storybrooke; henry mills WHO: Henry Mills WHAT: a few revelations WHEN: today right before the clock tower finally moves WHERE: his room in Storybrooke WARNINGS: none
He’d been reading the book for hours, unable to put it down once he’d finally allowed himself the chance to open it. For some reason that he couldn’t shake he hadn’t wanted his mother to be around, a niggling feeling in the back of his mind telling him that she wouldn’t approve of what he was reading. Which was odd because she always encouraged his love of books. He couldn’t seem to shake the idea of it though and waited until she was knee deep in Mayor business and he was tucked away in the attic, far away from prying ears and eyes.
The first few stories had been kind of amusing, people who looked like Belle and Mary Margaret and a whole slew of the other people he knew in town. All of them had fairytale counterparts from Red Riding Hood to Snow White, though the retellings were weirdly done, not quite like the ones he’d read before when he was younger. Henry figured whoever the author was — someone mysterious since the book was written by The Author — was probably from town and had decided to use the people they knew as inspiration. Especially because the photographs in the book were all like his former teacher and others.
He read as Mr. Shields was a stand-in for Captain America. Moxie’s mom and dad were superheroes in theirs and he marked that page, wanting to show her the story later on so they could laugh about it and roll their eyes at the likelihood of either of those grownups ever being heroes.
And then he’d gotten to the page that featured him.
Henry hadn’t expected to be in the book. None of the other kids his age and younger in town were, which was kind of weird, but he figured that maybe the author had been inspired by those he actually knew. But there he was on a military base.
And there was Neal. Except he was called Baelfire and a woman with blonde hair was comforting the illustrated version of Henry as the boy left the room. Henry frowned as he read the caption, blinking twice as he reread it a few times, certain he’d read something wrong. He even tried to clean the page, waiting for missing letters to materialize, but none did.
The book referred to Neal as his dad. Which made no sense.
He nearly closed the book, ready to be finished with its nonsense, when he spotted the familiar looking yellow car on the next page. It was the one that had been in the paper about the woman in the coma. He stared at it for a long moment, trying to figure out how he could remember what the inside of it smelled like, the air freshener that would be tied to the rearview mirror, the flash of a red jacket against yellow curls continuing on a loop in his mind.
It was a jumbled mess after that, words and pictures mixing together as he continued to read — Mount Weather, fiction, the Dark One, the White Witch, his mom.
His mom.
His other mother who could do more than he could ever imagine.
He looked at the last image in the book, fingers brushing over Emma Swan’s figure as she casted a spell to try and return to Storybrooke, to where he was now...except no. This place...it wasn’t…
There were flashes of past conversations he’d had with Dr. Hopper, with Mary Margaret, with his mom. All of them involved him trying to convince them of their fairytale counterpart. Conversations with his mother, the Mayor, after her world had been turned upside down and she’d worked so hard to become good.
His dad. Dead and yet...not.
Mount Weather.
Henry slammed the book shut, breathing heavy as he tried to make sense of it all, the memories all mixing together in a mess of thoughts. He didn’t know what was real and what wasn’t, but he did remember that believing was one of the most powerful things a person could do. Whether that was in himself or others or situations that didn’t quite make sense yet.
And why couldn’t the people he knew be extraordinary? It all made sense as it was laid out page after page. Every passing minute as he thought about what he’d read cementing his belief that the world currently around him wasn’t quite right and the ones that were in the book actually were. He had to convince the rest of the town that their lives weren’t quite what they remembered, well...he had to at least try. Especially if it meant he could help out his mom.
Henry scooted toward the window and glanced out of it toward the giant clock tower. His eyes widened as he watched the minute hand move — something it hadn’t done since he could remember.
He grinned and turned back to the book, flipping it open to try and figure out who he should try to convince first.