The Cheshire Cat (A OUAT love story)

Chapter Twelve-Come Hell or High Water

Cheshire sat in front of the campfire, staring at the hungry flames like everything had come crashing down around her. One vision, that was all it took. One vision to take her strong, proud castle and send it tumbling down into ruins and rubble. Moving their camp hadn't eased her troubled state of mind at all; in fact, it had done absolutely nothing. And the worst part of it was that she couldn't even tell Peter! He'd do everything he could to change it, and they'd end up walking a worse path than the one they were already on. No, this was how the future had to be. It couldn't be altered, which meant that she had to go through the pain alone. Come hell or high water, she'd do what needed to be done. Even if it killed her inside.

Cheshire Gatti, in black jaguar form, raced through the forest as if the hellhound of hell was after her. Pan had sent her on an important mission, which she didn't exactly understand. They already had enough dream-shade, and so she was sure he was purposely sending her somewhere where she wouldn't be harmed. And that was exactly why she was disobeying his orders. She wasn't his subject; she was his equal, his Queen. Besides, she could take care of herself. If he knew what she was going through, saw how she kept her composure, even joked about and acted like the girl they were all familiar with, just to look after them, maybe he would understand. He'd keep her by his side and they would fight together, as they always had done. But the worst was yet to come and she would keep quiet. Finally, she reached the clearing and barrelled into it like a battering ram. She was panting, but it was nothing compared to the exhaustion she'd have felt if she had teleported instead. Blue and black smoke swirled around her and, when it dissipated, she was human again. And was being stared at by both the rescue party and the Lost Boys. She looked around the clearing as if nothing weird had happened at all, noting that both groups were brandishing weapons and seemed to have been about to charge and fight each other. 

"Shire? What are you doing here?" Pan questioned from where he stood on the top of the hill. Cheshire turned to him and raised one eyebrow.

"I smelt a bloody fat rat when you asked me to leave," she replied drily, casually. Focused as she was on her fellow ruler, she didn't see the Evil Queen aiming her fireball at her.

"CHESHIRE!" Pan roared in horror, teleporting so that he was standing in front of her as the flame arched towards them. The shapeshifter calmly regarded it with narrowed eyes, before shoving her lover out of the way; the attack was charmed to only hit its target, so Pan's sacrifice wouldn't help at all. Instead the magician waited for the searing pain to shoot through her body; even her powers had her limits and you couldn't just will something in or out of existence. It would have to be drawn from your emotions or already living. Sure enough, the flame hit her shoulder, instantly setting her whole arm on fire.

"Aw, hell to the godamn no!" Onyx yowled, black lips pulling back over her fangs in a vicious snarl. Bandit couldn't reply, as she was screaming in pain at the very top of her lungs. Cheshire, however, remained quiet, watching the golden flames lick hungrily at her pale skin with awe; it was so beautiful, and yet so utterly dangerous. Finally, she closed her eyes, still so calm about being burned alive, and focused on the pain. She felt for the same composure that she would always refuse to drop, wrapping it tightly round her arm, letting it smother the flames. When she opened her eyes, the fire had gone. Pan was by her side in an instant, checking for injuries. The Lost Boys held their breath, waiting for his verdict. Emma looked on, curious as to why they cared for the assassin so much, but also worried. Not because her lover would be furious if Regina had hurt her, but because Cheshire had looked straight into the Saviour's soul and immediately understood what she had been through. And, in her own weird way, the feline had shown that she had actually been through the same trials Emma had. She hadn't lied, or twisted her actions; the orphan had seen it in the shapeshifter's wise grey eyes. After what seemed like years, the boy king raised his head and fixed them with a grave look. Then the anger broke through, dancing over his face like the flames had danced over Cheshire's arm. He grabbed said limb, surprisingly gently, and lifted it so they could see. Snow gasped, unable to contain her shock. The pale skin had second degree burns all over her forearm. The assassin's unusual resistance, from having two other souls living inside her, was the only barrier against it being worse. Even Regina looked worried for the teenager. Pan's forest green eyes flickered with black fire, as he turned an accusing glare on the rescue party.

"Peter," Cheshire whispered, placing her uninjured hand on his shoulder. "I'm fine. It doesn't hurt. Look." And blue and black smoke swirled around the limb, dissipating to reveal scars instead of burns. The boy's eyes narrowed and he examined the scars carefully. They were definitely noticeable, and he had felt her pain even when the flames had gone. 

A wave of his hand was all that was needed for the Lost Boys to attack. And so they did, as if the Evil Queen had broken something that had become a part of them. But could you really blame them? The shapeshifter was a part of every single one of the Lost Boys. Cheshire had brought meaning to their lives. She was their Queen and they would gladly give their lives for her.

Come hell or high water.