The End of the World (and After)
by misscam

Disclaimer: Not my characters, just my words.

Author's Note: In which Regina sent them to a world without happy endings and just an ending. An AU apocalypse set in something akin to our world starring the OUAT characters.
The characters have still been cursed, meaning they don't remember their true identities – except those who were exempt from the curse, of course.
The story will span at least 28 years. Characters deaths will happen.
Mainly centred on Snow, Charming and Emma. Snow/Charming will be the main pairing, but there will also be some Rumple/Belle, Emma/Neal, Emma/Hook, others. A lot of friendships and non-romantic pairings will also feature.
Chapter titles will be inspired by various lyrics or poems.
Thanks to Angie for beta.

II

Prologue

Regina

II

Once upon a time there was an Evil Queen who banished all the storybook characters we think we know to a world without happy endings.

A world about to go up in flames.

One day. One day in Storybrooke, Maine. That's all she got before she realized what sending them all to world without happy endings really entailed.

Afterwards, what she remembers is the silence, the one brief moment of it, like an eye of the storm. Silent. So very silent, so very eerie, all of the normal sounds suddenly muted.

Before it, there was the roar, flame to sky, everything blazing in one moment of pure light. It was almost beautiful. Almost, but nothing that devastating can truly hold beauty.

Then came the sound of it, travelling slower than the light of it, and arriving with the screams of people dying in its wake.

It's the end of the world as Regina knows it, and she does not feel fine after all.

II

Chapter One: It's the end of the world as we know it (and no one is feeling fine)

Mary Margaret

II

Mary Margaret used to believe in happily ever after. At least she thinks she did, as the memories from before seem hazy and hard to hold on to.

She doesn't any more.

This is a world with no more happy endings.

Breathing heavily, Mary Margaret leans against the wall and hears the hurried footsteps move in another direction. She remains still for a while longer, and is rewarded when she hears them return, but almost inaudible now.

She holds her breath, waiting, waiting, waiting until finally it is entirely quiet and she is certain her stalker has given up. She's felt followed since she left her apartment, as if someone were trying to see if she has anything worth taking in the backpack she's carrying.

There are people like that out there now. Hunters. Those who find survival in finding other people prey – stealing what they can, or sometimes doing worse. She's already encountered a few, including one she had to knock out with a tire iron to escape.

Funny how fast the world can change from a quiet small town to the end of the world as they know it. It's been a few days, she thinks, but she isn't entirely sure. It's hard to keep track of time, particularly when she just feels numb most of the time.

Peering around the corner, she sees only the darkness, occasionally pierced by flickers of flame. In the distance, something is burning, but something always is these days. Storybrooke has become a maze of ruined buildings, debris and fires.

Carefully, she begins moving, trying not to breathe as she does. In some parts of the town, the stench seems stronger than others, though she's sure no parts escape it entirely.

As she turns one corner, she notes several shapes ahead; they appear to be arguing. Wearily, she tries to judge if they are armed or not, if they are a threat or not. They are all males, she can tell from the voices. They're standing around a truck and she wonders if it's theirs or if they've killed anyone to gain possession of it.

She sees motion in the corner of her eye, and moves just in time as the bat slashes air instead. Quickly, she swings the stick she is clutching around and hears the sharp cry of pain.

She is not the only one to hear it. Running steps tell her she's about to have company, and she can only hope they are friendly, as she cannot fight four at once.

Her assailant is doubled over, but straightens as she looks at him. He's merely a child, she notices, dark hair and fearful eyes. For a moment, she feels guilty, but remembers that he attacked her. Still, his age bothers her.

She was a teacher, she remembers. Before all this. She loved children. She wanted children of her own too, but never seemed to find the right guy to have them with.

"Are you all right?" a voice asks her, and she looks up into a pair of bright blue eyes. For a moment they seem almost familiar, and she tries to shake the odd notion of knowing him.

"I am fine," she says, proud that her voice doesn't even shake.

"I am David," he says without ceremony. "This is Graham and Gold."

She nods at the two men he's indicating. David is the only one she doesn't know. She knows Graham, of course – he's the sheriff, after all. Gold she only knows by reputation and it's not a good one. But he's staring at her with a faint smile as if he's happy to see her. Odd, that.

All three men bear the marks of the blast, she notices. They're bruised and battered like she is, with clothes dirty and worn. But they're alive and they haven't tried to kill her so far, which makes them very pleasant company indeed.

"I am Mary Margaret Blanchard," she says, holding out her hand.

He looks down at her offered hand hesitantly, and she realises the absurdity of handshaking under the circumstances, but she holds her head up nevertheless. The moment his palm slides against her, she feels hot and cold at once. She can see his lips part and they simply stare at each other for what seems like forever and not long enough.

"Pleased to meet you," he finally says, looking down at the stick she is still clutching in her other hand. "I see I am too late to play your Prince Charming and be the knight in shining armour."

"You are," she agrees softly, "but I appreciate the thought, Charming."

For a moment he almost seems to crack a smile, but then he lets go of her hand and turns to her attacker. The child – for it is a child, even if the eyes are more knowing than even an adult's should be – stares defiantly back.

"Don't hurt him," she says, and everyone looks at her now.

"He would have hurt you," Gold points out.

"I know," she says. "But what would that solve? We'd just all end up hurting each other."

David looks at her with respect and soft eyes, nodding slightly as if he agrees. She can tell Gold doesn't.

"What's your name, kid?" David asks the boy, who stares defiantly at them.

"Nicholas," the boy finally says. He looks sullen and angry, but some of the fight and fear seems to have gone out of him.

"Nicholas," Gold repeats, not sounding too impressed. "David, we're not taking another kid along just so you can play Prince Charming in front of Miss Blanchard here. Let them go to the rest of the survivors you and Graham have gathered in the town hall. They'll be safe enough there."

David looks to be almost blushing, but he squares his shoulders and meets Gold's gaze without flinching. "I'm not leaving Miss Blanchard or a kid here on their own. You can get to your shop on your own if that's a problem."

"Of course you're not leaving them," Gold says sarcastically. "Are you going to save the entire world? It's too late. There is no happy ending here."

"I refuse to believe that," David says simply and Mary Margaret wishes she had his hope. It seems so hard to hold on to in this world.

"I'm not going with you," Nicholas interjects angrily. "I'm not leaving my sister."

With that, he bolts and when Graham makes a move to stop him, David simply puts a hand on Graham's arm. Graham nods reluctantly and they all watch the kid run off.

Maybe he was just trying to protect his sister, Mary Margaret thinks hopefully. She doesn't want to think too much about the other option, which was that he truly wanted to hurt her.

"What about you, Miss Blanchard?" David asks after a moment.

"I can take care of myself," she says and to his credit, he doesn't look like he doubts that for a moment even if she's still dressed like a schoolteacher. "And it's Mary Margaret."

"Mary Margaret," he repeats, as if tasting the name. They stare awkwardly at each other and she wonders how he can make her feel like a girl – no, a woman – on her first date while the end of the world is going on.

"Another kid?" she asks, suddenly remembering something Gold said.

David exchanges a glance with Graham, then steps towards the truck and carefully pulls out a bundle from the front seat. It's a baby, she suddenly realizes. It's a baby wrapped in a woollen baby blanket that says 'Emma'.

"Hey Emma," David says softly, walking towards Mary Margaret. She feels breathless as he lowers the bundle enough that she can look down on the small baby wrapped securely in his arms. "This is Mary Margaret."

"Hey Emma," Mary Margaret replies, feeling strangely awestruck at the sight of the small baby. "Did you name her?" .

"No," he says. "It was on the baby blanket I found her wrapped in."

"Oh, so she's not..."

"Not mine. At least I don't think so. I don't remember," he says slowly. "I was in a coma when the blast hit. I don't remember anything from before. All I know is that my papers called me David Nolan."

"Oh," Mary Margaret says, realizing she's reached out to touch his arm comfortingly without even thinking.

"I found this girl in the hospital," David goes on. "Everyone around her was dead. She was crying."

"You were half dead yourself," Graham cuts in. "How you got out of there with her before the building collapsed, I don't know."

"I had some help," David says, giving Graham a grateful look.

"I would be a poor sheriff if I let a man barely out of his coma do all the baby saving on his own," Graham jokes, but she can tell he doesn't really put any effort into it. Humor is a way of coping, she knows, and there is a lot to cope with.

"She's lovely," Mary Margaret says, as Emma's small fingers close around one of hers. It makes her breath catch. In the middle of all this destruction, it seems like such a miracle that a baby should live.

"She is," David agrees. Somehow, a baby in his arms looks completely right. Maybe he was a father and has simply forgotten.

"Do you know if her parents are alive?" she asks softly.

"They abandoned her," he replies quietly. "That's what her papers said. I took them with me along with all the baby formula I could find. She was found by another kid in the forest outside of Storybrooke. He brought her to the hospital here before the blast."

"You didn't see that kid in the hospital?" she asks, and he shakes his head.

"Either he left or he's dead," he says numbly. Perhaps like her he's seen so much death by now he has to focus on the living in order not to break down.

"Charming as all this is," Gold cuts in, looking impatient. "The deal was that you would help me reach my shop and I would help you with supplies for this baby you've adopted."

"Yes, Gold," David says tiredly. He coos at Emma, then glances at Mary Margaret. "I'm sorry, I have to..."

Mary Margaret thinks about survival, about her apartment that she's been hiding out in, about no more happy endings, about David and baby Emma and about hope. Survival is more than necessities. There must also be hope.

"Is there room for one more?" she asks, then bites her lip. "I mean, maybe I can help with Emma and..."

"Yes," David says hurriedly, looking at her in a way that makes her blush. "Yes, for however long you want to."

"You'd think you were a shepherd in a past life from how fast you manage to get yourself a flock, David," Gold says but Mary Margaret can tell he's not entirely disapproving. He leans on his cane, looking intently at them.

"Don't start, Gold," Graham says. He looks protective as he gazes at baby Emma, and Mary Margaret somehow knows that if David has taken the role of father, then Graham has already claimed the right to be the uncle.

"Are you trying to drive to Gold's shop?" she asks.

Graham shakes his head. "Road's blocked up ahead. This is as close as we can get. We were discussing the best course of action when you showed up. There might be looters there or the building might be at risk of burning."

She nods. The fires have been spreading slowly but surely. That's why she finally decided to leave her apartment and head for the woods instead. That, and she was running low on food.

"Graham and I can go inside and retrieve whatever we find is worth it," David says. "Emma can stay with Mary Margaret."

"Correction," Gold says icily. "You and I go inside. Graham stays with Mary Margaret and Emma. This is my shop, Mr. Nolan and my deal was with you."

"Fine," David says, glancing down at Emma in his arms and then slowly easing the baby into Mary Margaret's arms. "Protect her?"

"With my life," she promises. He nods as if he believes that, then glances over at Graham.

"Be careful," Graham says.

"Same," David replies and with that, he and Gold walk off into the night. She can hear soft curses as they climb the debris, and then there is only the distant crackle of flames and the occasional faint unidentified sound.

"Hello Emma," Mary Margaret says, moving her attention to the baby. The baby doesn't look entirely happy, and a moment later she wails. All the rocking Mary Margaret does calms Emma for a moment, then she cries again.

"She must be hungry," Graham says. "We had some baby formula left, it's in the car..."

He trails off, staring at her.

"What?" she asks.

He touches his chest and Mary Margaret looks down her own. A stain is growing on her shirt, she realizes. She's lactating, as impossible as that seems. She's had no child of her own, no birth that she can remember, and yet she has milk. How...?

That can wait, she decides, suddenly not caring how. Emma is hungry. She has food.

Graham turns away as she carefully eases her top up and her bra down, and then moves Emma to her breast. The baby clamps onto the nipple after a few tries and sucks greedily. She's breastfeeding and she marvels at how it feels.

"Is she yours?" Graham asks without looking.

"Not that I remember," she says. "I don't even remember being pregnant."

Whether he believes her or not, she doesn't know. He just remains politely turned away while she feeds Emma. Only when she has awkwardly covered herself up again and clears her throat does he turn back.

She blushes, not entirely sure what to say. He looks at her steadily.

"Do you think you could keep feeding her?" he finally asks.

"I-I don't know," she admits, biting her lip. "Maybe. I can try."

"It would really help," Graham says gently. "None of the other survivors we've located so far have been able to breastfeed."

"Have you found many?" Mary Margaret asks, morbid curiosity getting the better of her.

"No," Graham says quietly. "Mostly we find people dead. We have about a dozen living in the town hall right now. We've gathered supplies and we send out parties looking for survivors, but some prefer to go with Albert Spencer instead. He's set up a camp by the school. And some people are beyond reason and attack. We lost Gus yesterday. Ruby was inconsolable. She was with him when it happened."

Mary Margaret remembers Ruby and feels a pang of sympathy.

"What about your building?" Graham asks. "We would have sent a search party there eventually, but if you know..."

"All dead," she says, shuddering as she remembers how she found her neighbours. "There's only me."

He nods slowly. "I'm sorry."

"Me too," she offers, fighting back tears. She cried so much the first day she thought she was all out of them, but apparently she is not.

"But this little girl lived," Graham says after a moment, his eyes softening. "David saved her and now you'll save her."

Mary Margaret blushes again. "I don't even know how."

"Doesn't matter," Graham offers. "It won't matter to David."

She thinks of David Nolan's gentle blue eyes regarding her and it makes her toes curl. She offers Graham a weak smile, glancing down at Emma. The baby has fallen back asleep, she realizes, looking completely at peace.

"Maybe she'll save us," Mary Margaret says, a thought she's not even sure where it's coming from except somewhere deep in her mind.

Graham looks at her curiously, but before he can ask they hear noises. Graham pulls out his gun right away, pointing it at the darkness.

"It's me," David's voice calls and Graham relaxes. A moment later, David steps out of the shadows with a sword strapped to his hip. Graham raises an eyebrow while Mary Margaret simply stares.

It becomes him, she thinks faintly. It suits him really well.

"Gold insisted I take the sword," David says as answer to Graham's unspoken question. He shrugs. "It's a weapon."

"Where's Gold?" Graham asks.

"At the shop still. We... We encountered a looter after all," David says hesitantly. "Gold got all funny about it."

Graham sighs. "Did he beat the poor guy up?"

"No," David says, walking over to Mary Margaret and smiling down at Emma. "It was a she. And he kinda hugged her instead."

"Hugged her?" Mary Margaret repeats. Even if she doesn't really know Gold personally, that still strikes her as odd. Graham looks quite disbelieving as well, she notices.

"Yeah," David says. "Called her Belle repeatedly. He looked all torn up about it. She doesn't remember him, just that some guy named Jefferson pulled her out of a wreckage and told her to find Gold. She found Gold's shop at least. Maybe she was in a coma like me. Anyway, Gold's trying to talk her into coming with us."

"Huh," Graham says. "So the shop is safe?"

"Yeah. We can take whatever we want and load up the car, then head back to the town hall," David says, then looks down at Emma sadly. "He didn't have any baby formula. I knew it was a long shot, but I had hoped..."

"That might not be a problem," Mary Margaret says, feeling quite self-conscious as David looks at her. "I can feed her."

"You have baby formula?" David asks hopefully.

"No," she says and David looks confused. "I mean... I can feed her. Breastfeed her."

He blinks.

"I don't know how it happened," she goes on. "I haven't been pregnant that I remember, but Emma started crying and then I..."

She blushes and bites her lip and David blinks at her again. Then slowly, his face lights up.

"You can feed her?" he asks, and when she nods he breaks into the first true smile she's seen on him. It lights up his whole face and makes it impossible not to smile back at him.

"I don't know how," she stresses again, but he cups her cheeks in his hands.

"I don't care," he says softly. "I could kiss you right now."

Her gaze falls to his lips at that, imagining how they would feel against hers. It makes her cheeks flush and she almost wishes he would, even with a baby pressed between them.

"The shop, David," Graham says and David steps away reluctantly.

"Will you be okay with watching Emma while we get what we need?" he asks, touching Emma's forehead gently with a finger. The baby makes a soft noise in response.

"Of course," Mary Margaret replies, smiling reassuringly at him.

"Take this," Graham says, holding out his gun and offering it to her. She accepts it hesitantly, keeping Emma secured safely in her other arm. "We'll be back soon."

She nods. They walk off hurriedly, and she's left with Emma. A few hours ago her main concern was to get enough supplies and now she's holding a baby. She's suddenly responsible for another life – well, jointly. There is David too.

Strange how alive he makes her feel in all the death, she thinks faintly.

"Miss Blanchard?" a voice says.

"Who's there?" she asks, clutching the gun more firmly. She doesn't want to hurt anyone, but for Emma, she will.

Nicholas steps forward, holding hands with a blonde girl. Oh. His sister, she assumes. They probably waited until the men left, she realizes. That's either a good thing or a very bad thing.

"You are Miss Blanchard, aren't you?" the girl asks. "The school teacher?"

"I was," Mary Margaret admits.

"I'm Ava and this is Nicholas," the girl goes on. Nicholas looks down. "Nicholas was only trying to get food from you. He wasn't going to kill you."

A few days ago, Mary Margaret would have found the notion of a child willing to kill beyond belief. Now she is simply glad a kid was simply willing to get violent for food and nothing more. It makes her want to laugh bitterly.

"Why don't you go to the town hall," she suggests instead. "Tell them you met David and Graham and they told you to go there."

"You won't tell them what I tried to do?" Nicholas asks suspiciously.

"I won't," Mary Margaret promises. She won't. This might not be a world that provides second chances any more, but a kid should get them.

The siblings regard her for a moment longer, then Ava whispers something to Nicholas and then pulls her brother with her. To head to the town hall, Mary Margaret hopes.

The rest of the wait is uneventful and seems to go on forever until she finally hears David's voice call her name. She relaxes at once and smiles at him as he walks out of the shadows with several boxes in his arms. Graham follows, and then Gold and then a red-head that looks quite unsettled. But she is following Gold willingly enough, so perhaps she does know him after all.

"Hey, I'm Mary Margaret," she says as ways of introduction. "This is Emma."

"She's Belle," Gold says, and his voice has lost all of the calm from before. He sounds protective and affectionate and even sad, and both Graham and David are looking at him with curiosity.

"I don't know that name," Belle says. An accent that sounds Australian, Mary Margaret notes. The only other Australian she knows in town is Moe French, but he didn't have a daughter.

"Know the feeling," David says simply. "Come on, we'll all feel better once we get to the town hall."

The men load the truck up, before Gold and Belle climb up as well. Gold starts talking to Belle in a low voice right away, looking like he's trying to reassure her. She doesn't answer, but she is listening, Mary Margaret is sure.

David opens the door to the truck for her, and she eases in with Emma still in her arms. He follows while Graham gets in from the other side and then drives. Not very smoothly, given how littered the streets are, but Emma only sleeps on as Mary Margaret carefully eases her back into David's arms.

David looks at Emma with such affection, kissing her forehead gently before glancing up at Mary Margaret.

"I'm very glad I met you tonight," he says sincerely.

"I am too," she replies, feeling torn between an urge to be shy and an urge to be bold with him.

"Even if I wasn't Prince Charming?" he jokes.

"Oh, but you were," she counters and his lips turn upwards slightly. "Charming, at least. Prince, I don't know."

"I don't know either," he says thoughtfully. "I don't remember. I just know I took one look at this baby girl and she was my princess, end of the world or not."

"Yeah," she breathes and their gazes meet and link.

His hand has moved to rest on her thigh, she realizes. It remains there the whole ride through what remains of Storybrooke, Prince Charming, Mary Margaret and Princess Emma at the end of the world.