A blood-curdling scream. That is the only thing Leroy can hear as it sounds again and again in his head, over and over Ruby's scream. Why did he leave her? Her and the little prince, why?

The origins of the first scream had been a lost cause- a group of four people under siege by walkers and all of them had been dead, dying, or bitten by the time he had reached them along the side of abandoned train tracks. The last man standing among them- bitten in the neck by the final walker- had let out a defeated cry as he sunk to his knees. Upon seeing Leroy he had pointed toward the horizon. "Follow the tracks," he sighed. "There's signs, a sanctuary they said at the end of the line. It's where we were headed. You can be safe there."

And that's when Ruby's scream had pierced Leroy's ears and he had turned, sprinted back the way he had come, tripping and stumbling over brush, but not caring in the least. Ruby was capable, handy with a gun and a knife, but she was hurt and had the baby Charming with her. He shouldn't have left, he thinks for the millionth time. Who knows what could have happened to cause her to scream so terribly. Walkers, probably, but there could still be Governor minions lurking and if one of them had found her-

He crashes into the small clearing where he had left them and spins around, searching the nearby brush for any sign of Ruby or the prince. Nothing. No living or unliving creature to be seen. Fuck. "Ruby!" he shouts, ignoring the pounding of his heart and the dread bubbling up in his stomach. There's no response, but no blood, bodies, or guts on the ground either, so maybe nothing bad happened. Maybe he's just thinking the worst. But that scream, that was Ruby, no question about it. "Ruby!" he calls again, turning around and around in the clearing, looking in every single direction for some signal.

He hears a rustling then behind him and he spins, axe raised high at the ready. Heart pounding, mind racing, breath heavy- why did he leave them alone- he steels himself, bracing for whatever threat is awaiting him behind the brush when he hears it.

"Leroy!"

Ruby. Inhale, exhale. He closes his eyes for a second in thanks and upon opening them again, sees Ruby stepping out from the thick of the forest, baby prince still nestled in her arms. She looks a little disheveled, but otherwise unharmed and he can't help the small wave of anger that comes over him for getting all worked up about nothing. "What the hell was that?" he asks, going for snippy but landing on weary. "I heard you scream."

"I did scream," Ruby confirms, adjusting her hold on the child.

"What, did the trees scare you?" Leroy grumbles, managing a more irate tone now that his heart has stopped pounding.

Ruby glares at him. "No-"

"Walkers nearly got her."

The new voice is strange, accented and familiar and it takes a moment for Leroy to place it, but by the time Belle steps into view from beyond Ruby, he can't imagine how he didn't recognize it immediately. The dwarf blinks a few times at the bookworm, slowly fathoming her presence in front of him, before he's striding toward her, wrapping her up in a fierce hug. She 'oofs' in surprise, stumbling back half a step at the force of his embrace but then he feels her arm around his back and she huffs out a laugh.

"I didn't think you made it out," Leroy explains, pulling back to look at her, but keeping her at arm's length, hands on her biceps. He tries to remember if he had seen Belle at all that day, but between this morning and now, so many things have happened it's nearly impossible to keep straight the past hour alone.

She looks at him for a moment, face blank, before she blinks and shakes her head. "I, uh, wasn't there. I had been out with Emma on a run and… we had found another car so she headed back to the prison while I did a final sweep," she explains, eyes shifting between Leroy and Ruby behind them. "I got back just after everything… went down."

There's something off about her tone, something uncomfortable, but Leroy suspects it's just because of the hell they've all been put through. "I'm sure that must've been a shock," he sympathizes, releasing his grip on her arms.

She nods. "I couldn't believe it. It looked like a war zone. Did… did anyone else make it out?"

Leroy looks back at Ruby and exchanges a defeated look. "We don't know," he admits, turning back to Belle. "We haven't seen anybody else yet, but we think a lot of people got caught by the rocket launcher."

"A lot of people?" Belle repeats, shifting anxiously. "What… what people?"

Leroy sighs, chewing the inside of his cheek to try and abate the anguish creeping up his throat. "Emma," he starts, looking down at his boot toeing the dirt. "Henry. Regina, David. Snow. And Neal, but the Governor took care of him before it all started. Everyone else, we don't know where the bus ended up or even if everyone made it to the bus."

"Oh my god," Belle breathes, hand going to her mouth. She closes her eyes for a moment, pain washing over her features. "How did you guys make it?"

"We were busy saving the little prince," Ruby explains, stepping closer and holding the baby up as if to prove it. "We weren't near the brunt of the explosion, but they were."

Belle swallows a sob, eyes turning to the child. "So he's… the only Charming left?"

"As far as we know," Leroy nods solemnly. "I don't… I don't know how any of them would've survived that." I don't know how we survived any of that, he thinks, but keeps that notion to himself. It'll be night soon, they better get a move on to find some shelter…

"Well, I'm glad you three made it at least," Belle says through a sad smile, voice still shaking. She shakes her head as if to rid herself of her current emotional state and takes a deep breath. "I suppose we don't have time to dwell on any of that right now, though. We've only got a few hours of daylight left and we better find somewhere to hunker down for the night." She pulls a curved dagger from her belt and points. "I think the train tracks are in that direction. If we follow them, we'll probably come across a town sooner or later. Buildings to stay the night."

Train tracks. "Follow the tracks," Leroy repeats aloud, the dying man's instructions coming back to him.

"What?" Ruby asks, the baby Charming starting to squirm in her arms.

Belle reaches out and takes the infant, holding him against her shoulder as he starts to cry. As she coos and shushes him, Leroy clears his throat. "Follow the tracks," he says again. "The people I found earlier had said they were following the tracks. Said there was a sanctuary at the end of the line, that we could be safe there." He shrugs, pulling his axe free from where he had slung it in his backpack. "Dunno if it's real, but it couldn't hurt to look, right? Anything would be better than what we have right now."

"What if it's a trap?" Belle asks, bouncing from side to side in an effort to calm the little prince.

"I think that's a risk we're going to have to take," Ruby muses, glancing up at the late afternoon sky.

"Then come on," Leroy instructs, gesturing with his axe. He leads the way, cutting back the occasional overgrown bush or twiggy tree as they go. There's a tiny nagging feeling in his stomach, like they should be wary seeking shelter somewhere alien to them, but then again, everywhere is alien to them now. Not every place can be like Woodbury, right? Maybe the folks at the end of the tracks are just like them, maybe they run their place like the Charmings had run the prison. Maybe.

"You never told me what happened back there," Leroy reminds Ruby as they pick their way through the forest. "When you screamed."

"Oh, some walkers found us. It was only three of them, but having a baby in your arms and a bad leg doesn't make easy work," Ruby explains, cutting away a thorny branch that had snagged her shirt sleeve.

"Sorry," Leroy mutters, feeling guilty over the situation not for the first time.

"You didn't know that would happen," Ruby dismisses with a wave of her hand. "Besides, Belle came to the rescue, going samurai on their undead asses."

Belle laughs despite the crying baby still wriggling against her hold. "You're lucky I showed up when I did. Although, I think this little one might've surprised us all with his fighting skills."

"Yeah, he'll be a regular Rocky Balboa," Ruby quips. She grabs Leroy's shoulder suddenly. "Hey, that's something we could name him."

He looks at her like she has two heads. "Pretty sure Snow would have a heart attack if we named her son after Sylvester Stallone. No, we are also not naming him Sylvester Stallone."

"You two are thinking of naming him?" Belle asks, switching her hold on the infant so he's cradled in her arms.

They both look sheepish at the same time. "Can't keep calling him the 'little prince' for the rest of his life, now can we? And I mean, Snow and David aren't around to name him anymore, so…" Leroy trails off, feeling as if they might be overstepping their boundaries for some ridiculous reason.

"No, no, I totally get it," Belle assures him as they reach a break in the trees, the stretch of train tracks going infinitely to either side appearing in front of them. "He deserves to have a name of his own."

"Yeah, we just don't know what," Ruby sighs as they step up onto the tracks and then stop. "Which way?"

Leroy looks from either side and points to the right. "That's the way the guy said. Guess we're going to have to take his word for it."

"Or not," Belle muses, walking toward a post about fifty yards in front of them in the direction Leroy indicated. As they get closer, he can make out what appears to be a map, several dark lines starting at different places but ending at the same point marked with a big star. When they're right in front of the post, the words sprawled across the top and bottom become easier to read:

Sanctuary for all.

Community for all.

Those who arrive survive.

Terminus.

Henry hasn't spoken to her since their argument just after fleeing the prison and it's driving Emma crazy. She's tried to get him to talk, asked about his shoulder (which was still bleeding from being cut by some piece of debris) or if he was hungry or if he needed to stop. Obstinate silence had been the only response to all of her inquiries and she is just about at her wit's end.

They've found a neighborhood, completely abandoned but mostly in tact. It looks like families with old money used to live here, Emma thinks, as they stroll down the main road. Most of the houses are large and white with big wrap-around porches and trees lining the paths in the front yards. Old fashioned lamp posts run along the sidewalk and she gets the vague impression that the neighborhood would look like something out of Lady and the Tramp if it hadn't been abandoned.

It's getting dark, though, and they need to find a place to stay the night. She stops in front of one of the white houses tucked behind two large sycamores and nudges Henry on the shoulder. "This one is as good as any," she says when he only slows his pace. "We need to stop. It's nearing nightfall."

Henry stops walking and turns to look at the house. He shrugs and starts walking up the front path, pulling his revolver from his waistband. Emma follows, glancing behind as she goes. They haven't encountered any walkers for awhile and that makes her suspicious. They never get so lucky.

Henry slowly opens the front door and they both stand on the porch, peering into the living room, weapons at the ready. There's no noise, no movement anywhere. Just an abandoned, ransacked house where normal people once lived. Emma bangs on the doorframe with the butt of her gun and listens for any stirring within the depths of the house. She plans on giving it a minute, just in case some walker is at the very back of the structure, but then Henry is charging through, stepping over the threshold without giving her a second look.

"Henry, wait! There could still be one of them in the back," she hisses, staying on the porch.

Her son sighs, irritated and angry. He turns to face her with a look of condescending frustration. "They would've come out by now," he argues.

"You don't know that. It's a big house," Emma counters and since when does she allow an attitude like that?

Henry rolls his eyes and walks over to the nearest door frame. He bangs a fist on the wall. "Hey, asshole!" he shouts into the house, calling for walkers but looking at his mother. "Hey, shitface! Come out, come out wherever the hell you are!"

Well, that does it. Emma stalks into the house, fury bubbling up and spilling over. "Watch your mouth," she seethes. Henry narrows his eyes defiantly. "And check your damn attitude at the door," she snaps, hands shaking with anger. "You can be pissed off, you can be miserable, but you cannot blame me for this. What happened is not my fault and I'll be damned if I let you keep treating me like it is!"

Henry remains silent, keeping his eyes trained on her face.

"Now whether you like it or not, we're stuck with each other. It's just you and me now and unless you plan on getting us both killed with your moping, I suggest you save your fury for when it won't leave us dead."

"You think I'm moping over this?" Henry yells and yeah, that probably wasn't the best word choice, but he had only been a hair shy of going full-on emo teenager and she had had it.

"You think I'm pouting over my entire family getting murdered in one day?" he continues and shit, shit, shit, this isn't where she wanted them to go.

"Henry-"

"You might be able to just move on and forget about them, but I can't!"

"That is not what I-"

"Sure it is! You want to move on and forget because if you think about it, if you remember then it's going to hurt too much and God forbid you ever feel anything for anyone!"

Emma's rather dumbstruck by that one. Certainly Henry doesn't think she feels nothing for him, for the family they lost? This is just the grief talking, right? It has to be.

"So yeah, I'm going to mope and be angry and shout because I just lost everyone I care about and that's how people deal with shit like this," Henry snaps. "You should probably try it."

"Henry, of course I feel something for the people we lost. How could you think I don't?" she pleads, reaching a hand out to touch his shoulder.

He shrugs it away. "Because you're acting like nothing happened! Like everything's just normal."

"Yeah, because that's what you have to do to keep surviving," she explains, feeling as if she's finally getting somewhere with him. "Don't you think I've wanted to just lay down on the road and cry? That I wanted to run back to the prison with the tiny hope that someone is still alive and maybe find them again? I have been twisted up in knots this entire time but I haven't let it stop me because I need to keep you safe." She steps closer, keeping her gaze steady on his. "What you're feeling, I promise, I'm feeling all of it too. But I still have you. We still have each other and until something happens to change that, you are the only thing I care about."

Henry sniffs and looks down. "Mom used to say that," he murmurs, voice heavy with a cacophony of emotions. "When this all started, she told me she'd do anything to keep me safe because I was the only one she cared about." He looks up and the tears in his eyes make Emma realize she has some of her own blurring her vision. "I don't… I don't think that's true. I think she cared about all of us- you, me, Grandma and Grandpa… Dad…"

He trails off as tears start to trickle down his cheeks and Emma pulls him to her, holding his head to her chest. She tilts her head back, trying to keep her own tears from falling, but knows in the end it's useless. "I know, kid," she whispers, hand stroking through his hair. "I know."

"He just killed Dad," Henry hiccups against her chest. "Just like that, like he meant nothing. How could he do that?" He shakes his head, hair tickling the underside of Emma's chin. "All this time running from walkers, you forget what people do. What they've always done."

Emma sniffs and rests her cheek against the top of his head. "The Governor might not have known what your dad meant to us, but we do. And we have to remember that, remember him. We have to remember everyone and what they meant to us." She pulls back and kisses his forehead. "They're why we have to keep going. If we don't remember them, if we don't fight for them, then no one will. And they deserve to be remembered."

Henry wipes his nose on the back of his sleeve and nods. "Yeah," he agrees, voice shaking. "We gotta keep going. Mom would want us to keep going. So would everyone else."

"And so we will," Emma declares, reaching her hand up to cup his cheek. She kisses his forehead, uncaring that his face is covered in dirt and soot and blood. The prison is behind them. They can't go back now, but they can go forward, wherever forward may lead. They can't stay here in this house forever, it's merely a stopping point for now, but once they find their strength again, they'll keep going. There has to be something else out there. Not everything can end in death and destruction, right? It's dangerous to hope such things these days, but if there's one thing Emma has learned from her mother, it's that sometimes hope is the only thing left to hold onto in a world of misery. So she'll hope. She'll hope there's something waiting for them in the forward, something good and permanent. Henry deserves that. Maybe she deserves that too.

"We need to find food," Emma says after a long moment. "And weapons and any supplies we can muster."

Henry nods. "Right. I'll take downstairs, you take upstairs?"

"Sounds like a plan," Emma agrees. "Shout if you need anything."

They go their separate ways, Henry heading toward the kitchen and Emma climbing the stairs. Twenty minutes later, they convene back in the living room, different sized hauls in hand.

Henry displays his findings proudly on the couch, keeping one hand behind his back. "I found some knives, a few half-used bottles of water, and bag of opened cornflakes and-" He pulls his hand around and beams, revealing a rather large can of something. "Sixty-four ounces of chocolate pudding. Unopened and not expired. The jack pot."

Emma laughs and reaches for his treasure. "Chocolate pudding, huh? I don't know how nutritional and sustaining that would be."

Henry shrugs. "It's better than the boxes of powdered jello I found. Can't make jello if you have no way of cooling it so it'll set."

Emma starts to laugh again, but then stops, her smile faltering. It's stupid, getting sentimental over a dumb thing like jello, but Killian had hated jello from the moment he tried it and she had always found it so amusing that he hated a children's food so vehemently. She swallows, face flushing as a realization hits her. This is part of her reality now. Their reality, hers and Henry's. Everyday, little things, dumb things will be reminders of the people they loved and lost, pain refreshing over and over again.

"Mom?" Henry interrupts her thoughts, concern flashing across his face. "You okay?"

Emma musters a smile and nods. "Yeah, I just… was thinking about something." She shakes her head to clear her mind, reaching down to show her own haul. "I didn't find any food, but I did find some cords we can use to tie the door shut tonight. Other than that, upstairs was pretty much wiped."

"It doesn't seem like anyone's been in here for awhile," Henry observes, glancing around. "People must've hit this place right as everything started and then left it to rot."

Emma smirks. "Hey, this is the nicest house I've ever been in. Well, except for Regina's place. Nothing can top her house."

Henry chuckles and reaches for the bag of cornflakes. "Yeah, Mom knew how to keep a house, that's for sure." He plops down on the couch and pushes the knives and chocolate pudding over, patting the newly cleared cushion for Emma to sit.

She does, reaching for a knife and examining the blade. It's a little dull, but nothing a few swipes along a rock won't fix. She tosses the weapon carelessly to the side, taking the bag of cornflakes when Henry offers. They're stale, but food is rarely fresh anymore. She passes the bag back to him and wipes her hands together to get rid of the crumbs.

"So what now?" Henry asks, shoving a handful of cereal into his mouth.

"We'll stay here for the night," Emma answers. "Maybe two. Figured we can go exploring around the neighborhood tomorrow and see what else we can find. And then… I don't know. I guess we'll keep moving."

Henry nods, swallows. He crinkles the bag slightly, thumb rubbing against the plastic as he stays quiet for a long moment. "I'm scared to go to sleep tonight," he admits quietly, eyes lowered to his lap.

Emma turns her head to look at him, hand coming up to play with his hair. "Why's that?" she asks gently.

Henry shrugs. "If I go to sleep tonight, I'm going to have to wake up and it'll be tomorrow."

Emma nods slowly, unsure about where he's going with this.

Henry shakes his head. "Tomorrow is going to be the first day of my entire life that I'll wake up and my mom will be dead. And my dad. And my grandparents and the rest of my family. That's what it'll be for the rest of my life. I don't want to wake up and have to remember that they're gone."

Emma exhales and pulls him closer to her, his head falling to rest on her shoulder. She doesn't say anything because there's really nothing to say. He's right. It's going to hurt all over again tomorrow when they wake up and remember. Nothing's going to change that. They might have made peace with the fact that their family is gone, but that doesn't mean the pain has lessened or disappeared. She suspects it never truly will.

Hook can't remember passing out twice in the same day before. No, wait, that's a lie. Back during his blacker days, when everything sort of ran together in a drunken blur, he definitely passed out multiple times in one day. So maybe that wasn't a lie. He's passed out twice in a row before, he just can't remember doing it.

Regardless, if waking up from passing out once is difficult, waking up the second time is even worse. There's a drum nestled deep within his brain, pounding steady, loud, and sure as the darkness of unconscious starts to fade away. It's quieter than the first time he woke earlier today, no gurgling and moaning from hundreds of walkers to jerk him awake. No, the noise this time is soothing, calming, and there's a gentle breeze coasting around him, cooling the sweat beading on his forehead. He'd be rather content to just stay right here, wherever he is, but the drum inside his brain beats louder, more urgently and he knows.

Emma.

The prison.

Right.

Hook opens his eyes slowly, blinking against the light of the afternoon sky. The moving afternoon sky, the branches of trees sweeping past in a blur. He looks to his left and is greeted by the metal side of a truck bed. That explains the soothing sound and the light breeze. Damn it.

"You had me worried there."

Hook jerks at the sound of the voice, attempting to sit up, but he's stopped by a hand on his shoulder.

"Hey, take it easy," the red haired girl from earlier says, kneeling beside him in the truck bed. She reaches into her bag and pulls out a bottle of water. "Here, have some of this."

Hook sits up more and takes several gulps gratefully. He wipes his mouth and hands the bottle back to the girl, looking around to get his bearings. They are, indeed, in the back of a truck, but it's much bigger than the one David used to drive and they are much higher off the ground. It looks similar to the abandoned trucks they had seen at the military base in Brunswick, way back when.

"I'm sorry about this," the girl starts, taking the water bottle from him. "You passed out after taking down the walkers back there and these people pulled up and I didn't know what to do. The back of the truck seemed safer than the side of the road."

Hook nods and shifts, wincing as pain lances through his hip. "A bus," he grunts, rubbing his eyes. "Did we pass a bus?"

The girl shrinks slightly, avoiding his gaze.

"Hey! A bus," Hook repeats more firmly. "Did we pass one?"

The girl swallows and nods.

"What did you see? The people inside- did you see them?"

Her eyes lock with his as she exhales. "They were all dead," she answers.

A beat passes and then Hook inhales sharply. Right. Well. Dead or not, he needs to get to that bus. "How long ago did we pass it?" he asks, shifting onto his knees.

"Three hours ago."

"Three hours?!" Hook shouts. "Fucking hell." He shuffles over to the back of the cab and pounds on the small window that shows a tiny bit of the interior and the three mystery passengers riding inside. "Stop the truck!" he yells, fist meeting glass repeatedly.

He gets a middle finger from the driver in response.

Hook looks behind him and reaches for his machine gun nestled next to his bag. He bangs the butt of the gun against the window, shouting for them to stop the truck once more. The girl joins in next to him, slapping her palm on the back of the cab and yelling along with him. One well-placed bang of the gun causes a crack to ripple through the glass and then suddenly the brakes are squealing and the truck rolls to a stop.

Hook wastes no time. He scampers down to the end of the truck bed and kicks open the hatch, sliding down onto the ground. He reaches for his bag and gun just as he hears the front doors open, three pairs of feet hitting the asphalt. The girl jumps down from the truck bed and dusts off her knees, straightening when the mystery passengers come around the back.

"Where do you think you're going?" a man, presumably the driver, demands.

Hook ignores him and shrugs on his backpack, adjusting his grip on his gun.

"Where does he think he's going?" the man repeats, directing his question at the redhead.

Hook ignores him again and starts walking back the way they came, listening for and hearing the sound of the girl's footsteps as she hurries to catch up with him. He doesn't have time to make friends. He has places to be and people to find, his mission now a lot harder considering they're three hours away from being anywhere near Emma.

"Hey, I don't know what your lady friend's told you about the special nature of the mission we're on," the man calls angrily, stalking forward and coming up in front of Hook. He holds out a hand to halt his progress. "But this shit is time sensitive and we're already way behind schedule so I need you to turn your ass around and get back in the truck."

Hook looks at him, unimpressed. "I gotta go," he intones, shrugging off the hand the man's placed on his arm.

The man looks from Hook to the redhead and back again, an expression of both shock and frustration on his face. "You know, it seems like neither one of you have been paying close enough attention to the hell we've been living in," the man argues. "So let me tell you how to avoid winding up like just another dead-alive prick. You find some strong, like-minded comrades and you stay stuck together like wet on water." He gestures towards the other two people standing near the truck, another man and one woman. "We need people. The more, the better. We need each other, partner. Even with all the gear on your shoulder, you won't last the night, not by yourself."

Hook glances back at the other two strangers and then at the redhead. She meets his eyes and nods minutely. He won't be by himself after all, it seems. "I'll take my chances," Hook replies, taking another step only to be forcibly stopped by this fucker's hand again.

"I'm gonna have to insist that you hold the hell up," the man hisses. "Believe it or not, the fate of the entire damn human race might depend on it."

Hook angrily shakes off the man's hand, his tolerance for bullshit having just about reached its limit for the day. "What the hell are you talking about?" he demands. He looks toward the redhead. "Who is this guy?"

"I'm Sergeant Arthur Ford," the man answers. He juts his chin toward the truck. "And these are my companions- Gwen Espinosa and Dr. Isaac Porter." Hook glances back and the woman gives a sarcastic little wave. "We're on a mission to get Isaac to Washington DC. Isaac's a scientist," Arthur continues. "And he knows exactly what caused the outbreak."

Well then.

Hook glances back at the doctor standing with hunched shoulders by the truck. He doesn't look like a scientist, but that's neither here nor there. This sergeant guy could be full of shit for all he knows, and it appears neither of them have time to waste on bullshit, but he can't help but wonder…

"Alright," Hook begins, adjusting his backpack on his shoulder. "What the hell started it?" More importantly, he'd like to ask, why is he fighting off undead bodies, trying to get back to the love of his life, struggling to survive on a second-to-second basis instead of enjoying a relatively peaceful life in crisis-ridden Storybrooke? But he can't exactly ask that specifically.

Arthur looks at Isaac. "It's classified," the doctor states plainly.

Arthur nods. "We'd been talking to the muckety mucks in Washington on a satellite phone. The past couple of weeks, nobody's been picking up on the other end." He scratches the back of his head and takes a step closer to Hook. "We saw how you handled those corpses back there. We need people and we could use your help."

Hook exhales. Saving the world is Emma's thing, not his. Maybe if he finds her, they can head to Washington together and see if the bullshit spilling from this guy's mouth is actually true. But not before then. He can't even think about saving the world until he finds his world first. "Sorry," Hook mutters, stepping past Arthur and starting down the road.

The redhead jogs to catch up with him. "I had to get us off that road," she explains. "You were passed out, we were out of bullets, but I know how to get back." She holds out her arm, revealing marker scribbles from her wrist to her elbow. "I wrote down every street, every turn. I'll get you back to that bus."

"It's where Emma would go to look for other survivors, where she'd look for me," Hook explains. "That's where I'm going to go."

"It's a waste of time," Arthur shouts.

Hook stops, trying to contain his snarl. This asshole knows nothing about Emma, nothing about them and their uncanny ability to lose each other and find each other once more. They've done it before. Who's to say they can't do it again?

"Merida told us what happened," Arthur continues, walking up behind them. Somewhere in the back of Hook's mind, he realizes he never learned the redhead's name. "And I'm sorry, but there is no way in hell you're ever go to see this Emma girl again." He pauses and Hook's grip on his gun goes whiteknuckled. "I hate to tell you this, but she's gone. It's not worth you dying too."

Hook's backpack hits the ground with a thud, his gun sliding out of his hand with a clatter. This asshole knows nothing. He spins on his heel, clocking Arthur with a fist to the jaw, knocking the man back a step. He doesn't want to fight, but he'll be damned if anyone tells him Emma's not worth looking for.

Hook shakes out his hand and picks up his backpack again. "She's alive," he states plainly, taking a step down the road. "And I'm going to find her."

Another step and then: "Son of a bitch!" Arthur yells and suddenly Hook's falling forward, the sergeant having tackled him to the ground. A fist connects with his nose and he struggles to retaliate, the sergeant being a lot heavier than he looks. Someone shouts, "Arthur!" and it might be the woman, but Hook's too busy struggling against Arthur's grip to pay attention. He shoves the heel of his palm up against the sergeant's nose, forcing Arthur's grip to loosen enough that Hook can land another punch to his jaw. Two more pairs of hands join the fight- Merida's and Gwen's he realizes later- trying to pull the two men apart and Hook didn't want to fight, but he will if that's what this asshole wants. If he has to fight with his bare hands to earn the right to look for Emma, he will.

Somewhere, among the grunts and shouts and hands hitting skin, there's a distinct popping sound, loud, sharp, and metallic. They all seem to realize it at the same time and they pause, recognizing the sound of gunfire in the silence. Arthur whirls around and jumps up, running back toward the truck. "Isaac! Ceasefire, ceasefire! Stop shooting, damn it!"

Gwen is up and running back as well, and when Merida helps Hook to his feet, he watches as Isaac shoots haphazardly at a small herd of walkers staggering out of the woods. It's obvious the man does not know how to use a weapon because he hits more trees than walkers, the rapid fire of the gun strong enough to turn Isaac around until he's shooting at the truck.

Arthur runs up to him and yanks the gun out of his hands, turning the weapon on the walkers until they all fall to ground, dead once more. He turns to Isaac with a snarl, chest heaving. "What the hell were you thinking?" he demands.

Isaac shrugs. "I apologize if I didn't want to die while you were demonstrating your excessive machoism."

Arthur scowls and hands the gun to Gwen. He looks at the bullet-ridden truck and then squats down, groaning when he checks the undercarriage.

Hook and Merida walk back up to the truck and it's then that Hook hears the sound of something dripping. He crouches down beside Arthur and sees a steady stream of some fluid leaking from underneath the truck. He doesn't know much about vehicles, but he knows that is not a good sign.

"This truck has been through three tours in Afghanistan," Arthur starts through gritted teeth. "It's survived two ambushes, one IED explosion, and a bush fire." He stands and towers over Isaac. "So tell me, how in God's name, you managed to kill it with one round of gunfire?"

Isaac looks down. "I'll admit, my aim and trajectory when handling a semi-automatic weapon leave something to be desired."

"I'll say," Arthur snaps, glaring at the doctor.

Hook glances between one man and the other and then over at Merida. She gives him a nod. "Sorry about your truck," Hook sympathizes. "I hope you make it to Washington." He nods to both Arthur and Gwen and then turns around, walking back down the road once more. A second later, Merida is beside him.

They've walked maybe twenty feet before they hear Gwen sigh behind them. "Well, what the hell else are we supposed to do?" she asks testily, and soon her footsteps have joined their own walking down the road.

"Go to Washington!" Arthur insists. "Save the whole goddamn world!"

Isaac comes up beside him and points down the road. "That way's clear. Who knows what's north? We'll go with them until we find a vehicle and then we'll get back on track." He smirks. "Trust me. I'm smarter than you." He reaches into the back of the truck and shrugs on a backpack before turning and following Hook, Merida, and Gwen.

Begrudgingly, Arthur pulls on his own backpack, grabbing the supply of guns in the back of the truck and slamming the hatch closed. Finally, his footsteps join the others and their party of five heads down the road, back the way they came, looking for a dead girl. Or at least, that's what Arthur believes. Hook, on the other hand, know better. He knows they're looking for Emma. And he knows they're going to find her, alive and looking for him too.

The camp is small. Well, that's not really fair. Compared to the expanse of the prison, any camp is going to seem small. It's a decent size for the amount of people occupying it, but Regina suspects if there were more than twenty, it would seem quite crowded. Still, it's a nicer place than where she had originally planned on spending the night- just the forest floor.

There are tents in little clusters throughout the camp, some obviously bought in a store, others made of burlap or tarp and a few sturdy sticks. There are barrels of water in the center and clothes lines stretching from one tree branch to another and multiple fire pits scattered about. A six foot high fence made of tied-together logs surrounds the entire perimeter, providing some kind of protection against any foe, but there's a decently sized section where the fence has largely been destroyed.

"You're not the only ones who have had run ins with less than desirable people," Robin had explained vaguely. "We're working on fixing it. Just takes awhile to find logs that are long enough."

Robin had shown them to empty tents, saying the people who had once occupied them were no longer a part of the camp. Whether they were exiled or dead, he didn't say, but their fate doesn't make a difference. Snow and Charming seem intent on staying here with these people who they don't know and can't trust. If Regina cared more, she'd tell them they were being stupid like always. But she doesn't care because it's not going to affect her. Pretty soon, nothing's going to affect her anymore.

She'd be lying, however, if she didn't admit she was affected by the looks people have been giving her. Regina's never glared so much before in her life. Every other minute it seems she has to stave off someone else's curious stare with a look of death. She doesn't know what all these insufferable people find so interesting about her, but they insist on studying her from afar like an animal in a zoo enclosure. Maybe it's her glare that has them so fascinated or maybe it's the dried blood and guts still covering the majority of her torso that piques their interest. Whatever it is, if she catches one more person staring at her-

"So what do you think?" Snow asks, coming up to the large barrel of water Regina's currently standing by.

"I think they all need to find something more entertaining to do than watching us," Regina grumbles, scooping up a fistful of water and scrubbing it on her arm, dried blood becoming liquid once more.

"Yes, well, I'm sure we're a rather interesting bunch to them," Snow muses, dipping an empty water bottle into the barrel. "Robin said they haven't had anyone new in awhile. It's probably just innocent curiosity."

"And if it's not?" Regina counters, snapping her head around to look at Snow. "Maybe they're watching us so they can see how much of a threat we are. Maybe they're waiting to see if we're weak so they can attack us in our sleep."

Snow gives her an unimpressed look. "I highly doubt that."

Regina rolls her eyes and scoops up another handful of water. "You trust people too easily, Sn- Mary Margaret," she corrects herself, eyes darting around to make sure no one heard her name slip. She keeps forgetting their with people who would call them crazy if they said they were Snow White, Prince Charming, and the Evil Queen.

"Robin has given us no reason not to trust him," Snow argues. "He saved your life."

"Yeah, and he can just as easily take it away too, can't he?" Regina snaps, leveling Snow with a worn glare. "I heard you and David talking. You think we should stay here?"

Snow sighs, shoulders deflating. "Regina, we need time before we face the road again. I don't know about you, but I'm not ready to struggle everyday to survive again. This camp is safe and these people are good-"

"You don't know that," Regina interrupts.

"Well, until they prove me otherwise, I'm going to choose to see the good in them," Snow persists.

"That's what gets people killed," Regina snaps, dropping her hand heavily to the edge of the barrel. "You and David want to stay here and get your throats slit in the middle of the night, go right ahead. But I'm not bleeding out with you."

She turns away from the barrel, intent on marching anywhere to get away from Snow, but she's nearly knocked over when a knee-high blur bumps into her as it darts past. A snippy warning to watch out is on the tip of her tongue but dies there when she sees the blur run into Robin's arms a few yards away, an excited shout of "Papa!" ringing through the camp.

Regina's shoulders drop at the sight of the small boy in Robin's embrace, matching smiles and dimples on both their faces. The child couldn't be more than four years old, but it's hard to tell thanks to the shaggy curls hanging down in his eyes. He's a precious little thing, and Regina's heart aches with longing for another boy who had once been just as small.

"My boy!" Robin exclaims, kissing his cheek. "Was your day adventurous?"

The child nods emphatically, hands coming up to rest on both of Robin's cheeks. "Uh huh! Uncle John and I found fish in the stream, Papa! We catched a whoooole bunch!"

"Enough for us to have a grand feast tonight?" Robin asks, tipping his son upside down and eliciting a spew of squeals and giggles.

"Not that many, Papa," the boy answers once he's right side up again.

"Well, how many then?"

"Enough to make a soup that'll fill your stomach so you'll won't be so grumpy all the time," a new voice calls.

Regina turns to see a rather large man lumbering through the open gate of the fence, a long string of admittedly small fish hanging from his right hand. Not only is he large, but he's hairy- long curly hair and beard reminiscent of a character from one of Henry's Harry Potter books. He smiles jovially as he holds up his catches, meeting Robin halfway across the camp.

"Roland found the stream, didn't you, boy?" John prompts, turning to the child in Robin's arms.

"I did! Well, I guess we both found it," Roland replies. He points to the fish. "Uncle John said we can make a whole pot of soup and we'll have enough for tomorrow too!"

"Well, I sure hope so. We're feeding eighteen now," Robin explains, his eyes catching Regina's stare from across the camp.

She looks away at his gaze, unwilling to listen to their conversation if she's the subject of it. She turns back to the water barrel and busies herself with cleaning the front her shirt, feeling Robin's eyes on her back the entire time. Snow, unfortunately, is still standing beside the barrel, no doubt watching the same scene between father and son as Regina had been.

"If that adorable child doesn't speak to Robin's credibility, I don't know what does," Snow states, shoulders squaring with confidence.

"Rumplestiltskin had a child. So did my mother. I wouldn't exactly call them outstanding citizens," Regina grumbles. Although, she has to admit, she hadn't pegged Robin for a father. And if the short interaction between him and his son is any indication, he's a pretty good one.

"Now you're just making excuses."

Regina looks at her coolly. "I told you, Mary Margaret. Do what you want. I'm not going to stop you."

"But you're not going to stay either, are you?" Snow asks, eyebrow raising.

Regina straightens her spine. "What are you talking about?"

"I know that look in your eyes, Regina. I've seen it before," Snow answers. "You want to run. Away from this camp or away from me or just away. Whatever your reason, I know you want to."

"You have no idea what you're talking about," Regina warns dangerously. If she had her magic, sparks would be cracking at her fingertips.

"I think I do," Snow counters. "Because I'm going through the exact same thing." She shakes her head. "I'm feeling the same pain you are, the same emptiness. More than once when we were walking here, I just wanted to lay down and stop. But I didn't. And I won't. I won't because David needs me and you need me. We all need each other and if you run, if you leave us, what chance do any of us have?"

Regina blinks slowly and sighs, turning away from her former stepdaughter. "You have David, you don't need me," she scoffs. "And I don't need you. I don't need a chance. I'm done. Henry's gone and so I'm done. I suggest you let me be."

Snow furrows her brow and opens her mouth to respond, but doesn't get the chance.

"Miladies, I'd like you to meet someone," Robin states as he approaches, no longer holding his son. His large friend follows behind.

Regina turns to face the pair, begrudgingly welcoming the distraction from Snow's scrutiny.

"Mary Margaret, Regina, this is John, my best mate," Robin introduces, gesturing toward his friend. "John, this is Mary Margaret and Regina, two of the three new faces around here."

"Nice to meet you," John greets kindly, extending a hand toward Regina who looks at it like a dead snake.

Snow jumps in and grabs his hand in Regina's place, smiling stiffly at the other woman's rudeness. "Nice to meet you, too," Snow replies. "Thank you for welcoming us into your camp."

John laughs and claps Robin on the shoulder. "My camp? Hear that, Robin? I've overthrown you."

Robin rolls his eyes despite his smile. "I'm not dead yet, John."

"Just doing as the lady says," the large man defends. "I'm afraid you are mistaken, ma'am. This is Robin's camp. I just keep the place from falling apart."

Snow smiles. "I take it you knew each other before everything?"

"Yeah, unfortunately we go way back, me and Robin," John teases, garnering another good natured eyeroll.

Regina rolls her eyes too, irritated at, well, everything. She doesn't want to make friends, she doesn't want to stay here, she doesn't want to worry about surviving anymore. She just wants it to be over. And come nightfall, it will be. Thank god.

"You two know each other before too?" John asks goodnaturedly.

"Yes, we're family, actually. Regina and I are stepsisters," Snow replies, launching into their fake backstories. That had been Hook's idea, way back when, just after they had fled Storybrooke when the walkers had finally overrun the place. They couldn't very well tell people the truth about their complicated family, not with all the curses and magic thrown in, so they came up with something plausible and realistic, something that would keep them family, but without the parts that would get them admitted to a mental hospital.

"My husband David is here somewhere," Snow continues, glancing around.

"Ah, I take it that would be the third member of our new trio, " John gathers.

Snow nods. "Yes, it's… it's the three of us."

John hums his understanding. "Robin told me you've had a rough day. If that's the case, please feel welcome to take whatever you-"

"WALKERS!" someone shouts from the other side of the camp.

Robin and John don't hesitate. They turn and run toward where the warning had sounded, pulling out weapons as they go. Regina stays where she is, looking past Robin and John to see at least a dozen walkers lumbering toward the broken section of the fence.

"We should help," Snow declares, unsheathing her dagger from her belt. She turns and looks at Regina expectantly.

"If you want to get yourself killed for these people, be my guest," Regina answers. "I'm not risking my life for them."

Snow scowls at her. "You are impossible," she snaps before turning and running to join the defense.

Regina, being a reasonably safe distance from where the walkers are attempting to invade, leans against the water barrel and watches the fight unfold, unphased by the threat. There are more walkers than she initially thought and not nearly enough people to defend against them, but they're putting up a decent fight. Snow, ever handy with her dagger, takes down one and then another, blood spewing across her shirt as she goes. Robin fires off arrow after arrow, almost always hitting right between the eyes, and John liberates more than one head from its body with his machete. Other people, ones who have stared at her and ones who haven't, take down their own fair share of walkers with knives or crossbows or baseball bats.

Huh. These people know how to defend themselves. That's something, at least. Snow and David will be safe here. If nothing else, she can find a small bit of comfort knowing she won't be leaving them completely helpless.

There's only a few walkers still standing, the threat mostly diminished, and Regina's about to refocus on cleaning her shirt when something moves out of the corner of her eye. She looks up and her heart stops.

Robin's son- Roland, was it?- stands a safe distance away from the fight, poking his head around a tent to watch his father in action, but the little boy's back is turned and he doesn't see the stray walker stumbling toward him. That is, not until the walker is only a few feet away, snarling and gurgling as it reaches out for him. Roland turns and screams, scrambling backward only to trip in his panic over his own two feet and landing hard on his back on the ground.

Panic sizzles up Regina's veins and she reaches for her knife, her gun, anything, but nothing's quick enough, nothing's going to kill the walker in time, not with how close it is and Roland's still screaming and Robin's turned around, horror on his face, crossbow pointed, but it won't be quick enough, nothing of this world will be quick enough, and that little boy doesn't deserve to die, he's innocent, Henry was innocent and he's dead, but this little boy should live, if Henry can't then this boy should and the panic in Regina's veins is electric now, it's crackling and sparking and no, no that's not panic, that's-

She raises her arms and a beam of energy bursts from her palms, shooting across the camp and blasting the walker into a million pieces just as it falls on top of Roland.

Stunned silence replaces the panicked cacophony of moments before, the entire camp standing frozen in place, Regina staring at her outstretched hands in shock.

Then Robin moves.

He sprints over to his son and scoops him up off the ground, crushing him tightly to his chest as the little boy sobs. Robin repeats over and over that he's safe, that it's alright, Papa's got him.

Regina slowly lowers her arms, eyes transfixed on her palms. That didn't… she couldn't have… how could she possibly…?

"Regina," Snow breathes in amazement from across the camp, the two women's eyes locking on each other in both wonder and fear. "That was-"

"Magic," John states loudly, his face devoid of all the kindness it had held minutes earlier.

Regina swallows, eyes flickering from John to Robin who is staring at her in both bewilderment and amazement.

"That was magic," John repeats, more accusatory than before.

"John," Robin warns, keeping his eyes steady on Regina's. There's something calming about his gaze and if her head hadn't started to spin, Regina might've found it comforting.

"You're from our land?" John demands, marching forward. "Who are you? Some witch? How the hell can you do magic here?"

Regina's temples start to throb and her stomach lurches. These people… they're from the Enchanted Forest. They must be if they recognize magic on sight, but how are they here and who are they and do they recognize her? They can't recognize her, if they do, she's as good as dead. But her magic… how on earth did she come up with that out of nowhere? She hasn't been able to use magic since they fled Storybrooke or at least, she thought she couldn't. What if she could this whole time? What if she had the ability to protect everyone with magic, what if she could have used magic to save Henry?

Panic seizes her again and suddenly she feels trapped. Like an animal in a cage or a freak in the circus, everyone's staring at her. She needs to get out of here, she needs to escape the harsh words and punishing judgements of which she had thought herself finally free. She needs to get away, she needs to run. And so she does. She runs past Robin and his son, past John, past the others, past Snow and into the woods, ignoring calls of her name. She needs it to end. She needs it all to end. And soon, it will. Soon.

Just to clarify, Regina and the Charmings were under the impression that Robin and his people were from the Land Without Magic and had no clue they were actually from the Enchanted Forest. Next chapter will explain what Robin and his people are doing there in the first place.

Also, considering they've left Storybrooke, Regina and Emma both have not been able to use magic because they're in the real world. Until now, obviously.

Please let me know what you think! Questions, comments, concerns, anguish, I'm open to it all. Reviews are like water for writers- we need them to keep going!

Thanks for reading!