A/N: Wow. This has been a long long journey. My special thanks goes to a very dear friend who hasn't been just my beta but also my cheerleader and shoulder to cry on whenever I needed to vent about the plot or just about anything. Thank you so much.
I would also like to thank the people who took the time and effort to make this big bang happen. You're truly wonderful and I'm glad and honored to be a part of it. Thank you all so much.
And last but not least, Sketchydonuts, you're more than an artist. You're a genius! I couldn't have asked for a better cover. My most sincere thanks and eternal gratitude.
xxLiv
1.
It may have been ten minutes or ten years. Regina's lost count of it. The darkness of her prison enveloping all there is to her, mind included.
It's a less kind curse than the one she has cast once upon a time. Whereas her victims couldn't know what they were missing, couldn't recall their old lives, for the happiness or the tragedy of them, her conviction has allowed her little else.
Little things tell her time has passed. The way her hair goes down her back now and the tiny wrinkles on her hands. The small rat that found its way to her cell while running from the shadows and went from little to old, to dead. Most of all, it's in the blurriness of her memories once they start getting old and well-worn.
How much, really, she can't tell.
In the darkness, time stands still while her mind never stops. Everything she's done, all the choices that have led her to where she lays now (where she must stay for the rest of her days) playing over and over again in her mind.
Some things, she will never forget.
Daniel's cold lips against her own. Her mother's lessons on love. Snow's betrayal. The bitterness that took place in her darkening heart and consumed her steadily and slowly for the years to come. How her father's heart had felt in her hands in her desperate attempt to escape that ruined life.
But even the good things, the one good thing – Henry - starts becoming a blurred memory getting lost by the minute.
She tries to hold on to it, to him, but all that's dark within her stains what little is good. And just like that, it doesn't take long (or does it?) until the things she remembers get mixed up with her hopes and wishes... Illusions made almost palpable by a constant and restless frenzy while her nightmares, born in her past actions, come to life just as vividly.
So she sleeps and she dreams. Then she wakes up and her dreams follow her.
Soon, Regina can't tell the difference.
Sometimes it's Henry who visits her - his age and appearance changing according to her current mood.
Sometimes he's barely six, still having trouble with the pronunciation of the big words, still missing a tooth right up front, happy to share the little nothings of his day. Then he's ten, not afraid to speak his mind, accusing her for all she's done and acknowledging her for who she really was: The Evil Queen.
Sometimes he loves her, most times he doesn't.
It hurts but so does the vision of what could have been had she not lost the war.
Had she not lost herself.
It happened when Cora died by her hands, but under Snow's volition. She remembers her mother's voice telling her she would have been enough once her heart had been put back in place. Then, with her last breath, all turns into haze and Regina's last fragmented memory is of herself holding the trigger that would turn Storybrooke into ashes had Emma not gotten to her in time.
And that had been it.
Afterwards, no other chance would be given to the woman who once again had threatened so many lives.
Regina remembers Henry's face when her sentence was announced. She may not have been able to touch it, but she could still feel his heart breaking.
The look he had given her then will hunt her for as long as she lives.
Either way, hurt or no hurt, she still prefers the sight of her son to the others.
Snow, the overbearing child, the condescending princess. Cora, the heartless witch, the disappointed mother. Rumple the trickster, the mentor. Daniel, the sweet boy, the walking corpse. And Emma, the savior, the hero. The one who stole her son and her happy ending.
They come as ghosts, haunting her and filling the holes left by loneliness all the same. Then they disappear, thin as air, leaving nothing but Regina's voice echoing in the dark dungeon.
And, of course, there is herself. Selves.
The innocent girl she has been and lost. The bitter newlywed. The vengeful queen. The powerful mayor.
In so many ways she has disappointed all of them and they're not afraid to say it, laying her mistakes right in front of her eyes one after another.
So when Regina receives a real visitor, it doesn't come as a surprise simply because she can't tell it is real, her sanity hanging by a thin veil, too close to being lost completely.
"Well, well, well… To whom do I owe the honor of this visit?"
The stranger hides in the shadows at first and his movements tell little of his true identity. He is swift, dexterous. Slim and graceful. Young, most definitely. But that's about it. Regina raises an eyebrow intrigued, her tone regal despite the circumstances. "Care to reveal yourself?"
He does so. Stepping up into the light that embraces his figure like an aura. A young man he is, tall and slightly too skinny, his hair overgrown and bleached by the constant exposition to the sun. Regina stares, appraising him with interest. His long limbs and the way he holds himself vaguely familiar, and his eyes, hidden underneath his shaggy fringe almost like a mask, giving her a strange gut feeling.
"You don't recognize me?" His baritone voice is shaky, probably because he's still learning how to manage it. Or perhaps because he is nervous. What she could only understand if he were…
No.
It can't be.
He takes a step closer, his clothes dirty and way past worn times.
It could be, but it shouldn't.
Because this means her boy is a man. And Regina has seen grown up Henry. In her daydreams he is always confident, almost cocky, but he still uses cardigans and jeans, still knows what a haircut is, and more importantly, he is well nurtured, healthy.
In her dreams Henry is far away, not in some fairytale land, or even Storybrooke, but in college, making a life of his own, on his way to become somebody, on his way to his happy ending.
This boy in front of her is not her son.
He can't be. Because if he is, then something went terribly wrong along the way.
Then again, that at least would explain what he's doing here.
"It's me." He approaches the cell, his hand running through his unruly hair revealing those unmistakable green eyes that Regina knows all too well, his words confirming her fears.
"My name is Henry…" He adds nervously a response to the ghost of doubts that haunts her eyes, his tone almost austere. "I'm your son."
.::.
She looks different than he remembers. Older. More tired. Also, slightly insane. Nothing he had expected, although, he probably wasn't being too realistic imagining he would find the same woman who had made his breakfast and put him to bed every day for the first ten years of his life as if no time had passed at all.
At first she looks at him like he's a figment of her imagination. Then, as his words find their way out, an unreadable expression takes place on her features.
For one second he thinks she won't believe it. Then her eyes become glassy with unshed tears and she swallows whole a sob, what is more disconcerting than anything he had envisioned for this encounter.
Because his mother is strong. Proud. Unyielding.
And the woman standing in front of him seems to be devoid of any of these qualities.
Instead Henry finds Regina small, frail… human.
She comes near the grid, where his hand is resting, her eyes so dark seeking for recognition, but when her hand touches his own, Henry repels the touch instinctively.
He can see the hurt flash in her eyes, which is almost familiar, but then, within seconds, Regina is gathering herself with as much dignity as possible, gaining some resemblance to the woman he once knew.
"Why are you here?" It's the question she directs to him somberly, suspicion blending with concern.
Henry had a speech rehearsed. It involved doing the right thing this time around, one last shot proving that there's more to the woman whose title alone still frightens little children. He would tell her that this is her chance to be the hero.
The truth, however, is much less honorable than that.
"I haven't forgiven you, if that's what you're asking." His words blurt out taking him by surprise, which, by Regina's versed expression, isn't received in the same manner.
"It isn't." She replies stonily, and Henry feels some of his anger deflate with the lack of fire.
"Something bad has happened." He averts his eyes, unsure of just how much he should reveal. However, years of imprisonment haven't given Regina much tolerance to reticence.
"That much I have gathered." She states unimpressed. "So you need my help?"
"WE need your help." Regina nods comprehensively, giving a step back and embracing her own body while balancing the meaning of Henry's words.
"What makes you think I would help these people you call family?" She inquires then, her frankness taking Henry by surprise.
He doesn't answer right away, pondering quietly and deciding his adoptive mother deserves the same kind of honesty she's offering him.
"For the same reason as ever, I suppose." He looks at her right in the eyes for what feels like the first time in decades, even though it's been no longer than five years.
"For me."
.::.
His logic is undisputable. Manipulative, yes, but Regina can't really hold that against the boy. She supposes that was a lesson he has learned from her own book. His wish, on the other hand, is rather optimistic, a trait clearly inherited from those idiotic Charmings.
The thought alone makes her wince.
"You must be quite desperate if you're willing to take such a high risk trusting a convicted villain to save you all."
Her guess is as good as any and even though Henry doesn't give her a direct answer, Regina can still find clues in his silence. Intrigued by her findings, she pushes it further. "What happened to your 'Savior'?"
"My mom is fine." Henry shoots back, curtly. "Listen, I'm not interested in whatever dispute there may still exist between you and Emma or you and my Grandma, ok? This thing we are facing is much bigger than all of that."
The anger in Henry's tone doesn't surprise Regina, but the gravity of it increases her concern while Henry decides finally to put the cards on the table. Some of them, at least.
"Now, I know it has been a long time, and a lot has happened ever since, but for almost a year after the curse was broken you made it your mission to make me believe that you cared for me. That you truly cared for me."
"I did." Regina claims resolute. The sincerity of her words revealing her vulnerability for the briefest moment. "Henry- I still care."
"Then prove it." He says defiantly. "Help us defeat this thing."
"I don't even know what 'this thing' is."
"Does it matter?"
Regina looks at Henry then, really looks at him, and for a moment she doesn't see the young man with unruly hair and sharp angled features. Doesn't see the bitterness earned by his years and marked on his expression lines.
She sees her son.
The baby who would keep her awake when he had a belly ache. The boy who stained the kitchen floor by opening a can of blueberry jam in order to prepare her a surprise breakfast when he was eight. The first and only person to whom she has ever said 'I love you' after Daniel.
And the answer, simple and undeniable, finds her lips with no effort at all.
"No. It doesn't."
.::.
Henry moves fast with light steps and at first it's easy for Regina to follow him, the darkness of their path familiar in many ways to the former queen. However once they are approaching the higher ground, the fresh air and its properties start affecting her in ways she isn't prepared to, giving a heads up on what she's about to face. And when they finally get close enough to the way out, the light is more than she can handle; her eyes overly sensitive from the years in nearly blind incarceration.
Regina stops then, abruptly, seeing nothing but white spots and something else starts tingling in her, the feeling familiar and unsettling all the same.
Not the small amount she has been given access in order to survive in her prison. No, this is something else entirely. This is magic that has been accumulating over the years with no release. Maturing. And now it's finally being set free in her system.
It feels different than when Rumplestiltskin released magic in Storybrooke. This time around, it feels like Regina is being drowned by it from inside out.
The effort she needs to find the hold of it gives her pause, her physical awareness for the change of environment momentarily forgotten.
A few steps ahead, Henry notices the absence of the sounds of her steps and turns around only to be taken by surprise by his own eyes.
Breathing heavily, Regina is looking down to her own hands, a bright spot of energy being contained with visible effort. And like she can sense his attention on her – which is probably a motherly kind of superpower – her dark eyes find his, a crease forming in her forehead when she tries to speak and not loose hold of whatever is happening to her powers.
"It's okay." She says in a raggedy tone and Henry steps back, cautiously.
"It doesn't look ok." His eyes are huge and his voice a few tones higher. "What the heck is that?"
"Nothing for you to worry about."
"It is if there's a chance you might blow us up."
"Henry, just give a moment." Her breathing is shallow. "Please."
He wasn't there when she had the trigger in her hands. Emma had been the only true witness and whatever happened between the two of them had been silently guarded by the blonde sheriff, even when the whispers of gossip had lost interest in the tale of the Queen with terrorist tendencies.
Still, he had always wondered. And now, Henry suddenly feels like he doesn't really want to know what his adoptive mother is really capable of. Stories and tales had been one thing, but witnessing it in first hand, completely overrated. And more than slightly terrifying – especially when Regina doesn't seem to have a very good control of it.
Henry finds himself with two choices then. To stay or to run. And while running is pretty much a basic instinct, he is not about to surrender to it, if not for honor, for sheer pride. After all, people are counting on him to accomplish this mission. Well, sort of.
So, even though staying means to trust the mother who has betrayed him before by the use of magic, the truth is this is the very same magic that now he finds himself in need of.
(And boy isn't that a kick on the teeth. Metaphorically speaking.)
That being so, cold sweat and fighting his instincts, Henry stays.
And is amazed to see, after a couple minutes, the ball of light shrinking until it disappears between Regina's clasped hands.
"Thanks." She says with a tremulous smile and Henry is not sure why, but it makes him uncomfortable all the same.
"Is everything under control there?" He asks fearfully, a hint of concern made aware by his eyes, even if not by will.
"As much as it can be." Regina warrants him with ease, to what Henry's response seems to be automatic when he finds himself able to breathe again just by such small assurance. Even after all the years.
"Then we should get going. There's a long way ahead of us and the night might make the journey more difficult. Trust me when I say, we don't want that."
"I thought we were returning to Storybrooke." Regina points out, confused by the alluded distance. The mines where her prison was made were never that far away from the city.
"We are." Henry confirms with a frown and she can see plain and clear he's holding back much more than he's comfortable saying. "Just not the Storybrooke you remember."
.::.
The walk is made in silence and Regina tries not reading much into it. She fails, of course, everything in her studying carefully the most insignificant changes in her son's demeanor and whatever information he has shared with her so far, which is barely any.
Something terrible has happened, that much she can tell with no difficulty. And it's not just by the fact that her son and the group of people he calls family have decided to ask The Evil Queen for help, but because he seems older beyond his years in ways that are not endearing or motive of pride to a mother, but rather unsettling instead.
Whatever it may be, Henry seems reluctant in talking about it even though he has engaged her as part of his secretive mission. In fact, the boy seems reluctant to talk just about anything, his stoic silence a disruptive trait when compared to just how talkative he had been for as long as Regina has known him.
She tries to respect his wishes at first, to respect the distance he has cast upon the two of them, but something inside of her tells her to do just about the opposite thing.
Call it a mother's instinct. Years in a dungeon haven't erased that.
Only her approach this time around is remarkably subtle – something her younger self never could muster.
"Henry, just how exactly did the key to my cell come to your possession? If I'm not mistaken, only one person had access to it, and I find it hard to believe she would have simply handed it over to you, whatever the circumstances may be."
Henry doesn't stop walking, though surprised by Regina's line of questioning, not sure of what she intends to accomplish by it.
"You wouldn't believe if I told you." He answers with a private smirk, but ends up taking the bait. "Why does it matter anyway?"
"Normally I would say it doesn't. But your hesitancy in telling me so, says otherwise."
"You're free. Why do you care about that?"
"Having Rumple for a mentor has taught me to be very careful with the deals I make. Indeed I am free, but to what cost?" The mention to Rumplestiltskin's name giving Henry pause.
"If you're worried about me making a deal with the devil, don't. I haven't." Henry presses his hand against his eyes, clearly bothered by the current exchange. "Then again, if I had, you would be the last person with the right to call me on it, wouldn't you?"
It isn't his insolence what fazes Regina, not particularly. It's just how wrong he is.
"Oh no, Henry. I would be exactly the one to do so. Because I've done it. And I know precisely the price."
She utters it with unwavering confidence and an incisive look, to which Henry can't reciprocate for much long. Still a kid, she recognizes behind all the bravado and inches taller once he backs down, angry and hurt.
"I wouldn't worry about Mr. Gold anyway." Henry mumbles surly. "He's not in the picture anymore."
"What do you mean not—" Regina's words are cut off by an indistinctive sound that comes from the woods and Henry's reaction to it.
Something is dragging itself through the foliage and Henry looks more alert than she has ever seen him. His shoulders tense as his hand instinctively starts looking for something in his threadbare backpack.
A knife, Regina recognizes alarmed as the sound indicates not only the oncoming threat, but the fact that it's in large number.
As in multiple.
She tries to conjure a fireball, but her body hasn't recovered from the overload of magic just yet and she is left with empty hands and a gut feeling that they are about to face the exact danger Henry has mentioned before. Only outnumbered and unprepared.
"Whatever you do," Henry comes near her, protectively, his broad shoulders serving her as a shield. "Don't let them bite you."
Who are they? The question dies on her lips once the creatures reveal themselves.
Born and raised in the Enchanted Forest, daughter of a witch, pupil of an imp and having magic herself, plus access to all kinds of magical creatures and kingdoms, Regina has come across just about anything: cyclops and giants, krakens and dragons, unicorns and griffins, mermaids and werewolves, wraiths and banshees… You name it, she's seen it.
Being the Evil Queen, Regina has not only brought death, leaving a red trail of blood where she passed, but she has faced it with her head held high more times than she can think of it. Most times unafraid. Sometimes, willingly.
Death however has never faced her back. That is… until now.
They grunt as loathsome animals, men and women, but really just what's left of them. Their flesh has been eaten and what's left is rotten and grubby, greasy and putrescent.
They move slowly but surely, attracted by the scent of life emanating from Regina and Henry. The first one to reach them, Henry takes down with a struck on the cavity of its eye. The violence of the act and just how naturally it comes to her son is more shocking to Regina then the presence of these despicable creatures itself.
She steps back stunned. Henry doesn't seem to notice her reaction though, more concerned with the rest of the horde. All the movement seems to wake them from their stupor, and together they advance in Henry's direction.
Henry vigorously pulls out his knife from the dead body and launches it against the next one. A third falls on top of the boy and his attacker and Regina finds herself compelled to act. With a heavy rock in hands she casts herself against the creature and hits it right in the head with all her force.
It's enough for it to fall back on the ground, but not enough to kill, so Regina strikes it one more time. And another. And another, until there's only a red splotch on the ground.
Henry, who still has a dead body over his own, observes the scene frozen in place, and that's how Regina finds him as she looks at his direction, wild eyes and blood smearing her hands.
"You said not to let them bite." She pushes her disheveled hair from her face with the back of her hand. "That included you. Right?"
"Yeah." Henry shakes his head, coming back to his senses as another creature charges against Regina.
He rolls off underneath the body that was on top of him, but is still half his way to his adoptive mother when a dagger passes right by his head and impales the creature against a tree nearby.
Both Regina and Henry look back in time to catch a mass of blonde hair moving swiftly with a sword, decapitating the last three creatures with ease, their expressions equally perplex, albeit for different reasons.
"Ma." "Emma." Their voices run in unison and the former sheriff wipes the sweat off her face, before squashing one last head with the heel of her leather boot.
With blood and mud on her shoes, Emma Swan finally greets mother and son, an infuriating smug grin plastered over her face.
"Now… Just how badass was that entrance, huh?"
.::.