Disclaimer: I don't own Once Upon a Time, nor am I affiliated with Adam Horowitz or Eddy Kitsis. Title of the story is taken from a song by Carina Round. For the hat-trick of things I do not own, see basically everything.

A/N: Full author's note at the end of the chapter, please read it if you have any questions (I mean about the fic but if you have questions about life in general then that's cool too). I keep promising shorter chapters and they keep getting longer. It's a mystery for the ages. Thank you so much for your reviews/favourites/feedback! (:

It wasn't Storybrooke.

As far as Emma could tell, it wasn't really anywhere. The hat had dropped them into a circular room containing doors and nothing else. Each door had a distinct personality but, of course, no signpost. Emma could take a guess at a couple of them (a door of yellow brick seemed to indicate Oz) but for the most part she was clueless.

She got to her feet, thanking the hat's magic that she had somehow had a soft landing on the stone floor, and walked unsteadily around the room. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Hook do the same.

"We should choose a door sooner rather than later," he said, appraising the options. "I doubt the Queen will be able to follow us but I'd rather not take the chance."

Emma nodded in agreement. The question was, which door? Even the most mundane door - a heavy affair made of mahogany - seemed unlikely to belong to the real world.

"Sooner being sometime in the next few seconds," Hook prompted, earning a dirty look from Emma.

"You're the one used to traveling through worlds, why don't you suggest one?"

Hook grinned at her irritation. "I'd rather you decide, so that if we end up somewhere dangerous or undesirable you can't accuse me of tricking you."

"I wouldn't-" she stopped herself at Hook's raised eyebrow. In truth, she probably would have done. Damn him for somehow knowing her so well. "Fine."

She took one last look at the doors before heading for the mundane one she had noticed earlier. It was ornately carved, a little vintage perhaps (to the tune of three or four hundred years) but still seemed to be man-made.

"This one."

Hook examined it with a nod. "Alright." Emma reached out for the handle but was stopped by fingers around her wrist. "The same amount of people that arrive by the hat must leave by it," he said, all traces of earlier humor wiped from his face. So don't get any ideas about leaving me behind, was the unspoken end of the sentence.

"Who's got trust issues now?" Emma asked, raising an eyebrow in the same infuriating manner she had seen him do many times.

"I'm merely nudging you to this side of common sense," Hook replied smoothly. He released Emma's wrist, opened the door himself and then gestured inside. "After you."

Without taking a few moments to consider what she was about to do, Emma walked straight into the blackness. She had expected a pulling or falling sensation like the other portals had inflicted on her, but in two steps and the time it took to take a breath she was in the other land.

Her heart sank after a quick glance around. Emma was getting really tired of places that weren't Storybrooke. There was nothing to light the cobbled streets but the moon overhead that was an unusual shade of…wait.

Had she developed a sudden and extreme case of colorblindness, or was everything genuinely in black and white? She glanced down at herself but no, she was still available in Technicolor. Hook too, when he came to stand next to her. When she was younger, Emma had always thought that The Past had been in black and white, because all the old movies were. She had laughed at that assumption as she grew up, but now she was finding a worrying amount of merit in it.

"Any ideas, love?" Hook asked, taking in the scene in front of them.

"None," Emma admitted.

They were in a town square that contained a stone well, a few buildings and a forest in the distance. That was the extent of Emma's knowledge. As far as she could tell, they had appeared out of thin air. A terrified man, frozen and staring at them in horror, certainly seemed to think so.

"How did you-?" he started, before Hook strode over and caught him by the scruff of his neck.

"Evening, mate," the Captain greeted, casual as always despite the circumstances.

The man looked fearfully between the two strangers, one dressed like a scoundrel and the other in no clothes he had yet seen.

"You're…not in black and white," he said, struggling to speak.

Hook's smile was more of a sneer. "And you speak perfect English. Let's chalk it down to narrative convenience and move on, shall we?"

"Hook, let the poor guy go," Emma called, frowning her distaste.

"Just a second, sweetheart." He turned his attention back to the man. "What land is this?"

"T-Transylvania," the man said, his eyes wide.

"What year?" Emma asked, a pit of dread deepening in her stomach.

"1897. Please," he added to Hook, beads of sweat forming around his temples. "Please, I have a family…"

"I don't know this realm," Hook said to Emma, oblivious to the man's suffering.

"I do. Let's see, Transylvania…in the 1800s…" Emma closed her eyes briefly. "Oh, damn it." She turned to the man and asked in a flat voice, "There any creepy castles around here? Villagers going missing, involuntary blood donations at an all time high?"

The man understood every other word, that much was obvious. Emma didn't have the inclination to translate her slang into something more relatable and so just shook her head. Seeing her defeat, Hook released the man who scrambled off into a nearby building.

"Bad news?"

"Ever heard of Count Dracula?" Emma asked in response, wondering how exactly her life had led up to this point.

Hook frowned. "A story, here and there. Tales designed to scare the little ones." At Emma's deadpan expression, he scoffed. "You're not serious. Vampires? There's no such thing."

"Says Captain Hook."

He flashed her a smile.

"I do like it when you call me Captain."

Emma ignored him, choosing instead to scan the buildings that formed the square. Most were dark but one was lit and figures moved in the windows. Their outlines held glasses and Emma knew she had found what she was looking for.

"A bar," she said, nodding towards it. "We need to rest. Let's hope they're kind."

Hook's steady exhalation suggested what he thought of this hope, but nevertheless he led the way across the cobbles and opened the door for his companion.

A rush of warmth and noise met them as they stepped inside, attracting stares and whispers that followed them all the way to the bar. Hook, already completely at home, leaned forward onto the bar to address the man stood behind it.

"We require drink, a meal and a bed for the night."

"Two beds for the night," Emma corrected. "In two separate rooms. Two separate taverns, ideally, but I'll take what I've got."

The barkeep didn't seem to hear her. His face was stony as he set aside the mug.

"We don't allow your kind in here."

A hush fell over the tavern. Everyone had been eavesdropping on the strangers and now the confrontation that they had been so hoping for seemed about to occur. For her part, Emma had no idea what the man meant. Were they hated because they were in color while everyone else was black and white?

"They take issue with the way you dress," Hook explained, the tightening of his jaw suggesting just what he thought of this hostility. "I believe I take issue with them."

A confused Emma looked down at her clothes, wondering if something had accidentally ripped or fallen off. True, she was not styled in the Ye Olde Fashion Sense like the rest of the patrons but she was hardly indecent.

"The way I dress?" she repeated, glancing from Hook to the barman who were engaged in a glaring match.

A small group approached the bar. The one closest, a slip of a girl no older than nineteen, pursed her lips in distaste. The others around her mimicked her haughty expression and stance.

"A woman in a man's attire," the girl sniffed. "Being in polite company, I won't speak the word that is on everyone's mind."

Emma stood up straighter and walked over to the girl. "Say it," she dared, anger overriding any embarrassment she may have felt at being judged in front of so many.

The girl's face blanched at the obvious antagonism. A man, her husband, stepped in front of the new threat and looked her up and down, his lip curling in distaste.

"Whore," he said, straight in Emma's face.

The man was sprawled on the floor before Emma had even clenched her fist. Hook stood in front of her, towering over the man on the floor.

"That was my right hook. I don't think you want to take your chances with the left."

He held the threat aloft, allowing the man to cower before it. The group that accompanied him backed away. Their air of superiority would not protect them and they had no loyalty that overrode the fear of pain.

"Apologize."

The man hesitated for the briefest of moments. "I meant no harm, Miss," he said to Emma, managing to sound half way sincere even though there was no chance that he actually meant it.

"Valentin!" his wife berated from a safe distance away.

"Good boy," Hook said, his condescension driving the point home. He turned back to the bar. "Now, where were we?"

"There's a tavern more suited to your needs on the other side of the town," the barman said, waving a small blade that Hook looked at with scathing amusement.

"You'll have to do better than that, mate," he said, and brandished his own sword.

Emma rolled her eyes as the patrons gasped.

"We're not here to get in a bar fight," she reminded Hook, resting her hand on his arm and ignoring the fact that a punch had already been thrown. "You want to spend the rest of the night watching your back, or do you want to go the place that's pirate-friendly?"

"It isn't me they have a problem with, love," Hook said, but he sheathed his sword just the same. His expression hardened as he looked at the bartender and his knife. "Put that away, you're embarrassing yourself."

Everyone gave them a wide berth as they strode out of the tavern. Emma couldn't help but feel powerful and wondered if this was what Hook's reputation afforded him in the Enchanted Forest and Neverland.

"I have a rule," Hook announced the moment they were outside. Emma didn't particularly care but he continued anyway. "Whoever gets me thrown out of a tavern has to buy me a drink in the next place."

Emma drew her jacket tighter around herself. "What's your rule for when you get someone thrown out?"

"The other person still has to buy me a drink." At Emma's sidelong glance, he grinned. "The best thing about being a Captain is making all the rules."

"Yeah but I'll bet the health plan is lousy." At Hook's raised eyebrow, Emma shook her head. "Never mind. And anyway, I can't buy you a drink if I don't have money. I don't even know what the currency is here."

Hook drew a small pouch from the inside of his jacket. "Let's take a look, shall we?" With amazing dexterity for a man with only one hand, he eased the pouch open and plucked out a coin. "Gold. How original."

"Where did you get that?" Emma asked, surprised despite herself.

"Let's call it compensation for the slight," Hook answered, flipping the coin in her direction and grinning when she caught it without hesitation. "Generously and unwittingly donated by our friend the barkeep."

Emma was impressed that even her sharp eyes hadn't been swift enough for Hook's hand.

"Just the one piece?" she found herself teasing. "Come on, I was more offended than that."

Hook eyed her curiously, unused to her light chat.

"Careful, lass," he said with a rueful smile. "Beautiful woman walking alone into the night with a man giving her money? The townspeople will get ideas again."

Emma shook her head, but something stuck at her. Beautiful. He had called her beautiful, and there hadn't been a hint of irony or condescension like with some of his other terms of endearment. Though she certainly wasn't about to swoon, the word did not roll off her back as she would have wished.

"Besides," Hook said, trying to coax her out of her silence. "I was expecting you to scold me for thieving."

His tone suggested anticipation rather than contrition. Emma shrugged.

"That would just make me a hypocrite."

Hook looked at her in approval. "Always known there was more to you than meets the eye."

"Right, because I'm the only one with hidden depths. You want to tell me exactly how a pirate Captain got so chivalrous?"

Hook grinned but didn't answer, and so their cold night's trek to the other bar continued in silence until Emma's scornful smile faded.

"You didn't have to do that," she said, looking at the path ahead rather than at him. "Back at the bar."

"Yes, I did."

His quiet resolve pricked at Emma.

"I can take care of myself," she insisted. Brave and independent had been her only labels for a long time, and she hated to think that wasn't living up to them.

Hook chuckled. "Believe me, lass, I know, but he was insulting both of us. Insinuating that I have to pay for company…really, given my considerable charm how many times do you think I have had to resort to that?"

Emma accepted the return to light-heartedness for what it was.

"Depends," she said. "Am I judging on your face or your big mouth? Both have different answers."

"You wound me."

The banter continued as they walked but Emma's thoughts were elsewhere. Eventually, each as exhausted as the other, they lapsed into silence and Emma was left with her musings. It felt…different to be defended. Almost pleasant that someone should protect her not because she needed it but because she deserved it. Although she would fight for Henry, Mary Margaret and David if they were ever in danger, it never really occurred that someone would want to do that for her.

The second tavern was, to put it delicately, rough as hell. Emma had thought that it would take a long time to find, but she could hear the din it emitted from two streets away and smell the alcohol and sweat from one.

"Seems more like it, doesn't it, love?" Hook grinned, eager to be in familiar surroundings.

Though people still stared, no one bothered them. Emma found a small, unobtrusive table in the corner under a lit lantern and took a seat. A candle flickered in the middle of the table and she poured melted wax into the palm of her hand while Hook bought them drinks.

"Here we go," he said, setting a drink down in front of her. He paused, having second thoughts, and picked up her glass. He took a quick swig of the liquid inside - whiskey, maybe, although in this world it was an undistinguishable gray - before placing it back down. "Not poison," he assured her.

Emma wondered if he would do this with every drink he offered her. It was getting tired. She clinked her glass with his tankard (ambitious of him, she thought) and took a welcome drink.

"Beds are sorted for the night," Hook said as he sat down opposite her. "Separate, despite my best intentions."

"Good. So I guess this is your kind of place?" Emma asked above the cheering of someone losing some gamble or another.

"Aye," Hook answered, looking almost wistfully around. "Back in the Enchanted Forest, I could have had a crew put together by the end of the night."

Emma smirked. "Right, and how many scams would you have to pull to get the numbers?"

Hook shot her a scornful look. "Men fight to the death for the chance to sail under the Jolly Roger's colors. At least, they did." He finished his drink and slammed the cup back onto the table. It was refilled within seconds by a passing barman who barely paused in pouring. "Cheers, love."

"Reputation not what it used to be?" Emma asked, sipping her own drink and wondering how the hell he had drank so quickly.

"Reputation's just fine," Hook corrected with a defensive edge. "You'd heard of me, as had your mum. What I meant was that there was no need to find new shipmates. Crew of the Jolly Roger's not changed in three hundred years."

Emma was preparing another jibe until the light shifted and she could read his expression.

"You miss them," she said softly.

"I spent three centuries stuck with the same faces every day." His scornful laugh didn't quite ring true and, after another drink, he nodded. "Aye," he said, quietly. "I miss them."

The unexpected admission, and his expression in the soft illumination of the firelight, made him seem more human. He had shed the heavy weight that came with being Captain Hook; here he was simply Killian Jones, the man who had loved and lost. Emma wanted to find out more about this man.

"Where are they now?" she asked, leaning closer over the table to hear his answer.

"Some opted to stay in Neverland, some travelled elsewhere. Don't suppose our paths will cross again." His eyes fixed on a point above Emma's shoulder. "They gave their blessing to my quest, every one of them. Milah was good to them, and they wanted to see her avenged."

His hand stilled around the tankard for a moment before he knocked the drink back. There was a distant sadness in his eyes and a grim set to his jaw. Emma wanted to say something to bring back the man she was familiar with, the man she knew how to deal with, because the stripped back man in front of her was too vulnerable for her to know how to act around. She knew from experience that any attempt at an apology would ring hollow and stiff, formal condolences were not her style.

"Go on then, lass," Hook said, breaking the silence for her. "What's your tale of love and loss?"

Emma shrugged. She would not discuss this. Not now, not with him. "I loved, I lost."

She was too exhausted, mentally and physically, to delve into her past right now, but Hook would not be deterred.

"You mentioned a son."

Emma nodded. "Yeah. Henry."

This was a marginally safer topic, and as long as she didn't divulge too much it was something she was happy to talk about.

"Henry," Hook repeated thoughtfully. "Good name. Strong."

"Stubborn," Emma corrected with a small smile that she could not help. "Most precocious kid you've ever met. Smart as hell and fearless."

"Like his mum."

Emma shook her head. "Better than me."

The ache for his absence deepened. She missed his smile, his hugs, his infuriating questions and the way he would eat anything put down in front of him. She missed him, and it was bitterly unfair that her plans to get back to him were continually thwarted.

"You'll see him again," Hook assured her, covering her hand with his.

Emma allowed the warmth of his hand and his sincerity for a moment before drawing away. She felt dangerously close to tears, more through her tiredness than anything, and that was a sure sign that the night was over. She gave Hook a shaky smile and stood up.

"I'm going to bed," she said with barely a glance at her unfinished dram.

"Shall I join you?" Hook asked, sounding much more like his pirate self.

"Try it and you lose the other hand."

She walked away, leaving Hook grinning to himself.

Emma slept a dreamless sleep, which she was beyond grateful for. She did not need the nightmares of being chased by Shells or a mad Queen or Hook slowly drawing closer to her as he held her against a door…although Emma was still undecided if that would be a nightmare. It was something she should not be thinking of, and she would leave it at that.

She lay huddled in blankets for a few minutes after waking, trying to collect her thoughts. She was stuck in the same town as Dracula, which was an obvious cause for concern. Hook didn't seem about to attack or betray her, though that could just be down to lack of opportunity. There was obviously magic present in this land, but she had no idea how to harness it. All in all, things weren't great.

But, Emma thought, determined to find positives, that was a pretty good night's sleep.

She sat up and stretched, wondering where she could get some breakfast. She imagined it would not be in with the price of the room and hoped they had enough money left from the pouch that Hook had stolen.

Determined to find new clothes soon, Emma threw on her jacket and headed for the door. She opened it and nearly walked straight into Hook. A hand was drawn to an inappropriate place - or two - as he tried to steady her.

"How long have you been standing there?" Emma asked, once she had gathered her wits.

Hook raised an eyebrow. "While your self-confidence is endearing, I have better things to do than standing wistfully outside your bedroom door until you wake up. I was just about to knock. We have a long day ahead of us."

Emma decided that it was best for her sanity if she accepted his words without question. "Right."

"You had a longer lie in than I did, which is remarkable considering the evening I had."

He didn't seem about to move, leading Emma to believe that she would have to ask about his apparent adventure. She sighed and, despite already knowing that she probably wouldn't like the answer, asked, "What happened last night?"

Hook leant against the doorframe and examined his namesake.

"Some of the details are a little unclear," he admitted, "but I think I may have traded your jacket for a horse, lost the horse in a game of cards and then won your jacket back in a drinking contest. Gardening tools may also have made an appearance at some point."

Emma stared at him. "You bet my jacket in a card game?"

"No, I traded your jacket. No card games involved where you were concerned."

Emma couldn't help but feel he was missing the point.

"You didn't even have my jacket with you," she said, completely bemused. "And who would trade a horse for that?"

Hook shrugged. "Fashion-conscious farmers?"

Emma had to stop herself from smiling, both at his quip and at the absurdity of the situation. It was too early in the day for this.

"The plan was to take the horse, wake you up and then run," Hook explained. "Or, ride, as the case may have been. You'd be surprised at how logical that plan seemed after a few rounds."

Emma shook her head. "I'm never leaving you alone with alcohol again."

"Good," Hook said, glancing at her with a smile. "It wasn't the same after you left."

The cynical look she shot him softened into wry amusement as he maintained eye contact.

"We should get some breakfast," she said. "Assuming you didn't gamble away the money."

"Not all of it." He finally straightened up and moved aside to let her pass.

Breakfast was an unusual affair comprised of cold meat, fruit and something that could optimistically be called porridge. Still, everything was perfectly edible and so Hook and Emma ate in silence, too fixed on filling their stomachs to attempt conversation. For such a disreputable place they were good on the hospitality front. Considering they had traveled so light - as in, brought nothing whatsoever with them - they had no need to go back to the rooms and so left as soon as they had finished their food. The owner waved them off like old friends, though Hook soon admitted that this was because he had given him the rest of the stolen money.

"We'll just steal some more," he said to Emma as they walked out into the sunshine, trying to alleviate any worry she might have felt at being penniless.

"You're supposed to steal because you have to, not because it's fun to throw money away," Emma admonished, although the stolen candy bars all those years ago weren't strictly necessary.

"Have you forgotten who you're talking -"

Hook cut off at the appearance of a young girl in their path. She had none of the fear or distrust in her face that the other townspeople had reserved for the newcomers, perhaps because she was in as vibrant color as Hook and Emma.

"Mother Elena wishes to see you," the girl said without preamble.

Emma, taken aback, wasn't sure how to respond for a moment. She noticed how passers-by stared at the child and muttered behind their hands. The faded colors of her clothes - extravagant when the rest of the world was in black and white - earned her no favor. The girl took it with good grace and waited patiently for Hook and Emma to follow her.

"Who's Mother Elena?" Emma asked, focusing back on the child.

"A very wise old woman who wishes to help you," the girl answered. "We live on the edge of the forest. Will you come?"

"That depends," Hook said, fixing a condescending smile in place. "Is it a trap?"

"Mother Elena said you'd come," the girl said, not in the least offended. "She sent me out to show you the way. Follow me."

Emma considered the options, just as she knew Hook was doing. They could ignore the girl and wander around until they hit upon something that could help them (or, God forbid, Dracula himself) or they could walk into what was quite possibly a trap, be forced to fight their way out while try to get some answers as they did so.

When Hook looked at Emma, she knew his answer. It was the same as hers. Wordlessly, they followed the child.

It was not a long walk to the forest, though nature was decidedly less impressive when it was one dull haze. Emma walked on full alert, ready to dodge or throw a punch at any given moment, while Hook kept a close hand on his sword.

"We're here," the girl announced, reaching the first line of trees in the forest. Talismans dangled from the branches, all different shapes and sizes. "For protection," she explained, seeing Emma's curious glance.

They stepped past the trees and, as though a switch was flipped, the world was washed in bright colors. Wagons painted gold and red bordered a clearing. Horses grazed and a dog zipped around, offering a stick for anybody to throw. The remains of a campfire smoked in the centre, and men, women and children were dotted around completing various jobs. Although there were a few interested glances, no one gave Hook and Emma much consideration.

"Mother Elena told them you were coming," the girl said, unnecessarily at this point. "This way."

Though Emma was still wary, nothing more dangerous than an overenthusiastic dog threatened her passage to the largest wagon. At the girl's urging, she climbed the three steps up into the interior. A woman was waiting for them in the small, brightly decorated space. She seemed as ancient as the trees and almost as wrinkled.

"Carolina?" Mother Elena asked, turning her head quickly as Hook and Emma entered.

"Uh, no," Emma said, swapping a blank glance with Hook. "Someone said you wanted to see us? A little girl. Was she Carolina?"

"Yes," Mother Elena murmured in accented English, running bony fingers over the many rings on her hands. "Yes, it must have been. Such a naughty child, always running off…"

As the old woman fretted, Emma glanced around the wagon's interior. Rich material draped the walls and threads of coins and beads hung from the ceiling. A small table, covered by a thick fabric, sat in the centre of the wagon with three small wooden stools surrounding it. Mother Elena occupied one and so Emma moved slowly to one of the others.

"Are you a fortune teller?" she asked, wondering if they had been the victim of an elaborate marketing campaign.

Hook's lips thinned as he took the seat next to Emma. "Another psychic. Wonderful."

Mother Elena looked at him with bright brown eyes, holding an energy that belied her age.

"I am much more than a psychic, child," she said, with no trace of her previous vulnerability.

"And I am much more than a child, psychic," Hook replied with waning patience. "How did you know we were here?"

Mother Elena tilted her head to the side. "I had heard whisperings."

"The townspeople," Emma muttered, remembering the idiots from the first tavern.

"No, dear child, the dead." The wagon was silent as the newcomers processed this. The old woman smiled, showing almost toothless gums. "I am a conduit between this world and the next." Her eyes flicked to a spot over Emma's shoulder and lingered there for a moment. "There is somebody with us, if you wish to verify my claim."

Emma twisted around on the stool but there was no one behind her. Though practicality told her not to be so foolish, she still shivered at the thought of being in the presence of a ghost.

"No one I know will even be alive for another couple hundred years," she said, turning back around and forgetting in that moment that she was not the only one in the wagon who had lost someone.

"The dead affix themselves to a person, not a time," Mother Elena explained.

Now Emma was intrigued. "Who is it?"

Mother Elena closed her eyes and tilted her head again as though listening to music only she could hear.

"I see…a wolf," she said, raising her hand and tracing a shape through the air as a chill ran up Emma's spine. "A feeling of being lost, controlled. Gone before his time-"

"Emma, you can't seriously believe this woman," Hook interrupted, bored and annoyed.

"Shut up," Emma said faintly, both eager and afraid to hear Mother Elena continue.

"There was a kiss," the old woman continued. "And then…" she winced and clutched at her chest. Her eyes opened and, upon finding Emma's, filled with pity. "He is sad that he had to leave so soon after finding you, but content now in his freedom."

A tear slipped unchecked down Emma's cheek as she smiled. It was comforting to hear that Graham, wherever he was, was happy. She could feel Hook watching her, confused.

"I'm glad," she said, hoping that Graham could hear her.

Mother Elena turned her gaze onto Hook. "Do you still need convincing? There will be someone waiting to make contact, no doubt. Your face may be unmarked by age but you have one thousand years worth of suffering etched onto your soul."

In a moment, Hook's demeanour shifted. He seemed unnerved, even afraid. He fell back on drawling sarcasm, as Emma noticed he was prone to doing when he felt out of his depth.

"Impressive considering I haven't been alive half that long."

Mother Elena was not amused.

"The only impressive thing about tragedy is its scope," she said, rebuking his glib words. She turned her attention to Emma. "Your destiny lies outside this land. I can help you leave, for a price."

"We don't have any money," Emma warned. She didn't know where she stood with Mother Elena; clearly the old woman had some psychic ability, but asking for a reward was a sign of a scam.

"No, not money," Mother Elena said with a shake of her head. "This land is plagued by an unnatural beast."

Hook nodded, regaining his composure. "We will slay it."

"No," Emma said quickly, glaring at Hook. He clearly still underestimated Dracula, dismissing him as a story. He frowned at her in response, not annoyed but curious at her sharpness. She stood her ground and directed her next words to Mother Elena. "I'm sorry but that isn't an option."

Dragons, fine. Ogres, less than fine but still achievable. Dracula? No. Emma had to draw a line somewhere, and the fabled vampire was it.

"You misunderstand," Mother Elena said, leaning forward over the table. Her earrings rattled with the movement. "I do not ask that you fight the monster yourself. There is already a group of men on their way here to complete that task. I ask you to ensure that he stays dead."

Emma frowned. She was no expert but she was certain that a little sunlight, a little decapitation, a stake to the heart and hey, no more vampire.

"He can't be killed?" Hook asked, finally interested in something to old woman had to say.

Mother Elena sighed. "Long ago, a powerful imp arrived in the town." Her expression twisted in anger. "We thought he was here to free us from the monster but instead he damned us all with the darkest magic."

Powerful imp? Emma sincerely hoped that was not who she thought it was. She had read enough of Henry's book to know that Rumplestiltskin was involved in the most unlikely of tales.

"He made a mockery of time by tearing a hole into it and creating a loop triggered by the monster's death," Mother Elena continued, shaking her head. "A hundred men have slain the demon and time has reset a hundred times in the town to allow him back his existence. We protected ourselves as best we could; we are not exempt from the reset but we are the only ones who remember it. Meanwhile men go out into the world proclaiming to have slain the monster, unaware that time has looped back to before they even arrived here."

Emma had only read half of Dracula but she was pretty damn sure that this had not happened in the book.

"Why haven't you told the townspeople about it?"

"We are outcasts. They spit on us if we leave the forest."

Though Mother Elena's head was held high, Emma lowered her eyes in sympathy. She had never faced persecution on that scale but she knew what it was like to not belong. Now she understood the reaction to the girl who had led them here.

"So travel away," Hook said, as though it was obvious. "You owe these people nothing. Flee the town and leave them to the monster."

"This is our home," Mother Elena said, her forehead wrinkling further with her affront to the suggestion. "I will not leave it to be ravaged by the undead. And besides," she added, "who is to say that we will not be dragged back here every time the curse resets? In the camp we are protected. Our blood is safe from the demon."

The wagon was silent for a few minutes as everyone involved collected their thoughts.

"So you want us to find a way to break the imp's curse?" Emma asked. At Mother Elena's nod, she frowned. "If time resets the moment he dies then how can we make sure Dracula stays dead?"

Here, Mother Elena smiled grimly. "There is a delay between death and reset. Whatever deal the imp struck, he made sure that the demon would not become invulnerable."

"So why haven't you sent in men to slay the demon before now?" Hook asked.

Emma could tell that he was not asking to be difficult; he was seriously considering accepting the offer and wanted to know every angle. It was smart.

"We have."

The admission - and its implication - weighed heavily in the wagon.

Emma was torn. The heroism in her blood demanded she help save these people, but her logical side told her it was suicide. She needed to determine if this was their only option to get home, if Mother Elena was even telling the truth.

"Give us the rest of the day to think about it," she said eventually.

"We'll be back here by nightfall with our decision," Hook added, as though he had been part of the evaluation process all along. "If we return, you can tell us everything you know about how to keep the vampire dead."

Mother Elena had no choice but to accept their terms, however begrudgingly. Emma offered her a smile as they stood up to leave.

"She wants you to stop."

At the old woman's sudden words, Hook glanced at Emma, who shrugged.

"You lived together as though nothing tied you down, but she feels that revenge has anchored you."

Hook became very still, with a twitch in his jaw his only movement. Emma kept a wary eye on him, knowing that this was a sign of anger. Someone from Hook's past was warning him, and Emma had a good idea of who that was. Mother Elena, unaware or perhaps unconcerned with the effect her words were having, continued.

"She wants you to be free again, as happy as you once -"

"That's enough!" Hook snapped, rounding on the seated Mother Elena. His terrible voice filled the small wagon. "Milah is dead and you have no leave to use your trickery to give her a voice!"

Emma stepped in front of him, shielding the old woman from danger. "Calm down," she said, unnerved despite herself at the hatred in the pirate's eyes that had directed itself at her the moment she spoke. She prepared to defend herself in case Hook lashed out but all he did was glare. He was on the verge of spitting something out, something he could not take back, but he stopped himself. With one last venomous glance at Mother Elena, he turned on his heel and stormed out of the wagon.

Emma watched him go, wary and more than a little sad that his sore spot had been so thoroughly exploited. He needed time to cool down, but not too long that they lost sight of their objective. It would be a delicate balance that Emma was already dreading trying to handle.

"She likes you."

To Emma's surprise, Mother Elena was smiling. It took Emma a moment to understand who the woman was talking about.

"Who, Milah?"

Mother Elena nodded. "Yes. The two of you are connected more than you know." While Emma was pondering this, Milah apparently spoke some more. "She wants you to take care of her grandson."

Emma frowned. She was all for honoring the dead and their last requests, but taking on another kid was a little above and beyond.

"How am I meant to do that?" she asked, raising an eyebrow before hastily lowering it. That was a habit she did not want to pick up.

Mother Elena smiled again, sharing a cosmic joke that Emma was not privy to.

"You will understand one day."

A/N 2: Hey guys, hope you enjoyed the chapter. I'm basically just covering my tracks here by saying that not a lot of historical research went into this chapter (dissertation is eating my time) and it's been awhile since I've read Dracula (despite studying it in class next week, eep) so any errors are entirely my bad. I figured that Dracula takes place in the same world as Frankenstein, hence black and white, and Mother Elena and the gypsies are taken from my favourite series of books, The Gemma Doyle Trilogy by Libba Bray. Strongly advise you to check them out. Rumplestiltskin's curse will be explored and explained more next chapter. Okay, I'm out! Love.