There was a story to the dirty looking blonde teenager sitting below the bridge on the overpass, long tangled hair parted down the middle and framing her haughty, boyish features smeared with dirt or mud or something.
It's a wild one, and one that she replays in her mind when she's on the precipice of sleep (of course, she'd never admit that) and one that's constantly butting into her stream of consciousness, a faint ghost she can't seem to get rid of. It started at the very overpass she frequented daily.
Maine is a place to avoid if you're unaccustomed to harsh, unrelenting winters and melt-your-face-off snowstorms that leave your entire face frostbitten and blistered within the hour you spend trying to shovel through the feet of snow blanketing your house. Then you give up and spend the next couple days cold and miserable and without power.
The streets of Maine during winter are places you'd really strive to avoid. Especially if you're driving home, traveling through, or perhaps 9 months pregnant and in labor without any source of transportation or means of communication.
Emma Swan was delivered on the freeway in the dead of one of Maine's worst snowstorms. Her mother was never found, assumed to have died soon after leaving her daughter bundled in her only possession- a blanket with her name embroidered in the side.
She just left.
A young boy playing nearby spotted the bundle and went to go investigate, and that little boy brought the bundle back home so excited thinking he was a big brother at last.
His parents weren't so convinced.
Emma was put into the system without a second thought. She grew up with families she could hardly remember but spent most of her childhood in foster homes through Maine, barely trusting anyone and guarding her possessions like a fearsome dragon so they wouldn't be stolen.
Parents picked her up almost every week, mostly just young white couples jumping at catching the only little blonde girl in the home, and Emma made bets with herself as to how long it'd take for them to get sick of her and decide they weren't ready to be parents.
Of course, sometimes she'd cheat and smoke in the house or stay out all night, which lessened her time considerably. Emma was rarely ever wrong with her predictions. Her average stay was a month.
Her shortest was 42 hours.
And now, at seventeen, Emma's all layered with coats overtop jackets and ripped up jeans that are by no means practical in the middle of October and boots she'd swiped from the department store in town.
She's got cigarettes in her coat pocket, but she doesn't much like them for their effects as much as it keeps her warm.
Emma could of course go home, but home was a packed house full of screaming children and teenage boys with rape-y eyes. No thanks.
Her little bag of possessions lay next to her atop the cement, just avoiding the ice. She didn't want her shit to get wet.
August was late.
Not the month, but the little boy. The kid who'd found her had a big enough heart to keep in touch. They sent little scribbled letters when they were children and now every other day she sees the tall, lanky teenager.
His parents were reluctant for him to keep contact, but he'd already decided he was a brother and did it anyway, and with that stubborn attitude he'd probably saved Emma's life.
She wouldn't admit that freely either, though.
A week ago Emma sat on his porch, cigarette in her hand and head resting against his shoulder. August was wearing his dad's old leather jacket and she remembers how smooth the fabric felt on her cheek.
"I want to run away." She said. It wasn't the first time.
He was quiet for a while, smoke rushing from parted lips and whirling around cold, dry air.
"Do it." He said. It bothered her.
"I'm serious."
August put his cigarette out and lifted a hand to stroke her hair.
"I know. Do it. I'll help you."
He looked at her and she could sense no deceit. She wrapped her arms around his waist and that was the last of it.
He was late.
Emma checked her watch. 11:33 A.M.
A few cars came slowly by, headlights on dim and drivers clutching their wheels like they'll flip if they don't brake every three seconds.
She lit a cigarette to calm her nerves. What if he didn't come? What if he'd sent her just to have the police come pick her up?
She comforted herself in knowing his ass would be grass if any of those things happened.
Another car came, but when it got to her it slowed and she recognized the Pontiac model instantly. He did come.
Emma picked herself up with a groan as her knees popped. She grabbed her belongings and pulled her pants up so she wasn't waddling through the snow, and a real grin found its way across her face. Her cigarette dropped onto the snow, forgotten.
August rolled down the window.
"Get in quick! It's cold as fuck…"
Emma came to the passengers' side as fast as she could without slipping, her heart pumping rapidly with promise of escape from that wretched fucking home.
She clambered into the seat and put her bag between her feet. The window rolled up and she shivered.
"I thought you were gonna leave me there." Emma said between chattering teeth. August switched the heat on and started driving, his dark hair pushed out of his face and sunglasses perched atop his head even though it was literally winter.
"I thought about it, would save me a lot of gas." He scratched the stubble on his chin and switched gears as he sped up.
"Nice." Emma said dryly, but her face still lit up with joy. "Where are we going?"
"Well, I am going to Storybrooke to live with my uncle."
"Drunk uncle?"
"Carpenter uncle. You're going to stay with Ashley and Eric. I knew them in high school, they were foster siblings that graduated and then got their own place. But they're not together or anything, Eric's like six years older than her."
Emma frowned, for the first time doubt crept into her mind.
"Can I trust you that they're not serial killers or anything?"
Eric laughed.
"No. But I'm at least 80% sure they're alright people. Eric might've been an accessory to alcohol poisoning back in high school though. If that counts."
"As long as you're 80%." Emma muttered.
"Seriously, Em, they're cool. They're not going to judge you or anything or turn you in. They just need you to get a job and help pay rent. That's all. No questions asked."
August switched gears again and they sped up.
"And you'll come visit?" Emma asked tentatively.
"God, needy. Yeah I'll visit you. You just gotta stay low for a while."
Subdued for the moment, Emma fixed her coat so she could sit comfortably and watched the snow fall out of the window.
"The police are gonna look for you." The blonde told him seriously.
August didn't seem perturbed.
"I know. And they're not gonna find me."
"What if your uncle rats you out?"
"He won't." August answered simply.
Emma's eyebrows furrowed. "How can you be sure?"
"Emma." He brushed a hand through his hair and leaned back with frustration. "You need to trust me."
She said nothing to that, opting to cross her arms and look out the window again.
"Just take a nap, Em. We'll be there soon enough; try not to worry."
The blonde rested her head against the cool glass and slid down in her seat. His advice was useful, as reluctant as she was to admit it, and running on 3 hours wasn't doing her any favors.
So she closed her eyes and began the routine of pushing thoughts of freeways and bundles and snow out of her mind so she could drift off to sleep.
…
"Wake up, Emma."
Upon waking, Emma noticed a few things.
First, her sock was falling off her foot inside her boot. She groaned and unlaced them slowly, her fingers fumbling with the strings like her hands were covered in glue.
She fixed it.
Second, she definitely wasn't home. Home was central Maine and when she looked out of the window she could make out water behind rows of buildings they passed by.
"Are we here?" Emma's voice cracked with sleep.
"Almost." August looked wrecked. He blinked slowly, blue eyes set on the snowy road ahead but dark circles indicated his evident lack of sleep. Emma wished she could help, but her foster home hadn't allowed her to take drivers' education and consequently, she couldn't get her license, which made for a lot of walking home from school in the freezing cold.
Winter certainly was a bitch.
The car was comfortably warm, which probably was hell for August, who looked like he could pass out at any second, but good for Emma who'd been freezing a few hours ago.
He'd probably be too tired to even remember leaving her.
She didn't imagine her last few hours with August would be like this. The rolled quietly through snow and ice and he wasn't saying much of anything. Emma would rather them talk, she'd rather fill the flat silence with laughter and conversation but she knew he was just as clueless as her.
Emma didn't know what she'd do without him. He didn't want to know what life was like without taking care of someone.
And they both stayed silent, each one hoping to prolong the experience before they'd say goodbye. August knew it'd be a while and somehow Emma could tell. Neither of them brought it up.
When they reached a small house built on a trailer foundation, Emma was imagining she was made of stone. Stone doesn't feel anything, even if they're taken away from someone so close.
There was a nice porch with a swinging bench and a generous amount of land separating the main road from the lawn. A black van sat in the driveway and August pulled up carefully behind it. Headlights flickered off and darkness took them.
He powered down the car and took his face in his hands with a long sigh.
Emma tried to be stone. She wanted to cry.
They sat in silence for a while, then Emma composed herself and grabbed her stuff.
"Come on." She said quietly. He followed her out of the car and over to the screen door, which swung open as they knocked.
"Hey, man." A tall, rough looking young man opened the door.
He and August embraced swiftly. "Hey, Eric."
Dark brown eyes set on Emma. "Hey there, Emma. Come in, come in."
"Shoes on or off?" August asked, but Eric was already disappearing into the house.
"I don't give a crap," he called from inside, and August shrugged and slipped off his boots anyway.
The house was small, but hospitable. The entryway led directly into the living room, which held a large TV and a couch with pizza boxes stacked on the armrests. A lamp lit the room dimly.
Eric appeared to their right from the hallway with two steaming mugs in his hands.
"Coffee." He said simply, handing them the cups with care. Emma muttered her thanks.
"Alright, so tour. It's kind of late so I'll just give you the quick one." Eric pointed at the hallway he just came from. "Over there on the right is the archway to the kitchen. If you're hungry in the middle of the night feel free to eat whatever you see, but Ashley's a pig and eats everything so there might not be much."
He frowned in thought and then pointed the opposite direction to another hallway.
"My room is down there, Ashley's is next to mine, and yours is over by the kitchen on the opposite end of the house. The bathroom is on our end, so if you need to pee just head down to our side and it's the door across from mine."
Emma wondered silently which door was his, but she was too tired to ask.
"Ummm. I've got a job lined up at the factory for you, they just need some paperwork that Ash can help you with. Think that's it, then, I'll just tell you the details in the morning. Are you hungry or anything? Want a sandwich?"
"I'm alright." Emma said. Next to her, August sipped deeply at his coffee and rested a hand on her shoulder.
"Hey, man, she slept the whole way over but she's still dead beat. You care if we let her sleep for tonight?" August asked.
Eric nodded and yawned. Emma could tell he hadn't been awake for long.
"Yeah, do whatever you want. And just being honest, but you look like shit. Crash here tonight."
August looked hesitant and opened his mouth to decline, but Eric held up a hand to stop him.
"Seriously if you get behind that wheel I'm afraid you're gonna hit a family of deer or something. They're prevalent here, too, and if you crash into them you die. They are durable little things. So. Stay here. I'm going to bed. It was nice to meet you, Emma, good to see you too August."
He turned and walked to the hallway, carpet creaking underneath him as he left, and he waved his hand but didn't turn around to add, "If you need any more blankets, Emma, they're in the closet. Goodnight."
Emma's room was small, but it was a room.
It was her own room.
There was a double bed and Emma threw her bag to go lay on it, closing her eyes with a small smile.
Her own room. She didn't have to share covers or worry about her things getting taken or any of the other foster child bullshit she'd dealt with her whole life. Part of her worried about the police finding her and taking her back, but the other part reveled in the freedom she'd just been granted.
August ended up staying the night despite his protests and after a while of talking they slept above the covers, not bothering to change in their last night together.
…
He was gone when she woke up.
Emma woke groggily, green eyes splitting open to a blurred, unfamiliar setting. Then she remembered where she was.
Mid-morning light spilled into the room from the window beside the bed and Emma could see the wayward specs of dust floating through the air lightly. She didn't bother turning to check if August was still next to her, she knew he wasn't. Emma didn't feel anything.
She pushed herself off the quilt comforter and let her coat drop off her shoulders, a navy jacket taking its place and red flannel peeking out under it. Blonde hair was mussed and undoubtedly plagued with tangles and Emma ran a hand through it half-heartedly but gave up, allowing it to fall in messy waves down to her waist.
Emma slipped her boots off and let her feet hit soft carpet quietly. She slipped through the doorway and into the hall, and from the archway to the kitchen she could see movement and hear her new roomates' voices, Eric's low gravelly tone and Ashley's lighter one muttering about something, occasionally accentuated by the sound of cabinets opening and closing and the crackling of plastic.
The blonde couldn't help but feel like an intruder in what was now her own home.
"Do you think she likes bacon?" Emma started at the question.
"Everyone likes bacon." Eric answered, his voice muffled in what Emma guessed was a mouthful of breakfast.
"Yeah, except if they don't. Will you eat it if she doesn't? You know what just go wake her up and ask her."
There's a clattering of silverware and a grunt. "Fine."
Before Eric could come and find her standing in the hallway like an idiot, Emma walked into the kitchen swiftly.
"Oh, she's here." Eric said from atop the counter, a bowl of cereal in his hands. A tall blonde woman stood barefoot next to him cooking something on the stove, her back to Emma. She turned and a smile lit her face when she saw Emma, all warm and welcoming and the younger blonde smiled back weakly.
Ashley was beautiful, her nose upturned slightly and her eyes a light blue, and when she smiled it took her whole face with genuine emotion. Emma liked her immediately.
"Hi, Emma. Want some breakfast?"
"Like bacon? Ash made the entire package, I think." Eric intoned. His legs dangled from the counter, just barely brushing the floor even though his height was unmatched, and Emma grinned.
"Yeah. I do."
"Okay!" Ashley smiled again, her eyes wrinkling with the gesture. "Sit down wherever. I almost did use the whole package, actually. I hope you're hungry."
…
October passed slowly. Snow fell heavily even though it was still early in the season, but Maine really never gave a fuck: anytime is a good time for it to snow unexpectedly. That's Maine.
Emma's job consisted of working in the back of a small foreign diner scrubbing dishes and mopping floors. Her corner was hidden from all but her bosses, who spoke in rapid Spanish and paid her no mind, just pushing plates and glasses into her little window whenever they needed to be cleaned.
She was paid well under minimum wage and Eric took half her paycheck for rent, and every night Emma came home her feet were blistered and aching and she smelled like chicken, but she was the happiest she'd ever been.
August was right, there were no questions asked about where she came from or who she was.
Oh, and August visited maybe three times since he left. Emma could have sworn the last time he came over he was high off something and she refused to talk to him, slamming her bedroom door in his face and curling up on the bed for the rest of the night.
Ashley was the closest to her. They rarely ever saw each other; she worked with Eric in construction and their odd hours made it difficult to spend time together, but the times both she and Emma were home they talked about their time in the system and a few other things, and Emma was amazed at how many cool tricks Ashley'd picked up living on her own.
She taught Emma how to pick a lock with a chip from her track phone and Emma grinned like a kid on Christmas day.
Time passed and then it was November. The snow melted a little, but temperatures dropped still. Emma and Eric came home at the same time for the first couple weeks and watched late night TV with pizza in their hands until they fell asleep, and life was good. Better than Emma thought it would be.
Then she woke up to screaming.
Emma's eyes flew open and she braced her body for impact, her step-father's voice ghosting in her ear with dirty promises and she could almost feel his belt against her thigh when she came to.
That was years ago and it was Eric yelling, she could hear him from the living room. The alarm clock on her nightstand read 1:45 and it was pitch black.
Emma's heart raced. Is it the police? Have they found her? Is Eric hurting Ashley?
She climbed out of bed and walked into the hallway.
"I'm so sorry, Eric, I'm-"
"Are you fucking serious? You're gonna get us all caught!"
Ashley's crying. Emma rushes into the living room and the older blonde is sitting on the couch, her head in her hands. Emma looks for Eric and finds him pacing, his hands kitted in dark hair and his chin raised in frustration.
"Ashley?"
Eric looked over, blue eyes setting on Emma warily. Ashley just shakes her head, blonde hair cascading over her shins. She doesn't look up.
"Pregnant." Is all Eric says, his tone bitter. "She's pregnant."
Emma's breath caught in her throat.
"Ash, you need to listen to me." Eric moved to sit next to her, his eyes wild. "I'm serious. If you keep this thing, you're gonna go straight back to the home. They'll find you and they'll take that kid from you as quick as they can and do you wanna know where it's gonna go? To another system. You cannot have this baby."
"So what, you want me to kill it? It never had a chance!" Ashley bursted out, her face flushed red with anger.
Eric's jaw clenched.
"None of us did. And when they find you- and they will find you- they'll arrest me for endangerment of a minor and I'll go to prison. You'll get put on probation and that kid will be taken from its mother. And Emma is gonna end up right back where she was. Do you want that?"
"Sean's gonna take care of it. They aren't going to find us," Ashley said weakly.
"Sean left you before and trust me, I'm a guy, he'll leave you again as soon as he finds out you're pregnant. And-"
"Fuck you!"
Ashley stormed out, screen door slamming behind her.
There was a long pause where Emma stood in the hallway and Eric cursed to himself, hands running over his face.
Emma padded back to her room and grabbed her jacket, pulling it over her v-neck and slipped on her boots, sweats bagging up at the ends. When she came back to the living room, Eric was gone and she could see Ashley's silhouette sitting on the porch through the screen door.
Emma pushed the door open with a creak, but the older girl didn't show any sign she'd heard.
The blonde lingered outside and took a breath of sharp winter air.
The wind blew steadily and leaves danced across the snow packed yard.
"You really want to keep it?" Emma asked, breath fogging into the night. "Why?"
"Who am I living for if not for this baby?" She asked, her voice barely above a whisper.
Emma swallowed with discomfort, her hands buried deep inside her coat pockets and her mind churning furiously with meaningless sentiments she probably would say if she enjoyed bullshitting people into believing their disaster of a life meant something. Live for you! You're all you need!
Ugh. Might as well not say anything at all.
Emma wasn't above admitting she was never one for saying the right things, but what do you say to that?
She honestly had no idea how to answer the question. She'd never thought about it.
Ashley's head bent low, a curtain blonde hair obscuring her face but Emma could tell the older girl was crying and Emma was drawing up a blank. So instead she sat next to her friend and rested an awkward arm around the older girl to pull her close and allowed soft, unfamiliar weight to mold into her side. It wasn't altogether unpleasant, her head resting on Emma's shoulder and blonde hair spilling across her shoulders, and each little breath Ashley took Emma felt and there was a moment where Emma remembered she's human too, with a heartbeat and tears and the ability to feel sometimes.
How alien.
Then it hit her like a train.
That feeling, that loneliness, the strange emptiness she felt, it all came to a crescendo when she recognized that no, that wasn't a product of her incredibly disadvantaged start in life. Yeah, she's an orphan, that sucks, that's terrible. So sometimes she feels she's missing something.
But it became clear to her- achingly, painfully clear, and Ashley's words rebounded through her mind: Who am I living for? Emma swallowed hard, her chest a thousand times heavier all of a sudden as the weight crashed down and she realized she was truly, irrefutably alone.
Who have I got to live for?
August? No, he probably already forgot about her. Emma who? He'd probably ask while nursing a half-empty bottle of scotch. She'd already given up on him. She has nobody.
There's where it came from. No, she probably wasn't still upset she was abandoned. Or maybe she was, but here's the kicker: Emma Swan has nobody to live for.
The blonde wasn't entirely sure why she cared, as she's never lived her life for other people, always doing what she wanted and what she thought was right without a thought to how anyone else felt, but there's something about being alone for so long that just makes you feel…well, lonely.
Even with the warm weight of her somewhat-friend pressed next to her, Emma felt like the only person in the world.
The large expanse of open yard stretched in front of them and the moon shone brightly while dark clouds ghosted over their little home. The world continued to move, seasons changed, but Emma remained the same: young, brash, hardened, and alone.
And she could do nothing but stare out at the street and watch the cars go by blankly. A fallen branch rested on the side of the road and Emma tried to imagine leaving a small bundle there, she tried to imagine parting with her own child on a busy freeway, completely vulnerable in the dead of winter. Emma teeth grit because, once again, she couldn't think of one reasonable explanation for leaving a newborn to die on the street. She wasn't supposed to stand a chance. If it wasn't for August, Emma would have frozen to death.
A car rushed by and the stick broke soundly, pieces scattering along the snow-packed pavement. Emma flinched and looked away, but the car didn't stop, and with green eyes widening Emma watched a cop car pull into the driveway.
The approaching sound of tires under rough gravel caught Ashley's attention; the blonde stirred and sat up. She frowned in confusion and caught eyes with Emma, who immediately turned away. The lights flickered on and Emma started violently. They've found her.
Her guard came up as quickly as it'd crashed down, fierce as ever as adrenaline pumped through her veins.
"Fuck."
"Eric," Ashley whispered in horror, then rushed inside.
"Oh, fuck."
Emma groaned. Something rattled from inside and then the screen door opened again, Eric and Ashley emerging.
"Calm down, both of you. I'm going to take care of this." Eric directed firmly.
Emma paid no attention, her eyes locked on the officer sitting in the car and her heart beating so hard she could hear it in her ears.
Ashley's face darkened and a flush tinted her cheeks, an arm rested on her stomach protectively.
Emma's breath came in short pants. She was caught. She's gonna go back to the home.
She just walked away. There were protests from behind her and Eric was definitely yelling at her, but Emma really didn't want to deal with that and the cop was getting out anyway; she might as well go meet him. It was all over.
He was tall and when he looked at her she could tell he'd found what he was looking for. The blonde's face turned stony, she knew exactly who he was after.
"Emma Swan?" An accent threw her off, but she nodded.
"Yeah, that's me."
"Graham. Sheriff of Storybrooke."
Storybrooke. August.
"Never heard of it."
Eric raced behind her and pushed her back roughly, standing face-to-face with the officer.
"Officer," He greeted coolly and extended a hand. "What can we do for you?"
They shook hands.
"I was given instruction to find an Emma Swan and take her back to the station in Storybrooke."
Emma's heartbeat quickened in no way nervously and she felt Eric's critical gaze before she could even meet it. What a mess. What a fucking mess.
She shrugged non-committedly and pushed a lock of blonde hair behind her shoulder.
"Storybrooke, Maine?"
"Yes, sir." Graham's radio roared from his belt, but he ignored it.
"Never heard of it. Emma, have you-?"
"Nope."
"Listen, Officer, I don't think Emma's ever been to Storybrooke. Whatever you're planning on doing there, she probably won't be any help. We've never even heard of the place." Eric had that intense look going on which probably would have made Emma laugh if she wasn't getting arrested, and Graham doesn't look fazed at all.
"Yeah, I got that. We're currently working on a vandalism case in our small town and I have specific directions to find a Miss Emma Swan. She'll be taken to the station to answer a few questions. Should take a couple hours at most. You're welcome to follow and wait for her at the station, but right now Miss. Swan is coming with me."
Vandalism.
Emma almost cried out in relief. She wasn't found out.
Graham pulled out a pair of handcuffs from his belt and Emma eyed them warily.
Cold metal hit her wrists and she tried not to fidget as they tightened around her.
The relief was almost palpable. She could see Eric's shoulders slump as Graham pushed her to the car.
Emma climbed into the backseat with Graham's hand guiding her gently and handcuffs clicking behind her.
"I'll follow behind." Eric promised before the door closed.
Graham returned with a deep sigh and a grunt as he settled into the drivers' seat. Emma watched him steadily from behind the partition as they pulled out of the driveway.
"How far is Storybrooke from here?"
Eric was walking back to the porch, probably to get the car keys, and Ashley waited on the porch. Emma tore her gaze away. They'll be waiting for her. All she had to do was get herself out of the vandalism suspicions and not give away any information and she'll be fine.
"A while."