It was some hours after dark that Emma finally chanced returning home. She was no longer cold, but numb, which she appreciated but other nights out in the cold had taught her that the numbness was also dangerous. You could quickly find yourself catching hypothermia without realizing it if you weren't careful. When she got to her house, she expertly swung herself up onto the roof of the porch and jiggled open her window. No point in getting caught in the living room and being thrown out again for good for the night. The mewing of a cat in heat ricocheted off the brownstone bricks around her. She was grateful for that, because it muffled the sound of her entry. When the window was open, she dropped down quietly on the floor of the room she and her foster brother shared so as not to wake him. Emma closed it and relished the relative heat, even though their heat had been turned off.

Snow and Charming would have been impressed with her lithe entrance if it hadn't meant one sad thing.

"She's done this before," Charming said sadly as they followed her. "From the looks of it, more than once."

"I wondered when you'd get back," her brother said from his bed. She jumped.

"Ryan," Emma jumped. "I thought you were sleeping." She turned away from him towards her bed.

"Charlie's really pissed at you," he told her, sitting up and swinging his feet to the ground. "Boy do you have it coming to you in the morning. What did you do this time?"

"It's none of your business," Emma said, bending over and beginning to smooth out the sheets on her bed.

"Now, now, don't get your panties in a twist," Ryan said, walking towards her. "I'm only trying to help." He positioned himself behind her and inhaling into her neck.

"Stop it, Ryan," she said wearily. "I don't have the energy to fight with you right now."

"Then don't fight it," he said, placing his hands on her hips. She shoved him backwards.

"I said cut it out," she hissed, trying to keep her temper down. She knew if she lost her temper, it would only make the abuse worse when it came. "What is it, douche bag day?"

Ryan grabbed her forcefully by her long blonde hair and jerked her head back so her neck was exposed.

"What did you call me?" he spat, flinging her against the wall. The two stood still for a moment, Emma bracing herself for whatever her foster brother might throw at her. He stared at her for a moment, the looked down at her bed. He grabbed at the soft white blanket lying on top.

Snow gasped as she recognized it, the soft blanket she had wrapped Emma in just after she was born. Her name was still embroidered on the edge.

"I can't believe you still sleep with this piece of junk," he said, holding it up.

"That's mine," Emma said, fiercely, grabbing for it but her brother held it out of her reach and pushed her back against the wall.

"You're too old to be sleeping with a blanky," he mocked.

"My parents gave it to me," she said defensively.

"Oh did they?" Ryan jibed. "Was this before or after they dumped you on the side of the highway? Your parents didn't give a damn about you then and they don't give a damn about you now, but you still sleep with this like it's some kind of symbol of their love. They never loved you, Emma, no one ever loved you."

Snow was devastated to see the hurt that crept into Emma's eyes as he said this. Her daughter avoided her foster brothers' eyes, but she could tell he had hit her right where it hurt the most. Charming wanted to pound the boy into a pulp.

"What do you say," he said, grabbing her by the wrist, "we give this blanket a test run?

He flung her onto the bed and pulled himself on top of her, burying his face in her neck and suffocating her with his weight.

"Stop," she choked, but her foster brother persisted until she kneed him in the groin. He fell off her then, grunting in pain and allowing her to catch her breath before he was back on her, this time more violent.

"You're going to pay for that!" he spat, slapping her down. She swung and missed a few times with her fist before she finally caught him in the face. There was a sickening crunch and she felt something warm and wet dribbling over her hand as Ryan fell backwards, clutching his nose.

"You little bitch!" he was screaming. "You broke my fucking nose!"

But Emma had already grabbed her one possession, her blanket, and darted to the window. She opened it quickly and stumbled out it, barely catching herself before she fell off the porch roof. She shakily slid herself down to the ground and, for the second time that day, ran.

When she was out of breath, she ducked into an alleyway and slid with her back against the bricks to the ground, panting. Her breath came in short, shaky spurts and she could see if puffing in the cold in front of her face. She blinked back tears and rubbed her face. Then she regarded the blanket sitting on her lap. Her hand was covered in her foster brother's blood, and a drop of it had seeped on to the blanket.

"Oh no!" she said, frantically, first wiping the blood of her hand and then attempting to get the stain off the blanket. "No, no, no, no." She rubbed and dabbed and the red dot became muted, but it would not go away completely. Emma stopped trying and leaned back, just staring at it. Then, she knew she wouldn't be able to hold it in any longer. She felt her lip quiver for a moment, and then her strength failed her, and she began to cry. She pulled the blanket to her face and wept into it.