Title: Witchful Thinking, Chapter 1/?
Author: Bladed Darkness
Category: Once Upon a Time
Summary: A magic-infused Storybrooke brings challenges to the celebration of Halloween.
Pairings: Swan Queen
Length: 1500+
Rating: T
"Emma, please!"
"I said no, Henry. I'm not gonna wear that," Emma said, heaving a sigh before taking a sip of her hot chocolate.
Henry looked at her with pleading eyes. "C'mon, Ma," he begged, spooning another bite of his cereal. "It'll be fun. And we'll match and everything."
Emma seriously doubted it, on both counts. Halloween was scrounging together something that could be construed as an attempt at a costume and sneaking out of the children's home, only to be bullied out of your spoils on the way back. It had ceased to be fun by the time Emma hit double digits.
And, she sulked internally, Henry's costume didn't have a cape. A white cape. There was no way she was walking around Storybrooke, dressed as some white knight, just because Henry was eagerly embracing his Enchanted Forest heritage.
At least the biological part of it.
"Look, kid, I'm just not comfortable with it."
"Ma, everyone is going to be dressing up as who they were."
"Even your Mom?"
His nose crinkled at that. "She's not invited."
Great, Emma mused. She was going to be expected to mingle and play nice, and listen to tales about how the 'old country' was, and Regina wouldn't even be there to break up the monotony. There would be no one to talk with about just how decidedly not-great Emma had found the Enchanted Forest to be during her brief and unwanted trip there. She was sure the other woman had no rose-tinted glasses on about the other land.
She shook the thought away as Henry prodded her again. "Shouldn't I be a baby then?"
"You've always been the Savior, Ma."
Except for the first twenty-eight years of her life. And now she was pretty much treated like the solution to every problem, every day. Why did a dumb outfit that embodied all her reservations about her title have to be required? Couldn't she just dress up as something cool, without all the pressure?
It was annoying. She would always be the Savior, it seemed. And Regina would apparently always be the Evil Queen. And if you asked the majority of Storybrooke, they always had been.
Emma rubbed her forehead. "Henry, I don't want to dress up like some hero. That's not me. It never has been. I'm not wearing it."
The intensity of the little eyes staring up at her startled Emma. His lips tugged downwards, but the ends curled up, creating a weird combination that looked like a bizarre cross between Regina's sneer and Neal's old puppy face. "You still can't accept it, can you?" He shook his head. "I wish you'd see yourself the way everyone in Storybrooke does," he muttered, shoving his spoonful of cereal into his mouth.
The cloud of purple smoke caused him to nearly choke. Henry hastily swallowed his mouthful, waving his hands through the thick miasma as if that would quicken its dispersal. He expected to see his mother, hands upon her hips with her glare upon Emma. Not a gurgling bundle upon the couch, blanket firmly around the noisemaker. And certainly not his blonde mother, seemingly standing far taller than usual in her white knight costume, albeit minus the cape and plus sword in hand. Henry admired the sight for a second, pleased that her curls behaved enough to stay flowing down her back rather than catching in the costume.
"Um," he started, finally directing his attention to the squalling child, "where did the baby come from?"
Emma leaned over to peer at it closely. "Dunno. I can find out though." Henry reached out to pull down the blanket for a better view. "Don't touch it! It could be dangerous."
"It's a baby, Ma," he replied with an eye roll. "He can't even bite me."
"You don't know that. Magic is dangerous and a baby coming from nowhere is suspicious, kid."
Henry decided not to comment on the fact that the magic had redressed Emma for whatever reason and she wasn't freaking out about that. "What are we going to do with him?"
"It's a she," Emma corrected, having finally managed to carefully pull away the thick layers. "And assuming she's not a crazy magic baby, I guess we find her parents."
"Whose parents?" asked Snow as she came in the front door, blinking in surprise at the suddenly loud cry. "Where did you find a baby?"
"On the couch," shrugged Emma, finally sheathing her sword and leaning against the arm of the sofa. Before she could stop her, Snow had reached down and was cooing at the little girl in her arms, who quieted down rapidly.
Charming trudged into the apartment, quickly setting aside the groceries. He looked bewildered between his wife, daughter, and grandson before cautiously peering at his wife's arms.
"Emma?" he asked in disbelief.
"Yeah?"
"No," Charming said as he shook his head, pointing, "the baby. That's Emma."
"Um, hello? I'm right here, looking all Savior-y."
"Charming," started Snow, before he cut her off.
"It's Emma," he urged. "You don't sword fight with your little girl in your arms and not recognize her."
If she counted only her Storybrooke years, this week was headache-inducing.
The town's decision to celebrate their past lives had brought her wrongdoings to the forefront of everyone's minds. And while the adults were too occupied with preparations to form another mob at her door when she had been on her semi-best behavior, their children did not have the same constraints.
Shaving cream and eggs had decorated her house every day for the last week, Regina too stubborn to call upon Sheriff Swan – and perhaps too afraid she would bring along Henry, the distinct slump of his shoulders (and didn't she teach him better than that?) and the younger woman's watchful eye an all too clear sign that he was not-so-willingly there. Sticky gumdrops were attached to her mailbox, and Regina was sure that was Gretel's contribution to the assorted food products plaguing her property.
Worse yet, the insufferable children had made a game of absolutely infuriating her by daring each other to touch her precious -
A flash of movement through the window distracted Regina from her thoughts, and she rushed outside.
"Get down from there!" she commanded, glaring up at the teenager.
Green eyes peered down at her from behind thick rims. "Why?" She reached up and plucked a crimson fruit from the branch above the one she was currently reclining on.
"Because I doubt your parents want you on my property, dear."
The girl chuckled and hooked her legs around the limb before leaning back, and Regina took a few startled steps backwards as the teen hung upside down a few scant inches from her face. "Wouldn't mind seeing that." She took a loud bite of her stolen apple before abruptly falling to the ground and somehow managing to land on her feet in a move that Regina would have previously thought impossible given the limited distance she had to work with.
Slim fingers pushed her glasses back up the brim of her nose as Regina suddenly took in her appearance. Scuffed sneakers, skintight jeans, a thin long-sleeved shirt, and a mockery of that red leather jacket she so loathed.
She had seen quite a few girls dressed up as Emma Swan earlier, tacky red jackets donned in hero worship of the Savior. Those were little girls from the younger years of the school, however, with little sense of identity or the ability to separate themselves from their Storybrooke counterparts that they had lived with for twenty-eight years. The blonde in front of her appeared to be around sixteen, however, and was either quite good at mimicking Sheriff Swan's unique way of irritating her or it was just the girl's natural charm.
"What's your name, dear?"
The girl bit her lip, weighing her response – most likely against the possibility of getting in further trouble. "Emma Swan," she finally blurted, chin raised.
Regina smirked. "Really, dear?"
"Yeah." She shoved her hands into her pockets and leaned against the tree.
"Try again."
The girl's cocky grin faded. "What, seriously?"
"I am quite serious, yes."
"But that's my name," she protested.
"I'm sure." Regina leaned in. "But it happens to be the sheriff's name, and you are definitely not her."
The blonde bit back a laugh. "Sheriff doesn't sound my style. I hope your Swan fits the bill better."
"Hardly."
The teen shrugged.
"How about I take you to see her?" asked Regina, eyes glittering. She had to admit that the girl, while annoying, was less irritating than the fools that had been harassing her all week – her audacity with her apple tree notwithstanding.
"No," the teenager drawled, suddenly bolting passed the mayor. "I think I'm good," she called over her shoulder.
The blonde didn't see the older woman smirk and disappear in a cloud of purple, but she felt the sudden tug as Regina snagged the collar of her jacket and purred, "I insist," before a puff of smoke filled her vision and she was suddenly standing in the middle of an apartment.
"What the hell!" she yelped, backing away from the mostly surprised group in front of her.
Regina furrowed her brow at the screaming infant held to Snow's chest. "I'm wondering the same thing." She did a double take. "What on earth are you wearing, Miss Swan?"