sons of love and death, 5/13 {CSSNS 23}
Summary: After the Final Battle, Killian Jones had finally settled into his happily ever after with his wife and family. Until a new foe arrived in Storybrooke: the infamous Dorian Gray, who looks rather familiar—one might say identical—to the pirate, and he’s on a mission: to claim the powers of the Dark One for himself. There’s only one problem: the Dark One no longer exists. What follows is a journey of vengeance, revelations, magic, and finally facing down the darkness within himself that Killian thought he’d finally put to rest. [roughly canon divergent from 5B, though set post-canon]
A/N: Little later in the day than my usual posting for this @cssns story, but hope no one minds too much! (This one is worth a bit of wait, IMO ;) ) (As always, thanks to the best beta, @optomisticgirl!)
rated M | 4.5k words | AO3 | 1 | 2 | 3 | 4
Regina probably could have installed a more modern security system in her vault; she’d had plenty of time to do it. But honestly, anyone who didn’t know what they were getting into would likely be hurt far worse by whatever they found—those Agrabah vipers were still down there, after all—and it would be useless against anyone who did know what they were after.
However, she did have a sixth sense for when her shit was being messed with, and transported herself inside the vault once she was done helping Gold get his shop straightened out. A hooded figure was poking around her potion supplies, though a far more contemporary hood than had often been down here—that of a sweatshirt instead of a cloak. Must be one of the Lost Boys, getting into trouble.
She silently strode up behind them. “I wouldn’t do that if I were you.” And then she yanked the hood down and turned the boy around.
Only she wasn’t looking up into the face of a pubescent youth. It was—not Hook, no; there was an edge of desperation around this guy that the pirate hadn’t had in years. “Ah, so it’s the twin,” she realized.
“I have my own name, your Majesty,” he snarled back. “And I know what I’m after, so I’ll kindly ask you to leave me to it.”
He turned back around and studied the shelf, glancing between that and a book open in his hand. She didn’t recognize the tome at first, and tried reading it over his shoulder, mainly out of curiosity before she reprimanded him.
But then she read the page, and wasn’t quite sure how to react, other than to let him know, “It won’t work.”
“You say that now,” he tossed back, looking over his shoulder at her. “Bet people said that about the Dark Curse, too, and yet—here we are.”
She rolled her eyes. “I have no reason to lie to you. You can’t resurrect the powers of the Dark One.” The book in his hand was one of her oldest and hardest-won—but also contained some of the darkest magical theories ever published.
“This seems to suggest otherwise.” So both the sass and the stubbornness were genetic, as well as the one-track mind. “And you were so kind as to leave it out for me. ‘Guide to resurrection,’” he read. “How perfect.”
Well. She had been reading it. Ever since Henry left on his realm-hopping adventure, she’d been feeling rather lonely, and helping her sister raise little Robyn had just made it all the more clear how much she missed her own Robin. It had been a moment of desperation after last Valentine’s Day that she’d dug it out.
But she pretty quickly deduced that it wouldn’t work—not with the way he died. And even if he’d died a more normal way, it would be cruel to drag a soul at rest back to the chaotic world of the living.
Bringing back magic, though? She could easily tell him why this wouldn’t work, but professional curiosity demanded she get in his mind. “Just how do you plan on resurrecting magic without a tether?” Especially magic that had relied on one for so long, Gold’s interrupted experiment with the Sorcerer’s hat notwithstanding.
“By creating a new one,” he answered simply, and flipped to another page in the ancient book, bearing an illustration of an ornate dagger. “Looks simple enough; just needs something touched by all past users of the magic to forge a new weapon. And what luck—I have a couple options at my disposal.”
“You really think you can just walk up to Hook or Rumple in the street and, what, pick their pockets? And while her magic is still fairly unrefined, Ms. Swan-Jones would blast you into tomorrow if you tried to even touch her or her pirate.”
“You don’t seem to be her biggest fan,” Dorian noticed quickly.
“We have a…complicated history,” Regina replied, as succinctly as she could manage. “But we’ve at least come to an understanding.” Then she laughed. “Actually, she’s the reason I’m not on your list of former Dark Ones.”
“Gotta love those hero types,” he said, though it came out more as a complaint. “Perhaps you can help me, then? Maybe we could share.” He stepped into her space and bit his bottom lip, raising his eyebrow in question.
It hadn’t worked when Hook tried it, years ago, and it wasn’t working now. “I’m good. Maiming isn’t so much my thing; call me when you need a heart.”
He glanced back at the book and flipped between pages—a little too quickly for the ancient book, in her opinion. “Huh; neither of these spells seem to require one. That’s odd; most like this do.” She was surprised; he knew his stuff—and he noticed her shock. “Oh, I’m not the only one here who had to crush the heart of the thing they loved most.”
She had to look away at that. “For someone who’s done their research, you still don’t seem to understand that you’re on a fool’s errand.”
“If there’s anything left of the Darkness in this realm, then I can bring it together and restore it to what it once was. We both know that magic never fully dies.”
“No, it doesn’t,” she had to concede. “But this isn’t a normal situation; this had divine intervention. Hades didn’t just die—he was destroyed.” She swallowed down her rising emotions at the memory of that night. “He was killed with the Olympian Crystal; completely obliterated—both him and any magic he held.”
“Then why can I still feel it?” Dorian practically whined. “You all keep telling me it’s gone, but no one can explain that one detail to me.”
“Maybe no one wants to,” she snapped back.
Dorian glared and the light even seemed to flicker as his rage threatened to boil over. But her stare back was just as fiery, she knew.
But then his look softened, and weirdly, he even smiled a bit. “If no one wants to, then that must mean it’s sensitive information. Perhaps the kind that could be life-threatening.”
She scoffed. “Only if you know how to harvest a soul.”
That cocky eyebrow arched again, and she immediately regretted her rash statement. “I’m sure I can find a way. See you ‘round, sweetheart.” Then he and his dimpled smirk disappeared in a cloud of dark smoke edged with a lick of flames.
Dammit. She was pretty sure his quest was a dead end, but she’d inadvertently put a target on the backs of her friends.
Quickly, she took a mental stock of what he’d taken: the book, as well as a few rare and potent herbs. Not enough to cast any sort of spell, but enough to get him started—or at least get him high.
She ran out of the vault and up the stairs, magically sliding the stone cover over the entry. Then she locked the door to the mausoleum and put a blood lock on it to make sure Dorian couldn’t get back in; unlike when she was trying to keep Zelena out of her spaces, she was positive she wasn’t related to the Jones men.
And then Regina headed back into town, using the walk there to figure out how to tell Emma that her husband’s evil twin probably wanted to kill them.
The whole situation had “mess” written all over it, but at least it was some excitement; she certainly could use some of that.
★・・・・・・★・・・・・・🗡・・・・・・★・・・・・・★
Though Killian was beginning to feel at ease for the first time in over a day, he still had a lot of questions regarding his twin and the powers they apparently shared. They hadn’t flared at all since his chat with Emma, and the tea seemed to be calming him even more. Though most assuring was the fact that Dorian was no longer in town, and that his life might continue in peace.
But still—his academic nature demanded he learn more. Were the legends he’d just been told about Cailleach Mountain real or fiction?
Good thing he was working at the library today, and therefore spending time with the one person who’d be sure to get him the answers he needed.
“Morning, love,” he called out when he entered the library—but was surprised to hear baby Gideon squealing in reply rather than his mother.
Behind the counter, Belle was struggling to get the boy to go down in his—what was it called? Play pen? But he was having none of it; instead, he was reaching for his favorite uncle.
“Oh, Belle,” he said, rushing over to grab the little lad. “I wish you’d told me you were bringing him today; I’d have grabbed you some tea.”
Gideon almost immediately wrapped himself around Killian’s neck and nestled into him. He was always a bit in awe of the steady trust this tiny person put in him, and he dared not take it for granted.
“I did tell you,” Belle answered, setting her diaper bag on the circulation desk. “Texted you as soon as I left Ashley’s; Alexandra was running a fever so she had to cancel today.”
“Damn; my apologies for missing that. I’ve had…a long day already.”
“Don’t worry about it,” she waved off, and headed to the back room (most likely to make some tea). “It was obvious you’ve had a lot on your mind, and after yesterday, I don’t blame you.”
He swayed in his spot with Gideon, slightly taken aback by Belle’s assessment of his mental state; she knew him well, but wasn’t aware it was that well. “How could you tell?”
“I mean, anyone could guess,” she called out over the sound of the microwave. “But you had that look on your face.”
“What look?”
She poked her head out of the room. “The one that says we’re doing some research today,” she answered with a teasing smile.
Well, she wasn’t wrong.
Gideon still refused to be put down, even though he’d settled against Killian and was content to play with his necklace charms. But the quiet at least let Killian give Belle the run-down on what he’d been told so far; he was getting fairly good at summarizing everything by now.
“Cailleach…I know I’ve heard of it, but the name is ringing a bell for another reason. I think it translates to something. Maybe it’ll come to me once we get started.”
They spent the rest of the morning in the reference sections, save for attending to the few patrons that trickled in. Gideon did eventually let them set him down in his playpen (once they moved it to the reference area), which meant they could dig into research even harder.
The books they were consulting were among the oldest in the collection—ones that had somehow come over with the second curse. Killian had found several mentions of the inherent magic in the area around Cailleach, but nothing more specific.
There was a growing stack on the table next to him of books he’d already looked at, and the ones he’d yet to read were dwindling. He sometimes wished it was as easy to search through these as it was to find information on the computer box, but it was worth it to be surrounded by the smell of old parchment; it reminded him of the library at the naval academy.
On her side of the table, Belle had a few translation dictionaries on one side of her as well as a similar set of stacks, all being carefully handled. She was still the expert when it came to these books, so he fully expected her to find the answer before he did. And he was right.
“Oh, I think that's it!” she exclaimed, looking up from her book and reaching for one of the dictionaries. She muttered to herself in a different tongue, but one he seemed to recognize, as she flipped through the pages of the other book, all while keeping the first one open with a carefully placed elbow.
“What’ve you got?”
“I knew the legend sounded familiar, but couldn’t place the name to it. It is a different language: it’s Gaelic—or whatever it’s called in our land; the same one your name comes from, actually.” She found the page she wanted and skimmed it with her finger. “Yeah; it means ‘witch’—and what you were describing sounds like the story of Witch Mountain.”
“And what’s that?”
“It’s one that sort of spilled into this realm; I think we actually might have the book in the YA section, though, like most things, this realm probably got it wrong.” She went back to the first book. “It’s right here: ‘Though it happens rarely,’” she read, “‘All twins born in the area around Witch Mountain are inherently blessed with gods-given magic, in balance of each other.’”
He was both surprised at that, but also not, based on what Regina had told him. But it confirmed that whatever these powers were, they were definitely his—and had always been. That was going to take some getting used to.
Although, he was left curious about the phrasing of what Belle had read. “In balance?”
“Probably from an elemental standpoint; this is a book on natural sources of magic. Did you notice his powers manifesting a certain way?”
“No; his magic has been blocked both times I talked to him. But we’ve both seen evidence of his ability to melt through metal.”
“So it’s either the ability to manipulate metal, or heat-based magic. Which means yours would probably be connected to either wood or water.”
He immediately thought of his inherent connection with the Jolly Roger, which suggested either one, and he told her as much.
“Oh, let’s test it! Try to do something in my tea.” Her mug had long since cooled, despite being half full, so she pushed it toward him.
“You think I have any idea how to control it?” he tossed back.
“Well, not with that attitude.” (Truly, she was the sister he’d never had.)
“Perhaps not, but if he’s not around anymore, then it’s a non-issue. Hopefully, I won’t need to use it.”
Belle pouted a bit, but then turned her attention back to the book and read ahead. “It also says here that twins’ powers will develop as they grow together; the fact that it makes a point to say ‘together’ suggests that’s why yours haven’t manifested until now.”
“Let’s hope it stays that way, then.”
He was content with that answer, though she did insist on comparing that story to the novelization and temporarily took that one out of circulation. He put the books away while she sought about giving Gideon his afternoon snack, and realized he was finally feeling at peace about this whole situation.
And, with any luck, that would be the end of it.
But, Storybrooke being Storybrooke, he should have known it wouldn’t be.
“Hook? You here?” Regina’s voice called out even before the doorbell could finish ringing.
“Aye, back here,” he replied, as loud as he dared to shout within the confines of the library.
“We’ve got a problem,” she stated, sounding annoyed, as the clacking of her heels on the tile floor grew closer. “Your twin is out for blood.”
“What?” He’d still been putting books on the shelf, but whirled around and nearly dropped them; he caught them at the last second, though, lest he face Belle’s wrath. “I thought Emma sent him out of town; are you sure?” (And then he carefully placed the books on the table, just to be safe.)
“Well, he must have found a way back in, because I caught him in my vault not 10 minutes ago.”
“Wasn’t he wearing the cuff?” Belle had just laid Gideon down for his nap and joined the conversation. “He shouldn’t have been able to get past the barrier without his magic.”
“Then he got it off somehow, because he definitely had his powers. Nearly set the vault on fire.”
Belle gave Killian a knowing look, but he ignored it. “What was he doing?”
“What he’s been doing—trying to become the Dark One. But now that he knows the powers are gone, he’s going about it a different way—and a bit more gruesome.”
“How so?” Belle asked.
“He wants to recreate the dagger and manifest the powers from that last bit of Darkness left in you, Emma, and Rumpelstiltskin.”
Killian was confused. “The part you said was attached to our souls?”
“The very same.”
“How the hell can he do that?”
“By detaching your soul from your body. And there’s only one way to do that.”
“Oh, bloody hell,” he cursed; Regina didn’t need to explain it—he knew she meant murder. His stomach turned at the idea of not just him, but Emma being a target for his brother’s deranged plot.
On the table, Belle’s half-empty mug cracked, water flying everywhere. He glanced down, and his palm was glowing again; shit. (At least it had somehow avoided the books.)
“That answers that question,” Belle muttered. “But—his name is Dorian Gray, right? Like the book?”
“Yeah,” Killian confirmed.
She gave a cautious smirk. “I think we might actually have something we can use against him.”
★・・・・・・★・・・・・・🗡・・・・・・★・・・・・・★
Above the library but behind the clock tower was a little-used, mostly empty storage area. At least, it had been empty, until recently. Now it was filled with boxes, sheet-draped furniture, and large frames—some covered, some not.
“This is all stuff that came over from the Land of Untold Stories,” Belle explained as she led Killian and Regina through the maze that had taken over the room. “Anything of value, at least; they obviously didn’t want it exposed to the elements, but I made sure to intervene before it ended up in my husband’s shop, never to be seen again.” She loved her husband, but she did have to admit he had a tricky relationship with the concept of ownership, and the black hole that was the back of his shop. Inventory always took forever.
In her down time, she’d been trying to catalog all of this stuff for their new residents, and either get it back to who it belonged to or perhaps start a museum with some of it. (Assuming she could get Rumple to donate some items, too—but she was pretty sure she could convince him.)
“So what exactly are we looking for?” Regina asked from behind her, clearly perturbed by the amount of dust up here; Belle hadn’t had a chance to clean it up before everything moved in, but it was at least dry and fairly climate-controlled.
“We’re not looking; I know exactly where it is.” Killian was bringing up the rear, Gideon in his arms once more. She swore that was her son’s favorite spot to sleep. Their friendship was probably odd and unexpected on paper, but despite their vastly different lives and rocky history, there wasn’t anyone she trusted more.
Which was why she’d be damned if his maniac evil twin did anything to hurt him; he’d been through enough for more than one lifetime.
In the far corner of the storage room was a gathering of smaller paintings, filed together in an old armoire and covered with a sheet. “It’s over here,” she called back.
She wasted no time in yanking the sheet off, but it made them all cough from the ensuing dust. “Sorry,” she choked.
“‘S alright, love,” Killian replied, but his voice was raspy.
She didn’t waste any more time in digging through the stash of ancient portraits. “It stood out to me because—well, obviously everyone’s heard of it; I just had no idea it was real,” she explained. “Though I suppose I shouldn’t have been surprised,” she conceded as she found the frame she was looking for.
She carefully pulled it out and looked it over as she turned to face the others. “Gosh; and now that I know, I should have seen it—even if it’s not pretty.”
“Seen what?” Killian asked, but his tone was more concerned than curious.
Her answer was to simply flip the painting around. “The Picture of Dorian Gray. In the flesh, so to speak.”
The novel had gotten the details of the painting correct: the man on the canvas could only be described as ugly and twisted, a nearly skeletal, aged face with grayed, wild hair and a hunched frame.
But one thing that stood out were the piercing blue eyes, sharp cheekbones, and slightly pointed ears—the same ones she was looking at on her best friend.
“Bloody hell,” he murmured.
“Gods, I think that looks even worse than the guy Emma met in the Wish Realm,” Regina added.
“So, in the book, Dorian died when he tried to murder the portrait,” Belle went on. “Obviously, that didn’t actually happen, but I’m wondering if it’s not far from the truth—although I don’t know exactly what kind of spell this is.”
“It’s a curse,” Killian replied. “He told me.” He swallowed, clearly uncomfortable with the details of the painting. “He crushed the heart of the woman he loved to cast it.”
Oh—that was indeed morbid, and Belle shifted to a more careful hold on the frame. “Well, bare minimum, it probably gives us leverage over him; or…it gives us a way to potentially stop him.”
She didn’t miss the way Killian was studying the floor and clenching his jaw at that; it wasn’t an idea she was thrilled with, either. “Last resort,” she added.
Regina shuddered, no doubt having some of her own bad memories stirred. But then she jumped again and looked up. “I think there’s a leak in here,” she said.
“Odd, there shouldn’t be,” Belle replied. “The dwarves redid the roof last summer.”
And yet—as she looked up, a drop of water hit her square on the nose. Another few fell around them, and one landed on Killian’s shoulder, but he barely noticed.
“Snap out of it, pirate,” Regina commanded, and Killian jumped. “That’s you, with the waterworks.”
“Sorry,” he said quickly, but sounded somewhat bewildered. Belle did notice a blue glow coming from his clenched fist, though.
“Looks like magic lessons just got added to the calendar,” Regina commented dryly, while brushing the wet spot on the shoulder of her jacket.
Screaming then came from outside, and the general hum of commotion. The group ran to the nearest window, boarded-up as it was, and peered out into the street.
Cruella’s long-abandoned De Ville had finally met its end, and was now engulfed in flames. Near it, a figure was disappearing into a cloud of fiery smoke.
“I suppose they did,” Killian sighed.
Belle didn’t like to see the conflict written on his face—gods knew he spent enough time brooding—but she had to admit: she was curious to see how this went.
★・・・・・・★・・・・・・🗡・・・・・・★・・・・・・★
Dorian certainly didn’t regret coming back into town, but he was rather frustrated at the lack of negative reception. He’d fully anticipated coming to blows with the Evil Queen—honestly, half the reason he’d gone to her vault was in hopes of running into her. (Perhaps doing more, if she’d been interested, but she had the stink of heartbreak around her.)
(Actually, Rumpelstiltskin’s lass was the one who’d really caught his eye, but for very different reasons—nostalgic ones. The resemblance to Sybil was more than passing, though Sybil’s hair was in ringlets, and her irises more violet. But the potential of both he and his twin having taken both of Rumple’s wives was a tempting one…if she’d go for it.)
So he assumed it would cause an uproar when he set fire to that auto, and perhaps draw the heroes he sought out of the woodwork, particularly the sheriff. But after a brief stir, the onlookers merely went about their business, and the elderly woman from the diner anticlimactically put it out with a fire extinguisher while he watched from an alley.
For someone who was fond of having a dramatic flair, it was disappointing. Doubly so when he realized just how big this town was and how he really could have used that car to get around; it just screamed supervillain. (Not that he knew how to operate such a vehicle…but that was everyone else’s problem.)
Instead, there wasn’t much he could do but putter about, trying to figure out the best way to enact his plan. He’d gotten the information he needed from Regina’s vault, but had to assume he’d not easily be able to get in again. Perhaps the town had a blacksmith shop? It’d be a lot easier to forge a dagger and later imbue it with the Darkness than create one from scratch. Obviously, he could melt metal on his own, but shaping it was a whole other skill.
Alas, the town center came up empty, and the only directory he could find was a phone book dated from 1983 that fell apart nearly as soon as he touched it. Bollocks.
Maybe it was time he invested in one of those smart telephone things; he’d long since broken the burner flip phone he got on one of his previous trips to this realm.
As evening approached, another issue arose: where he was supposed to sleep. He’d been with Tisbe the first night and the hospitality of the sheriff department the next. While he was no stranger to camping, he’d rather not if he didn’t have to. He was at least able to salvage enough of the old phone book to determine there was exactly one inn in town, conveniently attached to the diner he’d tried to eat at yesterday.
Perhaps the second time would be the charm? The fact that he was far more sober now would surely help. That said, he still tried to blend in when he entered and calmly took a seat at the counter.
“What’ll it be tonight, hon?” the elderly proprietress asked him quickly. He started to enquire about a room, but was promptly cut off. “Oh, it’s you. Out.”
He blinked. “Beg your pardon?”
“You heard me, sonny. Out. This is a private establishment and I can choose who I serve, and I ain’t servin’ you.”
“On what grounds?” He could feel the flames of indignation rising within.
“We don’t need you causing any more trouble around here,” she told him sternly. “Hook’s been through enough without you stirring the pot. So out with ya.”
He could burn this place to the ground in a minute, but that would only play into the accusations she was already leveling at him.
“Fine. I’m on my way,” he said, as calmly as he could, and hopped off the stool and slid out.
Perhaps the reception at the drinking hole would be less discerning. He ignored the glares he received on the way there and merely wondered how slow he’d have to nurse his drinks until he found a suitable partner to head home with.
The bartender didn’t appear to judge him when he sloughed down at the counter, but everyone else seemed to keep their distance, even as the hours wore on and the crowd grew larger and seedier.
This was frustrating; he wasn’t used to being ignored, especially not with a face like his. He could typically get any man or woman he wanted, yet every time he made eye contact with someone from across the bar, they quickly avoided his gaze.
What the hell?
He finally took his drink and started to make his way to the small dance floor, hoping for some kind of connection. But the crowd seemed to part around him. Bloody fuck.
Even Tisbe from the other night appeared to be dodging him. He sidled up to her while she was at the jukebox, greeting her with a tried and true, “Hello, beautiful; fancy seeing you here again.”
She looked over at him, rolled her eyes, and scoffed. “No thanks.”
“That’s not what you were saying the other night,” he murmured, trying to seductively get in her space, but she backed away.
“Yeah, because I thought you were actually Hook,” she tossed back. “And I wanted to piss off the sheriff after she screwed my family over.”
He drew back in disbelief. “Did the fact that I have two hands not escape your notice?” he asked, holding both of them upright in emphasis.
She just shrugged and walked away.
Fine then. He knew when he wasn’t wanted. He headed for the door, summoning a bottle of top-shelf whiskey to his hands as he exited, and headed back out into the night.
Briefly, he considered breaking into a car and crashing in the back seat, but apparently the town was on high alert when it came to him. And if he was going to go through with his plan, he should probably stay out of sight long enough to get it done. (Not something he was used to, but he could give it a shot—this was important enough.)
He eventually found a bench near the docks that looked comfortable enough, and cast a protection spell around it that would keep him hidden from all passers-by. Then he dug out the herbs he’d pilfered from the Evil Queen’s hideout, rolled them together in a paper he’d had in his pocket, lit the end of the roll, and took a long drag; the effects hit him quickly and a hazy bliss settled over him.
When the joint was spent, he drank the whiskey until he passed out.
The last thing he was aware of was the twinkle of the stars and the gentle lap of the waves against the pier; at least he had picked a relaxing place to crash.
★・・・・・・★・・・・・・🗡・・・・・・★・・・・・・★
thanks for reading! tagging some peeps (let me know if you do/don’t want a tag!) @kat2609 @xpumpkindumplingx @shipsxahoy @mryddinwilt @cocohook38 @annytecture @shireness-says @ohmightydevviepuu @wistfulcynic @pirateherokillian @colinoeyebrows @wingedlioness @word-bug @thisonesatellite @killianmesmalls @thejollyroger-writer @ineffablecolors @ive-always-been-a-pirate @nfbagelperson @stubblesandwich @phiralovesloki @athenascarlet @kmomof4 @ilovemesomekillianjones @whimsicallyenchantedrose @snowbellewells @idristardis @scientificapricot @searchingwardrobes @donteattheappleshook @jrob64 @the-darkdragonfly @stahlop @klynn-stormz @resident-of-storybrooke @bluewildcatfanatic
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