Hey pretties. I'm...sincerely sorry that I haven't updated in a while and well...school started and I have an AP class. I haven't had any time. I didn't even get to write a new chapter for Walking on Coals! Well, yep, that's my excuse. And I'm about to do something that I've been wanting to do for a long time. I'm going to...respond to some of your comments!

Grace(guest): Yeah, I know. I'm sorry but, eh, what can you do? And by the way, thanks. I know what you call me isn't exactly a positive thing but I'm pretty sure that you're joking...right? Well anyways. it's comments like you that make me smile and realize that there are people out there that are honest enough to speak their mind. Thanks. You're a great motivator.

xxxJusta1991xxx: So...I see you're a Captain Swan fan... SO am I! I swear, if they make absolutely nothing between the two, I will be very disappointed. And, also, I want to say that you, my friend, are the biggest motivator of all. Thank you, Justa.

wailsofangels: Ah, really? You're so sweet! Thanks, man. That really means a lot.

Tipsu: Thanks so much! I like you made a professional review of it and your choice of words. Very intellectual. Thanks!

Yin7: Thanks.

Kensi: Really? I couldn't make you stop? Oh, that means a lot to me. Here's a new chapter, hope you enjoy.

Anna: Well, here you are. And, hopefully you aren't those girls who freak out about spoilers but...come closer...journey to the Enchanted Forest is two chapters from now..

xMusicxHobox: No, my friend, you're the awesome one.

Britt: Hell to the yes!

Guest: well, here you are.

Sam

"'Morning, old chap," a familiar voice greets, waking Sam from his slumber. The sunlight that streams in from the small window blinds Sam, making him wince and close his eyes, trying to save his sight. He's lost his freedom, his brother, the smell of the cell is so vile that it killed off his nose cells and the food that Cora serves him has practically no taste so he's lost his taste buds sometime over the few weeks. He'll be damned if he loses his sight or hearing.

"Tove? What are you doing here?" Sam asks, looking up and seeing him stand directly between the Snap-Dragons. It's annoying how they don't even look at him, indicating that the Tove doesn't even have a thought about helping Sam.

"Well you don't seem happy to talk to an old friend," the Tove says, flicking his tail.

"No, it's not that. It's just that it's a surprise. I haven't talked to anyone in days, other than cursing at Cora," he tells the Tove, leaning against the window. The Snap-Dragons pay close attention to him, their noses flaring and eyes slitting.

"Well, who doesn't want that wretched witch dead? Honestly, she has no heart, literally! She keeps her heart in that damned Jabberwocky, bringing it back to life. I thought that when Alice killed that beast we were done with it. Oh well. We'll just have to wait for Frabtious day to come once again," he says, making Sam's eyebrow quirk up.

"She existed?" Sam asks.

"Of course she did, you fool," the Tove says. Sam brushes off the insult, knowing that—even though the Tove isn't the nicest company—he means well. "If she didn't this place would be in ruins. Probably leave all the rubble to the Momeraths."

"Momeraths? Why does that sound familiar?" Sam whispers to himself.

The Tove looks at him, his head tilting. "Who in their right mind doesn't know of the Momeraths?"

"Who in their right mind talks to a talking animal?" Sam retorts.

"There you go with the no-talking animal nonsense again!" the Tove says. "Really, I thought you were over that."

"I've only talked to you twice. It's gonna need to be a bit more than two encounters to get used to talking animals," Sam tells him, leaning away from the window.

"I am flesh and blood. I'm here before your very eyes. How could you not still understand that?"

"How could you not understand that I don't understand?"

"Well, it's not that I don't understand, it's that if you escape, and I know that you will, you'll have to understand that in this world animals that talk is usually a norm around here. Ugh, I can only imagine how dull your realm is."

"Well it makes more sense."

"Oh, what do you know of sense. When you're in a realm that isn't your own, your sense of logic is no longer valid," Tove says, brushing his paws over his coat. "Anyways, back onto the subject, Alice left some centuries ago. She hasn't come back. Then that Jabberwocky practically came back from the dead, burning everything in its sight with a vengeance but she simply hasn't had enough. She wants vengeance for her life; she wishes to avenge herself. She's been crossing worlds this way and that searching for her, even trying to sniff out her bloodline. Anyone with her blood coursing through their veins would never be safe. But she's stopped decades ago, until she abducted you. Probably struck a deal with the Queen of Hearts. Damned woman!"

"So, is the Queen of Hearts really as bad as stories say she is?" he questions, curious.

"Well, you should know. You've met the blasted woman," Tove says, his tail flicking irritably. His beady eyes look at Sam and then they look at something behind him. The Toves eyes widen and he backs away. "I'll have to speak with you later, Sam." Then he scampers off, kicking off dirt as he runs away on all fours, dashing between two ten foot tall blades of grass.

Sam stiffens, feeling it.

What the hell? It's not even the third day! She came yesterday, he thinks as he turns around.

"My, my Sam. Making friends, aren't you?" Cora asks, the door closing and leaving the two alone in the cell.

"What do you want? You came yesterday," Sam points out, his eyes narrowing in suspicion.

"Well, I wanted to check up on my favorite prisoner, is that so wrong?" she asks, stepping passed him and up to the window, the Snap- Dragons greeting her with warm purrs while she looks into the distance. Shit, she saw Tove. "So, you've been speaking with a Tove, haven't you?"

Sam stiffens, his heart skipping a beat. He's only known the Tove for a couple weeks but he doesn't want Cora anywhere near him. He's the only friend Sam has had for the moment—probably the only friend that he's had in a while—and he's not gonna let him get wasted because Cora didn't want Sam having any ties to the outside world. But he knows that she already caught him. What's the point of trying to get a pitiful lie passed her?

Sam swallows before answering. "Yes," he grits out, his eyes on the floor.

"Hm, of course. Irritating creatures, they are," she says, stepping away from the window. Sam's heart deflates, relief filling his being. She didn't seem interested in Tove, thank God. "And how's the chest. Your arm and leg is fixed up."

Sam takes a deep breath, the stinging and other little pains gone now. He's almost completely healed, the only indication of damage are the scabs and scars.

"Fine," he says.

"Well, good news. Don't think that now that you're healed you can escape, though. If you try, you will be severely punished," Cora says, a calm smile on her face as she steps toward the door. "Farewell, Sam Winchester. I shall see you again in three more days."

Then she's gone, the door swinging closed before her. Sam stares at it, his gaze lingering on the door. No torture, no punishment, no forced starvation, no nothing! What is he supposed to do?! In almost every single time that he's used as bait he's tortured or tied up to a chair. But with Cora, there's nothing. No pain, no limitations when it come to the movement of his body. It's aggravating. He would be able to escape right now, at this very moment if he wasn't trapped in Wonderland, of all places. He's only tried once, he remembers walking down the hall and then turning to see guards. When he was in the middle of running, he blacked out and then there was nothing. When he woke up, he was sore but there wasn't any indication of injury over his skin yet it wasn't until Tove came to him a second time and asked him why he hadn't been there for days. But even as he knew that he wasn't whipped or something, a pit in the bottom of his stomach grew and he knows that Cora has made him do something. Something that he wouldn't like to find out. A shiver runs down his body. Even wondering about what Cora did to him gives him the chills.

"Well," Sam jumps at the sound of the voice, turning and realizing that it's Tove. "Now that that wretched witch is gone, how about we talk about your brother, hm? He must be an interesting fellow if the Queen wants him."

Sam chuckles. "Huh, he's a jerk. I really don't know why she wants him."

The Tove tilts his head, observing him. "He can't be that one thing if the Queen wants him. There's more, isn't there?"

Sam lowers his head, shaking it. "Well…back in our…realm," the word crosses his lips hesitantly, not quite believing it himself, "we save people, hunt things. Things that harm people."

The Tove leans forward, his beady eyes filled with interest. "What kinds of things?"

Sam moves to his mattress. "Well, magical creatures. Our realm is usually crawling with them. But humans don't see them…or believe in them. Whenever one of those magical creatures cause problems, we get rid of them."

"Problems such as…" the Tove trails off, waiting for Sam to fill in the blank.

Sam sighs, leaning his head back against the wall. "Disappearances or…death."

The Tove looks at Sam curiously. "I wouldn't expect a mellow man like you with such a hobby."

Sam chuckles. He's been malnourished the passed weeks and he would be skin and bones if it wasn't for his lightly built figure underneath the rags he's wearing but he still has that withering look and the stubble in his face is close to being considered a beard. "Yeah, who would've known."

"So, what's your brother's name?" the Tove asks curiously.

Sam turns to him, looking at him as he sits directly in front of the iron bars of the window, almost within touching distance.

"Dean," Sam replies, looking back at the wall in front of him.

"Is he your big brother?"

Sam nods. "Yeah, he's my big brother."

"Is there any reason that the Queen would want him?"

Sam shrugs. "I don't know. That's what I've been trying to figure out these passed few weeks but I just couldn't figure it out," he responds, racking his brain to find a reason why the damn Queen of Hearts would want Dean? Just when he starts to wonder who the Queen of Heart is, he remember Tove telling him something. "You said that I've met the Queen of Hearts. What did you mean by that?"

The Tove looks at him, his front paws resting on the ground as he leans on them. "I meant that you've met her."

Sam shakes his head. "But I've seen you and a couple of guards…and that bitch Cora…"

Sam trails off, the dots connecting in his mind.

"They're one and the same, old chap." Sam grunts, his head suddenly feeling inflated. He staggers back, holding it. "What? Sam, are you alright?" Tove asks, taking a step closer and leaning on his left paw. "What's wrong?"

Sam begins to tilt, his own legs beginning to lose enough strength to support him. What's going on? He wonders in the suddenly full and scrambling thoughts in his mind. He feels like his brain has been overfilled, like a cup with overflowing water, like a balloon close to popping. His shoulder finds the wall and he slides down, his bottom hitting the mattress in a hard thump but the overfilling feeling in his brain isn't giving him much space to care.

"Sam…Sam…"

Tove's voice begins to fade away as Sam does. The edges of his vision begin to blur as his eyes drift closed. A dull blue color suddenly streaks across the darkness of his closed eyes and the brightness of white and dull gray and sunlight fade into the darkness along with the blue and browns and a wide array of colors begins to form shapes and paint a picture.

Oh no. Don't tell me that it's a…

It was too late. The vision already sucked him in.

Alice (1658)

She scurries down the hallway, passing the old clock on the wall, the pendulum swinging in time with the ticking as it mocks her in her tardiness. She breathes heavily as she rushes, she grabs her beige coat and makes haste of putting her hair up in a loose, messy bun. She pushes her glasses higher on the bridge of her nose as she tidies the files in her hands and aligns the books under them. She shrugs her coat on and buttons up an extra white button on her blue vest.

She spares herself a glance in the mirror; her blond locks are tied back with one straying across her forehead and obscuring her left eye, blond across blue. She tucks it back behind her ear, wondering how the day would go and if the partners she was going to work with would treat her like the rest. Damn men, she thinks bitterly. Very little women worked in her line of work. Most of them are men and, because of her gender, they have no respect for her whatsoever. So she preferred to work alone with the occasional case with Justin. It saves her the arguments and keeps her from distractions. The only man that respected her was Justin but that's only because he's joined her along her journey to becoming what she is today.

She withdraws from her thoughts, turning the knob of the door and stepping into the fresh, London air. She smiles, closing her eyes and breathing it in. Memories of her teasing her sister Lorina and playing with Dinah flood her mind, remembering her times with her uncle.

She opens her eyes as she walks forward, passes pedestrians, dodges carriages, and delivery boys sending bread to their bakeries.

She reaches the other side of the street, and stands there, trying to remember the bar that she's supposed to meet up with the rest of her partners. The walk is about three blocks and she should begin walking right now so that she could make it.

Partners. You're going to have partners, she thinks. This is going to go wrong somehow.

The last partner that she had only seemed to find her useful when he was hungry and needed to get his house cleaned. He even tried to get laid once. She had had the last straw when she refused to make him a meal and he called her a good for nothing whore. He ended up at the hospital the day after but it didn't make her feel any better. It was simply too bizarre for men to see a woman on the same level as them, doing their job and wearing their clothes. It was stupid, all of it.

But Justin said that they knew about me, so if they already accepted me to work with, maybe—just maybe—they'd give me at least some respect, she thinks.

She walks with renewed vigor, her coat flapping as a gust of wind blows strands of stray hairs back. She watches as a boy runs in her direction backwards, his footsteps jerky and un-coordinated. She moves out of the way and, right when he passes her, he falls and he gives out a cry, calling the attention of his mother. Alice smiles, wondering if she'll ever be that woman in that position. Be a mother, have a family, a loving husband who will love her the way she is and not be those dim-witted assholes.

She shakes her head, scowling at her train of thought. I can't have those thoughts in my head. That's not possible when I know what's out there. I'll have to be saving people, not caring for children. I don't have time for any of that.

She finally passes the second block, the bar in her sights. It's about thirty or more paces away and the bubbling in her stomach has increased by several hundred percents. She bites her lower lip, taking hesitant steps and finally approaching the front door of the bar.

Once she stands in front of it she reaches a hand out, the bubbling now turning to boiling inside of her. She sucks in a breath when the doorknob clicks as she opens it. The smell of sour beer and spirits greets her nostrils and she smiles, breathing it in. When she's not working at the library, this is her favorite spot to spend the day in. She could drink two full bottles of vodka and barely walk crooked when she walks back home and still be aware of everything around her. She's learned to do that over the years with men trying to get her to sleep with them by giving her free drinks. She got lucky the first time, the next times, by the end of the first bottle, they would end up with their head in the toilet.

She walks in, earning a couple of stares from wet-lipped drunks with dried, crusty beer on their beards and stubble. A movement catches her eye and she looks over to see a nervous Justin leaning on a pool table with three other men. Alice smiles at him and her gaze turns to the other men. A pair of them are identical twins with dark, short-trimmed hair and the other was a burly ginger that was about the size of a wardrobe, he made her seem miniscule standing next to him. Her smile wavers when their glances widen and turn into confused stares. She ignores it, brushing her doubts away because Justin got her this job. Justin would never lie. He was her best friend—her only friend actually—and he knows the consequences of lying to her.

She walks up to the table, dropping the books and files on it with a dull 'thud' as she pushes the glasses higher up on her nose and looks up Justin.

"So, when do we start?" she asks.

Justin looks at her nervously, a bead of sweat running down the side of his face. "Listen…I've gotta tell you something…"

Alice looks up at him, the bubbling in her stomach increasing. "What?"

Alice's stomach drops and she automatically turns to the rest of the group standing around the pool table. Her thoughts are confirmed when she sees the confused gazes of the other men and her blood runs cold, betrayal over-running her thoughts. No…he didn't, she begins to think before the chill of her blood is replaced with boiling fury. She turns to Justin and immediately takes a swing at him, her fist colliding with his cheek, sure to leave a bruise and a small loss of memory judging by the way he falls over, his head hitting the edge of a table behind him.

"You fucking liar!" she hisses, ready to pounce at him again. A strong arm wraps around her waist and holds her back, making her kick and claw at it with rage as she glares daggers at Justin while he stands back up and the two clones take her spot and stand before him, attacking him with questions.

"What the hell were you thinking, Justin?" one asks.

"Were you really thinking of getting a woman involved with all this? What use would she be?" the other asks.

Alice glares at them, their comments only making her even angrier. She kicks at the shin behind her, if it hurt the man holding her back even a little, he wasn't showing it.

"Whoa, whoa! Calm down, lass. She's feisty, I'll give her that," a gruff, Irish-accented voice says behind her, who she could only assume is the man.

Justin spares the man a glance and sends Alice an apologetic one. Alice gives one last kick before giving up, letting the man hold her back. "You said that they knew," Alice says breathily, her fists clenched tightly.

"They knew your name was Alice so, technically, I wasn't lying," he says in a petty way.

"You said that Alice was short for Alisdair," the man behind her says, releasing her.

Alice steps away from the man, from the twins, from all of them. Her gaze turns to Justin and her rage flares. She takes a threatening step forward and he cringes back, the twins don't flinch, obviously not finding her a threat.

"Justin, are you really cowering back from a woman?" one of them asks incredulously.

"I wasn't lying when I said that she mastered kendo and a wide array of weaponry," Justin tells them.

"You can't place a man's job in a woman's hands," the Irish man behind her says.

Alice snaps her head at him, glowering. They're idiots, she thinks to herself. All of them. They're fucking assholes. Their damn pride won't even let me help them.

She begins to gather her books and files, turning on her heel and walking away.

"Wait, where are you going?" Justin asks behind her, the sound of his footsteps approaching her.

She turns her head back to glare at him. "I'm leaving, knowing full-well what creature you are dealing with how to kill it. I will do this case myself, without you."

She was lying straight through her teeth but they didn't need to know. It's not like she'd be seeing any of them anyways. As she approaches the door, a man blocks her way, his breath tinged with spirits and wine.

"Hello, little lady. What's a damsel like you doin—" he didn't even finish. Her fist had already collided with his nose with a satisfying crunch and she dropped her books to send the man flying over her shoulder and tumbling to the ground, unconscious.

She doesn't look back when she gathers her books again and leaves the establishment, bubbling with anger. She doesn't care if she doesn't know what to do or how to kill this thing but she will do it without any help from them.

Sam

He sits up in the mattress gasping for breath, sucking in huge amounts but none of the amounts of air that he's receiving is enough. He needs more.

He runs a hand through his hair, coughing and sucking in more breaths, horrified by the vision that struck him.

What the hell was that?! I thought I was over having the visions?! His mind screams as he tries to keep his heart rate under control and try to hear everything that his throbbing heart isn't allowing him to.

As he slowly regains his breath and his racing blood and throbbing of his heart slow down, he lets out a breath, panting. He feels his forehead to find a thin sheet of cold sweat on it and soaking his hair. Suddenly, he can hear again.

"Sam?! Sam!"

Sam jumps at the voice, turning to see Tove there, not looking like he changed position at all.

"T-t…t-t-t-t-t-t…T-tove!" Sam stutters, his voice hoarse and weak, his throat burning.

"What the bloody hell just happened? I could have sworn you died! You were normal and then, like a light, you went out," the Tove says. "Well, a dimming light and then you went out."

Sam looks up at him, his breaths long and labored. He scared the hell out of Tove and he was a normal Wonderland native. So that crosses out any possibility that it's a Wonderland thing.

"Sam. What happened?" Tove repeats, his tone more demanding.

Sam takes a deep breath, letting it out through his nose as he tries to calm down. "I…I don't know. I…I think that I just had…a vision…"

Tove tilts his head to the side curiously. "Vision?"

Sam nods, looking at the dirty, crusty wall ahead of him. "Yeah. It just…sucked me in. I couldn't control it. It was…too powerful."

"A vision? Was powerful?" Tove asks in an incredulous tone.

Sam nods, looking at him only to see the Tove with an unbelieving mask on his face. "You know what…never mind. How long was I out?"

"What do you mean how long were you out? You were only out for half a second and then you woke up gasping and panting like you'd seen a Bandersnatch."

Sam looks at him, incredulous. "What?"

"Oh, I said it once. I really don't wish to say it again."

Sam looks down at the floor, the rags that cover his legs that are riddled with holes lay over it, making his attention turn to the loose weaving of the rags.

"Sam…" Sam looks up to see the Tove, an expression of concern on his face. "Are you alright?"

Sam looks back at the loose weaving and back up at him, nodding. "Yeah, I'm fine. Let's just…change the subject."

But he knows that while they're having the upcoming conversation his thoughts will be on his vision. Was that girl possibly Alice? The Alice from Alice in Wonderland? But Alice was a little girl, not an adult. And what was up with the whole hunter thing? Was she one of them? Was this happening right now? Usually his premonitions are something that happen in the future or are happening currently. No, they can't. There weren't any cars or anything and those guys seemed way too casually sexist for them to be jerks. It looked like it was in the eighteen or seventeen hundreds.

He sighs. The vision didn't seem finished. It just seemed like a peek. Whatever they are, whatever they mean, they're not done.

Emma

She can't help but peek over at Dean's shooting. He's only been wielding a bow for two weeks and already, he's in the woods, shooting sticky notes—sticky notes! —from an unreasonable distance. Emma doesn't know how he does it but he does. One time she even asked him and he just answered with an 'I don't know.'

It's been a week since the demon incident and Emma has been on edge those last seven days. She called every night to make sure Regina circled Henry's bed with salt and kept a close eye on people's actions, making sure that they did something that wasn't themselves.

"Emma."

David's voice draws her back to the task at hand. He waves his sword—his real sword—around to get her attention and she nods, focusing on the training. She's been training for the last three sessions with an actual sword because David finally deemed her worthy enough to try them and train her in a "realistic" scenario. She and David put on some light armor that Gold had stashed in the basement of his pawn shop—God knows what made him let them have it—and her arms are protected, along with her abdomen and she wears a metal skirt to protect her thighs if something goes wrong.

"Yeah, yeah, I'm listening," she tells him dryly, renewing her grasp on her sword.

"Well, in an actual battle, don't get too distracted. That distraction may cost your life. Try to remember that when it's a battle, it's not training so the person you're up against won't wait for you to bring your attention back to 'em; they'll take advantage of that moment."

She sighs. "Okay, okay. I'll…try to pay attention but…" her gaze wanders to Dean, who nails a post it that it five trees away about fifteen feet up. "What if it's true?"

David follows her gaze to Dean, watching him notch another arrow and nail a post it on a tree that's even farther. He bites his lip, looking back at the ground and then at her. He shrugs. "If it is then…I really don't know what I'd do."

Emma looks at Dean again and then back, trying not to get too distracted. David stopped teaching her maneuvers once she got them all down. Now they were just plain-out train-battling. David starts off with a swing to her head, which she ducks and counters with a strike to his side. He barely deflects it, almost knocking the sword out of her grasp and then making a quick slash at her mid-section, the blade scraping against her armor.

"Dead," he says simply, trying to point out where she'd be if this was a real battle.

She gives him a glare, remembering her first time getting hit on the side with an actual sword when she had the armor on. She freaked out and almost had a panic attack, just expecting to bleed out when she remembered that she had armor on and that she wasn't going to bleed to death.

She strikes at him again, him deflecting it but her blade sliding down the length of his and managing to nick at his knuckle and scrape again the armor on his forearm. She sucks in a breath, guilt settling into her stomach.

"Sorry," she manages to say.

He shakes his head. "Focus."

He swing at her, almost hitting her side when she spun out of the way and powered up her blow with that spin. She hits his side and she smirks at him.

"Dead," she says, matching his own tone when he says that word.

When they get at it again, he suddenly decides to add his own fancy moves, ducking and rolling and kicking her feet from under her until she's had it. This time, when he tried to kick her feet from under her, she jumps up, his leg missing hers and kicks his chest, knocking him back. When he lands on his back and she holds her sword at his neck, he smiles at her, pride in every single feature on his face. She smiles. Most parents are proud of their kids metal in soccer or straight A's on their report card, hers are proud of her beating them at a sword match.

"Good job. Let's try that again and don't be afraid to do that again. You're gonna need your fists and feet as much as your sword when you fight," he tells her as she extends her hand, offering to help him up.

"Thanks," she says, hefting him up.

When they get at it again this time, she mimics some of the ducking and rolling maneuvers that he did and even though he didn't teach her how to do it, she managed to do it without flaw. She smiles. Would this have been how she would've been if the curse hadn't hit the Enchanted Forest. Training sword-fighting with her dad? Or would she be a delicate princess not allowed to leave her tower?

She shakes the thoughts away when he almost manages to hit her side with the blade, knowing that they will distract her too much for her own good.

She can't explain it now but when she gets into the fights, into the training, the sound of scraping metal and clashing blades calms her somehow. She doesn't know how or why but it just does. It gives her a feeling of satisfaction that she's felt when she caught a bail-jumper when she was a bounty hunter. A feeling of success and victory.

She doesn't know why she feels this way but she can't help it. The feeling of wielding a sword and knowing how to use it is exhilarating to her.

Then the area starts to get an orange tint to it and Emma sighs, dreading this moment. It's when she has to go back. Back to all the problems and work and everything. She groans.

"Alright, that's it. It's starting to get dark. We should be heading back," Mary Margaret says from her side of the training area. Emma looks at her mother with curious eyes, noticing something. Dean's not there.

"Hey, where's Dean?" Emma asks, scanning the area. She can't find him.

"I'm up here," she hears from above her. She looks up and just wonders why she's surprised.

Dean sits on a branch in a tree not far from her, his bow held in a position against his lap that obviously says that he was shooting from there. She sighs. Of course Mary Margaret would have him shooting from trees, she thinks.

He smiles down at her expression, his teeth glinting. "It's actually not as hard as it looks."

Emma looks back down to Mary Margaret once Dean begins to climb his way back down. Mary Margaret shrugs.

"He was getting too good. He might just have mastered everything that I could teach him. I might be reduced to teaching him how to throw knives the next time we train," she says.

Emma opens her mouth but shuts it. She's not even going to ask how her mother knows how to throw knives.

Dean suddenly lands at the base of the tree, startling Emma a little bit before looking back up at the tree and then down at him. It seems like every time that they train he's just proving Mary Margaret's theory more and more correct.

"Alright. Let's go. I feel like eating a burger. Anyone with me?" he questions, looking at each of them.

Emma's stomach growls lightly at the sound of food. She thanks God that it wasn't that loud but she knows that it will be if she doesn't eat and the sound of food doesn't seem completely unappealing.

"I'm up for it," she says, removing her armor and unbuckling the belt that holds the metal skirt up. "I feel like hot chocolate and a good cheeseburger would do me good right now."

He gives her a grin, punching her arm playfully. "There we go. A girl who isn't afraid to eat. Why can't we have those every day?"

Emma snorts and chuckles at the glare that her father sends Dean from behind his head as he collects the armor and swords. He removes his armguard and glove from his hands, handing the bow to Mary Margaret as he puts the armguards in his back pocket. Emma helps her father puts the armor in the bag and sheath the swords before sending them both away to their lunch, knowing that if they stay any longer it'll start getting dark, which Dean pointed out was not a good thing and Emma, having just had her first experience with demons, would not like to find out what else is out there.