Henry Swan is not a snooper. Okay, well, when he was little and he was dragged along to boring people's houses with his mom, he would sometimes sneak off and open a few drawers. He likes to think that he's completely grown out of that though, but now since he's left to his own devices in a mysterious, empty mansion belonging to his mom's girlfriend, it's hard not to take a look around. Okay, fine. He's snooping.

He makes a full round of the first level rather quickly; and quite honestly he's starting to feel a bit bored when he sees absolutely nothing out of the ordinary. His eyes are faced with nothing but impeccable rooms and ridiculously stylish interior decorating, until he makes his way towards the den. He's met with a large flat screened television and gaming console that is easily nearly a decade old. He's intrigued by this; a question bubbles in his mind, wondering why Regina would own something like that. To complete the image, there's even a stack of video games beside it, and he just stops himself from being a total snoop and leafing through them. He finally arrives at the conclusion that she must have had a roommate at some point or another--and honestly, how could someone live in such a huge place all alone? It only makes sense that she would have someone to share it with--but who?

He shoves the meddling thoughts that truly aren't any of his business out of his mind as he decides to ascend the lordly staircase that's just a few feet shy of the foyer. There are nearly identical doors lining the walls of the warm, slightly more inviting upstairs. A much larger doorway that is quite obviously the master bedroom lies at the end of the hallway, which Henry very deliberately steers clear of, because he's not a creep.  Across the hall from the master bedroom is a door slightly bigger than the several average sized other ones, but this one is different in another respect. It's the only door he's come across yet that's shut tight--the others are either wide open or ajar--and he feels an inexplicable almost pull towards this particular room. Before he even knows what he's doing, his arm is extended and his fingertips brush the cold metal of the handle. The harsh feeling of the knob wakes him slightly from whatever he'd been feeling, but he takes another step forward, and then the pull is there again--stronger this time--and he caves.

The knob turns easily, and the door is flung open.

First, Henry's completely still. He's very nearly shocked by what he finds inside, and he takes a retreating step backwards, balling the hand he'd touched the knob with into an unintentional fist, almost as if he's trying to rub the coolness away still tinging his fingertips. He blinks.

The first thing he sees is a twin-sized bed with a blue quilted comforter thrown rather messily over the top. The quilt unsettles him; he could swear that he'd had one eerily similar to it many years ago, but he can't quite place what it'd looked like. He doesn't even know why he's reading so much into it; the only thing he keeps repeating in his head like a mantra as he sweeps his eyes around the room is, this room belonged to a child. It looks undoubtedly lived in--there's a couple pairs of sneakers littering the floor, some dirty laundry tossed onto a chair, and a school backpack on the bed with a few of its contents spilled out onto the quilt. It's an almost homely and comforting mess that none of the other impeccable rooms he'd seen has, and yet it looks wrong, almost, as if something has been frozen in time and never touched, almost like an exhibit. He realizes the reason behind that soon enough--his stomach turns uncomfortably when he notices that everything in the room is covered in a thick layer of dust.

What the--

Who lived in here so comfortably, so normally, until they didn't? Who kicked off his shoes, tossed his school backpack onto his bed without a second thought, then left the room for the last time? It was a child--it had to have been--but where the hell did the little boy disappear to? Was the child Regina's? She'd never mentioned once having a son--but there had been more than a few instances where she'd cradled his cheek with the unmistakable touch of a mother, when her eyes had become misty when she believed no one was looking....and then the time, not even an hour ago, when Regina had stood in the foyer, looking almost lost in her own home, a indescribable look of loss and something else in her eyes ---

The child must have died. It must have--Regina---

"Oh, god," Henry breathes out, backing away numbly, feeling very much like he'd just witnessed something no eyes other than Regina's should have, feeling as though he'd just made an awful discovery that he'd never meant or wanted to make.  "Oh shit--oh my god---" he carefully pulls the door closed, and clasps his hands to rest on the top of his head. His eyes flick to the wall where photo frames are lined all the way to the stairway. It's hard to make out anything in the dim light, so Henry takes a few steps forward, and his heart jumps into his throat once more.

They're blank. They're all blank.

He feels that it confirms what he'd concluded a minute before, and he doesn't even pause before making his way down the stairs much faster than he would have normally, and leaving the mansion.

---

Henry finds himself walking down the sidewalk moments later, resolving to visit the diner Regina had told him about. He tells himself it's because he's hungry, but he'd eaten in the car only a couple hours ago, and he truthfully wants to forget what he'd just seen, at least temporarily.

The cool Maine air clears his head a little as he walks, and he shoves his hands into his letterman jacket to shield them from the nipping wind, and allows himself to have a quick outward tour of the small town. The strangest thing about the place is only an oversized clock tower, and quite frankly, the name of the town. Besides that, it only seems as though it's stuck a few decades in the past. He has no strong feelings towards it--it looks fairly standard with a bunch of buildings but not too crowded. Storybrooke Police Station, Mr. Gold Pawnbroker & Antiques Dealer, Town Hall, and....Granny's Diner. He smiles thinly at having found it, jogs up the steps, and opens the door with a bell signaling his entrance.

The diner is neither crowded nor sparse, and looks almost overwhelmingly homey and inviting. The air is thick with the scent of coffee, burgers on the grill, nearly burning cheese from the lasagna in the oven, and a few pastries set on display. Henry suddenly feels several times more hungry than he had a minute ago, and slides into the nearest swiveling seat in front of the counter.

A woman not too much older than himself with bright red streaks in her hair abandons the latte she'd been involved with and instantly flounces over to where he's seated. Her red painted lips spread into a gorgeous smile as she produces a pen and a pad of paper, apparently genuinely happy to have a new customer. "Hi!! What can I get for you?"

"Uh, fries--" Henry doesn't get far into his order before she interrupts him.

"Sorry--you're new here, right? We never get any visitors around here." The waitress explains, then eyes him with slightly squinted eyes, as if she's trying to place something in her mind.

Henry raises an eyebrow under her scrutiny, suddenly wondering if she's trying--and failing--to flirt with him. "Yeah..I'm visiting." He tells her, then realizes that it sounded more snippy than he'd meant it to. "Henry Swan." He smiles, sticking a hand out and introducing himself out of politeness.

Something eerily similar to realization washes over the bright-eyed brunette in front of him, and at the same exact moment, a man seated next to Henry he hadn't even noticed before, jumps slightly as if he'd been startled. Henry slowly turns away from the man still facing away from him, and focuses on the waitress behind the counter that quickly recovered herself and has started vigorously shaking his hand. "Welcome to Storybrooke, Henry! And I'm sorry, you can finish your order now."

Neal Cassidy counts to ten. A too-long string of creative curses he's not proud of enter and leave his mind, as he balls a fist of annoyance directed towards himself. Apparently, he no longer has any control of himself, because he'd just tragically twitched when he heard the name of his birth son being said beside him in a voice he doesn't at all recognize. And now, he can't even work up the courage to look beside him to look at Henry. Hell, he barely knew the kid for half a year before he'd been taken away by another goddamn curse. It's no wonder that he'd taken no notice of the young man that'd walked in the diner a minute ago--and he wonders with a sinking feeling that if the boy hadn't indirectly introduced himself, Neal might not have even recognized him at all. He counts to twenty this time, then forces himself to turn.

The boy is tall; Neal can tell Henry's taller than him just by looking at him sitting down. He sees a resemblance of himself in the young man, in his dark hair and nose at least, but the rest of him is undoubtedly from the Charming side of the family. Then there's the more vague attributes of him that makes him undoubtedly Regina's son: the proud and proper way he carries himself, the subtle facial expressions, his clothing choices, and his overall presentation. Neal feels like he shouldn't be allowed to feel at all emotional looking at the boy all grown up in front of him--he hadn't even been there for Emma's pregnancy with him for God's sake. But, the small amount of bonding they'd had was precious; more than a few wooden-sword fights and New York pizza runs flicker through his mind in a few fleeting seconds. He almost smiles when he recalls the way he would swing the small boy over his shoulder whether it was in Storybrooke when he was exhausted from a long day of playing, or, more morbidly, when it was in Neverland and he was knocked out by fairy dust.

Neal's melancholy musings are interrupted fairly quickly by the young man himself. Henry, apparently having noticed that he's been stared out, narrows his eyes in annoyance, and faces Neal with a slight frown. "Can I help you?"

Neal feels the tips of his ears tinge pink and he gives his amnesiac son what he hopes isn't a shaky smile. "Sorry about that, man. Ruby over there was right, visitors are rare around here." When he notices Henry's thin, angled face giving off an impression of being less than convinced, Neal adds a fake chuckle into the mix before inconspicuously wiping his sweaty hand on his pants before extending it. "Neal Cassidy."

Henry accepts the hand at least, and gives it a firm shake. "Henry Swan. You all seem pretty freaked out by new people. Should I be worried about that?" Henry asks in a serious tone, but his face morphs into a smile that makes him look significantly more like the boy Neal remembers.

Neal laughs genuinely, feeling a little of his anxiety wash off of him. Before he has a chance to hurriedly assure him that he shouldn't worry, they're interrupted by a loud crash. Henry throws a glance over his shoulder to see a girl who'd just fallen on the floor, a try of food not far from her. He's off his stool first, beating Neal to it, and hurries over the where she lay.

Henry feels his denim-clad knees hit the diner tile with force, and he's kneeling over the girl before she can even realize she's on the ground. He collects her soft hand in his and slowly raises himself with her, helping her to her feet. Warmth spreads over her cheeks and her head ducks to hide her shy smile.

"Sorry," she laughs nervously, tucking a section of her tightly coiled black curls behind her ear. "I'm so clumsy--thanks, for helping me, I mean."

Henry's bright green irises glisten with mirth as he tilts his head slightly. "Oh, don't worry about it. I sort of wanted to get away from that seat anyway." He flicks his eyes downward to give her a quick check of any damage.

When the girl lifts a single micro-threaded eyebrow in question, Henry finds himself grinning and explaining himself in true Swan fashion. "Nothing, just that everybody here is so tripped up that I'm visiting, like it's the weirdest thing that's ever happened to the town. Not gonna lie, I'm sort of surprised that you're not looking at me like I've got two heads."

The young woman laughs effortlessly, showing a row of bright white teeth that contrasts her rich brown skin. "You won't get that sort of reaction from me. I'm actually visiting too, and I know what you mean about all the residents looking at you...strangely to put it nicely."

Henry raises his eyebrows and nods without a word, finding their newfound similarity a reason to bond. That, and the fact that she's so breathtaking that she's making navigating words in his mind a difficult task.

Before he can stutter out what would no doubt be an embarrassingly non-witty reply, she saves him by sticking a hand out and introducing herself. "Iris Rhyder. What brings you to Storybrooke, Mister...?"

Henry feels a smirk bite at his features at the implication of being called a "Mister." He picks up on the slack, though, and clasps his hand in hers once more. "Henry Swan. My mom's girlfriend has family here that she wanted my mom to meet, so I'm basically just tagging along. Not sure how long I'm staying. You?"

"I'm a traveler. When I see a small little town that I've literally never heard of with the an adorable name like Storybrooke, I can't not just take a look around. It's nice to have a fellow visitor around here, though. Think I'll see you around?" Iris explains, then smirks slightly when she finishes the last statement, or rather, question. Your move.

Henry's eyes widen and the corners of his open mouth twitches up into a mortifyingly starstruck expression. "Uhhh--yeah. I'll probably be around here for breakfast or lunch tomorrow...?"

Iris throws him a close-lipped smile, accepting her tray he'd just picked off the floor. "I'll see you then," and then she's flounced her way out of the diner.

Henry doesn't realize that he's still smiling after the bell above the door has rung out again after it's shut; he's just staring after her with a murmur on his lips. "That's a date."

---

"Well, then. Who's this girl who has barged her way into our little town?" Regina comes straight down to business, the moment Emma leaver to entertain Charlie. Emma might have absolutely no idea what's going on around here, but she does know when to make herself scarce. Regina's torn between feeling grateful for that, and wishing that the talkative blonde was still by her shoulder, making it impossible for Snow and David to pepper Regina with questions she has no idea how to answer.

David just gives her a look that's undoubtedly pouting and ferociously attempted intimidation, which would be highly comical if it wasn't for the situation. Snow gives her a slightly more practiced version of the Look, with a "Regina." on the side.

Regina widens her eyes and raises her arms in a hapless gesture, as if she has absolutely no idea why she's being treated like so. "A little bird told me that our town is in mortal danger of being discovered by the outside world, and I've come to straighten things out since the Savior is a little preoccupied at the moment--!" She throws an undisguised head thrust towards her girlfriend, who's seated on the couch playing a complicated hand-clapping game with a four-year-old. "So I want a little backstory. Sue me."

"It's the 'Savior' we want to talk about, Regina!" Snow exclaims with a healthy dose of exasperation, while her husband wordlessly backs her up by furrowing his brow and crossing his arms.

"We've just been rather unceremoniously informed that you are dating our daughter. A little heads-up would have been nice." David finally grits out, throwing a helpless extended hand down on the wooden table. Regina raises her eyebrows and leans back in her uncomfortable chair. So he speaks!

"Regina--you're dating Emma?! I mean--what--is going through your head?!" Snow cries out in a hissing whisper, continuously throwing glances towards Emma, who is carefully keeping her eyes trained only on the child in front of her and not towards the obvious drama happening at the table, from which she can only catch a few scattered words.

Regina widens her eyes in exasperation and throws her hands in the air. "Is it so hard to imagine that dating is a rather good way to get close to someone?" Regina hisses, eyes darting between Snow and David while she focuses on saying words she is trying desperately to believe herself. "How else did you expect that I would haul them back here, amnesia and all? Did it ever occur to you that maybe, perhaps, I'm smart, and I know what the hell I'm doing?!"

Neither Charming looks remotely convinced, and Regina signs, closing her eyes as she takes a few laboring deep breaths. "Look. I promise I'll explain more when we have a little more...privacy. But right now, can we just address the more pressing matter?"

Snow exhales slowly, pressing a thumb and forefinger to her forehead as she reasons with Regina. "Okay, fine--you're right. Her name," she begins, glancing once at David and then back at Regina, "is Iris Rhyder."

AN: woooowww this was a laboring chapter to write! I hope you all liked it, and I have a few things I want to discuss in this author's note.

First, some of you might be a little confused how Neal is still alive, since in Once, he's canonically deceased as of season three. I'll remind you that nothing happened since 3x11 that happened on the show, which includes Rumple never being raised from the dead (though that sears through my Rumbelle heart) which leads to Neal never dying. I'm actually a fan of Neal, which is probably rare for a SwanQueen shipper, so bear with me while I write him up a few scenes. Don't worry, no unnecessary love triangle will be introduced between Regina, Emma, and Neal.

Second, I apologize if the scene where Henry finds his old room is a little upsetting. When I imagined it in my head, it was much less morbid than that, but as I was writing, it took off onto a different direction on me. Still, I like dealing with some more intense and gritty things in my fics, so hopefully you all don't mind.

Third, I think a little bit of my heart breaks every time I say "Henry Swan" because in my mind he has literally always been Henry Mills. That'll be back as soon as his memories are restored. Which will be a bumpy ride, let me tell you!

Okay, I've probably put you all to sleep by now. I hope you enjoy four different night's worth of 1 AM bullshit! Vote and comment and all that :)