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There were times when Tink believed she was too trusting. She'd thought it when she found Killian, lying bleeding and incoherent in the woods, his hand gone and his heart broken. She could feel his fever with her hand not even touching his forehead and she'd braced herself for the worst. But he'd survived, he'd fought through it and lived to fight another day, only now he had her by his side.
Tink was feeling that familiar sensation of conflicted trust as she crossed the brow of the hill, the settlement of Storybrooke sitting almost contently not even a mile down the road. Having passed the sign hours ago, Tink was wondering just what the town would be like, how desolate the land would be and how guarded. From where she stood now, the town looked like a fortress. Walls made of slightly rusted tin stood high, watch towers in every possible corner. Parked and crashed cars littered the sides of the road approaching what Tink had assumed was the main gate, sharpened branches gammed through the metal and windows alike. Tink was beginning to wonder what they were for until she saw the biters, dead – or, more so – hanging off of the spikes. They were traps, and quite efficient ones by the looks of it.
Tink was only five cars away from the gates when she heard the sound of a rifle cocking and a voice above the low wind around her.
"Who are you?" The voice called and Tink trained her eyes to the watch tower. She couldn't see from this distance just who was up there, be it a man or a woman, but they had a gun and it was trained most likely to Tink's head. That was enough to go on for now.
"My names Tink," She called back, pulling the green triangular scarf from around her mouth so she could be heard. "I'm looking for someone. Her name's Regina!"
"Do you have a camp?" The voice called back and Tink could tell now that it was a man, the sunlight behind him illuminating his curly hair golden. He had an accent, Tink could tell, but not like her own and not like Killian's either. This one was different, Irish she thought, maybe Scottish.
"No. Me and my friend were heading here, we've come from Portland." She said. It wasn't a lie. After she had found Killian in the woods, she and Killian had found a car and driven most of the way before their car had broken down and they'd been unable to locate another one that was within Tink's hotwiring capabilities. And so they'd continued on foot, running into no trouble until the past week when the horde of biters had overwhelmed them.
"Where's your friend?" The man asked again. Emma's advice was coming back to her now. Whoever this Emma was, she had to be something special for them to open the gates at the sound of her name, even more so for Killian to trust her.
"He went to the east. He's with a woman from here," She took the man's silence as invitation for her to continue. Or maybe he was just trying to get a better shot at her head. There was only one way she'd find out. "Emma. She told me to find a boy called Henry and a man named Graham." Silence ensued, and Tink was left wondering if the man was still there or if he'd gone, whether to find someone with more authority or perhaps just to leave her to the biters, Tink didn't know.
Then she heard the screech and rattling of the gates as they were pulled aside, leaving space for a person to pass through.
"Emma sent you?" The voice said from beside the gate, and Tink took the question as invitation to approach. The man no longer had a gun trained on her, something Tink counted as a win. "She's alive?"
"I'm looking for sanctuary for me and my friend. He'll be bringing Emma back with him in a day or so."
"But she's safe. She's alive?" The man pressed, his face far too hopeful for such a hopeless world.
"From what I heard." She said, trying a soft smile when she saw the man's face break out into a grin. "Now, either Emma's a lot older than she sounds, or you must be Graham?" she said, watching as his face beamed, like a man who'd been locked in the dark finally seeing the sun.
"That's me," He said, still behind the fences, but Tink could tell he'd already lightened up around her by nothing more than the mention of Emma's name and well-being. "You can come in," He said, pulling the meshed gate aside with a rattle, allowing Tink to pass through.
"I didn't think it'd be so easy to get in," Tink said with a quiet laugh, watching as Graham slid the mesh gate home, the reinforced metal one following after, lock tight with a dead bolt.
"It's not me you need to convince," Graham said, swinging his gun back round of his front by the strap on his shoulder. "You may know our madam mayor, but that doesn't mean she's going to welcome you with open arms." Tink nodded her understanding before following Graham down the road that she assumed was once Stoyrbrooke's main street, window boarded up, some houses burnt to the ground and another with their rooves caved in like sandcastles in the tide. She could imagine it was once a beautiful place, full of hearty local stores and children laughing in the street. Now it was no less a ghost town than any other Tink had seen on her travels – and she'd seen a lot.
Tink herself had never been to Storybrooke, in fact, her and Regina had only really met on a couple of occaision, the last of which left Tink without a job. And yet, at the end of the world, she'd found herself crawling back to her with her hands held in surrender. It was almost pathetic, and Killian would definitely chide her for it, but she could see no other route to take. This place, this small sleepy town was safe. It was the haven she and Killian had been searching for. Amongst the rubble and charred remains, Tink could find a home. She could find sanctuary.
By the time they'd reached the town hall – the only building to seem entirely intact if you looked past the blood stains up the white walls - the majority of the residents seemed to have left their homes and shelters to investigate the new arrival. Among those was Regina, standing in the entrance of the town hall, her hands clasped in front of her in the same sincere way Tink remembered, her dark eyes watching Tink like a hawk s they reached the town hall.
"Tinkerbell," Regina said, smiling tightly around the words. It wasn't exactly a warm welcome, but Tink hadn't exactly expected one. She heard a couple of scoffs at her name, but that was the least of her worries. Laughter was a welcome sound these days, even if it was at her expense. She'd do anything to hear just a little more joy in the world.
"It's Tink, actually," She corrected as offhandedly as she could, watching Regina's still perfectly shaped eyebrow raise. You could never tell just by looking that Regina was living in a nightmare. Though a bit straggly at the ends, Regina's hair remained neat, tied back at the nape of her neck. Her skin was clean and her black pant-suit seemed to have fared well against the rest of the world. It made Tink wonder how much of the outdoors she'd experienced since this all began. Had she even killed a biter herself, or was she the kind to hide away until the action was over.
"Well, Tink," Regina said with obvious distaste, looking from her thick soled boots, up her tattered jeans to her ripped and mangled cardigan and finally the scarf around her throat. She knew she looked nothing like the smiling, curly haired pixie of a girl Regina had just met, but that was to be expected of this world. "What brings you to Storybrooke?" Tink knew a fake smile when she saw one, and judging by Regina's narrowed eyes and the tightness to her cheeks, this was about a fake as it would get before she began to snarl.
"Sanctuary," Tink said and Regina had the audacity to roll her eyes. It was a small, human action that made Tink's blood curdle in her veins. They may not be close, but Regina was acting as though Tink had just insulted her, not asked for help. But perhaps for Regina those two things were awfully close. "For me and my friend," She said, tilting her chin higher. She could hear the whispers of the townsfolk around her and could even see children amongst the fray, their clothes ripped and faces dirty. It was a harsh sight for a far harsher world.
"And why should I allow that?" Regina said, her voice tight as she Tink stood taller, squaring her shoulders. It was disgusting, Tink thought, the arrogance of this woman. The threat in her voice as evident. She was willing to throw Tink to the wilderness without a second thought. "We're already running low on rations and there is barely enough to feed who we already have with us,"
"I can raid," Tink said, having been on plenty of raids alongside Killian as they made their way across the state. "I've lived out there. I know how to handle myself and something tells me you don't," She said a little harsher than she'd meant to and judging by the darkening of Regina's eyes, she'd hit a nerve. She was playing with fire, she knew, questioning the Mayor's authority in front of those she'd no doubt sworn to protect. "We can help you survive if you give us a chance."
"This friend," Regina said harsly, "Who are they?"
"His name's Killian," Tink said, taking a step forward, feeling awfully like a criminal in a court room full of judges. "He's only a day away. Let him speak for himself when he gets here with Emma."
"Emma?" Regina said, shocked, her voice turning cold as her face seemed to visibly pale. "Emma is alive?" But Tink was saved her reply by the sound of a young voice behind the mayor.
"You know my mom?" He called, rushing out from the town hall and rushing past Regina. The mayor tried to stop him, it seemed, but the boy broke from her grip, staring up at Tink with his soft eyes. "She's alive?"
"Yes," Tink said with a smile, watching the hope flare in the young boy's eyes. This was Henry, she presumed. "She's with my friend. He'll bring her home."
"I knew it!" He exclaimed and it seemed his joy was contagious, the crowd around Tink breaking into whispers and hugs, claps on friends back and kisses on cheeks. Whoever Emma was to this people, it seemed they weren't ready to have let her go. "I told you she'd make it!" The boy beamed at Graham who was smiling back at him just as broadly, placing a hand on the boy's small shoulder.
"I never doubted her," He replied before Henry barrelled into him, wrapping his thin little arms around the man's stomach. Graham didn't even hesitate, hugging the small boy back. Henry's father, Tink guess judging by the same soft dark hair (Though Graham's seemed curlier) and hopeful eyes.
"Tink!" Her radio buzzed, making the group jump.
"It's Killian," Tink said, unsnapping the walkie from her belt and holding the button down. "Killian. I made it, I'm in Stroybrooke."
"Thank God," He said, but barely took a breath before he started rambling again "Tink, is there a doctor there? A nurse, a medic, anyone?"
"I don't know. Killian what is it? What's wrong? Are you hurt?" She asked, dread in her voice at the prospect of Killian being wounded or worse. They may not have known one another long, but he seemed to be the only friend that she had in this world, she wasn't quite ready to lose that.
"It's not me." He said and Tink exhaled before the read settled once more. If it wasn't Killian then it had to be – "It's Emma. She's not waking up."
Emma and Killian had barely made it a few hours into their walk before her steps began to falter. She brushe doff any and all of Killian's questioning, but he could see how her shouldes slumped more and the pain was written all voer her face, even as she spoke to him.
"How many walkers have you killed?" She asked, sounding a little breathless, her gun in hand at the ready as she walked beside him.
"Too many," He replied, remembering how he'd attacked the beasts without mercy. They maybe dead, but they were human once. They had lives and families, a person of their own, and he was butchering them to save his own skin without a thought. It shouldn't bother him, but it did.
"How many people have you killed?" she asked next, stumbling slightly as she stepped over a rock. Killian caught her, but she snatched her arm away immediately, the moment dying in a second.
"Before or after?" He asked with a self-depreciating chuckle. He knew the question was serious, especially in a world like this one, but if Emma's lie detector was to be believed, there was no use in lying to her.
"Both," She breathed out. Killian almost didn't hear her she was so quiet. He turned just in time to see her fall to her knees, her eyes half lidded as she blinked lazily at nothingness. Call it instinct, call it a mild sense of duty – hell, call it caring – but Killian was by her side in an instant, his arm catching her around her shoulders as she began to slump.
"Swan?" He said, feeling the heat of her skin through even her leather jacket like fire, sweat rolling down her forehead and plastering her hair to her face. "Swan? Emma?" He tried shaking her, hearing her moan weakly her eye open but seemingly unseeing. Without much thought, he unzipped her jacket, pulling the material off and away from her shoulders, revealing the bandages he's helped her wrap the night before. The very same bandages that were currently soaked through with red, the blood seeping into her grey tank top and smothering her pale shoulder.
Wihtout a lot of forethought, he scrambled for the radio at hs belt, paying that Tink had followed Emmas advice and left it one.
"Tink!" He said desperately, watching as Emma's eyes slipped closed, her breathing loud enough that he could hear it.
"Killian." Her voice replied and Killian thanked each and every god that may be smiling down on him for that. "I made it. I'm in Storybrooke." She said, sounding far more relieve that Killian thought possible, especially while he was in the middle of a crisis.
"Thank God," He said with relief before his voice became grave and business-like, something that undoubtedly shocked the petite blonde. "Is there a Doctor there? A nurse, a medic, anyone?"
"I don't know." She replied, sounding a little more frantic. He was grateful to that. Hearing someone so calm in the face of a travesty made him uneasy. Panic was alright, panic was good. It was panic that got the adrenaline following and got shit done. You only needed to know how to control it. "Killian, what is it? What's wrong? Are you hurt?"
"It's not me," He said, looking as the sweat continued to gather on Emma's face, dotting her skin with droplets before the rolled off of her cheeks. "It's Emma, She's not waking up." There was silence on the other end then, nothing but static as he waited impatiently for a reply.
"Killian," a voice that was distinctly male and definitely not Tink's chimed up and Killian felt his heart crawl to his throat. "My name's Graham, I'm Emma's – you know what, that doesn't matter. What's wrong with her?"
"I think her wound might be infected," Killian said, looking again at the bandage but too worried to touch it. Lord knows how much pain she was in and he didn't want to cause anymore aggravation to a likely already furious wound.
"Wound?" The voice at the other end said, sounding horrified. Killian was surprised. A wound in this world often meant one thing – a bite. "What wound? What happened?" Of course, this was the other man Emma had told Tink to seek out, a boyfriend, no doubt.
"She said she was shot."
"Shot!" Clearly it had been an accidental shooting, which was good. The last thing Killian wanted was to be walking right into a line of fire with a woman someone wanted very much dead.
"Yeah, it started to bleed and now it doesn't seem ready to stop." There was silence once more over the line and Killian could feel as Emma began to shiver against his thigh despite the burning of her skin.
"Get to the road." Graham said, his voice steely. Killian knew they couldn't be far now. They'd have reached it, in fact, had Emma not be lagging behind so much, stumbling over her own feet as they crossed the forest floor. "We're coming."
It should have sounded reassuring, but all Killian could think of was how exposed they were already and that was with the shelter of the forest. To make it to the edge of the forest and the road would be risky enough, but to do so while carrying a mostly unconscious woman in his arms -he's be lucky to survive. And yet, he didn't hesitate in prying off his jacket, wrapping the thick material around her much smaller frame. He pocketed her gun in the back of his waist band beside his own before hoisting her up in his arms and setting off in the direction he'd been heading, all the while listening for biters prowling the forest.
It had taken Killian the best part of half an hour to finally reach the road, by which point he was almost certain he wasn't alone. There were bites nearby, he could tell, stumbling and groaning their way through the forest behind him. How many of them, however, was undetermined. Emma had told him that she'd led away a herd of them. All he could hope was that she had succeeded in doing so thoroughly.
There were two of them Killian could see on the opposite side of the road, the heads lolling on their shoulders as the stench of their rotting flesh hit him on the breeze. The only problem was, if he could smell them then the chances were they could smell him too. His theory proved correct when they began wandering towards the road, their dead eyes looking at Killian as he stood frozen, Emma in his arms and no way to escape. He was the definition of a sitting duck.
Checking they were the only ones, Killian gently lay Emma down before pulling his knife from it' sheath on his belt. It didn't take him long to dispose of them both, but he couldn't know how many more were to come and he had nowhere to go. There was selfish part of himself that told he could leave her in the road like bait, let the biters have their way with her while he made his escape. He hardly even knew this woman and yet the thought alone made him feel sick to stomach. He was saved any more vicious temptation by the roaring sounds of engines further down the road. A few moments later and the silhouette of a motorcycle was visible, followed by the grumbling of a clearly unhappy truck engine as they rattled their way towards him.
By the time both vehicles had come to stop, Killian already had a shivering Emma in his arms, her eyes open but unreacting to those around her.
"Emma!" a voice called, followed by the slamming of a truck door before a man with blonde hair curling over his ears was in front of Killian, his fingers reaching for Emma's pulse point. It was a pointless act, Killian thought, Emma's breathing far too loud for her to be anything but alive. But he supposed it was reassuring to check. "We need to get her back. Now!" The man said before gesturing to the back of the truck where a blanket had been laid out alongside a small first aid kit that Killian thought would be of very little use. "You, in the back with her. Dr Whale said to remove the bandage and apply a fresh one if she's still bleeding." He said pointing to Killian who was slightly surprised by the notion.
"You can't be serious, Dave?" The man on the motorcycle said, pulling his red scarf down from across his face. "We don't know this guy. How can we trust him with her?"
"He called us for help and he didn't have to." The man – Dave – said, already opening up the back of the truck for Killian to lie Emma inside. "He could have left her to die out here and we'd be none the wiser. Besides, we both need to drive back."
RedScarf didn't seem thrilled by the idea, but didn't argue either, pulling his scarf back over his face and turning his bike around as Killian clambering into the back of the truck and sitting with his back against the cab, Emma lying in his lap as feverish as ever.
"We've got to go." Dave said before starting the engine and then they were off down the road. Killian couldn't hear much with the wind in his ear as he fumbled with the bandage around Emma's shoulder. Peeling the sodden material away with his one hand, Killian fought the urge to gasp at the sight. The bullet wound was an ugly mass of blood and torn flesh that still oozed with when jolted. Spanning from the hole were dark lines that Killian quickly picked up to be Emma's veins. Blood poisoning. He'd served long enough in the navy to know what it looked like, his own brother having suffered form it after a nasty cut to the arm while out at sea. They'd managed to save him, but Killian began to wonder what point there was to that as he died not three years later in the midst of this hell hole.
"Hold on, Swan," Killian said, tearing open a gauze pad with his teeth and dabbing the wound. She flinched, but not too much that it was inconvenient, nothing but a slight moan and a lolling of her head. The roads weren't as smooth as they once were, so trying to re-bandage a wound on a feverish woman with only the one hand was something of a challenge. The final result wasn't his finest handiwork, he had to admit, but it would do.
"You," Even with the roar of the wind rolling off of the cab of the truck Killian could hear Emma's faint voice. Her eyes were slightly open, the un bouncing off of her irises and illuminating them almost yellow. Even in her deluded, sweat sodden state, Killian could never deny she was a beautiful woman. She had a fire in her that he'd not seen in a long time, even with Tink, and it was intriguing. Enough so that he risked his own life to try and get her to safety when the logical solution was to leave her dead in the woods somewhere for the biters to feed on. It was a dog eat dog world and Killian wasn't interested in being someone else's dinner. "My saviour," She breathed with a lofty smile.
Killian had to chuckle at that, watching as her eyes fell closed once more, her breathing still as ragged as before as her head fell limply in his lap. The rest of the drive was blissfully – and a little unnervingly – uneventful. There were no biters on the road and none emerging from the trees, no birds flew overhead and aside from the wind rushing past his ears and the still harsh breathing from the woman in his lap, everything was quiet.
When the engines of both the bike and the truck began to slow, Killian grasped that they had arrived. He couldn't move easily in his predicament, but he could see cars lining the sides of the road, spikes lodged in the metal and hanging off of those spikes, from what Killian could tell, were biters. They weren't stationary for long before they were passing through what sounded like a sliding gate, a collection of people already milling around and talking far louder than Killian was used to.
"Emma?" A voice called as Killian tried to lift the blanketed woman back up off his lap and into his arms. A man arrived at the back of the truck, his tired eyes scanning Emma's face like a starving man would a buffet. "Emma!" He called, already reaching for her. Judging by his obvious anxiety and the horrified look on his face, Killian was willing to be this was Graham.
"Here, take her, mate," Killian said, passing Emma down in her (presumed) boyfriends waiting arms.
"Thank you," Graham said, and then he was gone, racing up the road with Emma in his arms like she was a sleeping child.
"Killian!" He'd barely gotten his footing from stepping out of the truck when he felt Tink's arms wrap around his neck, skinny and childlike, just as he remembered. "We made it," She said, beaming up at him with her bright eyes. He'd been so wrapped up in surviving this mess that he'd forgotten just how much hope she could hold in them. It was unnerving but utterly intoxicating and Killian couldn't help but smile back at her.
"You're Killian," A small voice said, but it wasn't posed as a question. Turning, Killian saw a small boy standing up to just above his elbow, with soft brown hair and mucky cheeks, his plaid shirt torn and his jaw – so like Emma's – set.
"I am." He replied, releasing Tink to look at the lad properly.
"You saved my mum," Killian wasn't given the chance to reply this time and for the second time in barely five minutes, her felt someone's arms as they wrapped around him, the small boy wrapping his arms around Killian's waist. "Thank you," The boy mumbled against his jacket and Killian's hands hovered over the boy's shoulders. He'd never had anything much to do with children, it was hard to know how to react.
"Yes, thank you," Dave said appearing beside Henry, a hand on the boy's shoulder to pry him away. He went easily enough before Dave reached a hand out towards Killian. "Killian,"
"It was no trouble, Dave," Killian said, clasping his outstretched hand.
"It's David, actually," The man said with a smile, and an earnest one at that. "And you've already met Henry and August," He said gesturing to the lad and RedScarf who seemed far more interested in his bike than the meeting happening around him. "And this is my wife, Mary-Margret."
"Thank you for bringing her home," The small woman said from his said, her white shirt stained in multiple places with what was presumably dried blood, her likely once styled short black hair now wispy and curling at the ends. "She means a lot to us."
"Aye," Killian said, looking to the crowd of people who had appeared to welcome Emma home. It was more people than he'd seen since this whole debacle started. There were men and women with children clutching onto their hands, a girl with faded highlights in her hair and an old woman with a crossbow. This was truly the sanctuary that Killian and Tink had been searching for. Now all that was left was proving they were both worthy of being a part of it. And something told Killian that saving Emma might not be enough. Especially, Killian could tell, if the sincere looking woman loitering on the edge of the group had anything to do about it. "That she does."
Apologies for any typos, I'll be giving it another read through in a day or so.