A/N: Sorry for how late this chapter is. I just started marching band camp two days ago, and it's been slowly sucking away my life. To all of my fantastic readers, this is the last chapter. I will not be continuing the story after this. I don't really know what I'll be doing now that the story is finished. Chances are, I won't be able to write very much, seeing as I've got camp on top of my job, and school will be starting soon. However, I will be taking suggestions as to what I could write next (whenever I get the chance). I've been thinking about making another TWAU fic, but I've also gotten some requests to continue this Percy Jackson fic that I abandoned a while ago. So what do you guys think? Put any thoughts or preferences in your review, or shoot me a PM, and I will take it into consideration.
Thank you all so much for reading. I have never been this happy with a story before, and thanks to you, I finally have some confidence in my writing. I love each and every one of you, and I hope to see you again for other stories that I might write in the future. Until next time!
To Riverfang12: Wha...what? Is something wrong? I don't understand.
To LostHero171: Yeah, it's actually pretty funny. I almost forgot that Bigby didn't magically regenerate clothing when he went back to human form. After rereading the chapter, I realized "His dick has been out for a while..." So I just added that part in.
To Love and HeartBreak21: Thank you! My fight scenes used to suck so much, but I had to practice since Bigby is intent on fighting every single person he meets.
To fall shadow: Here's the update, and thanks for reviewing!
To TheKittenAuthor: Senpai? Really? I'm a Senpai? ...that has to be the nicest thing anyone has ever said to me...
To babyhorsewriter: I'm sad, too. I'm sorry that I have to end it now, but you have been one of the best readers I have ever come across. Thank you so much for reading, and I will dearly miss you.
To Carol774: Woody loves you, too, and he is happy that you liked the chapter.
To Chibimax: I have no idea what I should write in the future. I may not have a lot of time to write, but I have been thinking of some other stories for TWAU. So to answer your question: quite possibly, but don't hold your breath.
To Guest: Is that you, babyhorsewriter?
To Kattylin: Yep, she's dead. Finally. We can all rest easy now.
To Pheonix of Hope 42: Go ahead and make that joke. I really want to hear it now. And I'm super glad you liked my story.
To WatchingGuest: Yeah, Woody doesn't get the credit he deserves. But I love him :)
To TommyFox: Your reviews have meant so much to me, and have definitely been helping me write. If you ever decide to write a fic of your own, I will read it in a heartbeat. Your English is perfect, better than most of the people I know. Have some confidence. Just from your reviews, I can tell that you'd be an excellent author. (And by the way, I like your ending. It's not bad.)
The taxi drove down Bullfinch Street in the late afternoon. It passed by buildings and pedestrians at a seemingly lethargic pace. Normally, Bigby would have just walked to the Fabletown offices, but he had decided to listen to Swineheart's advice and give his leg a rest.
It had been two days since the fight at Sheppard Metalworks, and though his injury wasn't healing as quickly as he'd hoped, Swineheart had assured the werewolf that there wouldn't be any lasting damage. Still, until he made a full recovery, Bigby would have to keep off his legs as much as possible.
The former sheriff had never listened to the doctor's advice before, but this time, taking it easy was probably for the best. Fighting Bloody Mary had taken a lot out of him, and he wasn't very keen on falling into another coma.
Bigby rubbed his leg thoughtfully. Looking at the wound then, it would appear to be a long, jagged line of knotted muscles and swollen skin that ran from the center of his hamstring to the tip of his calf muscle. Sometimes it burned like hell, other times it barely even throbbed. It just depended on how much he used it.
The werewolf peered out the car window and looked at the Fables walking down the street. On the surface, everything looked normal. Just your average people in an average neighborhood in New York. But Bigby could see that the recent murders had taken their toll. The Fables walked with a certain kind of somberness and gloom, subtly enough that only the werewolf's trained eyes could see it.
Bigby looked down into his lap. His eyes were still amber and angry, brighter since the fight with Mary. He frowned, wondering what would have happened had Snow not shot the Fable when she did. He shuddered at the thought.
Snow… He hadn't seen her since that night. Well, he'd seen her, but hadn't gotten the chance to talk to her. A few hours after passing out in a pool of his own blood, Bigby had woken up to find bandages wrapped around his leg, chest, side, and arm – everywhere he'd been cut with the silver knife. A pair of loose-fitting jeans had been pulled up around his waist, and a grey T-shirt was thrown on top of his torso like a makeshift blanket.
He was still in the factory, but the blood and glass had been cleaned up. Swineheart had been bent over the unconscious Snow White, sewing up an ugly gash in her shoulder with Woody sitting down on some nearby crates, holding his axe nervously.
Once they'd realized that the werewolf was awake, they had hurriedly explained that they needed "space" in order for the doctor to work on Snow. A load of bullshit, if you asked him. All the same, he had agreed to let Woody drive him back to his apartment.
"Hey, are you gonna pay or what?" the taxi driver said irritably, pulling Bigby from his thoughts. The werewolf looked over at the driver, handed him some cash, and struggled to get out of the car without putting too much weight on his leg. Then, he started into the building, trying to hide his limp.
He made his way up the stairs, towards Snow's office. There was, of course, a long line of Fables waiting by the door, but they all knew better than to complain as the werewolf walked passed them. Even Gren, who was standing towards the front of the line, kept his mouth shut.
Bigby hesitated before entering the office, hobbling slightly as a spasm of pain shot through his leg in response to the action. He closed the door behind him.
Snow White sat at her desk, with the woodsman sitting in the chair opposite to her. At the sound of the door closing, they both looked up. "Bigby," the mayor said awkwardly.
"Snow," he responded with equal discomfort. His eyes flicked over to the other Fable. "Um…Woody."
"Uh, hey Bigby," the woodsman said.
A few uncomfortable seconds passed by when nobody spoke. Then, Bigby scratched the back of his head. "Can I have a second?" he asked quietly, looking over at the mayor.
Snow jumped slightly. "Oh! Erm…yes, that's fine." She glanced at Woody and stood up. The werewolf noticed how her left arm was in a sling. "Thanks for stopping by, Woody. It's been a good talk," she said with a smile. She reached out her right hand, and the woodsman shook it.
"No problem," he replied before leaving the office. Bigby noticed a tiny smile that tugged at the corners of his mouth. As Woody closed the door of the office, Bigby turned his attention back to the mayor. Although he had half-suspected to find her at the offices, the werewolf was still a little surprised to see Snow working so soon after Bloody Mary.
"You're working today," he said dumbly.
Snow nodded, and walked around her desk, her fingers trailing across its wooden surface. "I am," she said.
"So soon?" Bigby asked.
The mayor sighed. "Unfortunately, the world doesn't stand still every time a crisis happens. And after all this trouble with Mary, Fabletown needs me more than ever. People are still trying to get over all of the…deaths," she finished, her voice diminishing in volume until the last word was barely a whisper.
Bigby nodded in understanding and took the seat in front of her desk. "I dropped by your apartment, but you weren't there, so, um…" he trailed off, biting his lip, trying to find the right words. Finally, he settled on, "Are you alright?"
Snow glanced up at him, her frosty blue eyes meeting his gleaming amber. "I'm fine," she said softly.
"Really?"
Again, she sighed. "Swineheart said I was lucky that the axe didn't chop through my spinal cord," she elaborated. "It cut just across my shoulder blade, severing a few nerves. So, um, paralyzed arm," she finished, gesturing to the sling. "For now, at least."
Bigby gave her a half smile. "Perks of being a popular Fable, I guess," he said.
The mayor made a sound halfway between a scoff and a chuckle. "Yeah. I guess." Her eyes traveled to his injured leg, taking note on how it trembled slightly. "You shouldn't be walking around. That leg's going to take a while to heal," she advised, but the werewolf only shrugged.
"I've been through worse. And I'm not going to let anyone put me in a wheelchair," he said with a smirk. This at least earned him a smile.
Another agonizing minute of silence. "So what were you talking about with Woody?" Bigby asked in a conversational tone. Snow threw him a suspicious look, but he just held up his arms in a helpless gesture. "I'm just curious."
Snow blinked at him. "If you must know," she said, "I was relieving him of his duties as sheriff."
The werewolf looked shocked. "Why would you do that? I thought he was doing pretty well with the job. You know, considering," he said.
The mayor ran a hand through her hair, looking slightly embarrassed. "He was. Given the circumstances, Woody was a great sheriff, but…" She took a deep breath, and Bigby raised an eyebrow. "It was a mistake, firing you," she said finally. "I don't think anyone could be a better sheriff than you, and I was wondering… Well, I was wondering if you'd be interested in returning to the offices." Once she was done speaking, Snow cleared her throat awkwardly and glanced down at her desk.
Bigby was silent. He rubbed his chin thoughtfully. "So is this an apology?" he asked. Snow was about to get angry before she saw a grin creep onto his features. Then, she smiled back. "I guess…Fabletown needs the both of us," the sheriff said.
Snow beamed. She grabbed something off of her desk and held it out to him. Bigby hadn't noticed the badge sitting there. It was old – a tarnished brass pin in the shape of a 12-pointed star, about 2 inches in diameter. He had never actually worn it, just carried it around in his pocket. The werewolf made a move to get up, but winced sharply and settled back down in the chair. "Um, could you…"
A look of understanding passed over the mayor's face. "Right, sorry," she said as she took a few steps forward to place the badge gently in his hand. Bigby nodded his thanks and rubbed the engraving softly with his thumb. It was so worn down that he couldn't read the letters anymore, but he knew what they said. Fabletown Sheriff.
"Thank you, Snow," he murmured, sticking the badge in his pocket.
She glanced down at her shoes. "I guess I should the one thanking you," she said, "for what you did at the factory."
The werewolf looked at her incredulously. "You took an axe to the back," he pointed out.
"I know, but –"
"You shot Mary when I was lying on the floor, helpless. You killed her," Bigby said. "You're the hero here, Snow. You saved my life."
"Can you please just shut up for a second?" she snapped, frustrated. Her eyes were screwed shut and her hand was clenched at her side, either from irritation or discomfort. When the werewolf stopped talking, she spoke. "I know why you went to the factory that night. I know you heard Bufkin and I talking." Bigby tensed in his chair as Snow continued. "You went there to die, to sacrifice yourself for Fabletown. That was the bravest thing I have ever seen in my life." She opened her eyes and met Bigby's. "So thank you," she finished in a quiet voice. "I don't know what Fabletown would be without you."
The sheriff stared at her, a million thoughts whirling though his head. "I don't know what I'd be without you," he blurted. He realized what he had said a split second later. He felt heat rising up his neck a second after that.
Snow was equally shocked with the statement. She stood by her desk, blushing deeply. "Um, likewise," she returned.
They both mentally kicked themselves.
Bigby coughed uncomfortably to fill the gap of awkwardness. It didn't really help much. Finally, he said, "Snow, can I ask you a question?"
"Sure, Bigby," she said, jumping on the opportunity to change the subject.
"How did you know the silver bullet would work?" he asked.
"Ah." Snow seemed to deflate a little. "The thing is, I didn't. I mean, I wasn't sure. It was kind of a shot in the dark, to be honest." Bigby's expression was unreadable. Troubled? Angry? Impressed? It could have been any one of them. The mayor looked away and continued. "I just remembered Bufkin talking about how a piece of you lived inside of Mary, and that she couldn't die unless that piece was killed. So I just tried it."
Bigby thought back to that moment when Mary was shot. As the bullet hit her heart, he remembered feeling something strange. A dull ache in his chest. But the pain in his leg had been so intense, he hadn't even thought about it. "Well, it was good thinking," he said. Snow gave a small smile.
The werewolf raised himself to his feet, successfully hiding his grimace when his leg throbbed painfully. "I guess I should get to my office, then. Like you said, the world doesn't stand still every time there's a crisis. There's probably a boatload of Fables waiting to bother me," he said with halfhearted humor.
Snow said nothing as he turned around to face the door. Then, she took a deep breath. "I couldn't shoot you," she admitted.
Bigby froze. "What?" he asked.
"I couldn't shoot you. I…I saw what Mary was about to do, and I knew that I could kill her right then if I just –" The mayor broke off and swallowed audibly. "But I couldn't," she finished. "So I shot her, and it worked. That's what happened."
The sheriff didn't know what to say to that, so he just nodded slowly.
"You should probably go now," Snow said. She sat against the edge of her desk, looking away from him. "There's, um, stuff I have to do."
"Yeah," Bigby agreed. "Me too." The werewolf turned back around and limped to the door, frowning. A lot had happened in the past week. Fourteen Fables were dead, but the rest were safe. For now, at least.
He'd fallen into a four-day coma. Bloody Mary had been killed, Woody had been sheriff, and Snow had saved his life. He couldn't imagine what the next few weeks held in store for him. Probably a whole lot of pain and anxiety, he thought glumly.
He was at the door then, and he grasped the handle, turning it slowly. Bigby gave one final glance at the mayor before opening it. The old wood creaked. The Fable's leg quivered under his weight.
Snow had saved his life.
"I couldn't shoot you."
"Fuck it," Bigby muttered. He closed the door.
Snow looked up at him as he strode up to her. "Is something wrong?" she asked. The werewolf didn't speak. He closed the distance between them quickly, ignoring the screaming in his leg. Snow's eyes widened. "Bigby?" she managed to say before the other Fable wrapped one arm around her waist and pulled her close. He closed his eyes as their lips met.
At first, Snow tensed in reaction to the kiss. Her lips were hard, her body rigid. But then she too closed her eyes, and she leaned into Bigby's body. Her free hand circled around his neck, and her lips moved against his.
They pulled their heads back, both of them breathless. Bigby bent down and touched his forehead against Snow's. He inhaled deeply, soaking in her scent. He opened his eyes to see Snow staring into his. Her expression was strange. "Bigby…your eyes," she said, her tone slightly confused.
"What is it?" he asked. The werewolf didn't wait for an answer, but instead looked over her shoulder, at the magic mirror that stood behind her desk. He opened his mouth as if wanting to say something, but not quite knowing what it was.
His eyes were dark and brown.
And last but not least, to FineChyna:
It was unusually muggy for a night in New York. The street was empty, illuminated by the occasional streetlight. A young girl walked along the sidewalk, her large backpack slung over her shoulder. She didn't normally cut through this neighborhood on her way back from work, but Bullfinch Street had peeked her interest for quite some time. She brushed a few strands of her pale hair behind an ear, and her braid swung against her back with every step.
It looked like coming there had been a huge waste of time. Nothing was on the street. No people, no open stores, nothing. The girl sighed. Figures. Nothing exciting ever happened to her.
Just then, a small clatter sounded from a nearby alley. The girl stopped dead in her tracks. "Hello?" she called, peering into the alley curiously. Nobody answered.
She hesitated only a second before unzipping her backpack and wandering into the alley. "Somebody there?" she asked cautiously.
For a moment, there was nothing. Then, someone chuckled darkly. "You shouldn't be out here by yourself, little girl," the person said. "You could get hurt."
A woman appeared out of the shadows, dressed in jeans and combat boots, complete with a white tee and a black button up thrown over top, with the sleeves rolled up. The woman had bloodred eyes and dark hair, except for a single streak of crimson along her bangs. "We wouldn't want that, now would we?" she said with a smile.
The girl didn't need anyone to tell her that this lady was dangerous. She reached into her backpack and pulled her katana out of its sheath. The blade gleamed like polished silver, and a dark blue ribbon was tied around the hilt. The girl's eyes flashed, one red, one blue.
The woman took an involuntary step back. "A katana? Really?" she said in disbelief.
"Really," the girl confirmed before slicing the sword in an upwards motion. The metal sang as it split the air. The woman jerked backwards in time to avoid being cut in half, but not fast enough to stop the tip of the blade from nicking her chin. She stumbled and cursed, holding the long gash that had appeared along her jawline.
"How –?" she stammered. "But you're only a mundy! You can't hurt me!"
The girl curled her lip, her katana raised above her head, poised to strike. "My name is Chyna," she said, "and you're gonna find out just how 'harmless' I can be." She lunged.