A/N: This fic is a result of already existing anger at how the show handled Zelena and Regina, flying back home to be dorks with my little sisters, and Sarah Manning and Helena feelings. So you know, enjoy.
Prologue
The fight feels like it's been going on for hours. She's already lost the baby and the rest of her ingredients, carried away from the battlefield by Prince Idiot and Captain Eyeliner, and there isn't a point anymore now that the barn has been reduced to broken wood and ash. It's been going on for so long, she doesn't even notice how much of her blood has stained the piles of hay, how much her body is aching to collapse. She just keeps fighting. Keeps Rumple fighting. Pushing Regina onto the floor with heavy thuds, and keeps getting up when Regina does the same. Maybe once or twice Emma gets lucky enough to shoot the gun in her general direction and Zelena is skillful enough to evade it. But once she lands a bullet in the arm holding the dagger, once she drops it, and it's in Regina's hands, she knows she's done.
She doesn't even know what words are coming out of her mouth anymore. She keeps shouting about destiny and that this is who we are, sis, give it up. And then something changes. Regina hands the dagger to Emma, and the purple mist about Regina's hands is replaced with bright, bright white, shining against her face and illuminating the wet, strong, brown eyes locked on Zelena's.
She is still conscious when Regina delivers the last blow, with magic saturated with light; once she feels the tug of her pendant come loose, she feels the world growing dark and cold.
"Finish her," she hears Rumple say, distant and bitter and cruel. But Regina is crying and Zelena's heavy head is cradled in the crook of her arm.
"No," she says. "No more. That's enough. No more."
Everything goes black.
Black is now green. The void of sound is replaced with her own breathing, every clack of her shoes reverberating in the air against marble columns, the rustle of her clothes. The Wizard's silhouette is before her, presenting to her in the hall warm like blood, like sensation. He shows her a face, sweet and kind, with crinkling eyes to accompany that welcoming and almost naive smile.
"Who's that?" She sounds so far away from herself, like the voice isn't hers.
"Your sister, Regina."
And for a moment, a very small, small flame burns. "I've got a sister?"