Once Upon a Lima: Part One
Title: Once Upon a Lima: Part One
Author: pen_traveler
Fandom: Glee
Rating: R
Disclaimer: If I owned Glee, Max Adler would be a regular by now.
Summary: "The Evil Queen sent a bunch of fairy tale characters here?" - Emma, Once Upon a Time
Author's Note: I don't even know how to describe this fic. It's sort of crack, sort of not at all, and it was inspired by the fact that Once Upon a Time is going on hiatus, and this is apparently how I've decided to cope. You don't have to have seen OUAT to get this fic - I'm changing most of the storylines to fit the Glee universe. Ships include: Kurtofsky, Tuck, Samcedes, Brittana, and Finchel, but really there are even more than that. More than I can type.
Author's Note 2: This is going to be a long one, kids. And if you like it, please comment. I'm on the fence about whether to even continue this.
The sound of her heels on the hard marble flooring echo through the castle walls. He thinks he can hear her long, black gown billowing as a gust of wind blows, but that may be his imagination. Nerves. Her presence always sets him ill at ease and he knows she's heading this way.
There's a SLAM as the large red door to her throne room is flung open (great, she's in a mood) and in she steps. The Queen. The Evil Queen, to some of the villagers thinking, but he isn't allowed that privilege. The occasional snark, sure. She's learned to take it in stride, and sometimes he thinks that maybe she appreciates the honesty she can rely on only him for. But if she were to get even the slightest impression that his days of seeing any good in her are long gone, she would smash him without a second thought.
Maybe not a couple of a years ago. Of course, a couple of years ago she wouldn't have had a reason.
He's careful to keep his expression passive as she draws near, but there's the same moment, just as yesterday, just as every day before, that he's utterly taken aback by her classic beauty. Long golden hair, the brightest blue eyes he's ever seen, and it doesn't even matter that tonight her hair is pulled back into a tight and sever bun, and her eyes are narrowed in fury. She's still one of the most beautiful women in all the kingdoms.
"Bad day," he drawls, raising his eyebrows questioningly. He's not worried when she grasps either side of the mirror - she's always been a little over-dramatic - but it has been a while since he's seen her so angry. He vaguely recalls that Her Majesty had a meeting scheduled for this evening, and based on her expression he can guess who it was with. "Things didn't go so well with Santana?"
She doesn't answer, her silence an affirmation. Instead she snaps, "Show her to me."
"Maybe we should check into the warning signs of obsession," he suggests, but when her face darkens a shade he sighs, shelves the quips, and allows the magic of the mirror to take over.
There's a flash of bright light before the scene in the glass changes from his handsome features to a beach, waves crashing in the background as a woman riding a white horse races north. Her Majesty watches hungrily - to her, each movement contains vital information. She has easy access to a horse, she's an exceptional rider, but she stares too fixadedly ahead, unheeding of her surroundings. A bird flies into her path and she lets out a terrified shout, though her reflexes are decent and she jerks the reins to the right just in time.
"There she is," the Queen murmurs. "The most beautiful woman in all the lands: the famous Snow White." Her eyes move to the caramel skin of the young rider and her lips quirk up. "I really must hear that story some time."
The words are on the tip of his tongue (I believe they're referring to the state of her soul, Your Highness) but he knows that anything from him at this point is likely to go in one ear and out the other. She gets a little frenzied where the young maiden is concerned, and any questions posed are rhetorical. So he says nothing and waits.
"No," she continues after a moment. "No, the nickname just doesn't fit. So around here we'll stick to her given name, shall we?" She steps back and gives the unknowing rider a cold glare. "You might want to say a prayer, Tina dear."
~
She rides for what seems like hours before the scenery starts to change. The sandy terrain slowly gives way to thick, emerald-green grass, and tall trees stretch high into the sky. Suddenly there are lilies, and roses, and sunflowers, and marigolds everywhere she turns and she smiles lightly to herself. These are the first indications that she's crossing into another kingdom.
She's almost there so she slows the horse (Edward she christened him on her fifth birthday, and it didn't matter to her when her father gently explained that Edward is more of a name for a person) to a trot. The Blue Fairy - Merryweather, Tina thinks her name is - gives a halfhearted wave as she drifts past, but doesn't stop to talk. It's not particularly unusual. The Blue Fairy isn't known for being overly chatty, but there's something about her expression that sends goosebumps shooting up Tina's arms. She's been out of the loop for a while now, she realizes with a surge of nervousness. It's not her fault - if Her Highness would stop offering top dollar for her head on a platter she could stop the constant running - but this knowledge doesn't make her feel any better.
The castle is within view, and she can't help the sigh of relief she breathes as Edward stops outside the entrance. She hasn't been out this way often, and she's never asked the queen of this kingdom for help before, but there have been whispers that Rachel - Queen Rachel, her mind amends because while it's true that they were once friends, it's been years since they've seen each other - might be a sympathetic party.
She offers a nearby guard Edward's reins and allows him to check her pockets for weapons. Even if she wasn't here requesting aid, she'd never be so stupid as to organize an attack against the rulers of the Fourth Kingdom - it's common knowledge that Queen Rachel has more pull with the fairies than any other Royal and most of them reside in her kingdom.
The quick search yields no results, so Tina is finally declared non-threatening and is allowed to enter the castle without escort.
If she's being honest with herself, Tina is forced to admit that Rachel's castle is the most beautiful she's ever been in. Ivy spills over the walls into the hallways, thick red rugs keep the rooms warm, and an abundance of candles provide a cheery glow. Large banners with the family crest - a tiny red rose surrounded by thorns - hang from the ceiling.
"Tina," comes Rachel's so familiar voice. It immediately calms Tina's racing heart, and when her friend appears at the far end of the hall donning a sleeping gown and a concerned frown, she can't stop herself from forgoing the curtsey and racing down the hallway to catch her hands. Their fingers twine together and Rachel's expression changes to fear. "What's . . ."
"Rachel," Tina forces out, and for the first time in weeks, tears spring to her eyes. "I need your help."
~
"Is everything alright?"
King Finn stands in the doorway to their bedroom as his wife sinks beneath the blankets. They haven't been married long - he asked her six times before she finally agreed, and even then it was only because she was forced to retire her love for singing for an audience when her mother passed, joining her father. Gone are the times when a kingdom requires a king to run smoothly, but no queen either would never do, especially with Santana and Queen Quinn out there somewhere, always poised for attack.
"Tina's going to stay here tonight," she says quietly. "I put her in the East Wing."
Finn crosses the room, and slides in behind his wife. Things have been harder than usual lately, both of them can see it. Fairies vanishing without a trace. Pirate ships sailing without shame. Whispers that Santana and Queen Quinn have joined forces, and that's the scariest by far. It's been over a year since Finn had to slice through yards of thorns to wake Rachel's sleeping form and he can still feel them pressing into his back and slicing into his palms. And she doesn't mention it, but he knows that when Rachel's nightmares are bad enough to wake her that she's dreaming of a spindle at the top of a high tower.
"I just don't know what we're going to do," she continues, settling back against her husband. "If Quinn and Santana have actually-"
"Those are only rumors," Finn attempts to soothe her. He presses a kiss to her temple. "There's no reason to believe that there's any truth in them." She doesn't answer, but there's no other solace he can offer her. They're a team - they work together and they worry together, and anything else he could say would sound empty. So he does the only thing he can think of, and changes the subject. "Is there anything we do for Tina?"
Then Rachel smiles. "Actually, I think so."
~
Santana absolutely despises Wonderland. She hates the weird cat that follows her around, the huge grin that is sometimes the only visible part of him. She hates the caterpillar that asks her 40 times "WHOoooo.... ARrrrrrre YOoooooU" no matter how many times she answers. She hates that the leaves are as big as full size humans, and that Queen's guards look like playing cards. And don't get her started on the painted roses.
In fact, the only thing she finds at all tolerable about Wonderland is the Mad Hattress.
By all accounts it makes no sense. Brittany is beautiful, there's no doubt about that. She's beautiful, and funny, and optimistic, but the "mad" part of her nickname isn't tacked on for kicks. She's . . . Well, she's a bit of a loon, if Santana is being unbiased. She has a rabbit named Lord Tubbington Santana's never seen. Three of the seats at her dining table are sewing machines. Once, Brittany invited Santana over for tea, then canceled because she couldn't find her spoons.
And Santana. Well, she's just evil. She cast the spell on the spindle that lead to Queen Rachel's week-long nap. She helped Queen Quinn turn it into a liquid form for her unsuspecting step-daughter, and then rewarded herself with a cookie.
There's no logical reason why the mere sight of Brittany carefully arranging her 14 teacups along the table should have her salivating.
"I like your teacup," she says. It's pathetic, the lines that she uses on this woman, but Britt isn't like any other girl.
"Which one," Brittany asks. She doesn't look up from her work, but Santana has long since learned not to take it personally.
Santana saunters over, and buries her nose in Brittany's neck. Tonight she smells like lavender and orange tea and it's so Brittany, so her, that it drives Santana a little crazy. "The one with the dragon," she murmurs, and she can't resist a light chuckle against the woman's soft skin.
Brittany shivers, and Santana loves this part, loves feeling the walls of resistance crumble.
"I'm married," Brittany mumbles, the way she always does, but her fingertips thread through Santana's thick black locks. And when Santana steps closer still, she doesn't move away.
~
All things considered, Kurt Hummel is having a pretty good day.
He'd had concerns about coming back to Lima for the summer. His leg, for one. The dress rehearsal for "Wicked" had been going just fine until he'd danced offstage, and broken two bones in his ankle. Now he's a 25 year-old injured Broadway star who is being forced to take two months off because, according to the doctor, breaking an ankle isn't like breaking any other bone.
Why couldn't he have just dislocated his shoulder?
Additionally, when he'd texted Dave and told him of his plan, his friend had surprised him with news of his own: "I'm actually planning a trip of my own that way. Maybe we can get together at some point?"
Kurt had agreed readily enough, and it's not like he's regretting it, exactly. But he hasn't seen Dave in a couple of years, and that last encounter had been . . . awkward. At best.
But he's been in town for a whole week and Dave hasn't called him once, and last night Blaine, of all people, had messaged him over Facebook to say he is going to be in town over the summer as well. It'd all be a very bizarre coincidence except that Kurt's been getting the feeling lately that his ex might be interested in starting things up again and now that Blaine has recorded a third CD, he can probably afford to stalk Kurt all over the country.
The barista holds out Kurt's order - grade nonfat mocha, no matter his age - and he struggles with the cumbersome crutches. Maybe he should have accepted his dad's offer to drive him.
"Fancy," comes a familiar voice from his left, and when he looks over his breath catches in his throat. David Karofsky's hazel eyes are staring down at him in amusement. "You want some help?"