All Magic Comes With A Price

The Lying, The Witch, And The Trenchcoat

"It's not me, it's you, it's not me, it's you / Always has been you / All the lies and stupid things / You say and do, it's you" --Skillet

"You're sure we're goin' the right way?" Dean asked for the hundredth time, his fingers drumming the steering wheel impatiently. "Have we seen that tree before? I think we've seen that tree before."

"Dean, we haven't seen that tree, and yes, we're going the right way," Sam replied, going over the map their father had drawn on one of the notebook pages yet again just in case. "Can we turn down the radio?" He started to reach for the knob, since the Led Zeppelin was starting to get to him, but Dean grabbed it and turned it down first. Sam sighed, irritated at Dean's mollycoddling. "I could have done it myself..."

"You've got a cracked melon, I get it," Dean said, glancing worriedly at his brother from the corner of his eye. "Besides, you'd have turned it down too much, and I'd have to slap you."

Sam leaned back in the passenger seat again, pouring himself back into the map and comparing it to the road map of Maine they'd picked up. He'd triple checked it twelve times ago, and he was absolutely positive they were on the right track. He rubbed his temple, the headache already subsiding. Sure, he was still recovering from his ordeal, the walls inside his head crumbling down and he had to pick up the pieces, but he was fine. Really, Dean didn't have to keep looking at him as though he was about to go apeshit and starting killing people. "Jerk."

"Bitch," Dean said with a smirk. And then he practically stood on the brakes, making the car come to a sudden stop, and Sam was thrown against his seatbelt. Thank God he'd worn the thing.

"What the hell?" He said, glaring at his brother.

"Look," Dean said, pointing at a road sign, the word "Storybrooke, 1 Mile" written on it clear as day. "I don't think we're in Kansas anymore."

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Strange as it was to meet a woman in the woods, it was stranger still to discover that she was a witch. Gabriel had nothing against witches of this world, as they did not serve his self righteous older brother Lucifer as the ones of present-day Earth. As he helped the woman build her house, they'd gotten to talking, and she revealed things to him as though they'd known each other for years.

"I wish for children," she said as they worked, taking a rest on a stump. "I will take in lost children here, that is my plan."

Of course, Gabriel was no fool. He knew exactly what she meant by this. He was many millennia old, there was no way he could have missed the underlying agenda this woman had, especially since it was written in such detail as a fable in other worlds. But the cottage they were building here was made of wood, and that contradicted every tale ever told.

"Well, don't you think you need something to entice them with?" He asked, a sly grin on his face. He was positively giddy, how often would he get to be involved in a story as famous as this?

The woman paused, staring at her unfinished house with distaste. "I'm sure we can think of something," she said, waving her arm lazily at the house, adorning it with flowers. She frowned at the result.

"How about... This?" Gabriel said, snapping his fingers, his tone gleeful. The entire house suddenly transfigured, becoming all manner of delectable treat and candy that a child could ever hope for. The sweet toothed angel was writing history here, and no one ever even knew he had a hand in it. It was, quite possibly, one of the most thrilling moments of his life. It sure as hell beat the time he told Mary of her immaculate conception of his half-brother, Jesus.

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"Welcome to Storybrooke," Dean said happily as they came into view of the old fashioned wooden welcome sign. "So, it's obviously here." He raised an eyebrow at Sam, who raised one back in return.