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There are too many people in the house.
There was a time when he'd have given anything for these voices—for footsteps and laughter and arguments and family, like in movies from the real world. Anything but tense silence, just Henry and his mom and her dark, pleading eyes. Muted sighs and the tick-tock of timepieces in his bedroom, voices inside his head that grew louder and louder with their she doesn't love you, she never will.
She loves him. That much Henry knows, can see her lying bloodied on the ground every time he closes his eyes.
And maybe she loves everyone else who's here today—well, except Killian, she kinda hates him—and maybe she needs them by her side to remind her that she has other people, that she doesn't have to find Emma all on her own because they're here and they'll help.
They'll try to, at least.
And if Henry's tired of everyone trying but failing, always failing when it matters the most—
He'll keep that to himself for now. For Mom. For Emma.
Maybe he's growing up.
Maybe he doesn't want to.
Mom couldn't let him die and Emma couldn't let her lose her happiness and he tries not to think about what that might mean. This is his family, and he's not going to think about full circle and a better story, not when they don't even know where Emma is.
There are too many people in the house and Henry's in the kitchen with the baby, babysitting voluntarily without Emma bribing him with a bag of Doritos or an hour of extra X-Box time.
When they find her, he's gonna buy her all the fries she can eat with the allowance money he's saved up and brag about how good he's gotten with the baby.
Who begins to fuss as the voices grow louder—Killian and his grandfather? something about a portal, and The Jolly Roger—and Henry gathers him close to his chest and quietly slips out of the back entrance. Mom will tell him if they come up with anything important anyway.
"Shh," he tells the baby, and earns a swift kick on his face, which, wow, he’s got real strong legs there. "Shh, little buddy. Everything's all right now. Everything's fine."
It's warm enough outdoors now, almost pleasant.
Sometimes, when they were working on Operation Mongoose, Emma would stay over late and they'd sit on the back porch at night if it wasn't too cold out. Mom would fuss and make him wear a hat but she’d never complain about Emma being there. They argued a lot and it was super silly but they liked that, he thinks now, liked bickering and working together and ganging up on him about homework and stuff.
He wonders if the baby knows that Emma hasn’t been around lately.
"So, you wanna hear the story about the time my mom and your big sister rescued me from Neverland?" he tells the baby, who's now looking up at him with wide, serious eyes. Maybe he does know. Maybe that's why he's super nice to Henry lately. "It's a great story," he says. "I mean, I was pretty scared at times but I knew they'd come after me and kick Peter Pan’s ass."
*
The baby's fast asleep when Mom slides in next to him on the swing, not stirring even when the rickety old thing creaks in protest.
"Your grandparents are staying for dinner," she says, and Henry nods dumbly as he moves closer and rests his head on her shoulder.
"We agreed that—" she speaks, a little hesitant this time, "We agreed that the dagger should stay with Hook for now."
Her smile's pained when he looks up sharply, her eyes saying everything she won't say out loud. "He argued that it's safest that way, and he's probably right." Neal's scowling in his sleep and she reaches out to gently caress his forehead. Maybe he's dreaming about Emma. It's all Henry dreams of these days.
"It's safest if you keep it," Henry says, because duh. Emma—wherever she is, whatever she's like now—wouldn't hurt Mom. She couldn't really hurt her even when they hated each other.
"Emma might— Emma might want it this way," Mom says, and she sounds as unconvinced as he feels.
He lays his head back on her shoulder again, more tired than he's ever been. She smells like apple cider and home and he closes his eyes and mumbles into her neck, "I shouldn't have broken the pen." He feels so stupid when he thinks about it. He could've made things better, he could've—
"You did the right thing," his mom says, firm. "You didn't want to have that much power over anyone's life, and I'm proud of you. Emma's proud of you." Her voice breaks a little when she says Emma's name.
It doesn't feel like much when Emma's not here, but he leans into his mom and lets the sound of her voice anchor him.
***