They were all standing in Regina's office— Emma, Henry, Snow, Charming, Robin and Merida — the familiarity of the stark black and white marble against black and white walls comforting to some and unsettling to others (mainly Merida, who was so new to this town and these people). Each with a dreamcatcher in hand. Emma had managed to find where Hook had hidden them — hidden them from her, Emma thought grimly. But she didn't feel she had the right to be angry. Because she'd done the same thing weeks earlier.
"We're meant to believe you're going to give back our memories, just like that," Merida asked, sarcasm rumbling low in her thick Scottish brogue.
"We can trust her," Henry insisted, his voice pleading. Because if there was any chance to get through the future ahead, they had to start somewhere. These broken bonds had to be repaired. And Emma was trying.
"Can we?" Regina asked aloud — and she regretted it. It was rhetorical, and hadn't meant to show the fractured trust between them to everyone.
"Yes," Emma replied firmly, and simply.
And Regina looked into Emma's eyes for a moment, and her tense frame loosened somewhat. She believed her.
"Okay," she said softly, her eyes squinting, flinching, because she never expected to be on this side of things — being the one who was leading the group in deciding who should or should not be trusted. She never expected so much of what was currently happening.
Each of them held their dreamcatcher out before them, and with a wave of her uncured hand, Emma released the memories she had taken — and Hook had stolen.
The events that had unfolded in Camelot weeks ago were unfolding once more before their eyes, and all eyes were on Emma.
"I remember," she breathed out — and there was fear in her eyes, raw and unfiltered.
That was enough to shake every one of them. Because the Dark One should never be afraid.
"I know what he's doing — I know what they're doing," she corrected herself instantly — because it wasn't just Hook. It was all of them. All of the Dark Ones from before them.
"Congratulations," the glittering imp said giddily from beside Hook, staring out at the pond before them. Rumplestilskin may have been only a figment of the Dark One's imagination, but his presence was so oppressive, so visceral, he may as well have actually been there.
"You returned from your duel with exactly the right ingredients for our plan," he sang with a twisted grin. "The blood of a man who'd been to hell and back."
"Rumplestilskin has done what few can claim. He died. And then he returned. This pond," he announced gesturing flamboyantly at the murky water, a fog rolling in over the surface. "Holds a portal to the underworld itself."
"This is where the Fury tried to drag Robin to Hell," Hook remembered aloud.
"I thought the portal only appeared when the moon reaches its zenith," he stated quizzically, turning to the shadow of the Dark One for answers.
"Yes, for a Fury," he stated with obvious annoyance.
"But it's always existed, Dearie. You just have to know how to open it."
The shadow reached down and touched Killian's hook, dipping a finger in to the smear of blood and nodding.
Hook understood well enough and with an eye roll, he stepped forward, crouched down, and dipped the metal hook into the dark waters.
The surface rippled, disturbed by some unseen entity, and changed from muddy brown to crimson. Fog was rolling in faster now, and parted to reveal a boat, captained by a cloaked figure. The sight was menacing and dark, and the air buzzed with deep, dark evil.
"Bloody Hell," Hook breathed out.
"That's exactly where that came from," the shadow replied, grinning and giddy, pleased with his joke.
The figure drew closer, walking on the surface of the water now with ease. Hook narrowed his eyes in curiosity as the hood was pushed back, revealing Nimue — the First Dark One.
"We're here," she announced calmly, a smile on her lips. "All of us. As promised. In the flesh. And now it's time to get to work, to do what Dark Ones do best — snuff out the light."
She turned behind her, and the ship was now full of hooded figures — every incarnation of the Dark One that had come to be since the dawn of time.
"Welcome to Storbrooke, love."
With an understanding now of Hook's plan, urgency was in Emma's every step as she marched away from the Mayor's office at Town Hall and down the main street, her mother and father, her son, and Regina and Robin trailing behind.
"Emma, slow down. We need to talk about this. We need a plan," David begged, hurrying to keep up with his daughter's unnaturally long gait.
Regina looked over at him and frowned — that's all the Charmings ever wanted to do. Talk. Talking had rarely gotten her anywhere, especially when a very real threat was already mobilized against them.
"The plan is to find Hook before he resurrects all of the Dark Ones. You think dealing with one is bad…" she replied with a fire in her eyes.
"There's more than one Dark One?!" Leroy's panicked voice was suddenly behind them, their group growing by six.
"It's a long story," David replied with a certain curtness in his tone because there was no time for explanations.
"Well it don't matter, there's seven of us!" Leroy reminded them gruffly.
"Six. Dopey's still a tree.." Happy reminded him — and he was too stupid to realize his comments were unwanted.
"We may be down a dwarf, but we're ready to fight," Grumpy insisted, his bottom row of teeth bared beneath his thick beard.
"We won't have to, I'm going to take care of this," Emma promised, still marching at the head of the pack, not waiting for any of them to keep up.
"Think you can talk him out of this?" David asked, genuinely hopeful.
Regina turned her head again, her hand still held in Robin's since they'd left Town Hall — she shot David a look of disbelief and anger and for the fifth time in as many minutes, she cursed the fact that she was surrounded by dimwits.
"There's no talking," Regina snapped, her gaze locked on Snow's husband. "We have to hit him with everything we've got."
Robin grabbed her arm and pulled her a little closer at that, his eyes full of worry. "Regina," he begged softly, but he didn't press further.
"Well it's not his fault," Snow chimed in. "He didn't want to become the Dark One."
And that statement was just as painful to Emma now as the decision making had been back in Camelot. But it was his life, she thought, still trying to justify it.
"But he did. Because of me," Emma finished the thought her mother had begun. "None of that matters anymore," she said with the shake of her head, and she stopped in her tracks, turning to face the group that was following her.
"Regina's right. We need to hit him with everything," she agreed, locking eyes with the woman with whom she shared a son.
"No matter how hard this might be," Emma relented, her eyes lowering to the ground. "We need to split up, find him.. and stop him. No matter what it takes."
"Come on. This is the fastest way to the harbor," Robin said breathlessly, his arrow drawn, taut against his bow, keeping Regina to the inside of the alley. He didn't want her out here at all, but there was no use in thinking about anything but protecting her now.
"And you think we'll find Hook just sipping rum by the sea?" Regina asked, her tone more annoyed than she truly intended. But this was her defense against the unknown, and against fear. Because she was afraid. Because for all the battles she had fought and won and lost — she'd never had to do it while protecting a life inside her. And she knew Robin was thinking the same.
Her heels clicked against the pavement, her camelhair coat flowing behind her with each hurried step. At least she still felt somewhat herself.
"He's not exactly a pirate anymore," she reminded him, shooting a glance to Robin that was filled with disappointment. Because she didn't have a better idea.
"Once a pirate, always a pirate," Robin replied, stepping just ahead of her as they neared the opposite end of the alley, the harbor house in front of them. They would be in the open in just a few steps, and Robin wasn't taking any chances. "Take it from a reformed thief. Old habits die hard."
"They certainly do," the familiar voice came from the green cloud of smoke that appeared just steps in front of them both.
Robin's bow was up in an instant, his aim true. "Careful who you sneak up on," he growled, not moving to lower his weapon.
"Get out of our way, Zelena," Regina sighed. "We don't have time for this." And she was stepping forward, pushing past her sister.
"I'd like to have a little chat about my daughter," Zelena insisted, stepping to the side, blocking their path.
"My daughter," Robin replied angrily, needing to assert himself here — because Zelena barely had any ground here at all.
"About that," she sneered. "I've worked up a teeny alteration to our custody arrangement. I've decided to grant myself sole custody. See, I'd like to raise her by myself without you two getting in the way. I'm going to teach her to be wicked." She whispered the last part, her smile growing, wild eyes bulging.
Robin leaned in with his drawn arrow and only a small part of him was thinking of lowering it. Every fiber of his being was begging him to loose it directly between her eyes, to rid them all of her presence once and for all.
"You try and take my daughter from us…" he growled, stepping in front of Regina — because he would not allow Zelena to lay a hand on Regina as long as he was alive.
Zelena only laughed — and it enraged them both.
"Oh, come on," she gasped for breath in between laughs. "There's no point in us fighting about it. Because…soon enough you'll both be dead, and…." Zelena's blue eyes were lowering to Regina's belly, noting that the curve had grown and was now pressing against the thin seam at the waist of her dress.
"…And then I can just take her." Her eyes glittered as if she were going to reach into Regina right then and there and rip her child out.
Regina tensed, because she wouldn't put any of it past her deranged sister, and she found herself covering her abdomen with both her hands, careful steps backing up — and hating herself for insisting on wearing heels.
"What do you mean 'we'll be dead'," Regina asked, and her tone lacked the fight that she had meant for it to possess.
"Ask them," Zelena grinned, nudging her chin out to gesture behind them.
Regina turned on her heel and stumbled back into Robin — two hooded figures walked slowly toward them, showing no sign of stopping, or of even noticing their presence. She kept a hand at her belly, as if that alone would keep her child safe, the other flailing, frantically grasping at Robin's jacket.
He stepped in front of her without hesitation, arrow drawn once more. "Dark One. Stand back!" he shouted — and Regina believed, if only for a moment, that his determination would be enough.
But the two figures simply pressed on, walking — passing right through them both.
The sensation was unsettling to say the least, and Regina found herself shaking, stumbling to her side, a hand moving to brace herself against the brick wall of the alleyway. She breathed out heavily, nausea returning and head spinning — and she might have given in then, let her knees buckle just for the relief of sitting on solid ground, but —
"MOM! Help me!" Henry's voice cried out, and Regina was no longer thinking of herself. She turned and breathed in deeply, hoping it was enough to keep her from going down. She raced back down the alley and out towards Main Street in time to see another figure passing through her son.
Emma reached him first, and she knew he was safe for now, so she slowed her steps and found Robin at her side just in time. She grabbed hold of his arm and groaned softly, her opposite hand having never left the curve of her belly.
"What just happened to us…" Regina asked, still clinging to Robin as they slowly approached the group.
"Mom?" Henry asked, his worried eyes on Regina — on her belly.
"I think I may have the answer to that," Gold interrupted, heads turning towards his voice.
Henry stayed close to Regina, letting his body, Robin's and Emma's, become a barrier around her.
"Check your wrists," he suggested.
Regina reluctantly pulled her hand away from her middle and turned her wrist over, a circle, glowing faintly, with a symbol at its center. She looked to Robin as he checked his own, then over to Snow, to Charming.
"What is that," Emma asked with wide eyes.
"That's…the Mark of Charon," Gold announced defeatedly.
"Charon?" Henry asked.
Regina turned to her son and grabbed his wrist, turning it over to examine it for herself. Her heart ached. "Henry," she breathed out sadly, her eyes wide and full of sorrow.
"The Ferryman. In the old myths," Henry added, letting his mother hold onto his arm — because as much as this was a problem for all of them, he understood the added layer for Regina.
"He navigated a boat…to the Underworld," he recalled from his books.
"Smart lad," Gold replied only half mockingly. "You see, the Dark Ones only have a temporary pass into this world, like a — like a tourist visa. The only way for them to stay…is to trade places with living souls."
"Meaning us," David nodded.
"Exactly," Gold agreed.
"But…the baby," Regina whispered, not so quietly that no one heard.
Because as far as she understood, the baby wasn't marked. And the Underworld was a place for the dead. And she had been marked. And minutes earlier, Zelena had threatened to take back the baby. And she was shaking now, at the fragility of it all, and how much she hated that this seemed to always be her lot in life.
But no one had an answer. So Henry stepped even closer, and wrapped his arm around her and rested his head on her shoulder, and wished he could promise that it would be okay. And Robin was staying strong, and had his hand at her hip, his thumb moving back and forth over the side of her belly.
"When the moon reaches its peak, the ferry from the Underworld will arrive…and drag us down there," Gold explained.
"Well, that doesn't sound good," David remarked.
Regina wanted to scream. IDIOT. How much clearer did it have to be that this was not the time for obvious remarks, laced with sarcasm — but then again, what was there to say. And David didn't have as much on the line, and everything always seemed to work out for him and Snow, regardless of how bleak things looked. But that was not the way the world worked for her. She silently forgave his stupidity, because he would never understand the risk. Because good always wins.
"Speaking as one who's died, and been there, it's not." Gold shot back, grimly.
"So how do we stop it," Regina asked, her voice bold and angry despite the weakness she felt inside.
"We can't," Gold assured her.
"The Underworld is worse than you can possibly imagine. It's going to make you wish the old stories of fire and brimstone were true. It's going to make you wish for death. And then the realization will hit — that death has already come, and this fresh torture is all that's left."
"Gold, you're scaring Henry," Emma interceded, placing her hands on her son's shoulders.
But that was only half true. He was scared, but not for himself. He was scared for his mother. He was scared for the baby. He was scared because he knew how these stories ended for villains — even when they had changed.
"Good. Because we should all be scared," Gold snapped back in reply. "This is death itself. This is a fight we cannot win."
"No," Emma agrued. "I'm not marked. I'm not going to give up. There has to be something we can do."
"You're right. There is something. Use this time wisely. Use it to say goodbye." With that, he turned and went back into his shop, slamming the door closed behind him, leaving the group in silence, and fear.
"Gold has to be missing something," Henry insisted quite desperately, plopping a stack of old texts down on top of the trunk full of Regina's old gowns.
Her vault was brightly lit by candles and torches, and despite what this place had once represented years ago, it felt like a haven now. Snow sat in front of Regina's chest of potion bottles, comforting her infant son in her arms. Emma was rifling through yellowed pages with ancient words scrawled over in them in fading ink.
"There has to be a way to escape this mark."
But instead of the usual speech about having Hope, Snow was silent. David was, too. Even Emma just stood there, lips unmoving, her eyes downcast and defeated.
"Mabye Gold's right," Snow suggested finally, breaking the unbearable silence. "Maybe this is a fight we can't win."
Tears were gathering at the rims of her eyes, and neither Henry nor Emma — nor David, for that matter — had ever heard her so devoid of hope.
"Mom," Emma whispered, the notion of a hopeless Snow White too much to bear. "You're Snow White. You don't know how to give up. Hope is in your blood," she reminded her gently, and the reminder was for herself, as well.
"And I do hope, Emma…" Snow promised, standing up and crossing the space between them. "But…I don't want to spend what could be my last moments with my nose in a book," she whispered, her lips quivering as she breathed in a choked sob. "I want to make the most of my moments with my family…"
"Dinner at Granny's," Henry suggested solemnly. "That's what we should do." Because Granny's was the heart of the town — the heart of their family. It was where so many victories had been celebrated, parties had been thrown. It was where Emma first invited Regina to be a part of their clan. It was where Emma shared her first hot cocoa and cinnamon with her son. It was where Snow and David had shared countless plates of fries over whispered conversations, back in the early days of the town, when their memories were just barely returned. Granny's was home. To all of them.
"Yeah," David agreed with a sad smile as he closed the book he'd been searching through. "Dinner at Granny's. That's a great idea." And what better way was there, really, to say goodbye — and to enjoy it — instead of staring out into the night, waiting for death to come. Because life was lived there within those walls.
Life and laughter and love and tears and worry and reunions over the clinking of glasses and scraping of forks and knives over plates — it was always at Granny's.
"What about Neal?" Emma asked, her eyes on the baby in her mother's arms. "He'll be left here all alone.."
"He won't be alone, Emma," Snow reminded her, offering a smile, the thought comforting herself. "He'll have you."
"I will not give up on my own family," Emma argued, shaking her head. She could not bring herself to resign to this. Dinner at Granny's was a death sentence for all of them. It meant they weren't willing to keep fighting — fighting against what she had set in motion. The guilt was overwhelming her already.
Snow turned her head and passed Neal into her husband's arms, facing her grown daughter once more.
"Emma, we're almost out of time," she whispered, tears she no longer felt the need to hide rolling down her full, rosy cheeks.
"And time is what's most important," she reminded her. "Time with those we love," she whispered, reaching forward to take Emma's face in her hands. She leaned in to press a kiss to her forehead, and she had to stand on her toes to reach.
"I know you won't stop trying," Snow wept with a smile, because she knew her daughter was a fighter — she was born a fighter and had lived as a fighter and she would die fighting, too.
"And I hope you succeed. But…promise me that you'll…come meet us at Granny's. Come say goodbye," she begged sadly.
"I promise," Emma whispered. And she hated that she had said it, because meeting them there meant she was accepting defeat.
"I love you Emma," Snow whispered, embracing her daughter before turning to go, ascending the stone steps of the Vault to make their peace. To meet their end.
Emma was alone in the vault for only a few moments before Regina was descending those steps, and as the Dark One's eyes met with the Queen's form, she could feel sorrow rising as a lump in her throat. Because failing now meant failing Regina, too.
"So I hear we're giving up," Regina sighed, sounding more disappointed in the fact that they were accepting defeat than in the fact that they were doomed to die.
Emma's eyes burned and for a moment, she wondered if she would be able to shed her hardened shell in front of her counterpart. Her cracks were showing, and though she fought it, her gaze betrayed her, unable to help but cast her eyes on the roundness of Regina's middle.
"No," Emma corrected her after a pause, her eyes lifting to Regina's face. No. Giving up wasn't an option. Not now, not ever. Not with so many lives at stake. Not with babies who needed their mothers counting on her. Not with former villains who desperately needed their happy ending to show them that all of their years of handwork had paid off.
"Not tonight. Not ever," she added with a new fire in her eyes. "If I can destroy the Dark Ones, no souls will be owed. And you will all be spared," she promised, stepping closer to Regina. The exchange was charged with emotion — because Regina understood that Emma meant her child, too, would be spared.
Regina was terrified, her hands tense at her sides, trying to maintain composure, even as the tears in her eyes gave her away. "How?" she asked, and her voice broke as she whispered it.
"Do you remember the promise you made in Camelot," Emma asked, and tears were flowing freely from dark eyes, red circles forming quickly around the tender skin. "To do whatever was necessary to get rid of the darkness?" she asked, choking those words out with a sob.
Regina shook her head. "I don't like where this is going," she admitted. This woman before her, however she had been transformed by darkness, had changed her life — in more ways than she could count. She had given her a son, her first chance at motherhood. And it was a second chance, too, for her. She gave her hope. She gave her protection. She gave her friendship. She gave her family. And as Regina's hand lifted to touch gently against her distended belly, she breathed in sharply — she had given her this, too.
"I need you to keep that promise now," Emma whispered, her words as heavy in meaning as they were soft in tone. "And I need you to swear not to tell anyone else…"
Regina stepped forward and dropped her hand away from her belly, closing the space between herself and Emma, her eyes locked with the woman she called friend.
"But to get rid of the darkness…you still have to put it in someone," Regina reminded her grimly — because she knew that Emma hadn't forgotten that by any stretch. But she wanted to know the plan. She wanted to know what Emma intended to do — because the look in the Dark Swan's eyes was one she knew all too well. Sacrifice.
"And sacrifice them…." Regina finished, her eyes narrowed in worry. "Who," she asked, but she wasn't sure she wanted the answer.
"Me," Emma replied, her voice lilting and sad and small.