The darkness of the night surrounded them, flooded their bodies and faces until they were nothing but blurred features, their selves dissolved to muffled voices under a sky full of stars.
Henry and Ella lay next to each other, beneath them the dark green grass and above them the eternity. Both were supposed to be sleeping but had been shifting on their austere beds, while dreams had made no move to take them into their restful arms.
Henry had given up first; quietly sneaking through the night with only his blanket to accompany him, unintenionally heading in the direction of his mother's sleeping place. But as he had arrived and seen that a lantern was lit and his mom was kneeling on her bed, her arms wrapped around her shivering torso, he had quietly moved back into the darkness of the sleeping camp. His mother's nightmares were not his burden to carry; she had made that clear in the countless nights they'd spent at their mansion together, when he'd heard her scream in the room next to his until it occurred to her to cast a silencing spell.
Ella had leaped up from her straw mattress fast and determined, picking up her thin blanket and running off into the night. The silence of too many people had weighed her down, and she'd fled to a meadow in the woods, where no one seemed to sleep for lack of safety. She didn't mind, though, had lived dangerously in her stepmother's house for too many years to care. So she sat on the glade and stared up at the night sky, wondering where the moon might be hiding.
After about ten minutes, a couple of dark clouds had finally moved and uncovered the sight of the shimmering silver moon. Ella had been too mesmerized by the view to notice the shadowy figure sneaking up on her.
"Cinderella!"
She'd jumped, grabbing her short dagger, which was always securely strapped to her side, until the ghostly figure stepped out into the faint moonlight.
"Henry," she breathed, her heart still beating fast and hard in her chest, or had it just begun to do so? She quickly pulled herself together, standing up and straightening her sleep-deprived spine. "It's Ella, by the way. I won't have myself kicked around like that ever again."
She expected him to laugh at her, or to throw her a questioning look, but instead, he just smiled and nodded. "I'm glad to hear that."
"Have you been following me?" Ella narrowed her eyes, still touching the dagger's hilt and not intending to let go until he'd have disappeared again.
"Of course not. I'm no stalker," Henry answered lightly, feeling his leaden heart lift just by the sound of her—admittedly not very welcoming—voice.
Her brows creased, but her sticky hands let go of the dagger, rubbing her palms to clean them from the bits of leather remnants from the old dagger's hilt. "It certainly looked like it," she replied, but couldn't seem to return that bold suspiciousness to her voice. "And what's a stalker?"
Henry laughed nervously, scratching his head. "Uh, that's a word from my homeworld. It describes someone who's… being a creep. Acting odd."
"Unlike you, I see." Ella raised her brow, crossing her arms in front of her chest. Somehow the darkness seemed to have lifted, and she noticed each of Henry's features so clearly it could as well have been broad daylight. The darkness inside of herself had faded, too, and given place to some kind of warm light she didn't recognize. "What's that homeland you're always talking about, anyway? Filled with ridiculous words and bizarre vehicles, seems to suit you, though."
"Why thank you," Henry chuckled, barely feeling his arms getting heavy and the night's cold that crept all over his body. "I guess you can't sleep either, so why don't we team up and lie down, and I'll tell you about this weird place I'm from."
Ella merely nodded, grabbed her blanket and spread it out on the ground. It was quite big, but not big enough to use it as both a mattress and a cover. Henry seemed to notice, too, as his face was both brightening up with the light of an idea and faintly flushing with nervousness. "Night's cold," he stated, fiddling with the seam of his sleeves, "But I don't suppose any of us wants to fetch our mattresses, so why don't we lie on your blanket and cover us with mine. Not that… just to keep us warm, you know. Wouldn't want us to freeze to death before we've even begun to confront Lady Tremaine."
"Indeed, that would be something," Ella mumbled, her gestures more or less reluctantly inviting him to the other side of her blanket. They lay down, Ella's left and Henry's right arm both touching the grass because neither of them wanted to move any closer to the middle.
But after a few minutes of uncomfortable silence, Henry began to talk, about cars and coffee and a small town in Maine; and in return, Ella told him about her favorite places in this realm, about ragged, breathtakingly beautiful cliffs, the wild, rough, blue sea and deep, green forests. Neither of their stories was particularly emotional, or personal, but as the night dragged on and it became two o'clock and three o'clock, their voices dropped to the kind of intense whisper that had relevant things to tell. Long ago had their hands touched, their bodies moved closer, until they were almost snuggled together under the never judging eyes of the stars.
The moon had disappeared behind gray clouds, the night air was fresh and silent, when Henry suddenly remembered his mom, lonely shivering in her bed. His features softened and saddened. He knew it had been the right thing to do to sneak away, because if he had tried to comfort her she'd only have put on her mask and he wanted her to use it as little as possible. Still, too many images of his mom trembling with fear or tears or mere loneliness were stuck inside of his head, and they kept replaying every time a new situation like that occurred. A single tear slipped out of his eye and down his cheek.
Ella could not see the tear, but she felt his mood shifting. What had been warm and cozy just seconds ago was now sad and guilt-ridden.
"Henry," she whispered in the direction of the spot where she suspected his face. "What's going through your mind? You can tell me."
"It's nothing." Henry tried to smile, but it was not like Ella could see him anyway, even if he had managed to curve his lips upside. "I'm okay," he sniffled, condemning himself for not being as tough as his mom steadily was.
Ella surprised him, though. "Perhaps," she remarked, her gaze glued to the stars. "But, let me guess, someone you care about isn't."
How'd you know?, Henry wanted to ask, because knowing what the other one thought was a Snow-and-David-kind of thing, or Belle-and-Gold, or even Regina-and-Robin… he quickly shoved the thought aside.
"I don't want to talk about it," he responded instead, even though he knew that this might destroy the magic of the night. But Ella seemed to have warmed up to him, as she didn't close off, but placed her head on her crossed arms and opened her mouth.
"If you don't want to talk, maybe I should," she began. "I've got some things to confess. I almost ripped your heart out yesterday night. The Heart of the Truest Believer, as my stepmother said."
Henry blinked, once, twice, it was not what he'd expected. But he knew better than to lash out at her, knew better than to reply to a statement like this at all, because he had learned a very long time ago that it was crucial for every relationship—no matter which kind—to let everyone tell their story before judging.
And Ella talked. She didn't tell him everything, only small pieces, fragments of the vast and complex truth, but enough to make him understand. It turned out she was a disastrous storyteller, just dreadful, her sentences often left unfinished and the names and places all confused. It was the complete opposite of Henry, whose whole 'normal', 'happy ending' teenage life had been dedicated to telling stories the most interesting and expressive way he could think of (if he hadn't been studying days long for tests about things he'd missed in the first seven years of his school life), but he loved listening to her anyway, her voice was a little rough around the edges and melody to his ears.
After fifteen minutes of talking about the past, her story came to the previous day, her fingers drawing circles on the back of her left hand.
"And do you know who caught me attempting to remove Jeremiah's heart?" Ella gave a rueful, regretful smile Henry couldn't see but hear in the strain of her voice. Before he could even think of a person (back in the old days it would've likely been Snow, Princess of Hope Speeches), she declared, "Regina. It was your mother, Henry. She kept me from doing something I'd regret all my life, and she is the reason I'm still here and not on my mare off to nowhere."
"Magic," Henry smiled, though it was new and frightening to him that Ella had wanted to leave, thankfulness rushed through his body in warm waves. He had initially wanted his mom by his side because he sensed that nothing awaited her in Storybrooke, nothing that could make that faint smile of hers grow wider. He had wanted to show her—because it was true!—that there were many more stories out there, waiting for her, if she felt like her happy beginning had not truly begun yet. Then he had realized that he, too, longed for her to come with him, that he might have grown up, but it didn't mean their shared life was over. But it was only now that he understood it was more than him who needed his mom, it was the whole world. Her job was not done yet, and she would go insane being stuck in Storybrooke with the same, 'sickeningly happy' people for the rest of her life. She had gone through (literal and metaphorical) hell and come out alive, and someone like this was exactly what others needed most.
"Not magic," Ella explained—although he had meant the figurative kind—, "words. Henry?"
"Yes?"
"Your mother is a beautiful, wise woman, you know that?"
He smiled, taking her hand in his, and it came so naturally, she must have felt it too because instead of withdrawing it, she squeezed his fingers and entwined them with hers. His palms were soft and gentle, and hers were raw and warm.
"I do," Henry admitted wholeheartedly. "Believe it or not, it took me some time, but I truly do."
They were both on the verge of getting sleepy, but they were not willing to let go of this night yet. A sleepless, magical night where they didn't have to acknowledge anything, not the cozy, fiery, growing something in their hearts and nothing beyond. A night to feel finally at peace. A night that would have never existed if not for that woman with the stony outside.
"I sure hope so," Ella answered, a few minutes late. "Your mother seems so strong on the surface, hard even. But no one gives such speeches if not for a terribly deep soul."
"Indeed," Henry whispered. "Deeper than most."
Soon they fell asleep with only their clasped hands connecting them, and finally, the moon appeared again, shining upon their peaceful faces.
Thank you for reading! :) I hope you enjoyed it.
This might become a Two Shot, maybe also a couple more chapters. My mother language is not English, so I appreciate it if you want to tell me any mistakes you found or if you want to beta it. I'd be delighted about reviews :)