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Henry Mills is the (boywhobelieves) wrote in wariscoming,

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?