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jrob64 · 4 years ago

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His Fearless Swan - a CS AU

For @cshalloweek - Day 5 Monsters/red: under a spell, mystery, “I’m not going anywhere”, bloodcurdling

Summary: Killian Jones has been in love with his best friend Emma Swan for years; the trouble is, she’s not even aware of his feelings. Deciding he’s pined for her long enough, he comes up with a plan that will hopefully have her seeking the protective comfort of his embrace, but he’s forgotten one thing - his Swan is fearless.

Thank you to @cshalloweek for having this event. This story was inspired by the day 5 prompts, but is sweet, not scary.

Thanks also to my beta @hookedmom who agreed to be onboard with me for yet another story. I’m certainly glad she keeps saying yes because I’d be lost without her!

Rating: M

Words: 6039

Also posted to Ao3 and ffn

*********

This wasn’t going to plan at all.

Killian Jones scrubbed his hand through his hair in frustration as Emma Swan, his best friend and the love of his life - a fact of which she was completely unaware - laughed loudly at yet another scene that was supposed to be terrifying.

He had invited her over to his apartment to watch a horror movie which, according to the reviews, was ‘guaranteed to cause heart palpitations, nightmares and ear-splitting screams of fright’, in hopes of her being so fearful she would seek the comfort of his embrace.

But she was laughing. Hysterically. Sitting as far away from him as possible on his dilapidated couch, she was nearly doubled over and wiping tears from her eyes.

He should have known. He should have remembered that nothing scared Emma Swan.

*********

The first day he set eyes on her, he was sitting in British Literature in the Fall of his junior year of high school. The teacher was droning on about the latest novel they were assigned to read, when Killian looked up to see an angel enter the room. She wore black skinny jeans tucked into battered combat boots, a red top which was short enough to allow a teasing glimpse of her stomach, and a faded jeans jacket which had definitely seen better days. Her golden tresses fell in riotous waves around her shoulders, and her green eyes glittered with defiance.

Killian was smitten at first sight.

The teacher took the note the new girl handed her, read it and turned to the class. “Ladies and gentlemen, this is…”

“Don’t announce me,” the girl growled, before moving stealthily down the aisle to slide into the seat beside him.

The teacher glared at her for a few seconds before continuing, “Very well, Miss Swan, we’ll carry on then. Please prepare to take notes since this information will be included on the upcoming test.”

Swan, Killian thought. What an absolutely appropriate name.

The girl stared back at the teacher with a bored expression and popped her gum loudly. Killian realized that, even if she felt inclined to take notes, she had nothing with her to do so. She’d walked into the room completely empty-handed except for the note she passed on to Ms. Hart .

Quickly, he tore a few sheets of paper from his notebook and scrambled to retrieve an extra pen from the bookbag on the floor beside his feet. When he offered them to her, she turned haughty eyes on him, refusing to take them from his hands.

He faltered for several seconds, then pushed them toward her again. “You really should take notes. Her tests are killer,” he said quietly.

She popped her gum again. “I. Don’t. Care.”

He struggled to pay attention to what the teacher was saying for the rest of class, sneaking glances at the blonde girl sitting beside him who was intently studying her fingernails and giving her gum a workout.

When the tone sounded for the end of the period, Killian hurriedly shoved his notebook into his backpack and trailed after the girl, who was quick to leave her seat and exit the room. He caught up with her a few steps outside the classroom door, as she pushed her way through the crowded hallway.

“Hey! What’s your next class?” he asked breathlessly.

She came to a stop and gave him another appraising look. Just when he thought she would brush him off again, she reached into the inside pocket of her jeans jacket and took out a folded sheet of paper. Flicking her eyes over it, she answered, “Chemistry.”

“That’s where I’m headed, too. Follow me, I’ll take you there.”

She shrugged. “Okay.”

He began leading the way, grinning as she fell into step beside him. “I’m Killian Jones, by the way.”

“Emma Swan.”

“It’s very nice to meet you, Emma.”

“Why are you taking Brit Lit?”

“Pardon me?”

“You’re British, right? Shouldn’t you be the one teaching the class? I’m sure you’d do better than What’s-her-name. She’s as dry as the Sahara.”

Killian chuckled and scratched behind his ear. “I haven’t lived in England for several years. I just haven’t shed the accent.”

“I’m sure the girls are all falling at your feet with an accent like that.”

He scoffed at her statement. “Hardly.”

They reached the Chemistry lab and he was pleased to see her choose the stool beside him. His concentration wasn’t any better during that class, or for the rest of the day. They had two more classes together and she joined him at his table for lunch, sitting amongst the rest of the kids who didn’t belong to any groups or cliques which segregated the student body.

When the school day ended, they proceeded down the front steps together. “Did you drive to school?” he asked.

“Hell, no. I can barely afford to pay attention, let alone buy a car. How about you?”

“Oh, uh, I live just a few blocks down this way,” he explained, pointing off to his right. “Which direction is your home?”

“It’s over that way,” she said, gesturing vaguely. “I wouldn’t call it my home, though. It’s just another stop in the ongoing saga of ‘where’s Emma Swan going to live next’?”

“Your family moves a lot?”

“My family,” she spat, “is non-existent. “I’ve been a foster kid from the day I was born.”

“I’m an orphan, too. My mum died when I was seven years old. My father moved us to Storybrooke six years ago with the promise of a job on a fishing boat, but he was washed overboard in the middle of a storm just a couple of weeks after he started working, and was never found. Sarah Fisher took in my brother Liam and me, until he was old enough to get a proper job and become my legal guardian.”

“That’s who I’m living with - Sarah. She seems okay.”

“She is. She was strict, but she really cared about us. One time a kid accused me of stealing his jacket and I was suspended from school. Once she found out I didn’t do it, she went to the principal to defend me. I was sitting right outside his office and could hear her letting him have it about how I was an honest boy and just because I was a foster kid didn’t mean I was a thief. He took my suspension away and the next day, the kid admitted that he’d lost his jacket and didn’t want his parents to be mad at him.”

“Most foster parents I’ve lived with wouldn’t bother to stand up for me like that.”

“Well, Sarah will, as long as you prove to her that you’re trustworthy.”

“Good to know.”

“So, I guess I’ll see you tomorrow?”

“Yeah, I’ve got nothing better to do than come to school,” she smirked.

He grinned in return. “Have a good evening, Emma.”

“You, too.”

He turned to begin walking down the sidewalk, then heard her yell, “Hey, Killian?”

“Aye?” he asked, pivoting around to face her again.

“Thanks for, uh, talking to me and, you know, showing me around and everything,” she stammered.

“It was my pleasure, Swan.”

*********

After that first day, they were nearly inseparable. Emma continued to be a bit defiant with her teachers and most of the other students; but when she was with Killian, she let her guard down, and he was privileged to see the sweet, funny, endearingly sarcastic side of her.

She never took notes in class and still managed to ace almost all of her tests and exams. Once she heard something, it seemed to be embedded in her brain for good. The only subject which caused her problems was Calculus, and since he was excellent with numbers, he helped her through it.

They understood each other in every way that mattered, and everyone soon thought of them as a package deal. Wherever you found Emma, Killian wasn’t far behind and vice versa. He continued to be completely enamored with her, but never revealed his feelings for fear he would lose the first real friend he ever had.

When they moved to America, Liam was sixteen, broad-shouldered and outgoing, and soon found acceptance on athletic fields and courts. Killian, on the other hand, was only eleven years old; gangly, shy, morose and bookish. He wasn’t exactly bullied, but he never had what he would call actual friends. He kept to himself, trying to fade into the background as much as possible, while Liam thrived in the limelight. After graduating high school, Liam opted not to go to college, feeling the need to get a full-time job at the Storybrooke harbor so he could continue to provide a home for his younger brother.

As graduation neared for Killian, Liam insisted he continue his education to pursue his dream of being a mechanical engineer. Killian was accepted into five different universities, but he only considered going to one.

The one Emma planned to attend.

Liam wasn’t thrilled with the decision; he wanted his brother to expand his horizons and make other friends besides the girl who had Killian so starry-eyed, but never seemed to want to take their relationship to another level.

Killian stood his ground, and in the end, the two friends set off to a campus three hours from Storybrooke, living in the same dorm and carrying on their friendship. Their freshman year went by quickly as they adjusted to being independent and balancing their social life with their demanding classes.

At one point, Emma went out on a couple of dates with a guy she met in her Sociology class and Killian was heartbroken. He considered expressing his hidden feelings to her, but almost as soon as she started dating Walsh, she broke it off, calling him a jerk for telling his buddies she was an easy lay, when they hadn’t done anything more than make out for a few minutes.

They returned home for the summer, both of them working to save money for their second year; Emma as a waitress at Granny’s and a summer camp counselor, Killian doing maintenance work at the docks under Liam, who was now the harbor master.

The next semester saw Killian living in an apartment off campus, while Emma took on the job of being a Resident Advisor in one of the dorms, earning her a much-reduced room and board fee. They hung out as much as possible during their busy weeks, setting up study sessions at the library and meeting at the student union for lunch a few times.

When Emma was off-duty on the weekends, she was nearly always at Killian’s place, eating his food and enjoying the streaming services for which he and his roommates Robin, Will and Phillip splurged.

Killian grew increasingly frustrated that, despite his growth and maturity in the three years since meeting him, Emma never saw him as anything more than the awkward kid who was her first true friend. Gone was the skinny, insecure, bespectacled teenager - he used some of his graduation money to purchase contacts, grew three inches and gained thirty pounds of muscle during his first year of college - but she never even seemed to notice.

Killian finally decided that enough was enough, which was why he came up with a plan late in October of their sophomore year. His roommates were all going to be gone for the weekend and HBOMax was featuring a full menu of horror movies. He figured all he had to do was get her alone, watch a terrifying movie with her, and open his arms to allow her to bury her face in his chest. That would lead to kisses of comfort, and possibly more…

But she was far from seeking comfort in his arms as she hung over the end of the couch, laughing loudly as another bloodcurdling scream came through the sound system.

“Swan,” he grumbled through gritted teeth, “this isn’t supposed to be a bloody comedy!”

“It’s not a bloody anything! The ‘blood’ is so fake, it looks like strawberry jello,” she replied, framing ‘blood’ with air quotes.

“Don’t you find any of it even remotely frightening?”

“Yeah,” she responded, wiping more tears of laughter from her cheeks, “I find the fact that anyone would consider this to be a horror movie extremely scary. It’s so cheesy!”

Killian sighed, pulled the remote from the crevice of the couch cushions and pointed it at the television, turning it off.

“Why did you do that? I was enjoying it!”

“You just said it was cheesy!”

“It might be cheesy, but it was providing me with a good laugh, which I really need after the week I had. A full moon during the week of Halloween apparently causes college Freshmen to lose their damn minds!”

Killian pushed to his feet and tossed her the remote. “Fine, turn it back on and laugh yourself sick. I’m going to bed.”

“Hey, what’s your problem, Jones?” she asked, anger lacing her words. “I thought we were gonna have a fun night together, just like always.”

He stopped in his tracks, but didn’t turn around. “That’s the problem,” he muttered, “it’s just like always.”

“I thought you liked our movie nights.”

“I do, but…” He bit his lip and closed his eyes, wondering if he should finish the sentence.

“But what?” she prodded, rising from the sofa and stepping behind him.

Turning to face her, he said, “But it’s not enough anymore, Emma.”

She paled and he thought he detected a slight tremble of her bottom lip. “What do you mean by that? Don’t…don’t you want to hang out with me anymore?”

He finally had all he could take. Inhaling deeply, he moved within a breath of her, framed her face with his hands, and pulled her toward him to press his lips against hers.

For a few seconds, he felt her melt into the kiss, her lips soft and supple as she responded. Then suddenly, she pushed him away, staring at him with wide eyes; and that’s when Killian saw something in her expression he’d never seen before.

Fear.

Emma Swan was afraid.

“Wha-what are you doing?” she gasped.

“Something I’ve wanted to do for over three years.”

“You can’t!”

“Why not?”

“Because I’ve lost everyone in my life. I…I can’t lose you, too.”

“I’m not going anywhere, Emma.”

“You say that now, but…”

“Haven’t I been with you through thick and thin? Why would that change if we…if we were more than just friends?”

“Is that really what you want?” she whispered, her voice shaking with emotion.

“It’s what I’ve wanted since the first moment I saw you.” His heart was pounding so hard he could feel it in his throat, but he kept his eyes locked on hers. “I think I fell in love with you as soon as you mouthed off to Ms. Hart that day, and my feelings have done nothing but get stronger in the last three years.”

“You love me?” she squeaked. “I mean…really love me?”

He nodded slowly, then raised his hands to cradle her face, brushing his thumbs across her cheeks. “Don’t you know, Emma? It’s you, and it will always be you.”

“But what if..”

“Always, Emma. Always.”

Her eyes searched his face for any hint of a lie, something she could detect easily. Finding none, some of the tension left her body, and yet she still hesitated.

Killian pressed on. “I’ve told you where I stand, Swan; it’s your turn to tell me what you want. I promise that no matter what it is, I won’t leave you. I’d rather have you as a friend, than not have you in my life at all.”

He watched as a gamut of emotions played over her face, and saw the exact moment when she was finally ready to give in. “I want…I want to stop denying my feelings for you, too. I want the final bricks of the wall around my heart to be broken down completely. And I want…”

Killian waited with bated breath as she furrowed her brow, clearly trying to figure out how to finish the sentence. “Want what, Love?” he quietly prompted.

“I want you to know that I love you, too.”

“Yeah?” he whispered, barely daring to hope.

“Yeah,” she said, the surety in her voice setting his mind at ease.

A grin slowly stretched across his face, then he surged forward to capture her lips. This time, there was no hesitancy in the kiss; only passion and fire as they sought to express the feelings they had both repressed for so long. Tongues tangled, teeth clashed, hands roamed, moans worked their way up from their throats. The kiss was everything they wanted and not quite what they needed all at the same time.

“K-Killian?” she gasped.

“Mmhmm,” he uttered, still trying to devour her.

“Do you have…protection?”

He separated their lips at last, panting for breath as his eyes searched hers. “No, but I’m sure Will does.”

“Can you find some?”

“Are you sure, Emma?”

“I…I think so? I just, I haven’t ever…you know.”

“Neither have I.”

“Really?”

“Who would I have done it with? I’ve been in love with you for years and I didn’t want to go to bed with someone just to say I wasn’t a virgin anymore.”

“That’s how I felt, too.”

“I have another confession to make,” he ventured, figuring he might as well throw all his hats into the ring. “I’ve never even French kissed a girl before. The only other girl I ever kissed was Ariel during that school play we performed. I’m sorry if my kisses…if they’re…”

She placed her index finger over his lips. “They’re perfect. I could easily kiss you for the rest of the night, if there wasn’t another first that I want to experience with you.”

He leaned his forehead against hers. “I want that, too. God, Emma, I want that so much.”

“Check Will’s room and I’ll meet you in yours.”

He nodded and kissed the tip of her nose, before peeling away to hurry upstairs.

Emma quickly locked the front door and ran up the steps two at a time, dashing into the bathroom to pee and check herself in the mirror, before going into his room across the hall. She pulled off her hoodie and tossed it on the floor, then sat down on his twin bed and jiggled her leg nervously as she waited for him.

It was only a couple of minutes before he joined her, triumphantly waving a long strip of condoms. “Jackpot!” he crowed.

“Thank God Will is promiscuous,” Emma snorted.

Killian laughed and sat down beside her, shoving the condoms under his pillow. “So, um, are you…ready?”

“Yeah. Are you?”

“I’m, uh, kinda nervous.”

“So am I, but that’s probably normal, don’t you think?”

“Aye.” He started rubbing at the spot behind his ear which always garnered his attention when he was anxious.

“Why don’t we…lay down?” she asked timidly.

“Okay.”

They stretched their bodies out on the narrow bed, fully clothed and facing each other, and she reached up to brush her fingers along his jaw. “You didn’t shave today.”

“I’ve been working on a project and haven’t taken the time to do it for a couple of days.” Starting to sit up, he said, “I can go…”

“No, don’t. I like it. It’s very sexy.”

“Yeah?”

“Mmhmm.” Her lips followed the trail her fingers had blazed. “I might have chapped lips tomorrow, but it will be worth it!”

Killian grinned, and wrapped her in his arms to pull her against him. He initiated more kisses, which grew increasingly more fiery and frantic, then began fumbling with the hem of her T-shirt, trying to pull it up her body.

“H-hold on,” she mumbled. “Let me just…” Untangling her arms from around him, she sat up slightly and yanked on the shirt, briefly becoming trapped in it as it got caught in her hair, before finally succeeding in getting it over her head.

Killian’s eyes lit up like a kid in a candy store when he saw her lace-covered breasts, heaving with exertion after the passionate kisses and the battle with her shirt. He licked his lips and tentatively raised his fingers to touch them, stopping just short and looking up at her. “May I?”

“They’re all yours,” she smirked. “Do you know how to work a bra?”

His cheeks reddened. “Elsa’s are in the laundry sometimes,” he admitted, referring to Liam’s girlfriend, “and I...I’ve practiced with them a time or two.”

“Of course you have,” she giggled. “Well, why don’t you see if the practice pays off?”

Licking his lips again, he directed his attention back down to her chest, dipping his fingers into the valley of her cleavage, then using them to trace the edges of her bra around to the fastenings at the back. Despite his hands shaking nervously, it only took him a couple of attempts to undo the hooks.

“Ta-dah!” he celebrated.

“Yeah, nice trick, Magic Mike,” she commented dryly, shrugging out of the undergarment and tossing it behind her, while his jaw slackened in awe of the perfection in front of him. Seeing the hunger in his eyes, she urged him to roll over on his back, and shifted until she was hovering over him, surrounding him with a curtain of her thick, blonde hair.

He eagerly reached for her breasts, cupping them in his hands and rubbing both thumbs across the hardening nipples. The sensations he created caused her to close her eyes and moan, exciting him further and inspiring him to experiment with sucking a nipple into his mouth.

She threw her head back, moaning louder, and her arms, which were supporting her, began to shake. His hand squeezed and fondled her other breast, while he sucked harder, only pulling away to ask, “How does that feel, Love?”

“Amazingggg,” she groaned. “Fucking amazing!”

Grinning, he returned to his task, sucking several purplish marks into the soft skin surrounding her areola. Seeing those small bruises on her breast sent a rush of possessiveness through him that he couldn’t really explain, and he felt his cock swell further at the thought of her being his completely.

“Killian,” Emma gasped, pulling him from his musings. “You’re gonna make me come just from doing that!”

“Is that a bad thing?” he asked innocently.

“Hell no! I just…I never knew…you had…such a talented mouth!” she managed to say.

Wanting to reverse their positions, he rolled them over and…

Landed right on top of her on the floor.

“Ow!” she exclaimed, reaching up to rub the back of her head.

“Sorry, Swan!” he immediately apologized. “Are you okay?”

“I’m fine,” she assured him, then burst out laughing. “Real smooth, Casanova!” she teased, watching the tips of his ears turn red.

“Bloody hell! Talk about ruining the moment!” he cursed, scrambling to move his body weight off of her.

“You didn’t ruin anything,” she soothed as she sat up. “You just provided some comic relief.”

“When you remember this night, can you conveniently forget that part?”

“Not a chance!” She stood and tugged on his arm to help him to his feet. “While we’re up, we might as well get rid of the rest of these clothes.”

“O-okay. Do you want to…or should I…”

She put her hand on his chest. “Promise me something, Killian”

“Anything.”

“Promise not to be ashamed of showing me your body. I know how self-conscious you are and I don’t want you to hold back or be inhibited in any way. I love everything about you, including your body.”

“I’ll try my best as long as you help me. You’ve always been the fearless one, Swan.”

She grabbed the hem of his T-shirt, quickly sliding it up his body. He accommodated her by raising his arms so she could easily finish removing it.

Her eyes widened as she took in the glorious whorls of hair covering his chest. “Why the hell have you been keeping this covered? You don’t even take your shirt off at the beach!”

His fingers found their way behind his ear again. “It’s embarrassing to have so much hair.”

“Are you kidding me?” she sputtered, tenderly stroking her fingers through the soft strands. “Do you know what some guys would give to have perfect chest hair like this?”

“Well, some guys used to poke fun at me for it when I was in eighth grade.”

“That’s called jealousy, Kil. You’re not allowed to hide it from me anymore, because I love it!”

“Duly noted.”

Her fingers continued exploring his chest, circling his nipples and scratching across his abs, while her tongue found its way to the hollow of his throat and collarbone. He closed his eyes and gritted his teeth, trying to keep himself under control, but after a few more moments, he growled and grabbed her hands, raising a warning eyebrow at her.

She smirked at him, then he dropped her hands and reached forward to pop the button on her jeans and pull the zipper down. As soon as they were loosened, she shimmied them down her legs, leaving her in only a lacy pair of panties.

He swallowed hard, looking at the tiny triangle of material covering her most intimate area.

“Your turn,” she said, reaching to unbuckle his belt and remove it.

“Um, okay,” he replied nervously. Taking a deep breath, he unzipped his jeans and shoved them down all in one motion. It reminded Emma of trying to remove a bandaid quickly so it caused a minimum of pain.

His boxer briefs sported a sizable bulge and he started to bring his hands up to cover it.

“Uh, uh, uh,” she admonished. “You promised.”

He dropped his arms, holding them awkwardly at his sides.

“Can I take them off of you?” she asked, gesturing toward his underwear.

“Uh, I…I guess?”

She looked up at him through her lashes and licked her lips, then hooked her fingers in the waistband and pulled them out and over the tip of his cock. Dropping to her knees, she finished dragging them down his legs, her eyes widening at the sight of his rigid cock right in front of her.

Without hesitation, she slid her hands back up his legs and wrapped them around his sizable member. As Killian held his breath, she slowly ran her hands up and down the smooth, velvety skin, causing it to slide and shift.

“I’ve never seen a guy’s cock in person,” she commented, still concentrating on the stroking she was doing. “Are they always this big?”

“I…I don’t know. I’ve never…compared…bloody hell, Emma!”

“What?” She peeked up at him with a look of innocence on her face.

“If you keep doing that, you’re gonna make me come before we even get to the…the act.”

“The act? You’re calling it the act?”

“What else am I supposed to call it?”

“Making love, having sex, anything but ‘the act’!”

“Maybe I’m not ready for this,” he groaned, closing his eyes and dropping his head back.

“Oh, I’d say by the looks of this,” she said, giving his cock another stroke, “you’re more than ready.”

“Can you please stop doing that? I really want to make love to you.”

“I thought guys liked having their cocks stroked.”

“We do, but not if it makes us shoot our wad too soon.”

She giggled as she pushed herself back to her feet. “Shoot your wad,” she snickered. “What a weird way to put it.”

“Are you gonna criticize everything I s-”

He stopped talking as she plunged her tongue inside his mouth. Their hands moved desperately over each other’s bared skin and soon they were falling backwards onto the bed again.

Killian maneuvered them until Emma was on her back in the middle of the bed, then began licking, sucking and kissing down her throat, across her breasts, and along the length of her body. With every nip and graze of his teeth along her overly sensitive skin, her back arched and she uttered indecipherable words.

When he reached the apex of her thighs, he removed the last remaining scrap of material, and she automatically spread her legs apart, giving him a strong whiff of her arousal. He inhaled deeply, then tentatively dragged two fingers through her folds, gathering her slickness on the tips of them.

She shivered at the sensation and gripped the corners of the pillow underneath her head with both hands. “Please…do that again.”

He obliged and this time, his fingers brushed under the hood exposing her bundle of nerves. Shockwaves of pleasure shot through her body and she emitted a long, low moan. “More, Killiannnnn…”

His fingers continued slipping through the ever-increasing arousal she was producing, and he took note of what made her writhe and moan the most. He discovered if he put pressure on the little nub, her legs would quiver and quake; so he concentrated on that area until her head was thrashing back and forth on the pillow. When he ventured to give it a little pinch, it was all she needed to fall over the edge.

“Yes! Yesss! YESSSS!!!” she screamed, and he watched as ecstasy filled her face.

“That was good, yeah?” he asked, once she seemed to come back to earth.

“Are you fucking kidding me? I’ve never felt anything that good in my life!” she panted.

“So that was your first orgasm?”

“I’ve given myself a few, but none as intense as that! I didn’t even know I could have one without actually, you know…”

“Doing the act?” he smirked.

She rolled her eyes. “You big nerd - you’re lucky I love you!”

“Aye, that I am,” he responded, his eyes going soft as he gave her a sweet smile.

Returning his smile, she said, “Now, let’s see what we can do about getting you off.” She gripped his shoulders and pulled him down to her, kissing him within an inch of his life. When she was sure she had his head spinning, she changed positions with him so that she was on top, making sure they were a safe distance from the edge of the narrow mattress.

Reaching under the pillow, she pulled out the condoms and separated one from the strip, tore open the package and took it out. Holding it up, she flipped it over a couple of times before placing it at the tip of his straining shaft and rolling it down. “Am I doing this right?”

“Not sure, but you definitely make it feel good!”

After throwing him a grin, she carefully straddled him, placed her hands on his chest and scratched her fingers through his luxurious hair. Then she started to slide her slippery cunt along his shaft.

“Emma, god!” he grunted, squeezing his eyes closed tightly. “Feels bloody, fucking fantastic!”

After making sure his cock was coated with her arousal, she lifted up a little. “I…I think I’m ready. Are you?” she asked, meeting his blue gaze once his eyes opened.

“Aye, Love, but go slow. Please don’t let me hurt you.”

“I won’t.”

“You’ll tell me if you’re uncomfortable?”

“I will, I promise.”

With that reassurance, he nodded at her and she raised herself over him, lined him up, and began to sink down around him. When it started to burn, she pulled back, then sank down a little further. After doing this several times, he finally filled her completely and she stopped moving with her ass resting on his thighs and her hands planted on his chest supporting her weight.

He clutched the blanket underneath him as the feeling of being inside the woman he loved overwhelmed his senses. “Are you alright?” he gritted out.

“I’m good. How about you?”

“I…I…feel like I’m gonna explode.”

“Do you want me to move?”

“Yeah, but not off of me. Just…just try sliding up and down.”

She tentatively did as he asked and soon both of them were taking pleasure from each other. Emma pumped her body up and down while Killian thrust up into her. The tension continued to build until suddenly he gripped her hips and held her tight against him.

Feeling the pulsing of his cock, she couldn’t hold on any longer and let herself give in to the bliss she could already see on his face.

Suddenly completely spent, she collapsed on top of him. Spasms shook their bodies and Killian gripped her ass. “Are you doing something to cause that, Swan?” he asked breathlessly.

“I think…they’re called aftershocks,” she giggled into his chest.

“How do you know that?”

“Hang around a dorm full of girls long enough, you learn things.”

They laid quietly for several minutes, their hearts slowing, sweat cooling, and minds racing with the implications of what had taken place in the last hour.

Killian had never felt as happy and content as he did in that moment; until he heard the next words to come out of Emma’s mouth.

“We should have become friends with benefits a long time ago.”

His stomach dropped and he felt like he couldn’t breathe. “Is…is that what you think this is?” he forced out through a throat that was constricted with disappointment. “Nothing but sex? I…I thought you said…”

Her head shot up and he saw a look of contrition on her face. “No, no, no! That’s not what I meant, Kil! Of course it’s more than just sex! I mean, it was amazing, but it…I love you! I know we haven’t talked about where we go from here, but if I have my way, we’d be together as a couple, not just friends.”

His heart started beating again. “Is that really what you want?”

She folded her arms across his chest and leaned forward to brush her lips against his. “Absolutely, as long as it’s what you want, too.”

“Without a doubt,” he answered, relief flooding him at her admission. “Can I ask you something?”

“Mmm, sure,” she said, nuzzling her nose against his throat.

“How long have you known you love me?”

She lifted her head again and shrugged. “I think I’ve known for a long time, but I didn’t want to admit it.”

“Why not?”

“Why didn’t you?”

“I asked you first.”

“You know you sound like a ten-year-old right now, don’t you?”

“Just answer the question, Swan.”

“I guess I was…scared. You’re my best friend and I didn’t want to do anything to screw that up.”

“The fearless Emma Swan was scared?”

Her eyes fell away from his as she watched her finger trace his jawline, and he saw a blush creeping up her neck into her face. “I’m not fearless, Killian. Not when it comes to you. In my childhood, people were always letting me down…”

“Hey - I don’t intend to let you down.”

“I know, but it’s not you I was worried about. I was afraid I would be the one letting you down.”

“How could you ever do that?”

“I couldn’t help but think that one day you would figure out it wasn’t worth the effort of putting up with a high-maintenance friend like me.”

“You’re not high-maintenance.”

“You have to admit it’s challenging being my friend.”

“I love a challenge,” he grinned, then grew serious. “Emma, in three years, I’ve yet to find a single thing about you that I don’t love. You don’t have to be afraid of losing me because I already told you - I’m not going anywhere.”

She smiled and leaned in to briefly press her lips to his, but before she could pull away, he moved his hand to the back of her head and held her in place to deepen the kiss. Soon their bodies began responding to the intense feelings, and they found themselves moving on to round two, during which they experimented with more ways to bring pleasure to one another, which continued into round three…and four…and…

By the time the weekend was over, Emma knew she never had to fear losing her best friend, now lover and boyfriend, and Killian’s dreams finally came true.

He also had to buy Will a new box of condoms.

*********

Thank you for reading! Happy Halloween!

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#cs ff #his fearless swan #jrob64 #cs halloweek #cs fanfiction #CS fic #captain swan fan fiction #ouat captain swan fanfic #CS modern AU #CS humor #friends to lovers #high school/college emma & killian

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sotangledupinit · 4 years ago

Text

CS Halloweek: i (almost) dropped your hand while dancing

i (almost) dropped your hand while dancing - @cshalloweek Day 6

Day 6 Prompts (October 30th)

Dance / grey

masquerade | honour | “you’re trembling” | enraged

SUMMARY: Maybe she wouldn't find him to be that bad if he didn't constantly show up wherever their latest job was. It's hard enough to smuggle treasure out of castle without him and his crew interfering to take it for themselves. Rival Thieves AU

RATING: Explicit

WORD COUNT: 4,353 words

TAGS: Captain Swan, CS Halloweek, Masquerade, Thieves, Rivals, Smut

AO3

AUTHOR’S NOTE: don't look, it's just me posting my halloweek prompt right before the end of the day... as seems to be the usual. oops. enjoy. :)

***

The mask adorning her face itches. Gray feathers flare out an inch from the top corners of her eye mask and tickle at her temples when a breeze flutters against it. Her silver corset top glitters when it catches the light from the flames. The skirt of her gown is comprised of feathers that match her mask and flow down to the tops of her toes, a slit up one side allowing her to flash a peek of skin up to her thigh.

It offers the perfect distraction, older men doing their most to garner a dance with her while their wives glare and hold on tight to their husbands. Vixen seems to be the word thrown around tonight as they all wonder who she came to such a glamorous party with but she didn’t care. As long as their attention is on her and nothing else, they could say what they want. She’ll even throw in an extra sashay so the slit flashes a little more skin, enjoying the way some jaws drop.

The slit in her gown also allows easy access to her knife holster, hidden just under the feathered fabric gracing her upper thigh.

Lips painted a dark red, her small smile makes her demure and unassuming. She acts as though her dress hasn’t brought half the guests in attendance to a tizzy. Instead, she uses it as a cover to duck her head and scan the crowd from under her eyelashes.

“Looking for me, love?”

His breath hits the shell of her ear and his warmth at her back almost makes her shiver. She tries to tell herself it’s from disgust, annoyance, or frustration, but the way his proximity immediately sends a jolt down to her core calls out any lies she tries to manufacture.

She chooses, then, to focus on the fact he could be ruining her mission.

“What the hell are you doing here?” she hisses, reaching a hand up to play with her hair so she wouldn’t strangle him on the dance floor.

A gasp, soft and quiet, leaves her mouth as his hand and hook come to grasp her hips from behind. He sways them side to side, his mouth still at her ear.

This game between the two of them has been happening for years. And she hates it.

Hates it because it leaves her body tingling, yearning for his touch. Her heart races and her face heats and her core throbs with the strong want she determinedly denies it.

She would not, under any circumstances, sleep with Killian Jones.

“I imagine the same thing as you,” he says quietly. His fingers dig into her hip and uses the pressure as leverage to turn her around. “Dance with me,” he asks, but the way he pulls her to his body proves it to be more a command than a request. Shivers travel down her spine and she attributes it to the cold of his hand seeping through her corset.

Emma could easily deny him a dance. Drop his hand and leave him standing in the middle of the ballroom. But dancing has been part of her cover tonight and, as the distraction, she figures a flashy, overly dramatic waltz will do the trick. With that thought in mind, allowing her the plausible deniability of her actions, she steps closer and places on her in his hook.

Killian wears a dark mask with gold accented beading lining the mask and gold markings at the corners of his eyes. The black makes the blue of his eyes pop and he smirks when he sees her staring. She rolls her eyes and for a moment, lets herself think of what a shame it was that the mask covers his expressive eyebrows.

Once they begin to move, his costume hits her.

“A pirate? Isn’t that a little too on the nose?” The man’s head is on a wanted poster in nearly every kingdom in the realm and yet here he is, dressed as himself — hook and all — and only using his masquerade mask to conceal himself. His confidence got him through enough jobs but she swore it’d catch up to him one day.

“Aye, but we’ve also got the pot calling the kettle black — my Swan Princess.”

She huffs, darting her gaze away to the open archways in the room, looking for Snow. When he makes one particularly sharp turn, one none of the other dancers do, and dips her, her leg pops through the slit, giving the entire room a full view of her exposed leg and receiving muffled gasps in response. His long leather duster swishes against her skin a moment later and she sucks in a breath at how it cools her heated body.

Killian pulls her up, bringing her closer than she was before, and rests his cheek against hers. “Have I mentioned how much I love your necklace?”

His breath dances over her ear and she closes her eyes briefly before his words register. Though he keeps a tight arm around her back restricting her movements, Emma pulls her head back enough to glare at him.

“You are never getting this compass again,” she says.

He smirks, tilting his head as if to weigh the possibilities. “Well, I do love a challenge.”

Her eyes roll again at his words but with her next breath, she feels the weight of the necklace around her neck.

The first time they met had been when they were both after the enchanted compass. It was also Emma’s first job.

It’s been years but she still recalls emerging from the tree line to see him doing the same on the other side of the clearing. They glared at each other before darting to the beanstalk. What ensued was probably not Emma’s finest moment, neither, she can only guess, Killian’s. But for the first half of the climb, their legs or arms — in his case a hook — swung out to try to knock the other down. He sliced some vines so when she grabbed it, she began a free fall. She climbed faster and once she was above him, stepped on his fingers or his head.

Only when they looked up to see the long climb ahead and their exhaustion already settling in did they call a temporary truce. They’d get to the top of the beanstalk but then all bets were off. Both of them had been given a list of things to grab from the abandoned giants’ castle, and at the top of that was the enchanted compass. Rumor said that it didn’t show the direction of true north. Instead, it showed the holder of the compass the direction to what they desire most.

For a couple of thieves always looking for their next treasure, it was the key to everything.

Neither of them counted on the abandoned castle to not actually be abandoned and it was as they were escaping the giant’s wrath that Killian lifted Emma up and her hand landed on the compass.

He offered her a deal: join him and his crew and together they could use the compass to scour the lands of their treasures. And if she wasn’t amiable to that, well, she could either hand it over or he’d do whatever it took to get it back.

The offer was tempting.

She was a freelancer, just 23 then, and being hired on a one-off for a cut of her spoils and a place to sleep without having to worry. Snow White’s protection and loyalty was one she needed. But Captain Hook had a reputation that spanned land and sea, a crew that consisted of mostly 300-year-old pirates from his navy days, and an unquenchable thirst for treasure; she’d never find herself without gold.

For a moment, Emma stepped forward to accept his offer. His eyes were full of glee and excitement, his smile soft, and he held his hand out to shake on it. A gentleman’s agreement. But there was something in him — the way he didn’t lie, the way his eyes focused on her — that stirred a fluttering in her chest and she panicked. Last time she had that, she fell in love with a man who used her magic to escape his own hell and left her to be thrown in the Dark One’s prison cells until his maid let her free.

She grabbed his wrist and his smiled widened. Confusion took over his features at the sound of a click and a heavy, cold weight over his skin. Emma stepped back in regret, frowning as she looked at him and the hurt — a hurt so deep she didn’t think Captain Hook could feel that way — etching itself on his face so clearly. Betrayal was possibly the ugliest thing in the world and the weight in her stomach made her feel no better than Baelfire.

Since then, they’ve met on multiple jobs, often hunting the same treasure. Her team has mostly relied on the compass to guide them where to go but she’s not sure what his team has used. He claims maps and she wants to doubt him, but for a pirate that’s been alive for 300 years, it’s plausible.

The necklace has also traded hands numerous times. He’s lifted it off of her neck while she got caught in a trap at King George’s castle; she’s stolen it back while he drunk his weight in rum at a tavern. Each time, they’ve teased and taunted the other. The way his eyes glinted with hunger whenever he saw with the compass dangling between her breasts after snagging it without his notice often left her panting by the motions of her own hand, feeling wholly unsatisfied.

His eyes trail down to the valley between her breasts, pushed up by her corset, and smirks at the sight of the compass. He brought his mouth to her ear and she feels his tongue forming the words he whispers. “So tantalizing.” He presses a featherlight kiss to her ear. “The sight of you wearing the compass has always stirred something in me but now I wonder…” He pauses and the hand on her back teases the ties of her corset. Her breath hitches. “I wonder what it’ll look like resting against the skin of your naked breasts. How it’ll look as you pant beneath my body and beg for more.”

Every syllable of his words acts like lightning strikes to her core and she feels wetness gathering between her thighs. She squeezes her legs together and prays her face hasn’t turned red. Breathing under control, Emma swallows and glares are Killian.

“Unfortunately for you, those fantasies will remain in your head.”

“Oh, but I’m wearing you down,” he says. “I can feel it.”

The way his tongue pokes out of the corner of his mouth should be illegal. The man can do many things with his tongue when he talks – and in that accent that’s rare to find in Misthaven – and she wonders what it’d feel like to push him to his knees and bring his mouth to her throbbing cunt. Thoughts like that are dangerous though, and she tries her best to ignore the want calling at her.

His blue eyes watch for her every reaction and, as they move into another waltz, she ignores her dance partner the best she can. Except she fails.

He moves them effortlessly across the ballroom, keeping her body tight against his. She feels his fingers press into the small of her back making her arch and she knows he has a smirk on his face from how the movement juts out her chest. It also forces her hips to press against his and she bites her tongue to hold back a groan.

Leather pants do much for him; they are easy to maneuver with, form-fitting, and make his ass look great. Whether it’s a blessing or a curse, the pants allow her to feel every inch of his hardening cock against the fabric of her skirt. It makes her mouth water.

Captain Hook has legends associated to his sexual prowess, most of which she assumed was more myth than truth and mostly used to inflate his ego. His cockiness definitely has some merit.

The sight of Snow standing in an open archway scanning the room derails her thoughts of the man dancing with her.

They connect eyes and once Emma sees the nod of confirmation, Snow disappears back into the night.

The band plays the last notes of their song and the crowd detaches from their partners and claps. Emma glances at Killian from the corner of her eye and sees his blue gaze already on her own. She curtsies and smiles innocently at him. “Thank you for the dances, sir.”

His eyes darken at the last word and he bows. “It’s been my pleasure, love.” He knows the term does the same to her.

She gathers her skirts and turns, making her way out of the main ballroom and to the deserted corridors of the castle, looking for the way out. Snow got the goods so her job is done and she can leave. Which she must do despite the pull in her lower stomach.

There’s a stretch of one hallway where one of the torches went out, casting a large dark shadow over the area. For all the riches royals have, you’d think they’d find someone to perform magic so their fires wouldn’t go out. She sighs and moves forward.

Just steps into the darkness and a hand circles around Emma’s wrist, tugging hard and turning her around only to crash into a solid chest. Her free hand lands on bare skin, hair tickling her fingers. The figure smells of sea salt and gunpowder and Emma stops struggling in Killian’s grasp.

Their eyes meet, just barely visible in the faint fire light, and her chest heaves from her momentary fright. His eyes roam over her face, dart down to the movements of her chest, and return to her gaze. She holds her breath and wishes she could see more than just his eyes behind the mask. As if he reads her words, he slides the mask up with his hook and quirks an eyebrow, challenging her to do the same.

She contemplates the moment. Sliding her mask up removes any plausible deniability she’s offered herself. It makes whatever happens next between them real and not something she can hide from. Swallowing hard, Emma moves her free hand to her mask and slides it up.

He lets out of a breath of relief and Emma only gets a glimpse of his white teeth visible through a smile before he drops her hand to cup the back of her head and bring her mouth to his own.

His lips are soft against hers, moving slowly, caressing her mouth like waves against the shore. He cradles her head as he backs her up against the wall and she sighs into his mouth. Her bottom lip gets capture between his and he runs his tongue along it, teeth nipping at it before soothing it, repeating the process even as she drops her own mask and carts her fingers through his hair.

Hips grind against each other, seeking a friction that isn’t able to satisfy their desires. She feels his hearty bulge where she wants it most but she needs more.

Killian’s hand slides down from the back of her head to her jaw, urging her mouth open so his tongue can plunder the way he knows best. His caresses her own and they share a quiet moan when their tongues curl around one another. Her cunt throbs again, desire pulsing through her veins and she can’t help the tug on his hair when his hips jerk forward.

They pull away, panting. Their mouths are wet and red and she can already feel the puffiness of her lips starting. But to see Captain Hook – Killian Jones – in the same state as her makes her lose her breath.

He has trouble staying away from her after that because his mouth traces a line along her neck, his hook lifting her necklace slightly so he can kiss under where it rests. His hard, leather-covered cock is rocking gently into her and she whispers into the darkness, “I wonder what you taste like.”

One of his arms circles around her lower back and pulls them tight together. She feels the curve of his hook against her hip and she shivers.

“I wonder what your seed will taste like,” she continues, earning a bite on her neck in response. “If I’ll be able to swallow it all or if some will slip out.” Her moan is breathy and she practically whines as his hand ghosts over the bare skin of her leg peeking out from her slit. “I want to be covered in your cum.”

“That would be a waste,” he murmurs, following his previous trail back up to her ear, his kisses desperate and leaving her skin wet. “I’d much rather fill your quim. Feel you quiver around me as your body accepts every drop.”

Her whole body shakes at the thought. His control is breaking as he crashes his mouth down on hers and she whimpers, needing and wanting more. His hand suddenly grabs her leg, spreading it apart and stepping closer, fingers leaving a path of fire in every place they touch.

They skim over her knife holster and Killian growls, his tongue overpowering her own as it plunders her mouth with a ferocity and possessiveness he didn’t have before. She rests back against the wall, one hand dipping under the collar of his shirt as the other grasps his hardness, his hand moving up to where her core pounds with want.

“Bloody hell,” he pulls back with a gasp, whether it’s from her tug over his trousers or the fact that she’s drenched when his fingers finally touch her where she wants, she has no idea. His fingers run along her folds, gathering her own slick before slowly sliding a finger inside of her. She feels her cunt clench around the intrusion and her eyes squeeze shut from the small relief it gives.

He gives her slow, steady pumps of his finger, curling it before pulling out, pushing in then doing the same again. By the time he adds a second, her hands are undoing the laces of his leather and darting beneath to grab his cock. He feels hot and thick in her hands, and she traces his member with her touch. His balls are heavy and she revels in the gasp she gets from him when her nails barely scratch over them. In return, the nail of his thumb skirts over her clit and she nearly cries.

“Killian,” she pants, their foreheads pressed against each other and their mouths open, swallowing each other’s breaths.

“Aye, love. I know.”

He slowly removes his fingers, her cunt throbbing in dissatisfaction from the retreat. He runs his fingers over her folds again, gathering her wetness, and moves his hand from under her skirt to his cock. Her own hands shove his pants down to his thighs and use the slit in her gown to spread the pieces apart, allowing him full access to her core.

Jerking his cock, he leads it to her quivering cunt, teasing her and running it along her clit before entering the head inside her. She gasps in pleasure, going up to her tip toes as he inches his way inside her, stretching her in a way she’s never been before. Her hands drop her skirts and she grasps his shoulders for leverage.

He’s breathing as heavily as she is and she knows he still has a few inches to get inside of her. She whines and drops down from her tip toes. His cock goes deeper but there’s still more. Hook pressed against her lower back and his hand on her uncovered thigh, he retreats slightly before slamming the entirety of his cock in her cunt.

They both moan loudly before freezing at the sound of chain links clanking together. A knight pauses at the end of the hallway, searching for the cause of the noise but doesn’t see them in the darkness. She throbs at the prospect of a stranger seeing her spread open on Captain Hook’s thick cock and she knows he can feel it by the way he twitches inside her. She bites her lip to quiet her next moan and he surges forward, capturing her mouth with his.

His hips piston into her with abandon, chasing his pleasure in her pulsing depths. She tightens around his cock and earns a particularly hard thrust in response. She bites his lip to keep quiet as another knight patrols the area, doing so hard enough that it draws blood. Her tongue runs over the cut lip and he uses the arm around her waist to pull her down with each thrust.

Her breasts bounce in the corset, sure to be creating a delectable sight when he pulls his mouth away from hers but instead, his focus is on the way his cock sheathes itself in her cunt and how it shines with her wetness as he pulls out.

She feels herself shiver under his gaze on their connection and she pulls him closer, the hair of his chest brushing the tips of her breasts that are spilling out of the corset.

“I’m so close,” she whines. Killian nods his head, bringing his hand down to rub at her clit.

“You look so beautiful on my cock,” he whispers. “You’re so tight and when you squeeze me, it’s like you never want me to leave. Do you want that, love? Do you want to feel me inside of you every moment of the day?” She barely registers what he’s saying over the blood rushing in her ears but it sounds so good that she can’t help but nod frantically. “When I come, it’s going to be inside of you and you’re going to take it all. Not a drop will escape. That is an order from your captain.”

“Yes – yes, Captain H – Jones.”

The change of his title, from his moniker to his surname, unleashes something within Killian that has him thrusting into her with quick, sharp bursts and his finger rubbing furiously at her clit. His determination, the want to feel her finish around him as he comes, hits her like a carriage rolling downhill.

She peaks with stars in her eyes and a silent scream, fingers pulling harshly at the hair on the back of his head. Killian follows moments after, his release bathing her walls with a warmth that has her quivering through aftershocks.

They remain joined for a few minutes longer, neither wanting to break the private bubble they’ve found themselves in. She tightens when another knight walks by and though he twitches again, she knows he’s spent for the time being.

Swallowing hard, Emma pushes gently on his shoulders and refrains from whimpering at the loss of him. Her legs squeeze shut and hold together tightly, lest any of his seed were to spill down her thighs. Her captain gave her an order and she is going to follow it through.

Killian adjusts himself, packing his soft cock, glistening in the firelight from their combined release, back into his trousers and lacing them up with one hand in such a smooth efficiency that she wishes they had more time and a mirror so he could do that to her corset. He bends down and swiftly picks up their masks, her shaky fingers grasping hers.

“You’re trembling,” he says softly and with such concern that it brings Emma back to when he first offered her a deal.

“That tends to happen after a particularly good coupling,” she teases, her smile light and friendly. His mouth quirks up in a quick grin. The tension that always covered their interactions doesn’t feel as heavy now.

He moves forward slowly, watching her gaze carefully, and places a gentle kiss on her lips, lingering for a few seconds extra to remember this moment.

“Until next time,” he says, both a farewell and a hello. If they do this every time they meet up, she wouldn’t mind him taking half her jobs.

She nods, her voice quiet. “I eagerly await, Captain.”

“Where have you been?” Ruby questions once Emma arrives at their meeting point. Her face is still flushed and she hopes the hair she pulled out of her bun covers any marks Killian may have left.

“Sorry, I couldn’t get away,” she offers. Emma turns to Snow, “You got it?”

Snow holds up the large jewel. “One Eye of the Storm, just for us.” Emma grins as she goes over to observe it, mouth dropping open in shock at its beauty. She’s so entranced by their find that she doesn’t hear Snow’s question the first time. “Where’s your necklace?” Snow repeats.

“Huh?” Emma asks. Her hand darts up to her neck in confusion to find it bare. Eyes wide in alarm, she mentally retraces her steps to recall if she felt the weight sliding off during her walk when she realizes.

His hook lifted the necklace as he kissed her neck. The bastard.

Ruby smirks as she asks, “Yeah, and whose mask is that? I thought yours was gray, not black.”

A bird lands on her window ledge a few days later and Emma almost calls for Snow. The other woman has always had an affinity for speaking to animals, especially birds, and she knows Snow has been conversing via blue birds with a secret admirer. But there’s a letter attached to its leg and her name is written in handwriting she’d expect from a king.

I believe I have something of yours… It’s only in good form and honor that I return it to you. Perhaps our crews can join forces as well?

Meet me at the Snuggly Duckling a fortnight from now at sundown.

That’s an order from your captain.

#cs halloweek #cs halloweek 2021 #captain swan #masquerade au #masquerade #smut #my fics #killian jones #emma swan

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thepirateandhisson · 4 years ago

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CS Halloweek: as sweet as candy

as sweet as candy - @cshalloweek Day 1

Day 1 Prompts (October 25th):

Treats / orange

pumpkin spice | witch in the woods | “get off me” | fiery

SUMMARY: The last thing Emma expects when she opens the door is a mini-me.

Trick-or-treaters of the building have knocked on their apartment door throughout the day, a range of Spider-Man’s, Batman’s, princesses, and a minion or two have all come asking for candy. Her Spotify playlist for the day is on repeat for the fourth time and it always brings an extra bounce to the kid’s steps. But to open the door and see a little blonde girl, curly hair straightened and wearing a red leather jacket that’s so small it’s adorable, Emma isn’t sure how to react.

RATING: T for language

WORD COUNT: 5,604 words

TAGS: Captain Swan, Halloween, CS Halloweek 2021, Costumes, Kids, Fluff

AO3

AUTHOR’S NOTE: This was supposed to be a quick and short like drabble of a piece. And here we are. Also age wise, Alice is 6, Henry 11/12.

“Hey! Get off me, lady!” Greg Mendell yells. He struggles in her grip, throwing his elbow back and hitting her cheek. Emma stumbles in her heels but it isn’t enough to free him of her hold. She feels her blood boiling and his failed escape clearly has the same effect on her skip. “My father is a lawyer! I will sue you for everything you own, you f–”

Emma pushes him hard on the shoulder through the doors, one grip still on his cuffed hands behind his back. “Maybe he should give you legal advice on skipping your court date.”

She brings him to the front desk, her eyes scanning the bullpen to see if her brother is working. Instead, a head of curly blonde hair catches her eye and the look of awe on the young girl’s face captures her attention.

“Woah,” she sees the girl mouth, her tiny legs swinging on the office chair she sits upon.

She fells the girl’s eyes on her as she books the skip, and the moment Greg is firmly in police custody and she is ready to leave, the little girl comes bounding up to her.

“Are you an undercover cop?” she whispers so loudly that Emma is sure half the precinct heard.

“Uh, no,” Emma replies. Her lips quirk up as she shrugs her shoulders. “Sorry, kid.”

“Well, what are you?” the girl presses. Her eyes are wide in wonder, colored such a sharp blue that it takes Emma by surprise.

“I’m a bail bondsperson.” The little girl nods as if it all makes sense but Emma doubts she knows what a bondsperson is. “Are your parents nearby?” Emma asks. The girl’s face becomes pinched and her nose scrunches up before she nods her head.

“Yeah, my papa is in interrogation,” she says with a shrug, like being stuck in a police station is a normal routine.

Life experience taught Emma that it very well might be. She heard rumors of incidents happening to other foster kids, having been dragged to the station as a foster parent was arrested for one reason or another, waiting on the hard wooden benches for the social worker to pick them up. It happened to her once. Her foster father had been a creep and after one particular come-on that Emma escaped, she called up her social worker. She could see her foster father in the holding cell as she waited, the precinct of the small town too tiny and without any other seating to allow her privacy away from him.

He threw ugly words at her, threats that she wasn’t entirely sure were empty, and practically spit at her feet. The wait felt like years.

So Emma bends down in her dress and scans the girl’s face for any visible injuries, grateful to see none.

“I’m sure it can get pretty boring waiting. Are you doing okay?”

“I have my markers so it’s not too bad,” Alice answers. She has a dimple in one of her cheeks when she smiles wide and Emma fells her heart melt. It’s almost the same place as Henry’s.

“I’m Emma.”

“I’m –”

“Alice!” Emma stands abruptly and turns towards the voice, noticing a cop come rushing towards the lobby. He must be new, Emma thinks. Then her mind immediately catalogues how attractive he is. Strands of dark hair fall over his forehead before he pushes it back with his hand, a ring adorning his pointer finger. Scruff covers the sharp line of his jaw and winds around his mouth in a way that reminds Emma of those ridiculously good-looking Calvin Klein models on the posters in Time Squares.

She never swoons for a man in uniform – having her foster brother as a cop quickly deteriorated any fantasies she had in the past and nothing brought that line of thinking alive again. Until she sees the mystery man who looks like the uniform is made for him to be the wet dreams of every woman in a seven-mile radius. Seriously, he belongs on one of those raunchy novels at the grocery store checkout.

Damn it. He is gorgeous.

“Papa!” the girl’s voice calls from behind Emma and she watches as the blonde darts around her legs and jumps at the cop, his reaction time impeccable as he quickly bends down to grab her right as she leaps, swinging her up to rest on his hip.

Oh.

Her dad is a cop.

Emma lets out a sigh of relief.

“I thought I told you to stay at my desk and color until it was time to go, darling,” the man chastises, worry taking any heat out of his words. Damn. It. He has an accent too.

Alice wraps her arms around her father’s neck and leans in close to his ear. “But Papa, I needed to investigate,” she says in the same loud whisper as before.

“What did you need to investigate?” the man asks, mimicking his daughter’s tone with a smile at the little girl that Emma always dreamed of getting as a child.

“I needed to know if Emma was an undercover cop or not.” Her tiny hand curls into a fist, one finger pointing at Emma.

Alice’s father follows his daughter’s finger and he meets Emma’s eyes. It immediately becomes clear to her where Alice gets her blue eyes from, and Emma sucks in a breath at the image before her.

His blue eyes captivate her. They remind her of ocean water in the Caribbean and she is itching for a dip. He licks his lips and her eyes trace the movement subconsciously. She clears her throat to be rid of the indecent thoughts ready to be vocalized while he shakes his head.

The man shifts Alice to settle better on his side and reaches one hand out towards her.

“Killian Jones,” he says. Emma admires the way his tongue works over every letter of his name as she clasps her hand in his.

“Emma Swan.”

Before they can get much further, David comes bounding into the lobby, grinning wide. He spots their hands, still mid shake, and grins at them both.

“Killian, Alice!” he greets as he comes to stand at Emma’s side. They’ve dropped their hands, a hasty effort to right themselves as though they were doing anything wrong. “This is my sister, Emma.”

David tells her that when Killian had moved and was relocated to his unit, he suggested Emma’s building to him. Which really shouldn’t surprise her as David was anal when it came to finding her a new apartment once he got engaged to Mary Margaret. He ran crime reports of the area, searched out who did the usual patrols, looked up any reports made at each building she looked at, and printed it all out in a mess of a pile that left her overwhelmed. Mary Margaret had been kind enough to organize everything and put it in a binder. Helpful, but still overwhelming.

Apparently Killian and Alice moved in a month ago. She learns one day, her and Killian greeting each other on the landing outside their apartments because of course the gorgeous new cop who works with her brother lives across the hall, that it’s just the two of them. Alice’s mother is a situation he’d rather not revisit and she gets it. For the first few years of Henry’s life, it had been the same thing with Neal. Though Killian makes it known that Alice’s mother will never have a place in her life, for the good of Alice.

She sees the two of them more frequently after that, though Killian a great deal more than Alice. He seems to be at the station most times when she stops by with a skip or to bring her brother out for lunch. There’s a kindness, a polite distance, in their interactions but she can read the hunger in his eyes as well as her own. It lays dormant just under the surface and crackles to life when they get a rare moment alone. Neither of them moves on it though.

The first time Henry meets Killian, he sees the man outside his door searching through his wallet for a spare key.

“Are you supposed to be here?” Henry asks. Neal dropped him off downstairs after a weekend at his place and his backpack, filled with clothes and his Nintendo Switch, weighs heavy against his back.

“Uh, hello, lad,” Killian says, turning to face Henry with red on his cheeks and his finger coming up to rub behind his ear. “Aye. This is my dwelling, but unfortunately I seem to have locked myself out and misplaced my key…”

Henry looks him up and down, tells him to wait a moment, and keeps one eye on him as he unlocks his own door. He slams it shut quickly behind him and calls out to Emma.

“Mom!” He doesn’t see her immediately. Red leather jacket strewn atop the couch and boots flung by the small kitchen island, he figures his mom is probably in her room. He drops his duffle by the door and grabs the orange juice container from the fridge. “There’s a strange man loitering by the door!”

“What?!” Emma yells as she emerges from her room. She half-heartedly glares at her son drinking straight from the carton and quickly ties her wet hair up at the back of her neck. “What do you mean there’s a strange man by the door?”

Henry shrugs. “I’ve never seen him before and he’s just hanging out in the hallway.” He leans closer, and whispers like they’re discussing the secret identity of a James Bond villain, “He’s got an accent.”

One beat passes then two before Emma realizes that Henry is speaking about Killian. She sighs and shakes her head. “That’s our new neighbor.” Almost to the door, Emma turns to Henry. “Use a glass, kid.”

The contents of Killian’s wallet are strewn across the hallway floor, the man himself bent down by it as he shakes his wallet.

The scene is so perplexing. Every interaction with Killian since their initial greeting has brought her to the conclusion that the man is incapable of being anything but completely put together and suave. He offers a flirty comment occasionally, incredibly smooth with his delivery and lifting an eyebrow that can be construed as a challenge, and is considered the neatest and best organized officer in the precinct. That last bit is something she has to agree with. After dealing with David’s scrawl and Will’s illegible notes for far too long, it’s been refreshing to not have to work to understand what’s written on her paperwork. So she asks, “Is everything okay out here?”

Never before has she had the pleasure of seeing such a debonair man become so flustered. He licks his lips as he looks up at her from where he’s bent and Emma takes glee at watching the tips of his ears turn a bright pink.

“I’m not sure how much your lad has explained but it appears that I’m locked out of my apartment.”

And that’s how Emma shows off her lockpicking skills. A particular skillset that has always made her nervous or less than because of the necessity it came from, but Killian looks at her in wonder like she has magic in a land without it.

“Bloody brilliant,” he says with a grin. Her own cheeks heat this time and Killian’s soft smile hints at a smirk but he tapers it down. He turns the knob on his door and opens the apartment. It’s quiet, lights off, and she remembers Alice vaguely telling her earlier in the week about her very first sleepover and assumes Killian is getting his daughter later. “I owe you a glass of rum.”

“Raincheck on the rum?” she asks. “I’ve an eleven-year-old that probably lived off of pop tarts and cosmic brownies all weekend. I need to get some protein in him.”

Killian’s grin remains but his gaze is calculating. “Are you sure you’re not regaling me with your eating habits, Swan?” She rolls her eyes, lest he realize how true his statement is. “Let me know when I can pay up.”

It takes her another three weeks before she calls in that owed glass of rum. Henry swears that Killian was a pirate in a past life – because apparently only pirates utter ‘Aye’ – and she just needs to share that with someone and who better than the man in question. He takes the assessment with a hearty laugh and a grin that promises mischief. “I do love to pillage and plunder,” he says. Amusement laces his tone but Emma sees the hunger in his eyes that’s never dimmed.

Somehow, it starts a tradition.

Alice is adapting well to her new life in the city, making friends at the various summer camps and activities she’s been signed up for. The girl is excited about everything she sees and wants to try it all out at least once. Who is Killian to deny her that? That’s what he tells her, at least, and as she learns their similar pasts – no parents, time in the foster system, brothers who tried to offer them everything they had – she gets it.

For children with nothing, they want to give their kids everything.

It’s also why she agrees to let Henry go to a sleepaway camp for the first time ever. The brochure prided the eight-week writing workshop for preteens as being the best in the nation, with some notable young adult authors leading a few classes over the summer. Henry’s face lit up as he showed it to her and his words were coming a mile a minute. So she signed him up, no matter how much she’d miss him over the summer. Anything to make her kid happy.

On the nights when Emma was lonely without Henry and Killian had dropped Alice off at another sleepover, they shared a glass of rum. It’s easily the most effortless friendship Emma’s ever had in her life. There are no expectations of each other, from divulging secrets to keeping up conversation. She never knew she could feel such a comfortable peace just sitting quietly next to someone.

It’s not that they don’t want to talk to each other but more that they’re afraid. Silence is safe. Silence is guarded. Only after a particularly frustrating skip that seemed to call out all her insecurities did Emma babble into her glass of rum, her life story spilling out and she was no use to stop it.

Killian shares in kind. The lies Alice’s mother told him, the way she dropped the baby on his doorstep without a word. She’s almost not sure whose ex was worse but Killian reminds her it’s not a competition and at least they are free of the pain, and her anger settles somewhat.

When Henry returns at the end of August – practically a man because he spent his twelfth birthday away with friends and he’s suddenly become independent – and Alice’s sleepovers come to a slow as the school year starts, Emma and Killian find themselves struggling for a new routine.

What results is a weekly dinner together on Thursday nights. Once she made the mistake of telling Mary Margaret she couldn’t go to the movies because it’d cut into Family Dinner Night. The woman asked, saying David didn’t tell her they had plans and then Emma, red faced and wishing to be anywhere else, had to explain she just meant dinner with her neighbor and his daughter. She never heard the end of that.

Family Dinner Night.

She hates the way that rings in her head long after it slipped to Mary Margaret. It’s not like they’re actually a family. It’s just friends and their kids getting together once a week. They get tidbits of each other’s lives and their kids bond over school and Henry takes Alice under his wing without a second thought. She could get used to it.

And that’s what scares her. Because it’s easy to fall into that illusion that they’re one big happy family but they aren’t together and it’s just one night a week and even if she’s come to care for Alice and her father and they’ve done the same for her and Henry, she should keep her distance. They were too afraid of their own feelings beforehand but now that their kids have become close? A relationship was a no-go.

So they steal glances over dinner and brush hands as they pass the salad bowl and leave the hunger simmering beneath the surface never allowed to boil over.

A week before Halloween, Emma spots Greg Mendell in the grocery store. Killian lamented to her about being unable to find Alice’s seasonal favorite – pumpkin spice hot chocolate – and on her weekly run, she meanders down the aisle with her eyes on the lookout for the box.

Instead she sees the guy who continually skips his court dates and she groans.

Greg got out a day after Emma dropped him off, a new court date scheduled and someone else paying his bond this time, and then disappeared off the face of the planet. When he popped back up in the city, his file went to one of the senior bondspeople in her firm after being hired by the fiancée who footed the bill, trying to figure out new tactics since the man refuses to do the one thing required of him and show up at court. Emma was glad it wasn’t given to her. Honey traps were easy when they didn’t know who she was but if she had to deal with Greg again, it’d mean dropping Henry off at Neal’s so she could spend a night in the bug staking out Greg’s old haunts and hoping he showed up.

But here he was. Down the grocery aisle from her. And holding the last box of pumpkin spice hot chocolate.

She sucks in a deep breath, moves her grocery cart to the side, and then shakes out her arms. Her footsteps are steady and quiet as she approaches and it’s when she’s almost to him that he looks up and spots her. “Crap.”

One word and then he took off, hot chocolate box in one hand and grocery basket in the other. He maneuvered his way through the aisles, around the shopping carts of other customers, and through to the produce area. Emma is hot on his heels when he tosses the basket at her and she throws her arms up to protect her face. It bounces off of her forearms, the edge slipping through a small space to scratch above her eyebrow, and then she’s off again. She ducks the apples he picks up and throws at her and she even manages to catch one and toss it back, nailing him in the back of the head.

His stumble is enough for Emma to catch up and she tackles him to the ground just next to the cantaloupes. The pumpkin spice hot chocolate box is crumpled in his hand as she pulls his arms back to cuff him and she nearly growls. She chooses to focus on the bright side and the fact that now it can be hers. Whipping the box out of his hands, a pitiful moan falling from his lips, is almost as great as cuffing him.

The cut above her head is still bleeding by the time she gets home, slow drips of blood from under the band-aid sliding down her forehead, and a crinkled bag of take-out in her arms is all she has as proof of her efforts to grocery shop. The manager, at least, had given her the hot chocolate free of charge for stopping Greg’s assault.

Footsteps on the stairs behind her are Emma’s only warning before Alice comes bounding into the hallway.

“Emma!” she yells. She lurches forward to wrap her arms around her thighs and Emma grins.

“Hey, kid.”

Alice looks up and her mouth drops open. Emma furrows her brows in confusion only to wince. Right. The cut.

“Woah. What’s that from? Are you okay?” the little girl asks in wonder. Her arms still tightly encase Emma’s legs and it reminds her of when Henry did the same thing at her age.

“Bad guy. Don’t worry, I got him in the end.”

“Cool,” Alice grins. Emma nearly gasps in surprise at the sudden gap in the girl’s teeth. “Oh! Neat, isn’t it?” Her tongue pokes out of the gap where a front tooth once was and her grin widens. “Popped it out during school.”

“You did, did you?” Emma asks. She shifts the items in her hand to reach down and gently grasp Alice’s chin, inspecting the gap. After a moment, she grins at the girl. “That looks awesome.”

“There was blood everywhere!” Alice exclaims. She steps away from Emma and holds up the tooth in her hand. “It was all over my hand. I showed Billy Thompson my tooth and he started crying! It was great!”

“Starfish,” a voice calls from the stairs. Killian appears, his uniform in pristine condition as always, and an embarrassed look crosses his features. “What did I say about exaggerations?”

Alice pouts and Emma laughs softly, standing up and leaning against her door. “You got a monopoly on stretching the truth of your adventures?” she asks. Killian sends a smirk in her direction.

“I assure you, Swan, that tales of my exploits are most definitely not exaggerated.”

Emma’s nearly certain her gulp is loud enough for all of them to hear. Thankfully, Henry pokes his head out in search of food, sending a greeting to Killian and snagging their takeout before Alice bounds into Emma’s apartment, repeating her tale of her first lost tooth to her kid.

“You alright?” Killian nods his head towards the cut on her forehead and Emma reaches up to touch it, blood still wet.

“I’ll be fine. It’s superficial.”

“What happened?” Emma gestures him to follow her into her apartment. The pumpkin her and Henry carved the night before rests on the table next to the door. Their cutouts are sloppy and there’s still some pumpkin guts inside but Henry wanted to do the carving himself this year and even if his hand is mightier with a pen than a carving knife, she wanted to show everyone her son’s skills.

“Greg Mendell,” she answers quick before spotting Henry sneaking Alice some candy. “Hey! Nice try kid but put those back! They’re for trick-or-treaters.”

“Did the git skip again?”

“Yep,” she says. “This time on his fiancée.”

“Bloody hell.” She hums in agreement. Between the suspects he brings in and the guys that skips on the bail she put up, they see a rather unsavory lot of people.

“At least I got this.” She offers up the crushed box of pumpkin spice hot chocolate and he grins in delight.

“You’re a marvel, Swan.” Their eyes connect and don’t stray for a few moments until a drop of blood hits her eyebrow. His eyes linger on the cut and his eyebrows pull together in concern. “Who took care of that?”

“Scarlet.”

A deep sigh leaves his throat and as his breath brushes her nose, she realizes how close they are. From the corner of her eye, she can see that Henry and Alice are paying no mind, raised voicing indicating their shared excitement of their Halloween costumes. “Another git if you ask me. Scarlet apparently failed his first aid training three times before he passed. Never let him patch you up, love. Come.”

He ushers her to her bathroom like its his. Ruffling through the cabinets come with an ease and familiarity that makes her breath catch in her throat. He moves without a thought and Emma never had someone in her space before that could do that. When did this happen?

She licks her lips when Killian cups her jaw, turning her head to the side. It’s a stark contrast to the way she cradled Alice’s earlier. Where her touch was maternal, his has no name. There’s a gentleness in his fingertips and a care for the way he handles her, the brush of his hand soft and calming. He peels away the wet band-aid and Emma barely notices. His Adam’s apple bobs as he swallows and Emma is left wondering if their close proximity is affecting him the way it is her.

“What the hell is that?!” she hisses. Her attempts to pull her head away yield no result as Killian keeps a tight hold on her chin, thumb rubbing against her dimple.

“Antiseptic.” His face is set in concentration. His lips pull in a frown as he wipes the edges of her cut. A mere few inches separate her mouth from Killian’s and the thought makes her chest tingle in a way she feels like she’s got a buildup of static electricity. She quickly focuses her gaze on the ghost decoration Henry put on the towel rack. Her thoughts are less dangerous that way. “Thanks for the confirmation that Scarlet’s an idiot and even forgot to do that.”

“I got it. Scarlet can’t be trusted for anything but cannon fodder.”

His answering grin is nearly blinding as he pauses in his task and meets her eyes. “Atta girl, Swan.” They maintain contact for a moment before he adds a bit more antiseptic and she hisses again.

“Can you use anything that doesn’t sting?!”

“There’s always rum.”

“I think that’d make it worse.”

“And it’d be a bloody waste of it, too.”

Killian steps back and grabs the band-aids from the bathroom cabinet next. It’s a box of animal designs she got while on sale and the man before her spends too much time searching through it before finally pulling one out.

She doesn’t question it. Killian is notoriously anal about some things and he probably deemed half the box to be full of bandages too small.

At least she doesn’t question it until she comes back to the kitchen and Henry laughs so hard that some of the rice from his Chinese food flies out of his nose.

“What?” she asks. She begins fixing a plate for herself and for Killian who insisted on cleaning up in the bathroom.

“Nice band-aid,” is all Henry responds with. She shoots him a look. Alice’s giggles have her questioning what is so funny. A quick check at her phone camera, Killian emerging from the bathroom with a shit-eating grin on his face that should irritate her instead of fluster her appearing in the background, and she has her answer.

He gave her a swan band-aid.

Knock, knock.

The last thing Emma expects when she opens the door is a mini-me.

“Hi Emma!” the sweet voice calls to her. Her smile in return is automatic.

“Hi, Alice,” Emma says. Her hand darts for the candy bowl Henry helped her put together before heading to Neal’s and she offers it to the girl who takes a piece. “You look awfully familiar.”

“Can you guess who I am?” A gap-toothed smile greets her eyes and Emma feels her heart warm. Every day since losing her tooth, Alice has come running to knock on her door after school and give an update on how her big girl tooth is coming in. There’s a little nub of white along the gumline and Alice shows it off constantly.

Emma inspects Alice’s outfit, adding a little bit of dramatics as she slowly walks around the giggling girl. She pushes her own wishful thinking aside and guesses. “Hannah Montana?”

“Noooo, silly! I’m you!”

It’s one thing to suspect it but another to confirm.

Crying is not something Emma does on a regular basis. Probably because of her emotionally stunted childhood. But she can probably count the number of occasions she’s cried on, most of them involving Henry. Her kid wrote a whole essay about how she was his hero and she cried for a week when she went to bed. Never did she think she could have something – someone – so great in her life.

(She also copied, laminated, and framed the essay to display in their living room and at work.)

But she feels the tears burning at the back of her eyes and she bends down to Alice’s level with a grin. “Are we sure it’s not Christmas? Because this feels like the best gift ever.”

Her breath leaves her lungs in a quick moment as Alice tosses her body against Emma’s to wrap her arms around her neck, pumpkin basket thumping against her back. Alice’s apartment door opens and she hears leather rubbing against leather.

“I take it you have no tricks, only treats?”

Emma turns her chin on Alice’s shoulder to look at Killian and her mouth dries. He stands in his doorway, legs clad in leather so tight she wonders how he got it on, shirt unbuttoned to nearly his stomach with chest hair on display for the world to see, and a heavy leather duster settling against his body. A fake plastic hook is latched onto the pocket of his leather pants and eyeliner frames his eyes in a way that make the blue seem brighter. “Happy Halloween, Swan.”

“Papa!” Alice exclaims, letting go of Emma to jump at Killian. He picks her up with the same soft smile he saves just for his daughter and if Emma wasn’t already on the ground, she probably would have swooned. Standing up, her hands brush the imaginary dust off of her legs and putting the candy bowl on the doorway table, she forces her attention on Alice.

“How about you go inside and pick a couple more candies? You can leave them at your apartment to save room for all the other treats you’ll get.”

“Thanks, Emma!”

In a blur of red, Alice wiggles her way out of her father’s arms and into Emma’s apartment. Killian stands there with all the bravado of Captain Hook left out in the middle of the sea as he scratches behind his ear.

“I hope you don’t mind,” he says, gesturing to where Alice kneels on a kitchen chair and is digging through the candy bowl. His cheeks don’t turn brighter but the tips of his ears do, to her great delight. “She was going to be Tinkerbell up until she saw you after the Greg Mendell incident a week ago. There was no changing her mind after that. She’s been quite taken with your profession since she met you.”

Perhaps it’s Nina Simone’s intoxicating voice emanating from her apartment singing about putting a spell on someone or it’s the way his eyes crinkle at the corners when he grins at her. Perhaps it’s been the hunger clawing under the surface for months. But Emma takes a breath and takes a step.

“And her father?” Her voice is more breathless than she anticipated, quiet in the hall and meant only for them. Killian pushes off of the doorframe and moves that last step between them.

“I’d venture to say he’s been quite taken with you.” His eyes glance over her shoulder to check on Alice before focusing on her again. “This might be hard to believe but I think even more so than his daughter.”

She grins, huffing out a laugh, cups his cheek, and leans up to press a kiss to his lips. His hands are quick to grab her waist and pull her against him. The plastic hook digs into her hip and she can feel the cool metal of the extra rings he wears against the small of her back but she pays no mind, not when his mouth is moving over hers with such delicious intent and passion.

It’s as her fingers are threading through his hair and his is doing the same to her long locks that Alice makes her presence known to them.

“Does this mean you’ll finally let me put a fake cut on my head like Emma had last week?”

“Absolutely not.” Killian pulls away laughing and lifts Alice up. She knows the feeling. The one where you’re not sure whether the next time you pick up your kid will be the last because they’re too grown to want it anymore. It’s hard letting your kid grow up and be independent of you.

He turns to Emma, lips swollen and hair mussed, but his eyes alight with a sparkle and a fire she hadn’t seen before. Her own turn up in response. He winks – a terrible excuse for the action as he can barely keep one eye open doing it – and turns back to his daughter.

It’s hard, but at least they’re not alone.

The air is light and Emma can’t wait for Henry to return in a few hours so they can share stories about their holiday. Things might be looking a little different for them when Christmas comes around and the thought is as sweet as the treats in her candy bowl.

#cs halloweek #cs halloweek 2021 #halloween #my fics #captain swan #cs #cs fanfic #cs ff #emma swan #killian jones #henry mills #alice jones

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sailtoafarawayland · 4 years ago

Text

Best Left Buried

(A CS Halloweek AU)

SUMMARY: It's a strange place, Storybrooke – empty streets and picturesque Victorians that loom a little differently than the shadows they cast. Like most things in this town, you can't be sure they're being entirely honest about who they are. Curtains flicker in the windows as you pass, and gates swing on rusty hinges even after the wind is long gone. There's one too many black cats to be entirely natural, and there's something unsettling about the dolls that sit in the pawn broker's window. Like most old, New England towns, Storybrooke has a bit of a checkered history – except the truth is that Storybrooke isn't actually very old at all, and its history is a bit more black than checkered.

RATING: T

Happy @cshalloweek, everyone! The prompt that struck me was: Monsters / red - under a spell | mystery | "I'm not going anywhere" | bloodcurdling

This takes place in an AU Storybrooke with Halloween and supernatural vibes. I hope you all enjoy my take!

AO3 - FF

Best Left Buried

I'm new to storytelling, so you'll have to forgive me if I don't follow the rules. I don't want to start at the beginning, or the end. One would think that leaves the middle, but...how about we begin at 'on the way to the end'?

And every story needs a little mystery, don't you think? The stranger on a lonely night, the bloodcurdling scream that no one hears? Like most Halloween tales, we'll need to start with some dark and gloomy, and a woman all by herself on the side of the road.

Well, maybe she isn't so alone after all...

“Everything alright here, Sheriff?” a slow, cautious voice called, cutting through the hazy beam of light that glared from the SUV parked twenty feet or so behind her.

Gravel crunched beneath heavy boots, moving closer.

Arms stretched and gripping the raised trunk of her cruiser, Emma stared down at the person tied up and bent within, knees tucked against the bumper and eyes glaring up at her, narrowed and angry above the length of black cloth cutting into the corners of his mouth.

Well, fuck – old fashioned worked just fine up until the moment a state trooper wanted to intrude on her evening plans.

Before the man could make a sound, Emma twisted her wrist.

His eyes went wide, panic winning out over anger as he discovered his voice no longer worked the way it should, and that no matter how hard he tried to scream, there was nothing to hear.

No matter how desperately he tried to kick the bumper to alert the person approaching them, his body just wouldn't obey.

Arching a brow as if to say, 'did you think I was just gonna let you call for help?', Emma smiled and simply tossed the shovel resting against the bumper over top of him, the thunk of it hitting the back of the trunk resounding in the quiet night.

“Yup,” she called back, letting the 'p' pop from her lips as she slammed home the latch of the trunk, leaving her cargo in complete darkness. “Just clearing up some roadkill. Must be an easy night if you're up this way – Portland run out of Halloween mischief?”

The trooper shook his head, stepping into her space as she turned away from the trunk and leaned casually against it, brushing her gloved hands together as if to rid them of dirt.

“I wish,” the man muttered, adjusting the volume on his radio as it roared with static. “Man, these things never work in this town of yours – must be a lousy signal. Don't know how you guys manage.”

“Small town,” Emma shrugged, “not much trouble to manage. What brings you up so late?”

“We actually got a call in for a missing person, thought I'd head up your way and see if you'd laid eyes on him.”

Emma leaned forward to study the trooper's phone as he held it between them, the screen illuminating her furrowed brow and lips pressed into a concerned line.

“Doesn't look familiar, but I can ask around if anyone's seen him. He dangerous?”

“Nah, don't think so – might be off his meds though – anxiety, apparently. His fiance called in and said he ran out of their hotel room a few days ago during a fight over which direction they should head, inland or up the coast. She mentioned he'd wanted to head this way.”

“I swear, the foliage brings out nothing but crazies,” Emma groaned, rolling her eyes. “Well, I'll keep my eyes open, let you know if we see anything. It's been nothing but TP'ed houses and ding dong ditch the past week.”

“Technology may change, but the classics never get old,” the trooper laughed. “Speaking of, the wife was asking after the recipe for that lasagna you dropped off at the station a few weeks ago. Any chance you could – ”

“I wish I could help you out,” Emma cut in, raising her hands in supplication, “really, I do, but Granny would have my head if I even asked, or worse – she'd stop serving me.”

“Ah, well, I suppose some secrets are best left buried,” the trooper chuckled, flashing her an understanding smile. “Besides, I'd hate to run across you without your caffeine on board.”

“Right on both counts, Dietz,” Emma grinned. “Tell Charlene that Killian and I said hello, and keep safe.”

The trooper waved a gloved hand in farewell before climbing back into his SUV and pulling a u-turn. Emma slid into the driver seat of her own car, watching in the mirror as his lights were swallowed up by the darkness that would lead him safely out of Storybrooke.

Have I captured your attention? It's so good to finally have someone listening. How about we jump back to the beginning now, and I'll tell you a story about a quaint New England town called Storybrooke?

It's a strange place, Storybrooke – empty streets and picturesque Victorians that loom a little differently than the shadows they cast. Like most things in this town, you can't be sure they're being entirely honest about who they are. Curtains flicker in the windows as you pass, and gates swing on rusty hinges even after the wind is long gone.

There's one too many black cats to be entirely natural, and there's something unsettling about the dolls that sit in the pawn broker's window. Like most old, New England towns, Storybrooke has a bit of a checkered history – except the truth is that Storybrooke isn't actually very old at all, and its history is a bit more black than checkered.

Or perhaps I should say red.

If you're just another tourist passing through in October, blinded by the leaves and farm stands filled to brimming with pumpkins and hot cider, then you might not notice that something about this town isn't as it seems. That's what everyone here hopes for, that you'll spend a few bucks on some food and plastic souvenirs and move on up the coast to the next small town with a good story.

But the locals lose their easy smiles when someone looks too closely beyond Main Street, asking questions about things that are best left buried.

They don't want you to ask questions about the occurrences and complaints, the accusations and stories that have found their way to the darker corners of the internet. They frown when curious couch detectives hold up printed photos of people long gone – or should I say 'missing' – directing them instead to a rack of shirts emblazoned with the words 'I survived Dead Man's Peak'. Have you heard the legend of the centuries old ship's Captain whose spirit roams the cliffs? People go up there all the time to take photos...can't be too careful around those steep drops, they say, nothing but cold sea below...

It has an odd reputation, Storybrooke, for missing people and gruesome deaths, most of them ruled accidental – falls from great heights, victims of drowning – but the town makes its living on the backs of all those old legends, witches and vampires and ghosts, so they sell their shirts and coffee mugs, and look the other way when morbid curiosity seekers and ghost hunters make the long drive from their dark apartments and flickering screens all the way to their small town in Maine.

Most of the time.

As long as you don't look too closely and become someone they don't care for.

Because those people...I can promise it's not long before their social media goes quiet. Their camper van disappears unseen from Main Street one night – and just like that, it's as if they had never driven to that quiet town at all. The friendly old lady who runs the diner never saw them, never served them coffee and tucked a mint under their pillow. The sweet librarian never made suggestions on what they might like to check out for their stay. The harbormaster never leased them a boat to take a tour around the bay, and the kindly shrink who walks his dog three times daily never once saw them sipping coffee on the park bench.

It's not until too late that you can see them for who they really are.

How the friendly old woman who owns the diner pulls raw meat from the fridge after closing, arthritic fingers digging deep into the mass of red flesh and drawing it closer to her mouth, her eyes flickering shut with pleasure as she tears hunks of it free and swallows them down. How the sweet librarian locks up at the end of the day and returns to the back room of the Pawn Shop, the knowledge she's gleaned during her studies made useful as she seeks to return her lost love to the world of the living. How the harbormaster grins wickedly in the dark of a warehouse, teeth sharper than humanly possible as his eyes hone in on the soft, pulsing flesh of a young woman's neck. How the shrink sits beside an unsuspecting stranger on the park bench, drawing their sadness and woes from them and feasting, leaving those he speaks to holding darker and more open wounds than only moments before.

You won't see it until it no longer matters, until they have no intention of allowing you to flee to the next town with a story to tell.

But I promise you, none of them have a story quite like Storybrooke. I should know, I was there when it began.

And now...well, I'm not going anywhere.

“So, this is the evidence I needed to see?” Emma grimaced, toeing the bit of faded, rotten canvas poking from the dirt, the orange tarpaulin long separated from the bit of metal that was once a frame.

“This is where it all started,” the man insisted, walking frantically between the trees and gesturing widely to the overgrown clearing. “This was where we'd set up camp, and here, right here – ” He knelt and swiped his hand through a layer of wet leaves, exposing what looked to be an old circle of stones. “This was where we roasted marshmallows.”

“It look's like an old campsite,” Emma agreed, eyes darting to the sun that was only just setting low over the forest, “but there must be hundreds of these abandoned all along the Maine coast. I don't see how it's – ”

“I found this,” the man rushed, desperate to make her see reason. He yanked a mildewed piece of fabric from the ground nearby, waving it between them. “It was my dad's. His name is on the tag. This is the spot, right here, where it all started.”

“Alright, look, Mr. Mendell – ”

“Greg. My name's Greg.”

“Greg, can you just slow down and explain this to me again – one more time, from the beginning, please?”

“Thirty years ago, my father and I were camping in the wilderness. Then out of nowhere, there was a rush of something in the air, and an entire town appeared right beside us.”

“Out of nowhere?” Emma deadpanned, whipping out her flashlight and shining it over the rapidly darkening forest. “Towns don't just fall from the sky, Mr. Mendell.”

“It was like magic, and when we tried to leave the town, she kept my father here – the Mayor. When I tried to get help and get back to him, it was gone – the entire town. Like it was under some sort of magic spell.”

“You're saying magic a lot.”

“I know I sound crazy,” he stammered, running his hands over his close cropped hair as he paced back and forth.

“Yeah, just a little,” Emma snorted, passing the beam of light over his face and watching as his eyes squeezed shut.

“But I'm not. I tried to move on, start a new life, but I couldn't, not until I figured it out – and now I have. It's this town, it has secrets,” he hissed, his hands tightening into fists at his side.

“Okay, sir. I think it's best we get you back to town and maybe give someone a call – do you have any family I can reach out to?”

“I don't need you to call anyone,” he blurted out, eyes wide and panicked as he took a step away from her toward the shadowed trees. “I need you to help me find out what happened to my father – everyone in this town, they're in on it. The Mayor, she looks exactly the same as she did back then. The woman who runs the diner and her granddaughter...they're all the same!”

“Sir, I'm gonna need you to just calm down,” Emma sighed.

“Do you have any idea how many people have gone missing in this town? My father may have been the first, but he wasn't the last. As soon as anyone starts asking too many questions – poof, gone!”

Reaching up, Emma rubbed at her brow with an exhausted huff as she approached the man while he continued to rant.

“There were those two women – the DeVille woman and her friend. They took vacations from work to visit and never came back. That blogger – the one who posted a photo of some strange, purple cloud that went viral. His partner came to meet up with him after he got a concerning text and never found him, then – strangely enough – his partner disappeared as well.”

“So you're telling me that this town somehow magically appeared here out of thin air,” Emma scoffed, “and that we're murdering people to keep it secret.”

“I looked into you – you only moved here recently, so you're safe. You have to do something about it, Sheriff.”

“Here's the thing,” Emma sighed, shrugging lopsidedly. “You're right.”

“What?” the man rasped, some instinct that rises in humans when danger is sensed making his face grow paler with each second that passed between them.

“You're right about the town, about magic, and this – ” she toed the rotted tent again, grimacing. “This was an oversight of Regina's. Why am I always cleaning up her messes...”

“You're in on it,” he mumbled, staggering backwards and as far from Emma as possible, nearly falling beneath the canopy of the trees.

“Quite perceptive, this one,” hummed a disembodied voice from behind him.

Greg spun wildly on his feet, trying to pin down exactly where the voice had come from, his movements eliciting a chuckle from the shadows. With his back turned to Emma, he never saw the blow coming, his eyes slipping shut before the dark, leaf-covered soil rose to meet him.

Emma leaned her weight on one hip, a large branch spinning idly in her hand.

“The troublesome ones always are.”

“Excellent form, love,” Killian praised, and Emma smirked as her husband stepped forward, black leather and dark hair separating from the shadows, his sea blue eyes glimmering mischievously. “I was wondering when you'd just get to the point.”

“Needed to know exactly what he knew.”

“The same as everyone else, it seems – except for this,” Killian pointed out, kicking the remains of some rotted out camping gear. “Why am I not surprised another of the Queen's disastrous decisions has come back to haunt us.”

Emma waved her hand and the forest floor was magically pristine, completely devoid of anything resembling a long-disused campground.

“Problem solved.”

“Well, almost,” Hook smirked, waving his hook at the unconscious man lying between them. “There's still this one to deal with.”

“Yeah,” Emma sighed, toeing at the man's chest with her boot. “Look's like dinner is gonna be late unless one of us heads back now. Rock-paper-hook?”

“Quite humorous,” Hook drawled, rolling his eyes as Emma waved a single hooked finger in the air, “but I think I'll tackle dinner. Otherwise, the lad will be eating pop tarts and deli meat from the packaging.”

“Hey, that's protein, and the pop-tarts are pumpkin spice, so that has to count for something.”

“I highly doubt there's any squash in those monstrosities – a balanced meal they are not.”

“Should I point out how hypocritical you're being,” Emma retorted, stepping into his space and matching his grin with her own. “I'll try to be quick, unless you wanted to...” She nudged the body between them with her foot, her eyebrow angled in silent question.

Killian glanced down at the unconscious Greg Mendell, his tongue lingering over sharp fangs as he studied the tremulous pulse in the man's neck. Then his eyes darted back up to Emma, catching the way her pulse quickened and arousal widened her pupils.

“I think I'll take my repast once you return, love.”

“Just what I was hoping to hear,” she purred, knowing the wait would only make him more voracious. “I'll see you home in a bit.”

“I'll count the minutes,” Hook whispered darkly, leaning down and capturing her lips in a kiss, her tongue swirling around the curved fangs that replaced his canines. His fingers found their place in her curls, and he angled her head with a gentle tug, leaving the imprint of his teeth on her neck. “Now, allow me give you a hand back to the cruiser.”

“Such a gentleman,” she breathed, still battling her racing heart and the desire pooling low in her gut as Hook squatted and lifted Greg's body as easily as if the man weighed nothing, tossing him over a shoulder.

“Shall we?”

They hiked the short distance back to the pull off, the squad car already covered in a thin layer of fallen leaves that drifted down from above.

“You know, I could have gotten him myself,” Emma said, knowing he would have been back with Henry already if not for her. “You'll be that much longer getting home now.”

“Nonsense, Swan. Henry can wait a few minutes on good form. Go on then, pop the boot.”

“It's called a trunk. Who did you even pick that up from? Pretty sure they don't have 'boots' in the Enchanted Forest.”

“You know, I'm not sure,” Killian shrugged, using the motion to slough Greg's still unconscious form into the trunk beside the rest of Emma's things. “Nottingham, perhaps?”

“Do I want to know what you guys have been up to?”

“Nothing untoward, I assure you. The man can hardly hold his rum – I think Robin simply likes to include him so he can rob him blind during poker.”

Before Emma could blink, Killian had pulled several lengths of rope from his jacket and quickly bound Greg's hands and feet together, finishing the entire presentation with a strip of black cloth that he rolled tightly and wedged into his mouth, tying it round the man's head.

“So old fashioned,” Emma teased, slamming the trunk shut and leaning against it, welcoming her husband down for another kiss, trying to ignore the way it set her body afire.

“I'll see you at home, love,” he promised, and then he was gone, leaving nothing more than the cold press of his lips and the ghost of his thumb against her chin.

“Look's like it's just you and me then,” Emma sighed, rapping on the trunk twice before fishing for the keys in her pocket. “Let's get this over with.”

This is the part of the story that always makes everyone gasp, although I think if you've been paying attention, the reveal will hardly be as shocking for you as what happened next was for me.

I woke, though I don't remember falling asleep. I was too terrified for that, so like everything else that happens in this god forsaken town, I blamed it on magic. Magic had stolen my voice and ability to move, it had disappeared countless people, my father included, and it was about to get rid of me as well.

And tied up in the trunk of a cop car, there was nothing I could do about it.

Everything was black, and it took me a minute to realize that nothing was moving. I could feel my breath hot and wet around the gag in my mouth. After a moment, the trunk clicked open, swinging high to reveal a starry sky surrounded by a halo of trees.

It was kind of a beautiful view, but you don't appreciate those things when you're pretty sure you're about to die.

And she stood there, blonde hair lit from behind and the edges of her jacket glowing red as she crossed her arms in front of her chest.

“I'm gonna be late for dinner because of this shit. Every year, it's someone new.”

I opened my mouth to scream, but nothing came out. As if she sensed my intention and it made no difference at all, she waved her hand and my voice rushed back to me, the gag and the magic that had silenced me both gone.

“Help! Someone help – ”

“There's no one around to hear you,” she snapped, reaching for the shovel that she'd chucked behind me. “Now get out of the car.”

“You're crazy if you think I'm just going to – ”

Her wrist flicked again and suddenly I was standing ten feet from the car in the middle of a field, the ropes that had bound me gone. I stumbled, trying to regain my balance, and I wish I could say I'd been quicker to run, but I wasn't, and even if I had, I'm sure it wouldn't have mattered.

My eyes drifted to the ground beside me – or the lack of it. A large hole roughly the size of a person had been dug into the earth, black, loamy soil piled high beside it.

“Please – ” I took a step back as she took one forward, but another wave of her wrist stole any ability I had to move on my own, my breaths shuddering against my rib cage as I stood there like a deer frozen to the road.

I could only watch in horror as she reached toward me, a look of annoyance on her face. Her hand pressed against my chest, and before I could even understand what was happening, she reached through it – pain gripped me, tearing a feral sound from my lips as roughly as she jerked her hand free.

She stepped back, something bright red and glowing caged within her fingers, a heart – my heart.

“Get in the hole,” she sighed, as if she were directing me to fill out paperwork and not ordering me to my death.

I wanted to object, to run and scream, but instead my feet moved, carrying me to the looming pit. I could only stare, utterly terrified, as my shoes dangled over the edge, the soil threaded with roots damp in my palms as I gripped the edge and dropped.

“Please,” I begged, staring up at her where she stood, looming over what was to be my grave. Her face was shadowed by the moon behind her, but her jacket glowed as red as my heart where she held it. “Why are you doing this?”

“I'm the Savior,” she explained with a tone that said she found the job rather inconvenient. “I protect this town, keep it safe.”

“From what?”

“From people like you, who come and poke your noses into our business. We have a life here, and we just want to live it in peace. So I do my part, we all do.”

“So now you're just gonna what, bury me alive?” I screamed, bile thick on the back of my tongue and my limbs shaking with adrenaline.

“Alive?” she laughed. “No, what kind of monster do you think I am?”

I could feel my heart thumping against my bones as she held her arm over my open grave, the red glimmer moving closer, illuminating the glistening curves of worms and beetles that treaded the freshly disturbed earth.

And then she squeezed.

Pain unlike anything I'd ever known consumed me, and as some non-corporeal part of me rose high above, I looked down and saw the grey ash that fell from her hand to litter my corpse below.

She brushed her palms together, as if they were dirtied by nothing more than crumbs, and then with a tired flick of her wrist, the black soil scattered on the ground tipped itself back into the hole, burying me entirely.

There's an old, scenic Victorian home whose windows peer out over the sea.

Inside, a woman comes home for the evening. She hangs her red leather jacket reverently beside its black companion.

At the table, a husband dusts hot cocoa with cinnamon, smiling as she takes it to warm her hands after an evening in the cold.

She sits on the sofa with her son, watching as he's captivated by the soft glow of the TV, a controller gripped between his hands and an empty dinner plate on the table.

It's a scene fitting for an autumnal New England night – Norman Rockwell for the millennials.

There's no outward sign of the monsters that lurk beneath. There's no blood on her hands, but they're red with it all the same, just as her neck is painted red later that evening as her husband takes his own meal.

Her and every other person in this town – it's all painted red.

So, now you've listened to my story – one more 'tourist' who's taken the long drive up the coast to this damned town, searching for mystery and ghosts.

You've found one, one of many – the only question is, will you linger to hear the rest, or will you flee onward to the next small town with its small stories, grateful that the monsters you sought have passed you by?

Choose wisely, Ghost Hunter – some stories are best left buried.

END

Tagging: @donteattheappleshook @justanother-unluckysoul @kmomof4 @the-darkdragonfly @teamhook @zaharadessert @xarandomdreamx @jrob64 @wefoundloveunderthelight @tiganasummertree @pirateprincessofpizza @lfh1226-linda @alexa-fangirl-forever @alifeofdreams @superchocovian @hollyethecurious @caught-in-the-filter @snowbellewells @itsfabianadocarmo @stahlop @karlyfr13s @elizabeethan @rkrbirdgirl @batana54 @ilovemesomekillianjones

#Captain Swan #cs halloweek #cs fanfic #CS fic #sailtoafarawayland #best left buried #emma and hook #halloween vibes

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spartanguard · 4 years ago

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life was a willow and it bent right to your wind (CS Halloweek 1/7)

Summary: Samhain brings a turning point for witch Emma and pirate beau Killian, in both their lives and their relationship. Gods willing, what they've built is strong enough to resist the temptations of darkness—but the only way to find out is to move forward.

A/N: Welcome to Halloweek! Many thanks to the organizers of @cshalloweek ! They've provided an excellent prompt list, and my plan is to share just a bit of this story each day, each entry fitting the theme. Hope you enjoy it! [tags are below cut]

October 25: Treats / orange | pumpkin spice | witch in the woods | “get off me” | fiery

800 words | rated T-M | AO3

part 1: I’m like the water when your ship rolled in that night

Leaves and pine needles crunched under foot as Emma strode through the woods. The harvest moon streaming through the increasingly bare trees was nothing short of cliche, but also appropriate, she figured; they were on the cusp of Samhain, and for a witch like her, it was one of the most important—and magical—times of the year.

There were other celebrations, rituals, and traditions she’d be attending with her coven over the next day or so, but she was out here taking care of one of her own. She could probably find the hollowed-out tree with the perfect view of the ocean without sight by now, she’d visited so often.

As she’d done so many times, she stood in front of the gaping hole in the long-dead tree. The aroma of pumpkin spice lingered, mixed with the ever-present smell of rotting wood; she’d brought some cake with her when she came up last week on her birthday, as something of an offering. It had been over twenty-eight years since she her parents found her in this stump as an infant; they still didn’t know how she got there—whether she’d been left, or somehow spawned from the woods itself in response to their prayers for a child—but it had nevertheless become something of a refuge, a spot for meditation.

(Especially now; she’d yet to break the curse of the poisoned heart that not only kept her from her parents, but kept them apart, too. But maybe Samhain would bring a revelation there.)

Nothing lingered of the cake—either the tree had liked it, or some forest creature had made off with it—but the scent remained strong as ever; or maybe it was just her. He always said she smelled (and tasted) like that—sweet and spicy and delicious; a welcome chill went up her spine at the memory of the last time he’d told her that.

She supposed there were worse things for her pheromones to mimic. His were equally divine, but of a different sort—still spicy, but with a crisp, almost briny edge to it that was simultaneously warm and energizing.

She breathed deep as she watched the amber-colored ripples of moonlight reflecting on the water and a breeze picked up, making her cloak flutter around her and—if she wasn’t mistaken—carrying that familiar scent on it. She’d seen the familiar sails of his ship as it cut across the waves not long ago, at the start of her hike.

But then another, very different chill went through her, and she pulled her cloak tight; there was something else on the air tonight—something heavier, possibly malevolent.

Before she had a chance to discern what she was feeling, or even mutter a protective spell, a warm body was on top of her, pressing her against the tree from behind.

“Hello, love,” he purred, and began pressing kisses against her neck. She shivered for a different reason now; his soft lips felt amazing against her skin and the brush of his beard always tickled her in the best way. But still—something didn’t feel right.

“Get off of me,” she said, teasingly, as she rolled her shoulder to press him away—but only enough to turn and face him while staying in his embrace.

And there he was: Killian Jones, in all his pirate glory, mischief sparkling in his bright blue eyes like it always did—ever since the day she’d met him.

“Miss me?” he asked, pressing close again.

“Always,” she answered, then brushed his fringe—a bit longer than the last time she saw him—off his face.

To her shock, though, she was—well, shocked. Her own inherent light magic sparked against his skin when she grazed his forehead; that had never happened before. Her magic usually caressed him the same way she did, and though he was no stranger to witchcraft, he didn’t have any powers of his own.

It seemed to reverberate in the air around them, like tiny fireworks popping all over. Odder still, he didn’t notice; he continued to stare at her like he wanted to eat her alive. That in itself wasn’t out of the ordinary, but he didn’t work his way to captain by being inobservant. And there was just enough of a wicked tilt to his smirk that she knew—something happened to him.

“Killian, what’s going on?” she asked, concerned. “Something isn’t right.”

“I’m perfectly fine, Swan,” he countered, his grin turning devilish. “Better than I’ve ever been, in fact.”

A warm glow overtook his features, somehow making their sharp edges seem menacing. Fear rose in her core, a sharp contrast to the more pleasurable feelings she’d been expecting.

And it all turned into a solid lump in her stomach when she realized where the light was coming from—the fireball in the palm of Killian’s hand.

☆*.｡.*‧⁺˚*･༓☾・✧ :- ･ﾟ★,｡･☆ -: ✧ ・☽༓･*˚⁺‧.｡.*☆

thanks for reading! tagging some peeps @kat2609 @optomisticgirl @xpumpkindumplingx @shipsxahoy @mryddinwilt @cocohook38 @annytecture @shireness-says @ohmightydevviepuu @profdanglaisstuff @wingedlioness @word-bug @thisonesatellite @distant-rose @wellhellotragic @welllpthisishappening @let-it-raines @pirateherokillian @killianmesmalls @thejollyroger-writer @ineffablecolors @laschatzi @ive-always-been-a-pirate @nfbagelperson @stubblesandwich @phiralovesloki @athenascarlet @kmomof4 @ilovemesomekillianjones @whimsicallyenchantedrose @snowbellewells @idristardis @scientificapricot @searchingwardrobes @donteattheappleshook @jrob64 @the-darkdragonfly @itsfabianadocarmo @stahlop @klynn-stormz @resident-of-storybrooke

#cs ff #cs halloweek #cs halloweek 2021 #witch!emma #dark killian #life was a willow and it bent right to your wind #my ff

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cshalloweek · 4 years ago

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Themes for 2021

The themes are vague on purpose; interpret them however you like. You can combine a few of the prompts or just pick one.

The colour themes are an alternative for artists/gifmakers, but writers can use them too, or you can use both in combination if you want. The prompts under each theme are just suggestions to help spark ideas, use them or not as you like (and if you want to use one of them for a different theme that’s okay too)!

25. October

Treats / orange

pumpkin spice | witch in the woods | “get off me” | fiery

26. October

Threats / black

clanking chains | prank | “we have to be quiet” | carved

27. October

Poison / green

cauldron | bad cook | “your words are poison” | cursed

28. October

Magic / purple

crystals | darkness | “I thought I’d lost you” | spellbound

29. October

Monsters / red

under a spell | mystery | “I’m not going anywhere” | bloodcurdling

30. October

Dance / grey

masquerade | honour | “you’re trembling” | enraged

31. October

Spirit / white

haunted house | betrayal | “tell me again” | wicked

If you’re not sure where your idea fits, no worries! Just pick the closest one, you’re not going to get disqualified or anything.

#cs halloweek #cs halloweek 2021 #2021 themes #for the folks on mobile!

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caught-in-the-filter · 4 years ago

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CS Halloweek 2021 — Day 7: Spirit/White (haunted house | betrayal | wicked) @cshalloweek

(CS Haunted Mansion AU)

When hinges creak in doorless chambers And strange and frightening sounds Echo through the halls Whenever candlelights flicker Where the air is deathly still That is the time when ghosts are present Practicing their ghoulish delight

This idea is based on the Haunted Mansion movie.

Killian and Emma are realtors that find themselves wrapped up in more than they bargained for when they visit Mr. Cassidy’s home for what they think is just another potential sale. Little do they know, Cassidy has been long deceased after the unfortunate death of his fiancée—a fiancée he believes has been essentially reincarnated in look-alike Emma Swan, and he has every intention of winning her back, til death do they start.

Tag list ❤️: @anothersworld @batana54 @darkcolinodonorgasm @deckerstarblanche @donteattheappleshook @elizabeethan @holdingoutforapiratehero @hollyethecurious @ilovemesomekillianjones @itsfabianadocarmo @jonesfandomfanatic @jrob64 @justanother-unluckysoul @karlyfr13s @klynn-stormz @kmomof4 @laschatzi @qualitycoffeethings @resident-of-storybrooke @sotangledupinit @stahlop @teamhook @the-darkdragonfly @thejollyroger-writer @tiganasummertree @ultraluckycatnd @veryverynotgoodwrites @wefoundloveunderthelight @whimsicallyenchantedrose @xhookswenchx @xsajx @zaharadessert

#cshalloweek #cs halloweek 2021 #captain swan #neal cassidy #haunted mansion #haunted mansion au #cs aesthetics #cs aesthetic #cs art #cs haunted mansion au #cshalloweek2021 #cs halloweek #kayla's aesthetics #kayla's cs aesthetics #ghosts #(fell asleep and totally forgot to queue this last night)

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lunimegames · 4 years ago

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This week’s chilling OC is Sophia, sent to us by @itz_lavender (Amino)

Tag who you’d come back to haunt 👻 & check out Sophia’s story ↓

Sophia’s father owns a chemical company, and one day she was inside the building walking around, touching all the testing tubes, when her toxic friend Isla pushed one of the tubes off of the top shelf, spilling chemicals all over her. The reaction was fatal. Now, she is an undead monster that lives in the building’s basement, waiting for the perfect time to get revenge 😈

Want to see your OC featured here? Send a screenshot of your OC with a white background, your OC’s name, a brief back story, and your social media username (to credit) to [email protected]

#ocoftheweek #gachaoc #oc #gacha club oc #lunime #gacha #gacha life #gacha club #games #gachaverse #gacha studio #jack o lantern #october #cs halloweek #gacha world #halloweekend

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sotangledupinit · 4 years ago

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CS Halloweek: just a bunch of hocus pocus

just a bunch of hocus pocus — @cshalloweek Day 7

Day 7 Prompts (October 31st — Halloween)

Spirit / white

haunted house | betrayal | “tell me again” | wicked

SUMMARY: When Emma Swan moved to the small town of Storybrooke with her son, she expected to deal with petty crimes and lowly thieves as their new sheriff. She didn’t expect to accidentally raise the Mills Witches from the dead for them wreak havoc on the town Halloween night. At least her son seems to have learned a thing or two to defeat them. But there’s also the fact the attractive sailor who docks at their shores every fall is actually 300-years-old and has been trying to prevent the witches from rising again. Oops.

Also, did she mention that her son’s new cat can talk?!

#cs halloweek 2021 #cs halloweek #captain swan #hocus pocus au #hocus pocus #killian jones #emma swan #henry mills #I DIDNT GET A CHANCE TO FINISH THIS IN TIME FOR HALLOWEEN BUT I WANTED TO MAKE AN EDIT #MAYBE SOME DAY SOON ITLL BE DONE #Halloween #I love my ideas for this story #but I just exhausted my brain this week and this’ll have to wait #but I will finish writing it one (1) day #my fics #my edit

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thepirateandhisson · 4 years ago

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CS Halloweek: close your eyes, take a breath, and you’re home

close your eyes, take a breath, and you’re home - @cshalloweek Day 2

Day 2 Prompts (October 26th):

Threats / black

clanking chains | prank | “we have to be quiet” | carved

SUMMARY: All Henry wanted to do was go to the Underworld, find his father, and bring him back to Storybrooke. Except things don't go to plan and now he's got a dead pirate helping him find a way home.

S2 Canon Divergence AU where Hook died in New York after stabbing Rumpelstiltskin.

RATING: T for language, violence.

WORD COUNT: 25,262 words

TAGS: Captain Cobra, Captain Swan, Halloween, CS Halloweek 2021, Underworld AU, Canon Divergence AU, Canon-Typical Violence, Canonical Character Death, no beta we die like killian jones

AO3

AUTHOR’S NOTE: hahahah this was originally supposed to be a cute captain cobra fic of like 3000 with a dash of captain swan but here we are

***

For being hell, the underworld, purgatory, or whatever his family wants to call it, the place is cold.

A red tint covers as far as the eye can see. And what he sees is a hopeless version of Storybrooke. Underbrooke, he jokes to himself. Where he grew so used to seeing Moe’s roses in the flowerbeds outside of his shop, instead dried up dirt from knocked over planters are in the doorway of an abandoned shop. The clock in the tower above the library lays dismantled in the middle of main street and there’s smoke coming from just about everywhere. Granny’s sign is broken, hanging six feet from the ground by a few frayed electrical wires. It reminds him of a story he heard once where a sword hung above a throne.

“Ooohhh…” a voice breathes out in glee. He jumps away and turns to face the person who snuck up on him, eyes wide.

A woman with wild blonde hair and glossed over eyes grins at him. Teeth shaped like fangs peer out from under her lip, twinkling at him even in the red haze, and he shivers. The thick wool coat he wears helps minutely to keep out Underbrooke’s cold but did nothing to stop the chill from the woman.

“You just smell delicious,” she says, practically giggling as she speaks. She inches forward, head stretched ahead of her body, and sniffs again even as he tries to move away. “And you’re alive!” This time there is no mistaking that he is in danger the longer he’s around the woman.

Despite her lack of eyesight, her sense of smell is keenly aware of his movements as she follows him as he tries to maneuver around her, her body turning to follow his every action.

“It’s been so long since I’ve had someone alive!” She licks her lips, mouth still open in a wide grin, and he pictures a napkin around her neck and fork and knife in her hands. “And what’s your name, dear?”

He swallows. The woman has him trapped. His back is against the broken fence of the diner – Granny is meticulous about how her dining institution looks and would be offended to know this is the state its in – and her arms are extended on either side. There’s no telling what her capabilities are. She’s already proven a stellar sense of smell, and he can’t afford to attribute that just to heightened senses from her loss of sight. For all he knows, she may be a werewolf.

“Henry,” he answers. His mind is thinking too fast to even care that his voice cracked. It’s been happening more and more over recent weeks and while he gets embarrassed if he’s around friends like Grace or his moms, he has grown used to it.

“Henry,” she repeats, her voice extending every letter of his name like it’s its own word. He almost mistakes her for a snake with the way she sticks her tongue between her teeth and bites. It’s then that he realizes he’s either going to actually die in Underbrooke or he can make a go for it.

He finally manages to get away from the broken fence around the diner, his backup snagging only slightly with a quick ripping sound barely heard over the woman’s cries and makes his way into the street. “Breathe into this for me, at least!” he hears her call behind him. Instead of looking back, he rushes forward.

The underworld is an odd place, he decides. The souls here have jobs and duties and go about their days like they lived in Storybrooke, not caring that the clocktower remains in the middle of the street or that everything seems to be smoking and no one actually needs to be doing anything that they’re doing. There’s a line for the singular telephone booth in town and everyone who walks up to it seems to be leaving messages or crying or just adding to the hopelessness of Underbrooke in general.

He takes a hurried glance at the people in line not wanting to stay around longer than he has too. Hopelessness, he quickly learns, is contagious in Underbrooke and hope is his ticket home. The usual places are devoid of anyone he knows, both a blessing and a curse. He’s lost more than a few good people over the years and while a part of him would love to see them again, he thinks it’s better they’re not here.

Well. He hopes one person is here.

His feet bring him to the playground by the ocean. The bench by the ramp to the sand is occupied by a person who lays across it with a leather duster over his face and a pile of black under his seat. He makes his way past the figure, past the swings and the jungle gym, to the sand where he and his dad sword fought.

The memory burns in his mind, both feeling like yesterday and like forever ago. He supposes both could be true, since he lost a year because of the Wicked Witch and his memories are all jumbled still.

He didn’t get a lot of time with his dad. Neal was as much a surprise to him as he had been to the man, one of Emma Swan’s best kept and closely guarded secrets. What little time they spent together consisted of Neal letting him steer the pirate ship they stole, sword fighting across Storybrooke, and…

Henry tilts his head to the side, stopping suddenly in the sand.

Try as he might, Henry can’t think of much else they did together. Was their relationship really that shallow, was time an enemy that stole his father from him before they could really dive deeper, or was the missing year and two sets of memories messing with his recall?

A weight settles in his stomach like when he eats too much food and feels sick instead of content. It isn’t right, he thinks. He just found his dad only to be pulled away without memory of it all and then to find him again right before he died. It isn’t fair.

He continues walking, eyes on the water and seeking the calming rhythm of crashing waves to ease his nerves, coming to the edge of the retaining wall. Except there are no waves. Even on the calmest of days in Storybrooke, the water still lapped at the shoreline or against the docks in the harbor gently. Yet, as he leans over and looks down, the water in Underbrooke is eerily still.

“I wouldn’t tempt fate, lad.”

Henry jumps again at the unknown voice, though this time he’s grateful that the person it came from has kept their distance.

“Who are y–”

As Henry turns to face the stranger, his foot slips on the edging of the wall and he suddenly finds himself falling back into the water.

The stranger is quick, a reaction time that Henry wishes he had when he played a few of his videogames, and with a jerk of the straps of the backpack over his shoulders, he is upright once more. There is another tug on his backpack straps and the stranger pulls him forward, away from the water and over to the swings.

“Wh – what just happened?” he asks. His mind is reeling and he chances a glance back at the water. Calm just moments before, it now rages like a storm and is unleashing hell against the retaining wall he just stood atop.

“That, lad, was you almost being lost to Acheron.”

Henry faces forward towards the man pulling him as far from the water as possible. He only sees the back of his head, covered with thick dark hair, and his arm extended back to Henry’s backpack strap. It’s only as he notices that it’s not a hand holding onto him and his backpack but a hook that he trips.

“A little further. Keep up.”

Henry stumbles as he tries to right his footing, the man not stopping to let him regain his balance. He watches as the stranger leans down and picks up a discarded leather duster from the bench without his pace faltering. The pile of black underneath the bench begins to move as they stride away from it.

The end of the street that they step onto is empty. Henry almost thinks that there’s not a soul in sight but he isn’t well-versed enough in the ways of Underbrooke to see if that’s ironic or not.

Growing up in a town full of fairytale characters, coming from a family full of them, and now being stuck in Underbrooke, Henry can only assume whose hook this belongs to.

“Captain Hook?” he asks hesitantly. He’s sure his gulp is audible as the man swiftly turns around to face him.

Disney’s Peter Pan got it wrong. Captain Hook didn’t walk around in a long red coat with a ridiculous feathered hat or sporting a long curly mustache.

There was leather – a lot of it. And his shirt was left mostly unbuttoned, giving Henry a glimpse at more chest hair than he ever wanted to see on another person in his entire life. Instead of the maniacal mustache from the animated feature, this Hook has a clean cut of facial hair along his jaw and over his lip. His eyes are narrowed at Henry, sizing him up as if he just asked to join his crew, and Henry realizes that his eyes are the same color blue he hoped Underbrooke’s waters would be.

“Aye, I see you’ve heard of me. Yet I have not heard of you.”

He contemplates for a moment. Henry has met his fair share of villains since his mom broke the curse. Some of them had a chance for redemption, others were a lost cause, but one thing they all had in common with the heroes was that their story tended to be different from the ones he grew up with. So while a part of him is cautious around Captain Hook, he supposes he owns the man something for not letting him fall in the water. No telling how he would have gotten out of that one.

“I’m Henry Mills.”

Captain Hook continues to scrutinize him in a way that makes Henry fidget. It’s as if he’s waiting Henry out, trying to see what else he’ll see under the gaze of a fearful pirate captain, eager to know all his secrets. And Henry realizes that’s exactly what the captain’s doing.

“What’s Acheron?” he asks suddenly. Captain Hook raises an eyebrow at him, appraising him for a moment longer before he settles his hand on the buckle of his pants.

“Acheron is the River of Lost Souls,” Captain Hook answers. Henry gapes and turns his head back to the water he almost fell in. Its raging is beginning to calm but what he finally sees is the water for what it is – a dark green color that is highlighted by spots of lighter hues dodging in-between one another, swimming around – some in desperation and some in hopelessness, but all looking for someone to end the loneliness and join them.

One more, the water seems to whisper to each other.

“A touch from Acheron and your soul is stuck forever. There are a multitude of damnations one can face here forever but that has to be the worst.”

He can’t help but ask, “Why?” The water is entrancing but not for the same reason as before. While it previously lured him with the promise of calm, now he wonders about the souls stuck there forever.

“They have no hope of escape or chance to move on. While being damned in this purgatory is hell in its own right, at least some of us have the… freedom to not be locked in one place.” As he speaks, Captain Hook gestures to the pile of black at his feet.

Only at his acknowledgement did it become obvious. The pile of black formed a shape before Henry’s very eyes. He begins to notice the curves and spaces within the pile, one of black iron that looks to weigh more than the man attached to it. A slight shake of Captain Hook’s foot allows a rattling to fill his ears for the first time.

A pile of chains.

Captain Hook puts his foot back on the ground, the shackle around his ankle shifting enough that Henry hears a quiet ring of the chains.

“Some of us are damned to carry the weight of our sins with us everywhere we go.” Henry isn’t able to recognize the tone in the captain’s voice – regret, maybe, or bitterness, he’s not sure. His eyes are still stuck on the pile at his feet and he wonders how he didn’t notice it sooner. “But what I’m curious about is how someone living has been placed in the Underworld.”

He blinks. He suddenly doesn’t remember the last time he blinked. Has he been doing it without notice the entirety of his time in Underbrooke or did the people here not have to do that? Did Underbrooke townies have to eat or drink or sleep? Was there a night in a place like Underbrooke?

“Lad?” Captain Hook asks. He’s snapping his fingers in Henry’s face a few times before he blinks himself back to focus. “Lad, you have to stay with me. You’re alive and you’re not supposed to be here. The longer you’re down here then the more you’ll forget about yourself. You need to leave before you’re stuck here.”

Henry jerks back. “No! No, I can’t leave!” He shakes his head at the captain.

“That was not a request but an order,” Captain Hook growls and comes closer to him. The man didn’t scare Henry before but the low timber of his voice and the fire in his eyes, so much like Hook has his own personal hell inside of himself, shrinks Henry back as he swallows. “You need to leave now.”

The thought of leaving – after everything he went through to just get here – churns Henry’s stomach. He isn’t leaving without his dad and Captain Hook or not, he’s dealt with worse villains he’s sure, his own mom included. He survived a sleeping curse and Peter Pan who was clearly the villain of that story.

Wait.

He thinks to himself that if Pan were the villain, Hook has to be the hero. It’s like Star Wars: there has to be a balance. If there is a hero then there is a villain and since none of his time in Neverland hinted at the Darlings actually existing, Hook was his only other option. Heroes always have a soft spot to help someone in need. If Hook knew what he came down to do, then he’d help him.

Captain Hook hasn’t moved away and his face is still pinched in a fierce scowl.

Henry takes a deep breath. “I’m looking for my dad. I need to save him.”

Hook’s chains are clanking with every step he takes. The raging waters of Acheron must have quietened some of the sound because it rings loudly in his ears as they make their way through the cemetery.

He’s glad that, at the very least, he was right about Hook being a hero. Hearing his tale of woe, of finding his father just to lose him and wanting to save him from his unjust fate, tugged at something in Hook. The only thing he hasn’t figured out yet is why, if Hook is actually the hero, he has a long run of clanking chains following his every move in Underbrooke.

The cemetery still holds the red haze the rest of Underbrooke does. He supposes it’s just how the Underworld works – devoid of color, joy, and hope to keep everyone here in a state of stillness.

As they walk, Henry notices some tombstones are pushed over while others are cracked and some are intact. “What do they mean? The different states?”

“Hm?” Hook hums for a moment. He turns back to Henry and sees his attention on the cracked tombstone of someone named Gaston. “Oh, that, aye. You see, a crack down the middle from the top means eternal damnation. There’s no hope of moving on to one place or another. That crack is irreparable and you’re stuck here.”

“Does your tombstone have it?” Henry asks before thinking. His eyes widen and he waits for a scolding from Captain Hook but the man looks amused and raises an eyebrow in his direction.

“Aye,” he says, “Mine does as well.” He motions with his hook for Henry to follow and he does. The jovial appearance Hook wears slowly disappears and despite trying to keep it going for Henry’s sake, he’s smart for 13, almost 14. He knows when adults are lying or keeping up a façade.

A few rows over and past a couple funnels that aired smoke from hell into the underworld, Hook brings Henry over to a tombstone.

“Killian Jones?” he asks. He turns up to Hook and finds the man’s eyebrows pinched. Try as he might, Hook’s pain is plain as day on his face when Henry glances at him.

“Aye, Killian Jones. While most people know me by my more colorful moniker, it was the name I was born with and thus the name I’ve shamed these chains to.”

“Will you always have them?” Henry asks.

“Aye.”

“Why?”

“I’ve not been a good man, Henry,” he admits. Hook stands there in apprehension, waiting for Henry to run away. But Henry’s mom is the Evil Queen. It’s kind of hard to beat that in terms of evil, though Rumple – his grandpa – may have surpassed her. If his family consists of some of the most evil people from the Enchanted Forest and he’s forgiven them, he doesn’t see why he can’t extend that same courtesy to Hook.

“Trust me, you’re not the worst,” he replies instead.

“Lad, I’ve spent three centuries on a mad quest for revenge that didn’t even work. Bloody hell, it was all for nothing. A man does not hold onto his anger and his desire to kill for three hundred years without others becoming collateral damage.”

Henry eyes him warily. He thinks it’s something he gained from Emma, or maybe it’s because he’s the Truest Believer, but he doesn’t think Hook is all that bad anymore. Evil doesn’t recognize it’s evil.

“If you really were still a bad guy, you wouldn’t have saved me. You wouldn’t be helping me or telling me all this right now,” Henry tells him. Hook stares at him for a moment before reverting back to his confident and unbothered posture. “Besides, my mom’s the Evil Queen.”

At that, Hook sputters. “What.”

Henry grins up at him. “Reformed now. She’s one of the good guys.” Or, she’s trying to be one. He knows it’s not easy for his mom either. Decades were spent wrapped in her plot for revenge and once she got it, it left her unsatisfied and angrier. But she’s trying her best to be good for him and he can appreciate that, even if she still slips every once and a while. He heard someone say it’s a journey, not a slope and the image makes sense in his head.

Behind Hook’s tombstone and over to the side a few is a pushed over one. “What does that mean?” he asks as he makes his way over.

Graham Humbert.

Henry staggers back a step before he rushes forward and kneels beside the fallen stone.

Graham was a good man. There was that awkward moment when he told Henry about kissing his mom – which he later found out to be both moms – but other than that, he only holds fond memories of the once huntsman. For a long time, Graham was his only friend and then the first one to believe him about the curse. When everyone else made it seem like he was crazy, and when Emma was still in denial, having Graham’s support meant more than he knew to vocalize. It inspired new hope in him that he could help Emma break the curse.

And then he died because Regina crushed his heart and it was the first major loss he felt in his life. Sometimes he wonders if he mourned Graham harder than he did his own dad and then feels silly. Who mourns someone else more than their own dad?

Yet, faced with Graham’s tombstone in Underbrooke, it doesn’t feel so silly. He had a few good moments with his dad but Graham was his friend. He spent more time with Graham, as limited as it was, than with his dad yet he was down here for only one of them. Grandpa Gold did say that it is with his author’s power that he’ll be able to bring his dad back. He warned that it’d only work on one soul to allow them to cross back over to the land of the living, but Henry is the author. Surely he could figure something out, right?

Hook’s hand lands on his shoulder in what he supposes is a comforting gesture but instead the weight adds to his heavy heart. Graham was a good man and he didn’t deserve to be damned to Underbrooke forever. He couldn’t tell his mom.

“Ease your heart, Henry,” Hook says. “The stone was pushed over intact. It means he’s moved on and is in a better place.”

Tears fill his eyes and Henry sighs. Hook pats his shoulder and the weight that sat inside him only moments ago has disappeared. He missed Graham. He was easygoing whenever he caught Henry sneaking out and they had a few lunches at Granny’s together but he deserved to move on to a better place and he was glad he had. He lifts his gaze from the stone.

“What do the other ones mean?” he asks. Standing up, he continues, “The ones that are standing but don’t have a crack. What does that mean?”

Hook pauses. “It means they have unfinished business. They are here in the underworld, as good as damned like the rest of us, unless they are able to solve their unfinished business.”

“Well, that’s easy then!” Henry says. “I’m my dad’s unfinished business! I can still save him!”

There’s a twitch at the corner of Hook’s mouth and he nods. “Aye, you still can. What was his name again?”

“Neal Cassidy,” Henry says as they resume their walk amongst the tombstones, glancing at the names etched across each one. “But I guess if it’s your birth name on it, it’ll say Baelfire.”

“What?”

Henry stops walking and looks to his right, expecting to see Hook but finds nothing. He looks behind him and sees Hook has paused a few steps back, face set in shock but eyes grim.

“Your father is Baelfire?”

He doesn’t know how to react to the news that Hook knew his dad. The pirate tells him of how he fell in love with his grandmother Milah, how she joined his crew to escape the life she felt trapped in, even if it meant leaving behind her son. Their walk resumes as Hook talks, his eyes far away as he speaks and his only hand clenching and unclenching every so often. Rumple, in a fit of rage and revenge against them both, crushed Milah’s heart and took his hand.

It isn’t any secret that his grandfather is an evil guy, perhaps the worst of them all, but to hear how he just ripped the heart of his once love out of her chest and crushed it without a second thought of remorse, well, he wonders if Belle knows the true story. She has always been nice to him and looks for the best in people as much as he does, but he’d hate the same fate to fall on her.

Hook shares how years later, he taught his dad to sail when he was a boy, how he believed that he would do right by Milah and raise Baelfire like she wanted to go back and do so much. And how Hook let his own thirst for avenging her and the rejection by Baelfire to fuel his actions.

“I let him go, Henry. I knew it was the best course of action if he were to leave my ship, the safest one for him, but it was still myself who offered him up to Pan on a silver platter, and he was stuck in that godforsaken place nearly as long as I was.”

“I hate Pan,” Henry mumbles. The grass in Underbrooke is as stuck in a perpetual state of near dead as everything else and when he kicks at it, dirt flies up in front of him. “He manipulated me into giving him my heart.”

There’s a look in Hook’s eyes again, that one he had by the water when he was trying to figure out something about Henry, and he doesn’t know what the pirate is looking for this time.

“The heart of the truest believer,” Hook whispers, more to himself than to Henry. He only nods. “I’ve heard of why he wanted you. Don’t take this the wrong way but I’m surprised you made it out of there alive.”

For what feels like the first time since he entered Underbrooke, Henry smiles. “My family saved me. They’re all heroes, or at least trying to be ones.”

Time in Underbrooke works differently, similar to Neverland, he assumes. He hasn’t been here for even a day yet Henry feels as if there’s been weeks of separation between him and his family. The chill of this nether realm hits his bones again and he sighs, pulling his coat tighter against his body. How much time passed back home? Are they even aware he’s left?

The tombstones become a bit of a blur for a while and their walk has to have extended into miles by now. At one point, Henry stops walking, catching Hook’s attention. The pirate turns to look at him, eyebrow raised and mouth open to ask a question but Henry curls his hands into fists, digs them into his pockets, beats him to it. “What are we looking for? We’ve been walking around here for hours!”

Hook scrutinizes him but Henry turns away. All he can see is tombstones and no exit in sight. What was he doing in here? He had school today and Grams gave him a project on the efficiency of homing pigeons during war and he spent weeks expanding the topic to go into their abilities of navigation and how they were used to pass secret messages and –

“Lad?” a voice calls to him.

Henry blinks.

Turning his head reveals that Hook moved to stand in front of him, both a hand and a hook on his shoulders but Henry feels neither for a moment. He blinks again.

“Huh?”

“You need to stay with me, lad, alright?” Hook says in a quiet voice. His stare is intense and Henry can’t look away, has no desire to break his focus.

“What’s going on?” he asks but his voice sounds far away, like it came from the tree line and not his own throat.

“Stay focused, Henry. Can you do that? You want to find your father. Neal. Baelfire. Remember that. Hold on to the reason why you’re here. Do not lose hope. Aye?”

Henry is numb but he nods. Hook looks him over again before shedding the leather duster from his shoulders and placing it over Henry’s. The jacket weighs more than he thought it would have and when he digs his hands into the pockets, he feels gold coins in one and a flask in another. It’s still warm from the pirate who gave it to him and Henry takes a moment to revel in it. It feels like it’s been ages since he was this warm.

His mind is still a little fuzzy because he doesn’t think that the pile of iron binds following Killian looks as long as it did before, but instead he focuses on the clanking chains around Killian’s ankle becoming a steady beat as they walk.

“What’s happening to me?” Henry asks. He doesn’t like not knowing things. He was the one who figured out Storybrooke was cursed, he was the one who brought his mom home and figured out who everyone’s Enchanted Forest counterparts were. He’s the author – he should know where this was going!

Underbrooke is not to be underestimated, he realizes, and he’s in way over his head.

His grandfather told him he would be fine, that once he found his father, he would be able to come home. All he had to do was write it so in the storybook, along with his father’s name, and he’d be able to come home. Memory loss and brain fog were never mentioned as a warning from his grandfather. He searches his mind and realizes that he wasn’t warned of Acheron either. How could his grandfather send him in so unprepared?

“You’re not supposed to be here,” Killian explains. “You’re still alive. Your soul belongs in the realm of the living and since you didn’t die, your soul didn’t enter the Underworld the way everyone else’s does. So you’re being pulled between realms. The longer you’re here, the harder the pull to the Underworld will be and soon enough, you won’t have enough life left to allow you to go back, however you plan to do that. Your memories will be gone because they didn’t pass with you and you’ll be left here forever, never knowing what your unfinished business is.”

Henry almost tells him that he’s the author, it’s supposed to be in his power to do that, but Killian stops at two pushed over tombstones.

Milah Stiltskin.

Killian’s hand reaches over to touch the fallen tombstone and there’s such a loving reverence in his touch that it reminds him of when Gramps cradles Grams’ cheek and he turns away.

“Milah’s unfinished business was with her son. She regretted leaving him and wanted to know he was alright.” Killian looks up from Milah’s tombstone and smiles sadly. “I’m glad to know she learned he did well for himself.”

His stomach lurches. This man clearly looked towards his dad as a son or a brother or just someone important and Henry didn’t know how to tell Killian the truth.

Yeah, my dad was fun when I met him. Ten years after I was born because he was too scared of facing his dad that he sent my mom to jail for his crimes and didn’t even know I existed because my mom had to give me up and she waited around for him for two years in Tallahassee but he never showed.

Not really something he wants to tell a guy still mourning his lost love.

“I’m sorry you didn’t get to say goodbye to her,” Henry manages. Killian stands and shakes his head.

“No, I did. We made our peace and I only hoped she would find her closure.”

“But you still love her. Why didn’t she stay for you?”

The blue of Killian’s eyes seems sharper and he doesn’t know how to interpret it. He nearly apologizes but the pirate doesn’t let him. “When you love someone, really love them, you want the best for them, whether that includes you or not.”

Henry finds his gaze stuck on the pile of chains by Killian’s feet, forever shackled to his ankle for the sins he committed while he was alive. “You didn’t want her stuck here forever. You wanted to give her her best chance,” he says.

“Aye.”

The tombstone beside Milah’s, the one also pushed over, has the name hidden by dirt. Henry walks around Killian and kneels beside it, curiosity drawing him closer.

Cool to the touch, Henry brushes away the dirt before snuggling back into the heavy duster over his shoulders. It chases some of the new chill away but unlike before, not all of it. He claps his hands together to get the dirt off his palms and finally looks at the name.

Baelfire Stiltskin.

No.

“Wh-what?” Henry asks. Underbrooke shakes beneath his knees and Henry feels his vision spinning around the name on the tombstone. The pushed over tombstone.

“No, no, no. This can’t be right,” he rambles. His head looks up to Killian, praying it’s a mistake or this Baelfire isn’t his dad. He has three John’s in his grade and two Danielle’s. There has to be another Baelfire then. His dad was in his arms when he died, when he jumped in front of Zelena’s magic to save him even if it meant his own demise. His dad used his last breaths to apologize that they didn’t have more time, that he regrets not being there for him, wishing things could have been different. Wouldn’t that mean he was here? Henry comes from a family of heroes – surely his dad would have known they’d come after him and waited, right?

How is he not enough to be his dad’s unfinished business?

Silence envelops him and Killian. They sit at his father’s tombstone for some time and the only sound that meets his ears is his own breathing as his eyes refuse to move from the tombstone.

Apologies, quiet and sincere, come from Killian but Henry doesn’t have the energy to respond.

Camelot had been a quiet place too, allowing him to think about the many ways they could rid his mom of the darkness she so selflessly took on. She had nearly gone insane during that time, always speaking to an unseen figure and restraining herself to the point of pain so she wouldn’t use magic and tempt herself to the darkness. But the darkness liked the pain. It prodded her until she was forced to use her magic to save one of their own and the power that came from that was too much.

True Love’s Kiss didn’t work because of this. So they spent months in meetings with Merlin’s tree and Arthur’s round table to dispel the darkness from his mom’s heart. It was after freeing Merlin from the tree that he first heard whispers of the Underworld.

Souls who have passed but have left behind unfinished business were trapped there and waiting to be freed. Merlin mentioned banishing the darkness to the Underworld since they couldn’t cure his mom of its curse. Ultimately, they were able to reunite the two halves of Excalibur, a feat that seemed impossible before, and the darkness was gone. Yet the Underworld stuck in his head.

After everything his father said to him as he died, Henry thought his father would wait for him in the Underworld. He would be the unfinished business. If anyone were to help him save his father, it would be Grandpa Gold – Rumpelstiltskin.

But Gold said he couldn’t abandon his future son like he did to Bae, and that they couldn’t bring back someone from the dead. Henry argued – he was the author and he should be able to bend the rules and write a new story. It went against what the sorcerer’s apprentice told him to do, but this was a minor situation. After this, he would go back to recording stories as they were. So he planned with Gold to come to the lake in the middle of Storybrooke, a gateway to the Underworld that could only be unlocked by someone who had been there and returned, and he called the ferry for him. Gold wished him luck as Henry met the boat in the lake, the moon reflecting off of the dark surface of the water.

All that hard work and his dad isn’t even here.

They wind up back on the bench Henry first saw Killian sprawled across. The two of them sit side by side, Killian’s chains clanking against one another whenever he shifts his foot, and they watch the uneasy waves of Acheron.

“How’d you die?” Henry asks.

“Bloody crocodile,” Killian says. He turns to Henry, a bitter grin on his lips. “Thought I finally defeated the Dark One, you see. Had my hook dripped in dreamshade and stabbed the crocodile right in the heart. When he pushed me away, his arm hit my hook. Sliced his wrist but also sliced my side.” The laugh that comes from his mouth is dark and full of anger. Henry assumes it can only be at Gold besting him. “Ironic, isn’t it? My life in piracy began with dreamshade only to end with it as well.”

“He was trying to protect me,” Henry admits to Killian. “My dad. He died saving me and I came down here to save him but he’s not even here.”

“Best time to get you home then, lad,” Killian says. There’s a sadness to his voice that wasn’t there before and Henry wonders if he sees his father every time he looks at his face. “How do you plan to do it?”

Henry hesitates.

Back in Storybrooke, everyone knew he became the author. They all knew he refused to change their stories, had locked away the pen in a secret place no one thought to look. But he didn’t know what would happen if people in Underbrooke knew who he was. Killian watched his face and sighed.

“There’s an apartment I know of. It’s abandoned and no one has stepped foot in it beside myself in the years I’ve been here.” Henry raises his eyebrows when Killian says this. “It’s private and safe, so you may keep your secrets, whatever they are.”

Where Killian leads him to, funnily enough, is the loft.

He doesn’t remember the last time he stepped into the loft. They only just recently returned from Camelot before he went on his mission to save his dad. In fact, he wonders if his bedroom upstairs is the same…

Henry rushes up the stairs and sees his bed covered in a white sheet. That’s weird, he thinks to himself. He’s only ever seen abandoned homes have their furniture covered in movies. Except, the loft isn’t abandoned. Grams and Gramps just made him pancakes this morning. He only just cleaned his plate and was looking forward to playing one of his videos. The name slips his mind now, something about duty or calling for someone, and he scratches at the side of his head as he tries to remember what console he played it on.

Did he always sleep upstairs in the loft? A part of his mind remembers another bedroom, in a large white house, but that can’t be right. He’s only ever lived in apartments, none of which had any green space for him to play in.

A shaking motion rattles him to his bones and he thinks it an earthquake. As he blinks away the fog that overtook his mind, he realizes that it’s Killian, his wrists on his shoulders, shaking him.

“Stay. Focused.”

Henry swallows and nods but Killian doesn’t remove his wrists.

When the fog comes over his mind, he doesn’t even know it’s happening and that thought alone terrifies him. What if he can’t break out of it? Does he remain in Underbrooke for the rest of his life, no idea how to get himself to cross over? Tears fill his eyes and he wishes he were home with his moms. This trip to the Underworld, this mission to save his father, wasn’t worth it.

“Listen to me, Henry, alright? I’m going to stay here. Whatever you need to do, your secret is safe with me. I will make sure you get home, got it? I promise.” The earnest look in Killian’s eyes reminds him of his moms when he was in Neverland, how they refused to let him lose hope and continued fighting to get to him.

“I’m the Author,” Henry whispers. Killian steps back in shock and stares at him.

Most of the people he encountered from the Enchanted Forest knew they were fairytale characters. Nearly all of them had their cursed memories from being in Storybrooke and, while they still believed they were of their own free will, recognized that someone had the power to pull their strings. He wasn’t sure how to explain this to Killian but the man only nods his head.

“My many centuries let me learn much about our realm.” He nods at Henry. “From what I can tell, you are much better than the last author.”

Henry shakes his head and shrugs his backpack onto the covered bed, sneezing at the dust that flies up. “Tell me about it. Anyone’s better than Isaac Heller at this point.”

The book he pulls from his backpack isn’t the one he’s grown so fond of. Instead it is a blank copy from the mansion on the outskirts of Storybrooke, a vast number of untouched copies available at his fingertips. Despite all the adventures in Storybrooke since the curse broke, he still hasn’t been added to the storybook. He figured for his own adventure, he’d need his own book.

The pen calls to his fingers and he soon clasps the magical item, pulling it from the depths of his bag. It glows as he holds it up and Killian stares from his spot in the room, one eyebrow raised and his mouth slightly ajar.

“Magnificent,” he whispers to himself. Proud, Henry straightens up.

He brings his bag, book, and pen downstairs to the table with Killian following behind him. Being in the loft is a solace similar to the way the leather duster is that still sits atop his shoulders. It’s not the same as actually being in the loft, but there’s an effort made to be comfortable and Henry reaches for it with all his being. Comfort, like warmth, is rare in Underbrooke.

Killian stands beside the table with his hand on his sword, eyes darting to the door and the windows as Henry opens to the first page, pristine and white without a single word. He glances at the pirate’s protective stance, the only man he’s met besides Gramps that’s kept his word, and bites his tongue as he writes.

Disappointed but now full of knowledge, a portal opened in the Underworld to bring Henry Mills home.

The words shine on the page and with a twinkle become solid black ink. Muscles tense in anticipation, Henry waits.

Yet nothing happens.

No whirling vertex appears like the one that stole him away to Neverland. No spinning hat like the one that took his mom and grandma. No door, no Narnia wardrobe, no Harry Potter portkey – heck, he’d even take a DeLorean if it gets him out of here. But there is absolutely nothing.

“Everything alright, lad?” Killian asks, only chancing a glance back at him before returning to inspecting the entryways. Who knew what would happen if the souls down here could sense his power?

“Uh, yeah! Just another minute!”

At the end of his adventure, a portal opened to bring the Author home to Storybrooke.

Only Henry’s breathing fills the silence of the loft and he is met with crushing disappointment as yet again, nothing happens. He falls to his seat, head in his hands, and desperately tries not to cry.

Grandpa Gold told him this was how he was to get home with Neal. That his Author powers would allow him to get home since they couldn’t use the ferry again. Did Grandpa Gold know it wouldn’t work?

No, he couldn’t have. This was a mission to save his son, he wouldn’t jeopardize that after spending years and traveling realms to save him.

But in the back of his mind, hollow words belonging to the prophecy that hung over Gold’s head rings in his ears. The words refuse to come to him and try as he might, nothing he did could bring back the memory of hearing what it was. When was it that he heard it again? Was it in Neverland when –

“Bloody hell.”

Henry looks up at Killian to see the pirate looking over the paper he wrote on. At the top, his writing begins to disappear and Henry cries out. He rushes forward to rewrite the sentences, hoping that maybe if they stay there, something will eventually happen. When he tries, his hand moves of its own accord and Henry gives into his abilities. He closes his eyes and lets his pen write.

Killian sucks in a breath next to him and as Henry finishes writing a short passage, he sees a picture begin to form on the next page. It’s his family, the one he left to go on this pointless mission, and they’re all together in this loft, home in Storybrooke, and trying to find where he went.

A sob catches in his throat and Henry slams the pen into the book before slamming it shut. Killian is hesitant before he wraps his arms around Henry’s shoulders but once he does, the waterworks don’t stop.

He cries. He cries for his family and for leaving them behind without saying goodbye. He cries because he is stuck in this godforsaken hellscape for the rest of eternity. He cries because he loved his father so much and risked everything to save him but his father didn’t love him enough to stay for him and God, is this what Mom felt like?!

He has no way to get home, no family in Underbrooke to stay with, and no idea what he is going to do next.

Thankfully, Killian has an idea.

It’s not one that will get him home but it’s one that brings back a spark of hope. As the truest believer, he knows hope is the most important thing he can hold onto right now and it seems Killian knows that too.

The pirate guides him to the line at the telephone booth. Still as long as when he last visited, whenever that had been, and the hopelessness threatens to burn out the flame of hope he’s lit inside. He tugs Killian’s duster tighter around his frame, the jacket doing more to keep out the emotions of Underbrooke and the chill than his wool coat even attempted.

“Excuse us,” Killian says gruffly. He isn’t afraid to flash his hook and, while it doesn’t get more than a disinterested glance, the line does back up a few paces. They cut to the front and once the woman leaves the telephone booth, they squeeze inside.

“What do I do?” Henry asks. Killian hands him the phone and looks over at the numbers, pressing the zero and then turning to him.

“When the operator picks up, tell them who you wish to speak to. It only works one way, so they can’t respond, but this will be the best way to communicate with your family for now.”

Be it mother’s intuition or her powers as the Savior but Emma knew the moment that Henry disappeared. He didn’t disappear in the normal sense like kids do when they sneak out in the middle of the night.

No, Emma awoke in the middle of the night with a gasp and her heart clenching painfully tight in her chest like it had when Cora reached in to take it. An emptiness settled over her in a way that brought her back to being the hospital room with her ankle shackled to the bed and arms with no baby.

Three days later and the empty feeling continues to grow in her chest and she forgot what it felt like to breath without it being painful. Every second without her son is another crack and twist of her heart.

Storybrooke has been searched far and wide with both magical and non-magical means. The locator spell Regina cooked up yielded no results, neither did the one Gold did either. Her mind tugs at her whenever she’s with Gold though and she knows that he knows something. He refuses to move his point, no matter Emma’s methods, and it irks her that he could leave her son out alone and without a care for it. His own grandson.

Sleep eludes her and Emma finds herself staring up at the ceiling of the loft and feeling colder than she had since she was 16.

Mom…

Emma sits up in alarm. Her eyes search the upper room of the loft with no results. She swore she heard her son’s voice.

Mom…

Again, Emma looks to find nothing, both upstairs and downstairs. She settles herself under the covers again and believes herself to be going crazy. She’s been hoping to hear his voice so much that she is starting to drive herself insane.

Mom… Henry. I’m…

A tightness closes over her chest and Emma loses her breath. It is her son. He’s trying to communicate from wherever he is, which is certainly not Storybrooke, and Emma closes her eyes so she can focus solely on the voice in her ear. Magic comes to life at her fingertips as she works to strengthen their connection.

Mom, it’s Henry. I’m so sorry about everything. I was trying to find Dad and bring him back but he’s not here. I’m so sorry. I tried to write myself out of here but it didn’t work. I’m with Killian and he’s trying to help me but we don’t know what we’re doing or how to get me out of the Underworld.

Her breath leaves her throat in a loud gasping sob and Emma feels the tears streaming down her face.

“Hen – Henry,” she whimpers into the dark of her bedroom. Her magic tickles and Emma puts all of her power into her message. “Henry, kid, I love you. It’s going to be okay. I’m going to get you out of there. I love you. I’m coming.”

She waits in silence and listens but no other message comes through. Kicking the blankets off of her body, she rushes down the steps to her parents room, not giving a care in the world that little Leo just fell asleep.

“Mom, Dad, I heard him. I heard Henry,” Emma says in a rush. She’s shaking her parents awake and they blink up at her blearily. She repeats herself twice before it clicks in and then they shoot out of bed.

“Henry?!” David exclaims.

“Is he alright? Where is he?” Snow chimes in.

Reality crashes down on Emma. As wonderful as it was to hear her son’s voice, she doesn’t know where to go from there and tears well up at the thought. Her boy, her brave boy with more faith in his pinky than most people have in their bodies, stuck in purgatory. Alone. “The Underworld.”

Emma sits at the table in the loft, a cup of hot chocolate clasped tightly between her hands, and her stare set straight on the wooden top.

“What exactly was said?” Regina asks for what Emma swears is the millionth time. The response is robotic now. Emma played Henry’s message in her head so many times that she memorized the lilt of terror in his voice, the waver on some of his words, and the panic at the end. Her little boy was scared and alone in the Underworld and she had no idea how he got there or how to get him.

“Wait, did you say Killian?” her mom asks. Emma stutters, trailing off instead of finishing her repetition. When her gaze meets her mother’s, Mary Margaret is gone and Snow White has taken her place. There’s a fierce protectiveness to the way she clenches her jaw and Emma recognizes the glint of a hunter in her mother’s eyes.

“Yeah, that’s what Henry said.”

Regina throws up her hands, “Well that’s just great. Our son has made a friend with a doomed soul that we know nothing about.”

“That’s not exactly true,” Snow interrupts. Emma furrows her eyebrows. Killian must be someone her mom knows from the Enchanted –

It dawns on her then. The man who posed as a blacksmith who escaped Cora’s massacre and pleaded for help. Who she almost left tied to a tree until he told her –

“Killian Jones,” Emma groans.

“Is that supposed to mean something to me?”

Snow shares a look with Emma before answering Regina. “Captain Hook.”

Being in Underbrooke is like one never-ending day. There’s no night but there’s also no sun. The town, or whatever this place is, is lit up enough under the red haze that it constantly feels like midday. Henry thinks his time here would be going easier if he could separate it into days, kind of like Neverland, but he’s learned that nothing in life is easy.

After visiting the telephone booth, or haunting booth as one person called it, Killian ushered him back to the Underbrooke version of his family’s loft.

“Do you think she got it?”

“Regina? Aye, she’s got magic and if she –”

“I wasn’t talking about Regina,” Henry interrupts. He’s been in Storybrooke for so long that he forgets not everyone knows the details of his complicated and intertwined family history. “Regina adopted me when I was a baby.”

Killian huffs out a laugh. “I’m glad to hear that, lad.” He scratches behind his ear and Henry realizes that Captain Hook, the Captain Hook, is sheepish. “I was a bit frightened to hear that Regina and Baelfire were both your parents. I feared his stint on Neverland turned him dark.”

Henry nods and swallows back the idea that even if Neal wasn’t evil, per say, he still wasn’t as good of a man as the idea of him Killian put on a pedestal.

“If Regina is your… adoptive mother, then do you know who your birth mother is?”

“Yeah!” There’s a pep in Henry’s step as he pulls off the bedsheets over the furniture, turning his head away to avoid the dust. “My birth mom is Emma Swan. She’s the Sav–”

“Swan?” Killian asks. The catch in his voice is interesting, as is the grin that threatens to quirk up at the mere mention of her name. Henry eyes the pirate, not sure what he’s thinking of concerning his mom.

“Yeah. Do you know her?” He’s aware of the time his mom and Grams spent in the Enchanted Forest, and the fights in Storybrooke with Cora…

…and Hook.

How could he forget that Hook still was a villain? What did he think earlier? The rule of balance? But if Peter Pan and Captain Hook were both villains, then who was the hero in Neverland? And Captain Hook hasn’t seemed like a villain since meeting him in Underbrooke. Then again, he did have the pile of chains that followed him around with every step he made.

What did he hear of last of Hook in Storybrooke? Was it when he arrived on his ship with Cora? He struggles to remember even as he searches his mind for an answer and his fists clench the sheet in his hands.

Why was he holding this sheet? Was it his turn to do wash today? Ugh. He hated doing the wash. When he lived with Emma in New York, they always just shoved it into the machine but David likes to separate the whites from the colors and the –

Killian coughs and Henry blinks.

For all the tales he heard of Captain Hook, seeing him flustered and blushing was not one.

He observes Killian scratching at the back of his ear again and fights back a grin. Did Killian have a crush on his mom?

“Aye. We’ve had some… interactions, you can say.” He smirks slightly and gives Henry a teasing wink. “I think I left an impression.” Underneath the teasing, Killian’s eyes hold a fondness that makes Henry wonder what exactly went down between the pirate and his mom.

The bedsheet crumples in his hand as he thinks of his mom. Agitation crawls up his spine like a family of spiders reaching a perch, and he shivers. The urge is there, heavy in his chest, to go back down to the telephone booth, to hog the phone and keep talking until his voice is hoarse and then just breathe in and breathe out so his mom knows he’s alive. He figures if he waits long enough and tries hard enough, she’ll be able to get a message back.

“Do you think she heard me?” he asks. “Do you think my mom heard my message?”

“Do you believe she did?”

He has to. If he doesn’t believe she heard it then he doesn’t have a chance. Grams once said that believing in even the possibility of a happy ending is a powerful thing and right now, that’s all he has. Belief and hope and faith in himself and his family to save him.

“I do,” Henry answers resolutely.

Killian grins like Henry made the right choice and he’s proud of him. “Then I do too. Between the Savior and the heart of the Truest Believer? I doubt there’s anything you’ll fail at.”

Killian makes him share stories about his family and his life in Storybrooke. Maybe it’s not fair to say makes, but he heavily encourages it. Henry is tired and it hurts to talk but Killian asks for stories and he obliges.

After the first line of questioning from the man, he realizes what he’s doing. Killian is trying to make sure he doesn’t forget and to give him more time before his mom saves him. If he remembers, then there’s still a chance.

When Killian notices the beginnings of a brain fog overtaking his mind, he changes the subject, his line of questioning bringing Henry’s head back to a moment of clarity. Despite how much he talks, he doesn’t thirst for water and his mouth doesn’t dry. It concerns him for a moment but he reassures himself that he’s still alive, albeit in limbo, when his chest still rises steadily with his breathing and Killian’s does no such thing.

The storytelling isn’t one-sided, thankfully. He’s always been open and honest with the people he meets but being in Underbrooke has left him raw and vulnerable and he’s afraid he doesn’t have any more layers to pull back for their impromptu show-and-tell. Killian recognizes this and tells Henry of his time in the royal navy, of his turn to piracy, the different treasures he found. He also tells Henry of his mistakes, the things he regrets. How he wishes it didn’t take him making peace with Milah, breaking her already crushed heart with the truth of his life after her murder, to recognize how far off the path he’d fallen from being the man he once hoped to be.

“How come you have the chains?” Henry inquires after that particular story. Though he hasn’t had the chance to explore all of Underbrooke, he’s seen enough to know that Killian is the only person with a pile of chains following him.

Said chains jostle when Killian readjusts himself on the recliner in the living room of the loft. He rests his unshackled leg across the knee of his shackled one and plays with the rings on his hand. A ruby red jeweled ring hangs from his neck, the shiniest of them all and unlike two of the gawdy pieces that adorn his fingers.

“I made a deal with the devil,” Killian says.

“I thought this wasn’t hell.”

“It’s not,” Killian says. “But it might as well be for some of us. And Hades may not be the devil but he acts like one.”

He hesitates for only a moment before asking his next question. “What was the deal?”

Killian is a master at hiding his emotions – most of the time, at least. He guesses the man was a killer poker player without even needing to stack the deck. But his veneer cracks and Henry practically sees the bitterness that’s taken home in Killian’s expression.

“I was destined for Acheron when I came down here,” he reveals and Henry’s stomach drops. “My list of unfinished business is far longer than most that come down here and there are some things that I will never be able to complete… But I struck a deal with Hades. If I were to be stuck down here, then let it be with anything other than Acheron. A sailor’s love is the sea and a dangerous temptress she is. But I wouldn’t let her swallow me.”

“So you made a deal and he gave you the chains instead?”

“Not exactly. First, I was a chew toy for Cerberus.” Killian uses his hook to lift his shirt and despite the state of limbo, there are scars littering across his ribs and stomach that are fresher than the ones Henry sees curling around to his back. He drops the shirt back down after a moment. “Once Cerberus got bored, Hades figured he’d use me.”

“What did he do?”

“Replaced my hook with a chisel. When I didn’t carve the names of innocents to bring them to the Underworld, he gave me a carving all for myself.”

He isn’t sure if he wants to see it or not. Killian waits for his approval before using his hook once again, this time to roll up the sleeve of his right arm. There’s a jagged scar across his forearm and amongst it is the shape of a disarrayed heart. Redness lines the edges of the scarring and Killian hisses as his shirt sleeve brushes against it. If he looks carefully, Henry could mistake the scar for a tattoo.

His eyes fall to the chains, a tinny sound filling the apartment when they rub against each other from Killian’s movements. “How did you end up with the chains then?”

“Hades didn’t get the kind of reactions he wanted from me. Figured it would hurt me more to see the weight of the sins I can’t wash away.” Killian observes the chains and closes his eyes, taking a deep breath.

When he first saw Killian at the bench by the water, the chains were a threat of black without a form. They haunted Killian’s being like a shape in the shadows waiting to pounce. Then, they took up the entirety of the space beneath the bench. Now, in the light of the apartment, the large mass looks small settled in its pile by his feet. If his mind hadn’t been playing tricks on him all day, he’d think there were less links on the chain.

“Do you regret it?” Henry asks. His eyes are feeling heavy and he figures that days have gone by in Storybrooke. His body is feeling the exhaustion and although it doesn’t need food or drink, it wants sleep. But will he wake if he sleeps?

“Until very recently, yes.”

That catches his attention. He sits up from where he began slouching on the couch and meets Killian’s gaze straight on.

“I’ve lived three centuries, Henry. That’s more life than any man should live, but it was all I knew. After spending some time down here, I don’t think I’ve felt a lonelier existence in all that time. Acheron would be a terrible fate, yes, but worse so is being alone forever.”

“You don’t have anyone else down here besides Milah?” Though Milah moved on, surely Killian had family. He told Henry about his brother so his brother had to be down here too. “What about Liam?”

Killian’s smile is quick but sad. “I was able to reunite with him, and it was more than I could have ever hoped for. He would have stayed here with me, not allow himself to move on, but he deserved better.”

“You wanted him to have his best chance…”

“Aye.”

It always comes down to best chances. Henry almost finds himself sick of the idea. All anyone did when they were trying to give someone else their best chance is get hurt. Would it be better to not do that? But then he wouldn’t have both of his moms and all the family he gained in Storybrooke and maybe a little pain is worth it in the long run.

He lets out a yawn, his eyes fluttering closed, and tries to sit up again only to relax back into the cushions.

“Rest, lad,” Killian whispers. Henry can barely keep his eyes open but he feels something being draped over his body.

“I don’t want to,” he tries to fight back but his words are more of a mumble than a defiant roar. “I’m scared.”

“No need to worry,” Killian says. Iron links click and clack as the pirate moves about the room. When Henry feels the couch dip beside him, he knows its Killian. There’s a gentle press on his shoulder and Henry submits to it. His head falls onto a pillow and the hand on his shoulder doesn’t move. “Sleep, and I’ll protect you.”

“Is there a way to the Underworld?” Emma asks the moment Regina enters the loft.

“Yes,” Regina begins. “But we’re not doing it.”

“I think that should be up to us to decide,” Snow cuts in, David nodding his agreement at her side.

Regina rolls her eyes. Emma can practically hear the sarcasm in the action. “Well that’s all fine and dandy but I meant that we don’t have the means.”

David crosses his arms and Emma imagines this is what her father looked like in the Enchanted Forest. A united front with her mother as they planned to take back their kingdom from Regina. “What do you need?”

“The blood of someone who died and has come back to life.”

Emma perks up. “Yes, we can do it.”

“And how do you imagine we can? Do you have a vial of someone’s revived blood in the cabinet next to the cinnamon, Miss Swan?”

She ignores Regina’s remark and turns to David. Her pleading eyes asking for his understanding and she knows before she even utters her question that he will help. “Dad. You died. Back in the Enchanted Forest when Mom cast the Dark Curse until she shared her heart and brought you back to life.”

Realization dawns on both of her parents and Emma feels the hope in her chest begin to flutter.

“Will it work?” David’s eyes are focused over her shoulder and there’s such a desperation to his voice that makes Emma want to cry. She forgets sometimes, since she was only a baby when it happened, but her parents know what it feels like to lose a child and not be able to save them.

Their hopes, however, come crashing down with Regina’s minute shake of her head.

“I’m afraid not,” she reveals. Her words twist Emma’s heart. Henry is her son too and she wouldn’t be turning down an opportunity to save him, no matter the cost. Emma had been on the receiving end more times than she can count of how far Regina would go for Henry. “You died, yes, but to reach the Underworld, you need to have been there. You weren’t dead long enough for your soul to leave your body and enter Underworld. Your blood won’t work.”

Silence rains down on the group in heavy piles. Shoulders are tense and faces are downtrodden. The only other way for someone to go to the Underworld is if one of them died with unfinished business and she is really not in the mood to have to save two souls.

Her knowledge of the Underworld is limited and if she hadn’t been able to merge the two parts of Excalibur to get rid of the darkness, she would have run herself through with the sword and be damned there herself. Anything to get rid of the darkness and make sure no one else could become the Dark One.

The words, the title that Rumpelstiltskin proudly paraded around for centuries, are a key turning a lock. Her mind floods with the possibilities and her mouth doesn’t work fast enough to voice them all.

“Gold,” she manages.

“What?” Snow asks. Her hand drifts down to Emma’s shoulder, a comforting gesture through the confusion, she supposes, but Emma barely notices.

“Gold is the key. When he was dying, I took on the darkness. There has never been two people who were the Dark Ones alive at the same. He died and came back. We need Gold’s blood.”

When he sleeps, he dreams of nothing. The comforting hand on his shoulder is a tether keeping his soul grounded and calm. It doesn’t compare to when one of his mothers sits by his bedside when he’s sick but it’s a close second.

When he wakes, his senses come rushing back. First is the itchiness of the white bedsheet over his frame. The borrowed leather duster he wears still holds most of the warmth but he appreciates the gesture of the sheet. Next, he notices that the pillow his head rests on is situated on top of Killian’s knees and that the man hasn’t moved an inch since he fell asleep.

“Killian?” Henry calls, groggily. He slowly sits up and turns to him.

“What is it, lad?” Killian’s worry is familiar. His voice tilts down an octave and his words are rushed in the way his moms get when they think some new storybook villain has appeared in town and he gets involved.

“I need to find a storybook.”

He explains on the way to the author’s mansion that his writing isn’t taking when he tries in the new book. Although the book he brought is sharing the stories from Storybrooke, the last being his grandparents hovering over research books, his own stories aren’t translating across realms. “If I can get a storybook from Underbrooke, then maybe what I write in it will be able to get to my family. We have the telephone booth, but with this we can sort of get two-way communication.”

Killian stumbles behind him, his foot caught on a chain link, and calls out, “Underbrooke?”

The name slipped out. He honestly didn’t even mean to say it, but he’s been letting the name go around in his head this entire time that he didn’t even think.

Now that Killian questions it, Henry isn’t sure where Underbrooke came from. It sounds like a play on words and Henry repeats name under his breath. His eyebrows are pinched and his eyes drift far away as he tries to remember but nothing comes to him. Did he give this place that name or is it officially called Underbrooke?

“Underbrooke, huh?” he hears someone repeat next to him. The person’s face is a blur but Henry feels a blue-eyed gaze narrowed at him. The voice continues speaking, “Underbrooke – kind of like Storybrooke. That’s where you’re from, isn’t it Henry?”

Henry shakes his head and blinks hard. Killian’s face comes into focus and he’s become used to the expression on it to know his mind drifted off into the brain fog. “Sorry,” he apologizes but Killian waves him off.

The mansion dipped in the red haze brings about an unease that settles between his shoulder blades. A foreboding presence greets them at the door and for a moment, he worries that Isaac Heller has died and his unfinished business is revenge on Henry for taking his job. But the mansion is empty and the cobwebs prove its unuse.

He accesses the secret room with the empty storybooks the same way he did back home. Killian’s amazement and wonder at Henry’s ease makes him feel cool. The idea that anything he did could impress Captain Hook was definitely something he’d tell Violet and Grace when he got home.

Storybooks in Underbrooke are dark with worn leather that flakes off at the slightest hint of the wrong touch. Its pages are as black as the night sky and his pen trembles when he lifts it to write. The glow has returned and Henry feels the warmth in his fingertips. He imagines that warm tickle is what his moms must feel when they use their magic – their light magic.

He warned Killian as they walked up to the mansion when happens when he gives into the magic of the pen and writes but he can still see the apprehension in the man’s posture as Henry’s eyelids flutter shut and his hand whips across the page.

It’s a few minutes before he opens his eyes again but Killian is giving him that look like he’s never seen anything as cool as this and he grins at the man.

“What do we do now?” Killian asks.

Henry shrugs. “We wait.”

Gold is nowhere to be found. The location spells they’ve attempted only give dead ends from promising leads.

“It’s the residuals of his magic,” Regina told her. “He doesn’t have it anymore but the magic he cast while he did is still lingering. For God knows how long.”

Still, he was their key to getting Henry back so she resorted to her bail bonds tactics. Computer softly playing an old Fall Out Boy song in the background as she searches, she almost misses the flickering of pages. It’s as ‘Our Lawyer Made Us Change the Name of This Song So We Wouldn’t Get Sued’ fades into ‘The Kids Aren’t Alright’ that she hears the book.

Her head swivels fast and her eyes search for a boy with brown hair and the brightest smile in the world. Nothing but empty space meets her. She figures her mind must be playing tricks on her, her search for her son driving her to insanity already, but her magic tugs at her fingertips. It calls to her to go to the book, pulling at her gut. And Emma Swan always listens to her gut.

When she makes her way over to the countertop, Henry’s storybook is open but the tale the page tells isn’t one she’s heard before. The picture on the opposite side is still forming and at the shape of his head, Emma comes to tears. She knows. She already knows that her brilliant boy is finding a way to talk to her, to let her know what is happening to him.

The words appearing on the page tell her the story of how Henry contacted her from the telephone booth. Her blurry eyes lose track of her sentence but her fingers gently run down the side of his face drawn on the opposite page. Five days without her son feels like a lifetime. She gives herself a few more minutes admiring his drawing before sucking in a breath and steeling herself to return to her search for Gold. He would not slip through her fingers.

The storybooks quickly become a way to communicate and it exhausts the lad. Time passes differently for those stuck in the Underworld and what may have been just a few hours wherever he’s from has been stretched out in the timeless expanse of this hellscape.

In what’s quickly become a ritual, Killian covers Henry with a bedsheet and lets the boy get some uninterrupted rest after using so much magic with the pen.

Henry isn’t the first child he’s seen in the Underworld. He’s been unfortunate enough to see those poor souls, lost so young and not understanding where they are. If he had a heart, he supposes it’d have clenched up at the sight. Henry, however, is the first child in the Underworld who’s alive.

Or the first anyone who’s alive.

There had been rumors in the past of a couple separated by death until one made a deal with Hades to restore life to his lover. There are variations of how the tale ends, some romantically and others tragically, but the truth is buried as far deep as hope in this hopeless place.

Except for Henry.

With every breath Henry takes, he instills more hope in Killian than he’s had in centuries. The lad has loved ones – bloody powerful loved ones at that – fighting to get him home and he realizes that perhaps there is still a chance at salvation. Not for him, he thinks glumly as he looks at his sins physically manifested around his ankle, but for others.

He hates the chain.

He’s not sure if it is Hades doing or his guiltiness overwhelming his mind but he swears that every link on the chain has a name inscribed on it to remind him of a life he stole or an act he committed to remind him of how vile he was. There’s Jameson who he sliced through with his sword when he saw him hovering over the captain’s treasure. And there’s Franklin who he tied to the mast upside down before tossing him overboard for trying to take a woman while she was passed out (that one he feels was justified and isn’t miffed at having it around his ankle). There’s also Mikey who –

Killian’s eyebrows scrunch together and his eyes narrow as he inspects his chain. The link he dedicated to Mikey, the guy who he killed for stealing his rum, isn’t where it usually sits. He’s spent enough time in the Underworld to know the exact listing of every piece of his chain and who he dedicated it to that he’d know when one was missing.

Shaking his head, Killian wants to laugh at himself. He must be going crazy if he thought a link went missing. The weight around his ankle never changed and he hadn’t seen the man in over a century and a half. The ship for finding closure with that unfinished business has sailed.

He may not be able to wash his hands of his blood or free his ears of the clanking every time his chain moves, but he will do what he can to save Henry.

Bags are starting to form under the lad’s eyes and Killian wishes he could take over those writing responsibilities so he didn’t have to wear himself out all the time. But that’s not how magic works, especially powerful magic like that belonging to the Author. He learned his lesson early in his quest for revenge when he met the Apprentice.

When he checks outside the loft window, Killian groans quietly. The line for the telephone is dwindling but he balks at the idea of waking Henry from his peaceful slumber. When he wakes later, Killian will just cut the line again and threaten with his hook if anyone were to cause a problem.

Still…

His eyes turn to Henry’s sleeping form.

The Author’s pen in Killian’s hand acts like any other writing device. There’s no magical property to be felt or price to pay for what he creates. He simply writes Henry a note in case he wakes up, rips the page out with his hook, and leaves.

It feels smaller this time, he decides. Last time he was able to leave his chain out on the sidewalk, the hurry to get in contact with the lad’s family too important to care about whatever punishment may befall him if the wrong person tripped on it. But now he wants no distractions so he hauls the chain into the telephone booth with him and closes his eyes before picking up the receiver.

Killian is no stranger to speaking to himself. He lives – lived – on a magical ship at sea that really didn’t need a crew so when he required time for himself, he’d sail out to the North Sea by himself and anchor for a few weeks. Speaking to himself kept him sane on the water. Speaking in the telephone booth with no one to respond to makes him insane.

Once connected to who he wants to speak to, he licks his lips and opens his mouth.

Sssw…

Emma flicks her wrist out beside her ear. Her eyes are stuck on the page of an old tome, probably the fourth she’s inspected in the last hour alone, and the buzzing in her ear from whatever fly got into the loft is really pissing her off.

Sssw… Swan…

Her head jerks up. Hook?!

His voice rings in her ears the same way Henry’s did and she sits up straight, her back wrought with tension. All that followed Hook was trouble so if he is the one contacting her then something must have happened. She waits for his voice again and while doing so, she drags the storybook over to her and begins flicking through the pages, looking for some sort of sign that Henry is okay.

Swan… Bloody hell, I hope you can hear me through this blasted contraption. Love, your boy is okay for the most part. But I need to be honest with you. He can’t be down here much longer. I’m doing what I can to help him remember but the Underworld has a powerful pull and his lapses in memory are becoming more frequent. If he can’t remember then there’s no way to bring him back. Right now he’s exhausting himself writing in that damned book. I understand it’s helping you both communicate and your boy finds a comfort in it but we need to figure out something else because –

Emma swallows. Her hand writes his message furiously as he speaks and when he stops suddenly, she worries that their connection has been broken. All she understands from Henry’s stories is that there’s a telephone booth that allows the undead to communicate with the living. She pulls at her magic and lets the warmth fill her.

“Hook?” she asks hesitantly.

She’s not sure if he hears her but he resumes talking almost immediately.

Bloody hell, love, how could I forget?! Swan, I do hope you’re listening. If not, I’ll return later and say the same. I have another way for you to communicate with your boy and it’s a great deal better than that book.

Emma’s only been on the Jolly Roger once before, when they stole the ship from Hook back in New York. The ship hadn’t been happy then and they experienced rough seas all the way back to Storybrooke.

Yet the gangway beneath her feet pays no mind and Emma can feel the sadness in the enchanted wood of the ship before her. She’s not sure how but the Jolly knows her captain is gone and the idea that it has been in mourning, let alone in the harbor with no one allowed aboard through the magical enchants, for years tugs at her heartstrings. Before Henry came back into her life, she never would have paid mind to the feelings of a ship but magic has changed her.

Her own reaches out to the ship and she feels a gentle nudge in the way a cat bumps its head against its owner’s hand. Curiosity seeps into the wood of the ship and Emma takes a deep breath, looking around the harbor to ensure she’s alone, and whispers the password Hook whispered in the Underworld telephone. “Alice.”

The enchantments part and Emma steps through the gap. Magic wraps around her like curtains billowing in the wind, calming her racing heart. The Jolly knows she means no harm this time and the boards are welcoming and dry despite the heavy rain last night.

It takes her a few wrong turns before she finds the captain’s quarters. The room is neat and organized. The bed against one wall of the room is so nicely made that she bet she could bounce a quarter off of it. His desk has one lone piece of paper on it and while her curiosity begs her to read it, she instead focuses her task on finding what she needs.

“I need to speak quietly,” his voice said in her ear, volume just above a whisper. “There’s a necklace beneath my mattress. The charm on that necklace acts as a key. Use it to open the vault behind a painting of a cottage. In it you will find a small conch shell. You may need to wield that wonderful magic of yours, love, but you should be able to use it to speak to your lad.”

Emma finds the key with relative ease but the vault not so much. Hook has three pictures of cottages on the walls of his ship and the one that could actually hold the vault still has a fake panel over it. She swings the portrait out, slides out the fake panel, and inserts the charm into the lock.

His vault, like much of everything in his cabin, is neat. There are a few pieces of parchment paper, a drawing of a beautiful woman, a modest ring, a dirty rag, and a conch shell.

Magic tickles at her fingertips and Emma expects an electric shock when she touches the coral shell but all she feels is warmth. The shell is tiny in her grasp and it hums quietly pressing vibrations into her palms. Her eyes close as she cradles it and her mind thinks of Henry; how much she misses him and how much she loves him and how much she wants to bring him home.

She hesitates for a moment, not sure what to do, and then holds her palm close to her mouth and speaks.

“…Hook?” she asks no one.

“Swan?”

The conch shell glows in her hand. She stares in wide-eyed shock as his breathless voice repeats, “Swan? Is that you?”

The Jolly sways pleasantly on the harbor and Emma swears that it hears his voice by the soothing motions. A spark comes from her fingertips. Her lips are dry and her jaw drops open as she stares at the shell in shock. She fumbles through her words but manages to say, “Yeah, Hook. It’s me.”

“Bloody hell, love. Miss me?”

She huffs out a laugh, bittersweet to its core. The last time she saw Hook, they’d been in New York. Emma told him of Rumple’s idea to get back to Storybrooke so he can cure himself but Hook turned her down.

“I don’t trust that bloody crocodile. He’ll save his own skin and leave me to perish an even worse fate than this,” he spat. Black lines were visible under the tear in his shirt. She bit her lip worriedly. As much as Hook had been a pain in her ass, he wasn’t all bad. Seeing Neal reminded her of the pain that came with giving Henry up, the pain that came from Neal’s betrayal. If she faced the kind of heartbreak Hook did, she doubts she would have done much different before. But now she has Henry and she chooses to do better.

He was a lost soul, perhaps even a lost boy of Neverland, and his mission had been complete. She saw glimpses, in the Enchanted Forest, of the man he could be. The man he once was. He told her no lies while they were on the beanstalk and truly meant to betray Cora and be at their aid. He saved Aurora’s heart in the midst of their climatic battle and, once he shot Belle – not to kill, she reminds herself. The man had been alive for three hundred years and she was no fool to believe she beat him fairly at the portal or that he was anything but a perfect shot – he gave no trouble aside from an innuendo here and a flirty remark there.

“What can I do?” she asked him quietly. His blue eyes were light, pale, and his head lolled haphazardly to the side so he could meet her gaze. Distrust filled his eyes and his shoulders stiffened at her inquiry. Three hundred years alone just to die slowly amongst enemies, she realized. “Hook, you told me once to trust you and now I’m asking you to do the same for me. I’m not your enemy.”

He coughed and gave her a smile similar to the one he offered in the hospital a few days prior. Grim and bitter and knowing he had no positive outcome ahead. “Hasn’t seemed that way, love.”

“Yeah, well, a pirate hellbent on revenge makes things a little difficult.” His smiled sadly and looked beyond Emma to the open door of the building, his eyes on the New York harbor. Her eyes followed and she weighed her options. Neal and Henry were working together to get Gold good for the ride back on the pirate ship, one they’d take with or without the ship’s captain.

The sounds of grunting turned her attention back to Killian who was attempting to sit up, with great effort. Emma rushed to wrap his arm over her shoulders and her own around his waist. “Easy there, big guy.” She felt rather than saw his mouth open, ready for a comment, and she turned her head to glare. “Don’t. Now where are you going?”

“If I’m to die, I want the water to calm me.”

Emma struggled to bring Killian across the street and down the block to the harbor. It took a good fifteen minutes and for once she was grateful that New Yorkers didn’t question the oddities of other inhabitants. She found a bench that looked over the smooth waves and gently placed Killian down on it. He heaved out a sigh and took a deep breath.

“Smells disgusting,” he remarked.

She shrugged. “Welcome to New York.”

A bit of color returned to his blue eyes but not enough to settle her worry. The black lines began to extend to where his shirt opened, more buttons undone than done. He told her, back on the beanstalk, about this particular plant of Neverland and how it poisoned one’s system until it reached their heart. There was no cure for it, aside from a water on Neverland but once one drinks from it, their soul is chained to the island forever.

He had a haunted look in his eyes when he told her the story and she figured he learned most of it from first-hand experience. Judging by the proceeding dark lines on his chest, he didn’t have much time left. She wondered how badly it pained him to die the same way he saw someone else he cared about go.

“Go to your boy, Swan. Don’t let him worry,” his voice rasped.

“And leave you here to die alone?!”

Alone was cold and frightening. Alone was empty. Alone was hell.

She knew that well enough over her childhood and well into adulthood. It sucked. And while her and Hook weren’t on the best of terms, she couldn’t bear to leave him to die by himself.

“I’ve got the sea with me. That’s all I need,” he murmured. He lazily turned his gaze up to where she stood beside his bench. “Be with your lad. I’m okay.”

There was something in his voice. A resignation and a wistfulness. So she nodded and turned to walk away. But she paused. When they met, he told her his name. Killian Jones. She wondered when the last time it was that someone else actually uttered his given name and pondered the thought that, now with his revenge complete, he’d want to leave this world as himself instead of the moniker he held on for far too long. “Goodbye, Killian.”

He turned to her in surprise, his mouth dropping open. Awe filled his features along with a gratefulness she’d never seen before. “Another time, Emma.”

She left him at the bench, his eyes back on the water, and made to meet her son at the Jolly Roger.

Emma would be lying if she said she never thought of Hook after that. When Tamera followed Neal to Storybrooke and kidnapped Henry to Neverland, she wondered if things would have been easier with Hook guiding them. Neal, Rumple, and Regina constantly butted heads as her parents tried to keep the peace and Emma just wanted to find her son. Neal’s brilliant idea of squid ink on Pan worked, but they hadn’t been able to capture the shadow yet to leave. So they lost Henry again and found themselves making trips into the Dark Hallow for days, unable to see Pan’s shadow floating overhead.

By the time they were able to defeat Pan, they’d been gone from Storybrooke for almost two months. And they realized Pan hadn’t really been defeated, just switched bodies with Henry. It took them another couple days before they realized and by that time, Pan cast his dark curse.

When her parents found her and Henry nearly a year and a half later in New York, breaking their curse with a memory potion, Emma remembered the last time she was there and the pirate she helped say goodbye. She wondered what happened to him after they left and how differently some things would have played out if Hook had truly turned tide and accompanied them on each mission.

Would Neal still have died? Would Henry have still gone to the Underworld by himself to save his father if there had been someone else, someone who knew Rumple the best of them all, to stop him?

Emma’s always hated the butterfly effect but the whisperings of how different things could have been still echo in her ear.

She laughs softly, disbelievingly, and the conch shell rattles in her palm.

“Hook – thank you. For looking out for Henry and for the conch shells.”

His voice is tinny when he talks. It holds a quality that he’s speaking through a can, a faint echo wrapping each word. “The Underworld is a dreadful place. I’m glad I found him when I did.”

“Is he okay? You – you mentioned something about a lapse in memory?”

Her eyes focus on the glowing conch in her palm, the only lifeline she has to communicate with her son. Hook’s voice flows over her and she takes in every word with rapt attention. Blood pumps in her ears as she hears the state of her son’s wellbeing and a sob claws at her throat, desperate to come out. But Emma refuses to make a sound, worried that any interruption could sever the only tie she has.

“Have you figured out how to get him?” Hook asks.

“Yeah but… I’m not sure how feasible it is.”

“A pirate always finds a way, love,” he says and Emma sinks onto his bed, a small smile on her lips. His voice is a comfort to her as well as his ship and so is his blunt honesty of the situation. Fluffing the truth did nothing to cushion the pain, she’s learned. It only hardens the impact. She’s grateful that, despite their past, he is looking out for her son and working with her to get him home. It’s a glimpse of the man she saw on the beanstalk, cleaning her hand and wrapping it with his own scarf, flirting but always looking to her to establish their boundaries and where to go next. “What is it?”

“We need Gold.”

“Is there no way you can do it without the damned crocodile?”

A loose thread on his blanket pulls her attention and her fingers wind around it. It seems so unlike the Captain Hook she knows to have anything out of place and she wonders if he was in the navy back in the Enchanted Forest.

“Unfortunately, not that we know of,” she says with a sigh. “And he’s currently MIA so add that to the list.”

“Bloody hell.”

Her lips quirk up. “My thoughts exactly.” She pauses, swallows. “Can... Can I speak with Henry?” The conch glows in her palm yet she hears no sound. Whatever Hook began to say, he stopped himself. “What is it? Is he okay? Hook?”

“Aye, uh, sorry about that, Swan.” Hesitance colors his words and the worry in Emma’s chest spikes up again. “The lad’s resting right now. The book has really taken a lot out of him and I loathe to wake up. I can, if you desire to speak with him, but I believe it’s best he rests some more.”

It breaks Emma’s heart to agree but she will do whatever to takes for her son to be okay. Hook promises to use the conch the moment Henry wakes and tells Emma where to find a chain in his captain’s quarters to put the conch on.

Hook comes up with the idea of forming a stable environment for Henry. “Perhaps a routine will do well to keep Henry from those memory lapses,” he says after his suggestion. Emma agrees – anything that could help is something worth doing. So they settle on a plan which consists of Emma calling in for mealtimes, morning wakeups, and bedtimes. Of course she plans to speak with Henry in between, as will the rest of his family, but setting these plans in place is what matters most.

In all honesty, it feels a lot like what co-parenting with Neal would have been like if he were alive. Probably not as easy, she figures, because Neal didn’t think things through as well as she did.

For some reason, neither of them wants their call on the shell phone to end. Hook is with her son and can actually tell her the truth of what’s going on without finding a way around it to protect her. It’s a connection she can’t bear to break. She assumes Hook continues talking with her because it must have been years since he’s talked to another person – or at least one that’s an adult.

When they’ve run out of things to talk about without it seeming obvious they wish to continue speaking, they say goodbye. She isn’t brave enough to ask and he’s got a self-loathing streak as tall as the beanstalk that he probably doesn’t think himself worthy. It’s all little things that their prides won’t leave aside. So they bid farewell, Hook promising to say her name the moment Henry wakes, and Emma stares as the glow of the conch shell slowly fades until its gone.

Her magic feels the sadness that rolls off of the enchanted wood of the Jolly and she places one hand on the wall, hoping to offer a calm sympathy. She’s never worked her magic with other enchanted objects before and she focuses on doing her best.

Emma closes the vault, slides the fake panel back over it, and swings the portrait shut to cover its secret. She casts one last look around the cabin and her heart feels heavy. She regrets leaving Hook on that bench, especially after they found out that Gold’s potion did save him. But Hook wouldn’t have taken it and at least in New York, he died on his terms.

The thoughts of what could have been and how things would be different if he survived ring in her head and before it can overwhelm her, she heads up the stairs and back to the town.

Emma Swan lives up to her title of Savior. Killian knows this firsthand.

He doesn’t remember much about dying. He knows what caused his death, and he remembers the moments up until his last breath, but things get fuzzy in the last few seconds.

He does remember Emma’s kindness. A kindness he didn’t deserve but she still offered to him. She brought him to the water to let him leave in peace even after he declined her offers of help, offers to figure out how to save him. She let him die how he wanted and he would be eternally grateful.

The weight around Killian’s ankle feels lighter as he moves swiftly about the loft, eyes glancing up to Henry’s bed every so often to see if he’s awoken.

For the first time in centuries, there’s a bounce in his step that has nothing to do with revenge. He feels light. He has hope.

Hope, though, is a dangerous thing in the Underworld.

Hades’ presence is lurking around every corner, ready to strike. Nervous energy fills Killian’s bones. During his venture on the street earlier, he saw a daisy emerging from the cracks in the sidewalk and he paused long enough for a lost soul to bump into him. His stumbled forward and if he had a heart, it would’ve broken at the realization he stepped on the flower. But he figures it was for the best. If Hades caught wind of that, Henry would be in even greater danger.

So Killian sits by Henry’s side as the boy sleeps and waits.

“Henry?” Emma whispers.

Killian sits up, pulling the conch necklace from around his neck. “Swan. Is everything alright?”

“Hook?” she questions. “Sorry, it’s morning and I hadn’t heard from Henry so I worried…”

“Aye,” Killian says with a sigh. He runs his hand over his face and looks over at the sleeping boy. “Time moves differently here. It doesn’t feel as if much time has passed. I’ll wake your boy.”

He stands but pauses at her soft voice.

“Thank you, so much. I – I really appreciate it, Killian.”

Aside from Henry, the only other time someone used his name in the last three hundred years had been her, when he was dying. Though he has no breath in his lungs, he feels as if it gets caught in his throat. He swallows hard and gently shakes Henry awake.

“Lad, there’s someone who wants to speak with you.”

“Dad?” he replies sleepily. Killian’s face pinches and he gives the tired boy a sad smile.

“Sorry, no. But it is your mother.”

Henry sits up and blinks wildly, eyes darting around the loft. “Is she here?”

Killian sits beside him and offers the conch shell from his necklace. “Apologies, Henry. She’s working on how to get to you but in the meantime,” he says, lifting the conch to their eye level, “you can communicate with her whenever you want through this.”

“A shell phone!” he exclaims, grabbing the conch and cradling it carefully in his hands, eyes wide in wonder. Killian doesn’t understand a single thing Henry is saying but he nods blankly in agreement. “How do I talk to her?”

“Henry?” Emma’s voice calls out. The conch glows an orange that makes Henry gasp. Killian pushes the conch closer to Henry’s mouth as the boy scrabbles up on his knees and sobs in relief.

“Mom? Mom!”

“Oh, Henry,” Her voice has a watery quality and it doesn’t take much effort for him to realize she’s near tears. “I’m so sorry, kid. We’re working so hard to get you home.”

“I’m sorry I came here,” Henry sobs. Killian looks at the boy, the same one who had been facing the uncertainties of the Underworld with a bravery his bloodline would be proud of, and is reminded that he’s still just a kid wanting to go home. Henry settles back down on the bed with tears slowly trailing down his cheeks. Killian hesitates before wrapping an arm around his shoulders.

Henry practically collapses into his side but is careful not to jostle the conch. He holds it with such gentleness that Killian’s chest aches. It brings him back to the days when he was convinced his father didn’t actually sell them into servitude and that he’d come back. If he just left the candle lit and wished upon the blue star then he’d be back. Although it never happened for him, he prays to every deity he knows that the same fate is to not befall Henry.

There is little Killian can do to offer the lad and his mother privacy, especially when the boy hasn’t moved from his side, so he tunes their conversation out to the best of his abilities.

Although his ears perk up at the mention of the crocodile, he hears enough to know nothing’s changed on that front and focuses on what’s happening in this odd little town outside of the loft. The line at the telephone booth has doubled in size, the souls that use it for hauntings nowhere in sight. In fact, he can’t recall a time the line looked that long.

“That’s a lot of people,” Henry says beside him. Killian turns his head to see Henry clutching the conch as he peers down at the line.

“Everything alright with your mother?” he asks. Henry nods.

“She told me your plan while I’m stuck here. Grandpa Gold is still missing but she’s still looking for him.” The boy hesitates before holding out the conch to Killian. “My other mom is going to call around lunch.”

Killian looks at the small hand in front of him and takes the conch shell. He can see the boy deflate and instantly realizes the desperate need to hold onto whatever connection he has to his family. Sliding his hook under the string of the necklace attached to the conch, he slides it over Henry’s head. “Would hate for you to miss such important calls.”

They share a grin. Then Henry’s eyes slide back over to the line outside the window. His eyes rove over the people and Killian can practically see the wheels turning in his head.

“So the people here… they’re stuck in Underbrooke because they have unfinished business?”

“Aye.”

Henry turns back to Killian, one side of his mouth quirked up in a smirk. “Want to help them move on?”

“GOLD!”

Emma’s voice echoes around the pawn shop. Baubles cover every inch of counter space and there’s a thin layer of dust already accumulating atop them. The blinds are drawn closed and only the faint layers of sunlight can make it through the shadowy shop.

“I know you’re in here, Gold! Show yourself!” Her eyes dart to the dark corners of the shop but he doesn’t appear. Her magic flickers at her fingertips and she does her best to keep it under control. She needs Gold. Leroy and Doc were watching the shop and sent her a signal the second they spotted him enter through the back.

“Come out here and face me you coward!” One of the front windows cracks, her rage overcoming her as she yells and she takes a deep breath. The last thing she needs is to let her magic run wild and accidentally hurt Gold when he’s how they get Henry home.

“I do hope you plan on paying for that,” Gold says as he slowly emerges from the back of the shop, his cane aiding his movements.

When they went to Camelot to rid herself of the darkness, they left Gold in Storybrooke in his magic induced coma. They couldn’t risk him somehow funneling the dark magic back to himself. No longer a Dark One, he was a mere mortal. He could no longer hide behind his power or threaten others to do his bidding. It brought her a sick satisfaction for all of the three days he’d been awake when they returned until she learned what he helped Henry do.

“You!” she calls, voice rough and deep, so much anger wrapping around a single word.

“Yes. Me.” Gold stands with his hands on his cane and with an air of nonchalance that snaps Emma’s restraint. She rushes over to his, grabs the lapels of his suit jacket, and shoves him up against the wall. His cane clatters to the ground beside them.

“Why did you do that to Henry?” she hisses.

“I don’t know what you mean,” he answers. She shoves him against the wall again.

“Why did you let him go to the Underworld?!”

“He wanted to go, Miss Swan. My grandson missed his father and wanted to save him. Who am I to deny that?”

“You deny that when it’s a death sentence!” She pushes him back and lets him stumble to regain his footing, bending to grab his cane. “How could you do that to your own grandson? To Baelfire’s son?!”

Gold sneers, his teeth sharp and looking every bit the crocodile Killian nicknamed him to be. “Don’t you dare speak my son’s name. You have no right. He died because of you!”

“He died because of Zelena!” Emma glares at Gold, feeling hatred climb her throat and her fingertips tingle. “And now you’ve sent his son on a one-way ticket to the Underworld.”

Gold rolls his eyes. “He would have gone with or without my help. This was the safest way, Miss Swan.”

“The safest way would be not letting him go, damn it!” Her palm slams down on the counter beside her and the glass shatters. Blood begins pooling in her hand almost immediately but her focus remains on Gold. “You are going to help us get him back.”

“Quite the assumption, isn’t that?” he says in response. He flicks his head to the side to move hair out of his face and Emma seethes. “I believe you’re on your own with this.”

“Hell. No.”

“Ironic choice of words.”

She steps into his space and lowers her voice. Her tone is lethal and she watches without any glee as the man before her gulps. “You’re going to help us, Gold. You opened the portal the first time for Henry and you’ll open it again for us to bring him back.” He opens his mouth to retort but Emma grabs his jacket again and shoves him back against the wall with one hand, her other reaching for the pocketknife in her jacket. She flicks out a blade and holds it to his neck, watching Gold squirm slightly under her grip. “If I have to slit your throat and drain you of all your blood then I will if it means saving Henry. Do not tempt me, Gold.”

“Cut as deep as you like,” he spits at her. “But you can’t make me bleed. Only I can.” Emma gasps, stepping back and shaking her head. “Oh yes, you best believe it, Miss Swan. Call it a parting gift from my time as a Dark One. I needed some securities in place if I were to survive in a town full of heroes.”

Emma barely hears his words as black curls the edges of her vision. Her breathing is stuttered and she drops her pocketknife to the floor.

Their one chance. Their only chance. And Gold won’t help. She knew he took his heart out before letting go of the darkness, and that he set certain charms in place that would last at least a lifetime before wearing off. Magic wouldn’t work to convince him. He held all the power to save Henry, to save his grandson, and he wasn’t doing it.

“You may be mortal now,” she begins, shaking in anger from where she’s bent over in the shop catching her breath. “But you’re more monster now than you were before.”

“I have an unborn son, Miss Swan. I will not do anything that could jeopardize him losing me and if that means preventing the prophecy from taking place then so be it. I failed my first son once and I won’t fail with another.”

“Twice,” she corrects. Gold tilts his head in her direction and glares at her. “You failed Neal twice. Once when you abandoned him as a boy and again when you sent his son to be trapped in the Underworld alone.”

Gold rolls his shoulders to stand straight, gripping the cane so tight his knuckles turn white. “Your son wanted to be with him more than you. Now he has an eternity with Baelfire.”

The laugh Emma lets out is humorless and full of pain. “You don’t even know, do you?” she says. She walks back over to Gold and points a finger at him. The blood that dripped down it dries on her skin. “Neal moved on. He’s not in the Underworld. He wasn’t there when Henry arrived.”

“What.” By the way Gold blinks at her statement, Emma can tell she hit a nerve. She glares, lets her lips curl up in anger, and steps closer.

She hisses, “You weren’t worth Neal staying around. He has no unfinished business with you.” She gives him an empty, bitter smile. Tears glitter in Gold’s eye as he searches for words in his heartbreak, distraught that he’ll never see his first-born again, and she says, “You and I though? We have plenty of unfinished business.”

Gold does his best to blink back the tears and regain the collected exterior he always projected. He swallows and tilts his head the slightest bit up at her. “We are done here, Miss Swan. Leave me, Belle, and our son alone.”

He turns his back on Emma and disappears into the back of the shop. She drags her feet out the door and shakes her head at Leroy and Doc waiting outside the shop. The emotional toll of the revelation she’s been handed is enough to exhaust her but she can’t go back to the loft and the reminders of her son and the fact she can’t save him. And that’s how she finds herself on the dock, feet at the bottom of the gangway of a majestic ship, whispering a name.

Writing in the storybook for other people and helping them complete their unfinished business is a relief to Henry. The more he writes for others, the less he feels like he’s forgetting.

There are still moments though. When Henry talks to Stealthy and he mentions Snow White, he can’t remember why the name sounds so familiar. The dwarf talks of her notoriety in the Enchanted Forest and how she tried to help him and his brother escape the jail cells. His head itches as if it’s trying to fetch the information and can’t find it.

Killian stands next to him and he leans over, informing him that Snow White is his grandma. He tells him that she also goes by Mary Margaret and she used to be his schoolteacher and she’s the same age as his mother because she was locked in a curse for nearly three decades, and Henry nods his head as if it all makes sense.

He writes for Stealthy and lets him know what his unfinished business is, all the while trying to figure out the oddities in his head. A curse? Snow White? This is all stuff made out of fairytales. And then he looks down and sees a magic pen literally writing in a fairytale book and it makes him dizzy.

A hook – a hook – on his back brings him back to focus and he looks up, staring at the face of a pirate.

“Henry,” the pirate says. He bends down next to his chair and keeps his voice quiet. “I need you to take a deep breath. Close your eyes and don’t think about anything.”

He wants to yell and scream and ask how this stranger knows his name. He wants to know where he is and why everything looks so red and why is he sitting at a table in the middle of the street with a line of people in front of him and with a crash clocktower no one pays attention to and –

The hook presses slightly harder into his back and Henry sucks in a breath, closes his eyes, and clears his mind.

When he opens them again, Killian is knelt next to his chair, worried. He swallows, scared, but still needs to know. “Did it happen again?”

Killian nods. “Aye.”

“Am I running out of time?” he whispers. But Killian shakes his head and moves closer, keeping his voice low so only he can hear him.

“Your mother is doing everything she can to make sure she gets to you. I’ve yet to see her fail and she’s not about to start.”

The confidence and surety in Killian’s voice sends a wave of calm over his shoulders. He knows a lot at 13 but adults know more. Especially adults that have been alive for over three hundred years. Killian hasn’t shied away from telling Henry the consequences of an extended stay in Underbrooke and if Killian’s not worried about his mom saving him, then neither should he.

The rings on Killian’s fingers glimmer and for a moment, Henry swears sunlight has made its way to Underbrooke. However, a quick scan just shows more of the red haze he’s become accustomed to. He watches as Killian pushes aside the storybook he’s been writing in and pulls out his other one from his backpack. “Why don’t you check on how she’s doing?”

He nods and takes the storybook from Killian’s hands, the one from the world he belongs to, and flips through the pages. He stops when an image begins to appear on a blank page.

His mom is standing in Grandpa Gold’s pawn shop and she had him pressed against the wall with a knife to his throat. Chuckles echo in his ear and he turns his head to see Killian’s amusement at the drawing. The pirate raises his eyebrows, his smirking broadening, and shrugs. “Your mother is a formidable force, lad. Anyone who crosses her should be sorry.”

When Killian’s eyes go back to tracing the drawing in the book, he watches him. Killian always speaks of his mom with a fondness in his voice and like he’s amazed at everything she does. He’d bet that Killian probably thinks his mom could force the sun to shine just because she willed it.

His nose scrunches up as he turns back to the book. Yep. Captain Hook definitely has a crush on his mom.

“I can’t believe you have a crush on my mom,” he teases. Henry comes from a family of True Love – his mom is literally the product of it. One doesn’t live in Storybrooke and become the Author and not be a fan of happy endings, even if it feels weird to see it happening with his mom.

Killian coughs beside him and Henry takes a small bit of glee at unseating the captain once again. Even with the chains he drags around Underbrooke, Killian rarely looks unsettled. The pirate narrows his eyes at Henry but it doesn’t diminish the grin on his face. “I’m a big fan of your mother, of every part of her. Especially when she’s threatening the crocodile.”

“Mhmm,” Henry hums disbelievingly.

“I know my limits, lad,” Killian says, his voice suddenly serious. Henry meets his gaze and sees the pained expression on the man’s face. “I’m trapped here for eternity. No matter how I feel about anything, I won’t subject your mother to that truth. She doesn’t need that weight on her shoulders.”

Henry shrugs. “True Love conquers everything though.”

He watches as his words land and Killian shifts uncomfortably from where he still knelt beside him. There’s a look that crosses his features, dark and sorrowful and full of more hurt than Henry thought someone could hold and he realizes his mistake.

Maybe Milah was Killian’s happy ending. His True Love. And she moved on without him.

His mouth opens, an apology on the tip of his tongue, and Killian shakes his head. A small smile plays on his lips. “I don’t have a True Love, Henry.” His hand reaches out and taps the book. “Let’s put this away and see who else we can help, aye?”

“Killian?” a voice calls, faint. They look at each other, searching for who must be calling for him when the voice repeats itself and Henry looks down at the conch around his neck.

“I think my mom needs your help,” he says. He takes it off and hands it to Killian. “I’ll wait here.”

The Jolly Roger greets Emma like an old friend. She feels no resistance as she moves through the magical barrier and it rocks gently, soothingly, under her feet.

Killian’s cabin is the exact same as the first time she entered, the only exception being the wrinkles she left in his blanket. All she really wants to do is curl up in the comforter and cry but her son needs her and she needs to figure out a new way to get him home.

She stops resisting temptation and falls back on the bed, legs dangling over the edge, and takes out the conch shell. Her voice doesn’t even sound like her own when she calls out for him twice before his answers.

“Swan?”

A sob rips from her throat.

“I failed him.”

“Now that doesn’t sound like the Emma Swan I know.”

She groans, slamming her hand against the comforter. “Killian. I’m not joking.” She sucks in a haggard breath and sniffles.

“Neither am I,” he says. “We checked the book. I saw you found Rumple.”

The snort she lets out is broken and frustrated. What luck that did her. “He won’t help.”

“What?” Disbelief colors Killian’s voice in a way that shocks her to her core. If there is one person in all the realms that hated Rumpelstiltskin the most, it was Captain Hook. “Not even for Baelfire’s son?” he asks.

“No,” she admits through tears. “He was told a prophecy once that a boy would reunite him with his son but that boy would also be his undoing, so he figured if he got rid of Henry, he wouldn’t have to worry about the second half of the prophecy.” Killian breaks into a rant of words she’s never heard before and she can only assume it consists of various curses.

“He may look a man but there is nothing human left in him,” Killian growls. The conch in her hand grows so brightly and shakes in her palm so violently that she fears it might break.

“Killian – Killian,” she says, but he doesn’t seem to hear her and she watches helplessly as the conch cracks. “Killian!” He finally pauses and all Emma hears is his deep breathing, the conch glowing in time with each exhale. “You need to calm down or the conch is going to break.”

“Apologies, Swan. I’d hope the coward would have been brave enough to help for the sake of his grandson.”

“Yeah, well you’re not the only one.” She breathes deep in an effort to calm herself. Any heightened emotions might be enough to break the conch and she has no idea if there’s any way to fix it if it comes to that. Her cheeks are sticky from where her tears tracked down and she wipes at them hastily with the sleeve of her sweater. “There’s no way to get to Henry now.”

“Come on, Swan. Isn’t your mother the epitome of hope? Even your boy has more hope than you right now.”

The breath that leaves her lips comes out sounding like a huff of laughter. “Yeah, well it skipped a generation.”

“I find that hard to believe,” he murmurs. “I saw you at the lake when Cora tried to take your heart. It’s in there, deep down.” She hums noncommittedly. They’ve spent days searching for a way into the Underworld and their own answers pointed back to Gold. Without the ability to get his help, or even force it from him, Henry was stuck there. Tears burn at the back of her eyelids again and she breaths out shakily, willing herself to remain calm.

Killian’s voice breaks through her thoughts and for a moment, she forgot he was on the other end of the conch. “What was it that Rumpelstiltskin was supposed to do?”

“We need his blood to open the portal to the Underworld. Only someone who’s died and come back to life can open it and he’s the only one who’s done that. His protections from when he was the Dark One are still in place and there’s no way to get it from him.”

“Wait, did you say you need his blood?”

Her eyebrows furrow and she wonders why he’s so shocked at that detail. Blood is a common ingredient for dark magic and for someone who’s chased down a way to kill Gold for centuries, he should know that.

“Yeah…” she answers, confused.

“Bloody hell, love,” Killian exclaims. The elation in his voice only confuses her more. Her eyes stare at the glowing conch in her hand.

“Why are you so happy? Did you not hear what else I said?”

“No, no, no, no,” Killian says. She can hear the smile in his voice and honestly ponders the thought that he’s gone mad. “You don’t need the crocodile. I have what you need.”

“Uh, in case you forgot, you’re dead in the Underworld. Unless you can open the portal from your end –”

“No, I can’t. But I have – had – what you need. You’ll need to go to my ship.”

The Jolly rocks in the water and Emma sits up in the bed, one hand pressing against the wall to steady herself. She imagines this is a ship’s equivalent of a dog wagging their tail. “Uh – I’m… I’m already on it.”

Silence follows her statement. It weighs on them like a thousand unspoken words and she knows he wants to say whatever statement is at the tip of his tongue but he holds back.

“You are?” he chokes out in disbelief. She rolls her eyes and stands from the bed.

“So what do you have on here that’ll help?” Regina’s words slip into her mind and she really hopes Killian doesn’t have a cabinet full of vials containing the blood of his enemies.

“You’ll have to go into my vault. You still have the key, yes?”

“Got it right here,” she says, her hand reaching up to the chain she never took off of her neck. Her fingers pull the necklace off and once she reveals the hidden safe, she slides the key into place and opens it. “What am I looking for?”

“There should be a bloody rag there.”

“I see it.” She searches his room for something to grab it with and comes across a short scarf.

“Aye. That’s what you’ll use.”

She frowns as she carefully picks up the rag, dark red staining the beige cloth. It reminds her of a potato sack. “Not that I’m not grateful but you happened to keep a bloody rag of Gold’s because…?”

His answer is short and anger peaks out from underneath his words. “Because that’s the rag I wiped my hook with after I stabbed the crocodile when he crushed Milah’s heart in front of me.”

The silence that follows this time is heavy and suffocating and Emma regrets even opening her mouth. As much as she’s come to rely on Killian in this, and as much as she knows about his thirst for revenge, there’s still a plethora to uncover. She places the conch on the desk and gently folds the rag into a small square before wrapping it in the scarf.

When he speaks next, his tone is apologetic and she feels guilt build in her stomach.

“Cut the rag in half, that way you have one to get home.” He sighs quietly, the conch’s glow fading slowly. “I have to be honest, love, but I have no idea if it’ll work.”

“But it’s hope,” she offers.

“I knew you had it in you,” he says softly. She’s glad he’s not in front of her to see the way she rolls her eyes as her mouth turns up in smile.

She eyes the content of the vault, the drawing of the woman he spent centuries avenging. “I – I don’t know if it’s even possible but is there anything you want me to bring to you? Since I’ll be going to the Underworld anyway.”

The conch doesn’t glow. She wonders if he thought their conversation ended and left, and then she wonders how one even ends a connection on a shell phone. A sigh fills the quiet of the cabin and she goes to close the vault when he finally speaks.

“My mother’s ring,” he says quietly.

A glittering silver band with a small jewel sitting atop it catches her interest. It’s modest and so unlike the large gems she saw on the rings he wore. The jewel looks like a diamond but when she picks it up, it gleams like the entire rainbow is held inside of it, reminding her of the rainbow of colors that flushed Storybrooke when she broke the first curse. It’s beautiful.

She considers putting it on her finger but decides against it. No one in Storybrooke is able to keep a secret and the rumor mill would go crazy at the sight of a ring on any of her fingers. Plus, she doubts he wants Gold to see it, lest he knows it belongs to Killian and considers doing something nefarious to it. So she opens the chain that holds the vault key and slips the ring onto that, putting the necklace back on and tucking it under her sweater.

“I have it,” she says. “It’s safe. Is there anything else?” Her fingers play with the drawing of Milah and she goes to pick it up.

“That’s it, love. Thank you.”

Instead, she shuts the vault with the drawing in it, covers it up, and glances around the cabin, eyes settling on the wrapped cloth. “Thank you, Killian. I’ll go see Regina so we can get ready to open the portal. She’ll want to talk to Henry too.” She licks her lips and closes her eyes, cradling the conch to her chest. “We couldn’t do this without you.”

Henry doesn’t notice it until they’re walking down the streets of Underbrooke but Killian’s chains are quieter than they were before. The pile curls around his leg with every step but the pirate doesn’t pay any attention to them. He swears still that it has lessened too but Killian shoots that idea down.

“The weight of the chains is the same, lad,” he says as he directs them to the park. “I have far too many sins to be forgiven.”

“I don’t think that’s true,” Henry says. They pass a sprawling area of tombstones in every state and he studies them. “Does Hades have a tombstone?” he asks.

Killian looks back at the cemetery but continues their walk. “No, he doesn’t.”

“Why not?”

“If Hades had a tombstone, it would make him a soul in limbo. He wouldn’t be the ruler of the Underworld and he’d lose his magic.”

His eyes catch Killian’s hook before he gestures to it. “Hades gave you the chisel and wanted you to put names on tombstones. If other people can put names on tombstones, why hasn’t anyone tried that with his?”

Killian is silent. He opens the gate to the park and lets Henry through first before he follows. “It’s only ever been a rumored possibility. The only known way to defeat Hades is through the Olympian Crystal. However, if writing his name on a tombstone worked, the Underworld could be thrown into chaos. No one knows what happens to it without a ruler. And if it doesn’t work, whoever conspired against him would face a fate far worse than I did.”

“No one’s ever tried?”

“You need an object specially enchanted by Hades to mark a tombstone. He keeps those close to his chest, lest anyone try to use it for escape.”

They pass a playground, the lake right around the corner, and there’s kids playing there without a care. He frowns. For as long as he’s been in Underbrooke, he forgets it isn’t full of just adults. Maybe he should stick around and help them too.

Why shouldn’t he stick around? He can’t think of any reason to not. Afterall, he’s just like those kids – stuck in Underbrooke and without a family. Lost boys and girls need to stick together.

“Bloody hell,” Killian growls. Henry turns to him and sees a fierce glare marring his features. He follows his gaze and sees a figure standing in front of the lake just feet away. The very lake they were heading towards.

The figure stands straight, wearing a thick black coat with the collar upturned. His skin is a sickly pale color and his red hair looks dull, fading into the red haze that covers Underbrooke.

“You didn’t think you could plan an escape and I wouldn’t know, did you?” the figure asks, smug.

“Hades,” Killian hisses. He steps forward, his arm extended out in front of Henry. The hook at the end of his wrist is angled towards Hades. “He doesn’t belong here.”

“Ah, ah, ah,” Hades tuts, “I think I’m the judge of that – literally.” Henry chills at the grin that appears on Hades’ face and steps back, further behind Killian.

“Let him go home.”

Home? Henry’s eyes dart from the man standing protectively in front of him to the imposing figure by the water. Why are they talking about home? Isn’t this his home?

His head swivels, looking in every direction, searching for the kids at the playground. The other lost ones. The ones without a family. They were his home, weren’t they? Lost ones stick together. He doesn’t know anyone else. All alone in the world, he needed to go to other kids like him.

“Look at him,” Hades says. He’s smirking and his hair hints a blue color along its tips. “It’s too late.”

The man in front of him turns, eyes frantically searching his for something he doesn’t find. A hand and a hook rest on his shoulders. “Henry,” the man says, anxious. “I need you to focus. Close your eyes and take a breath. Henry, focus on me, aye?”

Henry watches the man in front of him, his mouth moving faster than he can comprehend the words. The man closes his eyes and mimics a deep breath, repeating himself and urging Henry to do the same. So he closes his eyes and does that.

His eyes open and Killian has his head ducked a few inches lower to meet his height. By the worried look on his face, Henry doesn’t even have to ask to know what happened. He can see Hades over Killian’s shoulder, cocky and taking great pleasure in the scene that just unfolded before him.

“You can stop this, Captain,” he offers. Killian stands and turns, keeping Henry completely behind his back. Henry grabs for the back of Killian’s shirt, needing something to steady himself as waves of dizziness pound at his temples.

A popping sound echoes in the quiet park and Henry feels a quick gust of wind blow his hair off his forehead. To the side is a large, white tombstone appears. Blank. A sizzling sound comes next and he looks down to see Killian’s hook glowing.

“Write his name,” Hades says. “End his suffering. Let him keep the memory of his family so one day he can move on.”

“I would never,” Killian spits out in response.

Hades pouts, Henry gasping as his hair transforms to a fiery blue flame. It is harsh and uncontrolled, whisps shooting an inch out from his head. For being fire, all it does is bring cold. The already chilled air of Underbrooke drops to freezing with Hades flames free.

Henry squeezes his eyes shut as Underbrooke swirls around him, his breathing shallow and harsh.

He wants to throw up and he’s not sure why. His hands are clutching the shirt of a stranger and the red grass that should be on the ground is spinning and there’s a man by the lake with blue flames for hair. None of it makes sense. Not the tombstone in the park and not the man in front of him having a hook for a hand.

“Oh look,” the blue haired man taunts. “It’s happening again. He’s so close.”

The man in front of him glances over his shoulder, face tight. “Henry. Close your eyes and breathe. CLOSE YOUR EYES AND BREATHE.”

“You won’t be able to save him, Captain.”

“I can damn well try, Hades.”

Hades laughs. His heart is racing and he doesn’t know how someone could be laughing when the tension in the park could be cut with a knife. Dread fills his body and he’s not sure how he anticipates it but he sees the blue haired man flick his wrist and then the captain protecting him is flown from his grasp and against a tree.

“KILLIAN!” he yells out on instinct. He isn’t sure where the name comes from or why he cares about the man Hades just tossed aside, but the sight makes his heart drop to his stomach as the man lays on the ground, unmoving.

“What’d you do to him?!” he cries.

Hades waves off his concern, stepping closer to him. “He was just getting in our way.” Henry backs up, stumbling and falling to the ground as Hades makes a chisel appear out of thin air. His hand waves and it floats, moving closer to the blank tombstone. “Since he doesn’t like obeying orders, I’ll have to do it myself.”

The chisel finishes writing out Henry Mills when a voice yells out weakly.

“NO!”

Henry slams his eyes shut at the shout and when he opens them, he sees Killian struggling to stand.

“I’ll make you a deal, Hades!”

“Oh!” Hades is amused as he turns to face Killian, and Henry’s eyes dart between the two men. He goes to step towards Killian, to offer him a shoulder to lean on and regain his strength, but Killian subtly shakes his head and eyes the lake. Henry swallows, not wanting to look away, but knowing he must. His footsteps are quiet and small, but he makes his way closer to the water. “What exactly makes you think you’re in a position to make deals, Hook?”

“I know you’ve regretted the one we’ve made since the moment I came here,” he sneers. “Now’s your chance. Take his name off the tombstone and let the lad go home to his family. Do that and you can toss me into Acheron!”

What.

“No! You can’t do that!” Henry cries out. He moves to rush to Killian but Hades holds out his hand and he is frozen. He’s helpless, forced to watch as Hades closes in on Killian waves his hands around.

The chain attached to Killian’s ankle climbs up his body. Iron links clank against one another as it curls around his body and moves to his neck. He wants to look away but his eyes remain stuck. The chain begins to work its way around Killian’s neck when it stops. It is extended as far as it can go.

“WHERE IS THE REST OF YOUR CHAIN?!” Hades hollers. He closes his fist and Henry sees Killian’s face turning red, his hands clutching at an invisible force around his neck. Hades turns to him next. “WHAT DID YOU DO TO THEM?!”

Henry shakes his head wildly. “I – I don’t know what you’re talking about!”

Hades whole body erupts in blue flames. He moves his wrist and Killian slams against the tombstone, down for the count again. Grass burns in Hades’ wake; blue flames sizzle it to the dirt and marks his pathway. “YOU! I should have tossed you into Acheron the moment you arrived here! You’re ruining the Underworld!”

Balls of blue flame appear in each of Hades’ palms and Henry ducks just in time for them to soar above his head. He runs and hides behind a tree, panting. Hades appears suddenly in front of him, hand grasping his arm, and Henry hisses as the blue flames burn a mark onto his arm.

“Spreading hope and helping people move on? You’ve unsettled the balance that I’ve created here!”

“All you’ve done is shifted the power in your favor. I did your job,” Henry hisses. His eyes widen as Hades growls. Cries rip from his throat as the burn on his arms extends.

A small pop echoes in his ear and Henry slams his mouth shut when he sees the vial in Hades’ hand.

“Do you know what this is, Henry?” Hades says, voice gruff and dark. “This is water from Acheron. And you’re going to drink it all.” Henry sucks in his lips, shaking his head side to side as Hades grabs his chin. “Open up or I’ll make you watch me toss Captain Hook in before you.”

The vial tips and Hades squeezes Henry’s chin hard, his mouth dropping open against his will. He still struggles in his grip but he knows he’s no match for a god. The water moves to the edge of the vial and he closes his eyes.

“HENRY!”

Instead of feeling soul-sucking water go tumbling down his throat, he feels a gust of wind flow over his body. It’s warm and comforting and wraps around him like a protective embrace. His eyes open to see Hades sprawled across the burnt grass, struggling to get up, and he gasps for breath. Turning the opposite way, he sees his mom, blonde hair looking like a halo, on the edge of the lake.

“MOM!” he cries out. Legs pumping faster than they ever have before, Henry rushes to his mom. He launches himself at her, wrapping his arms around her waist as she wraps hers around his shoulders. She cradles the back of his head like Gramps always does and he cries into her shoulder, relief flooding his body.

“Henry,” she weeps. Her chin rests on his head and he never wants to move from this spot. Warmth radiates from her and her clutches her tighter. He never should have gone to Underbrooke by himself.

“Well,” Hades says as he stands, his footsteps staggering. Henry and Emma keep their arms wrapped around each other as they turn to face him. “If it isn’t the savior. This’ll be a fine addition to my collection.”

“Never going to happen,” Emma hisses. She pushes Henry behind her and readies her palms, aiming at Hades once again. Closing her eyes, she braces herself and pushes her palms outward.

But nothing happens.

“Did you forget, Savior?” Hades taunts. His lips curl, condescending as he approaches them. “You’re in my dominion. You’ll play by my rules.”

A twitch of his fingers is all it takes for flames to shoot out of his hand and engulf his mom. She cries out in agony as it wraps around her feet and up to her torso. He cries with her, his hand reaching out but Hades’ magic doesn’t let him go any farther.

Then it stops.

Emma collapses to the ground, gasping for air, and Henry rushes to her side. He glances up at Hades to see the god confused before raising his hand and aiming it at the two of them. Much like with his mother’s magic, nothing happens.

“What do you know? The rumors are true,” Killian rasps by the tombstone. His chain is laying in a useless pile on the floor, unattached to his ankle, and dust from broken marble covers a thin layer above it.

Henry’s eyes look up from the pile to the tombstone to see his name crossed out. In the place of Henry Mills is Hades, written with the hook without any finesse or style, more a barely legible scrawl by a three-year-old than an actual word. But it works.

Hades yells. It’s a loud screech that has Henry covering his ears and sends the kids at the nearby playground run screaming. He watches as the god tries to teleport himself and roars when he is unable to. He pulls the chisel from his jacket pocket and stalks towards Killian.

Killian hastily stands, leaving the tombstone between himself and Hades’ oncoming warpath. Instead, he eyes his hook before lifting it and slamming it down to the top of the tombstone. A small crack appears and Hades’ footsteps stutter before he picks up his pace. Killian lifts his hook and slams it down again, the crack widening.

Emma stirs beside Henry and he checks over his mom. Unlike with him, Hades’ flames don’t seem to have left any marks on his mom. Her eyes search around the park, flittering over to where Killian stands, hammering his hook into the tombstone. “Killian…” she whimpers.

“Mom,” Henry cries, “we have to help him.”

He feels rather than sees his mom reaching out to her magic. Without Hades’ own to tamper with her power, her fingertips sizzle and spark. Sitting back on his heels, he notices his mom find the vial Hades threatened him with and call it to her hand. Firm in her grasp, she gets up and rushes to the two men.

With a final slam on the tombstone, it cracks in half. The sound that follows is deafening, like a black hole sucking everything into it and leaving nothing in its wake. His vision almost blacks out and when he blinks it back to focus, he catches Hades slam the chisel in his hand into Killian’s stomach.

Emma arrives a moment later, tossing the vial of Acheron’s water at Hades body. They watch as the god sizzles into the ground, smoke emitting from where he stood. Then Killian collapses.

“Come on, Henry, help me,” Emma urges as she leans down to wrap one of Killian’s arms around her neck.

“Mom,” Henry sobs, shaking his head. “We can’t.”

“Yes, we can,” she insists. “I have a way for us to go home and we can take Killian with us too!”

“No, Mom.” Emma stops trying as Henry kneels next to Killian, the man’s eyes closed and the chisel still embedded in his stomach. He didn’t know souls in Underbrooke could bleed. If they didn’t need to eat or drink, then why would they bleed? Tears flow freely down his cheeks as he keeps his gaze on him. “He has his name on a tombstone. And it’s cracked.”

Emma falls back on her butt, sitting opposite him. They’re both at a loss for words, Henry clutching to Killian’s hook. Her hands reach for the necklace under her sweater and pulls off the ring. She opens Killian’s hand, places the ring in his palm, and curls his fingers over it.

A flash of light fills their visions and Henry looks up to see a man draped in white, a glow surrounding his body.

“Zeus!” Henry calls. “Zeus, can you help him?”

Instead of answering, the god extends his arm and gestures to the lake. “Come now. You both don’t belong here and need to go home.”

“But what about Killian? We can’t just leave him here!” Emma pleads. Zeus gives them an understanding smile.

“My brother became out of control during his rule here. Killian’s helped to defeat him, just as you both have. I’ll ensure he finds peace. But you must go before it’s too late.”

Being back in Storybrooke is odd, Henry decides quickly. He’s grown used to the red haze that covered Underbrooke that seeing a multitude of colors is a shock to his eyes at first. He never realized how vibrant some things were.

His family welcomes him with open arms, plenty of kisses, and lots of food. Granny cooked enough for the whole town during their first family dinner after being reunited and Henry stuffed his stomach until he couldn’t breathe. Even though he felt sick after, he wouldn’t trade it for anything.

Killian crosses his mind often in the first few days back. A man who resigned himself to fate, destined to suffer for all eternity. A villain who doubted he could change his ways despite his actions proving otherwise. Killian Jones was a hero who gave his life to save Henry and he wouldn’t ever be able to repay all he did.

It’s on his way to the station to meet his mom for lunch that he thinks his eyes are playing tricks on him.

Henry’s barely spent time away from Emma unless he was with Regina. Being in Underbrooke, forgetting your family, and almost getting stuck there for eternity kind of leaves them not wanting to let each other out of their sights. Every day since coming back, he meets Emma outside of the station for lunch and they walk to Granny��s.

Except he’s halfway to the station when he spots a figure outside of Any Given Sundae that looks familiar.

He wears black jeans instead of leather and a button-up dress shirt instead of his billowy pirate gear, a new vest over it too. A more modern leather jacket hangs on his shoulders, dress shoes adorning his feet. For being a three-hundred-year-old pirate, he looks every bit the modern man.

“Killian?” Henry calls out in disbelief. Killian’s head shoots up, searching for the voice. His face lights up when he sees him across the street. Henry’s sure the grin on his face could split his lips from how far its stretched but he doesn’t care. He bounds into the street, narrowly avoiding a car driving by, and rushes at Killian. In the back of his mind, he can hear Emma calling his name in concern.

“Oof,” Killian huffs, stumbling back a step from the force of Henry’s hug, but he voices no complaints. Henry has his arms wrapped tightly against his waist and he closes his eyes.

“I can’t believe you’re here! How are you here?”

“Killian?” Emma asks in wonder. Henry looks up to see her eyes widen and her mouth drop open once she’s crossed the street, her footsteps slowing. She looks as if she can’t believe what’s happening which, if Henry’s honest, neither can he.

“Emma,” Killian says breathlessly, his mouth widening into a smile again. Henry’s eyes dart between the two before he steps back, his mom not even noticing. Killian’s hand reaches out for her but she’s quicker, grabbing his face and pulling him down for a kiss.

They clutch at each other like they’re drowning and the other person is their last chance for breath. Normally Henry isn’t one for public displays of affection by either of his moms, but he’ll let this one slide.

Emma and Killian eventually break apart but Emma plants kisses across his face, catching his cheeks and eyelids before pulling his mouth back to hers.

Henry coughs, eyes averting from the scene before him and only looks back when he hears soft laughter coming from both of them. “So how are you back?” he asks, grinning at Killian.

“Zeus, actually.”

“Really?” Emma questions with a grin.

“Yeah, believe it or not, he’s actually much better than his brother.” They all laugh and Henry embraces the moment. Just a few days ago, he never thought he’d get this again. “My actions in the Underworld absolved me of most of my sins and helping to defeat Hades seemed to forgive the rest. He offered me the opportunity to move on but,” he says, pausing. Killian wraps his hooked arm around Emma and reaches his hand into his pocket. Henry instantly spots the ring his mom put in Killian’s palm.

“But, someone brought me an object that belonged to me while I was alive and was left behind in the land of the living.” Killian grins at Emma, awe filling every inch of his face. It makes Henry smile too. He doesn’t recall anyone looking at his mom like that before. “I didn’t even know that could happen but Zeus said it allowed me the opportunity to bring my soul back.”

The to you is unsaid but understood as Killian moves his gaze between him and his mom.

He moves forward, wrapping his mom and Killian in a tight hug.

Closing his eyes and taking a deep breath, he’s home.

#cs halloweek #cs halloweek 2021 #captain swan #captain cobra #the pirate and his son #like 18k of this is pure captain cobra #i couldn't help myself #underworld #underworld au #canon divergence #canon divergent au #ouat #once upon a time #cs fanfic #cs ff #my fics

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