The Curse of Forgetting
Chapter One
Disclaimer: I don't own Once Upon a Time.
It took Henry a minute to remember where they were.
"Come on, kid. Rise and shine."
His mom dug one ridiculously pointy, boney finger into the ticklish spot between his ribs and Henry squirmed away from her with a giggle that faded into a groan of protest.
"Five more minutes," he mumbled, trying to suffocate himself back to sleep with his own pillow.
"I let you sleep in, and you slept through most of the car ride last night," she laughed.
"I'm a teenager, we're wired to sleep, eat, and play video games," groaned Henry levering himself upright in bed, and promptly slumping forward to rest his head on his mom's shoulder.
"C'mon kid, the sun is awake and has been for hours, time for you to get with the program."
She took a moment to smooth his bed-head into something mostly flat.
"You gotta go to work?" yawned Henry stumbling to his feet and pulling some jeans and a collared shirt out of his bag.
"Yeah, in a bit, there're some people I want you to meet before I get to it. Plus breakfast at Granny's," she grinned a bit, "Haven't had that in a while. It's all nostalgic."
Henry looked up blinking and squinting as though he wasn't sure he'd heard correctly.
"What do you mean? Did you live here before or something?"
His mom didn't like to talk about the time from before he was born, it made her sad, and, Henry thought, probably really lonely. So he had to grab onto whatever tidbits she would reveal and try to piece together the bits and pieces of her story on his own.
"Yep, we both did—you probably don't remember but this is where we lived for a bit when you were younger."
Henry smiled a bit at that idea, surveying the room with fresh eyes.
The apartment was loft style but the upstairs bedroom featured a bunk bed with girly flower print sheets. A wardrobe and a chest of drawers as well as a steamer trunk stored a small collection of plain shirts and skinny jeans. They were his mom's, he realized suddenly, from before.
There was nothing of his, no baby stuff or anything, although he'd spotted a wooden sword in the closet, so he had to guess that his mom had done that thing she did where she just left everything that was explicitly hers behind. Like she didn't need it. And just took him and his things.
It was sweet in a way. But also a bit sad and Henry didn't want to bring it up. Not while his mom was in such a weird mood.
She shook her head a bit and stood up, "Get dressed, kid. I'll meet you downstairs."
Henry wished he had the time for a shower, but it was already a little past nine and he could see his mom was itching to get going on her case. So he brushed his teeth dragged on his chosen clothes, an outfit that was prep-school enough to make a good impression without him having to do anything with it, and shoved his phone and gameboy into his pocket because he had a feeling it was going to be a long day of waiting around.
"Hey, can I come with you this time if you need to go on a stakeout?" he asked bouncing down the stairs.
"No promises, and definitely not today," she said tossing him his coat and shrugging her own over her shoulders, "You got your video games? This is gonna take a while."
"Three steps ahead of you mom," said Henry, "Let's go, now that I've been dragged out of bed against my will, my stomach informs me that we're starving to death."
"You got it, kid. Granny's makes the best pancakes this side of anywhere."
"Better than yours?"
"Way better than mine."
"This I gotta try."
The brisk October wind sent a scatter of leaves swirling in the street, and Henry shoved his hands in his pockets, taking everything in while his mom locked up behind him.
They walked from the apartment where they were staying over to the main street, past quaint and sometimes very odd shops, and down to Granny's Diner and it was surreal and enlightening.
His mom really seemed comfortable here, like she knew everything and everybody and everybody knew her.
Which was actually weirding Henry out a little because he'd never met these people before and yet they also all seemed to know him. I guess that happened when you were a baby in a small town but still.
"Good to have you back Emma, Henry," greeted a skinny man with a shock of red hair and a soft smile, passing them as he crossed the street with his dog.
His mom actually waved and said, "Hey Archie. Pongo."
His mom. His mom who subscribed to the New Yorker philosophy that the best and most polite way to greet someone was to act like they didn't exist.
"Wow," Henry managed.
"We're not in New York anymore, Toto. This is Maine. Gotta brush off the old-fashioned good manners."
"I know that, I just wasn't sure if you were aware," Henry teased, taking the steps up to the front door of the diner two at a time and opening the door with a flourish.
His mom snorted at this and ruffled his hair as she went past. Her way of saying 'thanks, kid' without actually saying it. Henry smiled brightly at her back and followed her into the diner.
Henry's first impression of Granny's was that Granny's was great.
Actually, scratch that, Granny's was awesome. The house-turned-diner smelled like cinnamon and coffee and frying bacon and faintly of freshly baked bread. Henry's mouth was watering almost before he'd passed the threshold.
The booths were done up in soft brown-red leather but everything else was white, grey and robin's egg blue and retro in a way that didn't feel gimicky.
"Pick a table, okay? I just wanna say hi to Granny and Ruby."
And his mom went up to the counter and was unceremoniously dragged into a corner to whisper with the two women there, one a leggy brunette, the other unmistakably the Granny of Granny's right down to her beaded glasses-chain and hand-knit cardigan.
They huddled close, having a serious adult discussion, or something like it, which left Henry to pretend he wasn't paying attention so his mom wouldn't feel guilty about making him wait.
As hungry as he was he wanted his mom to catch up with her old friends.
Still that left him to examining the tree-print wallpaper and the watercolours on the walls and silently praying that the blonde waitress with the fierce frown of concentration who was juggling an alarmingly tall stack of dirty dishes wasn't about to send them tumbling to the floor as she kicked the kitchen door open and slid through.
Henry waited but he didn't hear the crash of porcelain serveware discovering the existence of gravity. His eyes drifted away from the kitchen door and fell on the boy behind the register.
Henry had noticed him when they'd come in. He was the only one so far who hadn't immediately lit up with subdued recognition at the sight of him and his mom.
He was in his late teens if Henry had to guess, tallish with long legs sheathed in dark wash jeans. He had booted feet propped up on a second stool behind the counter and blatantly paying no attention to the store, his nose in a paperback with the cover torn off. He was really, really attractive, all dusty golden hair and chewed on lips.
He seemed to sense Henry staring though because he looked up abruptly— and gave him a hard glare.
Henry flushed a bit and averted his gaze to the table-top. Idiot, he admonished himself. He knew better than to all-out stare like that, especially at a boy he thought was attractive.
He fiddled with the menu, trying to focus on the, frankly delicious looking, dishes described there. He could feel the other boy unabashedly staring at him now, and as much as he tried to fight it there was still a hot blush crawling up the back of his neck.
Pancakes. Henry reminded himself. Focus on the pancakes. With bacon. And hot cocoa.
Cute.
Blushing and ducking his head when he was caught staring, resolutely fixing his eyes on the menu in front of him. It was an adorably innocent reaction. The blush crawling steadily up the back of the boy's neck had Peter's lips twitching into a smirk.
Interesting.
He reached into his pants pocket for his phone and took a picture, not worried about the boy looking up and catching him at it, and he sent it off to Felix with the caption: 'Cute stranger at work. What do you think?'
The boy was young, fifteen, sixteen at the most, skinny and pale and done up in jeans and a collared shirt, like a good little boy but with dark hair and knowing, laughing eyes. Peter could admit he was a little bit captivated. Enough that he actually tied on his apron and went to take his order.
"See anything you like?" he asked, a bit of tease in his voice.
The boy flushed the rest of the way up over the arch of his cheekbones, and it was gorgeous, just the reaction Peter had hoped for. But then, despite his clear embarrassment, he leaned back to look up at Peter with a bright, sheepish smile.
"Everything looks great, but I'm waiting for my mom so I'm not quite ready to order yet."
Peter blinked a bit, but quickly recovered his wits and summoned his most charming grin, "Then can I start you off with something to drink?"
"Just a hot cocoa, please, with whipped cream and extra cinnamon if you have it."
"Coming right up."
Peter avoided the knot of serious conversation that included Granny and the stranger who'd come in with the boy and instead leaned over the counter to talk to Ruby.
"Do my eyes decieve me or has the lofty Peter Pan come down from his perch to serve a customer, in a properly starched apron no less?" she gasped, affected wide eyes and a shocked expression that was completely belied by her hunter's grin, "I thought you said we'd never get you into 'that ruffled monstrosity'."
"You had nothing to do with it," Peter shot back.
"You're barking up the wrong tree Peter, flirting with that boy will bring down a world of trouble with the locals even you won't be able to just shake off."
"You're only in trouble if you get caught by the wrong people. Besides it would be a crime not to flirt a little, that kid is seriously adorable, Red, you have no idea."
"Oh I have an idea. Here."
"Is that—"
"A premium hot chocolate topped with whipped cream and extra cinnamon, yes it is," said Ruby, presenting it to Peter like it was a work of art.
And it was a little, she'd really outdone herself making it beautiful.
"I didn't tell you his order though," said Peter arching a brow at Ruby.
She gave him a slightly sad, secretive smile, "He has a cinnamon kind of face."
So Peter with furrowed brows and questioning eyes took the confection in hand and turned back toward the cafe.
"And Pan," added Ruby, catching his wrist, there was a flicker of gold in the back of her eyes and more wolf in her voice than Peter heard on the morning of the full moon, it was enough to make him sit up and pay close attention, "That boy is precious to this town, and you two have a history. Hurt him in any way and there won't be a single realm you can run to."
"I'll keep that in mind," he said, flashing her a fox-in-the-henhouse grin as he turned to deliver the hot cocoa to the cute boy in the front booth.
"That was fast," he commented, "And this looks amazing, thanks!"
"Thank Ruby," said Peter distractedly, staring at the boy as though he were a puzzle and Peter was trying to solve him, "She knew what you wanted right away."
"Wow, that's pretty neat."
"Who are you, exactly?" Peter blurted abruptly, "You look so familiar but I just can't put my finger on where I know you from."
"Well, I don't think we've met, but I'm Henry Swan."
Peter took his proffered hand, long fingered and warm, and met his smile with a tentative and slightly confused one of his own.
"I'm Peter. Peter Pan."
"Seriously," asked Henry, snorting a little into his hand as if that would hide it.
"Seriously," said Peter arching a haughty brow in response.
"Ah sorry, I didn't mean to laugh, you must be sick of that reaction," he said wincing and apologetic.
"It's fine."
And that's when the strange woman who'd come in with him earlier, a pretty blonde with an air of extreme competence, slid around him and into the booth opposite Henry, "Pan," she drawled, shooting him a hostile look.
"Swan," Peter guessed, echoing her tone automatically, "Ruby will be along to take your orders in a few minutes."
He knew that Malcolm, the one they called The Other Pan, had wronged the people of this town, even if Felix hadn't given him the blow-by-blow. He was used to meeting hostility with taunts and sarcasm and blatant, purposefully irritating indifference.
"Do you two know each other?" he heard Henry ask, catching a glimpse of a querying look.
"Not exactly," sighed Swan, "It's a pretty long story but his...brother, gave me some trouble a few years back."
"Still, that's no reason to be so hostile with Peter. It's not his fault you and his brother have history." Henry insisted.
"I know. I know. I'm trying to reserve judgment, but he looks a lot like his brother. Bad habits, kid. They're harder to break than good ones."
"Just as long as you try."
Peter couldn't help the small smirk that curled his lips as he picked up his book and returned to the passionate affairs of the not-so-properly-buttoned-up governess and the rapscallion ship's captain who was sure to be revealed as a pirate in a few chapters.
Peter slid back onto his stool behind the register and glanced down at his phone. There was a text from Felix that read: That's Henry.
And Peter's eyes flicked back over to the booth where Ruby had replaced him and was taking the Swans' orders and he suddenly understood that Henry, like Felix, is someone he's forgotten but also, strangely enough, and unlike Felix, someone who's forgotten him.
AN: Not entirely satisfied with how this turned out so comments and critiques are greatly appreciated.