Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Once upon a time, there was a small village hidden behind a bookshelf in a public library. Its name was Storybrook Village. In this village, many fairytale characters lived together in a community, yet it was not a peaceful place in the slightest. Rather, everyone hated one another there: there was no harmony, no peace: just hatred and resentment between everyone. Not even the lonely king could manage the village and Storybook became a miserable, darker version of the Storybrook we know all too well.

You might wonder: why is this worth sharing? Can't you get to the point already? Well, dear reader, every story, especially this one, needs a proper build-up and some information before you become caught up in written works. For starters, we need to know our main protagonists, right?

Okay, let's begin with the "lead" protagonist, Whyatt Spriggins.

Whyatt was the youngest son of the Spriggins. They were poor unfortunate peasants who worked day and night on their farm to make a living. They faced starvation and exhaustion every minute of their miserable lives. Well, except for Whyatt. He's dead. Or so the Spriggins thought... When he was born, he was unconscious and his parents thought they'd delivered a stillborn. They buried him in the only coffin they could afford. But once their elder son, Jack, traded their only cow for magic beans on that same day, Mrs. Spriggins was so distraught and heartbroken, that she threw the only source of food away, conveniently landing at Whyatt's grave. Those magic beans sunk into the ground but instead of growing a magical beanstalk, it grew a tree that supplied the Spriggins with food for years to come. But the tree also took on another special role. For years, Whyatt was raised by the tree as the roots spread into his coffin, digging into his skin and thus supplying him with all the essential necessities for the boy to live: using the sun as food and water regularly given by the Spriggins to keep him alive. With all of that, Whyatt grew to love the tree, seeing it as a motherly figure who taught him everything he needed to know and protected him at all costs, but would become incredibly irritated by those who hurt the tree. One day, he swears to break out through the ground and seek retaliation for the tree, the only figure he'd known that loved him, that they took away from him one fateful day...

Next was the lass Little Red, who always wore a red hood to cover herself with. She was quick on her feet wherever she traveled and for an obvious reason: to keep the harsh truth hidden. Young Red was in fact a human-wolf hybrid (or what some call a werewolf): the result of her parents' absurd love. Their love resulted in the two being killed for their heinous crimes: her mother being hanged and the wolf being shot and skinned. Luckily for the little girl, she fled deep into the forest and has remained there since. She wanted revenge, but fear stopped her. Red was afraid, fearing the day anyone would find her and try and kill her, which is why she's so quick on her feet: to run as fast as she can to avoid being captured.

Then, there was the only King's heir: Princess Penelopea, who was known as Pea. Her family line had an odd curse placed on them since the dawn of time: the women were delicate and fragile like a porcelain doll and were easy to crack at the slightest of discomfort or negative emotion like sugar glass. Penelopea was especially frail, more so than her mother who shattered into a million pieces after Pea's birth. This caused her grieving father to treat her like an object rather than a living breathing being. He tried everything to keep his only heir alive. She was forbidden from venturing outside or doing anything considered "reckless," spoiled to no end to ensure her happiness, and sheltered from showing emotion so she wouldn't break. Despite his efforts, he only created a spoiled brat who got everything her heart desired and was easily jealous of others for getting her father's attention. But deep down, Pea felt... lonely...she wanted friends... she wanted to play outside and be a kid. She didn't want to be some precious doll that had to be kept safe at all costs. That's how she became cracked, from her fragile fingers to her crazed eyes: her mind is more broken than her outer shell.

Last but certainly not least, Littlest Pig. Now, you may ask, what seems wrong about him? The small lad wouldn't hurt a fly, right? Well... you'd be wrong. His family, the Pigs... weren't pigs, they were normal humans. However, due to their snobbish behavior and greedy tendencies, they were commonly referred to as "pigs", taking it so far as to make the family wear pig masks to represent what they were truly like. The Pigs were known for building many structures and homes, often ripping others off for getting bigger bucks, and Pig loved the idea of that. Pig, although his sweet demeanor, can be condescending, snarky, and uptight in his own works, even at such a young age. Many feared to even dispute against the family, fearing they might eat them if they dared to argue with them about the prices. This made his family one of the most despised yet feared in Storybook Village.

Yes, such sad, disturbing backstories for these poor children, unable to change themselves. For the rest of their lives, they will have to endure these storylines. Well, that's just life: sometimes you can't change everything with the whisk of a pen...

Or could they?

Chapter Text

A couple of men chopped long and hard on a tree, one that had supplied them for years. But, the demand they needed didn't meet the tree's expectations. With winter coming soon, the men knew the tree could be used for something else: fuel for a fire.

With one last whack, the tree tumbled and slammed onto the ground. As they carried the tree behind the house to chop it into logs, they congratulated one another for their efforts. They'd be warm and make a huge sale based on how substantial the tree was.

But from behind a bush, a boy no older than ten stared in horror at the sight before him. What was left of his mother was a stump. Creeping towards the remains of his mother, tears welled up in his eyes as he traced his hand over the top.

"Mom..." He croaked, his voice quivering as tears dripped down his face. "It's me... Whyatt. I'm sorry I couldn't protect you..."

Holding some flowers he'd picked earlier, he placed them near his mother's stump. A small smile graced his face. "I hope you like them, Mom. I promise... they'll get what they deserve for hurting you..."

Suddenly, a terrified scream came near where Whyatt sat. He fell backwards in shock, noticing a woman standing out of the doorway. "Robert! Get the gun!" She cried, shielding her eyes.

Whyatt's heart raced as he heard footsteps coming closer from behind the house. His mind raced with the possibilities of what could happen if he was discovered. He quickly ran back to the bush he had been hiding behind and ran deeper into the woods, gunfire ringing in his ears. He was so scared that he could barely think straight as he fell into a stream.

Coughing up cold water, Whyatt blinked in surprise at this new feeling. It was quite cold, yet it wasn't nearly as solid as dirt. Looking down, the ground was nothing more than water. But with that came a surprise.

An image of a tan boy with a slender build was reflected in the water. Despite tangled brown hair and his arms and legs caked in mud and dirt, his blue eyes became wide upon noticing something growing inside him. Vines with leaves grew in his arms and legs, their leaves dancing in the breeze.

Whyatt bent down to inspect the boy closer. Placing a hand into the water, the boy copied. He raised a brow as his hand dipped into the water, the boy's reflection becoming distorted. "So, that's me...?"

Whyatt stared at his arms in wonder: he'd never seen something so green in his life. Being underground for his entire life, he'd never noticed these delicate plants from how dark it was. He tried to tug one of the vines from his arm, but pain shot through his body like a bullet. Whyatt stumbled back and collapsed into the water, his eyes wide in shock and his breath shaky. He'd never experienced pain before, and he was terrified. He lay there for a few moments, trying to understand the situation he was in.

Taking a deep breath, Whyatt slowly stood up and walked over to the stream's edge. He looked up at the sky and noticed the sun peeking through the trees. He had never seen the sun before, and he marveled at how bright and warm it was. He smiled as he thought about his mother and how she told him stories about the sun. Taking a few steps forward, Whyatt felt the sun's warmth on his skin.

"Mmm, that's the good stuff..." Whyatt sighed happily, enjoying the warm feeling. Suddenly, a few clouds drifted in front of the sun and the temperature dropped. Whyatt shivered and hugged himself, feeling the cold for the first time in his life. He looked up at the sky, watching as the clouds moved slowly across the expanse. Looking around, he saw an area where the sun beams down.

Eagerly, he ran over to the spot, ignoring a sign reading "DO NOT ENTER: MAN-EATING PIGS". Stopping in his tracks, the blessed sunlight glazed his skin again. Sighing happily, he wrapped himself in his arms. Just as Whyatt was about to bask in the sun's warmth, he heard a loud squeal behind him. He whirled around to only get thrown to the ground harder than his mother.

Groaning, he rubbed his sore head and noticed someone looming over him: a young boy with a peachy complexion, no older than five. Despite the cute addition of his muddy sneakers and denim overalls to his petite frame, a horrifying sight sent chills down Whyatt's spine. It was not a mere rubber mask, but a real pig head, bloody stitches and all. Although the eyeholes were small, Whyatt could clearly see turquoise eyes glaring back at him. How could someone this small be so dangerous?

A chipper but serious response echoed through Whyatt's ears as the circular saw was aimed at his throat. "If you don't want to be on my poppa's wall, you've got ten seconds to explain why you're here."

Driven by fear and the saw's whirring, Whyatt wasted no time. “I-I’m Whyatt! I don’t know where I am. Don't kill me, please!

Before the saw slashed his throat wide open, the boy stopped. With the click of a button, the inactive saw was set aside so the boy could stare at Whyatt. "Why-att? What kind of stupid name is that?”

Whyatt instantly became defensive. He sat up, pushing the boy backwards. “It’s not stupid,” Whyatt growled. “My mom named me that!"

The boy sat up, an irritated glare sending a shiver down Whyatt's spine. "Then she must've been really dumb to name you that. Why did she even call you that in the first place?"

"Well, I think that's what she was trying to call me: it's kind of hard to hear things six feet under the ground. All I heard was, "Why, why, why!" so I'm guessing that had to be my name."

"Jesus, and I thought my name was stupid," the boy muttered.

"What's your name?" Whyatt asked.

"Pig.. just Pig. Littlest Pig actually, but only my poppa can call me that. Anyone else, and they get it..." Pig snarled firmly, maintaining a strong grip on a screwdriver. Whyatt gulped. He'd never seen those kinds of tools before, but by how sharp they were, he knew he didn't want to poke fun at the little boy.

"Uh... Pig?" Whyatt asked sheepishly. "Why are you called Pig?"

"It's a punishment my family has." Pig's eyes grew darker as he spoke. "We're the best of the best, but the King thought we'd be too great for this dump. He forced us to wear these masks unless we wanted to be killed. He wanted to remind us of how money can "corrupt us" and that "a pig is a greedy animal that will never be satisfied."

"Yeesh, that's horrible." Whyatt replied.

"What a hypocrite. He thinks we're greedy, but he's the richest in this village. All the money we pay is to make his "precious daughter" happy!" Pig growled, throwing the screwdriver at a used punching bag. A crudely drawn picture of what Whyatt guessed had to be the king was taped on. Several small holes were punctured in the drawing with the screwdriver tearing up another hole through his head. "Jeez, how come you don't know any of this? Have you been living under a rock?"

“I have been buried underground since I was a baby,” Whyatt responded with a smile. A sigh was heard from the boy, as he facepalmed and shook his head.

"You're as thick as pea soup," Pig muttered, brushing himself off. "Does that explain why you're completely naked?"

Whyatt felt embarrassed as he looked at himself, hastily covering his body with his hands. He laughed nervously. "I wasn't given any clothes down there."

Pig rolled his eyes and grabbed Whyatt's hand. "Come on, you can't be out here like this."

Pulling him towards a small shed, Whyatt looked around the area noticing how much of a dump this place actually was. Rubbish and waste were strewn about the area, with empty cans, glass, and bottles littering the ground. The shed itself had a broken window and the door was barely hanging from its hinges. The smell of stale garbage wafted in the air, making Whyatt's nose wrinkle in disgust. The sight of Pig freaked out Whyatt just as much as what he saw near Pig's home.

Dozens of people stood on the porch, their eyes fixated on Whyatt. Men and women wore pig heads of many sizes and colors, stitched crudely together. Their heads turned in his direction as Pig led Whyatt inside the shed.

Despite being sheltered within the shed, Whyatt could still detect their gaze upon him. "Are they your relatives?" he asked, climbing onto a wooden counter.

Pig nodded. "Yep, that's my family. They're alright, as long as you don't bug them," he responded, grabbing some old clothes from a chest, including stained brown jeans and a t-shirt. Whyatt had never seen clothing before, so when he received them, he thought it was a reward and was excited. However, it quickly became apparent that he didn't know how to put them on or what to do with them.

"Can you help me?" Whyatt asked with a nervous smile.

After grumbling nonsense, Pig reluctantly helped Whyatt into his clothes, even if it made him feel ridiculous. As Pig helped him put his legs into his jeans, Whyatt peered out the window, noticing Pig's family was closer than before. He gulped. "They're not gonna eat us... are they?"

"Relax, they won't eat you. You're too skinny anyway," Pig remarked, helping Whyatt tie his shoes.

"Why?" asked Whyatt, hopping off the counter. As soon as Pig opened the shed's door, he froze in place. Dozens of his family members stood outside, motionless. Their terrifying masks did not help the atmosphere of the moment, not even with someone blocking the boy's exit.

A behemoth of a man towered over the boys. The pig mask he wore had a devilish smile permanently engraved in the pig. His overalls were coated with oil stains, dirt, and what Whyatt hoped wasn't blood.

"U-Uncle Brutus...!" Pig squealed nervously, hiding behind Whyatt. Uncle Brutus glared at the boys with beady eyes.

He let out a deep, guttural laugh. “What are you two up to?” He asked with an unmistakable menace in his voice.

As Pig was too nervous to speak, Whyatt took over. "H-He was just helping me get dressed, sir..."

Uncle Brutus didn't respond for a while until he let out a low chuckle. Uncle Brutus slowly and deliberately reached out his hand, and before Whyatt could react, he was lifted off the ground and pulled forward. He felt the cold, clammy hands of the beastly man run along his body as he inspected Whyatt from head to toe. He then stopped and looked the boy in the eyes with a sinister smirk. "You're a strange one, aren't you?" He said with a deep, menacing voice, putting him down.

He looked back at his nephew. "You didn't say we'd be having a guest."

"So-Sorry, Uncle Brutus..." Pig whimpered.

Uncle Brutus laughed loudly then narrowed his eyes and glared at Pig, his voice dripping with malice. "What do you have to say for yourself, boy? You've really got some nerve, bringing a guest without my permission."

Whyatt stepped forward, rigid with anger. "What's your problem? He's not doing anything wrong!" he snapped, his voice loud and defiant. Uncle Brutus' eyes widened in surprise, taken aback by Whyatt's outburst.

Pig quickly grabbed Whyatt's arm and pulled him back, fear written all over his face. "Come on, Whyatt, let's go," he whispered, his voice trembling.

"Yeah, you listen to him. It's probably the only worthwhile advice he's ever given." His uncle chuckled.

Despite Pig's assurance, Whyatt wasn't keen on leaving Pig in this place; even if he was treated rotten by him, he knew deep down his mother would've wanted him to do this. He worried that Pig's family might have sinister motives for him, and he did not want to be on their chopping block. He glanced around the shed and noticed several tools that could be used as weapons if needed. He grabbed the sharpest tool he could find in his arms' reach and threw it at Pig's uncle.

An unused hacksaw struck Uncle Brutus in the face. Thankfully it wasn't the sharp part, but the copper handle sent him to the ground. As Pig's extended family looked on in shock, their gaze shifted toward the boys. The hatred in their eyes was unmistakable.

"Run." was the only instruction Pig gave to Whyatt, and run he did.