Henry wakes with the sun instead of intense, unbearable pain in his body, for the first time in weeks. He stretches, hesitantly; so as not to rip any careful stitches from surgery or disturb his healing limbs. He winces with the movement, but his back cracks in a way that's more soothing than agitating, and he feels a soft smile slip onto his face when he smells the bacon cooking downstairs. Lately, his appetite has greatly improved, and he feels as though he could eat everything in the house, and thinks of his mother's smile when he manages to eat.

He smiles softly at the thought and slides carefully out of bed, realizing with a jolt that he didn't have to think hard about how to make his bed this morning. His fingers remember how to curl, clutching the sheets; his hands smooth the blankets and straighten the pillows without him telling them to. It's a small victory but a victory nonetheless; and Henry flexes his hands in front of his face, marveling how his fingers can bend, straighten, curl, and link together without a fight from his brain.

And for the first time since the accident, Henry truly believes that he might actually recover.

He rakes his fingers through his unruly waves and follows his nose down the stairs, hobbling one-legged, crutches scraping against the woodwork. He expects his brunette mother to appear at the end of the staircase, worry and motherly love etched deep into her face, to help him into his kitchen chair. She's not there.

He doesn't really mind; truthfully, he's tired of being treated like an invalid. It's been nearly two weeks since he's come back home, and he's greatly strengthened, but he longs for the day when he doesn't need to lean against his crutches helplessly, when he doesn't need to think hard about daily activities, exhausting his still-weak mind. Still, he wonders where she is, briefly, until he hears semi-hushed voices drifting out of the kitchen. His brow furrows, moving closer to the doorway as quietly as possible. He knows they must be significantly involved if they hadn't heard him banging down the stairs, but he's not taking any chances.

"I don't know, Gina; I feel like we should." Emma's voice replies to whatever Regina had said moments before. Henry's heart hammers in his chest. Had he heard that right? Gina?

Gina. Oh, my god.

"He doesn't need this right now. He needs to focus on getting better. We have to help--" Regina counters, and Henry lets her voice drown out momentarily as he doesn't fight the urge to roll his eyes. Of course they're talking about him; of course Regina's talking about protecting him. From what, though? Is there a new magical issue? For the first time, his mind drifts towards his storybook. A twinge of excitement flickers deep inside of him, before remembering that invalids have no place in a battle. He tunes back in.

"But..." Emma trails off, sighing. There's a creak of a floorboard and soft smacking sound. Another sigh, but a happier one. Henry's blood goes cold, then scorching hot. "But this will make him happy."

And then it clicks.

His breath catches in his throat, his eyes blur and a smile engulfs his face. Finally. Finally, it had taken them so damn long, just under a decade, for God's sake--

He takes a calming breath, slows his blood pressure, and tries to think clearly for a moment. Should he burst in now? Should he give them both a heart attack, screaming, I knew it?

Or--maybe he'll let them come to him. He'll see how long it takes, how long they'll keep something like this from him. A small, almost unnoticeable twinge inside of him churns, the slightest burn, the tiniest hurt that they're choosing to stay silent. Then he thinks of his mother--the brunette one, the one he'd forgotten for so long (which he's having trouble forgiving himself for, curse or no curse)--and thinks of her smile, the deep, deep sea of love in her eyes, the rumbling storm of tenderness in her dark irises--and knows she's trying, desperately, to do right by him. And finally, after too many years of his childhood resenting her for loving him in the only flawed way she knew how, finally, he's grown up and he understands. Understands that only grey exists; that there's no such thing as black and white--finally recognizes that sometimes, a parent has to decide what they think is best--and that it's all that matters: the care. The love.

He closes his eyes. He opens them.

He moves into the kitchen, not a word on his lips, but a thousands dancing across his mind.

The two women spring apart and Regina agitatedly palms her hair while Emma not-so-subtly drags a napkin over her face. Henry almost smiles, almost laughs.

"Morning," He drawls instead, awkwardly placing his crutches against the marble island and limping around the kitchen, using the close counters for support.

"Oh--Henry, let me get that for you," Regina pleads, worriedly watching him drag the milk carton off of the refrigerator shelf, balancing one one leg with the other hand grasping a ceramic bowl.

"M'fine, Mom," he waves her off, successfully placing the items on the island top. He carefully drags his chair out slightly, then using his good arm, pulls himself up to sit. He can't help the slight, prideful smirk that slips onto his face, marking the first time he's sat at the table without one of his mothers helping him.

"You're hungry," Emma notes, watching with wide eyes as he fills his large bowl nearly to the top with Cheerios--Regina doesn't have cereal with more than two grams of sugar per serving in her kitchen. That's fine by Henry; he has a box of Lucky Charms under his bed.

The slight twinge of awe and happiness laced into her tone doesn't go unnoticed by her son. He smiles crookedly up at her, raising his spoon up to his mouth in his left hand. "Starving."

Regina sits across from him with a watery smile, using her manicured nails to begin peeling an orange on top of a cloth napkin. "So Henry..." she begins.

Henry slowly places his utensil back on the table, taking a deep, citrus-filled breath through his nose. "Uh-oh. That's the tone you use when you want me to reluctantly agree to something."

"It's nothing bad," Regina promises, reaching across the table to touch his bony knuckles. "It's just, since you're feeling better, your grandparents would be very happy to see you."

Henry thinks of them, their white, worried faces at in the hospital; their soft, kind words encouraging him as he learned to walk again. But wait. "Hang on. You want me to?" He asks incredulously.

Confusion flickers over her pretty features, eyebrows knitting together as she runs a soft thumb over his hand. "Of course, Sweetheart. Why not?"

He smiles then; a true one with eyes crinkling at the corners. "Nothing. Yes, I'd love to see them." He tells her, but there's a warmth spreading within him; a true pride and awe for how far she's come, how hard she'd worked. For him. For all of them. The not-so-evil Queen, encouraging her son to spend time with Snow White.

But when he looks over, he and Emma share a small, secret smile.

---

Emma throws the Mercedes in park, glancing over at Henry in the passenger's seat. Regina's car is what's been carting them around lately; the Bug is still smashed from the accident, and while it's going through heavy maintenance repair with a touch of magic, it's nowhere near ready to be driven. Even if it were, Henry's not sure if he could ever climb into that car again.

"You sure you're ready for this?" She asks for the third time, unbuckling her seatbelt and twisting around to face him and the faint purple bags under his green eyes.

"Ma."

"I'm serious, Kid. It's okay to say you're tired and doped up. I know my parents--your grandparents--can be a little overly intense, especially when it comes to family. They're going to be especially clingy today; they haven't properly seen you since we've come back to Storybrooke." She warns softly, uncharacteristically touching the side of his face with the pads of her fingers. She drops her hand a second later, but he still feels the contact.

"Thanks, Ma, but I'll be okay. I'm actually significantly less high right now," He tells her, and they share a snorting laugh. "I'm on less pain medication, remember? I'm getting better." It's unclear whether that last statement was more for her or for himself. Better is a pretty word. He longs for it, needs it. It feels good to say. He won't always be like this. He won't always need help getting in and out of a car. He won't always have a panic attack every time he's on the road. He won't always wake up in a cold sweat in the middle of the night. I'm getting better. I'll be better. Someday.

Emma nods, and Henry thinks she understands more than he'd said explicitly. He's happy that she doesn't press him, however. "Alright, Kid. Have fun. Call me whenever you're ready, okay?" She rattles off, exiting the vehicle and moving around the car to open his door.

Henry nods as she pulls on his arm to help him out of the cramped space. Despite himself, his face heats with shame. He feels like a child.

"Henry, hey." She stops him as she hands him his crutches. "It's okay."

He looks up, silently, eyes burning slightly. He curses her abilities to constantly read his thoughts. He hates and loves her for it all at once. "Yeah." He nods, agreeing to nothing and everything at the same time, voice gruff and scratchy, saliva thick on his tongue.

She looks straight at him; two pairs of identical vivid green irises meeting, unblinking. "I love you."

It's a few words, a simple phrase. It's groundbreaking. Emma's mascara-framed eyes shift in and out of focus as Henry's eyes moisten. Of course, he knows his blonde mother loves him; she just shows it in her own way. A punch to the bicep, a tousle to his hair, the fond nickname "Kid," a chapped pink-lipped smirk screams "I love you," to him every day. But saying it out loud, the raw separate words, is out of character for her. Somehow, she'd known it was exactly what he'd needed.

"Love you, too," he mumbles, leaning down and pressing a quick, messy kiss to her cheek, disallowing himself to feel too much, knowing he won't make it through his visit without crying. His medication makes him embarrassingly emotional, but the truth is that Emma had touched him.

He doesn't wait to see her face, only slowly hobbles forward, sniffing harshly to clear his nose. Several minutes later--his crutches are so damn aggravating--he's knocking heavily on his grandparents' wooden door.

Henry doesn't have time to take a full breath before David pulls the door open, eyes softening the moment he realizes who it is. A true smile sunbeams from his face, naturally pink lips contrasting against his white teeth. "Henry," he says, but there's layers to his tone as well. The man can't help but remember the last time he had opened the door to see his grandson at the loft. He's no stranger to curses, but it hurt him deeply for Henry's much older, far wiser eyes to stare right through him, the fact that he was there only for a babysitting appointment. 

The look on Henry's face tells him he's remembering the same day. "Gramps," he greets simply, but his damned medication is moistening his eyes again, and then he's stumbling toward him, throwing an arm around the man the best he can in his condition.

David wraps his strong arms around Henry and breathes out shakily, holding him close. If Henry didn't know better, he'd think he felt wetness on the side of his young grandfather's face. He releases him, holds him at arm's length. "Look at you," he breathes. It's hardly the first time he's seen him since he was twelve, moments before Pan's curse was cast, but it's the first time he's allowed to marvel at the young man in front of him. The first time he saw him, Henry's mind was cursed, and the other times, Henry was either in a coma or unable to handle too many emotions in his fragile, newly-wakened state.

Henry's tall; seemingly taller than he remembers. His eyes widen when he realizes that his grandson stands an inch or so above himself. He looks good, better; his left arm is no longer encased in a cast, and if it weren't for the crutches, it wouldn't be obvious that he'd recently been in a horrific car crash. There are a few healing cuts, slightly dilated pupils from medication, bruises under his eyes from sleep deprivation, his cheeks are gaunt-thin, but he's better, thank god, he's better.

He thinks he'll never be able to unsee the sight of his comatose grandson in the hospital bed, face bloody and almost completely bandaged, limbs casted, lips pale, pale, pale, and skin cold.

But Henry's smiling at him now, and there's his wife coming up beside him gushing about their grandson, and he thinks that things are finally returning to normal after the better half of a decade. After the hellish day their family was ripped apart, without an ounce of hope.

Henry detangles himself from Snow's warm hug after a good sixty seconds, wiping a tear from her cheek. "I missed you, Grams," he's telling her, and it's simple but it's everything at once. He moves closer into the loft. "Damn. This place hasn't changed a bit."

Snow looks comically shaken by the mild curse, but David only chuckles and claps Henry on the shoulder, though careful of his injuries. "Nice, isn't it? Some normalcy?"

"Familiarity," he corrects, and then they're looking at each other, smiling, and David's gut clenches when he sees the lopsided grin that once belonged to the ten-year-old kid who practiced fencing with wooden swords with him in the street, the boy who ordered hot chocolate with cinnamon, the boy who prattled on about fairytales with a storybook half the size of himself tucked under his arm.

And Snow, she sees the little boy who she'd given the book to in the first place. The book that changed everything. The boy who made everyone believe.

And so, when they're sitting on the couch together, Henry's crutches discarded on the floor beside them, Charlie playing on the floor at their feet, it feels normal and right; more like the Storybrooke and family they once knew and took for granted. When they swap stories about their time spent away from each other; an exciting ogre defeat from the royal couple and the first time he snagged a date from Henry, they're all healing.

And together, everything becomes just a little easier.

AN: ah, okay. Wow. First, this chapter was supposed to be like 80% longer, but I started to dive deep into emotions (as I do) and it kept getting longer. Thus, the last few chapters of this book will be spread out, not condensed into one monster chapter.

Second, sorry for my absence! I wasn't completely gone; I've updated Clock Chimes and wrote a oneshot in my prompts booklet since I've updated this story last, but it's still been far too long. Let's just say I've been so busy I've barely had time to breathe, as well as horrifically uninspired. I feel far better now, despite the fact I stayed up until nearly 4 AM to finish this chapter for all of you patient readers.

Thank you for putting up with me! Much love.