Rose Red's place was surprisingly nice, given that she didn't actually live here. How rich was she, to be able to afford a whole-ass house here and yet another place somewhere else?
Bigby shook the thought away and walked up to the front door, assessing it. Plain, except for the paintwork - a predictable glossy red. There was a wrought iron knocker in the shape of a rose and he couldn't resist the eye roll when he saw it. Fables really were enamoured with having little indications of who they were, weren't they? Though Bigby couldn't judge; his favourite cigs were Huff N' Puffs, after all.
If Jack was in, knocking probably wasn't a good idea. The crafty bastard would just sneak out the back to avoid him and then Bigby would be straight back to square one.
Instead of knocking, Bigby moved away from the door, scanning the rest of the house. Thankfully, there wasn't anyone on the pavement to watch him snooping around, otherwise Snow might've woken up to some concerning voicemails.
His snooping wasn't for nothing - one of the windows on the second floor was cracked open. Bigby cocked his head at it, considering.
Usually, the height wouldn't be an issue. Usually, Snow hadn't slapped a collar on him with a pat on the head and the threat of the Farm hanging over him.
Perhaps there was another way in?
Bigby went back to looking, litter crunching underfoot as it always did. He lit up as he checked the rest of the redbrick building, the familiar taste somewhat calming.
As he puffed out smoke, he returned to staring up at that one window, cracked open invitingly. Unless he jumped the (rather high) wall to the tiny back garden, he wasn't gonna find another way in. Leaving the back door unlocked was a rookie mistake and, whilst Jack certainly wasn't anything more than an amateur, he'd been around long enough to know that locking the damn door was a good idea.
With a put-upon sigh, Bigby began examining the wall. A few cracks in the redbrick could work as finger holds and a conveniently placed drainpipe ran up alongside the cracked-open window.
A quick glance up and down the street to check that no-one had miraculously appeared out of the dark, he strode up to the pipe and grabbed it, yanked a bit and winced at the rattling of rigid plastic against old bricks. Despite the noise and fragility he could feel, the pipe didn't budge.
'Here goes,' Bigby grumbled, looking up towards the window as he began to scramble up.
Weight supported by his arms and feet braced against the wall, he slipped a few times because his fucking shoes didn't have a smidgen of grip - if he died from falling, at least he'd have the last damned laugh about these useless, impractical shoes.
Fortunately (or not), he made it up to the window without much incident, knuckles scraped raw and bleeding from knocking against the rough bricks. A grunt, and the window was shoved open. Bigby fell in, rolling as he hit the floor then up, on his feet. Wary.
The room didn't look lived in at all. Sheets grey with dust covered the furniture. What looked like a couch was pushed against the far wall, a table in front of it. A slight gust was coming in through the window, blowing against Bigby's back and shifting the sheets.
Another moment of waiting and listening, then he closed the window. Silently, Bigby padded towards the door, his shoes leaving prints in the dust that had settled thickly on every available surface.
Again, he paused to listen, head cocked and eyes half-closed.
The creaks and groans of an old house cooling down as night came. The scraping of cockroaches in the walls. The soft grumbling of someone slowly waking up.
Bigby blinked and rested a hand on the doorknob, ready to throw the door open and leap through it if Jack got up. No need - the grumbles faded and he didn't hear footsteps. Relaxing slightly, Bigby slowly twisted the knob and stalked through into the rest of the house.
It looked just as abandoned as the first room, except for footprints roaming the hallway, passing door after door, with clean marks on top of the dresser where Jack had run his fingertips as he walked by. The walls were bare but the dresser held a picture frame, face down. Curious, Bigby padded over and picked it up.
Snow's face stared up at him, smiling happily. There were no bags under her eyes and she wasn't wearing her formal blazer, but a soft-looking handmade jumper. It was black-and-white, but he could still tell she looked better than she had for the past ten years. Crane and the Crooked Man really had taken their toll.
A grunt and the rasping of fabric against fabric had Bigby looking up from the photo, down the hall towards where the footprint trail disappeared beneath a closed door. He was here for a reason. After debating it for a moment, he quickly undid the back of the frame and took the photo, slipping it into his trouser pocket and replaced the now-empty picture frame.
As the shifting quieted back down, Bigby continued making his way to the door, head cocked and ready to barge forwards if he heard running. Jack was a skinny bastard, and fast. He'd get away if he got enough of a head start, especially with Bigby in the state he was.
His care paid off. Nothing but soft snores as he stood before the door Jack was sleeping behind. Grasping the handle, he began to open it.
No beating on Jack. He was here for answers, then he was gone. If he got a lead, this whole thing could be over and done with by morning.
With a nod, Bigby swung open the door and charged in.
This time, there were no sheets on the furniture and the dust was gathered in the corners of the room, away from where Jack slept. He was sprawled over a huge bed, moth bitten sheets twisted around his legs but that didn't stop him from shooting upright as Bigby stormed into the room.
'Oh fuck Bigby,' He gasped out, one hand on his bare chest, 'Nearly gave me a heart attack!'
The sneaking about was worth it just for that shocked expression, and Bigby crossed his arms, firmly planting himself in the doorway. There didn't look to be any other way out, so he wasn't moving from this spot. 'Jack be nimble, Jack be quick' after all.
'I'm looking for a sword,' He said, watching Jack as he yanked his covers over himself, 'Happen to know of any?'
The man paused, watching Bigby, 'A sword? You've not forgotten the century again, right?'
'I'm not in the mood, Jack,' He sighed, exasperated. Running would be preferable to wading through Jack's bullshit. Perhaps he should've made as much noise as possible instead of sneaking around.
'No-one uses swords anymore!' He shot a smirk and Bigby really was regretting trying to do this civilly, 'What? You want a better way to rip peoples' heads off?'
It wouldn't take much to be over there, wrap his hands around this insolent fuck's neck. Throttle him, shake him up, get him to talk. Bigby glared and a growl rattled in his throat, silent from the collar constricting him.
But Snow wouldn't approve, and recently her approval was pretty damn important. So he stood there. Useless.
Jack watched him and his brows slowly raised. Then he shook his head, leaning back against his pillows, languishing in his too-big bed. Thinking. A smirk touched his face along with a mischievous look and he spoke, faux casual; 'I don't know anything about a sword. Go talk to Jersey, he might know.'
He'd heard about that then. About Bigby nearly dying at the claws of that piece of shit.
Coming here expecting the peaceful route to work had been a mistake. Jack didn't give a rat's arse about anyone but himself - helping out Grim and Rapunzel and Johann didn't mean shit to him. Catching a burglar with a fucking Homelands sword didn't mean shit to him. Only thing that did was keeping his head attached to his shoulders and making money on the side.
Stalking forwards, Bigby planted himself at the foot of the bed and glared down, 'Tell me. Last chance.'
He glared back, jaw taught as he straightened his back, 'Tell you what? I don't know anything, you should really talk to Jers-!'
Thwack and Jack thumped back onto his pillows, head cracking against the headboard, 'No more shit!' Bigby snarled, rearing back for another strike. He was practically on top of the slimmer man, balled fist bloody first from climbing the wall and now Jack's broken nose, spurting blood onto the white sheets.
'Fuck!' He yelled, cowering down, hands up to protect his face, 'Fine! Fine.'
Slowly, Bigby backed off and crossed his arms, brow raised, 'Well?'
Jack glowered up at him, knuckles white and face red from smeared blood, 'It's your own fucking fault that he's here. Snow should've collared you-'
'The sword.'
His teeth clicked shut, seemingly considering his words for possibly the first time in his life. Then; 'A man took a sword from the Lucky Pawn,' Jack bit out.
'Old?'
'Homelands old.'
Fuck. That wasn't good. He'd thought so - Rapunzel could've fought off someone with any old sharp stick, but a weapon from the Homelands? Probably enchanted, definitely powerful.
'You just let him take it?!' Bigby snarled, leaning over Jack. Instead of cowering even further into his pillows, he straightened, face twisting.
'I practically begged him to take it,' He spat, knuckles white and shoulders tense, 'So he'd deal with you.'
Bigby blinked.
Something was going on here and he still didn't know what but it had something to do with him and-
'Everyone is sick of you! Beating people up, sending us to the farm, ripping heads off! No-one's doing anything to stop it!' Jack yelled, spit flying, 'You pompous fucks at the Woodlands don't care about us unless it's to send you out for a shakedown!'
'That's not true-'
'The fuck it isn't!' Jack shoved him back, sitting upright, 'You higher-than-thou bastards have been running things far too fuckin' long. I gave that guy the sword. He'll take you corrupt fucks out and I might be able to actually help the people in this town.'
Bigby stared down at Jack. This was bigger than he thought.
'I'm no Princess but at least I won't set my dog on anyone who doesn't bend the fucking knee-'
Time to think later. For now, he needed to know everything.
Bigby's hand snapped out, grabbed Jack by the jaw and hauled him up, eye-to-eye.
'Who?'
Jack jerked, the adrenaline from running his mouth promptly evaporating. Under his clenched palm, Bigby felt his adam's apple bob as he swallowed.
A moment of silence, then he spoke; 'I don't know. A big man. Had a black mask on and a hat.'
Bigby threw him back and turned to leave. He doubted Jack knew anything else and the room was stuffy. Hot. Words pounded in his skull - 'he said all this was only happening 'cus of you', 'it's your own fucking fault that he's here'.
Barely seeing the hallway, he stumbled to the first room, all but fell out the window and slid down the drainpipe. Stood by the side of the road and his head lolled back, breath hanging above him, misty from the cold night air.
This was so much bigger than he'd thought. He'd considered that it could be some remnants of the Crooked Man's plans, maybe even someone coming over from some other Fable settlement to fuck with them. But he hadn't thought it could be a thought-out attack on not just him and Snow, but Fabletown itself. On their leadership. On the Business Office.
He couldn't know that for sure. Couldn't know that it wasn't some idiot making grand claims. Bigby needed to track this bastard down, before he did anything more drastic.
But first, he needed to know if it was just one person or a group. And he couldn't find that out by himself. Not in time, anyway.
The Food N' Fangs. Grim. He knew the smell of this interloper; Bigby'd bring him to Rapunzel's Hair, get him to sniff around. Then he'd know for sure.
With a nod and a fag fished from his pocket, Bigby started off.
Now all he could do was hope it really was just one man.
Halfway there, the walls started to bend.
Bigby stopped. Stared.
The walls of the dilapidated houses were bending. Curves where there should have been straight lines.
Beneath his feet, the pavement was moving. A crack in the concrete swam before his eyes.
'Fuck,' Bigby mumbled, stumbled to the wall and his shoulder bashed against it roughly, his clothes rode up and snagged on the rough brickwork as he slid down. Knees up and he stared out at the road.
Everything spun.
Had Jack's place had some sort of malicious fungi? Spores? Poisonous dust?
Bigby groaned, closed his aching eyes and pressed his palms against them until red spots danced in the blackness. A sick feeling bubbled in his gut.
What felt like a few minutes later, he opened his eyes again and the world was behaving as it should once more. Straight lines stayed straight.
With a groan, he gingerly got up. Glanced up and down the street - no-one. Thank fuck. He really didn't want to explain to Snow why he collapsed in the middle of the street. She'd probably accuse him of drinking on the job.
He just needed to sleep more. That had to be it. This pathetic human body rebelling after only a few days without rest.
Grumbling to himself, he started to walk again. Only a few more blocks to the Food N' Fangs. Then he'd know how big of a threat this was. If he could handle it all or if he needed to tell Snow. How fast he'd get this over with so he could concentrate on being non-threatening and get this fucking collar off. He ran his fingers over it again, tracing the already-memorised runes carved into it.
Then the sick feeling slammed back, his stomach roiling and the walls bending.
Bigby groaned, stumbled and then bent double as his stomach convulsed, shooting vomit out his mouth. He shook, leant against the wall and retched again. Mostly water and alcohol, with a few clogs of half-digested bread.
'Fuck,' He gasped out, arms hugging his stomach.
Then it subsided again, leaving him trembling against the wall.
Was this why Snow always looked so concerned when he didn't eat or sleep for weeks on end? Or perhaps his years of smoking were catching up with him because of the damned collar?
Bigby shoved himself upright again, shaky on his feet. He kept a hand braced against the wall and swiped at the watery vomit dribbling down his chin. When his legs stopped trembling, he began to walk forwards. One foot in front of the other, he made it to the end of the road.
One more street and he'd be at the Food N' Fangs, then the trek back to Rapunzel's. It was close to the Woodlands, so after that he could quickly run back, tell Snow if it was a group instead of just one and get some sleep. Stop this sickness, whatever it was.
Just as Bigby began to step out to turn the corner, a familiar voice bounced off the walls.
'-And why d'you think the esteemed Sheriff visited you?'
Tweedle Dee.
Bigby froze, Grim's response fading out as he stared at nothing.
Dee would probably have a shotgun. And the inclination to use it, since Bigby had ripped his brother's throat out in front of him. And Snow. No wonder she'd been scared of him.
No time to think about that. Even without the shotgun, Dee would win a fight with Bigby in this state. Barely able to walk, sicking up and unable to pull on his strength to get him out of a sticky situation.
It hurt to run away, but the other option was suicide and he'd already made his decision regarding that.
Bigby turned tail and fled.
By the time he arrived at the Woodlands, he didn't even bother to whip the vomit from his mouth when he threw up on the first step, shaking hands sweaty against the cold stone as he bent over. Righting himself with a groan, Bigby stumbled up the stairs with early morning birdsong in the background as the sky began to lighten above him.
Thankfully, the world wasn't spinning as he made it to the door and shoved it open, tripping over the slightly raised step and he sprawled into the Woodlands. Bigby groaned, then promptly shoved himself up at the sound of footsteps. Or at least he tried to; instead only managing to roll himself over.
Above him, Grimble looked rather concerned.
'Uh,' He finally said, fidgeting with his hat, 'Sheriff Wolf.'
Bigby stared up at him blearily, 'Grimble.'
'Would you like me to get Miss White? Sir.'
'No,' Bigby said as he tried to right himself again, this time marginally more successful, 'I'm fine.'
A disbelieving humm from above him, then a helping hand grabbed his shoulder, supporting him as he got up. Bigby didn't shrug it off, but still glared at Grimble when he stopped swaying.
An awkward pause, then he was released and headed over to the lift.
'I'll, uh, let Miss White know you're coming?' Grimble pleaded and the clack of that cheap plastic phone being picked up.
Bigby shrugged, got in the lift and pushed the button. As the doors closed, he could hear the dial tone and see Grimble's concerned face watching him.
The ride upwards didn't take long, then Bigby was out and he trudged his way to the Business Office, barely seeing the corridor around him but thankful that it was empty. Unusual, even at this time in the morning.
He pawed at the door, leaning against the wood and frosted glass, then falling through when it opened. Instead of planting face-first into the hard stone floor, two small hands grasped him by the shoulders and strained to keep him upright.
'Bigby!' Snow yelped, 'What are you-'
He groaned and took the weight off of her as he pushed past her and into the Business Office, promptly collapsing once inside.
'Shit, are you alright?' Snow asked, kneeling next to him, pulling him up. She turned away, looking for something, 'Buffkin!' Someone, then.
'Bigby? Bigby what happened? If you have alcohol poisoning I swear on my Mayorship I will-'
''m just tired,' Bigby grumbled out, blinking blearily up at her, 'Not used to needing to eat n' sleep so much.'
Flapping wings, then a green face joined Snow's white one, 'Should I call Doctor Swineheart?' Buffkin asked.
'Nah,' Bigby replied before Snow could say anything, 'I'm fine.'
Which, of course, was when that awful feeling came back and he jerked to the side, spewing vomit onto the stone tiles.
'Call Swineheart,' Snow said, glaring at him when he tried to protest.
Bigby sighed, then pushed himself upright, waving her off when she tried to shove him back down, 'I'm fine, Snow. Just need to eat and rest a bit, okay?'
Snow narrowed her eyes at him, but slowly sat back and nodded, then turned back to Buffkin, who flapped off a moment later.
Alone, they sat in silence, Bigby just trying to keep his roiling stomach in check and Snow watching him. Her lips were thin, brows lowered and eyes narrowed, flicking over his face periodically.
'Seriously, I'm okay,' Bigby said, this time putting some effort into it. Smiling and all.
That got a small smile from her and Snow relaxed a bit with a sigh, 'Did you find anything?'
Of course - he almost forgot with all the vomiting and curving walls.
'Yeah,' Bigby looked away, 'It's worse than I thought, but I don't know how much worse…'
Snow hummed, 'Tell me?' When he looked up at her hesitantly, she rolled her eyes, 'I won't incite a town-wide panic, don't worry,' Then her features hardened, 'Tell me.'
Bigby sighed, then did.
Rapunzel, Jack Horner, the sword. How he'd heard Tweedle Dee (Snow tensed at that) talking to Grim, that this wasn't just some mischievous arsehole with no motive. That it wasn't just them in danger, but Fabletown's system of government itself.
Just as he finished explaining and Snow was as white as her namesake, Buffkin returned with a bag in hand, swinging beneath his flying body. It was about the same size as him and Bigby caught it when the monkey dropped his package above him.
Inside was a paper box which, from the smell, was filled with curry. Despite it being cold, Bigby quickly reached in to grab it, then proceeded to stuff his face. He'd never been the best at table manners, despite how many times Snow had tried to instil in him the use of a knife and fork. Sauce dribbled down his chin, but that was better than vomit and he grinned when he saw the utterly disgusted faces both Snow and Buffkin were making.
'Please shut your mouth,' She groaned, looking away with a snorted laugh when his grin only widened, 'Bigby.'
'I quite agree with Miss White,' Buffkin said, his smirk almost as wide as Bigby's.
'I dunno what you're on about,' Bigby said, making sure to open his mouth obnoxiously wide, until half-chewed noodles were trying to wriggle their way down his chin and he quickly closed up again.
Snow let out a full-on snort, staring at him in both disgust and childish glee, whilst Buffkin glanced between them with a knowing look.
'You-' She began to say, then cut herself off with a giggle as he slurped in an escaped noodle, 'Your manners are atrocious.'
Bigby shrugged, 'Opposable thumbs? Mouth.'
Snow laughed again, shaking her head, 'I maintain that hands are better.'
'You can do that. Doesn't make you right.'
More soft chuckles, then she sighed, looking away, 'We need a plan of action.'
Their fun was at an end, then. Bigby hummed and set down the now-empty box of noodles, wiping at his face and swallowing the last mouthful, 'Yeah.'
Snow looked back at him, 'Are you feeling better?'
He nodded, 'I need to go back out there. Find out exactly who we're dealing with.'
She watched him shrewdly for a moment, ' Are you sure you're up for it? I could find someone else-...'
'No,' Bigby said, began to stand up, glad that the weakness he'd felt before was all but gone, 'No. I can do it.'
A moment more of examination, then Snow stood too, 'Alright, but be careful.'
'I always am,' He said with a reassuring smile, then left.
It was a relief to walk down the hall without needing to lean on the wall. From now on, he'd be more careful about eating and resting - those noodles seemed to have fixed it. How did Snow and the rest live like this?
But he could worry about his fragile human body later, when the entirety of Fabletown wasn't under threat.
Bigby strode into the lift and slammed his hand on the button panel. No time to go up to his room and get changed this time. He'd have to deal with vomit-splattered clothes.
The doors opened onto the lobby with a ding and Bigby stalked out, stride purposeful. Grimble was, surprisingly, not asleep. Instead, he sat at his desk watching Bigby with a concerned gaze.
'You're feeling better, Sheriff Wolf?
Bigby paused, then dipped his head; 'Yeah. Thanks.'
Grimble nodded back and looked down at his desk again, fiddling with the ancient wooden tabletop.
No time for this. He needed to find the bastard terrorising his town. Bigby left, doors swinging shut behind him with finality and stood at the top of the steps. The steps that he'd found Faith's head on and he paused, like he did most of the time.
Interrupting his reverie, the faint rustling of leaves. Boots on grass, then the concrete path that lead up to the Woodlands.
Bigby looked up.
Before him stood a huge man, easily taller than him and just as broad. He wore a wide-brimmed hat but no mask, revealing handsome, rugged features. At his shoulder, Tweedle Dee had a vicious snarl painted onto his cragged face and shotgun at the ready.
'The Big Bad Wolf, correct?' The man stated, glaring up at Bigby, 'I am here to bring you to justice, as well as your criminal-loving 'government'.'
AN: Sorry for the delay in getting this one out ^-^ I've got other shit going on unfortunately. Anyway, anyone seen the new trailer? Fucking beautiful *chef's kiss*
