DISCLAIMER: I do not dare claim any ownership for the characters, situations, plots and/or spins on old stories that ABC gave us in Once Upon a Time

This is a what-if story: The way I figure, something DID jog his memory that night in the pawn shop…but it wasn't the windmill...(Very VERY AU)

In the shadow of the toll bridge

Raw Power

Though it had been some time since he'd felt anything through the soulodestone, James was confident that his brilliant daughter was well underway to completing the newest phase of Operation Cobra. Whether it would be in enough time, however, remained to be seen. The time limit of Regina's ultimatum would soon expire, and James had a bad feeling that this was all very far from over.

"Anything?" Belle asked, breaking the silence with the same question she'd been asking for the last half hour.

James shook his head. "I'm sure they're doing everything they can," he said not only for her benefit but for everyone in their half-filled cell block. After relating in detail what had occurred in his shared vision with Emma, making clear the fact that his wife, daughter and a small army of their closest allies were dispersed throughout Storybrooke hell-bent on breaking the curse before Regina crushed any more hearts, their cages had fallen eerily silent. Waiting was something neither James nor Belle were particularly good at, and Aurora, still consciously "Dawn", could do little more than smile at Charlie Fisher in a half-hearted attempt to console the deaf and still-cursed Prince Eric. The one comfort amidst their numbers? The still empty cells clearly meant for Jasmine's and Thomas's "somethings precious" - which led James to believe that at least a few things in Regina's grand, evil plot were not going according to plan.

"You know, if they do figure out how to make that portal," Belle pondered, glancing away from the agitated Prince Eric, "you're going to have to give that to him."

James looked down to where she pointed – at the stone, gripped tightly in his hand. "I know," he muttered. "I'm just waiting to hear her tell me it's time to do that."

Belle nodded, though she could easily guess why he guarded it so. If she had any kind of open life line to Adam– hell even a working cell phone– she'd be handling it constantly.

Across the narrow divide, Dawn also eyed the egg-shaped marvel with a bit of envy. She had not forgotten how clearly she'd heard Trent's voice in her head – however brief – and now that it seemed pretty clear she wasn't crazy, she'd been resisting the urge to ask David – er, well – James if she could have it back, if only for a moment. "Do you really think the mayor is—" she gulped. "—actually…c-crushing people's hearts?"

James was about to reply when a loud crash signaled the dungeon door opening and light spilled into the corridor. He took a deep breath, an unsettling feeling gripping his stomach as he waited in suspense – fearful of who else might have just been captured. Heavy shadows stretched toward their cells and it was Belle's agonizing cry that alerted him first to the game-changing presence of—

"Adam!" Belle threw herself to the front of her cage.

"Oh yes, dear," came the response, not from her true love's voice, but from she whom both Ebonshire royals loathed beyond reason. "I hope you don't mind my having tended to your husband's wardrobe," Circe quipped in her usual siren-like tone, gesturing up and down to the sleek grey slacks and leather duster she'd conjured for the seething prince back in Jack Hunter's home. "You being," she chuckled in a low hum, "indisposed."

"Miserable wench," cried Adam, though he could not tear his eyes from his wife's as he spat at Circe.

"Ah ah ah!" came an equally sinister alto as Regina herself came into view. "I've had just about enough of this twisted little triangle of yours," she waved dismissively at the three of them and grabbed the crook of Adam's other elbow, flexed impressively against the force of the chains which bound his wrists behind his back. "There," she huffed, bringing Adam directly in front of Belle's cell. "See? Just as I promised. We've touched not one hair on her pretty little head."

"What game are you playing at now Regina?" James barked, watching the exchange after hastily tucking the soulodestone back into his pocket.

"Shut up Charming," Regina sneered. "This doesn't concern you."

"The hell it—"

"Are you unharmed?" Adam's shaky yet determined voice boomed over everyone as he gazed at his beauty, his penetrating stare having not once yet wavered since his being led here.

"Yes," Belle whispered, reaching for him through the bars before Regina and Circe pulled him back. "Adam what's—"

"No more stalling, Your Highness," Regina gave him a firmer tug then stepped close to Belle's cell. "You know what I'm capable of. You've seen it with your own eyes. And—" she added with a grin that sent shivers down James's spine, "I never said the next heart I crush had to be one I'd—" she curled her fingers pointedly around Belle's own, "already procured."

Belle jerked backward and clutched at her middle as both Adam and James shook with fury.

"Don't you touch her!" Adam bellowed, though his voice cracked with fear and Belle couldn't help remembering the last time she'd detected such panic in her prince—on their rooftop all those years ago when Helios warned them of how…patient Circe could be.

"Then do as you promised," said the old enchantress. "Relinquish Ebonshire's hold on magic and we shall never again interfere—" Circe paused and glanced down, "with your wife…or son."

"Adam no!" James gripped and shook his bars, "You can't!" But the other prince gave no indication he was listening.

"Adam, she's lying," Belle implored him. "One of Circe's many tricks. You can't believe her!"

"Tricks young Beauty?" Circe whipped her head around and glared at her rival. "I have never broken my word to my champion." She placed her hand possessively on Adam's forearm and curled the other over his shoulder, leaning in toward his ear. Every muscle in Adam's body visibly stiffened. "Have I, Beloved? When my curse was broken, did I deny you your true, beautiful form? When you agreed to a ceasefire, did I not restore your honor guard to their pathetic selves?"

"Adam this is more than just your wife and son at stake, you know that!" James tried again. "If you surrender your guardianship, we'll never—"

"Silence!" came a new voice in the cell block, one James only noticed as a giant stone club descended toward the bars of his cell and narrowly missed crushing his fingers. He staggered backwards and gawked as Gunlief, the troll, came fully into view, his grotesque form at last almost fully bleeding through the glamoured veneer of Mr. Bridgeport.

"Gunlief," James spat in disgust, finally recognizing the thick accent and bug eyed features he hadn't quite been able to place in the Emporium back at the tree lighting ceremony. "I wondered when I'd see your sorry excuse for a clan leader again."

"Keep talkin' pretty boy," snarled the troll, clutching tightly to the handle of his club, looking ready to take another swing.

James didn't seem to notice or care. "Whatsa matter? Not satisfied having gotten your whole family killed? You have to take it out on ours?"

"And just 'ho did that killin' huh? 'ho moi-duhed me 'hol fam'ly just ta get across me bridge?"

"Is that how you tell it nowadays?"

"Enough!" yelled Regina, again regretting having conscripted the troll into this bargain in the first place. Aside from the brute force back-up he'd provided against the likes of Adam, he'd been an utter nuisance. "You'll have your chance with him after we capture Snow."

"Right," James laughed, mirthless. "Because you're so good at hunting her down. King George's entire army couldn't stop her bow—"

"Settle your own affairs later, Regina," Adam turned finally from his wife and shrugged out of Circe's grasp. "Release her."

"Excuse me?"

"Release her and I will do as you wish."

Regina blinked and then laughed. "That's not how it works, and you know it. First you—"

"First you will release my wife from this filthy cell and allow me to escort her back up to your mausoleum," he paused – gave James a pointed look – then continued before Regina could interrupt. "I'll perform the ritual and then we will leave," he looked again to Belle, whose eyes brimmed with pleading tears, "together."

"Don't do this," Belle whispered while Regina glanced between the two, having either failed to notice Adam's slip or decided it wasn't serious enough to warrant damage control.

"Well, Your Majesty?" Adam stared at the queen as if daring her to reject his terms. "Are we agreed?"

"Adam, please," Belle whispered again, but her pleas went unheeded.

"I believe you need to be reminded of who holds the higher card, Adam," Regina seethed as she thrust her arm through the bars reaching right for Belle's heart. But before Adam or Belle herself could react, Regina stopped, gasped, and jerked her head toward the ceiling, seeming to glare right through the earth. "No," she whispered and the entire cell block stood silent, each in turn glancing around at the bedrock before them, wondering what it was Regina had sensed. Even Circe looked confused and it was she who finally broke the silence.

"What?!" she barked.

"Don't you feel it?"

Circe's brow creased with impatience but she reluctantly re-tuned her own senses to Regina's. Then she too gasped at the air and clenched her teeth. "Maleficent," she hissed.

James reeled back. "Maleficent?!"

The villains ignored him as Regina waved her hand at Belle's cage and magicked its creaky hinge wide open. Roughly she grabbed the collar of Belle's shirt, shoved her toward Circe and motioned for Gunlief to take hold of Adam. "Quickly," she hurried them out of the corridor without another word to James, Dawn or Charlie. "We need to hurry." And in a flash, they were gone.

Dawn stared after them, jaw dropped, as did Charlie who could do little more than gape at the entire scene. Only James could collect himself enough to think of something – anything – that might help them delay what Adam was about to do. Desperately he'd been trying to decipher the prince's hint, though he wasn't sure what he could do with the information. So Regina and Adam recently had a conversation in some mausoleum. So what? That could mean anything – be anywhere. He still had only the faintest shred of "David Nolan" still lodged in his brain, and the amnesiac hadn't started out with a very keen sense of Storybrooke's geography in the first place. How could this help them?

"Dawn," he said, digging the stone back out of his pocket. "Dawn!" he called again, arresting her attention. "How well do you know Storybrooke's cemetery?"

"What?" she shook her head.

"The cemetery," he repeated, impatiently. "Adam said they'd been in a mausoleum. Do you have any idea where that is?"

"No, I…" she paused and looked helplessly at Charlie. "I don't think I've ever been to the cemetery."

"Come on Emma," he muttered, clutching the stone close to his chest. It was all he could think of at the moment: connect with Emma again; let her know at least where they were. Perhaps there were enough allies that a few could be dispatched to the mausoleum in time. He only vaguely understood the rules of guardianship, but he knew that failing to stop Adam from relinquishing his hold on magic would only make his daughter's job that much harder. "Please," he whispered, closing his eyes and squeezing hard, but it was no use. He felt only the rough speckled surface of an ordinary stone.

"Let me try," came Dawn's quiet voice as she hoisted herself upright against her bars.

"What?"

Dawn gulped then extended her palm toward James's cell. "I-I know I'm…new to all of this. But I did get it to work before. I heard T—" she paused and bit her bottom lip, "I heard someone…important to me. Someone I think is out there trying to help. If you can't get through to your daughter, let me try to get through to him."

James hesitated, almost childlike in the way he didn't want to let go of his lifeline to Emma. But he hadn't heard a peep and he supposed Dawn at least believing in the possibility of a magic stone couldn't be a bad thing. With a nod, he reached for her, gave the stone a gentle toss and watched it land safely in her hand. Dawn pulled it through and clutched it to her chest. The cell block was silent – even Charlie had stopped fidgeting and had somehow divined that whatever was happening warranted his focus. Dawn squeezed her eyes shut, willing herself to hear that voice again – to hear Trent even for a moment would be like a drop of rain in this desert of despair. And just as James was about to reach out and ask for it back, it glowed blue and bright…and a voice broke through the sleeping beauty's heart…

…

"I know you don't believe me," Philip chuckled as he glanced sideways at his cousin. "But you will when you see her."

"Not according to Emma's book," Trent retorted, staring pointedly at the path before them. By now he'd long since given up trying to convince himself that he was surrounded by crazy people – seeing the chief transform into Maeve and then Maeve into this sinister-enchantress person had pretty much solidified their new reality. But that didn't make this particular trek alongside "Princess Aurora's" true love any easier, especially since this 'Philip' persona of his old partner wasn't all that much different from Matt Clancy who, as usual, gave Trent the familiar feeling of being forever condemned to the man's shadow.

"Oh hang the stupid book!" Philip cried, swatting his cousin on the arm, a gesture that felt as natural to the young king and as reminiscent of their old adventures as it was playful. "Of the two of us, I'm the one who's awake here, remember? Why can't you just trust me on this?"

Trent shook his head, taking another determined step over a puddle of muddied snow and purposefully away from Matt. It was bad enough that Maeve – or rather Maleficent – wasn't entirely certain she'd pointed them in the right direction of Regina's bastion, but here he was, listening to Matt's cockeyed account of King Philip's marriage to Aurora having been a sham: a likely story. Everyone knew how the fairy tale went. Everyone knew that "Sleeping Beauty" and her prince lived happily ever after. One didn't have to be a fantasy fanatic to know that.

"Because Emma and-and the others back there?" he gestured aimlessly toward another section of the forest just behind the hospital – down the very path David Nolan had taken so many weeks ago – "to them that book might as well be the holy bible. You heard Snow, or Mary Margaret, or whoever. It's how they restored so many happy endings in the first place. Everything in that book is true!"

"Except for our story," Philip insisted, tugging once more on Lucas's arm.

"Right," Trent scoffed. "Yours is the only one that's wrong, and it's so wrong it's a flat out lie. Prince Philip just happens to have a cousin who's really Sleeping Beauty's true love and Maleficent just happened to pick that story to completely – I mean come on Matt, listen to yourself! I've already gotten used to the fact that I don't deserve her. That we're not meant to be together. So stop trying to—"

"Why?" Philip challenged him, finally yanking hard enough to get Lucas to stand still. "Why are you already used to that?"

"Because it's—"

"What in Trent Davis's life could possibly have led you to believe that you don't deserve Dawn? What, did you…swear at one of her patients?"

"What?!"

"Falsify a chart?"

"Wha— no!"

"Make out with an Andersen sister in the pharmacy supply closet?"

"That was you."

"Exactly!" Philip huffed, glaring at his clueless cousin. "So there's no reason – no reason in Storybrooke anyway – for 'Trent Davis' to feel like he doesn't deserve 'Dawn Charles'. Which means," he said intently, "there's some part of you in there that remembers thinking Lucas didn't deserve Aurora. And if you can remember that, you should remember us having practically the exact same conversation, where I told you – again – that you're insane!"

Trent scoffed, determined to ignore his partner's claims. He couldn't afford the heartbreak that would inevitably follow if he allowed himself to get his hopes up. "Get real, Clancy. Even accepting that all this…this stuff is true, why would Maleficent deliberately mislead a town full of amnesiacs into thinking Dawn's happy ending was with someone else? Wouldn't she want the right person to know who was supposed to…to kiss her?"

"Not if the book fell into the wrong hands. And not if Effie wanted to ensure Aurora would still have a chance even if they got to me. Regina would never know to be on the lookout for the Duke of Glowerhaven."

Trent paused and sunk his hands in his pockets. He supposed it was…plausible. But plausible was a long way from probable. And if they somehow found Dawn and he couldn't wake her—

"Trent?" he heard a voice, a sweeter voice than all the angels in the heavens. "Trent can you hear me?"

Trent jerked and slammed his eyes shut, his hand absently closing around the newly conjured soulodestone in his pocket. "Dawn?!" he cried.

Philip rushed before him, eyes wide. "Where is she?"

"Trent, thank God!"

"Oh my God, it is her," he stammered, clasping tightly to the stone and bringing it before them.

"Where are they?" Philip repeated. "Ask her if she knows."

"Dawn," he shouted at the sky, "do you know where you are?"

There was a pause; Dawn was muttering something. Not to him, to someone…else? Someone with her? "We think we're somewhere beneath the cemetery. Near the mayor's family mausoleum."

Trent repeated the information to his partner.

"The cemetery?" Philip frowned, darting his gaze across the forest. "That's clear on the other edge of the woods, near Gold's shop."

Trent squeezed his eyes shut, listening again. "She says they're running out of time," he relayed, "something about Adam—" he gasped and gaped, wanting to be sure he heard correctly.

"Something about Adam what?" asked Philip.

Trent looked up, "Relinquishing his guardianship."

"Holy hell," Philip ran his hand through his hair, pulse racing. "We've gotta get there fast. Is James with her?" Trent asked and Dawn confirmed. "Tell her to ask him if he knows a shortcut through the east end of the forest. He knows these woods better than anyone." Philip waited impatiently as Trent relayed the message then panicked as his cousin's face fell.

"James has no idea where the cemetery is in relation to the rest of the woods. He wouldn't know where to start," he said.

"Dammit!" Philip whipped his head around, thinking on his promises to both Effie and Emma. He just couldn't let either of them down or—

"Wait a minute," Trent held a hand up, listening. "James says to tell you…" he listened again, wondering if he'd heard right. Then, utterly baffled, he fully faced Matt – er, well, King Philip – and shrugged. "James says that…Cain is still alive?"

Philip blinked in split-second confusion then it hit him. "Cain!" he cried out with a relieved laugh. He darted around, looking for a high rock or stump.

"You uh…you know what that means?"

"Sure do," he said as he hopped up on a suspended branch, "and you would too if you remembered how the three of us used to race Samson and Wellington against that stallion of his – and lose every time!" Before Trent could ask what the hell he was talking about, Philip whistled – loud. And no sooner had the sound dissipated into the air than the ground began to tremble…and a magnificent beast, fully saddled and eyes blazing, emerged from a snow covered clearing of trees. "How ya doin' boy?" Philip laughed as James's old mount trotted right before the young king and his befuddled duke. "You up for a ride?"

…

The chorus of cheering Lost Boys rang through every hallway of the dilapidated boys' home deep in the enchanted forest as flying orphans descended from the sky and landed safely on the reformed ground of the dining hall. Having watched Hook sink into the Mad Hatter's oblivion, confident that Jefferson would be able to hold his own against a magic-less old crocodile, Henry returned the top hat to its rounded satchel and allowed Red to tuck it back under her cloak. "Well done Kid," Red beamed down at the son of the savior, tousling his hair. "Your mom told me to tell you that."

"Where is she?" Henry asked, still darting his gaze around, trying to be certain he hadn't missed her. Red frowned and started to respond, but a small skirmish behind them claimed their attention.

"Lemme down already Rufio!" Gretel was squirming as Rufio playfully rose up and down in midair, teasing her with descent then flying them right back up to the ceiling.

"Aww lighten up Wendy Lady," he chuckled, though it appeared to Henry that Peter's second in command seemed reluctant to let her go. In fact, if Henry didn't know better, he'd have sworn that Rufio had a bit of a crush on Hansel's sister.

"Argh!" Gretel swatted him away as he at last flew them down for a landing. "My name is not Wendy. It's—"

"Gretel," came a low, though shaky voice, and the whole room seemed to sense its gravity for it was not the voice of a boy. It was Michael Tillman.

At once, Rufio released her completely, blushing in embarrassment for having forgotten entirely about his new friend's happy ending. Ace, meanwhile, had already landed Hansel and urged him forward to meet his sister in the center of the hall while the boys in turn retreated to the edges.

"Gretel," Michael again whispered. "Hansel." The man knelt down in front of the frozen fireplace, having memorized their faces from the photographs Honest John left in that godforsaken library. But it wasn't 'Ava' and 'Nicholas' he called to, for in the sanctuary of the boys home, far from Storybrooke and surrounded by scads of boys with fairy dust, Kurtis Van Houten was seamlessly emerging. Through bleary eyes he beamed at his children and held his arms out wide. "Can you ever forgive me?"

Hansel and Gretel raced toward their father and enveloped him in a curse-shattering hug, tackling him to the ground in a mess of laughter and tears as the boys around them erupted in more applause. Henry too looked on with tears stinging his eyes as the reunions continued – Hansel, Gretel and their woodsman dad, Pinnochio and Geppetto, even Peter and Tootles together again with the rest of the Lost Boys, a brotherhood of sorts. In fact, the only child here who hadn't been reunited with his family was—

"Henry?" he heard a quiet, patient voice behind him.

Henry turned and wiped his eyes with the back of his sleeve. "Hey Doc."

Archie Hopper crouched down next to him and glanced up at Red who also remained by the young prince's side. "You know Emma wanted to come."

Henry nodded as he felt Mick settle back down in his pocket. The boy didn't want to admit it, but he was kinda ticked off at the little rodent. Mick had to have known when he spoke with Akela that Emma herself wasn't with the cavalry. Why didn't he say anything?

"Couldn't letcha lose focus, pal," Mick's voice sounded in his head, reading his mind, though Henry was pretty sure he hadn't consciously voiced that thought for the mouse to hear.

Henry swallowed hard, trying not to be selfish. "I just thought that…well, nevermind."

Archie took his glasses off and pinched the ridge of his nose. "She's…got a lot on her plate now Henry. And she knew she couldn't be in three places at once."

"Cuz of the queen," the boy muttered disdainfully under his breath. He glanced back down at Mick, remembering what the critter had spied for him last night. "I know about the ultimatum. How much time is left?"

Kurtis looked at his watch as he finally rose to his feet, one arm around each of his children. "About an hour, maybe two," he said gravely.

"Then what are we waiting for? Let's go!" Henry started to march straight for gaping hole in the window of the dining hall.

"Whoa, hang on there, Henry," Red called and dragged him back by the collar. "Your mom was very clear. We needed to get to you and keep you safe. That means staying away from Regina."

Henry brushed himself out of her grasp and scoffed. "Right. Like I'm gonna stay put here while the queen tries to hurt my family."

"Putting yourself at risk only gives Emma one more thing to worry about, Henry," Archie tried again, hoping at least that his voice had the conviction his conscience lacked.

Henry brought his hands to his hips. "Doc, puh-lease. You guys didn't seriously come all this way to bust us out, get rid of Hook, and wake up Geppetto and Pinnochio all so we could just…just sit here!"

"Bangarang, Henry!" shouted Ace who signaled another round of cheers from the chorus of boys surrounding them.

"No – NO!" Red shouted above the din. "You boys will stay here with Geppetto and Kurtis while I head back with Akela and wait for Emma to give us the all clear."

"Uh, perhaps you haven't noticed ma'am," said Peter, emerging from his now much younger friends, fisting his hands on his hips and growing more confident on his adult legs with every minute. "These boys aren't used to sitting still."

Red started. She'd noticed him earlier but only now had the time to really look at the sandy-haired young man who seemed way too big for the tunic and breeches he wore. Still, there was something vaguely familiar about him. "And who might you be?"

He cleared his throat. "Peter Pan o' course," he said proudly.

Red reeled back. "P-peter…Peter Pan?! But you're…you're a—"

"A man, now," Peter seethed, "I know." He looked down at himself in disgust, cursing every word he spoke with the deep timbre of a baritone rather than the whimsical voice of a boy. "One of the many things I'd like to personally…thank Regina for. Believe me," he came to stand behind Henry. "We're not stayin' here."

"Henry saved us all," Gretel tugged on her father's jacket. "He's the one who figured out who we were, who came up with the plan to free Peter and Tootles. We owe him…and we're not afraid."

Red looked around, hopelessly outnumbered, and glanced over to Archie who sighed as he replaced his glasses on his nose. "Difficult to argue, Red. I'll grant them that. But Henry, it took us several hours to even get here. By the time we get back it'll either be over or—"

"Right in the thick of it, yes," said Geppetto who until now had been content to remain on the sidelines with his boy restored to him. But Henry was right. "Which is all the more reason to get started now. If Emma does need our help, we'd better do all we can to reach her in time."

Red recognized defeat when she saw it, and quite honestly, she preferred the idea of trudging back to Storybrooke with an army of ruffians. It beat braving the terrain with only Akela to keep her company. "All right, then let's get a move on," she gestured for the doors and several of them followed, but it was Henry this time who stayed back.

"Actually," he said with a brief glance down at Mick. He could feel the mouse smile and nod in his head, and Henry turned once more on the group. "I think I know a faster way."

…

"I sure hope this works," Emma muttered as she stepped up to the wishing well.

"It will," said Aladdin, placing a supportive hand on her shoulder just as she'd described in her vision.

Emma glanced backward at the confident, almost giddy expression on his Arabian face. She sure wished she felt as self-assured as he looked, though neither of them could deny the persistent boost of power still buzzing through them following Maleficent's gift. She had a strange feeling that if she had wanted to imagine into existence a pair of glass slippers or a ball gown right now, she'd probably be able to do it.

"All right, are we ready?" came her mother's voice as she, Jasmine and Ella moved quickly across the frozen ground, escorting a very uncertain-looking read head to the Braemar wishing well.

"Hurry," said Jasmine. "It's almost 6:00."

Snow helped position 'Marina Andersen' in front of the well then looked back to her daughter. "Does James know to give the stone to Eric?" she asked.

"He will," Emma replied. "As soon as I contact him."

"Well?" Jasmine stamped her foot, grabbing onto the rope of the well and waiting for her cue to pull up the water that 'heals what is hurt.' "Go on then," she urged in the most patient voice she could muster at the moment.

Emma nodded then closed her hand around the blue-speckled soulodestone and shut her eyes, willing herself to connect as Maleficent advised, hoping to force another shared vision with her father. She concentrated, squeezed the stone hard…but something was wrong. The stone felt lifeless. Dormant. There was nothing – no one on the other end.

The group waited in suspended tension and watched as the savior creased her brow. Snow bit her bottom lip, glancing nervously between them all, then took a step back to her daughter.

"Emma?"

Emma started, shaking her head.

"Sweetheart, what is it?"

She huffed and peaked out at her mother. "He's…not there."

"What?"

"What do you mean he's not there?"

"I mean he's not there. He's not answering."

"Emma," Aladdin said, not quite so calm now. "This whole plan hinges on Ariel being able to connect to Eric through the soulodestone."

"You think I don't know that?"

"Well what's—"

"Shh…let me concentrate." She closed her fists around the stone again, trying desperately to feel anything, but still nothing happened. She wanted to cry. Why wasn't he there? Where did he go? After all their planning? After coming all this way – the hospital, Maleficent, a crash course tutorial on making portals – it couldn't just…stop here!

She grew aware of Snow's presence right next to her, felt rather than saw her come to stand beside the well. "Emma," she whispered, but Emma just shook her head.

"Mom, it's not working," she rasped. "Where is he?"

Snow placed one hand on her shoulder and then reached down with the other. "Just…calm down sweet girl. Be patient." With motherly care, she placed a supportive hand over Emma's, hoping to instill her daughter with some measure of confidence – a poor substitute, Snow thought, for James's unwavering optimism. Gently, she squeezed Emma's other hand...and abruptly Emma's world flashed white and she felt herself whisked away by the pit of her stomach to her vision vortex.

"No!" Emma thought impatiently. "Seriously? NOW?" but there wasn't anyone to voice her complaint to and she quickly resigned herself to seeing it through – after all, Maleficent did say she was somehow willing these to happen, right? Perhaps there was something she needed to see.

She waited nervously as she seemed to fly through and past other visions, feeling – once again – frustratingly unlike other visions. Flashing by her in rapid succession were moments she'd already witnessed – her father and mother each tearfully saying goodbye to her infant self – her mother receiving a bouquet of flowers from a tiny bluebird – her father making his deal with Stiltskin in Gold's shop, then suddenly young again and battling Regina's knights in a tower. The images bled and swirled together, making Emma grow queasy before she eventually – finally – landed with a thud, coming to rest somewhere new – a clearing in a part of the forest she'd never seen before, or at least, never seen in the springtime. Wondering what in the world this cheery place had to do with waking the sixth guardian, she took a few steps forward, fresh leaves and brambles crunching in the grass. Then she heard it: voices in the distance. Instinctively she ducked below a bundle of reeds; then, feeling foolish, she realized it wasn't necessary. This seemed, after all, a "normal" enough vision. She felt she was back to being an observer here, nothing more, and just as she adjusted to her original role of invisible watchman, the origin of those voices came into view: a young Snow and James, each mounted on horses and trotting through the forest on a bright spring day.

"Wesley," she heard her mother call to what appeared to be a mounted knight leading an honor guard behind them. She watched as the knight, Snow and James all came to a halt.

"Yes m'lady?"

"The prince and I will race along this path and take the detour through the grove. We will meet up with the party when the paths reunite at the forest's edge."

Emma watched a young James start in confusion. "Snow what—"

"As you wish Your Highness," was Wesley's immediate reply. The rest of the guard followed suit and continued on the main road while Snow turned her horse toward a skewed path and James trotted up next to her. "You know we'll lose the light soon," he said, still seeming thrown by the abrupt change in plan.

"What's the matter, Charming?" she flashed him a smile. "Afraid you'll lose?" Emma stifled a giggle as she watched her mother taunt her father and clearly eliciting the desired effect, for James tightened his grip on the reigns, and she saw a hint of rivalry break across his previously troubled face. They glared at each other with a mixture of playfulness and passion in their eyes, and without another word they were off.

Speeding through the dense forest, Emma found herself racing to catch up with them, seemingly flying through her vision to keep her parents in sight. She'd accepted by now there was always a reason for what she saw, though she often couldn't figure out why until just before it was prudent to do so. So she would have to settle for gathering information, and she watched as the vision of Snow raced along the path, expertly leaping over fallen trees and protruding slabs of rock. She could hear her father laughing, racing to catch up on his all too familiar-looking stallion, but Emma had a feeling he wouldn't win. As fast as James had been on Cain back at Jefferson's mansion, it seemed clear that Snow White was actually the superior rider. And sure enough, her mother proved her right just as Cain's massive build lined up neck-and-neck with her gray. Snow gave her horse a powerful kick that propelled them a few full horse lengths ahead of the prince and the pride of a racing enthusiast thrummed in Emma's chest as she watched her mother punch a victorious fist in the air.

"All right, all right!" James yelled, laughing as he slowed Cain to a jaunt, "you win, my love!"

Seemingly pleased with herself, Snow retreated back to him and smiled. Glancing around, she nodded toward a small watering pond a few hundred feet away. "She's thirsty," Snow said, affectionately patting her horse near its bridle. "Let's rest a while."

Emma watched them dismount, walk their steeds up to the pond and tie the reigns to a few low-hanging branches. Soon her parents were strolling arm-and-arm around the pond's edge, content in each other's company, and Emma couldn't ignore the sinking feeling in her stomach as she realized this was probably one of the few times her parents' future wasn't completely wrought with fear and prophetic doom. They seemed to wander for hours, but Emma had grown strangely patient, knowing only seconds will have passed by the time her vision ended. It was actually quite comforting to hear James and Snow discuss mundane things like plans for the palace, their household, and their respective summer resorts. Snow seemed thrilled when her father not only agreed that Geppetto should remain on staff after his renovation of the castle was complete but actually suggested that he and Grumpy join the war council along with Doc and Jiminy Cricket. After a time, however, James grew quiet which obviously troubled Snow. And Emma had a feeling that her mother was thinking the exact same thing within the vision as Emma herself thought in observing it – James was holding something back.

"James," her mom said quietly, as if on cue, "what's wrong?"

James sighed, appearing unsurprised by the question. He looked out across the pond, then back again, and Emma could tell he was coming to some sort of a decision. Finally, he reached into his breast pocket and pulled out a curious-looking leather pouch. "I have something I want to give you," said he as he unfastened the flap and reached inside. "But I also have something I need to say and," he paused and looked up, "I fear it may…alter your opinion of me."

Snow shook her head and said, "impossible!" at the same time Emma mouthed the word.

"Just…hear me out," James held up his hand and continued to handle the leather pouch. Emma watched intently as her father withdrew something from the pouch before returning it to his pocket and then held it before Snow. It was a ring. "Recognize this?" he asked.

"Yes!" Emma whispered on instinct, then felt briefly like she had somehow interrupted them. They didn't hear her of course and continued on with their conversation, but Emma couldn't help but stare at the beautiful gold band with the jade stone that remained on her mother's finger to this day. The ring her parents had fought trolls to reclaim so many years ago – an event that until now, like many others, had been just pictures in a book.

"Do you remember I told you it belonged to my mother?" James was saying now in a slow, sad voice. Emma refocused and listened intently.

"Yes?" her mother replied.

James sighed and met her gaze again. "What would you say if I told you…that she gave it to me only days before we met?"

Snow drew back, her brow creased in confusion. "But King George's wife died years ago. Queen Diana—"

"Was not my mother," he said quickly, intensely. "And George is not my father."

Emma gulped, her heart racing. She had only a vague sense of who these names were. King George she was certain she'd read about. Queen Diana? She couldn't say, and she could do nothing but watch as both she and Snow stared at James, silent but both anxious for him to continue.

"The kingdom was ailing, and George made a deal with King Midas."

"His gold for the dragon's head," Snow recited as if recounting a history lesson.

"Right," James sighed. "George had his champion. His son. But he was slain in battle before he could complete the quest."

"Slain?" Snow tried to follow, "But you—"

"I wasn't born a prince, Snow," he said, his voice trembling, and the fragility of her father's voice suddenly brought tears to Emma's eyes. "I was born to peasants, farmers. And when my father died, I took care of the land." He dropped his gaze, looking out over the pond again. "We were struggling to make ends meet when a man came and told us the King needed my help. That he needed someone to slay a dragon. Someone to play the part of the king's son."

Snow shook her head. "But why you? Why did he—"

"It was Rumpelstiltskin," he said gravely, and the pronouncement dropped with a heavy, almost audible thud in Emma's gut.

Snow's heart too, it seemed, was sinking. "Rumpelstiltskin," she repeated, though more to herself.

"George and Diana were barren, Snow. They could never have children of their own. Thirty years ago, Rumpelstiltskin came to my parents – two peasants – and made a deal with them for one of their sons." He paused and met her disbelieving gaze, "one of their…twin sons."

Snow closed her eyes. "Your brother," she whispered.

He nodded, "my brother."

Emma felt nauseous.

"So all this time—" said Snow.

"I've been pretending," he finished for her, his voice suddenly frustrated and harsh. He turned from her and stalked to the water's edge. "Playing a role that was only supposed to be for one mission, one quest."

"But Midas wanted more," Snow offered, putting pieces together that clearly Emma lacked, but she had a feeling she was seeing exactly what she needed to see. She only wished she knew why.

James nodded, his back still turned. Emma watched as her father's young hands hardened into fists as he spoke through clenched teeth. "King George forced me to accept Abigail's hand or he would…he would kill my mother if I didn't obey."

Snow, it appeared, had had enough. Refusing to allow him to punish himself further, she touched his arm and turned him toward her.

"I'm the same man who fell in love with you, Snow," he said, still clasping his mother's ring in his hand. Then he closed his eyes and shook his head, "but I'm no prince."

She looked at the ring then lovingly grazed her fingertips gently down his cheek before letting her hand rest over his heart. The gesture was so tender, so heartbreaking that Emma wasn't at all surprised at the sudden taste of salty tears now streaming down her own cheeks. What burdens they'd both carried for so long. What secrets to be haunted by.

Reaching up and cradling the back of his neck, Snow drew him closer and whispered, "Look at me." He obeyed. "You found me in a coffin deep in the forest and cured me of a sleep from which I was never to awake."

Emma swallowed hard, watching now as if her vision were some precious home movie that would disintegrate the second it was over, so she tried hard to burn the beautiful image in her head before she was whisked away.

Snow looked down and turned his hand over in her palms before gently removing the ring from his grasp and slipping it on her finger. He watched her, amazed, and then met her gaze again. "You're my Prince. And that's all that matters."

James's arms wrapped instantly around her waist as he buried his head in her shoulder. Snow held him to her and cried for him, for his mother, for all he'd sacrificed. And Emma sobbed too, nearly forgetting everything that was at stake back at the wishing well. She could feel the tension ease between them as she watched her mother do for him what she so often did for her – eased the burden, filled him with faith, loved him.

Eventually, James pulled back, cupped Snow's face in his hands and kissed her, and for once, not even that felt awkward to Emma. Her parents were epic, timeless fairy tale legends, and it felt as if she were only just now realizing how very…cool that was.

When at last they pulled apart, James clasped Snow's hand and brought it to his lips, kissing it and then the ring; finally, he smiled. "I love you," he said, his voice low and ardent.

She smiled too, but then smirked in reply, "No wonder I ride a horse better than you."

The remark so startled the prince that she seized the opportunity to wriggle from his grasp, sent him stumbling backward, and ran laughing up the small hill toward her horse. Emma laughed outright as Snow reached for the reigns and untangled them from the branches, pausing to glance back at the pond. No sign of him. Swiftly, Snow anchored one foot in the stirrups and prepared to mount, but James had recovered too quickly and, catching Snow off guard, encircled a strong around her waist and yanked her from the saddle. The capture was swift but the force of it sent them both tumbling into a bed of leaves on the forest floor.

Snow, still giggling, collapsed against his chest and settled into his arms, panting.

"You can't hide from me, remember?" he said gruffly, pulling her to him and tilting up her chin so their eyes were level. "I will always find you."

She kissed him again then sighed as she nestled against his chest. "So," said Snow after a time as the moon crept into the sky. All levity had dropped from their voices as Emma heard her mother ask earnestly, "what's your real name?"

And something shook inside Emma's soul…something she couldn't quite place or name.

The vision of James, meanwhile, looked at Snow, caressing long locks of black hair falling in waves down her back. "It's James," he said. Snow arched an eyebrow but didn't respond. He took her hand and laced his fingers through her own. "My life began when I met you," he whispered. "And I met you as James."

"James," Emma repeated in a breathy whisper, and again, something tugged at her stomach. Her throat went dry, her tongue thick, and for some reason, as she heard her mother reply sweetly in turn, the inexplicable lurching in Emma's gut told her that she'd seen exactly what she needed to see…and now she had to get out – fast!

"Very well," she heard her mother saying as she whisked herself out of the vision. "James it shall be…"

"Dad!" Emma cried, plunging herself back to the present as Snow jerked away.

"Emma?"

"It's Dad, something's wrong!" she yelped again, darting her gaze every which way, regaining her bearings.

"Did you connect with him?" Aladdin asked, stepping forward and looking down at the stone.

Emma glanced down too then shook her head. "No no, nothing like that I—" she looked back at her mother, seeming so much older with her short hair and lines of stress etched into the pretty face of the young princess she'd just seen. "I had a vision – of you and Dad, long ago—"

"You had a—" Snow shook her head, trying to catch up. "Emma slow down. What was it about?"

"It was…it was – ugh, there's no time!" Emma yelled, suddenly frustrated, impatient. Clawing at her wool cap and stepping down from the wishing well. "I can't explain it. It doesn't really even make sense with the vision itself but I have this horrible feeling that he's in trouble!"

"We're all in trouble," said Jasmine, trying to keep her cool when all hell it seemed was breaking loose ahead of schedule. "That's why we need to wake the sixth guardian?" She held up a trinket in her hand, the golden seashell she'd been instructed to hand off to Marina when the time was right.

Emma looked at it swinging near Marina's head and almost laughed. The whole thing – the soulodestone, diamonds-in-the-rough, saving Eric – the whole ordeal seemed so ridiculously irrelevant now. Voices started seeping into her head. Voices not rooted in visions but memories:

She heard Jefferson's: All worlds have their own rules. Some have magic, some don't. And some need magic. Like this one. And that's where you come in. You have to open your mind…"

Henry's: "And what if they're the same? You're the one who told me that you have a superpower. Did you use it?...On Michael Tillman. Did you use your superpower?"…Well? Was he lying? Did he really not want his kids?..."

Herself: "He says I…He says I have magic…Is he right? Do I have…like, powers or something?..."

James: "Before you came, the only magic here was dark magic. Magic Regina has been using to maintain the curse. But you are the result of our love. Love that Stiltskin must have figured out how to harness into actual magic…"

Maleficent: "Magic masks every memory, creates every single false persona. So each time someone awakens, that little bit of that magic is released and becomes a kind of raw power…power that I imagine you began tapping into fairly recently…"

Snow: "You're not part of the curse, Emma…You're its Achilles heel. Love…our love. Which means you…must be more powerful than the queen herself…"

"Emma?!" Snow practically screamed to her daughter but Emma seemed to be only half listening.

"This is a waste of time—" Emma mumbled as she staggered away from the stone base of the wishing well, ignoring the dumbfounded stares and objections around her.

"Emma where are you going?!"

"You're leaving now?"

"What about your vision?"

"Princess?"

"Emma!"

Finally a hand shot out and clamped down on her shoulder which gave her a jolt. The force of it startled her and she turned slowly to find that Aladdin had raced down to her side, his expression a mixture of confusion and downright anger. "Emma, you can't just…just leave!" he implored her. "Think about everything that happened at the hospital. Everything Maleficent told us. Gave us." He gave her shoulder a little shake and it appeared, at least to him, that he might be getting through.

In reality, he wasn't. Emma had only stopped because of the tingling sensation she felt through her arm when Aladdin grabbed her. Power – Maleficent was right. Raw power – it was right here. Running. Coursing through them both. You…must be more powerful than the queen herself. Of course, she thought, and suddenly, she knew exactly what she needed to do.

"…since the pawn shop! And-and Philip and Lucas?!" Aladdin was saying, though Emma had missed completely the thread of his conversation. "Everything that's been leading up to this very moment," he continued. "You saw it happen this way in your vision!"

Emma took a deep breath, locking eyes with each of them: Ella, Jasmine, Marina (who looked as she didn't dare get in the middle of any of this), Aladdin…and her mother. "Maybe not all my visions are supposed to come true," she suggested, though there was no maybe about it. She was certain.

"How can you say that?" said Snow. "Everything you've seen has been for a reason. Has led you in the right direction—"

"Dad's in trouble," Emma rasped, silencing her mother. "I don't know how I know, I just do."

"Emma," Aladdin tried desperately to get her to refocus. He grabbed both her arms and forced her to look at him. As he did so, Emma felt another jolt of power and Aladdin entirely missed the small, almost sinister grin curling into her lips. "If you quit now, then Maleficent's sacrifice will count for nothing."

"No," she said steadily, slowly turning to face him. "It won't." And with a single step back, Emma grabbed his hand in a vice-like grip then thrust her other hand out in front of her, fingers splayed and palm facing the spot where they'd originally planned to conjure the portal. Aladdin cried out in pain and shock, writhing in what appeared to be agony as Emma drew on the power surging through both of them.

"What the hell?!" cried Jasmine as she started running for her husband. But Emma merely glanced at the Arabian princess and sent her flying backwards.

"Emma!" Snow cried out, running to help Jasmine back to her feet. "What are you doing!?"

But Emma had refocused once more on the bare ground in front of them, glaring intensely as she willed it into existence. The winds picked up, the air chilled even cooler, and soon the women gasping in horror behind her were struggling to find something to hold onto as the cyclone-like force picked up even more speed. "Almost there," she mumbled to herself, tightening her grip on Aladdin who had by now fallen to his knees. And just before Snow herself feared the worst about her daughter, a large, silvery grey hole in the air spiraled open before them, its edges rounded and in perpetual rotation. Indeed it looked much like the portal that had opened beneath Jefferson's hat except…this one was freestanding, upright…and Emma's.

"You…" Snow whispered above the din. "You did it—" she said, glancing in shock at the two gatekeepers, neither of whom was holding a soulodestone. But before anyone could say anything else, the surface of the portal's horizon shimmered and what was the silvery grey ether now appeared to be a window to the other side – and all of them gaped at what they saw.

"Emma?" they heard echoing through the portal. "Snow!" It was James, standing in a locked cell, reaching through the bars toward them. With him were Dawn Charles and—

"Charlie?" gulped Marina, brushing herself off and coming to her feet as she beheld the deaf dock worker.

"We're coming Dad!" Emma shouted in glee then finally turned to the poor street rat who, through no fault of his own of course, was now too stunned to do anything but nod insipidly at Storybrooke's savior.

"Where's your lamp?" she asked, no longer even bothering to question how or why she just knew what to do.

In a daze, Aladdin produced the lamp from within the large folds of his coat as she helped him up to his feet.

"Hold onto it," she ordered, then took his other hand and lifted his palm toward the portal like hers had been. After positioning his arm just so, she slowly took her own away then glanced at still open doorway and gave it a satisfied nod. "Keep it open," she said. Again, he just nodded, wholly focused now on maintaining the flow of magic she'd initiated, his hand steady, though his eyes remained frozen in astonishment.

"Aladdin?" Jasmine said worriedly, finally allowed to approach her husband. She glared at Emma but she seemed not to notice.

"I'm…I'm ok," said Aladdin, not taking his eyes from his new task.

"Are you sure—"

"He's fine," Emma said sharply as she plucked the seashell chain from her hand, stalked over to Marina Andersen, and hauled her over to the portal.

"Hey what're you—"

"Come on Princess," she said, "we're going on a little trip. Mom, you coming?"

Snow, who hadn't yet taken her eyes off James, rushed over to Marina's other side then stared in awe at her daughter. "Are you—"

"Look," Emma nodded toward James who was eyeing them both now in earnest, urging them to hurry. "We always find each other, right?"

And then Snow smiled. "Right."

And with that, the 'charming' women secured their grip on each side of Marina's petrified body, and without ceremony all three of them leapt inside.

…

***And in true "Toll Bridge" fashion, it seems that in attempting to answer some age-old questions about this story, I've only given you new ones. Many people have inquired over the…years? (Ugh, has it been that long?) as to why Snow and everyone calls him James when his "real name is David!" and others have been very gracious in trying to respond for me. But as was revealed in Ariel's flashbacks, James was, indeed, known to some as David. Now as parts of the truth are revealed to Emma, she's left with only a vague sense that this information will soon be crucial. I hope you enjoy where it goes from here (and I hope there's enough of you still sticking around for the few and far between updates of this wild ride). And yes, for those of you who are also fans of "Filling in the Blanks", the James and Snow vision is a modified version of one of my original scenes from that story - I figured it's not plagiarism if I'm borrowing from myself right? :)

Thank you as always for sticking with it, particularly those of you who have me on author alert and were, I'm sure, pretty peeved to find that the last thing I updated on here was some mindless dribble for Jurassic World! I hope, as always, that it won't be nearly as long before my next update. But it's not for lack of a good cause, I swear! I'm very close to getting my play published so I've been kind of consumed with that lately. Plus...seriously, GO SEE JURASSIC WORLD!

Happy summer to all, and to all a good night!***