Disclaimer: I do not own Once Upon a Time, and I do not own Supernatural.

Author's Note: Hello everyone, and thank you for reading this far! This chapter is coming in so late, I am so sorry! I had my midterm last week and that took time away from writing, and I was pretty excited about posting the third chapter to my other story, so this chapter unfortunately came on the back burner. Hopefully you enjoy it! Thank you so much for continuing to read, this story is coming to a close with only three more chapters planned out ahead of us. Additionally, to anyone who may be wary of such inclusions, there will be Sastiel in this chapter.

Guest: I'm not sure what you want me to say? Sorry the chapter felt too short, I was trying to keep the focus on Metatron, and he only had a short bit to say. If you don't enjoy the story any more, please feel free to stop reading at any time. That being said, thank you for commenting, and I hope you enjoy future chapters, should you choose to continue reading.

Emma

Emma followed Mary-Margaret and David to their next class happily, wondering about her behavior for the past couple of days. Mary-Margaret and David seemed to think it strange, and Emma could realize that she had been acting strangely. Though if Emma was being truthful, she couldn't exactly pinpoint why she'd been acting in such a manner, or how she managed to snap out of it.

It didn't matter. Now that she was out of her funk, she had more important things to worry about. Like how she was going to get out of the therapy appointment with the substitute trigonometry teacher.

"Maybe I was subconsciously realizing that…whatever I had with Killian was coming to an end," Emma theorized out loud. "And I just started acting out because of it?" It made sense to Emma. She thought she and Killian were a strong couple—thought they would at least make it another year. But apparently things weren't meant to be.

"I don't know Emma," Mary-Margaret spoke hesitantly, as if she were wary about setting Emma off. "It seemed to me like a little bit more was going on."

Emma shrugged. "Well, I feel completely fine now. Anyways, feel like hanging out after school? My appointment isn't until like four o'clock, I could use some quality Mary-Margaret time," Emma smiled, nudging her shoulder against her friend's.

"Am I invited?" David interrupted, seeming to feel as if he were being left out. Emma laughed.

"Of course," she replied, her smile only growing on her face. She continued to smile as they walked down the hall, and into their next classroom. In fact, Emma didn't think her smile would drop for the rest of the day.

"I don't know what it is, I just feel like a new person," Emma intoned as she grabbed a croissant off the plate Ingrid offered her. She'd just gotten home from Snow's house and she was starved; Snow's parents were obsessed with health food, and Emma wasn't buying it. "I really don't think therapy will help anything."

It was true. Emma doubted that there was anything some old trigonometry substitute could divine from her that would make things…better. They were fine as they were; Emma didn't absolutely love her life, but she didn't hate it. She was just an average teenager, and she was ninety-two point five percent certain that

"That is certainly a good thing," Ingrid spoke softly, hugging her arms to her stomach. "But Emma, yesterday you weren't, and that is a problem. You need to talk to Ms. Smith about…well, it doesn't matter, but you need to talk to her about something."

"I just don't see why," complained Emma, drawling out the why dramatically. She gazed at her croissant sadly, but quickly succumbed to the temptation to simply eat it. She felt like she had to go get a tooth pulled, going to the therapist office. If only there was something she could do to convince Ingrid that seeing Ms. Smith wasn't the best idea in the world for Emma's tender sensibilities.

No, no, this isn't right, a voice in Emma's mind poked in. She felt her gut clench; she knew there was something wrong, but she couldn't pinpoint the cause. What am I doing? Emma wondered as she stared down at the croissant.

"Well sweetie, you don't have to see why," Ingrid replied, an amused smile lighting her face. Her eyes crinkled at the corners, and she picked up a mug from the counter to sip. She was completely oblivious to Emma' confusion.

Emma sighed again, feeling exactly like a teenager who hadn't gotten her way. Because that is what I am, Emma shook her head as the thought slipped through her. What was going on inside her brain today? It was starting to freak her out.

"Okay," Emma finally agreed, wanting the chatter in her brain to stop more than she didn't want to go to the therapist's office. She was starting to think she actually might need a therapy session.

"We have to leave now, grab a coat, it's chilly outside," Ingrid instructed, grabbing her own coat off of a chair. Emma nodded, searching for a jacket she could wear when—

"Shit!" Emma exclaimed, clutching at her head in pain.

"Language," Ingrid reprimanded, before noticing that Emma was in pain. "Emma dear, are you all right?" Ingrid asked, leaning close.

"Fine," Emma muttered, squinting her eyes tight. It felt like there was a jackhammer pounding against her skull—but she remembered. She remembered everything. "Yeah, I'm fine, let's go," Emma continued, taking a deep breath. She stood up again slowly, gained her footing, and nodded.

Ingrid looked her over for a moment, wary, but once she'd decided Emma was okay, she smiled. "All right, let's go."

Dean

Dean ran his fingers through his hair, more frustrated than he'd been when this whole affair began. Sam had picked him from school, and was insistent on Dean staying home, so Dean would need to go see Rumplestiltskin—Dean shook himself; the name still felt funny in his head—about why Emma was…acting like all of the other townspeople sometime when Sam and Cas were busy, but the library was still open. Dean had checked, and the library closed at ten, which was when Dad and Cas usually went to bed.

Sam and Cas, Dean corrected himself, irritated that he'd succumbed to using the same lingo as the fake-Dean in his mind did. Sighing, Dean glanced up as Sam entered the room. Cas was in the kitchen, humming some tune that fluctuated between 'My Country 'tis of Thee' and 'Another One Bites the Dust.' Sam smiled briefly at Dean before taking a seat on the couch adjacent to where Dean sat.

"Working on homework?" Sam questioned, leaning back against the couch. Dean couldn't help but feel he was being studied. Dean didn't respond, simply continued scratching the meaningless words onto the paper. He wasn't trying to write anything; just trying to distract Sam and make him think Dean was doing something.

"You know, I'm sure Emma plans on going to that dance your school is having on Friday. The winter formal?"

"I saw her picking out a dress with her older sister just a couple of weeks ago!" Cas interrupts his own tuneless humming to add.

"Yeah, so?" Dean grunted, scribbling at the paper faster than before. He knew where this was leading, and even if he was a teenager, he was certain he wouldn't want Sam—or his dad—nagging him to ask a girl out to a dance.

"You should ask her," Sam inserted casually, flicking between channels on the television.

It wasn't such a bad idea; Dean thought the whole dance, winter formal, whatever they were calling that crap these days, was just that—a load of bull. But if Emma liked that sort of thing, Dean could see himself getting all gussied up in a suit to take her. It didn't seem like the curse thing was going to resolve itself anytime soon, and if Emma was stuck as fake-Emma for very long, she might end up enjoying it too.

Dean shrugged, not making a commitment either way. He was considering it, sure; didn't mean he wanted Sam to know and pester him until he agreed. Father, brother, sister, cousin, whatever—Sam was the same. Dean smiled a bit, secretly loving the constant that was his brother.

"Okay, okay, the moment we have been waiting for—here comes the first gluten-free vegan pizza to grace this kitchen," Castiel announced grandly, carrying in a deceptive pizza—deceptive since Dean was sure it didn't taste half as good as it looked.

Cast handed Dean a plate of three large, uneven slices, and sat down next to Sam with their plates. Sam placed his plate in his lap, wrapped an arm around Cas's shoulders, and started eating.

Dean looked down at the pizza warily; the crust was pale, but the cheese—vegan cheese? Dean felt his stomach shudder in wary anticipation—looked like normal cheese, and there were plenty of toppings. One topping looked like sausage, though Dean had learned it wasn't sausage that morning, when he had eagerly devoured the fake meat in hopes that it was real. It wasn't.

Taking a breath, Dean took a bite…and it was disgusting. God damn, Dean thought, giving Cas an encouraging smile while he tried not to throw up, once Emma breaks this curse, the first thing I'm doing is eating a real pizza.

"Wow, Cas, uh," Sam seemed to be having similar thoughts on the pizza, though to his credit, he was better at disguising the reaction. "This is great!"

Cas grinned, clearly pleased, and kissed Sam on the cheek. Sam smiled again, and took another brave bite.

Dean managed an entire slice of pizza before he claimed exhaustion, and dragged his backpack into his room. If he couldn't leave right then, he would have to find something better to do with his time than eat pizza and hold a family bonding session. He considered calling Emma to see if she was back to her usual self, but then dismissed that plan. She would be at a counseling appointment anyways—that is, if Hannah was still in business. Dean didn't know how long it would take for Metatron to get Cas's grace back, but Emma needed to break the curse before that happened. Who knew what the wannabe god would do when he was back.

I need to figure out what Rumplestiltskin has to do with all of this, Dean decided. Emma couldn't get any answers from him, but Dean could employ a different range of tactics. He would just need to speak to him about the curse while he was getting answers about Emma.

Rumplestiltskin was a smug, smirking bastard, and Dean wanted to wipe his greasy grin straight off of his face.

Dean had finally managed to sneak out of his house, and from there it was a quick walk to the library; he made it with half an hour to spare before closing. The instant he walked through the doors, he spotted Rumplestiltskin browsing the nearest shelves of library books. Standing next to him was the librarian, a baby boy nestled at her hip, sleeping the world away. Dean wondered if that was actually their child, or another trick of the curse maker's.

"Hey!" Dean exclaimed gruffly, stalking towards the older man. "I need to talk to you."

"You're a popular man lately," the librarian spoke, sounding curious, and a bit suspicious. Dean didn't care; he kept his focus on Rumplestiltskin. Dean didn't think he would slip away or anything, but John had taught him to never take your eyes off of a predator. And that description fits Rumplestiltskin to a friggin' T.

"I'll be right back," Rumplestiltskin replied, kissing the baby, and then Belle, on the cheek, all the while not taking his eyes off of Dean. He straightened, and jerked his head towards a conference room. Dean followed, keeping an eye on Mr. Gold's back the entire time. When they were in the sparsely furnished conference room, Dean shut the door and leaned his back against it, blocking off the exit.

"Is there something you think I can help you with?" The man asked, placing both hands on his cane and leaning forward. Dean narrowed his eyes, stiffening slightly. He maintained his calm demeanor, however, and fired back a question of his own.

"Why is Emma acting like the rest of you?" Dean demanded, crossing his arms over his chest. He could feel the angel sword taped to his forearm—there'd been no holsters in his room—and he was ready to use it should the need strike.

"I'm afraid I don't know what you're talking about," Rumplestiltskin replied, cocking an eyebrow.

Dean furrowed his brow. "I think you do. And you're going to tell me," he shook his forearm until the blade dropped into his hand. "Now."

Rumplestiltskin didn't look cowed; his expression didn't even change from light boredom. "No matter what you have, I cannot give you an answer I do not possess. I could, however, be persuaded to help you on your quest to break this curse. For the right price."

Dean stared, simultaneously confused and shocked. Confused that the man was so willing to give answers, shocked that he let his façade drop so quickly. But he was quick, and nodded before Rumplestiltskin reneged his offer.

"What price?" Dean wanted to know. He lifted the angel blade a bit, as a reminded of who held the power in this situation.

"A small one, I assure you, inconsequential really," Rumplestiltskin turned away and started walking towards the opposite wall. "All I ask in exchange for assistance in breaking the curse is that you allow me to kill the angel, Metatron, and will not interfere."

Dean frowned, unsure whether he should accept the deal. On the one hand, he wanted Metatron dead as much as the next guy. But it wasn't really his call to make. Of course, there were no stipulations that Dean had to be the one to get in the way of Rumplestiltskin killing the angel—Castiel as well as Sam could do that job just fine. And anyways, Dean highly doubted that this fairytale character had the stuff to do away with an angel. It was a harmless deal, Dean supposed—inconsequential.

Still, he wondered what beef Rumplestiltskin had with Metatron. In the end, it wasn't really his business.

"Deal," Dean agreed. "Now tell me—"

"Swear on your life," Rumplestiltskin prompted, talking through his teeth with a smile that was as friendly as a shark's. "Swear on your life that you will not interfere."

Dean stared at the imp for a few more seconds, but nodded in agreement. "I swear on my life that I'm not going to interfere with you killing Metatron. Happy?"

Rumplestiltskin nodded.

"Good," Dean said, growing impatient. "Now, what does Emma need to do to break this curse?"

"A kiss," Rumplestiltskin spoke carefully, looking up at Dean. "From her one true love."

Dean stared at the sleazy older man, seeing not a hint of a lie in his eyes. Apparently, a kiss of true love from one Emma Swan was what it took to break the stupid curse. And Dean had no small inkling as to who Rumplestiltskin seemed to think would be donating that kiss.

Dean felt his stomach tie up in knots. Because, deep down, he knew that there was a seedling of love growing inside him for Emma. He was just wary that Emma wouldn't feel the same way. And if the kiss was their only hope…

Dean was screwed.