Home

by katy-did

The curse was cast and everyone was sent back to where they belong. But how does one cope when home is no longer...home. When you are a stranger in a place you once knew. Takes place during that missing year, told from the perspective of the only person who had to face it alone.

He was…home.

Home was still the appropriate word. He had been born here, raised here. It was only a chance encounter and bad luck that had ripped him from it. Victor looked down at his attire. The familiar smell of leather, the soft sound his sleeves made when he moved his arms up. His clothes. His world.

The shadow that lived over the land was another familiar sight. The fog that had always seemed so normal, so ever present, now crept around him like a stranger. He had known he was home the instant it had happened. The panic in Storybrooke, the people running, the cloud of magic racing towards them. No one knew what to expect, no one knew where they would end up this time. Victor had closed his eyes as the cloud had enveloped him. Quietly awaiting whatever fate magic would deem to throw at him this time. He hadn't needed to open his eyes, he had felt it in his…soul was too strong a word. And entirely inaccurate, especially for a man like him. His home land had a presence, a lacking of something. Something more than just hues and shades. You felt the absence in your bones, though you could never explain it to anyone who hadn't lived there. Hadn't been born with it. Victor had assumed it was just how everyone, every world felt. Had assumed that every realm filled you with the same sense of longing. Of loss.

Unintentional decades away and now he knew with certainty it was a feeling that only came from his world. Only lingered here. This world was in a constant state of mourning. For who, or what, Victor had never discovered. He had never really searched for the reason before. Never had any desire too. He exhaled slowly. He would have all the time in the world to search for it now. He looked around him, he was in a forest of some sort. It could have been any forest in the land, but he seemed to know he wasn't too far from his family's summer home. He picked a direction and started to walk.

It was foolish. No one was supposed to walk anywhere in this land alone. Especially not at night, and never in the forest. If he was close to his home, then he wouldn't be too far from the Lagoon. And only idiots went near that forbidden place. Victor scoffed slightly to himself. He wondered how people from Storybrooke's realm would react if they knew what type of creatures really lived there. His footsteps made too much noise as he walked. Someone would come upon him before too long. He felt inside his jacket pocket. Thankfully whatever curse had returned him had had the decency to return his blades to him. They were small, surgical blades intended to be used for healing. And he had used them to save many lives. Not the least of which was his own. That these particular blades were made out a very expensive silver was something he had not known for many years. A gift from a rather eccentric friend, who had all sorts of ideas about monsters and how to kill them.

He was most likely dead. As was everyone else he had known. Would his family's home even still be standing? If thirty years had passed here, then Igor would have either died or abandoned the family home by now. None of the other servants would have stayed. Most had gone before he had disappeared, citing his experiments as unnatural. Demonic.

His quick strides slowed slightly. The surrounding townspeople had not been violent in their reactions to him, but he knew about the rumors. The whispers about what he did all alone in that empty house. And now he was going to return after thirty years, and not have aged a day? That was going to be difficult to explain. He doubted his excuse of a magical curse would do much to soothe their fears. Perhaps it would be best if he did not make his return public. He would see if the house still stood and then he could…"

"You look lost."

Victor was startled out of his reverie by the soft words. He turned quickly. A young boy stood not more than a few feet from him. The boy had dark brown hair and warm brown eyes. He looked like a farm hand, covered in mud, his clothes too big for his frame. Victor tightened his grip on the blade in his pocket. He didn't speak to the boy, the fact that he had acknowledged the boy's presence at all showed just how long he had been away. He had gone soft in the years he was absent, and it was going to get him killed. Victor resumed walking.

"Not lost then. That's good. You shouldn't be out here this late. My father says that there are monsters in these woods. You look familiar? Are you from around here?"

The boys voice was soft, innocent. There was no hidden malice, no sign that the boy was anything other than a boy. Victor had a brief flash of Dr. Hopper. How quick the man was to try and help people. How he would have reached out to the young boy and spoken in that soft voice of his. Asking if there was anything he could do to help. Dr. Hopper would have been the first to die. It was lucky that none of the others had returned with him. They didn't know how to survive here. What it took. They were too trusting. Hell, they had known who he was and had still trusted him. They would have been easy prey.

It was lucky he had returned alone. It was for the best. He couldn't have protected them all here.

Victor quickly squashed that thought and continued to ignore the boy walking excitedly beside him. Victor didn't dare glance towards him. He didn't know what type he was, how much skill the boy had. The boy just kept smiling and talking to Victor. Kept dancing around him, trying to get Victor to watch, to interact. Victor kept his eyes focused on the lights he could see in the distance. He wasn't sure it was a town, for all he knew it was a trap, but he had to focus on something other than the boy. The urge to talk to him was growing with every minute. His own mind seemed to be betraying what he knew had to be done.

He's just a boy. He could be lost. You could help him.

Victor walked quicker. Annoyed that the voice in his head sounded suspiciously close to David's. David wouldn't have been able to last much longer than Dr. Hopper. One night of hearing the shadow cries in the distance, or watching as people were chained and thrown into the river, and the man wouldn't have been able to stop himself. He would have run into the darkness, and the shadows would have him. Or he would stop the rituals and the witches would run free. Hell the man wouldn't probably only have to hear the word Help and he would be rushing off to save some poor soul. David would never have been able to adapt. Never been able to understand that those that cried for help were already lost. Lost and searching for more to join them.

The lights were getting closer. He could see the outlines of buildings, people moving slowly through the streets. He was a little surprised to see so many people. For so many people to be out at such a late hour, it was…unusual. Perhaps in the time he had been gone, his world had managed to find some sort of stability. Maybe, in the thirty years that had passed, his people had learned to control their fear. Had learned how to keep the shadows at bay.

"….but my uncle says that's all a load of bull. Then my mom would swat him real hard with this old ladle she has, dad says she keeps in her pockets at all times just so she can swat people who say dumb stuff. And that she has to use it a lot. Plus my uncle is always…."

What if he was just a boy? What if all his paranoia was unfounded? The streets looked safe, he could almost see the cobble that lined them. The people were walking so calmly, some were even laughing. He had no idea what had happened in the years he had been gone. He was a stranger here now, perhaps the old…

Pockets.

That single word slipped through his mind. His hands were at his sides. He was no longer gripping the silver blade. He moved his hands quickly, grasping at the lining of his coat. He didn't care if he sliced off his fingers, he had to get his hands on that blade. He pushed his hands into his coat…and was greeted by the feel of flesh. Victor was no stranger to dead flesh, one couldn't become a doctor without knowing the ins and outs of the human body. And he, probably more than most, had taken his studies very seriously. He knew the difference between flesh that had been dead for hours, versus that which had been dead for months. There was a sense to it. Many nights spent digging up the dead, having to quickly be able to tell if the corpse in front of him would make a viable specimen. Often in the dark, he would poke and prod, and be able to tell exactly how long ago the person had died.

He could make no such read on the flesh that he felt inside his own pocket. He tried not to focus on how there was a hand already inside his pocket, or why it was that he could feel no other sort pressure anywhere else. Surely the hand had to be attached to something. He had stopped walking, the boy was no longer speaking. He knew where the boy was standing, could still feel him close. Victor closed his eyes. He wouldn't allow them to take him so easily. He attempted to struggle against the strange appendage, ripping at his coat, trying to pry the blade away from him.

Victor cursed himself. How could he have been so foolish? He had been distracted by the lights of the town. Distracted by the thoughts of a place he no longer belonged to, if he ever had at all. He should have know the town was a trap, should have realized that no amount of time would change what this place was. Would change what it took to survive in his home.

His fingers gripped the blade, he could feel other hands now. Grabbing, pulling, tearing at him. Dragging him to the ground.

Idiot.

Foolish idiot. It was more than luck that none of the others had come through with him. He couldn't eve save himself from this place anymore.

From what this place would turn him into again.

Victor finally felt the grip of the blade. He pulled it from his pocket, he ignored the hands pulling at him, and lunged for where he knew the boy had been standing. Victor fell to the ground. He opened his eyes quickly and looked around. There was no boy. No town. No lights or people out walking.

He was no more than twenty feet from where he had first arrived. Whatever had gripped him had done so almost immediately. He scanned the area around him, and pushed himself up quickly. There was no sign of anything, or anyone. Victor tried to look into the darkness but could see no sign of movement. The fog however, was decidedly absent.

Victor took one last look around. He kept the silver blade firmly in hand. Still nothing. He had to get out of these woods. He took one cautious step in a random direction. Then another. Quickly he picked up his pace. He tried not to think on the idea that he might not be moving at all. That he might still be standing in that same spot, still firmly in the grip of whatever creature called these woods home.

No. He couldn't think on that. To think on what could be would only lead to madness. He was moving now. He was heading out of the woods. He had to remain focused on that one idea. He had to get away from here. He had to find a way…

Home.

It was days before he found any sign of civilization. Or what might have once been called civilization. He had passed many abandoned farm houses, a few of which he had taken shelter in. But the first real town he recognized almost immediately, even in its current state of decay. It was the town only half an hour south of his family's summer estate. There was no sign of fire, no broken arrows in the doors, no sign that any violence had occurred. No sign of any human life.

It wasn't unusual to find an abandoned town every now and then. It wasn't common of course, but there had always been rumors when he was a boy. Stories about how entire towns would just disappear one night, all the people gone without a trace. Or even a fight. Victor had dismissed those ideas when he was younger. Towns couldn't just disappear.

Victor snorted. Seeing as he had just been plucked from a magic town that hadn't existed prior to an evil queen's curse and probably no longer existed now that they were gone, what he could and could not believe had changed considerably. He remembered something that Rumplestiltskin had said to him once.

The magic here is weak.

He was beginning to think that was no longer the case. He could see the signs now that he had never been able to see before. Things that a mind as scientific as his would never have allowed him to see. Had he really been so blind once? Had he really dismissed magic as nothing more than tricks and fairy tales?

He wondered if Emma and Henry had gone back to the Enchanted Forest with their family. Surely if they had stopped Storybrooke from being destroyed, then they would have found a way to get back to the Enchanted Forest. If he had been sent here, they must have all been sent back to where they belonged. And Emma and Henry surely belonged with the others. Those people were the only family they had now. The only people they really knew. Even though Emma hadn't been raised with her parents, and Henry hadn't been born there, that didn't mean anything. That shouldn't have been the determining factor in where a person truly belonged.

Victor passed through the town without incident. Soon he was standing at the gates to his family's estate. The wide-open, rusted and broken gates. He could see broken glass in the windows, shingles fallen from the roof and shattered on the ground. The house had not been lived in for some time. There was no point in going in there. He would find nothing. There would be no one inside.

He put his hand on the knob to the door and pushed it open. It was unlocked. He entered and found himself in darkness. It was still daytime outside, but inside the house there was a darkness no light could penetrate. It felt like a wall holding him back, keeping him from entering a place he had once played in as a child. A place he had been happy in once so many, many years ago. He reached into his pants pocket and then stopped. He pulled out his empty hand and stared at it for a few moments. If he had been returned to his old clothes, it was highly unlikely he was going to find his cellphone tucked away in his pocket. He had often used the light of his cellphone to find his way around his apartment at night. It had been a force of habit. He wondered how many other habits he was going to have to break.

He searched nearby for a light and found an old lantern with a little oil left in it. He even managed to get it to light. He hesitated a moment longer, even with the lantern the darkness had not budged. It remained impassive. Warding. Hostile.

A younger version of himself would have barreled through the darkness. Scoffing at the idea that he could be afraid of something so ordinary. Darkness could easily be explained by science and was therefore not something to be feared. Victor was no longer the fool he had once been. He raised his lantern cautiously toward the dark. He was startled, but not truly surprised, when the darkness did not budge. When his light was absorbed into it. When his hand also began to fade from view. He retracted his hand, and this time he was surprised, when the darkness retracted as well. It moved slowly backwards, his light now illuminating the entrance hall. He could see the portraits on the wall, relatives so long dead their names would have been forgotten had they not been carved into the frames. Little by little the rooms opened up. The light from the windows was no longer inadequate, the sun shone in as if it had always been there. His lantern felt suddenly unnecessary, redundant in the face of all the brightness. Victor kept it lit and entered the hall.

Perhaps he was still a fool after all. There was no reason for him to enter the house. But…he had nowhere else to go.

His family's main home was days away. Without a horse or carriage it could take weeks. And it was just as likely that whatever he found here would be the same there. If he was going to be killed suddenly, at least he would be somewhere familiar.

Look at him. Looking on the bright side. Definitely the influence of Storybrooke. He wondered how Mary-Margaret was doing. Snow, he supposed. They would have all gone back to their real names now. No reason to hold on to their cursed personalities any longer. They would be back in their real beds. It was much easier to remember that you were addressing a Princess when you were in her castle, and not when she was sitting in a diner drinking a cup of hot chocolate. Snow had that sort of optimism that made no sense. All that she had lived through, all that she had seen, and she still believed in the good in people. There were no good people in his world. Not any more.

Victor stood in the main living room. He knew where he had left his brother's body. Knew where all his tools where. He could start again. He could find more corpses, put his brother back together. The heart would be tricky of course. Maybe if he had a younger specimen, a heart that had only just stopped beating…

Victor could feel the darkness watching him from the corners of the house. Waiting for him to walk in further. He knew what he could do, knew how easy it would be to just start again. How easy it would be to be Baron Dr. Victor Von Frankenstein and nothing more. To forget the last years of his life, that false man he had been. Dr. Whale had been…insignificant. He went to work, he ate at the diner, he would hit on a few women, then he would return home. He was a cliché, a typical surgeon. He did his job and thought nothing else of the world but his work and his scotch. Nothing more. Dr. Frankenstein was so much more than that. He could be so much greater than the mediocrity that Regina had forced upon him.

His anger toward Regina had lessened slightly, but it was not gone. He could understand her desire for revenge. Obsession was something he was all too familiar with. He knew what lengths he had been willing to go to return his brother to life. He understood how she had been able to rationalize it, how she could see herself as the victim. Different. Singled out. How quickly grief and power could mix until you couldn't tell the two apart. Couldn't remember your life before. If the only person who had ever seen good in you was dead, could you really be sure it had even existed at all?

It didn't mean he had forgiven her yet. That he ever would. She had ripped him away from here. Had taken him away from anything that was familiar. And now it all felt so foreign. She had made him a stranger in every realm.

He could fix the roof, the windows, the walls. This place could be livable again. No one would disturb him. He could finally focus on his work without any distractions. Without any thoughts about whether or not what he was doing was right or wrong. It was just him now. Who he was now was entirely up to him.

His mind flashed briefly to a quiet moment. Two people sitting on the edge of a dock, staring at the water near their feet. Both thinking about what it meant to be human. Who we were outside of the horrors of our past. Who he could be.

Who he wanted to be.

Victor took one more look paintings on the walls. On the faces of all those men and women who had lived and died. Who had suffered and struggled and continued forward, all so that he could one day be standing alone in an empty house. The last of the Frankenstein line. His eyes ghosted over a small tear in the carpet. Gerhardt had done it, Victor couldn't really remember how. He just remembered the two of them desperately trying to fix it before anyone saw. How they had huddled together by that fireplace when their mother had read them stories at night. The chair Victor had been sitting in when Gerhardt had announced he was going to join the army, how proud their father had been.

The spot on the floor where his brother had killed their father.

Victor slid the small lantern door open. The oil slipped out and coated his fingers. Victor turned the lantern on its side and let the oil pool near his feet. The small flame flickered, so Victor threw the lantern at the curtains. They caught fire almost instantly. The speed at which they were engulfed was quicker than he had estimated. He backed out of the room quickly, his eyes unable to turn away as the faces in the portraits darkened and curled. It almost looked like they were smiling. Whether or not they were mocking his display of rebellion, Victor could not tell.

He walked out of the burning building. He didn't stand and watch it burn. He didn't sit in silence and wait for it to collapse. He wasn't entirely sure it would. Victor had a sneaking suspicion that whatever darkness he had first encountered upon entering would not let its home go so easily. At most, Victor had ruined a few paintings and rugs. It was a sentimental gesture, a cathartic release.

He was determined to get away from this place. There was a much larger city not too far, a few days walk. He could find food and shelter along the way. Perhaps he should have taken some money and extra clothes from the house. He wasn't usually that impetuous. His symbolic gesture was all well and good, but would be completely pointless if he froze or starved to death because he didn't pack a bag. He turned and looked back towards the house. There was some smoke coming out of the windows.

"Don't move."

The voice was close. Victor felt the tip of blade against the back of his neck. He instinctually put his hands in the air.

"All right." Victor didn't turn. If this was a robbery, they were going to be severely disappointed.

"Did you just come out of that house?"

The man must have seen him exit the house. There would be no point in lying.

" Yes." Victor kept his answers short. He didn't need to give this person…people. He saw several more people come out from behind the trees that lined the road. Victor tried to be as non-threatening as possible.

"Why?"

"Why did I leave the house?"

"Why were you there in the first place?" The man behind him pushed the blade harder into his neck. Victor tried not to flinch. Perhaps playing dumb wasn't going to work. He needed to come up with a very convincing lie.

Or maybe just a partial truth.

"I…I thought I had family that might have lived there."

"Are you insane? No one has lived in that old place for decades? Who told you that?" One of the other miscreants had stepped in front of Victor's face. There were six of them in total. They didn't look like your typical band of robbers. They were all wearing what appeared to be some sort of uniform. The clothes themselves where unique, bits and pieces from here and there, but each of them had some sort of symbol emblazoned on their chests.

"My…mother. She took me away from this land when I was a boy. I haven't been back in a very long time. I…She said my father was a doctor in this world and that he had lived somewhere around here. At a big house on the hill. I was simply…I thought I might find him here. She never told me his full name…or why she left."

One of the older men came forward. He grabbed Victor's jaw and turned his head side to side. Victor imagined this was what show horses felt like.

Eventually the man loosened his grip and took a few steps back.

"He's got that look about him. That aristocratic type of face. Could be he's descended from them. I only met the doctor once, and this boy's face…could be a dead ringer for his old man." The old man addressed the younger man to Victor's left. It was clear that the younger man was in charge. There was something about him that set him apart from the others.

Victor tried not to let his relief show. They thought he was his own son. It was a good thing he had never taken a wife, this would have been a little difficult to explain. Still. Several of the men looked skeptical.

"Why are you dressed like that?"

Victor looked down at his leather jacket and black pants. He supposed the style he was wearing was a bit dated. Although these men didn't appear that they knew much about fashion.

"My clothes were soaking wet from last night's rain. I took these clothes from inside the house. But then a fire started and I had to leave."

"How did the fire in the house start?"

"I…" I set the place on fire as a symbolic gesture of leaving my old self behind. Victor doubted that would go over very well. "I…don't know. It just started. And I ran. And it was as if there was…something else in the house."

So the men might think he was insane. That was better than the alternative. Let them believe that he was a cowardly out-worlder, jumping at every shadow. Not used to the darkness this world was constantly shrouded in. Letting his imagination get the better of him. But when he looked into their faces he didn't see doubt or scorn. He saw something much stranger. Something much more terrifying.

Understanding.

The blade was removed from the back of his neck and Victor reflexively reached up and rubbed it. There was no blood. The men didn't seem that intent on hurting him.

"What's your name."

"Dr. Victor Whale. My mother said it was my father's name."

Plus it would be much easier to remember when someone was talking to him if he just used his real names.

"Well that settles it then. You're lucky your old man is long since dead…"

"As far as anyone knows." The older man interjected.

"…as far as anyone knows right. He could be working with the rest of the monsters that have taken over our realm."

Victor hoped that his flinch would be interpreted as fear at the term, and not as a personal slight at being called a monster.

"Monsters? My mother said they were just stories told to children."

"'Fraid you came back at the wrong time my friend. We're in the middle of war. One that isn't going so well. Those storybook monsters were all just waiting in the shadows, waiting for someone to step up and organize them. You must have seen all the abandoned houses."

"I just thought there must have been some sort of illness or…"

"It's an illness all right. Somehow some of the creatures can spread this sort of…madness. Makes you think your family is against you, that all your friends are trying to kill you. And that's not even the worst of it. Entire villages are disappearing without a trace. We have no signs of where they went or what took them, just gone. We are fighting monsters we can't even see. Monsters that can get into our heads or our hearts and corrupt us from the inside. Can tear through our strongest defenses.

There was a man few years back, hid himself and all the other noblemen for fifty miles inside his fortress. Walls ten feet thick and fifty feet high. Heard they even welded the doors shut so no one could get in. But it didn't work. They were hit with something nobody had heard of or seen since, some sort of sickness killed them all. Old Prospero thought he was smart, thought he was protected, and him and his people ended up dying some of the most agonizing deaths imaginable. That is what we are up against."

And Victor had always been told that he was creepy. The young man had to be far creepier than Victor had ever been. If he could go back in time and introduce this man to Susan Cleaver, she would surely have apologized for all the terrible things she had said about him. He might have even gotten that dance from her.

"I…It seems that I have come back at a rather terrible time."

"You said you were a doctor? We have a camp a couple days walk from here. Most of the towns and cities are abandoned. But people are still trying to stick together. Only way we can fight these things."

Considering the man had just told him two separate instances where sticking together did absolutely nothing for the survival of those involved, it didn't seem like the most prudent decision. Victor could politely decline. Say he was headed back to another realm. Go off on his own. But he knew nothing about what was out there. What sort of things he might encounter. He thought of all the stories his mother had used to tell them. Stories about ghosts and demons. And the rare stories his father had spoken of. Death was always a central character.

And Death rarely lost.

Victor thought about the boy in the woods. How it had given up its grip on him up so quickly. About the shadow in the house. Watching him, waiting to see if he belonged there. Perhaps the men were right, perhaps Victor Frankenstein did belong out there amongst the monsters.

Images flashed quickly through his mind. Emma checking on David at the hospital and asking Victor's opinion. Granny having a cup of coffee ready for him at the diner when he was running late. Saving Gregory Mendel, how certain everyone had been that he could do it. He wasn't a part of the inner circle, he wasn't someone they ran to when things got bad. There were enough heroes in that town. And he knew he wasn't one of them. But he was someone they knew, some one they could rely on.

Someone they trusted.

And even though the odds of him ever seeing any of them again were a million to one, there was still that chance. And if he did meet them again, if they came here and needed his help, he wanted to still be someone they could trust. Someone they wouldn't be afraid of.

"I would be happy to lend my services however they are needed."

The leader slapped Victor on the back.

"Name's Ruthven. Me and my men were scouting for survivors and supplies when we saw you. Doctor's are in short supply around here, at least properly trained ones are. We will be lucky to have you. Don't worry, we won't let anything happen to you."

Ruthven handed Victor a dagger. It wasn't a silver blade, just a normal hunting knife. Victor almost rejected the offer. Almost told the man that he already had a blade. But he hesitated. Victor looked at Ruthven, the man reminded him a little of David. That same earnestness, that same inherent sense of leadership. It seemed so natural in Storybrooke, in the Enchanted Forest, but here. Here it felt out-of-place. Forced.

Wrong.

Victor smiled and took the dagger.

"Thank you. But I'm afraid I barely know how to use one of these, and it is hardly a surgical blade. I'll more likely stab myself with this than any attacker."

Victor conveniently decided not to tell the men that he had been given fencing lessons since he was five. Or that he knew how to incapacitate a man with a few well placed hits to the lower back. That he knew where every bundle of nerves, every pressure point in the human body was.

And he knew which ones worked against the living and the dead.

Ruthven only smiled, that unnatural smile, and put an arm around Victor's shoulders. It was meant as a sign of camaraderie, a show of friendship and trust. Victor was certain that was what all the other fighters saw. But he could feel the heaviness of the arm by his neck, he could sense the true weight of it.

"You'll be safe with us Doctor. Isn't that right boys?"

Rumplestiltskin was a much better liar than Ruthven was. Or maybe it was simply that Victor now knew what real heroes actually looked like. Victor was certain the other men were just that, men. Trying to do their part, trying to weed out all the darkness around them. They hadn't been listening to their own leader's speeches closely enough. The darkness was already inside their defenses.

Victor walked with the men towards their camp. He had to be smart about this. Had to think it through. He needed to gather all the information he could before he made any decisions. Before he even thought about making a move. Victor kept an eye on Ruthven. On his movements. On the way he walked, how he never seemed to be out of breath.

It was clever. Become the leader of a group of resistance fighters. Make them feel safe, protected. Then when the "monsters" came and killed everyone, he could make up some story about barely escaping with his life. Maybe he would even save a few others, so they would spread stories about him. About how valiantly he had fought, how this time it would be different. This time they could win. All they had to do was trust him.

How many of these camps had this man destroyed?

Over the next few days, Victor listened to the men's stories, laughed at their jokes. Offered to treat even the smallest of injury. He used every bit of charm that the curse had endowed him with. He wanted them to like him. To trust him. It would be much easier on him if they trusted him, especially after he put a dagger through their leader's heart. Those situations could get awkward very quickly. It was probably best if he had proof first.

Victor didn't know if he would even survive such an encounter. If Ruthven didn't kill him, the others no matter how much they liked him, would surely try to. They would chase him, hunt him down, try to exact their revenge.

They would curse his name. Tell stories of how insanity ran in his blood. Just look at who his father was. What chance did the boy have, with a bloodline like that? Victor sighed. He knew what the heroes would do. What Emma and David and Snow and all the others would say.

You have to do the right thing. You have to save as many people as you can. No matter the consequences to you.

Victor sometimes wondered if their need for self-sacrifice wasn't all some sort of twisted death wish. Honestly, who risked their lives that many times for people they didn't even know.

"We will be at the camp by tomorrow afternoon. We will stop here for the night and get a fresh start in the morning." Ruthven had stayed close to Victor throughout their journey. Victor wondered if Ruthven could sense there was something different about him. Could sense that Victor wasn't quite like everyone else.

"That is excellent news. Do you need me to help keep watch tonight?" Victor had asked each night, and each night Ruthven had refused him. Perhaps he had overplayed his defenseless doctor act. Ruthven stared at him a moment, he opened his mouth as if to refuse.

"Sure. You can stick with me for a few hours. I can help teach you want to look out for."

Victor didn't know why Ruthven changed his mind. But he suddenly saw an opportunity. Tomorrow night they would be at the camp, surrounded by who knows how many other people. Five people would be much easier to outrun than fifty.

It was several hours before the men were all asleep. Victor and Ruthven sat on an old log towards the edge of the camp. The light from the fire barely reaching them.

"The best thing to do is keep your back to the fire. You don't want the shadows from the flames to interfere with your vision. If something moves out there, you have to act quickly. You can't second guess your decision."

"I won't."

"Good. Because I would rather you felt foolish than everyone die because you weren't certain of something. You understand?"

"I do."

"Good Good. Now the tree line over there…"

Ruthven turned his head and pointed away from Victor. For a split second, Ruthven's eyes were no longer on Victor.

He didn't hesitate.

The silver blade was in his hands in an instant. Before Ruthven even had a chance to react, Victor had made a quick stab through the rib cage and into the heart. The next puncture was into the man's neck, a single fluid movement into the artery. Ruthven's hands went to his neck, trying to staunch the flow of blood. Ruthven was ignoring the first injury, the small insignificant wound to his chest. Although it wouldn't bleed as much as the neck, it had been the fatal blow. A normal man would have died instantly from the wound to the heart.

Ruthven tried to stand then fell to his hands and knees. The blood gushing slower now. His skin paling to gray. It was like watching a mask being pulled away. Victor could see the red tint of the man's eyes. The sharpness of his teeth.

Ruthven was smiling.

Ruthven stretched one bloodied hand towards Victor. Victor stood and took a step out of the man's reach. Ruthven's hand pointed at Victor. His words were harsh, and low. But Victor could still hear the hint of a laugh in the man's voice.

"…doctor…frankenstein…a…pleasure…" Ruthven gave Victor one last smile. Then he collapsed onto the ground.

Victor checked to make sure the man was dead. Victor wiped the surgical blade on the man's clothes and returned it to his pocket. Now would be an appropriate time to rouse the camp. He bent down and put his hands to Ruthven's neck and chest. Making it appear as though he was trying to save the man's life.

"HELP! Help, he's been attacked."

The others were up in an instant. Surrounding him, asking him questions.

"What happened?"

"Did you see the creature that did this?"

"Which way did it go?"

"Can you save him?"

Victor felt like he was surrounded by the seven dwarves. All asking questions at once, each in their own distinct tone and volume. Victor made a bit of a show of trying to save the man's life. Then stopped after a few minutes.

"I…I'm sorry. He's gone."

"What happened?"

"I…I don't know. It..it was like there was something in the shadows and they just…he was bleeding before I even knew he had been attacked."

The men pulled Victor up off the ground. He dug his hand in to his pocket, he didn't like the idea of having to fight his way out of here but he would if he had to. He wouldn't do any serious damage to these men. They were innocent after all. But the men just brought Victor closer to the fire. They began to tear down their makeshift camp.

"Shouldn't we bury him?"

"No. There isn't time. We need to leave this place now. Grab your things Doctor, we will have to move at night. This place isn't as safe as we thought it was."

"But what about whatever did this to him?"

"Whatever did this is either gone or waiting for us to leave so it can eat him. If we stick around it might get tired of waiting and grow even more ravenous. It's best to just leave him and go. Quickly."

The men gathered their things and fashioned torches. They handed one to Victor.

Victor looked back towards the body, he could still see Ruthven's frozen smile. The man had known, in the second's before his death, he had known who Victor truly was. And he had smiled.

Victor had the terrifying sensation that he had not won that particular battle. Victor turned and followed the men into the night. It was a little late to go back and behead the man now. That was bound to arouse just a little bit of suspicion. He wasn't even certain that would work. He would have to find someone at this camp who knew what was true and what was myth. Victor only really thought the silver would work because he remembered it from one of his mother's stories. Old children's tales and a Bela Lugosi movie were not the best references for fighting an enemy.

Victor walked in silence. He had made a first strike against an enemy that wouldn't have given him a second thought. Would have looked at him as just another human. Perhaps he had played his hand too soon. Victor watched the five men in front of him, watched as they moved in unison. Scouting, searching. Protecting each other. Victor felt no doubt about his actions. No remorse. Ruthven had said it himself. This was a war. A war where the enemy was often unseen, unsuspected.

For the first time since Victor had open his eyes and realized he was back in his own realm, he felt something akin to calm. Even with all that he had learned. His family and friends, his name and legacy were all long since gone. There was a war raging between humanity and the darkness. Between life and death.

It was…nice to finally be certain of which side he was on.

A/N: This is meant to be a one-shot story. Although I might write more if the actual show never shows what Victor was up to for that missing year. Thanks for reading.