, are." She picks up the phone. It works like a charm.

"Wait, please don't call the cops, please go home with me," he begs.

She's surprised. So, he really is her son, then. He actually wasn't lying – because, contrary to what she's just told him, she can't tell all the time – and she can't believe she's going along with this. What will his parents think? Next question, Emma.

"Where's home?"

"Storybrooke, Maine."

She feels her blood run cold.

So she forces herself to look at him, instead. His pleading eyes, the fact that he came four hours – she doesn't even want to know how he did that – just to find her.

He could be anyone's kid. Anyone's. He could definitely be the kid of someone she didn't know. Definitely.

So she asks what any normal person would, the same way she did when she first heard of the town.

"Storybrooke? Seriously?"

His nod is so honest, she can't resist.

"All righty then, let's get you back to Storybrooke."