AN: In case you hadn't noticed, this fic will be going into Deep Dark Shit. As much as I can be arsed to anyways. If you're triggered by said shit now's the time to click away (though it isn't that bad imo).

Bigby took the phone, held it to his ear and immediately regretted it.

Screaming came through and he pulled the receiver away, wincing. A woman's voice, raised high and distraught accompanied by thudding, crashing. Roars and the ding of metal on metal.

'What's wrong?' Bigby asked, eyes narrowed as he tried to parse what was happening on the other end of the line, 'Are you hurt?'

Snow was staring at him, arms crossed tightly in a self-hug.

Yelling, but no more of that piercing screeching, thankfully. Bigby pressed the receiver closer to his mouth, 'Are you hurt?!' He asked, voice raised, 'Where are you?!'

Finally, a sniffling voice answered; 'Fuck, is this still on?'

Bigby sighed, shoulders slumping. At least she wasn't dead.

'Yeah. You wanna explain what happened?'

Snow glared at him, 'Is she safe?'

The woman was about to respond and Bigby cut her off, 'Are you safe?'

'I think so,' Her voice wasn't trembling nearly as much anymore and the thuds in the background had quieted. Her shaky breaths were loud as she let out a juddering sigh, 'He left.'

'Good,' Bigby said, nodding at Snow and she relaxed, pinching the bridge of her nose, 'Where are you?'

'My shop,' She paused, silence crackling over the line interspersed by rattling breaths, 'You don't know what that is, do you? Rapunzel's Hair. Down the road from Cindy's place.'

Bigby nodded, then grunted an affirmative, handing the phone back to Snow, 'It's Rapunzel, I'm gonna go check it out.'

'Are you sober enough?'

He snorted, that vague, alcoholic haziness was still floating around but definitely better than before, 'I'll be fine, Snow.'

She eyed him, 'Just… Be careful.'

'You too,' Bigby said, dipping his head and making for the door, only a little unsteady on his feet.

With a quiet thump, the door closed behind him. The corridor was blessedly empty and the only light was filtering through from the Business Office, casting a shadow onto the far wall. Trailing his hand along the peeling wallpaper, Bigby made his way to the lift. Its familiar ding sounded as he pressed the button.

Was it the robber again? But why be violent this time? From what he could gather, the previous incident had been threatening at worst. How did waving a knife around and stealing a few dollars escalate to making Rapunzel scream and, from what he could hear, smashing up her shop?

Perhaps it was someone else. Someone else trying to get away with something, thinking Bigby would pin the blame for both incidents on the first culprit? And since Rapunzel was human, there was no way of knowing if this was a newcomer or not.

Grumbling in protest, the lift opened and Bigby stepped inside. Leaning against the wall, he jabbed at the buttons but paused before he hit one. A flash of rust red on his sleeve and he glanced down at himself, sighing at the sight of torn shirt and dried blood.

Instead of heading straight down to the lobby, Bigby was carried to the floor of his apartment.

Tiny and stinking of pig as always, he quickly rifled through the drawers, digging under his other pair of shoes (identical, except even more worn) and grabbed a shirt. Crinkled and dusty; not exactly smart but Bigby had never pretended to be. Swiftly shrugged the current one off and began buttoning up, frowning at the restrictive feeling. No matter how long he'd been living as a two-legger, he'd never understood clothes, much less liked them.

From behind him, the familiar tapping of hooves, followed by Collin's grating voice, 'Someone got beat up.'

Bigby endeavoured to ignore him, finished with his buttons and grabbed his tie from where he'd draped it over the open drawer. Fumbling as he put it on. A 'present' from Snow that he wouldn't have worn except that it was from her. It had felt too much like a collar. Now able to compare it to the real thing, Bigby still wanted to claw the scrunched piece of cloth from his throat.

'Nothing gonna stop you from beatin' on Fables, huh?' Collin said, glaring up at him, 'Doing this,' He jerked with his chin at Bigby, 'Isn't gonna mean shit if you keep on hurting people.'

Bigby sighed, rubbing at his face, 'Collin, I'm busy.'

'I don't want you to be collared for no fuckin' reason!'

'And why the fuck do you care?!' He suddenly yelled, fingers automatically hooking round the strap of leather and silver, 'I destroyed your house, nearly ate you and your kid brothers! Why aren't you happy about this?'

Collin froze, staring at him, 'You're my friend, Bigby. All that shit can't be water under the bridge, but you've changed.'

He laughed, a huff off sardonic air and a raised brow, 'I'm still the Big Bad Wolf, Collin. No amount of clothes or collars will change that.'

'You're also Sheriff of Fabletown,' The pig pointed out, 'You've helped people, Bigby.'

'Like I've got much of a choice,' He grumbled, tugging at the tie, straightening it somewhat. Turned to the door but found Collin blocking the way.

'Just get through this without murdering someone, yeah?'

Bigby sighed, running a hand over his face, 'Collin, I've got somewhere to be.'

A stare. Piggy eyes bored into him, accompanied by a craggy frown.

'Fine,' Collin eventually said, moving aside before Bigby could try shoving him out of the way, 'Don't fuck up.'

Not deigning to respond, Bigby left, trenchcoat swung on and lapels popped, headed to the lift.

Moving on autopilot, he headed to Rapunzel's place. Of course she ran a hairdresser's.

Not far from the Woodlands and down the road from Cindy's shoe shop, it was in a relatively nice part of town. Litter still crunched underfoot and the occasional cracked window peered down at the street. But overall the buildings weren't abandoned, eaves weren't crammed with the homeless and there weren't needles glinting in the nook between the road and the curb.

Rapunzel's Hair had a sign reading just that hanging above the door, unlit fairy lights wrapped round the edge. Little painted towers and trees and, of course, long flowing locks of hair decorated the windows and bare brickwork.

Contrasting with the charming, almost cutesy decoration, the door had been kicked clean off its hinges.

Bigby slowly approached, squinting into the darkness. From within, a faint whiff of hairspray and someone's shaky breathing.

Up the singular step then through the doorway.

It took a moment for his eyes to adjust, the only light filtering in from the streetlights. Slowly, forms gained shape in the darkness, the room coming together in shades of monochrome and orange, strips of colour shining in through the windows.

Along the far wall, every single mirror had been smashed. Chairs were torn to pieces, foam spilling from them and spread over the floorboards. Long gashes peeled back the wallpaper, slashed over posters and blu-tacked papers.

In the centre of the destruction, Rapunzel sat on what had to be the last intact chair. Leant back and a cig dangling from her fingers, she fixed Bigby with a look.

She looked familiar, but most Fables did.

'Sheriff,' Rapunzel greeted as he stepped further into the room, 'Lot of good you do.'

Bigby sighed, crossing his arms, 'You're unhurt, then?'

'My shop's pretty hurt.'

It was an effort not to roll his eyes, 'Okay,' Bigby finally said, 'Did you see who it was?'

Rapunzel snorted, glaring at him, 'Like you don't know.'

He stared back, raising a brow, 'What d'you mean?'

'It's your fault he came here.'

Bigby stared, arms going from crossed to hands planted on his hips, 'Bullshit! Who was he?'

Rapunzel shrank back a bit, the fire leaving her. Took a long drag on her cig and smoke curled from her mouth as she spoke, 'I don't know. Didn't recognise him.'

'Fuck,' Bigby turned away, examining the scene, 'He spoke to you?'

Hesitation, but that was alright. Gave him time to look things over. To think.

Why would Rapunzel say that - blame the mystery robber's appearance on Bigby? Either she knew something or he told her, and Bigby was leaning towards the latter. But then why would the bastard say that? Obviously, the motive wasn't money. Just one look at this place showed that. He could see notes left on the counter.

No, this was to cause fear.

Fear to what end?

Behind him, Rapunzel shifted. Clothing rasping as she sat up straight and Bigby felt her gaze boring into his back. Let her wait a few seconds more before he turned to face her.

'He said all this was only happening 'cus of you,' Rapunzel said, head lowered and voice quiet, 'Then he tore up my place with a sword. A fucking sword.'

'Was he wearing-'

'A wide-brimmed hat, baggy clothing and mask? Yeah,' Rapunzel glanced up at him, took in his confused expression then went back to studying the floor, 'I was at the gathering when you barged in.'

A moment longer, then it clicked; 'Under the bridge?'

She nodded, 'We don't do anything illegal there, Sheriff, I promise.'

'I don't give a flying fuck that you and your friends smoke weed, Rapunzel,' Bigby said with a sigh, 'I have bigger fish to fry.'

An assessing look which lasted uncomfortably long, then she dipped her head and finally glanced away, dragging on her cig.

'A sword?' Bigby asked, eying the long gashes in the wallpaper, 'Old?'

'Homelands old,' She confirmed.

There were two places Homelands artefacts were kept; the Lucky Pawn and the Business Office. Unless Snow's wits had left her, it wasn't the Business Office.

Bigby nodded, turned to go.

Rapunzel stood, fast enough her chair scraped against the floorboards, 'What about my shop? I can't open up like this!'

'Not my problem,' He wanted to snarl, but all that came out was oh so very fucking human, 'Call Snow in the morning.'

Exited into the early morning air and took a deep breath.

To the Lucky Pawn, then. Fucking great. Tangling with Jersey again wasn't something Bigby was looking forward to.

At least if he didn't survive, Fabletown would be free of him. Maybe even the mystery robber, too.

Bigby set off, digging around in his pockets for a smoke.

Without a cab, it took far too long to trudge his way to the dilapidated little shop that had caused so much trouble. Unlike nearly every other building on the street, the Lucky Pawn's lights were still on, despite being closed. Roll-down gate firmly locked in place, but that hadn't stopped Bigby last time.

He stood there, took one last puff on his cig then dropped it, tamping it out beneath the sole of his impractical fucking loafers. Even barefoot would be better but no.

A few more moments of calm and Bigby set to work. Glanced in through the window, didn't see anything. Gripped the gate and got ready to yank.

Paused.

The last time he'd come up against Jersey, he'd been beaten. Pretty fucking badly. Might've even died, if Woody hadn't come along and Bigby knew the Woodsman wouldn't be anywhere near this time.

Bigby shook his head, flexed his fingers against the metal and began to strain against the lock and-

He might die.

If he did this, he might actually fucking die.

Jersey would kill him for shits and giggles, of that he had no doubt.

Yanked some more against the lock, felt it begin to give. Who cared if the Big Bad Wolf bit it? Who cared?! Collin'd be annoyed he didn't get a shithole to live in rent free. Bluebeard would pop open a bottle of champagne. Woody'd drink himself into a stupor in celebration. And Snow'd-

Snow would care. Wouldn't she?

Maybe.

Bigby let go of the gate and stepped back, staring at the pavement sightlessly.

Would Snow care if he died?

She'd be inconvenienced, sure. But that was different.

She'd avoided him like the fucking plague the moment he was anything but a tame fucking two-legger in front of her. She'd collared him to prove he could be trusted. She'd threatened to send him to the Farm.

Bigby shook his head again, vigorously enough that his hair whipped his face. Backed away from the gate and scrabbled in his pockets for a fag. Fumbled with his lighter, clicking fruitlessly until it finally lit up, heat blasting against his face. Sucked in the smoke and straightened.

Of course Snow would care, what sort of dumb fucking question was that?

Facing Jersey like this was suicide, why had he even thought about it?!

Bigby walked away from the Lucky Pawn, smoking like a chimney.

A much smarter idea would be to try Jack Horner. Lot less trouble for the same information.

Bigby started towards the Trip Trap.

AN: sorry it's so short . I've had a busy week. Again, completely un-edited and most of it's written at ungodly times in the morning :3