Chapter 38

Gone.

The word ripped into Emma like a searing blade. The world lost all focus, purpose, color, meaning, as it sawed through her to the spine, through flesh and blood and sinew. No. No, it couldn't be. David could not be gone. Not her kid. She had been convinced, through this progressively more demented adventure, that failure was simply not an option. It might be rough, it might be hairy, but she'd find him again. He was the one thing that made her messy, screwed-up, stupid life worth living. Without him, there was nothing. Without him, this had all been in vain. The flight to Neverland, her very existence, anything. She couldn't reunite her family after all. Storybrooke was probably gone by now as well, blown to pieces. Nothing. Nothing. Nothing.

Emma barely realized that she had gone to her knees until she felt someone's arms around her waist, trying desperately to hold her up as she collapsed. Or was that too dramatic to say? She hadn't said a word, hadn't uttered a sound, her face a mask, blasted, snow white, tearless. Something was happening to her. Something strange. Her blood had been turned to flame in her veins, running and coruscating and sparkling through her, her hair blowing back, inhaling a scent like silver and sugar and smoking earth, fists clenching and snarling with a power she had never known, had never imagined, could never describe. Something like magic.

Emma threw back her head as if to scream in pain, but the sound that emerged wasn't human. It was high, shrieking, feral, more than halfway to madness, as she tore herself free of Killian's embrace and spun around. She saw everything a hundred times more clearly, a glowing miasma ringing her eyes as they burned, her voice impossibly calm. "I'm going to kill them."

"Are you out of your mind?" Neal stared at her. "Go against mermaids, Emma? They're not some cute little things that brush their hair and sing – they're cold-blooded murderers! For this – who even is this – "

With that, he trailed off. With her strange heightened perception, she could see the connections whirring in his brain. Killian had said that David and Neal fell down the portal together – how much had he known then? Not the entire story, but it was swiftly filling itself in. "David," Neal said, his voice almost a croak. "He's your son? With – with that guy? With him?"

"Yes," said Emma. "Get out of the way."

"No, seriously. Emma, you can't. It's suicide. Come on. Come on, please." Neal's voice took on its old wheedling tone. "We can still get out of here. You know. Find somewhere. Like the old days. You don't need this life, this crap. We can escape. Can – "

"I said, GET OUT OF THE WAY!" This time her voice really did rise to a scream, and she flung out both hands, feeling the roar as some kind of scalding energy exploded off them, catching Neal square in the chest and bodily catapulting him backwards. Killian was shouting at her, but she didn't care. She was drunk, demented on the poisonous taste of the apple, the power burning through her like a drug. She didn't know where the mermaids' cove was, but she'd find it. She could sense it. Murder them all with her bare hands. Drown as well. She didn't even care.

Emma started to run. Her boots kicked up the sand, hair streaming, lips peeling back in a mad smile, arms pumping. She was vaguely aware of a ball of light zooming along behind her, circling her head like a vexing horsefly, but she raised her hand and aimed a pulse of magic that sent Tinkerbell crashing to the ground. Each stride ate up more distance, sleek and lethal and strong, over and over, over and over, barely needing to breathe, fleeing down a beach in the Neverland night, fleeing to nowhere, as she had so often in her life, one more empty hope, one more shattered dream –

"Going somewhere, dearie?"

Emma's brain dimly recognized the voice while her feet were still running, and she lurched forward a few ungraceful steps before skidding to a sudden halt. She whirled around, gaping at the odd little gremlin who had materialized from the shadows, skin glistening, clad in some kind of couture crocodile-skin suit, teeth black and pointed and wide eyes gleaming. All in all, he bore only the most superficial resemblance to the poised, urbane pawnbroker she had met back in the real world, but it was him beyond a doubt. "Gold."

He dipped his head, then giggled, a high, eerie sound. "Look a bit different, don't I?"

"I could care less what you look like. Get out of the way."

Emma moved to lash out at him as she had at Tink, but he countered so fast that his hand was a blur, turning her clumsy, unformed attack and deflecting it back on her hard enough to knock her wind out. "Still quite an amateur, aren't we, dearie? There is so much I could teach you. And you do know that all magic comes with a price? If you carry on like this, you could rescue your lad, or you could kill everyone and destroy Neverland for good. Your choice, really."

Emma hesitated, on the brink of trying to go after him again, but something about his words uncomfortably jarred her. "I – could rescue him? David?"

"There's always a choice." Gold – or whatever this creature was that was not quite Gold – tittered again. "If you let me show you how."

Still she hesitated. "You betrayed us. You stole that – whatever was in that bottle that you had us fight the dragon for, and left us behind while you – "

"And yet, you seem to have found your way here, dearie." The imp raised an eyebrow. "So let us assume it was not a fatal betrayal. Unlike, say – "

"Crocodile!"

Both of them spun around just in time to see Killian Jones tearing hell-for-leather down the beach, face more set and desperate than Emma had ever seen it. Without hesitating, he flung himself between her and Gold, arms outstretched, shielding her. "No," he gasped. "Do whatever you want to me, Rumplestiltskin, but if you're laying a hand on her, you're killing me first."

"Once again, Captain, your knack for overdramatically misinterpreting a situation that would be far improved by your prompt removal knows no limits." Gold – no, most certainly Rumplestiltskin – cackled. "And I must say your offer is. . . hmm. . . tempting? Very tempting. There would be a symmetry to it, wouldn't there? To have her stand there and watch as I crush your heart in my fist? Just willing to die so swiftly after all?"

"Of course I don't want to bloody die, demon," Killian growled. He kept his hook up and his hand on his sword as Emma tried to move him out of the way. "Now, if you'll kindly bugger off to the permanent oblivion you so richly deserve, we can see if the mermaids have left us a scrap of David to – "

"Oh." Rumplestiltskin glanced back and forth between them, plainly delighted. "Well, well. You haven't told her, have you?"

Killian went stiff. Emma could feel it, as close together as they were still standing, his body shielding hers, and she didn't understand. A sharp blade of disquiet sliced through her magic high, leaving her feeling cold and confused, a sensation as if the world was falling away. She clutched at him, not sure she wanted to hear the answer. "What. . . what is he talking about?"

Killian remained silent.

"Is that trouble in paradise I spot?" Rumplestiltskin's manic grin widened. "I do have connections here, you know. The Dark One always does. Dear, dear, Captain. I thought you'd do better with your second chance, but you're still as much a lying lowlife as ever."

"What. Is. He. Talking. About?" Emma's fingers were crackling again, sparks spitting between them. Her lie detector was uncomfortably concurring with the fact that, horribly, Rumplestiltskin had a legit point. "Killian Jones, if you don't tell me right now, I'm going to kill you myself."

Her voice was low, hard and cold as stone, and she could feel his flinch, his understanding that she meant every word of it. He ran his hand through his hair and spun to face her. "Lass, I. . . I should have told you. It's my fault. After the mermaids helped me salvage the Roger, and asked something in return. I broke it. Broke the bargain and left Neverland and gave them nothing, so they cursed me and all my descendants. I. . . I didn't know about David, then. It's. . . it's not an excuse."

Emma's heart seized up. So did her fist. She felt as if a bomb had gone off in her chest, leaving only rubble, sending her spinning out into the abyss. Her voice was a croak. "You what?"

"I'm sorry. I'm so sorry." His blue eyes searched hers, panicked and imploring. "I was Hook, I was desperate to get back to you any way I could, I was an arrogant bloody bastard and I paid the price. And after I found that I – that we had a son. . . gods, Emma, I've wanted that for so long, a child, a woman, a family, a place to belong. . . I didn't think we'd ever go back to Neverland, after I left. I've been fighting so damned long to leave this hellhole forever, and I thought. . ." His voice cracked. "That if you knew. . . you'd not want a bloody thing to do with me."

"You should." Emma's throat hurt. She could feel the pulse pounding behind her eyes, her head too light, every breath a struggle. "You should have told me."

"I. . . know." He sank to his knees in front of her, the devastation written stark and bleak across his face. Tears were streaming openly down his cheeks. "But you barely believed me when I said I'd been in Neverland, you were still keeping me so far away. . . if I'd said that, you'd have sent me to the asylum, and I couldn't, Emma! I couldn't! Not with you, lass! Not again! I couldn't lose you, and I was a bloody coward!"

Emma sucked a ragged breath. Half of her wanted nothing so much as to rip his ring off her left hand and throw it into his face, tell him that she'd marry him only when it was a cold day in hell, and the other half of her was excruciatingly aware of Rumplestiltskin watching them in utter glee, glorifying in Killian's agony. And seeing that, feeling that, even the faintest echo of it in her own heart, was terrifying, terrifying in its familiarity. Of how long she had lived behind walls, shutting herself off, unwilling to reveal the faintest glimpse of her true self to anyone for fear they'd run from her, leave her behind again. She could see through his eyes, she could breathe into his lungs, feel the fevered pounding of his heart. The moment balanced on a high wire, far above the ground. She could take a step, walk forward. Or she could fall.

"Killian," she said, barely above a whisper. "Stand up."

He stared at her as if unsure he had heard correctly, not daring to believe it, making her chest ache more. She'd worn that look so often in her life, mistrusting any scrap of kindness or friendliness, wondering what the price was. But she knew now, once and for all, that she couldn't go back to that. He'd changed her, and she had changed him, and something greater had come out of it, for them both. No, she wasn't doing this. She wasn't playing someone's sick game and ending up miserable again. This was her choice. For her.

"Killian," she said again, the faintest breath. "I love you."

The look on his face then almost broke her in half. The utter magnitude of his disbelief and fear and grief and pain and awe, his staggering wonder, as if he'd seen a heavenly vision to strike him blind. He reached for her, hand and hook, the two halves of the man that had done this, who was unlike any man she had ever known, was her heart and mind and soul, her –

She should have known it. Should have guessed that Rumplestiltskin would choose that exact moment, when both of their guards were down, to complete teaching the lesson that he had begun over three hundred years ago, in some time and place far beyond this one, but not so different after all. As Killian pulled her savagely into his arms, as she opened her mouth for his kiss – she sensed something, a fraction of a second too late, and shoved him away. Tried to shove him behind her, lashing out with both hands, a tidal wave of raw, rough, uncoordinated, uncontrolled magic that lit up the Neverland night like fireworks. But it didn't work.

Too late.

"Ah," Rumplestiltskin said cheerily, from where he was somehow standing behind her, without ever seeming to have moved. "I thought we might have to deal with that. No sudden moves, dearie. I wouldn't want to have to do something rash."

All the hot torrent of joy she had felt a moment ago charred to cinders. Emma turned around.

Killian was on his knees again, but not in supplication. His head was thrown back in a silent scream, features contorted in agony, as Rumplestiltskin, hand haloed in an eerie ring of violet-colored light, somehow had reached inside his chest, squeezing. Emma stared, at a complete disconnect from whatever she was supposed to be understanding about this situation. It looked as if Rumple was trying to rip out his heart – but that wasn't even –

"Now," the Dark One said. "Shall we have a chat, Miss Swan, or shall I crush this to dust and rid you of a burden?"

"Get your hands off him." Emma was already reloading for another attack, without the faintest clue how she could overmatch a sorcerer who'd been at his craft for centuries when she'd only discovered she even possessed magic just a few minutes – hours? – ago. Even if so, she couldn't reach him before Rumple squeezed, and that clearly was the worst of all possible things that could happen. Could a man just die like that, drop, if somehow it was possible to remove his heart from his body with magic, and crush it? Could Graham –

That was a horrifying thought, but she couldn't dwell on it. It didn't matter. She and Killian were both about to die. She raised her hands, preparing for a fight, anything, it was futile, fruitless, no way to –

"Papa!"

Emma's head jerked around, Killian's head jerked back, Rumple's head jerked up, and all three of them stared at the man, battered and breathless, just emerging from the trees, carrying the frail, nightgown-clad figure of Wendy Darling on his back. His face was white as chalk, a specter's, accusing. "You haven't changed at all," Neal Cassidy – yet there was no longer doubt, it was not his real name – whispered loathingly. "Still about to kill whoever's in your way. Let him go."

Rumplestiltskin withdrew his hand from Killian's chest so fast it was a blur, and he collapsed. Emma ran to him, lifting him frantically into her arms. "Are you – what the hell did he just – "

"Bae." If it was possible for the dread dark wizard to look vulnerable, terrified, this was it. "Bae, what are you. . . I've been looking, I came here. . . this pirate stole your mother, he tore our family apart, everything I've done has been for you. . ."

Neal barked a scornful laugh. "Yeah? Our friend the captain over there had a different story. Said she ran off with him, and you ripped her heart out and crushed it. Like you were trying to do just now. You always hated loose ends, Papa. Remember the time you killed our maid, the mute, for even hearing about the dagger? Do you? Do you?"

"Bae," Killian rasped, from where he was still lying in Emma's lap. "Bae, lad, I wanted to tell you – please, I always wanted you to – "

"Be quiet," Neal said bitterly. "I'm not doing this for you either. But you – you and her – you have a kid. A son. I didn't want another child to lose their father just because of what mine turned into."

Rumplestiltskin – more Gold now, really – continued to look utterly at a loss. Finally he said entreatingly, "Bae, I know. I know I've done so much wrong, made so many mistakes. But I can fix it. Please, let me. I'll turn back the clock – this is Neverland, it's easy, so easy to make you fourteen again, then we can – "

"Are you crazy?" Neal cried. "What on earth makes you think I want to be fourteen again? You're still addicted to magic, still using it to bully people and ruin their lives – no! No! I don't even want to talk to you! Go. Just. . . just go."

"No. Bae." Gold moved closer. "I'll do better, I won't use it for evil, I'll – look." He made a gesture, scattering bright flecks of light like fairy glow everywhere. "I can do it. Please. I can change."

Neal, far from being impressed, was staring at his father, aghast. "Are you insane?" he roared. "Here, in Neverland, when Pan is going to pick up your traces anyway, and you're throwing up a giant signal to let him know where we – "

He never finished the sentence. Emma heard a strange, insistent thrumming in the dark sky, followed by a sensation that made the hairs stand up on the back of her neck. Something or someone was dive-bombing from above, half a dozen, a dozen, more – shadows gathering form and exploding into existence on every side, things, no, boys, raggedly dressed in hoods and leaves and cloaks, naked steel bared in their hands, as they swooped in with ululating yells and shrieks of glee. "Kill the grownups! Kill them! Kill them!"

Emma remained frozen a moment longer at the sheer absurdity of the situation, then scrambled to her feet and dragged Killian with her. He was trying to shove her away, shouting, as he hauled on his sword. "Go! Go! Go! I'll cover for you, lass. Go!"

Clearly, then, these were the Lost Boys. Emma groped at her own sword, still thinking of David – if there had ever been any chance of saving him, if there was any –

Everything was chaos. She could see Neal fighting off two downright feral teenagers with his bare hands, awkwardly encumbered by the need to protect Wendy. Gold was firing detonations indiscriminately, patches of sand towering with unearthly fire as the Lost Ones skipped and dodged. And then, the seething throng of homicidal children was blown apart as it, as he, came shooting through, sword raised, and it clanged madly against hers.

Emma felt the breath go out of her again. She battled him backwards as inexpertly as only a raw novice could, trying desperately not to hurt him, just to keep his blade away. "Henry?" she shouted. "Henry! Don't you remember me? I'm – I'm Emma! I'm your mother!"

She saw both Killian and Neal's jaws drop, but didn't have time to entertain their questions. "Henry," she panted, staring at the young brown-haired boy, at Pan, the leader of the gang, the master of Neverland. Tink had said that David was with them, that Henry had taken him into the Lost Boys before the mermaids came for him. "Henry, please. Stop. Henry!"

"I don't know who you are!" he shouted back. "You're not my mother. Pan never had one. You're here, in my kingdom, and you're going to die!"

Emma flung a desperate look at Killian. "Go!" she yelled. "You go! David! Now!"

For a horrible instant, she thought he was about to refuse. But then, making her think of that time he'd snatched the poker at the Renaissance Hotel and fought his way free of four federal agents, he turned on some kind of Terminator mode, slashing and hacking with sword and hook through the hungry crowd of Lost Ones. He knew where the mermaid cove was, at least he damn well should – but the mermaids would be waiting for him, take him, take them both, had she just condemned him to death as well – they cursed me and all my descendants –

But as Killian's sprinting shadow vanished down the beach, and she still was locked in the fight of her life with the son she'd always known she had, yet had never been more than a memory or a dream, Emma Swan did not have time for anything but the present. She and Henry dueled back and forth, and she went to one knee, rolling away as his blade whistled down, still trying to reach him somehow, any way she could. She clawed at the belt of leaves he wore, his next backhand nicking her throat so she could feel blood trickling down it, until at last she got hold of his wrist and overpowered him, dragging him down into the sand with her, assaulted with memories of when he'd come to her on that night in Oxford years ago, when he'd wanted her to fly with him to Neverland, to be his mother. She hadn't then. She'd lost him. But now, she couldn't. "Henry," she gasped. "Henry. It's Emma. It's me."

He stared down at her uncomprehendingly, glowing with mad fervor. "I don't know you."

"Yes, you do. David. Your little brother, David." Emma struggled to suck air into her flattened lungs. "You wanted to find us both, but you couldn't, because of the curse. So you tried to reach him through dreams, anything you could. You wanted to bring us to Neverland. We're here."

Henry's gaze flickered with what might have been uncertainty. Hoping to encourage it along, Emma pressed her case. "You're not a bad person, Henry. I'm sorry I couldn't come with you when you asked, but. . . as you said, you don't really exist in my world. Just here, in Neverland. And I had to grow up. I had to – "

It was only as his eyes flared that she realized, too late, that she'd made a fatal mistake. "You had to?" he snarled, and his bony elbow caught her squarely in the throat, making her gag as she went down again. "No! No you didn't! You didn't have to leave me!"

"No!" Emma pleaded. "No, that's not what I meant, I didn't – "

He wasn't listening. He reached for the knife at his side, a strange glamour shimmering around the blade as if it was something more than mere steel, and paralysis had taken hold of her, trapped her in her head, left her numb and slumped and useless, unable to fight, unable to think, move, breathe. As Pan, Pan to the bone, nothing left of Henry at all in his face –

Raised the knife over his head, crowed, and plunged it into her heart.

Killian Jones had never run so hard or so fast in his life, and his life was a very long one. It had taken every ounce of mental wherewithal he had to leave Emma's side in the middle of a battle, especially after what had just happened with the crocodile and the Lost Ones, but she had ordered him to go, had trusted him with their son's life or whatever slender chance remained of saving it, and he could not fail in that. Not after it was his bloody fault that the mermaids had gone for David in the first place, not after he had so very nearly lost everything for the second time, and for good. And it was no thanks to him that he hadn't. It was all thanks to Emma. He couldn't fathom how she had mustered the bravery and strength and spirit to defy the Dark One to his face, to choose life instead of darkness, love instead of fear. Blood and hellfire, what a woman. What a bloody, amazing, brilliant goddess of a woman.

Up ahead, he could see the rocks surrounding the mermaids' lagoon, glittering in the moonlight, a trap set to snare the unwary and pull them down to drown. Everything about this place was twice as lethal as it was beautiful, and it was beautiful. Palm trees swayed in the tropical breeze, stars the size of fists rippling their reflections across the paint-black, glassy water. He staggered up the white crystal sand, starting a horrible stitch in his side, chest still aching from where the crocodile had had his filthy paws inside it, swearing nonstop as he scanned madly for the mermaids. "Where are you?" he growled. "Where are you?"

He thought he saw a glimmering flash of scales further out, and abandoned all thought of propriety or prudence. They had his son. He ripped off his long black leather jacket, took a firmer grip on his sword, and charged into the water.

All at once, the deceptive calmness boiled to life. They exploded at him from every side, bronze teeth gnashing, talons raking through his shirt and breeches and drawing stinging trails of blood, seaweed hair tossing and powerful tails fluming the water white, one catching him full across the face and leaving him stunned and reeling, but it would have taken far more than that to stop him. He slashed back with his hook and blade and everything else he had, teeth bared, snarling. "Who wants it, then?" he bellowed. "Who wants it, aye?"

Dimly, he was aware that he was going to die, as no man could merrily thumb his nose at fate so many times without fate becoming offended and showing him the error of his ways, but he didn't care. Had never cared, had never been afraid of it. Kept on fighting the mermaids as they dragged him out into deeper water, toward the tide race that led to Skull Rock, where he'd had many an infamous encounter with them and the Lost Ones and the Indians. Stake him up and leave him to drown, slowly and with relish, so they could watch every instant of his struggle as the water crept up past his chest and then past his head, drag his skeleton down to the depths to game with his bones. He only hoped that he could –

And then, out of the corner of his eye, Killian caught a flash of light, screaming toward the lagoon as fast as it could go. Tink. The little fairy buzzed ferociously back and forth above the scene of the battle, flinging fistfuls of pixie dust that turned into silver knives, turning the water crimson with blood as the mermaids screamed and flailed, a tangled, seething knot, and he was able to regroup himself for a second attack. The sea out here was fathomlessly deep, he could drift forever on the trackless Neverland waters, but he did not intend to. He turned around, kicked hard, and swam toward a shallow barrier reef that lay just below the surface, where he'd learned not to take the Roger lest he tear her hull out on the coral. He scrambled up, soaking wet, alone in the middle of the rolling waves, braced his feet, and prepared for his last stand.

Mermaids crawled at him from every side, eyes wild and white and furious. He kicked one in the face and slashed at another, unable to keep them off; they would overwhelm him by sheer force of numbers. Then one of them launched out from behind, landing on his back, and he slammed to his knees, ripped off his perch and plunging into the sea again, choking on the salt that burned his lungs. The water closed over his head. Darkness reached for him. He fixed Emma's face in his mind, determined to die only while remembering how much he loved her –

And then, from underneath, something grabbed him, forcing him up and up until he broke the surface again, coughing and spluttering. Salt stung his open wounds as he was shoved up onto the reef, hook striking sparks as he struggled to hang on. The mermaids hanging onto his legs had gone, the ocean empty. Somehow, impossibly, he had been saved. But who –

Then, turning his head, he saw her. The strange mermaid he'd seen at his first meeting with them, where he convinced them to mend the Roger. The one with the blue eyes like his, who didn't speak. She was still holding him up on the rock, shielding him, as he sucked air and stared at her. "Who – " he croaked. "Who are you, lass?"

She shook her head, then reached over and unclicked his hook from its brace. While he was still wondering if she was about to stab him with it, she used it instead to scratch a name in the soft coral. Ariel.

"Ariel?" Killian repeated. He had the odd feeling that it was supposed to mean something to him, but it didn't. "My – my son. David. He. . . where is he?"

Ariel stared back at him for the longest moment. Then with a fluke of her tail, she launched herself off the rock and dove, vanishing beneath the surface without a trace.

Killian stared at the place where she'd been, marked only by a fading trail of bubbles, and cursed himself. He understood bloody nothing of what had just happened, why she had saved him from her vengeful sisters, or if this was only a prelude to a far more spectacular end. He was stranded on the reef several hundred yards out from shore, and if he tried to swim back, he would be set on by the mermaids again. And couldn't leave without David, without knowing, even as his mind reeled frantically through all the things that the crocodile, the Lost Ones, Pan, or anyone else could have done to Emma by now. Or perhaps –

Killian's ruminations, however, were shattered at that moment as Ariel resurfaced, with his son in her arms. David's eyes were closed, skin ghostly pale, almost translucent, face serene, dark hair dripping crystalline in the moonlight. His chest did not rise or fall, and no pulse beat in his neck. He was motionless, lifeless, as if carved from ivory.

"Oh gods." Killian could hear himself utter it, but barely knew if it was him, if it was his voice, if it was anything. It sounded as if it was coming from something else, beside his ear. He reached out with fumbling hands as Ariel gave David to him, cradled the limp little body against his chest, rocking back and forth in agony, trying to weep, but he couldn't even breathe. "No. No. No. No. No. No. No."

It burned. It burned. It burned.

Emma tried to scream, but couldn't, as Pan's blade drove into her. She should be dying, but she wasn't, not exactly. It was a magical weapon, it was killing the grownup, and instead she could feel the child screaming –

She was falling, falling, falling. A dark howling nothingness, racing toward a castle on a cliff. A prince with a baby in his arms, fighting to reach a wardrobe, but not getting there. All of them swept through on a torrent of unholy magic, to this new world, this place created from the curse, Storybrooke. Gold was there. Gold had been guarding them. And then –

She remembered.

She remembered everything.

David. Mary Margaret. The Nolans. Their old Victorian mansion on a quiet street. Emma Nolan, raised by her loving parents in the happy ending they were never supposed to have, Regina always held uneasily at bay, Graham – she had known him all her life – Graham, no. Storybrooke High School. Waiting tables at Granny's with Ruby. Applying to Boston College, getting in, so excited. First year like a house afire. And the second. Where she'd met Killian, in his history class. Gone to Storybrooke with him. Eaten Regina's turnover. Poisoned. Nearly died. Into the hospital. And forgotten everything. Become Emma. Emma Swan.

She knew the rest of the story from there.

The blade in her was still burning. Far away, there was someone screaming her name. Then it faded, everything faded, and all she saw was white.