I've been working on this story for quite a while and I'm very nervous about finally uploading it for you guys. I'd really appreciate feedback as this is very AU even for me! This story has become very special to me as a writer, so I really hope you enjoy it! Note to those reading "Bumps" - I alternate with work on both these stories, so don't worry. The only difference is this story is faster to write - therefore, I need more time to catch up on chapters/editing for Bumps before uploads resume for that story.
Warning: This story deals with themes/moments of general domestic abuse, non-sexual harm to a child, alcoholism, and other related issues. It will not be overall graphic or extensive, as I focus more on the emotional recovery of such, but be aware that those things will be dealt with in this story. This is just a warning for those who may have any triggers for those sort of subjects. The story also contains small amounts of swearing, but nothing vulgar.
Prologue: One Year Ago
The rain soaked through Emma and Henry's clothes, as they left the yellow bug and hurried across the street. They gripped tightly to their umbrellas, providing only minimal shelter from the howling weather.
Feeling the vibration of her phone, buried deep in the pockets of her thick jacket, Emma nudged Henry up the wide steps of a courthouse. Ducking under the alcove, Henry shook water from his hair, while Emma glanced at her phone. She held her breath for a few seconds, then answered.
'Yeah?' Emma glared at the stormy clouds and pouring rain. She refused to see it as a bad sign – not on the day she'd welcome a new son.
'It's me.'
'I have caller-ID, Richard. What's up?' She frowned, propping her umbrella against a pillar. She used her free hand to signal Henry to button up his coat.
The nine-year-old rolled his eyes at her, and fumbled with the buttons.
'I was fired.'
Emma closed her eyes tightly shut, willing the rain to no longer be her concern.
She leaned back against a brick wall, and exhaled a long breath to keep herself calm. Looking around, nothing had changed, but internally a battle waged on. She didn't ask him why he'd been fired. It was a subject they'd surely revisit later, resuming the routine of Richard insisting none of it was his fault. If only he believed Emma always knew when she was being lied to - it would have saved them a lot of arguing in the two years they'd been dating.
'Emma?'
'I heard you.' Emma struggled to keep her voice normal, glancing at Henry. The boy continued fumbling with his buttons, but she had no doubt he was listening. 'I don't have time for this. I have to pick up Roland. We'll talk later.'
She hung up, gripping the phone unnecessarily tight, and reminded herself she was only there because of him. Richard had contacts and friends in high places. The apartment was in his name too. She needed all of those things to bring Roland home, and she wasn't going to let anything jeopardise that.
'Come on.' Emma tugged Henry's hand, snatching up her umbrella to raise it against the rain, and continued to their destination.
'Mum, what's wrong?'
'Nothing,' she dismissed. 'Let's go get your brother.'
Emma kept a tight grip on Henry's hand, pulling him through the crowd of impatient people far less drenched than they were. She imagined they all had important jobs to do or big homes to return to. She was a bail-bonds person with an apartment just big enough for three people, but it was enough.
'What if he doesn't like me?' Henry worried, as she led him to the lobby desk.
'Why wouldn't he like you?' Emma asked, skimming over the printed details she'd already seen at least a dozen times over the past few months.
She signed the last of the adoption papers, and willed herself to remain calm. Handing them to a lady with the ridiculously flowery scarf, Emma turned to face her anxious nine-year-old.
'You're his brother now.' Emma smoothed the collar of Henry's black coat.
This was the first time her two sons would meet, on the day Roland officially became a member of their family.
'What if he doesn't want a brother?'
'Henry.' Emma sighed, resting her hands on his shoulders. 'Do you remember what I told you, when I first showed you a picture of Roland?'
Henry nodded, tapping the toe of his shoe against the front of the counter. He fidgeted, but listening carefully.
'I said, "family isn't about size or location; it's the people who fight for you and never let you feel alone." And right now, Roland needs that. He needs us.'
'I just want him to like me,' Henry said.
'Emma Swan?'
She turned at her name. The woman gestured to the little brown-haired boy who had already captured Emma's heart. She'd only seen Roland a handful of times since swearing to his birth mother that she'd love and raise him as equally as Henry. It still surprised her how fast his hair grew, and the amount of dimples one small face could have.
Roland had just turned three, which was about the same age Henry was when Emma accepted full custody of him.
'Mama?' Roland stood in front of her, his brown eyes partially hidden by his curly hair.
'Yeah, kid.' She choked back her emotions.
The boy had already forgotten his birth mother; Emma was the only one he knew. Emma wished she could say she was ready for the responsibility of raising two boys in a small Boston apartment.
'Roland.' Emma steered Henry around in front of her so the two boys could finally meet face-to-face. 'This is Henry, your brother.'
'Hi,' Henry said.
Roland looked from her blonde hair to smile at Henry. The boys weren't too far apart in height, and shared enough similar appearances that one could easily believe they'd been brothers since birth.
Before Henry could say anything else, Roland stepped forward and wrapped his arms around his new big brother. It was futile effort for Emma to keep herself calm at the sight of her two sons hugging with such excitement and acceptance to their growing family. She was glad to at least be handling it better than the social worker, who stood nearby blowing her nose into a handkerchief.
'Let's go come.' Emma smiled.
Giving Henry her umbrella to carry, she took his hand into her own and held the other out to Roland. The smaller boy slipped his tiny hand into hers, and Emma couldn't tell if it was rain or tears in her eyes as they left the building.
Emma didn't care about the rain chilling through her skin, as she watched Henry shield Roland from the weather the best he could. All felt right in the world, a rarity she knew only came in short bursts.
Reality came crashing back down as soon as they crossed the threshold of their apartment.
'Henry, go show Roland your room.' Emma ushered the boys in the direction of their bedroom.
She kept her eyes on the couch, frowning at the sandy-haired man lounging there as if it wasn't such an important day for his girlfriend.
'Come on, Roland.' Henry held his brother's hand and led him away, offering the briefest wave to Richard.
'So that's him?' Richard watched Roland, who stared back as he passed. 'The new boy?'
'That's him.' Emma hung her jacket on the rack by the door, taking her time to avoid what was coming.
She turned, with her arms firmly crossed over her chest, and waited.
'I still don't get it.' Richard shrugged, inching higher on the couch. 'Why do you need another one? At least Henry's your real kid.'
'Roland as much my son as Henry,' Emma stated.
They'd been having this conversation for months. In all the time they'd been together, Richard had never shown any interest in Henry beyond acknowledging that the boy lives there too. Emma had hoped things might be different with Roland.
'Whatever. I'm not here to fight.' Richard stood, walking to the kitchen to look through the fridge.
'Why are you here?' Emma leaned against the door.
'I lost my job, Em!' he growled, facing her. 'I came right over and you weren't even here.'
'You know I had to pick Roland up.' She shook her head. Of course, once again, everything was all about him.
Emma used to think maybe she just didn't have anything worth caring about, but seeing the complete lack of interest Richard had with Henry made her realise that wasn't entirely true. It was easy to forget, when he paid the rent and rallied his friends to help her adopt Roland, but Emma felt her vision was clearest when it came to Richard's priorities.
She always came last, yet he held all the cards.
'Couldn't it wait?' he raised his voice, slamming the fridge door shut.
Emma glanced at the boys' closed bedroom door, and braced herself.
She couldn't remember how long it had been since she'd enjoyed being near Richard, or what it felt like to go days without yelling. The frustration they shared was reaching a point Emma hoped would never happen. She wanted to believe, if things just got better for him then they'd be okay too. Every day, the biggest struggle she faced was how determined he was to name her as the reason for everything difficult in his life. In his mind, his selfish nature and compulsive lying wasn't to blame, but rather she wouldn't play the role of his unconditionally doting girlfriend.
Emma had given up trying to please Richard.
'You knew this was today,' she reminded him
'It's every day!' Richard shouted. 'That boy takes all of your attention. Now there's two of them? You put them before anything or anyone else, Em.'
'It's called being a mother!' Emma didn't want to yell, but she needed to feel it burn in her throat.
Richard was lazy and uninterested most of the time, but when he yelled glass rattled. His voice had a way of getting under her skin; that booming sound made her feel very small. The only way she could keep it together was to raise her own voice. It was the only power she had to match his, and it made her feel sick inside.
That was not the sort of home she wanted her sons to be accustomed to. She'd had a lot of them growing up in the foster system, and never wanted her children to know what it was like. Emma didn't always yell back at Richard, but since preparing to welcome a new child into her home she'd needed to remind him there was a limit.
'I'm their mother,' Emma repeated. 'You knew this when we started dating. You knew this was my life.'
'Yeah, well...' He shook his head. 'I hoped it would change.'
'You're unbelievable!' Emma opened her mouth to say more, but halted when she felt a small hand tug at her clothes. She hadn't even noticed the bedroom door opening.
'Mama?' Roland looked up at her with wide eyes. 'I'm hungry.'
Emma exhaled a long breath, wanting to release her frustration, and looked at Henry. The boy stood by the doorway of his bedroom, glaring at Richard. The man pulled a face at him in return, and dropped onto the couch to watch TV. Emma placed a hand on Roland's head, feeling the boy's anxiety to the situation.
Home sweet home, she thought bitterly.
'They won't be little forever,' Richard added. 'Soon they'll grow up and become a real problem. You think you can handle that if I'm not around to pick up after you all the time?'
Emma made an incoherent sound of anger, and snatched her jacket off the rack. She grabbed the boys' hands and yanked them from the apartment. Kicking the door so it slammed shut, she led her sons back downstairs to her yellow bug. The rain was lessening, but she ignored it.
'Why doesn't he like us?' Henry asked softly from the seat beside her, as Emma got in and started the engine. Roland remained very quiet in the back seat.
She hated Richard for ruining this day for them.
'He doesn't know you,' Emma sadly touched her son's face. 'He never tried to, Henry.'
'Do you love him?' His voice was almost a whisper.
Emma turned away and drove them into the rainy street. She'd take them to the only other person she knew – the woman who saved her life. Moseley was the only foster parent Emma still kept in contact with. She was who Henry stayed with for the first three years of his life, and who continued to babysit him for long hours while Emma was at work. She knew, with Roland now a part of their family, that such a tradition would continue.
Emma couldn't imagine what life as a mother would be like without Moseley there to help her out, or how she'd keep custody of her sons without Richard's highly-connected contacts from his well-funded lifestyle. As Emma got out of the bug and led her boys to the door of the familiar blue house, dread crept through her. Moseley was getting older, and Richard far less tolerable to be around.
She didn't know where she'd be if they vanished from her life.
'Richard's not family,' Henry said, leaning to her side. 'He never fights for us. He doesn't love us.'
Emma wished her nine-year-old son didn't have the wisdom to recognise the truth of that.
Chapter One: Ties That Bind Us
Emma felt as if her entire life had halted – frozen in time, somehow. She looked over at the ticking clock on the wall, and knew it was internal. The coppery smell of blood continued to flood her senses, and the sticky-warm feeling lingered even after she'd scrubbed her hands raw. She was at a complete standstill, and each passing second brought her closer to shattering.
Every morning, for the entire year since welcoming Roland into the family, Emma woke frustrated before the day began. She felt weighed down in the sheets - thinking of the job she no longer enjoyed, and man she'd never loved. Richard was usually her first sight of the day, and it disgusted her.
It had been a rough year.
Henry and Roland fought often, mostly because Henry didn't like sharing or having Roland follow him around everywhere. Emma knew a lot of it was related to the added stress of having Richard frequently in the apartment. She'd send the boys to their room when he got home from work, at the new office job he hated more than the last. The apartment had an increased quantity of pens - a clear indication he was already stealing office supplies from the new place.
It was no surprise when he was fired again, just under a week ago.
Richard went to the pub with his buddies more nights in the week than he was home. Emma didn't miss him. She'd drag herself from bed when he stumbled into the apartment too drunk to find the light switch, and had to set him up on the couch before she could return to sleep. Emma didn't mind, if it meant she no longer shared with him.
Moseley never missed an opportunity to voice her opinions of the man each time Emma visited. When Richard's temper flared hotter than it had in a while, the woman urged Emma to leave him. Emma could hear the social worker's voice in her head every time, telling her how important it was for her sons to have a man in their life. Moseley said that wasn't true, but Emma struggled. She still didn't know how to be the best mother she could, and felt she wasn't doing her job as well as she should be.
So Richard stayed, and Moseley lectured - nothing changed. Until the one morning everything changed. Richard finally crossed the line; he went too far.
Emma tried to remember that morning, but it felt so far away now. She'd made scrambled eggs, and watched her sons eat their breakfast without any plans for work or school. It was a simple moment where she could pretend her life was how she'd hoped it would be when she'd decided to keep Henry years ago.
The sound of broken glass and sight of spilled milk was where it started to change. Roland began his round of apologies, while Emma placed a hand on his curly locks to assure her four-year-old she wasn't mad at him.
Richard was always far less forgiving.
Emma submerged in guilt as she leaned her back against the wall, closing her eyes to picture the morning's events in her mind. She wanted to know how she hadn't seen the warnings; the slight alterations that crumbled everything from the moment Richard started shouting how clumsy Roland was.
That was when she'd snapped.
Emma shouted at Richard to shut up, startling both herself and the boys. She didn't know how things escalated from there. They argued all the time, and he'd never physically struck her. Richard shoved a little, and grabbed her wrists in the heat of a fight, but never had he done what happened that morning. Never had he raised a hand to her child. The shouting over spilled milk ended in shocked silence when Henry angrily told Richard to leave his mother alone. It was the first time the boy had so verbally opposed the man, who raised his hand to slap the ten-year-old across the cheek.
Emma was on him in a flash. Richard shouted and struggled, but her job and life in the foster system had her fully equipped and able to throw a grown man from her apartment. Never had she felt such rage towards another person before; Emma believed she could have done serious damage to him in that moment.
She could have killed him, had her sons not been sitting in the other room.
Emma couldn't remember what threats she'd screamed at him, but every word he returned with echoed in her mind. He reminded her the apartment was in his name, demanding she take her brats and get out.
"You still need me," Richard said hastily, picking himself up and dusting off his suit. "You'll call me back. You can't do this on your own!"
"For my sons, I can do anything." Emma moved closer to his face. "Anything, you hear me?"
Slamming the door into his face was the only victory she'd been allowed. Henry's hand was on his cheek, and Emma felt she'd failed him completely. It was a mistake to let Richard near her boys, and now the carpet had been ripped from under them entirely. They packed up and she called Moseley. The woman said they could stay with her for a week, and to head right over.
It was dark now, and Emma was shaking. She still felt like the worse person in the world for breaking her own rules about letting anyone into her life or near her kids.
Richard had never struck out at them like that before, and Emma knew she should have seen it coming. She should have known. Just as she knew Moseley needed to change the locks on her windows in the risky neighbourhood she lived in. Just as she'd known the sense of unease, when they'd arrived at the house, wouldn't be unfounded. She'd made the boys wait in the foyer, and the sight in the living room still churned her stomach hours after she'd left.
The blood seeping into the edge of the pale rug, gasps of jagged breaths from the only person she had left to keep her grounded, and the ache Emma related to what it must be like to have her heart ripped out of her chest – it all lingered freshly in her mind.
The way the dark-skinned older woman used to wrap Emma, Henry and Roland into a hug all at once was what they'd miss the most. Her embraces turned the world a little less overwhelming and big. The cookies and picture books she spoiled the boys with made the house feel a little closer to home than Emma had ever experienced. In an instant, it was all gone.
The only thing Emma had left of her life up until that moment was her sons, a yellow car, and book of fairytales.
Moseley only had one family member – a bitter cousin she never spoke to. The man rushed her funeral and barely stayed more than ten minutes at the wake. Emma was still there, long after all the other guests had left. She'd seen so many former foster children attend, and tried to keep the icy reminder at bay.
Nothing was permanent.
Hearing the shattering of glass, time resumed. Emma snapped out of her haze, and rushed across the room to clean up the spilled water. Roland just stared at it, his small form shaking. Henry sat across from him at the diner table, eyes staring at the cover of the book. The fairytales. Emma glanced at the book and frowned. She'd asked Moseley to hang onto it for her, after Roland's birth mother pleaded her to take Roland. Now was not to the time to venture further into her memories, but Emma was given an opportunity for a distraction.
The book could be the answer.
She kissed Roland's forehead, and grabbed the book. She hadn't touched it since the police returned it to her. They'd tried to explain Moseley was stabbed by a junkie who overheard her mentioning her mother's jewels she kept in a box, but Emma didn't care. She didn't want to know any of it. Richard had banished them, and Moseley was dead; her world had crumbled beneath her. Emma had never felt so lost.
Flipping open the book, she caught the piece of paper slipping out. Her throat constricted at the sight of Moseley's handwriting and drawn circle over a spot on the map sheet. Storybrooke?
The woman's dying words echoed in her mind. The urge to run had been bound by Moseley's presence and encouragement over the years, then Richard's assistance with lawyers and child services obligated her to remain at his side. Now it was all stripped away, Emma was terrified where she might drift. Looking at the faces of her sad and scared sons, she knew a big change was needed as quickly as possible before she lost her footing entirely.
She stared at them, flashing back to sitting on the cold flood beside Moseley's lifeless form. The gasp had turned her head to see Henry standing in the doorway, his eyes wide at the sight of blood. He couldn't see everything, with the sofa in the way, but he'd seen enough. She had to make him forget.
'Time to go,' Emma said, nudging both boys off their chairs.
'Go where?' Henry mumbled.
'Home.' She had to do this. Her walls shook, and mind rallied against her emotions, but Emma didn't know what else to do. She had no one and nothing to guide her.
Gripping the book in her arms, Emma did the only thing she could do well: run.
'A real home,' Emma continued, and both boys looked at her. 'Somewhere far away, where Richard will never be, is a place we can be happy.'
'Where?' Roland wondered.
'A town called Storybrooke.' Emma leaned closer, trying to offer a genuine smile. 'Are you boys up for an adventure? We'll start everything over - get a real house with stairs and a yard. What do you think?'
'I'm scared.' Roland rushed at her stomach.
Her fake smile slipped as she crouched to hold her son to her, chin rested on his head, and willed herself to shut out all the pain and loss. Moseley's death had already prompted Emma to quit her job, not wanting to face the idea of who would look after her boys while she worked. Richard had the power to take them from her, and Emma needed to solve that problem first.
Emma didn't believe in magic or fate, but she needed her sons to. She needed something big and hopeful to pull them out of the darkness the last three years had cast over them. Maybe it was a terrible plan, to make them believe in something that wasn't real, but Emma didn't care for being rational.
She needed an escape - Storybrooke was going to be that.
'It's all my fault,' Henry said, staring at the floor. His eyes watered and breathing shortened. 'If I hadn't-'
'No,' Emma interrupted, handing the book to Roland. 'Listen to me, Henry – none of this is your fault. You were very brave.'
Her son's guilt broke the barriers keeping her tears at bay. She held his hands at his side and begged him to believe her. He stared down at her, biting his lip, and nodded. Emma hugged him with one arm, and struggled to keep herself under control.
Their essential belongings were already packed in the car. Richard was out of their lives, and nothing tied them to Boston anymore. Emma led her boys outside, looking up at the night sky and wishing she could see the stars. Traffic passed by the yellow bug, and she felt the swell of determination to get away no matter what it took. She'd reached the edge of what she could handle.
They were leaving Boston tonight and would never look back. Emma didn't care; no one was taking her sons from her, and she would never allow herself to rely on anyone again. All she needed was to get them to Maine, and start their lives again.
Emma had sobbed and pleaded with Moseley not to leave her, but even with her last breaths the older woman had been wise and stern. That's how she'll be remembered, as the presence in her life who taught Emma she was stronger than she thought. She took back her power, even if it meant locking her heart away to protect it. Emma had her sons, and from now on they were the only ones who mattered. It was a mistake to think anyone else could.
"You don't need me, Emma." Moseley had gasped. "It's time for you to find hope somewhere else. Go to Storybrooke. Start over. Believe in magic..."
Author's Notes: Feedback would be very much appreciated. There is a video for this story, which you'll find the link to in my profile. I realise including Roland in this story and scenario may seem rather strange/random, but if you stick with this story I promise you'll understand later on why I didn't just make up an OC kid. Thank you so much for reading, and I sincerely hope you're enjoying it so far!
