Straight On 'Til Morning Chapter 10, an once upon a time fanfic

As always, HUGE thank you to my reviewers and readers. Special shout out to Maiqu, Lisa1972, Purple Carnation, faithonhold, PeaceHeather, Tentacion Prohibida, RedWolf198, mali86, 5289belle, Featherstrike, BitMundane, Autumn, amz- 123, Musicalfan2012, Angel Marie Winchester, and Ni Castle!

Heads up. This chapter was a difficult one to write, and you will see why. Keep in mind, last we left Emma, she was beginning to experience hallucinations from the Dargnell. This chapter's a long one, twisted with emotion and stream of consciousness, hence fragmented segments (because, as we know, the mind rarely makes sense). So hold onto your hats, folks. I hope I did it justice.

Now, without further ado, to reward you for your patience and kind reviews and my overdue update, I give you The Longest Chapter Ever.

Chapter 10

"I am a dreamer and when I wake,

You can't break my spirit—it's my dreams you take.

And as you move on, remember me,

Remember us and all we used to be…"

Emma Swan could not lose this.

She knew it, repeated it like a mantra, as she dashed madly between trees, weaving her escape route between layer upon layer of oak and pine. The scent flooded her nostrils, leaving a heady aroma wafting about her. But she had to focus. There was no more turning back for her. She could not lose this. She could not lose this.

Emma's heart thundered loudly in her ears, pounding in tandem with her lengthy stride. She had lost her shoes somewhere in the chase, but somehow she knew it didn't matter. The forest flew past her in a blue of incandescent emeralds. Each branch, each finger of pine, felt like hands whispering across bare skin as she skipped past. Grass melted into snow, and soon each knotted arm of bark she passed was caked with white frost. It was beautiful. Perfect.

She soared past a frozen bank of water, heart racing wildly. Emma skidded in her tracks and dove behind a large oak laden with snow-dusted ivy. Her stomach flip-flopped as she sucked an icy breath deep into her lungs, intoxicated by the forest, and waited, careful to keep her smoking exhalations at minimum visibility.

A branch snapped behind the tree, to her left. The crackling noise was followed by an undertone of mutterings and the shattering of ice.

The intruder, whoever he was, clearly failed when it came to stealth.

Emma braced herself against the tree, eyes alert for the slightest movement or coloration in her white-and-green peripheral world.

On bated breath, she saw it.

A flash of silver.

The image conjured a rush of emotions, blocking her airway and strangling her gut with sickening butterflies. Without thinking, she lunged, launching herself out from the tree and tackling her stalker onto the ground. The figure struggled, but she was quick to halt his movements. Swiping the hair out of her face, she lifted her head up to assess her victim.

A pair of murky, green eyes stared back at her. Wide with incredulity.

She opened her mouth—

"Mom?" a tiny voice rang out from behind. Emma's mouth slammed shut as she twisted her eyes away from the man beneath her. She scanned the rows of trees before finally settling on—

"Henry," she breathed out, softening gaze sweeping over his insulated, puffy vest that rendered him comparable to a large, white marshmallow. His miniature hands were desperately trying to hold up a sled at his side. He grinned widely at her, revealing a gaping hole where his two front teeth should have been. And dimples the size of craters, dug sweetly amidst rosy cheeks. Emma froze. He couldn't have been more than six years old. And yet, she would have known that face anywhere.

An uncomfortable cough from beneath her broke Emma's softened stare. Henry cocked his head to the side, brunette bangs falling lazily into his face. "Mom, you are out of control," he flapped his gloved hands at his sides. "Dad said this was a no-tackling fight. You cheated!" He froze, his head suddenly righting before eyes popping wide as saucers. "Is this one of those mom-dad moments I shouldn't have walked in on? Because I think it's too late."

Emma felt the rumbling laughter of the man beneath her. He quickly took advantage of the moment to slip his wrists out from beneath Emma's grasp and slide one arm around her waist, holding her to him. Without warning, Emma's face suddenly met a handful of snow.

"Karma, kid," the voice chuckled as Emma sputtered, using the back of her hand to wipe away the ice. She blinked down at her snowball assailant, heart caught in her throat.

It couldn't be.

Could it?

Neal.

Her Neal.

He grinned up at her cheekily before leaning up to peck a chaste kiss on her red nose. He easily maneuvered Emma out of his arms and onto the cold snow, jumping to his feet and grabbing the silver handles of his own sled—the one that Emma had knocked aside in her attack.

"Last one there's a rotten egg!" Henry screamed over his shoulder, his small boots kicking up white powder as he took off around a bend of trees, giggling hysterically when a vengeful Neal began to fire snowballs after his retreating figure.

Neal waited until Henry was out of eyesight before turning back to face Emma. "You okay there, babe?"

Emma stared up at him. Something about this felt…right? She swallowed, distracting herself by dusting the remaining snow out of her hair. "Yeah, I—I'm fine."

Neal propped his sled against a nearby tree, kneeling down to help Emma to her own knees. He frowned, allowing his gaze to slide down her hunched, snow-covered form. "Normally, I don't mind it rough," he smiled sadly, "but I don't think now's the best time for you to grow a pair and go all Chuck Norris on your husband."

Husband. Emma glanced down. Sure enough, a ring sat on her left hand. Brilliant like the snow.

The world tilted on its side, a spindle-top of white, green, and Neal.

Oh hell, she thought wearily, burrowing her mitten-less fingers in her hair rather than face Neal head on. She could practically feel his gaze narrow on her before a gloved set of fingers gently tilted her chin up.

"What's wrong?" The concern in his voice. The sorrow in his eyes. Emma's gut twisted and bent back on itself. She pulled her chin away before her eyes settled on a set of deep prints in the snow. Prints that fanned out, pointed, and nearly as large as her hands. If she didn't know any better, she would have bet they belonged to a dog's. A soft whirring in her ears rose in a heightened crescendo; she winced at its pitch.

Emma tried to shake her head, but the world was spinning. She felt cornered, trapped against a building somewhere in an alley. She was anxious, checking her newly acquired watch. Rising up and down on her toes before scanning the night and withdrawing her cellphone. Punching in seven familiar digits. Rejection. "Damn right it's an error…" "Unless he set you up. Hands above your head please, miss!"

"Emma? Emma!" Neal's voice broke through the ringing. Teary eyes blinked away her fuzzy vision. She looked up at Neal, hovering over her protectively as he hooked his arms beneath her elbows. He steered her to her feet before hauling her against him. Emma leaned into his chest, lifting her hand to hold his bristly cheek. She slid her fingers along the stubble. Her thumb swept along his lower lip. His nostrils flared, brows tenting beneath the weight of their confusion. "Emma?" he asked softly.

She felt as though she'd been away forever. Somewhere else. Her stomach somersaulted when Neal's hands came up to cup her cheeks, pulling her close until her forehead met his. He searched her eyes desperately.

Emma leaned into his touch. "You," she sighed, refusing to close her eyes—fear of reality and illusion forcing her to drink everything in.

"Me," he whispered back.

"And Henry," she grinned, reaching up on her toes to press her lips firmly against his. Neal's hands swept down behind her thighs, hauling her up and against him. Emma's bare feet locked at the ankles behind his waist, allowing him to back them against a tree as his mouth met hers again. She was entirely unsure how this had come to be—where she had come from, who had made this possible, or what had happened just an hour before. Of one thing she was certain: she could not lose this.

Lub dub…

She woke up screaming. Something snake-like slithered around her torso and between her legs, squeezing and ensnaring her fast against a damp surface. Emma fidgeted, lungs unable to catch up with her heart. A roaring furnace engulfed her bare wrist. She cried out.

Lub dub…

Fingers, firm and relentless, dug into her upper arm, tearing her away from her mind and ripping her out, into the confines of the tangled bed sheets and clammy mattress, drenched with her sweat. Emma opened her mouth to scream again at the unfamiliar curtains fluttering in a summer's breeze, the flowery wallpaper, and the shadow hovering over her. The darkness wrapped a steady hand over her lips, forcing her to contain and swallow her sobs.

Lub dub…

"Heyheyhey, Emma, shhhhhh, it's okay. I've got you. I've got you." The voice drummed in her ears like a sickeningly-sweet mantra. It shook her to the core, those words, coming out of his lips.

Lub dub…

"I'm not letting go, Emma. Shhhush," he twisted so her back faced his chest, drawing her in with a strong arm and tucking her protectively into his chest. He fit so perfectly, Emma thought, her lips stuttering in an effort to catch up with her timid heartbeat. Like a puzzle piece. "I'm not letting you go back there. You're safe here. Emma, you're safe." The darkness loomed before her. She could faintly make out a shape, crouched and stalking slowly towards her. The click of nails on hardwood beat in tandem with her heart. Two bright, blue orbs stared back possessively. Emma squeezed her eyes shut and used her toes to edge herself back into the warmth behind her. One hand splayed protectively across her abdomen. The other circled beneath her neck and around, using his fingers to gently sweep back her matted hair. He tucked his face into the crook of her neck, breathing her in. "What was it this time?"

Emma blinked back the tears. "Magic. These—these monsters. And pirates," she shuddered, "and a world without hearts. Without you," her voice cracked on the last word. She wasn't making sense—she could feel her mind fraying at the seams. None of this made sense. She bent in on herself, curling into the tightest ball imaginable. She despised the vulnerability, but she felt as though all her defenses had been stripped, there in that bedroom with fluttering curtains, flowery wallpaper, and Neal.

She could not lose this.

Lub dub…

"Mom! Mom! Watch this one, Mom!"

Emma's heart skipped a beat at the sound of his voice, his laughter.

"Henry?" she questioned the snow-covered winter surrounding her, twisting in circles. She narrowed her eyes through the swirling blizzard. Emma waited on bated breath. "Henry?!"

Emma.

She stilled, heart clenching in her throat. There, just beyond a white-dusted fur, crouched something dark. Covered in fur.

Emma, bloody brilliant Emma.

A red tongue slipped out amidst the gray, licking at its bared canines.

Let me help you…

One giant paw left the confines of its shadow, bracing against the snow. Emma did not miss the lengthened nails, nor the size of the animal's girth compared to her. It—whatever it was—stood enormously at three or three-and-a-half feet, hunkered down against the snow.

I was hoping—

"No!" she screamed, turning her back on the threatening shadow before—

"Emma?" Neal's arm looped through hers, appearing from nowhere and calmly taking her in stride with him. The warmth flooding from him instantly soothed her mind.

Neal led her steadily away from the shadow. Towards Henry, whose voice wafted in and out with the wind, coming from everywhere and nowhere simultaneously. She squeezed Neal's hand, hard. He glanced at her from the corner of his eye, smiling softly before tugging her along faster, picking up their pace. The snow, crunching delicately beneath her bare, warm toes, slowly faded into peach-colored grains. The sand shifted beneath her weight, folding over her feet. Emma found it harder to keep up with Neal, who was jogging towards the sound of Henry's tiny laughter and delightful screams. They finally broke through the barricade of tropical flora.

Gone was Henry's winter ensemble. Donned now in purple swim trunks, he appeared just slightly older than when she'd last seen him. He'd abandoned his sand empire for the foaming waves, clutching a board and trying desperately to overcome the surf. Emma watched, breath taken, to find Neal suddenly in the water with Henry, helping shove him past the hurdle of saltwater. Her hand felt all too empty now, and she squeezed the air, feeling her nails dig into her palm and leave tiny half-moon indentions into the skin. Even as her toes hesitantly dug their way through the sand, forcefully leading her towards a blanket of towels and a cooler, Emma found herself in a daze. She briefly wondered if it were possible for something to be too perfect, too right. From wherever the hell it was she'd left off in life, she had a nagging suspicion that this was not it. But it felt good, so good. The sight of Henry and Neal, together, with the ocean's subtle roaring crashing into the sand, a salty breeze tousling her hair. And, just beyond the nearest sand dune, nestled amidst palm trees, sat a house. Light blue with white shutters, and a white picket fence haphazardly shoved into the sand.

Their house.

Emma, suddenly regaining her senses, forced herself to shut out the doubt. Suspicion be damned. This was her life, damnit, and she'd fight to hell and back to prove it. This was hers, and she could not lose this.

"Hey, mind grabbing me a beer?" Emma looked up from her novel to find Neal standing before her, drenched in saltwater and hair a shaggy mess. She grinned.

"Sure." Her arm disappeared inside the red cooler, fishing around before grabbing two bottles. Neal collapsed in the sand next to her, dropping his head lazily into her lap and twisting off the cap. Emma twisted off her own beer, clinking her glass and lifting it to her lips.

"Damnit, Emma, what the hell do you think you're doing?!" Neal hissed, shooting up and jerking the bottle out of her hands forcefully. Emma stared at him, open-mouthed.

"Having a drink, officer, what does it look like?" she snapped.

Neal narrowed his eyes sharply. "You really think that's the best idea, all things considered?" He glanced down toward her stomach for emphasis.

"Look," Emma ground out, "Vacation tends to add a few pounds. So what?" She turned her head to the side, turning her glare towards the forest of palm trees and refusing to look at him. Her eyes caught hold of something dark just beyond the tropical brush. It had been moving fast, but froze suddenly under her gaze. It paused, head bowing almost in acknowledgment, before resuming its pacing along the boundary. Her heart pounded furiously.

"Look," Neal mocked her angrily, but Emma interrupted him.

"Neal, do we have a dog?" Her voice was hollow, laced with fear. Neal pushed forward anyway, ignoring her.

"I know this isn't our first, but I'd prefer to avoid FAS at all costs. Okay with you?" He twisted the cap back on before placing her beer rather forcefully back into the cooler, dropping the lid shut. Neal's words jerked her back into the present, away from the stalking animal in the distance.

Fetal alcohol syndrome? But that would have to mean…

Oh.

Neal nodded as he watched the wheels click in her mind. He blew out a breath before abandoning his own beer, slipping behind her and planting his legs on either side of her hips. His arms circled around, drawing her back against his chest. His hands, so rough and yet soft, splayed across her bare abdomen, one reaching down to toy with the strings of her bikini bottom. "Look, I know this isn't going to be easy. But we can do this. We've done it before. And we're ready this time. Look at Henry." Emma glanced up, eyes settling on Henry giggling uncontrollably as he splashed in the water. Neal tightened his grip on Emma, and she returned her gaze back to where his hands rested protectively over her. "He didn't turn out so bad. We'll be fine. You've got me, and I'm not going anywhere, Emma Swan. Trust me."

Emma swallowed back the lump in her throat.

He wasn't going anywhere.

Neal wasn't going anywhere.

"Okay," she whispered.

"We're in this together," he reassured, bending over to plant a kiss in the crook of her neck. Emma shivered against him, and she could feel him grin as his lips remained where they were, ghosting across her shoulder before lightly nipping there. Emma twisted around in his arms, reaching up to capture his lips with hers. They collapsed there, in the sand, entangled amidst the thundering of the ocean and Henry's screaming laughter.

A blazing sun sat high overhead. Emma, knees drawn to her chest, folded herself against the heat, unmoving, and watching Henry and Neal play on the beach in the surf.

"Mom, come in! The water's great!" Henry yelled, just before Neal leapt through the surf and dunked Henry's head underwater. Emma laughed, settling back on her elbows to spread her legs out, content to watch them play.

"Go ahead, kid. I'm no match for your dad."

"But mom," he whined, "I need reinforcements!"

Emma shook her head, chuckling as Henry was once again tackled into the water by Neal, who flashed a quick grin at her before swimming out of reach of Henry's splashing. She sighed, leaning back and collapsing against the hot sand, shading her eyes to stare up at the darkened blue overhead. Stars. Falling stars. Neal had told her once this beach was the only place in the world you could consistently see them, even in daylight. She watched as the very trees seemed to stretch towards the spell-bounding sight, as though they were attempting to uproot themselves in an effort to touch the falling starts. Attempting to defy gravity.

A familiar burning sensation shot unexpectedly up her wrist. Emma reached down, massaging the skin bitterly as the pain fled before returning her hands to the small bump of her stomach. Small, but noticeable. Emma sighed, allowing her hands to lazily trace patterns along her belly. She was beyond ready but still had months to go. Neal had transformed the guest room into a nursery, filled with a crib, stuffed animals, blue and pink paint cans—he had decided to leave the walls unpainted until Emma's next ultrasound, but she wanted it to be a surprise. Emma grinned to herself. Neal hated surprises.

Emma's thoughts came to an abrupt halt, however, as a new sound entered her range of hearing.

Opposing Henry and Neal's laughter.

Scuffling.

A shifting in sand. Directly behind her.

Stay calm. Stay calm. Probably just a squirrel or something.

You idiot, her conscience broke through, squirrels don't live on the beach.

…do they?

Rather than face it and fight, Emma sat up and curled her knees up to her chest, choosing to believe that if there was anything truly dangerous, Neal would have seen it and shouted. But as he continued to chuckle and dunk Henry, flashing his grin at Emma, she assumed everything was as it should be. And that she was merely suffering from dementia. Or losing her mind. No big deal.

As the shuffling grew closer, however, she realized Neal was entirely ignorant of their beach's intruder. Desperate to protect herself and her unborn, Emma honed all of her attention on what sounded like footsteps in the sand. Something was approaching her.

She shut her eyes tight, slightly outraged at the display of cowardice she had reduced herself to. But this was a perfect world. And in a perfect world, nothing bad happened. Ever.

She bowed her head to her knees and waited. A few more seconds passed before the figure made its way confidently up to her, no longer bound by its hesitant pacing. Emma sucked in a deep breath. Only to find, a second later, the entire right half of her face covered in something wet, oozing down into her ear. She squeaked in surprise, shoving herself away in the sand and wiping saliva off with the back of her hand.

Wait.

Saliva?!

Emma cracked her eyes open, ready to strike her heel out for defense. Her eyes, wary and alarmed, settled on a large, gray dog…wolf…thing. It was huge, and would have easily towered over her by a few inches on all fours, if she had been sitting up straight. The salty air lightly ruffled its fur, making it appear as if the entire creature were moving when in actuality it was as still as a stone, mere inches from Emma's face. Its wide, guarded, cerulean eyes watched her carefully, calculating her next move to its slobbery attack. When Emma made no defensive effort, the large wolf plopped itself heavily on the sand next to her and cracked its mouth open in a panting smile, head cocked to the side playfully.

While the wolf may have been perfectly at peace with the situation, Emma Swan could not, for the life of her, calmly understand why there was a huge, fucking wolf laying at her side. Not eating her. Emma laughed hesitantly, scooting herself cautiously away from the giant dog. "Didn't taste that appetizing, did I, big girl?"

The wolf instantly pulled its upper lip back over its teeth, baring them with a wicked snarl, eyes gone black.

"Boy! Sorry, I meant boy!" He snorted loudly, shaking his head before returning to his original, panting position. Emma could have sworn that, in the process of recovered dignity, the giant dog had inched closer. One large paw outstretched towards her. "God, Emma Swan, you are losing it." She licked her lips, which had suddenly gone dry, before turning her attention to Neal, who currently had Henry sitting atop his shoulders as he ran through the waves.

Waves. The ocean. Not all dogs like the ocean. Emma swallowed back a grin. Maybe she could get rid of the overgrown fleabag after all. The wolf twisted his head around the other way, as if trying to follow her train of thought. Without warning, Emma shot off towards the water.

"Neal!" she shouted, sprinting down the beach. "Take Henry and get ba—" Emma tripped unexpectedly over the furry missile that had galloped after her, misjudging his distance in haste to beat Emma to the water. She twisted so her shoulder took the brunt of her fall, rather than her stomach. Despite her best efforts, Emma still managed to eat a mouthful of sand—all for that stupid wolf's lack of observation powers, experiencing major sand burn in the process. And she was quite positive a good amount had made its way into her bikini.

"Fuck," she spat between mouthfuls of sand. The wolf skidded to a stop, U-turning on its haunches before loping back up to Emma, tongue hanging out of its mouth. He ducked his head down, sniffing, as if giving her a once-over, before nudging her side with his muzzle. Wet nose and all.

"Emma, you okay?" Neal laughed, trotting forward with Henry out of the deeper water.

When Emma didn't answer, Neal's voice grew concerned, shouldering Henry off and down into the water.

Emma threw her hand up, warning him off. "I'm fine."

"The baby?" he demanded, but Emma waved him off again, suddenly conscious of the tense, possessive stance the wolf had taken in front of her.

"We're okay," she assured, utterly baffled how Neal was so blind to the furball practically tucking Emma behind its massive bearing. "I fell on my side. It's sand," she reminded him. "Nothing too jarring."

"I swear, you could trip over a piece of lint," he shook his head, grinning at her.

She snorted. "Try three feet of lint."

"Your legs aren't that hairy." He quickly whirled Henry around to avoid the prompt presentation of Emma's middle finger. Emma sighed, annoyed at Neal, and more so at the fact that he seemed to be completely oblivious of the giant-ass wolf that had sprawled out next to her, resting his heavy head on the dip between her ribs and hip.

"I swear to God, if that is drool and not rain running down my back, I am skinning you for a winter coat," Emma hissed.

He let loose a high-pitched whine, keening for either sympathy or attention. Emma merely rolled her eyes and shoved his immense head away, pulling herself to her feet and dusting the sand off her body. The wolf clambered to his feet, quickly at her side and shoving his large forehead against her hand, needy. She jerked it away. "No."

He snapped angrily, teeth audibly clicking as his eyes rolled to black once more. His head twisted in tandem with his suddenly crouching body. Muzzle pulled back in ripples of muscle. Obviously threatened.

Goddamn…

"Babe, seriously, are you alright?" Neal was vacating the ocean, shaking his head to rid his hair of water. Emma glanced up. Neal. He doesn't like Neal.

She protectively placed a hand on her stomach before nodding furiously, eyes trained on the wolf whose hackles had risen as if by static electricity. He bore his teeth and licked them threateningly at Neal, back hunched and prepared to attack. Razor sharp teeth snapped loudly, and it was as if his eyes had stormed over in blood-red darkness. "Neal, get back in the water."

"What?"

"Now." She looked up at him pleadingly. "Don't—don't leave Henry alone."

Neal frowned uncertainly but did as she asked. The moment Neal retreated, the monster at her side calmed down, licking his lips and returning his heavy gaze up to Emma's. In an effort not to make a scene—especially over an invisible canine—Emma made her way towards their beach house, the wolf trotting at her side, its tongue lolling and panting excitedly as if any other dog on a walk with its owner. She breathed a sigh of relief. It had no interest in Henry or Neal, and now that they were far enough away... Emma's heart leapt as she made a quick decision. This was her world, and nothing was going to ruin it for her. She would take care of this, passively at first, and if necessary- well, she knew where Neal kept his pistol.

When Emma had made it to the door, she sprinted madly, twisting on her toes to lock the screen door in his face. In hindsight, a poor decision.

"Ha!" she shouted, latching it just as the wolf pressed his nose against the screen. "Now shoo! Or I'll call the pound on you."

Instantly, the wolf hunkered down, baring his teeth and issuing a low, guttural growl. A threat.

"Oh, already had a brush with the law, have we?" Emma waltzed over to the nearby coffee table where she'd left her phone that morning. "Well, I'm sure they're missing you by now. So we'll just—"

The wolf reared up, bracing its giant paws—nearly the size of Emma's hands—on the screen. She watched with horror as his cutthroat nails dug into the screen, already forcing holes into the wire material. Emma shook her head at it, pointing furiously. "No. Down."

The wolf grinned at her—actually tipped the corners of its mouth up as its blue eyes bent in a narrowing motion. Cocky. Arrogant. Son. Of. A. Bitch.

Emma backed away, hands raised. She held the phone in the air. "Back off, Mutt From Hell," she warned.

Those were the last words out of her mouth before, pushing with his muscular haunches, the wolf leaned with all his weight into the screen door. The feeble material came crashing down beneath his braced mass. He gingerly picked his nails out from the screen before shifting his weight and flattening his ears. Those eyes. Those cerulean eyes.

Emma's posture went rigid. "Wait. Do I—?"

His jaw snapped, blackened eyes zeroing in on the dialing cellphone tucked in her hand. Without thinking, she had already dialed 911, thumb ready to press send.

Emma clamped her mouth shut, biting back a scream.

The wolf charged.

Cute puppy, right? Originally, this portion of the story was only supposed to be a chapter…too much fun has spread into three. I'll leave it up to you to decide what's real and what's not. *wink wink* And what is the deal with the wolf?! Remember: not everything is as it seems. Especially in our most subconscious state of mind.

You are, at this time, most cordially invited to review. Love and constructive criticism is most appreciated.