Once Upon A Time: Hook's Adopted Son (Book 1)

by DemonWriterGirl739

Chapter 11: True North

(Storybrooke)

Dark Star Pharmacy buzzed with the quiet hum of fluorescent lights as Henry Mills sat near the counter, engrossed in his comic book, Wolverine vs Hulk. His fingers traced the action-packed panels while he lost himself in the world of heroes and monsters. "Whatcha reading?" a voice piped up beside him.

Henry looked up to see a girl about his age standing nearby. She had a mischievous smile and bright, curious eyes. "The Hulk versus Wolverine," Henry answered, tilting the cover toward her.

"I'm Ava. I think I've seen you around school. You're in Miss Blanchard's class, right?"

Henry nodded, feeling a little surprised by the sudden conversation. Before he could respond, a boy approached them, glancing toward the exit. "Almost ready, Ava?" the boy asked.

"This is my brother, Nicholas," Ava introduced casually.

"Hi," Nicholas greeted with a quick nod.

Henry smiled in return. "Come on, let's go," Nicholas said, glancing around the store.

Ava turned back to Henry, a friendly glint in her eyes. "You wanna come hang out?"

Henry hesitated only a moment before deciding, why not? He slung his backpack over his shoulder and followed them toward the door. Just as Nicholas reached for the handle, the pharmacy's owner, Mr. Clark, stepped forward, gripping the door and keeping it firmly shut. "Where the hell do you think you're going?" Mr. Clark demanded, his tone sharp with suspicion. He sneezed into a tissue before fixing his gaze on Henry. His eyes narrowed as he pointed a finger. "Open up your bag."

Henry blinked, confused. "What?"

Mr. Clark crossed his arms. "Don't think I didn't see you rob me. Open your bag."

Henry frowned, taken aback by the accusation. "But, I didn't take anything."

Without waiting for further protest, Mr. Clark snatched the backpack from Henry's shoulder and unzipped it. As the fabric fell away, several chocolate bars tumbled onto the counter. Henry's stomach dropped. Henry turned toward Ava, realization dawning on him. "That's why you were talking to me. So your brother could put that stuff in there."

Ava and Nicholas exchanged a guilty glance but said nothing. Mr. Clark turned his glare toward them. "And you two, just who do you think you are?"

(Enchanted Forest)

Everyone knows the story of Hansel and Gretel; two orphan children wandering in the forest only to come across a gingerbread house that belonged to a witch, But what if there was more to the story? What if someone had led those two children to the witches' house? What if they weren't orphans?

Deep within the vast, whispering woods of the Enchanted Forest, a steady rhythm echoed through the trees—the sound of an axe biting into solid timber. The scent of fresh pine filled the crisp air as a woodcutter worked diligently, his powerful swings cleaving through the bark with precision. Nearby, his daughter, Gretel, stood watching, her keen eyes filled with admiration and longing. She had always wanted to help more, to prove herself useful in ways beyond the simple chores assigned to her.

The woodcutter, sensing her eagerness, finally spoke. "A fine specimen," he said, running a rough hand along the freshly cut log. "The wood it provides will keep our hearth warm this winter."

Gretel took a step forward. "Can't I have an axe?" she asked.

Her father blinked at her in mild surprise before chuckling. "You did say you wanted to help, didn't you?" He set down his axe and considered for a moment. Then, nodding, he handed her a task. "Take the cart and fill it with kindling. The drier, the better."

Gretel beamed and turned to go, calling to her younger brother. "Come on, Hansel!"

Hansel, who had been idly toying with his sling, perked up and trotted after her. Their father, however, quickly stopped them. He reached into his pocket and pulled out a well-worn compass, placing it gently around Gretel's neck. "Take this," he said, his voice softer now. "So you don't get lost. A family always needs to be able to find one another."

Gretel clutched the compass tightly and nodded. "Yeah."

With that, the two children ventured deeper into the forest, their small figures weaving between towering trunks as golden sunlight flickered through the branches. They moved efficiently, collecting fallen branches and twigs, and piling them into the cart as the forest hummed around them with the sounds of rustling leaves and distant bird calls. Hansel, however, was easily distracted. Instead of gathering wood, he practiced with his sling, launching pebbles at tree trunks and grinning every time he hit a target. Gretel sighed, watching her brother's antics before finally snatching the sling from his grasp.

"Hey!" Hansel protested, reaching for it. "Come on, Gretel, give it back!"

"No, Hansel," she said firmly. "We need to get back to Father."

Seeing the determination in her eyes, Hansel relented with a sigh. He took hold of the cart and followed as Gretel consulted the compass, leading the way back toward their father's last known location. But when they arrived, the clearing was empty. The stump where their father had been chopping wood was abandoned, the axe embedded in its center. The surrounding trees stood silent as if holding their breath. Panic set in as the children exchanged nervous glances, their eyes darting around in search of movement. "Father?" Gretel called, her voice trembling slightly.

"Father!" Hansel echoed, stepping forward, his head swiveling in every direction.

A sudden, distant cry echoed through the trees. Their father's voice. Without hesitation, they ran toward the sound, pushing through dense underbrush until they stumbled onto a narrow road. The voice was gone, swallowed by the eerie quiet of the forest. Then, from the bend in the road, the rhythmic pounding of hooves approached. A grand black carriage emerged, its gilded edges gleaming ominously in the dimming light. Gretel barely had time to step back before the lead rider nearly trampled her. She clutched the compass, her heart hammering, only to realize with growing dread—the needle was spinning wildly, broken.

Before either child could react, armored figures descended upon them. One of the Queen's knights grasped them roughly by the arms, hauling them toward the carriage door. It swung open with an effortless grace, revealing a woman draped in darkness and power. Her deep red lips curved into a smirk as she regarded the children with an appraising stare. The Evil Queen tilted her head, eyes glinting with curiosity. "What are you doing in my forest?" she asked, her voice smooth and cold.

Hansel and Gretel stood frozen, caught in the gaze of a woman who radiated authority, her presence as suffocating as the thickest shadows of the woods. Their father was nowhere in sight, and now they were trapped—two small figures standing before one of the most feared rulers of the realm.

(Storybrooke)

Mr. Clark stood behind the counter, his arms crossed tightly over his chest as he glared at the two children seated on a bench near the front of the store. Regina Mills stood beside her son, her sharp gaze shifting between Henry and the store owner with growing impatience. "I'm sorry, Madam Mayor, but your son was shoplifting," Mr. Clark said firmly, his voice thick with irritation.

Regina's eyes darkened as she turned to Henry, her expression unreadable. "Were you?" she asked, her tone cool and measured.

Henry shook his head immediately, his face flushed with frustration. Mr. Clark scoffed, stepping forward and gesturing toward a small pile of goods placed neatly on the bench beside Henry's backpack. Regina eyed the assortment of candy and sighed, her lips curling in distaste. "My son doesn't eat candy," she stated matter-of-factly. "And he knows better than to steal." Without waiting for a response, she snatched up Henry's backpack, zipped it shut, and turned toward the door. "It was obviously those two," she added, nodding toward Ava and Nicholas, who sat nearby, silent and tense. "We're going."

Henry cast one last glance toward Ava and Nicholas before trailing after his mother. Just as they reached the door, it swung open, revealing Sheriff Emma Swan and her deputy, Harry Jones. Emma took one look at Henry's face and frowned. "Henry," she said, stepping inside. "What happened?"

Regina let out an exasperated sigh. "Miss Swan, must I remind you that genetics mean nothing?" she snapped. "You are not his mother, and it's all taken care of."

Emma crossed her arms, standing her ground. "I'm here because I'm the sheriff."

Regina offered a saccharine smile. "Oh, that's right. Go on, then. Do your job." She swept past Emma, shooting a pointed glance toward Ava and Nicholas. "Take care of those miscreants."

As Regina and Henry exited, Emma exchanged a glance with Harry before stepping further inside. Harry then looked over at Ava and Nicholas; he knew about Ava and Nicholas since they did the same thing to him when Graham was in charge of the Sheriff's Station. Mr. Clark huffed, shaking his head. "Did you call their parents?" Emma asked.

Mr. Clark frowned. "The number they gave me was disconnected."

Emma turned to Ava and Nicholas, her sharp gaze softening. She crouched slightly to meet their eyes. "Did you guys give Mr. Clark a fake number?"

Ava and Nicholas shook their heads quickly. Emma studied them carefully. "Then why is it disconnected?"

Ava hesitated before answering. "Because our parents couldn't pay the bill," she admitted softly.

Emma sighed, glancing at Harry, who frowned but remained quiet. She picked up a box of toothpaste from the confiscated items and turned it over in her hands. "You guys were just trying to help out, huh?" she asked.

Ava nodded slowly, her hands clasped tightly in her lap. "Please," she whispered. "Please don't arrest us. It'll just make things worse for our parents."

Harry can understand their situation; he used to be the same, always looking out for himself. So he told Emma that he'll handle paying for the kids. He paid for their items, which surprised Mr. Clark and the kids. "Why did you help us?" Ava asked.

"Well, you two wanted to help out your family and I don't think you two should suffer," Harry stated.

Harry took Ava and Nicholas's bags of items plus the kids to Emma's car. Emma pulled the car to a stop outside a modest-looking home on the outskirts of town. The house was dimly lit, its exterior worn but well-kept. "This it?" Emma asked, turning in her seat to look at Ava.

Ava nodded quickly. In the driver's seat, Emma unbuckled her seatbelt and reached for the door handle, but Ava's hand shot out, stopping her. "Please, no," Ava pleaded. "If our parents see you, they'll be so embarrassed."

Emma paused, considering the girl carefully. She leaned back slightly, her eyes narrowing. "Did Henry tell you about my superpower?"

Ava shook her head. "We just met him," she admitted.

Emma exhaled, glancing at Harry before turning her attention back to the kids. "I have the ability to tell when anybody is lying," she said, her voice firm but gentle. "So tell me the truth—money problems aside, is everything okay at home?"

Ava hesitated before forcing a smile. "Yeah," she said quickly. "We're great. Can we go now?"

Emma studied her for a moment longer before nodding. "Alright."

Ava and Nicholas wasted no time, scrambling out of the car and hurrying up the porch steps. Emma started the engine again but didn't drive off right away. She watched them closely through the windshield. Beside her, Harry frowned. "You don't believe them," he murmured.

Emma shook her head. "Not for a second," she muttered.

As the two children reached the front door, they hesitated. Ava glanced back at the car, waiting. The moment Emma finally pulled away, she turned to Nicholas. "She's gone. We're good."

The two quickly stepped off the porch, darted around the side of the house, and climbed over the backyard fence. Moving with practiced ease, they slipped through a small side door, disappearing into the property's storeroom—a cramped space cluttered with old furniture and blankets. A single mattress was pushed against the wall, and a makeshift shelf held a meager collection of food. Nicholas sank onto the bed as Ava set the stolen food down on the cupboard. They barely had a moment to breathe before a creaking noise from inside the main house caught their attention, their eyes widened.

"You hear that?" Nicholas whispered.

Ava nodded. Without hesitation, they crept toward a trapdoor near the back of the storeroom and carefully lifted it, peering inside. The dim passageway led straight into the house. Swallowing their nerves, they climbed inside, their footsteps barely making a sound as they entered the darkened hallway. Just as they turned a corner, a figure loomed behind them. "Why did you guys lie to us?"

Ava and Nicholas jumped, spinning around to find Emma standing there, arms crossed. Beside her, Harry stood silently, his sharp green eyes scanning the dimly lit space. They were caught red-handed, the children froze. "Where are your parents?" Emma asked.

Ava's lower lip trembled slightly as she whispered, "We don't have any."

Harry exchanged a knowing glance with Emma, his jaw tightening. Emma exhaled, her gaze softening just a fraction. This was more than just a case of shoplifting. This was something much worse.

(Enchanted Forest)

The dense, shadowed trees loomed over the narrow dirt path as Hansel and Gretel stood before the imposing figure of the Evil Queen. The wind rustled through the branches, carrying a chill that had nothing to do with the evening air. Gretel's voice wavered as she stepped slightly in front of her brother. "Please forgive us. We didn't mean to bother you. We just... we just lost our father."

The Evil Queen tilted her head, a smirk playing on her deep red lips. "Two helpless children, lost and alone. A family torn asunder." Her tone dripped with mock sympathy, but there was something else—something unreadable in her dark eyes. She turned with a flourish of her cloak. "Such a sad and moving story." Then, her voice turned cold. "Guards—"

Before she could finish, Gretel's hand flew to her side, fingers closing around the worn leather strap of her sling. "Hansel, run!"

Hansel didn't hesitate. He turned on his heel and bolted into the trees. Gretel took aim, her heart pounding in her chest, and let a stone fly. It struck one of the guards square in the forehead, causing him to stumble back with a grunt of pain. Without waiting to see the result, she spun around and raced after her brother. The guards started to pursue, but the Evil Queen lifted a single hand. "Stop."

Hansel and Gretel ran, their breath ragged as they weaved through the trees. Branches snagged at their clothes, roots threatened to trip them, but they didn't slow down. Then, without warning, a swirl of violet smoke erupted in front of them. Hansel skidded to a stop, nearly colliding with Gretel as the dark mist coalesced into a figure. The Evil Queen emerged from the haze, her lips curling into an amused smirk. "Running from me is foolish," she said, her voice lilting with laughter. A slow, mocking giggle followed, sending a shiver down the children's spines.

Hansel grabbed Gretel's hand. "Keep running!"

But the ground beneath them trembled, and in an instant, thick, gnarled roots surged upward, ensnaring their legs like serpents. They yelped as they were wrenched off their feet, crashing to the earth. The roots tightened around them, holding them fast no matter how much they struggled. The Evil Queen strolled forward, her steps unhurried, deliberate. She gazed down at them, her expression unreadable. "Foolish," she mused. "But also... brave." She flicked her fingers, and the roots unraveled, slithering back into the soil.

Gretel hesitated before scrambling to her feet, pulling Hansel up with her. "You're... you're letting us go?" she asked cautiously.

The Queen arched a brow, her smirk deepening. "Oh, I am doing so much more than that." She stepped closer, her dark gaze gleaming. "I am going to find your father."

Hansel's breath hitched. "You are?"

"Why?" Gretel asked, her suspicion evident.

The Queen's smile widened, but it held no warmth. "Because you two are going to do something for me."

Gretel exchanged a wary glance with Hansel before looking back at the regal woman before them. "And then," Gretel pressed, voice careful, "you'll take us home?"

The Evil Queen's grin lingered, her crimson lips parting just slightly. "Of course, dear."

The way she said it, smooth as silk yet laced with something far more dangerous, made a chill run down Gretel's spine. But somewhere hiding in the trees was a little dragon called a Terrible Terror watching the whole event. The little dragon flew off to a small, little campsite deep in the woods where Hiccup and Toothless were. Hiccup learned to understand the dragon's language over the last couple of years being away from Berk. The Terrible Terror landed in front of Hiccup, "Sharp Shot, what did you find?" Hiccup asked the little dragon.

The dragon chirped what he had seen in his ear, which made Hiccup understand that the Evil Queen was up to something.

(Storybrooke)

The loft was bathed in the soft amber glow of the setting sun, its golden rays filtering through the large windows and casting elongated shadows across the wooden floor. The space, usually warm with the scent of freshly brewed tea and the faint traces of home-cooked meals, felt heavier now, thick with uncertainty and the weight of unspoken fears. Ava and Nicholas sat at the small dining table, their movements quiet, mechanical. Every scrape of a fork against a plate seemed amplified in the hush that had settled over the loft, their posture stiff with apprehension. Toothless was lying underneath Nicholas's chair, trying to catch any crumbs or pieces of food that fell off the plate.

Across the room, Emma stood with her arms folded, her usual confident stance betraying an undercurrent of hesitation. She exhaled slowly, glancing toward the man beside her. Harry stood a step away, his sharp green eyes scanning the children with something between curiosity and concern. His presence, usually one of ease and quiet humor, carried a rare stillness now. Emma's fingers tapped against her arm as she finally broke the silence. "You ever seen them before?"

Mary Margaret, seated on the couch with a cup of tea cradled between her hands, shook her head. "I've seen them around town, but I never knew..." Her voice trailed off, uncertainty clouding her features.

Emma exchanged a glance with Harry. He was still watching the children, his brow furrowed slightly. She knew that look—it was the same one he wore whenever he was trying to piece something together, trying to see the part of the picture no one else had noticed yet. She shifted her attention to the worn file in her hands, the edges creased from being thumbed through one too many times. "Ava and Nicholas Zimmer," she murmured, the names feeling oddly detached as she read them aloud. "Their mother was Dory Zimmer. She died a few years ago."

Harry's gaze lifted at that, his expression unreadable. "And their father?"

Emma exhaled through her nose. "No record."

A thick silence settled over them. Harry ran a hand through his dark auburn hair, glancing down at the children again. "So, what now?"

Emma hesitated. It was a simple question, but the answer was anything but. Toothless let out a soft huff, breaking the silence, his tail twitching slightly as if sensing the weight of the conversation. "I didn't report them to social services," Emma admitted, finally meeting Harry's gaze.

His brows lifted slightly, but he didn't look surprised. If anything, he looked like he had expected that answer. "You sure that's the right call?"

Emma's jaw tightened. "If I report them, they'll get split up and thrown into the system."

Harry's lips pressed into a thin line. "And if we don't?"

Emma exhaled, shaking her head. "Then we figure something else out."

Toothless let out a low, approving growl as if siding with Emma's decision. Ava, who had been quiet up until now, glanced hesitantly at the wolf. He turned his head slightly, watching her with an almost knowing gaze. She hesitated, then slowly extended a small hand. Toothless didn't move, only sniffed the air slightly before letting out a soft chuff, accepting the silent offering of trust. Harry watched the exchange with a faint trace of something close to amusement, though his expression remained serious. "Well, if we're doing this off the books," he murmured, "we're going to need answers fast."

Emma nodded, her mind already racing ahead. "We start with the records. You wouldn't have worked with the records?"

Harry smirked. "What do you think?"

Emma rolled her eyes. Toothless stayed with Ava and Nicholas since he liked to play with them due to the fact that he remembered them before the curse.

The hall smelled of aged parchment and dust, the air thick with the musty scent of history tucked away in neat little drawers. Dim light flickered from old lamps, casting long shadows against the towering cabinets. Harry moved with quiet purpose, his boots making barely a sound against the wooden floor. Toothless padded beside him, his ears flicking every so often as he sniffed the air. Emma followed closely behind, flipping through a stack of old files with increasing frustration. "This town has the most disorganized filing system I've ever seen," she muttered, pushing another drawer shut with more force than necessary.

Harry smirked slightly. "You're assuming they want things to be easy to find."

Emma shot him a look but didn't argue. Across the room, Mr. Krzyszkowski—known to most simply as Mr. K—sorted through a row of files with methodical precision. His hands moved with practiced ease, but when he reached for a particular folder, he suddenly stopped. Emma caught the hesitation immediately. "What?"

Mr. K turned slowly, his expression puzzled. "The birth certificates for Ava and Nicholas Zimmer..." He frowned, shaking his head. "They were here last week. Someone removed them."

Harry's entire posture stiffened. "Removed?"

Mr. K nodded, his bushy eyebrows knitting together. "There's no record of an official request. They just vanished."

Emma exchanged a look with Harry. This wasn't just a missing file—it was deliberate. Emma's grip on the files in her hands tightened. "Who else has access to these records?"

Mr. K hesitated before answering. "Only town officials... the mayor's office."

Emma's stomach dropped. Harry exhaled sharply. "Regina."

Emma instructed Harry to go back to the loft and stay with the kids until she got some answers from Regina about the files. The mayor's office was as pristine as ever—every object meticulously placed, not a speck of dust in sight. Regina Mills sat behind her imposing desk, her expression unreadable as she regarded Emma with cool indifference. "I've already contacted social services," Regina said smoothly, clasping her hands together. "These children have no one."

Emma clenched her jaw, fighting the growing frustration in her chest. "That's exactly why I'm trying to find their father."

Regina's lips curled into a knowing smirk. "Well, he doesn't exist."

Emma narrowed her eyes. "He has to."

Regina sighed, tilting her head. "Biologically, yes. But legally? There's no record. Which means we have no choice but to place them in the foster system."

Emma's stomach twisted. She already knew what that meant. "Storybrooke has a foster system?"

"No," Regina admitted, her voice deceptively gentle. "But the state has connected us with two homes in Boston. One for boys. One for girls."

A sharp silence filled the office. Emma felt the ground shift beneath her, felt the weight of Ava's tearful eyes and Nicholas' quiet trust pressing on her chest. "You're separating them?" she asked, her voice barely above a whisper.

Regina sighed dramatically, shaking her head. "I don't like it either, but we have no choice. You need to have them in Boston by tonight."

Emma's blood ran cold. "Me?"

Regina arched a brow. "Well, you wanted to be sheriff. This is what sheriffs do." She leaned forward slightly, her voice soft but cutting. "You take them."

Emma's jaw clenched. "I promised them they wouldn't be separated."

Regina's expression didn't waver. "Then perhaps," she said, her tone dripping with mock sympathy, "you should stop making promises you can't keep."

Emma could feel her pulse in her ears, could feel the heat of anger rising in her chest. But more than anything, she could feel the weight of Ava and Nicholas' future hanging in the balance. And she refused to let Regina decide it for them.

(Enchanted Forest)

The forest stretched dark and endless as the Evil Queen led Hansel and Gretel through the twisted trees. The air was thick with the scent of damp earth and something faintly sweet, like cinnamon and honey, though neither child could place it. Shadows stretched long beneath the ancient canopy, shifting with each step they took. Unseen in the distance, hidden behind the gnarled branches of an old oak, Hiccup crouched low, his sharp eyes following the Queen's every movement. Beside him, Toothless remained still, his black scales blending seamlessly into the underbrush.

Sharp Shot, the tiny Terrible Terror, perched on Hiccup's shoulder, his tail flicking anxiously. Hiccup narrowed his eyes. "What is she up to...?" he muttered under his breath.

Toothless let out a low, rumbling growl, his pupils narrowing as he kept watch. Whatever the Queen was planning, it couldn't be good. Meanwhile, on the path ahead, Gretel clutched a small, round object in her hand. The Evil Queen glanced over, curiosity flickering in her dark eyes. "What is that?"

Gretel hesitated before answering. "My father's compass." She ran her fingers over its tarnished surface. "He gave it to me so I could find him. But now it's broken."

The Queen only smiled, her expression unreadable. Hansel, growing impatient, sighed. "When are you gonna tell us where we're going?"

At this, the Queen slowed her pace, the corners of her mouth twitching as if amused. "This is close enough."

Gretel frowned. "Close enough to what?"

The Queen stopped, turning to face them. Her cloak billowed slightly as a cool breeze swept through the trees. "The home of the Blind Witch."

Hansel and Gretel exchanged an uneasy glance. "That doesn't sound good," Gretel murmured.

The Queen merely smirked. "She has something of mine, and I need you to get it back."

Gretel straightened. "What is it?"

"Something I need to defeat a very wicked and powerful enemy," the Queen answered smoothly. "It's kept in a black leather satchel inside her house."

Gretel's brow furrowed. "Then why don't you get it yourself? Why do you need us?"

The Queen let out a soft, knowing chuckle. "Because the house is protected by magic. I can't enter. But luckily, the spell doesn't work on children."

Hansel's fingers tightened around the frayed hem of his coat, unease creeping up his spine. "You'll have to wait here until nightfall," the Queen continued, "and then, once the witch is asleep, you can sneak in."

Gretel studied her carefully. "And if we do this, you promise you'll find our father?"

The Queen's dark eyes gleamed. "Oh, indeed I will."

Gretel hesitated, then nodded. Hansel, however, remained wary. "But there's one more thing," the Queen added, her voice dropping to a hushed tone.

The air around them seemed to still, as if the forest itself was holding its breath. "The witch's house is... unique," she continued. "And because of this, you must take special precautions once you're inside."

Gretel swallowed. "Like what?"

The Queen's gaze darkened. "No matter what you do, no matter how tempted you are—do not eat anything."

With that, she reached forward and pushed aside a thick, leafy branch. Beyond it, nestled in a small clearing, stood a house unlike anything Hansel and Gretel had ever seen. It was made entirely of gingerbread; the golden-brown walls were adorned with white icing, swirling in intricate patterns like lace. Sugar-painted windows glistened in the fading light, and colorful gumdrops lined the edges of the roof. A chimney puffed out the faintest trail of sweet-smelling smoke, the air around it heavy with the scent of warm caramel and baked spices. Hansel and Gretel stared, wide-eyed.

From their hiding place, Hiccup and Toothless watched in silent shock. He had heard stories of those who entered the Blind Witch's house, but never came out. Hiccup exhaled slowly, "Oh, that can't be good."

Once the Evil Queen vanished in a swirl of dark smoke, the forest fell eerily silent. The only sound was the distant rustling of leaves as the wind whistled through the twisted branches. Hansel and Gretel stood frozen, their eyes still locked on the gingerbread house before them, the sugary scent lingering in the air like an unspoken temptation. Hansel exhaled slowly. "I don't trust her."

Gretel tightened her grip on her father's compass, her jaw set. "Neither do I. But if this is what it takes to find Papa..."

A sudden rustle from the shadows made them both turn sharply. The underbrush shifted, leaves crunching beneath something—or someone—moving towards them. Then, stepping out from the darkness of the trees, a figure emerged. He was cloaked in deep brown leather, his face obscured by a carved mask that resembled the skull of a dragon. The sharp, ridged design covered his entire face, leaving only his piercing green eyes visible beneath the dim light of the forest. A hood shadowed the rest of his features, and a dark tunic and bracers lined with dragon-like scales added to his mysterious, almost otherworldly presence.

Hansel instinctively stepped in front of his sister, his fingers twitching at his sides, prepared to defend them both if needed. Then, behind the masked figure, something else appeared. A creature, unlike anything the children had ever seen, padded silently out of the darkness. Sleek and black as the night sky, the beast moved with a predator's grace, its deep green eyes glowing softly in the dim light. Its wings, folded neatly against its back, gave a slight rustle as it tilted its head to study them. Hansel and Gretel gasped, stumbling back. "A dragon," Gretel whispered in awe and fear.

Toothless let out a low, inquisitive warble, his ears twitching forward. The masked rider raised a hand, and the dragon immediately stilled, obedient yet still keenly observant. Hansel grabbed Gretel's arm. "We should run."

But before they could, the rider took a step forward and, in a smooth, deliberate motion, extended his gloved hand toward the dragon. Toothless hesitated for only a moment before slowly moving his head forward, his nostrils flaring slightly as he pressed his forehead gently into the rider's palm. A quiet, contented rumble vibrated from the dragon's throat. Hansel and Gretel watched, transfixed. The rider then turned his gaze onto them and, in a calm yet firm voice, said, "You try."

Gretel blinked, stepping back. "What?"

Hansel shook his head quickly. "No way."

The masked figure remained still, his gloved hand lowering to his side. "He won't hurt you," he assured them. His voice was steady, carrying an air of quiet authority. "You're just afraid because you don't understand him."

Toothless let out another low chuff, his large green eyes focused solely on the two children. Gretel swallowed. There was something in the way the rider spoke—something that made her hesitate. It wasn't a command, but a reassurance. He knew this creature. Trusted it. The rider extended his hand toward them this time. "Hold out your palm. Let him come to you."

Hansel and Gretel exchanged nervous glances. Once Toothless nudged his head against Hansel and Gretel's hands, the children remained frozen, feeling the warmth of his smooth scales. Gretel let out a small laugh, the fear in her eyes melting into wonder. Hansel, still a bit cautious, hesitated before stroking the dragon's head with his fingertips. "He's..." Gretel trailed off, struggling to find the right word.

"Not what you expected?" the masked rider finished for her, amusement laced in his voice.

Hansel slowly nodded. "Yeah... I thought dragons were supposed to be—"

"Toothless?" The rider smirked beneath his mask. "Terrifying? Fire-breathing nightmares?"

The dragon chuffed, seemingly offended, and flicked his ear-like spines back. Hansel chuckled nervously. "Kind of."

Gretel tilted her head, studying the masked figure. There was something familiar about his voice, though she couldn't quite place why. "You know a lot about dragons," she observed.

The rider shrugged. "You could say that." Then, after a pause, he reached up to the edge of his mask. "And since you earned his trust... I think it's fair you see who you're talking to."

Slowly, he lifted the mask from his face. Hansel and Gretel watched in silent anticipation as the carved dragon-skull mask slipped away, revealing a young man beneath. His auburn-brown hair was tousled, slightly windblown, and his face, though still holding the confidence of a warrior, had softer features than they expected. His bright green eyes, sharp and intelligent, seemed to catch every detail of their expressions. "I'm Hiccup," he introduced himself, tucking his mask under his arm. "And this," he gestured to the dragon, "is Toothless."

Gretel blinked in surprise. "You don't look like a warrior."

Hiccup chuckled. "Yeah, I get that a lot."

Hansel frowned slightly. "If you're not a warrior, then what are you?"

Hiccup smirked. "I'm a dragon rider."

Toothless let out a small warble, almost as if confirming the statement. Gretel's curiosity only grew. "You weren't afraid of us meeting him. Why?"

Hiccup leaned against Toothless's side, his expression thoughtful. "Because fear comes from not understanding something. I used to be afraid of dragons too. Then I realized... they're not what everyone says they are." His gaze shifted toward the gingerbread house, his expression darkening slightly. "Same with people like the Evil Queen. They say they'll help, but they never tell you the cost."

Hansel clenched his fists. "Then what are we supposed to do? She's our only lead to finding our father."

Hiccup studied them for a moment before nodding. "Then we do this smart. You two go in. Play along. But Toothless and I will be watching." Hiccup then pulled out a Viking horn and gave it to Hansel, "If anything goes wrong, blow into this and Toothless and I will come and save you both."

Gretel looked between Hiccup and Toothless, the feeling of uncertainty still lingering in her chest, but for the first time since stepping into this twisted forest, she didn't feel alone. Hansel exhaled and nodded. "Alright. Let's do this."

With a final glance at their unexpected allies, the siblings turned toward the glowing windows of the gingerbread house, stepping forward into the unknown. From the shadows, Hiccup slid his mask back into place. He and Toothless would be watching.

(Storybrooke)

At the Storybrooke Sheriff's Department, Emma sat at her desk, flipping through a stack of documents with growing frustration. The dim glow of her desk lamp cast long shadows across the room, highlighting the clutter of case files and unfinished reports. She had been searching for any trace of Ava and Nicholas's father, but so far, every lead had turned into a dead end. Henry entered quietly, watching her work. He already knew who the children were—siblings, lost and alone, their past entwined with the fairy tales woven into Storybrooke's strange reality. Hansel and Gretel.

Their father, however, remained a mystery. According to what Henry had read in the book, the man had abandoned them, a painful echo of many stories in this town, including his own. Emma pulled another file from a drawer, scanning the pages in search of anything useful. Whoever this man was, if he had truly abandoned his children, he could be anywhere by now, possibly miles away. But Henry was certain that wasn't the case. He had come to understand the rules of this town better than most. No one left Storybrooke. No one arrived, except for Emma. She was different—special. The first stranger to step into Storybrooke, ever.

Emma barely acknowledged his presence as she remained focused on the search. If the father was still here, she would find him. That was her job. Henry, perched on the edge of her desk, watched her carefully, his thoughts shifting to something far more personal. For so long, he had been the one uncovering secrets, digging into the past of Storybrooke's residents, connecting their lives to the fairy tales in his book. But there was one mystery that had always lingered just out of reach—his own father. Emma had never spoken much about him, and Henry knew little beyond vague hints and deflections.

But now, as she worked, he saw an opportunity to ask. He had told her about her parents, helped her find her mother, and even brought them under the same roof. He had pieced together her past. Now, he wanted to know about his own. Emma hesitated, her fingers pausing over the papers before her. It was a rare moment of vulnerability, one she didn't often allow herself. The memories came back in pieces—faint images of a diner just off the interstate, a young girl fresh out of the foster system, working long hours at a job she had taken simply to get by.

A man who trained to be a firefighter, showing up at the counter during the worst shifts, always ordering coffee and pie, always complaining about the lack of pumpkin pie, yet always returning the next day. Their time together had been fleeting, moments stolen between shifts and the weight of reality pressing in. His life had taken an upward turn while hers had spiraled downward. Trouble had found her, and before she knew it, she had ended up behind bars. That was when she discovered she was pregnant.

She had tried to reach out to him, but the news came instead—he had died a hero, sacrificing himself to save a family from a burning apartment building. Henry had spent so much time believing in fairy tale heroes, but the truth was, his father had been one in the real world. Henry watched her closely, hoping for some connection to a man he had never met. Something tangible. A photograph. A keepsake. A piece of his history. But Emma had nothing. No physical reminders, no objects to pass down. Only the memory of a man who had once been part of her life, gone before he could ever know his son.

Then, as if struck by a sudden realization, Emma's eyes widened. There was something she hadn't considered before. Without another word, she stood abruptly, grabbing her coat. Henry barely had time to react before she was out the door, determination fueling her every step. Left alone in the office, Henry sat quietly, lost in thought. Even without a fairy tale to tell him the truth, he now knew one thing—his father had been a hero, and that was enough.

At the Blanchard apartment, the warm scent of freshly baked cookies filled the air as Ava and Nicholas sat at the small kitchen table, nibbling on their treats. Their cautious gazes flickered toward Harry, who stood nearby with Toothless curled at his feet. The black wolf watched the children with quiet curiosity, his piercing green eyes alert but gentle. Emma entered the room, carrying a small, worn box in her hands. The weight of its contents was more than just physical—it carried years of memories, unanswered questions, and the lingering hope of finding a missing piece of herself.

She set the box down and reached inside, pulling out a faded baby blanket. The children stopped eating, their attention drawn to the soft fabric she held. The edges were frayed from years of wear, but Emma smoothed it out carefully, her fingers brushing over the material with a quiet reverence. This blanket was all she had left from her parents—the only tangible connection to a past she had spent her life searching for. Nicholas leaned forward, curiosity flickering in his expression. Emma had spent years around kids like them—lost, abandoned, trying to hold onto whatever fragments of their past they could.

She knew that no matter how little they had, there was always something they clung to. Her words seemed to resonate with Ava. The young girl hesitated, glancing at her brother before reaching into her pocket. Slowly, she pulled out a small, well-worn compass, its surface scratched and dull with age. Their mother had kept it, claiming it once belonged to their father. It was the only thing they had left of him. Ava held it out, her fingers gripping it tightly as if second-guessing her decision. Her eyes searched Emma's, silently pleading for reassurance. If she handed over this last link to their father, would it truly help?

Would it mean she and Nicholas would get to stay together? Emma met her gaze with quiet certainty, then gently took the compass, her grip firm but understanding. She tucked her own baby blanket back into the box, nodding in appreciation. Ava's question came hesitantly, almost whispered. Had Emma found her own parents? For a moment, the room fell silent. Harry shifted slightly, watching Emma carefully. He understood that question more than most. Emma's answer was honest—she hadn't. Not yet. But she was determined to find Ava and Nicholas's father. Harry studied the compass in her hand.

Something about it felt important, more than just an old trinket. A gut feeling told him there was more to this than a simple search for a missing man. Without a word, he stepped forward, holding out his hand. Emma hesitated, then passed him the compass. If there were answers to be found, Harry would be the one to seek them out. Toothless stirred, sensing the shift in his companion's resolve. The wolf rose to his feet as Harry tucked the compass into his coat and turned toward the door. There was only one place in Storybrooke where such an object might hold the key to the past—Mr. Gold's pawnshop. And if anyone could uncover the truth behind it, it was him.

The small bell above the door chimed as Harry stepped into the dimly lit pawnshop, the scent of aged wood, dust, and polished brass filling the air. The place was cluttered, every surface crowded with forgotten relics—antique clocks ticking out of sync, delicate glass figurines collecting years of neglect, and strange artifacts whose stories had long since faded. Toothless padded in beside him, his sharp green eyes flickering warily over the shelves stacked high with trinkets and oddities. The wolf's presence was an imposing one, his silent footsteps barely making a sound on the wooden floor, but Harry knew better than to let his guard down in Mr. Gold's domain.

Behind the counter, Mr. Gold was carefully polishing an oil lamp, his movements slow and deliberate, as if he had all the time in the world. His expression remained unreadable, but when he finally looked up, a knowing smirk curved his lips. The way he studied Harry, his gaze sharp and assessing, made it clear that he was already intrigued by this visit. "Well, well," he mused, setting the lamp aside with practiced ease. "To what do I owe the pleasure, Mr. Jones? I must say, it's not often you come calling."

Harry didn't waste time with pleasantries. Reaching into his coat pocket, he pulled out the old compass and placed it firmly on the counter. The worn edges and dulled crystal reflected the dim light, a relic of another time, yet its craftsmanship was undeniable. "I need information on this," Harry said, his voice steady but firm. "Got any idea where it came from?"

Mr. Gold picked up the compass, turning it in his fingers with a quiet hum of interest. His thumb traced over the details, the intricacy of its design clearly not lost on him. "You know," he mused, tilting it slightly, watching the way the dim glow of the shop lights refracted through the crystal, "despite the rather unfortunate state it's in, this is quite an unusual piece. Crystal inlay, fine craftsmanship... The person who owned this had a remarkable taste."

Harry crossed his arms, his patience already wearing thin. "And where would someone like that buy it?"

Mr. Gold finally lifted his gaze, amusement flickering behind his sharp eyes. "Why, right here, of course."

Harry exhaled sharply, unsurprised by the answer. It was never that easy with Mr. Gold. "So you recognize it?"

"Indeed," the pawnbroker said smoothly, placing the compass back onto the counter. "A piece like this is difficult to forget."

Harry leaned forward slightly, watching Mr. Gold carefully. "Do you remember who bought it?"

Mr. Gold tsked, stepping away from the counter with an air of theatrical nonchalance. "I have an excellent memory, Mr. Jones," he said, moving toward a dark wooden cabinet at the back of the shop. "But not that good." He slid open a drawer, his fingers ghosting over a collection of small index cards, each one neatly filed away like secrets waiting to be uncovered. "However..." He sifted through the records with deliberate slowness, drawing out the moment as he searched. Toothless let out a soft huff, tail flicking as if he, too, could sense the deliberate game Mr. Gold was playing.

Finally, the shopkeeper pulled out a single white card, holding it between two fingers as if it were worth more than gold itself. His expression remained unreadable as he studied it in silence, his eyes flicking over the details before he looked back up at Harry. He didn't say a word, but the meaning was clear. Harry clenched his jaw. "What's your price?"

Mr. Gold lifted his brows slightly, the corners of his lips twitching with amusement. "Forgiveness."

Harry scoffed. "How about tolerance?"

The pawnbroker chuckled, his smirk widening. "A start." With a casual flick of his wrist, he handed over the card. "The compass was purchased by a Mr. Michael Tillman."

Harry took the card, flipping it between his fingers as he absorbed the name. It was the first real lead he had, but something about the way Mr. Gold had drawn it out made him uneasy. He glanced up once more. "Anything else?"

"Just a name," Mr. Gold said, stepping back with an air of finality. "But I generally find that's all one needs."

Harry nodded once before slipping the card into his coat pocket. Without another word, he turned and strode toward the door, Toothless following closely beside him. Just before stepping outside, he hesitated, glancing back at the pawnbroker, who merely offered him an amused, knowing smile. Pushing open the door, Harry stepped onto the cold pavement, exhaling as the crisp air hit his face. The weight of the compass in his pocket felt heavier now, the implications of this discovery settling in. Reaching into his coat, he pulled out his phone and dialed. The line rang once before Emma picked up, her voice sharp and direct. "What is it?" she asked.

"I found a lead on the kids' father," Harry said, his grip tightening around the compass. "His name is Michael Tillman."

There was a brief pause before Emma responded, her tone more serious now. "I'll meet you at the station."

Harry slipped the phone back into his pocket, his mind already working through the possibilities. He glanced down at Toothless, who gave a low, thoughtful rumble as if sensing the weight of the moment.

"Yeah," Harry murmured, staring down the dimly lit street. "Something tells me this is just the beginning."

With that, he turned and walked off into the night, the compass still clutched in his hand, knowing full well that answers rarely came without a price.

(Enchanted Forest)

Hansel and Gretel crouched beneath the window of the gingerbread house, their breath visible in the cool night air. The sugary scent of caramelized frosting and baked dough filled their nostrils, an enticing but dangerous temptation. Gretel, always the cautious one, tucked her compass beneath her clothes, keeping it close. Hansel, however, couldn't resist swiping a finger through a thick swirl of cream on the wall. Just as he brought it toward his mouth, Gretel grabbed his wrist, shaking her head in warning. With a silent sigh, he relented, wiping the cream onto his trousers before they quietly climbed through the window.

Inside, the dimly lit room was lined with walls of gingerbread and candy, and at the center stood a large wooden table overflowing with cakes, tarts, and candied fruit. The air was thick with the sickly sweet aroma of sugar and something else—something rotten, hidden beneath the layers of confection. Hansel leaned in close, whispering, "Can you be sure she's sleeping?"

Gretel didn't look at him, her eyes scanning the room warily. "I can't. And remember what the Queen said? Not even a lick."

Hansel turned his gaze toward the fireplace, where the Blind Witch sat slumped in a chair, her skeletal hands curled over the armrests. Her breath rasped softly in the quiet, slow and steady. "You're right," Hansel muttered, nodding toward her. "Look."

Gretel barely spared the witch a glance before pointing toward a worn satchel resting near the fireplace. "And there's the satchel." She began creeping toward it, every step careful and deliberate.

Hansel followed a few paces behind, eyeing the satchel with curiosity. "What do you think is inside it?"

"Doesn't matter," Gretel murmured, never taking her eyes off her goal. "All that matters is getting it to the Queen so she can find Father."

She slipped past the Blind Witch without a sound, fingers trembling slightly as she reached for the satchel. As she curled her hands around the strap, Hansel let his gaze drift back to the table. His stomach growled at the sight of the perfectly frosted cupcakes, each one practically begging to be tasted. Without thinking, he grabbed one, his fingers sinking into the soft pastry. Gretel froze as the Blind Witch let out a loud, guttural snore, but when she remained still, Gretel exhaled and lifted the satchel. She turned back toward Hansel—just in time to see him lifting the cupcake to his mouth.

Her eyes widened in horror as he took a bite. She lunged forward, slapping the cupcake from his hands, but it was too late. The Blind Witch stirred, her breath hitching as her eyelids fluttered open. Hansel and Gretel didn't move, didn't breathe. Then their eyes flicked toward the fireplace. Their blood ran cold. There, stacked in a careless pile, lay the gnawed and splintered remains of human bones. They bolted toward the doors, but the moment their hands grasped the handles, a surge of magic sealed them shut with a loud snap. Panicked, they pivoted to the windows, only for them to slam shut just as they neared.

A shiver crawled up Gretel's spine as a voice, raspy and dripping with hunger, echoed through the room. "I smell dinner."

Hansel and Gretel turned, their eyes locking in fright as the Blind Witch slowly rose from her chair, a wicked grin splitting her face. Hansel's hands trembled as he fumbled for the Viking horn Hiccup had given him. He raised it to his lips and blew as hard as he could. A deep, echoing note rang through the air, piercing the silence of the forest. Before he could blow again, the horn wrenched itself from his grasp, yanked away by an invisible force. The Blind Witch smirked, twirling her fingers as the horn floated toward her outstretched hand. She clutched it tightly, her hollow eyes gleaming.

"Oh, my sweet boy," she crooned. "You won't be needing that."

Hansel swallowed hard. Outside, hidden within the shadows, Hiccup and Toothless heard the horn's call—just before it was abruptly silenced. Hiccup's eyes darkened beneath his mask. "That's our cue."

With a swift motion, he mounted Toothless, the dragon's green eyes narrowing. The wind shifted, carrying the scent of sugar and something far more sinister. "Hang on, you two," Hiccup muttered as Toothless unfurled his wings. "We're coming. Toothless, get us closer,"

The dragon obeyed, diving toward the house. With expert precision, Hiccup leapt from the saddle onto the thatched rooftop, rolling into a crouch. He pressed a gloved hand against the candy-coated shingles, feeling a faint pulse of magic beneath them. Inside, Hansel and Gretel pressed against the far wall, their backs nearly touching as the Blind Witch advanced. She twirled Hansel's stolen Viking horn between her fingers, humming an eerie tune. "Oh, such a delightful surprise," she crooned. "I was only expecting two little morsels for my meal. But now—" She licked her lips. "A full feast."

Hansel clenched his fists. "You're not going to eat us!"

The Blind Witch tilted her head, her grin stretching wider. "Oh, sweetheart. You already smell delicious."

Before she could take another step, the ceiling shuddered. A loud crack split the air as something—or someone—landed hard on the roof. The Blind Witch's expression darkened. Then, with a deafening boom, the front doors blasted inward, shattered by a powerful tail swipe. Smoke and splinters filled the air, revealing a menacing silhouette standing in the doorway, Toothless. His green eyes burned in the dim light, a low growl vibrating through his chest as he prowled inside, his wings partially unfurled. His nostrils flared at the scent of decay and old magic, but his gaze remained locked on the witch.

And then, from above, Hiccup dropped down, landing lightly on the floor between the Blind Witch and the children. Hansel and Gretel stared, wide-eyed. Hiccup straightened, his masked face emotionless as he slowly reached for his sword. "Let them go," he said, his voice calm but firm.

The Blind Witch chuckled, unimpressed. "And what are you, little knight? Some kind of hero?"

Hiccup didn't answer. He simply lifted his hand. At the silent command, Toothless let out a sharp hiss, baring his fangs. The Blind Witch's expression flickered. She studied the dragon, her lips pursing. "Interesting. A Night Fury. I haven't had one of those before."

Hiccup's grip on his sword tightened. "I won't ask again."

For a moment, silence stretched between them. Then, the Blind Witch moved. With a flick of her wrist, the broken doors slammed back into place, trapping them all inside. The walls shimmered, the very air thickening with her magic. The candy-coated house darkened, its once-sweet scent turning rancid. Hansel and Gretel gasped as something snaked up from the floor—blackened, gnarled roots that curled around their ankles. Hiccup lunged, swinging his blade, but the moment he did, the roots surged forward, wrapping around his wrists and yanking him back. Toothless roared, launching a plasma blast at the witch.

But before the fireball could reach her, it stopped in midair, held by her magic. "Tsk, tsk," the Blind Witch scolded. "Didn't anyone teach you not to play with fire?" With a wave of her hand, the purple flames reversed, hurling back toward Toothless.

The dragon barely dodged, rolling to the side as the heat scorched the floor where he'd stood. Hiccup struggled against the roots, but they only coiled tighter, pinning him against the candy-laced walls. The Blind Witch grinned, stepping forward. "Such a rare treat," she murmured, running a finger down the side of Hiccup's mask. "A dragon rider. I'll have to prepare something extra special for you."

She turned to the siblings, licking her lips. "And as for you two, I think I'll start with dessert."

Hansel and Gretel trembled, their eyes darting between the unconscious Toothless, the restrained Hiccup, and the approaching witch. The Blind Witch let out a delighted giggle. "Oh, what fun this will be."

(Storybrooke)

Emma and Harry managed to locate Michael Tillman who owned a repair shop. The rhythmic clinking of metal echoed through the automobile repair shop as Emma and Harry stepped inside, the scent of oil and rust thick in the air. Toothless padded in beside them, his keen eyes scanning the space with quiet curiosity, his ears flicking at the sound of an engine being tinkered with. Behind a car hood, Michael Tillman worked diligently, the grease on his hands evidence of a long day's labor. He barely acknowledged them at first, his focus remaining on the vehicle in front of him.

But when Emma cleared her throat, he finally turned, wiping his hands on a rag before taking the manila folder she handed him. His brow furrowed as he flipped through the documents, his eyes scanning over the names and details. A beat of silence stretched before he snapped the file shut and handed it back to her. "Not possible."

Emma didn't waver. "Actually, it is."

Michael let out a sharp exhale, shaking his head. "Sorry. But Dory, she wasn't my—my..." He trailed off, rubbing the back of his neck before turning back to the car. "It was just once."

Emma arched a brow. "Sometimes that's all it takes."

Harry exchanged a glance with Toothless, who snorted as if unimpressed by Michael's deflection. The creature trotted closer, his piercing green eyes locking onto the man with an almost knowing look. Michael exhaled, clearly unsettled. "I met her when I was camping. And, we, um..." His jaw tensed. "No. It's not possible. I don't have twins."

Emma took a step forward, her voice measured but firm. "Yes, you do."

Michael stiffened, glancing over his shoulder at her. "You have twins that have been homeless ever since their mother passed away." Emma's words hung in the air, heavy and unrelenting. "Your twins have been living in an abandoned house because they don't want to be separated. And unless you step up and take responsibility, they're about to be shipped off to Boston."

Harry, arms crossed, added, "They've been surviving on scraps, Michael. And the system? It doesn't care about keeping them together. You're their best shot."

Michael turned back to his work, his movements suddenly more rigid. The wrench slipped in his grasp, and a sharp hiss of pain escaped him as the metal scraped against his hand. "Damn it," he muttered, shaking out his injured fingers. But instead of addressing what they'd said, he shook his head again. "Look, I can barely manage this garage. I can't manage two kids." He wiped his bleeding hand on a dirty rag and walked over to his worktable, his back to them. "Why are you so sure they're mine?"

Emma didn't hesitate. Reaching into her pocket, she pulled out the small, worn compass and held it up. "Besides the timing?" She took a step closer. "Have you ever seen this?"

Michael frowned, stepping forward and taking the object from her hand. The moment his fingers closed around it, something shifted in his expression. He turned it over, running his thumb along the edges, his face unreadable. "I lost this," he murmured.

Harry's gaze sharpened. "Twelve years and nine months ago, right?"

Michael's head snapped up, meeting Emma's gaze. She softened slightly but didn't back down. "I know it's a lot. Believe me, I know. A month ago, a kid showed up on my doorstep—the kid I gave up for adoption—asking for help with something. And now? I live here. For him."

Michael let out a quiet scoff. "I heard about that. The mayor's son." He studied her for a moment before shaking his head. "But staying in town is a lot different from taking him in."

Emma inhaled, steadying herself. "I don't have my kid because I don't have a choice." Her voice softened, but the weight of her words pressed into the silence between them. "You do."

Michael's grip on the compass tightened. "Those kids didn't ask to be brought into this world," Emma continued. "You and their mother brought them here. And now they need you. If you walk away, if you choose not to take them in, you're going to have to answer for that every day of your life. And sooner or later, when they find you—because believe me, they will find you—you're going to have to answer to them."

Michael remained silent for a long moment, his jaw working as he stared down at the compass in his palm. Then, with a quiet sigh, he placed it back into Emma's hand. "I'm really sorry," he said, his voice low and heavy. "I am."

Emma could see the conflict in his face, the weight of what she was asking settling into his bones. "But I don't know anything about being a dad." His expression darkened with something unreadable as he stepped back, shaking his head. "If it's a good home you're looking for, it's not with me." He turned and disappeared into the back room, shutting the door firmly behind him.

Toothless let out a low growl, his tail flicking with irritation. Harry sighed, running a hand through his hair. "Well, that went great."

Emma tightened her grip on the compass, her jaw clenching. "It's not over yet."

She turned on her heel and strode out, already formulating her next move. Harry decided to go back to the apartment loft to check on the kids. Mary Margaret sat on the couch, watching Henry, Ava, and Nicholas with a gentle smile. The three of them were huddled together on the floor, flipping through the pages of one of Henry's books, the excitement in their voices filling the space. Ava and Nicholas, despite everything they had been through, had found a moment of peace here. Their laughter was soft but real, and for once, they seemed to forget that they were alone in the world.

Nearby, Harry sat in a chair, absently stroking Toothless's fur as the wolf lay curled at his feet. Toothless's ears flicked at every sudden noise outside, ever watchful, but for now, he was content. Harry wasn't as at ease. His sharp gaze flickered between the children and Mary Margaret, sensing that this fragile moment of happiness wouldn't last. There was too much left uncertain, too many questions without answers. He knew Emma was out there, trying to do the impossible, and a knot of unease tightened in his chest. The sudden ring of Mary Margaret's phone cut through the warmth of the moment.

She hesitated, glancing at the caller ID before answering. Her voice was careful, quiet enough not to disturb the children. Across the room, Harry straightened in his seat, subtly listening in. As the conversation continued, Mary Margaret's posture shifted. What started as a routine call took on a weight that even Harry could sense without hearing Emma's words. The concern in her eyes deepened as she turned slightly away from the kids, shielding them from whatever was being said on the other end of the line.

Emma stood on the sidewalk, phone pressed to her ear, her free hand jammed into her pocket against the cold. The night air felt heavier than usual, or maybe it was just the weight of failure pressing down on her. She had tried. She had given it everything she had. But in the end, Michael Tillman had turned his back on the children who needed him the most. She didn't want to say the words, didn't want to make it real. But there was no avoiding it. The moment Mary Margaret answered, Emma forced herself to admit the truth. Michael didn't want the kids; even saying it out loud felt like a punch to the gut.

She had given Ava and Nicholas hope—false hope. And now, she had to decide what to do with it. Mary Margaret's response was gentle but knowing. Emma didn't need to explain why she hadn't told the kids yet. It was obvious. Tearing away the one thing they had been clinging to—the chance to stay together, the chance at family—felt cruel. Emma ran a hand through her hair, exhaling sharply. Mary Margaret was right about one thing. The truth had power. It could be cathartic. But right now, all Emma could see was the pain it would cause. She thought of Henry and how she had told him his father was dead.

That, at least, was something he could accept, something final. But she hadn't told him the whole truth. His father hadn't been a hero, and she had chosen to let him believe otherwise. Some truths weren't worth telling. As she wrestled with her thoughts, she turned at the sound of footsteps approaching. Regina's voice sliced through the night, cool and calculated as always. Emma didn't need to turn to know that Regina had that same self-satisfied expression, the one she always wore when she thought she had the upper hand. The weight of expectation pressed down even harder.

The kids were supposed to be on their way to Boston tonight. That had been the plan. That had been the easy solution. But nothing about this was easy. In the silence that followed, Emma squared her shoulders, already bracing for the next fight.

(Enchanted Forest)

The cage's metal bars were cold against Hiccup's back as he sat hunched beside Hansel and Gretel. The dim glow of the oven cast flickering shadows across the room, filling the air with the thick, sickly-sweet scent of burning sugar. The Blind Witch moved about the room with eerie grace, humming a haunting tune as she gathered ingredients from her shelves, her movements deliberate and cruel. Hiccup's mind raced, assessing the situation. The cage was sturdy, the lock heavy and enchanted. Toothless lay curled up in the corner of the room, bound by thick chains that glowed faintly with dark magic.

The dragon's eyes burned with frustration as he struggled against his restraints, snarling low in his throat. He tested the chains every few moments, but whatever spell the witch had used held firm. The witch suddenly turned, dragging her fingers along the bars of the cage. "Oh, where are you?" she purred, her voice laced with twisted delight. She reached through the bars, her bony fingers grazing Hansel's arm. "Ah, yes. Nice and tender. You'll make a succulent roast."

Hansel flinched back, pressing against Gretel. "She's going to cook me," he whispered urgently. "We have to do something. Quick."

"Stay calm," Gretel whispered back, keeping her eyes on the witch. "When she opens the cage, don't fight. Just grab the keys from her pocket and toss them to me."

Hiccup nodded in agreement. "If we panic, we're done for," he added, his voice low. "Stick to the plan. Toothless and I will handle the rest once we're free."

The Blind Witch cackled as she made her way to a wooden table, pulling out a wickedly sharp knife to chop something unseen. Hiccup's hands curled into fists. He had to get them out before she turned them into her next meal. Hansel swallowed hard as the witch put down her knife and turned back toward them, a gleeful glint in her milky white eyes. "Gravy or butter?" she mused, her fingers twitching in anticipation.

The question sent a chill down Hiccup's spine. The witch reached in again, but this time, her fingers found Gretel. Without hesitation, Gretel stomped hard on Hansel's foot, making him yelp. "Oho," the witch grinned, mistaking the noise for a much larger boy. "Yes, you'll do nicely." She reached in, grabbing Gretel roughly by the arm and yanking her out of the cage.

As soon as the door swung open, Gretel's fingers moved swiftly, slipping into the witch's pocket and snagging the keys. She held them tightly as the witch dragged her toward the oven, muttering about seasoning and cooking times. Hansel barely waited for the witch to turn her back before he caught Gretel's eye. With a well-practiced flick, she tossed the keys back to Hansel. The moment the gate clicked shut behind her, Gretel's fingers dipped into the witch's pocket, slipping out the keys. Before the witch could notice, she flung them back through the bars.

Hiccup caught them; the Blind Witch dragged Gretel toward the oven, humming as she tied her wrists together with a thick, enchanted rope. Hansel's hands shook as he fumbled with the lock. "Come on, come on..."

Hiccup took the keys from him, steadying his hands. The lock clicked open. He pushed the gate wide, signaling to Toothless, who had been lying still in the corner, pretending to be unconscious. The dragon's ears twitched. He lifted his head, slowly rising as Hiccup slipped out first. Hansel hurried up the stairs, desperate to find a weapon. He spotted an old wooden cane and snatched it up. But as he turned, his foot caught the edge of the rug, sending him sprawling to the floor with a loud thump. The Blind Witch's head snapped up. "Gravy or butter?" she crooned, spinning toward him. She flung Gretel to the side and advanced. "Gravy or butter?"

Hansel scrambled to his feet, gripping the cane tightly as she loomed over him. "How should I baste you?"

But with a flick of her wrist, the cane ripped from his grasp, sent flying across the room. Hansel's back hit the wall. "Butter it is." The Blind Witch's grin stretched impossibly wide. "Time to cook."

She lunged; but before she could seize him, a roar shattered the air. Toothless tackled her from the side, his claws digging into the wooden floor as he knocked her off balance. The Blind Witch screeched, her nails scraping at the dragon's scales, but Toothless twisted, throwing her toward the oven. Hiccup rushed forward, cutting Gretel's bindings with his dagger. "Go!"

Gretel didn't hesitate. She lunged for the baking tray and, with Hansel's help, shoved the witch onto it. The Blind Witch shrieked, thrashing, but Hiccup and Gretel heaved together, pushing her toward the roaring fire. Hansel slammed the oven door shut, and Gretel locked it. The Blind Witch howled, banging against the iron. "Let me out!"

Hiccup, panting, grabbed his satchel. "Time to go."

Hansel and Gretel nodded, racing with him toward the door.

"Let me out! You come back right now!" the Blind Witch screeched behind them. "Don't leave me here! Let me out!"

They didn't look back. As the three of them and Toothless burst into the forest, the fire inside the oven blazed higher.

In the grand throne room, the Evil Queen stood before her Magic Mirror, watching the flames consume the Blind Witch's house. The witch's screams echoed through the glass. The Queen smirked. She raised her hand and conjured a fireball, hurling it directly into the mirror's surface. The flames inside the oven exploded. The Blind Witch's final, piercing shriek filled the air before it cut off entirely. The Evil Queen tilted her head, satisfied, "I would've gone with gravy."

As the first light of dawn pierced through the dense canopy of the Enchanted Forest, Hiccup, Hansel, and Gretel emerged from the remnants of the Blind Witch's gingerbread house. The air was thick with the scent of burnt sugar and charred wood, remnants of the night's harrowing events. Hiccup's gaze was stern, his voice carrying the weight of experience. "You can't trust the Evil Queen," he warned, his eyes reflecting concern. "She manipulates and deceives to serve her own ends."

Gretel clutched the black leather satchel tightly to her chest, her expression resolute. "But she promised to help us find our father," she insisted, her voice tinged with desperation. "Without her, we have no leads, no way to locate him."

Hansel nodded in agreement, his face set with determination. "She's our only hope," he added, though uncertainty flickered in his eyes.

Hiccup sighed, understanding their plight. He reached into his tunic and produced the Viking horn he had given them earlier, pressing it into Hansel's hands. "Keep this with you," he urged. "If you find yourselves in danger, don't hesitate to use it. Toothless and I will come to your aid."

Hansel accepted the horn, gripping it firmly. "Thank you," he said earnestly. "We appreciate your help, more than you know."

Gretel offered a small, grateful smile. "We'll be careful," she promised. "And we'll find our father."

Hiccup watched as the siblings turned and made their way through the forest, their figures gradually blending into the shadows of the trees. He couldn't shake the unease that settled in his chest, but he respected their resolve. Toothless nudged Hiccup's shoulder, a soft rumble emanating from his throat. "I know, bud," Hiccup murmured, placing a hand on the dragon's scaly head. "We'll keep an eye on them, just in case."

As they prepared to follow at a discreet distance, Hiccup's thoughts drifted to his own past. After being banished from Berk, he had wandered aimlessly until fate led him to the Enchanted Forest. There, he had crossed paths with Killian Jones, known to many as Captain Hook. Despite his notorious reputation, Killian had seen something in the lost Viking and had taken him in, offering guidance and a semblance of family. It was an unexpected bond, but one that had given Hiccup a new purpose.

Now, as he trailed behind Hansel and Gretel, Hiccup couldn't help but feel a protective instinct toward them. He understood the pain of losing family and the lengths one would go to reunite with loved ones. Determined to ensure their safety, he resolved to do whatever he could to help them find their father, even if it meant confronting the Evil Queen herself. With Toothless by his side, Hiccup ventured deeper into the forest, the morning sun casting dappled patterns on the forest floor, guiding them on the uncertain path ahead.

Hansel and Gretel stood before the imposing gates of the Evil Queen's dark palace, their hearts pounding in unison. The journey through the Enchanted Forest had been perilous, but their resolve to find their father had steeled them against the dangers they faced. As the massive doors creaked open, they exchanged a determined glance and stepped inside. The grand hall was dimly lit, shadows dancing along the stone walls. At its center, atop a dais, sat the Evil Queen, her presence commanding and her gaze piercing. She regarded the siblings with a calculated smile as they approached, the black leather satchel clutched tightly in Gretel's hands.

"My dear children, were you successful in your task?" the Queen inquired, her voice smooth and laced with curiosity.

Gretel stepped forward, her chin held high. "Yes, Your Majesty. Though we were almost made into dinner."

A flicker of amusement crossed the Queen's face. "Oh, how barbaric." She signaled to a guard standing behind them, who promptly exited the hall. "Now, if I could have my satchel."

With a slight hesitation, Gretel handed over the satchel. The Queen's eyes gleamed with anticipation as she reached inside and produced a single, crimson apple. "Oh, you did it."

Hansel's brow furrowed in confusion. "We did all that, for an apple?"

The Queen's gaze shifted to him, a knowing smile playing on her lips. "Oh, trust me, dear, this is not just an apple. It's a weapon—a weapon for a particular and devious enemy. One who is still under the delusion that she's safe." She placed the apple into a small, ornate chest on her dressing table before turning back to the siblings.

Gretel's eyes narrowed with determination. "Whatever your plan is, we did what you asked. Now you have to keep your promise and help us find our father."

The Queen descended the dais, her expression softening into a semblance of sympathy. "Of course, to reunite your family so you can live happily ever after." She paused, her gaze scrutinizing. "You were left alone in the woods. You deserve better than a father who'd abandon you."

Gretel's voice wavered, but her resolve remained firm. "But he is all we have."

The Queen's eyes gleamed with a predatory kindness. "Perhaps it doesn't have to be."

Gretel exchanged a wary glance with Hansel. "What do you mean?"

The Queen's smile widened, her tone dripping with false benevolence. "You and your brother have impressed me. You aren't the first children I've sent into that sticky, sweet house. But you are the first to emerge." She paused, letting her words sink in. "As a reward, I've decided to invite the two of you to live with me, here."

Hansel's eyes widened with a mix of awe and suspicion. "You mean, we get to live in a castle?"

The Queen nodded, her smile never wavering. "Yes, you would have your own rooms, personal carriages, valets, too. All of your dreams could come true."

Gretel's expression hardened, her voice steady and resolute. "No. We want our father back. He would never abandon us." She took a step forward, her eyes blazing with defiance. "And even if he did, we would never want to live with someone as terrible as you."

A dangerous glint flashed in the Queen's eyes, her smile turning cold. "Is that so?"

Gretel stood her ground, unwavering. "Yes. We're going to find him, with or without your help. And when we do, we're going to prove you wrong."

The Queen's facade of kindness shattered, her expression twisting into one of fury. "We'll see about that."

With a swift motion, she conjured a swirling black smoke that enveloped Hansel and Gretel, its tendrils wrapping around them like serpents. The siblings struggled against the dark magic, but it was too powerful. Their vision blurred, the world around them fading into darkness as the Queen's cold laughter echoed in their ears. As consciousness slipped away, their last thoughts were of each other and the unwavering hope that they would find their father, no matter the cost.

In the dimly lit chamber of the Evil Queen's palace, the air was thick with anticipation. The Queen stood before her ornate mirror, its surface shimmering with the image of Snow White amidst a group of dwarves. A scowl twisted her features. "Now she's cavorting with dwarves? When did that happen?" she muttered, her voice dripping with disdain.

A guard entered, breaking her contemplation. "Your Majesty, the prisoner you requested is here."

"Bring him in," she commanded, waving her hand to dismiss the mirror's image.

The heavy doors creaked open, revealing a disheveled man being escorted by two guards. His eyes burned with desperation and anger. It was the Woodcutter. "I demand to be released," he barked, struggling against his restraints. "My children are in that forest you took me from, alone. They could be in great danger."

The Queen's lips curled into a cold smile. "Yes, I know all about your children. That compass you gave sweet little Gretel? Well, I'm afraid it didn't help her find you, now did it?"

The Woodcutter's face paled. "Tell me where they are!" He lunged forward, but the guards held him back.

"Gone," she replied nonchalantly. "I told them you abandoned them, leaving nothing but a compass to find their way." She stepped closer, her eyes narrowing. "But I didn't bring you here to answer your questions. You're here to answer mine."

The Woodcutter met her gaze defiantly. "I offered your children everything," she continued, her tone icy. "Whatever their hearts desired, and they still chose uncertainty because of their blind faith in you. Tell me why. Why did your children refuse me?"

"Because we're a family," he said firmly. "And families always find one another."

A flicker of something unreadable passed through the Queen's eyes before she turned away. "Release him."

The Woodcutter blinked in surprise. "You're letting me go?"

"You can all be together as a family," she said, her back to him, "as soon as you all find one another."

Hansel and Gretel found themselves lying on the forest floor, disoriented and groggy. The oppressive darkness of the Infinite Forest surrounded them, its dense canopy allowing only slivers of moonlight to penetrate. Gretel stirred first, her head throbbing as she pushed herself up, glancing around to get her bearings. "Hansel, wake up," she urged, shaking her brother's shoulder. Hansel groaned softly, blinking his eyes open. He sat up slowly, rubbing the back of his neck.

"Where are we?" he mumbled, his voice thick with confusion.

Gretel scanned their surroundings, recognizing the familiar yet foreboding trees of the Infinite Forest. "She let us go," she said, a mix of relief and suspicion in her tone.

Hansel's eyes widened as memories of the Dark Palace flooded back. "I'm scared," he admitted, his voice trembling.

Gretel reached into her pocket, fingers closing around the cool metal of their father's compass. She pulled it out, the needle pointing steadily in one direction. A determined smile tugged at her lips. "Don't be," she said, squeezing Hansel's hand reassuringly. "Everything will be fine. We have this to guide us."

Hansel nodded, drawing strength from his sister's resolve. As they stood, brushing dirt and leaves from their clothes, he glanced back into the shadows of the forest. "Do you think we'll see Hiccup again?" he asked, hope flickering in his eyes.

Gretel's expression softened at the mention of their ally. "I don't know," she replied honestly. "But if anyone can find us in this forest, it's him."

With a final, resolute nod, they set off, the compass guiding their steps as they ventured deeper into the unknown, clinging to the hope of reuniting with their father—and perhaps crossing paths with Hiccup once more.

(Storybrooke)

As the night settled over Storybrooke, the weight of the decision hung heavy in the air. Emma stood by her car, her expression unreadable as she held out the small compass to Ava. The girl hesitated before taking it back, her fingers curling around it tightly. "I'm sorry," Emma murmured. "We have to go."

Without a word, Ava and Nicholas climbed into the car. The silence between them was louder than any protest they could have made. Emma shut the door a little harder than necessary, frustration bubbling beneath the surface. Nearby, Regina watched with a satisfied smirk. She placed a hand on Henry's shoulder, expecting him to follow her lead. But Henry jerked away, running straight to the driver's side window. His face was filled with desperation. "You can't take them!" he pleaded. "They can't leave Storybrooke, Emma. Something bad will happen!"

Emma met his gaze, the pain in her eyes mirroring his own. "Something bad has already happened," she said simply.

Without another word, she started the engine and drove off. Regina, still standing in place, watched them go with a knowing smile. Harry could tell that something was off; he hoped that Emma would at least try to help those kids. The drive was quiet, the tension thick in the air. Ava and Nicholas sat huddled in the back seat, their eyes darting between the road and Emma, as if searching for some kind of reassurance. But before they could get much farther, the car suddenly lurched. Emma frowned, gripping the wheel as the vehicle sputtered and rolled to a stop. "You've gotta be kidding me," she muttered.

Ava leaned forward, her voice small but worried. "What happened?"

"Engine stalled," Emma answered, already pulling out her phone.

"Who are you calling?" Nicholas asked.

"Help," she replied, stepping outside to wait.

Inside the car, Ava absentmindedly turned the compass in her hands. Her eyes widened when she noticed the needle shifting, pointing behind them. Nudging Nicholas, she gestured toward the back window. Both children turned just in time to see a pair of headlights cutting through the darkness. A car approached, rolling to a stop behind them. A familiar figure stepped out; Michael Tillman. Emma met him halfway, her expression unreadable. "Those are them?" Michael asked, his voice gruff.

Emma nodded. "Those are them."

His gaze flickered to the car, then back to Emma. "And the car?"

"It's fine," she admitted. "I just wanted you to see them. Just once."

Her voice softened as she continued, the words coming from a place she rarely let herself go. "I didn't think I could do it either. I gave up Henry because I wanted to give him his best chance. But when I saw he didn't have it... I couldn't leave. I was scared, more than I ever thought possible. But once I got to know him, once I saw him... I couldn't go back."

Michael's expression shifted, uncertainty warring with something deeper. He took a hesitant step toward the car, peering inside. Ava slowly rolled down the window, eyes wide as she met his gaze. Emma watched as realization dawned on him. "You're taking them to Boston?" he asked, his voice quieter now.

"I don't have to," Emma said.

Michael looked back at his children—really looked at them. And in that moment, his decision was made. "No," he said. "You don't have to."

As he moved closer to the car, Ava and Nicholas exchanged a glance, hope flickering in their eyes. Emma exhaled, a small, genuine smile tugging at her lips. She drove back to town and met up with Harry and Henry to tell them that Ava and Nicholas were with their real father. They figured that this was over now but this was far from over. The quiet night was suddenly broken by the low rumble of a motorbike approaching in the distance. Emma, Henry, and Harry turned toward the sound as the motorcycle came to a stop across the street. A lone rider, clad in dark clothing, pulled off his helmet, revealing an unfamiliar face.

He dismounted, striding toward them with a casual confidence. "Hey," he greeted.

Emma studied him cautiously. "Hey."

His gaze swept over the town before landing back on her. "This is Storybrooke, right?"

"Yeah," she confirmed.

"Any place to get a room around here?" he asked, his tone easy but unreadable.

Henry narrowed his eyes. "You're staying?"

The stranger nodded. "That's the plan. Just looking for a bed."

Emma hesitated only a second before gesturing down the road. "Granny's Bed and Breakfast is just two blocks that way."

"Thanks," he said, already turning back toward his bike.

Emma called after him. "Hey, I didn't catch your name!"

He glanced over his shoulder, smirking. "That's 'cause I didn't give it."

Without another word, he swung onto his bike, revved the engine, and sped off into the night. Emma turned to Henry and Harry, both watching the rider disappear into the distance. "I thought you said strangers don't come to Storybrooke," Emma said.

Henry, eyes wide with curiosity, swallowed hard. "They don't."

Harry exchanged a look with Toothless, the black wolf at his side. The animal's ears twitched, sensing something in the air. There was something off about this stranger—something that didn't sit right. Harry couldn't shake the feeling that this was just the beginning of something bigger.