strangetrip | And then there were none

She was gone. Sansa was gone.

It wasn't unusual for Snow White not to see Sansa for a day or two. Sansa kept to herself much of the time, shy of many of the inn’s inhabitants. But she would find Snow, would talk to Snow, and it would always bring light and warmth to Snow’s day to see her. She didn’t understand why. She didn’t need to know, so long as she could have this.

Yesterday had been just about the most magical day in her life. She'd found Sansa building a castle in the snow, and they'd worked quietly together on this tiny model of a castle called Winterfell. Snow had finally worked up her nerve and kissed her after those last touches were made. It had been terrifying. It had been achingly sweet. But it had not been bad. Neither of them knew what it meant, and yet...

And then today she just knew something was different. Something was wrong. She had gone to Sansa’s room. Then to the desk.

She didn’t cry. Or scream, or rage. Instead she calmly and quietly collected four glass bottles from the bar and took them out to a fence along the road.

She had four bullets left in Rose Red. Two had been used in Songrun, and she had been saving the rest until Percy could make her more. She lined up the bottles on the fence, and stepped back as far as she thought she could manage.

Four.

Three.

Two.

One.

Zero.

She dropped the gun and went down on her knees in the grass, staring at nothing.

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After the last big exodus, Regina had talked Daryl into providing her and Caroline with notification whenever anyone checked out. So far, it had worked 100% of the time. All one time. All one time when the first person her daughter had felt adult romantic feelings toward had disappeared, the very day after she'd seen the building a snow castle together.

She let out a snarl of rage and flung a fireball at the interior wall of her office. How was she supposed to protect her daughter in this nightmare?

A short while and several fireballs later, Regina decided the best she could do was be the one to tell Snow. Too late, it seemed, because she couldn't find her. Not for more than an hour. And when she finally did...

"Oh, Snow," she murmured and sank down into the grass, her arms instantly going around Snow.

For a long moment, Snow's body refused to soften into the embrace. She didn't fight it, but she remained stiff and unyielding in her mother's arms. And then she just... wilted, the tears coming huge and hot. She gasped in a breath, and then she began to wail.

This was not the sort of grief that responded to words. Regina knew. It was the sort of grief that led to three-decade long revenge schemes. First loves, broken hearts--at least she hadn't been the cause, but it didn't change how she grieved for Snow.

She didn't tell her daughter it would be all right. It wouldn't. She didn't tell her she was here. She was, and it mattered, but not right now. She didn't tell her they'd find Sansa. They probably wouldn't.

What she said was, "Snow, sweetheart," and with tears in her eyes and her voice, "I'm so sorry."

"Mamaaaaaa..." It was the cry of a child who had never been betrayed like this before and was reeling from the blow. Snow had experienced many betrayals in her life, to the point that even she recognized her trusting anyone was a miracle. Her father had given her gifts, but never himself. Her governesses and nurses had given her care, but never love. Mrs. H had given her cruelty when even the merest scrap of kindness would have fed her for years.

But this? She didn't even know what this was, and that it hurt so much was bewildering.

"I know, sweetheart, I know." Regina stroked her hair and drew her daughter into her lap like she was still small, and held her tightly. "I know. You lost something so precious you don't even know what it was yet, and all you can feel is that you want it back, that it's not fair it's gone, and mad as hell that it hurts so much." She pressed a kiss to the top of Snow's head and rocked her. "Scream and cry. Get it out. Don't let it turn black on you."

Snow wouldn't have known how to keep it in. Not really. She hadn't been bottling it up so much as too stunned to do anything. She cried for a long time, longer and harder than she thought she had in her, like she hadn't since before she'd ever set foot in the Madonna Inn. Eventually, completely wrung out, her head lolled on Regina's shoulder, she went quiet. Her head hurt and she felt exhausted.

"Hold on," she murmured, her mouth close to Snow's ear. She flipped her hands and the two of them, and Rose Red, were engulfed in purple smoke. A moment later, they were in the room that had been Joanna's. None of the colors Snow most hated, an open patio, and plants.

Regina lay her down on the bed, moved crisply into the bathroom, and returned with a cool compress for Snow's face.

Snow shut her eyes when her head hit the pillow and groaned her relief at the feeling of the cold compress.

She didn't want to get up ever again.

Regina didn't have many words for this, but she knew the ache of loneliness very well. Instead of speaking, she slipped off her shoes and lay down beside her daughter, propped up on her side to stroke her wind-tangled black hair.

"People say that ice cream helps. I've never noticed that it does, but if you want some, I'll get it for you," Regina said in her most soothing voice. She might have been telling a story or singing a lullaby. If Snow wanted ice cream, she'd get it, but what Regina wanted was to make words Snow didn't need to think about so she would know her mother was here.

Snow winced at the very idea of it. "Not hungry," she muttered. She could probably count the times she'd said those words in the last decade on one hand.

"No, of course not." Regina sent a small thread of magic into the cloth over Snow's eyes to keep it cool. "I could read you to sleep?" She wasn't leaving any time soon. That was for certain.

"... Okay," she murmured. Snow honestly didn't know if she wanted to sleep, but she supposed it beat the fuck out of being awake.

And then there were none - OTA

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