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New Chapter! **Chapter 2**

Look at me posting a chapter of one my WIPs 3 months after posting the previous one! 😂 I really am trying to update more this year on all of my stories so I’m very excited to be posting the next chapter of this one. I love myths and legends and anything to do with superstitions of the sea and I really hope you enjoy this story that pays a little tribute to that genre.

A huge thank you to ultraluckycatnd for her amazing beta skills - another person with the patience of a saint who correctly placed my commas for me!!

Thank you also to MotherKat for the beautiful artwork that she made for this story - I still love my Sea Sapphire critter!

And finally, thank you to the CSSNS mods for putting together one final event last year that allowed me to write this story! 🥰💖

See previous chapters: Chapter 1 OR check out AO3

Tag list under the cut - let me know if you would like to be added or deleted :)

@teamhook @veryverynotgoodwrites @jonesfandomfanatic @lfh1226-linda @motherkatereloyshipper @stahlop @allons-y-to-hogwarts-713 @kmomof4 @ultraluckycatnd @undercaffinatednightmare @booksteaandtoomuchtv @jrob64 @tiganasummertree  @anmylica @deckerstarblanche @gingerchangeling @hollyethecurious @laianely @exhaustedpirate @darkshadow7 @fleurdepetite @spartanguard @i-will-sing-no-requiem @soniccat @captainswan-kellie @insanelydeadlybookcollector @beckettj @thatdamnokie @whimsicallyenchantedrose @zaharadessert @bluewildcatfanatic @this-seems-familiar @hookedmom

3 years later…

She could hear her name being carried on the wind, the voice of her lady’s maid (who had undoubtedly been sent by her mother to seek her out) pleading, but Emma was not ready to return to the castle just yet. The waves cresting playfully onto the small rocky outcropping on which she was perched were sending salty sprays of water high into the air, soaking through her knee length day dress and turning her carefully styled golden curls into a wild and frizzy mane.

She often came down to this secluded section of the beach just below the castle walls, seeking solitude and a moment of freedom that only listening to the song of the sea seemed to provide to her now. Despite her near drowning all those years ago, her love of the ocean had seemed to intensify; that missing piece of her that had remained in the dark depths of the water beyond Misthaven’s harbour, calling out to her both in her dreams and waking hours, only settling when she was in close proximity to her private beach.

Of course, she wasn’t completely alone; she had faithfully promised her parents that she would always be accompanied by Starkey and Mullins - Royal Naval officers turned full time protection guards to the Crown Princess of Misthaven. They had been by her side from the moment they had been cleared by the royal physician to return to full duties, their imposing figures and unsettling gaze instilling dread into the hearts of Misthaven’s enemies, and cautious admiration in their friends. Emma didn’t view them that way however; to her they were her devoted and overprotective older brothers, close confidantes bound together by their shared experiences, survivors of a terrifying ordeal that they still had no real understanding of.

Another exasperated shout of “Your Highness, please…” finally convinced Emma that her time of peaceful pondering was at an end. Rolling her eyes in her own exasperation to Mullins who was standing some distance behind her in an effort to avoid the spray of seawater while allowing his princess some measure of privacy, he returned the gesture with a smirk before turning to signal to Starkey that they were now returning to the castle. Taking one last glance at the jewel bright ocean glittering under the rays of the mid-afternoon sun, Emma began the short trek back to the castle, stopping to reach behind the small boulder next to her to retrieve her shoes that she had removed in an effort to at least keep one article of her clothing dry and hopefully receive a less tiresome lecture from her mother in the process.

As she pulled on her well-worn, yet reliable boots, tiny zephyrs danced across her little outcropping, sweeping remnants of seaweed and other tidal debris across the rocky surface, playfully tugging at the hem of her dress and the ends of her hair. Those wisps of wind were all gentleness and light; however, they held the hint of an iciness which declared that the autumn months were beginning to free themselves from the memory of summer and embrace the winter that would all too soon bear down upon them. The puff of warm air on the back of Emma’s neck therefore was unexpected, and she stiffened immediately in response. It wasn’t an unpleasant sensation - quite the contrary - but it left her feeling unnerved and wondering if her imagination was conjuring yet another illusion for her to fixate on - it wouldn’t be the first time in the last three years…

Just as she was about to step down onto the roughly hewn rock that formed a natural staircase leading down to the sand below, another frisson of warmth touched her, this time spreading across her lower back, causing her to freeze once more. Were it not for the fact that she had been well and truly alone, she would swear that someone was providing her with a guiding hand as she negotiated her steps downward. Reminding herself to stay focused on the precariously slippery surface, Emma ignored the strange sensations seeking to question her sanity and made her way down to where Starkey awaited her, his hand outstretched to assist her to the softness of the sand below. It would be some time yet before the sun began its descent below the waves allowing the moon to rule in its place, so the distinct outline of a human - a man - standing above them, comprised entirely of what appeared to be swirling wisps of wind and sea foam, could not be explained away as a mere trick of the dying light of the day. Another warm caress to the back of Emma’s neck caused her to turn abruptly in time for her to witness the curious apparition dissipate just as a large spray of seawater rose up behind it.

“Joseph…” Emma whispered to Starkey, as she turned again and began to walk the path back to the castle.

Starkey automatically held out his arm to the princess, knowing that if she was referring to him by his given name, then she was in need of a friend who could help to reassure whatever thoughts were causing her confusion and distress. Emma threaded her arm through his without thought, her mind still trying to grasp what exactly it was she had just seen on the outcropping. Was it a sea sprite scouting for a hapless target with which to inflict all manner of mischief upon? Or was it something more nefarious; a spy, sent by the self-styled ‘Queen’ Regina - a bitter and spiteful sorceress hell bent on destroying the kingdom her parents had worked so hard to restore to glory and assume the throne herself once more?

Taking a deep breath, Emma asked her companion a question that had become almost habitual in the last three years. “Are we awake? Or is this a dream?”

“We are very much awake, Your Highness. However, it does not always follow that our dreams do not seek us out even when we are not asleep,” Starkey replied softly, his gaze focused on their careful steps over the sand and onto the care-worn path that would lead them to the rear entrance of the castle gardens. Emma glanced at Starkey, a brow raised in question at his meaning, and with a small squeeze of their linked arms, she prompted him to elaborate further.

“Sometimes our dreams are not mere fantasies of how we wish things could be, or a twisted version of the fears we keep at bay in the light of day. Although you must know, Your Highness, that Mullins and I would never allow even an Agrabahn viper snakelet to enter your chambers…” Emma rolled her eyes even as an amused huff left her lips at Starkey’s teasing words of her hatred of snakes, however, she sobered again as he continued.

“Sometimes, our dreams are memories reimagined to help us make sense of the world we live in, to understand what our next course of action should be, or in some rare cases, to help us to remember what we have lost.”

Starkey fell silent, offering no further explanation, allowing his charge to contemplate it instead.

It wasn’t often that Captain Joseph Starkey, founding knight of the Order of Swans, spoke more than a few words at any given moment - even before the destruction and subsequent sinking of The White Shepherd - preferring to keep his thoughts to himself, unless he truly felt they would assist another. It was one of the things that Emma had always appreciated in the older man; a wisdom borne from his early years working hard to better himself to escape a life of desolate poverty, of settling down with a woman with just as much sense as he (and even more kindness besides), and a keen intelligence that the Naval Academy had been able to nurture and direct into many different avenues of study. Usually, his answer to her oft asked question provided a measure of reassurance that allowed her to breathe easy and ignore the foreign piece of her heart that told her she did more than almost drown in the dreadful depths of the ocean. However, this time his answer went beyond the kind words of ‘Your Highness, we are as awake as the sun that rules high in the sky’ or ‘we are as awake as my Martha is on a Sunday morn, cooking up a storm in anticipation of you and your parents' arrival for dinner.’ Instead, it forced her to consider how much he (and Mullins) had changed after washing up on shore just as she had.

In the days and weeks after waking in her bedroom and to the tearful relief of her father, Emma had begun to question her initial belief that a god had come to her aid and spared her life and that of her guards. It was true that she was the child of the famed Snow White and her former shepherd turned Prince ‘Charming’, David Nolan, a product of True Love that was so rare that upon her birth, the kingdom of Misthaven had celebrated for an entire month afterwards - a tradition still practised today for their beloved princess. However, Emma had never shown any signs of inhabiting any particular gifts that came from being the physical embodiment of True Love - aside from perhaps her uncommon beauty that was extolled throughout the kingdoms and had elicited many a marriage proposal over the years - therefore, she could not fathom how she could have caught the attention of a god who would be so moved as to give her another chance at life.

As she and Starkey neared the rear gate to the castle gardens, cleverly concealed by thick flowering vines, Emma’s attention was brought out of her internal musings and to her current surroundings. She had been so caught up in her thoughts that she had not yet noticed that they were missing a member of their party.

“And where has Mullins disappeared to?” Emma wondered aloud, craning her neck over Starkey’s broad shoulder as he stood behind her, surveying the path behind them as though expecting to see some figure travelling along the hard-packed dirt after them. Emma could not see anything that should give her guardian pause although, the sweetly musical royal jaybirds with their brightly coloured plumage were nowhere to be seen among the trees, the absence of their song giving the small forested area that led to the beach an eerie silence that was unnerving. The more Emma allowed the silence to envelop and penetrate her senses, the more she wished to find herself on the other side of the garden gate and the safety of the castle’s high and impregnable stone walls.

A slight tug on Starkey’s shirt sleeve pulled him out of his trained focus. He turned swiftly back to his princess who stood at a respectable distance from him, but still holding onto his sleeve in a bid for his attention.

“Is anything the matter?” Emma asked, her hand moving to grasp her guardian’s forearm in a gesture of comfort and concern, her gaze assessing, as she tried to ascertain the cause for his vigilance. Starkey smiled, all trace of the fearsome Naval officer wiped away, replaced by the kindly gentleman who was more like family to her than her mandated bodyguard.

“No, Your Highness. All is well. Mullins on the other hand… well I believe he is distracting your lady’s maid so as to give you some peace before you must present yourself to your mother. I just hope that Jane and Mary from the kitchens, Emily, one of the third floor chambermaids, Alice the royal baker’s daughter, and at least three of the Queen’s ladies-in-waiting do not catch wind of his methods in protecting your sanity for just a little while longer - they are all quite taken with him it would appear, and would have no qualms in staking a claim on him I’d wager.”

The roguish wink that Starkey cast her way couldn’t completely quell Emma’s suspicion that all wasn’t quite as well as he wished for her to believe. She trusted him implicitly - he would never withhold any information from her, especially when it came to her own safety - however, Emma sensed that her guardian’s behaviour went beyond his duty of ensuring that nothing and no one could come at them unawares. It almost seemed as though he had been listening to something - or perhaps someone - beyond the usual sounds of the natural world around them and into the realm where only the most learned and powerful of magic users dared to explore. It would be no use trying to convince Starkey to confide in her if he did not wish to; the man was as reserved with his thoughts as the marbled idols that lined the walls of the temples to the gods.

“I suppose I should meet Mama sooner rather than later for the last minute preparations for tomorrow night. I imagine she will be in quite the state by now as it's been at least two hours since she last bombarded me with an updated menu for the festivities and a list of all of our guests and their current accommodations. Oh, and of course the decorations for the ballroom - and every other inch of the castle…”

Starkey huffed out a small yet dignified chuckle at his princess’ less than enthusiastic approach to her coming out ball tomorrow night. Pressing on a hidden stone panel, a vine covered door leading into the gardens beyond swung open, revealing her mother already awaiting her arrival with a veritable gaggle of maids and ladies in waiting. Mullins stood off to the side at attention, his Naval training so well ingrained that he was able to maintain his stance while completely ignoring the scathing glares some of the women were throwing his way - only the faint tinge of pink touching his cheeks denoted that he was aware of any attention upon him. Emma sighed; she had hoped that Mullins may have been able to garner her at least a few more minutes before she was forced to endure another dress fitting, flower arrangement inspection, or an umpteenth review of the security around the castle and harbour. All thoughts of what she had experienced at the beach and Starkey’s curious behaviour on the walk back was now firmly shoved to the back of her mind as she prepared to receive her mother’s bubble of excitement, her arm linking with Starkey’s once again in a bid to calm her nerves and give her the strength she needed to get through the next few hours before dinner and hopefully an early night.

********************E&K********************

Queen Snow, despite being known as the kindest and fairest throughout all of the known kingdoms, was also an extremely accomplished strategist; approaching all tasks as though she were heading into battle to reclaim her kingdom. Perhaps that was because she had spent the majority of her youth doing exactly that. Emma could certainly appreciate the similarities between seating arrangements and battalion placements on the field of battle, or of knowing which Prince or Duke would be in attendance and gaining intelligence of the Evil Queen’s movements, and of course, ensuring there was a multitude of delicacies for the good and noble people who will be in attendance was no different to catering to a whole army of battle worn and hungry soldiers.

Perhaps if she were still eighteen, when her world was still a little brighter and the threat of an oncoming war was just a lingering shadow from before her birth, her enthusiasm for a grand ball in her honour might have closely matched her mother’s. But as it was, Emma could only feel the pressure of finding a suitable husband that would also bring a big enough army into the marriage to keep the Evil Queen and her gold obsessed ally King George from forcing all of the kingdoms between Misthaven and the Forests of Glowerhaven to bend the knee to their tyranny. Her parents may want her to marry a man that she loved (or at least learn to), but how could she when she knew that she had left part of herself on the ocean floor, a part that she was sure controlled her ability to fall in love.

“Emma! Did you hear me? Or have you not heard a word I have said these last few minutes? Honestly, you are as bad as your father when I wish to discuss the bi-monthly rotation of chores with Johanna and Leroy!”

Snow looked up from the large, ornate table that was usually reserved for when the Royal Council was in session yet was now littered with guest lists, menus, flower samples, and colour charts. Seeing her daughter - for whom this entire event was being planned for - gazing out of the window that provided a stunning (and highly advantageous) view of the waters that lead to Misthaven’s Western Isles, she sighed, worry and empathy overriding her irritation at Emma’s inattention to the final touches that had yet to be approved. Bustling around the table and moving to stand beside the window, Snow gently wrapped her arm around her while carefully guiding her head to rest on her shoulder.

“Are you worried that Regina will cause another raging storm to prevent all of our friends and allies from attending the ball so that we are forced to postpone your coming out for yet another year?”

Emma slowly shook her head, her eyes still trained on the world outside that held so many shades of blue, green, and white, mingling together as the wind playfully dragged along the water’s surface, creating multi-hued waves that dissipated to nothing more than foam edged imprints upon the shore. The two women stood in silence for some time, each trying to calm the whirl of thoughts that did not wish to be brought to heel.

For the last three years, the kingdom had tried to celebrate their Princess’s birthday and her coming out into society as all women who celebrate their twenty-first birthdays do in some manner or other. However, ever since Emma had washed ashore after experiencing the terror that was the sinking of The White Shepherd, a spate of dangerously violent storms would roll through off the sea on the week of her birthday like clockwork, causing devastation to any who were foolish enough to try and sail through it to Misthaven’s harbour. Even the forests that flanked the castle to the east became treacherous and unseasonably bitter with cold, deterring any from making the journey to meet the princess who would more than likely assume the mantle of ‘the fairest in the land’ after tomorrow night.

“Sweetheart,” Snow began softly, shifting them slightly away from the window and towards a small alcove beside them where two well worn, but comfortable armchairs were placed underneath an ancient painting depicting a grand galleon sailing towards its home port.

Settling themselves into the chairs, Snow took hold of one of her daughter’s hands, and squeezing it affectionately, continued. “I know that you’re feeling the expectation that tomorrow night you must find the man that will help you rule the kingdom when your Papa and I are no longer here, and that it needs to be someone who will have the means to aid our cause against Regina and George if we secure it with a marriage pact.” Emma dropped her gaze to the floor, her chest tightening with false denials that she wished to reassure her mother with, but before she had a chance to let the words form, Snow spoke again.

“This ball is to celebrate you, Emma, our beloved Swan Princess. A beautiful and courageous woman who will rule this kingdom one day using the greatest power in all the realms that she was blessed with at birth - love.”

“Mama, be serious! Love? Against the Evil Queen? The Council wants-” Emma began, unable to keep the incredulity out of her tone.

“The Council do not represent Misthaven nor do they carry the burden that comes with such responsibility,” Snow interrupted, her tone hardening in emphasis of her point. Queen Snow had always been known as a kind, gentle, and motherly monarch that was beloved by her people, however, it has never been forgotten that it was her banners that outnumbered those of Regina’s in the heat of battle and that it was she and her King Consort who had ultimately masterminded Misthaven’s victory that fateful day so many years ago.

Now taking both of Emma’s hands into her own, Snow levelled her daughter with a scrutinising stare, trying to decipher the mysterious notions of her mind. However, the golden haired beauty’s emerald eyes (a perfect mirror reflection of her own) remained as closed off as ever, or at least since she had been returned to them after nearly losing her to the deceptive waves beyond the castle walls. Tamping down her grief at the loss of her daughter’s once open heart to the depths of the ocean, Snow focused her thoughts on the present situation, determined to impart one of the most important lessons she could ever hope for her daughter and heir to learn.

“Love is more than just a fleeting moment, an emotion that elicits a quickening of your heart beat or brings a feeling of weightlessness to your body whenever it is bestowed upon you. Those are wonderful feelings to have and I would never discount them as being anything superficial, but Love, True Love, is a way of life and the only path to long lasting victory against those who would do us harm.”

Emma tilted her head slightly as she tried to process her mother’s words, not yet willing to rule out that Snow wasn’t just getting carried away with her romantic fantasies that often come from the anticipation of attending a ball. Snow continued on as if she hadn’t noticed Emma’s skepticism in the rise of her brow and the almost imperceptible tightening of her mouth that was desperately trying to force itself into staying neutral.

“Love is intrinsically entwined within us - the gods ensured this so that we would love and worship them. Mothers and fathers will rush into burning buildings to save their children, siblings will share what little they have with one another so no one is left out, even craftsmen will create the most exquisite pieces just for the joy it brings to others. And lovers? Well, your father and I have told you our story for so many years, you know that they will face trials and tribulations no matter how perilous, challenges no matter how unfair, and fights no matter how outmatched they appear to be - together.”

Eyes of sapphire blue staring intently at her in the early dawn light flashed across Emma’s mind, even as a whispered promise of a long awaited return lingered across her heart. As quickly as the image - that felt so much more like a memory than it should - materialised, it faded away, leaving behind dismay and confusion in its wake.

Mentally shaking away the longing within her heart for a man she was increasingly losing hope had been more than just a figment of her imagination, Emma tried to lighten the tone of both their moods by quipping, “Then perhaps we should do away with all the pomp and circumstance. If love is all we need to win this war, then I’m sure I can find someone worthy of my love down at the ‘Golden Mermaid’ or perhaps even the ‘Sea Witch'. I’ve met - I mean, I’ve heard - that there are quite a few gentleman pirates that would be more than willing to take up the cause if for nothing more than to infuriate The Evil Queen and her puppet George.”

The raised eyebrow at her daughter’s slip of her long suspected activities outside the castle walls was replaced by a pensive furrow as she thought of the truth behind the casually flippant words. Smiling slightly in memory of her own love story, Snow focused on her wedding ring, the peridot gem as unblemished and glittering as ever in the light of the afternoon sun, a reminder of all she had fought for to be able to have the love of her life by her side and watch her beloved daughter grow into the incredibly brave and beautiful woman she was now.

“It is true that love doesn’t discriminate between classes. By all accounts, I should never have met your father let alone fallen in love with him. A shepherd who had been forced to flee his home and a princess who just happened to be wandering in the forest grieving the loss of both of her parents, feeling completely alone and unprepared for the crown? I don’t know how things would have turned out if I had bowed to the demands of the Council and married a prince or duke from some far away land who was only interested in the wealth and security that the kingdom could provide. Perhaps we would still have defeated Regina, or perhaps, we would have been completely overrun. What I do know, is that was never something I ever had to consider once I met your father. We make each other better. We balance out each other’s flaws. And we share the burdens that life demands of us every day.”

Snow took a deep breath, her impromptu lesson nearing its conclusion. She needed Emma to understand that of all her hopes and aspirations for her, of finding a love like what she and David have, one that has seen through them through the best and worst moments of their lives, and will see them through to the end of their days and the afterlife beyond, is the only one that is of any consequence. She knew that was what Emma wanted too, even if she no longer confided the secrets of her heart - to her or anyone else.

“Emma, you are the only treasure that your Papa and I will guard fiercely with our lives. Your health and happiness is all that matters to us. There is no denying that Regina is regaining strength and that before long, we and our allies will be facing another war where we will have to fight for what is good and beautiful in this realm. However, that is still some way off - she might have King George on her side this time, but she is going to need more than one impoverished kingdom to raise their banners for her. Therefore, tomorrow night, all I want you to do is dance, eat as many of your favourite treats that Granny has made especially for you, and make as many cherished memories with our friends as you possibly can. We will need those memories in the coming years. Thoughts of prospective marriage pacts are forbidden!”

Emma could hear the earnest plea in her mother’s voice for her to listen and take her words as the most important counsel to live by. She knew these last three years since her near drowning she had undergone a significant change in her behaviour that was often perceived as aloof and perfunctory; something that had been heartbreakingly jarring for those she loved. She didn’t know how to explain what had happened and why she had been unable to recover fully from it; only Starkey and Mullins truly understood, but even they had never come up with a plausible explanation on how they came to be on that beach. She could never explain to anyone that her initial belief was that she been saved by Killian Jones, god of sailors and collector of lost souls at sea, and that although logic told her that he had not come to her aid, her dreams refused to allow her to let go of the notion that he had and what was more, he did it because he loved her.

Again time passed between the two women, so much so, that ominous dark clouds began to gather outside, casting shadows across the room. Surprisingly, Emma was the first to notice this change in atmosphere as the wind began to herald yet another tempest to mark the Princess of Misthaven’s birthday. She was about to suggest that they should start lighting the lamp sconces around the chamber themselves rather than wait for the servants, when she caught sight of her mother’s usually bright and youthful face. For once, Emma could see the toll her altered state had taken on those she loved most. Tiny lines of distress marked the corners of Snow’s eyes and lips, deepening the more she tried to bring her emotions under control, the hand that was not still holding tightly onto Emma’s was twisted into the folds of her otherwise perfectly pressed gown, and her verdant eyes - a mirror to Emma’s own - was furiously blinking back the tears that her daughter’s seeming indifference had triggered.

“Oh Mama!” Emma exclaimed, shuffling off her seat to kneel before the Queen and laying her head on her lap, just as she had as a little girl when seeking comfort and safety - she only hoped that this time she was the one to bestow those sentiments.

“I’m sorry I’m not what I used to be. That I - that I don’t reveal myself as I used to. I wish I could tell you why, but I do not understand it myself.”

Snow had leant down to hear her daughter’s soft words of apology, her tears spilling over unchecked as she heard Emma’s confusion and regret. She embraced Emma fully, one arm wound around her back as the other cradled the back of her head, the tips of her fingers stroking through the fine strands of golden hair. There was no need for an apology. Snow would give her daughter anything in her power to give - patience was something she would have no issue in providing.

A short rap on the door, followed by two servants laden with lanterns and tapers entered the room, forcing the moment of quiet apology to end. Emma was the first to stand, helping her mother out of her seat, before they each assisted in bringing light back into the room against the oncoming storm. In short order, the servants left to continue lighting the rest of the castle and Snow went back to poring over the plans for the ball.

“Are you positive that a masquerade is what you really want? We still have time to change it if we send notices right now,” Snow looked up as she spoke, smiling brightly when she saw that Emma had sat at the table and was now looking over the seating arrangements.

“It’s my ball, is it not Mama? I think masquerades are fun - Aurora’s coming out ball might have been passably enjoyable if she had had one. How in all the realms can you have fire and ice dancers perform at your ball and still have it be one of the most dullest nights of your life, I will never know…”

“Emma!” Snow admonished, albeit half-heartedly. King Stephan and Queen Briar had been wonderful friends and allies over the years, but even Snow could not explain away their daughter’s spoiled nature and propensity to complain about anything and everything no matter how insignificant.

“Fine, fine. A masquerade it is. I believe Johanna has already collected your mask from the seamstress and had it placed with the rest of your garments for tomorrow night. But what about the unmasking at midnight? Could we change it to something a little earlier? What about just after supper?” After the tears that had only been shed moments before, Snow felt a relief in being able to playfully haggle with her daughter on the final touches of the ball and end their time together with just the two of them on a lighter note.

“It is tradition for the unmasking to be done at midnight,” Emma murmured, reaching for the quill and ink well so she could cross out Princess Aurora’s and her betrothed, Prince Phillip’s, names from the second table after her own and seat them a little further away so as to create as much space between them as possible.

“Hmmm, yes and you’ve always been such a stickler for tradition my dearest, haven’t you?” Snow laughed. If she hadn’t known better, she would question whether Emma knew what ‘tradition’ meant, given her abject irreverence towards it on most important occasions. Emma’s slight smirk was all the answer she received in return, causing an inelegant snort of mirth from the Queen of Misthaven.

********************E&K********************

The storm had raged offshore, never making landfall but ensuring its presence was known all the same. The booms of thunder repeatedly interrupted Queen Snow’s excited chatter of all of the plans now in place for tomorrow. King David’s sly winks to her at each interruption saw Emma drink more deeply from her water glass for fear of dissolving into laughter and getting both she and her father in trouble.

Some hours later, long after everyone had retired to their apartments and sleeping quarters, Emma sat alone at her dressing table, combing through her hair in the warm light of the candles on either side of the ornate mirror in front of her. The storm had not yet exhausted itself across the water, nor had it appeared to have moved from its position just beyond Misthaven's harbour. The cold and unrelenting winds the storm had stirred up beat against the windows of her bed chamber and rattled relentlessly against the doors that led to her balcony, but Emma was not disturbed by it - she never was. Somehow, she always felt protected from the world outside Misthaven’s borders whenever a storm crossed into the kingdom, a feeling of peace passing over her that was so unlike the cacophony that roared across the water and through the forests surrounding them as though the armies of Ares were surging forth into battle.

As she continued to smooth away the snarls and tangles of her hair, Emma thought about her reasonings for insisting on a masquerade ball. It was true, she did find them particularly enjoyable on the rare occasion she had been able to attend one over the last few years; however, there was also an element of strategy that influenced her desire for a ball wrapped in secrecy and intrigue: to know with certainty who were Misthaven’s friends, and who were her enemies. She would honour her mother’s wish to celebrate her official coming out into society but she would stay on her guard. Emma herself would not be announced until midnight just as everyone else was unmasked, which would leave her plenty of time to get an idea of who could be trusted and who would undoubtedly run to Regina at the first sign of weakness.

Emma sighed, placing her comb on the table as she gazed into the mirror. Her parents may not expect it from her, and now that she knew she had their support, she was in no hurry, but she supposed she should attempt to begin her search for a husband. With everyone’s identities hidden for at least half of the night, it would give her the best opportunity she could hope for to get to know any potential suitors beyond the empty platitudes and overdone fawning that was usual whenever she was introduced at these events, and begin the process of finding someone she could trust and perhaps fall in love with in time.

That foreign piece of her heart pulsed painfully within her at the thought of finding someone to eventually fall in love with - a sharp warning that she did not understand. As though responding to her confusion, a vision formed in her mind of a man with indistinct features begging her to trust him and wait for his return. As the man’s features became more apparent, blue eyes shone beneath dark strands of hair that fell carelessly across his forehead, blue eyes that shone like sapphires…

The thought of sapphires jolted Emma out of her vision although her heart continued to pulse erratically, her breathing ragged and struggling to normalise. Her eyes drifted over to the small built-in jewellery cabinet situated just beside the mirror, her treasured memento from her sojourn into the deep secreted away within it. Suddenly feeling compelled to open the little doors to the cabinet, she carefully traced the delicately carved compartments with a finger until she came down to the last one. Pulling the little drawer out of the cabinet completely, Emma carefully emptied it of its contents: small trinkets gifted to her by her parents and other loved ones, and childhood ornaments no longer appropriate to be worn now that she was a woman full grown. After carefully placing the cameo depicting a swan carved from mother of pearl on the table, Emma began to drag a fingernail around the edges of the velvet lining the bottom of the compartment until she was able to detect the hidden groove underneath. Once she was able to gain purchase of it, she popped out the bottom of the compartment to reveal her Sea Sapphire set in a choker of black pearls.

Emma had never worn the mysterious piece of jewelry, afraid that someone would recognise it for what it was and spread whispers across the lands between here and the Dark Kingdoms of the East, bringing the Evil Queen to their door - with or without an army. There was great power within the jewel but Emma had no knowledge of how to release it, let alone wield it. Holding the necklace against the light of the candle beside her, Emma studied the veins of white running through the jewel, marvelling at how they enhanced the deep blue of the sapphire itself. The longer she gazed at it, the brighter the veins seemed to appear until she was forced to look away for fear of being blinded by it.

Blinking away the spots of colour now dancing before her eyes, Emma glanced over to her armoire where the open doors revealed her gown for tomorrow evening. Of the few details for the ball that Emma had shown some interest in, the design of her gown was something she had been most enthusiastic for. The material used was light and delicate, floating gently about her frame with every movement, giving an impression as though she were gliding through water. The colour reflected the glittering beauty of the ocean that she had become so unusually attached to. Emma had had quite the triumphant victory in negotiating with her mother on what colour she should wear as Snow had insisted she needed to stand out in something striking such as gold or red, perhaps even emerald to really bring out the colour of her eyes seeing as she had been so set on a masquerade. Emma had held firm however; she was to wear a blue that would shimmer in different hues with every flicker of the chandeliers within the ballroom and the wall sconces that lined its walls. Tiny, white semi-precious gems were embroidered into the gown’s bodice, their inclusion in the design a secret nod to the Sea Sapphire that had been gifted to her.

Or had it?

Dismay crowded into the corners of Emma’s mind at the thought that perhaps the necklace had not been meant for her; that it had simply washed up on the shore along with everything else that the sea had hurled at the land in her contemptuous fury that fateful day. Just as quickly however, it faded as a tendril of jealousy began to unfurl at the thought of something that inexplicably felt far worse -

What if the necklace belongs to the Goddess Ursula? A matching set to the Sea Sapphire that she had at one time bestowed upon her beloved Killian Jones? Had she angered the oft volatile gods of the Seas? How will they exact their revenge upon her? Could she be forgiven for her naivety?

Thoughts of wrath and punishment raining down upon her and the kingdom flew through Emma’s mind in dizzying spirals until she could do nothing more than scream in competition with the howling wind outside. It was some moments later that clarity and calm reigned once more and Emma was able to rationalise her head and her heart into something that was much more plausible.

Killian Jones had not rescued Crown Princess Emma of Misthaven the day her ship had been decimated so close to home. He had not gifted her a priceless jewel, nor would he or any other god or goddess seek revenge upon her or her kingdom for having such an item. If any came to seek her out for its return to its rightful owner, then she would return it gladly. But just in case, perhaps she should be bold and wear it tomorrow night. If Killian Jones appears in the midst of the ballroom, perhaps he will consent to one dance with a truly apologetic princess. Chuckling softly at her ridiculousness, Emma nevertheless carefully placed the Sea Sapphire necklace on the small jewellery stand next to her gown and began extinguishing all the lights within her bedchamber.

Noticing that the storm had finally died down, Emma decided to take in the clean scented air that always lingered in its aftermath. She stepped out onto her balcony, a warm shawl wrapped around her shoulders to fight off the icy chill already trying to permeate into every one of her senses. The clouds had parted just enough to allow the full moon to send a silvery shaft of light upon where she stood, lending an ethereal glimmer to the masonry of the castle and the sea beyond. The scene before Emma filled her with a sense of romanticism and enchantment, giving her leave to picture herself as the heroine in one of her mother’s cherished novels of finding love against all odds and dashing away into the night to celebrate their union under the stars. She saw herself sneaking away from the castle using only the light of the moon and stars to find her way to the outcropping on her beach where Killian Jones would be waiting for her, ready to spirit her away to the Palace of Poseidon as his beloved bride and -

Emma again shook herself out of thoughts of the handsome god that had captured her imagination these last three years. Tomorrow night would likely be the last night she would have for some time where she could find some measure of enjoyment before Regina and King George began making their first moves in what would surely be a long campaign. She needed to focus on her reality, not on her hopes and dreams for something that would never be.

Taking one last look at the view of the moonlight on the waves, Emma sighed in weariness, but allowed herself one more moment to purge herself of her fantasies with a whispered invitation.

“Killian Jones, God of Sailors and Collector of Lost Souls, on behalf of the Kingdom of Misthaven and the Western Isles, I cordially invite you to my coming out ball tomorrow evening. Your presence would be an honour and… it would fulfil my dearest wish to know once and for all if you truly brought me back to life …”

********************E&K********************

The light of the now fully exposed moon reflected off the gleaming white sails of the unnaturally pristine ship that was heading into Misthaven’s harbour at full speed. The hull of this grand vessel whose like had not been seen in this realm for many centuries, sliced through the storm tossed waves as though they were nothing more than ripples in an otherwise calm pond, never slowing in its approach nor showing any sign that it was aware of the overcrowded harbour and the need to carefully guide its way to the last berthing slip available.

Across the deck, shadowed figures made preparations to make port, their movements quick and fluid, carrying out their captain’s silent orders without pause, their duties not having changed for years beyond memory.

The Captain stood in his rightful place at the helm, his hair and attire as dark as those under his command and seeming to deflect any and all attempts from the wind to surrender to disorder and dishevelment. He did however encourage its presence, sifting through its whispers of those beyond the pink and white flecked granite walls of the royal castle of Misthaven who were much more inclined to observe the witching hour than most. Finally, he heard her voice, as fearless and enticing as ever, though he could not help detecting the hint of uncertainty that had weaved its way into her words.

“I cordially invite you to my coming out ball tomorrow evening.Your presence would be an honour and… it would fulfil my dearest wish to know once and for all if you truly brought me back to life …”

The Captain smiled widely, his features transforming to that of the young lieutenant he had been once upon a time, when the world was full of opportunities for heroism and valour, and before he knew of the betrayals and machinations of those with more power than he. Now though, after what felt like lifetimes had passed since he had snatched his golden-haired princess - his True Love - from the clutches of those who would have sought to punish her through no fault of her own, he could finally return to her as he had promised. Although he knew that she would not hear him as he could her, Killian Jones answered her invitation, whispering it to the wind in the hopes that it would be carried to her chambers and into her dreams.

“Aye, my love, I will most surely accept your invitation. When we are reunited, all will be explained, at which time I most ardently hope that you will accept my own invitation in return.”

[cssns]

@xarandomdreamx is back with the second chapter of her fic The Kiss of Life, with artwork by @motherkatereloyshipper!!! Enjoy and be sure to give them all the love deserved!!!

New Chapter! **Chapter 2**

Look at me posting a chapter of one my WIPs 3 months after posting the previous one! 😂 I really am trying to update more this year on all of my stories so I’m very excited to be posting the next chapter of this one. I love myths and legends and anything to do with superstitions of the sea and I really hope you enjoy this story that pays a little tribute to that genre.

A huge thank you to ultraluckycatnd for her amazing beta skills - another person with the patience of a saint who correctly placed my commas for me!!

Thank you also to MotherKat for the beautiful artwork that she made for this story - I still love my Sea Sapphire critter!

And finally, thank you to the CSSNS mods for putting together one final event last year that allowed me to write this story! 🥰💖

See previous chapters: Chapter 1 OR check out AO3

Tag list under the cut - let me know if you would like to be added or deleted :)

@teamhook @veryverynotgoodwrites @jonesfandomfanatic @lfh1226-linda @motherkatereloyshipper @stahlop @allons-y-to-hogwarts-713 @kmomof4 @ultraluckycatnd @undercaffinatednightmare @booksteaandtoomuchtv @jrob64 @tiganasummertree  @anmylica @deckerstarblanche @gingerchangeling @hollyethecurious @laianely @exhaustedpirate @darkshadow7 @fleurdepetite @spartanguard @i-will-sing-no-requiem @soniccat @captainswan-kellie @insanelydeadlybookcollector @beckettj @thatdamnokie @whimsicallyenchantedrose @zaharadessert @bluewildcatfanatic @this-seems-familiar @hookedmom

3 years later…

She could hear her name being carried on the wind, the voice of her lady’s maid (who had undoubtedly been sent by her mother to seek her out) pleading, but Emma was not ready to return to the castle just yet. The waves cresting playfully onto the small rocky outcropping on which she was perched were sending salty sprays of water high into the air, soaking through her knee length day dress and turning her carefully styled golden curls into a wild and frizzy mane.

She often came down to this secluded section of the beach just below the castle walls, seeking solitude and a moment of freedom that only listening to the song of the sea seemed to provide to her now. Despite her near drowning all those years ago, her love of the ocean had seemed to intensify; that missing piece of her that had remained in the dark depths of the water beyond Misthaven’s harbour, calling out to her both in her dreams and waking hours, only settling when she was in close proximity to her private beach.

Of course, she wasn’t completely alone; she had faithfully promised her parents that she would always be accompanied by Starkey and Mullins - Royal Naval officers turned full time protection guards to the Crown Princess of Misthaven. They had been by her side from the moment they had been cleared by the royal physician to return to full duties, their imposing figures and unsettling gaze instilling dread into the hearts of Misthaven’s enemies, and cautious admiration in their friends. Emma didn’t view them that way however; to her they were her devoted and overprotective older brothers, close confidantes bound together by their shared experiences, survivors of a terrifying ordeal that they still had no real understanding of.

Another exasperated shout of “Your Highness, please…” finally convinced Emma that her time of peaceful pondering was at an end. Rolling her eyes in her own exasperation to Mullins who was standing some distance behind her in an effort to avoid the spray of seawater while allowing his princess some measure of privacy, he returned the gesture with a smirk before turning to signal to Starkey that they were now returning to the castle. Taking one last glance at the jewel bright ocean glittering under the rays of the mid-afternoon sun, Emma began the short trek back to the castle, stopping to reach behind the small boulder next to her to retrieve her shoes that she had removed in an effort to at least keep one article of her clothing dry and hopefully receive a less tiresome lecture from her mother in the process.

As she pulled on her well-worn, yet reliable boots, tiny zephyrs danced across her little outcropping, sweeping remnants of seaweed and other tidal debris across the rocky surface, playfully tugging at the hem of her dress and the ends of her hair. Those wisps of wind were all gentleness and light; however, they held the hint of an iciness which declared that the autumn months were beginning to free themselves from the memory of summer and embrace the winter that would all too soon bear down upon them. The puff of warm air on the back of Emma’s neck therefore was unexpected, and she stiffened immediately in response. It wasn’t an unpleasant sensation - quite the contrary - but it left her feeling unnerved and wondering if her imagination was conjuring yet another illusion for her to fixate on - it wouldn’t be the first time in the last three years…

Just as she was about to step down onto the roughly hewn rock that formed a natural staircase leading down to the sand below, another frisson of warmth touched her, this time spreading across her lower back, causing her to freeze once more. Were it not for the fact that she had been well and truly alone, she would swear that someone was providing her with a guiding hand as she negotiated her steps downward. Reminding herself to stay focused on the precariously slippery surface, Emma ignored the strange sensations seeking to question her sanity and made her way down to where Starkey awaited her, his hand outstretched to assist her to the softness of the sand below. It would be some time yet before the sun began its descent below the waves allowing the moon to rule in its place, so the distinct outline of a human - a man - standing above them, comprised entirely of what appeared to be swirling wisps of wind and sea foam, could not be explained away as a mere trick of the dying light of the day. Another warm caress to the back of Emma’s neck caused her to turn abruptly in time for her to witness the curious apparition dissipate just as a large spray of seawater rose up behind it.

“Joseph…” Emma whispered to Starkey, as she turned again and began to walk the path back to the castle.

Starkey automatically held out his arm to the princess, knowing that if she was referring to him by his given name, then she was in need of a friend who could help to reassure whatever thoughts were causing her confusion and distress. Emma threaded her arm through his without thought, her mind still trying to grasp what exactly it was she had just seen on the outcropping. Was it a sea sprite scouting for a hapless target with which to inflict all manner of mischief upon? Or was it something more nefarious; a spy, sent by the self-styled ‘Queen’ Regina - a bitter and spiteful sorceress hell bent on destroying the kingdom her parents had worked so hard to restore to glory and assume the throne herself once more?

Taking a deep breath, Emma asked her companion a question that had become almost habitual in the last three years. “Are we awake? Or is this a dream?”

“We are very much awake, Your Highness. However, it does not always follow that our dreams do not seek us out even when we are not asleep,” Starkey replied softly, his gaze focused on their careful steps over the sand and onto the care-worn path that would lead them to the rear entrance of the castle gardens. Emma glanced at Starkey, a brow raised in question at his meaning, and with a small squeeze of their linked arms, she prompted him to elaborate further.

“Sometimes our dreams are not mere fantasies of how we wish things could be, or a twisted version of the fears we keep at bay in the light of day. Although you must know, Your Highness, that Mullins and I would never allow even an Agrabahn viper snakelet to enter your chambers…” Emma rolled her eyes even as an amused huff left her lips at Starkey’s teasing words of her hatred of snakes, however, she sobered again as he continued.

“Sometimes, our dreams are memories reimagined to help us make sense of the world we live in, to understand what our next course of action should be, or in some rare cases, to help us to remember what we have lost.”

Starkey fell silent, offering no further explanation, allowing his charge to contemplate it instead.

It wasn’t often that Captain Joseph Starkey, founding knight of the Order of Swans, spoke more than a few words at any given moment - even before the destruction and subsequent sinking of The White Shepherd - preferring to keep his thoughts to himself, unless he truly felt they would assist another. It was one of the things that Emma had always appreciated in the older man; a wisdom borne from his early years working hard to better himself to escape a life of desolate poverty, of settling down with a woman with just as much sense as he (and even more kindness besides), and a keen intelligence that the Naval Academy had been able to nurture and direct into many different avenues of study. Usually, his answer to her oft asked question provided a measure of reassurance that allowed her to breathe easy and ignore the foreign piece of her heart that told her she did more than almost drown in the dreadful depths of the ocean. However, this time his answer went beyond the kind words of ‘Your Highness, we are as awake as the sun that rules high in the sky’ or ‘we are as awake as my Martha is on a Sunday morn, cooking up a storm in anticipation of you and your parents' arrival for dinner.’ Instead, it forced her to consider how much he (and Mullins) had changed after washing up on shore just as she had.

In the days and weeks after waking in her bedroom and to the tearful relief of her father, Emma had begun to question her initial belief that a god had come to her aid and spared her life and that of her guards. It was true that she was the child of the famed Snow White and her former shepherd turned Prince ‘Charming’, David Nolan, a product of True Love that was so rare that upon her birth, the kingdom of Misthaven had celebrated for an entire month afterwards - a tradition still practised today for their beloved princess. However, Emma had never shown any signs of inhabiting any particular gifts that came from being the physical embodiment of True Love - aside from perhaps her uncommon beauty that was extolled throughout the kingdoms and had elicited many a marriage proposal over the years - therefore, she could not fathom how she could have caught the attention of a god who would be so moved as to give her another chance at life.

As she and Starkey neared the rear gate to the castle gardens, cleverly concealed by thick flowering vines, Emma’s attention was brought out of her internal musings and to her current surroundings. She had been so caught up in her thoughts that she had not yet noticed that they were missing a member of their party.

“And where has Mullins disappeared to?” Emma wondered aloud, craning her neck over Starkey’s broad shoulder as he stood behind her, surveying the path behind them as though expecting to see some figure travelling along the hard-packed dirt after them. Emma could not see anything that should give her guardian pause although, the sweetly musical royal jaybirds with their brightly coloured plumage were nowhere to be seen among the trees, the absence of their song giving the small forested area that led to the beach an eerie silence that was unnerving. The more Emma allowed the silence to envelop and penetrate her senses, the more she wished to find herself on the other side of the garden gate and the safety of the castle’s high and impregnable stone walls.

A slight tug on Starkey’s shirt sleeve pulled him out of his trained focus. He turned swiftly back to his princess who stood at a respectable distance from him, but still holding onto his sleeve in a bid for his attention.

“Is anything the matter?” Emma asked, her hand moving to grasp her guardian’s forearm in a gesture of comfort and concern, her gaze assessing, as she tried to ascertain the cause for his vigilance. Starkey smiled, all trace of the fearsome Naval officer wiped away, replaced by the kindly gentleman who was more like family to her than her mandated bodyguard.

“No, Your Highness. All is well. Mullins on the other hand… well I believe he is distracting your lady’s maid so as to give you some peace before you must present yourself to your mother. I just hope that Jane and Mary from the kitchens, Emily, one of the third floor chambermaids, Alice the royal baker’s daughter, and at least three of the Queen’s ladies-in-waiting do not catch wind of his methods in protecting your sanity for just a little while longer - they are all quite taken with him it would appear, and would have no qualms in staking a claim on him I’d wager.”

The roguish wink that Starkey cast her way couldn’t completely quell Emma’s suspicion that all wasn’t quite as well as he wished for her to believe. She trusted him implicitly - he would never withhold any information from her, especially when it came to her own safety - however, Emma sensed that her guardian’s behaviour went beyond his duty of ensuring that nothing and no one could come at them unawares. It almost seemed as though he had been listening to something - or perhaps someone - beyond the usual sounds of the natural world around them and into the realm where only the most learned and powerful of magic users dared to explore. It would be no use trying to convince Starkey to confide in her if he did not wish to; the man was as reserved with his thoughts as the marbled idols that lined the walls of the temples to the gods.

“I suppose I should meet Mama sooner rather than later for the last minute preparations for tomorrow night. I imagine she will be in quite the state by now as it's been at least two hours since she last bombarded me with an updated menu for the festivities and a list of all of our guests and their current accommodations. Oh, and of course the decorations for the ballroom - and every other inch of the castle…”

Starkey huffed out a small yet dignified chuckle at his princess’ less than enthusiastic approach to her coming out ball tomorrow night. Pressing on a hidden stone panel, a vine covered door leading into the gardens beyond swung open, revealing her mother already awaiting her arrival with a veritable gaggle of maids and ladies in waiting. Mullins stood off to the side at attention, his Naval training so well ingrained that he was able to maintain his stance while completely ignoring the scathing glares some of the women were throwing his way - only the faint tinge of pink touching his cheeks denoted that he was aware of any attention upon him. Emma sighed; she had hoped that Mullins may have been able to garner her at least a few more minutes before she was forced to endure another dress fitting, flower arrangement inspection, or an umpteenth review of the security around the castle and harbour. All thoughts of what she had experienced at the beach and Starkey’s curious behaviour on the walk back was now firmly shoved to the back of her mind as she prepared to receive her mother’s bubble of excitement, her arm linking with Starkey’s once again in a bid to calm her nerves and give her the strength she needed to get through the next few hours before dinner and hopefully an early night.

********************E&K********************

Queen Snow, despite being known as the kindest and fairest throughout all of the known kingdoms, was also an extremely accomplished strategist; approaching all tasks as though she were heading into battle to reclaim her kingdom. Perhaps that was because she had spent the majority of her youth doing exactly that. Emma could certainly appreciate the similarities between seating arrangements and battalion placements on the field of battle, or of knowing which Prince or Duke would be in attendance and gaining intelligence of the Evil Queen’s movements, and of course, ensuring there was a multitude of delicacies for the good and noble people who will be in attendance was no different to catering to a whole army of battle worn and hungry soldiers.

Perhaps if she were still eighteen, when her world was still a little brighter and the threat of an oncoming war was just a lingering shadow from before her birth, her enthusiasm for a grand ball in her honour might have closely matched her mother’s. But as it was, Emma could only feel the pressure of finding a suitable husband that would also bring a big enough army into the marriage to keep the Evil Queen and her gold obsessed ally King George from forcing all of the kingdoms between Misthaven and the Forests of Glowerhaven to bend the knee to their tyranny. Her parents may want her to marry a man that she loved (or at least learn to), but how could she when she knew that she had left part of herself on the ocean floor, a part that she was sure controlled her ability to fall in love.

“Emma! Did you hear me? Or have you not heard a word I have said these last few minutes? Honestly, you are as bad as your father when I wish to discuss the bi-monthly rotation of chores with Johanna and Leroy!”

Snow looked up from the large, ornate table that was usually reserved for when the Royal Council was in session yet was now littered with guest lists, menus, flower samples, and colour charts. Seeing her daughter - for whom this entire event was being planned for - gazing out of the window that provided a stunning (and highly advantageous) view of the waters that lead to Misthaven’s Western Isles, she sighed, worry and empathy overriding her irritation at Emma’s inattention to the final touches that had yet to be approved. Bustling around the table and moving to stand beside the window, Snow gently wrapped her arm around her while carefully guiding her head to rest on her shoulder.

“Are you worried that Regina will cause another raging storm to prevent all of our friends and allies from attending the ball so that we are forced to postpone your coming out for yet another year?”

Emma slowly shook her head, her eyes still trained on the world outside that held so many shades of blue, green, and white, mingling together as the wind playfully dragged along the water’s surface, creating multi-hued waves that dissipated to nothing more than foam edged imprints upon the shore. The two women stood in silence for some time, each trying to calm the whirl of thoughts that did not wish to be brought to heel.

For the last three years, the kingdom had tried to celebrate their Princess’s birthday and her coming out into society as all women who celebrate their twenty-first birthdays do in some manner or other. However, ever since Emma had washed ashore after experiencing the terror that was the sinking of The White Shepherd, a spate of dangerously violent storms would roll through off the sea on the week of her birthday like clockwork, causing devastation to any who were foolish enough to try and sail through it to Misthaven’s harbour. Even the forests that flanked the castle to the east became treacherous and unseasonably bitter with cold, deterring any from making the journey to meet the princess who would more than likely assume the mantle of ‘the fairest in the land’ after tomorrow night.

“Sweetheart,” Snow began softly, shifting them slightly away from the window and towards a small alcove beside them where two well worn, but comfortable armchairs were placed underneath an ancient painting depicting a grand galleon sailing towards its home port.

Settling themselves into the chairs, Snow took hold of one of her daughter’s hands, and squeezing it affectionately, continued. “I know that you’re feeling the expectation that tomorrow night you must find the man that will help you rule the kingdom when your Papa and I are no longer here, and that it needs to be someone who will have the means to aid our cause against Regina and George if we secure it with a marriage pact.” Emma dropped her gaze to the floor, her chest tightening with false denials that she wished to reassure her mother with, but before she had a chance to let the words form, Snow spoke again.

“This ball is to celebrate you, Emma, our beloved Swan Princess. A beautiful and courageous woman who will rule this kingdom one day using the greatest power in all the realms that she was blessed with at birth - love.”

“Mama, be serious! Love? Against the Evil Queen? The Council wants-” Emma began, unable to keep the incredulity out of her tone.

“The Council do not represent Misthaven nor do they carry the burden that comes with such responsibility,” Snow interrupted, her tone hardening in emphasis of her point. Queen Snow had always been known as a kind, gentle, and motherly monarch that was beloved by her people, however, it has never been forgotten that it was her banners that outnumbered those of Regina’s in the heat of battle and that it was she and her King Consort who had ultimately masterminded Misthaven’s victory that fateful day so many years ago.

Now taking both of Emma’s hands into her own, Snow levelled her daughter with a scrutinising stare, trying to decipher the mysterious notions of her mind. However, the golden haired beauty’s emerald eyes (a perfect mirror reflection of her own) remained as closed off as ever, or at least since she had been returned to them after nearly losing her to the deceptive waves beyond the castle walls. Tamping down her grief at the loss of her daughter’s once open heart to the depths of the ocean, Snow focused her thoughts on the present situation, determined to impart one of the most important lessons she could ever hope for her daughter and heir to learn.

“Love is more than just a fleeting moment, an emotion that elicits a quickening of your heart beat or brings a feeling of weightlessness to your body whenever it is bestowed upon you. Those are wonderful feelings to have and I would never discount them as being anything superficial, but Love, True Love, is a way of life and the only path to long lasting victory against those who would do us harm.”

Emma tilted her head slightly as she tried to process her mother’s words, not yet willing to rule out that Snow wasn’t just getting carried away with her romantic fantasies that often come from the anticipation of attending a ball. Snow continued on as if she hadn’t noticed Emma’s skepticism in the rise of her brow and the almost imperceptible tightening of her mouth that was desperately trying to force itself into staying neutral.

“Love is intrinsically entwined within us - the gods ensured this so that we would love and worship them. Mothers and fathers will rush into burning buildings to save their children, siblings will share what little they have with one another so no one is left out, even craftsmen will create the most exquisite pieces just for the joy it brings to others. And lovers? Well, your father and I have told you our story for so many years, you know that they will face trials and tribulations no matter how perilous, challenges no matter how unfair, and fights no matter how outmatched they appear to be - together.”

Eyes of sapphire blue staring intently at her in the early dawn light flashed across Emma’s mind, even as a whispered promise of a long awaited return lingered across her heart. As quickly as the image - that felt so much more like a memory than it should - materialised, it faded away, leaving behind dismay and confusion in its wake.

Mentally shaking away the longing within her heart for a man she was increasingly losing hope had been more than just a figment of her imagination, Emma tried to lighten the tone of both their moods by quipping, “Then perhaps we should do away with all the pomp and circumstance. If love is all we need to win this war, then I’m sure I can find someone worthy of my love down at the ‘Golden Mermaid’ or perhaps even the ‘Sea Witch'. I’ve met - I mean, I’ve heard - that there are quite a few gentleman pirates that would be more than willing to take up the cause if for nothing more than to infuriate The Evil Queen and her puppet George.”

The raised eyebrow at her daughter’s slip of her long suspected activities outside the castle walls was replaced by a pensive furrow as she thought of the truth behind the casually flippant words. Smiling slightly in memory of her own love story, Snow focused on her wedding ring, the peridot gem as unblemished and glittering as ever in the light of the afternoon sun, a reminder of all she had fought for to be able to have the love of her life by her side and watch her beloved daughter grow into the incredibly brave and beautiful woman she was now.

“It is true that love doesn’t discriminate between classes. By all accounts, I should never have met your father let alone fallen in love with him. A shepherd who had been forced to flee his home and a princess who just happened to be wandering in the forest grieving the loss of both of her parents, feeling completely alone and unprepared for the crown? I don’t know how things would have turned out if I had bowed to the demands of the Council and married a prince or duke from some far away land who was only interested in the wealth and security that the kingdom could provide. Perhaps we would still have defeated Regina, or perhaps, we would have been completely overrun. What I do know, is that was never something I ever had to consider once I met your father. We make each other better. We balance out each other’s flaws. And we share the burdens that life demands of us every day.”

Snow took a deep breath, her impromptu lesson nearing its conclusion. She needed Emma to understand that of all her hopes and aspirations for her, of finding a love like what she and David have, one that has seen through them through the best and worst moments of their lives, and will see them through to the end of their days and the afterlife beyond, is the only one that is of any consequence. She knew that was what Emma wanted too, even if she no longer confided the secrets of her heart - to her or anyone else.

“Emma, you are the only treasure that your Papa and I will guard fiercely with our lives. Your health and happiness is all that matters to us. There is no denying that Regina is regaining strength and that before long, we and our allies will be facing another war where we will have to fight for what is good and beautiful in this realm. However, that is still some way off - she might have King George on her side this time, but she is going to need more than one impoverished kingdom to raise their banners for her. Therefore, tomorrow night, all I want you to do is dance, eat as many of your favourite treats that Granny has made especially for you, and make as many cherished memories with our friends as you possibly can. We will need those memories in the coming years. Thoughts of prospective marriage pacts are forbidden!”

Emma could hear the earnest plea in her mother’s voice for her to listen and take her words as the most important counsel to live by. She knew these last three years since her near drowning she had undergone a significant change in her behaviour that was often perceived as aloof and perfunctory; something that had been heartbreakingly jarring for those she loved. She didn’t know how to explain what had happened and why she had been unable to recover fully from it; only Starkey and Mullins truly understood, but even they had never come up with a plausible explanation on how they came to be on that beach. She could never explain to anyone that her initial belief was that she been saved by Killian Jones, god of sailors and collector of lost souls at sea, and that although logic told her that he had not come to her aid, her dreams refused to allow her to let go of the notion that he had and what was more, he did it because he loved her.

Again time passed between the two women, so much so, that ominous dark clouds began to gather outside, casting shadows across the room. Surprisingly, Emma was the first to notice this change in atmosphere as the wind began to herald yet another tempest to mark the Princess of Misthaven’s birthday. She was about to suggest that they should start lighting the lamp sconces around the chamber themselves rather than wait for the servants, when she caught sight of her mother’s usually bright and youthful face. For once, Emma could see the toll her altered state had taken on those she loved most. Tiny lines of distress marked the corners of Snow’s eyes and lips, deepening the more she tried to bring her emotions under control, the hand that was not still holding tightly onto Emma’s was twisted into the folds of her otherwise perfectly pressed gown, and her verdant eyes - a mirror to Emma’s own - was furiously blinking back the tears that her daughter’s seeming indifference had triggered.

“Oh Mama!” Emma exclaimed, shuffling off her seat to kneel before the Queen and laying her head on her lap, just as she had as a little girl when seeking comfort and safety - she only hoped that this time she was the one to bestow those sentiments.

“I’m sorry I’m not what I used to be. That I - that I don’t reveal myself as I used to. I wish I could tell you why, but I do not understand it myself.”

Snow had leant down to hear her daughter’s soft words of apology, her tears spilling over unchecked as she heard Emma’s confusion and regret. She embraced Emma fully, one arm wound around her back as the other cradled the back of her head, the tips of her fingers stroking through the fine strands of golden hair. There was no need for an apology. Snow would give her daughter anything in her power to give - patience was something she would have no issue in providing.

A short rap on the door, followed by two servants laden with lanterns and tapers entered the room, forcing the moment of quiet apology to end. Emma was the first to stand, helping her mother out of her seat, before they each assisted in bringing light back into the room against the oncoming storm. In short order, the servants left to continue lighting the rest of the castle and Snow went back to poring over the plans for the ball.

“Are you positive that a masquerade is what you really want? We still have time to change it if we send notices right now,” Snow looked up as she spoke, smiling brightly when she saw that Emma had sat at the table and was now looking over the seating arrangements.

“It’s my ball, is it not Mama? I think masquerades are fun - Aurora’s coming out ball might have been passably enjoyable if she had had one. How in all the realms can you have fire and ice dancers perform at your ball and still have it be one of the most dullest nights of your life, I will never know…”

“Emma!” Snow admonished, albeit half-heartedly. King Stephan and Queen Briar had been wonderful friends and allies over the years, but even Snow could not explain away their daughter’s spoiled nature and propensity to complain about anything and everything no matter how insignificant.

“Fine, fine. A masquerade it is. I believe Johanna has already collected your mask from the seamstress and had it placed with the rest of your garments for tomorrow night. But what about the unmasking at midnight? Could we change it to something a little earlier? What about just after supper?” After the tears that had only been shed moments before, Snow felt a relief in being able to playfully haggle with her daughter on the final touches of the ball and end their time together with just the two of them on a lighter note.

“It is tradition for the unmasking to be done at midnight,” Emma murmured, reaching for the quill and ink well so she could cross out Princess Aurora’s and her betrothed, Prince Phillip’s, names from the second table after her own and seat them a little further away so as to create as much space between them as possible.

“Hmmm, yes and you’ve always been such a stickler for tradition my dearest, haven’t you?” Snow laughed. If she hadn’t known better, she would question whether Emma knew what ‘tradition’ meant, given her abject irreverence towards it on most important occasions. Emma’s slight smirk was all the answer she received in return, causing an inelegant snort of mirth from the Queen of Misthaven.

********************E&K********************

The storm had raged offshore, never making landfall but ensuring its presence was known all the same. The booms of thunder repeatedly interrupted Queen Snow’s excited chatter of all of the plans now in place for tomorrow. King David’s sly winks to her at each interruption saw Emma drink more deeply from her water glass for fear of dissolving into laughter and getting both she and her father in trouble.

Some hours later, long after everyone had retired to their apartments and sleeping quarters, Emma sat alone at her dressing table, combing through her hair in the warm light of the candles on either side of the ornate mirror in front of her. The storm had not yet exhausted itself across the water, nor had it appeared to have moved from its position just beyond Misthaven's harbour. The cold and unrelenting winds the storm had stirred up beat against the windows of her bed chamber and rattled relentlessly against the doors that led to her balcony, but Emma was not disturbed by it - she never was. Somehow, she always felt protected from the world outside Misthaven’s borders whenever a storm crossed into the kingdom, a feeling of peace passing over her that was so unlike the cacophony that roared across the water and through the forests surrounding them as though the armies of Ares were surging forth into battle.

As she continued to smooth away the snarls and tangles of her hair, Emma thought about her reasonings for insisting on a masquerade ball. It was true, she did find them particularly enjoyable on the rare occasion she had been able to attend one over the last few years; however, there was also an element of strategy that influenced her desire for a ball wrapped in secrecy and intrigue: to know with certainty who were Misthaven’s friends, and who were her enemies. She would honour her mother’s wish to celebrate her official coming out into society but she would stay on her guard. Emma herself would not be announced until midnight just as everyone else was unmasked, which would leave her plenty of time to get an idea of who could be trusted and who would undoubtedly run to Regina at the first sign of weakness.

Emma sighed, placing her comb on the table as she gazed into the mirror. Her parents may not expect it from her, and now that she knew she had their support, she was in no hurry, but she supposed she should attempt to begin her search for a husband. With everyone’s identities hidden for at least half of the night, it would give her the best opportunity she could hope for to get to know any potential suitors beyond the empty platitudes and overdone fawning that was usual whenever she was introduced at these events, and begin the process of finding someone she could trust and perhaps fall in love with in time.

That foreign piece of her heart pulsed painfully within her at the thought of finding someone to eventually fall in love with - a sharp warning that she did not understand. As though responding to her confusion, a vision formed in her mind of a man with indistinct features begging her to trust him and wait for his return. As the man’s features became more apparent, blue eyes shone beneath dark strands of hair that fell carelessly across his forehead, blue eyes that shone like sapphires…

The thought of sapphires jolted Emma out of her vision although her heart continued to pulse erratically, her breathing ragged and struggling to normalise. Her eyes drifted over to the small built-in jewellery cabinet situated just beside the mirror, her treasured memento from her sojourn into the deep secreted away within it. Suddenly feeling compelled to open the little doors to the cabinet, she carefully traced the delicately carved compartments with a finger until she came down to the last one. Pulling the little drawer out of the cabinet completely, Emma carefully emptied it of its contents: small trinkets gifted to her by her parents and other loved ones, and childhood ornaments no longer appropriate to be worn now that she was a woman full grown. After carefully placing the cameo depicting a swan carved from mother of pearl on the table, Emma began to drag a fingernail around the edges of the velvet lining the bottom of the compartment until she was able to detect the hidden groove underneath. Once she was able to gain purchase of it, she popped out the bottom of the compartment to reveal her Sea Sapphire set in a choker of black pearls.

Emma had never worn the mysterious piece of jewelry, afraid that someone would recognise it for what it was and spread whispers across the lands between here and the Dark Kingdoms of the East, bringing the Evil Queen to their door - with or without an army. There was great power within the jewel but Emma had no knowledge of how to release it, let alone wield it. Holding the necklace against the light of the candle beside her, Emma studied the veins of white running through the jewel, marvelling at how they enhanced the deep blue of the sapphire itself. The longer she gazed at it, the brighter the veins seemed to appear until she was forced to look away for fear of being blinded by it.

Blinking away the spots of colour now dancing before her eyes, Emma glanced over to her armoire where the open doors revealed her gown for tomorrow evening. Of the few details for the ball that Emma had shown some interest in, the design of her gown was something she had been most enthusiastic for. The material used was light and delicate, floating gently about her frame with every movement, giving an impression as though she were gliding through water. The colour reflected the glittering beauty of the ocean that she had become so unusually attached to. Emma had had quite the triumphant victory in negotiating with her mother on what colour she should wear as Snow had insisted she needed to stand out in something striking such as gold or red, perhaps even emerald to really bring out the colour of her eyes seeing as she had been so set on a masquerade. Emma had held firm however; she was to wear a blue that would shimmer in different hues with every flicker of the chandeliers within the ballroom and the wall sconces that lined its walls. Tiny, white semi-precious gems were embroidered into the gown’s bodice, their inclusion in the design a secret nod to the Sea Sapphire that had been gifted to her.

Or had it?

Dismay crowded into the corners of Emma’s mind at the thought that perhaps the necklace had not been meant for her; that it had simply washed up on the shore along with everything else that the sea had hurled at the land in her contemptuous fury that fateful day. Just as quickly however, it faded as a tendril of jealousy began to unfurl at the thought of something that inexplicably felt far worse -

What if the necklace belongs to the Goddess Ursula? A matching set to the Sea Sapphire that she had at one time bestowed upon her beloved Killian Jones? Had she angered the oft volatile gods of the Seas? How will they exact their revenge upon her? Could she be forgiven for her naivety?

Thoughts of wrath and punishment raining down upon her and the kingdom flew through Emma’s mind in dizzying spirals until she could do nothing more than scream in competition with the howling wind outside. It was some moments later that clarity and calm reigned once more and Emma was able to rationalise her head and her heart into something that was much more plausible.

Killian Jones had not rescued Crown Princess Emma of Misthaven the day her ship had been decimated so close to home. He had not gifted her a priceless jewel, nor would he or any other god or goddess seek revenge upon her or her kingdom for having such an item. If any came to seek her out for its return to its rightful owner, then she would return it gladly. But just in case, perhaps she should be bold and wear it tomorrow night. If Killian Jones appears in the midst of the ballroom, perhaps he will consent to one dance with a truly apologetic princess. Chuckling softly at her ridiculousness, Emma nevertheless carefully placed the Sea Sapphire necklace on the small jewellery stand next to her gown and began extinguishing all the lights within her bedchamber.

Noticing that the storm had finally died down, Emma decided to take in the clean scented air that always lingered in its aftermath. She stepped out onto her balcony, a warm shawl wrapped around her shoulders to fight off the icy chill already trying to permeate into every one of her senses. The clouds had parted just enough to allow the full moon to send a silvery shaft of light upon where she stood, lending an ethereal glimmer to the masonry of the castle and the sea beyond. The scene before Emma filled her with a sense of romanticism and enchantment, giving her leave to picture herself as the heroine in one of her mother’s cherished novels of finding love against all odds and dashing away into the night to celebrate their union under the stars. She saw herself sneaking away from the castle using only the light of the moon and stars to find her way to the outcropping on her beach where Killian Jones would be waiting for her, ready to spirit her away to the Palace of Poseidon as his beloved bride and -

Emma again shook herself out of thoughts of the handsome god that had captured her imagination these last three years. Tomorrow night would likely be the last night she would have for some time where she could find some measure of enjoyment before Regina and King George began making their first moves in what would surely be a long campaign. She needed to focus on her reality, not on her hopes and dreams for something that would never be.

Taking one last look at the view of the moonlight on the waves, Emma sighed in weariness, but allowed herself one more moment to purge herself of her fantasies with a whispered invitation.

“Killian Jones, God of Sailors and Collector of Lost Souls, on behalf of the Kingdom of Misthaven and the Western Isles, I cordially invite you to my coming out ball tomorrow evening. Your presence would be an honour and… it would fulfil my dearest wish to know once and for all if you truly brought me back to life …”

********************E&K********************

The light of the now fully exposed moon reflected off the gleaming white sails of the unnaturally pristine ship that was heading into Misthaven’s harbour at full speed. The hull of this grand vessel whose like had not been seen in this realm for many centuries, sliced through the storm tossed waves as though they were nothing more than ripples in an otherwise calm pond, never slowing in its approach nor showing any sign that it was aware of the overcrowded harbour and the need to carefully guide its way to the last berthing slip available.

Across the deck, shadowed figures made preparations to make port, their movements quick and fluid, carrying out their captain’s silent orders without pause, their duties not having changed for years beyond memory.

The Captain stood in his rightful place at the helm, his hair and attire as dark as those under his command and seeming to deflect any and all attempts from the wind to surrender to disorder and dishevelment. He did however encourage its presence, sifting through its whispers of those beyond the pink and white flecked granite walls of the royal castle of Misthaven who were much more inclined to observe the witching hour than most. Finally, he heard her voice, as fearless and enticing as ever, though he could not help detecting the hint of uncertainty that had weaved its way into her words.

“I cordially invite you to my coming out ball tomorrow evening.Your presence would be an honour and… it would fulfil my dearest wish to know once and for all if you truly brought me back to life …”

The Captain smiled widely, his features transforming to that of the young lieutenant he had been once upon a time, when the world was full of opportunities for heroism and valour, and before he knew of the betrayals and machinations of those with more power than he. Now though, after what felt like lifetimes had passed since he had snatched his golden-haired princess - his True Love - from the clutches of those who would have sought to punish her through no fault of her own, he could finally return to her as he had promised. Although he knew that she would not hear him as he could her, Killian Jones answered her invitation, whispering it to the wind in the hopes that it would be carried to her chambers and into her dreams.

“Aye, my love, I will most surely accept your invitation. When we are reunited, all will be explained, at which time I most ardently hope that you will accept my own invitation in return.”

[cssns]

No Rest For The Immortals, Chapter 8

We are finally back with this story! I feel like my muse has bipolar disorder =D

AO3 link

Tag people who may be interested: @killianxswan @teamhook @booksteaandtoomuchtv @exhaustedpirate @anmylica @hollyethecurious @kmomof4 @winterbaby89 @undercaffinatednightmare @resident-of-storybrooke @caught-in-the-filter @tiganasummertree @stahlords @lfh1226-linda @darkshadow7 @fleurdepetite @motherkatereloyshipper @soniccat @jrob64 @beckettj @whimsicallyenchantedrose @jonesfandomfanatic @zaharadessert @bluewildcatfanatic @once-upon-a-happy-end @ultraluckycatnd @qualitycoffeethings @deckerstarblanche

[cssns]

@laianely is back with a new chapter of No Rest for the Immortals!!! Enjoy and be sure to give her lots of love!!!!

No Rest For The Immortals, Chapter 8

We are finally back with this story! I feel like my muse has bipolar disorder =D

AO3 link

Tag people who may be interested: @killianxswan @teamhook @booksteaandtoomuchtv @exhaustedpirate @anmylica @hollyethecurious @kmomof4 @winterbaby89 @undercaffinatednightmare @resident-of-storybrooke @caught-in-the-filter @tiganasummertree @stahlords @lfh1226-linda @darkshadow7 @fleurdepetite @motherkatereloyshipper @soniccat @jrob64 @beckettj @whimsicallyenchantedrose @jonesfandomfanatic @zaharadessert @bluewildcatfanatic @once-upon-a-happy-end @ultraluckycatnd @qualitycoffeethings @deckerstarblanche

[cssns]

CSSNS24 fic" For All Life and For All Time" {the final chapter, fic complete!}

Yes, it has taken me longer than I hoped, but I have finally finished my three-part Dracula-themed Victorian CS AU for the @cssns!!! I'm really pleased with how it's come together, and I'm excited to share this last part with you. As always, I'd love to hear your thoughts. (And I hope the mostly happy ending will allow you to forgive the bit of pain we'll have to endure in getting there...

Summary: Having lost her dearest friend and with her own life on the line, Emma Swan joins a noble band to face an ancient evil. Three of them stand by her in honor of the one they loved and lost. The other might be the first man she could love. He might love her as well - even more than life itself. Time will tell... if they both survive the fight against their immortal enemy.

Also available from the start here on Tumblr or on AO3

(See just a couple more author's notes at chapter's end)

Part Three

by: @snowbellewells

Unable to help himself, a roar of outrage and horror tore from Killian’s chest, ringing across the wide, high-ceilinged space at the sight of the monster draining Emma’s life flow from her veins. Forgetting their plan, forgetting the compatriots around him, seeing only another woman he loved ravaged and dead and himself unable to save her, violent red rage coursed through his body as he charged forward.

Either the prick of the vampire’s fangs into her neck, the pain that immediately followed, or the wild howl of a man unmoored and the sound of oncoming feet, seemed to snap Emma into awareness. A startled cry escaped her lips, eyelids fluttering rapidly as she struggled to regain her bearings before they snapped open in shocked realization of her position in Dracula’s clutches and what was happening to her and around her. She recoiled with a visible shudder, and what strength she had saw her struggling once again to free herself. 

Somewhere in the haze that nearly consumed him, Killian drew some morsel of comfort from the sight. Though her slim build and weakened state made her attempts akin to those of a songbird beating its wings against the firm, steel bars of a gilded cage against von Stiltskin’s implacable, inhuman strength, she didn’t stop for even a moment. Emma was still herself, not lost to them yet.

Killian mastered himself somewhat as he drew near to the vampire and his struggling victim. He must find his clarity, follow through on the plan they had laid out if they were to give Emma her best chance, and to survive themselves. Thankfully, his brothers-in-arms had only recently weathered the horrifying loss he feared, the image of Aurora’s pale and terrifying beauty as the vampiress the Count had made her, and the lengths to which they had gone to restore her humanity, if only in death, must still haunt them now, but it had served them well. The other three had fanned out over the space, insuring that whichever way the monster turned he must needs face one of them in an attempt to fly.

To see the feral gleam in the creature’s eye though, Killian did not believe retreat would be his action this time. As much as on her blood, Dracula was feeding on Emma’s wretched noises and her futile attempts to escape, writhing and bucking in his grasp to no avail. A malevolent glee seemed to seep from every pore under the dead, white skin, causing the vampire to glisten with it, an oozing sheen of evil that seemed almost a protective layer cloaking their foe.

It was now or never; Emma could not afford their hesitation, the element of surprise had been lost even before their arrival, and they were all in place now, as prepared as ever they could be. Raising his voice with a commanding authority he hardly felt, Killian drew from his cloak for the vampire to see, the dagger he had sought halfway across the continent, brandishing it as he would a shining shield. “Von Stiltskin,” he bellowed, staring down the nightmare who had stalked his dreams for years, “let her go!”

At first glimpse of the dagger in his adversary’s grip, the vampire fell back with a hiss, momentarily struck enough to ease his grip on Emma slightly and to remove his fangs from her neck as his displeasure was made known. The unsettling, glowing eyes were murderous, unhinged, but also showed fear in spite of the creature’s anger. Killian moved forward again that much more confident the weapon must indeed wield the powers purported. Why else would the Count hesitate to attack him now, as he drew within striking distance? Particularly with the speed he knew Dracula to possess. He had set himself as the bait for that very reason; to draw focus while the others attacked from all sides. It took almost more restraint than he possessed not to dart forward and pull Emma from the suddenly lax grip the vampire held upon her, to get between them and shield her with his own body from further harm. In truth, the way she slumped as the hold grew less nearly made his panic soar beyond his control, until she managed to catch his eye, raising her head just a moment, but the flicker in the snapping jade orbs told him she was ready the moment she had an opportunity, not quite as limp or defeated as she meant to appear.

The relief that flooded him was almost certainly premature, a distraction he could not afford, and yet it also suffused his being with new strength and will. Only a few steps more, and he would be close enough to land a damaging blow. From the corners of his vision, Killian could see that Jefferson, Graham, and Philip were all in position, each man poised and alert, ready to do just as they had planned. Wordlessly, Killian gave the signal, and even as he pushed forward, the dagger raised to drive through Dracula’s heart if he were to have the chance, the others moved in with him, matching him stride for stride.

If not for their stalwart presence, he might have lost himself, Killian realized, shaking the reddened haze of anger from his vision. But as they tightened their circle, his aim sharpened, and their monstrous foe’s attention was split between the oncoming assailants, just as they had hoped.

Even as Killian readied his arm, steeling himself to sink the dagger home, he saw the rapid movement to his left of Graham Morris driven forward by fighting instinct and chivalric nature past any further hesitation, despite their previous agreement that Killian must strike first with the fated blade. Graham’s slice went deep, and with a roar of pain the monster dropped its clawed grip on Emma completely. She fell to the floor in a heap, and that taloned grasp swiped outward, catching Morris in the gut and dragging across his torso viciously. Graham stumbled back with a gasp, clutching his middle where red already leaked through his fingers.

Killian could not falter; for just one moment, Dracula was stunned, injured - vulnerable - and so he drove the dagger into the monster’s chest, right where its heart would be, if that organ could still exist in one such as he, and followed through with all his might. 

The vampire howled and snapped its terrible jaws, resembling even the guise of humanity less and less with every second. Mere breaths after the deathblow struck home, the vampire sunk to its knees. Yet, even with strength waning, lashed out and gripped Killian about the neck, too firmly to be shaken off and inexorably squeezing, closing off the air from his lungs. It was as though the fiend knew he had finally been bested, but would not sink into the fires below without taking his conqueror with him.

Killian Jones had long since readied himself for such an eventuality. In the long, solitary years he had spent tracking Dracula von Stiltskin’s whereabouts and seeking out any possible weaknesses which might bring about his defeat, he had accepted that his quest’s end would almost surely mean his own as well. And he had been at peace with that. There had been little but bitterness and pain for him in the world at any rate. But now, he found he could not let go just yet; he had reason to stay on this Earth, to live again, beyond Dracula’s downfall, thanks to the band of brothers who surrounded him, and especially the woman who was now rising from where she had fallen.

Scrabbling frantically at the hands which closed off his windpipe, desperate to see this battle finished once and for all, and that Emma was alright, he fought to free himself of the iron hold and the darkening edges encroaching on his sight.

Though it could not have been more than moments, time seemed to have stretched and lengthened oddly, so that Killian had almost forgotten Seward and Thornswood, until both made their own strikes at the monster almost simultaneously. Thornswood came from the right, hacking the creature’s arm with such force it was nearly detached at the shoulder, finally loosening the death grip on Killian and allowing him the air to stay conscious. Seward had attacked from behind, wisely intending to sever the vampire’s neck and remove the head, the only sure way to finish him off. The creature’s fall to its knees had thrown his aim off, however, and his blade was now sunk so deep in the fiend’s back that he struggled to pull it out to try again.

Pulling in great, gasping breaths, Killian searched for the dagger to remove the head himself. No matter how badly they had wounded Dracula, he would regenerate if they did not make certain he was ash. Yet all he could find was the intricate jeweled hilt. It would seem to have disintegrated within the beast upon finding its mark.

Before he could think what to do, Killian saw Emma rise, wavering unsteadily on her feet, but with the hair-raising war cry of a Valkyrie. She had pulled the knife he had sent with her from its sheath at her thigh and she struck the monster’s neck swiftly and certainly - as well as he could have done it himself - before falling to the floor again with a wail and turning her head into his chest.

Though Killian was honored and truly touched to have Emma turn to him for strength in that moment, he pulled back slightly, lifting her chin and urging her to turn so she could also see what was happening before his very eyes. He felt he knew and understood Emma Swan almost as well as he knew himself, and he was unwaveringly sure that - just as he did - she would need to witness what was unfolding, for her own future peace of mind.

And what a sight it was at that - one he had nearly despaired of ever witnessing. With a last bellow that seemed to shake the rafters and the floor beneath their feet, the immortal monster met his end. An otherworldly wind whirled around the vampire as it was buffeted and torn, with bits of him being stripped away piece by piece. Chinks of light began to show through his form to the the far wall, and then it was as though he began to crystallize and dissolve, blown away like sand on the wind.

The howl of the dying creature as it was pulled apart, combined with the pressure and whipping of the blinding wind nearly stole their breath. It was all Killian could do to stand his ground and cling to Emma with all his might to steady her as well. When the small whirlwind finally eased, seeming to vanish back from wherever it had come, all of their company stood still as stone for several long moments. They were silent; frozen in shock and hardly daring to believe that Dracula von Stiltskin was now the mere pile of ash at their feet; the dust barely settled, but the long reign of terror at last at its end.

A wheezing gasp, low and ragged, from off to their left was what finally broke them from their frozen state. “I-Is he f-finished?” the voice asked desperately.

Where Emma had been leaning on him heavily, her reserves of strength and adrenaline nearly drained away, she suddenly jerked forward, her eyes meeting his in alarm, seeming to ask, ‘How could we have forgotten?’

They hurried toward the pained voice, now clearly accompanied by labored breathing, once the tumult had died down. Philip Thornswood had beated them there, already dropping to his knees beside their fallen comrade with a tense exclamation of “Morris!” that made his dismay all too clear. He reached beneath the other man’s shoulders, elevating his head and torso slightly and looking with worried brow to Jefferson for direction.

The doctor had also knelt beside the brave adventurer, pulling back the remnants of ruined shirt and vest to examine Graham Morris’ wound. But his grim expression only told them what they had already feared. There was so much blood - beneath him, around him, still leaking from the open wound - gaping appallingly no matter how much they wished to see otherwise.

Graham’s large, expressive brown eyes had gone a bit glassy, but they still flicked from one to another of his friends earnestly. “Tell me, please… whatever it is. Is the monster gone?”

There was nothing to be done for him, not that could be accomplished in a dank, drafty castle with no surgical equipment and so much blood loss. Clearly even the cowboy already knew it, and so none forced Seward to put the bleak reality into words. Instead, he reached out and took Morris’ hand in his, clasping tightly as Thornswood did the same at his shoulder. “Dracula’s reign of terror is over. We did it, my Friend. Rest easy on that.”

A rattling breath escaped the Irishman’s lungs at those words, as his eyes fluttered closed for a moment in deeply felt relief. They almost wondered if he was already fading when they flickered open once more and he asked, “A-and Emma? Miss Swan? Is she…?”

With a pained cry, Emma stumbled to his other side and dropped next to him on the cold cement floor, anxious to ease his mind and offer him her thanks if that were all that she could do. Reaching out a trembling hand, she smoothed a sweaty curl from his clammy forehead, squeezing his fingers - heedless of how they were tacky with dried blood - tightly in her own and then pressing their joined hands to her chest with emotion.

“I’m here,” she murmured, “We all are.” She didn’t know what else to do, but she didn’t want this brave man who had fought against evil and helped to save her life to feel alone for even one second in this horrible passing.

Morris managed a faint press of Emma’s fingers in return, almost smiling tremulously as he added with a ragged gasp, “M-Miss Swan? It is g-good to see you, milady.  Are you truly alright?”

Tears still rimmed Emma’s green eyes, glittering in the strange half-light like jewels on her lashes as she nodded fervently. “Yes, I am. Please do not fret on that anymore. I will be fine. Thanks in no small part to you, Mr. Morris.” Her voice trembled with emotion at feeling the strength in his hand that she clasped in her own lessening with each moment that passed. The roving hero’s journey was inescapably nearing its end, and though he had fought well and seen their battle won, he would not have the chance to savor the victory they had wrought, nor to enjoy the newfound peace he had helped to secure.

“Thank the Lord and all His saints for that,” he exhaled, the words barely more than a whisper of breath. When his eyes fell closed that time, his lashes did not flutter open again; the struggling rise and fall of his chest went still, and Graham Morris breathed his last.

Strong, formidable men all, his allies were, and still in that frigid, ruined throne room Emma’s tears were not the only ones shed over the body of the impetuous wanderer who had given his last to the cause. Somehow the hours had hurried on; the sun was rising once more over the eastern peaks, and they had to leave the forbidding outpost of their vanquished foe. Though it was hard to believe they would leave that castle to tread on the same earth after the waking nightmare they had just survived, there was little else to be done but to press onward as best they could.

Emma Swan raised her eyes, her gaze seeking the only imaginable solace to be found - the answering blue stare of Killian Joens, mourning too, but still resolute and offering the hope of comfort to which she could cling. She focused on him and drew from his strength as the new day’s sun bathed the tragic scene in yet more red and gold with its returning glow. For the moment she must beyond the loss to the future - one they would have with certainty, now that the vampire was no more.

~ * ~ * ~ * ~

Two Years Later…

A cool, gentle breeze drifts in through the open window as Killian Jones, once the driven and coolly implacable vampire hunter Van Helsing, stands looking out over the fields and grounds of the country estate he now shares with the two lights of his life: Emma, his beautiful bride of more than a year, the savior of his heart and soul, and their new son, who gurgles happily in his arms. Looking down at the baby’s playful noisemaking, Killian grins, utterly enchanted by the gummy smile the little lad gives him, kicking his chubby feet energetically and latching onto his papa’s finger with an impressively tight grip of his small fist. For a babe just days old, Killian feels he must be especially brilliant to already show such personality and expression, though he knows he is more than biased and does not care one bit.

Emma is still recovering from the delivery in their suite just down the hall, so he happily took the wee one for a bit of a walk about the place after his last feeding, and now finds himself standing in the nursery enjoying both the peaceful meadows outside the window view and the tiny miracle in his arms, still rather stunned that he ever managed to find such contentment after so much struggle and pain.

Just then he hears lightly shuffling footsteps behind him, mere moments before his wife’s slender arms wrap around him from behind. He smiles warmly, feeling the same satisfaction she seems to as she burrows her face between his shoulderblades and hums delightedly while breathing him in.

Making sure their son is cradled securely against his body and within the crook of his arm, Killian brings his other hand down to cover Emma’s own and squeeze gently, gladly returning the affectionate touch, even as he chides lightly, “You, my darling, are meant to be resting, not up and roaming about the manor.”

Her soft laughter seems to brighten the very air with its light notes of joy, carefree and open as both of them are only now learning to allow their emotions to be - on the surface and able to be shared. Laying her cool, soft hand to rest over his heart, even as she returns the loving press of his fingers around her own, she cannot help the playfully tart response that escapes her lips. “You know better than to coddle me like some china doll, Mr. Jones.”

He can practically see the challenging quirk to her brow, the way she tilts her head in expectation when when she baits him, just waiting for his reply, and the knowing curve upwards at one corner of her mouth, even though he cannot actually look her in the face with her cuddled against his back.

Taking the hand he holds and using it to pull her in a wide circle, Killian brings his wife around to face him and gather her close again. His arms are wrapped around his whole world in their small family, and their little one is cradled between them as he gazes down into Emma’s eyes. “Forgive me, Mrs. Jones, but I believe it is my duty and right to care for the well-being of my lady wife.”

Shaking her head at his overly formal repartee, she huffs out an affectionate breath of exasperated acquiescence. 

Their back and forth is interrupted when their son begins to fuss, nosing doggedly at the front of Emma’s gown and letting her know without question that he is again ready for his meal. “He’s your child, that much is certain,” Emma adds tartly, a sardonic tone to her voice as she eyes her husband. “Insatiable.”

But even as she takes the child more fully into her own arms, moves aside her robe, and brings him closer to her breast, she lets one hand trail along Killian’s flank and playfully squeeze his rear in a moment’s tease, before moving away to carry their little boy to the rocking chair by the bassinet and settling in to feed him properly.

Killian’s body cannot help but jerk slightly in surprised response to her amorous caress, several parts of his anatomy coming to life. It is true that he always wants her, but he is not about to risk Emma’s health or comfort before her body is fully healed and restored from the birth of their son. “It would seem your roving hands prove I’m not the only insatiable one,” he murmurs lowly, a feral grin lighting his features as he follows her across the room and bends to take her lips with his own. The kiss is deep and leaves them both breathless. If all he can have at the moment, he will certainly make his kisses count.

She hums in agreement; relaxed, at ease, and happy as the little one settles again and she brushes tender fingers over the soft tufts of dark hair atop the boy’s hair. Quincey Morris Jones blinks eyes as blue as his father’s up at them sleepily once he has begun to get his fill. They had decided almost immediately to pass the surname of the lost member of their band of brothers on to their first child; it seemed the only tribute fitting enough to truly honor his sacrifice, and a worthy namesake to give their boy who would surely grow up to be as honorable and true as the man of whom they would tell him proudly.

As Killian takes the newborn, who is once more dozing, from his mother’s arms and lowers him carefully into his crib, he looks back at his wife. Her eyes practically glow with love for him, and a small, secret smile plays upon her perfect mouth. Beckoning Killian to her, Emma accepts his hand to rise, and lets him guide her back to their bedroom, where he curls around her protectively, staying dutifully at her side to insure her rest. Watching over her as she drifts back to sleep, and he hovers on the brink of it himself, Killian thinks of the day when he will tell young Quincey tales that prove just how marvelous a woman his mother is. So beautiful, daring, and brilliant that men would dare to risk all for her sake.

THE END~

Author's Note: I truly cannot believe that I've completed this story - and my work for the last @cssns but I won't be too sad as I still have ones from past years to finish, and I can always come back to read the many other amazing entries to the event's collection. @cssns was such a wonderful thing to be part of, and I will always be grateful to have been a small part of it!

As to this story's last chapter, I hope you will fondly remember a similar final line to the novel by Bram Stoker. When it struck me that I could use a similar closely line for this story, I was so excited!!! (Still, I thought I should give credit where credit was due, even if I have put it in my own words and context.)

And secondly, please PLEASE forgive me for Graham Morris! You truly can't be hurting much more than I hurt myself in trying to write it. (That's part of what has taken so long to complete this final chapter.) I knew when I made him the likeness of the American cowboy Quincey Morris (my adored fave character in the original novel) that this part of the story would come, I still wasn't prepared for how hard it was to actually follow through and do it.

I hope you've enjoyed this one - I've really loved working in this universe!!

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[cssns]

Tonight we have the third and final chapter of For All Life and For All Time, @snowbellewells Dracula inspired AU!!!! Make sure you have your tissues handy, then enjoy and give Marta all the love!!!!

CSSNS24 fic" For All Life and For All Time" {the final chapter, fic complete!}

Yes, it has taken me longer than I hoped, but I have finally finished my three-part Dracula-themed Victorian CS AU for the @cssns!!! I'm really pleased with how it's come together, and I'm excited to share this last part with you. As always, I'd love to hear your thoughts. (And I hope the mostly happy ending will allow you to forgive the bit of pain we'll have to endure in getting there...

Summary: Having lost her dearest friend and with her own life on the line, Emma Swan joins a noble band to face an ancient evil. Three of them stand by her in honor of the one they loved and lost. The other might be the first man she could love. He might love her as well - even more than life itself. Time will tell... if they both survive the fight against their immortal enemy.

Also available from the start here on Tumblr or on AO3

(See just a couple more author's notes at chapter's end)

Part Three

by: @snowbellewells

Unable to help himself, a roar of outrage and horror tore from Killian’s chest, ringing across the wide, high-ceilinged space at the sight of the monster draining Emma’s life flow from her veins. Forgetting their plan, forgetting the compatriots around him, seeing only another woman he loved ravaged and dead and himself unable to save her, violent red rage coursed through his body as he charged forward.

Either the prick of the vampire’s fangs into her neck, the pain that immediately followed, or the wild howl of a man unmoored and the sound of oncoming feet, seemed to snap Emma into awareness. A startled cry escaped her lips, eyelids fluttering rapidly as she struggled to regain her bearings before they snapped open in shocked realization of her position in Dracula’s clutches and what was happening to her and around her. She recoiled with a visible shudder, and what strength she had saw her struggling once again to free herself. 

Somewhere in the haze that nearly consumed him, Killian drew some morsel of comfort from the sight. Though her slim build and weakened state made her attempts akin to those of a songbird beating its wings against the firm, steel bars of a gilded cage against von Stiltskin’s implacable, inhuman strength, she didn’t stop for even a moment. Emma was still herself, not lost to them yet.

Killian mastered himself somewhat as he drew near to the vampire and his struggling victim. He must find his clarity, follow through on the plan they had laid out if they were to give Emma her best chance, and to survive themselves. Thankfully, his brothers-in-arms had only recently weathered the horrifying loss he feared, the image of Aurora’s pale and terrifying beauty as the vampiress the Count had made her, and the lengths to which they had gone to restore her humanity, if only in death, must still haunt them now, but it had served them well. The other three had fanned out over the space, insuring that whichever way the monster turned he must needs face one of them in an attempt to fly.

To see the feral gleam in the creature’s eye though, Killian did not believe retreat would be his action this time. As much as on her blood, Dracula was feeding on Emma’s wretched noises and her futile attempts to escape, writhing and bucking in his grasp to no avail. A malevolent glee seemed to seep from every pore under the dead, white skin, causing the vampire to glisten with it, an oozing sheen of evil that seemed almost a protective layer cloaking their foe.

It was now or never; Emma could not afford their hesitation, the element of surprise had been lost even before their arrival, and they were all in place now, as prepared as ever they could be. Raising his voice with a commanding authority he hardly felt, Killian drew from his cloak for the vampire to see, the dagger he had sought halfway across the continent, brandishing it as he would a shining shield. “Von Stiltskin,” he bellowed, staring down the nightmare who had stalked his dreams for years, “let her go!”

At first glimpse of the dagger in his adversary’s grip, the vampire fell back with a hiss, momentarily struck enough to ease his grip on Emma slightly and to remove his fangs from her neck as his displeasure was made known. The unsettling, glowing eyes were murderous, unhinged, but also showed fear in spite of the creature’s anger. Killian moved forward again that much more confident the weapon must indeed wield the powers purported. Why else would the Count hesitate to attack him now, as he drew within striking distance? Particularly with the speed he knew Dracula to possess. He had set himself as the bait for that very reason; to draw focus while the others attacked from all sides. It took almost more restraint than he possessed not to dart forward and pull Emma from the suddenly lax grip the vampire held upon her, to get between them and shield her with his own body from further harm. In truth, the way she slumped as the hold grew less nearly made his panic soar beyond his control, until she managed to catch his eye, raising her head just a moment, but the flicker in the snapping jade orbs told him she was ready the moment she had an opportunity, not quite as limp or defeated as she meant to appear.

The relief that flooded him was almost certainly premature, a distraction he could not afford, and yet it also suffused his being with new strength and will. Only a few steps more, and he would be close enough to land a damaging blow. From the corners of his vision, Killian could see that Jefferson, Graham, and Philip were all in position, each man poised and alert, ready to do just as they had planned. Wordlessly, Killian gave the signal, and even as he pushed forward, the dagger raised to drive through Dracula’s heart if he were to have the chance, the others moved in with him, matching him stride for stride.

If not for their stalwart presence, he might have lost himself, Killian realized, shaking the reddened haze of anger from his vision. But as they tightened their circle, his aim sharpened, and their monstrous foe’s attention was split between the oncoming assailants, just as they had hoped.

Even as Killian readied his arm, steeling himself to sink the dagger home, he saw the rapid movement to his left of Graham Morris driven forward by fighting instinct and chivalric nature past any further hesitation, despite their previous agreement that Killian must strike first with the fated blade. Graham’s slice went deep, and with a roar of pain the monster dropped its clawed grip on Emma completely. She fell to the floor in a heap, and that taloned grasp swiped outward, catching Morris in the gut and dragging across his torso viciously. Graham stumbled back with a gasp, clutching his middle where red already leaked through his fingers.

Killian could not falter; for just one moment, Dracula was stunned, injured - vulnerable - and so he drove the dagger into the monster’s chest, right where its heart would be, if that organ could still exist in one such as he, and followed through with all his might. 

The vampire howled and snapped its terrible jaws, resembling even the guise of humanity less and less with every second. Mere breaths after the deathblow struck home, the vampire sunk to its knees. Yet, even with strength waning, lashed out and gripped Killian about the neck, too firmly to be shaken off and inexorably squeezing, closing off the air from his lungs. It was as though the fiend knew he had finally been bested, but would not sink into the fires below without taking his conqueror with him.

Killian Jones had long since readied himself for such an eventuality. In the long, solitary years he had spent tracking Dracula von Stiltskin’s whereabouts and seeking out any possible weaknesses which might bring about his defeat, he had accepted that his quest’s end would almost surely mean his own as well. And he had been at peace with that. There had been little but bitterness and pain for him in the world at any rate. But now, he found he could not let go just yet; he had reason to stay on this Earth, to live again, beyond Dracula’s downfall, thanks to the band of brothers who surrounded him, and especially the woman who was now rising from where she had fallen.

Scrabbling frantically at the hands which closed off his windpipe, desperate to see this battle finished once and for all, and that Emma was alright, he fought to free himself of the iron hold and the darkening edges encroaching on his sight.

Though it could not have been more than moments, time seemed to have stretched and lengthened oddly, so that Killian had almost forgotten Seward and Thornswood, until both made their own strikes at the monster almost simultaneously. Thornswood came from the right, hacking the creature’s arm with such force it was nearly detached at the shoulder, finally loosening the death grip on Killian and allowing him the air to stay conscious. Seward had attacked from behind, wisely intending to sever the vampire’s neck and remove the head, the only sure way to finish him off. The creature’s fall to its knees had thrown his aim off, however, and his blade was now sunk so deep in the fiend’s back that he struggled to pull it out to try again.

Pulling in great, gasping breaths, Killian searched for the dagger to remove the head himself. No matter how badly they had wounded Dracula, he would regenerate if they did not make certain he was ash. Yet all he could find was the intricate jeweled hilt. It would seem to have disintegrated within the beast upon finding its mark.

Before he could think what to do, Killian saw Emma rise, wavering unsteadily on her feet, but with the hair-raising war cry of a Valkyrie. She had pulled the knife he had sent with her from its sheath at her thigh and she struck the monster’s neck swiftly and certainly - as well as he could have done it himself - before falling to the floor again with a wail and turning her head into his chest.

Though Killian was honored and truly touched to have Emma turn to him for strength in that moment, he pulled back slightly, lifting her chin and urging her to turn so she could also see what was happening before his very eyes. He felt he knew and understood Emma Swan almost as well as he knew himself, and he was unwaveringly sure that - just as he did - she would need to witness what was unfolding, for her own future peace of mind.

And what a sight it was at that - one he had nearly despaired of ever witnessing. With a last bellow that seemed to shake the rafters and the floor beneath their feet, the immortal monster met his end. An otherworldly wind whirled around the vampire as it was buffeted and torn, with bits of him being stripped away piece by piece. Chinks of light began to show through his form to the the far wall, and then it was as though he began to crystallize and dissolve, blown away like sand on the wind.

The howl of the dying creature as it was pulled apart, combined with the pressure and whipping of the blinding wind nearly stole their breath. It was all Killian could do to stand his ground and cling to Emma with all his might to steady her as well. When the small whirlwind finally eased, seeming to vanish back from wherever it had come, all of their company stood still as stone for several long moments. They were silent; frozen in shock and hardly daring to believe that Dracula von Stiltskin was now the mere pile of ash at their feet; the dust barely settled, but the long reign of terror at last at its end.

A wheezing gasp, low and ragged, from off to their left was what finally broke them from their frozen state. “I-Is he f-finished?” the voice asked desperately.

Where Emma had been leaning on him heavily, her reserves of strength and adrenaline nearly drained away, she suddenly jerked forward, her eyes meeting his in alarm, seeming to ask, ‘How could we have forgotten?’

They hurried toward the pained voice, now clearly accompanied by labored breathing, once the tumult had died down. Philip Thornswood had beated them there, already dropping to his knees beside their fallen comrade with a tense exclamation of “Morris!” that made his dismay all too clear. He reached beneath the other man’s shoulders, elevating his head and torso slightly and looking with worried brow to Jefferson for direction.

The doctor had also knelt beside the brave adventurer, pulling back the remnants of ruined shirt and vest to examine Graham Morris’ wound. But his grim expression only told them what they had already feared. There was so much blood - beneath him, around him, still leaking from the open wound - gaping appallingly no matter how much they wished to see otherwise.

Graham’s large, expressive brown eyes had gone a bit glassy, but they still flicked from one to another of his friends earnestly. “Tell me, please… whatever it is. Is the monster gone?”

There was nothing to be done for him, not that could be accomplished in a dank, drafty castle with no surgical equipment and so much blood loss. Clearly even the cowboy already knew it, and so none forced Seward to put the bleak reality into words. Instead, he reached out and took Morris’ hand in his, clasping tightly as Thornswood did the same at his shoulder. “Dracula’s reign of terror is over. We did it, my Friend. Rest easy on that.”

A rattling breath escaped the Irishman’s lungs at those words, as his eyes fluttered closed for a moment in deeply felt relief. They almost wondered if he was already fading when they flickered open once more and he asked, “A-and Emma? Miss Swan? Is she…?”

With a pained cry, Emma stumbled to his other side and dropped next to him on the cold cement floor, anxious to ease his mind and offer him her thanks if that were all that she could do. Reaching out a trembling hand, she smoothed a sweaty curl from his clammy forehead, squeezing his fingers - heedless of how they were tacky with dried blood - tightly in her own and then pressing their joined hands to her chest with emotion.

“I’m here,” she murmured, “We all are.” She didn’t know what else to do, but she didn’t want this brave man who had fought against evil and helped to save her life to feel alone for even one second in this horrible passing.

Morris managed a faint press of Emma’s fingers in return, almost smiling tremulously as he added with a ragged gasp, “M-Miss Swan? It is g-good to see you, milady.  Are you truly alright?”

Tears still rimmed Emma’s green eyes, glittering in the strange half-light like jewels on her lashes as she nodded fervently. “Yes, I am. Please do not fret on that anymore. I will be fine. Thanks in no small part to you, Mr. Morris.” Her voice trembled with emotion at feeling the strength in his hand that she clasped in her own lessening with each moment that passed. The roving hero’s journey was inescapably nearing its end, and though he had fought well and seen their battle won, he would not have the chance to savor the victory they had wrought, nor to enjoy the newfound peace he had helped to secure.

“Thank the Lord and all His saints for that,” he exhaled, the words barely more than a whisper of breath. When his eyes fell closed that time, his lashes did not flutter open again; the struggling rise and fall of his chest went still, and Graham Morris breathed his last.

Strong, formidable men all, his allies were, and still in that frigid, ruined throne room Emma’s tears were not the only ones shed over the body of the impetuous wanderer who had given his last to the cause. Somehow the hours had hurried on; the sun was rising once more over the eastern peaks, and they had to leave the forbidding outpost of their vanquished foe. Though it was hard to believe they would leave that castle to tread on the same earth after the waking nightmare they had just survived, there was little else to be done but to press onward as best they could.

Emma Swan raised her eyes, her gaze seeking the only imaginable solace to be found - the answering blue stare of Killian Joens, mourning too, but still resolute and offering the hope of comfort to which she could cling. She focused on him and drew from his strength as the new day’s sun bathed the tragic scene in yet more red and gold with its returning glow. For the moment she must beyond the loss to the future - one they would have with certainty, now that the vampire was no more.

~ * ~ * ~ * ~

Two Years Later…

A cool, gentle breeze drifts in through the open window as Killian Jones, once the driven and coolly implacable vampire hunter Van Helsing, stands looking out over the fields and grounds of the country estate he now shares with the two lights of his life: Emma, his beautiful bride of more than a year, the savior of his heart and soul, and their new son, who gurgles happily in his arms. Looking down at the baby’s playful noisemaking, Killian grins, utterly enchanted by the gummy smile the little lad gives him, kicking his chubby feet energetically and latching onto his papa’s finger with an impressively tight grip of his small fist. For a babe just days old, Killian feels he must be especially brilliant to already show such personality and expression, though he knows he is more than biased and does not care one bit.

Emma is still recovering from the delivery in their suite just down the hall, so he happily took the wee one for a bit of a walk about the place after his last feeding, and now finds himself standing in the nursery enjoying both the peaceful meadows outside the window view and the tiny miracle in his arms, still rather stunned that he ever managed to find such contentment after so much struggle and pain.

Just then he hears lightly shuffling footsteps behind him, mere moments before his wife’s slender arms wrap around him from behind. He smiles warmly, feeling the same satisfaction she seems to as she burrows her face between his shoulderblades and hums delightedly while breathing him in.

Making sure their son is cradled securely against his body and within the crook of his arm, Killian brings his other hand down to cover Emma’s own and squeeze gently, gladly returning the affectionate touch, even as he chides lightly, “You, my darling, are meant to be resting, not up and roaming about the manor.”

Her soft laughter seems to brighten the very air with its light notes of joy, carefree and open as both of them are only now learning to allow their emotions to be - on the surface and able to be shared. Laying her cool, soft hand to rest over his heart, even as she returns the loving press of his fingers around her own, she cannot help the playfully tart response that escapes her lips. “You know better than to coddle me like some china doll, Mr. Jones.”

He can practically see the challenging quirk to her brow, the way she tilts her head in expectation when when she baits him, just waiting for his reply, and the knowing curve upwards at one corner of her mouth, even though he cannot actually look her in the face with her cuddled against his back.

Taking the hand he holds and using it to pull her in a wide circle, Killian brings his wife around to face him and gather her close again. His arms are wrapped around his whole world in their small family, and their little one is cradled between them as he gazes down into Emma’s eyes. “Forgive me, Mrs. Jones, but I believe it is my duty and right to care for the well-being of my lady wife.”

Shaking her head at his overly formal repartee, she huffs out an affectionate breath of exasperated acquiescence. 

Their back and forth is interrupted when their son begins to fuss, nosing doggedly at the front of Emma’s gown and letting her know without question that he is again ready for his meal. “He’s your child, that much is certain,” Emma adds tartly, a sardonic tone to her voice as she eyes her husband. “Insatiable.”

But even as she takes the child more fully into her own arms, moves aside her robe, and brings him closer to her breast, she lets one hand trail along Killian’s flank and playfully squeeze his rear in a moment’s tease, before moving away to carry their little boy to the rocking chair by the bassinet and settling in to feed him properly.

Killian’s body cannot help but jerk slightly in surprised response to her amorous caress, several parts of his anatomy coming to life. It is true that he always wants her, but he is not about to risk Emma’s health or comfort before her body is fully healed and restored from the birth of their son. “It would seem your roving hands prove I’m not the only insatiable one,” he murmurs lowly, a feral grin lighting his features as he follows her across the room and bends to take her lips with his own. The kiss is deep and leaves them both breathless. If all he can have at the moment, he will certainly make his kisses count.

She hums in agreement; relaxed, at ease, and happy as the little one settles again and she brushes tender fingers over the soft tufts of dark hair atop the boy’s hair. Quincey Morris Jones blinks eyes as blue as his father’s up at them sleepily once he has begun to get his fill. They had decided almost immediately to pass the surname of the lost member of their band of brothers on to their first child; it seemed the only tribute fitting enough to truly honor his sacrifice, and a worthy namesake to give their boy who would surely grow up to be as honorable and true as the man of whom they would tell him proudly.

As Killian takes the newborn, who is once more dozing, from his mother’s arms and lowers him carefully into his crib, he looks back at his wife. Her eyes practically glow with love for him, and a small, secret smile plays upon her perfect mouth. Beckoning Killian to her, Emma accepts his hand to rise, and lets him guide her back to their bedroom, where he curls around her protectively, staying dutifully at her side to insure her rest. Watching over her as she drifts back to sleep, and he hovers on the brink of it himself, Killian thinks of the day when he will tell young Quincey tales that prove just how marvelous a woman his mother is. So beautiful, daring, and brilliant that men would dare to risk all for her sake.

THE END~

Author's Note: I truly cannot believe that I've completed this story - and my work for the last @cssns but I won't be too sad as I still have ones from past years to finish, and I can always come back to read the many other amazing entries to the event's collection. @cssns was such a wonderful thing to be part of, and I will always be grateful to have been a small part of it!

As to this story's last chapter, I hope you will fondly remember a similar final line to the novel by Bram Stoker. When it struck me that I could use a similar closely line for this story, I was so excited!!! (Still, I thought I should give credit where credit was due, even if I have put it in my own words and context.)

And secondly, please PLEASE forgive me for Graham Morris! You truly can't be hurting much more than I hurt myself in trying to write it. (That's part of what has taken so long to complete this final chapter.) I knew when I made him the likeness of the American cowboy Quincey Morris (my adored fave character in the original novel) that this part of the story would come, I still wasn't prepared for how hard it was to actually follow through and do it.

I hope you've enjoyed this one - I've really loved working in this universe!!

Tagging: @cssns @kmomof4 @jrob64 @whimsicallyenchantedrose @jennjenn615

@searchingwardrobes @xarandomdreamx @myfearless-love @xsajx @bluewildcatfanatic

@apiratewhopines @anmylica @laschatzi @spartanguard @therooksshiningknight

@tiganasummertree @optomisticgirl @ilovemesomekillianjones @teamhook @revanmeetra87

@lfh1226-linda @ultraluckycatnd @motherkatereloyshipper @stahlop @hollyethecurious

@gingerchangeling @gingerpolyglot @belovedcreation @jonesfandomfanatic @kday426

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[cssns]

New Chapter! **Chapter 3**

Happy belated New Year everyone! I'm not really one for New Years resolutions (I'm terrible at sticking to them) but I would really like to update my current WIPs more often this year, including this one. Please note that there is a trigger warning for this chapter including domestic violence and death of a major character. If you have read or watched Practical Magic you will know what I'm talking about, but please proceed with care. As always, a massive thank you to my beta @snowbellewells for her fantastic (and extremely patient) beta skills - I really am so grateful for her adding all of the commas I missed and correcting my embarrassing grammar errors!!! A very special thank you to @hollyethecurious for the beautiful banner you see below, and of course the mods of @cssns for giving me a way to introduce this story to you all :-)

See previous chapters: chapter 1 chapter 2 OR check out A03

Tag list is under the cut - please let me know if you would like to be added or deleted :-)

@snowbellewells @teamhook @veryverynotgoodwrites @jonesfandomfanatic @lfh1226-linda @motherkatereloyshipper @stahlop @allons-y-to-hogwarts-713 @kmomof4 @ultraluckycatnd @undercaffinatednightmare @booksteaandtoomuchtv @jrob64 @tiganasummertree  @anmylica @deckerstarblanche @gingerchangeling @hollyethecurious @laianely @exhaustedpiratetedpirate @darkshadow7 @fleurdepetite @spartanguard @i-will-sing-no-requiem @soniccat @captainswan-kellie @insanelydeadlybookcollector @beckettj @thatdamnokie @whimsicallyenchantedrose @zaharadessert @bluewildcatfanatic @this-seems-familar @hookedmom @thgpjohttydfangirl

Chapter 3

“Bloody fuck!” Killian thundered across the empty bullpen, the computer mouse he had been agitatedly clicking to zoom in on a CCTV captured image of a man bearing no resemblance to his suspect, careening across the room and shattering against the wall of his brother’s office. 

“I appreciate the frustration Little Brother, but throwing government issued hardware at walls isn’t going to solve the problem at hand; although, I can’t fault your aim, the pieces have all landed neatly into the trash.” 

Liam’s wry observation as he poked his head out of his office door, only served to make Killian press his palms into his eyes in annoyance at being caught out throwing a tantrum, the explosion of white spots bursting across his vision as he did so doing nothing to ease the exhaustion and subsequent headache he knew he couldn’t afford to nurse right now.  

It had been four long and excruciating weeks since Killian had set his sights on Walsh Osman being their killer; however, whether by some kind of tip off or sheer instinct, the man had gone completely off grid. He had left his business, his home, and his girlfriend, disappearing to god knows where. Killian was sure that he hadn’t crossed over into Mexico - which would have likely been the fastest escape route from the authorities - but it also didn’t seem as though he had tried to return to any of his old haunts in Nevada or New Mexico. Perhaps he had knowledge on how to survive in the desert and was lying low until he could figure out his next steps, and if he did, what hope did they have locating him out there? 

At first, it had been easy to set a course for bringing in Osman for questioning about his relationship with all of the victims. Killian had only needed two days of research to get all of the information that he needed to back up his hunch and present it to Liam and the rest of the team for approval to follow through on the lead. Starkey had even been able to speak with the elusive Emma Swan about her boyfriend’s whereabouts; although that had proven to be a dead end. She had apparently broken up with him the week prior to the vandalism of her home and hadn’t had any reason to believe that he was the ‘Wounded Heart Killer’ until he had decided to tag the walls of her bedroom with his calling card. She had only returned to Phoenix long enough to hand over a few assignments that she had been working on and set her home to rights before heading back to Maine to support her sister and mourn the death of her brother-in-law. 

Thinking about Emma Swan again caused a sigh of longing to escape Killian’s lips. He had wanted to question the lass himself and perhaps while he was at it, understand if his immediate attraction to her was merely of a physical nature - much like the hormonal teenager with no real knowledge of women he used to be - but Liam had demanded he attend the video conference call with the bosses back in Quantico for an update on how the case was progressing. After the interview, she had taken off again, and although there was nothing out of the ordinary with her statement, he couldn’t help feeling that it was a little too simple. There had been very little emotion behind her words (at least according to Starkey), and it left him feeling unsettled. His gut was telling him that Emma Swan was anything but lacking in emotion, despite her line of work where facts and science were the only things of importance. He needed to speak to her and make sure that she was completely safe, but he didn’t want to interrupt her time of mourning with her family unless it was absolutely necessary, so he continued to wrestle with his own feelings on this enigmatic woman in silence, praying that her small hometown on some rural coast up north was too much of an inconvenience for her ex to bother making the journey.

“You’re exhausted, Kil. You need a proper meal and a good night’s sleep. Everything will be waiting for you in the morning. Right now, you’re no good to these poor women who need you to find that bastard and bring them the peace they deserve.” 

Killian jumped at Liam’s gentle words, not realizing his brother had made his way over to his desk, leaning against it as he assessed his best agent and more importantly, his only family. Again, Killian sighed, this time in resignation. Liam was right, he couldn’t be of any use to Osman’s victims if kept insisting on neglecting his own bodily needs that allowed him to perform at his best. He owed those women his best. 

Now that he was without his mouse, Killian squinted blearily at the keyboard looking for the shortcut keys that would help him shut down his computer for the night. Liam chuckled, and nudging him aside, shut off the computer for him, before also nudging him  out of his seat to grab his jacket so they could leave the office together.     

Stepping out into the warm, clear night, the brothers debated on where they should go for take out. Although they didn’t live together anymore, it was not uncommon for them to share dinner unless one or the other had to work late  or had a date. Killian would usually whip up something for the two of them to enjoy; however, he couldn’t remember the last time he had shopped for groceries and anyway, he was much too tired to put together anything that could be considered a well-balanced meal. 

The brothers had just agreed to try out the new Thai restaurant a couple of blocks away from the office when Liam’s work cell began to ring. Knowing that if someone was calling this late it wouldn’t be for a casual check-in or inquiry, both men changed direction and headed back inside, Killian staring intently at the phone in Liam’s hand as he answered the call.

“Jones,” Liam answered brusquely, his eyes flicking towards Killian as he listened to the voice on the other end of the line.

Killian tried to discern what was happening by reading the expressions on his older brother’s face; however, Liam as ever, revealed nothing, his demeanor unruffled and his emotions kept locked away.

“I have one of my agents with me, so we’ll both head out to the scene now. Be there in 30.” Liam hung up without waiting for a response and began walking towards the parking lot, pulling out his key fob as he did so.

A pit began to form in Killian’s stomach the longer Liam maintained his silence. If the call had been to advise of an intangible lead, Liam would already be filling him in on all of the details and his speculations at what it could all mean. Heading towards Liam’s FBI issued, nondescript black sedan rather than Killian’s conspicuous silver Chevelle, Killian tried to reign in his questions until his brother - and at this very moment, his boss - was ready to relay where they were going and why. 

Finally, as he was backing out of his designated space, Liam spoke, his voice low and full of self-condemnation.

“Phoenix PD were called to the Echo Canyon trail earlier today to investigate some partially burnt human remains. Preliminary reporting suggests the remains are that of a female, aged between 25 to 40 years. It is not known yet whether the victim was killed on site or if they were transported there after.”

Killian focused on the streetlights they were speeding past, his mind flipping through all of the cases he had been a part of since he joined Liam’s team as though they were pages in a book on the worst of humanity. They had caught Felix Piper over a year ago just outside of Tucson; he had been a simple arsonist who turned serial killer when he decided he didn’t mind if there were people in the buildings he set alight or not. However, he wasn’t really one for outdoor pursuits; therefore, it was unlikely they were dealing with another of his victims. If this body was found in Echo Canyon, the killer would have to be an experienced hiker to not only make it through the trail, but strong enough to drag their victim (dead or alive) to their final resting place.

“Why are we being called out? What makes the cops think this is out of their jurisdiction?” Killian asked, his eyes still trained on the world outside of the car, readying himself for the horror he was about to investigate. 

Liam sighed, his hands flexing on the steering wheel as he too began to prepare himself. “They found a… calling card. A heart with a hole in its middle was found on the victim’s chest, just above their own heart.” 

A feeling of panic swept over Killian. 

Could the body in the desert be that of Emma Swan? Did she not make it to Maine to be with her sister? 

No. No, surely the victim was not Miss Swan, just another poor woman who was unfortunate enough to cross the path of Walsh Osman. 

Silence again permeated the vehicle, each Jones brother lost in their own thoughts of what this latest victim would mean for the overall case against Osman. Before Killian could think too much more on what their next best step was in tracking their killer down, Liam turned into the parking lot of the national park, where a couple of uniformed officers were waiting with flashlights, ready to lead them to the crime scene.  

*~~~*~~~*~~~*~~~*

Neither man was dressed appropriately for a hike, but they pressed on, their discomfort immaterial compared to the situation awaiting them. Finally, after about 45 minutes of steady incline along rocky paths, they reached an outcropping that offered stunning views of the desert beyond and the city lights that seemed so insignificant when up this high. The area around them was strewn with boulders of varying sizes and interspersed with rugged plants and undergrowth determined to thrive in the harsh conditions of shallow soil and sparse water supply. 

A mixed group of uniformed officers, detectives and forensic personnel were huddled around a corner of the cliff face furthest from the trail, lit up by generator-powered flood lights that had Killian shielding his eyes against the brightness as he and Liam walked over to John Smee - a veteran detective who was always more than glad to hand over a case to anyone else if it meant he didn’t have to have to work too hard to catch the killer. Killian had often wondered why such a man had ever bothered looking for a career in law enforcement if it had seemed like such an effort to chase down leads and catch criminals. Shaking away his thoughts of the rotund man who had noticed their presence, Killian settled his mind on the victim who had been found and what they could uncover from her brutal murder. 

“Sir, Agent Jones.” Smee nodded his head in deference to the two men from the FBI who would likely be taking over the case if they confirmed that the evidence they had found matched their ongoing chase for the ‘Wounded Heart Killer.’ 

Both men muttered their own greetings briefly before Liam cut straight to the point, “What are the events that have led up to now?” 

“Well…” Smee began nervously. The man was terrified of the Jones’ and had always preferred to liaise with Agent Starkey on any matter that  related to the FBI; however, given the high profile of the case at hand, his own captain had demanded he speak with those in charge directly to ensure all facts were transferred with accuracy.  

“There was a local geologist - a Mr. Darling - who had been doing some surveys of the area and  decided to bring his dog along. As you might know, people are not allowed to bring dogs on this trail-”

Killian raised an eyebrow in impatience, as his head tilted to the side signaling to skip the irrelevant details and move on. Smee, on noticing the agent’s silent request, gulped heavily and continued, “Well the ah, dog, it began creating a ruckus, barking and straining to get away from Mr. Darling so it could investigate this space right here,” Smee glanced quickly at Killian again to make sure he hadn’t further aggravated him. 

“Go on, detective,” Liam urged, his voice polite but leaving no question that he needed to hurry up. 

“Yes, sir. As I was saying, the dog was causing so much noise, that a few hikers alerted some of the rangers down at the park’s station. When the rangers arrived, they found a very distressed Mr. Darling who had found a body shoved into a crevice in the cliff which had been covered up with dead tree branches and rocks as you see here. Once the rangers confirmed what was inside the crevice, they called us and we’ve been collecting evidence ever since. We haven’t been able to ID her yet, but it was this that made me think that she may be related to the ‘Wounded Heart Killer’.”  

Creating a path amongst the people crowded around the crime scene, Smee led Liam and Killian to the victim, now interred in a body bag ready to be transported to the morgue. Crouching down beside the bag, Killian carefully unzipped it, revealing what was clearly a young woman who had suffered terribly before her death. Despite most of her face being burnt beyond recognition, some of her hair was still intact. It was dark brown and likely would have been sleek and shiny once upon a time. Killian sighed in relief - this woman was definitely not Emma Swan. Moving the zipper down further, it was obvious that the killer had no clear knowledge of how they wished to dispose of the body. It seemed like shoving it out of sight into the crevice was a last resort once they realized that burning the body would take too long and arouse too much suspicion the longer they stayed out in the open. 

Scanning the victim’s chest area, Killian found the link to their killer, but almost recoiled in disgust at the sight. Raised flesh, unmarred by fire but showing a burn nonetheless, depicted a small heart with a hole in its middle. She had been branded. 

The bloody bastard branded her so that she would remain his forever...

“Do you have an approximation for time of death?” Killian barked, standing up again and looking around at the group.

“No-not an exact time, no… b-but based on a cursory observation, and the rate of decomposition of the areas of her body that haven’t been burned, it’s believed she may have died between seven months to a year ago…” Smee quickly answered, before anyone else could stoke the anger brewing in the agent’s eyes. 

Killian stepped back, allowing one of the forensic team to reclose the bag, and stalked around to the crevice that had been discovered behind all of the detritus used to hide it. Scorch marks could be faintly seen on the ground and against the cliff face itself. Lost in thoughts of how their victim could have been brought up here unnoticed, a breeze drifted in off the desert floor, the scent of roses and sweet cinnamon thick in the air. Killian closed his eyes, allowing the wind to dance around and through him, momentarily distracting him from the horror he had just observed and thanking his overworked mind for the respite that his favorite smell always invoked. 

With a final sigh, Killian made to turn his attention back to the crime scene, when he heard it: a voice apologizing and pleading for forgiveness. It was as though the voice - low and husky in tone that would be perfectly enticing to him were it not for the panic and terror that was woven through every word spoken - came from the very breeze itself. Quickly moving towards the outcropping’s edge, Killian peered out into the darkness of the night, trying to discern where the voice had come from. It was so clear that he couldn’t have imagined it surely, but no one else seemed perturbed by the outburst as they continued collecting the remaining evidence so they could finally leave the site and start the trek back down the hiking trail. 

Golden curls and an amused smile broke through Killian’s thoughts as the voice changed from panicked apologies to whispered pleas for help, forcing him to flinch backwards in surprise. 

Why did hearing that voice make him think of Emma Swan? 

The pit that had formed in his stomach the moment Liam had answered his cell deepened, threatening to swallow him whole in fear, his earlier worries of whether Emma was safe with her family coming back to the fore. How could he possibly be thinking like this? Hearing imaginary voices that somehow make him think of a woman he has never even met? No, he was tired and upset at discovering a new victim - that was the logical explanation. He was a man who dealt in facts and believed that if he could see it and if he could touch it, then it must be real. Hearing voices would be a sure fire way to get himself taken off the case, no matter what position his brother held at the Bureau. But then again, he had always trusted his gut’s instincts - they had never steered him wrong, why would now be any different?

“Liam,” Killian called out, walking over to his brother and gesturing that it was time to go. Liam nodded, but his own raised brow asked what the urgency was in leaving so quickly. 

“We need to know where Emma Swan is. Now.”

*~~~*~~~*~~~*~~~*

Elsa paced the kitchen, alternating her path from length to breadth and back again, furious with her inability to calm her mind enough to reach out to her sister through their bond. It had been four weeks of silence from Emma after she had promised to be back to help her bury her husband and support her in the necessary adjustments that she and her little girls would need to make to their lives so they could carry on without him. Instead, she had to make all of the arrangements for the funeral herself, pack up the rest of their belongings so she could list the quaint craftsman style cottage that she had loved so much for sale and move in with the aunts, while also continuing with her plans to open her small cafe now that she had employees who would be relying on her to provide paychecks to them. She did all of these things, as grief stricken and overwhelmed as she was, all while under the judgmental gaze and whispered accusations of Storybrooke’s denizens. 

Elsa knew that Emma would never let her down like this without a good reason. The text messages she had received in the days after Emma was due to return home explaining away her absence were stilted and formal, lacking any warmth or humor that was usual of her sister’s form of communication. Elsa would never claim to be a more powerful witch than Emma; it was fact that her sister had exceptional talent in spades across all different disciplines of the Craft. However, over the years, Elsa’s abilities with intuition had been carefully nurtured and allowed to develop to the point that she no longer needed the subtle cues of the natural world to let her know what the immediate future held. She hadn’t needed the call from the Phoenix PD this morning asking if she had spoken to her sister, she hadn’t needed to know that the FBI were involved and hoped to confirm that Emma was safe from her boyfriend turned prolific serial killer, and she certainly hadn’t needed to see the telltale smudge of red on the full moon last night that heralded that discord and death was now on its way. 

The house creaked and groaned around her, breaking up the silence that had pervaded throughout since Aunt Belle and Aunt Ruby had taken her girls for a day out further down the coast so Elsa could concentrate on tracking down her missing sister. The noises calmed her, offering her solace and the sense that she was not alone in this. Breathing deeply, Elsa turned to the kitchen table that was already set up with everything she needed to reach out to Emma. A small black velvet cloth was spread out, upon which a brand new pillar candle sat within a circle of white rose petals, ready to be lit. Beside the cloth lay a clear quartz crystal - a conduit to which Elsa could focus her frayed energy and help in powering her location spell. The white rose petals would hopefully strengthen the bond that she and Emma had created with each other so long ago for the duration of the spell, while the candle would light the path to discovery of her most beloved sister.  

Elsa sat down, trying to even out her breathing and empty her mind of everything but the question of where Emma was and ignoring the burble of dread that she was anything but okay. Picking up the crystal, Elsa began to trace the scar on the palm of her hand, murmuring softly as she did so. After a moment, the candle ignited, the flame elongating to twice its usual size as Elsa continued her incantation. A tingling sensation began to race along her scarred hand, as though a thousand angry ants were crawling over it, and Elsa fought to keep her focus - she was so close to finding the answer to her question that she couldn’t afford to be distracted.

The piercing chime of her cell phone ringing in the back pocket of her jeans startled Elsa, causing her to drop the crystal onto the cloth and disturbing the ring of petals that she had carefully arranged around the candle. The candle’s flame extinguished at the interruption, but Elsa was too busy reaching behind her to retrieve the device to notice. 

She didn’t bother checking to see who was attempting to call her; she was too keyed up and more than ready to go against her usual peaceful nature and tear the caller a new one.  

“El?” a trembling voice whispered.

The rebuke ready to spill from Elsa’s lips dissipated at the sound of her little sister’s terrified voice, relief and terror merging to form a knot in her chest that didn’t know whether it wanted to loosen or tighten into something almost Gordian at the sound. 

“It’s me, Em. Where are you? Are you safe?” she managed to choke out, trying to keep the fear out of her own tone, but knowing she had failed miserably. 

A small sob, followed by a shaky breath was the only answer for a long moment before Emma confirmed she was holed up in a motel just off Interstate 95 near Boston. She had no idea where Walsh was, only that he had left some hours ago and she had only just managed to escape long enough to find a payphone and call the only person she wanted to talk to right now.

“Stay inside your room and barricade it. Do not answer it for anyone but me, okay? I’m bringing you home to Storybrooke, we’ll figure out what to do next after that,” Elsa soothed, already moving towards the vestibule and where she kept her car keys on the small row of hooks beside the front door. She hated to end the call, but Emma needed to get inside her room where she could find some modicum of safety until she was able to get to her. With a final reassurance that she was leaving now and would be there as soon as possible, Elsa hung up and raced out the door, texting Aunt Belle to let her know what was going on and to ask that she extend their trip to an overnighter so that she could get Emma home and settled in properly. 

Sending a prayer of protection towards her sister, Elsa climbed into her car and sped off in a swirl of dust and gravel, hoping that she could make good time and bring Emma back to where she belonged - home.  

*~~~*~~~*~~~*~~~*

Four hours of driving with nothing but her own thoughts for company, Elsa tried to reconcile the events that had led up to her racing down the I-95 to rescue her sister. Emma was an intelligent woman who worked with law enforcement every day, who was young and fit and had no trouble sending a man on their way when she no longer felt a connection to them - whether by kind words or a knee to the groin, whatever the situation called for. She was perfectly capable of taking care of herself and knew how the law could protect her should she ever find herself in need of help, which was why it was so odd that instead of calling 911, she decided to call Elsa instead. Did she not feel safe talking to her colleagues? How much did the FBI know about Emma and her relationship with Walsh? 

Elsa hadn’t received much information over the phone from the authorities; only that Emma’s safety was in question and that Walsh was a suspected serial killer whose victims spanned across multiple states. The fact that Emma was an extremely talented witch who should’ve been able to find some way to subdue her kidnapper played on Elsa’s mind. Emma had told her that she had used belladonna on Walsh previously so she could come home to Storybrooke. Had Walsh found out and decided to punish her for it? How was she being held against her will to the point that she could not employ any of her magic to escape? There were limits to their abilities of course; they couldn’t do things like disappear and reappear at will like in Harry Potter - but surely there was something that Emma could have used to her advantage to make her escape. 

Elsa had made good time getting to the small dingy motel just off the interstate, thankful for the full tank of gas she had had the presence of mind to fill only the day before. Staring at the row of rooms that she had parked across from, Elsa figured that Walsh would have chosen one as far away from everyone else as possible. Slowly, she got out of her car, keeping her keys in her hand while she searched her surroundings to ensure no one could come at her by surprise. Making her way to the dented and peeling door marked with a crooked number ‘8’, Elsa gently knocked on it, a series of taps that they had used as children when communicating with each other whenever one (usually Emma) was in detention during their school years. In a matter of moments Elsa could hear something heavy being pushed aside along with the turning of the door’s lock. The sight that greeted her had tears springing to her eyes, forcing her to swallow down the sob that was fighting to break free.

Emma’s golden curls hung limply around her face, greasy from days of going unwashed and without proper care. Her skin was a ghostly white, highlighted even more so by the dimly lit room behind her. Her clothes were wrinkled and in some places ripped, as though she had been in a fight. The black eye that bloomed heavily with a mix of purples, blues and reds was the most concerning however, and Elsa fought to not reach out and prod at it to confirm the extent of the injury. 

 “Oh Emma,” Elsa could no longer hold off the tears that were now streaming down her face, reaching out to grip her little sister’s trembling arm and pull her into a hug. 

“I’m so sorry, El. I shouldn’t have called, but-” Emma began to mumble into Elsa’s shoulder, her voice weary and defeated. 

“Don’t you dare apologize! This is not your fault. I don’t care what happened, this is not on you, it’s on him. As soon as we get out of here, we are finding the nearest police station and we’ll sort this out okay?” 

Emma just nodded, slowly stepping back on unsteady feet and turning around to gather up the few possessions of hers that Walsh had shoved into a duffel bag after he had kidnapped her and forced her to travel in zigzags across the country in the weeks since. 

Elsa could feel her heart breaking all over again at the movements of her sister. It was obvious she had at points fought hard against her kidnapper - her movements slow and cautious, as though she feared injuring herself further. However, aside from her physical appearance, there appeared to be something off about Emma. Focusing in on her aura, Elsa was shocked to find that it was a muted shade of gray. Usually, Emma’s aura was a sunshine yellow, cheerful and full of playful energy, that would often glitter with spots of white that highlighted her quick mind and connectedness with the world around her. The gray that was now emanating from her was not natural, Elsa could feel that, but she couldn’t discern the reasoning behind it. 

Deciding to puzzle out that anomaly later when she could be sure of their safety, Elsa ushered Emma out the door of the dilapidated lodgings and began quickly making their way towards her car. They were halfway there when Emma, who had been explaining that Walsh had disappeared hours ago after he had punched her for laughing along with the poor delivery kid who tried to understand what the hell Walsh meant by wanting pepperoni and cheese donuts and not the pizza that he had actually ordered, suddenly stopped, her eyes fixed on the full moon above that was just beginning to brighten against the purplish-blue of the twilight sky. 

“Blood on the moon,” she murmured, her grip on Elsa’s arm tightening even as her other hand plunged into the depths of her tote bag, frantically searching for her stone of protection. 

“I know, but we’re leaving now Em, we’ll protect each other okay?” Elsa continued pulling Emma along with her, now only steps away from her car. 

“No, no, I need my dragon glass, he must have taken it, that’s why- shit!”

Emma stumbled, her sneaker catching the edge of a small pothole and slipping off her foot entirely. Before Elsa had a chance to help her put her shoe back on, Emma - with a speed that was surprising, given her previous fragility - had already put it back on and re-tied it, before setting off towards the dark blue Honda parked at the other end of the lot. Elsa sighed in resignation and followed after her, picking up the bag that Emma had dropped as she did so.

The driver's side door to the car was unlocked for which Emma was grateful. She didn’t want to have to reveal to her sister just yet that she was still recovering her power from whatever influence Walsh had placed over her, draining it to the point that even unlocking a door seemed damn near impossible. Yanking the door open, she leaned in to start searching the console, hopeful that Walsh hadn’t tried too hard to hide it. Spotting the faint gleam of a smooth, dark surface at the bottom of one of the cup holders, Emma quickly reached for it, the tips of her fingers just managing to graze across the top of the object, when she was forcefully yanked backwards by her hair. No sooner had she registered that she was not alone, than two arms wrapped around her torso, pulling her into the back seat.

“Emma, are you sure it’s not just in one of the millions of pockets in this bag?” Elsa called out, her head dipped low to search the contents of Emma’s tote, her hand fumbling through the accumulation of receipts, chewing gum wrappers, hair ties and pens. Coming to a stop at the open door of the car, the sharp tap of metal on glass drew her attention away from her search and onto a man holding her little sister tightly against his chest in the backseat, the gun clenched in his hand returning to its position beside Emma’s temple. 

“Drive,” the man growled.   

*~~~*~~~*~~~*~~~*

Elsa focused on keeping her hands steady on the wheel and her breathing even - it wouldn’t help their situation if she freaked out now. The man - Walsh - was quietly humming along to a tune, his body wedged into the corner of the backseat, his face cast in eerie shadows that seemed to twist and morph his features into grotesque forms that wouldn’t have been out of place in a Renaissance painting depicting the demons of Hell. Tucked tightly into his side along with a bottle of tequila was Emma, her revulsion at the position she found herself in clear upon her face. However, her eyes never strayed from the gun gripped in Walsh’s other hand as it tapped out an accompanying rhythm to the tune that was now starting to poke heavily at Elsa’s threadbare nerves.

“When I was a kid, I always wanted a sibling. Someone who would have my back, whom I could rely on no matter where I was or what I was doing. Someone who could never abandon me, you know?”     

Swallowing back a sarcastic reply that the world was grateful to his mother for only spawning one psycho, Elsa kept her expression a mask of indifference, knowing that any small show of emotion could upend any plans she could come up with to get them out of this mess. 

“Why did you never tell me you had a sister, babe? We’ve been together almost a year now. Didn’t you think it was time I met your nearest and dearest?” 

Emma flinched at the sound of Walsh’s voice next to her ear, causing him to chuckle as he traced a long finger tenderly down the side of her cheek. 

“T-there was never a good time. Elsa lives so far away and is so busy, I-I didn’t want to bother-”

“'Bother with introducing her to the most important man in your life?” Walsh’s voice became deadly soft, the finger that had been stroking her cheek, hooking under her chin so that she was forced to look up into his eyes glittering with the unpredictability of his deranged mind.  

Elsa tapped on the brakes hard enough to jerk both Walsh and Emma out of their seats, interrupting the surging anger that was in danger of erupting at any moment, but not enough to arouse suspicion of her intent. Walsh adjusted himself back into place, his interest now settled on Elsa, allowing Emma a moment of reprieve. 

“You know Elsa, you’re quite pretty too, what with that icy blonde hair and big blue eyes. You’d be even prettier if you smiled more though. You remind me of that cartoon princess, you know the one that all the kids want to be. She never smiled much either.”

Elsa knew exactly who Walsh was referring to even as she tried to push down the shudder that threatened to expose her distaste for his observations. Her girls loved that princess and often compared her to their mother, something that never failed to make her heart soar and reveal her hidden smile. 

Walsh’s eyes connected with hers in the rearview mirror as he spoke, and Elsa attempted to return her attention to the road, but not before noticing the two pendants that their abductor wore on a silver chain around his neck. The first, was what appeared to be a solid silver love heart with a hole punched through its middle. The pendant was large enough that Elsa could see even in the dim light of the car, what appeared to be teardrops embossed onto the heart. The second pendant was of a Celtic cross made of brass set with alternating gemstones of amber and ruby. The cross seemed to emanate a flow of energy that overwhelmed and dampened all else - including her own abilities.  

So that’s why Emma hasn’t been able to fight back…

Realizing she had been staring for too long, Elsa silently turned back to the road, but Walsh had already caught on to what she had been looking at. 

“Handy little thing this is when you have a witch for a soulmate,” he chuckled, lifting the pendant up for a closer inspection. “The woman I bought it from swore it would render me impervious to all witchcraft, but it seems her 100% guarantee was a little flawed. I’ve fallen under the spell of the most beautiful woman in the world, and though I haven’t been released from her thrall, I don’t ever want to be.”

“Walsh, please. Let Elsa go. I’ll stay with you, I promise, we’ll go anywhere you want. Just the two of us,” Emma whispered, her tone submissive - something no one who truly knew her would ever associate with the fiery Swan sister. Flicking her eyes back to the rearview mirror, Elsa watched as Emma pulled Walsh to her, placing his head into the crook of her neck, her hands reaching up to smooth down the wild tangles of his unkempt and shaggy hair. The pendant around Walsh’s neck was beginning to truly affect Elsa now. She attempted to tap into their connection and send as much energy to Emma as she could and share some of the burden of placating the monster who clearly had no intentions of ever getting over his obsessive desire for the woman he was currently threatening with a gun; however, she felt her energy hit what almost felt like a wall of impenetrable steel blocking the way forward. 

Did Emma do that? 

Before Elsa could attempt to try again, she felt the invisible wall encircling her and Emma both, while everything else around them, including Walsh, became distant and muted. Glancing again into the back seat, Elsa caught her sister’s eye just as Emma leaned forward slightly, her voice seeming to echo within Elsa’s head, exhausted and strained, but no less urgent. 

“ The belladonna is in my bag…”

The forgotten bottle of tequila was still wedged between Emma and Walsh, its contents still three quarters full. If Elsa could find a way to get ahold of the bottle and somehow add enough belladonna to it to knock Walsh out long enough for them to find the nearest police station, then they could be free of this nightmare. Elsa’s mind raced with ideas that she discarded just as quickly, conscious of the weapon that glinted menacingly with every light they passed on the empty highway stretching out before them. She sent a prayer to Lady Fortune and The Maiden to help guide her way.

Time had stretched into tension-filled silence since Emma had attempted to placate Walsh by making promises she had no intentions of keeping, and it seemed that Walsh had finally caught onto her words and the emptiness of their meaning. 

“You promise?” he sneered, lifting his head from Emma’s shoulder. His eyes were red-rimmed, a combination of alcohol and whatever pills he had been popping to stay awake as he drove cross country, evading the law he knew were coming for him. His skin was a pasty gray that contrasted heavily against the dark sweater that Emma wore, giving him the appearance of some kind of ghoulish spectre determined to drag its prey back to the bowels of the underworld from which it crawled. 

Emma tried to remain stoic in the face of such malice emanating from her ex, but she couldn’t help the involuntary flinch as his grip around her waist tightened. 

“You left me once before, for her . Fool me once… No, nothing you say will be worth a fucking damn until you understand the depths of my love for you and admit that you feel the fucking same! Do you know how many women I had to discard while trying to find The One? To find you? ”

Deciding that trying to refute his words would only escalate his insanity further, Emma shook her head mutely, locking her eyes onto his in the hopes that he would keep talking, giving Elsa time to formulate how to get the belladonna out of her bag and somehow into Walsh’s system. Eyeing the tequila bottle next to her, Emma reached for it in a show of taking a swig and passing it onto Elsa; however, Walsh was too quick. He dropped the gun to rest between him and the door of the car, grabbing the bottle himself and taking a long gulp.

“Not yet babe, you can have it after we complete our bonding ritual.”

“What are you talking about Walsh? I meant it when I said I’ll go wherever you want!” Emma couldn’t keep the rising panic from spilling over into her words, wondering what the hell he meant by a ‘bonding ritual’ while also praying she would never have to find out. 

“We are branded onto one another’s souls. My heart is yours just as yours is mine, but I don’t want to hide our love from the world; I want our brands to shine so brightly that no one will ever mistake what we are to each other. No one will ever come between us, not when they know they will never have a chance to do so.” 

Where the lighter had come from, Emma had no idea, but suddenly a small flame erupted, giving a demonic flair to Walsh’s features as he pulled the Wounded Heart pendant away from his chest and held it above the flame. His intentions now clear, Emma scrambled to the other end of the car trying to maneuver herself into any kind of defensive position that the small space would allow. Walsh followed her, one hand clutching the red hot pendant, the other, the bottle of tequila. 

“Don’t be afraid, Sweetheart. Just one little burn and it will pass before you know it. Here, take this,” Walsh attempted to nudge the tequila into Emma’s hand even as he tried to find a bare patch of skin above her breast to place his mark; however, the car swerved violently, almost fishtailing onto the other side of the road. 

“What the fuck are you doing?”

“Don’t you dare touch my sister!”

“Watch the fucking road!”

“I’ll watch the fucking road when you stop trying to brand her like she’s fucking livestock!! If you have any sense in whatever is left of your drugged out brain, you’d realize that trying to burn a mark onto someone that every cop and FBI agent in the country are on the lookout for is the worst idea! Now give me that bottle and keep your hands to yourself, or I swear on Hecate, you’ll wish the cops had you in their custody!”

Emma couldn’t remember a time that Elsa had ever raised her voice to anyone let alone let loose an expletive at them. Even in her years of absence, she found it hard to believe that Elsa would’ve been in a situation that called for it. Walsh too, seemed stunned at her outburst. He silently handed over the tequila, a speculative cast to his expression, as though he was slowly unravelling a complex puzzle but unsure if he had all of the pieces to reveal the entire picture. Elsa snatched the bottle away and took a furious sip, careful not to show her distaste for straight liquor. 

“I see your sister has the same fire as you, Babe. Must be where you got it from, huh?” Walsh chuckled, slinging an arm around Emma, the gun now back in his hand, as he began to stare out the window, his thoughts turning to where their next destination would be now they had a new companion. 

*~~~*~~~*~~~*~~~*

“How much belladonna did you put in?”

“I don’t know, I wasn’t really in a position to measure it exactly, Em.”

Elsa and Emma stood by the hood of the car directly in Walsh’s line of sight as he relieved himself behind some low shrubbery that surrounded the deserted car park of the rest stop somewhere in New Hampshire. He had forced both women out of the car, taking the keys from Elsa, the threat of deadly repercussions if they tried to flee made real at the sharp click of the slide being pulled back on the gun he still held in his hand. 

“I know I put enough in there that he should have well and truly passed out by now,” Elsa muttered, her nervousness only evident by the constant transfer of one foot to the other, causing an erratic sway to the lower half of her body.

After preventing Walsh’s attempt to burn her baby sister and managing to get him to hand over the bottle of tequila, the next issue was how she was going to extract the tiny bottle of belladonna from within the mess of Emma’s bag. Making sure that Walsh’s attention had been occupied elsewhere, she looked down into the front passenger seat only to find it sitting atop the bag as though she had only placed it there moments ago. 

Thank you, Mistress Fortuna… 

“Do you think there’s a chance we could overpower him somehow?” Elsa asked, glancing sideways towards Emma and dismissing the question instantly. Emma’s skin still held a ghostly pallor to it, and one dull green eye looked sunken in from lack of sleep as the other was still swollen and marked up by the hit she had sustained earlier today. Even her already slight frame appeared more frail from stress and obvious weight loss. Her gifts - an essential part of her being - had been smothered to the point that Elsa worried if she would be able to make a full recovery. Emma would need her and the aunts more than ever after this was all over. 

Emma didn’t seem to hear Elsa’s question anyway, her body stiffening as she stared up at the moon. The red smudge that had been there during its entire phase had deepened to the color of wine - or more accurately, blood - which could only mean one thing: death would visit them tonight. 

“I’ve been thinking,” Walsh drawled, his voice thick and languid as he drained the last of the tequila. 

Emma and Elsa both snapped to attention as he approached, the gun in his hand tapping a beat against the side of his leg. Both women forced themselves not to tremble at the malice curling through his drunken slur, their own hearts seeming to match beat for beat whatever tune he was playing out in his head.

“I don’t think I like your influence over my Emma. You’re like a volcano waiting to erupt; too unstable and too volatile.” Walsh’s gaze was fixed on Elsa, his mania reaching new levels as the tapping against his leg became faster. Emma would have burst out laughing at this assessment of her sister under any other circumstance; Elsa was the most level-headed and kindest person she had ever met, a person who held herself with a dignity that likely outstripped any royal family on this earth. Her outburst earlier was a minor ripple within the deep, still waters that was her soul, a natural response that Walsh could never (and would never) comprehend. 

“Emma and I need to disappear, and I can’t have you tagging along, whispering in her ear and turning her against me. We are forever, but I will always be second in her heart if you’re still here.” 

Elsa’s eyes widened in fear, but she was rendered speechless, any attempt to make him see sense fleeing her completely as her thoughts turned to home and her daughters who would begin to wonder where she was. Emma on the other hand, sprang into action, the threat to her adored sister’s life providing the surge of energy that she had been lacking since she had called Elsa at the motel to fill her up and clear her weary mind. She didn’t have the use of her abilities - the pendant around Walsh’s neck still affecting her - but it hadn’t been so long since her bail bonds days that she had forgotten how to tackle someone and disarm them.  

Walsh noticed Emma tensing for a fight, and in an attempt to stop her charge towards him, he accidentally dropped the gun, the force of it hitting the ground and sending a shot off into the darkness beyond the dim lighting of the parking lot. The crack of the gun shattering the silence of the still night air froze everyone - including Walsh - the shock of the noise allowing a moment’s reprieve before all hell broke loose again.  

Elsa was the first to snap out of it. The gun had slid only a few feet behind Walsh, but with the advantage of facing her would-be murderer, she could see where it had landed and made a dash towards it. Despite his reflexes being dulled by drugs and alcohol, Walsh seemed to retain an almost inhuman strength as his arm banded around her waist, tackling her to the ground just as her fingertips brushed against the handle. Flipping over onto her back, Elsa found herself pinned to the ground, Walsh’s body caging her in, his breath hot and sour against her face. 

“You stupid bitch! You aren’t gonna come between us, I will never let it happen!” Walsh screamed, his hands encircling Elsa’s neck. 

“NO!” yelled Emma, as she leapt onto Walsh’s back, attempting to pry him off Elsa, and failing miserably. He was strong, much too strong in her current state. She searched around for the gun, the thought of letting off a shot to scare him into releasing Elsa the most logical idea she could think of. In the scuffle between Elsa and Walsh, the gun seemed to have been flung somewhere into the shrubs close by, but Emma had no time to search as Elsa’s gasps for air became more and more labored. Spotting a thick branch that would likely do enough damage to force Walsh away, Emma grabbed it and prepared to beat the living daylights out of her piece of shit ex-boyfriend. It was her fault that Elsa became a part of this mess, but she would make sure Walsh paid dearly for it before handing his ass to the cops. 

Emma was about to bring the branch down when Walsh seemed to go limp, his weight falling heavily onto Elsa, who managed a small whimper of relief to show that she was okay. The sound of a motorbike kicking into gear startled the sisters briefly, the hope that someone would come to their aid extinguished as it faded away. It didn’t matter really, they were both too concerned with their present problem of dealing with a comatose serial killer to worry any more about it. 

“I think he’s well and truly out of it now. Help me lift him up,” Elsa urged, pushing against Walsh’s chest. He was dead weight on her small frame, and she could already feel the tingle of her legs going to sleep from being in the same position for too long. 

Nodding quickly in answer, Emma tucked her arms under his armpits and began to lift, as Elsa continued to push. They had just about lifted him off Elsa and were preparing to lay him out on the ground when Elsa glanced at his face and let out a cry that sent a chill spiraling up Emma’s spine. 

“Emma… he’s gone…”

“What do you mean ‘gone’ ?” Emma snapped, already knowing what it meant but not wanting to reconcile with it.

Turning the body of her former ex and tormentor over, Emma could see exactly why Elsa thought he was dead. Dark brown eyes rimmed in red stared unseeingly at the night sky that was now strewn with a sea of stars that no one whose spirit resided on this plane would not immediately appreciate. The full moon was now a beautiful white light in the darkness, unblemished with portents of doom.

“Oh my god, oh my god, oh my god… We have to call the police, I have to turn myself in, oh god, my girls! How am I going to explain that I killed someone? That right after their father leaves them, their mother has to leave too, and all of it is my fault!!” Elsa sobbed, her anguish piercing through Emma’s horror at what lay before them. 

Pulling Elsa off the ground and into her arms, Emma held on tight. So many times throughout their childhood, it was Elsa who had been the one to soothe, to comfort, and to keep the fear at bay. She had supported Emma through every whim and every decision not to return home where she knew she ultimately belonged; there was no way in hell Emma was going to allow her to take the blame for this. It was likely that if they left Walsh here, he would be found by the first family that made a pit stop while making their way up north for whatever summer festival or activity one of the many small towns dotted around all the way along the coast and up to the Canadian border had to offer. The local authorities with hopefully no real knowledge of dealing with dead bodies and evidence would take over, and maybe mishandle the body in some way before realizing who Walsh was and calling in the FBI to take over. By that time, it could be hoped that toxicology reporting would show up the copious cocktail of drugs and alcohol in his system and therefore, maybe lead to a ruling of his death as an overdose. 

That’s too many hopes and maybes to get out of this with no suspicion of our involvement…

Emma continued to hold onto Elsa as she sobbed into her shoulder. She thought of their Craft and the rules around what they could and couldn’t do in compliance with it.

What if Walsh didn’t have to be dead?

Gently pulling away from Elsa, Emma placed her hands on her shoulders to gain her attention. 

“You said that you asked the aunts to bring Jack back to you. What was it that they said?”

For a moment, it appeared as though Elsa hadn’t heard her, her brow creasing in confusion as she struggled to understand what Emma was saying.

“They… they said that they wouldn’t do that, that they don’t do that - ever.”

“Okay, but they never said they couldn’t, right?”

Again, Elsa stared confusedly at her sister, her line of questioning seeming odd given-

Oh…

As the comprehension of what Emma was asking was reflected back to her in Elsa’s face, Emma nodded quickly, their salvation in getting out of this mess only a couple of hours away.

“We need to get home to Storybrooke now. And Walsh is coming with us.”

[cssns]

We have an update from @xarandomdreamx !!!!! Everyone enjoy this new chapter of A Crystalline Knowledge of Love and Magic with artwork by @hollyethecurious !!! Be sure and give Taryn lots of love!!!

New Chapter! **Chapter 3**

Happy belated New Year everyone! I'm not really one for New Years resolutions (I'm terrible at sticking to them) but I would really like to update my current WIPs more often this year, including this one. Please note that there is a trigger warning for this chapter including domestic violence and death of a major character. If you have read or watched Practical Magic you will know what I'm talking about, but please proceed with care. As always, a massive thank you to my beta @snowbellewells for her fantastic (and extremely patient) beta skills - I really am so grateful for her adding all of the commas I missed and correcting my embarrassing grammar errors!!! A very special thank you to @hollyethecurious for the beautiful banner you see below, and of course the mods of @cssns for giving me a way to introduce this story to you all :-)

See previous chapters: chapter 1 chapter 2 OR check out A03

Tag list is under the cut - please let me know if you would like to be added or deleted :-)

@snowbellewells @teamhook @veryverynotgoodwrites @jonesfandomfanatic @lfh1226-linda @motherkatereloyshipper @stahlop @allons-y-to-hogwarts-713 @kmomof4 @ultraluckycatnd @undercaffinatednightmare @booksteaandtoomuchtv @jrob64 @tiganasummertree  @anmylica @deckerstarblanche @gingerchangeling @hollyethecurious @laianely @exhaustedpiratetedpirate @darkshadow7 @fleurdepetite @spartanguard @i-will-sing-no-requiem @soniccat @captainswan-kellie @insanelydeadlybookcollector @beckettj @thatdamnokie @whimsicallyenchantedrose @zaharadessert @bluewildcatfanatic @this-seems-familar @hookedmom @thgpjohttydfangirl

Chapter 3

“Bloody fuck!” Killian thundered across the empty bullpen, the computer mouse he had been agitatedly clicking to zoom in on a CCTV captured image of a man bearing no resemblance to his suspect, careening across the room and shattering against the wall of his brother’s office. 

“I appreciate the frustration Little Brother, but throwing government issued hardware at walls isn’t going to solve the problem at hand; although, I can’t fault your aim, the pieces have all landed neatly into the trash.” 

Liam’s wry observation as he poked his head out of his office door, only served to make Killian press his palms into his eyes in annoyance at being caught out throwing a tantrum, the explosion of white spots bursting across his vision as he did so doing nothing to ease the exhaustion and subsequent headache he knew he couldn’t afford to nurse right now.  

It had been four long and excruciating weeks since Killian had set his sights on Walsh Osman being their killer; however, whether by some kind of tip off or sheer instinct, the man had gone completely off grid. He had left his business, his home, and his girlfriend, disappearing to god knows where. Killian was sure that he hadn’t crossed over into Mexico - which would have likely been the fastest escape route from the authorities - but it also didn’t seem as though he had tried to return to any of his old haunts in Nevada or New Mexico. Perhaps he had knowledge on how to survive in the desert and was lying low until he could figure out his next steps, and if he did, what hope did they have locating him out there? 

At first, it had been easy to set a course for bringing in Osman for questioning about his relationship with all of the victims. Killian had only needed two days of research to get all of the information that he needed to back up his hunch and present it to Liam and the rest of the team for approval to follow through on the lead. Starkey had even been able to speak with the elusive Emma Swan about her boyfriend’s whereabouts; although that had proven to be a dead end. She had apparently broken up with him the week prior to the vandalism of her home and hadn’t had any reason to believe that he was the ‘Wounded Heart Killer’ until he had decided to tag the walls of her bedroom with his calling card. She had only returned to Phoenix long enough to hand over a few assignments that she had been working on and set her home to rights before heading back to Maine to support her sister and mourn the death of her brother-in-law. 

Thinking about Emma Swan again caused a sigh of longing to escape Killian’s lips. He had wanted to question the lass himself and perhaps while he was at it, understand if his immediate attraction to her was merely of a physical nature - much like the hormonal teenager with no real knowledge of women he used to be - but Liam had demanded he attend the video conference call with the bosses back in Quantico for an update on how the case was progressing. After the interview, she had taken off again, and although there was nothing out of the ordinary with her statement, he couldn’t help feeling that it was a little too simple. There had been very little emotion behind her words (at least according to Starkey), and it left him feeling unsettled. His gut was telling him that Emma Swan was anything but lacking in emotion, despite her line of work where facts and science were the only things of importance. He needed to speak to her and make sure that she was completely safe, but he didn’t want to interrupt her time of mourning with her family unless it was absolutely necessary, so he continued to wrestle with his own feelings on this enigmatic woman in silence, praying that her small hometown on some rural coast up north was too much of an inconvenience for her ex to bother making the journey.

“You’re exhausted, Kil. You need a proper meal and a good night’s sleep. Everything will be waiting for you in the morning. Right now, you’re no good to these poor women who need you to find that bastard and bring them the peace they deserve.” 

Killian jumped at Liam’s gentle words, not realizing his brother had made his way over to his desk, leaning against it as he assessed his best agent and more importantly, his only family. Again, Killian sighed, this time in resignation. Liam was right, he couldn’t be of any use to Osman’s victims if kept insisting on neglecting his own bodily needs that allowed him to perform at his best. He owed those women his best. 

Now that he was without his mouse, Killian squinted blearily at the keyboard looking for the shortcut keys that would help him shut down his computer for the night. Liam chuckled, and nudging him aside, shut off the computer for him, before also nudging him  out of his seat to grab his jacket so they could leave the office together.     

Stepping out into the warm, clear night, the brothers debated on where they should go for take out. Although they didn’t live together anymore, it was not uncommon for them to share dinner unless one or the other had to work late  or had a date. Killian would usually whip up something for the two of them to enjoy; however, he couldn’t remember the last time he had shopped for groceries and anyway, he was much too tired to put together anything that could be considered a well-balanced meal. 

The brothers had just agreed to try out the new Thai restaurant a couple of blocks away from the office when Liam’s work cell began to ring. Knowing that if someone was calling this late it wouldn’t be for a casual check-in or inquiry, both men changed direction and headed back inside, Killian staring intently at the phone in Liam’s hand as he answered the call.

“Jones,” Liam answered brusquely, his eyes flicking towards Killian as he listened to the voice on the other end of the line.

Killian tried to discern what was happening by reading the expressions on his older brother’s face; however, Liam as ever, revealed nothing, his demeanor unruffled and his emotions kept locked away.

“I have one of my agents with me, so we’ll both head out to the scene now. Be there in 30.” Liam hung up without waiting for a response and began walking towards the parking lot, pulling out his key fob as he did so.

A pit began to form in Killian’s stomach the longer Liam maintained his silence. If the call had been to advise of an intangible lead, Liam would already be filling him in on all of the details and his speculations at what it could all mean. Heading towards Liam’s FBI issued, nondescript black sedan rather than Killian’s conspicuous silver Chevelle, Killian tried to reign in his questions until his brother - and at this very moment, his boss - was ready to relay where they were going and why. 

Finally, as he was backing out of his designated space, Liam spoke, his voice low and full of self-condemnation.

“Phoenix PD were called to the Echo Canyon trail earlier today to investigate some partially burnt human remains. Preliminary reporting suggests the remains are that of a female, aged between 25 to 40 years. It is not known yet whether the victim was killed on site or if they were transported there after.”

Killian focused on the streetlights they were speeding past, his mind flipping through all of the cases he had been a part of since he joined Liam’s team as though they were pages in a book on the worst of humanity. They had caught Felix Piper over a year ago just outside of Tucson; he had been a simple arsonist who turned serial killer when he decided he didn’t mind if there were people in the buildings he set alight or not. However, he wasn’t really one for outdoor pursuits; therefore, it was unlikely they were dealing with another of his victims. If this body was found in Echo Canyon, the killer would have to be an experienced hiker to not only make it through the trail, but strong enough to drag their victim (dead or alive) to their final resting place.

“Why are we being called out? What makes the cops think this is out of their jurisdiction?” Killian asked, his eyes still trained on the world outside of the car, readying himself for the horror he was about to investigate. 

Liam sighed, his hands flexing on the steering wheel as he too began to prepare himself. “They found a… calling card. A heart with a hole in its middle was found on the victim’s chest, just above their own heart.” 

A feeling of panic swept over Killian. 

Could the body in the desert be that of Emma Swan? Did she not make it to Maine to be with her sister? 

No. No, surely the victim was not Miss Swan, just another poor woman who was unfortunate enough to cross the path of Walsh Osman. 

Silence again permeated the vehicle, each Jones brother lost in their own thoughts of what this latest victim would mean for the overall case against Osman. Before Killian could think too much more on what their next best step was in tracking their killer down, Liam turned into the parking lot of the national park, where a couple of uniformed officers were waiting with flashlights, ready to lead them to the crime scene.  

*~~~*~~~*~~~*~~~*

Neither man was dressed appropriately for a hike, but they pressed on, their discomfort immaterial compared to the situation awaiting them. Finally, after about 45 minutes of steady incline along rocky paths, they reached an outcropping that offered stunning views of the desert beyond and the city lights that seemed so insignificant when up this high. The area around them was strewn with boulders of varying sizes and interspersed with rugged plants and undergrowth determined to thrive in the harsh conditions of shallow soil and sparse water supply. 

A mixed group of uniformed officers, detectives and forensic personnel were huddled around a corner of the cliff face furthest from the trail, lit up by generator-powered flood lights that had Killian shielding his eyes against the brightness as he and Liam walked over to John Smee - a veteran detective who was always more than glad to hand over a case to anyone else if it meant he didn’t have to have to work too hard to catch the killer. Killian had often wondered why such a man had ever bothered looking for a career in law enforcement if it had seemed like such an effort to chase down leads and catch criminals. Shaking away his thoughts of the rotund man who had noticed their presence, Killian settled his mind on the victim who had been found and what they could uncover from her brutal murder. 

“Sir, Agent Jones.” Smee nodded his head in deference to the two men from the FBI who would likely be taking over the case if they confirmed that the evidence they had found matched their ongoing chase for the ‘Wounded Heart Killer.’ 

Both men muttered their own greetings briefly before Liam cut straight to the point, “What are the events that have led up to now?” 

“Well…” Smee began nervously. The man was terrified of the Jones’ and had always preferred to liaise with Agent Starkey on any matter that  related to the FBI; however, given the high profile of the case at hand, his own captain had demanded he speak with those in charge directly to ensure all facts were transferred with accuracy.  

“There was a local geologist - a Mr. Darling - who had been doing some surveys of the area and  decided to bring his dog along. As you might know, people are not allowed to bring dogs on this trail-”

Killian raised an eyebrow in impatience, as his head tilted to the side signaling to skip the irrelevant details and move on. Smee, on noticing the agent’s silent request, gulped heavily and continued, “Well the ah, dog, it began creating a ruckus, barking and straining to get away from Mr. Darling so it could investigate this space right here,” Smee glanced quickly at Killian again to make sure he hadn’t further aggravated him. 

“Go on, detective,” Liam urged, his voice polite but leaving no question that he needed to hurry up. 

“Yes, sir. As I was saying, the dog was causing so much noise, that a few hikers alerted some of the rangers down at the park’s station. When the rangers arrived, they found a very distressed Mr. Darling who had found a body shoved into a crevice in the cliff which had been covered up with dead tree branches and rocks as you see here. Once the rangers confirmed what was inside the crevice, they called us and we’ve been collecting evidence ever since. We haven’t been able to ID her yet, but it was this that made me think that she may be related to the ‘Wounded Heart Killer’.”  

Creating a path amongst the people crowded around the crime scene, Smee led Liam and Killian to the victim, now interred in a body bag ready to be transported to the morgue. Crouching down beside the bag, Killian carefully unzipped it, revealing what was clearly a young woman who had suffered terribly before her death. Despite most of her face being burnt beyond recognition, some of her hair was still intact. It was dark brown and likely would have been sleek and shiny once upon a time. Killian sighed in relief - this woman was definitely not Emma Swan. Moving the zipper down further, it was obvious that the killer had no clear knowledge of how they wished to dispose of the body. It seemed like shoving it out of sight into the crevice was a last resort once they realized that burning the body would take too long and arouse too much suspicion the longer they stayed out in the open. 

Scanning the victim’s chest area, Killian found the link to their killer, but almost recoiled in disgust at the sight. Raised flesh, unmarred by fire but showing a burn nonetheless, depicted a small heart with a hole in its middle. She had been branded. 

The bloody bastard branded her so that she would remain his forever...

“Do you have an approximation for time of death?” Killian barked, standing up again and looking around at the group.

“No-not an exact time, no… b-but based on a cursory observation, and the rate of decomposition of the areas of her body that haven’t been burned, it’s believed she may have died between seven months to a year ago…” Smee quickly answered, before anyone else could stoke the anger brewing in the agent’s eyes. 

Killian stepped back, allowing one of the forensic team to reclose the bag, and stalked around to the crevice that had been discovered behind all of the detritus used to hide it. Scorch marks could be faintly seen on the ground and against the cliff face itself. Lost in thoughts of how their victim could have been brought up here unnoticed, a breeze drifted in off the desert floor, the scent of roses and sweet cinnamon thick in the air. Killian closed his eyes, allowing the wind to dance around and through him, momentarily distracting him from the horror he had just observed and thanking his overworked mind for the respite that his favorite smell always invoked. 

With a final sigh, Killian made to turn his attention back to the crime scene, when he heard it: a voice apologizing and pleading for forgiveness. It was as though the voice - low and husky in tone that would be perfectly enticing to him were it not for the panic and terror that was woven through every word spoken - came from the very breeze itself. Quickly moving towards the outcropping’s edge, Killian peered out into the darkness of the night, trying to discern where the voice had come from. It was so clear that he couldn’t have imagined it surely, but no one else seemed perturbed by the outburst as they continued collecting the remaining evidence so they could finally leave the site and start the trek back down the hiking trail. 

Golden curls and an amused smile broke through Killian’s thoughts as the voice changed from panicked apologies to whispered pleas for help, forcing him to flinch backwards in surprise. 

Why did hearing that voice make him think of Emma Swan? 

The pit that had formed in his stomach the moment Liam had answered his cell deepened, threatening to swallow him whole in fear, his earlier worries of whether Emma was safe with her family coming back to the fore. How could he possibly be thinking like this? Hearing imaginary voices that somehow make him think of a woman he has never even met? No, he was tired and upset at discovering a new victim - that was the logical explanation. He was a man who dealt in facts and believed that if he could see it and if he could touch it, then it must be real. Hearing voices would be a sure fire way to get himself taken off the case, no matter what position his brother held at the Bureau. But then again, he had always trusted his gut’s instincts - they had never steered him wrong, why would now be any different?

“Liam,” Killian called out, walking over to his brother and gesturing that it was time to go. Liam nodded, but his own raised brow asked what the urgency was in leaving so quickly. 

“We need to know where Emma Swan is. Now.”

*~~~*~~~*~~~*~~~*

Elsa paced the kitchen, alternating her path from length to breadth and back again, furious with her inability to calm her mind enough to reach out to her sister through their bond. It had been four weeks of silence from Emma after she had promised to be back to help her bury her husband and support her in the necessary adjustments that she and her little girls would need to make to their lives so they could carry on without him. Instead, she had to make all of the arrangements for the funeral herself, pack up the rest of their belongings so she could list the quaint craftsman style cottage that she had loved so much for sale and move in with the aunts, while also continuing with her plans to open her small cafe now that she had employees who would be relying on her to provide paychecks to them. She did all of these things, as grief stricken and overwhelmed as she was, all while under the judgmental gaze and whispered accusations of Storybrooke’s denizens. 

Elsa knew that Emma would never let her down like this without a good reason. The text messages she had received in the days after Emma was due to return home explaining away her absence were stilted and formal, lacking any warmth or humor that was usual of her sister’s form of communication. Elsa would never claim to be a more powerful witch than Emma; it was fact that her sister had exceptional talent in spades across all different disciplines of the Craft. However, over the years, Elsa’s abilities with intuition had been carefully nurtured and allowed to develop to the point that she no longer needed the subtle cues of the natural world to let her know what the immediate future held. She hadn’t needed the call from the Phoenix PD this morning asking if she had spoken to her sister, she hadn’t needed to know that the FBI were involved and hoped to confirm that Emma was safe from her boyfriend turned prolific serial killer, and she certainly hadn’t needed to see the telltale smudge of red on the full moon last night that heralded that discord and death was now on its way. 

The house creaked and groaned around her, breaking up the silence that had pervaded throughout since Aunt Belle and Aunt Ruby had taken her girls for a day out further down the coast so Elsa could concentrate on tracking down her missing sister. The noises calmed her, offering her solace and the sense that she was not alone in this. Breathing deeply, Elsa turned to the kitchen table that was already set up with everything she needed to reach out to Emma. A small black velvet cloth was spread out, upon which a brand new pillar candle sat within a circle of white rose petals, ready to be lit. Beside the cloth lay a clear quartz crystal - a conduit to which Elsa could focus her frayed energy and help in powering her location spell. The white rose petals would hopefully strengthen the bond that she and Emma had created with each other so long ago for the duration of the spell, while the candle would light the path to discovery of her most beloved sister.  

Elsa sat down, trying to even out her breathing and empty her mind of everything but the question of where Emma was and ignoring the burble of dread that she was anything but okay. Picking up the crystal, Elsa began to trace the scar on the palm of her hand, murmuring softly as she did so. After a moment, the candle ignited, the flame elongating to twice its usual size as Elsa continued her incantation. A tingling sensation began to race along her scarred hand, as though a thousand angry ants were crawling over it, and Elsa fought to keep her focus - she was so close to finding the answer to her question that she couldn’t afford to be distracted.

The piercing chime of her cell phone ringing in the back pocket of her jeans startled Elsa, causing her to drop the crystal onto the cloth and disturbing the ring of petals that she had carefully arranged around the candle. The candle’s flame extinguished at the interruption, but Elsa was too busy reaching behind her to retrieve the device to notice. 

She didn’t bother checking to see who was attempting to call her; she was too keyed up and more than ready to go against her usual peaceful nature and tear the caller a new one.  

“El?” a trembling voice whispered.

The rebuke ready to spill from Elsa’s lips dissipated at the sound of her little sister’s terrified voice, relief and terror merging to form a knot in her chest that didn’t know whether it wanted to loosen or tighten into something almost Gordian at the sound. 

“It’s me, Em. Where are you? Are you safe?” she managed to choke out, trying to keep the fear out of her own tone, but knowing she had failed miserably. 

A small sob, followed by a shaky breath was the only answer for a long moment before Emma confirmed she was holed up in a motel just off Interstate 95 near Boston. She had no idea where Walsh was, only that he had left some hours ago and she had only just managed to escape long enough to find a payphone and call the only person she wanted to talk to right now.

“Stay inside your room and barricade it. Do not answer it for anyone but me, okay? I’m bringing you home to Storybrooke, we’ll figure out what to do next after that,” Elsa soothed, already moving towards the vestibule and where she kept her car keys on the small row of hooks beside the front door. She hated to end the call, but Emma needed to get inside her room where she could find some modicum of safety until she was able to get to her. With a final reassurance that she was leaving now and would be there as soon as possible, Elsa hung up and raced out the door, texting Aunt Belle to let her know what was going on and to ask that she extend their trip to an overnighter so that she could get Emma home and settled in properly. 

Sending a prayer of protection towards her sister, Elsa climbed into her car and sped off in a swirl of dust and gravel, hoping that she could make good time and bring Emma back to where she belonged - home.  

*~~~*~~~*~~~*~~~*

Four hours of driving with nothing but her own thoughts for company, Elsa tried to reconcile the events that had led up to her racing down the I-95 to rescue her sister. Emma was an intelligent woman who worked with law enforcement every day, who was young and fit and had no trouble sending a man on their way when she no longer felt a connection to them - whether by kind words or a knee to the groin, whatever the situation called for. She was perfectly capable of taking care of herself and knew how the law could protect her should she ever find herself in need of help, which was why it was so odd that instead of calling 911, she decided to call Elsa instead. Did she not feel safe talking to her colleagues? How much did the FBI know about Emma and her relationship with Walsh? 

Elsa hadn’t received much information over the phone from the authorities; only that Emma’s safety was in question and that Walsh was a suspected serial killer whose victims spanned across multiple states. The fact that Emma was an extremely talented witch who should’ve been able to find some way to subdue her kidnapper played on Elsa’s mind. Emma had told her that she had used belladonna on Walsh previously so she could come home to Storybrooke. Had Walsh found out and decided to punish her for it? How was she being held against her will to the point that she could not employ any of her magic to escape? There were limits to their abilities of course; they couldn’t do things like disappear and reappear at will like in Harry Potter - but surely there was something that Emma could have used to her advantage to make her escape. 

Elsa had made good time getting to the small dingy motel just off the interstate, thankful for the full tank of gas she had had the presence of mind to fill only the day before. Staring at the row of rooms that she had parked across from, Elsa figured that Walsh would have chosen one as far away from everyone else as possible. Slowly, she got out of her car, keeping her keys in her hand while she searched her surroundings to ensure no one could come at her by surprise. Making her way to the dented and peeling door marked with a crooked number ‘8’, Elsa gently knocked on it, a series of taps that they had used as children when communicating with each other whenever one (usually Emma) was in detention during their school years. In a matter of moments Elsa could hear something heavy being pushed aside along with the turning of the door’s lock. The sight that greeted her had tears springing to her eyes, forcing her to swallow down the sob that was fighting to break free.

Emma’s golden curls hung limply around her face, greasy from days of going unwashed and without proper care. Her skin was a ghostly white, highlighted even more so by the dimly lit room behind her. Her clothes were wrinkled and in some places ripped, as though she had been in a fight. The black eye that bloomed heavily with a mix of purples, blues and reds was the most concerning however, and Elsa fought to not reach out and prod at it to confirm the extent of the injury. 

 “Oh Emma,” Elsa could no longer hold off the tears that were now streaming down her face, reaching out to grip her little sister’s trembling arm and pull her into a hug. 

“I’m so sorry, El. I shouldn’t have called, but-” Emma began to mumble into Elsa’s shoulder, her voice weary and defeated. 

“Don’t you dare apologize! This is not your fault. I don’t care what happened, this is not on you, it’s on him. As soon as we get out of here, we are finding the nearest police station and we’ll sort this out okay?” 

Emma just nodded, slowly stepping back on unsteady feet and turning around to gather up the few possessions of hers that Walsh had shoved into a duffel bag after he had kidnapped her and forced her to travel in zigzags across the country in the weeks since. 

Elsa could feel her heart breaking all over again at the movements of her sister. It was obvious she had at points fought hard against her kidnapper - her movements slow and cautious, as though she feared injuring herself further. However, aside from her physical appearance, there appeared to be something off about Emma. Focusing in on her aura, Elsa was shocked to find that it was a muted shade of gray. Usually, Emma’s aura was a sunshine yellow, cheerful and full of playful energy, that would often glitter with spots of white that highlighted her quick mind and connectedness with the world around her. The gray that was now emanating from her was not natural, Elsa could feel that, but she couldn’t discern the reasoning behind it. 

Deciding to puzzle out that anomaly later when she could be sure of their safety, Elsa ushered Emma out the door of the dilapidated lodgings and began quickly making their way towards her car. They were halfway there when Emma, who had been explaining that Walsh had disappeared hours ago after he had punched her for laughing along with the poor delivery kid who tried to understand what the hell Walsh meant by wanting pepperoni and cheese donuts and not the pizza that he had actually ordered, suddenly stopped, her eyes fixed on the full moon above that was just beginning to brighten against the purplish-blue of the twilight sky. 

“Blood on the moon,” she murmured, her grip on Elsa’s arm tightening even as her other hand plunged into the depths of her tote bag, frantically searching for her stone of protection. 

“I know, but we’re leaving now Em, we’ll protect each other okay?” Elsa continued pulling Emma along with her, now only steps away from her car. 

“No, no, I need my dragon glass, he must have taken it, that’s why- shit!”

Emma stumbled, her sneaker catching the edge of a small pothole and slipping off her foot entirely. Before Elsa had a chance to help her put her shoe back on, Emma - with a speed that was surprising, given her previous fragility - had already put it back on and re-tied it, before setting off towards the dark blue Honda parked at the other end of the lot. Elsa sighed in resignation and followed after her, picking up the bag that Emma had dropped as she did so.

The driver's side door to the car was unlocked for which Emma was grateful. She didn’t want to have to reveal to her sister just yet that she was still recovering her power from whatever influence Walsh had placed over her, draining it to the point that even unlocking a door seemed damn near impossible. Yanking the door open, she leaned in to start searching the console, hopeful that Walsh hadn’t tried too hard to hide it. Spotting the faint gleam of a smooth, dark surface at the bottom of one of the cup holders, Emma quickly reached for it, the tips of her fingers just managing to graze across the top of the object, when she was forcefully yanked backwards by her hair. No sooner had she registered that she was not alone, than two arms wrapped around her torso, pulling her into the back seat.

“Emma, are you sure it’s not just in one of the millions of pockets in this bag?” Elsa called out, her head dipped low to search the contents of Emma’s tote, her hand fumbling through the accumulation of receipts, chewing gum wrappers, hair ties and pens. Coming to a stop at the open door of the car, the sharp tap of metal on glass drew her attention away from her search and onto a man holding her little sister tightly against his chest in the backseat, the gun clenched in his hand returning to its position beside Emma’s temple. 

“Drive,” the man growled.   

*~~~*~~~*~~~*~~~*

Elsa focused on keeping her hands steady on the wheel and her breathing even - it wouldn’t help their situation if she freaked out now. The man - Walsh - was quietly humming along to a tune, his body wedged into the corner of the backseat, his face cast in eerie shadows that seemed to twist and morph his features into grotesque forms that wouldn’t have been out of place in a Renaissance painting depicting the demons of Hell. Tucked tightly into his side along with a bottle of tequila was Emma, her revulsion at the position she found herself in clear upon her face. However, her eyes never strayed from the gun gripped in Walsh’s other hand as it tapped out an accompanying rhythm to the tune that was now starting to poke heavily at Elsa’s threadbare nerves.

“When I was a kid, I always wanted a sibling. Someone who would have my back, whom I could rely on no matter where I was or what I was doing. Someone who could never abandon me, you know?”     

Swallowing back a sarcastic reply that the world was grateful to his mother for only spawning one psycho, Elsa kept her expression a mask of indifference, knowing that any small show of emotion could upend any plans she could come up with to get them out of this mess. 

“Why did you never tell me you had a sister, babe? We’ve been together almost a year now. Didn’t you think it was time I met your nearest and dearest?” 

Emma flinched at the sound of Walsh’s voice next to her ear, causing him to chuckle as he traced a long finger tenderly down the side of her cheek. 

“T-there was never a good time. Elsa lives so far away and is so busy, I-I didn’t want to bother-”

“'Bother with introducing her to the most important man in your life?” Walsh’s voice became deadly soft, the finger that had been stroking her cheek, hooking under her chin so that she was forced to look up into his eyes glittering with the unpredictability of his deranged mind.  

Elsa tapped on the brakes hard enough to jerk both Walsh and Emma out of their seats, interrupting the surging anger that was in danger of erupting at any moment, but not enough to arouse suspicion of her intent. Walsh adjusted himself back into place, his interest now settled on Elsa, allowing Emma a moment of reprieve. 

“You know Elsa, you’re quite pretty too, what with that icy blonde hair and big blue eyes. You’d be even prettier if you smiled more though. You remind me of that cartoon princess, you know the one that all the kids want to be. She never smiled much either.”

Elsa knew exactly who Walsh was referring to even as she tried to push down the shudder that threatened to expose her distaste for his observations. Her girls loved that princess and often compared her to their mother, something that never failed to make her heart soar and reveal her hidden smile. 

Walsh’s eyes connected with hers in the rearview mirror as he spoke, and Elsa attempted to return her attention to the road, but not before noticing the two pendants that their abductor wore on a silver chain around his neck. The first, was what appeared to be a solid silver love heart with a hole punched through its middle. The pendant was large enough that Elsa could see even in the dim light of the car, what appeared to be teardrops embossed onto the heart. The second pendant was of a Celtic cross made of brass set with alternating gemstones of amber and ruby. The cross seemed to emanate a flow of energy that overwhelmed and dampened all else - including her own abilities.  

So that’s why Emma hasn’t been able to fight back…

Realizing she had been staring for too long, Elsa silently turned back to the road, but Walsh had already caught on to what she had been looking at. 

“Handy little thing this is when you have a witch for a soulmate,” he chuckled, lifting the pendant up for a closer inspection. “The woman I bought it from swore it would render me impervious to all witchcraft, but it seems her 100% guarantee was a little flawed. I’ve fallen under the spell of the most beautiful woman in the world, and though I haven’t been released from her thrall, I don’t ever want to be.”

“Walsh, please. Let Elsa go. I’ll stay with you, I promise, we’ll go anywhere you want. Just the two of us,” Emma whispered, her tone submissive - something no one who truly knew her would ever associate with the fiery Swan sister. Flicking her eyes back to the rearview mirror, Elsa watched as Emma pulled Walsh to her, placing his head into the crook of her neck, her hands reaching up to smooth down the wild tangles of his unkempt and shaggy hair. The pendant around Walsh’s neck was beginning to truly affect Elsa now. She attempted to tap into their connection and send as much energy to Emma as she could and share some of the burden of placating the monster who clearly had no intentions of ever getting over his obsessive desire for the woman he was currently threatening with a gun; however, she felt her energy hit what almost felt like a wall of impenetrable steel blocking the way forward. 

Did Emma do that? 

Before Elsa could attempt to try again, she felt the invisible wall encircling her and Emma both, while everything else around them, including Walsh, became distant and muted. Glancing again into the back seat, Elsa caught her sister’s eye just as Emma leaned forward slightly, her voice seeming to echo within Elsa’s head, exhausted and strained, but no less urgent. 

“ The belladonna is in my bag…”

The forgotten bottle of tequila was still wedged between Emma and Walsh, its contents still three quarters full. If Elsa could find a way to get ahold of the bottle and somehow add enough belladonna to it to knock Walsh out long enough for them to find the nearest police station, then they could be free of this nightmare. Elsa’s mind raced with ideas that she discarded just as quickly, conscious of the weapon that glinted menacingly with every light they passed on the empty highway stretching out before them. She sent a prayer to Lady Fortune and The Maiden to help guide her way.

Time had stretched into tension-filled silence since Emma had attempted to placate Walsh by making promises she had no intentions of keeping, and it seemed that Walsh had finally caught onto her words and the emptiness of their meaning. 

“You promise?” he sneered, lifting his head from Emma’s shoulder. His eyes were red-rimmed, a combination of alcohol and whatever pills he had been popping to stay awake as he drove cross country, evading the law he knew were coming for him. His skin was a pasty gray that contrasted heavily against the dark sweater that Emma wore, giving him the appearance of some kind of ghoulish spectre determined to drag its prey back to the bowels of the underworld from which it crawled. 

Emma tried to remain stoic in the face of such malice emanating from her ex, but she couldn’t help the involuntary flinch as his grip around her waist tightened. 

“You left me once before, for her . Fool me once… No, nothing you say will be worth a fucking damn until you understand the depths of my love for you and admit that you feel the fucking same! Do you know how many women I had to discard while trying to find The One? To find you? ”

Deciding that trying to refute his words would only escalate his insanity further, Emma shook her head mutely, locking her eyes onto his in the hopes that he would keep talking, giving Elsa time to formulate how to get the belladonna out of her bag and somehow into Walsh’s system. Eyeing the tequila bottle next to her, Emma reached for it in a show of taking a swig and passing it onto Elsa; however, Walsh was too quick. He dropped the gun to rest between him and the door of the car, grabbing the bottle himself and taking a long gulp.

“Not yet babe, you can have it after we complete our bonding ritual.”

“What are you talking about Walsh? I meant it when I said I’ll go wherever you want!” Emma couldn’t keep the rising panic from spilling over into her words, wondering what the hell he meant by a ‘bonding ritual’ while also praying she would never have to find out. 

“We are branded onto one another’s souls. My heart is yours just as yours is mine, but I don’t want to hide our love from the world; I want our brands to shine so brightly that no one will ever mistake what we are to each other. No one will ever come between us, not when they know they will never have a chance to do so.” 

Where the lighter had come from, Emma had no idea, but suddenly a small flame erupted, giving a demonic flair to Walsh’s features as he pulled the Wounded Heart pendant away from his chest and held it above the flame. His intentions now clear, Emma scrambled to the other end of the car trying to maneuver herself into any kind of defensive position that the small space would allow. Walsh followed her, one hand clutching the red hot pendant, the other, the bottle of tequila. 

“Don’t be afraid, Sweetheart. Just one little burn and it will pass before you know it. Here, take this,” Walsh attempted to nudge the tequila into Emma’s hand even as he tried to find a bare patch of skin above her breast to place his mark; however, the car swerved violently, almost fishtailing onto the other side of the road. 

“What the fuck are you doing?”

“Don’t you dare touch my sister!”

“Watch the fucking road!”

“I’ll watch the fucking road when you stop trying to brand her like she’s fucking livestock!! If you have any sense in whatever is left of your drugged out brain, you’d realize that trying to burn a mark onto someone that every cop and FBI agent in the country are on the lookout for is the worst idea! Now give me that bottle and keep your hands to yourself, or I swear on Hecate, you’ll wish the cops had you in their custody!”

Emma couldn’t remember a time that Elsa had ever raised her voice to anyone let alone let loose an expletive at them. Even in her years of absence, she found it hard to believe that Elsa would’ve been in a situation that called for it. Walsh too, seemed stunned at her outburst. He silently handed over the tequila, a speculative cast to his expression, as though he was slowly unravelling a complex puzzle but unsure if he had all of the pieces to reveal the entire picture. Elsa snatched the bottle away and took a furious sip, careful not to show her distaste for straight liquor. 

“I see your sister has the same fire as you, Babe. Must be where you got it from, huh?” Walsh chuckled, slinging an arm around Emma, the gun now back in his hand, as he began to stare out the window, his thoughts turning to where their next destination would be now they had a new companion. 

*~~~*~~~*~~~*~~~*

“How much belladonna did you put in?”

“I don’t know, I wasn’t really in a position to measure it exactly, Em.”

Elsa and Emma stood by the hood of the car directly in Walsh’s line of sight as he relieved himself behind some low shrubbery that surrounded the deserted car park of the rest stop somewhere in New Hampshire. He had forced both women out of the car, taking the keys from Elsa, the threat of deadly repercussions if they tried to flee made real at the sharp click of the slide being pulled back on the gun he still held in his hand. 

“I know I put enough in there that he should have well and truly passed out by now,” Elsa muttered, her nervousness only evident by the constant transfer of one foot to the other, causing an erratic sway to the lower half of her body.

After preventing Walsh’s attempt to burn her baby sister and managing to get him to hand over the bottle of tequila, the next issue was how she was going to extract the tiny bottle of belladonna from within the mess of Emma’s bag. Making sure that Walsh’s attention had been occupied elsewhere, she looked down into the front passenger seat only to find it sitting atop the bag as though she had only placed it there moments ago. 

Thank you, Mistress Fortuna… 

“Do you think there’s a chance we could overpower him somehow?” Elsa asked, glancing sideways towards Emma and dismissing the question instantly. Emma’s skin still held a ghostly pallor to it, and one dull green eye looked sunken in from lack of sleep as the other was still swollen and marked up by the hit she had sustained earlier today. Even her already slight frame appeared more frail from stress and obvious weight loss. Her gifts - an essential part of her being - had been smothered to the point that Elsa worried if she would be able to make a full recovery. Emma would need her and the aunts more than ever after this was all over. 

Emma didn’t seem to hear Elsa’s question anyway, her body stiffening as she stared up at the moon. The red smudge that had been there during its entire phase had deepened to the color of wine - or more accurately, blood - which could only mean one thing: death would visit them tonight. 

“I’ve been thinking,” Walsh drawled, his voice thick and languid as he drained the last of the tequila. 

Emma and Elsa both snapped to attention as he approached, the gun in his hand tapping a beat against the side of his leg. Both women forced themselves not to tremble at the malice curling through his drunken slur, their own hearts seeming to match beat for beat whatever tune he was playing out in his head.

“I don’t think I like your influence over my Emma. You’re like a volcano waiting to erupt; too unstable and too volatile.” Walsh’s gaze was fixed on Elsa, his mania reaching new levels as the tapping against his leg became faster. Emma would have burst out laughing at this assessment of her sister under any other circumstance; Elsa was the most level-headed and kindest person she had ever met, a person who held herself with a dignity that likely outstripped any royal family on this earth. Her outburst earlier was a minor ripple within the deep, still waters that was her soul, a natural response that Walsh could never (and would never) comprehend. 

“Emma and I need to disappear, and I can’t have you tagging along, whispering in her ear and turning her against me. We are forever, but I will always be second in her heart if you’re still here.” 

Elsa’s eyes widened in fear, but she was rendered speechless, any attempt to make him see sense fleeing her completely as her thoughts turned to home and her daughters who would begin to wonder where she was. Emma on the other hand, sprang into action, the threat to her adored sister’s life providing the surge of energy that she had been lacking since she had called Elsa at the motel to fill her up and clear her weary mind. She didn’t have the use of her abilities - the pendant around Walsh’s neck still affecting her - but it hadn’t been so long since her bail bonds days that she had forgotten how to tackle someone and disarm them.  

Walsh noticed Emma tensing for a fight, and in an attempt to stop her charge towards him, he accidentally dropped the gun, the force of it hitting the ground and sending a shot off into the darkness beyond the dim lighting of the parking lot. The crack of the gun shattering the silence of the still night air froze everyone - including Walsh - the shock of the noise allowing a moment’s reprieve before all hell broke loose again.  

Elsa was the first to snap out of it. The gun had slid only a few feet behind Walsh, but with the advantage of facing her would-be murderer, she could see where it had landed and made a dash towards it. Despite his reflexes being dulled by drugs and alcohol, Walsh seemed to retain an almost inhuman strength as his arm banded around her waist, tackling her to the ground just as her fingertips brushed against the handle. Flipping over onto her back, Elsa found herself pinned to the ground, Walsh’s body caging her in, his breath hot and sour against her face. 

“You stupid bitch! You aren’t gonna come between us, I will never let it happen!” Walsh screamed, his hands encircling Elsa’s neck. 

“NO!” yelled Emma, as she leapt onto Walsh’s back, attempting to pry him off Elsa, and failing miserably. He was strong, much too strong in her current state. She searched around for the gun, the thought of letting off a shot to scare him into releasing Elsa the most logical idea she could think of. In the scuffle between Elsa and Walsh, the gun seemed to have been flung somewhere into the shrubs close by, but Emma had no time to search as Elsa’s gasps for air became more and more labored. Spotting a thick branch that would likely do enough damage to force Walsh away, Emma grabbed it and prepared to beat the living daylights out of her piece of shit ex-boyfriend. It was her fault that Elsa became a part of this mess, but she would make sure Walsh paid dearly for it before handing his ass to the cops. 

Emma was about to bring the branch down when Walsh seemed to go limp, his weight falling heavily onto Elsa, who managed a small whimper of relief to show that she was okay. The sound of a motorbike kicking into gear startled the sisters briefly, the hope that someone would come to their aid extinguished as it faded away. It didn’t matter really, they were both too concerned with their present problem of dealing with a comatose serial killer to worry any more about it. 

“I think he’s well and truly out of it now. Help me lift him up,” Elsa urged, pushing against Walsh’s chest. He was dead weight on her small frame, and she could already feel the tingle of her legs going to sleep from being in the same position for too long. 

Nodding quickly in answer, Emma tucked her arms under his armpits and began to lift, as Elsa continued to push. They had just about lifted him off Elsa and were preparing to lay him out on the ground when Elsa glanced at his face and let out a cry that sent a chill spiraling up Emma’s spine. 

“Emma… he’s gone…”

“What do you mean ‘gone’ ?” Emma snapped, already knowing what it meant but not wanting to reconcile with it.

Turning the body of her former ex and tormentor over, Emma could see exactly why Elsa thought he was dead. Dark brown eyes rimmed in red stared unseeingly at the night sky that was now strewn with a sea of stars that no one whose spirit resided on this plane would not immediately appreciate. The full moon was now a beautiful white light in the darkness, unblemished with portents of doom.

“Oh my god, oh my god, oh my god… We have to call the police, I have to turn myself in, oh god, my girls! How am I going to explain that I killed someone? That right after their father leaves them, their mother has to leave too, and all of it is my fault!!” Elsa sobbed, her anguish piercing through Emma’s horror at what lay before them. 

Pulling Elsa off the ground and into her arms, Emma held on tight. So many times throughout their childhood, it was Elsa who had been the one to soothe, to comfort, and to keep the fear at bay. She had supported Emma through every whim and every decision not to return home where she knew she ultimately belonged; there was no way in hell Emma was going to allow her to take the blame for this. It was likely that if they left Walsh here, he would be found by the first family that made a pit stop while making their way up north for whatever summer festival or activity one of the many small towns dotted around all the way along the coast and up to the Canadian border had to offer. The local authorities with hopefully no real knowledge of dealing with dead bodies and evidence would take over, and maybe mishandle the body in some way before realizing who Walsh was and calling in the FBI to take over. By that time, it could be hoped that toxicology reporting would show up the copious cocktail of drugs and alcohol in his system and therefore, maybe lead to a ruling of his death as an overdose. 

That’s too many hopes and maybes to get out of this with no suspicion of our involvement…

Emma continued to hold onto Elsa as she sobbed into her shoulder. She thought of their Craft and the rules around what they could and couldn’t do in compliance with it.

What if Walsh didn’t have to be dead?

Gently pulling away from Elsa, Emma placed her hands on her shoulders to gain her attention. 

“You said that you asked the aunts to bring Jack back to you. What was it that they said?”

For a moment, it appeared as though Elsa hadn’t heard her, her brow creasing in confusion as she struggled to understand what Emma was saying.

“They… they said that they wouldn’t do that, that they don’t do that - ever.”

“Okay, but they never said they couldn’t, right?”

Again, Elsa stared confusedly at her sister, her line of questioning seeming odd given-

Oh…

As the comprehension of what Emma was asking was reflected back to her in Elsa’s face, Emma nodded quickly, their salvation in getting out of this mess only a couple of hours away.

“We need to get home to Storybrooke now. And Walsh is coming with us.”

[cssns]

Dracula in Storybrooke ch 8 final chapter

@cssns

For Captain Swan Supernatural Summer

Once Upon A Time: Captain Swan: Emma Swan/Killian Jones

“You weren’t tempted by the prospect of immortality? Not even once?” Killian asked as they made their way out of the caves.

“The idea of living forever? Watching everyone I love die?” Emma shook her head “No. I’ve seen what living for centuries has done to you and Gold. You, at least, were in Neverland, surrounded by your crew. No one around you even aged. Gold never formed a bond with anyone. That’s probably what darkened his heart a lot faster. He’s lived for centuries, and still doesn’t understand friendship, and love. I don’t ever want that kind of existence.”

Meeting up with her parents, Emma saw that everyone Dracula had turned was back to being human.

David, seeing his daughter and her boyfriend, eyed Killian with scrutiny. “Are you back to your normal self?”

“Aye, I’m back to my usual extraordinary self.” Killian grinned.

“I’m so glad that you both are alright.” Snow hugged Emma and Killian. “It’s a relief that the theory that everyone would be human again once we got rid of Dracula was right. He is gone, right?”

Emma nodded. “Nothing but dust. We won’t have to worry about him anymore.”

“Now we’ll only have to worry about the next villain who will pop up in this town.” David sighed “But, that’s a worry for another day. Today, we celebrate our victories.”

“I think we should get Henry, and Regina, and have burgers and milkshakes at Granny's,” Snow proclaimed.

Everyone was in agreement and headed out to do just that.

No surprise, Henry demanded to know every detail of the epic battle. He was eager to write down another installment of his family’s heroic wins.

“That Dracula didn’t know who he was messing with.” Granny said as she brought their plates of food. “Emma would never want to become a vampire. She would have to give up onion rings.”

“And chocolate milkshakes.” Emma added, grabbing hers from the trey. “The idea of being a vampire was not nearly as tempting as Dracula thought it was.” She looked at Killian. “The trade would have certainly been a downgrade.”

A couple of nights later, when Henry was again staying at Regina’s, Emma decided to surprise Killian with a game of dress up.

Killian walked into their bedroom and stopped suddenly. His beautiful Emma was wearing an interesting set of clothes.

“It’s called a cheerleading outfit.” She explained. “I thought after slaying vampires it was appropriate. Technically, I am a vampire slayer now.”

Killian recalled Emma and Henry showing him a television play about a teenage girl who was called a slayer and fought monsters. He had thought there were many similarities to the girl on screen and the woman he was in love with, and had told Emma so. Of course Henry had loudly agreed with him and she had been greatly flattered.

She swayed her hips as she moved to him. “Do you want to reenact some of the scenes from the show?”

Killian knew just what scenes she had in mind. “Just as long as we’re not doing every scene in its entirety, I don’t want to explain to your father why our house has crumbled down around us.”

[cssns]

And here is the final chapter of Dracula in Storybrooke!! Enjoy and be sure to give @grimmswan lots of love!!!

Dracula in Storybrooke ch 8 final chapter

@cssns

For Captain Swan Supernatural Summer

Once Upon A Time: Captain Swan: Emma Swan/Killian Jones

“You weren’t tempted by the prospect of immortality? Not even once?” Killian asked as they made their way out of the caves.

“The idea of living forever? Watching everyone I love die?” Emma shook her head “No. I’ve seen what living for centuries has done to you and Gold. You, at least, were in Neverland, surrounded by your crew. No one around you even aged. Gold never formed a bond with anyone. That’s probably what darkened his heart a lot faster. He’s lived for centuries, and still doesn’t understand friendship, and love. I don’t ever want that kind of existence.”

Meeting up with her parents, Emma saw that everyone Dracula had turned was back to being human.

David, seeing his daughter and her boyfriend, eyed Killian with scrutiny. “Are you back to your normal self?”

“Aye, I’m back to my usual extraordinary self.” Killian grinned.

“I’m so glad that you both are alright.” Snow hugged Emma and Killian. “It’s a relief that the theory that everyone would be human again once we got rid of Dracula was right. He is gone, right?”

Emma nodded. “Nothing but dust. We won’t have to worry about him anymore.”

“Now we’ll only have to worry about the next villain who will pop up in this town.” David sighed “But, that’s a worry for another day. Today, we celebrate our victories.”

“I think we should get Henry, and Regina, and have burgers and milkshakes at Granny's,” Snow proclaimed.

Everyone was in agreement and headed out to do just that.

No surprise, Henry demanded to know every detail of the epic battle. He was eager to write down another installment of his family’s heroic wins.

“That Dracula didn’t know who he was messing with.” Granny said as she brought their plates of food. “Emma would never want to become a vampire. She would have to give up onion rings.”

“And chocolate milkshakes.” Emma added, grabbing hers from the trey. “The idea of being a vampire was not nearly as tempting as Dracula thought it was.” She looked at Killian. “The trade would have certainly been a downgrade.”

A couple of nights later, when Henry was again staying at Regina’s, Emma decided to surprise Killian with a game of dress up.

Killian walked into their bedroom and stopped suddenly. His beautiful Emma was wearing an interesting set of clothes.

“It’s called a cheerleading outfit.” She explained. “I thought after slaying vampires it was appropriate. Technically, I am a vampire slayer now.”

Killian recalled Emma and Henry showing him a television play about a teenage girl who was called a slayer and fought monsters. He had thought there were many similarities to the girl on screen and the woman he was in love with, and had told Emma so. Of course Henry had loudly agreed with him and she had been greatly flattered.

She swayed her hips as she moved to him. “Do you want to reenact some of the scenes from the show?”

Killian knew just what scenes she had in mind. “Just as long as we’re not doing every scene in its entirety, I don’t want to explain to your father why our house has crumbled down around us.”

[cssns]

Love Bites (But So Do I) ch 8

Final Chapter

@cssns

Once Upon A Time: Captain Swan: Emma Swan/Killian Jones

For Captain Swan Supernatural Summer

“Zelena of the West has actually been on the agency’s radar for some time.” Nemo said when Emma and Killian updated him on their latest findings. “Her temper, constantly prone to jealousy, and excessive lack of reason makes her a danger to society. Before, there was nothing substantial we could bind and imprison her for. But with the proof that she is dealing in the forbidden spells, we may finally end her wicked ways once and for all.”

“The tricky part will be catching the witch.” Killian theorized. “I doubt she will just come along willingly.”

“We also need to find out just who she is working with. We know that it has to be a pirate, it’s the only way the stolen goods can be smuggled to willing buyers. But we don’t know if it’s the cyborg Silver, or Blackbeard.” Emma said. “We have to catch them in the act when they exchange goods.”

“That will be tricky.” Nemo nodded. “A cyborg certainly has the strength to cause the same amount of destruction as a werewolf. A disguise and the cover of darkness could have easily fooled witnesses who claimed it was a beast. Then again, a potion could have allowed a human to become a beast temporarily, allowing the human the abilities of a supernatural creature for that length of time. Either way, the person has to be found and dealt with.”

“We know for a fact now that Neal has made bargains with this witch as well. Has the council granted me permission to deal with him, permanently?” Killian asked, voice full of menacing hope.

“They have.” Nemo’s tone spoke of exactly the outcome they were expecting. “The council know the trouble Neal will cause if he continues on the path he has chosen. He signed his death sentence when he tried to kill and enslave the two of you. They have given the warrant allowing for you to dispose of him in any way you wish.”

“In any way we wish?” Killian questioned.

“Yes, Jones.” Nemo answered the werewolf. “You are allowed to make his death as slow and painful as you like.”

A wicked grin spread wide on Killian’s face. That clarification was like music to his ears.

“There’s a good chance that Neal might try to go back to Zelena.” Emma’s sweet voice cut through Killians imagining on how best to torture her former sire. “He knows that she has the potions that will do what he wants. Just because he failed with them once doesn’t mean he won’t try them again. He’ll be healed by now, his strength returned. By now he might have gathered something of value in exchange for more potions.”

Nemo nodded in agreement. Looking at Killian, he asked, “You’ve torn Neal apart enough times to catch his scent. Do you think you could track it down and see where he’s been?”

“I know his foul stench. I’ll be able to track him anywhere.” Killian said with a sneer.

Emma remembered the types of places Neal liked to frequent.

 It didn’t take long to catch a strong whiff of his scent around an old building covered in wolfsbane.

“It’s an apartment complex that rents only to vampires.” Emma said. “The plants growing everywhere are supposed to keep werewolves from breaking in and messing with the residents.” Emma shrugged. “I stayed in a place like this when I was newly turned. Before I was hired by Nemo,” She turned to Killian, placed her hand over his heart and smiled up at him. “And before I knew how pleasurable it could be to have a werewolf mess with me.”

“Only one werewolf gives you pleasure.” Killian growled, pulling Emma against him. “I will kill any other being, werewolf or whatever, who tries to be with you the way that I do.”

She allowed him to take her lips in a kiss that was nothing short of possession. It was a claim, and she melted into it until he chose to let her go.

The darker side of her would admit that she loved to get him jealous and riled up. But that was because it always led to him doing the most wickedly delicious things to her.

“Save that energy for later.” Emma said breathily. “When we’re celebrating getting rid of my ex for good. But right now, we have work to do.”

Killian agreed. With reluctance, he pulled away from Emma and focused once again on Neal’s scent. He quieted his disappointment with the reminder that soon he would dispose of the idiot and then be certain that Emma would be safe in his arms for the rest of eternity.

Keeping their faces hidden by staying close together and standing by a shop on the corner of the street, they watched and listened for any sign of Neal.

Fortune was on their side. After just twenty minutes, they saw him emerge from the vampire apartment building.

He adjusted a satchel that seemed to be filled with something heavy, then started on his way down the street.

Emma and Killian soon followed, staying behind their target at about thirty paces.

Neal was not very observant. He never paid much attention to his surroundings. Too often obsessed with his own desires to realize things may not be as they seem.

Emma recalled more than one event where she, still human, had to warn Neal not to antagonize a being who he perceived as being smaller and weaker than himself.

“Goblins are stronger and more fierce than their size shows them to be.” She had told Neal, pulling him away from the creatures that he was saying cruel remarks about.

They may have been foul mouthed, and their scents unpleasant, they were only speaking with vulgar language to one another. So Emma had thought it was best for her and Neal to mind their own business, and allow the goblins to mind theirs.

Later, she found out that Neal had returned to the goblins gathering place and had called them vile and disgusting.

He spent the next three days at a healer’s, having the toxic acid that the goblins infected him with during their retaliatory attack drained from his body.

Neal had wanted the goblins punished for such behavior. But the counsel had declined the request. They stated that since Neal had gone out of his way to insult the goblins, then he should have anticipated the repercussions.

Neal never did learn his lesson. Which was why the counsel had had enough of him and his annoying behavior.

His lack of awareness did prove to be fortunate for Emma and Killian as they were able to follow him easily without being detected.

Neal turned down a dark alley filled with shops that did not advertise the name of the business printed anywhere. 

When he opened the door, there was no bell to signal his arrival, but yet a red haired woman with green skin came out of a back room as soon as he entered.

Emma and Killian were able to watch and listen from outside the shop. The complete lack of light in the area easily obscured their presence.

“You, again? I thought you would be living happily with your bride.”

“Things didn’t go as planned.” Neal explained. “They had security that I didn’t anticipate. The bottles got broken. I need them replaced.” He reached into his satchel and pulled out a large leather bound book. “I’ve found this old book of spells. I want to trade this for more of those potions.”

“That book only buys you some of my time and patience. There are dozens like it already in my possession. And I know for a fact you got that book by stealing it from a witch. It’s the only way something like you could have obtained such a thing.” Zelena sneered. “I’m not just going to give you more potions. I have a business to run. If you had planned better, the potions would have worked.”

Neal sighed in frustration. “I can’t give you anymore of my vampire power. Is there anything else you would except? What if I promised to bring the werewolf to you. Certainly you can take all of his powers? Or enslave him? It might be useful for you to have a werewolf minion. And once I’ve taken back my bride, I’ll bring her to you and you can take all of her powers. She won’t need them when she’s with me.”

“As tempting as your offer is. I don’t trust you to be able to do anything you plan to do. But.., I may require werewolf strength to accomplish what I need. If I accomplish my task, you’ll get the benefit of having your werewolf rival out of your hair. And of course, out of the life of the woman you desire.” Zelena thought it over a moment. “Let’s set a trap for the two you want power over. Then maybe we both can have our desires fulfilled.”

Unbeknownst to Zelena and Neal, Emma and Kiillian could hear every word of their diabolical plan. As they listened, they made plans of their own.

Zelena told Neal about a pirate who was in her employ. The man had gotten on the wrong side of a sorcerer and was in need of her help.”

“He’ll be of use to take down that werewolf.” Zelena explained. “He has tremendous strength. He likes that part of his problem. But it has made him disfigured. He came to be in hope I can make him appear as his true self, but still keep the power that goes with his deformity.”

“He can do whatever he wants with the werewolf, but the vampire, Emma, is mine. No one touches her. The only thing you get to do to her is take her strength and speed away. Her eternal beauty and immortality are off limits.”

“Yes, yes.” Zelena waved her hand in dismissal. “Your preferred lover will keep what you like most about her. Just get them to the black steel castle on the edge of the cliffs by Poppy Lane. My associate and I will take care of the rest.”

Neal nodded and left the shop, eager to get his business settled.

He was in such a hurry that he never noticed the two figures standing nearby in the shadows.

Killian was about to go after Neal until Emma stopped him. She directed his attention to Zelena, who had a wicked smirk on her face.

“What a fool. I’m going to enjoy taking the rest of his powers, and draining the beauty from his precious vampire while he watches.”

After watching the witch for a little while longer and seeing nothing, Emma and Killian left the alley and made their way to a nearby park. 

Through their mobile communication device, Emma and Killian updated Nemo on the case and its latest findings.

“It doesn’t surprise me that Zelena is looking for a way to reverse her curse. The jealousy she had caused her skin to become as green as the envy that possessed her heart. And from what I know about sorcery, it will stay that way until she mends her ways.”

“So her magic can’t reverse the effects of curses?” Killian asked.

“Few have the power to use magic to reverse a curse. While any curse can be lifted, it is normally through an action, because the spell has to be tied to a behavior or feeling. 

Magic powerful enough to lift a curse would have to be wielded by a massive and highly disciplined coven, or by an elder who has spent centuries studying the craft.”

“It sounds like Zelena’s quest was always bound to end badly.” Emma said. “She can’t help herself, or the pirate that’s under some kind of curse. He’s been helping her so that he can get whatever's wrong with him reversed. He’s not going to be happy when he finds out he’s been helping her all this time, for nothing.”

“She might prefer us catching her. We’ll treat her better, make her punishment less painful than that pirate will when he finds out she deceived him. Pirates are not exactly known for their compassion, understanding, and forgiveness.” Killian said.

“Any witch who practices forbidden magic is automatically stripped of their powers.” Nemo recited. “The counsel of magic wielders and the High Counsel that represents all supernatural beings have made that law. As for the cursed pirate, we have to find out who he is first. If he is know to have taken a life, or several, then he will have to be disposed of. At the very least, he will be imprisoned, just like Zelena. However, if they refuse to surrender peacefully and/or try to take your lives, you are well within your rights to take theirs.”

“I still get to dispose of Neal, regardless of what his behavior when we confront him will be, correct?” 

“Yes, Killian.” Nemo rolled his eyes. “Once you are done using Neal to track the maker of the forbidden potions, you may deal with him in any way you wish.”

“We could deal with him after we capture Zelena and the pirate she’s working with?” Emma suggested. “Once we have the witch and the pirate apprehended, we can put our entire focus onto disposing of Neal.”

“Love, I often struggle with what’s sexier about you; your mind, or your body.” Killian breathed every word gazing at Emma adoringly.

Nemo cleared his throat. “I believe the two of you have responsibilities to the law you are supposed to be taking care of at the moment. All recreational activities must wait until you have completed your assignment. Preferably when you are out of the earshot of your boss.”

After assuring Nemo that they would refocus on the job, they said goodbye and hung up.

Already knowing the location for the would-be trap, Emma and Killian made their way to the place, with the plan to take the criminals by surprise.

“I wonder how Neal thought he was going to lure us to this castle?” Emma wondered out loud.

“Most likely with something idiotic.” Killian shook his head. “I’m willing to bet he’s heading toward our home now, probably with the plan to wait for us until we return, then annoy us into chasing him at the castle.”

Emma laughed. “Or maybe he’s planning on stealing something from our front stoop, then leaving a note saying we can have the item back if we meet him at the castle.” An idea entered her mind, “I’ll send him a message that I wish to speak with him and ask him to meet me at the council house, tomorrow. Since it has union registries and bonding ceremony licenses there, it won’t occur to him that there are rooms in the underground where supernatural beings are executed.”

“That will certainly save us time and energy we would use to track him down.” Killian nodded.

Surprise was on their side, as well as speed and stealth. Vampires were naturally quiet. Werewolves could move in silence when they wanted to. Besides their supernatural abilities, they also had other skills that aided them in investigations.

Like lock picking.

When they reached the castle, they stood on the outside, listening for which room the witch and her cohort might be residing in at that moment.

Once they located the room, they searched for a way inside. That was when their lock picking skills came in handy.

Luck was on their side when the door they found opened without a squeak.

They quickly moved through the halls in total darkness easily, thanks to their supernatural sight.

Locating the room they wanted again, they stopped for a moment for Killian to shift into his wolf form, in case the man they heard with Zelena was either a beast or a cyborg with superhuman strength.

Together, they kicked the door in, splintering it into pieces and taking the occupants of the room off guard.

“Zelena of the West, by order of the supernatural council, you are under arrest for dealing in forbidden magic.” Emma shouted.

“Don’t just stand there!” Zelena shouted at the other being in the room. “They’ll arrest you too unless we kill them.”

Killian found himself face to face with a large boar. The creature’s height while standing was just short of Killlian’s snout when in werewolf form. Short black wiry fur covered its entire form, except for long curly hair trailing from the top of his head and going down its back, and black curly hair framing and hanging from its snout and chin. Large tusks stained nearly brown protrude from its mouth.

The beast charged toward Killian with its head lowered. Obviously with the intent to gore him. But Killian’s beast form was faster, and stronger. A simple leap over the pig, swiping its flesh with his razor sharp talons over his face and down his back as he went, incapacitated it enough for Killian to have the upper hand in battle. The pig swung around, its hard hoof raised toward Killian’s face. But once again, Killian saw it coming and with a quick swipe of his paw, soon had the creature squealing in pain.

While Killian dealt with the creature, Emma focused on Zelena. The witch tried to throw several fireballs at Emma, but the vampire easily dodged them. Zelena screamed in frustration as she continually missed her target. Her furry increased when she realized she was setting fire to her potions and spellbooks.

All of her hard work and research was destroyed. And it was her own doing.

When she ran to her research, hoping to salvage something, she was distracted enough for Emma to pounce and place cuffs on her, binding her powers and making it possible to get her to the council, to face punishment.

Killian had to knock the pig unconscious before he was able to get cuffs on him.

“Whoever this boar is, he’s a fighter.” Killian commented. “Even severely injured, he wouldn’t stop fighting me.”

“If I had to hazard a guess,” Emma said, “I’d say that’s Blackbeard. We had two pirates as suspects, and one of them was a cyborg. Since we know silver is a cyborg and that pig is not, then he must be Blackbeard.”

“I’ve always said you were a clever lass.” Killian, who had shifted back to his human form, smiled with pride at her.

Emma and Killian transported their captives to The Dungeons, which were magical holding cells for supernatural beings. They would be kept there until they could be seen by the wesen council, and given their sentences.

Emma then sent a message to Neal, requesting to meet him at the Council house the next day.

The following day, they were brought before the high council. Since the crime was committed by multiple types of supernatural creatures, it had to be the council that oversaw all that had to decide their fate.

A truth spell placed on the seats ensured that the accused made a full and honest confession.

The pirate admitted that he was in fact known as Blackbeard. He also explained that he was cursed to transform into a large pig every night.

“Turns out old Flint was a sorcerer. It’s what made him so good at being a pirate. No other could catch him thanks to his magic making his ship faster than all others. And his ability to make it invisible when need be. He placed this curse on me when he caught my men and I trying to steal from him. That witch promised she could break the curse. But it turns out, she’s not as skilled as she believes.”

“You ungrateful bastard!” Zelena screamed. “After everything I’ve done for you! You would be rolling in mud and muck if it wasn’t for me.”

“I would be sailing the sea’s if it weren’t for you!” Blackbeard yelled back. “You promised to make me richer and more powerful than my wildest dreams.”

“You promised to steal the boots and cloak that allowed Flint to travel anywhere and make himself invisible. It was how he was able to know the plans of the royal ships carrying high valued items. Because you failed to get me what I required, and got yourself cursed in the process, I’ve been stuck searching through the homes of inferior beings, looking for items to aid in my vengeance.”

“I wish I had never encountered you, you green bitch.”

“Likewise, you filthy, greedy, drunken pig!”

Considering that both beings had been committing heinous acts for years, been punished, yet had never learned their lesson, the council that it best to sentence both beings to death. A sentence that was carried out immediately.

It was relatively painless. A simple wave of crystal by a powerful sorcerer and the lifeforce of both beings were drained from them.

Neal had tried to get a hold of Zelena about the change of venue for the trap they had planned. When he had not heard back from her, he just assumed she was busy doing witchy things, or was too stuck up and full of herself to bother to reply.

He had no concern about anything. He was under the full belief that Emma had finally come to her senses and was willing to return to him and forget all about her werewolf.

He still planned on taking Emma’s powers away. As well as get rid of Killian. He wouldn’t want to risk Emma changing her mind, again.

Entering the room where Emma had requested they meet, Neal stopped short when instead of seeing Emma, he saw her boss, and her werewolf lover.

“What’s going on, here!” Neal demanded. “Where’s Emma?” 

“You are a great fool.” Nemo said with a pitying look. “Time and again you have been warned to stay away. That you do not have a claim on Emma. I’m afraid now, you have reached beyond the amount of patience that is expected.”

Neal didn’t understand what the water demon was talking about, until he realized that Killian was shifting into his wolf beast form.

“The council has made it clear.” Nemo spoke as if giving a declaration. “When one supernatural being has gone past the expected limits of tolerance and patience, that being may be put down by the one who it has offended most. The council has also stated that if any being is a threat to a beast being’s mate, the beast being may do as they like with the offending creature.”

Neal realized with terrifying clarity that Killian was now allowed to kill him.

And by the menacing look in his eyes, the wolf creature was going to make it as painful as possible.

Neal tried to flee. But it was no use. The understanding of what was about to happen came too late. Killian was too close. Too fast. Too strong.

And the rage he felt toward Neal only made Killian more powerful.

Teeth and claws were all Neal could see. The knowledge that his end would only come after a great length of tremendous pain crossed his mind.

With one paw, Killian dug his claws deep into Neal’s head, holding it in place as he tore away flesh and bone.

First his arms, and then his legs were ripped from his body. Blood spurted everywhere, painting the area in crimson.

Neal was forced to watch in horror as the werewolf’s large clawed foot came up and kicked into his middle. He was split open so deep that his organs tumbled out of his body. The clawed foot swiped down, once again ripping away every inch of sensitive flesh, including the organ that had only just grown back.

Thumbs went into the eye sockets, rupturing the soft orbs within. 

His scream of anguish was soon muffled when a large talon entered his mouth. His tongue was torn away, leaving behind a gaping socket that quickly filled with crimson liquid.

Gurgling, choking on his own blood, Neal could no longer attempt to beg for his life. And though he couldn’t see what the wolf was doing, he could feel every swipe and drag of razor sharp claws. His bottom jaw was torn from his skull. Finally, what was left of his head was severed from his spine.

His task completed, Killian shifted back to his human form.

Nemo brought for waves of water to wash the bloody remnants down the provided drain, and wash blood and tissue off of Killian.

“That’s one problem gone from yours and Emma’s lives.” Nemo said. “It must be a relief to you both.”

Killian nodded. “He’s no longer a threat to Emma. Her being safe and happy is all I’ve ever cared about.”

“Now you have that certainty that she will be.” Nemo padded Killian on the back. “The two of you have done well. You can have the week off. That should give you enough time to get the celebration out of your system.”

Killian grinned. “There is no getting Emma out of my system. But I thank you for the time off anyway.”

Emma had chosen to return home once she had escorted Zelena and Blackbeard to the council. Any and all feelings she had toward Neal were in the past and she felt content in just knowing Killian would deal with him.

Emma wanted to focus on how she and Killian would be spending their night. And she wanted to reward Killian for always being so good to her.

When Killian entered their home, Emma called to him that she was waiting for him in their bedroom.

Wearing a white garment so sheer he could see every line and curve of her sensuous body, Killian was certain she was an ethereal being, and that he had somehow entered Heaven.

“Nemo said we had the week off.” He said as he approached. “I intend to spend every second of it with you in this bed.”

“It’s a good thing I thought to stock up our pantry while you were handling things. I wouldn’t want us to have to leave our home for anything.”

“Such a clever lass.” Killian growled as he pounced on Emma, elongating his claws to tear the garment away. Too eager to get at her body to bother with pulling it off of her.

Turned on further by Killian’s aggression, Emma wrapped her arms and legs around him, and met his lips in a savage kiss.

Their last coherent thought before succumbing to passion was that they were going to enjoy their week off.

[cssns]

And now for the MOST SATISFYING conclusion of Love Bites (But So Do I) by @grimmswan !!!! Enjoy and be sure to give her lots of love!!!!

Love Bites (But So Do I) ch 8

Final Chapter

@cssns

Once Upon A Time: Captain Swan: Emma Swan/Killian Jones

For Captain Swan Supernatural Summer

“Zelena of the West has actually been on the agency’s radar for some time.” Nemo said when Emma and Killian updated him on their latest findings. “Her temper, constantly prone to jealousy, and excessive lack of reason makes her a danger to society. Before, there was nothing substantial we could bind and imprison her for. But with the proof that she is dealing in the forbidden spells, we may finally end her wicked ways once and for all.”

“The tricky part will be catching the witch.” Killian theorized. “I doubt she will just come along willingly.”

“We also need to find out just who she is working with. We know that it has to be a pirate, it’s the only way the stolen goods can be smuggled to willing buyers. But we don’t know if it’s the cyborg Silver, or Blackbeard.” Emma said. “We have to catch them in the act when they exchange goods.”

“That will be tricky.” Nemo nodded. “A cyborg certainly has the strength to cause the same amount of destruction as a werewolf. A disguise and the cover of darkness could have easily fooled witnesses who claimed it was a beast. Then again, a potion could have allowed a human to become a beast temporarily, allowing the human the abilities of a supernatural creature for that length of time. Either way, the person has to be found and dealt with.”

“We know for a fact now that Neal has made bargains with this witch as well. Has the council granted me permission to deal with him, permanently?” Killian asked, voice full of menacing hope.

“They have.” Nemo’s tone spoke of exactly the outcome they were expecting. “The council know the trouble Neal will cause if he continues on the path he has chosen. He signed his death sentence when he tried to kill and enslave the two of you. They have given the warrant allowing for you to dispose of him in any way you wish.”

“In any way we wish?” Killian questioned.

“Yes, Jones.” Nemo answered the werewolf. “You are allowed to make his death as slow and painful as you like.”

A wicked grin spread wide on Killian’s face. That clarification was like music to his ears.

“There’s a good chance that Neal might try to go back to Zelena.” Emma’s sweet voice cut through Killians imagining on how best to torture her former sire. “He knows that she has the potions that will do what he wants. Just because he failed with them once doesn’t mean he won’t try them again. He’ll be healed by now, his strength returned. By now he might have gathered something of value in exchange for more potions.”

Nemo nodded in agreement. Looking at Killian, he asked, “You’ve torn Neal apart enough times to catch his scent. Do you think you could track it down and see where he’s been?”

“I know his foul stench. I’ll be able to track him anywhere.” Killian said with a sneer.

Emma remembered the types of places Neal liked to frequent.

 It didn’t take long to catch a strong whiff of his scent around an old building covered in wolfsbane.

“It’s an apartment complex that rents only to vampires.” Emma said. “The plants growing everywhere are supposed to keep werewolves from breaking in and messing with the residents.” Emma shrugged. “I stayed in a place like this when I was newly turned. Before I was hired by Nemo,” She turned to Killian, placed her hand over his heart and smiled up at him. “And before I knew how pleasurable it could be to have a werewolf mess with me.”

“Only one werewolf gives you pleasure.” Killian growled, pulling Emma against him. “I will kill any other being, werewolf or whatever, who tries to be with you the way that I do.”

She allowed him to take her lips in a kiss that was nothing short of possession. It was a claim, and she melted into it until he chose to let her go.

The darker side of her would admit that she loved to get him jealous and riled up. But that was because it always led to him doing the most wickedly delicious things to her.

“Save that energy for later.” Emma said breathily. “When we’re celebrating getting rid of my ex for good. But right now, we have work to do.”

Killian agreed. With reluctance, he pulled away from Emma and focused once again on Neal’s scent. He quieted his disappointment with the reminder that soon he would dispose of the idiot and then be certain that Emma would be safe in his arms for the rest of eternity.

Keeping their faces hidden by staying close together and standing by a shop on the corner of the street, they watched and listened for any sign of Neal.

Fortune was on their side. After just twenty minutes, they saw him emerge from the vampire apartment building.

He adjusted a satchel that seemed to be filled with something heavy, then started on his way down the street.

Emma and Killian soon followed, staying behind their target at about thirty paces.

Neal was not very observant. He never paid much attention to his surroundings. Too often obsessed with his own desires to realize things may not be as they seem.

Emma recalled more than one event where she, still human, had to warn Neal not to antagonize a being who he perceived as being smaller and weaker than himself.

“Goblins are stronger and more fierce than their size shows them to be.” She had told Neal, pulling him away from the creatures that he was saying cruel remarks about.

They may have been foul mouthed, and their scents unpleasant, they were only speaking with vulgar language to one another. So Emma had thought it was best for her and Neal to mind their own business, and allow the goblins to mind theirs.

Later, she found out that Neal had returned to the goblins gathering place and had called them vile and disgusting.

He spent the next three days at a healer’s, having the toxic acid that the goblins infected him with during their retaliatory attack drained from his body.

Neal had wanted the goblins punished for such behavior. But the counsel had declined the request. They stated that since Neal had gone out of his way to insult the goblins, then he should have anticipated the repercussions.

Neal never did learn his lesson. Which was why the counsel had had enough of him and his annoying behavior.

His lack of awareness did prove to be fortunate for Emma and Killian as they were able to follow him easily without being detected.

Neal turned down a dark alley filled with shops that did not advertise the name of the business printed anywhere. 

When he opened the door, there was no bell to signal his arrival, but yet a red haired woman with green skin came out of a back room as soon as he entered.

Emma and Killian were able to watch and listen from outside the shop. The complete lack of light in the area easily obscured their presence.

“You, again? I thought you would be living happily with your bride.”

“Things didn’t go as planned.” Neal explained. “They had security that I didn’t anticipate. The bottles got broken. I need them replaced.” He reached into his satchel and pulled out a large leather bound book. “I’ve found this old book of spells. I want to trade this for more of those potions.”

“That book only buys you some of my time and patience. There are dozens like it already in my possession. And I know for a fact you got that book by stealing it from a witch. It’s the only way something like you could have obtained such a thing.” Zelena sneered. “I’m not just going to give you more potions. I have a business to run. If you had planned better, the potions would have worked.”

Neal sighed in frustration. “I can’t give you anymore of my vampire power. Is there anything else you would except? What if I promised to bring the werewolf to you. Certainly you can take all of his powers? Or enslave him? It might be useful for you to have a werewolf minion. And once I’ve taken back my bride, I’ll bring her to you and you can take all of her powers. She won’t need them when she’s with me.”

“As tempting as your offer is. I don’t trust you to be able to do anything you plan to do. But.., I may require werewolf strength to accomplish what I need. If I accomplish my task, you’ll get the benefit of having your werewolf rival out of your hair. And of course, out of the life of the woman you desire.” Zelena thought it over a moment. “Let’s set a trap for the two you want power over. Then maybe we both can have our desires fulfilled.”

Unbeknownst to Zelena and Neal, Emma and Kiillian could hear every word of their diabolical plan. As they listened, they made plans of their own.

Zelena told Neal about a pirate who was in her employ. The man had gotten on the wrong side of a sorcerer and was in need of her help.”

“He’ll be of use to take down that werewolf.” Zelena explained. “He has tremendous strength. He likes that part of his problem. But it has made him disfigured. He came to be in hope I can make him appear as his true self, but still keep the power that goes with his deformity.”

“He can do whatever he wants with the werewolf, but the vampire, Emma, is mine. No one touches her. The only thing you get to do to her is take her strength and speed away. Her eternal beauty and immortality are off limits.”

“Yes, yes.” Zelena waved her hand in dismissal. “Your preferred lover will keep what you like most about her. Just get them to the black steel castle on the edge of the cliffs by Poppy Lane. My associate and I will take care of the rest.”

Neal nodded and left the shop, eager to get his business settled.

He was in such a hurry that he never noticed the two figures standing nearby in the shadows.

Killian was about to go after Neal until Emma stopped him. She directed his attention to Zelena, who had a wicked smirk on her face.

“What a fool. I’m going to enjoy taking the rest of his powers, and draining the beauty from his precious vampire while he watches.”

After watching the witch for a little while longer and seeing nothing, Emma and Killian left the alley and made their way to a nearby park. 

Through their mobile communication device, Emma and Killian updated Nemo on the case and its latest findings.

“It doesn’t surprise me that Zelena is looking for a way to reverse her curse. The jealousy she had caused her skin to become as green as the envy that possessed her heart. And from what I know about sorcery, it will stay that way until she mends her ways.”

“So her magic can’t reverse the effects of curses?” Killian asked.

“Few have the power to use magic to reverse a curse. While any curse can be lifted, it is normally through an action, because the spell has to be tied to a behavior or feeling. 

Magic powerful enough to lift a curse would have to be wielded by a massive and highly disciplined coven, or by an elder who has spent centuries studying the craft.”

“It sounds like Zelena’s quest was always bound to end badly.” Emma said. “She can’t help herself, or the pirate that’s under some kind of curse. He’s been helping her so that he can get whatever's wrong with him reversed. He’s not going to be happy when he finds out he’s been helping her all this time, for nothing.”

“She might prefer us catching her. We’ll treat her better, make her punishment less painful than that pirate will when he finds out she deceived him. Pirates are not exactly known for their compassion, understanding, and forgiveness.” Killian said.

“Any witch who practices forbidden magic is automatically stripped of their powers.” Nemo recited. “The counsel of magic wielders and the High Counsel that represents all supernatural beings have made that law. As for the cursed pirate, we have to find out who he is first. If he is know to have taken a life, or several, then he will have to be disposed of. At the very least, he will be imprisoned, just like Zelena. However, if they refuse to surrender peacefully and/or try to take your lives, you are well within your rights to take theirs.”

“I still get to dispose of Neal, regardless of what his behavior when we confront him will be, correct?” 

“Yes, Killian.” Nemo rolled his eyes. “Once you are done using Neal to track the maker of the forbidden potions, you may deal with him in any way you wish.”

“We could deal with him after we capture Zelena and the pirate she’s working with?” Emma suggested. “Once we have the witch and the pirate apprehended, we can put our entire focus onto disposing of Neal.”

“Love, I often struggle with what’s sexier about you; your mind, or your body.” Killian breathed every word gazing at Emma adoringly.

Nemo cleared his throat. “I believe the two of you have responsibilities to the law you are supposed to be taking care of at the moment. All recreational activities must wait until you have completed your assignment. Preferably when you are out of the earshot of your boss.”

After assuring Nemo that they would refocus on the job, they said goodbye and hung up.

Already knowing the location for the would-be trap, Emma and Killian made their way to the place, with the plan to take the criminals by surprise.

“I wonder how Neal thought he was going to lure us to this castle?” Emma wondered out loud.

“Most likely with something idiotic.” Killian shook his head. “I’m willing to bet he’s heading toward our home now, probably with the plan to wait for us until we return, then annoy us into chasing him at the castle.”

Emma laughed. “Or maybe he’s planning on stealing something from our front stoop, then leaving a note saying we can have the item back if we meet him at the castle.” An idea entered her mind, “I’ll send him a message that I wish to speak with him and ask him to meet me at the council house, tomorrow. Since it has union registries and bonding ceremony licenses there, it won’t occur to him that there are rooms in the underground where supernatural beings are executed.”

“That will certainly save us time and energy we would use to track him down.” Killian nodded.

Surprise was on their side, as well as speed and stealth. Vampires were naturally quiet. Werewolves could move in silence when they wanted to. Besides their supernatural abilities, they also had other skills that aided them in investigations.

Like lock picking.

When they reached the castle, they stood on the outside, listening for which room the witch and her cohort might be residing in at that moment.

Once they located the room, they searched for a way inside. That was when their lock picking skills came in handy.

Luck was on their side when the door they found opened without a squeak.

They quickly moved through the halls in total darkness easily, thanks to their supernatural sight.

Locating the room they wanted again, they stopped for a moment for Killian to shift into his wolf form, in case the man they heard with Zelena was either a beast or a cyborg with superhuman strength.

Together, they kicked the door in, splintering it into pieces and taking the occupants of the room off guard.

“Zelena of the West, by order of the supernatural council, you are under arrest for dealing in forbidden magic.” Emma shouted.

“Don’t just stand there!” Zelena shouted at the other being in the room. “They’ll arrest you too unless we kill them.”

Killian found himself face to face with a large boar. The creature’s height while standing was just short of Killlian’s snout when in werewolf form. Short black wiry fur covered its entire form, except for long curly hair trailing from the top of his head and going down its back, and black curly hair framing and hanging from its snout and chin. Large tusks stained nearly brown protrude from its mouth.

The beast charged toward Killian with its head lowered. Obviously with the intent to gore him. But Killian’s beast form was faster, and stronger. A simple leap over the pig, swiping its flesh with his razor sharp talons over his face and down his back as he went, incapacitated it enough for Killian to have the upper hand in battle. The pig swung around, its hard hoof raised toward Killian’s face. But once again, Killian saw it coming and with a quick swipe of his paw, soon had the creature squealing in pain.

While Killian dealt with the creature, Emma focused on Zelena. The witch tried to throw several fireballs at Emma, but the vampire easily dodged them. Zelena screamed in frustration as she continually missed her target. Her furry increased when she realized she was setting fire to her potions and spellbooks.

All of her hard work and research was destroyed. And it was her own doing.

When she ran to her research, hoping to salvage something, she was distracted enough for Emma to pounce and place cuffs on her, binding her powers and making it possible to get her to the council, to face punishment.

Killian had to knock the pig unconscious before he was able to get cuffs on him.

“Whoever this boar is, he’s a fighter.” Killian commented. “Even severely injured, he wouldn’t stop fighting me.”

“If I had to hazard a guess,” Emma said, “I’d say that’s Blackbeard. We had two pirates as suspects, and one of them was a cyborg. Since we know silver is a cyborg and that pig is not, then he must be Blackbeard.”

“I’ve always said you were a clever lass.” Killian, who had shifted back to his human form, smiled with pride at her.

Emma and Killian transported their captives to The Dungeons, which were magical holding cells for supernatural beings. They would be kept there until they could be seen by the wesen council, and given their sentences.

Emma then sent a message to Neal, requesting to meet him at the Council house the next day.

The following day, they were brought before the high council. Since the crime was committed by multiple types of supernatural creatures, it had to be the council that oversaw all that had to decide their fate.

A truth spell placed on the seats ensured that the accused made a full and honest confession.

The pirate admitted that he was in fact known as Blackbeard. He also explained that he was cursed to transform into a large pig every night.

“Turns out old Flint was a sorcerer. It’s what made him so good at being a pirate. No other could catch him thanks to his magic making his ship faster than all others. And his ability to make it invisible when need be. He placed this curse on me when he caught my men and I trying to steal from him. That witch promised she could break the curse. But it turns out, she’s not as skilled as she believes.”

“You ungrateful bastard!” Zelena screamed. “After everything I’ve done for you! You would be rolling in mud and muck if it wasn’t for me.”

“I would be sailing the sea’s if it weren’t for you!” Blackbeard yelled back. “You promised to make me richer and more powerful than my wildest dreams.”

“You promised to steal the boots and cloak that allowed Flint to travel anywhere and make himself invisible. It was how he was able to know the plans of the royal ships carrying high valued items. Because you failed to get me what I required, and got yourself cursed in the process, I’ve been stuck searching through the homes of inferior beings, looking for items to aid in my vengeance.”

“I wish I had never encountered you, you green bitch.”

“Likewise, you filthy, greedy, drunken pig!”

Considering that both beings had been committing heinous acts for years, been punished, yet had never learned their lesson, the council that it best to sentence both beings to death. A sentence that was carried out immediately.

It was relatively painless. A simple wave of crystal by a powerful sorcerer and the lifeforce of both beings were drained from them.

Neal had tried to get a hold of Zelena about the change of venue for the trap they had planned. When he had not heard back from her, he just assumed she was busy doing witchy things, or was too stuck up and full of herself to bother to reply.

He had no concern about anything. He was under the full belief that Emma had finally come to her senses and was willing to return to him and forget all about her werewolf.

He still planned on taking Emma’s powers away. As well as get rid of Killian. He wouldn’t want to risk Emma changing her mind, again.

Entering the room where Emma had requested they meet, Neal stopped short when instead of seeing Emma, he saw her boss, and her werewolf lover.

“What’s going on, here!” Neal demanded. “Where’s Emma?” 

“You are a great fool.” Nemo said with a pitying look. “Time and again you have been warned to stay away. That you do not have a claim on Emma. I’m afraid now, you have reached beyond the amount of patience that is expected.”

Neal didn’t understand what the water demon was talking about, until he realized that Killian was shifting into his wolf beast form.

“The council has made it clear.” Nemo spoke as if giving a declaration. “When one supernatural being has gone past the expected limits of tolerance and patience, that being may be put down by the one who it has offended most. The council has also stated that if any being is a threat to a beast being’s mate, the beast being may do as they like with the offending creature.”

Neal realized with terrifying clarity that Killian was now allowed to kill him.

And by the menacing look in his eyes, the wolf creature was going to make it as painful as possible.

Neal tried to flee. But it was no use. The understanding of what was about to happen came too late. Killian was too close. Too fast. Too strong.

And the rage he felt toward Neal only made Killian more powerful.

Teeth and claws were all Neal could see. The knowledge that his end would only come after a great length of tremendous pain crossed his mind.

With one paw, Killian dug his claws deep into Neal’s head, holding it in place as he tore away flesh and bone.

First his arms, and then his legs were ripped from his body. Blood spurted everywhere, painting the area in crimson.

Neal was forced to watch in horror as the werewolf’s large clawed foot came up and kicked into his middle. He was split open so deep that his organs tumbled out of his body. The clawed foot swiped down, once again ripping away every inch of sensitive flesh, including the organ that had only just grown back.

Thumbs went into the eye sockets, rupturing the soft orbs within. 

His scream of anguish was soon muffled when a large talon entered his mouth. His tongue was torn away, leaving behind a gaping socket that quickly filled with crimson liquid.

Gurgling, choking on his own blood, Neal could no longer attempt to beg for his life. And though he couldn’t see what the wolf was doing, he could feel every swipe and drag of razor sharp claws. His bottom jaw was torn from his skull. Finally, what was left of his head was severed from his spine.

His task completed, Killian shifted back to his human form.

Nemo brought for waves of water to wash the bloody remnants down the provided drain, and wash blood and tissue off of Killian.

“That’s one problem gone from yours and Emma’s lives.” Nemo said. “It must be a relief to you both.”

Killian nodded. “He’s no longer a threat to Emma. Her being safe and happy is all I’ve ever cared about.”

“Now you have that certainty that she will be.” Nemo padded Killian on the back. “The two of you have done well. You can have the week off. That should give you enough time to get the celebration out of your system.”

Killian grinned. “There is no getting Emma out of my system. But I thank you for the time off anyway.”

Emma had chosen to return home once she had escorted Zelena and Blackbeard to the council. Any and all feelings she had toward Neal were in the past and she felt content in just knowing Killian would deal with him.

Emma wanted to focus on how she and Killian would be spending their night. And she wanted to reward Killian for always being so good to her.

When Killian entered their home, Emma called to him that she was waiting for him in their bedroom.

Wearing a white garment so sheer he could see every line and curve of her sensuous body, Killian was certain she was an ethereal being, and that he had somehow entered Heaven.

“Nemo said we had the week off.” He said as he approached. “I intend to spend every second of it with you in this bed.”

“It’s a good thing I thought to stock up our pantry while you were handling things. I wouldn’t want us to have to leave our home for anything.”

“Such a clever lass.” Killian growled as he pounced on Emma, elongating his claws to tear the garment away. Too eager to get at her body to bother with pulling it off of her.

Turned on further by Killian’s aggression, Emma wrapped her arms and legs around him, and met his lips in a savage kiss.

Their last coherent thought before succumbing to passion was that they were going to enjoy their week off.

[cssns]

CSSNS24 fic: "For All Life and For All Time" {Part Two}

I certainly did not intend to keep everyone waiting so long for Part Two, but I won't ramble on with a lot of excuses, I'll just let you get right into the story. The action here picks up just after Part One left off, and with finding out what the rest of their brave band is doing in Emma's absence. I hope you'll still enjoy despite the delay - and, as always, I'd love to hear what you think!

A Victorian, Dracula-inspired AU in Three Parts written for the @cssns24 event

Summary: Having lost her dearest friend and with her own life on the line, Emma Swan joins a noble band to face an ancient evil. Three of them stand by her in honor of the one they loved and lost. The other might be the first man she could love. He might love her as well - even more than life itself. Time will tell... if they both survive the fight against their immortal enemy.

Also available on AO3, if that's your preference...

Part Two

Killian Jones could not help but worry incessantly, pacing the floor of Lord Briarling’s study without ceasing, mind assailed by all which could go wrong. He had no doubt of Miss Swan’s bravery, her determination, or her intentions - she was a wholly incomparable woman - unlike any he had ever encountered, even his Milah long ago. The problem was, he knew better than most just how powerful, how debilitating the will and control of the being they faced… that they had sent Emma to face alone.

Already, he had asked much of her in the short time he had known her. The trust Emma Swan had bestowed up on him in return was nothing short of astounding. She was smart, discerning, careful not to be falsely taken in - and yet she had not doubted or questioned him, even when his orders and conclusions must have seemed egregious to her ears. That he had been forced to lead the men who had loved her dearest friend to stake and behead the poor sweet Aurora Spindleton’s corpse on the claim that the girl had been turned into a vampire must have seemed an intolerable insult; yet she had steeled herself and accepted the dire need, not holding their actions against any of them.

Not only that, but Emma had stood forth boldly, seeking what she could do to end this creature’s reign before more were turned, their lives destroyed as her friend’s had been. Her voice might have trembled, but she stood straight and tall, her chin jutting forward in stubborn resolve. Though Killian knew she must have been afraid, her pale, perfect face looking to him for guidance had seemed like a candle’s flame breaking through surrounding darkness - more beautiful than anything he had ever seen.

It was a risk, certainly, this plan they had concocted in the hopes of ensnaring their quarry. He certainly did not relish the idea of sending Emma alone into perilous surroundings. The thought of her in the Count’s thrall without himself or at least one of their compatriots at her side was enough to bring bile rushing up his throat and a cold pit of fear to settle in his gut. The demon was unpredictable, nearly invincible, and suffered no compunction or fits of conscience to reign his actions. And yet, despite the way his limbs nearly burned for action, how he had wanted to follow behind her carriage to see to her safety, Killian knew their best possibility of luring Count Dracula von Stiltskin into their net and putting him off his guard enough to attack with success was to send her to him in the guise of a besotted innocent. Emma was beguiling enough, and the Count’s thirst, even the Count’s intention, was already turned toward her. He had to trust that she could hold her own, and that she could respond with false interest while still remaining on her guard.

Yet, it was the not-knowing which made his wait so trying. There was no way to ascertain what Emma might have already been faced with - or was already enduring - now that she was out of their reach and beyond communication with him. That morning before the sun had even fully broken across the chill sky, Killian had ridden out on his sturdy Andalusian to follow the path Emma’s carriage had taken the previous night. By the time he had reached the empty and abandoned conveyance and found no sign of either Emma or her driver, he had already known it was a futile journey, yet it was all he could think of to do. It only made his nightmarish reel of possible scenarios Emma might be suffering cycle through his mind more quickly. The poor horses were still hitched, and to Killian’s surprise, still in the area, despite having no tie or guidance, but they were pawing the ground, eyes wild with fear, and he had been able to bring them back to Lord Briarling’s chateau and see them properly tended. Where he had located the carriage though was in the forbidding shadow of the dark, austere castle towering over the area. Even the poor beasts had sensed the “wrongness” in the air - the presence of something wild and unnatural. 

They had all tracked the monster back from his prowl across English soil to the outskirts of his own country. As fate would have it, the Briarling estate owned a hunting outpost just before one crossed over the Romanian border - long unused but perfectly suited to their needs. From there, Emma had ventured on alone, and the rest of waited unwillingly until they could follow.

Finally, Killian stood and strode from the room to find his compatriots in this almost unreal, but necessary, mission. It was now well into the new day, the sun full and warming overhead and rendering the next several hours much safer from their lurking foe. He heard the others moving in the hall and throughout other rooms on the floor below. They have much to do, and the sooner they are off to complete their part of the overall plan, the sooner he can be off to face Dracula head-on at last, after so many years and so much turmoil and waiting. Even more importantly, the sooner they can ride after Emma, hopefully finding her still well and whole, and bring her back to safety again.

He found them all - Sir Philip Thornswood, Graham Morris, and his old friend and colleague Jefferson Seward in the sun porch, partaking in coffee or tea and a late breakfast, but quietly and with an undercurrent of tension, waiting and knowing that their next move was nigh, yet not sure what that move might be. As Killian appeared in the doorway, all three heads turned toward him abruptly, eyes alert, and in Morris’ case, even half-rising from his chair, coiled to spring into action.

“Van Helsing,” Jefferson greeted simply, standing to bring him a cup of coffee and place a strong hand on his shoulder in support. The greeting jarred him in itself, as he had spent much more time recently in Emma’s company - first tending to Aurora, then listening to Emma’s fond memories and intense grief and anger, and then outlining their plan of attack for her - what she must do and how to keep herself as safe as possible. However, in her presence, he had let down his guard and allowed himself to be simply “Killian”, far more than he had done in a very long time. 

“When do we set out?” Jeff pressed, his mouth pursed in tense readiness as his eyes busily attempted to read Killian’s face. 

He took the cup from the physician and drew a long pull of the hot liquid, wincing slightly at its heat and bitterness, even as he savored its familiarity. Pausing only a moment, he then nodded sharply, as if to acknowledge all of them deferring to his direction.

“The task before us is a weighty one,” Killian began solemnly, meeting their eyes and quickly confirming each man’s commitment. “It will not be easily accomplished, but must be done - whatever the cost - if we are to stand any chance against this devil we face.”

Each man, Seward, Morris, and Thornswood in turn, nodded their assent, understanding on their faces and merely awaiting his instruction to take action. In every one of their bearing, he saw the intent and the loss that drove them; they would do what they must and would not shrink from fear or challenge.

“We are aware that the Count must have other lairs, a maze of strongholds in which to hide from the light, as he has made his way far from his citadel in the mountains - with a purpose he has not evinced in an age. Each and every one of these must be destroyed. He must be forced into the open where we stand a chance to fight him.”

“Right you are, Mate,” Graham spoke up with brisk determination, but a slightly puzzled expression marring his brow. “I’ve no question with that.  If sunshine and open space be his only weakness, then we must do away with all his shadows. But how may we know where he has chosen to hide? And, once found, how may we be certain to dismantle each lair?”

Killian’s gaze flicked over to Jefferson’s, as if gauging from his friend who knew Morris better whether or not he should bare all. At the Doctor’s subtle nod, Killian launched into his past history with the Count - how he had watched and studied the monster, waiting and biding his time until he had finally gathered enough knowledge to strike while Dracula von Stiltskin would be most vulnerable to harm. It had to make a mark, for when fighting such a one as this, he might not get a second chance.

When he had finished his condensed tale of explanation, he paused, eying Lord Briarling, Philip Thornswood, in particular with acute regret. “That I was too late to help our dear Miss Spindleton is a heavy burden I must bear,” he finally intoned, forcing the words past clenched teeth and a tight throat. “But I can only pray you will still trust the information I have and the hope that we can save ourselves and countless others, along with our brave and true Miss Swan, who was so dear to Aurora. When Jefferson’s urgent summons reached me, I was in truth already on my way to these parts. All my tracking, spying, and observation had finally bought me an opening that led me straight to this very countryside, even as you called upon me to assist.”

“No wonder you arrived so quickly,” Jefferson exclaimed, clearly taken aback by this revelation that was new to him as well.

He might have said more, but Morris had already broken in urgently. “What had you discovered then? How can it help us?”

Killian noticed that Sir Philip was silent nearest the window, clearly listening to their exchange, but not moving or speaking, a pained look of focus etched upon his features. He could not tell what the other man was thinking, or if beneath his grief the bitterness was taking poisonous root. Whether he laid blame at Killian’s feet or no, he could not judge Van Helsing more harshly than Killian already judged himself. All the time and the sweat and blood, the effort of years, and he had still been too late to thwart the vampire’s draining another innocent of life. 

Drawing in a deep breath, Killian plowed on, not having any recourse but to see the story through to the present. Whether any of them deemed his plans reliable or possible to carry out, he needed to be on his way. He would do all he knew to weaken von Stiltskin, to bring on even an ounce of human weakness he might inflict, before facing the demon once more. He would not - no, he could not survive it - if he were forced to see Emma suffer the same fate as his Milah, and Aurora, had before her.

“There was a ship,” Killian explained, holding out a staying hand as Graham began to pace - needing the movement and action so much that Killian feared the cowboy might race to the docks that very moment before he could even explain what they sought. “It made slow, hidden voyage all the way from (Varna?) near where his castle stands overlooking (Transylvania?) to our English shores undetected. Even with contacts and spies scattered throughout the distance between, I did not hear of its existence until it stopped briefly at some small port for supplies. The uneasy fear its very presence impressed upon the harbormaster there made it memorable enough for him to note when he was next questioned of any strange happenings in his jurisdiction. The description of a dark and eerily silent ship, barely in dock an hour, and odder still, with hardly enough crew to properly man its decks, was enough to convince me Von Stiltskin was on the move with some nefarious purpose in mind - especially joined as it was with reports that he himself had not been sighted on his own lands in some weeks, even at night when he usually hunts.”

His three man audience was captivated now, motionless with eyes fixed upon him as Killian continued his ghastly tail. “However, as concerning as this news was, no one had any way to be certain where he was bound. I was at that point in Italy, seeking a holy relic - a jewel hilted dagger from the Crusades - which my studies had led me to believe might equip one to mortally wound the vampire. I needed to have it in hand before returning to English shores.”

Jefferson opened his mouth at this, no doubt to ask if the mission had been successful, but his friend’s lips snapped together again wordlessly when Killian pulled the weapon from the hidden pocket inside his heavy, dark cloak. Holding it out upon his palm for their perusal, he watched as each member of their band registered its clear import silently, seeming to straighten their shoulders and steel themselves further. This dagger signified their way forward.

“No others know this blade is in my possession,” Killian intoned seriously. “And it must remain that way. One of the very few things which can strike fear into the Count’s blackened heart is the existence of this item which can control his power and do him mortal harm. Though legends and rumors disagree upon how it was ever wrested from his possession, it almost certainly torments him not to have it - the one thing keeping him from true invincibility. I found it safeguarded by a long-forgotten hidden order of monks and managed to successfully convince them I was the correct avenger with whom to entrust the relic. Unfortunately - “

He bowed his head toward Sir Philip Thornswood once more, a heavy moment of quiet remembrance covering the room before he wet his lips and carried on at Philip’s small acknowledgement. “Unfortunately, I was too late. I was still a week’s journey from the English coast when I received Dr. Seward’s summons, along with a notification of the same dark, silent ship docking in Whitby, only to horrify all those at the harbor with the discovery that all aboard it were dead - and this only after a large, black wolf had leapt from its deck snarling and slavering and cutting a path through the area and up into the surrounding wooded hills, leaving behind it an echoing howl that set all who heard its hair on end and chilled them to the bone. They found the poor captain a mere corpse lashed to the mast, note clutched in his hand detailing how something in the dark was picking them off one by one. He was the last one alive and dared not sleep, but knew at some point his body must do so; the note was his attempt to explain what might be found remaining on board.

“The Count!” Sir Philip spat with the force of an invective. “Murdered his own crew as it transported him? For what purpose?”

“He had reached his destination,” Killian answered simply, not at all nonchalant about the slaughter, but needing to be clear how very little a life - any life - truly was to worth to Dracula. “They had served their purpose, and he could not have any witnesses who might cause complications to his plans or raise an alarm (too soon?) If one could sully and drain the beauty and sweetness of an innocent such as your betrothed, my Lord, please be assured, no atrocity is beyond him.”

The sharp, almost spasmodic dip of Philip’s chin showed his frank agreement, having learned all too well the appalling truth of Killian’s words. “Right you are, Van Helsing,” he rasped with a voice that sounded almost rusted with disuse from the last few days’ wordless grief and brooding thought. “So tell us what we must do.”

“Indeed,” Morris chimed in readily, stepping forward once more. “You have the dagger, how will you wield it, and how shall the rest of us work to insure you succeed? We must be off and doing it.”

Killian inclined his head to each of his compatriots, acknowledging their eagerness and desire to be of use. “We will not have to wait much longer,” he assured them. “There is only one last part to my tale, and then we will be on the move, following the tracks he has recklessly left for us - too overconfident in his long invulnerability.”

Here he nodded to Jefferson to take over the narrative, the doctor having gone with him to see almost as soon as Killian had reached Whitby - nigh on a week ago. Emma Swan had requested a mere hour or two alone with her dear friend, promising she knew how to do the few things left to them which would bring Aurora any comfort, and that she would send for them if there were an emergency. The young lady had been wasting away at that point, nothing to be done for her but attempt to ease her discomfort and bide the time. He had seen no harm to leaving Aurora in Emma’s capable hands, nor did he begrudge them any last feminine secrets or promises of the heart in the sweet Miss Spindleton’s final hours. He had needed to see for himself what had been found on the ship in any case, and he did wish for Jefferson’s accompaniment and the added benefit of his insight. 

“On that ship,” Jefferson began, picking up the story’s thread adroitly and pulling it taut again with speed. He held the other two men’s attention as rapt as Killian had done - perhaps more so even, due to their greater connection and shared history, “very little had been found at all, until Van Helsing and I ventured below, into the depths of the hold.”

Killian gratefully turned away as the Doctor raced through the rest of the information needed. He was thankful to have focus off of his person for a moment as he clenched and unclenched his fists and forced himself to draw in and release several deep, cleansing breaths. Every bit as impatient as Graham Morris to be riding into the fray, he only barely kept his impatience from showing through herculean effort. Staring out the window as he swallowed a long pull of rum from the flask discreetly hidden at his hip - he didn’t give a bloody damn how early in the day it was, though others might - Killian stared out the window and forced himself to remember that Emma knew what she was doing, of how often he had marveled at her strength, rather than letting his mind fly to all the ways she could have already been overpowered, tormented, broken beyond - 

With a harsh jerk of muscles that he feared could hardly be missed by the astute men around him, Killian spun away from the view out the window of the morning dew on the nearby fields and caught the last of Jefferson’s explanation.

“So, to the best of our knowledge and deduction, this metal casket full of raw earth must have been the one our Dracula traveled in - his shield by day, as it were. He has, no doubt, others scattered throughout the countryside at intervals so that he may move around as needed, stalking his chosen victims and adding to his cursed ranks while maintaining safe places to retreat from the light of the sun. We must split up, find these strongholds, and destroy the caskets within, leaving him no place to left to rest concealed.”

“Aye,” Killian resumed, signaling Jefferson seamlessly, and the doctor turned to get the maps he had brought, marked with the targets for them to hand to Thornswood and Morris. “We dare not travel and enter these possible lairs completely alone, but if we break into pairs and reconvene this evening when the task is completed, then we can make our way toward Castle Dracula itself as a reunited band. The fiend himself will have no choice but to flee back from whence he came when he sees that there is no other place for him to hide. We can only hope and pray that our brave Miss Swan has remained safe from his influence in body and mind, has been able to use her quick wit and feminine wiles as planned to infiltrate and put him at his ease. He will wish to prolong and savor his enjoyment of such a rare delicacy…” His abhorrence for the way the creature would view this woman as a mere object, as a possession to be enjoyed and then tossed aside, was clear in his pained expression and the way he nearly spat the words, even as he strove to be realistic about what she and the rest of them faced. “His last casket will no doubt be in his castle. If Emma can find and destroy it while he is unaware, and we arrive before his return to find it so… we will be ready for him. He will have to face us - once and for all - desperate and with no other hole in which to hide, weakened enough that we just might stand a chance against his evil power.”

As one, the other three were on their feet standing before him; all reached in, hands clasped between them in solemn promise. They would chase this demon to his end, or die in the attempt. If he had more than a moment to dwell in such thoughts, he would have been almost overcome with a surge of conflicting emotions. For years now, Killian had been a man apart - had forced himself to be so, out of duty and penance, and for the safety of any who might have joined him. The sense of brotherhood and belonging which flooded him before their tight huddle was broken seemed more than he could have hoped to find again in this life.

If only they might succeed in their wild hope of a quest… and he could reach Emma Swan to find her still well and whole… he might at last cease to be only his mission and a vindicating shadow of a man, and find himself once more a man of flesh and blood - with a life of warm reality - for her sake.

They had much to do before they could ride after her. It was time they began.

~ * ~ * ~ * ~

Emma held her breath while she crept through darkness thick and gray, heavy as hanging vines or a thick curtain, as she made her way determinedly through the bowels of Count Dracula von Stiltskin’s castle. Guided only by the small flare of a single candle in hand, a mere pinprick in the black veil surrounding her, for she dared no more, Emma slunk as soundlessly as possible down one long, deserted hall and corridor after another, moving lower floor by floor, her breath shallow with dread that kept her lungs from drawing in a full breath.

She had to be near the lowest level of the massive structure; it felt as though she had been alone in the dark for hours, for so long that it seemed she might never reach the end, even as she scolded herself it had to be fear and paranoia working on her nerves and overriding her good sense. When Killian had instructed her where to seek out the Count’s lair, he had reasoned that the further below the surface and into the Earth should could get, the more likely to find Dracula’s true resting place. His nest would be removed from all else, far from any risk of light or accidental exposure and discovery, and difficult to reach. The monster had not survived so long without caution and numerous safeguards - no matter the preternatural strength he wielded. 

Even at that, however, Emma still doubted her chances at finding his coffin bed - even if on the surface far above her all was still and von Stiltskin was far from home. It could not be so straightforward as all that. She feared all that could go wrong with her heart in her throat, even as she forced herself forward, one foot in front of another. 

Killian had also advised, and she had agreed with him - as daunting a challenge as it would be - that her best hope was to feign intrigue, curiosity, and an impulse she could not fight, once she encountered Dracula upon his own land. To implore him to expose her to the wonders, freedoms, and power at which her dear friend had only vaguely hinted. Their chance at convincing him she was stronger, that she would survive where Aurora had not, and that she, Emma, could be useful to him, was her prayer of survival and the way in for the rest of them following after - if she could keep up the charade that long.

It had turned her stomach to pretend interest, perhaps even wide-eyed attraction, when Dracula had met her waylaid coach in the darkness the night before - seeming to separate from the shadows so subtly that he must have been part of them. Every fiber of her being had teetered on rebellion at batting her lashes like some ninny and simpering coquettishly to wheedle a welcome into the vampire’s abode - so much so that she had fisted her hands into the fabric of her skirts to keep her fingers from balling up and smashing violently into the creature’s cold-eyed face.

But gain entrance she had, and the ancient being had played a dutiful host, a rich and generous nobleman offering food and shelter to a weary, lost traveler. He had smiled as he asked Emma of herself and what brought her to the area, but the whole time an undercurrent of knowing malice ran between them. He was already aware of her, had allowed her admittance because he wanted her there. Von Stiltskin watched her ever movement avidly - a spider waiting for the hapless, innocent fly to tumble into his web and be ensnared. Just as Emma knew what he was, the Count had been aware of her too, and had already decided she would add nicely to his macabre collection. It was eerie, unsettling knowledge that only served to put her further on edge, though the Count had not shown himself since bidding her adieu near midnight, telling her he was rarely available - “a busy man” - in daylight hours, but to make herself at home.

She had done just that, though certainly not for the sake of simply enjoying fine hospitality. Thankfully, her thoughts were saved from continuing on the same whirling cycle of wondering if the vampire knew exactly what her intentions were, where he might be, and if he watched her from the shadows, even at that very moment. Before her stood a heavy wooden door, solidly barring the passage she had begun to fear unending.

Having come too far at this point to give up, Emma struggled to pull the door open with one hand, not willing to put down the candle and risk its going out - the utter darkness she would be plunged into if that occurred struck sickening fear to her very core. Careful not to wrench too quickly and make more noise than absolutely necessary, the heavy barrier finally began to move as she continued to tug steadily with all her might.

The vault of sorts which greeted Emma beyond the door seemed exactly the sort of hidden nest she had sought. Though she felt her cheeks heat at how pleased and playfully self-satisfied he would be at hearing it, Emma allowed herself a mere moment to savor the image of Killian’s face when she was able to tell him how well he had guided her; it was almost exactly as he had attempted to describe. It might not be proper, but the effect even his image had on her pulse and shivering frame was a comfort there in the nightmare depths.

She moved forward with pure determination and force of will, though her knees trembled beneath her. Feeling for the satchel which hung at her waist, Emma tried to draw strength from the vial of holy water and the communion wafers she knew were stowed within. All was ready. She was ready. She needed only to find and open the coffin which must be von Stiltskin’s, put the emblems within the dirt it contained, and it could no longer house the vampire - his last refuge would be ruined for him.

As the light of her candle illuminated the small space, it was hard to miss the large, ancient-looking casket nearly central in the room on a sort of plinth.

‘Not a bit dramatic,’ Emma grumbled to herself in nervous comment. ‘Not at all.’  Still, she shook herself from the uncertain pause and hurried forward, not about to linger if she needn’t do so.

Having waited until the dusk of evening and for dinner once again to be concluded and for the Count to excuse himself from her presence for the night, Emma had only undertaken this venture when as sure as possible that he must be gone - out hunting or gathering his minions. That hardly made it easier to stand beside the coffin though - feeling more fragile and small than she’d ever had cause to in her life.

Finally, she forced out a tense breath and shoved the lid from the casket, not allowing herself to hesitate a moment longer. Every second she lingered was another second in which she could be discovered.

As the heavy lid fell away, clanging to the stone floor, Emma couldn’t help the gasp that escaped her, horror in every pore of her being. Dracula was there, lying still as Death in the coffin before her. Shock held her rigid in indecision for terrifying moments as her mind tried to process what to do, the other possible plan if given the miraculous opportunity.

Hands shaking, she fumbled for the hidden blade at her thigh, bypassing the elements and hoping to move right to staking the creature before it woke to find its stronghold breached. She raised her hand to strike, aiming to pierce the monster’s heart and paralyze him against any attack until she could manage to sever the head.

But before she could let the blow fall, those inhuman eyes flicked open, a garish sneer on his face as the reptilian eyes froze her in place helplessly. “Oh Miss Swan,” Dracula chided silkily, as one might scold a wayward soul who knew they’d earned their punishment. “You must know better than that. You see, I’ve been expecting you.”

~ * ~ * ~ * ~

The hoofbeats of their horses pounded on the hard ground as the four riders raced desperately along the treacherous pass as quickly as they dared in the rapidly failing light. Night was falling fast, and though they had managed to ruin the numerous hideaways Dracula had planted along his route from ancient castle to the English soil he meant to claim, it still seemed an empty victory until they reached the end of this frantic ride. Only seeing Dracula himself reduced to ash and vanquished forever with absolute certainty would allow any member of the band rest or peace. That the first prong of their attack had been managed, allowed a flicker of hope but little more, as they careened around sharp corners of rocky cliff face and whipped past the grasping fingers of bare branches and thorned hedges; little green lived here, in what seemed a dark waste of gray stone and deathly stillness. Was it merely their horrified fancy, or had the entire region come to resemble its horrid master?

Killian could not bring himself to pull back on his mount’s reins, even as rocks skittered from the edges of the narrow, uneven path as it wound higher, and crashed down the steep incline with disturbing regularity - sharply reminding that their own fall would be no less swift if one step went wrong. Still, the tremor running through his hand clenched tightly on the braided leather leads was not fear for his own safety, or even that of the companions at his side, but the sense that their arrival had already taken far too long for the woman awaiting them. 

The sturdy Andalusian’s dark flanks were flecked with sweat as they at last crested the final winding rise and plunged into a dense copse of gnarled trees. As they left the shadows of the twisted grove minutes later, the grouping thick but not wide, they emerged upon a wide open expanse in the shadow of tall walls surrounding a wide gate on yet another sharp rise. Startlingly close to the Count’s forbidding stronghold at last, nearly on the proverbial doorstep before realizing it.

Killian did pull up then, his horse’s tossed head and the shivering of its coat making even the animal’s unease clear. The courtyard and grounds seemed quiet and deserted before them, but he looked to the other three men for any hesitation, a last warning to be alert and on their guard needless on the tip of his tongue that he swallowed back with effort.

Seeing no hint of hesitation in them either, Killian wheeled around to press onward. His horse had just begun to move again when a sharp jolt nearly wrenched him from his saddle. Searing pain clutched his insides, squeezing his gut until he couldn’t help doubling over his mount’s withers. Blinding light overtook his vision for a moment, and when it receded, he knew. Something had happened to Emma - or was happening even that moment as he struggled to regain his breath. He knew no science, history, or legend of such visceral physical connection, but the knowledge was certain in his blood all the same. They were somehow connected, and he was experiencing her turmoil and fear in his own veins.

Having managed to retain his seat, if only just, Killian charged forward, teeth grit in determination against the quivering in his limbs from the easing onslaught and the pounding of his traitorous heart. Seward, Morris, and Thornswood at his back had never been more welcome than in that moment, his heart gone cold within his chest no matter how hard he tried to steel himself for what awaited.

As they reached the towering doors in the surrounding wall, the entrance into the fortress itself, Killian swung from his horse’s back, pleased to find himself stumbling only slightly upon impact with the ground, his strength returning with every breath. A sharp swat to its flank sent the majestic creature off to safety, Killian musing idly that at least perhaps the Andalusian would survive the night. He was prepared to pry open the door with his bare hands until his fingers bled or beat at the sturdy wood with sticks and stones until he chipped the barrier away, so heedless was his need to get inside and reach Emma Swan before it was too late. Oh aye, he still desired the end of his long-sought foe, and would see it accomplished if it took another unfathomable stretch of years, but there was no hiding the truth from himself any longer. It was more important that Emma Swan lived - that her shining light not be extinguished by the vampire as had so many been before her. She was paramount - and beyond her, little else truly mattered, not in his deepest heart of hearts.

However, though they had all raised their hands or put shoulders to the gates to push, to see if the sturdy boundary could be moved, before they could, the portal shifted and with heavy groan began to move inward of its own volition. That, or it was rolled back dramatically by some powerful unseen force.

It didn’t bod well. Killian looked sideways to Jefferson, brow arched in suspicious query as if to confirm his suspicion. Their quarry knew they had arrived and was granting them entrance. His friend did not hold his gaze long; a stiff nod of agreement, and then his eyes fell with a terrible resignation and turning of his head to hide the expression. If the beast awaiting them wished their approach, what would surely greet them could only be horrendous.

None of that mattered though. Striding forward, the four men entered Dracula’s castle, needing only to step fully into the large entry hall before the thick doors were swung shut behind them with a bang, sealing them within. They could see by the flickering light of candles and torches throughout the wide, high-ceilinged space, but the fading evening’s natural light was held outside by the lack of windows in the stone walls and the heavy draperies concealing what apertures did exist, shielding the vampire from the rays that would burn him irreparably.

Eyes adjusted, all came up short, frozen at the nightmare tableau across the room, glowing a sickening amber and red in the flickering flames that illuminated it for their human sight. Not in the least slowed or phased by discovery, the creature continued what he had been about before their entrance. Held before him as a shield, stood Emma Swan, the vampire’s arms seemingly holding her upright as she slumped frighteningly limp within such firm grasp. Her blonde tresses streamed down her back like a flood of molten gold, but bile clogged Killian’s throat at the sight of the white-pale clawed hand that held it aside to bare her neck. From what he could see of her face, Swan’s eyes were open but unfocused in some sort of trance - though her hands did appear to be raised to push back futilely against von Stiltskin’s chest in hopes of holding him off.

The only thing granting him any sort of relief was the subtle rise and fall of her breast barely visible across the space separating them. She was still breathing, still trying to fight.

And then, as though he had merely been waiting for an audience to his depravity, Dracula sent one evil, calculating look at those who had hoped to defeat him, and bent to sink his fangs into Emma’s flesh.

Tagging a few who might enjoy: @cssns @kmomof4 @searchingwardrobes @jennjenn615 @laschatzi

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@grimmswan @ultraluckycatnd

[cssns]

Tonight, @snowbellewells brings us Part 2 of 3 of her Dracula inspire AU, For All Life and For All Time!!! Everyone enjoy and be sure to scream loudlygive her all the love she deserves!

CSSNS24 fic: "For All Life and For All Time" {Part Two}

I certainly did not intend to keep everyone waiting so long for Part Two, but I won't ramble on with a lot of excuses, I'll just let you get right into the story. The action here picks up just after Part One left off, and with finding out what the rest of their brave band is doing in Emma's absence. I hope you'll still enjoy despite the delay - and, as always, I'd love to hear what you think!

A Victorian, Dracula-inspired AU in Three Parts written for the @cssns24 event

Summary: Having lost her dearest friend and with her own life on the line, Emma Swan joins a noble band to face an ancient evil. Three of them stand by her in honor of the one they loved and lost. The other might be the first man she could love. He might love her as well - even more than life itself. Time will tell... if they both survive the fight against their immortal enemy.

Also available on AO3, if that's your preference...

Part Two

Killian Jones could not help but worry incessantly, pacing the floor of Lord Briarling’s study without ceasing, mind assailed by all which could go wrong. He had no doubt of Miss Swan’s bravery, her determination, or her intentions - she was a wholly incomparable woman - unlike any he had ever encountered, even his Milah long ago. The problem was, he knew better than most just how powerful, how debilitating the will and control of the being they faced… that they had sent Emma to face alone.

Already, he had asked much of her in the short time he had known her. The trust Emma Swan had bestowed up on him in return was nothing short of astounding. She was smart, discerning, careful not to be falsely taken in - and yet she had not doubted or questioned him, even when his orders and conclusions must have seemed egregious to her ears. That he had been forced to lead the men who had loved her dearest friend to stake and behead the poor sweet Aurora Spindleton’s corpse on the claim that the girl had been turned into a vampire must have seemed an intolerable insult; yet she had steeled herself and accepted the dire need, not holding their actions against any of them.

Not only that, but Emma had stood forth boldly, seeking what she could do to end this creature’s reign before more were turned, their lives destroyed as her friend’s had been. Her voice might have trembled, but she stood straight and tall, her chin jutting forward in stubborn resolve. Though Killian knew she must have been afraid, her pale, perfect face looking to him for guidance had seemed like a candle’s flame breaking through surrounding darkness - more beautiful than anything he had ever seen.

It was a risk, certainly, this plan they had concocted in the hopes of ensnaring their quarry. He certainly did not relish the idea of sending Emma alone into perilous surroundings. The thought of her in the Count’s thrall without himself or at least one of their compatriots at her side was enough to bring bile rushing up his throat and a cold pit of fear to settle in his gut. The demon was unpredictable, nearly invincible, and suffered no compunction or fits of conscience to reign his actions. And yet, despite the way his limbs nearly burned for action, how he had wanted to follow behind her carriage to see to her safety, Killian knew their best possibility of luring Count Dracula von Stiltskin into their net and putting him off his guard enough to attack with success was to send her to him in the guise of a besotted innocent. Emma was beguiling enough, and the Count’s thirst, even the Count’s intention, was already turned toward her. He had to trust that she could hold her own, and that she could respond with false interest while still remaining on her guard.

Yet, it was the not-knowing which made his wait so trying. There was no way to ascertain what Emma might have already been faced with - or was already enduring - now that she was out of their reach and beyond communication with him. That morning before the sun had even fully broken across the chill sky, Killian had ridden out on his sturdy Andalusian to follow the path Emma’s carriage had taken the previous night. By the time he had reached the empty and abandoned conveyance and found no sign of either Emma or her driver, he had already known it was a futile journey, yet it was all he could think of to do. It only made his nightmarish reel of possible scenarios Emma might be suffering cycle through his mind more quickly. The poor horses were still hitched, and to Killian’s surprise, still in the area, despite having no tie or guidance, but they were pawing the ground, eyes wild with fear, and he had been able to bring them back to Lord Briarling’s chateau and see them properly tended. Where he had located the carriage though was in the forbidding shadow of the dark, austere castle towering over the area. Even the poor beasts had sensed the “wrongness” in the air - the presence of something wild and unnatural. 

They had all tracked the monster back from his prowl across English soil to the outskirts of his own country. As fate would have it, the Briarling estate owned a hunting outpost just before one crossed over the Romanian border - long unused but perfectly suited to their needs. From there, Emma had ventured on alone, and the rest of waited unwillingly until they could follow.

Finally, Killian stood and strode from the room to find his compatriots in this almost unreal, but necessary, mission. It was now well into the new day, the sun full and warming overhead and rendering the next several hours much safer from their lurking foe. He heard the others moving in the hall and throughout other rooms on the floor below. They have much to do, and the sooner they are off to complete their part of the overall plan, the sooner he can be off to face Dracula head-on at last, after so many years and so much turmoil and waiting. Even more importantly, the sooner they can ride after Emma, hopefully finding her still well and whole, and bring her back to safety again.

He found them all - Sir Philip Thornswood, Graham Morris, and his old friend and colleague Jefferson Seward in the sun porch, partaking in coffee or tea and a late breakfast, but quietly and with an undercurrent of tension, waiting and knowing that their next move was nigh, yet not sure what that move might be. As Killian appeared in the doorway, all three heads turned toward him abruptly, eyes alert, and in Morris’ case, even half-rising from his chair, coiled to spring into action.

“Van Helsing,” Jefferson greeted simply, standing to bring him a cup of coffee and place a strong hand on his shoulder in support. The greeting jarred him in itself, as he had spent much more time recently in Emma’s company - first tending to Aurora, then listening to Emma’s fond memories and intense grief and anger, and then outlining their plan of attack for her - what she must do and how to keep herself as safe as possible. However, in her presence, he had let down his guard and allowed himself to be simply “Killian”, far more than he had done in a very long time. 

“When do we set out?” Jeff pressed, his mouth pursed in tense readiness as his eyes busily attempted to read Killian’s face. 

He took the cup from the physician and drew a long pull of the hot liquid, wincing slightly at its heat and bitterness, even as he savored its familiarity. Pausing only a moment, he then nodded sharply, as if to acknowledge all of them deferring to his direction.

“The task before us is a weighty one,” Killian began solemnly, meeting their eyes and quickly confirming each man’s commitment. “It will not be easily accomplished, but must be done - whatever the cost - if we are to stand any chance against this devil we face.”

Each man, Seward, Morris, and Thornswood in turn, nodded their assent, understanding on their faces and merely awaiting his instruction to take action. In every one of their bearing, he saw the intent and the loss that drove them; they would do what they must and would not shrink from fear or challenge.

“We are aware that the Count must have other lairs, a maze of strongholds in which to hide from the light, as he has made his way far from his citadel in the mountains - with a purpose he has not evinced in an age. Each and every one of these must be destroyed. He must be forced into the open where we stand a chance to fight him.”

“Right you are, Mate,” Graham spoke up with brisk determination, but a slightly puzzled expression marring his brow. “I’ve no question with that.  If sunshine and open space be his only weakness, then we must do away with all his shadows. But how may we know where he has chosen to hide? And, once found, how may we be certain to dismantle each lair?”

Killian’s gaze flicked over to Jefferson’s, as if gauging from his friend who knew Morris better whether or not he should bare all. At the Doctor’s subtle nod, Killian launched into his past history with the Count - how he had watched and studied the monster, waiting and biding his time until he had finally gathered enough knowledge to strike while Dracula von Stiltskin would be most vulnerable to harm. It had to make a mark, for when fighting such a one as this, he might not get a second chance.

When he had finished his condensed tale of explanation, he paused, eying Lord Briarling, Philip Thornswood, in particular with acute regret. “That I was too late to help our dear Miss Spindleton is a heavy burden I must bear,” he finally intoned, forcing the words past clenched teeth and a tight throat. “But I can only pray you will still trust the information I have and the hope that we can save ourselves and countless others, along with our brave and true Miss Swan, who was so dear to Aurora. When Jefferson’s urgent summons reached me, I was in truth already on my way to these parts. All my tracking, spying, and observation had finally bought me an opening that led me straight to this very countryside, even as you called upon me to assist.”

“No wonder you arrived so quickly,” Jefferson exclaimed, clearly taken aback by this revelation that was new to him as well.

He might have said more, but Morris had already broken in urgently. “What had you discovered then? How can it help us?”

Killian noticed that Sir Philip was silent nearest the window, clearly listening to their exchange, but not moving or speaking, a pained look of focus etched upon his features. He could not tell what the other man was thinking, or if beneath his grief the bitterness was taking poisonous root. Whether he laid blame at Killian’s feet or no, he could not judge Van Helsing more harshly than Killian already judged himself. All the time and the sweat and blood, the effort of years, and he had still been too late to thwart the vampire’s draining another innocent of life. 

Drawing in a deep breath, Killian plowed on, not having any recourse but to see the story through to the present. Whether any of them deemed his plans reliable or possible to carry out, he needed to be on his way. He would do all he knew to weaken von Stiltskin, to bring on even an ounce of human weakness he might inflict, before facing the demon once more. He would not - no, he could not survive it - if he were forced to see Emma suffer the same fate as his Milah, and Aurora, had before her.

“There was a ship,” Killian explained, holding out a staying hand as Graham began to pace - needing the movement and action so much that Killian feared the cowboy might race to the docks that very moment before he could even explain what they sought. “It made slow, hidden voyage all the way from (Varna?) near where his castle stands overlooking (Transylvania?) to our English shores undetected. Even with contacts and spies scattered throughout the distance between, I did not hear of its existence until it stopped briefly at some small port for supplies. The uneasy fear its very presence impressed upon the harbormaster there made it memorable enough for him to note when he was next questioned of any strange happenings in his jurisdiction. The description of a dark and eerily silent ship, barely in dock an hour, and odder still, with hardly enough crew to properly man its decks, was enough to convince me Von Stiltskin was on the move with some nefarious purpose in mind - especially joined as it was with reports that he himself had not been sighted on his own lands in some weeks, even at night when he usually hunts.”

His three man audience was captivated now, motionless with eyes fixed upon him as Killian continued his ghastly tail. “However, as concerning as this news was, no one had any way to be certain where he was bound. I was at that point in Italy, seeking a holy relic - a jewel hilted dagger from the Crusades - which my studies had led me to believe might equip one to mortally wound the vampire. I needed to have it in hand before returning to English shores.”

Jefferson opened his mouth at this, no doubt to ask if the mission had been successful, but his friend’s lips snapped together again wordlessly when Killian pulled the weapon from the hidden pocket inside his heavy, dark cloak. Holding it out upon his palm for their perusal, he watched as each member of their band registered its clear import silently, seeming to straighten their shoulders and steel themselves further. This dagger signified their way forward.

“No others know this blade is in my possession,” Killian intoned seriously. “And it must remain that way. One of the very few things which can strike fear into the Count’s blackened heart is the existence of this item which can control his power and do him mortal harm. Though legends and rumors disagree upon how it was ever wrested from his possession, it almost certainly torments him not to have it - the one thing keeping him from true invincibility. I found it safeguarded by a long-forgotten hidden order of monks and managed to successfully convince them I was the correct avenger with whom to entrust the relic. Unfortunately - “

He bowed his head toward Sir Philip Thornswood once more, a heavy moment of quiet remembrance covering the room before he wet his lips and carried on at Philip’s small acknowledgement. “Unfortunately, I was too late. I was still a week’s journey from the English coast when I received Dr. Seward’s summons, along with a notification of the same dark, silent ship docking in Whitby, only to horrify all those at the harbor with the discovery that all aboard it were dead - and this only after a large, black wolf had leapt from its deck snarling and slavering and cutting a path through the area and up into the surrounding wooded hills, leaving behind it an echoing howl that set all who heard its hair on end and chilled them to the bone. They found the poor captain a mere corpse lashed to the mast, note clutched in his hand detailing how something in the dark was picking them off one by one. He was the last one alive and dared not sleep, but knew at some point his body must do so; the note was his attempt to explain what might be found remaining on board.

“The Count!” Sir Philip spat with the force of an invective. “Murdered his own crew as it transported him? For what purpose?”

“He had reached his destination,” Killian answered simply, not at all nonchalant about the slaughter, but needing to be clear how very little a life - any life - truly was to worth to Dracula. “They had served their purpose, and he could not have any witnesses who might cause complications to his plans or raise an alarm (too soon?) If one could sully and drain the beauty and sweetness of an innocent such as your betrothed, my Lord, please be assured, no atrocity is beyond him.”

The sharp, almost spasmodic dip of Philip’s chin showed his frank agreement, having learned all too well the appalling truth of Killian’s words. “Right you are, Van Helsing,” he rasped with a voice that sounded almost rusted with disuse from the last few days’ wordless grief and brooding thought. “So tell us what we must do.”

“Indeed,” Morris chimed in readily, stepping forward once more. “You have the dagger, how will you wield it, and how shall the rest of us work to insure you succeed? We must be off and doing it.”

Killian inclined his head to each of his compatriots, acknowledging their eagerness and desire to be of use. “We will not have to wait much longer,” he assured them. “There is only one last part to my tale, and then we will be on the move, following the tracks he has recklessly left for us - too overconfident in his long invulnerability.”

Here he nodded to Jefferson to take over the narrative, the doctor having gone with him to see almost as soon as Killian had reached Whitby - nigh on a week ago. Emma Swan had requested a mere hour or two alone with her dear friend, promising she knew how to do the few things left to them which would bring Aurora any comfort, and that she would send for them if there were an emergency. The young lady had been wasting away at that point, nothing to be done for her but attempt to ease her discomfort and bide the time. He had seen no harm to leaving Aurora in Emma’s capable hands, nor did he begrudge them any last feminine secrets or promises of the heart in the sweet Miss Spindleton’s final hours. He had needed to see for himself what had been found on the ship in any case, and he did wish for Jefferson’s accompaniment and the added benefit of his insight. 

“On that ship,” Jefferson began, picking up the story’s thread adroitly and pulling it taut again with speed. He held the other two men’s attention as rapt as Killian had done - perhaps more so even, due to their greater connection and shared history, “very little had been found at all, until Van Helsing and I ventured below, into the depths of the hold.”

Killian gratefully turned away as the Doctor raced through the rest of the information needed. He was thankful to have focus off of his person for a moment as he clenched and unclenched his fists and forced himself to draw in and release several deep, cleansing breaths. Every bit as impatient as Graham Morris to be riding into the fray, he only barely kept his impatience from showing through herculean effort. Staring out the window as he swallowed a long pull of rum from the flask discreetly hidden at his hip - he didn’t give a bloody damn how early in the day it was, though others might - Killian stared out the window and forced himself to remember that Emma knew what she was doing, of how often he had marveled at her strength, rather than letting his mind fly to all the ways she could have already been overpowered, tormented, broken beyond - 

With a harsh jerk of muscles that he feared could hardly be missed by the astute men around him, Killian spun away from the view out the window of the morning dew on the nearby fields and caught the last of Jefferson’s explanation.

“So, to the best of our knowledge and deduction, this metal casket full of raw earth must have been the one our Dracula traveled in - his shield by day, as it were. He has, no doubt, others scattered throughout the countryside at intervals so that he may move around as needed, stalking his chosen victims and adding to his cursed ranks while maintaining safe places to retreat from the light of the sun. We must split up, find these strongholds, and destroy the caskets within, leaving him no place to left to rest concealed.”

“Aye,” Killian resumed, signaling Jefferson seamlessly, and the doctor turned to get the maps he had brought, marked with the targets for them to hand to Thornswood and Morris. “We dare not travel and enter these possible lairs completely alone, but if we break into pairs and reconvene this evening when the task is completed, then we can make our way toward Castle Dracula itself as a reunited band. The fiend himself will have no choice but to flee back from whence he came when he sees that there is no other place for him to hide. We can only hope and pray that our brave Miss Swan has remained safe from his influence in body and mind, has been able to use her quick wit and feminine wiles as planned to infiltrate and put him at his ease. He will wish to prolong and savor his enjoyment of such a rare delicacy…” His abhorrence for the way the creature would view this woman as a mere object, as a possession to be enjoyed and then tossed aside, was clear in his pained expression and the way he nearly spat the words, even as he strove to be realistic about what she and the rest of them faced. “His last casket will no doubt be in his castle. If Emma can find and destroy it while he is unaware, and we arrive before his return to find it so… we will be ready for him. He will have to face us - once and for all - desperate and with no other hole in which to hide, weakened enough that we just might stand a chance against his evil power.”

As one, the other three were on their feet standing before him; all reached in, hands clasped between them in solemn promise. They would chase this demon to his end, or die in the attempt. If he had more than a moment to dwell in such thoughts, he would have been almost overcome with a surge of conflicting emotions. For years now, Killian had been a man apart - had forced himself to be so, out of duty and penance, and for the safety of any who might have joined him. The sense of brotherhood and belonging which flooded him before their tight huddle was broken seemed more than he could have hoped to find again in this life.

If only they might succeed in their wild hope of a quest… and he could reach Emma Swan to find her still well and whole… he might at last cease to be only his mission and a vindicating shadow of a man, and find himself once more a man of flesh and blood - with a life of warm reality - for her sake.

They had much to do before they could ride after her. It was time they began.

~ * ~ * ~ * ~

Emma held her breath while she crept through darkness thick and gray, heavy as hanging vines or a thick curtain, as she made her way determinedly through the bowels of Count Dracula von Stiltskin’s castle. Guided only by the small flare of a single candle in hand, a mere pinprick in the black veil surrounding her, for she dared no more, Emma slunk as soundlessly as possible down one long, deserted hall and corridor after another, moving lower floor by floor, her breath shallow with dread that kept her lungs from drawing in a full breath.

She had to be near the lowest level of the massive structure; it felt as though she had been alone in the dark for hours, for so long that it seemed she might never reach the end, even as she scolded herself it had to be fear and paranoia working on her nerves and overriding her good sense. When Killian had instructed her where to seek out the Count’s lair, he had reasoned that the further below the surface and into the Earth should could get, the more likely to find Dracula’s true resting place. His nest would be removed from all else, far from any risk of light or accidental exposure and discovery, and difficult to reach. The monster had not survived so long without caution and numerous safeguards - no matter the preternatural strength he wielded. 

Even at that, however, Emma still doubted her chances at finding his coffin bed - even if on the surface far above her all was still and von Stiltskin was far from home. It could not be so straightforward as all that. She feared all that could go wrong with her heart in her throat, even as she forced herself forward, one foot in front of another. 

Killian had also advised, and she had agreed with him - as daunting a challenge as it would be - that her best hope was to feign intrigue, curiosity, and an impulse she could not fight, once she encountered Dracula upon his own land. To implore him to expose her to the wonders, freedoms, and power at which her dear friend had only vaguely hinted. Their chance at convincing him she was stronger, that she would survive where Aurora had not, and that she, Emma, could be useful to him, was her prayer of survival and the way in for the rest of them following after - if she could keep up the charade that long.

It had turned her stomach to pretend interest, perhaps even wide-eyed attraction, when Dracula had met her waylaid coach in the darkness the night before - seeming to separate from the shadows so subtly that he must have been part of them. Every fiber of her being had teetered on rebellion at batting her lashes like some ninny and simpering coquettishly to wheedle a welcome into the vampire’s abode - so much so that she had fisted her hands into the fabric of her skirts to keep her fingers from balling up and smashing violently into the creature’s cold-eyed face.

But gain entrance she had, and the ancient being had played a dutiful host, a rich and generous nobleman offering food and shelter to a weary, lost traveler. He had smiled as he asked Emma of herself and what brought her to the area, but the whole time an undercurrent of knowing malice ran between them. He was already aware of her, had allowed her admittance because he wanted her there. Von Stiltskin watched her ever movement avidly - a spider waiting for the hapless, innocent fly to tumble into his web and be ensnared. Just as Emma knew what he was, the Count had been aware of her too, and had already decided she would add nicely to his macabre collection. It was eerie, unsettling knowledge that only served to put her further on edge, though the Count had not shown himself since bidding her adieu near midnight, telling her he was rarely available - “a busy man” - in daylight hours, but to make herself at home.

She had done just that, though certainly not for the sake of simply enjoying fine hospitality. Thankfully, her thoughts were saved from continuing on the same whirling cycle of wondering if the vampire knew exactly what her intentions were, where he might be, and if he watched her from the shadows, even at that very moment. Before her stood a heavy wooden door, solidly barring the passage she had begun to fear unending.

Having come too far at this point to give up, Emma struggled to pull the door open with one hand, not willing to put down the candle and risk its going out - the utter darkness she would be plunged into if that occurred struck sickening fear to her very core. Careful not to wrench too quickly and make more noise than absolutely necessary, the heavy barrier finally began to move as she continued to tug steadily with all her might.

The vault of sorts which greeted Emma beyond the door seemed exactly the sort of hidden nest she had sought. Though she felt her cheeks heat at how pleased and playfully self-satisfied he would be at hearing it, Emma allowed herself a mere moment to savor the image of Killian’s face when she was able to tell him how well he had guided her; it was almost exactly as he had attempted to describe. It might not be proper, but the effect even his image had on her pulse and shivering frame was a comfort there in the nightmare depths.

She moved forward with pure determination and force of will, though her knees trembled beneath her. Feeling for the satchel which hung at her waist, Emma tried to draw strength from the vial of holy water and the communion wafers she knew were stowed within. All was ready. She was ready. She needed only to find and open the coffin which must be von Stiltskin’s, put the emblems within the dirt it contained, and it could no longer house the vampire - his last refuge would be ruined for him.

As the light of her candle illuminated the small space, it was hard to miss the large, ancient-looking casket nearly central in the room on a sort of plinth.

‘Not a bit dramatic,’ Emma grumbled to herself in nervous comment. ‘Not at all.’  Still, she shook herself from the uncertain pause and hurried forward, not about to linger if she needn’t do so.

Having waited until the dusk of evening and for dinner once again to be concluded and for the Count to excuse himself from her presence for the night, Emma had only undertaken this venture when as sure as possible that he must be gone - out hunting or gathering his minions. That hardly made it easier to stand beside the coffin though - feeling more fragile and small than she’d ever had cause to in her life.

Finally, she forced out a tense breath and shoved the lid from the casket, not allowing herself to hesitate a moment longer. Every second she lingered was another second in which she could be discovered.

As the heavy lid fell away, clanging to the stone floor, Emma couldn’t help the gasp that escaped her, horror in every pore of her being. Dracula was there, lying still as Death in the coffin before her. Shock held her rigid in indecision for terrifying moments as her mind tried to process what to do, the other possible plan if given the miraculous opportunity.

Hands shaking, she fumbled for the hidden blade at her thigh, bypassing the elements and hoping to move right to staking the creature before it woke to find its stronghold breached. She raised her hand to strike, aiming to pierce the monster’s heart and paralyze him against any attack until she could manage to sever the head.

But before she could let the blow fall, those inhuman eyes flicked open, a garish sneer on his face as the reptilian eyes froze her in place helplessly. “Oh Miss Swan,” Dracula chided silkily, as one might scold a wayward soul who knew they’d earned their punishment. “You must know better than that. You see, I’ve been expecting you.”

~ * ~ * ~ * ~

The hoofbeats of their horses pounded on the hard ground as the four riders raced desperately along the treacherous pass as quickly as they dared in the rapidly failing light. Night was falling fast, and though they had managed to ruin the numerous hideaways Dracula had planted along his route from ancient castle to the English soil he meant to claim, it still seemed an empty victory until they reached the end of this frantic ride. Only seeing Dracula himself reduced to ash and vanquished forever with absolute certainty would allow any member of the band rest or peace. That the first prong of their attack had been managed, allowed a flicker of hope but little more, as they careened around sharp corners of rocky cliff face and whipped past the grasping fingers of bare branches and thorned hedges; little green lived here, in what seemed a dark waste of gray stone and deathly stillness. Was it merely their horrified fancy, or had the entire region come to resemble its horrid master?

Killian could not bring himself to pull back on his mount’s reins, even as rocks skittered from the edges of the narrow, uneven path as it wound higher, and crashed down the steep incline with disturbing regularity - sharply reminding that their own fall would be no less swift if one step went wrong. Still, the tremor running through his hand clenched tightly on the braided leather leads was not fear for his own safety, or even that of the companions at his side, but the sense that their arrival had already taken far too long for the woman awaiting them. 

The sturdy Andalusian’s dark flanks were flecked with sweat as they at last crested the final winding rise and plunged into a dense copse of gnarled trees. As they left the shadows of the twisted grove minutes later, the grouping thick but not wide, they emerged upon a wide open expanse in the shadow of tall walls surrounding a wide gate on yet another sharp rise. Startlingly close to the Count’s forbidding stronghold at last, nearly on the proverbial doorstep before realizing it.

Killian did pull up then, his horse’s tossed head and the shivering of its coat making even the animal’s unease clear. The courtyard and grounds seemed quiet and deserted before them, but he looked to the other three men for any hesitation, a last warning to be alert and on their guard needless on the tip of his tongue that he swallowed back with effort.

Seeing no hint of hesitation in them either, Killian wheeled around to press onward. His horse had just begun to move again when a sharp jolt nearly wrenched him from his saddle. Searing pain clutched his insides, squeezing his gut until he couldn’t help doubling over his mount’s withers. Blinding light overtook his vision for a moment, and when it receded, he knew. Something had happened to Emma - or was happening even that moment as he struggled to regain his breath. He knew no science, history, or legend of such visceral physical connection, but the knowledge was certain in his blood all the same. They were somehow connected, and he was experiencing her turmoil and fear in his own veins.

Having managed to retain his seat, if only just, Killian charged forward, teeth grit in determination against the quivering in his limbs from the easing onslaught and the pounding of his traitorous heart. Seward, Morris, and Thornswood at his back had never been more welcome than in that moment, his heart gone cold within his chest no matter how hard he tried to steel himself for what awaited.

As they reached the towering doors in the surrounding wall, the entrance into the fortress itself, Killian swung from his horse’s back, pleased to find himself stumbling only slightly upon impact with the ground, his strength returning with every breath. A sharp swat to its flank sent the majestic creature off to safety, Killian musing idly that at least perhaps the Andalusian would survive the night. He was prepared to pry open the door with his bare hands until his fingers bled or beat at the sturdy wood with sticks and stones until he chipped the barrier away, so heedless was his need to get inside and reach Emma Swan before it was too late. Oh aye, he still desired the end of his long-sought foe, and would see it accomplished if it took another unfathomable stretch of years, but there was no hiding the truth from himself any longer. It was more important that Emma Swan lived - that her shining light not be extinguished by the vampire as had so many been before her. She was paramount - and beyond her, little else truly mattered, not in his deepest heart of hearts.

However, though they had all raised their hands or put shoulders to the gates to push, to see if the sturdy boundary could be moved, before they could, the portal shifted and with heavy groan began to move inward of its own volition. That, or it was rolled back dramatically by some powerful unseen force.

It didn’t bod well. Killian looked sideways to Jefferson, brow arched in suspicious query as if to confirm his suspicion. Their quarry knew they had arrived and was granting them entrance. His friend did not hold his gaze long; a stiff nod of agreement, and then his eyes fell with a terrible resignation and turning of his head to hide the expression. If the beast awaiting them wished their approach, what would surely greet them could only be horrendous.

None of that mattered though. Striding forward, the four men entered Dracula’s castle, needing only to step fully into the large entry hall before the thick doors were swung shut behind them with a bang, sealing them within. They could see by the flickering light of candles and torches throughout the wide, high-ceilinged space, but the fading evening’s natural light was held outside by the lack of windows in the stone walls and the heavy draperies concealing what apertures did exist, shielding the vampire from the rays that would burn him irreparably.

Eyes adjusted, all came up short, frozen at the nightmare tableau across the room, glowing a sickening amber and red in the flickering flames that illuminated it for their human sight. Not in the least slowed or phased by discovery, the creature continued what he had been about before their entrance. Held before him as a shield, stood Emma Swan, the vampire’s arms seemingly holding her upright as she slumped frighteningly limp within such firm grasp. Her blonde tresses streamed down her back like a flood of molten gold, but bile clogged Killian’s throat at the sight of the white-pale clawed hand that held it aside to bare her neck. From what he could see of her face, Swan’s eyes were open but unfocused in some sort of trance - though her hands did appear to be raised to push back futilely against von Stiltskin’s chest in hopes of holding him off.

The only thing granting him any sort of relief was the subtle rise and fall of her breast barely visible across the space separating them. She was still breathing, still trying to fight.

And then, as though he had merely been waiting for an audience to his depravity, Dracula sent one evil, calculating look at those who had hoped to defeat him, and bent to sink his fangs into Emma’s flesh.

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[cssns]

free fallin' - Chapter 2

STORY SUMMARY: On a dark and stormy Halloween night 27 years ago, five people stepped onto an elevator. They never stepped off.

Now 28, Emma Swan and her son Henry work together to discover what caused her parents and the other inhabitants to suddenly disappear.

//rewrite of previous work, expanded to a multi-chapter.

RATING: Teen+

WORD COUNT: 3,564

TAGS: Captain Swan, Tower of Terror AU, CSSNS 2022, Graphic Depictions Of Terrifying Sights in Chapter 1, no beta we die like killian jones,

AO3

AUTHOR'S NOTE: ha ha... oops. it's been two years since i updated this. life's crazy and my passion for ouat has faded but i'm determined to finish all my posts WIPs and maybe get my WIP folder on my laptop emptied onto here. i'm trying.

this has changed drastically from the film, mainly because i messed things up in the first chapter but oh well lol. similar premise but obviously things are a free-for-all now in my story. wish me luck trying to finish this lol.

not really sure how i'm feeling about this chapter so i'm sorry in advance if it doesn't live up to expectations! here's to the next one eventually!

enjoy!

***

Uncle James lives in a swanky townhouse just a few blocks from the heart of Storybrooke. The front windows of the place have a magnificent view of the hills in the distance while the back windows peered out at the Hollywood Tower Hotel like a taunt.

Emma hated growing up there.

The entire place felt too modern and unlived. Uncle James refused to have any sentimentality in his living space. No art projects on the fridge, no souvenirs from trips, and definitely no family photos. The farthest he went with décor was a floating shelf of ratty books in Latin. She wondered if what happened that Halloween night 27 years ago haunted him and that’s why he refused any reminder of his twin. Did the mirror play just as cruel of a joke?

Oddly enough, she did stumble upon a picture of her mother in his bedside drawer when she was eight. Mary Margaret looked stunning, her degree placard from Harvard held tightly in her hand with a bouquet of flowers cradled in her opposite elbow. Her graduation gown was flowing in the wind and her smile was positively radiant.

Uncle James caught her looking at the photo and he ripped it from her grasp. She never saw it again.

Not much about the townhouse has changed over the years, including the man residing inside of it. Uncle James remains aloof and standoffish to the point Emma wouldn’t be surprised if he forgot he had a niece at all.

His car, a sleek black sports convertible, is parked out front and it feels promising, even if she dreads the upcoming conversation. It takes a great effort to place one foot in front of the other as she approaches the entrance, her feet feeling as heavy as lead. The sickening weight in her heels is the only thing to prevent her from running back to her car after pressing the doorbell.

Uncle James looks surprised and disappointed to see her on his doorstep. His shoulders visibly drop and his mouth ticks down in a frown. “Emma?”

She flashes a quick smile at him.

“Uncle James, hi. How are you?”

He cuts straight to the point, narrowing the opening of the door so that only a sliver of his body is visible. “What are you doing here?”

The sigh that leaves her lips makes him close the door another inch. “Can we talk inside?”

“Actually Emma, I’m about to leave for – ”

He’s wearing pajamas. And a bathrobe. She swallows down the anger that’s brewing, the almost two decades of resentment towards his willful absence, and steels her shoulders. “I need to talk to you about my parents.” That catches his attention.

Paranoia, or maybe it’s PTSD, seems to take over her uncle as he pales and ushers her inside his townhome, head ducking out the door and swiveling around before he slams it shut and locks it. He brings her to the kitchen and offers her some alcohol as he makes his own drink. She remembers being thirteen and him offering her some of his rum and coke when he realized they had no orange juice in the fridge. The drink disgusted her and he got angry when she spit it in the sink. They never ran out of orange juice after that.

“So…” he begins. His hands are tense where they’re splayed on the kitchen island’s marble countertop. There’s a wild gleam in his eyes that unsettles Emma but she doesn’t know where to place it. She knows reporters, both professional and amateur, have hunted her down and pressured her for a statement, an interview, anything. Had they done the same to her uncle? “What were you saying about your parents?”

“Do you remember that night?” she asks. Uncle James sighs and drops his head.

“I could never forget it.” Defeat thickens his voice as his shoulders grow rigid. He shudders and takes a deep breath before looking up at her. “What about it?”

Emma shifts in her seat. “Can you tell me about it? From your perspective?” He looks ready to deny her so she pulls out the card up her sleeve. “It’s for Henry. He’s doing a project in school.”

“Ah,” he murmurs. A shadow crosses over his face as he collects his thoughts. “There’s not much to say from what I saw, really. I arrived early because my polo club cancelled our game. I saw Mayor Mills, exchanged a few words about the party at the Tip Top Club. I was on the stairs with some fancy drink from the patio bar when I saw your parents head into the elevator. David and I hadn’t talked in a few months but Mary Margaret invited me to the party.” Emma feels herself soften as her uncle smiles absently as he remembers her parents. “Obviously she didn’t tell him I was coming and he was glaring at me. He still hadn’t moved on from our fight. I raised my glass to them, a peace offering. Then the elevator doors closed and that was it… That was the last time I saw them.”

“Did you see anything else that night?” she asks, leaning her elbows atop the island. “Anything strange or… unusual?”

He shakes his head as he looks down at his drink. Silence follows for a beat and then another and Emma’s afraid she’s lost her uncle to his memories of the past. “The lights went out not long after I saw them get on the elevator.” She nods. “Honestly, I thought people were crazy when they said all of them were cursed. I mean, magic?!” He huffs out a laugh of disbelief. A pause and then his face darkens. “If there’s any inkling to that notion, I’d wager on Regina.”

Huh. Emma’s brows pinch together as she mulls that sentence over in her head. The sudden drop of formality with the former mayor was odd. For all the time she lived with Uncle James, he never mentioned Regina before today, much less by name. He never mentioned any of the others either but the way he spoke now hinted at a history. A nasty one at that.

Her mouth opens to ask another question but Uncle James shakes his head and downs the remainder of his drink in one go. “I think it’s time you left, Emma. It was nice seeing you.”

He disappears around the corner to his bedroom at the back of the townhouse before Emma has a chance to say any departing words. Resigned, she gently places her cup in the dishwasher and sees herself out.

***

The late morning air hangs heavy around the hotel. Emma stands outside on the sidewalk, head tilted back as she takes in the massive structure. In reality, she never thought she’d come here, let alone twice in as many days. She checks her watch to confirm she has a few hours before Henry gets out of school. The last thing she wants is for him to be back here.

“Uh…” a voice sounds to her left and Emma turns just in time to see her son stop short, eyes widen, and his body swivel back the way he came.

“Henry!” she calls out in frustration. She watches his small body freeze and tense up as she comes upon him.

He grins small but innocently up at her. “Ha ha… Hi, Mom.”

“What are you doing here?! You’re supposed to be in school today!”

“Well about that…” he laughs nervously. She says his name in warning and he winces, opening his mouth ready to spew an inventive explanation when they hear a creaking behind them.

The metal gate to the hotel opens slowly and the chain-link keeping it closed snakes down to the ground in an exhausted heap. She blinks rapidly at the scene before her, her mouth dropping open in shock. That… shouldn’t happen.

Maybe the chains were just rusted and finally gave way, she tried to reason with herself. Maybe LJ forgot to lock back up after everything yesterday.

So lost in her thoughts, Emma didn’t realize Henry had moved away until she saw his small figure squeezing through the open fence and running up the hill to the hotel. “Henry!” she yells out. Running is her thing – running away from emotions, commitment, the whole shebang. Apparently, her son inherited that from her, just literally.

The bottles of holy water in the pocket of her leather jacket are justled by her running up the driveway. Sage in her bag bumps against her hip. Her gun rests heavily in her holster.

Emma’s eyes scan the landscape furiously.

“Henry!” she calls out. She evens her breathing and rests one hand on her hip where her firearm rests in case some crazy person is behind all this and has Henry.

“Hurry up, Mom!”

Emma turns the last bend of the driveway and lets out a deep sigh. Henry stands in front of the entrance to the hotel bouncing on the balls of his feet. He impatiently waves her over, eyeing the locked front doors.

“You know,” she starts, “I think I should bring you to Granny’s right now. Let her watch over you and see if you try to skip school again.”

Henry whines, head thrown back in exasperation. “But Moooooom! These are your parents!”

“Henry, come on. You can’t really believe that.” Emma bends down in front of him and takes hold of his arms, her thumbs rubbing soothing circles even as her heart bleeds. “My parents disappeared so long ago… This can’t be them.”

“But it is!”

“Henry…”

“What about yesterday?! You believed it was their ghosts when they scared us out of here!”

“Ghosts don’t exist, Henry. How do you explain that, huh? Magic?” She deflates as her son mumbles to himself and looks to the ground. Softening her tone, she continues, “It would be really cool if magic was real but it’s not. Those are probably just projections some twisted loser made to scare people. Okay?”

“Are you calling us Jem and the Holograms?”

They jump at the sudden appearance of a third voice, their heads turning to see Killian Jones leaning halfway through the closed front door.

Emma’s breath stutters while Henry starts, “What the –”

“Tsk, tsk,” Killian taunts. “Do you kiss your mother with that mouth?”

She panics. Her hand flies to her bag and she pulls out the holy water, uncapping the bottle and surging the water towards the door.

It seemingly goes through his body, the blessed water streaming down the front door, but he jerks at the sensation.

Then Killian starts to groan, writhing in pain. The half of his body positioned through the door begins to curl in on itself as gurgling from his throat becomes audible. Emma stares – watching and waiting for smoke to sizzle from his frame or for him to disappear but nothing happens.

Until the gurgling changes sound and it becomes clear it’s transitioned into laughter.

Killian raises his head, smirking in glee. “Holy water? Really? I know I’m devilishly handsome but you didn’t really think that’d work.”

The photos never did his smirk justice, she realizes. And all she wants to do is smack it right off his face. With a growl, she stands up straight and marches right through Killian to the front door, pulling the spare key LJ gave her from her pocket.

“Chills, darling,” Killian whispers in her ear. The air shifts around her. Despite the absence of any breath ghosting over her skin, she can feel the way a smirk dances across his lips and the whole thing makes her angrier.

Click. The key sits just perfectly in the lock and the door swings open. She strides inside, Henry following excitedly behind her.

Her back straight as a rod, she places her hands on her hips and stares down the… beings in the hotel lobby.

“Not the friendliest lady, huh?” Killian drawls from behind her.

Henry takes immediate offense. “Hey, that’s my mom!”

“Apologies, lad,” Killian tosses carelessly over his shoulder as he heads towards the bar.

“Enough!” Emma calls out roughly. She narrows her gaze, her voice dropping an octave. “Who the hell is behind this?”

Regina sighs, sitting regally on a cobweb infested armchair in the center of the lobby. She examines her nails with more interest than her voice provides in an answer. “If she weren’t dead, I’d say my sister.”

“Regina!” Mary Margaret quietly admonishes from David’s side near the luggage cart.

“What?” Regina asks, her eyes thinning to slits and lips turning downward. “You’ve met the witch. A house should’ve fell on her sooner.”

“She was really a witch?!” Henry asks, practically bouncing in place from excitement.

Regina scoffs. “I wouldn’t be surprised if she actually was.”

“Magic isn’t real,” Emma grits out. She moves just slightly in front of Henry, eyes flicking between the Jones brothers and Regina. “Now explain who is putting on this sick joke because they’ve got a nice harassment charge waiting for when I bring them down to the sheriff’s office. It’d be a pity to add evading arrest to that as well.”

“Well,” states Liam from where he’s reviewing a check-in book. “Once you find out, let us know. I’d like to have a chat with the lad as well.”

“Seriously,” she continues. She puts her hands on her hips to further assert her authority and presses hard enough that she’s sure the skin under her jeans is colorless. “This isn’t funny. Tell me.”

Killian tsks. The sound is quickly growing to be her most hated. “As pretty as you are to look at, lass, I think the peace and quiet was better. I’d have told you if I knew.”

David scoffs, crossing his arms. “Leave the girl alone, Jones. You’re nothing but a drunk – she wouldn’t waste the time with you anyway.”

There’s a shout of indignation from the other side of the room and then the entire lobby erupts into chaos. The Jones brothers jump to the other’s defense as David tosses insults back and forth. Regina adds her own one-liners to the disappointment of Mary Margaret. Their own disagreement drags David into it as well, and he manages to fight off both Regina and the Jones brothers as if a skilled swordsman against multiple enemies.

Words no longer decipherable, Emma subtly steps to the side, one eye on the group and the other searching, investigating. Caution rolls deep within her and she keeps one hand resting on her holstered firearm. Ghosts aren’t real. There’s no such thing. Holy water didn’t do a damn thing.

Sophisticated projector is what she’s looking for, then. They have to be holograms or AI or something that digitally recreated five tragically unsolved missing people, for the pure enjoyment of scaring others. She bets that there’s some YouTube channel that showcases Hollywood Tower Hotel scares, run by whoever is doing this.

Emma’s gaze scans the walls of the outdated hotel.

It didn’t hit her last time, too busy scared for their lives to really pay attention, but the floral wallpaper pulls from the moldings. The green background has faded and the white flowers accenting it yellowed. Burnt out lamps with golden shades sit atop wooden tables covered in layers of dust.

The sound of something rustling wafts through the air but the group of beings either don’t hear it or don’t care. If she follows the sound, though, she might find the ‘genius’ behind it all. Her eyes narrow on a closed oak door near the hallway to the main floor ballroom.

A once golden sign looks like a beat-up bronze, the fake bright finishing having flaked off over the years. Coat Closet. Likely place for someone to setup their gadgets.

The vinyl flooring crackles under her feet as she moves towards the it.

Her head turns at an echoing pair of footsteps and a quick glance back confirms Henry treads closely behind.

The wooden door swings open with a creak. Emma splays her hand against the rough wallpaper and feels around until she hits the light switch. Flickering yellow light fills the cramped space. Pink wool carpet stained from age and buckling wood paneling buried behind huge swaths of clothing greet them first before the smell of must hits their noses.

Henry shrieks and jumps back at the sight of a large rat scurrying over fraying paper and escaping through the lobby.

Great. Nothing in the closet except a rat and leftover coats from that night…

Emma was only a baby when her parents disappeared on Halloween night at the Hollywood Tower Hotel. Grandma Ruth, overwhelmed in her grief, packed up all of their things and tucked them away in a storage unit out of town. Out of sight didn’t mean out of mind, though, and Emma served as a reminder of her broken heart every day, until she couldn’t handle it anymore and went into an eternal sleep.

By the time Emma was old enough to know and inquire about her parents’ things, Grandma Ruth’s storage unit had been auctioned off due to lack of payments.

Aside from a small box of things brought to her Uncle James’ place alongside her diaper bag, everything her parents owned was gone.

Being at the hotel, at the place where she lost them before she could even know them, Emma wants something to hold of theirs. The only thing she has of her mother’s is a pink cardigan, left at Granny’s apartment during a dinner once. Soft, powdery fragrance once enveloped the fabric but has long since faded. Now the small cardigan hangs on her coat rack as a reminder of what is so far from her grasp.

But maybe… maybe in this place seemingly suspended in time… she could have something.

Her eyes have studied the photographs of the night well enough that, once she looks towards the coats, she immediately recognizes the red scarf.

Tucked around the neck of a shimmering floor-length dark coat, the red scarf sticks out in a sea of navy and black. It calls to her and Emma’s fingers slowly reach out. The coat ticket says 191, the black jacket kept close stating 192 most likely belonging to her father.

The fabric is cool to the touch and though spiders and moths have left their mark elsewhere in the hotel, the state of the coat closet is pristine. Could it hold the smell? The perfume Emma has spent half her life looking for? The only thing that reminds her of her mother’s embrace. Of comfort and security and love.

She pulls both coats off the hanger and holds her mother’s up, her nose nearly to the scarf –

“Hey!” Henry calls from behind her.

Emma turns swiftly, her eyes locking in on the beings crowding their way towards them. Her hand shoots out and grabs Henry’s arm, pulling him swiftly behind her.

“Hey,” Mary Margaret echoes quietly. Her brows furrow together as she takes in the sight before her. “That’s my coat.”

Mary Margaret’s hand reaches towards the coat but Emma jerks it back towards her, feeling oddly protective of the thing. The smell of the scarf hits her nose and she rustles the coats in her arms for a better grip, suddenly feeling vulnerable.

“Hey,” her watery voice sounding loud in the tight closet as the others look at her in wide-eyed shock. “Don’t crowd us in here. I’m – ”

“Emma,” David breaths out, her entire body deflating.

Emma blinks, hesitating for a moment. “David?” she asks. “You… remember?”

Tears flood his eyes as he gives her a soft smile. “Of course.”

A fluttering lightness fills Emma’s chest as he steps forward, smile still on his face.

It’s incredible, she thinks to herself. How her father could just know it was her despite all the time that had passed. Maybe this is his ghost and this is her closure.

Emma nearly drops the coats as her father takes another step…

Until he bends down onto one knee and picks something up from the floor. A polaroid.

“We’ve never been able to get in here,” David whispers, more to himself than to her and Henry. He stares at the polaroid as tears roll down his cheeks and a shaky hand comes up to cover his mouth. Mary Margaret leans in close, her own eyes filling, and she rests her head on his arm.

Acting every part the proud father, David shows the others what the polaroid is. “This is our daughter,” he begins, looking up with a wide, watery grin and turning the polaroid towards her and Henry.

The film is slightly overexposed and a person stands in the background more a blur than a defining figure. In the center stands, with help of the mystery figure, a small Emma barely a year old with a spattering of light hair atop her head and a gummy grin directed right at the camera.

“Her name is – ”

“Emma,” she finishes in a rushed, exhausted breath. Looked over by her own baby photo. Damn.

She clutches the coats tighter to her center and Henry looks up at her, confused. “But – ”

“We’re leaving.” Emma frees one hand to grab Henry’s arm and pulls him through the closet, through the ghastly chill of the projected beings in the hotel, and out the front door.

[cssns]

We have an update to Free Fallin’ from cssns22!!! Enjoy and be sure to give @statustemporary all the love she deserves!!!!

free fallin' - Chapter 2

STORY SUMMARY: On a dark and stormy Halloween night 27 years ago, five people stepped onto an elevator. They never stepped off.

Now 28, Emma Swan and her son Henry work together to discover what caused her parents and the other inhabitants to suddenly disappear.

//rewrite of previous work, expanded to a multi-chapter.

RATING: Teen+

WORD COUNT: 3,564

TAGS: Captain Swan, Tower of Terror AU, CSSNS 2022, Graphic Depictions Of Terrifying Sights in Chapter 1, no beta we die like killian jones,

AO3

AUTHOR'S NOTE: ha ha... oops. it's been two years since i updated this. life's crazy and my passion for ouat has faded but i'm determined to finish all my posts WIPs and maybe get my WIP folder on my laptop emptied onto here. i'm trying.

this has changed drastically from the film, mainly because i messed things up in the first chapter but oh well lol. similar premise but obviously things are a free-for-all now in my story. wish me luck trying to finish this lol.

not really sure how i'm feeling about this chapter so i'm sorry in advance if it doesn't live up to expectations! here's to the next one eventually!

enjoy!

***

Uncle James lives in a swanky townhouse just a few blocks from the heart of Storybrooke. The front windows of the place have a magnificent view of the hills in the distance while the back windows peered out at the Hollywood Tower Hotel like a taunt.

Emma hated growing up there.

The entire place felt too modern and unlived. Uncle James refused to have any sentimentality in his living space. No art projects on the fridge, no souvenirs from trips, and definitely no family photos. The farthest he went with décor was a floating shelf of ratty books in Latin. She wondered if what happened that Halloween night 27 years ago haunted him and that’s why he refused any reminder of his twin. Did the mirror play just as cruel of a joke?

Oddly enough, she did stumble upon a picture of her mother in his bedside drawer when she was eight. Mary Margaret looked stunning, her degree placard from Harvard held tightly in her hand with a bouquet of flowers cradled in her opposite elbow. Her graduation gown was flowing in the wind and her smile was positively radiant.

Uncle James caught her looking at the photo and he ripped it from her grasp. She never saw it again.

Not much about the townhouse has changed over the years, including the man residing inside of it. Uncle James remains aloof and standoffish to the point Emma wouldn’t be surprised if he forgot he had a niece at all.

His car, a sleek black sports convertible, is parked out front and it feels promising, even if she dreads the upcoming conversation. It takes a great effort to place one foot in front of the other as she approaches the entrance, her feet feeling as heavy as lead. The sickening weight in her heels is the only thing to prevent her from running back to her car after pressing the doorbell.

Uncle James looks surprised and disappointed to see her on his doorstep. His shoulders visibly drop and his mouth ticks down in a frown. “Emma?”

She flashes a quick smile at him.

“Uncle James, hi. How are you?”

He cuts straight to the point, narrowing the opening of the door so that only a sliver of his body is visible. “What are you doing here?”

The sigh that leaves her lips makes him close the door another inch. “Can we talk inside?”

“Actually Emma, I’m about to leave for – ”

He’s wearing pajamas. And a bathrobe. She swallows down the anger that’s brewing, the almost two decades of resentment towards his willful absence, and steels her shoulders. “I need to talk to you about my parents.” That catches his attention.

Paranoia, or maybe it’s PTSD, seems to take over her uncle as he pales and ushers her inside his townhome, head ducking out the door and swiveling around before he slams it shut and locks it. He brings her to the kitchen and offers her some alcohol as he makes his own drink. She remembers being thirteen and him offering her some of his rum and coke when he realized they had no orange juice in the fridge. The drink disgusted her and he got angry when she spit it in the sink. They never ran out of orange juice after that.

“So…” he begins. His hands are tense where they’re splayed on the kitchen island’s marble countertop. There’s a wild gleam in his eyes that unsettles Emma but she doesn’t know where to place it. She knows reporters, both professional and amateur, have hunted her down and pressured her for a statement, an interview, anything. Had they done the same to her uncle? “What were you saying about your parents?”

“Do you remember that night?” she asks. Uncle James sighs and drops his head.

“I could never forget it.” Defeat thickens his voice as his shoulders grow rigid. He shudders and takes a deep breath before looking up at her. “What about it?”

Emma shifts in her seat. “Can you tell me about it? From your perspective?” He looks ready to deny her so she pulls out the card up her sleeve. “It’s for Henry. He’s doing a project in school.”

“Ah,” he murmurs. A shadow crosses over his face as he collects his thoughts. “There’s not much to say from what I saw, really. I arrived early because my polo club cancelled our game. I saw Mayor Mills, exchanged a few words about the party at the Tip Top Club. I was on the stairs with some fancy drink from the patio bar when I saw your parents head into the elevator. David and I hadn’t talked in a few months but Mary Margaret invited me to the party.” Emma feels herself soften as her uncle smiles absently as he remembers her parents. “Obviously she didn’t tell him I was coming and he was glaring at me. He still hadn’t moved on from our fight. I raised my glass to them, a peace offering. Then the elevator doors closed and that was it… That was the last time I saw them.”

“Did you see anything else that night?” she asks, leaning her elbows atop the island. “Anything strange or… unusual?”

He shakes his head as he looks down at his drink. Silence follows for a beat and then another and Emma’s afraid she’s lost her uncle to his memories of the past. “The lights went out not long after I saw them get on the elevator.” She nods. “Honestly, I thought people were crazy when they said all of them were cursed. I mean, magic?!” He huffs out a laugh of disbelief. A pause and then his face darkens. “If there’s any inkling to that notion, I’d wager on Regina.”

Huh. Emma’s brows pinch together as she mulls that sentence over in her head. The sudden drop of formality with the former mayor was odd. For all the time she lived with Uncle James, he never mentioned Regina before today, much less by name. He never mentioned any of the others either but the way he spoke now hinted at a history. A nasty one at that.

Her mouth opens to ask another question but Uncle James shakes his head and downs the remainder of his drink in one go. “I think it’s time you left, Emma. It was nice seeing you.”

He disappears around the corner to his bedroom at the back of the townhouse before Emma has a chance to say any departing words. Resigned, she gently places her cup in the dishwasher and sees herself out.

***

The late morning air hangs heavy around the hotel. Emma stands outside on the sidewalk, head tilted back as she takes in the massive structure. In reality, she never thought she’d come here, let alone twice in as many days. She checks her watch to confirm she has a few hours before Henry gets out of school. The last thing she wants is for him to be back here.

“Uh…” a voice sounds to her left and Emma turns just in time to see her son stop short, eyes widen, and his body swivel back the way he came.

“Henry!” she calls out in frustration. She watches his small body freeze and tense up as she comes upon him.

He grins small but innocently up at her. “Ha ha… Hi, Mom.”

“What are you doing here?! You’re supposed to be in school today!”

“Well about that…” he laughs nervously. She says his name in warning and he winces, opening his mouth ready to spew an inventive explanation when they hear a creaking behind them.

The metal gate to the hotel opens slowly and the chain-link keeping it closed snakes down to the ground in an exhausted heap. She blinks rapidly at the scene before her, her mouth dropping open in shock. That… shouldn’t happen.

Maybe the chains were just rusted and finally gave way, she tried to reason with herself. Maybe LJ forgot to lock back up after everything yesterday.

So lost in her thoughts, Emma didn’t realize Henry had moved away until she saw his small figure squeezing through the open fence and running up the hill to the hotel. “Henry!” she yells out. Running is her thing – running away from emotions, commitment, the whole shebang. Apparently, her son inherited that from her, just literally.

The bottles of holy water in the pocket of her leather jacket are justled by her running up the driveway. Sage in her bag bumps against her hip. Her gun rests heavily in her holster.

Emma’s eyes scan the landscape furiously.

“Henry!” she calls out. She evens her breathing and rests one hand on her hip where her firearm rests in case some crazy person is behind all this and has Henry.

“Hurry up, Mom!”

Emma turns the last bend of the driveway and lets out a deep sigh. Henry stands in front of the entrance to the hotel bouncing on the balls of his feet. He impatiently waves her over, eyeing the locked front doors.

“You know,” she starts, “I think I should bring you to Granny’s right now. Let her watch over you and see if you try to skip school again.”

Henry whines, head thrown back in exasperation. “But Moooooom! These are your parents!”

“Henry, come on. You can’t really believe that.” Emma bends down in front of him and takes hold of his arms, her thumbs rubbing soothing circles even as her heart bleeds. “My parents disappeared so long ago… This can’t be them.”

“But it is!”

“Henry…”

“What about yesterday?! You believed it was their ghosts when they scared us out of here!”

“Ghosts don’t exist, Henry. How do you explain that, huh? Magic?” She deflates as her son mumbles to himself and looks to the ground. Softening her tone, she continues, “It would be really cool if magic was real but it’s not. Those are probably just projections some twisted loser made to scare people. Okay?”

“Are you calling us Jem and the Holograms?”

They jump at the sudden appearance of a third voice, their heads turning to see Killian Jones leaning halfway through the closed front door.

Emma’s breath stutters while Henry starts, “What the –”

“Tsk, tsk,” Killian taunts. “Do you kiss your mother with that mouth?”

She panics. Her hand flies to her bag and she pulls out the holy water, uncapping the bottle and surging the water towards the door.

It seemingly goes through his body, the blessed water streaming down the front door, but he jerks at the sensation.

Then Killian starts to groan, writhing in pain. The half of his body positioned through the door begins to curl in on itself as gurgling from his throat becomes audible. Emma stares – watching and waiting for smoke to sizzle from his frame or for him to disappear but nothing happens.

Until the gurgling changes sound and it becomes clear it’s transitioned into laughter.

Killian raises his head, smirking in glee. “Holy water? Really? I know I’m devilishly handsome but you didn’t really think that’d work.”

The photos never did his smirk justice, she realizes. And all she wants to do is smack it right off his face. With a growl, she stands up straight and marches right through Killian to the front door, pulling the spare key LJ gave her from her pocket.

“Chills, darling,” Killian whispers in her ear. The air shifts around her. Despite the absence of any breath ghosting over her skin, she can feel the way a smirk dances across his lips and the whole thing makes her angrier.

Click. The key sits just perfectly in the lock and the door swings open. She strides inside, Henry following excitedly behind her.

Her back straight as a rod, she places her hands on her hips and stares down the… beings in the hotel lobby.

“Not the friendliest lady, huh?” Killian drawls from behind her.

Henry takes immediate offense. “Hey, that’s my mom!”

“Apologies, lad,” Killian tosses carelessly over his shoulder as he heads towards the bar.

“Enough!” Emma calls out roughly. She narrows her gaze, her voice dropping an octave. “Who the hell is behind this?”

Regina sighs, sitting regally on a cobweb infested armchair in the center of the lobby. She examines her nails with more interest than her voice provides in an answer. “If she weren’t dead, I’d say my sister.”

“Regina!” Mary Margaret quietly admonishes from David’s side near the luggage cart.

“What?” Regina asks, her eyes thinning to slits and lips turning downward. “You’ve met the witch. A house should’ve fell on her sooner.”

“She was really a witch?!” Henry asks, practically bouncing in place from excitement.

Regina scoffs. “I wouldn’t be surprised if she actually was.”

“Magic isn’t real,” Emma grits out. She moves just slightly in front of Henry, eyes flicking between the Jones brothers and Regina. “Now explain who is putting on this sick joke because they’ve got a nice harassment charge waiting for when I bring them down to the sheriff’s office. It’d be a pity to add evading arrest to that as well.”

“Well,” states Liam from where he’s reviewing a check-in book. “Once you find out, let us know. I’d like to have a chat with the lad as well.”

“Seriously,” she continues. She puts her hands on her hips to further assert her authority and presses hard enough that she’s sure the skin under her jeans is colorless. “This isn’t funny. Tell me.”

Killian tsks. The sound is quickly growing to be her most hated. “As pretty as you are to look at, lass, I think the peace and quiet was better. I’d have told you if I knew.”

David scoffs, crossing his arms. “Leave the girl alone, Jones. You’re nothing but a drunk – she wouldn’t waste the time with you anyway.”

There’s a shout of indignation from the other side of the room and then the entire lobby erupts into chaos. The Jones brothers jump to the other’s defense as David tosses insults back and forth. Regina adds her own one-liners to the disappointment of Mary Margaret. Their own disagreement drags David into it as well, and he manages to fight off both Regina and the Jones brothers as if a skilled swordsman against multiple enemies.

Words no longer decipherable, Emma subtly steps to the side, one eye on the group and the other searching, investigating. Caution rolls deep within her and she keeps one hand resting on her holstered firearm. Ghosts aren’t real. There’s no such thing. Holy water didn’t do a damn thing.

Sophisticated projector is what she’s looking for, then. They have to be holograms or AI or something that digitally recreated five tragically unsolved missing people, for the pure enjoyment of scaring others. She bets that there’s some YouTube channel that showcases Hollywood Tower Hotel scares, run by whoever is doing this.

Emma’s gaze scans the walls of the outdated hotel.

It didn’t hit her last time, too busy scared for their lives to really pay attention, but the floral wallpaper pulls from the moldings. The green background has faded and the white flowers accenting it yellowed. Burnt out lamps with golden shades sit atop wooden tables covered in layers of dust.

The sound of something rustling wafts through the air but the group of beings either don’t hear it or don’t care. If she follows the sound, though, she might find the ‘genius’ behind it all. Her eyes narrow on a closed oak door near the hallway to the main floor ballroom.

A once golden sign looks like a beat-up bronze, the fake bright finishing having flaked off over the years. Coat Closet. Likely place for someone to setup their gadgets.

The vinyl flooring crackles under her feet as she moves towards the it.

Her head turns at an echoing pair of footsteps and a quick glance back confirms Henry treads closely behind.

The wooden door swings open with a creak. Emma splays her hand against the rough wallpaper and feels around until she hits the light switch. Flickering yellow light fills the cramped space. Pink wool carpet stained from age and buckling wood paneling buried behind huge swaths of clothing greet them first before the smell of must hits their noses.

Henry shrieks and jumps back at the sight of a large rat scurrying over fraying paper and escaping through the lobby.

Great. Nothing in the closet except a rat and leftover coats from that night…

Emma was only a baby when her parents disappeared on Halloween night at the Hollywood Tower Hotel. Grandma Ruth, overwhelmed in her grief, packed up all of their things and tucked them away in a storage unit out of town. Out of sight didn’t mean out of mind, though, and Emma served as a reminder of her broken heart every day, until she couldn’t handle it anymore and went into an eternal sleep.

By the time Emma was old enough to know and inquire about her parents’ things, Grandma Ruth’s storage unit had been auctioned off due to lack of payments.

Aside from a small box of things brought to her Uncle James’ place alongside her diaper bag, everything her parents owned was gone.

Being at the hotel, at the place where she lost them before she could even know them, Emma wants something to hold of theirs. The only thing she has of her mother’s is a pink cardigan, left at Granny’s apartment during a dinner once. Soft, powdery fragrance once enveloped the fabric but has long since faded. Now the small cardigan hangs on her coat rack as a reminder of what is so far from her grasp.

But maybe… maybe in this place seemingly suspended in time… she could have something.

Her eyes have studied the photographs of the night well enough that, once she looks towards the coats, she immediately recognizes the red scarf.

Tucked around the neck of a shimmering floor-length dark coat, the red scarf sticks out in a sea of navy and black. It calls to her and Emma’s fingers slowly reach out. The coat ticket says 191, the black jacket kept close stating 192 most likely belonging to her father.

The fabric is cool to the touch and though spiders and moths have left their mark elsewhere in the hotel, the state of the coat closet is pristine. Could it hold the smell? The perfume Emma has spent half her life looking for? The only thing that reminds her of her mother’s embrace. Of comfort and security and love.

She pulls both coats off the hanger and holds her mother’s up, her nose nearly to the scarf –

“Hey!” Henry calls from behind her.

Emma turns swiftly, her eyes locking in on the beings crowding their way towards them. Her hand shoots out and grabs Henry’s arm, pulling him swiftly behind her.

“Hey,” Mary Margaret echoes quietly. Her brows furrow together as she takes in the sight before her. “That’s my coat.”

Mary Margaret’s hand reaches towards the coat but Emma jerks it back towards her, feeling oddly protective of the thing. The smell of the scarf hits her nose and she rustles the coats in her arms for a better grip, suddenly feeling vulnerable.

“Hey,” her watery voice sounding loud in the tight closet as the others look at her in wide-eyed shock. “Don’t crowd us in here. I’m – ”

“Emma,” David breaths out, her entire body deflating.

Emma blinks, hesitating for a moment. “David?” she asks. “You… remember?”

Tears flood his eyes as he gives her a soft smile. “Of course.”

A fluttering lightness fills Emma’s chest as he steps forward, smile still on his face.

It’s incredible, she thinks to herself. How her father could just know it was her despite all the time that had passed. Maybe this is his ghost and this is her closure.

Emma nearly drops the coats as her father takes another step…

Until he bends down onto one knee and picks something up from the floor. A polaroid.

“We’ve never been able to get in here,” David whispers, more to himself than to her and Henry. He stares at the polaroid as tears roll down his cheeks and a shaky hand comes up to cover his mouth. Mary Margaret leans in close, her own eyes filling, and she rests her head on his arm.

Acting every part the proud father, David shows the others what the polaroid is. “This is our daughter,” he begins, looking up with a wide, watery grin and turning the polaroid towards her and Henry.

The film is slightly overexposed and a person stands in the background more a blur than a defining figure. In the center stands, with help of the mystery figure, a small Emma barely a year old with a spattering of light hair atop her head and a gummy grin directed right at the camera.

“Her name is – ”

“Emma,” she finishes in a rushed, exhausted breath. Looked over by her own baby photo. Damn.

She clutches the coats tighter to her center and Henry looks up at her, confused. “But – ”

“We’re leaving.” Emma frees one hand to grab Henry’s arm and pulls him through the closet, through the ghastly chill of the projected beings in the hotel, and out the front door.

[cssns]

Smoke and Mirrors: Chapter 8 - CSSNS

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Another chapter for my @cssns​ fic! Once again, a huge thank you to @ultraluckycatnd for beta-ing! Check out this amazing cover art by @piinfeathers​ ! Don’t forget to reblog her post as well, and give her awesome art some love! 

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Needing a fresh start, Emma moves to Storybrooke. It’s a small, picturesque town that her cousin had settled in just a few years before. Wanting to be close to family, but far away from the past she wants to forget, she purchases an old bar that has a reputation for being haunted.

Not one to believe in ghosts, she rolls her eyes at the notion… until she meets Killian Jones. The former bartender who disappeared years before.

As she gets to know the snarky spirit, she learns his story, unravels his past, and realizes that everything might not be what it seems.

Chapter 8

“I hope you’re right about this, Emma.” 

Killian looked up and watched as Emma and her friends made their way into the bar. 

“You know if she’s right,” the woman - Belle, he remembered - said, “then he’s not going to go after you. He’s definitely into Emma.”

The man - Jefferson, was it? - rolled his eyes, and Killian couldn’t help but smile. He couldn’t help but notice that Emma was turning red and muttering something which he could only assume was “shut up.”

“What if this doesn’t work?” Belle asked.

“It has to,” Emma stated.

“Yeah,” Jefferson added. “Emma’s never gonna get laid otherwise.”

“Is that true, Swan?” Killian teased, earning him a glare that could kill a man. 

“Do you want me to rescue you or not?” she shot back.

“Lovers’ spats aren’t any fun when we can only hear one side of the conversation,” Jefferson complained. 

Belle socked him in the arm and Jefferson laughed. 

“You heard the man,” Killian said. “Get me out of here so he can have the whole story!”

Emma grumbled, but stood in front of the mirror and opened her book. Killian could sense her unease as Belle placed two candles on either side of the mirror. She lit the candles and then stepped away. 

“You can do this, love,” he said, smiling at her when she looked up from her book at him. 

“Stand back,” she said. “Just in case.”

He nodded and stepped away, giving her the space she needed. Emma placed her hand on the mirror and quietly muttered a spell. He could feel the magic surging around the room, and the mirror began to glow.

She was doing it!

He could hardly believe it. Milah had wowed him with a few simple spells, but he’d never seen anything so extraordinary happen.

Is that what his scorned lover had done all those years ago? Created a portal to lock him away?

What had been her end game if not to kill him?

Emma stepped back and he couldn’t help but notice how exhausted she seemed. “Try it now,” she said. Killian approached the mirror and placed his hand on the glass. Almost instantly, he was thrown back by a force he’d never encountered before. He sat up, signaling he was okay. Emma and her two friends stared at the mirror, dumfounded. 

“Did you see that?” Jefferson exclaimed.

“Dammit!” Emma shouted. 

“What happened?” Belle asked. “It shook the whole building!”

Emma ignored her friends and stepped in front of the mirror again. She pressed her hand against it, and just as before, it rippled like water, opening for her…

But not for him.

“Holy shit,” Jefferson gasped. 

“What did I do wrong?” Emma asked. 

“Seems like this is just a one way ticket,” Jefferson stated. He grabbed the book and read over the spell. “Nothing that really indicates either way, but…”

“Or,” Belle interrupted, “Milah found a way to lock his side of the mirror.”

“I’m going in,” Emma stated. 

“Swan, no.” Killian said. “There’s no guarantee you’ll ever get back out.”

“I’m not leaving you in there!” she snapped. Before Jefferson or Belle could stop her, she grabbed the book and the candles. “I’ll bring everything I need with me, and we’ll break you out from the other side.”

She was already weak from her first attempt, but he was powerless to stop her. He could only watch as she gave her friends instructions before she climbed up to access the mirror. It took a bit of effort for her to push through, but eventually, she was falling into his prison, and he rushed over just in time to catch her in his arms. 

***

“You’re real,” she whispered, barely able to keep her eyes open at this point. The spell she’d cast on the mirror had taken more strength than she thought it would. She tried to recall if there had been any energy drain after her first attempt at magic, but her brain felt as though it would short circuit if she thought any harder.

“And you’re exhausted,” he said as he lifted her up. “Let’s get you into bed, love.”

She couldn’t find the strength to argue and instead, rested her head against his shoulder. He was silent as he carried her up the stairs and she just took the moment to take everything in. The bar was different. A forgotten memory from Kililan’s time. The smell of rum clung to him, as did a faint scent of smoke. The bar itself looked newer, though. The walls were freshly painted, the pool table without cobwebs. Even the game machines were brighter, the layers of dust she’d still not bothered with a distant memory.

Her eyes continued to dart around until a wave of nausea forced her to close her eyes. “I have to get you out of here,” she said slowly, taking deep breaths between words, willing herself to keep from vomiting.

“We’ll worry about that later, darling.”

“Okay,” she said softly, nearly asleep by the time he laid her on the bed. “Don’t go,” she complained when he let go of her.

“I’ll be right back, darling,” he assured her. The last thing she felt before drifting off was the bed dipping beside her and a cool cloth being placed on her forehead.

When she opened her eyes, she rolled over to see if Killian was still there, smiling when she saw that he was still there, lying on his side as if he’d fallen asleep watching after her. He opened his eyes and blinked a couple times, a slow smile spreading on his face as he focused on her. “Good morning, beautiful,” he said.

Her heart fluttered in a way she didn’t even know was possible. “Hey,” she said.

“Feeling any better?” he asked.

“I think so.” She didn’t want to get out of bed and test the theory just yet. “Did we sleep? I didn’t dream. How does time pass here? I…” she frowned. “How does this place even work?” 

“I’m not exactly sure,” he admitted. “Up until I met you, I assumed I was dead. I could see time passing around me, but never grew hungry. I never aged. As far as sleep goes, I know that ever since I’ve been here, I haven’t had a single dream. Resting did seem to help when I was weary, or just bored, but whether or not it’s actual sleep, I can’t be certain.”

“Well,” she let out a sigh and readied herself to test her strength, “let’s get you out of here.”

He stopped her when she tried to sit up. “I know your friends are waiting,” he said. “But we have time. Thirty years will not go by in the blink of an eye here. Trust me. Just rest for now.”

She’d left Belle and Jefferson under strict orders to keep an eye on the bar, and to keep David from getting suspicious should she be gone for more than a couple hours. Part of her wondered if he’d already noticed her absence.

Of course he had. It was David.

“My cousin-”

“It will be fine,” he said. 

He did have a point. Thirty years weren’t going to go by quickly. Hell, a day wasn’t going to go by quickly. There was a stale air about the whole place that she attributed to the type of… realm it was. An in-between, where time didn’t truly exist.

She reached out and touched Killian’s cheek, grounding herself in the realization that yes, she was stuck, but he was alive. They could figure this out together, and he could come home with her. “I can’t believe this is real,” she commented, “that you’re real. Just a few weeks ago, I wouldn’t have believed any of this.”

He took her hand and brought it to his lips and kissed it gently. “You didn’t know you were a witch?” he asked.

She shook her head. “It’s not really something I ever thought about. Because none of that stuff is real… at least, it’s not supposed to be.”

“I didn’t believe any of it either,” he admitted. “Not until…” he sighed and shut his eyes. “Not until Milah.”

“You’re going to have to tell me about her,” she said. “It might be the only way we’ll find any answers.”

“Later?” he asked. “I know I can’t hold off forever, but… just give me some time.”

“Later,” she agreed. It didn’t take a genius to understand that the memories were painful. If he wasn’t going to rush her, she wasn’t going to rush him. “If you want a fair trade, I can tell you about my shitty ex too.”

“Deal,” he chuckled.