And there are corpses,
feet made of cold and sticky clay,
death is inside the bones,
like a barking where there are no dogs,
coming out from bells somewhere, from graves somewhere,
growing in the damp air like tears of rain.
Nothing but death, Pablo Neruda
1.
It may have been ten minutes or ten years—Regina's lost count of it. The darkness of her prison enveloping all there is to her, mind included.
It's a less kind curse than the one she has cast once upon a time. Whereas her victims couldn't know what they were missing, and couldn't recall their old lives, for the happiness or the tragedy of them, her imprisonment has allowed her little else.
Small things tell her time has passed. The way her hair goes down her back now and the deeper lines marking her hands. The tiny rat that had found its way to her cell while running from the shadows and went from little to old, to its natural death. Most of all, it's in the blurriness of her memories once they start getting old and worn out.
How much, really, she can't tell.
In the darkness, time stands still while her mind never stops. Everything she's done, all the choices that have led her to where she is now (where she must stay for the rest of her days), playing over and over again in her mind.
Some things, she will never forget.
Daniel's cold lips against her own. Her mother's final lessons on love. Snow's betrayal. The bitterness that took place in her darkening heart and consumed her steadily and slowly for the years to come. How her father's heart had felt in her hands in her desperate attempt to escape that ruined life.
But even the good things, the one good thing – Henry – starts becoming a blurred memory, getting lost by the minute.
She tries to hold on to it, to him, but all that's dark within her stains what little is good. And just like that, it doesn't take long (or does it?) until the things she remembers get mixed up with her hopes and wishes... Illusions made almost palpable by a constant and restless frenzy while her nightmares, born in her past actions, come to life just as vividly.
So she sleeps and she dreams. Then she wakes up and her dreams follow her.
Soon, Regina can't tell the difference.
Sometimes it's Henry who visits her – his age and appearance changing according to her current mood.
Sometimes he's barely six, still having trouble with the pronunciation of the big words, still missing a tooth right up front, happy to share the little nothings of his day. Then he's ten, not afraid to speak his mind, condemning her for all she's done and acknowledging her for who she really is: The Evil Queen.
Sometimes he loves her, most times he doesn't.
It hurts but so does the vision of what could have been had she not lost the war.
Had she not lost herself.
It happened when Cora died by her hands but under Snow's volition. She remembers even now, her mother's voice telling her she would have been enough after her heart had been put back in its place. Then, with her last breath, all turns into haze and Regina's last fragmented memory is of herself holding the trigger that would have turned Storybrooke into ashes had Emma not gotten to her in time.
And that had been it.
Afterward, no other chance would be given to the woman who once again had threatened so many lives.
Regina remembers Henry's face when her sentence was announced. She may not have been able to touch it, but she could feel his heart breaking all the same.
The look he had given her then will hunt her for as long as she lives.
Either way, hurt or no hurt, she still prefers the sight of her son to the others.
Snow, the overbearing child, the condescending princess. Cora, the narcissistic mother, the heartless witch. Rumple the trickster, the mentor. Daniel, the sweet boy, the walking corpse. And Emma, the savior, the hero. The one who stole her son and her happy ending.
They come as ghosts, haunting her and filling the holes left by loneliness all the same. Then they disappear, thin as air, leaving nothing but Regina's voice echoing in the dark dungeon.
And, of course, there is herself. Selves.
The innocent girl she has been and lost. The bitter newlywed. The vengeful queen. The powerful mayor.
In so many ways she has disappointed all of them and they're not afraid to say it, laying her mistakes right in front of her eyes one after another.
So when Regina receives a real visitor, it doesn't come as a surprise simply because she can't tell it is real, not at first, her sanity hanging by a thread, too close to being lost completely.
"Well, well, well… To whom do I owe the honor of a visit?"
The stranger hides in the shadows at first and his movements tell little of his true identity. He is swift, dexterous. Slim and graceful. Young, most definitely. But that's about it. Regina raises an eyebrow intrigued, her tone regal despite her circumstances. "Care to reveal yourself?"
He does so. Stepping up into the light that embraces his figure like an aura. A young man he is, tall and slightly too skinny, his hair overgrown and bleached by the constant exposure to life outdoors it seems. Regina stares, appraising him with interest. His long limbs and the way he holds himself vaguely familiar, and his eyes, hidden under his shaggy fringe almost like a mask, awakening in her a strange gut feeling.
"You don't recognize me." His baritone voice is shaky, probably because he's still learning how to manage it. Or perhaps because he is nervous. What she could only understand if he were…
No.
It can't be.
He takes a step closer, his clothes dirty and tattered.
It could be, but it shouldn't.
Because this means her little boy is now a man. And Regina has seen grown-up Henry. In her daydreams, he is always confident, almost cocky, but he still favors cardigans and jeans, still knows what a haircut is, and more importantly, he is healthy, well-nurtured, perfect.
In her dreams Henry is far far away, not in some fairytale land, or even the Storybrooke of her memories, but in college, making a life of his own, on his way to becoming somebody, on his way to his happy ending.
This young man standing in front of her is not her son.
He can't be. Because if he is, then something went terribly wrong along the way.
Then again, that at least would explain what he's doing there.
"It's me." He approaches the cell, his hand running through his unruly hair revealing those unmistakable grey eyes that Regina knows all too well, his words confirming her worst fears.
"My name is Henry…" He adds nervously, a response to the ghost of doubts that haunts her eyes, his voice almost deferential, "I'm your son."
.::.
She looks different than he remembers.
Older. More weary. Also, slightly deranged. Nothing resembling what he had expected, although, he probably wasn't being too realistic imagining he would find the same woman who had made his breakfast and put him to bed every day for the first ten years of his life as if no time had passed at all.
At first, she looks at him like he's a figment of her imagination. Then, as his words find their way out, an unreadable expression takes over her features.
For a second he fears she won't believe him. Then her eyes become glassy with unshed tears and she swallows whole a sob, which is more disconcerting than anything he had envisioned for this moment.
Because his mother is strong. Proud. Unyielding.
And the woman standing in front of him seems to be devoid of any of these qualities.
Instead, Henry finds Regina small, frail… human.
She comes near the grids, where his hand is resting, her eyes so dark seeking recognition, but when her hand brushes his own, Henry repels the touch instinctively, not unlike he had done many times as a boy.
He can see the hurt flash in her eyes, which is almost familiar, but then, within seconds, Regina is gathering herself with as much dignity as possible, regaining some resemblance to the woman he once knew.
"Why are you here?" It's the question she directs him somberly, suspicion blending with concern.
Henry had a speech rehearsed. It was about doing the right thing this time around, one last shot at proving that there's more to the woman whose title alone still frightens little children. He was going to tell her that this is her chance to be the hero.
The truth, however, is much less honorable than that.
"I haven't forgiven you if that's what you're asking." His words blurt out taking him by surprise, which, by Regina's versed expression, isn't received in the same manner.
"It isn't." She replies stonily, and Henry feels some of his anger deflate at the lack of fire.
"Something bad has happened." He averts his eyes, unsure of just how much he should reveal. However, years of imprisonment haven't given Regina much tolerance to cryptic remarks.
"That much I gathered." She states unimpressed. "So you need my help?"
"We do." Regina nods comprehensively, taking a step back, arms crossed defensively while taking in the meaning of Henry's words.
"What makes you think I would help these people you call family?" She inquires then, her frankness taking Henry by surprise.
He doesn't answer right away, pondering quietly and deciding his adoptive mother deserves the same kind of honesty she's offering him.
"For the same reason as ever, I suppose." He looks at her right in the eyes for what feels like the first time in decades, even though in reality it's been no longer than five years.
"For me."
.::.
His logic is indisputable. Manipulative, yes, but Regina can't really hold that against him. She supposes that's a lesson he's taken from her own book. His request, on the other hand, is rather optimistic, a trait clearly inherited from those idiotic Charmings.
The thought alone makes her wince.
"You must be quite desperate if you're willing to take such a high risk trusting a convicted villain to save you all."
Her guess is as good as any and even though Henry doesn't give her a direct answer, Regina can still find clues in his silence. Intrigued by her findings, she pushes it further. "What happened to your 'Savior'?"
"My mom is fine." Henry shoots back, curtly. The flare of his temper something he apparently hadn't expected and now is having a hard time reigning in. "Listen, I'm not interested in whatever dispute there may still exist between you and Emma or you and Snow White, ok? This thing we are facing is way bigger than all of that."
The anger in Henry's tone doesn't surprise Regina, but the gravity of it increases her concern while the young man decides finally to put the cards on the table. Some of them, at least.
"Now, I know it's been a long time, and a lot has happened ever since, but for almost a year after the curse was broken you made it your mission to make me believe that it wasn't all an act. That you truly cared for me."
"I did." Regina claims, unwavering. The sincerity of her words revealing her vulnerability for the briefest moment. "Henry- I still do."
"Then prove it." He says defiantly. "Help us defeat this thing."
"I don't even know what 'this thing' is."
"Does it make a difference?"
Regina looks at Henry then, really looks at him, and for a moment she doesn't see the young man with unruly hair and sharp angled features. Doesn't see the bitterness earned by his years and marked on his expression lines.
She sees her son.
The baby who would keep her awake when he had a belly ache. The boy who stained the kitchen floor by dropping a jar of blueberry jam on it while trying to make her a surprise breakfast when he was seven. The first and only person to whom she has ever said 'I love you' after Daniel.
And the answer, simple and undeniable, finds her lips with no effort at all.
"No. It doesn't."
.::.
Henry moves quickly with light steps and at first, it's manageable for Regina to follow him, the darkness of their path familiar in many ways to the former queen. However, once they get closer to the surface, the fresh air and its properties start affecting her in ways she isn't prepared for, giving a heads-up of what she's about to face. And when they finally get to the cave's main entrance, the daylight is more than she can handle; her eyes overly sensitive from the years of incarceration.
Regina stops abruptly, seeing nothing but white spots and something else starts tingling in her, the feeling familiar and unsettling all the same.
Not the small amount she has been given access to survive in her prison. No, this is something else entirely. This is magic that has been accumulating over the years with no release. Maturing. And now it's finally being set free in her system, rushing through her veins, about to overflow.
It feels different from when Rumpelstiltskin lifted the veil releasing magic into Storybrooke.
This time around, it feels like Regina is being drowned by it, from the inside out.
The effort required to get a hold of it gives her pause, her physical awareness of the changes in her environment momentarily forgotten.
A few steps ahead, Henry notices the absence of the sound of her steps and turns around only to have his eyes grow wide in surprise.
Breathing heavily, Regina is looking down to her own hands, a bright spot of energy being contained with visible effort. And as if she can sense his attention on her – which is probably a mom thing – her dark eyes find his, a crease forming on her forehead when she tries to speak and not lose hold of whatever is happening to her powers.
"It's okay." She says in a hoarse voice and Henry steps back, looking spooked.
"It doesn't look ok." His eyes are huge and his voice a few tones higher, closer to the boy he once was. "What the heck is that?"
"Nothing for you to worry about."
"It is if there's a chance you might blow us up."
"Henry, just give me a moment," She speaks in an undertone, breath labored. "Please."
He wasn't there when she had that trigger in her hands. Emma had been the only eye witness and whatever happened down those caves when there were only the two women and a trigger about to blow everything up, it had been kept a secret by the sheriff. Even after the whispers around the tale of the Queen with destructive tendencies lost its appeal to the town rumormongers, Emma never talked about it. And Henry, hurt and angry, never asked.
Still, he had always wondered. And now, Henry suddenly feels like he doesn't really want to know what his adoptive mother is really capable of. Stories and tales had been one thing, but witnessing it firsthand might be more than he bargained for. And actually terrifying – especially when Regina doesn't seem to have a very good handle on it.
Henry finds himself with two choices then: to stay or to run. And while running is pretty much a basic instinct by now, he is not about to surrender to it, if not for honor, then out of sheer pride. After all, people are counting on him to accomplish this mission.
(Well, sort of.)
So, even though staying means trusting the mother who has betrayed him before by using magic, the truth is this is the very same magic that now he finds himself in need of.
(And boy isn't that a kick in the teeth, metaphorically speaking.)
That being so, cold sweat drenching his shirt and shaky hands, Henry stays.
And is amazed to see, after what feels like a lifetime but is in reality no more than minutes, the bright ball of light shrinking until it disappears between Regina's clasped hands completely.
"Thanks." She says with a tremulous smile and Henry is not sure why, but it makes him uncomfortable all the same.
"Is everything under control there?" He asks fearfully, a hint of concern made aware by the look in his eyes, even if not willingly.
"As much as it can be." Regina warrants him, sounding fairly confident. And like magic words, Henry can feel the effects of them automatically when he finds himself able to breathe again. With nothing more than a few words from his mom. He would never admit it, but the sureness in Regina's voice still comforting after all the years.
"Then we should get going. There's a long way ahead of us and the night might make the journey more difficult. Trust me when I say we don't want that."
"I thought we were returning to Storybrooke." Regina points out, confused by the alluded distance. The mines where her prison was built were never that far from the city.
"We are," Henry confirms with a frown and she can see plain and clear he's holding back on much more than he's comfortable saying. "what's left of it, at least."
.::.
They walk in silence and Regina tries not to read much into it. She fails, of course. Everything in her studying carefully the slightest changes in her son's demeanor and whatever piece of information he has shared with her so far, which is barely any.
Something terrible has happened, that much is clear to her. And it's not just the fact that her son, as well as the group of people he refers to as family, have decided to ask The Evil Queen for help. It's because he seems older beyond his years in ways that are not endearing or something for a mother to be proud of, but rather unsettling instead.
Whatever it may be, Henry seems disinclined to talk about it, even though he has enlisted her as part of his mission. In fact, the young man seems unwilling to talk just about anything, his stoic silence a disruptive trait when compared to just how talkative he had been when Regina was still in the picture.
She tries to mind his wishes at first, to respect the distance he has cast upon the two of them, but something inside her tells her to do just about the opposite.
Call it a mother's instinct. Years in a dungeon haven't erased that.
Only her approach this time around is remarkably subtle – something her younger self could never truly muster.
"Henry, just how exactly did the key to my cell come to your possession? If I'm not mistaken, only one person had access to it, and I find it hard to believe she would have simply handed it over to you, whatever the circumstances may be."
Henry doesn't stop walking, though he doesn't quite mask his surprise by Regina's line of questioning and isn't sure of what she intends to accomplish by it.
"You wouldn't believe it if I told you." He answers with a small smirk but ends up taking the bait. "Why does it matter anyway?"
"Normally I would say it doesn't. But your trepidation in telling me so, says otherwise."
"You're free. Why do you even care about that?"
"Having Rumpelstiltskin as a mentor has taught me to be very careful with the deals I make. Indeed I am free now, but to what cost?" The mention of the Dark One's name gives Henry pause.
"If you're worried about me making a deal with the devil, don't. I haven't." Henry presses the back of his hand against his eyes, clearly bothered by the current exchange. "Then again, even if I had, you would be the last person entitled to call me on it, wouldn't you?"
It's not his insolence that bothers Regina, not particularly.
It's just how wrong he is.
"Oh no, Henry. I would be exactly the one to do so. Because I've done it. And I know precisely the price." She utters it with somber confidence and an incisive look, one Henry doesn't manage to hold for long.
Still a kid, she recognizes under all the bravado and angled face once he backs down, annoyed and sullen.
"I wouldn't worry about Mr. Gold anyway," Henry mumbles surly. "He's long gone."
"What do you mean lon—" Regina's words are cut off by an indistinctive sound that comes from the woods as well as Henry's reaction to it, the way he tenses up all of a sudden.
Something is dragging itself through the foliage and Henry looks more alert than she has ever seen him. His shoulders terse as his hand instinctively starts looking for something in his threadbare messenger bag.
A knife, Regina recognizes alarmed as the sounds confirm not only the oncoming threat but the fact that it's getting closer and it seems to be in large numbers.
As in multiple. Leaving both of them in a vulnerable position, to say the least.
She tries to conjure a fireball, but her body hasn't recovered from the overload of magic just yet and she is left with empty hands and a gut feeling that they are about to face the exact danger Henry has referred to before.
Only outnumbered and unprepared.
"Whatever you do," Henry gets closer to her protectively, his broad shoulders serving as a shield. "Don't let them bite you."
Who are they? The question dies on her lips once the creatures reveal themselves.
Born and raised in the Enchanted Forest, daughter of a witch, pupil of an imp, and having magic herself, plus access to all kinds of magical creatures and kingdoms, Regina has come across just about anything; Cyclops and giants, krakens and dragons, unicorns and griffins, mermaids and werewolves, wraiths and banshees… You name it, she's seen it.
Being the Evil Queen, Regina had not only brought death, leaving a crimson trail of blood where she passed by, but she has faced it with her head held high more times than she can think of. Most times unafraid. Sometimes, willingly.
Death, however, has never faced her back.
That is… until now.
They grunt as loathsome animals, men, and women, but in reality just what's barely left of them. Their flesh has been gnawed and torn apart and what's left is rotten and foul, a blend of greasy putrescent dead remains badly covered with filthy rags.
They move slowly but steadily, seemingly attracted by the scent of life emanating from Regina and Henry. The first one to reach them, Henry takes down with a strike on its eye cavity. The brutality of the maneuver and just how naturally it comes to her son is more jarring to Regina than the existence of these revolting creatures.
She steps back stunned. Henry doesn't seem to notice her reaction though, more concerned with the rest of the horde. All the movement seems to wake them from their stupor, and simultaneously they advance in his direction.
Henry vigorously pulls out his knife from the dead body throwing it at the next one on his path. Then a third falls on top of the boy and his attacker, and Regina finds herself compelled to act. With the first thing she's able to find in hand, a heavy rock, she casts herself against the creature and hits it right on the head with all she has.
The impact is enough to throw the creature off its course, but not enough to kill it, so Regina strikes it once more. And again, and again, and again, until there is only a dark red splotch on the ground.
Henry, who still has a dead body on top of him, watches the scene frozen in place, and that's how Regina finds him as she looks in his direction, wild eyes and blood smearing her hands.
"You said not to let them bite." She pushes her disheveled hair away from her face with the back of her hand. "I assumed you meant you as well?"
"Yeah." Henry shakes his head, coming back to his senses as another creature charges against Regina.
He rolls off from under the body that was on top of him but is still halfway to his adoptive mother when a dagger flies right by his head and impales the creature against a tree nearby.
Both Regina and Henry look back in time to catch a mass of blonde hair moving swiftly with a sword, decapitating the last three creatures with ease, their expressions equally perplexed, albeit for different reasons.
"Ma." "Emma." Their voices run in unison and the former sheriff wipes the sweat off her face with her forearm before squashing one last head with the heel of her leather boot.
With her shoes covered in blood, mud, and other bits, Emma Swan finally greets mother and son, an infuriating smug grin plastered over her face.
"Now… Just how badass was that, huh?"
.::.