Author's note: Hey y'all! Thank you so much for all the reviews and hope you enjoy this ch.
Note: this ch starts the next morning after the events of the last ch.
Chapter 8
Beep beep beep! Neal rolls over and immediately wishes he hasn't done so, for his back's contact with the hard marble floor is less than pleasant. He reaches over and slaps the watch circled around his left wrist to shut off the annoying alarm. Why he wears a watch to bed, he does not know, but he is thankful of this little habit, for the watch has come in rather handy in the Enchanted Forest.
He sits up and looks over to his left. Expecting his fiancée to be there, he is shocked to discover that he is alone in one of the many guest rooms in this palace that he and Tamara have turned into their de facto bedroom. Though he knows that she has a habit of rising early to go for runs, he still finds himself slightly worried. This castle is huge; he himself has gotten lost several times. And not to mention the multitude of dangers in the Enchanted Forest, dangers that don't exist back in their home. But he reminds himself that his fiancée is very capable, that she can take care of herself. That he doesn't have to worry.
With a grunt, Neal hoists himself up. Time to find some food. He slips out of the room and down a long, stone hallway. Though the castle bores signs of damage (from the curse, he'd learned), there are still traces of the beautiful architecture that once made up this structure.
Neal is surprised with the degree of ease to which he'd adjusted to this situation. He'd recognized the food fairly well, even managed to choke down chimera without too much difficulty, even after decades of hamburgers. Then again, he's gotten pretty skilled at adapting to new living places. From the Enchanted Forest to Victorian England to Neverland to the Land Without Magic again, he's no stranger to new places.
He cannot believe that he is actually back. Back in the place that he'd fought so hard to leave, to escape from, all those years ago. The Enchanted Forest. He pauses in front of a window, the glass missing in many places, jagged pieces jutting out at random places in the stone wall. He'd never actually been to this part of the Forest. They'd lived in an entirely different area. The details are hazy, but he knows that the time he'd lived with his father was centuries before this castle was built. Which would technically make him way, way older than everybody here. If it wasn't for his time in Neverland, he'd probably be long dead. Which is something that he prefers not to think about. His convoluted past and everything are things he'd prefer to keep, well, in the past.
Neal doesn't know whether or not he's glad that she's forgotten everything. That the progress, the peace, they'd made had all been erased. Reset, at least in her mind. Now that she's lost her memories, she's mad at him all over again. But maybe what he wants is another chance to fix things. To make peace between them and bury the hatchet. To be able to finally move on.
He doesn't know why, but a small part is relieved that she doesn't know the truth about Tamara. He hadn't had the chance to introduce the two. The thought of doing so (again) is nerve wracking.
Maybe it's for the best that Emma's lost her memories.
On his way to the great room where the food is kept, Neal passes by a young child, appearing to be lost, in the hallway. He is looking from side to side, fear apparent in his eyes. In his arms he clutches several loaves of bread and a couple apples. Neal just stops and stares at the child, who suddenly looks a lot like Henry. His oval face has morphed into a round one, and his blond hair suddenly looks brown. Maybe it is him? He blinks several times, and the child's appearance changes again. It is obviously not Henry.
Suddenly, an uncontrollable wave of grief rises inside him, and he has to swallow rapidly in order to quell it. Henry, his son. The son that he barely knows but already cares so much about. The son that he would do anything for. The son that mirrors himself as a child, minus the look of soul crushing abandonment. The son who is stuck, alone, back in Storybrooke, accompanied by only his very dangerous grandfather. Henry is probably as good as dead, given Rumplestilskin's volatile history, his tendency to destroy anything in his way. All Neal can do is hope that Rumplestilskin will take mercy on his grandson.
How could Neal have not noticed that Henry wasn't there? How could he have not protected him? In many ways, Neal is just as bad as his father, abandoning his son like that. One could argue that this wasn't his fault, that he couldn't possibly have known about being mysteriously transported back to the Enchanted Forest. But as a father, shouldn't he have some sort of ESP like perception that would allow him to protect his son? Neal feels like he's failed Henry. All he wants is to be a good father, the exact opposite of his father, but he's already fallen short of that.
The fact is, whether he likes it or not, Neal is exactly like his father. Someone who abandons their child. The worst part is, as far as anyone knows, there is no way of going back to Storybrooke. Nobody even knows how they even got here. Despite his strong dislike of the Evil Queen, he has been bugging Regina any chance he can get. Not to mention Mother Superior/the Blue Fairy. But even they don't know.
There isn't even any way to contact Rumplestilskin for help, like how Emma told him about how she and Mary Margaret had contacted him via dreams the time they were transported here by Jefferson's hat. Not that his father would be likely to help unless it benefited himself. Even it had to do with his own son, he probably wouldn't even care. But still. An option would be nice. All Neal wants to know is that Henry is ok. And the chance to apologize, to explain that he hadn't meant to leave him behind. But that is clearly out of the question.
There is, of course, one more option. He could go to Emma for help. He knows that she does have some magic, though she has no idea how to use or control it. But now that she's lost her memories, maybe she's lost her magical abilities. It's certainly possible, since in the time they'd spent together, she'd never shown any sign of magic. And Neal has had much experience with spotting magic.
With Emma on his side, they'd accomplish things much faster. She's always had an eye for detail and she could probably suggest things he hadn't thought of.
But there's the fact that Emma has lost her memories. That she no longer knows who Henry is. She only knows that she gave up a son in jail. She would just pronounce Neal crazy and punch him in the face.
Still. Henry is her son. In a way, more hers than his. Up until several months ago, he hadn't even been aware of the fact that his actions had had more drastic consequences than the obvious. She deserves to know, or rather relearn, about him. To get the chance to help him. He knows how much Emma and Henry care for each other, and how that love has changed her for the better. Without the knowledge of Henry, Emma has regressed back into the angry, bitter, closed off person she was. Maybe he can find something to jog her memory.
With a sigh, Neal trudges off towards her room. He only knows that it's hers because he'd asked David the day before. Emma's father had glared at him suspiciously, but nevertheless pointed him in the right direction. There is the possibility that she's not in her room, but he knows Emma well enough to be sure of the fact that she likes to hide out in solitude when stuck in an unfamiliar location.
Vaguely, he realizes that Tamara has been gone for an awfully long time. Come to think of it, she's been disappearing more and more. But he chalks it up to the fact that she's just curious about this place. Neither of them have ever been to a place like this before. This palace is something straight of a fairy tale, something that resembles a building tourists would flock to, something that architects would study. Tamara probably just wants to learn her way around. To admire the scenery despite the obvious hardships. He is very impressed with the degree of bravery that she's handling their less than stellar situation. Most women would be scared out of their minds at this point. Stuck in a strange land. This is one of the reasons why he loves Tamara. She's strong and capable. Much like…no. Neal would much rather not think about her right now.
Mentally preparing himself for the angry and possibly violent response his appearance would only garner, he steps into her room. And gasps as he finds it empty.
(later that night)
She hears the loud, guttural calls behind her. Faster, faster. She urges herself inwardly, cursing herself for choosing these boots. They're really not made for running from large, strange, bloodthirsty creatures.
Her breath is becoming shallow and her legs are aching like hell, but Emma continues to pump her arms, to propel herself away from whatever the hell is chasing her. She can hear the huge thumps of footsteps behind her. Feel them rattle her bones, make her heart to pound with an increasing frenzy. She doesn't even stop to think about what it is that's chasing her, that seems so hell bent on killing her.
She hadn't even been doing anything to provoke it. She was just running through the forest, trying to put as much distance as she could between herself and the castle full of freaks, when all of a sudden she'd heard the loud, bone chilling, hair raising growls. One look at the huge, hairy feet not twenty feet behind her and she was running. Running for her life.
Suddenly, without warning, the ground is rising up to meet her face and she finds herself sprawled out on the ground on her stomach, white hot pain shooting up her leg. Emma twists her head back and sees the large tree root sticking up from the ground not far from her left foot. Gingerly, she tries to scramble up, testing out her leg, slowly placing weight on it, but the pain alone is enough to make her gasp aloud, sending burning tears to her eyes.
The large, thumping footsteps become louder and louder, and Emma knows with a dead certainty that with every passing moment, the creature is approaching, becoming closer and closer. She tries to stand again, but her ankle can't support the weight of her body. No, no, no. Emma thinks frantically.
But it's too late. The hairs on the back of her neck rise. Suddenly, she can feel hot, stinking breaths behind her. Slowly, Emma flips herself onto her back. And looks straight into the milky white eyes of her soon to be killer.
She hears a voice in her head. The last thing you'll see is your reflection in their eyes as you die. The voice is vaguely familiar, but she cannot place it.
Frantically, Emma tries to scoot herself backwards, away from the creature. He looms over her, his face inches from hers. He lets out a loud growl, a growl that sends her hair flying in all directions, leaving her neck exposed. Emma grasps on the ground for anything, anything that will stop the creature, buy her time before her inevitable death. Branches, stones, anything. But there is nothing. Nothing except for dirt. Panic is rising as she sees the razor sharp, blood stained teeth. The teeth that have obviously killed so many before her. The teeth that will ultimately be her undoing.
The creature is coming closer and closer. She sees his large claws. Claws that are so effortlessly uprooting trees in his haste to get to her. To kill. Claws that will rip her apart, limb from limb.
She will never meet her parents. Never fall in love again. Never have the life that she's always dreamed of. She will die here, alone in a strange place where nobody will know.
As if he senses her fear, the creature approaches with an increasing frenzy, drool dripping from the large, fleshy lips that will lead to her tomb. In one fell swoop, the creature reaches down and picks her up, lifting her ten, twenty, thirty feet in the air. Emma does not even bother to struggle, to try to free herself from the creature's grip, for she knows that it is useless. Stars appear in her vision as she struggles to draw breath, as the creature's grip on her becomes tighter and tighter. Everything is growing hazy and unfocused. She feels herself begin to black out, to pass out from lack of air. The last thing she will ever see is the creature's teeth. The wide jaw that is opening to devour her. As she closes her eyes and prepares for her death, the one thought pulsing through her mind is that this creature looks very familiar. A flash of déjà vu flows through her.
Suddenly, she hears the clip clopping of footsteps behind her, footsteps that sound like a horse galloping. Emma hears a woman's shouts and cries, and the whistle of the wind as something ripples through the night. The grip on her body is released, and she is catapulted through the air, screaming as her world turns upside down. Her neck bangs down on something rough and sharp and a horrible clang fills her ears, air seemingly leaving her body as she hits the cold earth.
Emma vaguely hears a guttural growl as something large and undoubtedly heavy hits the ground near her. Something close to her cracks loudly, and she cannot tell whether it's the crack of a tree branch or a splintered bone in her body. She tries to sit up, to fight, anything, but she cannot move. It feels as though every cell in her body is weighed down with sandbags.
Through half closed eyes, she can make out the hazy shapes of two figures cautiously making their way towards her. Fevering whispers fill the air.
But the mind numbing, unforgiving pain is too much, and everything slowly fades to black, giving way to nothingness.
