Hello Oncers! This is my first OUaT fanfic, written because I couldn't get the whole Emma's new little brother story out of my head. I absolutely loved season 3 and I'm so excited for season 4 I don't know how I'll wait! Writing and reading fanfic (and I've read some great stuff lately) will have to keep me going through the summer, as will rewatching every fabulous moment! I'd love to hear what you think of this little effort!
Disclaimer: Once Upon a Time and its awesome characters are not mine, but I did write this story.
When Emma returns to Storybrooke after a year of mixed up, fake, happy New York memories and sees her mother's huge baby bump she smiles and hugs and congratulates and really is happy for her parents, but there's a small, guilty voice inside her that can only admit how messed up and jealous she is when she is safe alone in her rented room in Granny's Bed & Breakfast.
A new baby will get all the love and devotion she never had, and she knows David and Mary Margaret well enough to know that their love and devotion will be limitless. This new baby will never for one moment feel unloved or unwanted.
She knows she shouldn't but she feels replaced. Like, what use will they have for their spiky, detached, damaged, emotionally stunted grown up daughter when they have a shiny new baby with no mistakes and absolute, unconditional love for them in return.
At first she thinks they'll lose interest in her. No matter how many times they try to involve her in it all: building the crib, choosing the paint colours for the nursery (her bedroom, that small, bitter voice reminds her, conveniently forgetting that they want her and Henry in the apartment with them and it's she that insists on the rooms at Granny's because, she argues, of Henry's curse amnesia).
But nothing changes. Yes, they talk about the baby incessantly, but they talk to her about it. They are devastated to realise that her son thinks they're boring, so they immediately take him on an adventure to win his approval even though he doesn't even know them as his grandparents, as anything but a couple of random friends of his mom's.
And then the baby is born and the Wicked Witch is defeated and they name him for Neal. They name him for their daughter's first love Neal and they make sure everyone knows him as Emma's little brother. Not Emma's replacement. Not Parenthood version 2.0, new and improved.
Emma expected to see nothing but joy in Mary Margaret once Zelena was defeated and the baby was returned to her arms, and her mother is overjoyed but it is tempered by something bittersweet and longing. It makes Emma sad in some ways and strangely comforted in others.
The first time Mary Margaret breastfeeds her new son, she is smiling so widely Emma thinks her jaw will crack, but there are also tears streaming down her cheeks and Emma knows they are for her. Her mother never got to feed Emma. She held her newborn baby for a matter of moments before she convinced her husband to take their daughter and send her alone into the unknown to keep her safe from a curse but leave her vulnerable to dangers she never even suspected could exist.
Emma went through with an empty tummy, and her blanket, her name and those few brief kisses and cuddles were the only comfort they could offer in the time allowed by the curse.
David sits behind Mary Margaret supporting her not only with his body and with a hand stroking her hair but with silent acknowledgement that he feels exactly the same, that every single thing they do for Neal from now on is something they couldn't do for Emma.
Emma wishes she could say something to make it better for them but she has never been a good liar. She knows she had a good enough home for her first three years, before her adoptive parents returned her to the orphanage, but she doesn't really remember it and the fact they gave her back when they had their own kids taints everything for her.
She knows it's not David and Mary Margaret's fault, she knows they did everything they could, but babies don't understand adult reasoning, let alone fairy tale curses, all they understand is whether someone comes to comfort them when they are scared, and Emma recognises that no matter how old she gets, and no matter how much love her parents try to show her now, the baby inside her is still crying out and wondering where they were then.
And somewhere inside she is comforted by the fact that her parents are still as inconsolable at their separation as she is.
'He's got our chin,' Mary Margaret tells her proudly.
Emma regards Neal thoughtfully, knowing that all parents think their baby is the perfect embodiment of beauty, but knowing also that this baby, her little brother, is the most beautiful baby ever born, except for the Henry that she got to hold because she didn't give him up for adoption in the fake memories she mercifully hasn't lost.
'Yep,' she agrees. 'Our chin. And I know all babies start out with blue ones but I think he has David's eyes. Probably his tact too.'
Snow and David snort with laughter and Emma realises how much she loves making her parents laugh.
She leans down and lets Neal grab her finger and can't help the cooing noises that escape her. He coos in return. Her brother is a genius. Two days old and he already recognises his big sister.
Emma catches David lost in thought holding two almost identical baby blankets side by side. Emma's blanket that she's carried through countless group homes, foster homes, apartments, cities, but is still pristine because it was always her one precious thing, and the new blanket, for Neal, that it turns out was knitted in the same wool by the same loving hands, Granny's, with his name embroidered in the same royal purple.
She doesn't disturb David, she doesn't really want to know exactly what he's thinking because just what seeing him like that does to her is enough to be getting on with for now. She just files the image away to examine in private, to find a place for it amidst all the contradictions that she's not quite ready to reconcile.
'Can I hold him?' Henry asks hopefully and neither Emma nor Mary Margaret can help but smile.
Henry is so full of love and faith for everyone in their family. He's wanted to see the good in Emma who gave him up, in Regina who he still calls Mom, in his father Neal, in his grandfather Rumpelstiltskin, even in his great grandfather Pan but now he gets to welcome his Uncle Neal into the family and as unusual as their relative ages may be Emma feels sure at least that she never has to worry about anything but good coming from this new relationship for either of them.
Her mother places the tiny baby in Henry's arms, and Emma suddenly sees how much Henry has grown since he came to Boston three years ago and claimed her as his mother.
Emma joins her own mother on the sofa and Mary Margaret grabs her hand. Neither of them has any words for this and Emma is grateful for the silence.
All she wants to do is look at Henry, who has lost his father but gained an uncle, and who looks absolutely ready to move from dependence to responsibility. She is in awe of her son and his capacity to forgive the past, to forgive her for giving him up, to forgive Regina for making him think he was crazy as he got older while everyone around him remained frozen in time.
Mary Margaret gave Emma up, sent her through the wardrobe with an inexplicable belief in her ability to grow into a saviour with nothing to guide her but a prophecy, but it was also Mary Margaret who gave Henry the book of fairy tales that set him on his heroic quest to find the truth, to search out his mother, to break a powerful curse through his willingness to sacrifice his own life in the belief that his mother would save it.
Emma has proved her love for Henry and she knows she would die for him but sometimes she feels Henry's faith in goodness and happy endings makes him more David and Mary Margaret's grandson than he is her son, but only sometimes because every time she starts to lose faith, Henry is there with his unwavering faith in her, calling her back.
'He is so like you,' Mary Margaret says quietly, breaking her reverie, and Emma looks at her blankly not sure if she's missed something, if she's talking chins again, if she's talking about Henry or Neal.
'Henry,' Mary Margaret clarifies. 'He's just like you.'
'You think?' Emma asks in a small voice. It's times like these, when Henry is so open to life that she most sees the gulf between them because she can't do that. She still can't completely let go, still can't risk what might happen if she truly opens herself to the possibility of love and family.
She wonders why. Henry hasn't really had it any better than she did. She never had a stable home, moved from one place to another, but while Henry stayed in one place, nobody could have said that Regina was anywhere near stable back then.
It's amazing that Henry isn't as mad as Jefferson, watching all that craziness around him. But where Jefferson focused inward on the hat and tried to recapture lost magic, Henry read the book and was inspired to embark on his quest. That's her parents' influence, not hers.
'He has your courage,' Mary Margaret says and Emma almost cries out in pain at the lie of it. She can fight, in that scrappy, street fighter way of hers that is all last ditch, nothing left to lose bravado, but Henry is willing to risk everything for what he believes in. He is brave in ways she's never been.
She has tears in her eyes and is starting to shake her head in denial when Mary Margaret stops her short.
'I know you don't see it but you are so full of courage. You'd be back in New York already if you weren't. Emma, don't think I don't know how scared you are right now. Don't think I don't know how much courage it's taken for you to stay and risk your heart on us. And don't think for one minute that I am not so grateful I could hold you in my arms and never, ever let you go.'
Mary Margaret puts an arm around Emma but doesn't look at her, maternal instincts knowing somehow that even though her daughter can't prevent the tears from spilling down her cheeks, all Emma really wants to do is sit in her mother's embrace and watch Henry's goofy grin as he cuddles and chatters to Neal undisturbed by the turmoil in his mother's heart.
Emma stops at the edge of the kitchen counter and holds as still and quiet as she can. David is sitting on the floor, his back to the couch, knees raised with the baby resting on his thighs. Neal's hands are grabbing his father's index fingers and for a split second before she is able to focus on her father's words to her little brother, she sees the same flash of images that hit her a long time ago when she touched Henry's story book as a believer for the first time.
David can't stay away from Neal but the only time her father ever got to hold her was in the minutes after she was born. She watches as he holds her in one gentle hand, holds his sword in the other and battles through the Evil Queen's knights to get her to safety at the expense of his own. She knows he holds her with love because in these flashes of herself as a baby she can see she is absolutely calm and quiet, shielded against her father's chest as sharp steel clashes around her. Emma as a newborn baby knew her father loved her absolutely and would protect her with his life. She may have only had a few minutes with him, but he packed as much love into them as he possibly could.
It has taken her a long time as an adult to even begin to recapture that innocent child's faith in him, in both her parents, but she has begun and it's that desire for faith in them that keeps her frozen in place so as not to disturb this present day David because something pulling deep inside her tells her that whatever he is going to say to Neal will be important to her too.
'You know there's going to come a time, Neal, you'll be maybe fourteen or fifteen, and you'll realise that your mother and I are the most boring, unreasonable and ludicrous people who have ever lived.'
Emma smiles, trying not to laugh. David has pitched his voice like he is reading from Henry's story book, but his words are all in the real world she understands.
'But that's okay. We all go through that. And don't worry, even though you won't want to listen to a word we say, we will still love you and protect you, no matter what.
'And you wanna know why I'm not worried, kid? I'm not worried because your mother and I have a secret weapon. We may have an unconventional family, but this is one time it'll pay off in spades, because even though the very thought of us will embarrass you, you're gonna have Emma, who you will still think is impossibly cool.'
Emma covers her mouth for fear of gasping and giving herself away.
'And you'll be right. Your big sister is brave and strong and fair and kind. She's an awesome, badass warrior princess so you don't need to look any further for an example to follow. So when you're a know-it-all teenager, totally unimpressed by the world, and totally mortified by your mom and dad, you can ignore us all you want, but just make sure you listen to everything Emma says and watch everything she does and you won't go wrong in life.'
Emma doesn't know how she keeps her sobs inside, but somehow she does. She doesn't want David to know she heard that, not right now, because Neal is still listening just as transfixed by their dad's voice as she is, but also for some reason she still can't quite let herself totally lose it in front of her father. Not yet.
He's breaking down her walls though, not with force, not even with direct challenges like Mary Margaret prefers, but always obliquely, tangentially, by something that shows that while he's doing one thing, he's thinking about something else.
Like when he's hiding from them that he's dying from dreamshade poison, it's not just because he doesn't want to selfishly distract them from the mission to save Henry, it's because he doesn't want Mary Margaret to have to choose between her husband and their daughter and he's desperately looking for a solution that will protect everyone but him from despair.
Like when he's thinking ahead to Neal's difficult teenage years, he's also thinking about how Emma will be there to help because they are a family and that's what families do and even though Emma didn't get to be a child with him, she'll get to be his daughter in a way that may finally convince her that she is irreplaceable.
Her mother and father can't stop looking at Neal, holding him and kissing him, except when they're glancing at each other in amazement, holding and kissing each other in sheer joy or holding and kissing her and Henry in sheer amazement and joy.
It seems like far from dividing their love into smaller portions to accommodate their new baby, they have multiplied it, amplified it so that finally she can start to really feel that she isn't just their daughter by blood, their make do and mend child, she is their family.
They adore each other enough to share one heart between them but far from true love making them selfish and inward looking, Emma is starting to realise that she, Neal and Henry are also the loves of their lives.
Emma slips out for a while saying she should get some groceries, although given the number of people who have shown up bearing soft, fluffy toys in one hand and casseroles or lasagnes in the other, they'll never need to leave the apartment again, except maybe to go back to the nursery in the Enchanted Forest, which would have been hers under different circumstances and might be the only place big enough to actually have room for all of Neal's stuff.
She stops by the grocery store and buys milk and cocoa they don't need just to pre-empt any questions about her absence until she's ready to explain, but really her goal is Mr Gold' shop.
She returns home to find David and Mary Margaret fast asleep. They are in what seems to be their favourite spot these days, sitting on the floor, their backs against the couch with Neal in the Moses basket between their outstretched legs. Neal is still clinging to an index finger of each of their sleeping parents and gurgling happily to himself. Their parents look uncomfortable, exhausted and absolutely blissful.
Perfect. She'd been wondering how to do it, but the unscheduled nap means she has some time to execute her plan now. She's always been impulsive, but before she found her family her impulsiveness had a self-destructive tendency because if she made the bad stuff happen she didn't have to feel disappointed that the good stuff never did.
Now? Now things are different. It's taken a while but she finally understands what David tried to tell her all those months ago about life and moments and she finds she can't wait for the good stuff, she has to make it happen.
As quietly as she can, she lifts the lid off the box and moves aside the tissue paper. She can hear Henry upstairs playing a video game and she pauses to pull her cell phone out of her pocket. She sends him a quick text in the shorthand coded language they've developed as mother and son, telling him to get downstairs, on tiptoe, asap, because they've got a surprise to arrange for Uncle Neal.
'Hey Mom, what's going on?' Henry whispers, just loud enough to reach a mother's ears attuned to her son's voice. He's expertly navigating the creaky steps on stealthy feet worthy of his mother the Sheriff and his grandmother the bandit.
'Steady these as I hang it up,' she instructs, her voice as low as his, indicating what she means with her free hand. 'We don't want them clinking together and waking them.'
Henry does as he's told, his body rigid with excitement, but absolutely sold on the importance of secrecy until the opportune moment, as only the instigator of Operation Cobra could be. Between them, mother and son hang their gift from the ceiling beam.
'Ok, kid, we need something to make a toast with. Let's make cocoa.'
It's the smell of chocolate and cinnamon that wakes the exhausted new parents but the first moment of awareness has them instinctively checking on the safety and wellbeing of their two children and their grandchild.
Satisfied of the most important things, the next thing they notice is the blue and clear glass unicorn mobile hanging from the beam above the crib and catching the light from the window.
Emma clears her throat as she proffers each parent a mug of cocoa with a swirl of whipped cream and a stick of cinnamon.
'Figured Neal had better get used to life as a younger sibling,' she says, a gruffness in her voice that she knows does nothing to disguise her emotion.
'Prince or not, kid's gotta accept there are gonna be a lot of hand me downs in his future.' She plucks at Henry's shirt as he hands over her mug of cocoa. 'Like this. Henry's almost grown out of this one.'
With tentative smiles, David and Mary Margaret are on their feet reaching for their first born child with their free hands, and as usual it's Mary Margaret who dives in and speaks first.
'Oh, Emma! You didn't have to do this. The mobile was yours,' she says, half thrilled, half heartbroken, as Emma has been since she first saw that bump that she knew would change everything.
'I kept seeing it in Gold's shop and I wanted to get it back for you, but I wasn't sure that you'd want it,' David admits hesitantly.
'I know,' she says answering both of them at once, her voice thick with emotion, though she tries to keep some levity in her words. 'But it's too pretty to let it carry on gathering dust in that dingy old place forever. We should get some use out of it.'
Nobody knows quite what to say for a moment, but Neal takes his cue from the silence to gurgle his displeasure that he's missing out on whatever is going on around him, and then there's an unspoken conversation between David and Mary Margaret over who gets to pick him up. Obviously it was Mary Margaret who put him down in the basket finally, because she concedes rights to the first post-nap cuddle to David and he picks up the baby and nuzzles a kiss against the fuzzy dark hair over the baby's left ear.
It's Henry who finally speaks. 'So, who's making the toast?' He asks, looking at his mother and grandparents in turn with his mug raised in anticipation.
David looks at Emma and raises an eyebrow. 'This is your party,' he encourages.
Emma's heart skips a beat. Somehow, for her, actions have always been so much easier than words but suddenly she realises she has to put her mouth where her money is.
She glances at each of the expectant faces around her, her mother, father, son and brother and wonders what the hell she can say that could possibly encapsulate everything she's feeling right now. She looks again at little Neal, and tears come to her eyes as she realises it's really not that hard. She raises her mug of cocoa.
'To our new baby Neal,' she says.
And suddenly, she's not the only one with tears streaming down her cheeks. Suddenly she's part of a protective circle, four people clutching each other, Neal's family all gathered around him and nobody knows who he is yet, but Neal is surrounded by love.
Surrounded by his mother the bandit princess, his father the shepherd prince, his sister the saviour and his nephew the truest believer. Each of them understands true love and sacrifice and each will have a part in who he will become, and it's a lot for a tiny newborn baby to live up to, but Emma knows that if any kid ever had a chance to become something truly extraordinary it's this one.
When they part, the baby is in Emma's arms. 'Hey little Neal,' she says in a low, gentle voice. The baby is just a week old and already she can't imagine life without her little brother. She can't get over how beautiful and perfect and tiny he is.
She's not jealous, she's filled with love and gratitude and she can't wait to get to know him.
And they all lived happily ever after. Thanks for reading!