Note: GUEST reviewers, please have the courtesy to at least make up a name, will you? Just using "Guest" is lazy as fuck.

PART II

CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

THE FOREST OF COINCIDENCES

How odd, she thought, and wondered if that was some kind of magical sign...

And then Hook's steed farted a blast so noxious Emma nearly fell out of her saddle.

"I swear to God, Hook," she seethed, "if you fed the mangy beast crab puffs..."

"He is not mangy!" Hook shot back. "His shaggy coat is particular to the breed!"

"Unlike you. Good thing it's overcast. If the sun was out, I'd be blinded by the glare off your bald spot!" sniggered Neal.

"I do not have a bald spot!" Hook howled, reaching up to reposition his hair. "It's thinning."

Emma sighed, growing seriously tired of the subject of Hook's balding, and wondered if she could just run him through with a regular sword and leave his body to the wolves. Neal probably wouldn't object. They could say Hook died heroically... or tragically... or comically. It's not like anyone would really care.

But then again, they needed the Jolly Roger to get home - or at least the people who were probably on it - so she might as well let Blackbeard take care of the messy business and then it wouldn't be on her soul.

The horse let out another fart and Emma nudged hers forward so she could reach over and smack Hook upside his balding heading.

"Owe!"

"You have first watch tonight."

"You didn't have to hit me, wench!"

"Don't call your family relations 'wench', asshole."

"I am officially disinheriting you!" Hook huffed, nudging his horse to pick up the pace into the snow covered trees. "You'll get none of my doubloons, jewels, or wardrobe of fancy frocks."

"Like I want the doubloons you stole, the jewels you murdered for, and the gowns of the women you raped!"

"Plus, he dresses up in them sometimes," offered Neal.

"What!?" Hook sputtered. "That's a lie!"

Neal snorted. "It is not. I saw you, when I was a kid. And then, you know, after I was dead, sometimes you'd say you were going out for a sail to feel pirate-y, but then you'd weigh anchor off the coast and dress up in ballgowns and tiaras."

"Oh my God, you're a drag queen!?" Emma exclaimed.

"I was stuck in Neverland without female companionship for a long time!" Hook defended. "Pan only ever gave me leave long enough to get supplies and shag a trollop at the docks. I never got to crash any balls or seduce any noblewomen the way I used too!"

Emma made a disgusted face. "So what happened at Midas' engagement party was you reliving one of your sick rape schemes? If I hadn't gotten thrown in the dungeon after my mother stole my father's ring, would you have gotten me drunk on champagne and shagged me in the ass in the broom closet?"

"I have no idea what party you are talking about," Hook huffed. "But it would have been a pantry, not a broom closet."

"Yeah, I think you've developed an eating disorder," said Neal.

"Well, someone left my bottomless flask in Camelot and someone," he glared at Emma, "won't use magic to retrieve it for me."

"And someone needs to go to Alcoholic's Anonymous when we get back home."

"Whenever that is," grumbled Hook. "How far is the-"

A sudden rustling sound drew their attention, a snowy but also orange shape appearing just at the treeline. Hook let out a girlie cry, grabbed a satchel from his saddle and hurled it with surprising near-deadly accuracy at the shape which let out a yelp and crumpled to the snow.

They dismounted to find the 'threat' was a redheaded woman in a white rabbit fur cloak with a quiver of arrows on her back. She now had a very bloody nose and was very unconscious.

"What the hell was that, man?" Neal asked the pale pirate. "Also, what was in that, your gallon of guyliner and magic hair shit?"

"I thought it was another one of those talking snowmen!" said Hook. "I mistook the bow and arrow for its freakish stick arms. And it's silverware," he amended, picking up a few pieces of cutlery that had fallen out of the bag.

"You stole silverware?"

"I'm quite certain I already mentioned that. The Dark Castle was fully pillaged and plundered by Robin Hood, so how else are we going to pay for passage aboard a ship if necessary? Did either of you think of that?"

"Okay, so syphilis hasn't killed all of your brain cells yet," admitted Emma as she checked Merida's pulse, "and she does have quite a carrot top. I mean, literally like Carrot Top. It's unnatural. Creepy, really."

"You suppose it has magical hair restorative powers?"

"Probably," considered Emma, "it would just make you talk in an even less intelligible accent and threaten to punch people in the face even more often. I had the displeasure of meeting her in that other timeline. Sometimes I wonder if God hates Scottish people."

"Wait," Neal interjected, "my father has a Scottish acce... oh, I see what you mean."

"Wait, so we're just going to leave her?" asked Hook, bewildered when Emma left the woman to get back on her horse. "That's not very heroic. I mean, not that I care or anything, but I thought you were attempting to be less of an 'asshole' than you apparently were in this other life in which you betrayed even your closest kin for sexual pleasures and such."

Emma glowered at the "sexual pleasures" comment, then argued, "It may not be heroic, but it's eliminating a pointless and distracting detour that I'm sure Mulan can handle and then leave Merida and her people to whatever horrible misrepresentation of Scottish history and culture this world has. The last thing we need is to be pulled into a stupid clan war between a bunch of gingers."

"Isn't it kinda racist... or something calling them 'gingers' isn't it?" Neal pointed out.

"This world is knda racist. I'm just blending," Emma defended, then got back to the original subject, "How far is the Dark Castle from here, anyway?"

"According to that sign," pointed Hook with an uneasy expression, "One Day's Ride"

There was, indeed, a wooden sign on the tree next to where Merida was bleeding in the snow.

"That seems awfully coincidental," considered Emma, amending, "And I don't remember seeing that a moment ago."

Neal looked between the two of them and rolled his eyes. "Christ, you two were the shittiest Dark Ones that ever existed. Anyone who wants to make a deal with the Dark One is guided by magic to his - or her - doorstep. How do you seriously not know that?"

Emma gave him an annoyed look. "Okay, I get it, I was a bad Dark One. But at least I wasn't the worst Dark One. I mean, I knew when I was the Dark One."

"That didn't happen!" Hook snapped. "Both of you wankers stop bringing up stuff that didn't happen. I was never the Dark One, and I'm sure there would have been a very plausible explanation for how I would not know that I was if it had been."

"Eh... not really," said Emma.

"Yeah, it was pretty much glossed over 'Fuck the details, who cares, Merlin style'. Not the best way to honor him, what with you murdering him, really," said Neal with a smirk.

"I hate you both," growled Hook. "Also, why would that sign invite us to steal from the Dark One? That is suspicious."

"We're not stealing. He already gave permission. Besides, blood magic should let me inside. It did last time."

"And the Vault with no door? How are you planning to work those 'tumblers', Nealfire?"

Neal glared at Emma. "When exactly did you tell him about that? And why does it sound so sexual?"

"We were arguing about my chaining him to the radiator in your basement. It had nothing to do with that. And he makes everything sound sexual, Neal."

"Nothing to do with what?" asked Hook. "Were there handcuffs involved? Was it kinky?"

"NO!" they shouted together.

"Can one of you just answer the question already?" huffed Hook. "I'd rather not attempt to steal from some magically warded safe and end up trapped in it for all of eternity."

"It'll be fine," assured Neal. "We'll figure it out when we get there. Don't worry about it. S'not important."

"How is it not important?" huffed Hook.

"It's how details are handled in this world. I'm just blending," quipped Neal.

When they got there, the Dark Castle was just as Neal remembered it... if a bit more dusty. Thankfully, combining blood magic with Emma using her magic and memory of the inside of the Vault, they were able to get inside and retrieve the urn using one of those 'self-love magic handshakes' (which is not a euphemism for masturbation, and Emma punched Hook in the face for the suggestion).

"Sure this isn't your grandma's ashes?" asked Hook after they'd returned to the sitting room with the urn.

"Sure that stuff you're pocketing is really hair tonic and not something bewitched to look like what you most desire and will really make your dick fall off?" countered Neal.

Emma rolled her eyes at them, and before either could protest, opened the top of the urn.

There was a gust of blue and white sparkles, and then Elsa appeared in her blue and white sparkly dress that she had somehow inexplicably made with magic that seemed otherwise confined to snow, ice... and shrinking ships.

"Who are you?" Elsa demanded while looking around, recognizing the surroundings. "This is the Dark One's-"

Suddenly, the ground shook, there was a bright flash of light-

And Emma found herself in a bed she didn't recognize, in a frilly nightgown, and being accosted by a grinning Elsa.

"Helga, get up! It's Ingrid's birthday!"

Emma blinked at the other woman and then silently swore.

I am going to kill Rumplestiltskin. And Henry. This has Henry's meddling, Apollo Bar chocolate covered finger prints all over it!

She sighed and shook her head, "Oh, farts."

AN: And so Isaac's fanfiction begins. I intend this "adventure" to be short with more exposition than character interaction to just get through the disastrous literary mess. The chapter title, of course, is from Galavant. (I had to throw in some Merida-bashing, because, come on, what a blatant and plot-useless product placement was that character?)

Next up: A disastrous literary mess.