alright. i felt like i needed to make like lucy ricardo and do some 'splaining, because apparently there were a bunch of folks confused by this story. so here we go.

this is one continuous story, not a variety of one-shots. in the first chapter, emma sprains her ankle and finds rapunzel, who tries to heal it. but i was watching tangled one night, and the lyrics of her healing song really spoke to me re: emma. emma, i feel, has a much more serious injury inside of her; her heart is completely broken, from years of bouncing around the country to nearly two-dozen foster homes and, i think, constantly wishing for her parents to come find her with no results. and so rapunzel unintentionally turns back the clock and changes the course of emma's life by sending her back to hartford, when she was ten years old.

emma thinks that her old life is a dream because she doesn't trust that this dream won't break her heart like all the others have. at the same time, she can't rationalize dreaming about her mother, and her being the exact same woman she meets in storybrooke - which is why she's having this battle with herself.

in regards to the ooc comments: mm might seem ooc, because she is. this is an au story; i mention that aspect in the summary. but she's also very in character for the show, because she's always interacted with emma in a very "mother bear" kind of way. of course, this version of the mm/emma relationship will not have nearly as much talk of sex and drinking, but the more tame instances of their show interaction are, i think, very similar to what i've portrayed. also, this emma cries a lot right now. but she's also ten years old, and a ten-year old who's had very little sleep and a lot of emotional upheaval at that. so, to quote gayle, what would you have done?

i do love to hear your thoughts, and i am very appreciative that y'all have stuck with me. thank you, from the bottom of my heart, for all of your sweet feedback, follows, and favorites - you rock! xoxo :)


Emma hefted the book into her arms, a bit breathless from the weight and from excitement. The books at her old schools were all boring and ratty, having been used for many years by quite the variety of students. All these books looked practically brand new, as if no one had so much as glanced at them in over a decade. Dragging her pointer finger along the shiny bookbindings, Emma made her way back along the bookshelves and around the desks to her seat. She plopped down at her desk, and began to crack open the tome in front of her, but Mary Margaret suddenly appeared at her elbow.

"Emma," she said, voice faint. "May I see you in the hall, please?"

Emma's knees wobbled and her heart thumped as she followed her teacher out of the class, looking much like a prisoner would when being led to the gallows.

"Emma, honey, breathe," Mary Margaret instructed, letting out a nervous giggle.

Emma did as told, then asked, "What did I do?"

Mary Margaret was the one to take a breath, now. "Get a perfect score on the pop quiz, without even studying." She stared at Emma in wonderment, as if seeing her for the first time.

Emma cringed, waiting for the accusation. Whether from jaded teachers, jealous kids, or jackass foster parents, there was always a suspicion of cheating or other foul play on Emma's part where her grades were concerned. Emma had always been uncomfortable with - some would even say ashamed of - her intelligence. She didn't know how it happened. She was observant; she loved to read; she had a very good memory. Once she heard or saw something, she absorbed it - she knew how to do things because she watched them be done. No one had ever taken the time to teach her to ride a bike, or climb a tree, or fix a car, but she'd paid close attention to people doing those tasks, and had memorized the way and order in which they'd been done.

But that didn't mean that people believed her. And so she waited for her new teacher to turn a wary eye on her and ask who she'd copied the answers from. But when Mary Margaret kept staring, Emma decided to go on the defensive. "I didn't do it," she said finally. "I didn't cheat."

"How could you have?" Mary Margaret asked, a bit shocked by Emma's sharp tone.

Emma screwed up her face. "I-huh?" She asked, now thoroughly confused.

"How could you have?" Mary Margaret asked again, this time smiling gently at the scared little girl before her. "You are the first person to finish in the whole class! You'd have had to sneak a peek at my answer key to cheat on this," she said with a small giggle.

"And...you don't think I did that?" Emma asked, just to clarify.

"Oh, honey, of course not!" Mary Margaret let out a hearty laugh. "It's at my house, so that's a preposterous notion."

Emma's lower lip wobbled a bit, so she chomped down on it. But her chin still quivered slightly as tears filled her eyes.

"Emma?" Mary Margaret asked, voice sweet and thick with concern. "What's the matter?"

The girl could no longer contain herself, and she flung her arms around Mary Margaret's middle. "You're the best teacher I've ever had," she said, her voice muffled.

Mary Margaret ran a tender hand over the back of Emma's head, the tips of her fingers tingling at the contact with Emma's silky golden curls. When Emma pulled away, tears and a shy blush coating her cheeks, Mary Margaret once again squatted to be on Emma's level, and looked straight into her eyes.

"I think you're a wonderful girl, Emma Swan. I'm sorry that no one's ever told you that before, but I hope that, in time, you can learn to believe it. Why don't you run to the bathroom and splash a little water on your face? I think it'll make you feel better."

Emma nodded, rubbing under her eyes with the sleeve of her sweater. "Thank you," she whispered throatily.

Mary Margaret nodded. "Take your time," she said, to Emma's back. "I trust you."

Emma walked slowly to the place where a green sign reading "RESTROOM" protruded from the wall. She slipped into the alcove and pulled open the door with a dress on it. Standing before the mirror, she glared at her reflection.

Her eyes were wet, but the blue looked much bluer, and her eyelashes were thick and full with tears. Her cheeks and lips were pink, and her nose and chin were diminished slightly, as if drooping in sadness. Emma laughed to think that this might be what she looked like with makeup on. She ran the faucet, turning the blue tap all the way inwards, and cupped some water in her hands to dip her face into. She dipped a couple of times, careful to turn her head from side to side. Cupping her hands a third time, she slurped up some water to quench her thirst, and then turned the water off. She grabbed a few paper towels, to dry her face, and blew her nose before throwing the whole bunch away.

When she got back to class, about half of the students were still taking their tests, so she went back to her seat to pore over the book of fairytales. She closed her eyes, and flipped to a random page.

Snow White laid in her glass coffin, hands folded primly before her, and a peaceful smile on her pale face. Her dark curls framed her head and shoulders, and a feathery white dress covered the rest of her. Seven dwarves stood at attention, guarding her eternal sleep.

Suddenly, Prince Charming rode up, his horse nearly foaming from the frantic pace set by his master. The head dwarf, Doc, spoke to His Highness. "You're too late," he said, a sorrowful expression on his solemn face.

"No," Charming said. "No! Open it," he commanded, gesturing to his love's resting place.

"I'm sorry," a dwarf by the name of Grumpy spoke next, stepping forward from his spot. "She's gone."

The prince deflated. "At least let me say goodbye," he pleaded softly.

Sharing looks all around, the dwarves together lifted the lid of the coffin and set it gently on the forest floor. The prince stepped forward, kneeling beside his lovely princess. Without a word, he pressed his lips gently to her cold mouth, as a solitary tear made its way down his cheek.

Suddenly, the eight men around the coffin were thrown back by an unseen force - a ripple of magic surged forth from the coffin and spread throughout the forest. Snow opened her eyes, and gasped for air. Her eyes met Charming's, and she smiled in disbelief.

"You...you found me," she murmured in amazement.

With tears still in his eyes and a silly grin on his face, Charming replied, "Did you ever doubt I would?"

"Truthfully, the glass coffin gave me pause," Snow teased her prince playfully.

"Well, you never have to worry. I will always find you." The prince was serious.

"Do you promise?" Snow asked cautiously, hoping her love would never leave her side again, by choice or force.

"I do," he said, clasping her hands in his.

Leaning into her Prince Charming, Snow White gave him a kiss, conveying in it all of the love she held for him inside.

Emma traced a finger over the illustration of Charming and Snow in the storybook. Glancing at her teacher, she couldn't help but notice that Snow White looked an awful lot like Mary Margaret, if Mary Margaret wore white dresses and had long hair.

"That's everyone done," Mary Margaret announced, pulling Emma from her fantasy. "Books away, class, it's time for arts and crafts!"


Emma had nearly forgotten about her book when lunchtime rolled around. After the quiz, the whole class had made construction paper turkeys and popsicle stick pilgrims to decorate the walls of the classroom with a festive, autumnal touch. Then, they'd talked about real pilgrims, and the Native Americans who'd helped them first get settled here in America. After History was English, which bored Emma to tears because it was simple vocabulary and spelling she'd known for years. She'd been doodling mindlessly on her worksheet when Mary Margaret had clapped her hands to assemble the children for lunch. She leapt from her chair and joined her new classmates, eager to stretch her legs for a bit.

The lunchroom wasn't as scary as some of the ones Emma had been in. In fact, it reminded her a lot of a large dining room. There were large sideboards on each of the three walls of the room, each with a sign denoting which grades were to line up beside it to get their food. Chafing dishes covered the expansive surfaces, and kindly older ladies waited patiently behind the tables to serve the children. At the front of the room was a stage, where Emma assumed speakers stood when there were assemblies.

Throughout the room, there were round tables to seat about eight. Upholstered chairs were settled around them, and Emma couldn't wait to find out if they were as comfortable as they looked.

She watched as Mary Margaret's students filed automatically to the table marked "3-4." Hungrily, she noted that lunch was a delicious-looking chicken and cheese casserole, with roasted vegetables, buttery rolls, and individual pudding parfaits for dessert. But her money was in her backpack in the classroom, and she knew she wouldn't be allowed to leave the cafeteria. So, sadly, she walked away from her class and found an empty seat at a table in the corner.

The chairs were, in fact, quite comfy - rather antithetical to the chairs in Emma's classroom - but she was just happy to have a little cushion under her behind. She twiddled her thumbs and watched the other kids in the dining hall. It was interesting, to her rather advanced mind, to watch how the other kids seemed to pair off. There were some built-in pairs, of course, with the siblings - the boys in Emma's desk group, for example, were brothers; there was also a set of twins named Ava and Nicholas who did everything together. Some kids seemed to have known each other forever, like two girls named Josie and Tatum, who were the absolute best of friends; and Max and Leona, who were almost inseparable. Some children traveled in packs - Tom and Davy ran with a group of boys who all seemed only to listen to Ms. Blanchard and their leader, a boy named Ferris. The rest of the time, they talked over each other and scrambled around making a mess of things. Another group, all girls, seemed to be the brainiest of the class, and talked to each other quietly about intelligent things.

Then there were the drifters. Emma noticed, almost happily, that there were some children who didn't really belong anywhere - kind of like her. There was Paige, who was friendly with everyone, but best friends with no one. There was a boy named August, who seemed nice enough to Emma, but gave her a weird feeling. And then there was a boy named Henry. Emma didn't know what to think of him. He looked familiar, somehow, like she had seen him before - but she knew that was impossible. Studying his face, Emma realized that she recognized the expression he wore. The corners of his lips were turned down, his brow was constantly furrowed, and his eyes were dark and sad. Emma had seen that expression every time she'd bothered to look in a mirror. It was a look of loneliness, and hopelessness, and feeling like you didn't belong.

Emma was so busy trying to figure out the boy that she was startled when he began walking towards her.

"Hi," he said, voice bright with cheer. "Do you mind if I sit with you? This is where I normally eat."

Emma flushed. "Oh, sorry! I didn't know I took your spot."

"No, it's okay!" He assured her. "I rarely have company."

Emma nodded solemnly, understanding what he meant.

"I'm Henry, by the way," he said through a mouthful of casserole.

"I know," Emma said quickly, then backpedaled when he turned a questioning eye on her. "I mean, I heard Ms. Blanchard call on you in class today, and I remembered it."

Henry smiled. "Cool! Most people only know my name because my mom is the mayor." After saying that, he scowled.

"Your mom is mayor?" Emma asked incredulously. "That must be awesome!"

"Not really," Henry said darkly. "She's never home, and when she is, she's yelling at me or making me do chores. She never lets me have any fun."

"Well, at least you have a mom," Emma said, under her breath.

Henry either didn't hear her, or pretended not to. "So, why'd you come to Storybrooke? We never get visitors."

"So I've heard," Emma muttered. "Just, you know, thought I'd try something new," she said awkwardly.

"Did your parents get a job here or something?" Henry asked innocently, pushing his carrots around on his plate with a sour expression.

Emma frowned. "I don't have parents," she bit out.

Henry stared at her, then, eyes wide as saucers. "You're an orphan?"

Emma saw red, and threw her hand out automatically. Tears formed in her eyes as she saw Henry reel from the slap, and cradle his cheek in his hand. Blood rushed though Emma's ears, causing an awful unending whirring noise, and she was too distracted to notice that the entire room had gone silent. She ran out the door of the cafeteria and down the hall to leave the school.

Emma's legs pumped furiously as she sprinted, anxious to get as far away as possible before she collapsed. She passed through the main thoroughfare, a navy and blonde blur, and ran down the shoreline until she came upon a rickety wooden play structure. She shinnied up the side of the castle, and curled herself into a ball on the platform to cry herself to sleep.


Mary Margaret had been summoned to the cafeteria to deal with the aftermath of her newest student's blow-up. She had been sitting at her desk, eating her tuna-fish sandwich, when Paige had run in and demanded that she follow her back to the dining room. Mary Margaret was met with an injured and upset Henry, sporting an angry red handprint on his otherwise pale cheek.

"Henry!" The teacher gasped. "What happened to you?"

"I was talking to the new girl," he began, "and then she slapped me!"

"Did you say anything to her?" Mary Margaret asked, a bit stunned at the child's accusation.

"Well," Henry hedged, digging his toe embarrassedly into the linoleum. "I asked her if she was an orphan..."

"Oh, Henry," Mary Margaret sighed.

"But only because I wanted her to know that I was one, too, and that it was oka-"

"Henry," Mary Margaret interrupted sternly. "I know you meant well, and that was no excuse for her to hit you, but you had to have known that would be a sensitive subject for her. You can't always just say exactly what you're thinking!"

Henry hung his head. "I'm sorry, Ms. Blanchard," he apologized meekly.

"I appreciate that, Henry, but I'm not the one you need to apologize to. Where's Emma?"

Paige butt in. "She ran out, Ms. Blanchard."

Mary Margaret felt her heart rate intensify. "Paige, please take Henry to Mrs. Chen and get some ice on that cheek. Ask her to call in one of the substitutes for the afternoon - I need to go find Emma."

Paige nodded, and led her friend off to the clinic. Mary Margaret put on her coat, shouldered her bag, and strode out of the school with a purpose.


She drove slowly through town, making sure to check out every hiding spot there could be. She went to Granny's, the park, and even Mr. Gold's to make sure that her student was not there. Mary Margaret was getting desperate, and was about to check in the forest, when she was struck by an idea. Henry's mother had told her that he often went to a wooden play area at the edge of town when he wanted to get away from her. She said he called it his castle, and Mary Margaret thought that perhaps if Emma had been running, she might've stopped when she got to the shore.

Mary Margaret pulled her car off to the side of the gravel path, and bundled her coat tighter around her as she got out to search the playground. No one was on the swings, the slide, or the see-saw, but as she got closer to the peaked pavilion, Mary Margaret noticed a huddled figure clad in blue.

"Emma!" She called, a bit surprised at the note of relief in her voice.

The girl shot up, looking around for the source of sound. When her eyes met her teacher's, she looked shocked, then happy, then guilty, then scared. She backed herself into the far corner of the castle, hunching over as if to shield herself from Mary Margaret.

"Emma?" Mary Margaret called again, this time, with a concerned lilt to the name.

"Go 'way!" Emma yelled, her voice muffled by her bony knees.

Mary Margaret made her way to the edge of the platform, her chin barely level with it. She stretched an arm out to place a calming hand on Emma's leg, but when skin met skin, Emma jumped up like a spooked pony. She scrambled to the other side again, bent her torso backwards over the flimsy railing, and hoisted herself out from underneath the roof to scale it from the outside.

Mary Margaret was, at first, scared speechless. But she soon found her voice, and commanded the little girl who was currently climbing up the shingled and pitched roof to come down immediately. Emma turned to look at her teacher, a teasing glint in her eyes, and was a bit startled by the stern expression marring the normally placid face.

"Emma Swan!" Mary Margaret yelled, hands on hips. "I mean it, you come down this instant!"

Emma giggled, positive that the timid teacher would never climb up after her, and staked her claim on the castle like explorers did in movies. She planted her back foot, picked up her front foot to balance on the tip of the roof, and grasped the pole that held the flag in her left hand, raising her right fist to the sky. What Emma didn't know was that the flag was really a windsock, and the pole holding it was just a hollow and flexible tube. The wind changed course, and the tube flapped with it, sliding out of Emma's grasp in a flash. The girl fumbled and lost her balance, the rubber soles of her shoes doing little to prevent her from slipping off the roof and flipping in mid-air to land hard on the mulched ground.

"Emma!" Mary Margaret cried in distress. "Emma, honey," she cooed, dashing over to the hurt and frightened girl. Emma wasn't crying, but her face was white, and she let out a tiny moan of pain.

"Oh, sweetheart, where does it hurt?" Mary Margaret asked softly. "Let me see."

Emma grasped Mary Margaret's outstretched hand gratefully, and turned around stiffly in embarrassment. The teacher delicately lifted Emma's skirt, gasping a little at the angry pink scrapes covering Emma's thighs and behind. She could also see a few splinters, which she knew she'd have to remove once they got home.

"Emma, can you walk?" Mary Margaret asked, when Emma pivoted face-front again.

Emma nodded, and let Mary Margaret take the lead as she waddled uncomfortably to her teacher's car.

"Why don't you lay on your tummy," Mary Margaret suggested kindly. "That way, you won't have to aggravate your bottom any more than you have to."

Emma nodded silently, a bit confused as to why the woman was being so nice to her. Just minutes before, she'd been furious at her. Emma wondered if her teacher was just being nice because she'd gotten hurt - or worse, because soon, she wouldn't have to deal with Emma at all. Emma climbed slowly into the backseat, face-first, and pondered the places she'd seen where she might be able to get away with staying for a few days, before she could maybe find her father, and/or leave town.

When they got to Mary Margaret's apartment, Emma crawled gingerly out of the car, and followed the teacher silently up the three flights of stairs to her apartment. She stood stock still while Mary Margaret unlocked the door, and only followed her inside when beckoned.

"Wait right here, sweetie; I'm going to get some things to clean your scrapes." Emma nodded at the woman's instructions, and bounced slowly from foot to foot while Mary Margaret gathered the necessary supplies. The flat was nice - clean and white, with an industrial feel from the exposed brick and ceiling beams. A farmhouse table with mismatched chairs flanked one wall, while a kitchen area with a bar-height counter was positioned opposite it. There was a metal staircase, up which Mary Margaret had disappeared; a sitting area; and a curtained-off section that Emma could see an iron bed frame in.

Emma traced her finger along the rustic wood of the tabletop. It looked rough, but was surprisingly smooth to the touch, and Emma lost herself pulling her pointer in slow ovals around each knot in the old pine.

"Okay!" Mary Margaret said brightly, jolting Emma from her mindlessness. "I've got everything we need. Could you bend over for me, Emma?"

Shyly, Emma did as told, bracing her elbows on the table and bending at the waist. Once again, she felt her skirt flipped up over her back, and the cool air of the apartment rushed over her rear as Mary Margaret tugged her panties up a little so she could see all of the sore spots.

"You have a few splinters, Emma, so this might hurt a little. I'll try to be as gentle as I can," Mary Margaret swore. Emma felt cold metal, a pinch, and a slow release as the wooden barbs were tugged, one by one, from the backs of her legs. Mary Margaret talked her through each step, and Emma tried her best not to flinch or cry out when the alcohol and anti-bacterial cream stung her tender injuries.

Then, finally, Emma felt thick cotton fall back down over her bum. She stood up straight, and faced her teacher. "Thank you, Ms. Blanchard," she said, staring fixedly at her shoes. "I feel much better now."

"I'm very glad to hear that, Emma," the teacher answered, still speaking in that calming and soft tone. Then, all of a sudden, it changed. "I'm very disappointed in your actions today. First, hurting another student, then running off, and then endangering yourself? These are very serious issues, Emma; you have no idea how worried I was when I couldn't find you, or how scared I was when you climbed that tower. I don't know how you've been taken care of in the past, but that kind of behavior will not stand in this house, do you understand? We treat each other with respect, we talk about it when we have problems, and we certainly do not pull silly stunts like the ones you did today. Am I making myself clear?"

Emma felt like she could melt into the floor. She unintentionally had blocked out every word Mary Margaret said that would imply her staying for the long haul; instead, she internalized all of Mary Margaret's anger and frustration and felt it directed at her. "I'm so sorry," she sniffled. "I didn't mean to disappoint you. I'll apologize to Henry, I promise I will! And then I'll go. I'm sorry you had to put up with me today," Emma sobbed, feeling horribly ashamed of herself that she'd pushed her own mother away - or, at least, the woman who could be her mother.

Mary Margaret felt tears come to her own eyes. "Emma, sweetheart, I'm not letting you go anywhere," she said fiercely. "You're staying with me for a good long while. I'm glad you're willing to apologize to Henry, and you will, tomorrow. But for now, I think we need to get some food into you, and then maybe you should take a nap.

Emma was about to protest, but she could neither stifle the yawn that overtook her, nor the growl that erupted from the deepest depths of her stomach. Mary Margaret laughed slightly, and set about fixing Emma a sandwich - PB&J, extra J, with no crust and a side of crinkle-cut carrots. When Emma had finished, Mary Margaret led her over to the couch and had her lay across it, facedown. She covered Emma with the afghan off the back, and rubbed her back in soft, slow circles.

"My blanket," Emma mumbled sleepily. "I need my blanket!"

"Where's your blanket, Emma?"

"In my backpack, with my other stuff," she muttered.

"When you wake up, we'll go back to the school and get it all, okay?"

"Can't...sleep...without it," Emma slurred. "Nightmares."

"Shh, it's okay," Mary Margaret soothed gently, feeling bad that she hadn't grabbed their stuff first. "I'm here, you're safe."

When she got no response, the teacher glanced down to see that Emma was already fast asleep.

"Sleep tight, little Emma," she whispered, pressing a kiss into the girl's blonde curls.