Your mouth is poison, your mouth is wine
You think your dreams are the same as mine
Her eyes are burning. It hurts, and yet, it is nothing. Nothing compared to the agony of waiting for her husband to die.
Her eyes are closed, in an attempt to hide her tears that is probably failing miserably. She cannot stop crying, cannot fathom being able to, and behind closed lids, her eyes water and burn.
She likes it. Wants the pain. Why should be comfortable, when Charming is dying, and she can do nothing about it?
"Open your eyes, Snow," Charming whispers. "You're hurting yourself."
Oh, right. Charming wouldn't want her to be doing this to herself. That's why.
Blinking her eyes open, she hisses out a breath, uncomfortable, then hates herself for it. This is nothing.
"I wish you wouldn't do this," he says softly. "I'm not in pain, my love. It doesn't hurt. I'm not suffering."
"No," she mutters, staring at anything that's not him. "You're just dying."
He flinches noticeably. "Yes," he agrees. "I'm dying. And nothing can make that okay. Letting yourself be in pain certainly won't."
"I can't make it stop," she admits.
"You don't have to. It's just you and me, Snow."
"For how much longer?" she asks, voice breaking.
His arm tightens around her. "For as long as I can hold on, my love."
She can't think of anything to say to that.
"Look at me, Snow," he asks, so gently.
She cannot find it in herself to refuse him anything, especially that. Lifting her head slightly, she turns to him, raises her eyes to meet his.
He looks so tired, but his eyes are still so startlingly blue. She's never gotten used to them, never stopped being stunned by them. She'd thought she would have a lifetime to try and fail spectacularly at lessening the effect he had on her.
She cannot wrap her head around the fact that she's going to lose that lifetime for a second time.
"Hey," he murmurs. "I'm not just gonna let go, okay? I'm not just gonna give up and say 'it's too hard' and go away. I'm dying, and I can't stop that, but I can promise you I'll hold on tight for as long as I can."
She bends down, kissing him so gently, so quickly. She wants more, she wants to take whatever she can get, and yet she doesn't want to take all that he has left at once.
He can't afford to be losing his breath.
"I love you," she says insistently. "So much. I don't... I haven't said it often enough."
"You say it every time you look at me," he murmurs. "I see in your eyes, and every smile. I feel it in every kiss, every touch. I know you love me, my darling. I don't need the words to know it."
This time, when she cries, she doesn't hide it from him.
He focuses on keeping his breathing steady and even.
He can do it. It's just... become something he has to think about doing, that's all.
"Snow?" he tries.
He will not keep secrets from her anymore.
"What is it, Charming?" his wife asks, and with the demand he hears in her voice, he knows she's heard something even more wrong in his.
The idea that he could ever hide anything from her now seems completely absurd.
"It's just... getting harder to breathe."
She closes her eyes again.
"Snow," he murmurs, hurt to have caused her any pain. "It's okay. If I focus on keeping my breathing even, it's okay."
Tears stream down her face when she opens her eyes back up to look at him. "Breathing shouldn't be a thing you have to focus on."
He pulls a half smile from somewhere. "I don't think should or shouldn't means much for me anymore, my darling. It's just what is. And you deserve to know. I'm not going to try to hide anything from you now. It's not fair to you."
"No," she sniffs, agreeing. "And more to the point, it doesn't work anyway. I know you, Charming. Inside and out. Secrets, they don't work between us."
"I'm sorry," he starts.
"Don't," she interrupts. "Don't waste your energy on an apology that's not necessary. I told you before, I understand."
"I know you do. Because you are the most unfailingly understanding person I have ever known. That's just who you are. But my beautiful Snow, I also want you to understand that I know I should have told you. That I regret not telling you, from the beginning. And that I hated myself just a little more with every lie I told you."
He can see her struggling to keep herself together, and feels his stomach twist with the guilt of it.
It's something of a relief to find that he can still feel at least that.
"Don't do that," she finally whispers, beginning to stroke a hand through his hair. "I can't hear it. I don't want you to hate yourself, not even a little bit."
"And if I can't help it?" he demands, even as he feels himself leaning into her like a cat angling to be petted.
She bends down, touches her lips to his in possibly the gentlest kiss they've ever shared in the life of a love full of passion and heat.
"Then I'll just have to love you more to make up for it," she says, so softly. "I love you so much."
Gods, does it hurt.
"I love you too," he promises. "Love you forever. Even when I'm gone, I'll love you."
Snow's lower lip trembles for a second, and he fears she's going to break down completely, but instead she manages a smile, so heartbreakingly beautiful, he loses the breath he'd worked so hard for.
"For all eternity," she manages, before her smile collapses.
The reference to their wedding vows is just about all he can take.
This time, when she cries, he cries with her.
She's beautiful. Brilliant, amazing. He's long been one to admire women, but Emma Swan is different. She fascinates him. She's magnificent.
Even when she's tearing through the jungles of Neverland like the devil himself is chasing after her.
It's actually all he can do to keep up, and he's not slow. They've long ago lost everyone else. It's just the two of them now; her worried about everyone's safety but her own, and himself trying to keep her safe in addition to everyone else.
He hadn't signed up for this, the mess he found himself in. He'd just wanted to do something good for the first time in more years than he cared to count. Something more substantial than grabbing Aurora's heart before it had been lost forever. He'd wanted to do something to make amends to the people he'd hurt (at least those people who hadn't deserved it). Saving Bae's son, that would have done it, and then he could have been off on his merry way.
Emma Swan had not been part of the plan.
Oh, he'd been attracted to her, of course. From the beginning, he had been. But now? Now, he's spent time with her. Now, he's gotten to know her, and her family too, the epic backstory they bring with him. Now, he admires and respects all of them. And now he finds himself adoring her.
It's a profound kind of agony, he notices, adoring someone who seems about five seconds away from falling apart completely, breaking into more pieces than can ever be put back together. Keeping her whole (considerable baggage notwithstanding) has suddenly become all he wants in the world, but with her father on death's door and her son trapped in Pan's grip, the challenge of protecting her from all that would damage her gets more daunting by the minute.
One step at a time, he decides, and getting her to take a breath is step number one.
"Emma," he tries, "you need to slow down."
He has a lovely view of the back of her head shaking from side to side rapidly.
"No time to slow down," she huffs. "My father does not have time."
"Your father has time for you to slow to a jog, love. What he doesn't have time for is for you to keel over in exhaustion by the time we reach Pan's camp, which is what is going to happen if you keep going at this pace."
She doesn't say anything, but a slight stiffening in her shoulders gives him hope that he might be getting through to her, before she starts pushing herself even harder.
He groans. She might well be the most maddening human being he's ever met.
Beyond the last of his patience, he reaches forward, and gently grabs her arm. "Emma, sweetheart. Stop."
She spins on him, and he has only a second to feel relief that he'd gotten her to freeze in place, before he recognizes the look on her face, the wide-eyed, uncomprehending terror she only gets when someone goes unceremoniously smashing past the walls she'd so carefully built up, and he actually thinks about what he just said.
Oh. Damn it. Should have stuck with 'love'.
He really hopes he's not blushing.
He's blushing.
She doesn't know what to do with that. Doesn't know what to do with any of this, her son's kidnapping, her father being near death, her ex magically showing up back from the dead (he got shot and then fell through a portal, damn it, but he's somehow fine?), her whole ridiculous fairy tale life.
And then there's Captain freaking Hook, who disarms her in ways that nobody ever has, all of which are ways that she really doesn't want to think too much about.
She's wanted someone to call her sweetheart her whole life. Hook just did. And now he's got the gall to blush about it.
No, she doesn't know what to do with any of this.
So she does as she always does, and plays it off, keeps it casual, while she fumbles around for the bricks meant to be in the giant hole Hook just broke through her walls.
"Sweetheart, really?" she asks wryly. Which is great. Perfect. Exactly what she was going for.
His blush deepens, so, yeah, that's definitely what it's about.
He shrugs. "It's an endearment, much as any other I use. You've never complained before."
Ah. So playing it casual too, then. Too bad for him he can't seem to get control over how flushed his face is.
She shakes her head at him. "And here I thought you had no shame," she drawls. Breathier than she'd intended, giving her a flirtatious note she really hadn't planned on, which, no good. Quality line, piss poor delivery.
He manages one of his altogether unfair grins. "I don't. I've never had shame. And I've always been rather proud of that, love, don't shoot me down now. I'll be so very disappointed. No shame, yes?"
Abort, abort mission, you're just flirting with him at this point, and DO NOT WANT, her mind screams.
"That blush of yours suggests otherwise," comes out of her mouth.
Damn it.
He closes his eyes, just for a second, and when he opens them back up, there is so much feeling in them that she has to suck in a breath.
"Emma," he sighs. "You know I care for you, you must know that."
Educated guess, sure, but what the hell is he doing...
"I didn't plan on it, and I know you don't want it. I know all you can think about right now is your family, and that's how it should be. I just want to help you, in any way I can. Because Emma, I need you to know that I'd do anything for you. And I know you're not one to trust on blind faith. I don't expect you to just trust me, I know you better than that. I've got to come through, I've got to come through for you. And I intend to. I'm going to do everything in my power to try and help you save your father, and to get your son back. But Emma, if I'm going to do that, you need to work with me. You cannot expend all your energy on racing through this jungle, leaving yourself with nothing to take on Pan. I'm not saying we take a leisurely stroll around the island, I'm saying we take it down a notch from an all-out sprint. I know this island, I know Pan. I can help you. So yes, sweetheart, please just let me."
He's got her back, she suddenly realizes, frozen and gaping at him. And he's wrong, she does trust him, she trusts him already, and she can't figure out when that happened.
She only knows that the walls that she's spent a lifetime building up, solid and strong for seventeen years until she'd met Neal, and then built back up to impenetrability for another decade after that are now lying in ruin around her feet for the man standing in front of her right now.
She's crying, and she doesn't care that he is seeing it. She can't believe that, but she grasps at it wildly. It's a lifeline. He's here, and he cares, and he's got her back, and she really freaking needs his help.
"I can't lose my father, Killian," she whispers. "I only just got him."
He reaches out to her. "I know, sweetheart," he murmurs. "Let's go try and save him."
She places her hand in his, and lets him both guide her through the jungle and set their pace.
Because she trusts him.
His breathing keeps getting more staggered and uneven, and he knows Snow notices, as she continues to get stiffer in his arms.
There's nothing he can do for her, and it's infuriating. He's used to being able to do something, and it's this absolute uselessness, this complete inability to do anything to comfort her, that is the worst part of the whole miserable situation.
It's probably strange, but he's not overly upset about dying. It's what it will do to his family that he hates. His own life has always seemed rather insignificant to him, in the face of theirs. He's gladly risked his life for theirs time and time again, and he'd always planned on doing that right until the end. It seems appropriate, then - even if far too soon - that he should die having saved his wife.
But Gods, he doesn't want to leave Snow.
He just wishes, desperately wishes, that he could do something to make this easier for her.
And then she's shifting in his arms, trying to get herself in a more comfortable position, even as she continues to stroke her hand through his hair, so gently, and murmuring to him too, so quietly, "Do you remember when..."
Oh. Oh. All he's wanted this whole time is to help Snow, and apparently the only thing that will help her, is to take care of him. She's here. She stayed. And she's making things better, for him.
No one anywhere has ever loved anyone as much as he finds himself loving her in that moment.
And so he cannot quite help it, when he cuts her off, not quite letting her finish that thought.
"I remember every moment we've ever shared," he says fiercely, needing her to know, needing her to understand. "Every second we've spent together, I remember, for it's been a second I spent falling further in love with you."
He needs her to know that.
Her heart does its flippy thing, a feeling she'd long ago come to associate only with him. It had been quite the thing, the first time it had ever happened. He'd saved her from Regina's men, and she'd been staring at him, stunned that he would risk his life to do it when she'd only moments earlier turned on him. She'd been amazed by him, amazed by his goodness, and her heart had just... flipped.
She'd ignored it at the time, writing it off in her own mind as a delayed reaction to the danger she'd been in, but then they'd gotten his ring back, and she'd tried it on ostensibly for another chance to tease him, but really out of a need to spend more time with him that she hadn't really understood but followed through on anyway. And she'd loved it, she'd loved that ring, she'd really loved the look in his eyes when he'd stared at her wearing it, and her traitorous heart had started doing cartwheels.
It had never really stopped since.
But it's never hurt before, not like this.
Oh, it's had its moments. Their journey together has been fraught with as much bittersweetness as it has been filled with joy, and that's always been difficult to accept. There've been so many moments where she's been caught head over heels in love with him, even through pain, even through sacrifice; but damn it, there was always hope.
She can't find the hope now. Emma had, or maybe it was just sheer desperation she'd seen shining in her daughter's eyes; either way she's glad for it. Emma should have something to go on. Her daughter can lead their merry band of avengers through the jungle on a wing and a prayer and a rescue mission that can go wrong so many more ways than it can go right.
But for herself? She just needs to take care of her dying husband, even as he keeps saying things that keep making her heart do painful, painful back flips.
"Remember when we got caught in the storm?" she finally says, completing the thought she'd first had before getting waylaid by her husband being charming.
His face transforms, going straight from determined focus to a slightly sly smile of remembrance, and she feels herself calm down, if only by a little bit. This is what she needs. She needs that smile to stay on his face, she needs his features to stay relaxed.
"How could I forget?" he asks, letting his eyes go hooded. "I have very fond memories of you, me, and the forest floor."
"That was entirely your fault," she teases. "I told you the storm was coming, I told you we didn't have time..."
"Oh, we would have had plenty of time," he smirks, tongue planted firmly in cheek, "if your screams hadn't scared off the horses."
"My screams?" she demands.
"I explicitly recall you crying out to several Gods," he manages to proclaim with a straight face.
"Uh huh," she says, eyebrow raised. "Funny, because I only remember you begging me."
He grins at her. "Well, sure, that happened. I'm just talking about when you scared off the horses."
"You came first!"
"And you were loudest," he counters, pride sparking in his eyes. "Probably terrified the poor beasts."
She gapes at him, shaking her head, but she knows he knows her well, and he'll see her amusement shining through stronger than anything else. "I was not that loud."
"You really were," he says, sighing with satisfaction, before winking at her, of all arrogant things. "But no need to worry, my darling. I enjoyed it."
She laughs, unable to help herself. "I noticed," she teases.
Hey, if he can play it unfair, so can she.
He smirks back at her, then hums, seeming ready to move on now that he's chalked up a win for himself in his own mind. "Remember when we realized we'd lost the horses?"
Her laugh is slightly choked this time. "We were rushing to get our clothes fixed, we knew we had mere minutes before the rain was going to hit. You went to grab the horses, and suddenly you just froze, and you turned back slowly, and looked at me with the guiltiest look on your face, and you said..."
"Are you up for a run, my love?" they both murmur together, before laughing.
"We had maybe two minutes of running dry before the downpour came," he muses.
"And then we were running through the rain, chasing each other..."
"Blaming each other for our sorry predicament, laughing so hard..."
She shakes her head at the memory of it. "Most rainfall in a decade, that storm, and we were caught in the middle of it. I've never been so soaked in my entire life."
"I couldn't take my eyes off you, you looked so beautiful."
"You were watching me, so intent, driving me crazy. The rain just kept pouring down on us, and the air felt so heavy, I thought I'd go out of my mind, it was so..."
"Intense."
"Insane. I just wanted to get us somewhere safe and dry, and we found that tiny cave, stumbled inside, we fell back against the wall, and..."
"And," he agrees. "The and is always my favourite part."
She shakes her head at him. "You tore my gown."
"Accidentally!"
She scoffs.
"Alright, a little bit on purpose."
She laughs. "We were in that damn cave half the night, and when the rain finally let up, we walked back to the castle; me wearing a torn gown and your tunic, you shirtless, both of us still drenched to the bone, absolutely filthy."
"We snuck back in through the rear passageway, somehow made it back to our suite without being caught, got ourselves cleaned up, and went to bed. And then we spent the next day convincing the staff that we'd really been there in our rooms the whole time," he concludes, grinning at the memory.
"I don't know if anyone ever really believed us," she giggles, "but the horses made it back on their own, safe in the fields, so who was anyone to doubt us?"
"Had to love Thorion and Lokila," he hums. "Don't think we ever had smarter horses than those two. We'd have been caught for sure if not for them, and then Grumpy would have killed me."
"Nah," she shakes her head fondly. "Red would have gotten to you first."
He laughs. "I still say everything would have been easier if we'd just told everyone we were already married at that point."
"No," she says, smiling softly. "I liked it that way, our way. I've always liked it, that we had this secret, that was always just ours."
He tilts his head just slightly, to acknowledge his agreement and acceptance of that, before he moves to press a kiss to the top of her hair. "Is it still our little secret, after all these years?"
She nods. "I never told anyone. You never told anyone. Lancelot wouldn't have. I don't think it's in Henry's book... I guess it couldn't have been, unless there were invisible spies at the lake that day. A story is only a story if someone tells it. As far as everyone else knows, we were married in the castle chapel."
"Our real wedding was just ours."
She nods. "Just ours. Always will be."
He holds her tighter. "I do like that."
She nods. "Me too."
She finds herself trying to bury the note of melancholy that has just settled back over her, trying to keep it out of her voice. Their little walk down memory lane had made things better for a few moments, almost as if...
Almost as if he weren't actually dying on her.
He's looking at her, gaze soft but pained, and she knows he knows exactly what she's thinking, but she cannot come up with anything to say to fix that.
"Remember when we realized you were pregnant with Em?" he says, so softly.
He always was one to know exactly what to do and say.
There is not much left for them now, but there is this. They can continue walking down memory lane, because they both need it. They can love each other, because they always will.
They can take care of each other. That, they can do.
He leads them to Open-Shut Cove, a safe enough place to wait for a number of reasons. It's not far from Pan's camp, but more importantly, the magic of the cove makes it so that any person speaking there can only be overheard by those the speaker wants to receive the message.
In other words, Pan could be standing right next to them, and it wouldn't matter, as he wouldn't be able to hear what they're saying.
Seems to work for Emma, as her face relaxes infinitesimally as he explains the cove to her.
He wonders about how well he is coming to know her, if he can see such a minute change in her facial expression. Oddly, that's not what scares him.
It's the bone deep knowledge that he will never get to see what Emma Swan looks like when she's completely calm and happy if they don't pull this nearly impossible task off. That's what terrifies him.
She needs her father.
And her father might not be able to be saved.
But no, he can't think like that. He must go into this with the mindset that Prince Charming can be saved, for it will do him no good at all to believe they're doomed from the start.
He wants to do this for her.
But, he realizes, as the rest of their rescue party finally catch up, led by a rather surly looking Neal, he is not the only one.
"Nice of you all to show up," Emma announces, though with the crocodile shockingly bringing up the rear of the trail of people now entering the cove, he can't say that he feels the same.
"It's not like my father's life is on the line, or anything," Emma finishes, and oh, that's some biting sarcasm there.
He decides he's very glad that he put in the early effort to keep up with the beautiful blonde. Better than getting on her bad side.
"We stopped to increase the cavalry," Neal drawls. "Dear old dad has his faults, but he knows Pan, and we could use his help."
"He hates my father," Emma snaps.
"On the contrary, dearie," the imp comments blandly, "I actually have a great deal of respect for both your parents. They're challenging, and I've long admired a challenge. Certainly, I don't wish either of them dead. The three of us are Henry's grandparents. I wouldn't call that a bond, but it is a connection. You have my word, Ms Swan, I will try to help save your father, for the boy's sake."
Emma had been staring at the imp the whole time he spoke, but as he finishes, she turns to look back at him, as if to ask what he thinks.
It means more than he'd be willing to admit to anyone, that she wants his opinion.
"You know how I feel about the crocodile, love, trust him as far as you can throw him, but I think we've got to take him at his word at this point. We don't have time to waste, and we can use all the help we can get. He might actually be of more use than even he realizes."
"What do you mean?" Regina demands.
"If Henry does in fact have the Heart of the Truest believer..." he starts.
"I told you he does!" Neal interrupts to snap.
"According to Pan," he points out, gritting his teeth to keep calm.
"Who doesn't lie," Rumplestilskin hisses, defending his son. "He can be taken at his word, even if that word is always meant to play games and mess with his victims' heads."
"Three guesses who that reminds us of," he mutters under his breath. Only Emma seems to hear, but the slight smirk on her face tells him she got it in one.
"Can someone please get to the damn point?" Regina snaps.
He nods. "There is more to the legend of the Heart of the Truest Believer, that Pan must not have considered, or he wouldn't have allowed Emma to live through their run-ins..."
"What's that supposed to mean?" Emma demands.
"Magic, it doesn't appear out of thin air, love. That kind of power always comes from somewhere. Henry's magical lineage is... considerable. His paternal grandfather is the Dark One, the most powerful magical being there has ever been, and his mother is the product of True Love, the most powerful magic..."
"A," Emma corrects.
"I'm sorry?"
"I'm a product of true love, not the."
He shakes his head. "I'm not sure that's the case, Emma. If true love were that common, many children would be products of love, and have the resulting power. That's not the case. You're the only one I've ever heard of."
Rumplestilskin looks surprisingly intrigued. "Much as I hate to agree... the pirate may have a point."
Regina nods. "I've never heard of a child inheriting the magic of true love before. But Emma's ability will be formidable, once she's able to harness it. She may in fact be more powerful than Rumplestilskin and I."
Emma appears outraged. "More powerful than you two?"
"Combined," the imp says mildly.
"Oh come on! True love is not that powerful!" Emma snaps.
Everyone just looks at her.
"Is it?" she asks, voice surprisingly small and vulnerable.
"I think theirs might be special, love. Your mother knew your father was hurt, even though he was making every effort to hide it from her," he says softly. "That's a connection more powerful than true love usually is."
"He felt it when she ate the poisoned apple," Regina volunteers. "He was miles away from her. There was no way he should have known something happened to her. But my magic mirror reported that he suddenly started screaming her name, in inexplicable agony, at the exact moment Snow fell into the enchanted sleep. He knew. True love definitely doesn't usually work that way."
"True love has always been the most powerful magic of all," Rumplestilskin says, "capable of breaking any curse. But that's usually the extent of it. Your parents... they've always been special. Different. Extraordinary. I was able to bottle True Love by combining their hairs. And I used that resulting magic to create the Dark Curse."
"That's why I was the Savior," Emma says, "that I know, but..."
"You were the Savior of a curse that kept hundreds of people's memories buried, their personalities transformed, time frozen for twenty-eight years, Ms Swan! The single most powerful curse ever unleashed, created almost entirely by harnessing the power of their love. My own additions were only turn the magic dark. That is not ordinary magic! It would not have been possible with any couple who just happen to be true loves, because your parents are not just any old couple. The truest of loves create a soul bond. But your parents? If what Hook and Regina have said about their psychic connection is true, it stands to believe that their souls fused. They are One. It's never happened before in all of magical history. It is the purest magic that has ever been known, and you, dearie, have inherited it," the imp announces, fascination sparking disturbingly in his eyes.
He shifts slightly, moving his body in front of Emma, blocking the crocodile's view of her as best he can.
Emma doesn't seem to notice, appearing understandably overwhelmed and terrified; but Neal certainly does if the blackness of his glare is any indication.
He rolls his eyes. He doesn't have time for the other man's posturing, he needs to help Emma, and he turns back to her.
"I can't..." Emma stumbles. "I can't wrap my head around any of this right now. Someone just tell me what this means for my son."
"It means," he starts, "that while you were the product of the truest of loves, Henry is comes from two lines of sheer magic. But more than that, he's of opposing forces. The dark power of the crocodile, the pure - light - magic of your parents, and more directly, you. Opposites in magic, love... they're insanely powerful. But because the light came directly from you, and came from both maternal grandparents; while the dark skipped a generation and only came from one paternal grandparent, the influence of the light would have been stronger. That's why Henry has the heart he does, why he can believe so strongly in the forces of good. He has the Heart of the Truest Believer, because you gave it to him. And the power of belief... is considerable."
"And this helps us... how?" Tinkerbell demands, speaking up for the first time.
"The Legend," Neal gasps, staring at him, apparently stunned enough to forget he was furious. "'Magic calls to belief, belief calls on magic'."
"Oh my Gods," Regina murmurs. "You think we can reach our son?"
He ignores the dark haired woman, in favour of the blonde staring at him, wide-eyed with the wonder that is hope.
"Oh, I think we can do more than that," he grins.
"Have you got this?" she demands, staring at Rumplestilskin warily.
"Oh, we both know I've got this, dearie," the imp says cheerfully. "The real question is, do you?"
"It's my son's and my father's lives on the line," she snaps, glaring at him. "Of course I've got this. And hey," she drawls, fighting to keep the rage out of her voice, "apparently I'm more powerful than you are anyway."
Rumplestilskin grins back at her. "I've always liked you, Ms Swan. Such spunk. No need to hide that anger from me, dearie! Use it. Remember, magic is emotion."
She shakes her head. No use wasting vital energy on him.
"You've got us covered, Regina?" she asks.
"It only makes sense," Regina agrees. "The magical lines of Henry's birth to summon his heart, and the magical line that raised him to take care of the rest. Yes, I'll have your backs."
"Remember," Rumplestilskin says, "aim for Bae."
"I know," she hisses right back. "And whose idea was that again?"
The imp doesn't answer, though his face twists slightly, and she feels vindicated on Hook's behalf.
"Careful love," he murmurs from somewhere behind her. He's scolding, but she can hear the smile in his voice. "You must have absolute focus. We'll have company in seconds."
"I know," she says, completely different this time, almost fond. "I'm ready."
And it's as if her words are a signal, for they all step forward as one, out of the cove, back into the dangers of Neverland's jungles.
"Now!" Hook cues them.
Together, she and the imp send powerful, pulsing waves of magic into the night, straight towards where they know Neal is waiting. Only a half second later, Regina sends out a spell of her own, protecting and guiding; curving Rumplestilskin's magic backwards, straight into her own. The force of the collision between dark and light magic sends a shockwave straight up into the sky, directly from the point at which Neal waits.
Perfect.
A snap. As one, they all spin towards the source of the sound.
Peter Pan has appeared, in all his spitting rage.
Just in time.
"Did you really think," the demon-boy snarls, "that I would be fooled by some simple magic trick?! That I would be lured elsewhere by some hocus pocus sent into the sky?"
"No," she grins fiercely. "But my son would be."
For the first time ever, Pan looks stunned.
Which is perfect timing, really, because before he can say anything else, they hear Neal cry out from the magic's epi-centre.
"Henry!"
The slicing sound of the slash of his sword in the air. The agonized scream of Felix as he dies, the thud of Pan's most loyal follower's fall. And then... silence.
Pan sways where he stands.
Come on, she thinks. Come on, Neal. Send us the codeword. For Henry. Tell me our son is okay. In the next three seconds. One, two, three...
"Anaconda!" Neal bellows from the distance.
Pan looks thunderstruck. "What the hell is that supposed to mean?"
Gotcha.
Part one of Operation Anaconda, get Henry back: A rousing success.
"It means we've taken our son back, boy!" Regina hisses, murderous.
"Regina!" Hook snaps, warningly, which worries her.
She can hear the strain in his voice, can guess at what it means.
The Lost Boys have come.
And Peter Pan does not look in the mood to be merciful.
"Attack!" he screams.
They do.
Memories fade away in unconsciousness, and in the Beyond.
He'd managed to stay awake for her for much longer than he would have guessed possible, the memories fueling him. Perhaps his life had been flashing before his eyes. He's heard that's a thing.
That's all gone now. Everything's gone now. Everything, except...
He wonders if this is a dream, or if this is death. If he's merely lost consciousness, or if it's all over, if he's gone.
He wonders, because he doesn't know.
He doesn't know, because impossibly, she's here too.
"You shouldn't be here," he tells her.
Snow's smile is vibrant. "Of course I should. I'm with you. I shall always, always be with you."
"Where are we?"
She laughs. "Where do you think we are?"
He ignores that. "But... I'm dead?"
"Are you?"
"Aren't I?"
She tilts her head at him, curious. "You don't know either?"
He's scared. It feels strange, wrong. Fear doesn't belong here.
"What do you mean 'either', Snow?"
She doesn't reply. Her expression doesn't change, still open and warm and loving. She still smiles.
"How are you here with me?" he demands. "Are you... are you dead?"
And yes, he's scared, because when she finally answers, the words make no sense.
"I don't know."