Could her life could have gotten any more boring. Killian and Peter and Lucy were out doing who knows what—but Emma was sure that it was better than spinning hats. Hats. Hats. Hats here. Hats there. Hats everywhere. From red hats to green hats to blue hats to orange hats to black hats. From little hats to tall hats. And dusty hats to clean hats. From well-made hats to not well-made hats. Hats. Hats. Hats. God what a time to be alive; sitting here and spinning hats.

Yup, you guessed it. Emma fucking Swan was going crazy. Never in her life did she imagine that she would be around this much hats. Sighing, she went to her place, the corner across Susan and next to Edmund and started spinning hats. This is the most uncomfortable she had been—well, since she had been here anyways —and the most bored. Emma didn't feel like striking up a conversation with the other two—err... three, if you counted Aslan—and neither did they. So they sat and they spun. Hat after hat. There was a shriek not too long later and Emma's head snapped up. It was Susan screaming and Emma's eyes went to the remainder two—but Edmund was gone.

"Where'd he go?" Emma asked, her eyes going from the woman and the lion.

"I haven't the slightest," it was barely audible and the blonde made her way to the hat that sat in the middle of Edmund's pile. "Is that the magic hat?"

"Only one way to find out," shakily, Emma put her hand out and touched the hat. Nothing. She knelt down and spun it—suddenly everything turned black. What was happening? Where is she? What?

Where—Where was she? Emma woke up and she was sitting in the snow. Like literally snow—she had never seen snow before—not up close and all. All her life she had been going about in busy cities that was too warm during the winter for it to snow. Somehow, she was wearing a black cloak with a coat underneath and she was leaning against a tree. She was in a forest—where the forest was, on the other hand, was a mystery. On the right of her laid a sword, bow and arrows and a few small daggers. That was it. No footprints, no food, no nothing.

Emma picked up the weapons and stood up, her feet sinking in the snow as she stood up; she placed the sword on her belt along with the three small daggers and slung the bow and quiver across her shoulders. Yup, she was in for a lot of walking. No food. No maps. No water—scratch that, snow melts. What else did she have—or not have? Sighing, she made her ways around the forest, hoping she would find something—or someone—that can help her get back—or help her determine where she was.

Finally, after hours and hours of walking—or if it was actually hours, she couldn't tell—Emma finally saw footprints. Or at least she was sure, or maybe she was imagining them. But she wasn't; they were about the same size as hers—bigger, maybe. Edmund? Since no harm—or so she thought—came from her following those footsteps, and the fact that Emma wasn't the wisest person, she followed her instincts (which were correct and safe like half the time. No biggie).

"I dunno man," it was a voice Emma didn't recognize—and it wasn't so far away from her. Slowly, she made her way towards the person—man. He was facing the opposite way, obviously, and so was another—that was Edmund, she was sure of it. "Now that's a stupid way to get killed," the brunet retorted. Who was he? Where was she—or they, whatever. The two men—boys—people, were sitting in front of a fire, cooking a squirrel or something. What?

"Is it now?" Edmund sassed, "please enlighten." Emma moved closer to them, trying to stay quiet but apparently there are sticks... on the ground... during winter... how did she miss that? The two abruptly turned their heads and the one she didn't know was already prepared to shoot her. Emma forced a smile and held both of her hands up as her eyes darted from the stranger and Edmund. Tell him not to shoot, her eyes said, or she hoped it said that.

"Don't shoot," Emma started shakily, "friend." The brunet guy lowered his bow, but only slightly. Wait, why did that sound so familiar? Was it from a movie or something? Shaking the thought away, Emma looked at the stranger's eyes and narrowed hers. He had brown eyes; his jawline sharp.

"I know her," Edmund stated and the bow was fully lowered. Now you say that? Not before like when I could have been shot. That's nice, Ed. Yeah, real nice Edmund. "How are you here anyways?"

"Well your sister was worried and scared about what happened to you so I decided to check out what happened and here I am," Emma shrugged, crossing her arms. "Now you are going to get me back, got that?"

"Why go back when you can stay?" the stranger stated and Emma's gaze narrowed again.

"And you are?"

"Gale. Gale Hawthorne," he put his hand out and Emma reluctantly shook it. "And you are in the forest of District Twelve," Gale smiled and Emma nodded. District Twelve; why was that so familiar? Where had she heard that before?

Emma mentally slapped herself; where were all the 'where have I heard that' things coming from? "I'm Emma Swan," she smiled and placed herself down diagonal from the two brunets. "So you know how to get back?"

"No," Edmund shook his head as he placed his hands on his lap. "I'm sure there isn't a way, and that Gale over here doesn't believe in other worlds."

"I didn't say that; I said it would be impossible for there to be any other worlds," Gale corrected and the other brunet face palmed.

"That's the same exact thing, you idiot," Edmund hissed, hitting Gale playfully in the arm.

"Well, whatever," he shrugged.

"Well, you should 'cause they're real," Emma piped up. "But if you don't believe in that don't you believe in other things, like true love or something?"

"Not really."

"You said there was a girl; go on, tell us a story," Edmund encouraged.

Rolling his eyes, Gale sighed and began telling the story.


The only times Henry actually got out of his room was to eat or use the restroom—nothing else. He didn't even go to school, but no one forced him to in the first place. It had been another week—how long had it been there—where Emma and Killian were? Mary Margret and her husband stood outside his door, arms crossed and was staring straight at the wood like maybe it would give them x-ray vision or something. But they didn't, obviously.

"You talk to him," David started—they did this every day for at least half an hour before they gave up. "A grandmother to grandson talk—nothing wrong with that."

"David," the brunette sighed, "I think grandfather and grandson talk is better—you know—guy to guy."

"Snow—"

"Well, it's almost lunchtime," she interrupted, checking her phone, he'd be out any second. And she was right—the door clicked open and a tired Henry appeared from it. His face was neutral, there were dark bags under his eyes and his hair was the messiest she had ever seen—from anyone. The boy ignored the two of them and walked right pass to the kitchen and David and Mary Margret followed him.

"Henry," David started and got an annoyed glare from the boy. "Henry," he repeated softly but Henry ignored the two of them. "Henry!"

"What!" He shouted at them, his eyes narrowing—this was the first time they heard him talk in a week so they stood there dumbstruck. Henry muttered something under his breath and stomped upstairs but David made it before him. "What?!" he repeated his question.

"Don't be blue," her husband began, "they'll find a way back. Remember when your grandmother and your mother were stuck in Fairytale Land? They found a way back, didn't they?" All Henry did in reply was blink so David continued: "have a little faith, won't you. They'll find a way back."

"I'm not so sure this time," was all Henry said before walking past David and into his room.

"Improvement," was what all Mary Margret could gather. "We'll get to him sometime."

Henry sat on his bed, the plate on the bedside table with the plate and remainder of the sandwich; he sat with his legs crossed, the storybook on his lap, and he was staring out the window. Mom, please come back, Killian. A minute passed, then two, then three, and all Henry did was sit there, stare out the window, clutch his storybook, and imagine Emma and Killian back in Storybrooke. Henry finally got out of his bed and pulled out his sketchbook and began to draw—he didn't know why, but he was drawing trees, trees and more trees along with a back of someone and a fire. Why? Was his only question.


"So you guys seem like a good fit, where is she?" Emma inquired, lacing her hands together on her lap and her eyes on the fire.

"Not here," Edmund replied, his tone filled with amusement.

"I can see that, wait—" Emma stopped. Not here as in dead or actually not here, "is she?"

The blonde didn't need to finish her sentence for Gale answered her, "she is back in District 12. The Capitol hasn't left yet so she had to pretend to be in love with another guy."

"I think I'm missing a piece of the puzzle here, why is she pretending it be in love with someone else?" It wasn't Emma who asked, but Edmund, although she did have the same question.

"Well, that was a way for them to both survive the games, but its only for the cameras. Or so I think," Gale shrugged. Complicated relationship, that was for sure.

"Hey Gale," it was a feminine voice, Katniss? "I—" she stopped dead as she saw Emma and Edmund.

"Hey, Katnip," Gale greeted. So that was Katniss. She had dark brown hair which was in a braid, her eyes were grey and she had on a thick leather coat and bow and arrows. She sat next to Emma and put her hand out, "Katniss."

"Emma," she responded, shaking her hand and put them back on her lap. Silence. Awkward silence. Now Emma felt guilty about being there in the first place; but it wasn't her fault, was it? Tension. Tension was everywhere now. It was almost even hard to breathe and Emma never really felt that way—ever... right? Finally she noted small things she would never have noticed—or only notice when she had nothing else to do—like now. The snow was up half her ankle—or where her ankle would be anyways.

Katniss broke the silence: "you want to go hunting?" "Nah," the boys replied at the same time but Emma nodded. "Alrighty then, let's go," Katniss picked up her bow and Emma was torn between bow and sword. Bow, apparently that was her decision for she unconsciously picked it up and followed Katniss deeper into the forest; she didn't even know how to use it.

Katniss had shot a deer right in the eye while Emma couldn't even see it. "So who taught you to hunt?"

"My father," Emma swore she was holding back tears. "It was a pretty long time ago, actually," Katniss began, picking the arrow from the deer and walked away. "We would sneak out here and he would teach us—my sister and I—songs. I miss him." He was gone.

"How'd—how'd he..." she didn't need to finish the sentence.

"Mine explosion," was all the brunette said and they walked around for another good few minutes—half an hour at least. And then it was her turn to ask, "what about you. How were your early days?"

"Well—it's going to be one hell of a tale, you ready?" Katniss nodded her head and Emma continued, "well I was born in Fairytale land, a land with magic. My parents sent me through a portal—wardrobe—whatever you want to call it—and I was just bouncing around families until I was old enough to live on my own." She wasn't going to tell her the part of when she stole the car—bug—gave birth in jail—any of that shit. Because A) that was just something too private—or weird to tell someone and B) it wasn't really important, but it was, wasn't it?

"Why?"

Right, how could she forget that. "Well an evil queen casted a curse on the whole realm—or most of it anyways—and they sent me through before so when I was 28 I can break the curse," that was the only way she could say it without it sounding weird or get more questions, right? Nope, oh how was she wrong.

"And your parents?"

"Snow White and Prince Charming," Emma looked directly at Katniss when she said that. The brunette's face softened: "And I'm guessing that was just the Queen's anger and revenge because Snow was prettier than her?"

"Not necessarily," Emma replied, remembering that time she was blaming herself and then Snow—her mother—joined in and told her. "You see Regina—the Queen—shared a secret when they were young, but she couldn't help herself, see, so she spilled to Regina's mother and it was about her and her love or something. So then the mother of the queen—Cora—kills her love and she's been all for killing my mother."

"More complex than the ones I've heard," Katniss commented.

"Most things are," was Emma's reply and they walked on.


"You hear that?" Emma started to listen more carefully, but she had absolutely no idea of what Katniss was talking about. But then again, she had been hunting for who knows how long, so she probably had sharp ears. Katniss pulled out her bow and an arrow and stepped away from the tree; Emma followed reluctantly after she lowered her bow. A teenager, somewhere along the lines of fifteen or something and a woman not so older than Emma—in her thirties, she presumed. They were in pure white outfits and had guns—which made it even worse—those were guns right? "Who are you?"

"I'm Twill," the older one stated, "and she's Bonnie." Twill said, pointing to the teenager.

Katniss lowered her bow and nodded, "keep talking," and made her way to a log and sat down. "Where are you from?"

"District Eight," Bonnie replied and Katniss' eyes widen.

"Eight? Why are you here then? That's an awfully long walk."

"Rebellion," Twill replied and Katniss put her hand on either side of her head.

"Is there anyone else with you?" Emma questioned, looking around.

"Just us, I'm sure," the woman replied, "we're going to District Thirteen."

"Thirteen? But that's gone," Katniss was finally looking up, her hands on her lap. "Bombed by the Capitol."

"No, that's what they want you to think," Bonnie replied, and they received curious looks from both of them. "If you watch closely, you will see a mockingbird wing at the top of the screen. They use that clip every time, that's no new footage so District Thirteen must have survived and is underground."

"That's a long shot," Katniss commented, "you need to rest don't you?" The two women nodded and Katniss lead them back to where Gale and Edmund sat, playing—or doing—whatever it was that they're doing.

"Who are they?" The boys heads shot up and they talked at the same time.

"Bonnie and Twill," Katniss replied, "They're from District Eight."

"Eight?" the girls nodded and sat down across from the two brunet boys.


It was night fall—or soon to be anyways. It was getting dark and Emma seriously never wanted to go back somewhere in her entire life. Footsteps. Pure white outfits. Doesn't look good. "Uhm.. Katniss," Emma tapped the brunette's arm and pointed to the white glob in the distance.

"Peacekeepers," Katniss stood up and grabbed her bow. "We have to go before they catch us." Emma grabbed her bow and arrows and tossed Edmund the sword and they began to run.

"But snow," was all Edmund said and all Katniss did was shake her head, "head start."

"Now," a voice. Not Edmund's. Not Katniss'. Not Gale's. Not Bonnie or Twill. And definitely not hers. They turned to see people cloaked in black surrounding them, "why are six people doing out here in the dead night?" one asked. There was a hook covering his face and so were all the others.

"None of your business," Emma spit out before she thought about it twice. Shit. She was going to die. The hooded one stopped talking and turned to her; was he even a real person? He glided on the snow towards her and left no footprints whatsoever.

"Oh, you think you're smart aren't you, blondie?" his hand caressed her cheek and Emma had every intention in the world—maybe even more—to slap it away, but that would have made things worse. Footsteps; just on time. Wait are Peacekeepers or whatever good or bad at a time like this? "Follow us if you want to live."

"And what makes you think we would do that?"

"Because those Peacekeepers aren't the nicest and we just set a bomb here so..." Say no more; Emma followed the others into an aircraft and just as they were lifted up, there was a huge shaking vibrator under them. "Told you," one smirked.

"Where are you taking us?"

"We need you," the first one stated clearly.

"And why would we help you?" Emma hissed.

"Ooh you're a feisty one, aren't you?" They left no time to answer. "You are going to help us, whether you like it or not."

"And if we don't?" Emma crossed her arms and glared at him.

"Oh you will," was what she last heard and everything went black.


A/N: I'm late I'm sorry. Didn't think you guys were actually reading this so... I will try Weekly but i have no clue how- if that would work so... Yeah, all you have to do is take photoshop away from me and that'll work out :)