Disclaimer: I don't own Once Upon A Time. It's fanfiction.
A/N: Finally got around to editing this.
Henry didn't understand how this could have happened. They had only been out of town for a short while. Why—how was such a decision made without his being there?
"Mom is—Mom is dead?" The words were thick on his tongue and there was a funny feeling at the pit of his stomach.
"The people wanted their justice." Snow's eyes darted to Emma. "With Emma out of town, they decided to take their opportunity."
Henry shook his head. "You didn't stop them?"
She grimaced. "Your mother has done a lot of bad things and many of those people want revenge. When they're like that, it's hard to convince them otherwise."
"I don't understand. You're the Queen. They're supposed to listen," he said.
"I'm sorry, Henry. They've been waiting a long time for this and we couldn't stop them. There aren't many who support your mother."
"She was the Evil Queen," James interjected. As if that was the only answer needed, as if that made everything okay.
"You mean to tell me Regina didn't do anything to defend herself? I mean, we are talking about Regina here, right?" Emma scoffed. She was standing behind him, with her hands on his shoulders. Her fingers were digging into the fabric of his sweater and he used that discomfort to ignore the knot in his throat.
"I don't know, Emma. James and I were in the Town Hall when it happened. They set a trap for her and after that, they carried out her sentence in a ruthless fashion. We tried to do what we could but it was too late."
"I wouldn't be surprised if you just let it happen!" Emma accused angrily. Henry had never seen her so mad. Then again, she was the only one who ever dared to speak on his mother's behalf.
"Emma…"
"Don't you dare lie to me! We all know how much you hated her! You took the easy way out!"
Snow looked for all the world like she had just been slapped across the face.
"All I ever hear about you two is how righteous and fair you are, the perfect rulers for a picture-perfect kingdom. Well?" Emma snarled. "I don't see it."
"Emma, that's enough!" James eased in. He held an arm protectively before Snow. "What's done is done. We could only hold them back for so long. When people want blood, they want it, but you can't say that woman didn't deserve what was coming to her, that miserable bi—"
"Charming!" Snow cried.
He winced, eyes darting to his grandson, and went silent. Emma huffed noisily.
Henry looked down at the floor. His sneakers were scuffed and muddy, the soles just beginning to give way and he was sorely reminded that his mom had been itching to buy him a new pair. "I want to go home."
Snow covered her face in despair but James plowed on, unperturbed. "You are home, buddy."
Henry shook his head. "Home. At my Mom's place."
"This is your—"
"We're going home," Emma gritted. "Don't bother coming around."
"Emma," Snow started.
The door slammed.
The car ride to the mansion was almost unbearable. Emma kept glancing back through the rear-view mirror in search of a reaction across his face. It was irritating. Not because she thought he would break but because it meant he should be feeling something other than this numb sensation.
"What's our next plan?"
Emma blinked. "Our next what?"
"Our next plan," he repeated, turning away from the window. "You don't honestly believe the Evil Queen is gone just like that, do you?"
She pressed her lips together and readjusted her grip on the steering wheel. "Henry, I don't know how far the line goes between fantasy and reality in Storybrooke but Snow and James weren't lying."
He shook his head. "She wouldn't have been taken down so easily. I don't know what kind of trick she used this time but I know she's still out there." He pressed his face against the glass, watching as the mansion loomed closer. "In fact, she's probably waiting for us right now."
Emma took a hard swallow. "She's not invincible."
"I know that, Mom, but you're the savior. You're the one meant to defeat her, not the people." He brushed his hand over the cover of the book and Emma's frown deepened.
"And what if the book is wrong?"
He looked up startled, fingers instinctively tightening its hold. "It has to be right."
There was no way she could miss the conviction in his tone.
"Henry, you have to face the real possibility that your mom might be gone," she said softly. "I know it isn't what you want to hear, and I sure as heck don't want to, but… things happen."
He slapped a hand against the book. "She's alive!" And Emma wasn't listening. "I know because this isn't the right ending!"
"Henry…" She pressed two fingers to her temple.
He unclipped his seat belt and leaped forward. "She's alive! I'll prove it!"
Before Emma realized it, he was scrambling for the door. Ignoring her cries, he shoved the door opened and jumped out of the moving car. Luckily, Emma had slowed the vehicle enough for him to make a safe landing and he bounded the rest of the way up to the driveway and to the door.
He could hear Emma cussing in the background as she quickly parked the bug and chased after him. Normally he would have been amused if not a bit wary of the scolding he would surely receive from both of his moms but he was numb and irritated and scared.
The key went in without a hitch and he wrenched the door open, fully expecting the Evil Queen to swoop in on him with a stern, foreboding expression.
Nothing but darkness.
He flicked the light switch. The foyer was as it always was—clean and immaculate, and Henry trekked warily in, eyes peeled opened for his mother.
"I'm home!" he shouted, in case she was upstairs. He kicked off his sneakers, aligning them against the wall by the door on reflex.
"Mom?" He padded through the house, peering into every room for a sign of the brunette. The place appeared spotless but a staunch wipe of a finger across the coffee table revealed the barest hint of dust. His mom didn't tolerate an unkempt house so the sight of the sparse layer sent his head spinning and his legs turning to jelly. He whipped around toward the windows, seeing how the curtains were pushed wide open. A hollow feeling seized his chest. He knew his mom was somewhat obsessive compulsive so for her to disregard peeping toms and nosy neighbors in such a careless manner…
His heart began to do crazy somersaults. He could hear Emma causing a ruckus by the foyer and he raced up the stairs, intent on finding Regina before Emma came barreling after him.
"Mom?!" He raced down the hallway, throwing each door open until he eventually reached his mother's master bedroom. He flung that one open too and upon discovering it was empty, he began to search through her drawers. Her clothes were folded neatly within them. Her toiletries were lined up in the bathroom. Her walk in closet was stocked full of shoes and coats, and her locked trunks were heavy laden.
Henry hadn't realized how ragged his breathing was until a hand clamped over his shoulder.
"Mom!" he shouted, feeling the weight on his chest lift until his eyes met blond hair instead. "No…"
Emma smiled sadly and bent down to hug him close. "I'm sorry, Henry."
He woke to the smell of breakfast and the sound of dishes from downstairs. His heart leaped into his chest. Mom!
He threw his covers off and skittered out the room. He knew she would be back. He was the one person she would never leave.
He clambered down the stairs, his momentum carrying him down faster than his feet could reach the steps, and landed with stumble. He raced through the living room, blood pounding in his ears. He slid into the kitchen by his socks.
"Mom!"
Startled, Emma dropped the stack of plates in her arms. "Oh, f—, Henry!"
Things came rushing back to him.
"A little warning would have been nice, kid," Emma grumbled, kneeling on the floor. She gathered the broken pieces of ceramic into a nearby trashcan. "On the flip side, we're having pancakes! They were tricky at first but I think I'm getting the hang of them. That good with you?"
His eyes burned but he put on a fake smile. "Yeah! Pancakes are fine."
Emma reached toward him. "Won't be the same, will it? I know your mom made the best pancakes and waffles around here."
He looked away but allowed her to hold him. "Her chocolate waffles are my favorite."
"Really? I'm surprise she even knew how to make something like that. Health nut that she is."
He bit his lip, eyebrows furrowed. "They're for special occasions."
"Right. Of course they are. But I bet they were so worth it." She kissed his forehead like his mom used to and went in search of the broom. Smaller shards were leftover on the linoleum. "Pancakes are in the oven. If you go put on a pair of shoes, you can help yourself."
He placed a hand on the chair at the head of the table, his mother's choice of seat ever since he could remember. Emma had placed her red jacket over it.
She came back with a dustbin and brush in hand. "What are you waiting for? Just because the toaster burst into flames does not mean I can't cook—"
Something broke inside of him and the next thing he knew, he was back in his room and trashing the place apart. His pillows and bed covers were thrown across the blue carpet in messy heaps, the nightstand toppled and contents spilling forth, and his clothes torn off their hangers. He landed on his knees and pulled the storybook from its hiding place underneath the bed.
He held it up for a second, the pale light from the uneven curtains catching the worn leather with an eerie glow and all the wonder in the world.
Displeasure struck through him like a bolt. This book… this book!
He flipped open the cover and ripped the first page along the binding with a satisfying sound.
Another.
And another.
Thick, musty sheets flew and fell about him, the very same words and images he used to hold in high regard and reverence. It was all so ironic, so unfair in his mind.
"Henry!"
Once again, Emma came to the rescue a little too late. "What did you do to your room?! And your book!"
He continued as if he hadn't heard her. He didn't expect her to pry the book from his hands however.
"Give me it!" he demanded.
"No!"
He jumped to his feet. "Give me it!"
"Kid, you have to calm down. Taking this book apart isn't going to change anything."
"I don't care!"
Emma struggled internally with herself before heaving with resignation. "Alright, fine! Have at it!"
She tossed the book onto the floor and crossed her arms.
He stared at it.
"Well?" she gestured.
He peered up through his fringe, mouth pressed indignantly. "Don't you even care?"
"About…?"
The fact that she could stand there and evenly ask as if she didn't know what he was talking about fanned his ire to an incomprehensible point.
"About Mom!" he snapped.
He heard her suck in a breath. A flash of pain flitted across her face before he could register it.
"I'm just trying to get things back to normal," she mustered.
He rounded on her. The last thing he wanted to do was play happy families. "There's no going back to normal! Mom is dead! Stop acting like everything is okay because it is not!"
Emma had that deer in the headlights look. "What do you want me to say? I don't know what to do, kid!"
"I bet you're glad she's gone! She was the Evil Queen and you won! You all had this planned and when the time was right, you lured me out of Storybrooke and had her killed!"
"You know that's not true!"
Henry was beyond caring. "You were supposed to save her!"
Emma reeled back.
"You're the savior! You're supposed to save everyone and give them their happy endings! She was the one who needed redemption the most!" He was in her face and for the first time since they heard the news, her mask dropped.
"I know, kid."
"No, you don't! No one is going to miss her like I do. No one cares but me," he growled. "You had no right! She was my mother. I've known her longer than any of you!"
"Henry—"
He gritted his teeth. "What about my happy ending?!"
She flinched.
"I can't have a happy ending without Mom!" he all but screamed.
"No, don't say that!" She reached for him.
"No!" He shoved her away and Emma stumbled back in shock. "Don't touch me!"
He ran out his room, ignoring Emma's cries as he race down the hallway and down the stairs. With a thump, he bounded for the front door. Bright sunlight hit his face. The early mist had dampened the rays' warmth but he was hot with fervor and his adrenaline high. A part of him vaguely discerned that Emma had not chased after him but the only thing he wanted at the moment was to put as much distance between them as possible.
He picked his bike off the overgrown grass and rode out of there, chills biting at his face and a heart speaking bitterness.