When Your Walls Come Crashing Down

Chapter 7 - Letters

A/N: Hey my lovelies! I know this took so long to write, and I'm happy to announce it's finally here! The next chapter will check back in with the rest of the group, so be on the lookout for that. Just a reminder that I don't own anything about this amazing show or this story, other than the plot, though I wish I did. Without further ado...

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Emma couldn't remember the last time she felt so small and helpless. Perhaps it was when she was five, and she had been told she would be switching homes for the second time. She stood there hugging her stuffed bear, social worker with suitcase in hand, red ribbons in her hair, stockings on her feet, wide eyed, tears glistening, walking away from her new family.

Or maybe it was the time that walked into foster house number twenty two. There were cigarette stains on the wall, a broken beer bottle in the corner of the living room, and a group of men crowded around a television set in the world's most disgusting living room imaginable. Boston didn't care much for evaluating foster parents; that was apparent. The guys Emma would be staying with were the two closest to the tv. One was wearing a stained white tank top and jeans sagged down far on his legs, and he was holding a beer can in his hand. The other was much more put together, wearing a light blue polo, khaki pants, smoothed gelled back hair, and had a cigarette in his hand. Unfortunately for Emma, the former made the rules and the latter refused to tempt fate against his brother. She got mistreated much more often here than anywhere else. Emma was ten at the time.

Or maybe it was even when she was seventeen, sitting on a prison bed in a cell in Phoenix, positive pregnancy test in hand, staring out the window, wishing it were a prank or a dream. That some moment, she would wake up from this terrible nightmare and Neal would be right there to tell her everything would be okay. But he wasn't, and he wouldn't, and so Emma had to grow up then and there. She had to fight for her life on her own, had to provide for herself, be independent, be free.

Regardless of when it could have been, Emma was sure that the current moment topped everything else in her miserable life. She was tied to a pole, new scars marring her broken body each day. She was barely being fed, and sips of water and matches were few and infrequent.

People must be looking for her, of that she was certain, but where would they look? It's not like they knew her location. She disappeared practically out of thin air, in the dark no less. She didn't even know her own location.

Was there a clue to her disappearance or her whereabouts? Doubtful. Pan would've made sure no cookie crumbs were left behind.

But they must be looking. Emma's parents and Hook weren't the type to just up and leave someone to die. Neal, on the other hand, found abandoning people to be what he did best. So then how did they know what to do?

They don't, Emma reasoned with herself. But Pan does. And so that's what she decided upon. Pan must be giving them clues, something like the map he gave her to find Henry, something that has all the answers one seeks, but in a near impossible way to unleash.

A cheery voice brought Emma out of her thought.

"Hey savior!" She rolled her eyes, clenching her jaw as she anticipated the coming pain.

"Today, I've decided to do something different. I want you to write letters today. One to mommy dearest, one to dear old daddy charming, and one to that precious pirate of yours. Let them know how you're doing, what you're feeling, how much they're failing you right now. That sort of thing."

With the snap of his fingers, Emma's dominant hand released itself from the chains, and a stack of paper and a quill with ink appeared in front of her.

"Well, get to writing." And with that, Peter disappeared.

For her mother, Emma kept it short and simple, yet sweet. She told her she was alright, that she could use some help, and that she missed her. For her father, the same. She told him about how much she couldn't wait to be reunited with him and Mary Margaret, and that she missed him too. She also threw in a "hope you're feeling a bit better" for good measure.

For Hook, the letter was different. For some strange reason, Emma wanted to confide in him. She felt he was the only one that would be understanding of her situation, the only one she wanted to tell. And so she did. She wrote to him about what she could remember the night of the abduction, the torture she has to endure, the lack of food and water, the terrible cave shelter, the ties around her, the lack of light, and everything in between. She writes until her hand starts to cramp, tears stream down her face, and sobs overtake her body. She signs all of the letters and leaves them alone, allowing them to be sent to the right people.

Pan returns, picks up the letters, and does finally follow their usual torture routine, but leaves early to go work with the lost boys. All Emma can do is hope that the group gets the letters in time, that they read them carefully, and that it helps them figure out what to do. She's running out of time.

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A/N: And that's chapter seven! I'm sure you're all wondering what those letters said. Don't worry. You'll see them soon enough. Again, the next chapter will NOT be in Emma's POV, but rather in Killian's. Until next time, luvs!