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Henry Mills is the (boywhobelieves) wrote in wariscoming,
@ 2013-05-05 11:03:00

Entry tags:

emma swan, henry swan

Who: Henry and Emma
What: Henry thinks he’s finally lost it and tries for an escape
When: today
Where: the Storybrooke house
Warnings: suicidal thoughts and the rest is TBD

Everything was getting to be too much. One new piece of information after another was being thrust in his direction and each new snippet was more unbelievable than the next. He hadn’t believed that Regina had been right, that he’d imagined the entirety of the world he’d been in not being the correct one for her and the rest of the people in the town. They were fairy tale characters thrust into the world because of a curse, but after years of being told he was wrong, that his childish fantasies were only the creation of a boy who hadn’t quite bonded with his adopted mother, how could he continue to hold onto that belief when everything pointed to his mother being the one who was right. The book was simply a concoction by his teacher, with the images inside looking like those in the town as that was who she’d modeled her pictures on. There was no greater conspiracy. Nothing to support his constant belief that he was right and Regina was not only wrong but also the one pushing the conspiracy forward.

So when everyone pushed forth the notion that he was crazy there hadn’t been anyone to stop her from putting him in the ward to try and break his spirit and mold him into the perfect, obedient child she was certain he could become.

Sitting in a room full of fairy tale and superhero nicknacks, with someone who claimed to be his real mother down the hall and dozens of people claiming to be fictional characters on the boards, Henry couldn’t help but think that Regina had been right. He obviously was crazy and apparently he’d snapped and was now trapped inside of his own head. Batman didn’t exist. Superman and the Jedi. They were all characters in his comics, in the movies and cartoons he used to watch as an escape when he’d been home. Maybe instead of helping the electroshock therapy had twisted his head even more and now he didn’t know how he was supposed to get back out of it. Did he even want to?

His “mom” here was so nice and calming, and even his “baby sister” was able to soothe him some. And considering babies were usually loud and smelly, Henry thought that was sure sign he was trapped in his own head. Sheriff Graham was around and while he’d held onto the fact at least one person in the household was something normal, he’d heard him talking about the fairytale land and that bit of normalcy had come crashing down as well.

He stared at himself in the mirror, dark circles under his eyes from the lack of sleep and he wondered how long he could go without it. If he slept in his own dreamworld did that mean he’d wake back up in reality? He didn’t want to go back there. Not where everyone looked at him with big, wary eyes and wouldn’t offer any help for fear of the Mayor’s wrath. He liked the colorful room of his mind, so different from the sterile white he’d lived in for over a year. He liked the people in it. He didn’t want to leave them.

“They’re not real, Henry.” Regina’s voice was so loud in his head, and he just knew she was there in his room, trying to pull him back from this dream. He didn’t want to go. She couldn’t make him wake, could she?

He clenched his eyes shut and pressed his hands against his ears, thrashing his head as he tried to block out her voice. He wouldn’t go. Wouldn’t wouldn’t wouldn’t.

“Leave me alone!” he screamed, fists flying out and smashing into the bathroom mirror. He didn’t react to shattered glass or pain as bits of it sliced into his own skin. Simply slunk down so he was curled up against the bathroom wall, hands back against his ears as he rocked back and forth, trying to keep himself awake.

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lostfairytale
2013-05-06 04:44 am UTC (link)

Emma didn't know when the maternal instinct had finally settled in. Here in Lawrence, where she'd had no choice but to take Henry in and protect him? Earlier, watching her bond with him via television? Or before that, those last few weeks in Storybrooke, when he'd wormed his way into her reluctant heart? All she knew was, she knew her boy. Regina may have raised him, but he was still very much Emma's. They shared so many qualities and his face was shaped like hers and he depended on her and dammit, she needed him, too. Call it selfish, but she did.

So the last few days had been stressful at best. Her baby was hurting. Oh, this might not have been her Henry. But somewhere, an Emma had given birth to him. And somewhere, Regina had tormented him to the point of legitimate madness and pain. And somewhere, somewhere being Lawrence in a house where most of Storybrooke lived, Emma wanted to punch the woman. More than usual, anyway. It also scared her to remember that most people agreed that her Henry was off in this Henry's world. Her boy was strong, sure, he was half Swan and half Cassidy, after all. But he was also only eleven and could only handle so much.

The moment she heard the scream, though, her heart tore. Here and now, there was still a Henry who needed her, and badly. And it was followed by the sound of a crash and she didn't even hesitate. She placed the baby in her bouncer and took the stairs two at a time. She threw open the bathroom door and her face took on an expression of horror.

"Oh, god," she whispered, and her eyes focused on the bundle that looked so much like her baby boy that she couldn't help the heartbreak she felt.

Disregarding the potential danger to herself, she grabbed a towel and very, very gently began removing the tiny shards of glass on her son. 'Her' son, for what that was apparently worth. At first, she didn't speak. Merely pulled out the first aid kit and began patching it up. None of the shards had cut very deep and she tried telling herself it wasn't intentional, it couldn't have been. But the hell the boy had apparently been living through said a lot.

When he was patched up enough that she didn't feel the need to call 911, she scooped the small, terrified looking mass into her arms and carried him into her room. Not his, not the one that her Henry had carefully constructed and made into his own. No, she went to hers. Where they had cuddled late into the evening watching movies or just talking. Where she'd first told him she was having a baby, where she'd gone over so many important details of their fictional lives with him. She placed him on the bed and sat beside him, holding him close. Maybe he'd fight her, maybe he wouldn't want to be held by a relative stranger. But Emma remembered what it felt like to be a young child who didn't get much affection. While wary, she'd still desperately craved a hug, a hand to hold, a shoulder to lean on when the world hurt her. And there'd never been one, and that was the last thing she'd wanted for her baby when she'd given him up.

"I'm sorry, angel," she finally said softly, the hurt in her voice almost as evident as it had been in his. "I'm so sorry."

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boywhobelieves
2013-05-06 11:33 pm UTC (link)

As soon as she had scooped him up he had started to thrash against her. It was basically instinct at that point to fight against anyone touching him. Being picked up meant there would be more therapy directed his way or that someone would be wrapping him inside of the straight again. It meant long days inside with nothing but white walls and a sterile bed to keep him company. There would be no sitting in the garden, no walking down the halls and seeing anyone. Just his own mind and the sound of nothing but his own voice for days on end. By the end of the first day he’d usually stopped speaking.

But this time I was different. There was nothing being strapped onto him and even the manner in which he was being held was so different than what he was used to. It reminded him vaguely of years before when he’d had a nightmare and how Regina had held him. Comforting. That’s what was happening. He was being comforted and Henry didn’t quite remember how he was supposed to react to that.

Eventually his movement stopped and he lay limp in Emma’s arms, unsure where his own were supposed to go now. Did he hold onto her? Did he dare? Instead he let them lay at his sides, head pressed against her chest as he focused on her heartbeat and his own shallow breathing. His arms hurt from where the glass had cut them, but he didn’t want to move from her arms and ever so slowly, he let himself tentatively wrap them around her back, fists grabbing her shirt as though he was holding on for dear life.

He wondered if he was supposed to speak, but his voice wasn’t cooperating so he simply stayed where he was, holding onto Emma and letting himself remember what it was like to feel comfort in someone’s arms.

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lostfairytale
2013-05-07 02:12 am UTC (link)

Emma knew that instinct. When touch meant pain or sadness and not the warm comfort of your mother's arms. And she simply held him tighter against her on the walk to her room. She had failed this boy for eleven years. Maybe not this her, not the one who had been dragged back to Storybrooke by her Henry. But some version of her somewhere had given him into Regina's care. She was the one who had decided on a closed adoption, it had been her who'd thought letting someone else raise her baby would've been better for him, and it was now Emma who would help him, even if technically he wasn't hers to help.

She felt the moment the fight drained from his body. When the thrashing stopped and gave way to a stiff, almost cold reception. And she didn't let go. She couldn't. She was stronger than he was and she had to hope some of that could go from her into him. She had to pray that just a hint of the stubborn, strong-willed ways that made up Emma Swan could sink into her son.

And then she felt them. Those small, too thin arms wrapped around her, holding on as if she were the last link to his sanity. Or the one thing that could push him over the edge. She kissed the top of his soft brown hair and and closed her eyes, trying to find some courage. It was one of those times she could really use her own mother. But the Seal had decided she had to handle this alone, and she would. She had to. For Henry.

"This wasn't the life I wanted for you," she began quietly, filling the silence with what she hoped would eventually be comfort. "When I gave you up. I knew I wasn't ready for a baby. I had a pretty crap life growing up, I wanted better for you. A mommy and a daddy who could love you and give you things and you'd never want for anything." She sighed, then, realizing that she'd so nearly succeeded. Regina had been wealthy, yes, and powerful. No, he didn't have a dad around, but there'd been plenty of good men who could have helped him. Graham had been good to him, even if part of his being around was merely the Queen's blackmail and control.

But that woman, the one who'd taken him in to raise and to love, had reduced her baby boy to this. Called him crazy, made others think he was crazy, all because he knew the truth. "I love you, kid. I always have. From the moment I found out you were coming into the world, I loved you. I wish I could take this away, make it not hurt anymore." Love was still a difficult word for Emma to say, but not with Henry. With Henry, and with Aislinn, too, it came easily. Maybe that was a mother thing, the unconditional love that came from giving birth to two small bits of perfection in an otherwise imperfect world.

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boywhobelieves
2013-05-07 02:48 am UTC (link)

He listened to everything she was saying, eyes shut tight so he could focus on her voice. It was soft and almost melodic, reminding him of lullabyes long since forgotten. It soothed him though, causing the tremors in his body to settle and his grip to loosen. He didn’t really focus on her words though, his brain too scattered at that moment to do so. His other senses were on such an overload that he could only focus on one at a time and Henry craved the gentle touch most of all.

It was hard not to hear those three little words he hadn’t truly believed in a long time. I love you. Oh he heard them before. Many times in fact, but it was hard to believe them when they were mixed with the constant push that he was crazy and losing his mind. Or the push that if he’d just give up on his childhood dreams of fairytales that everything could go back to the way his life had been previously. Part of him had craved that normalcy, but it wasn’t right. There had always been something off and Mary Margaret’s book had shown him how right he was.

Maybe this place wasn’t just in his mind. Maybe everything that was happening here was real. But then...was what the others were saying true? Was he destined to return to that hell in just a few short weeks? Henry didn’t know if he could endure that again. He pushed those thoughts from his mind, not wanting to think about the inevitable and focused again on Emma’s voice.

“I’m sorry.” It came out as a barely audible whisper and he wondered if she even heard him. He’d made a mess of the bathroom, of himself. He hoped she could forgive his awful mistake.

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lostfairytale
2013-05-07 03:23 am UTC (link)

She pulled away enough to take his small, rounded face into her hands. Sometimes he looked so much like Neal it physically pained her. And then others... Well, just then, he looked a hell of a lot like her. And though Emma was never one to compliment herself, she found it a beautiful thing.

"Henry, you have nothing to be sorry for." She'd heard him. Of course she'd heard him. She might not have Clark and Kon's superhearing, but she was a mother. Henry could call her from half a mile away and she would still come running. Because he needed her. "None of this, nothing here, is your fault. You're a kid, it's the adults' job to protect you." And she'd failed. She should've seen the signs, should have taken better care of him.

But there'd be more time for rolling around in her own guilt later. Right now, her little boy was hurting. She kissed his forehead gently before pulling him back into his rightful place in her arms. "This must all be pretty scary, huh? Even people who've been here for a long time find this place weird." And that was before he knew the half of it. Knew of a future she'd seen, knew of another world she'd lived. But he could survive it all, if only he had the support.

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boywhobelieves
2013-05-07 10:40 pm UTC (link)

It wasn’t weird, it was crazy. Bonafide what the hell was going on crazy. Now if he’d gone around saying that superheroes were real and he was in a brand new world and there was the devil running loose and all the other things he’d glimpsed on the computer then maybe he’d have believed the doctors and all of their constant analyses. And maybe thinking that storybook characters were real took a special kind of crazy to be believable, but he prefered to think of it as more of a child’s hopes and dreams. It was the only explanation that made any of the insanity of Storybrooke make any sense.

“Why are we here?” he asked, studying Emma’s face. He hoped he would know if she was lying to him. He really couldn’t take any more adults doing that. Not again. Not after the last year. He needed someone to be honest with him and so far it did seem as though this woman was one of those people.

Even if it was hard to believe that she was his mother. His birth mom. But the pictures in the house were hard to ignore. Henry wanted to be that happy again. He wanted to feel this loved all of the time. Why didn’t he have it? What was so different about his life to not have deserved this woman to love him like she did the other him?

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lostfairytale
2013-05-08 03:26 am UTC (link)

"I don't know, Henry," she admitted with a sigh. "I don't know why some stupid Biblical Seal from Hell decided to bring us here in the first place or why it decided to switch all of you around." Better to be honest with him. She could placate his already fragile mind with gentle, optimistic answers. But Emma didn't believe in that. Honesty was better in the end, even if it hurt the person when they first heard it.

She did stop and consider, though. What reasons could she give him that an eleven year-old close to the edge would understand? "Maybe...maybe it brought you here so you could see that there's better out there. That you don't have to live this way." She hesitated, knowing she was about to change the course of history. Frankly? She didn't care. "I need you to do something for me. Something that's going to take a lot of courage and will require you being very brave. But you can do it. Because as hard as it is to accept, you really are my son. And that makes you Prince Charming's grandson and that means you have more bravery running through you than anyone I know."

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boywhobelieves
2013-05-08 10:29 pm UTC (link)

He watched her face, trying to see any of the telltale signs that someone was lying, but none of it happened. Not even when she said he was Prince Charming’s grandson. So he had been right and that meant everyone back in his home was trapped in an evil curse. It meant they were fairy tale characters and it meant that somehow he had to find a way to bring Emma there so she could fix everything. Maybe then he’d get these hugs all the time. Maybe then he’d remember what love truly felt like. Maybe everyone would.

Henry didn’t think love had been something felt in Storybrooke for a long time.

“What do you need me to do?” he asked, voice breaking slightly from all the crying he had done. His throat hurt a bit and he was exhausted from all of the revelations and what he’d done to himself. But he’d do anything for Emma in that moment. Especially if it meant she wouldn’t leave him.

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