A/N: Robin is reunited with the Merry Men.

Day 7

Robin could tell they were getting close. The trees had become familiar and he'd started spotting landmarks hours ago. It was dark but he knew they'd be reaching the Merry Men's camp any moment now.

Then he'd be reunited with his men… and his son.

It was a beautiful night, one he would've enjoyed had his mind not been so preoccupied. The full moon was out lighting up the forest floor, though not nearly as much as the torch in his hand. The air was cold but not freezing. His cloak was more than enough to keep him warm. It was lovely but that didn't make the trek any easier.

He can hear Regina huffing by his side. They'd been traveling for days now – the two of them on foot, while Henry followed on horseback with the baby – and she'd grown more than a little tired, not that she'd ever tell him so. If she had any complaints she'd buried them under her many layers of determination… and guilt.

He wishes that he didn't blame her. Wishes that he didn't feel the slightest tug of irritation every time he remembers why they were forced to take this journey in the first place. His son should've been with him from the start but instead he'd been a realm away and he wishes he could say that wasn't her fault but it was. If she had fought for Roland like he'd hoped she would then they wouldn't have had to take this journey.

She knows it.

And he knows it.

But he also knows that one fact isn't nearly enough to make him love her any less.

"We should be there any minute now," he promises her.

"Good," she says, nodding her head. Her gaze flickers over her shoulder before she leans in to whisper to him, "I think Henry's getting a little tired."

"I'm fine."

They immediately hear him declare his imperviousness through a thinly veiled yawn as he sits atop the horse Regina guides. Robin smirks at his words, knowing damn well they'd caught him nodding off at least three times in the last hour, only returning to the world of the waking when he remembered the weight of the precious baby girl swaddled to his chest.

Robin had asked them both, many times, if they'd like to stop and make camp for the night but they'd swiftly refused. They were too close to stop now and they were too anxious to get to Roland. Besides it's not as if they had time to waste.

Robin's mind swiftly flickered to the numbers on his forearm.

359.

He'd checked them this morning. He had 359 days left. Well, 358, once it hit midnight. And he didn't want to spend another one without his son. Seven had been more than enough.

A few minutes later they came across a familiar oak tree. He recognized it by the dingy grey band tied to it's third-lowest branch. The band he'd tied himself.

Sherwood…

No sooner had he passed that tree than an arrow went sailing past his face to the ground near his feet. He and Regina immediately step back, the horse whinnies in fear and Henry is suddenly wide awake again. Robin's heartbeat spikes when he sees the arrow go past his eyes but he knows it's just a warning shot.

"Take one more step and the next one goes in your chest!"

The voice comes from the trees above. It echoes and there's almost no way of knowing what direction it comes from. But that doesn't worry Robin. He knows that voice. Gruff, and blunt. He's heard it nearly all his life.

"You say that as if your aim is that good!" he shouts back, in his unmistakable accent. "I know for a fact that it isn't John!"

Things go deadly silent. None of them move. The trees don't rustle, not one animal makes a peep. Everything goes still.

Robin swallows before speaking again, softer this time but still loud enough to be heard.

"I know you're still here," he says. "Show yourself and I'll explain why I'm here too."

It's silent for a moment but then soft rustles start to come from the forest floor. He sees them come out. His men. At least seven of them, from behind trees and down from branches. Even with the night shadows over their faces he could still see the skepticism in their eyes. They stand defensively, weapons not raised but still in hand. They knew his voice, they knew his face but they don't know if it was really him. And he can't say that he was surprised by that.

There's more rustling and he feels a sharp thud from his left side. A shadow, bigger than the rest and far more intimidating, rushes up to him and he's suddenly staring down the wrong end of a crossbow.

John's brown eyes are hard and unbelieving. Robin can see that his finger wavers just below the trigger on the crossbow. Regina's rushed to his side by now, ready to throw a ball of fire in his defense. He holds out an arm to stop her, his eyes never leaving the face of the man he would forever call his best friend.

"John…"

"Who are you?!" he growls.

"John… it's me," he breathes.

"No it's not," John grits out. "You can't be!"

"I am!"

"You're not!" John shouts. "I know you're not because I buried him! I buried my friend. I put an arrow on his casket and watched him sink into the ground! So whoever you are, you can't be him!"

Things grow quiet once more. The air around them has grown thick with paralyzing tension as the two of them stare each other down. John's breathing is heavy and unsteady, same as his trigger finger.

"You're not real," he asserts, shaking his head. "You're a trick!" He turns to Regina. "Was this you?! Did you do this?!"

"She did nothing!" says Robin, his voice firm. "John…look at me."

He doesn't.

"John… Look. At. Me," he harshly orders.

He looks at him then. Robin looks back.

"We met when we were ten years old," he says. "You'd just lost your parents in the war. You were small and hungry and alone so you tried to steal a loaf of bread from a vendor on the street. He caught you. He was going to drag you to the sheriff. Said they were going to cut off your hand and you were terrified. Until I threw an apple at his head. He fell over and let you go, I grabbed your hand and we ran down the alley together as he chased us, cursing the whole time. We were huffing and puffing when we finally stopped and I turned to you and I said –"

"Rule number one of stealing… only do it when no one's looking," John's softly finished. He was silent then. They'd never told anyone that story. They'd never had a reason to. He slowly lowered his crossbow.

"Is that really you Robin?"

He nods. "Yes… it really is."

He expected more questions, perhaps a bit more yelling as well but he gets none of it. Instead he gets a crushing bear hug and a clap on the back.

"Welcome back old friend."

I hope you liked it! Please let me know if you did!