#i should make a hades 2 tag already oof

[loverboybrightsideghost]

i thought you'd like this

OH YES I DO ENJOY THIS THANK YOU SO MUCH KRIS

[flamboyantly-incompetent]

Since the World Began (2/?)

Hades!Bucky x Persephone!Reader

Word Count:  7793

Warnings: maybe a little trauma, nothing major

A/N: So, it’s been a little over a year since the first part of this series was posted - I know a couple people have asked to be tagged in this, so I’m sorry this has taken so long!  The gifs are, surprise surprise, not mine.  This is gonna get hella cute real fast.  And then hella angsty.  I’m sorry (kinda).

Part 1

When you fell for him, really fell, there was no way you could have known the consequences.

As the time passed, so did many mortals, and Bucky found himself busier by the day with the rising population of the underworld.  Sometimes, when you passed by the door in the cliff face, you could see him sitting in the doorway, eyes closed and legs hanging down, bathing in the sunlight so rarely seen.

Joining Bucky in the underworld became a frequent occurrence, and you didn’t mind.  For all the weariness slung on his shoulders, his home put him at ease, and his presence did the same for you.

One such occasion, you’d joined him in the tower as he tried to complete some kingly or otherwise morbid sort of task.  Enthralled in his work, he began to pay you no mind; you draped yourself dramatically over his bed.  When he didn’t look up from his desk, you sighed loudly.  A smile tugged at the corner of his mouth.  You were gaining ground.

Rolling onto your stomach, you opened your mouth to speak and -

Hermes flew through the open window, rustling every rustlable thing in the room.

“Sam!” Bucky exclaimed, trying to keep the papers littering his desk orderly, “You know I hate it when you do that.”

His wings snapped shut with a whoosh and he grinned, “That’s why I do it, Skully.”

“Cheron hates it when you do that - you’re supposed to take the ferry.  Cerberus hates it when you do that; he is especially fascinated by small flying things, he’s gonna be all in a tizzy.  Are you taunting him on purpose?”

“Oh, nuh huh I am never going near that thing, he tries to bite me every time I’m down here.”

“Did you hear a word I just said?”

“I am the messenger, proclaimer of things.”  Bucky huffed as Hermes turned to you.  “Persephone!  Fancy seeing you here.”

“Wilson,” Bucky warned.  Sam winked at you with a cheeky grin; you laughed out loud through the heat on your cheeks.

Sam ignored Bucky completely and continued, “Anyway, I’d love to shoot the breeze some more but I’ve got five more gods to get to by sunup.  Zeus has called a meeting for the Olympians, and I know you aren’t technically on the council, but he wants you both there.  Thanks for saving me the trip.”  He winked at you again, to Bucky’s chagrin.

“No problem.  What’s the meeting about?” you replied, rising to your feet.

Sam only shrugged and unfurled his wings, reaching for a piece of fruit from the bowl by the door.  Before his fingers could grace it, though, his hand was struck by a flying object - an ink well, you thought.  He stared at Bucky, now standing rigid, in shock.

“You really don’t want to do that,” Bucky said, voice low.

Sam gulped, “Right.  Sorry, I always forget that.  Uh, thanks.”  Bucky gave him a nod before he took off, rustling the room once more.

With Sam gone, Bucky finally shot you a glance.  You were smirking at him, altogether too satisfied by whatever thought you had running about inside your head.

“What’s that look for?”

You smiled wider and nudged him in the middle.  “The god of the dead is a big ol’ softie.”

“Am not!”

“Are too,” you reached up to poke his reddened ears.  “Your ears give you away every time.”

“I just don’t want that pigeon stuck down here pestering me for all eternity because of an orange.”

“Sure, sure,” you said, giving in but knowing you were, in fact, absolutely correct.  “I wonder what this summons is all about.”

Bucky groaned, massaging his temples. “It can’t be good,” he mumbled.

“What makes you say that?”

He turned to you.  “My family is, well, we tend to get into a lot of drama.”

You took his hand in yours.  “In any case, we should go.”

“But (Y/N),” he whined pitifully, wrapping his arms around your middle.  You giggled into his chest.  “We could just not go.  What’s Zeus gonna do?  Run the underworld himself?”

Still giggling, you pulled out of his grasp.  “Probably not, but we still should go.”  He was unconvinced.  “What if it’s serious?”

“All the more reason to stay down here.”

“Bucky.”

“Oof.  Alright, alright.  D’think Sam would mind if we brought Rus along?”

On your path back to the mortal realm, Bucky tried his best to placate a disgruntled Charon, who began complaining the second you were in earshot about how “gods these days have no respect for the likes of ol’ Charon.”

“I don’t even ask for a tool from Olympians!” he continued on, rowing Bucky and yourself across the Acheron slowly, “Is it really so much for me to ask, as the ferryman of the underworld, that when in the underworld one takes the ferry?”

Bucky nodded sympathetically, as if dealing with a child.  “Trust me, I know.  I tell Hermes every time he’s here.” 

“All I’m asking, is for a little respect.  The whole reason we have the bloody river is to control who gets in -”

“And out.  I know; I asked Poseidon to put them there.”

“Right, sorry.”

As the two of them bickered, you watched the wandering figures on the shore; they were as mournful and despondent as ever.  You had meant to speak to a few this visit, but the thought of seeing Bucky always seemed to take precedence.  It made you sad and ashamed, how often you allowed these pitiful beings to be pushed from your thoughts.

Bucky took your hand when you reached the shore, and you made for the mortal realm when a shade among the moaning fell to his knees at your feet, a river of pleas falling from his open and eerily still mouth.  You recoiled from the dead man’s spirit; his presence felt dank and slimy.

“Persephone, my lady,” his partially disembodied voice entreated, “My family, my wife, I’ve left them with no one, please.”

The look of shock evaporated from your face and with one hand you lifted the man to his feet, your heart sympathetic to his plight.  “What would you have me do”

Slowly and with much effort, he looked this way and that, as if confused and under water.  “Tell them I am sorry, and that I would rather wander the shore than they waste the drachma.”  He paused, surprised you listened still.  “Please, tell them, lady.  I have no other way.”

Bucky, still at your side, simply watched you, waiting for your response.  He needn’t protect you, not from these shades; he’d granted you authority enough already in his heart.

You listened to the spirits words, and imagined the twice-mortal blow of death and abandonment, and reached for his hand.  When his fingertips brushed yours, you saw it - a house, standing somewhat miraculously on a hill by the sea, but one wrong breath from collapse.  In addition, you saw that he had been a pious man, and knew it to be your duty to honor his request in death.

You smiled at him.  “I have passed this place many times; I know it well.  Your family shall hear your message, you have my word.”

The shade thanked you profusely with his motionless mouth, fading back into the others wailing on the shore.

“I don’t think you should have done that.”

“What do you mean?”

“Given him your word,” Bucky explained as the two of you continued on your way.  “You’ll be bound by it now, if you don’t deliver that message there will be consequences.  There are always consequences.”

You huffed lightly.  “I don’t see why that should matter, as I fully intend to visit that man’s family when we’re done on Olympus.”

He paused, glancing at you with a small smile.

“What?”

He laughed, “Nothing, just, sometimes I’m reminded of one of the reasons I love you and I’m, I don’t know, startled?”

A grin spread slow across your face, conquering you.  “Startled?  That’s what you want to go with?  You’re lucky I love you.”

“You don’t have to remind me of that.”

“Really?  I wouldn’t want you to be startled by your good fortune and say something you’d regret.”

“What would I say?”

“Oh I would rather not find out.”

He shook his head, still laughing, and pulled you closer to him.

Rus met you near the door.  He was, in fact, in a bit of a tizzy, bouncing around in circles, whacking the floor and shaking the ground with his tail.  You handled this one.

“Hey Russy,” you cooed at the dog, who only stuck out his tongue, to pant at you.  “Rus, did that big silly bird tease you?”  The beast whined in response, flopping over in anticipation for the inevitable belly rub to come.

Mount Olympus lay only a god’s walk away from the entrance to the underworld.  You and Bucky were nearly there when you were intercepted by a friendly face.

That face appeared in the form of a wall of water that came leaping out of the river you walked next to.

“Steve?” Bucky asked the open air, agitated and soaking wet.  You giggled quietly at the sight and flicked the water off your own hands.  “Steve, I swear, would it kill you to just say, ‘Hi Buck, nice to see you?’“

“Where’s the fun in that?” a voice came from the river.

“Get your scrawny butt up here.”

The man called Steve rose from the river, spraying Bucky once more with water.  “Hi Buck, nice to see you,” he said, grinning shamelessly.

Bucky smiled in spite of himself, and pulled the man called Steve into a bone crushing hug.  “You’re a real punk, you know that?”

“Jerk.”

Bucky pulled back, and gestured towards you, “Steve, this is Persephone.”

Steve reached out to shake your hand; he was quite small, though his eyes held a depth, a sort of ability.  “I’m Poseidon,” he said, “But you’re welcome to call me Steve.”

You smiled warmly, “Call me (Y/N).”

“I take it you’re headed to Olympus?” Bucky cut in.  When Steve nodded he looked to you for a moment then offered, “Walk with us?”

For the rest of the journey, Steve and Bucky swapped stories of silly things they’d seen mortals doing, and, to Bucky’s chagrin, you and Steve swapped stories of silly things you’d seen Bucky doing.  It was a pleasant change from your typical lonely wanderings.

“I’ll admit, Steve,” you started, “I haven’t met many gods yet.  You’re the fifth.  Tony - my mother goddes, Demeter - Bucky, Wanda, Sam of course, and you.  I’m rather nervous.”  You paused, realization flooding through you.  “Oh no, Demeter!  It hadn’t even occurred to me that I’d see him today.  Much has passed since we last spoke.”  Though you couldn’t explain why, the idea filled you with apprehension.

Mount Olympus stood the tallest among the peaks in the range.  On most days, the zenith could be seen with such clarity any mortal could spot the temple that sat there should they know what to look for.  Today, though, the clouds sat low on the mountain, obscuring the gathering from sight.  The mountain top was bustling with activity by the time you arrived at its summit; gods you had never seen before rushed around all about, and Steve was doing his best to point them all out to you.

“That’s Ares, god of war, everybody calls him Rhodey - I think he’s actually pretty good friends with Demeter.  Oh, that over there is Aphrodite, be careful, he’s got quite the temper, I hear - goddess of passion or, something like that.  And that is Athena - wisdom and -”

You cut him off there, “But why is he blue?  And why is he the only one wearing a cape?”

“Vision was born out of Zeus’ forehead.”  Steve shrugged, “He can do what he wants.”  You nodded, a bit overwhelmed.

“Zeus always gets the credit for that,” you spun around to see Tony striding up towards you, “But I did most of the work, you know.”

“Mother goddess!” you let him pull you into a hug.  “It’s good to see you.”

“You too, pumpkin.”  He released you to address your companions, nodding his head politely, if a bit cold, “Poseidon, Hades.”  They nodded similarly, and he turned his attention back to you, “Come, we don’t want to miss Zeus’ opening remarks.”

“We were just on our way, join us, Demeter?”

Tony gave a thin smile and obliged you, taking up his gait on your left.  Bucky remained on your right, though he had allowed some distance to come between you.

The temple where the council held its meetings was designed for twelve, not some odd hundred.  As such, Zeus addressed the throng of deities on the stage of an amphitheater.

“Friends!  Thank you for joining me, I have a very special announcement!” he said, loud, boisterous, and happy, grinning ear to ear.

Bucky leaned towards you to explain, “Zeus’ name is Thor.  He is very...”

“Loud?”

“Yes.”

Zeus continued, “Today, the council says goodbye to its eldest member, and welcomes a new.  Hestia, would you like to say a few words?”  The god called Hestia held himself with a regal demeanor; a soft warmth wafted off of him.

“Hestia is goddess of the hearth.  There’s a people on the African continent that know him as their king.”

“His name?”

“T’Challa.”

Hestia began to speak about the changing of times; Tony took the opportunity to whisper to you, “You and Hades seem rather familiar, dear.”

You blushed and whispered back, “We’ve become friends, yes.”

“I don’t like the idea of you spending so much time together.  He’s dangerous.”

How could you respond to that?  You were Olympians!  All of you were dangerous.  Zeus’ voice cut through your argument, “And so, it is with both sadness and joy that I welcome Dionysus to the council, and bid Hestia a happy retirement.”  Among the gods there was a hodge-podge of arguing, grumbling, halfhearted congratulations and some well-meaning applause.  He continued, unbothered by this response, “Would the twelve Olympians please remain seated, the rest of you are free to go.”

There was a general surge of noise as the whole amphitheater stood.  Bucky gave you a look as he moved off with Steve, which you returned with some apprehension before turning back to your mother goddess.

“Why don’t you like him, mother goddess?”

Tony scoffed, “Ask him why he is god of the dead.”

“Because Zeus made it so.”

“That is why he is king of the underworld, dear.  Ask why he is god of the dead.”  His cold tone struck an uncomfortable chord, and you found yourself unable to look at anything but your hands folded in front of you.

As the gods trickled out of the amphitheater, you bid your mother goddess a strained farewell, making for the home of the shade’s wife.  It was not far in god-stride, and you arrived in the face of a beggar with a gift.

When you arrived, a woman still dressed in the dark robes of mourning stood with her back turned to the road, salty win whipping locks of undone hair about her hung head.  You called out to her, and asked for a moment to rest for a while.  She turned to you, dazed, and invited you inside, where you gave your gift.  It was a jar of honey, which the bees had given up freely to you who was their first caretaker.

You both sat down for a meal.  There were four chairs at the table, and four hooks by the door, but as far as you could feel there was no one else in the house.

When the meal was done, she asked you, “Where do you travel to?”

“I am on my way to fulfill a promise.  It shouldn’t be much longer now.”  That answer seemed to satisfy her, so you asked her, “Who do you mourn for, lady?”

She stood, her every movement languid and melancholy.  “My husband.  I have some wine around here somewhere...?”

“No, I have another gift to give you.”

She looked puzzled and sat back down at the table.

“Where are your children?”

“They have gone.  My husband could leave me no dowry, and my time of childbearing has passed.  My sons are old enough to find work, so I bid them to.”

“Have you no kyrios?”

“When my sons return, I will know.”  She paused, looking worried, “I am afraid I have no gifts to give you traveler.  I haven’t even the coin to pay for my husband’s crossing of the Acheron.  I will be gone before his hundred years are up,” she continued quietly, “so we may at least speak again as lonely spirits.”

“Ah,” you said.  Her head lifted and her gaze met yours.  “That leads me to my second gift.”  You let the illusion drop about you , the blood red sheen of life on your skin obvious in the dull darkness of the house.  “I am the bringer of spring, and I also bring your husband’s words.”

The woman fell to her knees.  “Forgive an old woman who mourns, I have forgotten to wash your feet.”

“I will bring no curse upon your house; this is the favor I spoke of.”  You knelt in front of the woman, grasping her hands.  “Your husband came to me on the shores of the Acheron, and he asked me to tell you that he is sorry.  And to feel no shame in his waiting; that he would rather do so.”

She sniffed a little into her hands.  “I know that you speak the truth.”  The burden of your word was lifted, and you understood what the shade had wanted to ask of you, but hadn’t.  It was something you were happy to give.

You stood, pulling the woman to her feet with you.  “You have been kind to me, and let me ask my many questions.  Your sons will have every beneft I can give to them.”  She thanked you as you bid her farewell, donning your beggar shell once more.  “Gift to me a good life, and that of your children, so we may be friends in Hades after all.”

You walked down the hill until you were out of sight, and you became invisible to mortal eyes again.

Ask why he is god of the dead.  Your mother goddess’ words rang in you ears, persistent, with every step you took back to Hades.  It crossed your mind more than once to find some excuse not to join him again, but your feet refused to consider the idea.

You met him in the asphodel meadows and lingered there, watching the shades speak to each other in apathetic and faint tones, wondering how you could ever breach the subject of Bucky’s authority.  He walked beside you in silence.

Eventually, you said, “Can I ask you something?”

“Anything.”

Abruptly you stopped and turned him to face you.  “My mother goddess, Tony,” you paused, uncomfortable under Bucky’s gaze, “he told me to ask why you are god of the dead.”

Bucky’s eyes narrowed, but not in anger.  “And is that your question?”

You nodded, guilt already welling in your chest.  The pale glow of the drop of sun Apollo had fixed on the smooth stone ceiling of the underworld did nothing to warm your nervous shivers.

“C’mon, this is a conversation better had with wine.”

“Oh, I thought I wasn’t supposed to-”

“No, honeybee,” he said, chuckling halfheartedly, “it’s for me.”

The two of you climbed the stairs to Hades’ tower in silence.  He gestured to a long, asymmetrical settee which he joined you on.  You took his metal hand in yours.

Before he spoke, Bucky ran his free hand through his hair.  “How much do you know?”  His face was laced with worry; those lines still made your heart ache.

“Only what you’ve told me,” you answered softly.

He began slowly, tasting each word before it left his mouth, with how he and his sibling gods had wound up in the belly of Cronus.  “Cronus lived in constant fear that he’d be overthrown by his children like his father before him, so he prevented a betrayal by swallowing us whole.”

The blue in his eyes held a reserved chill, an icy resentment.  You waited for him to continue, holding your breath.

“Zeus couldn’t set us free until he reached manhood, but even then - we didn’t know.  There was no hope.  Only darkness, and the knowledge that there would be an eternity of it.  Hestia was the oldest, he was trapped there the longest and he was alone for years before I joined him there.  I don’t know how he stayed so sane.  It was... different for me.  By the time Demeter was eaten, I had already gone off the rails.”

He withdrew his hand from yours and continued, “I, (Y/N) I could hear him speak to me.  Cronus.  He spoke terrible, vile things about my mother, my siblings.  He swallowed a whole pack of centaurs once to see if he could goad me into murdering them.  I suppose you could say I was his favorite.”  A rueful smile twisted his face before it softened and his shoulders slumped.  “Steve was trying to knock some sense into me when Zeus cut that bastard open.  That’s how,” he trailed off, gesturing to his metal appendage.  Your hand covered your mouth in distress.  “Then suddenly, we were free.  There was still work to be done, though.  I told Zeus he should just kill me and be done with it, but he said he needed all of our help in fighting the rest of the Titans; it was easy for me, even with only one arm.  Zeus just wanted to imprison them in Tartarus, where they could do no more harm.  When it came time for Rhea, though, I slit her throat.”

Bucky leveled his gaze on you, still holding your breath.  “That is how I came to be god of the dead and death.  It has followed me ever since.”

With great effort, you allowed yourself to breathe.  Your heart pounded in your ears in rage and sorrow.  “Thank you for trusting me with this,” you said.

Bucky shook his head, eyes fixed on his hands.  “It is not a secret; any god would’ve told you the story if you’d asked.”  He paused, chewing his cheek.  “Demeter was right to warn you; I am a dangerous god.”

You bit your lip, thinking.  Of course he was dangerous; that had never been a question.  How could you hope to explain that, while dangerous, he wasn’t a danger to you.  Deciding to climb out on that limb, you asked, “Would you let me show you my home?”

He looked up from his hands with something of relief and curiosity, “I thought your home was wandering the earth conjuring flowers and baby bunny rabbits.”

“That’s not entirely wrong.  It is about time for birthing season.”

“(Y/N),” he began, tense.

With a look you silenced him, and took his hand back into your own.  “Bucky.  Trust me.”

“I trust you.  Are you sure you trust me?”

You raised his hand to your lips.  “I love you.  Will that do?”

He blinked at you.  Then he blinked again.  He leaned into you, resting his forehead on yours, sea green eyes open wide.  “That it will.”

You grinned, hands shaking.  “Come on.  It’s high time I show you something of life.”

He gulped, but allowed you to pull him to his feet.  Bucky held a firm grip on your hand until you reached the other side of the Acheron.  Cerberus was waiting for you both on the shore; the shade that had approached you before presumably satisfied as they all gave you a wide berth. 

“Hey, Rus,” you cooed at the hulking creature, reaching out to scratch behind the nearest ear.  He followed you to the door with silent footsteps that shook the ground, whining softly when you stopped in front of it. 

Bucky caught your eye.  He was putting on such a brave face, but he let you push open the door.  “Do not be afraid.”

Out into the world you ventured.  The sun was out in full force; Bucky squinted at the powerful rays reflecting off the waves. 

You giggled softly, “When was the last time you went outside?”  The wind ruffled his hair and, by Olympus it was lovely.  He shrugged.  “Come on,” you said with a smile.  He followed you obediently across waters and through forests and fields, occasionally glancing back to check the damage of his footsteps, an action that did not go unnoticed by you.  You hoped you were doing the right thing.  You hoped he would understand.

Eventually, you arrived where you’d planned.  To call the patch of grass the doe had chosen a clearing would be an overstatement, but you stopped there nonetheless.  You gestured for Bucky to remain where he was, tucked neatly in the folds of the forest, and stepped into the light.  The deer was not startled by you, welcoming your presence as you approached and knelt in front of her.  Bucky shifted behind you and her head shot up, ear twisting, listening.  

You hushed her, “Shh,” and reached your hand out to Bucky.  He looked at you with an expression quite similar to that of the deer.  They looked at each other, communicating silently for a spell.

With exceptional caution, he approached.

“Is she…?”

“Pregnant?  Very.  It’s just about time.”  He took a sharp breath in; you gave his hand a reassuring squeeze.

Abruptly, the doe got to her feet and began pacing.  In all reality, there wasn’t much you could do for her besides keep her company.  So you did.

The doe curved her back, releasing the first fawn with little difficulty, and began to lick him clean.  Bucky watched, transfixed, as the fawn tried to stand through the resistance of his mother’s care.  

The second fawn was born with more of a struggle.  When he tried and failed to stand, the reason became apparent - his feet were curved at awkward angles, and when the doe began to clean him, white patches in his fur started to show.  

Beside you, Bucky was unnerved.  “I-I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have come-”

“This is not your doing.”

“But,” he started, backing away from the fawns, “he…  Something’s wrong.”

You rose to your feet, the sadness of the reality of life weighing your heart.  “It is an unfortunate truth, one that even I cannot change.”  He raised an eyebrow at you, breath still irregular and nervous.  “Trust me a little longer.”

After a spell, the doe and her fawns moved on, the doe keeping a safe distance to distract predators from her new fawns.  The piebald fawn had a particularly hard time keeping up with his family, and it was him that you followed closely.

“My presence cannot bode well for this fawn,” Bucky hissed, following close behind you.  You shushed him gently, knowing he would soon understand if he could endure a bit longer.  “(Y/N),” he started.  Again, you shushed him, with more force this time; you wanted him to pay attention.  Stopping him with a squeeze of his hand, you nodded your head towards the mountain lion that stalked the fawn.

She was poised to strike at every moment, devastating strength thinly contained in muscular shoulders as she moved without sound.  She paid you no mind.

Bucky moved to protect the fawn.

“Just watch.”

His eyes were glossy as he stared at you with confusion, “He will die because of me.”

You paused, looked pointedly at his hand clasping yours and then his steps through the forest.  Or, more, the lack of evidence of his steps through the forest.

The corner of your mouth tugged up a bit at the realization that came over him.  “Trust me,” you implored, the tone of your voice practically begging it of him.  He released a shaky breath and turned his attention back to the predator and her prey.

When she finally did attack, the fawn didn’t even see it coming and it was over as quickly as it had begun.  Bucky held onto you when the fawn’s life fled from it and remained silent while you followed the big cat back to her den.

Inside were three young cubs that tore the carcass apart.

“Why are you showing me this?” Bucky asked in a whisper.

“Because life demands some amount of death.  It isn’t always as balanced or as poetic as this, sometimes it is harsh and bitterly futile, but it is a fact unwavering.  And it does not exist because you made it so.”

“I-I,” he started, pulling away from you, and you wondered if you had made a mistake.  You drew the backs of your fingers down his cheek with a sigh, and told him that he would know where to find you before turning to leave him with his thoughts.

His hand circled around your wrist and pulled you back to him until you were once again staring into the eyes that held the horror of truth.  You shivered.

“Marry me,” he said.

“What?”

“Persephone, (Y/N), please.  Marry me?”  Yes, you thought, your heart pumping blood into your cheeks with fervor.  “I love you, you love me.  Be my wife.  Let me be your husband.”

You laughed when you remembered you’d only thought it.  “Yes,” you said.  The tremor in your voice hinted at tears threatening to spill.

Here you were, Hades and Persephone, harbingers of the living and the dead, in over both their heads in love.  There was no force you could imagine that could ever sever what was forged when you said yes.  You were right, of course, but not for lack of trying.

You married Hades in early dawn on Olympus, the mountain deserted but for you, Bucky, and Zeus.  Cool air rushed through your hair, your hands holding your love’s.  Zeus asked you both if the other was your intended.  The two of you agreed, and there was nothing more to be said.  Each of you had already owned the others heart.

The moment, intimate as it seemed, was not without spectators, and by the time you and your husband reached the foot of the mountain, every god worth gossiping with had heard of your union.

Demeter heard of it while enriching the soil on the land owned by a grain farmer who had been particularly generous with offerings of barley and poppies.  He heard from Dionysus, who had heard from Hermes, who had heard it from Poseidon, who had heard it from the giants whose eyes could see and ears could hear for miles.

Tony sank to the ground in defeat, a storm of half lucid memories gusting through his chest.  The darkness, and fear, and blood.  Malice.  And the darkness.  It always came back to the darkness.  And it had taken his daughter goddess.  He knew there was only one thing he could do - one thing that must be done.

Demeter departed immediately, and marched straight for Mount Olympus.  

He threw open the doors to Zeus’ home and shouted, “Zeus!  You’ve married my daughter to that abomination!”  Thor stood, startled, from his table.  “Well?”

“I have,” Zeus replied, crossing his arms.  “They both consented to it, seemed pretty happy if you ask me.”

“I didn’t,” Tony snarled.  “You have given my daughter to a treacherous beast without asking me or even telling me.  I would like to know how you intend to retrieve her, because by Olympus you will.

Poseidon, who had just explained to Zeus how his friends the giants had learned of the ceremony to begin with, stood also.  He said cooly, “Your daughter goddess has made her own choice, and she is perfectly safe.”

“Safe?”  Tony rounded on Steve, fear and anger heating his face and his words.  “How could she be safe?  Have you forgotten what he did to our mother?”

Steve shook his head, bewildered, “She let him eat us!”  

Long had it been since they spoke of their years of torment.  Silence fell thick in the house, though outside passersby could hear most of the yelling, and the noise attracted the attention of a friendly looking dog.

Inside, Tony shook his head in despair.  “You always have to defend him.”

“He’s my brother.”

“So was I.”  Tony clenched his jaw, and before Steve could reply, said, “I invoke the rights of the twelve.”

Zeus’ face melted into shock and frustration.  “You cannot declare their union invalid; what has been done cannot be undone.”

“Hades is not on the council; it is within my rights to take back my own kin.  She will be free of his presence tonight.”

The dog outside, having heard Demeter’s plans to banish Persephone from Hades, ran back to her master.  Hecate was on the way back to the underworld, guiding the spirit of a woman carrying the required two coins of silver, when her familiar came bounding up to her, frantic.  Hearing the news for herself, Wanda left the spirit to be guided by the dog as she sped ahead to warn Hades.

She found you together on the Isle of the Blessed dancing with the spirits there around the only thing that could grow so deep in the underworld.  They ate the pomegranates from the tree with gusto, and you laughed in their merriment.  

The joy melted off your faces when you saw her sprinting toward you.

“Hecate!” Bucky said, confused.  He jogged to meet her, and you followed closely behind.  

She explained in gasps of air that Demeter and Zeus intended to remove you from Hades and the underworld.  Bucky took a sharp breath in and drew you into him.

“But,” you said, holding onto Bucky’s hand on your waist, “How can they do that?  It must be my mother goddess, but he has no right!”

Wanda shook her head, “He has invoked the rights of the twelve.  He has every right.  Hades, they will be here soon.”

Bucky nodded grimly, “I did not notice Demeter at first.  His authority feels similar to (Y/N)’s, but I can feel Zeus now.  Poseidon is with them also.”

“Go,” Wanda said, “Beg for them to reconsider.  Persephone, you should hide.”  

Bucky kissed your hand sweetly and whispered, “I will do anything I can, my morning glory, I promise.”  Then he turned from you and raced off to his tower in the distance.  His absence from you pulled your gut like a riptide.

The spirits on the Isle gathered around you, sensing your distress.  “What can we do, mistress?  What is the matter?” they asked. 

“Where can I hide?” you asked.

They whispered among each other.  “The only place outside the sight of Zeus is Tartarus, but you should not go there.  It is dangerous, even for divine ones.”

You looked from Hecate to the spirits, to the looming darkness you could not see, your heart racing.  Your hands shook.  Light flashed from the tower.  Lightning.  “I - I must.  Zeus is here, and I must hide.  Hecate, will you come with me?”

She stood very still, her eyes fixed on the tower.  “(Y/N), we cannot go there; there are dangers there we know nothing of.”

You nodded, understanding her fear.  “I cannot leave him.”  She called after you as you ran, your mind made up, but all you could hear was the thudding of your own heart and your own feet against the ground.  The darkness began as a low presence in the distance, and grew like smoke clouds as you drew nearer.  The darkness wasn’t nearly as horrible as the smell, a sickly sweet smell of rot, and the sounds, low rumbling of a mountain turning over and screams the likes of which you had never heard.  

The threat of separation from the one you held most dear spurred you on beyond all fear and all reason.  You would hide there, dangers be damned.  Literally.

Under the cloudy darkness, there was a deep depression in the ground with steep slopes all around, surrounding an enormous grate of enchanted iron.  You stood at the edge of this depression and peered into the darkness.  Through the holes in the grate, you could just barely make out the shadows of spirits fleeing, and the shadows of things much larger that devoured them.

One giant eye opened up altogether too close to the grate for your liking.  A voice spoke, crooked and gravelly, and eternally deep, “Zeus can still see you there, life-walker.”

You looked over your shoulder, afraid you’d see that tell-tale lightning.  “How do you know who I am?”

The eye blinked.  “I see everything, even from this prison your husband the murderer and his brothers have locked us in.  Though, he could not see you if you stood on the grate.”

“Why should I trust you?  Who are you?”  You asked though you feared you knew the answer.

“By all rights, I am your grandfather, Persephone.”  Cronus laughed.  “You know that you are the first of my offspring to visit me in this pit?”  At your silence, a giant hand swiped at the grate, only to be deflected long before coming into contact with it by whatever enchantment had been placed upon it.  “See?  You have nothing to fear from me.  I could do nothing to you were you not the Queen of this plane.”  

“You can see everything?”

“That is what I said, yes.”

You climbed down the slope carefully.  “Can you tell me what’s happening in Hades’ tower?”

“I can show you.”

In Hades’ tower, he paced, frantic and running his hands through his hair.  “Thor, please,” he said, hands clasped in front of him, “you know she is in no danger - I love her!”

Zeus stood next to your mother goddess, expression pained.  Demeter, however, was livid.  “No danger?  How can she be in no danger when she is here?  This is the home of death and monsters, you yourself have seen to that.”

“Tony,” Zeus said, his tone warning.

“I want her home, with me.”

Poseidon gestured out the window with exasperation.  “She won’t want to leave.  Her husband is here.”

“This is none of your concern, Steve.  Where is she?”

Bucky turned to your mother goddess.  The expression on his face broke your heart, shattered.  “Demeter, Tony, if you do this I will-”

“What, Hades?  Huh?  Kill me?”

Bucky was taken aback.  “I will never recover.”

You could see Tony’s resolve falter, but a second later his expression hardened again and he growled, “Where is she?”

If there was no way you could convince your mother goddess to let go of this fear, to let you love who you did, and if there was every possibility that if you left with him you would never see Bucky again… then hope was lost.

Cronus spoke again, “Demeter is right, this place is filled with monsters, your husband non excluded.”  A tendril of smoke had crept through the grate and began wrapping itself around your leg.  You recoiled in disgust, climbing out of the pit.

“The only monster here has been locked away, and I hope he rots there,” you spat.

“Be careful, child,” he said, his eye closing, “There are powers here still greater than you, and they do not forget in waking or slumber.”

At his words, you remembered something Charon had said, an age ago.  We didn’t make the rules, kid.  Once again,  you ran.  There was hope; it was a desperate sort of hope, but you knew what you had to do.  You ran back to the Isle of the Blessed, back to the tree that grew there, and plucked a pomegranate from the branch, four figures on the horizon.

“Persephone!” Hecate said, “No!”

“Wanda, there is no other way.”

“There is always another way.”

The figures were getting closer.  “Can you think of one in the next three seconds?”  She could not.  “Then help me!  Please, I know what I’m doing.  I will not leave him.”

They were close enough to see you now.  “(Y/N)!” Bucky called out to you.  Your eyes locked.

“Please,” you begged.  Wanda shook her head, distraught.  She pulled a dagger from an inner layer of her priestess robes and handed it to you.  You only managed to cut twelve seeds from the fruit by the time they made it to you, and you only ate half of those before your mother goddess wrestled the rest from your hands.

“Stop!  Persephone, please!” he shouted.  “What have you done?”

“I will not leave him.  And now you cannot force me.”

Zeus picked up the fallen pomegranate, pale.  Bucky had two thin tear lines streaked on his cheeks.  Steve put his head in his hands.  Wanda backed away into the shadow of the realm.

Your mother goddess, Tony, held both your hands.  “You, you are trapped here forever now.”

You squeezed his hands, desperate to make him understand.  “I know.”

The weight of what you had knowingly done set in, and your heart began to ache again.  It seemed there was no way to win.

“Thor,” Bucky said, “there must be something you can do.”

Tony rounded on him.  “What do you care?  You got what you wanted.”

“You think this is what I wanted?!”

Zeus held up a hand.  “(Y/N), how many seeds did you eat?”

“Six,” you said.

He pursed his lips for a moment, brows creased and stroking his beard.  “Yes, I think that could work.  It wasn’t the whole fruit, after all,” he muttered to himself.  You took Bucky’s hand, fingers interlaced, and held each other tight.  “And it is still, technically eternal.”

“Thor?” Steve spoke up, “You gonna clue us in?”

“It’s not ideal, but I’ve thought of a possible loophole.  In accordance with both invoking the rights of the twelve and the laws of the Titans before us, Persephone will be banished to this plane for six months of the year, and from it the rest.  Does that work for you?”

“No!” Tony and Bucky shouted at the same time.  Zeus shook his head and pointed at you.

“Me?” you asked, “That sounds like the best we’re going to get.”  You squeezed Bucky’s hand in reassurance. 

He looked at you, exhausted and burdened with troubles, his thumb ran circles over the back of your hand.  “I think you might be right, dove.  I just-”  his voice caught in his throat.

“I know,” you murmered.  The back of your hand stroked against his cheek.  “What about now?” you asked Zeus, “Am I trapped here now?  The world is not ready for me to be gone that long.”

“Then we must move quickly,” Zeus replied, gesturing toward the tower, and, further, the Acheron and the door.  “We don’t want to press our luck, especially here.”

Nodding, you hid the rogue tears that escaped your eyes from your mother goddess and your husband.  Bucky accompanied you to the edge of the Acheron.  Zeus followed your mother goddess onto Cheron’s ferry.  “I will be back,” you told Bucky, tapping his chest, “and I will be counting the days.”

He opened his mouth to speak, but Posieden cut in, “(Y/N), we need to go.”

With leaden feet, you tore yourself from your husband’s arms, and followed Steve onto the ferry.  You watched Bucky, standing alone on the shore, until he was lost from your sight.  Cheron was uncharacteristically silent.

On the other shore, Rus was waiting.  

His eyes were dark, and something in his demeanor changed when he sniffed the air above you.

“Rus?”  All six of his eyes snapped onto you and you understood.  “I know, I’m going, I’m sorry.”  He growled at you, a vicious and low dragging sound, and watched you like prey until you fled out the door.

In your hurry, you missed the step and slid down the steep, rocky slope until your toes  reached the tide of the island.  Shocked, you blinked at the ocean, expecting it to somehow reflect some, any change.

Your mother goddess slid down beside you.

“(Y/N),” Tony began, “(Y/N), I just wanted to protect you.”

Seething, you rose to your feet.  “How dare you decide what that looks like? You have ruined me and doomed this world through your deliberate blindness!”  He recoiled from your rage, and you drew back the tendrils you’d loosed. Zeus and Posieden watched awkwardly from the door.  You sighed.  “Everything I am comes from you, but the next time you presume to make my decisions, don’t.”

You held up a hand to prevent any more of Tony’s words, and set out alone across the sea to begin your half year of banishment. 

During this time, you found a small pocket of comfort in nurturing new lives, helping the saplings to find the sunlight and the calves to follow their herds.  But you missed him dearly.  It was an ache you fancied you could feel in the blossoms you encouraged to open.  The only cure for it was to wander as far as you had before you’d met him.  

So, you wandered.  Melancholy and in love, you wandered.  The forest and grassland that sprang from your steps grew in the shape of your heartache.  It would have seemed beautiful to you had it not been so irritating in its accuracy.

You watched the mortals build their temples and weave their legends; you watched them live and love with some amount of envy.

When the time came close for you to rejoin your husband again, you reversed your wandering.  Sleep, you whispered, I will wake you when I return.  As you left the forests, the animals found places to rest, and even the trees fell into their mighty slumber.  When you were satisfied, your feet carried you from across the world back to that forsaken and blessed door.

Cheron greeted you as you boarded his raft, and with every push of his long pole you felt yourself drawing closer to your husband.  Again, he saw you long before you saw him.  You could not see him on the shore when you stepped off the raft, but he could see you.  You were just as beautiful as you’d been all that time ago, but you had acquired an age.  The steps you took were no longer out of innocent joy but necessity.  He squared his shoulders and stepped out of the shadows to speak to you.

You felt his presence before he could speak a word.  

He said, softly, in the voice of a broken man, “Lady.”

@thelureabove​ @slender--spirit​ @egos-r-life​ @punkgirl-pinkbows​ @i-never-said-i-care​ @elsasshole​

[shireness-says]

If I Could See Your Face Once More (3/6)

Summary: This time, there’s no celebration at Granny’s when the latest crisis has been resolved. Instead, they’re left to deal with the body of Killian Jones. A 5B canon divergence where Killian dies in Camelot, never becoming a Dark One. Rated T for language. Also on AO3. ~6.6K. Chapter 1 Chapter 2

A/N: I ended up switching days to post my third @csmarchmadness, so here’s Chapter 3, a day earlier than expected! Thanks, as always, to @xemmaloveskillianx for organizing the even and @snidgetsafan for beta-ing, as well as the discord ladies for helping me figure out where parts of this section were going. 

Thanks for all your wonderful feedback so far - I’m so glad you’re liking where I’ve taken this! I’ll have Chapter 4 up as soon as I can - it’s about half written now, so hopefully I can buckle down on the rest. Brace yourselves for the angst, guys. 

Tagging: @thejollyroger-writer, @profdanglaisstuff, @captainsjedi, @ultraluckycatnd, @superchocovian, @snowbellewells, @killianjones4ever82, @wellhellotragic, @ohmakemeahercules. Shoot me a message if you want to be added to the list!

Thanks for reading, let me know what you think! I hope you enjoy!

As far as rude awakenings go, the entire house shaking has to top the list.

While half asleep, Killian had been happy to write it off as Emma tossing around in bed, as she’s prone to do (his favorite little bed hog), but as the shaking continues, shaking him fully out of slumber and straight into panic instead, it becomes obvious that something is happening. Something dire, something unusual even for the Underworld. It makes him sit bolt upright in bed, alert and trying to safely discern what the hell is going on as Emma grumbles incoherently at the sudden removal of her human pillow.

“Wake up, love,” he says urgently. When she just groans, not willing to rouse herself from her hazy dreamland, Killian resorts to shaking her. “Emma, love, you’ve got to wake up, something’s the matter.”

Just then, the shaking abruptly stops. Emma blearily blinks up at at him, blessedly awake. “Was something… shaking?” She asks groggily.

“Aye. I don’t know what,” he replies, quickly getting out of bed and moving to retrieve his trousers and shirt. Unlike certain blondes in his life, he’s always careful to fold his laundry and either put it away or into the dirty clothes basket instead of tossing them into corners willy-nilly.

“Well we’ve got to go find out!” Emma shoots right back, tossing the covers back and swinging her legs over the side of the mattress.

“Aye. I’d think it was an earthquake, but down here ���” Killian’s train of thought is abruptly cut off as he hears a soft oof from Emma, followed by an alarming screech of bedsprings. When he whips back around from where he had been facing away from the bed, Emma is sitting wide-eyed, both hands gripping at the edge of the mattress.

Killian’s certain he’s never moved faster, crouching down in front of Emma in a flash and reaching for her hand. “Are you alright, Emma? Love, talk to me. Are you okay, is the baby okay?”

“Calm down, Captain. Everything’s fine, I just stood up too fast, blood rush or whatever.” Patting his hand briefly, she stands back up again, this time without any problems, and moves to collect her own jeans and sweater.

Emma may not seem too concerned, but the incident - small as it is - really throws things into harsh perspective. He’s already been wrestling with guilt over the fact that Emma’s here, in danger, in the first place - not to mention Henry and their unborn child - but this really reminds him of all the other, more mundane dangers facing them. Emma’s a woman of action; he’s always known that, it was one of the many myriad of things that made him fall in love with her in the first place. But that same impulsiveness, that same urge to help that drives her to action, puts her in a lot of dangerous situations - not just crazy things like this, things that would only happen to the Savior, but everyday dangers too. Her job as Sheriff doesn’t help; Storybrooke is a quiet town, but even quiet towns can host robberies gone wrong or domestic disputes or any number of other circumstances that might prove dangerous, or even deadly, to a bold sheriff too concerned with saving others to worry enough about herself.

“Maybe you should let us investigate this one, love,” he hazards cautiously. This will almost certainly come back to bite him, but he feels he can’t go without saying something. She already can only use her magic sparingly, and guns and swords won’t do much against the already deceased. Standing by while she charges into danger just feels like he’s playing a part in whatever harm might come to them.

Emma looks over at him as she pulls her jeans on, narrowing her eyes and pursing her lips in disapproval before turning back to button her pants. Their little one protrudes just enough that she’s had to rig up a new closure system with a hair binder, something Killian usually finds adorable, but today just reminds him of how much is at stake. “I’m fine, Killian,” she sighs, exasperation tinging her tone. “I’m not about to break.”

“I know you’re strong and hearty, love, but we don’t know what we’re facing out there. And there’s the babe to think about now, too,” he presses.

“What, so I’m supposed to just sit around here, twiddling my thumbs while everyone else rushes off into God only knows what? I’m supposed to be here to save you! I can’t do that just sitting on my ass!”

“I can’t let you do that though at the cost of your own life! I’m already dead, Emma - what the hell else can happen to me?”

Killian regrets the words as soon as they leave his mouth, but there’s nothing to be done about it. Still, seeing the tears pooling at the bottom of her eyes is like a stab through his heart. He hopes they’re a product of her fluctuating hormones, but he’s afraid they’re not; that feels like denying responsibility anyways, and those tears are certainly his fault.

“Emma, love…” he tries again, reaching for her, but she just shakes her head and leaves the room, leaving Killian all alone. With a sigh, he turns to finish securing his brace and shrugging on a shirt.

Give them both a moment to calm down; then he’ll turn his attention to fixing the mess he’s made.

He doesn’t get a chance, though, Regina already waiting in their living room when Killian finally makes it down the stairs. He wants to go straight to Emma, to try and make up (or, ideally, come to some kind of compromise that keeps her safe but still involved) and put this whole thing behind them, but they can’t do that with Regina standing right there.

“Madame Mayor,” he nods. Things have never been exactly natural between himself and the former Evil Queen; it’s easiest to fall back on practiced formalities. Still, that won’t stop him from asking why she’s here. It is still his own house, after all, and a man is entitled to such things. “May I ask what you’re doing here, Your Majesty? Or how, for that matter, since I didn’t hear the front door or doorbell?”

Regina sniffs in mild disdain at the questioning; he probably shouldn’t have expected any less. “Unlike your girlfriend here,” she emphasizes, “there’s nothing wrong with my magic.” At Killian’s blank stare - more unamused than confused, in truth - she elaborates. “I transported myself over into your living room. You felt the disturbance I assume, unless you’re even more oblivious than I gave you credit for?” Ignoring the jibe, Killian nods curtly. “Well, my sister dearest managed to get herself pulled into a portal. With the baby at that.”

“Are they both alright?” Emma asks, blessedly keeping the focus on the problem at hand before the Queen goes off on a rant about her sister (deserved or not).

“Zelena twisted her ankle upon landing, but Vera’s fine.” It’s obvious from Regina’s tone which person’s wellbeing she finds important. “Hades had some underling waiting, but Greenie was able to scare him off with her magic. As far as anyone can tell, he wanted the baby for some purpose, and Zelena was just collateral damage.”

“Robin must be relieved that the little one is alright,” Killian comments. What was the baby’s name? Vera? Soon enough, he and Emma will have to be picking out names for their own babe, if they can just both make it out of the Underworld in one piece.

“He is. We both are,” Regina agrees, a smile almost teasing at the edges of her mouth before she snaps back to her businesslike facade again. “Zelena thinks she might know something, however, and I’d really like to get home and away from the miserable bitch as soon as possible, so if you’re done with the small talk…” she trails off, fixing both Killian and Emma in turn with an expectant look.

Killian jumps to retrieve Emma’s heavy coat and his own leather jacket. They may not have a chance to talk for a while, not with the rush of everything happening, but maybe he can show his love, his care, his apology in smaller ways. She meets his eyes briefly as he opens the coat wide to slip her arms into, and he tries to put all the words he can’t yet say into a small smile; part apology, part reassurance, all love. Emma just looks away, though, reaching for her hat and gloves instead.

Not a good sign.

“I can only take you one at a time,” Regina warns brusquely, “so you’re going to have to wait a moment, Captain.”

“That’s fine,” he assures. “I should collect my brother anyways.”

“Are you sure that’s a wise idea, after his little disappearing act the other day?” Regina demands. She’s always cut straight to the point, and Killian usually appreciates that - hell, would admire it in anyone else - but he finds himself wishing she would perhaps mince her words just a bit. There’s something to be said for tact in small doses. It also reminds him that while the group at large knows that something happened yesterday for both he and Liam to suddenly disappear for hours on end, they don’t know all the detail of Liam’s betrayal.

“No, but for better or worse, I’m hoping he’ll have insights that will be of use to us.” Killian keeps things as vague as possible, but Regina looks like she suspects something’s up all the same. Not that it’s not warranted. The first order of business today will have to be making Liam confess to everyone. It’s as good a penance as any; Killian certainly wouldn’t want to face an angry Regina, let alone the Lady Snow. As much as he’s looking forward to his brother being interrogated by the Evil Queen, however, he’s not keen on receiving the same treatment himself. It’ll be a miracle if he can get out of the house without her demanding any more answers. “I’ll meet you at the Mayor’s Mansion as soon as I can,” he excuses, moving to leave. Things are still unsettled between himself and Emma, but it feels wrong to just leave without any gesture towards her, so he quickly drops a kiss on her cheek on his way to the door, letting their fingers brush in passing. She doesn’t say anything, or move to make it a real kiss, but she doesn’t pull away from him either, which Killian is willing to take as a small success.

Getting better.

It’s only a short walk from the house to the harbor, where Liam is already up and about on the Jolly Roger. “Brother!” he calls. “Did you feel the quaking?”

A burst of irritation fizzles through Killian’s veins. What does Liam think he is, some kind of imbecile? Brother knows best. It makes him wonder if his brother was always like this, and Killian was just too blinded by devotion to see it.

“Yes, that’s why I’m here,” he grinds out. “Gather whatever you need, we’re expected back at the Mayor’s Mansion.”

“I take it you’re still mad at me,” Liam comments on his way down the gangplank.

“Aye, well, it’s not exactly something you get over in only one night,” Killian snipes back.

“Killian, please —”

“No, this is what’s going to happen,” Killian interrupts. “We’re going to go and face Emma’s family - my family and friends, and explain exactly what you did, what you told Hades, what was on those pages. You are going to do everything you can to help us. And it still won’t fully make up for what you tried to do to me, what you tried to take from me, but it will at least be a start, and we can evaluate from there. Understood?”

“Aye, Brother, but what do you think this —”

“Further discussion will not be necessary.”

The rest of their walk is pretty quiet after that.

To his credit, Liam does confess to the group at large without any extra prodding. Reactions are almost exactly what Killian would have expected: Henry is furious at the betrayal, Belle is shocked, Snow seems to be hovering somewhere around maternal disappointment, and Regina rolls her eyes.

“Can you at least tell us what was on the pages?” she sighs, her voice sounding absolutely exhausted for this early in the day. That’s a feat, Killian can’t help but think as he watches the haughty mayor rub at her temples as if to make a headache go away.

“I wasn’t exactly looking too closely at their contents,” Liam admits with a wince. “All I can tell you is that illustration depicted some sort of rock, or gemstone.”

“It’s a crystal,” Zelena’s voice calls from the doorway, where she’d apparently limped over. “The Olympian Crystal.” Killian hadn’t seen her when he came in; he assumes they got the inevitable sniping out of the way before Killian arrived back at the Mayor’s Mansion with Liam. Not that he regrets missing it; even if he wasn’t already predisposed to dislike the Wicked Witch, especially after the incidents of the Second Curse - he’s not likely to soon forget her attempt to manipulate and drown him, thank you very much - her particular brand of constant drama isn’t to Killian’s taste. In his opinion, it’s never a good sign when he, the man who devoted centuries of his life to the pursuit of revenge, thinks you’ve gone a little too far.

“How can you be so certain of that?” Robin bites back. It’s harsher than Killian is used to from the easy-going bandit, but after everything Zelena has done to him, Killian supposes that’s warranted.

“Hades and I have clashed before. And unlike some of us here,” she says pointedly, “I’m willing to dig up a little research about my enemies so I can attack them head-on, instead of rushing in with some half-cocked plan.” There’s no telling who that was aimed at; probably Regina, but it could frankly apply to half the people in the room.

“Yes, you’re a champion researcher, we bow to you in awe,” Regina drawls sarcastically. “Do you want to tell the rest of the class about this ‘Olympic Crystal’, or do you just want to brag?”

“It’s the Olympian Crystal, since you obviously weren’t listening,” Zelena snaps back. Ah, siblings. “Supposedly, it’s a divine weapon that can be used to defeat Hades.”

“And you never used it? What a go-getter you are, sis.”

“He never came back after that frankly bizarre attempt to snatch Oz from under my nose, and unlike some people, I don’t feel the need to go actively looking for trouble! I never needed to use it!”

“Well maybe if you had we wouldn’t —”

“Alright,” David interrupts, blessedly so in Killian’s opinion. “Do you know where we can find this… Crystal?”

“No, Blondie,” Zelena sneers. “Like I said: I never needed to.”

That sits with all of them for a moment. This had seemed like such a good lead, but there’s nowhere to take it. Maybe the Crystal wouldn’t bring Killian back to life, but it could take Hades out of the picture, remove a major hurdle to their quest. But without any idea of where to find it, they’re just stuck.

“We could talk to the Apprentice,” Henry suggests suddenly. “I mean, he’s got to be down here, right?”

“That’s not a bad idea, actually,” Regina comments, the pride and surprise warring in her voice.

“Well done, lad,” Killian murmurs, nudging Henry affectionately.

“Okay, so we go see the Apprentice,” David says, no small amount of impatience tinging his tone and no doubt fueling his decisiveness on the matter.

“You can do that. I’ll start here with the baby, I couldn’t possibly walk on my ankle,” Zelena sniffs. With that, the room dissolves into a chaos of Robin and Regina protesting and insisting she can’t be left alone with Vera, as David starts just as loudly insisting that they need to leave right now, they can’t afford to waste time.

In the midst of all that, Killian takes the opportunity to tug on Emma’s sleeve. “Can we talk for a moment, love?”

She nods and follows him readily to an unused office, but still doesn’t say anything, instead crossing her arms over her chest and shifting from foot to foot. She looks nervous about this conversation, he realizes, and that helps a little bit.

“I’m sorry,” he says, diving right in. “I didn’t mean to suggest you were putting the baby in danger.”

“I know,” she replies quietly, still shuffling her feet. “My emotions are running so high right now, and I just…” she pauses, apparently collecting herself. “I just want to go home. With you. As soon as we can.”

“I know, love, I do too. I’m just horribly afraid that it’ll be at some awful cost. You’re already trapped here by that headstone. I’m thankful for everything you’re doing to save me, but I’m terrified it’ll be at the cost of someone else’s life - your own, or the Bean’s, or anyone else’s. Especially our child. You and I…” he pauses, organizing his thoughts. “You and I, we didn’t have happy childhoods. We didn’t even have safe childhoods, and I’ve always known that if I was lucky enough to have a child, I’d do my damndest to protect them for anything that might hurt them. The little one isn’t even here, and I already feel like I’ve failed at keeping them safe. What kind of parent does that?” he begs.

“It’s not your fault, Killian,” Emma assures him, stepping forward to cup his cheek in her hand. “You’re doing your best, and the fact that you’re trying is what’s going to make you a great dad.”

Killian smiles weakly back at her. “Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

“I know you can take care of yourself,” he assures Emma. “It’s one of the many reasons I fell in love with you. But with everything that’s going on, I just…” Worry. Overreact. Wonder if I’m really worth it all.

“I know,” Emma says, and he really thinks she might. She’s always been able to see right through him, after all. “There’s going to come a time where I need to do that, take a backseat, and I’ll let you fuss over me all you want then. But for now…”

“For now, you’ve got it,” Killian finishes. He’ll still worry, of course, still try to protect her when they’re out in the field, fighting the forces of evil, but how is that different from before, really? He’s been by her side since Neverland, trying to keep her safe and happy. Now there’s just a little someone else to watch over as well. “I love you,” he says, making sure to look her in the eyes and attempt to impart exactly how much he means the words.

“I love you too,” Emma smiles back, pressing up for a kiss. Killian’s hand drops to her waist out of habit, allowing his thumb to brush over her growing stomach. “Now, you ready to go see a magician about a crystal?”

“Aye, love. Lead the way.”

———

The Apprentice lives in the same little cottage that he did in the living world, though his window boxes and garden beds are sadly empty. This place isn’t conducive to any form of life, even that of a more botanical bent. In truth, Killian dreads this visit due to all the messy history between himself and the mystical old man. The Apprentice may have seemed to forgive Killian before his untimely death at the hands of the Darkness, despite everything he had done, but Killian isn’t sure he’s forgiven himself. No matter how many times Emma and Henry tell him that he can’t be held responsible for trapping the fairies and the Apprentice in the hat, no matter the fact that he knows Gold was pulling the strings that whole episode, Killian still feels guilty. Even if he wasn’t in control of himself at the time, he was the one that sucked everyone into some unspeakable in-between world, that had to listen to their screams and watch them fight against the portal’s winds. It was a terrible reminder of all the darkness he’s capable of and had succumbed to in the past. Facing the Apprentice is a terrible reminder of all that.

He doesn’t offer any judgement as he opens the door, though, doesn’t slam it in Killian’s face (as would be well deserved) or even demand to know why they’re here. Instead, he just nods knowingly before opening the door wider to let everyone through.

“You’re here about the Olympian Crystal,” the Apprentice says as they file past into his little parlor. It’s a statement, a fact, not a question. He knows this, and is just waiting for everyone else to realize it.

“Yes, actually,” Killian replies. A not-insignificant part of himself wants to know how exactly the Apprentice knew what they were here for, but it seems rude somehow to ask. Looking through their little crowd, his companions seem to be wondering the same thing, if their confused expressions are anything to go by - Regina being the obvious exception, far too regal and refined for such emotional transparency. The man is a powerful magician; who are they to demand an explanation for his methods?

Thankfully, the old man seems to sense their puzzlement. “My master’s book of prophecies has foretold many things, both in life and now in death,” he explains. Ah, yes, Merlin. Killian had been impressed, if somewhat intimidated, by the man’s powers of foresight in Camelot; with so many centuries on his hands, it makes a certain amount of sense that he put some of his visions down to paper for his Apprentice’s reference. “Please, sit,” he offers, sweeping an arm towards the old fashioned upholstered chairs. “I assume you have many questions.”

“Yes, actually,” Snow replies, apparently taking the lead in this conversation. That might be for the best, actually; she has more tact than any of the rest of them. “What exactly is this Crystal? We’ve only just learned of the existence of the myths surrounding it.”

“And what did those legends say?”

“That it has the power to defeat Hades,” Emma replies, cutting to the point. Never one to mince words, his love. “And it’s a real thing? Not just a story?”

“It’s a real thing,” the Apprentice confirms, “one of Zeus’ thunderbolts made into solid form. Its efficacy against a god has never been tested, and so is yet to be seen, but I can tell you this for certain: it’s a powerful tool with the power of life and death.”

“Does that mean we could use it to help Killian?” Henry asks eagerly. Killian and Emma both lean forward in anticipation of the answer, as if the closer proximity will give them better - or at least faster - news. Could this be it, the solution to their problem?

“In the right hands, yes,” the Apprentice agrees. Even that conditional agreement makes Killian’s heart race with hope. “It is beyond my knowledge how to use it, however. I assume that it’s a conduit of some kind - a tool to amplify magic, a divine wand.”

“We can work with that,” David nods, his face set in determination. This must have been how he looked back in the Enchanted Forest as the consort of a bandit princess - a solid born leader. “Emma’s the Savior - if any magic could activate the powers of the Crystal, it’d be hers.”

“And do you know where it is?” Emma asks, steering the conversation back on topic.

“The book says that when it fell from Olympus, it landed in the River of Lost Souls. Unfortunately, it was less illustrative as to the specifics of where in the River.”

“And I suppose that’s the toxic river we already had to deal with to rescue Hook in the first place,” Regina deadpans, eliciting a nod of confirmation from the Apprentice. “Excellent.”

“Yeah but if this is the thing that can bring Killian back with us —” Emma starts to argue, before Regina cuts her off.

“Yes, that’s fine, don’t jump down my throat. I’m not suggesting we don’t pursue this, I’m just saying that it’s going to be difficult. Remember the part where the waters basically steal your soul and wipe your memories?”

“I don’t suppose you have a solution for that?” Killian asks the Apprentice, quickly redirecting before Emma and Regina can snipe at each other any more.

The other man just shakes his head in the negative though, sending a chill through Killian’s lifeless veins. “So what, that’s a one-way trip for someone?”

“Perhaps the Crystal can undo the River’s damage, but that’s never been tested, of course,” the old man explains.

“And there’s no other way?” Belle asks.

“There’s tales of an ambrosia bush, but it’s been lost for centuries. Even Merlin’s records don’t offer any clue to its whereabouts.”

“And I can’t just… write it into existence?” Henry cuts in.

“That’s beyond the abilities of the Author. Your job is merely to record. Argue all you like,” he tells the collected group, “but this is the best way as things currently stand.”

“Yes, but it’s not actually a viable option, you see, because we’re not sacrificing anyone,” Killian explains, his patience officially having run out. “We’ll just have to find this ambrosia bush, then, because —”

“I’ll do it.”

All heads snap towards Liam at the sound of his voice. Surely he didn’t just say what Killian thinks he said? As they stare at him in shock, however, he repeats the words with even more firmness and determination. “I’ll do it. I’ll retrieve the Crystal.”

“Liam, you can’t —” Killian tries to protest, but it gets him nowhere.

“I’m the expendable one here, Brother,” he reminds Killian. “You and I are the only ones not living, and we’ve got to get you home. It has to be me.” More quietly, he adds a private plea for Killian’s ears only. “Let me do this, Killian. Let me make up for the hurt I’ve caused.”

“I can’t let you do it this way,” Killian insists. Of course he’s been furious with Liam, and still is in many ways, but this? This is going too far. This could turn Liam into a shade of himself if it fails.

“You have to, Killian. It’s the only way. Though I wouldn’t say no if your lady love were to cast some sort of protection spell,” he jokes in an attempt to lighten to mood. It doesn’t work, not in the least.

“He’s right,” Regina says. “We’ll try the protection spell, but as much as I hate to admit it, Captain Jones is right. He’s the one we can spare.”

(Killian especially hates hearing it from Regina, and especially like that - like his brother is just some tool to be used and disposed of.)

As much as Killian’s heart screams in protest at the thought of his brother sacrificing himself to possibly become nothing more than an empty shell, another permanent farewell, his head knows they’re right. It’s the only way, and if Killian wants to return to his future in the living world, he’s going to have to accept that sacrifice.

“It’s the only way,” he echoes softly, nodding in resignation.

He may be mad at his brother, but he never wanted this.

———

The cave system beneath the Underworld through which the River of Lost Souls flows is cold and damp, fostering a foreboding air as the chill sinks into all their bones. The otherworldly green glow of the River’s waters doesn’t help matters either, making the whole thing feel even more nightmarish in an already unworldly place. Curiously, it reminds Killian of the catacombs he once saw in a far off land, so long ago that he can’t remember the name anymore. The glimpse of metal structuring or the stone ledges carefully carved out of the rock is a bare reminder of human presence in this empty space - that this is somehow a place built by people, but not truly intended for them. The only word for it, truly, is eerie.

It takes less time to find the Crystal than expected - only a day and a half of searching - but they seem to simultaneously pass in a blink and stretch on forever. They’d divided into small groups to punt up and down the waterways - Killian, Emma, and her parents in one boat with Regina, Robin, and Liam in the other. There’d been some debate about the divide - David in particular had wanted to be in the other boat, seemingly wanting to keep a closer eye on Liam. That’s reasonable, Killian supposes, after everything that had been revealed earlier that day. It takes a good deal of scolding from both Emma and Snow to convince him to climb into their skiff, all capped off by a very charming “You’re being ridiculous, Dad, get over here before you piss Mom off even more. You’re coming with us.”

(Whatever works, right?)

Still, the squabbling is a waste of time. One thing they can all agree upon, however, is to keep Henry as far away from the search as possible. No one knows exactly what those waters would do to a living being, and they don’t care to find out - especially not with Henry. No one wants him anywhere near that water. Instead, he’s persuaded to stay up above with Belle, doing research about how to use this Crystal once they find it. Henry’s not happy about it, but he agrees eventually - especially when it becomes obvious that no one is caving. Ultimately, Killian thinks the only reason Henry goes without anymore fuss is that he’s tasked with the responsibility of watching over Belle and the baby, and especially of ensuring that Zelena doesn’t try to stage a kidnapping in Robin and Regina’s absence or otherwise betray them. Whatever it takes, Killian tells himself, and at least this lets the lad feel helpful. They’re not all disconnected from each other anyways - Regina rigs up a system of handheld mirrors to talk to each other in case problems arise or one of the parties actually finds the Crystal.

It’s Regina’s party that ultimately locates the bloody thing, somehow glowing even brighter underneath the murky green of the River of Souls. Ultimately, they decide to wait until the next morning to attempt to retrieve the Crystal itself, due both to time and the need to form a more concrete plan, and instead head home to rest. There’s a lot of discussion that night, none of which Killian particularly likes - especially since it relies on Emma casting a protection spell over Liam.

“That’s not my expertise,” Regina sniffs when Killian suggests she do it herself.  “Savior magic would be much more effective in this circumstance.”

Savior magic or not, though, the fact remains that magic has exhausted Emma since she became pregnant. There’s no hospital down here to go to if she passes out again, and Killian is terrified of something happening.

“It’ll be fine,” Emma tries to reassure him quietly, squeezing his hand in an attempt at comfort. “It’ll just be a moment and then you can make me rest.”

Under other circumstances, maybe Killian would try to argue or find another way, but the fact of the matter is that they’ve been backed into a corner. This is the only plan they have to rescue him from the Underworld, and the only way they can both retrieve the Crystal and offer Liam some marginal protection from the danger of the green waters is to draw upon Emma’s powers. There’s no other way. When Emma insists that she can do it, too, there’s even less point in trying to argue. It’s just how things will have to be.

Killian sits up for a drink with Liam that night, the last before Gods only know what will happen. It’s impossible to find the right words to say, though: I wish things were different? I don’t know if I forgive you, but I want to try? Thank you for what you’re about to do? I never needed you to make up for your actions in this way? I’ve never needed a hero, just a brother? Ever since Liam’s betrayal, Killian has been a mess of emotions, and his brother’s volunteering to retrieve the Crystal, more than likely at his own peril, has only added more conflicting feelings to the mix. This is the brother he remembers from his youth - the born leader, the man who’d rather put himself in danger before anyone else, but it seems almost disingenuous. Too little, too late and all that.

Still, as Liam drops his head after dragging minutes of silence, rising to deposit his glass in the sink, Killian feels that rush of panic that this might be the last time. “Liam…” he starts, forcing himself to try one last time to say everything on his mind, maybe find some sort of closure with the brother he’s idolized more than anyone only for him to let Killianhim down more than anyone elseever has. It doesn’t work; the words don’t magically appear upon his tongue, and his words trail off into nothing.

Nevertheless, Liam smiles and drops his hand to pat Killian’s shoulder. “I know, Brother,” he assures. And maybe he does. Liam was always good at understanding the words unsaid, and something about his face says that he sees all the mess of love and hurt and anger and worry on Killian’s own visage.

It doesn’t make things any easier when the fateful moment comes and Liam stands at the edge of the stone landing, stripped out of his shoes and coat and tying the end of a rope around his waist. It had been decided that, should worst come to worst, they’d need a way to retrieve Liam, with or without the Crystal. It’s entirely possible that due to the water’s properties, he could reach the Crystal and just forget to swim back up. In fact, there’s so many ways that this could go wrong, but Killian is trying not to think of any of them. Trying.

(Failing. All his fault…)

A small blessing is that Emma had cast a protection spell around Liam without any problems. Killian had hovered anxiously at her side, just in case she’d become faint again, but it had been unnecessary. Put it down to a good breakfast or her previous abstinence from using magic. At Killian’s pestering, she’d admitted that her magic, that well of power within her she’s never been able to fully describe, feels depleted, but as close as he’s watching, it hasn’t seemed to exhaust her body and mind along with it.

“I’m fine,” she smiles, squeezing his forearm affectionately, and he doesn’t have any reason not to believe that. Before she can drop her hand back down to her side, Killian quickly catches it, lacing their fingers together and squeezing back as he turns towards his brother.

“You don’t have to do this,” Killian offers one last time as Liam eyes the glowing green waters and the Crystal sunken beneath them.

Liam exhales a breath before turning to face Killian. “You know I do.” The silence of so many words unsaid, so many things they could say and should say and need to say hangs heavy in the air. Everyone else has the tact to give them a little space. Liam breaks the oppressive stillness to pull Killian into an almost aggressive hug. “I love you, Brother,” he whispers fiercely.

And really, that’s the crux of the matter, isn’t it? Beneath everything else Killian is feeling right now, he loves Liam. Always has, always will. That’s all that matters, especially now in what might be their last moments together is this goes poorly. “I love you too,” he whispers back into the flesh of Liam’s shoulder, the spot he always used to rest his head as a young lad, fighting the tears that threaten to fall.

When they break apart, Liam nods briskly, his face settling again into an expression of determination as he turns towards the rest of their little group. “Are you ready with the rope?” he asks.

“Whenever you are, Captain,” Robin promises with his usual good humor.

“No sense in waiting, then,” Liam concludes. And with a final brave smile in Killian’s direction, he executes a neat dive into the River.

It feels like an eternity, watching Liam dive ever deeper towards the bottom of the riverbed. Killian feels like he’s holding his breath the entire while, disregarding the fact that he no longer has any breath to hold. It’s terrifying to watch. The Crystal doesn’t appear to be too far below the surface, but Liam keeps swimming and swimming and reaching and reaching and never quite getting there. All the while, they can see Emma’s protective spell spark and fizzle, visibly disintegrating under the erosion of the waters. Even as Killian thinks it, he spots pieces flaking off and floating to the surface even as Liam is still forced to keep going. It feels like watching his brother die right before his eyes again, and Killian can’t do a damn thing to stop it.

By some miracle, though, Liam keeps going. They all stand ready by the rope, ready to pull him back up, but his brother doesn’t show any signs of the confusion the River of Souls could visit upon him. Maybe this could work, maybe all hope isn’t lost —

And it isn’t. Liam grabs onto the Crystal and Killian lets out all that breath he’d been holding unnecessarily, slumping forward with relief. Below the surface, Liam kicks off from the bottom and swims for the surface, ascending at what seems a much quicker pace than his descent. That may just be an illusion though; Killian knows how time can drag when faced with that kind of dread.

Liam breaks the water’s surface with a grin, shaking his head and sending droplets flying. “It seems there might be some truth to the stories about this thing,” he declares. “It certainly healed me.”

Killian lurches forward to envelop his brother in a desperate hug as soon as Liam is back on dry land. He can’t even bring himself to be bothered by the way Liam is no doubt soaking his clothes, so great is his relief. “Thank the gods it did,” he mutters. “Thank the gods you’re okay.”

“Of course I am, Brother,” Liam whispers back. “You thought I could leave you again?”

Killian holds tight for a moment longer before a pointed clearing of Regina’s throat breaks them apart. “Can we return to less humid ground now that we have the damn thing? Or are you two planning to stay down here for the foreseeable future?”

“After you, Your Majesty,” Killian gladly cedes. As they all settle back in the boats to make their way back towards the elevator and upper surface of the Underworld, Killian gladly pulls Emma into his side, dropping a kiss on the crown of her hair and drawing comfort from her presence. Finally, finally there’s a glimmer of hope that they might actually be able to save him.

When the elevator doors open, however, it’s to reveal their worst case scenario: Hades himself standing between the doors and where Belle is trying to protect Henry with her very body.

“So good of you to show up!” the god oozes. “Have I got a proposition for you!”