Disclaimer: I do not own Teen Wolf or Once Upon a Time.


Chapter 11: Nightmares

In the Enchanted Forest, many years ago…

Frost lay back beside the campfire, gazing up at the stars. He, Snow and Red had been traveling together for several months now, and the three of them had become something of a family, protecting and looking out for each other. That had become even more important after their recent encounter with a pack of werewolves, including Red's supposedly-deceased mother, which had ended in tragedy. After that, Frost had felt it important to look out for Red, as she didn't have anyone else to rely upon apart from him and Snow.

"You're sure you're all right?" he murmured softly, looking down to where Red had curled up next to him, staying close to keep warm. Snow was seated on the other side of the fire, looking off into the woods; she had elected to take the first watch, as there was a village nearby, and they wanted to make sure that they had advance warning in case any soldiers or criminals happened to stumble across their campsite. While there was a full moon looming in the sky, Red had kept her cloak and hood on, not wanting to risk turning into the wolf. While her mother's pack had trained her in how to control herself in wolf form, she didn't entirely trust that the training would stick, certainly not enough to deliberately transform around her friends.

Red was quiet for a moment, looking up at him. "Yes," she whispered. "I'm all right, I just…" She was quiet for a moment. "I didn't really know her… but I still miss her. Is that strange?"

Frost shook his head. "Of course not," he assured her. "She was your mother, after all. Whoever and whatever else she might have been, that much will always be true."

Red nodded slowly. "You're right. And, whatever else she was… I think she did love me, in her own way."

"She did," Snow put in quietly, looking over at them. "I could tell." She smiled faintly at Red. "I didn't know my mother for very long either; she died when I was very young. But I know she loved me. And I know yours did too."

Red's lips curved in a faint smile.

Frost suddenly felt a strange sensation, like something crawling down his spine. As bizarre as it sounded, given his powers, he felt a chill.

Mainly because he had felt this exact sensation once before, some weeks earlier, just before that monstrous creature had attacked him and Snow.

And then he heard it: that same faint, echoing hiss, like a chorus of whispers, echoing dimly through the forest around their camp.

Snow and Red both heard it too: while Red just looked puzzled, Snow was staring wide-eyed off into the forest. She shot a look at Frost, and he saw her wide, frightened expression. He could tell, instantly, that she recognized it too.

"What is that?" Red asked. She glanced from one of them to the other, clearly nervous.

The sound filled the air around them. It grew louder and louder, like a thousand voices whispering in unison. A cold wind whipped up around them, and the voices swelled to a crescendo. But, unlike the last time, nothing charged into their camp. Instead, a shadow fell over them, blurring past in the moonlight. Moments later, another followed it, and then another.

Frost looked up. Red and Snow followed his gaze… and all three of them stared up in shock and horror.

The full moon was almost directly overhead now, casting a bright silver glow down into the clearing where the trio had made camp. But right now, that light was partially blotted out by the stream of dark, airborne figures that were streaking past in front of the moon's glow. There were dozens of them: their forms were dark and indistinct, except for their glowing orange eyes. Their batlike wings flapped, allowing them to soar effortlessly through the air. They continued streaming past, until finally they were gone, vanishing into the night. The chorus of whispers faded away, replaced by the stillness of night and the whistle of the wind.

"What the hell was that?" Red breathed, staring after the departed creatures.

"I don't know," Frost muttered. "But we've fought one of them before. It attacked our camp in the night, and it nearly killed us." He glanced to Snow, who nodded shakily at the memory of that fight.

"That many…" she murmured. "I don't even want to think about what would have happened if they'd noticed us."

"Agreed." Frost shivered. Then he frowned, turning to Snow. "I don't remember the one we fought having wings, though."

She nodded slowly. "That's true… but other than that, it looked pretty much the same as those ones."

"Uh, guys?" Red spoke up. They both turned to her, as she pointed in the direction that the creatures had flown. "Wasn't there a village about a mile that way?"

The shock of realization hit Frost and Snow simultaneously.

"Oh, gods," Snow breathed. "With all of those things…"

"They won't know what hit them," Frost finished. The two of them shared a horrified expression, before they whirled back to Red.

"We have to go," Snow insisted. "Those people are innocent; they need our help. Those things are monsters. The only reason we survived fighting just one was because we had Frost's magic; ordinary people wouldn't stand a chance."

Frost glanced to her. "She's right; we have to go." He stepped to Red's side, resting a hand on her shoulder. "I would never ask you to risk your life; I promised your grandmother that I would keep you safe." He smiled wryly. "But… we could use your help."

Red swallowed, looking back and forth between the two of them. Her expression was nervous, but she clenched her jaw and nodded. "I'm in," she said firmly. "You're right; they need our help."

Turning back to the fire, Frost snatched up his staff, turning to face the two women. "Come on!" he called out, leading the way off into the woods, while trying to overcome the uneasy feeling in his gut.


Storybrooke…

Jackson reclined behind the desk in the sheriff's station. Across the room, Mary Margaret was seated in her cell, while Emma and Mr. Gold were arguing over the proper course of action for her trial.

"A pre-trial interview with the prosecution?" Emma scoffed. "Explain to me how that's a good idea."

"The D.A. merely wishes to ask Miss Blanchard a few questions," Gold assured her.

"She's done answering questions," Emma snapped. "And why are we kissing up to the D.A., anyway? Why aren't we going after Regina? She's the one who's setting up Mary Margaret."

"Which we can't prove," Jackson pointed out, drawing a scowl from his boss.

"He is right, Miss Swan," Gold remarked dryly. "What proof do we have of that? Just because you found the Mayor's skeleton key in the cell, that doesn't mean we can prove she put it there."

Emma sighed. "So, what's your plan?"

"I believe our best chance of winning this case," Gold explained, "is to employ our most valuable asset."

"And what's that?" Mary Margaret spoke up from her seat in the cell.

Gold glanced back at her and smiled. "Well, that's you, dear. A sweet, kind, elementary-school teacher. Doesn't exactly fit the profile of a killer, now does it?"

Emma raised an eyebrow. "That's how you're going to get her acquitted? By using her personality?"

"Perception is everything, Miss Swan," Gold replied calmly. "Not just in the courtroom, but in life. As such, I'm sure you can imagine how the jury would perceive Miss Blanchard, if she agreed to cooperate with the district attorney. These things engender trust. It shows the jury that she's at least trying–"

Gold was interrupted as Sidney Glass, the head of the local newspaper, entered the room, carrying a vase of flowers. "Emma?" he asked, drawing an irritated look from Gold. "Oh, I'm sorry to interrupt. I just, uh, came by to drop these off; I thought they might brighten the place up a bit."

Emma nodded. "Right. Come on, you can put it in here." She walked into her office, and Sidney followed with the vase. Jackson sent a distasteful glance after the guy; he'd met people like that before, and he got a bad vibe every time the reporter was around.

"Jackson?" He started at Mary Margaret's voice, and turned to look at her. "What do you think? Should I do it?"

Jackson looked more closely at her, then at Gold, rubbing his chin contemplatively. He was convinced that Mary Margaret was innocent, but he was also pretty sure that Regina was doing everything she could to stack this trial against her. Anything that could help to counteract that was probably a good idea. This wasn't the best option, but at the moment all that mattered was that it could be helpful.

"Yeah… yeah, I do," he answered. "I know you're a good person, Mary Margaret; that's one of the main reasons why I always knew you had nothing to do with whatever happened to this Kathryn lady. So he's right; your best option is to make sure everybody else knows it too. And this D.A. is probably a good place to start."

Mary Margaret thought that over, and then nodded with a soft smile. "Thank you, Jackson."

He grinned. "Happy to help."

Gold nodded slowly, looking curiously at Jackson, then turned back to Mary Margaret. "Young Mr. Whittemore makes a compelling case, Miss Blanchard. But, of course, the decision is yours." He leaned on his cane. "So? What do you want to do?"

Sidney left the office, with Emma right behind him. Nodding to her, the reporter headed for the exit, while Emma returned to Jackson, Gold, and Mary Margaret. "So?" she asked, looking to the other woman.

Mary Margaret considered for a moment, then looked up at Emma, her face composed. "I'm going to do it," she said decisively. "I'm going to talk to the D.A."

"Are you sure?" Emma asked.

Mary Margaret nodded. "Mr. Gold's right. So is Jackson. I know I have nothing to hide… but no one else knows that. So I need to let people see me for who I really am."

"An excellent decision, Miss Blanchard," a harsh voice cut in, drawing all eyes to the entrance. A tall, balding man with a stern expression stood there, wearing a black suit. At his side was Regina, with her usual confident smirk on her lips.

"My name is Albert Spencer," the suit-wearing man spoke up calmly. "I'm the District Attorney." His cold eyes swept the room. "Shall we begin?"

Mary Margaret nodded. "Yes."

Jackson frowned, looking more closely at Spencer. Something about the man seemed oddly familiar, but he instantly disliked him.

Oh, great, he thought sourly. Maybe this wasn't such a good idea.


Emma groaned, leaning back on the bench. She and Jackson were sitting on the pier overlooking Storybrooke's marina; she was leafing idly through Henry's book of fairy-tale stories, while Jackson was slumped back on the bench with his eyes closed, enjoying the cool sea air.

As she'd worried, the meeting had not gone well. Spencer, the D.A., had turned out to be just as much of an asshole as he appeared at first glance; he'd spent the entire "interview" deliberately baiting and taunting Mary Margaret, trying to undermine her defense, until she'd finally lost it and snapped at him – and, in the process, she'd made herself seem even more guilty than she had been before.

"What do we do?" Jackson asked, looking over at her.

Emma let out a long, drawn-out sigh, rubbing her temples. "I don't know," she admitted. "Why don't you head back to the inn? Take the rest of the day off; you've earned it. I'll… try to figure something out. Come in tomorrow morning, and we'll make a plan."

Nodding, Jackson rose to his feet. "You got it, boss." He tossed off a leisurely salute, then turned and wandered off back towards his car.

After he left, Emma remained seated for a few more minutes, flipping through the book. She wasn't even sure what she was looking for, only that it was something to occupy her mind. And at the moment, that was what she needed.

"What're you doing?" The voice cut through the quiet, and she looked up, smiling when she saw August Booth, the town's other new arrival, standing before her.

"Grasping at straws," Emma replied with a weary grin.

August nodded understandingly. "Still trying to find a way to prove your friend's been framed?"

She shrugged. "Every time I go down a path and think it leads somewhere, it just ends up being a dead end. I used to think I had these great instincts… a superpower, even." She chuckled ruefully. "Now I don't know."

"Sounds to me like you've got a case of writer's block," August replied. He grinned. "Well, without the whole 'writing' part, anyway."

Emma snorted in amusement. "Yeah, maybe."

"Well…" August sat down on the bench beside her. "When I get struck by a block, I usually reread what I've already done, rather than just plowing ahead blindly. Sometimes, I've found there'll be a little bit of inspiration left behind."

She frowned, turning to face him. "You mean start over?"

"I mean, when I start writing, I usually have one idea. But then, in the middle, I may get another idea, and then things are different."

"So… your perspective changes."

"Exactly." August raised an eyebrow. "So, when you started this investigation, what was it about?"

"A missing person," she answered. "Then it became a murder… and then a cover-up."

"Right!" August replied. "So, if you knew that then, maybe you would have approached things differently."

Emma remained sitting there for a moment, turning that idea over in her mind. If that had been how this investigation had started out, how would she have approached it? What would she have done differently?

In the end, there was only one answer. Nodding decisively, she stood up.

"Where are you going?" August inquired.

"Scene of the crime," Emma replied, starting towards her Bug.

"I'll drive," he offered, trailing after her.

"No, I'm fine."

August cut her off, swinging around in front of her. "No, you're not," he said gently. "You look like you haven't slept in days." Then he grinned mischievously. "And, let's be honest – it was my idea."

Emma chuckled, amused, and grudgingly nodded. "All right, then. Let's go."


In the Enchanted Forest…

Frost, Snow and Red hurried down the forest path, racing towards the village. They had no trouble finding it; the chorus of screams and unearthly shrieks and howls that rang out through the forest did a fine job of pinpointing the village's location. As they approached, however, the screams died down, while the unnatural hisses and shrieks continued on.

As the trio came up over the crest of a hill, staring down at the village below, all three of them skidded to a halt, eyes wide in horror.

"Oh, gods," Red breathed.

Frost felt a chill run down his neck as he stared down into the village.

Dozens of the creatures swarmed through the village. Most of them were on the ground, loping among the buildings or perched on rooftops, while a few circled overhead, their batlike wings flapping. Their burning orange eyes seemed to be everywhere, darting through the shadows. Strangely, the ones on the ground seemed to no longer have wings, as if the wings had disappeared once they were no longer needed for flight. Shadows seemed to swirl around them, making their exact appearance difficult to describe, but they seemed to resemble some sort of cross between hounds and crocodiles, although their bodies were covered with jet-black fur. They were all about the same size as the creature that had attacked Frost and Snow some time earlier: larger than a man, but not as big as Red's wolf form. From what he could see, there were at least two dozen of them.

Strangely, the carnage was not nearly as severe as he'd expected; the bodies of the village's inhabitants were strewn about, but they hadn't been torn to pieces as he would have assumed. Instead, it seemed as if they had simply collapsed, lying unconscious or dead on the ground. Fires burned in several parts of the village, likely caused when the villagers had tried to defend themselves using torches.

Frost felt a surge of fury rush up his spine, and his eyes narrowed. Ice crackled in his hands as his magic rose to the surface.

"What do we do?" Red asked anxiously, glancing up at the full moon overhead.

"I don't think there's anything we can do," Snow murmured. "There are too many of them for just the three of–"

Before she could get another word out, Frost charged, running straight for the village. He wasn't sure why, but just laying eyes on these creatures had filled him with an anger unlike anything he'd ever displayed, and he'd reacted without thinking.

"Frost, no!" Snow exclaimed, but he could barely hear her, lost in his anger. Racing through the trees, he homed in on a single creature that was by itself, crouched over one of the fallen villagers just outside the village. As he got closer, he was surprised by what he saw. Its jaws were wide open, poised over the man's head, but it wasn't biting down; instead, what looked like a golden mist was rising into the air above the man's head, and being promptly inhaled into the creature's mouth.

While Frost had no idea what the monster was doing, for some reason the sight of this act sent a surge of horror and nausea through his gut, which welled up into a hot, burning rage. With a roar, he whirled his staff and charged.


"No!" Snow exclaimed as she saw Frost charge out of the trees and into the village. "Damn it!" she cursed, drawing her bow and readying her quiver of arrows.

"What are you doing?" Red exclaimed.

"He's my friend," Snow snapped. "I have to help him. If you want to help, then follow me. If not, stay here." She didn't have time to be sensitive about it, hurrying towards the village to help Frost.

Red stared after her for a long moment, unsure of what she should do, until her fear firmed into resolve. She looked up at the sky overhead, her eyes locking on the full moon, and began undoing the straps of her red cloak.


Frost leaped over a bench and swung his staff like a club, smashing the creature over the head and knocking it off-balance. It whipped around, snarling at him, its victim abandoned. He shoved his free hand forward, unleashing an icy blast as he tapped into his magic; the ice struck the creature's left side, sending it staggering backwards with a screech of pain as the ice coated its flank. It turned back towards him, drawing back in preparation to lunge, but it was interrupted when an arrow sprouted from its shoulder. It staggered, looking up at him, and then turned its head, its glowing orange eyes narrowing. Frost followed its gaze to see Snow notching another arrow to her bow, focusing intently on the creature. It snarled, tensing to spring at her, but Frost lunged before it could move, smashing his staff against its lower jaw and knocking it off-balance.

The creature let out a snarl, turning back to him, but another arrow buried itself in its flank before it could attack. It staggered, whirling back towards Snow, and leapt at her, but she was better prepared this time, and her next arrow went through its throat, dropping it. The monster crashed to the ground in front of her, thrashing in its death throes, and collapsed. The orange glow in its eyes faded, and, to their astonishment, it disintegrated, its body crumbling into a dissipating cloud of black sand.

Frost stared in disbelief at the monster's remains. "What?" he muttered. I know this… A momentary flash of something, a memory, was welling up… but it was quickly silenced when he heard another screech, and looked up to see four more of the creatures stalking towards them, three on the ground, one on the roof of a nearby house. Their eyes shone in the gloom as they padded forwards, letting out low hisses.

"Ah, crap," he muttered.

"Frost, we need to go!" Snow called out, notching another arrow. "There's too many of them."

"Yeah, you're right," Frost murmured, backpedaling. He really hadn't thought things through when he'd charged into the village, lost in his anger. But now that he was actually here, facing the creatures, his rational mind had taken over, reminding him that this had been a very bad idea. And yet his mind wouldn't stop speaking to him, images flashing in his head… images of creatures just like this, in different places, different times, but always the same.

Damn it, I know these things!, he thought to himself.

"Frost!" Snow shouted. "Let's go, now!"

Cursing as he realized he'd left himself open, Frost brought up his staff, staggering backwards. But it was too late. The closest creature snarled, its eyes burning, and sprang at him.

And then, as it was in mid-leap, another massive form hurtled across his field of vision, and a huge, reddish-brown wolf slammed into the monster, bowling it over. The two of them hit the ground opposite him, tumbling across the forest floor, locked together as they ripped and tore at each other with fang and claw. Blood spurted, gleaming in the moonlight; the wolf's was red, while the creature's was a black substance, more like oil than blood. Red, in her transformed state, was larger and heavier than the monster, but it was quicker and more agile; it wriggled out of her grasp, its tail lashing at her face and opening a thin cut across her nose. Red snarled in pain and recoiled, her fur bristling, her teeth bared, her own eyes burning gold.

"Red!" Frost shouted, his eyes wide. She'd recently learned control during her time with the other werewolves, but there was no way of knowing if that would hold up, especially when she was faced with an enemy to fight.

The wolf glanced in his direction, tilting her head. Her eyes gleamed, but he could see human intelligence there, and he was reassured when the great brown head dipped momentarily in a nod. Good. She's in there.

The monster took advantage of Red's apparent inattentiveness and launched itself at her. Fortunately, she hadn't been distracted, and whirled back on it, surging forwards and colliding with the smaller creature. They crashed to the ground, rolling over, with Red coming out uppermost, her fangs tearing and rending. She sank her teeth into the beast's neck and, with a vicious wrench, snapped its spine. It collapsed, crumbling into black sand, and the wolf snarled, stalking away from the remains of her kill to stand between Frost and Snow and the other three creatures.

The remaining monsters did not seem to have any interest in their fallen brethren; instead, their glowing orange eyes remained locked on Frost, Snow, and the wolf. They tensed, the third creature jumping down from the roof of the house to join the first two, and prepared to charge.

Red snarled, crouching to attack. Frost tensed, readying his staff with one hand and a blast of magic with the other, and Snow notched a new arrow to her bow, ready to take aim and fire.

And then a voice echoed through the clearing, cutting them off.

"All right, my pets. That's enough."

Frost looked around, trying to determine where the voice was coming from, but there was no one in sight, just shadows. But the effect that the voice had on the creatures was surprising. Instantly, they crouched low, their glowing eyes narrowed to slits, their snouts brushing the ground.

"What're they doing?" Frost murmured.

"I'm not sure," Snow replied. "But it almost looks like…"

Frost looked over at the creatures again. The posture they were in…

"Like they're bowing," he breathed.

The voice spoke again, soft and cold, its tone vaguely amused. "Well, now, little ones. What have we here?"


Storybrooke…

Jackson was seated at one of the tables outside Granny's, gazing out at the woods as he waited for Emma to arrive. She had updated him on the recent developments involving Mary Margaret's case, and the news wasn't good. While she had been searching for evidence, she'd found a shard of metal at the same location where Kathryn's heart had been buried, and had linked that shard to a broken shovel in Regina's garage, making it more likely than ever that the Mayor of Storybrooke had been the one to kill Kathryn and was trying to frame Mary Margaret for the murder. The problem was that, by the time Emma had come back to her house with a warrant, the broken shovel had been replaced with one that was totally intact, leaving them with no evidence to prove the case against Regina, and almost no time left before Mary Margaret would be tried for Kathryn's murder.

In the meantime, Jackson had been trying to figure out what to do about his other problem. He'd been on a couple of runs through the forest outside Storybrooke over the last couple of days, trying to make sure that Deucalion hadn't come anywhere near the town since their fight. So far he hadn't sensed any trace of the Alpha's presence, but he knew the older werewolf was still out there.

There has to be something I can do, he thought to himself. But how was he supposed to stand up to Deucalion? The older werewolf had demonstrated, quite ably, that Jackson was no match for him, and there was no one else in this town who could help him if he had to make a stand against the Alpha. He'd been trying to think of anything that could help; he'd even contemplated calling somebody back in Beacon Hills, maybe Derek or Scott. But who knew if they'd even be willing to come and help, much less be able to make it there in time?

Jackson was snapped out of his thoughts when he saw Emma's Bug pull up at the curb. She hopped out of the car and strode towards him, frowning. He raised an eyebrow and stood up to greet her.

"Morning, Sheriff," he called out with a smile and a nod as she stepped through the gate, raising an eyebrow when he saw that she was carrying a plastic evidence bag in one hand. "What's that?"

"Something we need to deal with," Emma answered, glancing down at the evidence bag with a scowl. She looked up as the door of the diner opened; Jackson turned to see that dark-haired writer guy, who he'd heard was named August, walking outside.

"Hey," Emma greeted him with a nod and a faint smile. She sighed, looking down. "I'm sorry."

August frowned. "For what?"

"For doubting you." Emma held up the evidence bag. "I made a mistake."

August looked at the bag. "What's that?"

"Evidence." Emma handed the bag to Jackson, letting him examine it; on closer inspection, it appeared to be a small electronic microphone. "Evidence that proves that I've been trusting all the wrong people. I should've listened to you." She scowled, glancing to Jackson. "This bug was from Sidney."

Jackson's eyes widened. "Wait, the newspaper guy?"

"Yeah." She nodded. "I should've seen it."

August smiled. "Well, don't beat yourself up about it, Emma. Sometimes it's hard to see what's right in front of us, but I knew you would."

Jackson rolled his eyes at that, but he chose not to say anything.

Emma grinned ruefully. "Well, I'm trying."

"And I'm sure you two can figure this out." August glanced to Jackson, who was still looking down at the evidence bag, and extended his hand. "I don't think we've met, by the way. I'm August."

"Jackson." He looked up and shook August's hand, noting a sudden flash of surprise in the man's eyes, mixed with something else that almost looked like… recognition?

Before they could say anything else, a scream cut through the air. Jackson recognized the high-pitched voice instantly.

"Ruby," he muttered, before vaulting over the fence and out of the seating area, and racing around to the back of the diner. He could hear Emma and August hurrying after him, but he ignored them. Fear seethed within him, like acid in the pit of his stomach, at the thought that Deucalion might have finally decided to carry out his threats.

Running at full speed, he rounded the back of the diner, and almost ran head-on into Ruby as she burst around the same corner. Skidding to a halt and bracing Ruby to keep her from falling, he grasped her arms to steady her. "Are you okay?" he demanded. "What's wrong?"

"Ruby!" Emma exclaimed, as she and August rushed around the building after Jackson. "What's going on?"

Ruby was shivering, her eyes wide in shock. "She…" she stammered. "She… she's in the alley."

"Who?" Emma frowned in confusion. "What happened?"

"S-she's back there." Ruby pointed back to the alley that ran on the other side of the diner, where the Dumpsters were located.

Jackson and Emma exchanged glances, before Jackson reluctantly released his hold on Ruby and followed after Emma. The two of them walked slowly into the alley, looking around for any sign of what Ruby had been talking about. Sure enough, there was a body lying in the alley, sprawled facedown between two Dumpsters. It was a blonde woman of average height; she was lying motionless, either unconscious or dead.

"Who the hell is that?" Jackson asked, confused. He'd never seen this woman before, and he had no idea who she was supposed to be, but he could easily tell that she needed help. Hurrying forward, he crouched down and put a hand on her shoulder, carefully turning her over so he could check her for injuries. He couldn't remember seeing her face before, but something about her seemed oddly familiar. Luckily, she seemed to be unhurt.

The woman's eyes opened, blinking weakly. When she saw Jackson, she let out a gasp and jerked back.

"Whoa!" Jackson soothed her, holding out a hand reassuringly. "Take it easy; I'm not gonna hurt you."

Emma inhaled sharply as she saw the woman's face. "Kathryn?" she whispered in shock.

Jackson whipped around, his eyes wide as he stared up at her. "Wait, this is Kathryn?!" he asked in disbelief. "I thought…" He looked back at the woman, frowning. Isn't she supposed to be dead?!

However this had happened, he got the distinct feeling that things had just taken a very significant turn.


In the Enchanted Forest…

Frost stood protectively in front of Snow, both of them looking around warily as they tried to locate the source of the mysterious voice. The trio of monstrous creatures in front of them remained motionless, crouched in submission.

"Some would-be heroes, I see," the soft, cold voice murmured, echoing from the shadows. "How interesting. The wolf, especially; I've always been fascinated with those who can change shape. It served as something of a source of inspiration for me, when creating my little pets here." The voice chuckled softly. "What do you think of them? Beautiful, aren't they?"

"I'd call them monsters," Snow retorted. "As is anyone who would use creatures like this to harm the innocent."

This drew a full-voiced laugh. "Such harsh words! But your bravery is admirable, my dear girl."

At that moment, Frost caught a brief glimpse of movement to their left, in the shadows along the side of one house. With a yell, he flung his hand out, unleashing a blast of magic that struck the wall of the house, coating it in ice.

The voice paused, and then continued, now with a note of surprise. "Wait… Jack? Is that you?"

Frost's eyes widened, as he felt a jolt of recognition run through his mind. Wait, what? Why does that name sound familiar?

"That is you, isn't it?" The voice seemed astonished, with a note of amusement. "I'll be damned. How on earth did you survive? I thought I'd finished you off for good last time. Erased your memories, stabbed you in the chest, and dumped you in a lake for good measure." A chuckle echoed through the shadows. "I imagine you'd have appreciated the irony of my sentencing you to that particular fate if you still had your memories, but… ah, well. It doesn't seem to have lasted, in any case. But then, I'm not all that surprised; you always were a tough one."

"What the hell are you talking about – ah!" Frost gasped, clutching at his head as a spike of pain lanced through it. Images flashed through his mind.

A pair of cold black eyes glaring into his own – a sudden burst of agony as a blade pierced his chest – the trees rushing past him as he plummeted to earth – a sudden, brutal impact, a thunderous splash, and a rush of cold water –

He let out a cry of pain, falling to one knee under the onslaught of memories.

"Frost!" Mary Margaret exclaimed, hurrying to his side. "Are you all right?"

"I…" He shook his head, trying to get the images to focus, but they remained blurred and indistinct. "I… I think–"

"Frost?" The cold voice laughed. "Well, you remember that, at least. How sad. You were so powerful once, so brave, a worthy adversary. And now look at you, a lost child who can barely even remember his name. It's pitiful, really."

Frost snarled, forcing himself back to his feet and firing another burst of magic towards the source of the voice. The blast froze several bushes and coated the side of a tree, but nothing else.

"Ah, ah, ah," the voice taunted. "Not quick enough." Frost glimpsed another flicker of movement in the shadows – no, not in the shadows; it was more like a shadow itself had moved. "You'll have to do better than that, Jack! Come on, you used to be good at this!"

Frost let out an angered yell, firing another blast and freezing the side of another house, but the voice only laughed. Staggering as the exertion of repeatedly using his magic began to wear on him, he leaned on his staff. "Show yourself!" he cried out defiantly.

"Show myself?" The voice chuckled. "Well… if you insist." With that, the shadows seemed to bend and twist, stretching inwards all around them, as if all the darkness in the area was flowing into one spot. With a burst of energy, the shadows swirled into a single point, and a humanoid figure materialized, now standing between Frost and the three crouching monsters.

He was a tall man, dressed in courtly finery; his clothing was black with gold trim, with a long black cloak. He was fairly handsome, but his appearance was somewhat unsettling: he had ghostly-pale skin and long, jet-black hair, and his eyes were entirely black, with no pupils or irises visible. He had a faint smirk on his face, as if he found everything terribly amusing, but there was a cruel gleam in his dark eyes.

Frost inhaled sharply. This close to the man, more and more images flashed through his mind. He knew this man, he was sure of it.

"You…" he breathed.

The man smiled. "Yes, Jack. Me." His dark eyes flicked over Frost, Snow, and the huge wolf that loomed beside them. "Such interesting traveling companions you've acquired for yourself. I'll enjoy breaking them."

"All right, that's enough!" Snow snapped, training an arrow on the man's chest. "Who are you, and why are you doing this?"

The three creatures behind the man bristled, their jaws snapping, but he calmed them with a simple wave of his hand. "Easy, little ones," he murmured. "She can't harm me." He chuckled. "Do you like my new Nightmares, by the way, Jack? They're my latest batch; I've been able to improve upon them since the last time we met." He raised an eyebrow, tapping his chin in thought. "Though, now that I think about it, you probably can't remember last time."

"I said," Snow interrupted, steel in her voice, "who the hell are you?" She drew her arrow back a bit further, pulling the bowstring taut, as if emphasizing her point. At her side, Red snarled, baring her fangs as her golden eyes flashed in anger.

Frost rubbed at his temple, feeling another surge of pain as more snapshots of memory welled to the surface, but he struggled to put them aside, tightening his grip on his staff to steady himself. Jack... I know that name. But from where?

The man in shadows smirked. "Feisty one, isn't she? Well, let it never be said that I am not a gentleman." He bowed, sweeping his arms out with a flourish. "Greetings, my lady! My name is Pitch Black." He looked up, a sparkle of amusement in those cold eyes. "A pleasure to meet you."


A/N: Anybody expecting that? ;)

Before anybody asks: yes, I was always planning on bringing Pitch Black into this story. He's obviously going to be somewhat different from his incarnation in Rise of the Guardians, but since I adapted my version of Jack Frost from that movie, I figured I'd do the same with Pitch and give Jack/Jackson his own fairy-tale nemesis. And yes, there's a reason why Pitch already knows him, which will be explained in the next few chapters.

Timeline-wise, the Storybrooke scenes in this chapter took place during "The Stable Boy". I didn't do too many of those scenes in this chapter, as most of them are specifically scenes between either Regina and Mary Margaret, or Emma and August, so I felt that trying to fit Jackson into those scenes would just seem unnecessary, and it wouldn't really contribute anything.

Shoutouts to willdawg992003, lucy claxton, Wrath of The Sun Deity, RHatch89, and timijaf for reviewing; you guys are awesome!

Next chapter, we learn more about the relationship between Pitch and Frost, and August tries to reach out to Jackson… stay tuned!

Review Q&A:

Q: OMG where the heck have you been hahahaha I thought this was cancelled so glad to see you are back and posting again and I hope all is well in our life.

And it seems like Jackson or umm Jack is known by everyone can't wait to see how the hatter knew him?

Also are you doing every episode or skipping some and I also noticed on one of your question and answers you said this season so will you be covering all seasons?

Anyways glad that you haven't given up on this story and cant wait for the next chapter

A: Yeah, unfortunately I had writer's block on this story for quite a while, but I finally got inspiration again and decided to get back to it! Don't worry, I'm doing well, and I plan to see this story through to the end!

As for Jefferson recognizing Jackson, yeah, I was basically just trying to show another instance of how everybody in Storybrooke who still has their memories (Regina, Gold, Jefferson, and, as hinted in this chapter, August) recognizes Jackson. I might do a flashback to show how Jack Frost and Jefferson knew each other at some point, but I was basically just reasoning that, since they're both realm-jumpers – although Jack doesn't need a hat to do so – they probably ran into each other or worked together at some point.

For the question "will I be doing future seasons?", I will most likely be doing so. I have a fairly good plan for how I'll be doing OUAT Season 2, at the very least, but I'll be doing that as a sequel story once I finish this one. So, Lone Wolf will end at the conclusion of OUAT Season 1, and then I'm planning to write a sequel covering the next season… and we'll see where it goes from there.

Q: I like this story, really curious as to how Jack Frost and Jackson are connected.

Is Jackson and Ruby the definite pairing?

A: We shall see!

And for the moment, yes, they are. That may change at some point, but for now, yeah, that's the pairing.