A/N: First I'll start out and say that I am extremely self-conscious about this chapter. I do honestly believe it is hot garbage and not in any way my best work. But I have been editing it with a fine tooth comb every day for about three weeks now and I don't know what else I can do to shape it more into what I want it to be. And I'd like to keep the story moving along because idk if you guys really even care about some of the things I'm obsessing over. Idk, maybe I'm just seeing how ridiculous this story can get before you guys finally beg me to stop. That being said, I am open to criticism. I only ask that you be gentle. Am baby.
Next thing I need to say is...The Jungle Book. I am a big fan, obviously. Mostly of my boys Baloo and Bagheera. This chapter is dedicated to them and gay dads everywhere. And sorry, but for the sake of this story, I won't be including Mowgli...or the unnecessary King Louie racism (I'm not actually sorry for not including the racism, it needed to go). But some things, like removing Mowgli, I change for my own purposes because I'm an asshole that enjoys doing that. Though all of you who are still here are already well aware of that by now. :)
Thank you for your comments and kudos. My heart almost bursts out of my chest every time I get a notification for them.
Song is Daisy by Ashnikko.
Chapter 5
If you're like most people, you probably believe that lies are created inside your brain, right? We see an obstacle ahead of us that we don't think we can overcome with the truth, so we think up a quick lie instead. But that's not right at all. Lies aren't created in the brain, they're floating through the air around us all the time. Your brain is the fish swimming through them – only, in reverse.
We lie through our senses. And we sense a lie being told the very same way in which we tell them.
Like when I told you the "story" of how I lost my medical license. Maybe you sensed something was a bit off. Maybe you didn't. Maybe, despite everything, you still do. But what you fail to see in all this is that it doesn't matter whether or not it's true.
That, my dear reader, is because my actual license is not medical in nature, but poetic. And with this poetic license, I have been granted the unrestricted authority to tell you that nothing and everything is a lie. And – for as long as you continue to follow me along in this written journey – you have no option but to believe it. To immerse yourself in it. The only way out is to not read this at all.
But – and let me make this perfectly clear – I'm not writing this just for it to be read by you. I'm writing it to tell a story that makes a very specific point. The telling is in the title, after all – The Regina Parable. And what would a good parable be without a specific point made? Without a lesson taught? I suppose it'd be much like the one you still haven't learned. I'm talking, of course, about the very first thing I warned you about at the beginning of chapter 4.
But that was then, right?
This is chapter 5. We've moved on. New chapter, new me.
So I'll reemphasize this very important lesson again for you – this time without any poetic license, just to be sure you read the message loud and clear: Do not trust me.
Do not allow yourself to believe that because I have done everything in my power to keep your beloved characters alive that I am somehow inherently "good." I hate to be the bearer of bad news, my good reader, but I am neither "good" nor "bad." I am but an author. A writer of stories.
Which reminds me of a similar, rather touching one. I suppose in its own way, it too is a parable. Even if the lesson is utter shit.
(*says the next bit in an oddly high-pitched voice that sounds suspiciously like Mickey Mouse for some reason but is meant to imitate what I believe you, the reader, sound like)
"That's okay. I love shit stories. I've read this one up to this point, haven't I? Ha-huh."
(*end imitation)
I know what you're thinking: I didn't actually say that, author. You can't just put words into my mouth.
Oh, but you did. Maybe not with words, but you did, reader. If I write it – which I did – then it is truth. And that's the true beauty of poetic license.
Fortunately for you, I don't take offense to any of this. It is merely a fact being stated to emphasize the greater point I'm trying to make. And I am feeling rather generous today.
So, I've decided to tell you the story anyways. Despite all instincts telling me not to. And despite it being complete and utter shit. It starts something like this:
There once was a little old woman and a little old man who had a magic oven and baked a real life gingerbread man…
Yes, this is good. This is very good.
No it isn't. It's shit.
(*sighs)
Too long, didn't read: the way the story goes – everywhere except the Enchanted Forest (where it actually happened) – is that once the gingerbread man was fully cooked, he jumped out from the magic oven and ran away. Everyone – including the little old lady and the little old man, two farmers, a bear, and a wolf – tried to catch him. But with each attempt, the aggravating little baked bastard would get away. And he'd say something like "run run as fast as you can. You can't catch me, I'm the gingerbread man!" That is until – spoiler alert – the wise old fox finally deceived him into being dinner.
That's the gist of it anyways. But as I mentioned before, that's not how the story actually goes. From what I recall, there is a lot less eating, a lot more running, and far more missing context than how it's usually told. And it goes a little something more like…well…this.
"Good morning, your majesty. I imagine you had a good rest?"
It's the first thing said to Regina as she starts to come to. But it's not the first thing she responds to.
Something's buzzing beneath the surface like a swarm of angry hornets. A familiar tingling she can almost taste. But it's trapped there, beneath her skin. Like her. All bright green and purple like the way the sun's charged particles beat against the northern night sky, but if that was mixed with the taste of single malt whiskey burning down her throat. A familiar feeling that speaks to that all too unquenchable thirst inside her. She could never forget. Like relapsing into a bad addiction.
Magic.
Her magic – to be exact. She can feel it, thick and viscous. Flowing inside her like warm honey. Greeting her like a long lost friend, all sweet and savory.
You know what that means. She's home – the Enchanted Forest "home." And that means it's time for some teleportation. Probably the single most greatest thing about having magic. The ability to disappear one place and reappear anywhere else – Gods, she missed it. All she needs to do is close her eyes and concentrate. Let the darkness enfold her. Until she can feel the distance between her body and the flower-infested fields of her family estate. All she needs to do is…And then it happens…
Nothing. There's only the warm bubbling of magic beneath her skin. Like a pot of boiling water, her consciousness absolutely liquifies in it. And yet she's unable to summon any of it forth. Almost as if she were as magicless as the day she first came to Storybrooke.
Damn. I really thought that was going to work.
So did she.
The next thing Regina notices is her body's position relative to the magic that she has but is unable to use. She's half-draped over the saddle of a horse. And as it trots along, it jostles her uncomfortably with every step. Now, it has been decades since she's ridden – not since Daniel's passing really – but she didn't think it was possible to forget that much about proper riding technique in all that time. She's sure she hasn't. Which means one thing and one thing only. That she wasn't the one who mounted the horse this way. She had to have been placed here by someone else.
She grabs a hold of the cinch strap to pull herself up into a proper riding position and takes a better look at her surroundings. At first, she notices that around her wrist is a metal cuff almost glittering – in a way that most metal cuffs do not. With an extra golden hue surrounding the silver that has to be the thing blocking her magic. Then her gaze turns north and a large black hole opens up in her stomach.
There's a man guiding the horse by its reins. He looks to be in his late thirties. With deep warm brown hair growing on his head and a face that would indicate that the only internal monologue moving through his head at any given time is just an endless loop of the phrase "help me."
That's right. It's all coming back to her now. She was at Dr. Hopper's office. She had an appointment. An appointment that she missed. Because someone had stopped her from going – with a well-placed blow to the head – and now she was here. And that would make this man her kidnapper.
"Not a very good kidnapper, is he?" Az says from the horn of the saddle, "Doesn't even have you restrained or anything. And surely he knows that we have excellent horseback riding skills. What's to stop you from commandeering this horse and being about your merry way?"
It's a reasonable observation – one she hadn't thought of until now. And an even better question. But escaping wouldn't offer much insight into the many other questions she had bouncing around her head. Like "why are we here" and "what is this man planning on doing" and "how might that affect me" and "how am I going to get back home to Storybrooke – to Henry" now would it?
After all, Regina had the mind of a politician. And if there was one thing a good politician always armed themselves with when faced with the unknown, it was information. And she liked to consider herself a very good politician.
"Where are we?" She asks groggily, the words almost sticking in her throat.
The man looks to her. The out-of-place smile dropping from his face, leaving behind nothing more than an unrecognizable mess and says, "The Enchanted Forest."
She knows that. The magic pulsing through her had already betrayed that little secret. And given that he was smart enough to put this cuff on her to begin with, he must know that she knows that too. He is being sarcastic.
"No. I meant, where in the Enchanted Forest?"
"I don't know. Somewhere south, I suppose?"
He sounds frustrated.
Though not as frustrated as she will be after a few more minutes of trying to gather information from a person who is being less than forthcoming.
"Hm. That's odd. It's nearing nightfall. In the Enchanted Forest, where the worst things come out at night. 'Somewhere south I suppose' doesn't sound like a place one could go if one were seeking refuge."
He squints at her – a small flicker of violence jumping inro his eyes. Then, in a blink, turns forward once more.
"Seems the Enchanted Forest isn't as you left it, your majesty. From what I've seen so far, all the bad things are out at all hours of the day now. I doubt there's much refuge left to find in this place anymore."
She hadn't really noticed before. When she looks around all she can see is the almost dried up, rotted remnants of what used to be a lush and bountiful landscape. Where once was more than enough resources to spare – the kind entire monarchies would rise and fall in the endless fight to control – now lies a barren wasteland.
"What happened here?"
"Dunno," is all he says in response. And he really doesn't. Not really. After all, he'd been gone for as long as she had, under the same curse for most of that time.
When he came across what was left of an old ghost town not even three miles back, there were a few people scavenging about the place. But none of them were inviting nor were they approachable. And that didn't sit too well with him. So he nabbed one of their horses when they weren't looking, to carry the queen of course – because he sure as shit wasn't gonna haul her royal ass all over this place – and then didn't stick around for much else.
All magic has a price. She thought the one she had to pay for casting the curse was the pain she had to live with after having to kill her own father to get the heart to enact it. But for the eternal unhappiness of her enemies plus some, that seems almost too cheap, right? Given that her entire life had already been nothing but pain. Would killing her father – who she also had her own issues with – be sufficient enough payment (on its own) for everyone in the Enchanted Forest to live unhappily-ever-after? All magic has a price, but the trade between the two had to be equal. That's how magic works. It always had to be a price worth paying.
When she thinks back on it – I mean really thinks on it – the whole goal behind taking away everyone else's happy endings was to alleviate the pain of losing her own. And the curse hadn't in any way done that. If anything, it had caused her even more pain – by giving her a child and then ripping that child away from her both physically and emotionally. So maybe she hadn't paid a big enough price after all if that's how everything turned out anyways.
Then again, with who she was and how she'd lived up until now, she wasn't sure if any kind of magic could alleviate her pain. She was pain – in its pure and simplest form. It would take a hundred million years of evolution – or a complete change in the physical shape of her reality – for hers to end.
"Wow. This place is a shit heap. No wonder you left here," Az crones not at all admiring the desolate landscape.
It is hot and humid. As if the rains had scarcely come in the past few years but, in spite of it, the atmosphere was still trying to trap any and all moisture it could inside. A drop of sweat runs down Regina's nose and in it she sees the dried up dust field of what used to be a booming marketplace, wrapped in the early evening. Inside the abandoned trade carts there is no sign of goods – no sign of anything. Such an unusual sight for what was once a center of trade.
Once upon a time, thousands of people lived here in towns just like this one. A woodland world of culture and trade, now demolished by a curse.
Her curse.
Perhaps the price had been bigger than she originally thought. As extrinsic as it was intrinsic to the caster. A vengeful shadow sculpted into existence by her, eating away at the very fabric of more than one reality. Its arrival coinciding with the birth of her desire for vengeance. In a time where, instead of air, she exhaled hatred. And there were no forests or meadows or grasslands that could survive the fires of hatred once they started to spread. No one had that kind of power. Even Rumpelstiltskin himself believed that the very fact she had cast the dark curse to begin with was a violent and insuppressible miracle.
A chilled breeze gathers around her, as if in response to this thought. It blows a bramble of branches across the stone path, littering the deserted marketplace with even more browns and blacks.
This wasn't "just some curse" though. This was the kind of curse that the deep dark void of the universe and every nuclear ball of light burning in it were afraid of. Pay the right price, and it could wipe us all out and replace us with nothing. Like the Great Dying that wiped out 96% of all species on Earth 252 million years ago – in the time before mammals and reptiles and even dinosaurs as we know them. Only much worse.
"Oh bravo, my little darkling duck. Bravo," Az croons, giddy from both the surrounding barrenness and the anticipation of what was to come after.
"What?" she hisses quietly, hoping that her kidnapper doesn't notice her talking to…well, to him it would look like she was talking to herself.
He doesn't.
"You don't realize what you've done? Or perhaps you do and you're just being deliberately obtuse."
She doesn't respond. Doesn't give them the satisfaction. Just glares back at the demon darkly.
"When you cast that curse, you essentially Thanos'd the Enchanted Forest."
"Thanos'd?"
Az sighs dramatically as if they can't believe they have to explain something this trivial, "In the Marvel Universe, genocidal warlord, Thanos, acquires 6 infinity stones. Which combined grants him the ability to wipe out half of all life in the universe. Seriously, Gina…I know for a fact that Henry has all six issues in The Infinity Gauntlet comic book series and that it's one of his favorites that he can't help but go on about in a never-ending rant, so I find it extremely hard to believe that you don't know this plot line."
"Half of all life?" She ponders aloud.
That's right. Half of all life. Half the wildlife and the non-human creatures. Half the humans. Half the plants, crops, and insects. So, not only all the things that we typically think of when we picture something that is "alive", but the things that sustain life too. In a realm sustained by hunting and local farming and trade, such a sudden loss would have been devastating. Was devastating. No wonder this place has fallen to such waste.
"And just think, Snow White and her merry band of goody-goody followers want to come back here," Az says, "She's going to be sorely disappointed to find out that there isn't much 'here' left to 'come back' to."
But "sorely disappointed" doesn't even begin to cover the level of devastation that Snow will feel the moment she finds out the present state of her old home. And that is a somewhat comforting thought. Maybe this had been a price worth paying after all. Maybe Regina had gotten what she wanted at a steal. Maybe this is actually the story of how one woman robbed a terrifyingly powerful curse completely and utterly blind.
Which brings us back to more pressing matters…
"Why are we here? Who are you?"
"I am Russell Pierniki," The man looks at her as if his name alone should have been enough to know his entire life story.
"Who the hell is that?" Az asks in her ear.
Regina stares back at the man expressionless.
She doesn't know. And she's not going to pretend to either.
"You know, the town bakery? You come in every Friday with extra challah for me to sell."
She remains expressionless and unassuming.
"Nope. Still not ringing any bells…" Az contributes, fingers rubbing thoughtfully at their smooth pointy chin.
"Okay. What about my Enchanted Forest identity then?"
"Hm. Maybe Tom Thumb?" Az guesses aloud, very into what is perceived to be a new game, "No. He was definitely a lot smaller."
"Burrowbarrowingham Village?"
"Oh, I know! Little Miss Muffet!" Az tries again, "No, I'm pretty sure she died from a fatal spider bite decades ago."
When he's only met with more silence, Russell tests her one last time to no avail.
"Jim and Ethel Bakewell?"
But even if Regina did know, she wasn't going to give him a single ounce.
"Good Gods. Is that…" Az summons a pair of reading glasses and positions them before their eyes as if it might help them better inspect the man, "the gingerbread man?"
"How could you not know? You killed my entire family!" Russell cries out at the former Evil Queen.
"It is! It is the gingerbread man!" Az calls out bouncing around wildly with excitement, "Oh, Az, you devil, you are too good at this."
"You killed them," Russell stares on, his wrinkled mouth moving without a sound – a strange sorrow coming over him, not too unlike an old country song.
Soon after, he begins to talk and Regina listens – rather patiently – learning just how it is that a baked confection decided that kidnapping the mayor was worth being wanted on charges of abduction and assault.
The Bakewells were a couple old in adoration, the most esteemed bakers in the village of Burrowbarrowingham, roughly 140 paces from Port Bennet. The head of the household, Jim Bakewell, had inherited the meager bakery – along with all its perfectly cooked secrets – that had been passed down in his family from parent to child for nearly 200 hundred years.
Whatever pride Jim might have felt after 45 long years of family owned and operated hard work – however rewarding – had vanished the day his wife, Ethel, became deathly ill with the then dubbed "death dealer's plague." And even though, in the end, she was one of the very few to survive the dreaded sickness, it'd been frightening enough to remind them of the inevitability of mortality. Leaving only one way to break the metaphorical curse – and that was to pass your name and legacy onto your children. Of which they had none.
They were late in life, the Bakewells, but it mattered not. Because from then on, both husband and wife were determined to conceive a child. For the good of the bakery. For the good of all their generational baking secrets. And for the good of their family. And try they did. For too many tiring years. Ethel's growing age as well as the health complications that came along with having survived something as fatal as the death dealer's plague almost guaranteed that the effort would always end in nothing more than an empty nest and disappointment.
Until one day, on the dawn of his 50th name day, Jim had a most brilliant revelation. For you see, the secret to the Bakewells's perfectly baked bread lied within their magic oven. The very same magic oven that had been passed down through the generations almost as long as the bakery itself. A long time ago – for the low, low price of two cows and four goats – an old witch had enchanted the oven with the power to bring food to life in a way that no seasoning or amount of butter ever had before. Up until that point, the Bakewells had only used it to bake a variety of early Anglo-Saxon-style breads. But, what if this time – Jim thought – they baked a thing they called gingerbread? And they could mold it into the shape of a man, with icing for the clothes and mouth and gumdrops for his eyes and nose. If a magic oven could "bring food to life," then surely it could bring him a son too. Then, after hours of baking, out popped Russell – alive and healthy and cooked to perfection.
Jim had once told his baked good son, "You are my greatest creation and I love you more with each passing day than you will ever know." And nothing would ever be as true. The Bakewells raised the gingerbread child as their own. Treated him as kind and as honorably as if he had been birthed from Ethel's very womb. And in return, that piece of gingerbread loved them with every grain of sugar in his candy-coated heart.
"Until the day the Evil Queen sent her soldiers to raid our village. They burned everything to the ground. The village. The bakery. My parents. They left behind nothing, except for the magical cast iron oven – that couldn't so easily be destroyed by fire – and me, a helpless little cookie that should have. But I always was a fast runner. And somehow I managed to outrun all the fires. I was the only one who got away that night," He tells the tale in a calm, dead voice, as if it were something that had happened to someone else and not him, "They were good people. The best of people. They didn't deserve what happened to them. And now, they are dead. And it's all because of you. You will help me make them live again or I will die trying, if it's the last thing I do in their memory."
They sit there, listening to the wind for a time. And, for a single moment, there is no other sound in the world.
Until Az jumps headfirst and unwanted — as is to be expected of them at this point — into the conversation. "Not very sweet though, is he. I mean, he's a cookie, right? Aren't they supposed to be sweet?" They ask, eyes full and blinking at Regina like big moons through the lenses of the glasses.
She isn't quite sure what compels her to answer. She'd gotten pretty good at ignoring the small demon. Perhaps it's the sadness of the gingerbread man's story that makes her feel like she needs to contribute something light – though her sense of humor in that particular area had always been questionable at best. Or maybe it's an impulse to correct and comment on any and all cooking/baking related topics. All she knows for sure is that the words come out of her mouth before she can even think to stop them.
"Mm. Not necessarily. Gingerbread men are known for being far less sweeter than the traditional cookie. The spice of the cinnamon and nutmeg can often overpower the sweetness of the brown sugar and syrup."
This seems to satisfy Az.
But Russell's dull eyes turn back to her from his narrow face; darkening once more as he mumbles, "What...?"
A terrible mistake. A most inadvisable strategy against a baked good out for revenge. His eyes are practically boring into her skull. She needs to redirect the conversation immediately. She needs to distract this man – bread – cookie – whatever he is from the truth.
Her eyes narrow, turning to the future in a manner that had been drilled into her from youth.
"Mr. Pierniki," She begins. This wouldn't be the first time she would have to talk someone off a ledge. It was all part and parcel of the political game, and that was something that she played all too well, "I only ever sent my royal guard out with an order to apprehend Snow White. There isn't a single instance where I ordered them to burn and raid villages. Despite what you may believe, the queen's guard was lead by a commander who was more than capable of giving his own orders to suit his own agenda at the time – a lesson I too had to learn the hard way when he eventually seized me and turned me over to the one person I had been trying to apprehend. Now I ask you, is it really fair for you to sit here and punish me for something that I had no knowledge of or control over?"
"oOOo. That last bit might be hitting a little too close to home, don't you think?" Az buzzes, the words tickling uncomfortably at her ear.
"Shut. Up," she hisses back. But this time it's a whisper through her teeth.
"I don't care about them. Why should I when I have you who deserves to pay for all the evil things you did? Do you even realize how many people want you dead? I could be the town hero." It's said with the inflection of a man lost somewhere between a memory and a dream. A man who is unsure of how to find his way back home somewhere in-between. He blinks at her and a small part of him flinches. Even with a knife and the magic-blocking cuff around her wrist, he's still afraid of her.
"You don't have to do this, Mr. Pierniki. There are other ways to get the retribution you seek."
"That's where you're wrong, your majesty. I have no other choice but to do this," too complacent, those words – he is lying. Not to her, but to his very own self, "I've been told of a lake here, in the Enchanted Forest, that is known for its ability to bring people back from the dead. And rumor has it that you know exactly where to find it."
What he was looking for – that lake – it isn't there anymore. It dried up ages ago – long before the dark curse was cast. A fault that was not at all Regina's. But she knew what it was like to be on your last tether. She knew – better than most – the lengths a person would go to get back the thing they value most. To cling to that last piece of reality left in them. This Regina was not the same as the one he thought he knew all those years ago. It would seem the Evil Queen and the Gingerbread Man had more in common than you or I or anyone would have ever guessed. And as she had recently learned in her many sessions with Dr. Hopper, sometimes the only way to fight the truth was to hit a person back with an even harder truth.
Somewhere at some time, such a lake did exist – the water inside reflecting the somber face of the world. Now the dried up patch of dirt where it once sat does the very same thing.
"I understand how you're feeling right now. And I do honestly hate to be the one to tell you this, but there is no lake. And even if there was, this dream you have – where you go out and find a way to bring them back and live as if nothing bad had ever happened – it's just a dream. I'm not saying you should ever stop dreaming it. I'm not in any way telling you to forget them. But what's dead is dead. And there is nothing in this world or the next that can bring them back. I wish to the Gods there was, because I would have found it and I would have – I lost someone once. But they are gone. There are no lakes. No magic. No amount of scientific pursuit that can bring them back. They. Are. Gone, Mr. Pierniki. And you can spend your whole life searching for a way – you can even kill me – but at the end of the day, that won't bring them back either. They are gone."
Around them, the wind hums quietly. And for a brief moment, it offers this strange sense of cool comfort. Regina keeps her eyes trained to the black leather bridle around the horse's head – where they've remained, unmoving, for the duration of this conversation. She's waiting for the discomfort of this moment to end. But then she hears crying and even the wind can no longer soothe the discomfiture in the air. Looking up, she sees a broken-hearted boy – on the wrong side of thirty, face swollen with grief and every other kind of bad emotion she could think of – not so quietly crying.
"I don't believe you! It has to! Gold said that if I just–"
And suddenly everything starts clicking neatly into place. Gold.
"Wait. So that's how we got here? You made a deal with the imp? The fact that he was even willing to make a deal in the first place should have been your first red flag," She phrases it as if it's a pity – because it really is. This wasn't the first person who had been duped by Rumpelstiltskin and it wouldn't be the last. But she also phrases it as a transition out of him waving his knife around. More concerned with the possibility of accidentally hurting himself or the horse more so than any real threat to her.
But at the end of the day – which, might I remind you, it most definitely was – whether they acknowledge it or not, they'd already said everything that needed to be said between them. And still, Russell remained resolute on one goal only. So they roamed the wastes of the Enchanted Forest in silence until nighttime inevitably fell, tinting the landscape in vantablack darkness. It smelled like damnation washing over them. A beautiful, bittersweet blend of dewdrops as they form on a single blade of grass and smoke and ash.
Let me be perfectly clear, Regina could have run at any time. Even if she didn't have control of the reins, she was a skilled enough rider to only need the use of her feet and legs to control the horse she sat upon. She could have, at any time, had the gingerbread man trampled to death in a one horse stampede before he even realized it was happening to him. But she didn't.
For whatever reason, she felt like this idiot needed her. Call it guilt or some form of misplaced irony. Call it whatever you will. But somewhere – not too deep inside her – she felt an obligation to protect this idiot – if not only from his own self. As stupid and belligerent as she believed him to be, he was still of her constituency. And here he was, grieving the loss of his parents like a lost child – something she couldn't help but empathize with on some level. Whether it pained her to do so or not, she would always take her duties as a mayor and a mother very seriously. And this little ball of pitiful doe was in desperate need of mothering.
Besides, she had her own coping mechanisms to deal with – in the form of obsessive baking. If he didn't make it back to Storybrooke if and when they did eventually return home, where else would she take all the excess from dealing with her own traumas? He practically owed it to her at this point.
So when the old pre-curse ruins of a castle rise to the sky like a dark palace – its grim shadow drawn out across the dirt by the light of the moon – the Evil Queen and the gingerbread man stand before it in the dead air of the night. Together.
"We going in there?" Russell asks, the wind calling them forth. His feet more than ready to answer that call.
"We can't stay out here. We need shelter and this is the most stable structure we've seen for several miles."
Russell takes one step forward toward the building. A small but firm hand to his shoulder stops him in his tracks.
"What are you doing?" Regina barks, feeling it become progressively harder to hold back the bite.
"You just said we're going in. I was going in."
"There could be others in there…"
She hopes that's enough for him to understand the enormity of their situation without her having to launch a several minutes long campaign in order to explain all the reasons why that was a bad idea.
He stares back blankly.
"In the ruined castle of a decimated world that is only that way because of a curse that I cast…" She further explains, trying to tamp down the acerbity of the now boiling sauce that is her own temper.
He still doesn't make the connection. This was a man who had never seen so much as the need for late wartime strategy. And it was exactly that kind of deficiency that – in this world, with the game she's been playing for decades – would get him killed. How could one be so blind?
"You imbecile. Anyone that recognizes me is going to want my head. And you? Well, you look more like my traveling companion than my kidnapper. I doubt they'll be willing to talk things through before they start attacking."
"Ohhhhh…" That's when he finally gets it. "Hm. That is a problem."
And it sends Regina spiraling.
"Yes, a 'problem.' I mean, you aren't even a real kidnapper. You don't have my hands or legs bound or anything to stop me from escaping – other than this stupid cuff that prevents me from using my magic," She growls in frustration. She's feeling especially "hitty" in this moment. And she has the training for it. She'd taken four, maybe five years of self defense with Graham at the police station during the curse. Despite the curve of her loose feminine shape, her body is hard and lean underneath those fancy pant suits. And this wouldn't be the first time she's fought outside of those lessons. Emma Swan could attest to that. Most importantly, that's exactly what she'd like to do right now. Hit him. It's in the line of her shoulders, "Do you have any rope? Or a weapon other than that silly little field knife?"
"Yeah, that's not really my style."
He's very lucky she hasn't yet.
She sighs, long and weary and oh so floored by even the idea that she is the one that has to explain the principles of kidnapping to the person who literally kidnapped her. "Mr. Pierniki. This is a matter of life and death. If we walk into that building right now – and Gods forbid we run into someone – they'll kill us both on site before we even have the chance to explain. I suggest integrating it into your style. For both our sakes."
She walks over to him and jerks away the knife hanging from his belt. Then goes over to the horse and cuts a long strip from the sheep skin serving as a saddle pad. With a muffled huff, she extends her wrists. He stares in confusion. And her wrists stare back all olive and bony – exposed below the pushed-up sleeves of her expensive suit jacket and the magic-blocking cuff.
Why does keeping these idiots alive have to be so degrading and godsdamn difficult? She internalizes, rolling her eyes after several seconds where he does absolutely nothing but stand there with his mouth agape.
"At least try to look like you have some modicum of control here. Use this to bind my wrists together. And keep your knife out in front of you at all times. Visible."
It's like potty training her son all over again. Except Henry had caught on a whole hell of a lot quicker than this dolt. She just needed to come up with any reason. Then she could end him where he stands. She's looking for one – in his stupefied silence. But there are simply no good arguments for murdering a clueless dough boy in cold blood.
She closes her eyes and takes a deep calming breath. For Henry, she reminds herself. She needs to get back to Henry. She wants to be better for Henry. She shoves the knife closer to Russell, for him to take.
The movement breaks whatever spell he'd been under. Finally, he takes it from her outstretched hand. The polished wooden handle almost fusing into his palm. It reminds him of the day he first held it. With fear and respect. Hoping he'd never have to use it. The sun was out in the forest, peaking through the trees. His father's eyes shined with a pride he'd never before seen. That had been so long ago.
Now he is tying a surprisingly competent constrictor knot around the Evil Queen's wrists. A feat no one in a million years would ever believe he'd be the one to accomplish. Leaving a decent length of standing part between the knot itself and the running end, he feels…
Absolutely nothing. That thought alone rattles him. Like the skeleton of those old wooden stalls from the desolate market ready to collapse in on itself.
"Now, grab the end and pull me along. Like a captive. And do try to make it somewhat convincing, Mr. Pierniki," she suggests. Without argument, he does as she says and gently pulls at the bindings, leading them into the castle's front door.
He doesn't understand why he feels nothing. Only that he does. The math says he should feel all sorts of pride and accomplishment for having come this far in the name of his parents. And yet the optics show that he doesn't. It's as if some spirit – though not necessarily evil in nature – has possessed the cold meat of his body and pushed him so deep down inside himself that he feels more like a distant noise than himself.
"Well, don't look at me," Az says lounging in the length of rope between the two humans, "Oh, I do hope with the entirety of my little demon meat sack that the good sheriff gets here in time to see this."
It was meant rhetorically. But that wouldn't stop Regina's eyebrow from quirking up. Just as much as it wouldn't stop the demon from saying what it pleased, "Oh, please. We know all about your possession complex. So you can stop with all that pretending like it doesn't get underneath your skin. It's like that one song – how does it go again? That girl is poison…but sexy poison."
Az's little eyebrows pop up and down wildly.
"More like obnoxious poison," she mumbles quietly.
"Oh, Gina. You know good and well that just the mere sight of some man pulling you around by a rope would have her positively noxious," they say with a rich blend of honey and amber and faint tendrils of smoke wrapping sinisterly around each letter in every word, "And that makes us positively dripping–"
Regina scoffs and jiggles at the restraints hoping to dislodge the little demon from it's resting place before it can say anything else.
"What? I was going to say 'dripping with sarcasm,'" Az corrects. Though the smile that overtakes their face suggests they meant something different.
Russell throws her a conspiratorial glance. A convenient distraction from a conversation she wasn't going to have with a figment of her imagination. With a finger pressed to his lips, he squints up at the ceiling – as though straining to hear something in the distance. After a few tense seconds, he looks down. And her eyes follow his to the dirty stone floor. Where there are footprints in the dust leading the way into the next room. Such tiny feet, tip-toeing across the threshold. Short steps, light-footed, like a child with a lifetime ahead of them. But the footprints hadn't made a sound. They're simply impressed there, a side effect of the dust.
As she looks up, she thinks she sees a figure move about cloaked in shadow, a single breath escaping it in a white cloud that fades into the darkness. She squints her eyes for a better look. But the night provides exceptional cover to her harbingers.
Past the doors of the next room, there's a small fire burning inside an old fireplace that is covered in green and red lines of vines, the creeping plant spreading over the stone like blood vessels beneath pale skin. It looks ghostly and timeworn. But most importantly, it looks used. You know. Because of the fact that there is an active fire burning inside of it. And neither of them had been the one to light it.
"Someone's here," She whispers to her companion. Though it's clear he's well aware of that by now.
In the dim light of the fire is a room full of dusty furniture and remains. A doorway stands to the back, covered in dozens of lightly glowing old world wards. Regina's shadow looms over it like a bad premonition. For a moment, she thinks she's seeing things again. Because beyond the darkness, she swears she can see a pair of eyes peeking back at her. One is a bright emerald green and the other is a rich amber brown. And the way they bore into her own is so intense, it's as if they are trying to burrow into her very soul.
Suddenly everything is swallowed by a loud animalistic roar. Where upon turning to its source, they are met with a big angry-looking bear.
In one fluid motion, Russell drops hold of Regina's bindings and turns to run. But an even quicker hand grabs him by the tail of his shirt before he can get away.
"What are you doing!?"
She doesn't ask to get an answer. This is the gingerbread man we're talking about. Even a blind man could see exactly what he planned on doing. She asks as a way to get him to stop and think. There needed to be more of that happening if they were going to make it out of this place alive.
"What do you mean 'what am I doing?' That's a fucking bear!" He screams, "I'm running!"
"Would you just stop for a minute and think. If he wanted us dead, we would be by now. He wouldn't have made such a show of scaring us off. He's obviously giving us a warning, but why isn't he attacking?"
"Well warning received, let's get the fuck out of here!"
Russell turns them both in the opposite direction where they are then met with a growling panther instead.
The sound of his knife dropping to the floor echoes in the cold air of the castle. He looks at it, lying there useless on the floor, contemplating his next move. Nothing in the history of things that are has ever been as chicken-hearted as Russell J. Pierniki in this moment. He is a monument. A tall, crumbling monument of fear and trepidation. All bent over and untying the laces of his boots. Not once breaking eye contact with the growling panther less than 10 feet away from him.
Regina is as in awe of him as she is confused by him.
"What are you doing?"
"I'm taking off my shoes."
Ah yes. Can't say we didn't all see this one coming. The gingerbread man was, in fact, running. And his big heavy boots would only make it all the easier for them to "catch him if they can."
"What? Why? Do you really plan to outrun a bear and a panther?"
"Nope," he replies, pulling his second boot from his foot, "I only plan to outrun you."
He launches into a sprint. Where to? Who knows. I don't think he even plans that far ahead when he makes these kinds of calls. But he was her responsibility – sort of. Okay so he really wasn't, but she did feel some kind of obligation to keep him alive, remember? So when he runs off to nowhere away from an animal who may or may not be dangerous – we don't really have enough evidence to say one way or the other definitively – then it's her responsibility to track him down before he hurts himself.
And she would have too, if a small body hadn't collided with her legs instead. Its tiny arms wrapping themselves as best they can around her thighs.
"Noemi! No!" The bear shouts from behind them in clear human English.
Regina looks down to the little person holding onto her and is met with a bold set of eyes, one green and one brown – exactly like the ones she saw before. Just a little lower, and one of the most precocious smiles she's ever seen peeks up at her from a little pink mouth. Internally, she's buzzing – with electricity, with energy, she doesn't know. The bear's words still reverberate inside of her. Like tin, heavy. Until they finally settle at the bottom of her. Because she knows she's said something similar a thousand times before. Not the name. But the emotion behind the way it was said. It feels like a spell.
"Feels oddly familiar, doesn't it?" Az says softly, gazing at the small child as equally as captivated as she is.
They're not wrong. It feels very familiar. Staring into the depths of this little girl's eyes, with that smile, Regina feels an absence inside herself. Something that is missing that might have been green-eyed and smiling too. For a moment she's somewhere else. And there's a flash of teeth – a young woman smiling at her, near the rising tides of some beach from her ruined past. Everything about her is gorgeous. And she is hers. And as quickly as she appeared, she is ripped away.
The panther has the rags of the little girl's clothing clutched in its teeth and is pulling her back into the darkness. Regina can't help herself. In that innate instinct she has as a mother to protect a child in danger, she jerks forward, reaching out for the girl. But she isn't fast enough. Her fingertips only brush a few wisps of dark hair before the girl is fully swallowed by the shadows once again. Though giggles of delight are the only thing trailing in her wake.
It's strange. There are no memories of this recorded anywhere on her or in her. But Regina refuses to let it happen. Not again, she thinks.
Wait. Again?
She turns sharply to the bear, "You can talk. We mean no harm. Just…please don't hurt that little girl. We'll do anything you want – give you anything you want. Just leave the girl alone."
Hold on. I'd like to go back to the "again" thing, please.
The bear snorts, a gruff and intimidating thing.
I guess we're just not gonna talk about that at all then. Ok. That's cool.
Russell pops his head around the doorway of the room he'd just ran off to. He only came back because he quickly realized that nothing was chasing him and felt a sudden wave of fear for Regina – who also wasn't anywhere near him. But, from what he can see, she is fine. I mean, it definitely looks like she's lost her mind – bargaining with a bear. And maybe she has. Seeing as she has a fairy god demon giving her advice on one shoulder. While an author tries desperately to keep her alive for the sake of some silly story on the other.
That's also ok. No offense taken. Really.
"Her mind" doesn't even begin to cover all that she's lost. But..at the same time…she's also fine.
"That's our cub! I would never bring her harm!" The bear yells angrily from where he still stands on his hind legs. Making himself as tall as he possibly can, "You're the one who should leave her alone, you dirty human scavengers!"
"Your cub?" They both say in unison. Regina with the inflection of clarity that has only as of recent been discovered. And Russell with that of an even greater confusion than what he'd had before.
The bear growls. He hasn't the time for clarity or confusion. Not when the life of his cub is at stake. He would gladly die defending his impromptu little sleuth. And whether or not a couple of humans grasped the severity of that meant very little to him.
But they did grasp it. Quite firmly, actually. These weren't just animals hunting their next meal. This was a parent protecting his child from the cold hard world. Which could be, in many ways, even more dangerous. Russell and Regina both raise their hands slowly above their heads, palms facing out. The human gesture for surrender – to show a lack of evil intent. They could only hope the bear was as well versed in body language as he was the human tongue.
"Look. We really mean you all no harm. We're travelers from another realm. The only reason we're even here is all due to a big misunderstanding and now we really are just trying to find our way back home. Please."
The panther stalks up then, his long tail wrapping around the bear's back, "That one smells like the little one," his smooth voice coaxes some of the tension from the room.
"She does," the bear replies, "but that doesn't mean we should trust her, jaanu."
"I never said we should. I'm merely pointing out a fact, mera pyaar. It is…unusual."
This is another one of those "animals can sense things above the ability of humans" moments. They were speaking of things that were outside her realm of comprehension. And apart from it having something to do with her, Regina hadn't the faintest idea why something like that would be so intriguing to the couple. But if it kept the peace between them all, she would be more than happy to go along with whatever it was.
"Humans, what do we call you?" The bear's voice is less threatening this time, but there's still a rumble of warning somewhere beneath the surface. And one they wouldn't soon ignore.
"I'm Russell. And this is my–"
But Regina cuts him off before he can continue. These creatures are obviously very weary of humans as it is. It stands to reason that discovering one of these humans had been kidnapped by the other likely wouldn't go over any better. And, ever since that little girl wrapped her arms fearlessly around her, there was this unexplainable part of Regina that had this innate need for them to trust her.
"–friend–" She calls out.
They all jump a little at her rather crazed exclamation. But thankfully Russell catches on quicker than usual after being on the receiving side of one of her patented glares.
"–Right. My friend, Regina," he finishes not so eloquently.
"If she is your friend, why are her arms bound? Who ties up their 'friends' and drags them around an old abandoned castle in the forgotten wastes?" The panther questions, not entirely unwarranted in his observation.
"Maybe this one is dangerous somehow…" The bear voices aloud.
Well. This was going from zero to a hundred really quick.
"I assure you, I am not," Regina quickly interjects before they can even start down that path, "I am of no danger to anyone here. I am tied up because well…" for a moment she wonders what to even tell them, but then settles on some version of the truth, "We weren't sure if we would run into scavengers while seeking shelter in this place. And we thought it might look more intimidating if my traveling companion here were holding me captive. But I assure you, it is nothing more than a ruse."
"Yeah," Russell agrees, pulling at the knots to untie the bind at the woman's wrists, "We've been traveling all day and she hasn't done anything to me yet. She's harmless. See?"
Harmless. Said about the lady who spent years trying to get revenge on Snow White and then killed her own father in order to take away everyone's happy endings. And what's even stranger is that the man with a vendetta, who was singlehandedly responsible for both assaulting and kidnapping this woman in the name thereof, is standing here and defending her innocence.
But harmless. Right.
"What an idiot," Az comments, slapping a palm across their eyes.
My thoughts exactly.
Regina releases the scowl – that is almost fully set into her face – before turning back to their more than gracious hosts, "What do we call you?"
"I am called Baloo," the bear responds, "he is called Bagheera."
"The little one is very taken with you," Bagheera says looking up a stairwell. Small eyes proving him right as they flash between the railing, focused only on Regina.
"As am I with her. She is a sweet little one. What is she called?"
"Noemi."
At the sound of her name, the small child emerges from the darkness and wanders shyly between the legs of the large cat. The top of her head not even meeting the underside of his large chest.
"Or at least, that is what was sewn into her waste cloth when we found her. So that is what we have called her since," he says, and nuzzles his head against the child's in a recognizable display of both affection and a fierce protectiveness.
Regina squats down low to the girl's level, nothing but kindness flashing in her eyes. Then, looking up to her guardians, asks, "May I?"
She's not even sure what she's asking for. To talk to the girl? To touch her? She really wants any interaction they will allow – being her makeshift parents and all. It's only appropriate to ask. Though neither of them respond with words. But she thinks she sees Bagheera nod his head once before the little girl is suddenly walking towards her with a will of her own.
"Hello there, little one," Regina says to the girl.
There is no response. Not even so much as a single acknowledgment of the words that had been spoken. Just Regina kneeling against the cold stone floor and a small girl walking closer, one arm outstretched, until her fingers are brushing against the older woman's cheek.
"My apologies. She will not answer. She does not speak," Baloo says, "Not for lack of teaching, of course. She never seemed to show much interest and being that we don't usually speak the human tongue, we haven't pushed her too hard to learn."
A small hand presses against Regina's chest, as if in expectance of something. And somehow, as the fingers settle against it, her heart recognizes this gesture. Though she's unable to put a name to it or how she knows it. Then a warmth is crawling up her spine. In an innocent way. Like a newborn fawn taking its very first steps. It's a whisper inside her – in a room that is completely void of sound. A blooming flicker in the emotional and sensory aggregates of her mind. Like it's not only coming from some force outside her body, but also inside her own chest. Slowly it fills her, until her entire body is vibrating with it. In such an intense rush, that all of a sudden, breathing itself becomes difficult.
The warmth is a feeling. In her heart as much as against her skin. It wraps around her mood around her chest across her face. Like a new awareness searching and learning and sharing. The sweet spark of joyous curiosity washes over her. So strong and real as if it were her own. That for a moment there – before it recedes – she feels a tear forming in her eyes. She pushes that same feeling back, unafraid and unassuming. And somehow she knows the little girl is feeling it too.
Then just like that, it's over. Noemi's small hands fall away like a sudden gust of wind sending up an old letter into a drizzle gray sky. Away from her. Too soon she misses the contact. Wants to reach out and snatch it back up before it's gone forever. But she doesn't.
"Is everything okay?" Baloo asks, unable to keep that deep parental concern out of his voice.
"Yes, I–" Regina breathes out, eyes wide in charmed surprise; a honeyed smile sticking to her lips, "I'm not sure what happened. I think she just tried to communicate with me. Through my magic. Or–or through her own. I'm not entirely sure. I've never experienced anything like it."
Everyone watches the two with suppressed anxiousness. Even the great phantom of breathable air is holding its breath. Too quickly it becomes suffocating.
They are waiting for her to speak. Because a claim as bold as this deserves further explanation. But she's already spoken. It's an expression forever recorded in her heart. And it plays on repeat there like a silent message. They expect her to translate it – will want her to explain. Though doing so would be impossible. Like trying to grab a thing you think is next to you, but is really only a vapor of a breath you exhaled one winter evening as a child. There are only traces of it there to remind you of its existence. But it isn't at all tangible in a way that would be meaningful to anyone outside of you.
"Well, what did she say?" Russell prods nosily.
The inexplicable smile on Regina's lips stretches wider, as if she's forgotten they are there. Lost in some transcendent and somnolent thought. Then she notices Russell and it's immediately gone.
A cold seeps into her bones then – pins and needles against the ligaments. The morning air becomes heavy again with 70% humidity. All at once she's so much more aware of herself standing there, in the middle of…whatever this all is. Her arms hanging limp at her sides.
"She said…."
Regina struggles to get words out. The break in her connection with the girl having made it difficult to come back into her own thoughts and feelings somehow. Her hands smooth over the black polyester covering her knees. There is uncertainty in such a motion – in the smoothing of a fabric that is already perfect and wrinkle-proof. Like she's searching for some kind of approval.
"I think she said, 'hello.'"
Baloo and Bagheera had been kind enough to allow their guests to stay and rest for the night. Even going as far as to offer up some of the meat they'd caught to feed themselves and their young cub. And that night, they all slept in a room together, a comfortable understanding resting between them. Until hours later, when the sun is rising over the desolate landscape once more. Shedding a new light back onto a world that Regina had so unthinkingly destroyed.
When she awakens, it is on the stone floor of an old rundown castle. The dying fire as her blanket for warmth. And a small head of unruly dark hair splayed across her chest. Without any thought at all, she hugs the small body tighter to her. Her fingers brushing lightly through the locks of hair, pulling out the tangles and moving loose strands from the sleeping face. As if she'd done it a thousand times before, her lips pressed softly to the crown of the head snuggled against her breast. Not too unlike how she'd done to her own son so long ago.
Without warning, a low growl rumbles around her. It is the warning. Before the girl is ripped from her embrace by the protective panther. Regina opens her mouth to apologize – to explain. Because of course any parent would be upset if they woke up and saw their child clinging to a complete stranger. But she is cut off before she can speak.
"Someone's coming," Baloo says, nose to the air and ears twitching wildly in order to piece together all the sensory information around them, "Smells like danger."
Russell is still asleep a few feet from where she sits. If there is danger coming, they should all be present to face it. She leans over and snaps her fingers in front of his face. He sputters once like an old race horse before settling back into a deep rattle. She's never seen someone sleep so hard before. Like a small log if it were trapped in a fever dream of skin, hair, and bone. But it's time for this overgrown chess piece to wake up.
She kicks him in the ribs, pushing his body with her foot until he rolls over face down on the stone floor. At that point, it only takes one more inhalation before he sputters awake at the lack of oxygen entering his lungs.
He's awake now. Good. Because the bear and the panther are only getting more restless. Danger is coming.
"Can you tell how many?" She asks them. Since Regina is a woman of action. And the more she knows going into a situation, the better she can act.
"I can make out two maybe three. Definitely human," Bagheera answers, hovering over his cub who is tucked safely in the corner behind him.
"I sense three. Humans here don't tend to travel in groups much larger than that anymore," Baloo confirms, senses still on high alert, "They're approaching from the north. Smells like the same ones who have been following us since the jungle."
They are running out of time. It's palpable in the air. That sense of the end drawing nearer. That is when Regina lays out a quickly improvised plan.
"There's four of us – two of which have extremely sharp teeth and claws – and three of them. I saw a sword hanging on the wall in the entryway. And I have magic – though I can't actually use it," she looks pointedly at Russell to express her displeasure, "Though this cuff prevents my magic from escaping my person, I should be able to channel it internally to create a glow that would make it appear as if I can use my magic. In the right circumstances, even the illusion of power can be as effective as the acquisition itself. I think that if we stand our ground and remain a united front together, we could appear as a fairly intimidating force. If not, there would still be four of us and only three of them. Mr. Pierniki and I could keep them distracted while the two of you stay on the attack."
Russell jumps up and runs to retrieve the sword, already putting the plan into action without the consent of anyone else. They'd gotten this far because of Regina. He wasn't willing to take his chances challenging her now. Certainly not when he was half-awake and something dangerous was coming.
Baloo looks to his partner, an important meeting taking place between their eyes, where Regina is the subject.
"I am not comfortable with this plan, mera pyaar," Bagheera says, "but this group of humans has been following us since before we found the little one. I fear they will not stop until we confront them. I do not wish to stay on the run and keep our cub in danger. Especially with humans who are this skilled at tracking us. What the witch says has merit. This may be our greatest opportunity to finally rid ourselves of them."
The bear then rises on his hind legs. Every bit the intimidating force he was when they had first met.
"Oh! Gina, let me try! I am extremely good at this kind of thing," Az exclaims as they appear suddenly out of nowhere.
Without waiting for permission and in a puff of dark red smoke, the demon then appears on the bear's big brawny shoulder.
"Hey there, sugarbear," Az flirts. But the bear appears unmoved by their attempt at flattery. Probably due to the fact that he could not see or sense the demon in any way. The saddest part is how many seconds of awkward silence it takes for Az to recognize that this had done about as much good as talking to an old metal bucket.
"You're a tough nut to crack, indeed," they try to recover what little might be left of their dignity, and direct the next bit right at Regina, "But even the strongest containers can have the softest of hearts."
She pauses for a second. Counting down numbers in her head. Her jaw visibly flexing beneath her skin with the need to rake this demon over the very coals that created it.
Might I interject for a moment?
It's probably for the best if she lets this one go. Just my humble opinion. I know it's not worth much, but we are kind of in a life or death situation right now with some kind of danger coming and whatnot, and getting pissy with a creature that only she can see really isn't going to do her any favors here. It's like they say "even if it itches, don't scratch."
Yeah. But it itches really, really bad.
Like, I'm surprised her teeth haven't cracked with how hard they are grinding together. And she's not even on the correct number anymore in her head. Now she's just picturing herself casting a spell that would permanently sew the demon's lips together.
No. Regina is far stronger than that. The very picture of self control, even in her worst of times. She is a woman who has had more than her fair share of heated arguments and would – surprisingly – prefer not to have any more. Least of all with an invisible flea that loves nothing more than to get her into the worst of situations.
Before the curse, if you'd asked anyone in the Enchanted Forest if they thought the Evil Queen had even an ounce of kindness in her, they would have laughed in your face. Then they probably would have turned you over to their rightful queen, Snow White, for your act of heresy against her. It really is a shame they couldn't see her in moments like these. When such selflessness radiates off her in indiscriminate waves.
"Please, you've been so kind to us. Let us help you in return," Regina begs of the bear.
There is only a naked silence – the sound of a mind that is already made up. Like the sound of the minds of a thousand townspeople after her curse had been broken. Baloo would choose what is best for the safety of his family. Nothing more and nothing less.
"We agree to your strategy, Regina, on one condition," he says and her shoulders shrink in relief, "if it results in the 'if not' scenario, you must take Noemi and run. Shield her eyes and protect her. Violence and carnage for the sake of hunting is one thing. But I do not wish for her to see us that way. Not while she is still so young."
And it's because Regina is a mother. And because she has had a first hand account of the kind of monster she could be. She answers, "Of course," with absolutely no further explanation needed.
In that moment, they are two parents capable of violent things – of their own natures – sealing a promise between them to protect the child at all costs. This kind of relationship transcends their beliefs about wild animals or humans. It has to in order for it to work. In their short time together, the bear had seen something in Regina that indicated she might know a thing or two about being on the fringes herself, though her fringes were...not like his own. He can only hope that they're enough to keep his cub safe. They would make this work.
They gather together outside the castle, down the hill in the same direction the group was thought to be approaching. Bagheera hides up among the tangled web of dark branches in a nearby tree. Baloo and his cub just below, protected by the rubble of what used to be a stone fence marking the property line of the estate. And the other two humans taking cover behind a cluster of thorny bushes.
A loud growl echoes out across the open field. The signal. The agreed upon notifier for those hidden on the ground that the group of humans are now within hearing distance.
"I wouldn't come any closer if I were you," Regina calls out from her hiding place, "There are four of us here. A bear, a panther, a witch, and a knight."
I know, I know. Before you say anything.
The gingerbread man is anything but a knight.
So she embellished a little. It's a bluff, you guys, not role call. The embellishment is what sells it.
Luckily for them, it seems to do the trick.
"We don't have any quarrel with you or the knight, witch. We're here for the bear and the panther. Turn them over and we'll be on our way," one of the men calls out in response.
There are three separate growls above her. A count of how many humans the panther can see from his place in the trees. Satisfied that all three intruders are accounted for, Regina steps out from her hiding place.
"Do not come any closer. Or I will burn you alive where you stand," she warns, her hands glowing a deep shade of danger red.
One by one the rest of her party emerges from hiding, taking a united stance by Regina's side – except for Noemi who is tucked away safely behind the bulk of the bear's large body where she would remain if and until things went south. And just as was predicted, with the threat of a bear, a panther, a witch, and a man with a sword directly in front of them, the three strangers take the warning seriously. Fooled by the bluff, they see they are outnumbered and begin to drop their knives and swords to the ground in front of them in a grand gesture of submission.
Wait a tick.
Do you see that, reader?
In a tree at the top of the hill.
There's a forth one there. He's got an arrow drawn taut on an oakwood bow. And it's aimed directly at our heroine's chest with lethal precision.
Just one more in a long line of things that wasn't at all planned for, I suppose.
Good thing we are experts at this now. And we came prepared this time.
Well, go on reader. This is your moment to shine. You know what you have to do.
…
What?
…
What do you mean you don't know what to do?
(*sighs) I really do have to do everything around here. Hand me your potato.
Don't act like you don't remember. It was a very special gift I gave you in the last chapter. And I told you there would come a time when you would need it and you would know exactly what to do with it the moment that happened. This is that moment, my friend. You have the high ground.
Oh for gods sakes. You know what?
(*Jerks your emotional support potato away from you and lobs it at the archer just as he is loosing his arrow)
By the grace of an indescribable miracle, an unidentified object collides with the archer's arm and sends his aim off course by several inches. The arrow goes sailing through the air and pierces directly into Regina's lower stomach. But you see, the lungs are where we hold the breath of our souls. And souls that keep their secrets unravel beneath the weight of them. He had missed hers. She knows because the next breath she takes is just as heavy as she can ever remember.
There. Now the potato has successfully served its purpose – no thanks to you. You're welcome.
The archer tries to nock another arrow, but before he can an uproarious gunshot blast sends a bullet whizzing right past his head into the trees.
It's like the opening beat to a song. And it starts playing all throughout the wasteland.
Fuck a princess, I'm a king
Bow down and kiss on my ring
Regina sighs. This again. The world's greatest poets could come together and write a hundred pages of verses and still not even begin to capture the vexation in that sigh.
"Character development and scene enhancement, Gina," Az reminds her, obviously the culprit of this random display once again.
It's taking everything she has in her not to sigh again.
It's gonna hurt, it'll sting
Spittin' your blood in the sink
Having never before heard music played anywhere other than in a tavern by a minstrel or a live band, the group of miscreants are both confused and frightened by the song playing loudly in the open air around them. It's such a wonderful diversion that they almost don't even notice as Emma Swan and Ruby Lucas enter the scene. With their guns cocked and ready to fire – this time set on a more direct target.
I'm crazy, but you like that, I bite back
Daisies on your nightstand, never forget it
But Regina does see them. Almost instantly the moment they appear. When brown eyes meet green, Emma hesitates. In this moment, she almost doesn't seem worried at all. But like someone who had been woken up from a deep sleep. So sure of what she needed to do.
Regina nods at her. Stoically. Emma nods back. Even more stoically. Until they're just two badass women nodding, stoically.
I blossom in the moonlight, screw eyes
Glacial with the blue ice, I'm terrifying
Emma's hand twitches. A single bullet loaded in the chamber of her gun. She thinks of the way it slid into the barrel. The muzzle of the loaded weapon pointed at a man threatening someone she cares more for than she would ever outwardly admit to anyone. As if it were pointed at her very own chest – it feels…easy. She fires. The shot hits one of the three in the leg. And that is all the more warning any of them needed.
Having also never heard or seen a gun before, the group of scavengers quickly realize they are actually very outnumbered and at a critically low advantage – with their bows and arrows and swords and knives – technologically. Witness to the speed and accuracy of a gun and valuing their lives over the potential profit they could make off animal hide, they disperse back out into the wastes never to be seen or heard from for the sake of this story ever again.
And well…
This part you already know. As red as the emotional support potato that changed the course of the prevailing narrative. As red as the blood that pools around Emma's hands as she fights to stop the bleeding. We've seen this play out before. In another chapter, with similar words.
For Regina, there is nothing. Only spontaneous blackouts and blinding lights of pain. Out of it, a figure emerges – crouching over her. A familiar voice, filled with urgency and fear.
"What do I do, Regina. Tell me what to do. How do I make this okay? Because I can't lose you–I can't–"
She covers the hand pressed to her stomach with her own. As feelings of fear and worry – that are not her own, but also are – flow through the connection where small arms are wrapped tightly around her neck. And there is something in the touch of her hand to Emma's. A spark there. A live wire coiled around their wrists. If she could just form a connection, maybe…
She pulls the energy she can feel radiating off of the woman holding her and mumbles the most incoherent of spells. It's meant to heal. She can't tell if it's working. She can't tell much of anything, if she's being honest. But she is warm. And safe in the arms of this child and the savior. Right here. Right now. There isn't a single other place she can think of that is where she'd rather be.
Is this what actual death feels like? She thinks she says it out loud. But her vision is dark and she can't recall any external reaction to the words.
Oh darkling, you already were dead. A ghost, in fact. Up there screaming and fighting along with all the rest. Spooking each other. Haunting each other. You see, it's the living that are ghosts, just like you. The dead are silent and still. They don't run swords through one another and write their names in the blood of their enemies. That nonsense is for the living – of the living. The dead sleep. Come now, let's leave them all behind for awhile and finally get some well-deserved rest.