A/N: Can I just say WOW! I was not expecting this story to actually be read, but it's such a huge encouragement! Thank you!
To FineChyna: Thank you for the review, and I cannot tell you how pleased I am that you liked the first chapter. I certainly hope that I can deliver on your expectations.
To Love and HeartBreak21: I will definitely try to keep up with this, and again, thanks for reviewing :)
To Kattylin: I'm afraid I can't answer your question about Bigby, and I am so happy that you like this direction. As for Colin, I wasn't a huge fan of how he was portrayed in the game. In all honesty, I found him kind of annoying, so I really want to make the protagonists more likable in this story.
To TheKittenAuthor: I really did like Woody in the game, and I wish they'd had more time to develop his character. I suppose there's always season 2! Until then, I want to give him his due respect.
I originally wasn't going to post another chapter for a few more days, but your encouragement has helped me tons. If you have any questions or criticisms, I will be happy to hear them in your review. I may not get to post as often as I'd like, seeing as I have a job that takes up most of my time during the week, but I will try my absolute hardest to update on a timely manner. Until then, enjoy the chapter!
"Bigby, are you sure about this?" Woody asked, twirling his axe anxiously.
Bigby didn't know why the woodsman was still there, but to be honest, he was grateful for the company. That thing, whatever it was, that attacked him, it did something to him. He hadn't felt that scared in a long time.
But even if he was scared, if Bloody Mary was still alive, Snow could be in danger. And that frightened him more than anything.
"Yeah, I'm sure," Bigby sighed. He grimaced as a sharp pang stabbed across his wounds. They weren't the worst injuries he'd suffered by a long shot, but they still stung whenever he moved the wrong way.
They stood in front of the offices. Snow was most definitely still in there. Even if she hadn't been working through most nights, Bigby could still smell her from several stories below.
He cast a doubtful look at the woodsman. "I should probably handle this on my own," he said.
Woody looked dubious, but nodded silently. He turned around and left the courtyard, swinging his axe as he walked.
After a deep breath, Bigby staggered up the stairs. Finding his way to Snow's office took longer than in should've, even when he used the elevator. The hallway was eerily empty. Since Snow took charge of Fabletown, it seemed as if the Fables never stopped coming in. After hours, the emptiness was just sort of off-putting.
He walked slowly across the hall, to the door at the very end. Through the small glass window, he saw the light of a lamp illuminating an old wooden desk, and the blurry form of Snow slaving away over some documents.
Another deep breath, he raised his hand, knocked.
Snow opened the door, her eyes half-closed. Right when he saw her, Bigby let out a sigh of relief. She looked dog tired, but at least she was alive.
"Office hours are 8 to –"she began to say, but froze. For a dreadful second, Snow looked scared, just like Bigby knew she would. All she saw were his amber eyes, and the predator underneath them. Then she saw the blood oozing through the ragged strips that remained of his clothing, and concern found its way onto her features. It sounded crazy, but Bigby was a tiny bit glad that he got jumped in the alley. Because right then, Snow didn't care about the color of his eyes. For just a moment, things were like they used to be.
"We need to talk, Snow," Bigby panted. Just then, a wave of dizziness made his head spin. He stumbled but righted himself, one arm holding the doorframe for support.
"Bigby!" The new mayor stepped forward to help him keep his balance. "You should sit down. Take it slow," she said. Her hands hovered over him, wanting to help, and yet hesitant to do so.
"I'm fine," he responded. "Just a little…" He trailed off. The sheriff plodded through the threshold and collapsed into one of the chairs. "I got attacked in an alley. She caught me off guard, and she got away," Bigby said, running his fingers through his hair tiredly.
Snow took the seat next to his. "You got attacked? How many were there?" she asked, eyebrows knitted together.
At this point, another wave of nausea swept over Bigby. He looked down at the long tears in his flesh. Something was wrong. The wounds should have started scabbing by then. He wondered briefly how much blood he had lost. As a Fable, and a damn strong one at that, Bigby could lose as much as 4 liters and still be pretty OK. Even so, it sucked a lot.
"Sheriff? Are you alright?" Snow asked. He looked at her, soaking in her image. She had changed her suit. While she was still wearing the blue button-up with snowflakes, the mayor had traded in her cream-colored business skirt for an ivory blazer with soft blue cuffs and matching white pants. Her usual loose and relaxed bun looked tighter, more severe. It was evident that this job wasn't going easy on her. She looked like she hadn't slept in days.
"Bigby?" she said. The werewolf couldn't help but smile. It had been too long since she'd called him by his first name.
"There was just one," he answered finally. Snow looked confused. "It was Bloody Mary."
The reaction was immediate. Snow White stood up and began pacing the room. That's strange, Bigby thought. I never knew her as a pacer. "Bloody Mary? Are you sure?" she asked. Her tone was harsh, and Bigby frowned. The moment was gone.
"Yes, I'm sure," he said impatiently. He laid a hand across the cut on his left forearm. The bone still ached, but the bleeding had finally slowed to a halt. His skin tingled as it tried to close the wound. "I could never forget a face like that," Bigby muttered.
"But how? You said she was dead. You said you killed her." Snow threw an accusatory glare his way, and Bigby struggled to suppress his growl. This was what he hated about Fabletown. Somehow, he was always responsible for anything that went wrong. Now Snow, who was usually on his side, didn't trust him anymore. When had everything gone to Hell?
Bigby pinched the bridge of his nose. Once more, he found himself craving a cigarette. "I know what I said," he sighed.
"Then how?" Snow asked earnestly. Without his smokes, it was easy for Bigby to sense all of the emotions swirling around Snow's head. It wasn't fear, exactly, but something else…something wilder.
Panic, Bigby realized. His frown deepened. "I don't know," he said quietly, his eyes downcast.
Snow bit her lip and stared at the ceiling, her hands on her hips. "This can't be happening. Not again." Her voice shook. "I thought that…I thought that finally, it was over. For weeks, nothing, and I hoped…" She gulped and turned her head to the side. It was like she was looking everywhere but at the sheriff. "I guess it never ends. All this crap will just keep happening," she scoffed.
Bigby looked at his hands. There was still blood stuck under his fingernails. Blood that smelled like his. He tried to imagine clawing at himself in the alley, roaring at an invisible adversary. But Mary had seemed so real. How could he have made it up?
After a few moments of thought, Bigby cursed under his breath. "Snow, there's something you don't know. Something I need to tell you," the sheriff said with difficulty.
Snow's icy gaze shot towards him. "What is it, Bigby?" she said.
The sheriff tried to calm his breathing, he couldn't stop his hands from shaking or his heartbeat from speeding. Telling Snow could mean losing her trust forever, but if there was something wrong with him and nobody knew about it…the next "attack" may not be on him. "During that fight with Bloody Mary, I changed."
Snow's lips tightened into a thin line. "Like what you did to Tweedle-dum," she said unhappily.
Bigby grimaced. This wasn't going to be pleasant. "No. Like…like back in the Homelands." He looked at Snow helplessly. He couldn't help but see her shy away from his golden stare. "I changed, Snow. Into my old self."
Her jaw dropped, and she took an involuntary step back. "Oh, Bigby…" Snow said, her hand travelling to her mouth. "Oh my God." She turned her back and started pacing again. "How could you do that? Wait." The mayor halted in her tracks. "Is that why you did that to the Crooked Man? Was that even you?"
The sheriff made an exasperated noise. "Maybe. I don't know," he lied. Snow scoffed. "Snow, I didn't have a choice," he continued defensively. "There were dozens of them, and I couldn't just –"
"Dozens?" Snow interrupted. Bigby winced. That was another part of the story that he had left out before.
"Yes. Dozens," he continued through gritted teeth. "She had made copies of herself. Like reflections, except they could fight. They surrounded me, swarmed at me. You have to understand, Snow, there was nothing else I could've done."
"You could have done anything else, Bigby. Anything you had to do to keep from turning into…" Snow struggled with the right word, but Bigby knew what she was thinking of. Monster.
After a moment, the sheriff spoke again. "I think it did something to me."
"I know what it did to you," Snow said, "and you know, too. Bigby, whenever you change, something stays behind." She sighed and bit her lip again.
"That's not what I'm talking about."
Snow looked at him, obviously trying to keep her cool, but failing miserably. Bigby didn't need advanced eyesight to see the tears forming in her eyes. "What are you talking about?" Her voice was tired.
Bigby didn't say anything, but instead held up his hands, letting her see the blood crusted along his fingernails.
Snow sniffed. "What is this? Bragging?"
"It's not Mary's blood, Snow. It's mine," Bigby said.
He didn't think it was possible for Snow's eyes to get any wider, but somehow, they managed. "I don't understand," she said, her voice barely above a whisper.
"I don't either," the sheriff responded grimly.
"How do you know? I mean, are you sure it's your blood?"
Bigby gave her a pointed look. "I think I'd know the smell of my own blood, Snow. It's mine."
Snow shook her head. She sat back down in the chair next to Bigby's. "What does it mean?" she asked.
"I don't know what it means! That's the whole goddamn point!" Bigby snapped. For Christ's sake, nobody in this town seemed to have a clue!
A pause. "Bigby. You need to calm down," she said in a slow voice. It took a moment for the werewolf to realize that his claws and teeth had started to grow longer, and that thick, brown fur had begun to sprout along his chin and eyebrows. After a few slow breaths, they shrunk down to regular size. "Sorry. I'm good," he muttered, though his voice was still low and animalistic.
Snow exhaled slowly and crossed her legs. "OK. Tell me what happened," she said.
Bigby massaged his temples. He was going to fucking kill someone if he didn't get a smoke. Suddenly, he thought of something. No, he thought. There's no way they're still here. All the same, he said, "Snow? Do you, um…"
"What is it, Bigby?" she sighed.
The sheriff rubbed his chin. "Do you still have my smokes here?" he asked. Bigby remembered walking into Snow's office a few months ago, a pack of cigs in both of his coat pockets. It had been just three weeks after Charming packed his bags and flew to Europe, pretty Cindy in tow. Snow had been sitting at her desk, reading a missing Fable profile as tears rolled down her cheeks.
When she'd heard the knock on her door, she said hurriedly, "One moment, please!" but Sheriff Bigby Wolf had already opened it.
Immediately, he'd sat down next to her and laid a comforting hand on her back as Snow cried against his shoulder. "I want to forget it," she had said, "but he's just a part of me that's not going away." The sheriff said some kind words, Snow pulled herself together, and then the werewolf had offered her one of the packs. She refused as nicely as she could. "I don't smoke," she had said.
Bigby hadn't been offended or hurt. Instead, he had smiled and said, "Well, I guess you can just keep them here, then. I might need one next time I come to visit."
The sheriff knew it was absurd to assume that Snow had kept them. Hell, she probably threw them out when she moved into Crane's office. But Bigby was surprised to see Snow's features soften at the mention of the cigarettes. "Sure, Bigby. Just give me a second," she said before getting up to rummage through some drawers.
A minute later, Snow came back, holding the pack and a lighter. "Here," she said quietly, handing the items over to him. There fingers brushed each other's slightly as the objects passed from one's hand to the other's.
"Thanks, Snow," Bigby said softly. He stuck a cigarette in between his teeth and lit it. After a long drag, he finally spoke. "I was just walking down the street, and I when I passed by this alley, I smelled blood. So, I checked it out. Mary was in there, and she started slashing at me with this piece of glass. That's when Woody came along."
"Woody?" Snow asked.
"Yeah," he replied quietly. "He showed up with his axe because he heard the fighting. That's when Mary disappeared. And then I realized that my claws were covered in blood, and it was mine. After that, Woody left, and I came to see you as fast as I could." He gulped. "I had to make sure that you were OK."
Snow seemed not to notice the sheriff's affection. Instead, she looked troubled. "Bigby, this is serious," she said. "We need to figure out what Bloody Mary did to you, why you're acting like this."
Bigby shook his head. She's missing the whole goddamn point!
Snow looked at him with anger in her gaze. "What?" she asked.
The sheriff exhaled sharply, smoke crawling out of his nostrils. "What if… what if it's not Mary?" he said.
Snow's eyes blazed. "What the hell are you talking about?"
"You know what I said, Snow. What if it's not Mary? What if it's just me?" Bigby said. Snow stood, speechless, so the sheriff continued. "I don't know what's happening, Snow. I don't know any more than you do, but you can't deny that thing's haven't been right since…you know…" He sighed. "Since I killed the Crooked Man. And I don't know if I'm losing my mind, or… I just don't know."
Bigby wasn't expecting the slap. It struck him suddenly across the cheek and left a stinging red mark. "Ow!" he exclaimed. He looked up at her in disbelief. "What the fuck, Snow?"
The Fable was standing over Bigby, fury blazing through her scent like an explosion. Her fists were curled at her side. He'd never seen her so angry before in his life. "Don't say that to me!" she shouted. "Don't you dare say that to me. Listen." Snow crossed her arms and locked eyes with him. "This is not you. There is nothing wrong with you, Bigby. This is a spell, or a ghost, or something, but don't you ever make yourself out to be the monster."
The werewolf stared at Snow incredulously. "How could you even think that after what happened, Snow? You saw me rip that guy's head off and throw him down the Witching Well like a fucking rock! You know who I am! You've seen what I can do!"
"That doesn't mean that's who you are, Bigby!" Snow said, her tone pleading. "Yes, you've done some bad things, but you can't just forget about all of the good inside you. You mean everything to me, Bigby, and if you think I'm just going to stand by and watch you destroy yourself, then you must be fucking stupid!" She stopped for breath, her face as red as the apple in her story.
Bigby stared at Snow with his golden eyes. "There may not be anything you can do, Snow," he said.
The mayor gulped and turned away. She reached a hand up and seemed to wipe something from her face, but Bigby couldn't see what. "We'll need to do some research. We should talk to Bufkin and the mirror. We'll tear apart that archive if we have to."
"Snow –"
"Shut up, Bigby," she said. Slowly, the Fable turned to look at him. For once, Bigby couldn't read her expression. "I'm going to save your life."