Emma was relaxing with Mary Margaret after her shift at the station. They were sitting on the couch, drinking hot cocoa (with cinnamon, of course) and watching the Princess Bride because it was on TV and it was kind of a rule in the Blanchard/Swan/Nolan house. David wasn't home yet, but he'd be back in time for the end hopefully.
"So, you and Henry met people who aren't from Storybrooke today?" Mary Margaret asked Emma.
"Mhmm," she answered, sipping her drink.
"Weird." Mary Margaret turned to face her daughter. "Did they say why they were here?"
Emma shook her head. "No, they said they just said they needed a tow." She cocked her head. "Why do you think they're here?" she asked.
"Did you feel like they knew? About us? About Storybrooke?" Mary Margaret got up and went into the kitchen, leaving her cocoa behind. She turned on the sink and started scrubbing the dishes, which was her nervous tick. Emma paused before answering. They didn't seem like they knew anything, but then again, there was the fact that Sam was researching mythology in Storybrooke, and Dean never gave her a real answer as to why they were even near town in the first place. She didn't really consider these things to be too extreme though.
"I don't think they do," Emma finally responded. Mary Margaret put down the dish she was ferociously cleaning and turned to face Emma.
"You don't think so? Emma, we must be sure. And make sure they never know! Storybrooke won't be safe if word gets out that it's full of fairy tale freaks. We have nowhere to go, unless we're willing to lose our memories, in which case, what's even the point?" Mary Margaret sighed and went back to cleaning the dishes. Emma leaned back against the couch, thinking. Her mother was right. She had to know just what Dean and his brother knew.
She stood up from the couch, setting down her drink. She marched purposefully towards the door and grabbed her red jacket from its hook.
Mary Margaret crooked her neck and stared at Emma.
"Emma? Where are you going?" she called slowly.
"Out. Don't worry, I'll be back tonight," she said while stepping out of the door. As she walked away from the apartment, she murmured, "Hopefully," under her breath.
"I'm not going with you," Sam stated, yet again. Dean twitched his jaw.
"Why not? C'mon, I need a drink and a wingman," he insisted.
"No, I'm staying here. Someone has to find out about Storybrooke."
Dean grabbed his jacket and pointed at Sam. "You're a bitch," he said accusingly.
"And you're a jerk," Sam responded while smirking. Dean glared back.
There was a knock at the door, causing them both to jump. Sam threw a blanket over the more disturbing parts of his scattered research (i.e. pictures of mutilated bodies, images of Devil's Traps and summoning rituals, their dad's journal [which was turned to a gruesome image of an exorcism] etc., etc.) and Dean grabbed his gun, ready to use it or shove it in his waistband, whatever the situation called for.
Dean slowly opened the door and was shocked when he saw Emma standing in front of him.
"Hey," she said.
"Uh, hi," he answered, mind running. What the hell was she doing here?
Sam stood up, faking a cough. "I'm gonna go. . . get a drink. . . from the vending machine."
Dean wanted to plead him to stay, but instead he said, "Hey, get me a Coke." Sam nodded and left the room, which forced Emma to step in. Sam banged the door shut. Dean and Emma both started a little at the sound. Dean shook it off and discreetly put his gun in his waistband.
"So… uh, what are you doing here?" he asked Emma, who was examining the room with a wary eye. She turned back to face him, locking her gaze on his.
"Well, I'm the sheriff."
"And I wanted to ask about the circumstances of the accident that took place earlier." Dean bobbed his head and took a step back.
"Well, there was a wolf in the middle of the road, and I swerved and hit your fancy sign instead of it." He smirked.
"Is it alright if I have you come down to the station to fill out a report? Or we could do it tomorrow." She fidgeted and crossed her arms.
"I'd love to do it with you tomorrow," he answered. His smirk grew as her jaw dropped slightly in disbelief.
"Why do you come with me and we'll out the report now? And then we won't have to do anything tomorrow," she retorted. His smirk disappeared for a second, just as one appeared on her face. He exhaled deeply and quickly pulled on his coat.
"Lead the way, birdie," he said, gesturing to the closed door. It was her turn for her smirk disappear. She glared at him.
"Don't call me birdie, or I'll have you in the cell overnight for harassment," she threatened.
"I get all tingly when you get feisty like that," he countered. She rolled her eyes and opened the door, walking out of the door without even checking to see if Dean was following. He sighed and sent a quick text to Sammy, then followed the cop down the hall.
Emma and Dean walked out of the bed and breakfast and each began leading the way to their own car. Realizing what they were doing, they both stopped and turned to stare at each other, almost daring the other to say they were taking their car. Emma stopped and stood still, her face deadpan. Dean slowly realized she wasn't going to move and trekked over to her bug. She fought back a smug grin and unlocked the car.
"Can I drive at least?" he asked, taking his sweet time approaching the Volkswagen.
Her smirk broke through. "Nope," she answered and proceeded to hop in the driver's seat. She heard his sigh even after she shut the door and rolled her eyes. He clambered into the passenger's seat and shut the door with more force than necessary, but not enough to call it a slam, so all Emma did was roll her eyes again.
"This shouldn't take too long. Hopefully," Emma said as they drove away.
"I dunno, I kind of like spending time with you," he said, turning to wink at her. She snorted.
"I'm not sorry that I can't say the same," she retorted.
"Expect when you're being rude. I don't like that-as much," he mumbled, turning back to look out the window.
"Sorry," she said before she even realized what she was saying or who she was saying it to. She mentally slapping herself.
"Was that an apology?" Dean said in shock, turning back to face her. "I don't even know you and I can tell this is a rare occasion." Emma refused to look at him.
"Don't get used to it," she shot back.
"Trust me, I won't," he said, again turning to the window. She glanced at him and saw him staring out the window. She couldn't help but wonder why she had the feeling he didn't trust easy. She fidgeted at the idea of having anything in common with this stranger and decided she'd just focus on the road.
They pulled to a stop at what Dean assumed was the police station. It was a weird feeling when he walked in-he had rarely been in jail without handcuffs on (he should probably make sure Emma didn't find out about that). Emma led the way and Dean meandered behind her. This station didn't really give a jail vibe. It only had one cell, and no one was in it. There was a small office and a secretary's desk, not much else. Emma walked into the office and pulled some forms out of the desk, her desk he realized.
"This is what you need to fill out," she said and handed him an ink pen. He took the paper from her and examined it with a doubtful eye.
"You seriously dragged me here for this?" he asked glancing back at her. He could've sworn she had blushed slightly.
"Yes, I did. Then when you're finished, I can ask you questions, and then I get to fill out my report. It's easier to do all at once," she said almost hostilely, immediately proving the blush was really more of a flush of anger.
Dean pursed his lips, bit back his retort, and grabbed the pen from her as well. "Better get to it then," he said and walked out of the office to sit down behind the desk in the lobby/jail area (what the hell was this area called? Sam would know, not that he'd ever ask him). He clicked the pen and began filling the dumbest questionnaire he'd ever taken.
Emma was almost slightly shocked when Dean took the form and walked out to fill it out. She let out a small sigh and reached in her phone to call Mary Margaret.
She picked up on the second ring. "Hey, Emma, where are you? You just ran off," she said, and Emma noticed the hurt in her voice.
"I'm at the station, there was some paperwork that I had to finish," Emma said. "And I had to get the accident report from Dean," she added.
"Dean? Who's he? Oh, never mind-one of the strangers I bet. Hey, put David on the phone, he hasn't been answering his," Mary Margaret said, barely pausing for breath.
Emma glanced around the station once more. "He's not here, I thought he was on his way home," she told her mother.
"Well, he's not back yet. I call you back if he's not here in fifteen minutes, okay?"
"Hold on, Mary Margaret. He could be at Granny's or some place, let's not freak out yet," she said, just as there was a knock on her door. She turned to see Dean, holding his form. "I gotta go, don't worry, David will be fine." She hung up after Mary Margaret's fretful good-bye and motioned for Dean to enter.
He came in and set the paper down on her desk. "This is the dumbest thing I've ever had to do. And believe me, I've done stupid things," he scoffed.
"You didn't even try to finish?" she asked. "Seriously?"
"It's hard to concentrate out there; it kind of smells like sulfur," he said.
Emma pouted her lips. "Gross. And weird. I wonder if David knows anything about that," she said, stepping out of the office. He was right-it did smell faintly of rotten eggs.
"Who's David?" he asked.
"My fa- my friend," she corrected herself, almost revealing part of her secret.
"Where's he?" he asked, and if Emma didn't know any better, she'd say he almost looked concerned for a moment.
"I'm not sure, on his way home, or at Granny's," she answered, shrugging.
"What does he look like?" he asked. Emma raised an eyebrow.
"Why do you care?"
"Well, I was hoping you could drop me off at Granny's. If he was there, I'd be able to call and tell you," he answered.
Emma crossed her arms. "You don't have my number," she said.
"9-1-1," he countered with a smirk. She twitched her mouth, admitting to herself that he had her there.
"How 'bout that ride now?" he asked. She sighed and pulled out her keys from her pocket and led the way out to the bug.
Emma let Dean out at the curb in front of Granny's. She had given him a description of David, telling him that the only reason she was telling him was so that he'd come back tomorrow to finish the report.
Dean did keep an eye out for anyone matching description when he entered the diner. He hadn't wanted to come here, but the trace of sulfur was something he wanted to look into if David was here, especially if they were dealing with his demonic possession.
He caught a glimpse of a man who matched the description he was given sitting in a far booth. The man didn't seem to be eating anything, just stirring his tea. He suddenly looked up and winked at Dean. Dean groaned internally but waved awkwardly anyways for appearances. He pulled out his phone and called Sam's speed dial, stepping out of the diner and began walking towards the bed and breakfast.
He didn't answer, so Dean left a short message.
"Guess Storybrooke isn't so fairy tale after all. I'm pretty sure we've got a demon on our hands."
He put his phone back in his pocket, completely forgetting to call and tell Emma that he found her friend-he had bigger things to worry about, like whether they still had that demon-killing knife in the Impala or not.