A/N

I'm so terribly sorry for the long wait. An excrutiating mix of irl work and meticulous house moving problems kept me waving a white flag. No matter, onwards and upwards asthey say!

Chapter 0: Howling Point, Part II

Days like these actually make him wish that he was back at the Homelands, and those days were a mixture of eternal torment and endless hunger.

Every week, Snow throws a huge list of administrative duties he has to fulfil, ranging from filing reports and making sure everyone who should be sent to the Farm, is. Despite being the so-called Sheriff, she treats him like a glorified secretary at times, and he thought that was Beauty's job.

Standing outside of his homely, yet absolutely tiny apartment, he unlocks and opens the door to find a golden-haired woman lying down on his favourite chair, clearly asleep.

"Get the fuck out of my apartment, Goldilocks!" he yells at the top of his lungs, so loud that he's sure the entire Woodlands can hear him.

Both shocked and distraught from the sudden arousal, Goldilocks scrambles out of his apartment, a trail of tears flooding out of her eyes as she escapes. Unfortunately, he highly doubts anyone will forget this, since the residents of the Woodlands tend to nail his backside to the wall at every available opportunity.

They can have a victim of a murder screaming next door, and they wouldn't even register a complaint. The Sheriff yells once during a football game, and they gather their pitchforks and attempt to burn his evil life down. Everyone and everything has it out for the Sheriff these days, and it's a calming sensation. When all people feel towards him is hatred and fear, it gives him the opportunity to intimidate them to leave him alone, for a short while, before the newest endeavour to crucify him occurs.

Being formerly known as the Big Bad Wolf has a few distinct consequences; Fables retreating into timidness at his mere presence is one of them. Trolls go from loud and warmongering to shy and quiet, glamoured Fables avert their gaze and hide away their faces, and even people the Sheriff considers relative acquaintances do their best to evade his attention.

"Really, Bigby?" the dreaded voice of Colin the pig calls out from his kitchen, followed by the recognisable sound of the fridge door closing.

Coming out of the kitchen with a beer bottle dangling from his mouth, he shimmies over to his usual place of residence by the TV and makes himself comfortable, dropping the bottle.

Realising he shouldn't really be surprised that Colin has once again escaped the confides of the Farm, he shakes his head begrudgingly and likewise makes himself comfy by plopping down on his chair.

"You could have just nudged the poor girl," Colin finishes off what he was undoubtedly going to say a few moments earlier. "Then again, I guess it's her fault for choosing to stay in your apartment- of all the Fables. Me, I'd relax inside of Beauty and the Beast's room, now that's a nice place... no offence."

"Whatever," the Sheriff groans, fixing his attention on the filthy TV, despite it being turned off as per usual.

"What? No snippy remarks or threats? Come on, Bigby, what's on that mind of yours?" Colin asks, popping off the beer cap with his teeth, and taking an awkwardly inconvenient swig by biting down on the neck and angling his head back.

"Am I an idiot?" Bigby responds, examine the confusion and awkwardness on the pig's face.

"To be honest with you, if you have to ask that, I'd say you were," he answers, shaking his head disbelievingly, "listen pal, you are the Sheriff for a reason: you are both smart and willing to do what it takes to complete the job. If anything, I'd wager you were a lot smarter than the do-gooding halfwits at the top ranks. But, you do have one legendary short temper though."

Taking a moment to ponder and reflect, the pig's face slowly but surely turns into a mosaic of excited twitches and wry smiles. It's enough to bring Bigby's ego crashing to the ground.

This can't be good, he thinks to himself.

"You know what you need pal?" the pig smiles.

"To take you back to the farm?" the Sheriff responds icily, at least attempting to shut down whatever the pig is contemplating before it exits his mouth.

"Threats was never your strong suit Bigby, but action is. So... how about we have a little action to ourselves, huh?"

Before Bigby could answer, the pig quickly interrupts.

"Sorry, that came out wrong," he winces at the implication. "What I'm trying to say is: me and you, we're going on vacation."

Silence envelops the room.

Bigby bursts out laughing with what's probably the first time he has genuinely done so in a few hundred years at the mere suggestion of the two travelling around and 'seeing the world'."

It takes the wolf more than a few minutes to recompose himself, his full-bodied laugh reducing itself to a few painful chuckles, before completely dying out with an amused shake of his head.

"I'm being serious," Colin mutters.

"I know," the Sheriff replies, calming his chest and taking a few sharp breaths, "that's why it was so funny."

"Think about it Bigby, me and you, drinking all the alcohol in the world and getting something you need... time off."

Thinking about the sheer incredulous ignorance being displayed by Colin, the Sheriff decides to politely correct the pig about how Fabletown actually works.

"Colin, what do you think happens if I take a day off? I'll give you a hint: it begins with c and ends with s?" the Sheriff resists the chuckle sliding up from his throat. "I'm the only thing standing between us and the mundies- do you think Grendel could convince an entire gathering of mundies that they didn't just witness a man get stabbed through the head and survive?"

"To be honest, Bigby, I'm very surprised that you can," the pig answers honestly, though with a barely concealed tint of mockery.

The Sheriff's brow furrows, somewhat in offence and somewhat in irritation.

Calming himself by gently taking out a packet of the horrifically smelly cigarettes he adores, he flicks open the lid, and with a quick but hard tap on the bottom of the box, he bites down on the raised cigarette like a mother wolf would to a wayward cub.

Halting the pig before it incessantly demands one himself, the Sheriff appeases him and hands the Fable one of them, making sure to make a spectacle of it. After all, it's not often he abides Colin's requests without so much as a quip; he's simply far too exhausted and worn out to make an effort this time.

"Thanks, Bigby," the pig nods- a little more than an acknowledge, but less than gratitude.

Once, he would've salivated at the mere thought of having Colin this close and ripe for the taking. Then, he came to the forlorn conclusion Colin might be the only one this side of the law- barely- who is actually understanding, and similar to the Sheriff.

Both are teetering on the edge of being outcasts, not belong necessarily to Fabletown or the Farm. Instead, they fill a very particular social group.

The Fables no-one likes.

Even Ichabod Crane had his particular friends, and he was a cowardly creep with a penchant for rampant corruption and disturbing obsessions with women he clearly has no chance with.

Not like Bigby has much of a chance with any woman either.

After a few minutes of quiet reflection, his resistance caves in. Perhaps taking some time off would bring his life back into perspective at best, and keep him from throttling every single Fable in this damn town at worse.

"Let's do it."

"Bigby... this is the start of something special."