This-here's my little plot bunny, which flourished overnight from a vague one-shot idea to a fully-formed multi-chapter story. Let's hope I have the steam to see it through. :D

A/N: Edited Sept 7, '13 for grammar and spelling mistakes *blushes*

~ Sound and Fury ~

A young boy scrambled up the stairs to his room, yanking open the curtains, tugging the window open as quietly as he could in his excitement. He had finally met his mother for the first time in his life, and he could never see her enough, never spend enough time picking out their similarities, their differences. She was new to it, with all her adult skepticism, and it would take time to help her realise the truth of what she needed to do. His glance moved from the front door to the Bug parked out the front, its bright yellow paint standing out against the dark, starkly shadowed asphalt.

He wanted to catch another glimpse of his (real) mother before she got back in her car, its bright yellow paint standing out against the darkly shadowed asphalt of the road.

The click and creak of a door opening drew the boy's gaze back to the source of the noise, and he observed his mum as she left the house, heels clicking on the pavement. The sounds, as if Storybrooke itself was talking to her, urging her to stay with its chatter, gave the dark-haired boy hope. He stared out, pale face peering from the upstairs room as the blonde woman glanced up at him, her red jacket bringing another welcome splash of colour to the cursed town.

Knowing it was rude to stare, he flashed an impish smile and scrambled for his bed, timber frame rattling home and curtain hooks skreeking on curtain rail. The boy felt as though his whole body was humming, perhaps excitement, or nerves. Not that there was anything to be nervous about. Or maybe (as the thought occurred to the boy), just maybe, that humming, that tingling was the whisper of returning magic. Could the Evil Queen feel it, too? He felt so alive, like he'd never need, or want, to sleep again. He tugged up the covers of his bed, smiling the secret smile of one who had a scheme, as the yellow Bug rumbled to life. He had only met his Saviour-mum recently, but he knew she would see his book, return it to him, even if she did not believe in it yet.

He boy felt a slight squirm of guilt at deceiving his mother, but he had the feeling she'd appreciate his actions. She had to be a bit sneaky, too, finding runaway criminals.

The oh-so-deafening pounding of his heart seemed to suddenly stutter and stop in unison with the Bug. Quick. Too quick, perhaps. She hadn't even started driving off. The boy hoped it was enough to touch her heart (he could see the walls behind her eyes, of course. He saw them in the mirror every day) enough to make her stay, enough to break the curse.

The click of heels on concrete (rewind it), and the boy had to nearly grab onto to mattress to stop himself racing downstairs. She would get the book! Trying (and failing) to quell his panic, he had to repeatedly remind himself that the last (most important) pages were gone. They had been removed the moment the boy knew they were talking about his mum. The Evil Queen knew all the rest, anyway. Somehow it didn't make him feel better. Emma's (his mother's) voice, then Regina's (not) drifted up the stairs, a muffled tangle of indistinguishable words. The boy, Henry, wondered what the Evil Queen thought, wether (how quickly) she would read the story, if she would give it back, or just ask probing questions. He hoped his actions were enough, though, he really hoped.

Please stay. Please.

Emma's footsteps on the concrete again, leaving (just stay, stay, stay). Something dark and wild clawed at his lungs, stealing his breath with a strangled gasp. The engine rumbled to life, and the vehicle, and its awaited driver, drove away (if he didn't look, he could imagine he was simply imagining that slowly fading noise).

There was still time. He didn't want to be stuck here anymore, the only one again, each year of friends slipping away behind him. She couldn't leave Storybrooke. (She was, really, the only one who could, but he didn't want her to.)

He waited, the agonisingly teetering battle between despair and hope keeping him awake. Regina was still downstairs. He needed that book back. It was Truth. He needed it to help Emma (because she had to come back).

Eventually, the two fierce competitors wearing down, Sleep took control and dragged him under.

It was perhaps two hours later, to his muddled brain's best guess, when he heard Regina's feet on the stairs. He burrowed deeper under the covers, thinking sleepy thoughts. She placed the book on his bedside table (she really gave it back?) and paused. He watched her shadow, thrown onto the wall in front of his hidden face, as she bent and placed a kiss on his hair. With a murmured, "Goodnight, Henry," she backed out, closing off the light.

When he was sure she was gone, Henry lifted a hand to feel for the book, the terror (pre-adventure jitters) uncurling within him and suffusing his limbs with weak relief. It was still here. Ready for Emma. Smiling with the reclaimed hope, Henry slipped into unconsciousness, surrendering to the mindless passing of darkened hours before the new day.

~O~

Rather predictably, Henry's first waking thoughts were of Emma. He hauled himself from bed, dressing and taking the storybook to cradle it in his arms. He pulled a seat over to the window, leaning on the sill to stare out across the town. He glanced at the clock tower, so full of certainty it took a moment for him to realise it had not, in fact, moved (what?). Henry froze as ice trickled through his veins, a cold hollowness in his chest. He had to check that she was still here. How could she leave, when she was the one to break the curse?

He hurriedly pulled on his shoes, and nearly forgot his schoolbag (there's school today? Without Emma?) as he tore down the stairs, ready to pelt down the street. He knew he would have a better chance of seeing her that way than if the Evil Queen drove him. He had reached the front room, the door in sight, when the voice interrupted him.

"Henry, dear, where are you going?"

No, not now. He scudded to a halt, shoes squeaking on the expensive floor. Henry turned with studied care, frantically wiping any trace of expression from his face. The Queen stood there, her crisp black suit a contrast to the feminine, provocative gowns he knew she used to wear. Her face spoke of genial curiosity, but her eyes screamed frustration and impatience (and perhaps a note of apprehension. He knew, of course).

"Walking to school. I don't want to be late."

"Don't be ridiculous, I'll drive you. No "but"s. I want to talk to you, Henry."

Henry considered just running for the door, but his bag was bulky and his legs shorter than hers. He sighed, nodded in acquiescence, and trudged towards the door. She followed him out, pushing an energy bar into his hands as she slipped into the driver's seat. He pulled the door closed behind him, the revving engine reminding him of Emma's own Bug. He wouldn't get the same chance to see her now, but it was a small town, especially compared to Boston.

Regina pulled out, letting an expectant silence pool between them as she drove to school. Henry watched the scenery pass by, waving to Miss Blanchard (Snow White) on her own way to the school. He saw Ruby (Red) setting out the Diner sign, her trademark scarlet-centred clothes reminding him of Emma's own jacket. Maybe she was already in the Diner, drinking hot cocoa with cinnamon (they'd always find each other, and then they'd all drink hot cocoa with cinnamon). He'd introduce her to Miss Blanchard first thing.

The car idling to a stop pulled Henry out of his musings. He twisted in his seat to look at Regina, waiting for her to speak.

"Now, Henry. Your… Emma told me about your storybook. That you think we're all characters from it. That you think that I'm the Evil Queen."

"But it's the truth! You cursed everyone here, because you blamed Snow White for Daniel's death." A little voice shouted, Don't tip her off! at Henry, but the words were already out. Regina flinched as if he had slapped her, eyes widening with pain and anger before the cool mask slid into place once again.

"Henry. I am not evil. Where did these notions come from? Now, I've booked you in for another session with Doctor Hopper this afternoon, so be waiting here after school to be picked up. I'll see you then." The last was spoken with a tone Henry imagined she used when she condemned people to her dungeon; promise, threat and contemptuous dismissal all in one. He grudgingly stepped out, shouldering his bag, the extra weight of the book reassuring, like it was tethering him to the ground, to the knowledge that he was on the right track. He'd gotten Emma here, after all (he'd just wait 'til this afternoon to see her).

He gave a perfunctory wave to the Queen as he turned to the school, walking over to the newly arrived Miss Blanchard with a wide grin.

"Hey, Miss Blanchard."

"Henry! Hello to you, as well. Is that smile just for me? I didn't think you enjoyed schoolthat much."

Of course. Miss Blanchard hadn't met Emma yet. Even if they weren't mother and daughter, Henry thought Miss Blanchard would get along with Emma. Everyone got along with Miss Blanchard (except the Evil Queen. And King George).

"I met my mum!" Miss Blanchard stared at him, and he could see the confusion start to unfurl on her face, "My real mum, I mean. Emma." If he had been hopeful the name would touch something of Snow buried inside, he was disappointed. Mary Margaret smiled in faint relief (he supposed he couldn't really blame her for her it, replaying his own words) but otherwise didn't react.

"Is she in town?"

"Yep. You want to know a secret?" Miss Blanchard leaned down obligingly, and Henry cupped his hands over her ear, lowering his voice even further, "She's going to help me with Operation Cobra."

"What's Operation Cobra?" Well, Henry had forgotten no one else knew about Cobra.

"Oh! I'm really sorry, Miss Blanchard, I can't tell you. Not yet. You'll find out eventually, though. I promise." Everyone would still remember their false lives once they remembered their real ones, right? Henry hoped so. In case they kept both sets, he gave her a quick hug, releasing the surprised teacher before she could return it.

"Thanks so much for the storybook, Miss Blanchard. It's really cool."

Before the bemused schoolteacher could reply, the bell for the start of class rang, startling them both. Miss Blanchard shuffled him off to class, following him in and making sure everyone was seated before closing the door and calling roll.

As usual, Henry say by himself at recess and lunch, but he had the book to occupy him, so the familiar sting wasn't as bad. He flipped through the pages, eyes unfocussing as he sought to place the somewhat vague renditions with faces he had seen around town, the inked-in scenery fading away. He alternated between guessing names and reading the accompanying stories.

He was about to turn a page when a thocking sort of noise startled him, a fuzzy yellow tennis ball rebounding off the metal bench seat he sat on. A boy ran up to him, giving him (madam mayor's son) an uneasy glance before snatching the ball mid-bounce, running back to his friends and telling them off for nearly hitting "the mayor's kid". Ouch. Henry though the ball would have hurt less, but then Regina would still get annoyed at whoever kid was responsible. Henry resolutely turned back to his new page, taking in the image of the dark-haired boy, head bowed and sitting alone by a river stream but for a prettily cloaked girl half-hidden behind a mossy tree trunk. He read the picture's caption, bracketed by fanciful curlicues below the image: The village children, whose parents feared the Dark One, were told never to approach his son, lest they deliver him some unforgiveable injury in play. Only Moraine, rescued from facing the Ogres in combat, would dare to approach Baelfire.

Henry wondered who Baelfire was in Storybrooke, if he had had time to grow up before the Dark Curse hit. He flipped through the pages, eyes skimming the words eagerly, coming to rest on the story's final image; that of the Dark One, Dagger drawn, swearing to find his lost son. Such devotion made Henry smile (Emma and he found each other, too), but he was forced to pack the book away for the afternoon class.

As he closed the zip of his bag, he saw the hard plastic rectangle of Miss Blanchard's credit card in its little pocket, the sight bringing with it the original guilt of having stolen it. He was saving her, reuniting mother and daughter (mother and son), but he still determined to return it before his session with Archie.

"Miss Blanchard?" Now that school had ended, and his appointed time had come, he was feeling distinctly queasy. He had committed a crime, after all (had stolen from his grandmother) and was only now confessing to it.

"Yes, Henry? What can I help you with?" Miss Blanchard collected books from desks, straightening everything out as the last students left, eager to see the back of the dreaded building.

"Uh…" (and this was a lot harder than he thought it would be) "Isortastoleyourcreditcardandusedittofindmymother. " Miss Blanchard turned to look at him frankly, setting the books down to give him her whole attention. And now he could see the steely determination Snow White was known for (even if it was hiding itself as motherly concern).

"Pardon?"

"I took your credit card. I'm sorry! I just wanted to find my mum, and I needed money to do it, and Regina wouldnt've let me. Here," Henry held out the card with fingers that trembled. Miss Blanchard took the card and glanced over it before slipping it into the pocket of her pants.

"I didn't even know it was missing," she murmured to herself, gaze shifting inwards. She seemed to shake herself, then looked at Henry once more, wry respect in her eyes. "Clever boy."

"I'm really sorry, Miss Blanchard."

"It's alright, Henry. But maybe you could introduce us? Since you've probably convinced her to stay for a while." Henry hadn't realised he was holding his breath, and it whooshed out of him, bringing a rush of dizziness (and maybe the relief played a bigger part than he allowed. A prince needed to be brave, but he certainly didn't feel like it). Miss Blanchard caught him by the shoulders, and he blinked oddly sleepy eyes at her. She helped him lean against her desk, legs straight out in front of him.

"Hey, are you sure you'll be fine? Sit down, I'll… I'll see if Regina is outside, tell her you aren't feeling well." Henry sprang up from his position on the floor. He ignored the still-shimmering linoleum squares to grab his bag and swing it onto his shoulders. He didn't want Regina blaming Miss Blanchard (which she's assuredly do) and he wanted to go to his meeting. Emma would need more help with Operation Cobra than just him.

"No, it's okay. I want to talk to Jiminy- Doctor Hopper. I'll go." He shrugged off Miss Blanchard's unsure murmur, smiling at her as she smoothed his ruffled hair almost unconsciously, adjusting his collar.

"See you tomorrow, then, Henry." Miss Blanchard waved goodbye to him, picking up the books and wrapping her arms securely around them. Henry waved back as he ducked out the door, feet thudding along the empty hallways. He pictured her face, caring and worried despite his words (for what they were worth from his ten year old self) and with the teasing hints of his own features. No one would notice them if they weren't looking for them, but they were there, in the chin, the nose, the gleam of their eyes. Henry wrapped that secret happiness inside him, sliding into the seat beside Regina, puffing only slightly. She was frowning, glancing suspiciously from him to the school's open hallway.

"What held you up?"

"I dropped my pencilcase and needed to pick everything up again."

Regina gave a disapproving hum. "Be more careful next time. I'll pick you up from Doctor Hopper's in an hour, okay? I just want you to see the truth." Henry noticed the mimicking of his earlier words, but said nothing.

The Evil Queen left Henry with a stern glance before Dr. Hopper had even opened the door. He entered, glancing around at the too-familiar room and taking his customary seat on the lounge perpendicular to Dr. Hopper's seat. He studied the man's face as he spoke to Henry of the purpose of fairytales as important moral guides, stories used to entertain and educate. Henry sighed as Dr. Hopper once again spoke the phrase, "your mother is very worried," and concluded that he was not yet (quite) ready to join Operation Cobra. He and Emma would have to wake him up a bit more before that could happen.

Emma. Henry's earlier patience had frayed almost the moment he walked in Dr. Hopper's door, and he was near to wriggling in his seat like an excited puppy to see her again. He felt that same buzzing anticipation of the night before, and knew that this was the beginning of his adventure (he was the hero this time).

Henry spoke the words Regina wanted to hear (a difference from the usual) and left as soon as he could (completely normal). Regina had told him he could wander for a few hours, maybe find Emma. Henry found that suspicious, but maybe she wanted private time to organise the running of the town with Sheriff Graham (somehow he doubted it involved a memorial to her murdered True Love. He wasn't stupid).

The first, and best, place to look was Granny's diner. It was the only one in town, and Ruby made delicious cinnamon hot cocoas. He could look for Emma on the way there, for her distinctive yellow Bug.

Fifteen minutes and no yellow Bug later, the diner's hanging bell chimed as he pushed open the door, the diner greeting him with empty silence.

"Hey, there, Henry. Can I get you anything?" (Red as a) Ruby swanned over, short apron fully coving short shorts, shirt tied over her bare stomach. The highlights in her hair framed her face like Henry imagined her cloak had done, but he hoped Red was more open with him (madam mayor's son) when she knew who he was.

"I'll have a cinnamon hot cocoa." He hopped into one of the plush seats just as Miss Blanchard entered, expression harried. He waved her over, and saw Ruby swipe another mug, preparing a drink identical to his. Miss Blanchard's face brightened when she saw him, and she sat down opposite him.

"Hello, Henry. Does your mother know you're here?"

"She's still in her meeting with Graham. So I came here to see if Emma's been here." Before Miss Blanchard could reply, Ruby came over and deposited the drinks in front of each of them. Henry had discovered they both liked cinnamon in their hot cocoa on his eighth birthday, when he'd been sitting alone (before the book) and Miss Blanchard had snuck him out of school for a birthday treat, even though she hadn't been his teacher then.

Henry turned to the young woman, "Hey, Ruby, have you seen a woman come through here today? She's got blonde hair, blue eyes and she was wearing a red jacket."

"A stranger in Storybrooke?" Ruby sounded intrigued (even under the curse people would know no-one ever visited), but shook her head. "If she's in town, I haven't seen her." Henry deflated almost with an audible hiss of air. He thanked her anyway, for answering and for the drinks, and she headed back to the bar to stare at a world map she'd pinned to the wall. She hummed absentmindedly, the tune unfamiliar. He supposed Storybrooke could be pretty boring (the town had nothing on Fairytale Land), but the curse stopped her from leaving.

"Henry…" He turned at Miss Blanchard's hesitant murmur.

"Maybe… Maybe she's gone. Did she actually tell you she's be staying?"

"No." Henry dragged the answer out reluctantly, trying to wish it different, "Butshe has to!"

"Just because we are supposed to do something doesn't mean we will." Miss Blanchard said gently, then hesitated, "I mean, I'm not supposed to be seeing you out of school, but we're talking now, aren't we?" Henry frowned. When did that happen? Did she have anything to do with it? Henry asked her, hearing the note of anger running through his voice. Miss Blanchard smiled unconvincingly and shook her head. Thankfully, she didn't try to give a reason why (he would've seen through it, and she knew that).

They finished their cocoas in silence after that, keeping their thoughts to themselves. Miss Blanchard insisted on paying for them both (but Henry still left Ruby his own tip) and the left the still-empty diner together, Miss Blanchard wrapping her coat further around herself as the cool evening air hit them. Miss Blanchard glanced at her watch and frowned, glancing up and down the street.

"It's nearly five. Shouldn't your mother be wondering where you are?" Henry noticed the should, rather than the would. Emma's superpower might be spotting the spoken lies, but Henry's was spotting the unspoken truths. He knew Miss Blanchard didn't think Regina was a good mother, like he knew Emma only wanted the best for him, and Archie couldn't help that the curse made him scared to be good.

"She doesn't mind. As long as I'm home before dark she's okay with it." (Especially if she's in a meeting with Graham). Miss Blanchard frowned as if she had heard his thoughts (he liked that about the two of them. He liked the thought of them) and brushed her short fringe out of her face.

"Are you sure? Of course you are. Never mind me, but think a bit about what I said. About Emma. She might not want to take you away from your mother. Or maybe she hasn't got the money to look after you yet. She might not even be legally allowed to look after you." Henry smiled (and maybe she didn't want him. But he saw that she did, so it was okay. Really), but didn't correct her. He took a step back from his Emma Problem (he's need a codename) to look at Miss Blanchard, his grandmother. She didn't look it, but sometimes she acted like it, even if she didn't remember. He was hit with a sudden, dizzying affection for her. Even with her meek curse-self and Regina's threats, she still dared to spend time with him. He gave her another quick hug like he had that morning, hiding suspiciously wet eyes.

"Bye Miss Blanchard." He forced out, giving a jerky wave and praying that she didn't hear the warble in his too-tight throat. She gave a half-hearted wave in return, and Henry caught her concerned gaze as he spun and headed at a run in the direction of his house.

When he got there his eyes were mostly dry and he thought he would be able to carry on a conversation without choking up, but he still ducked into his room with nothing more than a quick hello to Regina and Graham, sitting on the lounges in her study and talking casually over glasses of dark red wine.

He abandoned his bag to the floor and dug the liberated story pages from his hiding spot. They were slipped behind the mirror of his wardrobe, where he had found a thin gap between glass and timber, just big enough for the pages. He lay on his bad and grasped them with shaking fingers, eyes drinking in the images of baby Emma with her blanket, the words describing the desperate flight from birthing room to wardrobe, and Charming (grampa) being cut down.

He stayed in his room all night, claiming tiredness when the Evil Queen called him for dinner. It was only a bit of a lie. He was tired, but it was only of the lies she fed him. She left him to rest, cautioning him that he would have two days homework the next day if he went to sleep now. He ignored that. Miss Blanchard would forgive him one day, he was sure.

Eventually, after he had watched the sun set and the moon rise and heard the silence descend (there should be crickets), Regina came in, giving him a goodnight kiss on the cheek while he pretended to sleep. Eventually, even the sounds of her moving around tapered off, and he was left with only his breath to tell him he had any sense of hearing at all.

He failed to sleep at all that night. In the morning Emma was still gone.

~O~

A week passed with little sleep and less Emma, and finally Henry had to admit the truth.

Emma was gone, and she wasn't coming back.

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