Creston, Iowa (Pre-series, Supernatural, Once Upon a Time)
Emma had no idea what was going on, but it sure as hell wasn't normal. Emma had found that graveyards were a reliably abandoned, deserted place for her to have some downtime without people, and her foster families rarely seemed to care where she had gone. But tonight she had headed to a different graveyard than normal, leery of the cops that had nearly caught her trespassing at her usual spot.
She hadn't expected the man to be there. He was middle-aged and intimidating, dressed in shabby, heavy layers, worn jeans and work boots. Then there was the fact that he was digging up a grave. Emma blinked at him incredulously.
The man spotted her approaching and sighed in irritation. "Hey, kid, get out here!" He ordered.
"What are you doing?" Emma demanded instead of leaving.
"Something important," the man said. "Now go away."
"It looks like you're digging up that grave," Emma observed. "That isn't very nice."
"I have to get something inside," the man said. "It might be dangerous, which is why you should leave."
"My name's Emma. What's yours?" The man sighed in irritation as she came closer, but Emma was used to adults being annoyed by her, and was unfazed.
"John. Now go home, and stay away from graveyards at night—they're dangerous."
Emma snorted loudly. "I hang out in graveyards at night all the time, and nothing's ever happened to me," she objected. "Unless you're planning to do something to me."
John glared viciously at her, but seemed to accept that she wasn't planning on going away anytime soon. Instead, he hoisted his shovel again, and got back to digging at the grave. Emma had nothing better to do, and this man was interesting, so she flopped down in the grass next to the grave and leaned back on her hands.
"So what's in that grave that you need?" Emma asked. "Did you know… Jennifer Wilson? Oh, she died sixty years ago," she said, looking at the gravestone. "Are you related to her, or something?"
John snorted. "Or something," he said. "Look, kid, if you're not going to go away, grab the damn spare shovel and make yourself useful. Better than Dean, since he thinks I don't know he's using his fake id to buy booze. As long as he doesn't let Sammy have a damn drop."
Emma decided that it couldn't hurt, and helped herself to the shovel in the pile of supplies on a tarp to the side. "Who's Dean? And Sammy?"
"Dean and Sam. My sons. Dean is seventeen, and Sam's about your age, I'd guess."
"I'm twelve." She'd just turned twelve last month, in fact—she was very proud of the milestone.
"Sam is thirteen."
Emma forked the tip of the shovel into the dirt as hard as she could, and tried an experimental scooping motion, pleased when it picked up a fair amount of dirt. She tossed it to the side weakly, and John laughed at her attempt to get it into his pile.
"Careful," he ordered roughly, grabbing her shoulders in both hands to correct her posture. "You could hurt your back. Lift with your legs and core, not your upper body."
It had been so long since someone had touched her with such casual affection that Emma just barely stopped herself from freezing on the spot to contemplate it. Obviously her foster family didn't offer her hugs or squeezes, and she moved around so much lately that she'd given up on making friends with her peers at school.
Instead, she did as he said. It worked a little bit, but was still difficult. She probably wasn't being much help, but he didn't take the shovel or try to send her away, just passed the time by talking about his sons. In turn, Emma babbled about school to fill the silence when he trailed off.
She wasn't sure what a man with a family was doing digging up a grave at ten o'clock at night, but he was interesting and he was talking to her.
Then the breeze picked up, and John started swearing. "She's here."
"Who?" Emma demanded, shivering against the sudden cold.
He gestured to the gravestone. "Jennifer Wilson. Look, just get down, okay?" He started digging faster, and reached into his coat to yank out a handgun.
Then the air combined around itself, forming a misty sort of figure that roared menacingly and swooped at John's head. Emma screamed and dove behind the gravestone, and John fired the gun straight at it. It let out a loud, agonized sound and disappeared, only to reappear on the other side of him. Without missing a beat, John spun and shot it again.
"Kid, get out here and dig, I've only got a couple of minutes before she comes back!" John ordered. Emma considered bolting, or hiding some more. But if he was trying to get rid of… whatever that thing was—was it a ghost? He had said Jennifer Wilson, so maybe it was a ghost—then she wanted to help him.
Instead, she hurled herself back at the grave and picked up her shovel again, forcing her exhausted, burning upper-arms to continue to shovel dirt. Then John's shovel hit something hard and hollow with a dull thud, and he jumped down into the hole to force the dirt off the coffin. Emma pointed the flashlight at the coffin carefully, uneasy. Was she about to see bones? A dead body?
He smashed the fastening and lifted the coffin open, and the air started to get colder again. John swore loudly. Then he tossed his gun to the side of the grave. Emma yelped in surprise.
"Take the gun, kid, and shoot the spirit!" He ordered.
"But—" Emma protested.
"It's loaded with rock salt, it won't hurt anyone except the ghost. Now shoot it!" Emma picked up the gun, pointed it at the forming white mist, and pulled the trigger with her eyes squeezed shut. She screamed as it let out a loud banging noise, and the force nearly sent her tumbling off her feet.
"Now get the salt and the can of kerosene!" John ordered. Emma dove for the tarp where all of his supplies were sitting, and found a container of salt and a gas can. "Dump them! Over the bones, Emma, now!"
Emma did as instructed, too overwhelmed by the circumstances to think anything through. Then John was hauling himself out of the grave, yanking the gun from her hand in order to shoot the reappearing spirit one more time, and dropping a lit match into the hole. Emma stared as the ghost went up in flames before her eyes.
"You alright, kid?" John asked roughly.
"I- I think so," Emma said. "That was a ghost, wasn't it?"
"Yeah," John sighed.
"Do ghosts try to kill people? Are there lots of them?"
"Emma, kid, you don't want to know. Go home, okay?"
Emma glared at him. She did not intend to allow this man to leave until he had told her everything that she needed to know about defending herself from ghosts. If there were murderous spirits running around, she wanted to know how to handle them.
So she followed him as he gathered up all of his supplies and headed towards a sleek, black classic car parked by the curb. She stared in awe as he hoisted the trunk open, shoved up a false bottom and revealed a pile of weaponry dangling from the roof of the trunk.
"Can I give you a ride home, kid?" He offered, sighing heavily.
"I don't want to go home," Emma snapped. "And they don't want me there, anyway. What if the ghost comes back?"
"We killed it. Salt and burn the bones, and the spirit has nothing on this plane to cling to. That's how it works."
"What if it had friends?"
"Vengeful spirits don't have friends, Emma. They don't have real emotion. The bits of them that used to be a person slowly slip away as they slide into a killing rage and destroy everyone that reminds them of the person that killed them."
"Still," Emma protested.
"Your parents aren't expecting you home?" John asked warily.
"My parents abandoned me on the side of a highway in Maine when I was a baby. My foster parents don't care when I come and go, as long as I don't cause trouble, cost too much money or make too much noise. I want to learn how to kill ghosts," she snapped obstinately.
"Emma. Hunting is dangerous."
"Hunting, huh? That's what you do—look for ghosts and kill them?"
"More than just ghosts. But yes. That's what I do."
"Well, you could teach me," she said hopefully. Finally, she had been doing something that felt real, the blood pumping in her veins and the feeling of the recoil from the gun nearly hurling her to the ground.
"I told you, hunting is dangerous."
"More or less dangerous than not knowing how to fight the monsters?" Emma asked.
"Get in the damn car," John snapped. "You can stay in my motel room tonight, and I'll give you some pointers on how to keep yourself safe in the morning. You are not going to hunt, am I making myself clear? I'll just teach you how to defend yourself."
Emma happily slipped into the front seat of the car. Her foster parents never let her sit in the front, but John didn't say a word against it. "I like your car," she decided, settling against the smooth, worn leather.
John cracked a grin as he started the rumbling engine. "Beauty, isn't she? '67 Chevy Impala. Practically good as new. When the boys are old enough that they can hunt on their own, I'll give the car to Dean and get myself a truck."
The motel that John pulled up at was trashy, badly lit and practically deserted. He led the way up the stairs to a room with two beds. One of the beds had a young teenage boy on it, watching TV. "Hey, Dad," the boy—it must've been Sam—called.
"Son. Your brother back yet?"
"Nope," Sam said cheerfully. "He might not be, said he was gonna try to pick someone up."
John sighed and rolled his eyes, muttering about pretty children that took after their mother, and sluts that didn't think that their families knew that they slept with anything that moved. "Sam, this is Emma."
"Dad, did you kidnap a girl?" Sam asked, sounding exasperated. He was the floppy kind of attractive, and Emma blushed slightly. He was kind of tall and lanky, dressed in worn jeans and a hoodie.
"More like she stowed away," John said grumpily, pushing her into the room gently. "Ran into her when I was burning the bones. She helped me dig up the grave and then she wouldn't leave. I promised I'd teach her how to take care of herself against monsters tomorrow."
"Where's she gonna sleep?" Sam asked dubiously.
"With you," John said. "If your damn brother wanders in, he can sleep on the floor."
"Um, Dad, she's a girl." Sam had gone nearly as red as Emma had been moments earlier.
John rolled his eyes and stomped towards the bed, grabbing a few pillows from the top shelf of the closet along the way. Then he carefully propped the pillows down the middle of the bed.
"Good enough for you, Sam?"
"Yep!" Sam's voice had gone kind of high.
"Hi," Emma said hesitantly.
"Hi," Sam replied. "I'm Sam Winchester."
"Emma Swan."
"Do you like Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles?"
"I don't usually get to watch TV," Emma said hesitantly. "My foster parents say that it makes too much noise."
Sam made a pained, sympathetic sound. "Come on, they're awesome." He budged over more firmly on his side of the bed, and patted the vacant spot. They watched in silence for a bit. "You doing anything for Thanksgiving?"
"Nah," Emma said. "I mean, my foster parents usually have a bunch of people over, but I always stay in my room, because I don't know anyone and I feel awkward."
"Oh," Sam said. "Me too. I mean, we're staying here till Dad finds another hunt, I'm starting school next Tuesday."
Emma grinned excitedly. "At West?"
"Yeah," Sam smiled shyly.
"I go there! I'm in grade 7."
"Grade 8," Sam said.
"I can show you around, if you want," Emma offered.
"Yeah, I'd like that."
John snorted by the desk on the other side of the beds. Emma glanced up and realized that he was had disassembled several guns on the surface, and was cleaning them out with some kind of heavy oil. "Lord save me from the awkwardness of teenagers," he said. "You guys are friends now, okay? That means you eat lunch together and hang out after school together, and go to each other's places on the weekends."
Sam went red. "I know how to make friends, Dad."
"Right," John snorted. "Clearly, Sammy, you don't need any help in that department."
…
"Dad, when did we get an extra kid?" The husky voice pulled Emma from her surprisingly restful sleep and into the morning sunlight streaming through the curtains.
"Morning, Dean," Sam called. He was on the bed next to Emma. The line of pillows between them had been shoved aside during the night, but Sam wasn't really in her space. They were facing opposite sides of the bed, and Emma rolled over and shoved the blankets off. She had slept fine in her jeans, even though she had thought that she wouldn't.
Dean was really cute. Like, Nick Carter cute. Emma blushed red as he appraised her with an arched eyebrow.
"Dean, how much did you drink last night?" John demanded from the other bed.
Dean rolled his eyes and threw himself into the desk chair. "Not a lot," he drawled. "Met someone."
"Someone who knew that you're underage?"
"Nope!" Dean said cheerfully. "Never gonna see him again, anyway, so what does it matter?"
John rolled his eyes.
"Seriously, where'd you get the kid?"
"She helped me with a salt and burn last night," John snapped. "While you were out getting wasted and laid. I'm going to teach her about hunting so that she doesn't get herself killed."
"Kind of counter-intuitive, Dad," Sam pointed out, rolling out of bed and padding towards the bathroom. "Since, last I checked, hunting gets people killed all the time."
Dean leaned forward on his knees, studied her intensively, and Emma shifted uncomfortably under his gaze.
"Bet she's scrappy," he determined. "Can probably teach her a thing or two about salt lines and monsters."
Creston, Iowa (Pre-series, Supernatural, Once Upon a Time)
"For the love of God, Sam, hit the girl!" John snarled.
"But—" Emma took the opportunity to slam her fist into Sam's solar plexus. It was only recently that John had ruled her proficient enough in their little after-school sparring sessions to fight one-on-one with Sam. He was bigger than her, taller and stronger, but Emma was determined to prove that she could handle him.
The fact that Sam seemed to have difficulty hitting her only worked to her advantage.
They dusted off and separated. "Sam, sometimes monsters look like little girls. Or kids, or harmless bunny rabbits," Dean said, yanking Emma off the ground when she nearly tripped over her own feet. The Winchester brand of affection was rough, but Emma had gotten used to it. It was good to have a friend at school again, even though she knew that either she, or they would be leaving soon. In fact, judging by her foster parents' decreased patience with her existence, she'd probably be shipped off within a month.
"I know, Dean, I just don't want to hit Emma," Sam bitched.
Dean had definitely expanded Emma's vocabulary, and she wasn't shy about using it.
"She doesn't seem to have a problem hitting you," John pointed out wryly, where he was standing to one side. "Again."
"Why are you being so insane, Dad?" Sam demanded.
John sighed. "Bobby called me—he's got a hunt that I should go check out in North Carolina. We're going to have to hit the road soon."
He eyed Emma with sadness and affection. "Just making sure that my girl can take care of herself after we go."
Her stomach sunk. Emma didn't want them to go, and since her foster family was losing interest rapidly, chances were that once she moved as well, they wouldn't even be able to find her later on.
"Why can't she just come with us?" Dean asked, crossing his arms.
"Dean, that's kidnapping," John pointed out. "Honestly, I'd like nothing more, but we can't really just—"
"I don't trust that family with her, Dad," Dean argued. Emma's heart warmed that Dean seemed so adamant that she should come. "They barely even notice that she exists. I doubt they'd care if she disappeared, and even if they did report her missing, the state would stop looking for her after only a little bit. She's a foster kid—they never care about runaways."
John hedged for a moment. "Hunting is dangerous," he pointed out. "I haven't been teaching her to hunt, just to defend herself if a threat happened her way."
"Dad," Dean said.
John shifted. "Fine. We'll leave tonight, then. If you want to come, Emma?"
Emma stared, sure that it was too good to be true. All her life, Emma had just wanted a family who wanted her around like her biological parents obviously didn't.
"Yeah," Emma agreed.
"Good. Head home, come back at nine with all of your crap," John instructed.
Emma grinned. And that night, she was on the road to North Carolina with her new family.
Three Years Later: Chicago, Illinois (Pre-series, Supernatural, Once Upon a Time)
"Her leg's broken for sure," Dean snapped, trying to hold Emma steady as he helped her to the backseat of the Impala. Sam ducked under her other arm. Emma, for her part, leaned her weight on her older brothers and tried not to scream. She was only partly successful—she couldn't stop the steady whimpering noise that was streaming from her lips.
"Right," John ordered, hurling himself into the front seat. "One of you sit in the back and let her lean against you. Emma, try to keep that leg still."
The brothers split, Sam heading to the other side and opening the far back door. He crawled onto the seat inside. "If she scoots towards me backwards, then I'll sit and brace her," he suggested. "Dean, help her in from that side."
Dean seemed to like that idea. Emma just took a deep breath and tried not to pass out under the sudden pain of her leg jostling as Dean lifted her by the other thigh and propped her backwards. Then Sam grabbed her by the upper body and pulled her across the seat. Emma nearly shrieked in pain. Sam twisted so that she could rest against the more stable prop of his chest. Then Dean got into the front seat, and John hit the gas.
He was trying to drive gently, but he couldn't avoid jostling her entirely, and keeping that in mind, John had obviously decided that speed was the most important factor here. They pulled into a hospital after the most agonizing ten minutes of Emma's life, and Dean and Sam helped her out of the car and into the emergency bay.
She was thankfully still on state-assisted healthcare, thanks to being in the foster care system, and they had her name in the computer and everything. One less issue to worry about, which was positive given how many worrisome issues were around. Emma had been injured hunting before—various scrapes and bruises, whiplash from gun recoil. But she had been doing well. She'd belonged, and she'd helped people.
It was only once they had her all put in a cast and her own bed in the corner of a hospital room when they faced the facts. Emma was going to take months, possibly even a year to recover, and John couldn't stay in one place for that long. He couldn't be employed, and they were hunters.
"You have to go," Emma said.
"Emma," Dean protested.
"No, you guys have to go. I'm still only fifteen, they'll let me back in the system. They'll pay for my physio."
"Emma," Sam this time.
"No, Sam, she's right," John sighed heavily. "Besides. This time was a broken leg, what if next time is worse? You've been saying it for years—people die when they're hunting."
"You didn't seem to care before," Dean snapped.
"If we're still here when the social workers get here, I'll get arrested for kidnapping," John snapped. "Possibly you too, since you're an adult."
"But Dad," Sam begged. "We can't just leave her."
"We're not just leaving her, Sam. We're leaving her to be safe. Leaving her to get better, and to have a proper life. She's a good hunter, but she isn't a Winchester, and that's a good thing."
Emma sucked in a breath. It hurt. It ripped her gut out. John was the closest thing to a father that she'd ever had, and he was leaving. It didn't sound like he was planning on coming back, either. For his part, John didn't look too happy about it.
He stepped to her side and kissed her roughly on the forehead. "Emma. Take care of yourself, okay? You." He placed his hands on her shoulders, squeezed. "You are my daughter, alright. In every way that matters."
"Yeah." Emma blinked hard and swallowed down the lump in her throat. The last thing that this situation needed was tears.
"You're better off. Promise me that you'll be careful. Salt lines and devil's traps. Don't go looking for trouble on your own."
"I promise," Emma agreed.
Dean roughly pulled her upper body into his arms. "Bye, baby sister."
"Yeah, bye," Sam added, hugging her himself. "It's nice to not have to be the baby anymore."
"Oh, please," Dean said. "You're a giant baby, Sammy."
"Dean," Emma snapped. "Be nice, or I might just have to reveal what I saw when I walked in on you and that girl last year. What was her name? Ronnie? Dawn? Oh, Rhonda, that's right. Rhonda Hurley, wasn't it?"
Dean went so red, it was lucky that he didn't pass out from sudden loss of blood in his limbs.
Not that Emma wanted to discuss what she'd seen. At all. She'd known that Dean was equal opportunity as far as genders went, and she'd known that he liked to be a bit submissive every now and again, but knowing that—it was too far. As it was, the way that the Winchester family lived in each other's pockets, she probably had more knowledge of various sex kinks that most fifteen year old girls did.
July 19th, 2006: Jefferson City, Missouri (S02E01: In My Time of Dying: Supernatural, Pre-series, Once Upon a Time)
"Boys," John's hands pressed into his sons shoulders. "If you ever see Emma again, you make sure that she stays away from this, alright? Stays away from you."
"But Dad—"
"She needs to be safe," John snapped. "I just… things are happening. Sam, you be careful. You two can't escape it, because you're you, and you're Winchesters. But Emma, Emma doesn't have to be tangled up in this. She's my daughter, and I want her safe. I know that you boys want her to be safe, too."
"Alright, Dad," Dean finally agreed. Sam opened his mouth to protest, but Dean shook his head pointedly.
"But if you do see her, tell her that I love her, okay?"
"Okay," Dean said. "I promise. Sammy, if you see Emma, you'll tell her that Dad loves her?"
"Of course," Sam said hastily.
Kansas City, Missouri: August, 2014- Croatoan Timeline (S05E04: The End: Supernatural, Pre-Series Once Upon a Time)
"There's only one person who knows about this," Dean said. "Because she walked in on us, and it was highly embarrassing for both parties. Emma's never told anyone, as far as I know, but she threatened to tell Sam a few times. Rhonda Hurley. We were… oh, nineteen? She let us try on her panties. They were pink. And satiny. And you know what? We kinda liked it."
Future!Dean nodded stiffly. "Alright, fine."
Dean stared, shocked that his future counterpart could let the mention of Emma go so easily. He and Sam rarely talked about their lost little sister, hopefully living a normal, happy, fulfilling life. It was imperative, now that he was Michael's vessel, that the angels remained oblivious to his connection Emma Swan. He had dropped her name on purpose—it would have been just as easy to just reference Rhonda Hurley.
So he picked the lock on the cuffs, wandered in to find Cas all high and stoned and up to his ears in sex. It was disturbing in more than one way. But he was finally dragged into war council with his future self, future Cas, Chuck and a couple of his future self's generals—including Risa, who future him had clearly pissed off.
"Okay, clearly, you've got a problem," future him snapped.
"Yeah, the fuck is up with Emma?" Dean snarled, slamming his hands on the table and getting right into his future self's face.
"Nothing," he said stiffly.
"Yeah, I call bullshit. Your reaction to her name was not right. Where is my baby sister!"
"What are you two talking about?" Cas was clearly out of his mind, but with it enough to hear the conversation. "You have Sam and Adam. No sister."
"Not by blood," Dean growled through his teeth. "But in all the ways that matter. Where. Is. She?"
"She's gone," his future self said. "Happy now? Sam's gone, and Adam's gone, and Emma's gone, you moron, because I didn't say yes to Michael! I went to find her when everything went to shit, but she was already infected. I killed her, because I knew she'd rather die than live that way. Look, if you say yes to him in time, he'll protect the people that you want protected. He obviously can't guarantee Sam's safety, but Emma? If you go to him in time, he'll keep her safe."
Fuck. That was, perhaps, the only thing that maybe pushed him in that direction. Shit was going down, and the thing that was keeping him strong was his need to keep Sam safe. But Emma was important, too. There weren't that many people left that mattered on a personal level. Sam, obviously. Bobby. Cas. Jo and Ellen. Lisa and her kid (that Lisa swore wasn't his, but he wasn't totally sure). And Emma. If Michael could guarantee all of those people's safety except for Sam's, then Dean was almost tempted. The thing was, none of those people mattered as much as Sam. Emma was the only one that came close.
…
"So who's Emma, anyway?" Zachariah asked, slime practically oozing off his person.
"You'll never find her," Dean snapped. "There are thousands of people named Emma, you'll never find the one that matters to me. She has no blood connection to me. No paper trail. The only living people who remember her being associated with our family are me and Sam, and even if you go to Dad, he'll never tell." Well, Bobby knew Emma too. And Pastor Jim had known her, and Caleb. Ellen knew about her, he knew, but he didn't think that either her or Jo had ever met her. But he wasn't about to give Zachariah ideas.
Then he was standing on a street with Cas, and praising his angel's timing, and his stiff lack of social skills.
Boston, Massachusetts (Post S05E22: Swan Song: Supernatural, Pre-Series Once Upon a Time)
The blonde that answered the door when he knocked did nothing but stand and stare. She was tall, and thinner than she should have been. Her face seemed to have permanent stress lines etched in it.
"Dean?" Her tone was incredulous.
"Emma," he gasped out. He nearly collapsed on top of her, as eager as he was to get inside. He wrapped his arms around her too-thin form and roughly pulled her into his chest, clinging with careful precision.
Lisa had volunteered to come with him, once he'd explained what he had to do in Boston, but he'd needed to do this on his own.
"Dean, I… what happened?" Emma asked, carefully ferrying him into her apartment. Dean observed the devil's trap drawn into the rug in the entry-way, the lines of rock salt along her apartment windows.
"Sammy's gone," he gasped out, collapsing into her couch. The apartment was cold, well-decorated and impersonal. The decorations were entirely bought paintings, rather than pictures of actual people. There was a white bowl with fake fruit in it in the middle of the coffee table, a flat screen TV on the wall, a white shag rug. Modern and expensive, but it looked sort of like a hotel.
Emma's expression was stricken. She sunk down next to him, seemed to have a minor war with herself over whether to edge close to him. This woman, this cold, lonely, broken woman, didn't touch people. Dean could tell. But that wasn't the way that the Winchesters lived, and Emma was a Winchester in all of the ways that mattered.
Finally, she gave in to her instincts, and fastened one arm around his neck to yank him into her shoulder. Dean dropped all of his weight on the only real family that he had left, and let the tears run through.
This was the Impala's last journey for now, Dean had decided. She was for hunting, and to drive her around to construction work seemed… sacrilegious, almost. Also, the arsenal that was built into the trunk wasn't something that he wanted to be driving around with.
But for this? Of course he had driven the Impala, the only home that he or Sam or Emma, lonely, lost, broken children had ever known.
"Tell me what happened? Was it a ghost? Vampire? Shifter?" Emma asked.
Dean raised his head. "Lucifer."
Emma stared. "What."
Dean couldn't resist smirking. "Lucifer. The devil. It took the devil to keep Sammy down. We… we stopped the apocalypse, Em. We stopped the apocalypse, but to get Lucifer back into hell, Sam had to pull him down. He's trapped in Lucifer's Cage, deep past the pit and beyond even Cas' reach."
"God," Emma muttered.
"Nope," Dean snapped. "God wasn't interested in cleaning up his mess, which is why me and Sammy had to do it. Emma, I also have to tell you…"
"What?"
"Dad. Dad's gone. He has been for five years, now. But he made me and Sam promise not to go near you, not to put you in danger. And with what we've been through in the past few years, I don't really want to say that he was wrong."
Emma's expression twisted in pain. She knew that hunting was dangerous.
"He said to tell you if I ever saw you again—he said to tell you that he loves you. And Sam, Sam made me promise to find you when it was all done, and tell you the same. So. There's that. Dad, and Sam, they love you. They'll always love you."
"So what are you doing now?" Emma asked hesitantly, eyeing him like he was going to disappear if she blinked.
"I'm done. I'm finished. Sam made me promise that I'd get out. There was this girl. Lisa Braeden. She has this kid, his name is Ben. She still swears that he isn't mine, but I'm not sure. I found them, I'm living with them. It hasn't exactly been a picnic. I drink too much, and I wake everyone up with my nightmares. But I'm getting better, I think. I just had to find you. To tell you. Sam saved the world, Emma, and the only reason that I was strong enough to let him was because of you."
Emma's expression was so devastated that he couldn't stop himself from yanking her back against him and clinging for a good half-hour.
"So, what are you up to now?" He finally got around to asking.
Emma snorted. "I'm a bounty hunter."
"What?"
…
"Hey Emma?" he said as he was leaving.
"Yeah?" Emma was standing solidly, and clearly holding back tears for his sake.
"If you wanna know what's happened to Sammy and me over the last few years, look up this book series—Supernatural, by Carver Edlund," Dean said. "Well. For my peace of mind, promise that you'll skip over our sex scenes, but if anyone deserves to know what's in those books, it's you. I want you to know what Sam did for the world."
"You guys have a book series?"
"The author, his real name is Chuck Shurley. He's a prophet of God, though for a long time even he didn't know it. We practically gave him a heart attack when we showed up on his doorstep."
Emma found the books. Emma read the books. They were hardly literary masterpieces, but if they hadn't been about her brothers she probably would have enjoyed them. Instead, she had to struggle not to throw up when Jess died, when Sam died, when Dean sold his soul and when the Trickster killed him over and over and over, and then when he was ripped apart by hellhounds.
She was rarely mentioned in the books, but there were a couple of moments when her name came up—like her Dad dying, before Dean's contract had come due, in 2014 and right before Sam went to meet Lucifer in Detroit. It was kind of a mind screw, to be honest. She had no idea how Dean and Sam had handled the weirdness of reading these books if she was bewildered even by mention of her name.
The ones online ran up to Sam jumping into hell with Lucifer curled under his skin, and Dean going to live a normal life with Lisa Braeden. Emma couldn't throw Swan Song across the room like she wanted to, since it was on her laptop, so instead she dug up the last paperback—No Rest For the Wicked, and threw that instead, then curled up into a ball to indulge in a good, gut strangling cry. She didn't cry often, but she figured that the situation warranted it. Especially since it sounded like most of the fans had cried at the end, based on the comments, and Dean and Sam were fictional characters to them—not their real living flesh brothers.
Sioux Falls, South Dakota (S06E11: Appointment in Samarra: Supernatural, Pre-Series Once Upon a Time)
"He should be… well, the word that I would use is not fine, however, his soul is now where it belongs," Death said.
"Thank you," Dean replied. "And you didn't have any trouble with the wall?"
"No. All of his memories of hell are sealed behind it. I'll warn you that it cannot hold forever."
"But it should be fine for now?" Dean clarified.
"For now, yes, Sam should be alright."
"Um—Death?"
"Yes?"
"Before you go, I was wondering… there was one more favour that I wanted to ask for. I—there isn't anything anywhere that can track you, right? If you want to go somewhere without being detected, there's no demon that could follow you, no angel?"
"That is correct."
"So if you go somewhere, not even Raphael can follow you?" Dean clarified, the enemy that he was most concerned with at the moment.
"No. The archangel cannot find me if I do not wish to be found. The only being that could is God, but he is uninterested in the affairs of this realm."
"Well, there's… a person. That's precious to me and to Sam, and I can't contact her because I don't want to lead Raphael to her."
"Dean, what are you doing?" Cas was standing behind him now, and Dean took comfort in his angel at his shoulder.
"Alright," Death prompted him.
"I didn't stay away from her to keep her safe during the whole apocalypse just to get her dragged into this mess now, so if she won't be safe with you knowing about her, then just tell me now."
"Your friend should be perfectly safe. You know that I do not concern myself with the politics of this world."
"Good. So… if you could just go to this person, and tell her that Sam's okay now… please?"
Death sighed. "I suppose that I don't see why not. I don't have anything immediate that I must do. Who do you want me to find?"
"Her name is Emma Swan. Last time I contacted her, she lived in Boston, but that may have changed. She's our sister. Not biologically," Dean held up a hand to forestall Cas' protest. "She was raised with me and Sam, but she was injured when she was fifteen. If you could maybe… not mention who you actually are, it might be better—I don't see any reason to freak her out. Just tell her that Sam's back, and he's going to be okay. If she doesn't believe that you came from me, tell her the name Rhonda Hurley, she'll know what that means."
"I can do that for you," Death confirmed. "If only because I'm now anxious to meet another Winchester. You are all so very fascinating."
"Emma's not like us," Dean said. "She got out of hunting when she was really young, she's lived a normal life ever since. I just want to keep it that way."
"I will deliver your message."
"Thank you."
…
Emma unlocked the door to her apartment, and screamed as she stepped inside. The older man was sitting on her couch in a suit.
"You must be Emma Swan," he said, British accent making him sound incredibly distinguished. You know, if he hadn't broken into her apartment.
"Um, yes?"
"I am Death. Dean asked that I refrain from telling you that, but I wish to see your reaction."
"What?" Emma asked, nearly swaying forward.
"I've come bearing a message from your older brother. Sam is… or will be, alright."
"Dean said that he was gone," Emma objected, numbly carrying forward to seat herself on the chair.
"I got him back. There are few beings powerful enough to walk realms in such a manner, but I am most certainly one of them. Your brother made a deal with me to bring Sam back, and then he asked that I come and tell you that Sam will be alright."
Emma stared.
"How do I know that you're not some other monster?"
"Dean said to mention a person named Rhonda Hurley?" Emma went beat red at the memory. "Interesting. I wonder what, exactly, that name is associated with? Both you and Dean seem embarrassed by it."
She decided that Dean deserved a bit of revenge, given the scare that he'd just given her. "When I was fourteen, I walked in on him and Rhonda Hurley doing something really kinky, that my poor, virgin eyes were forever traumatized by."
Death snorted loudly. "Another Winchester! You really are part of that family, aren't you?"
"Not by blood," Emma started to protest.
"No. You just looked the most dangerous and powerful being that you have ever encountered in the eye, and told me something to embarrass your brother. Only a Winchester would be capable of such audacity."
"Um. I think that was a complement?"
"It was most certainly a complement," Death stated.
"Well, thank you, then."
"You have a destiny, my dear," Death declared. Emma frowned. She didn't have any kind of destiny. She wasn't important.
"I don't," Emma started.
"Oh, you do. There are people relying on you. It isn't time yet, I should think. But one day, you will be ready. And… I don't normally do this, but you have made a greater impression on me than your older brother. Sam and I have not spoken all that much, but Dean is… annoyingly disrespectful, given who and what I am. I will offer you a favour, free of charge. One favour, equal to one life saved, or some other task that you need completed. Call my name, and I will come."
Emma figured that she had no idea how big it was, what he was offering her. She didn't disbelieve him, but she knew that it was probably hugely important, and worth more than it sounded.
"Thank you. And thank you for telling me about Sam."
Storybrooke, Maine (Post S07E23: Survival of the Fittest, Supernatural, S01E01: Pilot, Once Upon a Time)
Emma Swan was no stranger to the supernatural, and whatever Henry thought, curses didn't work like that. He was insistent, but there was absolutely nothing to back it up. She'd glanced around for hex bags and sigils, any little sign that Regina was actually a witch. There wasn't one. She was a somewhat cold woman, sophisticated and smooth, but there was no sign of magic use.
So maybe Henry's whole 'curse' theory was absolutely ridiculous, but Emma Swan was no stranger to the supernatural. Maybe that was why she was so adamant that he was wrong—magic didn't work like that, and none of it could be associated with fairytales or happy endings. When witches cursed people, they didn't forget who they were in favour of living a mildly unfulfilling life in a little town in Maine—their intestines started consuming their bodies from the inside out. Their blood boiled in their veins. She had seen more than one witch-related aftermath, and Henry's idea of a curse didn't fit into that picture. Of all the monsters that Emma had encountered during her short career as a hunter, witches were the ones that gave her the most nightmares.
Besides, she didn't need Snow White and Prince Charming to be her parents. She didn't need parents at all—for Chrissakes, she was twenty-eight years old. There had been a whole host of foster parents that had never bothered to treat her as more than a meal stamp. And, of course, there had been the one man that she had called 'Dad'.
Through the eyes of an adult, Emma knew that John Winchester was an incredibly flawed and single-minded individual who should not have been raising children—either his own sons, or the random, foster-care afflicted girl that he'd encountered during a hunt, shoved into his car in order to save from the incredibly angry spirit that was chasing her, and never bothered to put back.
Not that she had completely dropped hunting. In the course of her bounty hunting, Emma had encountered a few spirits, salted and burned a few graves. Nothing too exerting, but when she'd run into something supernatural, she'd done something about it.
She had to conclude that Henry was having issues with his biological mother giving him up for adoption and his adoptive mother being such a single-mindedly focused professional woman, one who was probably a little bit strict and unforgiving. She probably made too big of a deal about grades, and insisted on strict schedules, dinnertime and bedtime, and Henry was cracking under the pressure.
But there was nothing to do except humour him. She didn't need Prince Charming and Snow White to be her parents, and she certainly didn't need to be the saviour of this town from the curse. Something about that tugged at her mind, but she couldn't quite figure out what it was.
Anyway, she was a twenty-eight year old adult who didn't need a fairytale to find fulfillment in life. But the sheriff was cute, and Henry obviously needed her in his life for just a little bit. Just to make sure that he was okay.
Storybrooke, Maine (Post S07E23: Survival of the Fittest, Supernatural, S01E22:A Land Without Magic, Once Upon a Time)
She was covered in grime. She had some experience in fighting monsters, of course, but her father's sword was so off balance, she wasn't sure how a person could be expected to stab a turtle with it, let alone a dragon.
Fuck. Her father. Because the curse was apparently real, and David and Mary Margaret were her parents. Well, that was tough for them, because the only person that was worthy of the title of parent to her was John Winchester, fucked up though his parenting methods had been. And since he was dead, Emma felt extremely uncomfortable allowing David and Mary Margaret to occupy John's place in her mind.
But it didn't matter now, did it? Henry was dying, and since Gold had taken the true love potion, she had no way to save him. Still, she and Regina both rushed to his side, united in their desire to save him, when she remembered.
She skidded to a stop next to his bed. She wasn't sure what she needed to do here, but calling his name was a good start, right?"
"Death?"
Regina stared at her in disbelief.
"Death?" Emma called again. And… it worked. The man cut just as impressive of a figure as he had the last time that they'd met. He was dressed in a neat black suit, and he stood at his full, distinguished height.
"Emma Swan," he greeted softly.
"The last time that we met, you offered me a favour."
"I did, at that. And since then, you have even further cemented your place as my favourite member of the Winchester family, since your brothers bound me when we last met." He sounded completely disgusted with the very thought.
"Um. Sorry?" Emma offered. "That must have been unpleasant."
"Yes. Quite. Now, what is it that you would like from me?"
"That's my son. He's dying. Please save him."
"Who are you, and what are you going to do to him?" Regina demanded.
Emma's eyes widened. "Shut up, Regina," she ordered flatly. "Seriously, shut up."
Death stepped forward, and pressed one hand to Henry's forehead. Henry gasped and flung upwards under his hands.
"Careful. You're alright," Death stated. Emma sighed in relief.
"Thank you."
"Who are you? Nobody should be capable of undoing that spell," Regina said harshly.
"Regina! I'll explain in a minute, just shut up, okay?" Emma ordered. Death smirked.
"Well, Emma Swan, you remain my favourite member of the Winchester family." She stepped forward and cradled Henry in her arms. Henry leaned into her as she dropped down to kiss him atop the head.
"I love you," she murmured, holding him closer.
A shockwave released from around them, flying in every direction.
"There we are," Death stated. "I told you that you had a destiny, did I not?"
All around them, people in the hospital were staring in amazement. Clearly, the curse was broken.
"Thank you. Thank you so much. And I'm sorry about Dean and Sam, Dad never did teach them much in the way of social skills," Emma added, feeling like this dangerous being should probably be pacified.
"That's quite alright, my dear. I've come to expect such behaviour from Winchesters. And I do understand why they felt the circumstances were dire enough to go that far, even if I find the experience unpleasant."
"What happened?"
"Castiel, their angel, absorbed all of the souls in Purgatory and declared himself God," Death stated. "It was… quite a disastrous turn of events, especially since he accidently released Leviathan from its prison, and they had to deal with that."
Emma winced. She didn't entirely understand what he meant, but it didn't sound good. At all.
"I suppose this is another Winchester, then?"
"I told you, I'm not a Winchester by blood," Emma said. "But yes, this is my son, Henry. Well. I sort of share him with Regina. That's her there. Henry, this is Death."
"Hi," Henry said, unfazed by this development. Probably kind of like Emma had been unfazed to walk into a graveyard at twelve years old and discover John Winchester digging up a grave.
Death nodded at her. "Well, Emma, it has been a pleasure. I think… I think, when it's time, I believe I shall come for you myself."
Then he disappeared. Regina was staring. Henry was still against her, and Emma was trying to process what, exactly had just happened.
Death was a natural part of life. Everyone died eventually, and usually, reapers collected their souls. Death hadn't been threatening her. Death didn't personally reap just anybody, and the fact that he'd said that he'd come for her was, if anything, a huge honor.
Still, though, it was just a bit creepy to contemplate.
Present Day: Storybrooke, Maine (Post S08E11: LARP and the Real Girl, Supernatural, post S02E09: Queen of Hearts, Once Upon a Time)
Emma shifted a huge pile of paperwork off of her desk and sighed as she fell into her chair. It was funny, really, with everything going on around here, that paperwork still had to be done. And since David hadn't really been doing it, there was a whole lot of backlog that she needed to get going on.
But she was home. Away from the land of ogres and caves, back with Henry and David. She needed to process everything that had happened in the Enchanted Forest, from what had happened between her and Mary Margaret to having to leave Aurora and Mulan behind in that deserted wasteland.
And also, that infuriatingly sexy pirate captain that saw a little bit too deeply into her soul for her liking, and pulled off a hook instead of a hand and leather pants a little too well to be healthy for her blood pressure.
Fuck. Town full of handsome knights, charming princes and gentle stable boys, all, literally straight from the pages of a fairytale, and the person that she was most attracted to since Graham was Captain Hook. What did that say about her, really?
Then the door opened. Emma didn't turn to face it, expecting David, or maybe Ruby—hey, maybe that would work? She could hire Ruby to help her with the paperwork for a bit in here, if Granny could spare her at the diner.
"Hi," a brain-meltingly familiar voice said. "Agent Stanley, FBI. I'm here about—"
"Dean?" She spun around to take in the sight of her eldest brother dressed in an ill-fitting, very cheap monkey suit.
"Emma?"
He had crossed the room in a few quick strides and pulled her against him roughly. She was stiff for a few moments before she melted against him, pressing to his chest and burying her face in his shoulder to breathe in the smell of gun oil and leather and something rusty that was probably blood.
"Em," he said, his voice cracking.
"Emma!" The door had flung open without her even noticing, and she didn't bother to break away from her big brother to greet whoever was there. It had been too long, and the last time that she'd gotten to hug Dean was so tinged in tragedy that she couldn't remember it without feeling a lump in her throat.
"Emma, there are outsiders in the town. Clearly, whatever Regina did to keep people from noticing this place is gone, and there's a couple of guys in—" Mary Margaret, because that was definitely Mary Margaret's voice, trailed off as she entered the main room, probably utterly gobsmacked to find Emma embracing one of these outsiders.
"Mary Margaret," Emma sighed, removing her face from being muffled by Dean's cheap suit. "A bit busy."
"But- but—"
"Emma, there's a guy at Granny's!" Ruby had come barrelling through the door now. "I mean, he's really hot and all, but he's kind of not from around here, and he's also kind of intimidatingly large…" she trailed off.
"Sam's here?" She clarified at Dean, who nodded. "Sam's okay? After, um, whatever happened with Death and Lucifer?"
"Yeah," Dean said, his voice heavy with relief. "Yeah, he's fine now. He's Sammy again."
In the next second, she had yanked out of Dean's arms and bolted for the door. Dean followed her past a stunned Ruby and Mary Margaret as she barrelled down the street towards Granny's and shoved the door open with more force than was probably necessary.
"Sam?" She gasped, breathless with all of the feelings welling up.
Sam had been seated at one of the booths at Granny's, everyone in the vicinity giving him a wide berth. As soon as she barrelled in, he stood up abruptly, unfolding to an intimidatingly tall stature. Sam had filled out since he was sixteen—he was huge. Tall, thick muscled and long-limbed, broad shouldered. Two parts of Emma's brain warred with each other—the part that recognized the potential threat that Sam posed and could completely understand why Ruby was intimidated by him, given how big he was, and the part that knew that Sam was a gentle giant who would never hurt someone who wasn't hurting other people first.
"Emma." His voice had gotten impossibly deeper. His hair was longer and less shaggy, styled to either side of his face instead of flopping into it. But the biggest difference about him, Emma could see, was the unspeakable weight behind his eyes. Something about the way that he held himself, the look in his eye, said that he had been dragged through hell by the heel, and left pieces of himself there when he came out the other side.
And some of the things that Dean had said the last time she'd seen him—she didn't figure that for a metaphor.
Sam… Sam was alive. She had known that, of course, but seeing him now made the relief almost crush her to her knees. Instead, she staggered forward and walked straight into him, arm hooking around his neck. Sam's arms both wrapped around her almost as an afterthought, massive hands spreading on her back. One of them rose to cradle the back of her head against his shoulder, and the other slid to the small of her back like he was trying to yank her inside of his body. Emma clung to her brother and tried to suppress her relieved trembling.
She wasn't a small woman. She certainly wouldn't be considered short by most people. But next to Sam, she felt almost delicate for the first time in years. He had tucked her head under his chin, and was rocking back and forth in a continuous motion that was probably meant to soothe both of them.
"Sammy! I wanna hug baby sister, you're hogging her!"
Sam let out an exasperated sigh into the top of Emma's head and released her. "How old are you, Dean?" Sam asked.
Dean just grinned at Sam in an incredibly familiar way—taunting half-smirk, half joy—and stepped up to wrap one arm over Emma's shoulders. Emma was instantly catapulted back in time, to being curled under a worn blanket in the backseat of the Impala as Dean blasted Metallica from the front seat, and Sam yelled about turning it down so that he could study. John would just roll his eyes and refuse to get involved. She and Dean would play with those toy soldiers that were meant for children much younger than them, and eventually, after he got enough balled up pieces of paper hurled at his head, Sam would give up on his studying and join in.
"Ninety-six," Dean said, smirking.
"One hundred and fifty-two, if we're going there," Sam muttered.
Wisely enough, Emma decided that she'd rather not know. Obviously, that was them counting the years that they'd been in hell, and she didn't like to think about it.
"Emma, what's going on?" Ruby and Mary Margaret had followed her from the sheriff's station, and picked up David along to way. "How do you know these men?"
"I may have been a bit of loner," Emma protested. "But I did know people before I came here, guys. These are my foster brothers, from one of my families when I was younger. Dean and Sam Winchester."
Mary Margaret looked gutted, and David not much better, and Emma winced. They had been under the impression that she'd never connected with any of her foster families, and though they probably hated themselves for the feeling, they were probably kind of glad for it. Discovering that there were people that Emma called family, people that they might have compete with, probably hurt them.
As far as Emma was concerned, she was still working through her feelings surrounding her biological parents, and though she was sure she'd eventually figure it out, for now it just drew the line between blood family and emotional connection. It was that much stronger now, now that Dean and Sam were here and she remembered the father that John Winchester had been to her. And from what she knew of how regular families raised their children, John hardly deserved a 'World's Best Dad' mug as it was.
Still, though, it also acted as a bit of punch to the gut to her, though she pushed it aside. If this highlighted the difference of how she felt about John versus Mary Margaret and David, then it also highlighted the difference between how Henry felt about her versus Regina.
Ruby could clearly see the tension, and took it upon herself to diffuse it.
"Hot brothers, huh? You're supposed to inform your friends when you have hot brothers, Emma."
Dean winked at her, and Sam shifted uncomfortably. Without missing a beat, Emma smacked him clear over the head. "Down, boy," she ordered flatly. "She's not your type, anyway."
"Everyone's my type, Em."
She snorted. She still very vividly remembered the first time that she'd met Dean Winchester, wandering into his family's motel room the morning after very clearly having been fucked by a guy, seventeen year old pretty boy with hickeys all over his body.
"Trust me, she's not." Dean was not the type of hunter to just shelve the fact that someone was a werewolf long enough to have sex with them, even though she knew that Ruby could control herself. Not that she wanted to bring up the fact that Ruby was a werewolf—if there was anyone guaranteed to react badly to Ruby's… condition, it was her brothers. Also her name, which really couldn't be helped.
"Dean," Sam snapped.
"It's good that you guys are here," Emma said, moving forward and out of Dean's hold. "I could really use your help getting everything organized. Except…" Then she realized that they had to be here for a hunt. It was the only reason for them to be here, the only reason that Dean had walked into the Sheriff's office with a monkey suit and a (presumably) fake FBI badge. "Hey, agent," she snapped. Dean shifted sheepishly. Sam offered her a raised eyebrow. "You impersonate federal agents, now? Do you realize how illegal that is? What if you got caught?"
"Happens more than we'd like it to," Sam admitted easily. "We're usually gone before the dust settles, though, so..."
"I'm the sheriff," Emma announced flatly. "Now tell me what you're hunting, or what you think you're hunting. Seriously, I will not have you running amok in my town, digging up graves and drawing pentagrams on things without even working it through first."
"Em!" Dean sounded wounded. "Have you ever known us to run amok?"
"Remember the cat lady?" Emma asked pointedly, referencing a particularly embarrassing hunt for all involved, in which nobody had been able to figure out which bones needed salting, and the ghost had turned out to be the vengeful spirit of one of her cats.
"Okay, point," Dean admitted, wincing.
"It's been fifteen years since that incident, and it's still one the most embarrassing hunts that I've ever been involved in," Sam said ruefully. "Emma."
"Yes, Sammy?"
"Okay, seriously? Sammy is an overweight twelve year old nerd—it's Sam. Secondly, are we actually discussing hunting in the middle of a crowded diner at top volume?"
"I should explain what's going on here," Emma muttered.
That was when the door opened and admitted Gold, who leaned heavily on his cane and propped the door open for Belle to precede him inside. "Yes, Miss Swan, you really should."
"Gold," David growled.
"Maybe it's time that we go back to the Sheriff's station?" Emma suggested pointedly. "You know, for privacy?"
Maybe it was time that Emma's past came out.
Yay for crossover experiments! AO3 (and apparently also ff, now that I'm adding this here) thinks that 'yay' is a spelling error, so let's irritate it for a minute: yay yay yay yay yay! Okay, now that's over with. I was bored, and this popped into my head. Can also be found at my account (same username) at AO3, if you prefer to read with that formatting (I'd like you to, honestly, since the tags and the summary are both more comprehensive and let you know what you're reading more. But that is a matter of personal preference), though I promise to update both at the same time. Basically, this a gratuitous 'everything happens exactly the way that I want it to' story, that is going to probably come out borderline crack even if it isn't right now. Gabriel will make his first appearance soon. I've debated throwing some Sabriel into the mix, and if you're in support of that please tell me now so that I can write it into the next chapter.
A note about timelines: because Supernatural timelines get kind of ambiguous post s5 (with the year between s5 and s6, and then between s7 and s8) I did my best to match them up with each other and with the real world. As it stands, ignoring those two years that Supernatural is ahead, it's about December 2012 or January 2013, matching S8 of Supernatural and s2 of Once Upon a Time- making Dean 34, Sam 30, Emma 29 and Henry 11. If you count those two years, it makes Dean 36 and Sam 32, but then either the age gap between them and Emma has changed from the start of the story, or Emma's 31 (which doesn't fit with the whole prophecy, 28th birthday thing). If I've made any glaringly confused mistakes beyond messing with those years, please point them out to me and I'll try to fix them.
About pairings: background or minor pairings right now, but there will be hints of Dean/Cas, and Captain Hook/Emma and Gold/Belle
And comments are everyone's friend!
Unrelated side-note: (if you're unfamiliar with AO3, then that is a crime that I must solve right away by telling you that it is another fanfiction site with less rules about ratings and RPF if you're into that sort of thing, and AO3 stands for archiveofour own. I can't post a link because ff strips them, but just google either AO3 or archive of our own and you'll get straight there. If you're going to specifically look for me or my story, then google my username followed by AO3, and the first result should be my dashboard)