A/N: I would like to take a moment to say thank you for all of the wonderful reviews I received on the last chapter. I cannot remember where I left off replying, and I am a very sick individual at the moment and have been over the past year, so I hope you will forgive me...if anyone is still here at all!

Mayor Regina Mills paced across her office slowly, thinking about the man she'd seen with Mary Margaret in the diner, the one who'd introduced himself as Dean. Ordinarily, new people in town raised her guard. She found it best when unexpected visitors were ushered away as quickly as possible.

"Still," she mused to herself, "I saw what I saw." There had been a connection between Mary Margaret and the man called Dean, that had been undeniable. Mary Margaret had been almost glowing. She frowned in distaste at the thought of allowing her to have such happiness. She knew, however, that it could be manipulated. Maybe he would keep her away from David.

In much lighter spirits, she pulled on her jacket, leaving the office. Anything that kept Mary Margaret and David apart was for the greater good of furthering her own agenda, and she was willing to do anything to make it happen. She decided that she would monitor the situation, and find out what she could about the mysterious man. She'd found that the office of mayor had some pretty powerful strings in this world. Maybe not as much as she'd had as queen, but information was given to her without so much as a question why.

That left her free to focus on her most current dilemma, Henry. He'd been spending a lot of time with Emma and Mary Margaret, and she could feel him slipping away from her. The more she tried with him, the harder he seemed to run. Truly, she loved him, but the jealousy that cut at her heart through Emma...she couldn't abide that. No one defied her and got away with it. She would bring the sheriff down, and she would have her son.

The townsfolk greeted her automatically as she passed, ducking out of her way as she strode down the street. She had been trying to be more pleasant for the sake of Henry. She did truly want his approval. Old habits, however, died hard, and the hardness, the hatred...it was impossible to remove.

Lost in her thoughts, she continued down the street, toward her vault at the cemetery. To the casual observer, it would just seem as if she were visiting her father. No one was aware that this place held so much more. She smiled slightly to herself. No, no one suspected anything.

~8675309~

It took the better part of an hour for Sam to recover enough to focus on what Dean had to say, and it was obvious that he was anxious to tell his story. The words practically burst from Dean's mouth as he explained what had happened, and what he'd found out. Sam couldn't help but find the irony in his own position. Dean had found out more with a lot less physical risk.

"I think you're on to something with the mayor, Sam. I mean, I know...I know I could just be wanting her to be evil because...well...Dick, but..." he sighed in exasperation, running his fingers through his hair. "I don't think I'm so far off my game that I can't spot our target when it's right in front of us anymore. It makes sense. What if this...bubble thing over the town keeps people from...keeps this place...from aging? I mean, if Emma is new to Storybrook, that only leaves the mayor..."

"So what are we thinking?" Sam asked. "Hoodoo? Witchcraft?"

Dean shook his head, gazing out the window toward Mary Margaret's apartment. He could still feel the longing to run after her, the familiar pang in his heart returning. "I think it's something else all together." He turned to face his brother. "We need to get a look at that book. Mary Margaret said that Henry thought that they were all characters...in his book."

Sam thought for a moment. "So you think this involves everyone in town?"

"It would explain why you can't walk outside without seeing splits-ville!" Dean exclaimed. "The entire town is affected by...whatever this is."

They started as there was a knock on the door. Instinctively, Dean's hand strayed to his back, reaching for the gun he most always had tucked away. The knock sounded again. Slowly, he worked his way to the door and cracked it open. A man stood on the other side.

"Can I help you?" the hunter asked gruffly.

"You two might want to keep it down," he advised, looking Dean squarely in the eye. "The walls aren't exactly thin...someone might hear you talking." He glanced down toward the desk, casting a conspiratory look back at Dean.

Intrigued, Dean stepped back and held the door open, noting that Sam had reached for his own weapon, concealing it within easy reach. The man stepped inside and stopped in the center of the room, his arms held up, palms up to show that he had nothing to hide. Dean closed the door, sliding the chain into place.

He studied the man, taking in the rough appearance. He was sturdy, slightly more thin than Dean, but just as tall. Dark denim jeans gave way to black leather ankle boots. His top, covered by a black leather jacket zipped to the neck. He held black gloves in his hands, his dark chestnut hair wind swept as if he'd just come in from a ride. Slowly, he turned back to the two men. A smile on his lips that met his stark blue eyes.

"Sorry, gentleman, I...didn't mean to disturb you. This is an old building and, well, the walls aren't exactly very thick." He nodded toward Dean. "Your voice, in particular, sir...carries very well. I've heard just about everything you've said."

Dean leveled a very hard gaze at the man in front of him.

"I...I haven't told anyone," the man went on to assure them, "that's...that's actually why I'm here." He cleared his throat, looking from Dean to Sam, hoping to find a more receptive audience. "Let me start over. My name is August, and I think I need your help to free Storybrook. I've ran across your kind before...out there...over the past few years as I tried to make this all happen. I never expected to find any of you here."

"Our kind?" Dean asked.

"You know,...hunters." He offered another smile. "We're on the same team, here. I've listened to what you've said. I know I can trust you. I can give you the information that you need. What I need from you guys is help making this happen."

The brothers slowly relaxed, Dean taking a step toward the man. "You've got two minutes to explain yourself, and you'd better not lie to me."

August smiled again, offering him a nod. "Storybrook is under a curse. Henry is exactly right." He looked out the window briefly. "I've just replaced his book. It was damaged,...and it's so important for him to have." He cleared his throat. "I am intrigued as to how the two of you got in. There are only three people in Storybrook who can freely enter or leave this town...the sheriff, her son,...and me." He gave up the last reluctantly. "This curse,...this magic bubble around this place...it's designed to keep us in and people out. The government goons on the other side...they're only able to even see the barrier because they believe, but they can't cross through."

"How is this possible?"

"Those fairy tales that Henry's been reading,...they're real," he delivered heavily, making eye contact with both brothers, silently imploring them to believe him. "Everyone in this town, except for the two of you, is from another world." He squared his shoulders, taking a breath of fortification. "People in this world call me August. You may better know me as Pinocchio."

"Pinocchio," Dean repeated flatly.

August nodded.

"Huh."

"You two believe in magic, right? I mean it's obvious,...else you wouldn't have been able to get in. You can see." He took a few limping steps forward, and sank down on the edge of Dean's bed. Slowly, he raised his pant leg, revealing what should have been flesh underneath. Instead, the brother's found themselves looking at a wooden leg, and relief washed over August. They could see. He dropped the fabric, hiding his secret once more. "I'll explain everything to you. Please. Will you help me?"

The brothers, taken aback by what they'd seen, murmured their agreement. Seeing August's leg was the first physical proof they had that something was truly amiss under the bubble.

"Thank you." For the first time, August allowed himself to feel a tiny bit of hope. He knew he had messed up, but now there was a tiny chance that he could make things right.

Dean pulled out a chair and sat down facing their guest, his face unreadable. "Well," he grunted, "we're listening..."

tbc...