Hey all! I present to you something I've been kicking around for awhile now- a combination of my two favorite shows, Once Upon A Time and The Walking Dead. Yes, I know, I'm supposed to be working on I Love You, Bye, but I finally got this fic to the place I wanted it to be and so I couldn't wait to share it any longer.
Some background info: this takes place post-Neverland, post-Missing Year, but you'll see a lot of things will be different from what happened in the show. For TWD timeline purposes, this takes place starting in the midseason finale for season 4, right when the Governor attacks the prison for a second time. You don't have to watch TWD to understand what's going on, but it's always helpful.
If it seems a little confusing, I promise everything will become clearer later on. Basically, it's OUAT in the zombie apocalypse. And pretty much everyone will be in this story, except for Rumple because he stayed dead after Neverland in this world. Also, Snowing, Captain Swan, and Outlaw Queen are all present. OQers- hold on until the next chapter! You'll see I put a little twist on our favorite thief and queen.
Thanks so much for reading!
"Mom! Mom, where are y-"
Henry's cries get cut off by his hacking coughs, his lungs undoubtedly filling with the thick black smoke consuming every ounce of breathable air. Emma embeds her machete in a walker's skull, yanking it free to a spattering of blood and brain matter. "I'm here, Henry!" she shouts back, moving blindly through the destroyed cellblock. She reaches out haphazardly, grasping at what she initially hopes to be Henry's brown hair.
She gets a gurgling moan in response.
Emma thrusts her machete through the walker's eye, pushing its corpse off her blade and onto the ground. A hand grasps her shoulder and she whips around, weapon at the ready. The eyes alive with fear and worry looking back at her halt her swing. It's Henry. She exhales and grips his wrist.
"We have to get out of here, kiddo," Emma cries, looking around at the unplaceable moans and rasps that surround them.
"But the others!" Henry protests, yanking his hand free from hers.
By others he means Regina. Mom, Dad, Killian…
Emma grits her teeth, fighting against her own desperate need to find the rest of their family. She found Henry, has him, can make sure he's safe and alive. The chances of finding anyone else in all this chaos, all this bloodshed… it's not worth it, not if Henry's life is at risk. "They'll be fine," she manages to choke out, throat seizing up from all the smoke.
A walker chooses that moment to lunge at them and Henry sends a well-placed kick to its stomach, knocking it backward far enough that they can sprint past, through the rubble that was once the door of the cellblock and into the sunshine, fresh air, and chaos of outside.
Walkers are everywhere. And the places unoccupied by the undead are filled with the dead, most waiting for the clock to tick down until they rise with the walkers. Across the courtyard toward the road, Emma can just make out the tail end of the bus as it disappears behind the cover of the forest surrounding the highway. A twist of relief and hesitation pull at her stomach, but she doesn't have time to dwell on who might be in the bus and who might not be. Henry disposes of a walker coming up next to them and soon enough, they have the attention of the general mass of the undead moping about the courtyard.
"Fuck," Emma groans as the herd quickly closes in on them. She swings her assault rifle around from her back and starts mowing down the front lines of the pack, backing Henry up toward the wall. He grabs onto the drain spout nailed to the brick and starts to ungracefully climb up toward the metal bridge connecting the destroyed cellblock to the other. Emma soon follows him, walkers knipping at her heels. No sooner do they both stand up on the bridge than they're moving again, across the metal links to the other cellblock, shifting around the side of the building using the newly formed cracks and holes in the bricks as footholds and handgrips.
From their new vantage point, they can see the field clearly, smoldering fires and walkers and dead bodies and his tank- but no sign of Snow or David or Regina or Hook or her baby brother or Ruby or Grumpy or- or Neal. Dread and anger and hatred stir in Emma's stomach again at the memory of Neal's head swinging sideways off his shoulders, the Governor holding Hook's stolen cutlass, dripping blood. Henry had seen it, had seen his father perish and yet he had been the one to keep his cool, to realize they needed to get out of there, to get the sick people on the bus and get it moving. And he's keeping his cool now, despite not seeing any of his family members alive at the moment.
"Fences are down," he says numbly, echoing Emma's earlier observation that without the fences, the prison was defenseless. It's a weighted statement, and she knows he knows they can't salvage it. The little piece of paradise, of sanctuary, of home that they had created here is gone, ripped away by the hands of a vengeful man and the teeth of the undead. Mother and son exchange a sad, knowing glance before continuing their way around the side of the building, dropping to the ground away from the herd that had been following them. They deposit a few walkers as they make a break for the now-destroyed fence gates. And then they run.
The moment the Governor plunged Hook's cutlass into Neal's neck, Snow began to shoot. She didn't know what she was shooting at, who she was shooting at, but she didn't care. Didn't need to. The sound of Emma's strangled cry as she began to pull her own trigger was enough to know that anyone standing behind that monster of a man deserved to die. Regina and David had followed her lead, firing through the chainlink of the fence in a desperate attempt to stop the Governor's assault.
Useless. Deep down, Snow knew it was from the very beginning. Everything's going to fall apart and a few bullets aren't going to do anything to stop it. Still, she shoots. For Neal, for Emma, for Henry, for her son. They at least deserve a fight.
A bullet whizzes by her ear, so close she can feel the wind whoosh past. Snow blinks and reassesses, her finger faltering on the trigger when she sees more of the Governor's people than before. Those monsters aren't letting up. And they're getting closer.
"David!" Snow calls in warning, firing a few more shots and cursing when she reaches the end of her mag. She lets it fall to the ground with a clatter.
David glances over quickly from his spot a few feet away, unrelenting in the bullets he unleashes from his assault rifle. "Run for the bus!" he shouts back. "I'll cover you!"
Snow and Regina exchange a lightning glance before booking it for the bus. Snow looks behind her as she runs, waiting to see David turn and follow. There's too many bullets coming towards him, towards them, and he's firing back but there's too many. Regina yelps in surprise and Snow whips back around. At least a dozen walkers are lurching toward them. The two women pause for a split second, feet stumbling out of uncertainty, but then Regina grabs Snow by the arm and starts pulling her in the opposite direction, toward Cellblock B.
"David!" Snow yells, alerting him to their change in direction.
He looks back to see them, and it's only a quick glance, maybe a half second, maybe less, but it's long enough. Snow doesn't see the bullet catch his shoulder, but she hears it, the shout of surprise and pain bursting unbidden from David's mouth. He drops his hands from his gun, the shoulder strap being the only thing that prevents it from falling to the ground. There's blood, gushing between David's fingers where he grips tightly, and more bullets, the Governor's monsters unrelenting and unyielding even as her husband stands wounded.
Regina's still pulling her toward the cellblock, but Snow's feet slow and become uncoordinated. David staggers back, away from the fence, tripping his way toward them, his gun bumping against his stomach and thighs. "Go, go!" he gasps, stumbling into them. "The bus!"
"We can't! Walkers!" Regina shouts over the cacophony of battle.
David nods absently and shoves them forward, toward a water barrel where they duck for cover. "How'd the walkers get through?" he sputters, breathing deeply to catch his breath.
"The tank. It knocked down the fences," Snow explains, peeling David's fingers away from his shoulder. His shirt is stained dark red, flesh and muscle broken from the shot.
"Check for an exit wound," Regina orders, peering around the side of the barrel and immediately snapping back, a bullet flying past where her head had been.
Snow pushes David forward, leaning over him to check his back. Sure enough, there's another wound on the other side of the first. "Good," she breathes. "We can treat it."
"We have to get out of here first," David grimaces as Snow presses her hands against his shoulder.
"Did anyone see Emma?" Snow shouts.
"I lost track of her after we started shooting," David grits out, teeth clenched.
"What about Henry?" Regina asks frantically, knuckles white as she grips her gun. "Did anyone see Henry?"
"I thought I saw him run back into Cellblock A," Snow speculates and just like that- Regina's up and running across the courtyard, bullets flying all around her.
"Shit," David hisses, lurching to his feet and following after her, Snow right on his heels.
But, of course, it's then, when they're exposed and vulnerable, that a huge explosion rocks the entire courtyard, knocking all three of them off their feet.
The rocket launcher on the tank.
Snow's ears ring and her head pounds as she slowly sits up, the world moving in slow motion before everything speeds up to double time.
David slowly gets to his feet, pieces of debris and dust falling from his clothes as he stands. He reaches down and helps Snow stand, swinging his gun over his shoulder. Regina had fallen a few yards away and she slowly gets up herself, shaking dust from her hair.
Snow looks up at the cellblock- or what used to be the cellblock- and almost drops her gun. The entire front wall is gone, collapsed and smoldering in a heap in the ground. The internal structures of the building are twisted and broken and mangled. Smoke starts to billow from various parts of the destroyed building, distorting any clear view of the people who may or may not be inside.
A strangled cry leaves Regina's lips as she too stares up at what had once been part of home, at where Henry had been.
Snow cautiously but urgently inches up beside Regina and reaches out for her arm. "Regina," she tests, trying to pull her out of her stunned state. Regina doesn't move, doesn't even acknowledge her. "Regina," she tries again. "We have to go." She hears the sound of brain meeting blade behind her and glances back to see David pulling his knife from a walker's skull with his good arm. Snow gives Regina's arm a soft but urgent pull and the queen finally looks at her. "We need to go," she repeats.
Regina shakes her head, eyes wide and empty. "Henry," she breathes.
"Will be devastated if you don't make it out of here," Snow points out, moving to block her view of the destroyed cellblock. "There's nothing we can do now. We have to go."
It takes a moment, another second of internal war, but eventually Regina concedes, unsheathing her knife and turning away from the destruction before her. Snow breathes a quick sigh of relief and unhooks her machete from her belt loop. She decapitates one walker, two, three as they make their way across the courtyard and suddenly they're at the edge, the decimated yard the only thing between them and the woods. She turns to take one last look at their crumbling piece of temporary solace before joining in the sprint across the field toward the safety and cover of the trees.
Keep moving. Just… keep moving. That's all Emma allows her mind to say as she continues down the road, hands shaking and breath ragged. One foot, then the other. Don't think about it, don't think about anything other than moving, getting to safety, keeping Henry safe. Her thoughts are muddled, unfocused, and as hard as she tries, every so often, unwelcome faces invade- Snow, David, Regina. Damn it, stop thinking, keep moving. There's bound to be a town nearby or a neighborhood. An abandoned car at least that they can find some sort of shelter in for the night- Ruby, her baby brother, Grumpy… damn it, where can they find food? Or water? Their ammo is dangerously low and she lost her axe in the fight. Henry still has his knife though so hopefully they don't encounter any herds, just one or two walkers will be manageable enough- Killian… god damn it.
"Mom," Henry says suddenly, giving her an excuse to stop thinking.
"Yeah, kid?" she asks, never slowing her pace. Slowing down is bad. Slowing down means they could be found by any residual members of the Governor's forces. Henry, though, doesn't appear to share the same thought. He's a good ten feet behind her when she glances back at his lack of a response. "Henry, c'mon, keep up, we need to keep moving."
"Mom, we can't… what if they made it out? We need to go back to find them," he insists, voice breaking.
"Henry, we can't go back there," Emma replies even though every fiber of her being is screaming for her to do exactly that. "It's too dangerous. That place is a graveyard now."
"So we're just going to leave them there?" Henry cries incredulously. He stops walking and stares at her as if she's a stranger. His look, for whatever reason, gets her blood simmering and her defenses start going up. "I don't care if they didn't make it, I don't care if they're walkers. Dead or not, we take care of our own," he yells.
"That's what I'm doing," Emma snaps back, hating the anger in her voice but having no control to stop it. "I'm taking care of my own, of you. And that means we need to keep moving."
Henry shakes his head, face contorted in anger and sadness and despair. "Yeah, keep moving so we can get far away from what you did."
Emma blinks. The bitterness in her son's tone is unnerving and his accusation throws her for a loop. "Excuse me?" she manages to respond because surely Henry can't be blaming her for-
"This is your fault!" he shouts, throwing his gun to the ground with a clatter and a thunk. His sudden burst of anger almost makes her jump. "Hook and Dad wanted to keep looking for the Governor so they could kill him before he did something like this! But you told them to stop, that it wasn't worth it, that he was probably already dead. And look what happened! If you hadn't told them to quit-"
"If I hadn't told them to quit, they would have died trying!" Emma interrupts.
"They died anyway!" Henry yells, his face red and heated with fury. "And everyone else died with them!"
"Henry, I know you're upset and you're scared and you're pissed off, but you cannot blame me for this," Emma replies, trying to find an ounce of calm to steady her quivering voice. "I did what I thought was the right decision for everybody and that is all you can ask of me."
Henry shakes his head and his mouth contorts into a bitter smile. "Yeah, I guess it is. Because I certainly can't ask you to protect me. I'll just end up dead." He picks up his gun and shoulders past his dumbfounded mother, keeping his eyes to the path in front of him.
Emma blinks rapidly, at a loss. Henry's upset, he's desperate, scrabbling to make sense of everything just like she is, but knowing he's lost faith in her is, well, unsettling. After what happened this afternoon, he's the only reason she hasn't put a gun in her own mouth yet.
"Henry," she croaks, turning around to see her son's shrinking form. He's not walking toward the prison, she has that small ounce of relief, but he doesn't stop when she says his name. "Henry," she calls again, louder this time, but still he does not stop. She takes a steadying breath and hurries to catch up with him, her battles for the day far from over.
Everything hurts. Everything fucking hurts. And it is loud. It is so bloody loud Hook could swear his ears are going to fall off. Where the hell is he? And what the hell happened? He remembers fear and anger and desperation… Emma was yelling and so was David and there was blood…
As the haze of unconsciousness slowly wears off, he realizes his eyes are closed and he struggles to open them, the glaring light above him burning like the light of a thousand suns. What light could be so bloody bright that- oh. The light is the sun. He's outside, he gathers, eyes opening just barely more than a squint. He blinks repeatedly, his eyes slowly adjusting to his surroundings and soon he can confirm that yes, he is outside, and he's laying down, in fact. He achingly sits up, feeling as if he had been crushed by a thousand pound boulder. Looking around, he barely recognizes the rubble that used to be the prison. Smoke and crumbling walls and debris and dead bodies compose the scene, a far cry from the scenic refuge of earlier.
The gurgling and moaning of the undead jar him from reflecting on the macabre sight before him and he jerks suddenly in response to the realization that walkers could be coming for him. The motion causes him to wince and goddamnit, he must've taken a heavier blow from that tank than he originally thought. He hears the walkers, but he can't see them and that's when he realizes the sounds are coming from below him.
He's on a ledge of broken concrete, jutting out from the destroyed cellblock and overlooking the main courtyard which, of course, is filled with more walkers than he's seen since the farmhouse. "Fucking hell," he breathes, turning to either side to gauge the full extent of his undead foes. As he moves, his foot brushes against something hard and he sees his machine gun at his toe. Well, thank the gods for that at least. He reaches for the gun, resting the barrel on the upcurve of his hook and tries to spot any moving body that still has life within it. He sees no breathing human, but he doesn't recognize any of the walkers either, so that, at least, gives him some comfort.
Perhaps the others got away. Perhaps they are alive just up the road aways. But Emma had run to the cellblock, he remembers, trying to find Henry before the rocket launcher had struck. Gods, he didn't want to think about what might've happened to her… but he can't very well leave the prison without seeing for himself or else he knows he'll be spending the rest of his probably short life thinking of what ifs and maybes. He can make it back into the cellblock without going through the walkers if he's careful, so slowly, gingerly, he stands. His joints creak and his muscles protest, but he makes it onto two feet, testing his weight on one foot and then the other. A quick roll of his shoulders and then he's moving, stepping cautiously around piles of debris before he's dropping down a level onto what had once been a wall, his body entirely hidden from the walkers outside now. Another jump and he makes it to the ground, a shock of pain running through his leg at the impact.
He raises his gun as he scans his surroundings, but seeing no foe, undead or otherwise, he starts hurrying in the direction of Cellblock A, the one Emma had been in. It's barely recognizable when he gets there, twisted metal and broken concrete the only thing he sees. There is no one there- no dead bodies, no walkers, and certainly no breathing humans. Well, that's a comfort at least, but it doesn't give him the answers he's looking for. He moves from Cellblock A through to Cellblock B, the one they had been living in since they had secured the prison all those months ago. It is, amazingly, almost completely undamaged. There are signs of a hurried exit, random items scattered about the floor, things dropped in a rush, the cell doors thrown open at all different angles.
Hook urgently strides over to his and Emma's cell, knowing she won't be there, but hoping all the same. It's empty of course, and seeing it vacant causes something in him to break. The thin strand of hope he had been grasping at since he awoke slips away and he feels an uncontrollable anguish gripping at his sides, his mind, his heart. He drops his gun to the ground with a clatter and stumbles blindly, uncaring, to the makeshift bedside table they had constructed. He fumbles through the drawer, knocking aside little knick knacks and odds and ends until he finds it- the small Polaroid he had taken of Emma, sleeping so peacefully in the guard tower all those weeks ago. The sight of her face, so carefree and calm, causes the creeping anguish inside him to melt into something warmer, something sadder, almost as if the tears he won't let fall down his face are running through his veins instead.
He closes his eyes and presses the picture between his palms in something resembling a prayer, a hope that somehow Emma had made it, that somehow everyone had made it. He coughs, feeling the remnants of the illness that had nearly killed him still trickling through his body. Emma had saved him then, she had saved him so many times he was starting to lose count. He doesn't know if she needs saving now, but he'll be damned if he lets anything happen to her while he still lives and breathes. He opens his eyes and slips the picture into his pocket. Picking up his gun, he walks out into the center of the cellblock and looks around. Their life here is over, that much is clear. But maybe there is a life for them somewhere else. He just has to find the reason he's still living first. He has to find Emma. Or he will die trying.
The trickling of the stream is thankfully the only sound that breaks the quiet of the forest. There's no gurgling, no moaning, no chomping and stumbling noises to disturb the tranquility of the woods and for that, Snow is grateful. But there is also no talking, no laughing, no sounds of productivity and prosperity, no babies babbling…
She had seen her son's empty carrier as they had fled the prison, had seen the blood smattering the blankets and cushions of the seat that was supposed to protect her son. Her son- still yet unnamed due to all the chaos right after his birth and everyone's habit of calling him the "Little Prince" seeming to fit so well. They had discussed names, countless monikers to identify their second child, but none stuck, none seemed to fit. And now there was no point in picking a name because there was no longer a baby to name. They had failed another child, failed to keep their second chance safe. First Emma, who was most likely lost to them forever again, and now this second, unnamed, unidentified child who never had a chance to grow to resent them for their failures. They weren't meant to be parents, Snow reasons, or maybe she just wasn't meant to be a mother.
She doesn't hear David say her name at first, her eyes too fixed on the stream before her, her mind a thousand miles away.
"Snow," he repeats, and her ears finally catch the sound, catch her name because she at least has a name. If nothing else, she has a name. Her son didn't even have that. She wasn't meant to be a mother.
"What?" she finally responds, her head jerking toward his general direction, but her eyes staying focused on the running water at her feet.
"I think we'll camp here for the night. Water's close by, we're elevated, good tree cover," David explains, sitting down next to her, forearms resting on propped knees. His shoulder is bandaged and the bleeding has mostly stopped. He'll be sore, but he'll live.
Snow nods absentmindedly and thinks somewhere in the back of her mind how she doesn't deserve to have a husband who knows how to take care of people so well when she can't even take care of her own children. David was meant to be a father. If only he had loved someone meant to be a-
"Snow," he says quietly, his tone shifting in a way she knows he's stopped thinking about campsites and elevated ground.
Her eyelids stutter as she blinks, willing the tears to wait so she can get through this conversation.
"There was nothing we could do," David murmurs, his eyes fixed on the water of the stream. "We didn't know that was going to happen. There's no way we could have prepared for-"
"What did you want to name him?" Snow interrupts, turning her head finally to look at her husband. David turns to meet her gaze, caught off-guard by her question. "I know we could never agree on one, but there must've been one name you liked."
David licks his lips and shakes his head. "None seemed right. None still do."
Snow sniffs, knowing she was losing the battle against her tears. "Our son-" she chokes. "And Emma… Henry-"
David opens his arms and she goes into them willingly, desperately, collapsing against the never failing strength of him. He's not feeling strong, she knows, but at this moment, his strength outweighs her weakness and that's all she needs. He places a gentle kiss on her temple and whispers into her hair that he knows, he knows, he feels it too, he wishes for them too.
"We failed them again," she croaks, her face pressed against his neck, her tears dampening his shirt and skin. She feels his grip on her tighten and a tear that is not her own falls on her arm. Her head moves against his good shoulder as he takes a shuddering breath.
"We can't… we can't blame ourselves for this," he manages, voice tight and shaky. "They… they wouldn't want us to."
Snow takes a gulp of breath. "How can we not? We were supposed to keep them safe, keep them alive and now they're gone and there's nothing we can do to bring them back."
David takes a deep breath and slowly pulls back until their foreheads are touching, noses bumping against each other. "You're right," he breathes. "They're gone and we can't change that, but right now, we have each other, and I thank whatever gods have left us in this damned world that you are still with me." His hand touches her shoulder, runs across her collarbone to cup her cheek. "And that, despite everything, gives me hope."
It's not enough, won't be enough to fill the recently gouged holes in her heart, but for now it's enough to calm her, to make her think that they'll be able to make it through the night at least. She kisses his lips, softly, gently, a wordless thank you for being the strength in a world of weakness. She knows the roles will reverse at some point, that she will have to be strong so he can be weak when he needs to be, but for now, her Prince Charming will protect her until she can protect him once more.
They slowly pull apart until they can look at each other clearly, David's fingers remaining firmly entwined with her own. "Now," he begins, his voice staying soft, "We have to focus on what we need right now. I'll look for some food if you want to take Regina and-"
He stops when a wave of realization washes over them both. They both look around frantically, heads whipping to either side before their eyes lock once more. Regina had been with them, not ten minutes earlier when they first came across the stream, but now there was no sign of her and with the fragile emotional state she had been in, Snow sees red flags popping up everywhere. She and David exchange a look and a sigh before they both scramble to their feet, dreading what they might find as they search for the queen.
Reviews make me smile!