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tinandabin · 2 years

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Hello Tina (if it's alright to call you that), I hope that you're well. Since requests are currently open, can I request a Kyojuro Rengoku x Reader (yandere or not is up to you)?

The story is she was a passenger at the Mugen Train (let him live, he deserves it 😔), that was seated close to him, and they have a good time. As he was recovering from the Battle (where he was talking about Reader to Senjuro and his friends always). Then one day, Reader went to visit him to express her gratitude.

If this is too detailed and you don't like it, then feel free to ignore this request.

That's all and thank you!❤

He's certainly one of my favorite characters of all time.

Kyojuro Rengoku x Reader

a/n: the satisfaction I felt when I wrote the end 😌👌 hopefully u would like the ending. :) and yes @anfre109, you are right. He didn't deserve to die :'(

( where I found the above picture )

______________________________________

Getting on the train with your luggage was no easy task when you were getting pushed around. Would not recommend it.

"Agghhhh," Grumbling, you dragged your luggage across the train's floor and were ready to take a nap right there when a man with flaming red hair, very unique, came towards you.

"Let me help you, ma'am!" His boisterous voice half-yelled. No problem. You have dealt with more weird people.

Smiling at him you nodded and said, "Thank you!"

"May I know which seat number you are supposed to be at?" His owl-like stare turned towards you as he without any difficulty picked up the luggage. Would 100% marry him.

"Ah, yes, let me check my ticket," Glancing at your ticket you told him your seat number which he replied with his cheery laughter as he told, "What a surprise! We are seatmates."

Oh. Sitting next to a hot man who is also strong and seems nice? Gods are being too nice, now aren't they.

Reaching your seats you both settled down after the flaming hot man put your luggage in its respective places.

"I am Kyojuro Rengoku! May I have the honour of knowing your name?" Respective. Getting the wedding ring ready.

"I am (Name) (Last Name), it's a pleasure to meet you, Rengoku-San." Grinning at him, you answered his question.

"Hahaha, the pleasure is all mine (Last Name)-San!" His enthusiastic voice is so nice to listen to! You can smell the favouritism of the Gods.

You both chatted for....you don't know. But whatever, both of your morals were similar but different at the same time. You both also liked food a lot. Food is very tasty. You had also asked about his..sword.

"Rengoku-san, why do you carry a sword with you?" Pointing at the weapon, you questioned him. Yes, he is handsome, respectful and nice but in no way do you look forward to dying today.

"I am a member of the demon slayer corps! Our job is to slay demons who feast upon the flesh of humans!" Proudly, he explained his job. Also explains how he wants to save people.

Nodding, not really believing all that demon crap, you were about to ask more about his job when the lights started flickering and a very ugly, I repeat, very ugly monstrous creature appeared.

"Please! Sit back and leave this part of the train!" Still smiling, he yelled at the passengers as all of them started pushing each other and leaving. One even stepped onto your foot..Fucking bastards.

You would leave too, but... It's not everyday you see such creatures!! And the fact you would get to see more Rengoku-san being strong? Signing up.

Laughing, a half-naked boar man launched itself at the monstrous creature. Is the boar not a monster? You didn't even notice him.

"THIS IS SO SCARY!!" A yellow-haired boy, who is cute, ran towards the seat you were looking behind from not noticing you.

...

"KYAAAA!!!! A BEAUTIFUL GIRL?!!?" Blushing, immediately started proposing to you, not giving fuck about the monster anymore.

"If you bare your fangs at innocent people, my bright red flame sword will burn you to the bone!" Does he ever stop smiling? How do his cheeks not hurt?

As soon as he finished saying that, a flame-like trail followed his sword as he went for the monsters neck.

How what how.

As soon as he chopped the monster's neck off, it started degenerating? Isn't it supposed to just stop moving and not...do that? What the fuck.

"Hey...what was that?" Looking towards the yellow-haired boy as he basked in the attention you were giving him, he said, "A demon."

______________________________________

"So, you were not lying when you said demons exist." Humming, he looked out the window, the passengers long asleep.

"What was that flame-like thing that followed your sword?" Curiously you asked him. No bad intentions.

Chuckling he replied, "That is a breathing style. Every demon slayer has one. I use flame breathing!"

Slightly tired because you aren't used to talking this much, you fell asleep. At the same time did the rest of the demon slayers fell asleep.

______________________________________

The next time you woke up, the train was not on the tracks, passengers were passed out plus the sun was out. Did you really just sleep through such a big accident?

Groaning, you got up as you slightly touched your head as you looked around for any signs of your new friends, which they insisted.

Confused, you got up as you heard some wailing and sobbing. Walking that way your breath hitched at what you saw.

( a/n: to make kyojuro survive I will have to change some of his injuries. Don't come after me. )

Rengoku-san was covered in blood yet he was smiling. His eye was smashed and his leg a bit bent over, his left hand's pinky and thumb seemed broken. It also seemed as he had broken a rib.

Sensing someone's gaze on him, he turned your way and smiled sadly at you.

"(Last Name)-san," He acknowledged you before he could also invite you in his final moments you ran to the passed out passengers and started looking through their luggage. Call you a thief or whatever but you are looking for some medical stuff that could treat Rengoku.

Grabbing all the stuff you found, you ran towards where Rengoku was and pushed the other demon slayers out of the way, I mean you are a doctor.

You firstly started to treat his smashed eye because you don't have the right equipment to treat his broken rib, plus if you look closely you can see that the broken rib isn't causing any damage to his internal organs.

After wrapping his smashed eye you treated his bent-over leg, ouch, that seems like it hurts a ton.

Applying some ointment onto his bent-over leg and then wrapping it up in bandages you started treating his broken fingers, doesn't seem like they would work any longer. The same goes for his eye.

Never had you worked so fast. Looking up at Rengoku to only see him passed out and just as you were about to get up the black-haired with burgundy tips stopped you and started expressing his gratitude for saving Rengoku's life.

Patting him on the back you calmly said, "It's my job to save people, calm down. He will live."

______________________________________

You have been visiting Kyojuro a lot. First reason, you are the one who is treating him and second, you are both... very close friends. He also insisted to call him by his first name. Who would say no?

Reaching his estate, Senjuro welcomed you in and took you towards Kyojuro's room.

"Big brother is really excited to see you again, (Name)-san!" Senjuro beamed at you. Ever since you saved Kyojuro's life, their house has been more cheery and happy. Even his father is trying to quit drinking and start being better.

Senjuro pushed you inside the room and ran away to God knows where. Chuckling to yourself you looked around to see Kyojuro looking at you with a light blush on his face.

When he spoke your life changed. Literally. For the good though.

"You are the most special person in my life. I want you to follow me. I’ll show you a lifetime of happiness! I want to be with you until the day I die. Let’s build a family of joyful smiles together!"

______________________________________

Sighing happily, you stroked Kyojuro's sleeping face as he nuzzled closer into your neck.

I guess the Gods were being nice for a reason.

______________________________________

I have like no knowledge of how people used to propose to others in the Taisho era and I also don't know the right way to treat wounds so what I wrote of reader bandaging and applying ointment is probably the wrong method. don't come after me.

( where I found the above picture )

MASTERLIST

#demon slayer #kimetsu no yaiba #kny #kyojuro #kyojuro x reader #kyojuro x y/n #kyojuro x you

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thisonesatellite · 4 years

Text

if you live by the word, you die by the pen -- CH 6

SUMMARY: It’s just another day with bad coffee, the day that Sheriff Swan enters Detective Jones’ precinct.

The fact that his life is about to come apart at the seams is purely incidental.

With apologies to Dashiell Hammett and James Ellroy, i’m playing in their sandbox and i’m taking the bucket and the shovel. You guys can keep the rake.

|CH1| CH2 | CH3 | CH4 | CH5 |

AO3 (if you want decent formatting, because tumblr does not).

A/N: My lovely, wonderful people - it seems like all i do these days is apologize to you. Once again, i am sorry this took so long. Suffice it to say that i had a ridiculously low number of days off in recent weeks. Lots of recent weeks. SEVEN RECENT WEEKS. (Seven weeks with four days off.)

All thanks to The Keeper Of My Sanity @profdanglaisstuff, The Keeper Of My Thoughts @ohmightydevviepuu, The Keeper Of My Inner Mythical Creature @katie-dub, and The Maker Of The Art Which Inspired It All @captainsjedi.

And of course to all of you, ALL OF YOU, who have waited patiently and are still reading.

i love you so very, very much. ❤❤❤ .

If you want on or off the tag list, let me know! (And seriously - if it’s ‘off’ - please don’t worry. Absolutely no hard feelings.)

@mariakov81 @stahlop @thejollyroger-writer @snowbellewells @captainsjedi @toomanyfandomstochoosefrom @xarandomdreamx @tiganasummertree @mayquita @ohmightydevviepuu @sals86 @karenfrommisthaven @kmomof4 @kday426 @superchocovian @jennjenn615 @facesiousbutton82 @suwya @spartanguard @capnjay21 @shardminds @carpedzem @girl-in-a-tiny-box @ilovemesomekillianjones @lfh1226-linda @artistic-writer @teamhook @katie-dub @shireness-says @qualitycoffeethings @cluttermind

CHAPTER 6

“I’ll drive.”

Killian looks at Emma like she’s grown another head, but she just matches his stare and holds out her hand. She knows he’s exhausted, she knows, knows , he got no sleep in that spare bedroom of Elsa’s, and she has a lot to think about.

“Killian,” she repeats, “I’ll drive. You can sleep.” When he just shakes his head she says, “You need to sleep sometime.”

“She’s right.” Elsa gets up and puts on her coat, frowning at Killian, and Emma is grateful to have her support. The man before her strikes her as nothing if not stubborn, particularly in areas of basic human need. “It’s not a shortcoming.” Elsa’s voice hits the bullseye between empathy and sarcasm and Emma wishes she could wrangle tone like this woman. “It’s a condition you share with over 7 billion people. Now get over yourself.”

Killian smiles weakly and rolls his eyes before his brow furrows and he grows very serious.

“Will you be OK, Elsa? How are you getting home?”

��We have a really good public transportation system. Which you know, because you live here.”

Killian scowls and Elsa glares right back at him. They stand off for several long moments before Elsa barks a laugh.

“Stop fretting, LB,” she says. “I’ll be perfectly fine.” She buttons her coat. “I always am, you know that.”

He sighs. “I do know.”

It’s the easy banter despite the dire circumstances that makes Emma realize just how close they must have been before---

Before.

“LB?” She asks. “Is that a nickname?”

Elsa turns to her, eyes somewhere in the middle distance. “It’s something Liam used to call him, and I guess I just ---”

“Usurped it.” Killian shrugs. “Woman has no respect for her elders.”

“We’re the same age.”

“Then you just have no respect, period.” He turns to Emma, a self-deprecating grin on his face. “It stands for Little Brother. I tried to get Liam to stop calling me that for two decades, but---”

His smile falls.

“Sorry.” Emma doesn’t know what to say. Talking to these two is like walking through a field of landmines.

“No, don’t be sorry,” Killian’s eyes are soft now, and his voice is low. “It’s--- it’s good to talk about Liam without constantly having to dredge up tragedy. It’s nice. And he was a bit of a wanker.”

“He was a colossal pain in the ass,” Elsa says, wiping her eyes.

Killian walks over to hug her and Elsa lets him.

“Such a fucking pain in the ass,” she repeats, muffled by his sweater, and Emma looks at them, looks at him, looks at his face as his eyes search the room and finally land on her and stay in hers and don’t look away.

And she knows she has never ever been looked at like that.

Then Elsa pulls back and breaks the moment.

“Be careful,” she says, eyes roaming from Killian to Emma and then back again.. “Promise me you’ll be careful. Both of you.”

All Emma can do is nod, all Killian does next to her is nod, and then Elsa leaves.

Without another word.

Emma stares at the door for a long time after she’s gone.

When she finally turns back, Killian is staring at the wall, eyes narrowed, lips a tight line.

“We’ll have to take some of this stuff with us,” he says, motioning at the clippings and the boxes below. “Will you help me take it down?”

He turns to her with his sharp gaze and exhaustion written in every line on his face and Emma just blurts out, “I’m sorry.”

His brow furrows. “Whatever for?”

“I was so mean to you.”

His brow furrows even more. “Mean to me? You were never mean to me. As I recall it was I who wouldn’t give you the time of day in the begin---”

“In my head.” Emma’s voice has stopped working and she has to clear her throat. “I thought you were-- in the beginning, I thought you were---” She tries to take a deep breath. And can’t. “And then, even after you showed up, and then in Elsa’s house, and all the pictures, and the---”

A sob catches her completely by surprise, but she fights it down with iron resolve.

“I thought you were---- I thought you were---” Her throat is tight and hard now, and it’s hard to swallow and impossible to go on.

Killian walks over to her, slowly, stops only a few inches away. She can feel his closeness like a current.

“You weren’t wrong. You aren’t wrong. I am all those things.”

The sob comes back with might and she cannot stop it. Tears spring to her eyes. She can’t breathe right.

He lifts her chin, forces her to look at him.

His eyes are warm, and soft, and god, so tired.

“Emma.” He says. Just that. Nothing else.

“I’m so sorry.” It’s not even a whisper. It’s a mouthing of words.

His thumb very slowly rubs her jawbone. “Don’t be. You have nothing to be sorry for.”

If he hugs her now, she’s sure she’ll break.

He doesn’t. Just cups her cheek and then lets go, mercifully turns back to his boxes and the wall.

“Let’s get this packed up, shall we?” he says quietly, and Emma puts a hand on his arm.

“Thank you,” she whispers, even though she doesn’t know exactly what for.

The thing about being understood is that it will throw your whole world off-kilter the first time it happens.

If it ever does.

He covers her hand with his and the connection goes live in a flash of warmth and something else, something bigger, something greater than the sum of their parts, and everything is SafeBlissRelief for an eternal moment until they both withdraw their hands.

Their eyes stay locked.

“Did you feel that?” he whispers.

Emma nods, and then blinks and breaks the spell. She can’t . It’s not just emotional overload. It feels like she physically cannot uphold this connection, like her muscles and tendons will snap like overextended rubber bands and her neurons will simply stop firing if she spends one more moment inside it.

“We have to get going,” she rasps, and grabs the first box in front of her. After a few moments of tense, silent packing, she adds, “I’ll drive.”

She straightens up and looks back at him, thumbtack in one hand, a newspaper clipping in the other.

“You need sleep.” She says firmly. “Promise to try and get some rest on the way?”

He hands her the keys.

He falls asleep almost as soon as they hit I-95 -- just slumps down in his seat, face smushed into the folds of her standard-issue bomber jacket pressed up against the side window, and his breaths become long and even. She pushes down on the accelerator, flies past all the people going 65 on the dot once they see her cruiser, and tries not to notice just how much younger, how much more vulnerable he looks.

She remembers his face back at his apartment when he started to talk about the languages, the way his eyes shone and his features became animated, and she wishes that that person hadn’t been leeched from him by trauma and tragedy until nothing but the shell remained.

He deserves to be that person.

Nothing about this is fair.

She lets her thoughts circle the drain of the hard, cold facts of her present case, and his previous case, and Killian’s demise, so she won’t have to think about the huge, pink, sparkly elephant in the room, holding the magic wand.

Because she’s absolutely not going to think about that.

At all. EVER.

-/-

“Emma’s on her way. She’s bringing the Boston detective back, too.”

“She’s bringing a detective? From out of state? Why?”

David shrugs and tries for nonchalance. “Seems he had a similar case a few years back and has some useful information.”

Mary Margaret laughs out loud and pats his arm.

“Wow. Do you ever not have a poker face, Deputy.”

She’s laughing at him. She’s laughing at him, but her cheeks are rosy and her eyes shine, and he can’t be mad at her.

Especially since she happens to be right.

“Admit it. This is bugging the crap out of you.” She quirks a sardonic eyebrow. “Big-city detective on your turf, taking up all of Emma’s attention.”

David starts to nod and only then realizes what Mary Margaret is saying.

“No!” It comes out much louder than anticipated. “I don’t care that he takes up Emma’s time.”

She laughs again. “Deputy Nolan, it’s OK. You can be a little pissed off that people are infringing on your territory.”

“ You’re not infringing,” he mumbles, and then wants to slap his forehead. He has absolutely no game, it turns out. None whatsoever.

She pats his arm again. “Let’s go to Granny’s, OK? I’ll buy you breakfast.”

David looks up and god, it’s just so wonderful the way she smiles at him.

The way her eyes sparkle.

“Don’t you have to teach today?” he asks, and immediately wants to kick himself. He’s literally handing her an excuse to back out of spending time with him. After she suggested it . Oh, if self-sabotage were an Olympic sport.

“It’s fall break,” she says, and he sighs with relief.

“In that case, I would love some real coffee.” He locks the computer screen and gets up. “But you don’t have to buy me breakfast.” That gets him a very stern look. “Deputy, when I come pounding on your door at five in the morning, the least I can do is buy you waffles.”

He can feel another searing hot blush spread hard and fast. “How did you know---”

“I’ve seen you around. It’s interesting how you and I have such similar schedules.”

Surely the current blush has burned off his face by now. Surely.

“And you don’t always eat, but when you do, you have waffles.”

The grin she gives him is the biggest and most brilliant and most mortifying thing he’s ever been subjected to.

“Ah, well---”

“So come on, Deputy. Let me buy you some damn breakfast. It’ll be fun, even if we talk about nothing other than your case.”

Yep. His face is clearly melting.

But he pulls himself together. “Fine,” he concedes, and if possible, Mary Maragret’s grin becomes even wider. “But on one condition.”

“I already told you I’m payin---”

“You call me David. Just David.”

Oh, her laugh is just his very favorite sound on the planet. “OK,” she says. “David it is. Let’s go.”

-/-

Killian sleeps all the way to the station. When Emma pulls into the parking lot behind the building, it takes her a few moments to bring herself to gently shake his shoulder.

But then she does.

He bolts upright with a strangled scream and looks at her in absolute panic . She tries to reassure him with soft words, calm words, but his body twists like a tightly-coiled spring and it’s obvious he doesn’t hear her at all, his breathing hard, his eyes darting everywhere.

Emma bites her lip, hopes for the best - and touches his hand.

Warmth immediately floods into her and he relaxes.

His breathing slows, his eyes focus.

“Emma,” he says, and she nods. “Are we here?”

She nods again. She wants to ask why he was so afraid, but she knows it’s not the time.

There are so many things she wants to ask him.

But the time might not be ever.

She lets go of his hand instead. The warmth dissipates, and reality settles back in.

“Ready? I think David’s waiting for us with a witness statement.”

He nods and starts to undo his seatbelt.

“See?” He says, not looking at her. “You were right. I am all those things you thought.”

And before she can answer, he gets out of the car.

“So what do you think?”

Emma’s face is a picture of worry as Killian puts down the report.

“This is the witness statement you took?” He turns to David, who nods.

“Mary Marg--- Ms Blanchard came to see me early this morning.”

Emma leans across to look at the document, and Killian can feel her nearness like a current, before she leans back and her brow furrows. “This says 5:23 AM. You were at the station at 5 AM?”

“No. Uh---” Killian watches David’s Adam's apple do a nervous dance. “She came to my house.”

“She came to your house? ”

Killian nearly laughs at the indignation in Emma’s voice. It’s all thou shalt not play with my chew toys . Meanwhile David blushes fire engine red again, and Killian feels for the Deputy. It must be awful to navigate life with that kind of tell.

“Look, it’s a small town. Where I live is not exactly top secret,” David says, and it sounds a little annoyed. “I called her yesterday to read the crime scene at the bridge. She’s a really good tracker.” He clears his throat, drops back into professional demeanor. “It was after the scene was cleared. I thought she could help. And she did find lots of useful information. It’s all in my write-up, but I think it’s better if I just show you later.”

There is more to this story, Killian can tell, and it has nothing to do with the crush the deputy quite obviously has on the teacher. There is more to the case .

David is a good police officer, that much is clear. Thorough, detail-oriented, meticulous - his report is impeccable. His observations are keen and judicious, yet steer clear of excessive conjecture. His deductions are logical, and more importantly, rational. And he seems to be just the right amount of jaded - enough to not be gullible, not so much as to be indifferent.

Killian himself has never been like that, not as a police officer.

He went in broken. This has not changed.

He hands the report back to Emma. “It doesn’t look good.”

He wishes he could say something else. But the truth is, Graham Humbert is most likely going to be found soon, dressed in a blood-smeared linen gown, symbols carved on his back, and holding a quill between his frozen fingers.

He looks at David. “You didn’t find any notecards?”

David shakes his head. “Not even at the cabin. We went there on a hunch, and--- nothing.”

“How many days between finding your last victim and Graham’s disappearance?” There is a ball of frozen fear at the pit of Killian’s stomach. It’s making him nauseous.

“40 hours,” David says. “Give or take.”

“When you found--- wait.” Killian looks at Emma. “How did you find--- what was the victim’s name again?”

“Leroy,” Emma says slowly. “And I didn’t find him. David called me.”

They both look at David, who has turned very pale.

“Graham called me,” he whispers. “He came upon the body while he was out hunting.”

Silence descends, heavy and suffocating.

Somewhere in the distance, the clock strikes three.

-/-

142 miles west of Storybrooke, a tall man with unkempt brown hair and haunted grey eyes stumbles out of a rest stop mini mart and slams a can of beer. He reaches into his backpack and opens another before he looks up at Route 2 stretching before him.

There are only two directions here - the one he came from, and the one he’s going in. He looks at the road for a long time, slowly sipping his beer. It’s Monday afternoon, and there aren’t many cars.

Finally he throws away the second can, crosses the road, and starts to hold out his thumb.

247 miles south a blond man wearing scrubs and a white coat puts his phone back in his pocket and walks over to the nurse’s station.

“I have to leave,” he says. “It’s an emergency. Who can cover for me? I’m done with rounds.”

The nurse looks at him and asks if he’s all right.

He’s definitely not all right. But he’s not telling her that.

And somewhere outside earth’s time and space, a pair of eyes opens and a head perks up.

And then something howls .

-/-

“Are you up for this?”

Killian puts the cruiser in park and looks at Emma.

Emma bristles. “I’m the Sheriff. This is my crime scene. Of course I’m up for it.”

He wishes she sounded less like she was convincing herself.

This is stressful for her, he can feel it.

But he has to see the crime scenes, all of them, in order to get the full picture, and this is where it all began.

Leroy’s last known location.

The cabin is empty and sparsely furnished - just a cot in one corner, a wood-burning stove, and a few rickety chairs. It’s clean and orderly.

The cabin in the crime scene photos he’s holding is a mess of empty food wrappers and drained vodka bottles and yellow caution tape.

“I had to mark the scene somehow,” Emma says, and cringes, as if she’s embarrassed. “And I don’t exactly have Boston PD resources.”

“This is exceptional work,” he pats her briefly on the shoulder. “Our techs would be hard pressed to do better.”

She laughs like she doesn’t believe him, but wants to.

And it is exceptional work. He looks at the photos in his hand, professional and competent, cataloguing all evidence.

Emma points to the bottles and the plastic wrappers in the pictures.

“I finger-printed everything. Every scrap I could get my hands on. And I luma-lighted the entire cabin that night.”

She points to another set of pictures, marking innocuous-looking spots in daylight, and their blacklight counterparts, which look like Jackson Pollock paintings.

She shrugs. “I’m guessing people come here to ‘relax and unwind’ quite a bit,” she says, miming air quotes. “And it is a hunting cabin. Blood residue is not uncommon, and in fact - most of this is blood, not semen. Animal blood mostly, very little human. We tested most of it. The human blood must be from superficial cuts. Leroy was definitely not killed here.”

She shakes her head. “Sorry, conjecture. We don’t know cause of death, yet. He was not---”

Her voice trails off, and Killian looks at her, pale and tense and biting her lip.

“Marked,” he says gently. “He wasn’t marked here. And you’re right. He was not.”

He looks back at the photos. “The cards? Were right around here?”

He points at a spot in the middle of the cabin, and she nods.

Even paler now.

“Emma?”

He doesn’t like the expression on her face, doesn’t like how far away she looks. He takes a step closer.

“Emma?” He repeats. “Are you all right?”

Her head turns to him in slow motion. Her eyes are blank .

The cold ball of raw fear in the pit of his stomach expands rapidly outwards, shoots terror through his veins.

“Killian,” she whispers, but she says it as if she doesn’t know what the word means. “Killian, there is---”

Her voice cuts out abruptly, and she tilts her head as if she’s listening to something.

Listening for something.

He takes one more step towards her and reaches out to take her hand, and---

It feels as if he’s the ground for a live wire, like a current running through him, running through them both, connected as they are by touch, and it feels like power,

pulsating

beating

alive .

He can’t move, couldn’t if he tried; can’t let go of her hand, and doesn’t want to.

“Killian,” she says again, but he can hardly hear it through the ringing in his ears, “Killian, there is something here .”

It’s the last word that gets him, because he can feel it, the presence of something , and it galvanizes him into action, into motion---

and he picks her up, simply picks Emma up off the floor, crime scene photos still in his hand; crosses the cabin in four long strides and stumbles out the door and down the steps and to the car.

He leans against it, breathing hard.

“Killian.”

The voice slowly filters back into his consciousness.

“Please?”

He shakes his head. Slowly opens his eyes. Sees Emma’s face, her eyes enormous, and so very close.

“Let me down, Killian. Please.”

He becomes aware that she is still in his iron grip, and he lets go so fast she nearly falls.

Nearly.

“What was that?” He doesn’t want to know. But he has to know. “Is this--- is that what you’ve been--- all this time?”

She shakes her head, her eyes still large and anxious. “Not at all,” she says. “This is something completely new.” She shudders, and then looks up. “Wait. Wait a minute. Did--- did you say you felt this? You felt it, too?”

He’s so helpless in the face of all these things he doesn’t understand.

Helpless, and afraid.

“I don’t--- I don’t know if it was the same thing. It felt like--- power. Like a current.”

She nods. “There was, there was a hum at first, you know? Kind of like a freeway. Busy, far away. I was trying to listen, and couldn’t quite place it. But I had the distinct feeling it was trying to tell me something. And then---”

She looks down at her empty palms.

“And then you took my hand,” she says. “And it became this flood of energy.”

She balls her hands into fists and looks up again, straight at him.

“Fuck.” Her eyes are burning. “ Fuck .”

She shrugs. It looks helpless.

“I wasn’t going to believe Elsa, you know. I mean---” her brows knit together, “I believe that she believed it. I wasn’t sure about you, but I was sure that you were supporting her no matter what. But this---”

She looks up at the sky. There are tears in her eyes, but they do not fall.

“There was something there. I felt it.” Her lip trembles and she bites down hard on it before she continues. “I felt it. All of it. And so did you. Fuck! ”

She shakes her head.

“Now we’re going to have to have a conversation about magic.” She rolls her eyes. “About magic . Aren’t we.”

He wraps his hands around her fists and pulls them up to his own racing heart. There is nothing but warmth now, no current, no sound.

“We are,” he says. “We need to talk about that. But Emma--” he waits for her to look at him again.

She finally does, tears still in her eyes.

“It is going to be all right. I promised you that I wouldn’t let anything happen to you. And I won’t.”

He can’t make that promise, and he knows it. But he will die trying, if need be. This time he will keep that promise.

-/-

Emma says nothing the whole way back to town, can’t bring herself to speak at all. Silence is keeping her numb, and numbness is what she desperately needs. She focuses her eyes squarely on a spot of nothing past the windshield and ignores every one of Killian’s hesitant looks.

When he pulls up at Granny’s instead of the station, she doesn’t notice until he’s put the car in park and switched off the engine.

“What are we doing here?” Her voice sounds rusty and broken. She doesn’t care.

Killian’s voice is soft as he answers. “I thought we could go up to my room and talk. Away from prying eyes and phone calls and interruptions. And also, because that way you can just leave any time you want.”

It’s so tactful and thoughtful and right, this plan, that she shudders. Rage bubbles up to the surface, starts to burn through her veins, because how fucking dare he be this considerate, and she has to take several deep breaths to get herself back under control.

He pulls out a flask and takes a sip, and it goes a long way towards restoring her equilibrium, because this Killian she knows. He hands her the flask and the rum burns hotter than the rage did, and settles her more. She can handle this.

“It’s OK to be afraid, you know,” he whispers as he screws on the top, not looking at her, and suddenly she’s angry again. He should not be this understanding.

He should not be reading her like a goddamn book.

She takes another deep breath and exits the car before she says something she won’t be able to take back later.

Upstairs in the room she’s almost back to numbness. It’s nice. It would be nicer if he wouldn’t keep looking at her with those worried eyes.

They are not conducive to apathy.

He steers her towards the only chair and takes her jacket before she sits down, and then crouches before her.

“Emma,” he says. “Are you sure you’re---”

She snatches the flask from his hand in an effort to cut him off, and their fingers.

Touch .

They are on the rooftop again.

A flat, barren, level rooftop, with the wind howling around them and a clear view of the clock tower in the distance.

The clock tower is new.

They’re in Storybrooke .

Emma wants to shudder, but she can’t, because his arms are around her, and he’s warm and solid and so very real.

“Hey,” he says, and leans forward, his nose brushing hers. His forehead against hers. “Don’t be afraid. I’m here.”

“What if I can’t do it?” she whispers, because she feels empty, empty and useless, and he shouldn’t have so much faith in her. He shouldn’t have any faith in her.

“You can do it love,” he says. “I know you can.”

Lightning cracks like an explosion, a living release of unspeakable force, and he is ripped from her,

ripped from her---

and she knows how this ends

With a scream she comes back to herself and it’s a room at Granny’s she’s in, his room at Granny’s, with its fucking flowered wallpaper and the meticulously made bed and the warm light from the tasteful sconces, and how can everything be so normal when she’s going insane?

She can feel his hand on hers, warm and sure, and there’s no howling at all as he pulls her up without saying a word, pulls her up and wraps his arms around her and she cries .

Thank you again, all of you, for reading, for being awesome, and for your infinite patience. ❤❤❤

#cs fic #cs fic rec #thisonesatellite #if you live by the word #alternate universe - detectives #sheriff!Emma #detective!Killian #AGAIN - so so SORRY that took so long #but we are gathering momentum #i promise #so buckle up kids #because inside this flufferific darkness and slow burn and hope #we are marching towards danger #WHICH ALWAYS COMETH BEFORE THE HAPPY END #(and the end WILL be happy)

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