Porter and Carina were fine.

Physically.

They were fine. Physically.

It had turned into a scene with the sheriff arriving on the heels of the ambulance and, despite her best efforts to get the bug going again so she could follow the children to the hospital, a tow truck was called. She wound up climbing into the back of the ambulance with Porter and Carina, the sheriff calling after her in an Irish accent, "Stay put, Miss Swan, I'll need to ask you a few question after I'm done here."

She didn't know how many variations of "Are you drunk," and "There was a wolf," they could actually have, but whatever.

Both Carina and Porter received a once over after they pulled up to the emergency room and despite the complete lack of severity and the empty waiting room – the staff still seemed surprisingly flustered to have actual people to care for. Emma kept alternating between staring at Porter's uninjured forehead and the blood on her hands, reminding herself that it did happen, that she didn't imagine it. Even if a tiny niggle in the back of her mind kept insisting that she did. Because she was tired and upset and scared and magic, most definitely, did not exist. But the blood on her hands, she knew, most definitely belonged to her son and yet no one could find a single inch of imperfect skin on either of her children.

(Which thank God. But what was she supposed to do with this.)

Still. Emma had a half of mind to keep them overnight. Just in case. But Carina despised hospitals and spent her entire check-up refusing to release her grip on her stuffed bear and squirming away from the doctor (Dr. Fish or something , Emma hadn't paid much attention beyond the assurance that he had found no signs of injury, internal or otherwise), desperately begging to be let off the table so they could go home.

She got distinctly annoyed when, even after the doctor had finished, Emma still said they couldn't go. "We have to wait for the sheriff, sweetheart."

"And the car's broke," Porter added pointedly.

"Can we at least have something to eat," said Carina, rolling her head dramatically onto Emma's shoulder. "I'm starving, Marmy."

"Alright," Emma agreed, realizing the kids had only had their pathetic little happy meals and she hadn't had single thing all day. A rarity for her. Emma left the kids with a stern don't move and followed a nurse's directions around the corner, finding an empty cafeteria save for a bored looking cashier. She picked out some premade sandwiches and packaged yogurts, got a coffee for herself and the kids some orange juice and paid, returning to where she left the kids, her heart nearly beating out of her chest when she found their chairs empty.

She looked around, frantically, half-forgetting the tray of crap in her hands, before she saw the nurse silently pointing behind her.

"Port, Carina," said Emma furiously, setting the tray down on a table covered in year old magazines, approaching them as Carina, at least, had the mind to look down guiltily. "I told you to stay put."

"Sorry, Marmy," she murmured before her attention moved back to the glass window as Emma approached. "What do you think is wrong with him though?"

She looked at the man. Blond, a little older than herself, and hooked up to far too many machines. A scene reminiscent of what she had first seen after Porter had fallen off that stupid cliff. Her hand moved automatically to smooth out his hair, Porter flinching away angrily as Emma murmured, "I'm not sure, sweetheart."

"He's our very own John Doe," the nurse announced, approaching them from behind, a grim expression on her face. "He's been here as long as anyone can remember. The Mayor herself brought him in years ago and no one ever came to claim him."

Carina looked on the verge of tears, her lower lip wobbling, as she clutched her teddy. "He doesn't even get any visitors?"

"No, unfortunately," said the nurse, "just the volunteers that change the flowers out every once in a while."

Emma glanced down at her hands, the blood now long gone save for a lone stain on the cuff of her sleeve, and wondered. "Could we?" she asked hesitantly, nodding her head at the room.

The nurse smiled and gestured for them to go on in, Emma reminding Porter and Carina to be extra careful about what they touched.

She stood awkwardly, arms crossed as she just sorta stared at him. She didn't know what to do or if she even really expected something to happen. The things Neal claimed she had done had never involved any sort of intent on her part. If they all involved some sort of magic on her part (because some of them had to be a coincidence, right? She couldn't actually stop Neal from dreaming. Could she?) it hadn't been on purpose. They just happened. Even earlier this evening – she had seen Porter's cut heal itself, yes, but it wasn't like she had thought some ridiculous thing to herself like please heal, this.

Carina, however, didn't even hesitate, just wrapped her arms around him, kissing his cheek and as Emma let out a warning, "Care," while she merely wished him a, "Get better soon, Mr. Doe."

Nothing catastrophic happened so … trust kids to know exactly what to do, she supposed. Emma ran a hand over black hair, smiling gratefully at Carina, and watched as Porter approached the bed. And while he wasn't nearly as enthusiastic in offering affection as his sister, he did murmur his own well wishes just as someone tapped impatiently on the glass.

The sheriff.

"Miss Swan," he said, his features set in a stern line, "a word, please."

Emma lips formed a thin line as she realized that no, a miracle was most definitely not going to happen here tonight, and so merely stepped forward, letting her hand land awkwardly atop the patient's, murmuring a quiet, "Feel better," before leading her children out of the room, nodding at the table where she had deposited their food earlier.

"Are we done?" she asked blandly once the kids were out of earshot. "I know I blew a zero."

(She and Neal rarely drank, only ever really treating themselves to a glass of wine on special occasions, and they had gotten out of the habit of drinking the hard stuff sometime after settling down, need outweighing anything else.)

(But even if they were the types to indulge more than that, Emma never would have done it with the kids in the car.)

"Yes," he agreed, "but I'd like to see your phone actually."

Emma put on her best fake smile and grabbed her purse, digging out her phone and handing it over.

"My daughter made that last call," she said, tone syrupy sweet before she stressed, "last night."

Even if she had gotten distracted, Emma hadn't imagined the wolf. Porter and Carina had both seen it as well. The sheriff, however, refused to believe her.

She really didn't care.

With nothing to officially hold her on, she asked for directions to the nearest hotel, and was pointed in the direction of Granny's Inn. Exactly the kind of quaint little place that Emma hated. But her children needed sleep.

And Emma desperately wanted to call Neal.

"Just the one actually," Emma told the elderly woman ( The Granny she assumed), when asked if she'd like two or three rooms. "I'll share with my daughter."

She didn't really plan on sleeping anyway and she absolutely refused to leave them alone in a strange town. Even if it had that nothing ever happens here vibe. She had already risked whatever too much today.

"Name?" prompted Granny and, at Emma's blank look, she pointed down. "For the roster."

"Emma," she told her, itching to move this along, Carina growing anchor-like in her arms, "Emma Neilson."

Porter blinked up at her and Emma couldn't exactly say what, exactly, had prompted to give a name she never actually adopted other than an annoyance with the small town who had been in up in her business all evening and, well, Neal. She wanted to feel closer to him, she supposed.

"Emma." The voice came from behind her, startlingly Emma to the point that she nearly dropped Carina as she glanced behind her. Even Porter looked alarmed and Emma settled an arm on his shoulder, thankful that he had the mind not to flinch away despite his ever present anger at her. "What a lovely name."

"Thanks," she said blandly, blinking slightly and then squinting because he almost, almost , looked familiar.

It was the vibe, she realized as she noted the way Granny shifted from pleasant to tense, handing over a wad of cash. She had met people like him before. Rich, entitled assholes that used their money to get what they wanted and didn't really care who they used along the way. She smiled tightly and turned back around, making a show of repositioning Carina on her hip. "Are we all set?"

"Enjoy your stay," she said, handing Emma the key, Porter leading the way up the stairs, Emma glancing back only once, startled to find that Granny, her granddaughter, the creepy ass man, were all staring at their retreating form.

Emma locked the door as soon as she got in the room.

She hadn't bothered with the bags having been far more concerned with making sure the kids were okay than emptying out the trunk before the car got carted off, so after tucking an already sleeping Carina into the bed Porter hadn't plopped down on, she turned on the television, turning the volume down low enough so that, hopefully, it would accomplish what Carina needed it too without bothering Porter. She dug her phone out again, but before she could ask Porter if he wanted to call his father, he turned over, facing the wall, pointedly ignoring her even as she smoothed back his unruly brown hair and whispered goodnight.

She probably deserved the silent treatment. Emma knew that. But it still made her ache.

She called Neal. He picked up on the first ring and Emma didn't even bother to say hello.

"I'm sorry," she breathed, the door clicking shut behind her, Emma moving into the hallway so as to not wake Porter and Carina. "I miss you."

"Me too," he whispered, his voice even rougher than usual, "just tell me you're coming back. All of you."

"I was always coming back," she insisted, a reminder as she slid down, her back against the door, before suddenly it all just came pouring out, despite the fact that she had so many new things to tell him. But this was just as important. Because he needed to understand why she left, even if it hadn't been exactly the right way to go about things. "I just … you scared the hell out of me, Neal. Everything you said. It didn't make any sense. I mean, you get that right? It just sounded so ridiculous. And I know you like to believe in things. Things bigger than us. But what you were saying was something else –"

"I know," he agreed, his words heavy and weighted down. "And if you want, we can forget about it. Carry on like before. But if you're asking me to take it back and say it's not true." He sighed wearily and Emma imagined him running a hand through his hair. "I can't do that, baby. I won't lie to you. Not anymore. But I can pretend. If that's what'll keep our family together."

"I believe you," she said, the words bursting out of her, Emma desperately needing to reassure him because that was so very Neal. All of it. It made her heart ache.

She hated that she had ever doubted him.

"So you'll come home then?" he asked, hopeful.

"No," she said because he had misunderstood her only to realize how that might sound and quickly adding, "yes. Yes, we're coming back. But I meant I believe you , Neal. About the magic. It's real."

"You don't have to say that, Em," he murmured. "It's really okay if you don't."

"No, I believe you. There was an accident," and then, rushing to ebb the unavoidable panic, she quickly added. "We're fine. We're all fine. There was this wolf."

"A wolf?"

"Yes," she said, tired of having to keep repeat this. "You can ask the kids when you see them."

"I believe you, Em," he insisted, "Just usually … it's a deer. A fox, maybe. But you're all alright?"

"Yes, the car's a little banged up, but we're fine. Neal ," she said, the word catching in her throat, the events of the day catching up to her, the hand clutching the phone to her ear shaking as she whispered. "I saw it."

"What, baby?" he asked, his voice reaching a tenor that, even across the phone, helped ease her frazzled nerves.

"Porter had this cut," she explained, hand tight on the phone as she quickly added, "he's fine. I had them both checked out. They're fine. But I saw it. And I swear, Neal, it was deep enough that he'd need stitches and then it was just gone."

"You healed him," he said simply.

"I guess," she said, unsure of what else they could call it, "I wasn't trying to. I wasn't even thinking about that. It just happened. Is that -?"

She couldn't say the word.

"Magic?" he supplied, sounding somewhat resigned, "yeah. I've never seen it work the way yours seems to, but –"

"How does it work?"

"It wasn't that common, Em," he said, reluctance lining each of his words. "Not even in the Enchanted Forest. My father had to kill a man with his own dagger before he got any power –"

"You don't like it," she realized. And she kept interrupting him, she knew that, but she had so many questions and everything he said kept bringing up more.

"My father killing people?" he retorted drily, "No."

"No," she corrected. "Magic."

He sighed heavily. "It's not you, Emma. I mean clearly your power is instinctive. Protective. An extension of you. But all my life, baby, magic and trouble went hand in hand. Everything I've lost? I can tie it back to that crap. Even now. Booth shows up and not even a day later you're running off with the kids."

"That was a mistake," she said, voice apologetic.

"No, Em," he insisted, "I'm not blaming you."

But Emma shook her head. "I shouldn't have done that, Neal. Not like that. And I'm so sorry that I did."

"I should have found a better way to tell you," he murmured.

"I don't think there was a better way to tell me," said Emma and, maybe, she should apologize for not believing him, but she had a feeling that they both knew she would have never accepted the truth until she had seen it for herself. Her mind didn't work any other way.

She sniffed and then, tentatively, asked, "Neal?"

"Yeah, baby?"

She fiddled with a loose thread on her jeans, hating that she had to ask this. "Are we okay?"

"Yes." He didn't hesitate and then, after a beat, insisted, "We will be. We both screwed up. I've been thinking about it, Em, all day. And you were right. I shouldn't have talked to August first. Not without you. And really, I should have told you everything a long time ago."

"I wouldn't have believed you," she retorted.

"Maybe," he agreed, "maybe not. But you wouldn't have run, Em." And when she snorted, he stressed, "you wouldn't have. You didn't run because I believed in magic."

"No," she agreed quietly. The suddenness might have played a part in everything, but his behavior had shifted so radically. Or had seemed too.

Too much had happened all at once and everything just got muddled.

"I meant what I said before," he told her gently, "we can pretend if you want. Go back to the way it was before."

"Do you want to pretend?"

"Yeah, baby, a part of me does." She heard him take a shaky breath. "The idea of seeing my father again fucking terrifies me, Em. And if it was just me I would have told August to fuck off. But it's not. This involves you too. And I don't want to be selfish. But I'm afraid that's what I'll be if I just let this go like you want."

"I don't think it is. Selfish, I mean" said Emma, insisting. "Not if I'm telling you what I want. I gave up on those people so long ago, Neal. It doesn't matter to me who they are, not after what they did to me."

"Even if they were trying to protect you?"

Emma scoffed. "According to August."

"It seems like a weird thing to lie about, Emma," he murmured.

"Why do you believe him?" she asked after a beat.

Neal snorted, a dark, ugly sort of sound. "Because it sounds like the crazy sort of fucked up thing my father would do."

Emma shook her head. "But before that. You were ready to listen. Just because he said your name."

"Because I had to, Emma," he told her, "He shouldn't have known it. And I know I hurt you, baby, when I said I wanted to speak to him alone. I just … if I had to tell you, I didn't want it to be like that."

"Will you tell me now?" she asked. There was a pause and she understood his hesitance. Really. But she didn't want him to have to fear her reactions. Not anymore. "I'll listen this time. I promise."

"No, it's not that," he said quickly before letting go of a heavy sort of sigh. "I just … not over the phone."

"Okay." She hated she couldn't keep the disappointment out of her tone.

"Where are the kids?" he asked suddenly.

"Asleep." And then, with something like sadness. "Port's not speaking to me." She sighed. "I don't understand how we got here, Neal?"

Well, she did. But it happened so quickly. Just a day ago they had licked ice cream off each other and decided to, hopefully, have another baby. And then the rug just got pulled out from under them.

"It won't happen again, baby," he said, his words an earnest promise, "because there won't be any more secrets. I'm going to tell you all of it."

She didn't care about that now. It didn't matter.

"Neal," she said instead, taking a long, shuddering breath. "I miss you."

"Then come home, baby," he said, pleading, " please. We can work this out."

"I want to," she said, her head leaning back against the wood of the door. "But it's the middle of nowhere and they said it might take a day at least to fix the car." She heard something drop and, worriedly, asked, "Neal?"

"Fuck, Emma." A beat, and then. "Where are you?"

"Storybrooke." She waited a moment and then " Maine ." She said it with an added dose of guilt, because she really hadn't meant to drive as far as she had. It just happened, the anger and the hurt and the confusion ( fear) propelling her on and on until her common sense finally caught back up to her.

"I'll be there tomorrow afternoon."

She should argue with him only because it seemed counterproductive for him to drive the car all the way out to Maine only to have to turn around and drive it back again. But she wanted to see him. She needed to fix this, whatever they had broke, sooner rather than later.

"Okay," she said. "Neal?"

(She had this compulsion. To keep saying his name. To check if he was still there. That he hadn't suddenly decided that no, actually, she had screwed up too big and she wasn't worth his time.)

"I'm still here, baby," he told her.

"I was always coming back," she said, stressing the words because she needed him to know that. To not doubt that.

He sighed heavily. "Don't worry about it, Em."

But she did because he hadn't known. He'd thought she had skipped town with the kids. Just like every other person in his life. And that was her fault. And she couldn't forgive herself for making him feel that way.

"I have to," she started, " Neal- "

He didn't even let her finish. "No, Emma. I should have told you sooner –"

But that was on her too because: "I probably still wouldn't have believed you."

"But you believe me now."

"Yes," she said and then, because she didn't want to lie to him. "About the magic. And the stuff about your father."

"But not the rest of it?" He didn't sound disappointed. Just tired.

"I don't understand it, Neal," she said, matching his weariness. Because talking to Neal, knowing that he could, at least forgive her, let everything catch up to her finally, leaving her exhausted. "But that's not what matters, I don't think."

She would listen now, at least. "No," Neal agreed. "It's not."

"I want us to be okay again, Neal," said Emma softly, picking at a thread in her jeans. "I don't want us to fight again. Not like that. I hate that I said those things to you. And that I just up and took the kids."

"You were just trying to protect them, Emma," he said. "I can understand that."

"Yeah, but Neal, it wasn't just that. I knew that it would hurt. And a part of me wanted to hurt you. Like you were hurting me."

It was an ugly thought. One she didn't want to admit to. But he'd been right. Earlier. They needed to be honest with each other. So they didn't make the same mistakes again.

"I'm so sorry, Em –"

She cut him off, because she hadn't been trying to add to the guilt. "No, Neal –"

"Emma," he said, voice stern as he cut her off, "No. I have to – I am sorry, for not telling you sooner. I know you said you wouldn't believe me. But that's not why I didn't tell you. If there was ever one person I wanted to tell it was you … I just. I was scared, you know, of what would happen if I told you."

"Of course you were," said Emma, guilt-ridden, "look how I reacted."

"But that's not an excuse, is it? I held back a part of myself. Because it was easier. Because I was scared. And that wasn't fair to you. Or to the kids. And I am so sorry for that, Emma."

"Are we done with the 'I'm sorry's' now?" she asked. "Can we move on to I love you. And I miss you."

"I love you," he said, and she could hear his smile. Good. "I miss you."

"I love you," she echoed. "And I miss you. I wish you were here. Making up is a lot more fun when we're together."

"Well," said Neal, "What are you wearing?"

"I'm in a hallway, Neal," she said, somewhat regretfully because she liked phone sex with Neal. He had the perfect voice for it. "The kids are asleep. I didn't want to put them in a different room in a strange place."

Even if Storybrooke was the typical sleepy, small town.

"Good thinking." He said quietly. "I hate how quiet the house is without you guys."

She stopped herself from apologizing again. "I'd suggest we keep talking but I don't want you driving on no sleep."

"Well," he said lightly, "if it helps I don't think I'd be able to sleep anyway. Codependent sleepers, remember?"

She snorted in spite of herself before sobering. "Were they bad last night?"

"Didn't sleep."

" Neal ," she chastised.

"I told you," he stressed, voice teasing, "you're my own, personal dreamcatcher."

She ducked her head, a blush rising on her cheeks. "You're a dork," she murmured, before scrunching her features together. "It's weird, isn't it? That I've been doing that all these years without even really realizing it."

A part of her wished she could do something to, like, control it. Like send him good vibes over the phone or something. Then at least he could get some sleep without her.

"At first, maybe," Neal agreed, "but that's so you, isn't it? To protect what you love."

She bit her lip. Thinking of all the ways she had failed to do that tonight. Neal seemed to catch on to this. "Just like today. You were trying to do the right thing, baby. You thought you were. Do I wish things had gone differently? Of course. But we know now. We'll learn from it and we won't let it happen again."

She nodded, a bit frantically, before remembering that he couldn't see her. "Okay." And then, because she couldn't help herself. "I'm sorry."

"No more I'm sorrys remember?" he told her lightly.

"Okay, but Neal –"

" Emma . It's fine."

She got that, but she just needed to say this one last thing. "I just have to say this one thing."

"You don't," he insisted and knew it wasn't because he liked to avoid things. Not like her. He'd forgiven her already.

(Idiot.)

"I do," she insisted, "because I don't ever want you to worry about me not coming back. I always will."

"I'd rather you just not leave," he murmured.

"Well, yes," Emma agreed, "and I won't. But on the tiny minuscule chance that I do then I want you to remember that I will always come back. It's in the rules, remember? No one gets left behind."

"No one gets left behind," he echoed fondly, "What's that? Subsection H then?"

"O, actually," she said lightly and then, because it was important, she asked. "Do you believe me?"

"I do," he said and, before she could get her next words out, he added, "And don't you dare apologize again."

She snapped her mouth closed and, after a moment, said, "I wish I could see you. I'm afraid to hang up."

"Then don't," he said simply, "we'll keep talking, until the kids wake up."

That sounded nice.

"I wish you'd try to sleep," said Emma practically, "the backroads are awful to navigate. And the wolf."

"Well, I know to keep an eye out now, don't I," he said teasingly.

She smiled fondly, shaking her head at his ridiculousness. "I love you."

"I love you too," he breathed and she could hear his responding smile. "Everything will be alright."

"I know."

And she did. They still had some rough spots to patch over, she knew that, but they had gone through this horrible thing and managed to make it to the other side, relatively unscathed. It didn't really matter what else they faced now because they'd be together.

They talked through most of the night, until Emma's battery started to die and she realized that, even if she could find a port in the hallway, she didn't actually have her charger with her. Neal promised to bring it, along with a half dozen other things that had popped into her head through the course of the conversation. And then, before saying goodbye, he added, the words soft and bittersweet, "Happy Birthday, Emma."