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walviemort · 2 months

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Expecting a Secret [1/3]

Summary: After the events of 3x19, Killian is at his lowest after being rejected by Emma. When Snow's labor turns out to be a false alarm, Zelena offers Killian a deal: she'll leave the Charmings alone…if he gives her the baby she needs for her spell instead. There's just one hitch: he has to keep it a secret. At least it will only take 10 days, right? a/n: (slightly belated) HAPPY BIRTHDAY TO MY SWEET FRIEND @sancocnutclub !!! This is the full fic from the manip I posted last week. I meant to get this done in time for you bday, but it kind of ran away from me…and ended up being a three-parter instead of the one-shot I thought it would be! Hope you (and everyone else) likes it! I just really liked the idea of him trying to keep a whole entire pregnancy hidden. rated T | AO3 | 3.1k

Killian left the hospital feeling—-well, the worst he had in a long while. Perhaps he’d been rash in trying to get Henry out of town without his mother’s permission, but it was the only way he could think of to get around Zelena’s curse on his lips.

Worse, though, was the fact that he’d lost the trust of not just Emma, but her family. It wasn’t entirely his fault—but some of it was.

It’d been clear he wasn’t needed or wanted at the hospital after it appeared Snow was going into labor, but it ended up being a false alarm; thank goodness, as they were far from prepared to protect the babe from the witch.

After a rather long moment of self-flagellation—in the form of watching the family take a well-deserved breath together in Snow’s hospital room, something he’d never be part of now—he shuffled off without goodbye, into the night.

His feet found him instinctively wandering toward the docks—further reminder of his shame, but he wanted to wallow in it tonight, punish himself further; it was what he deserved.

The vacant berth that had once held his ship was a fairly accurate metaphor for how he felt: empty, adrift, far from port, with only the churning sea to match his jumbled emotional state. He took a swig of rum, but the familiar burn did nothing for him.

“I warned you.”

He didn’t even flinch when he heard Zelena’s voice behind him; honestly, he expected it.

“It was pure luck they all showed up when they did. Otherwise, you’d have some more blood on your hands,” she went on, heeled footsteps sounding as she approached his side.

“The bloody hell do you want?” He was annoyed, but his reply had none of its usual bite.

“I want what I came here for. But now that you’ve told all the Charmings what my intention for you was, and now that they have their memories back, that’s all been dashed. Highly doubt the Savior is letting you get anywhere near her now.”

His heart somehow fell further, and it had already been near his feet. “No, I don’t imagine she will,” he concurred; were he and Emma’s situations reversed, he couldn’t say he wouldn’t do the same.

“That said, I still need your help to continue my plans.”

“Like hell,” he spat, then began to walk away—but she was suddenly in his path.

“Let me put it this way, Captain—you have two choices,” Zelena told him. “Either you can help me, and I leave Emma’s family alone,” she started, holding up one hand, “or I continue to go after all of them, no holds barred,” she finished, holding up the other. “It’s entirely your choice.”

Neither option was ideal. Knowing that Zelena basically wanted to wipe out the existence of Regina and Snow (and, consequently, Emma and Henry), he was loath to aid her in any way, shape, or form—especially considering she had no leverage anymore.

But perhaps, if he did take her offer, he’d be able to find a way to subvert it—and redeem himself in their eyes.

“Fine,” he replied, albeit reluctantly. “I’ll help. Do whatever you need with me. But you must leave Snow, Emma, and their family alone.”

The wicked grin that took over her face should have been his warning. “Then we have a deal, contingent on one thing: you’re to actually keep it a secret this time.”

“Done.” It’s not like they’d listen to him, anyway.

She offered her hand to him to shake on it; he moved closer and took it. “It’ll be a pleasure doing business with you, Captain,” she said slyly.

He tried to let go of her hand, but she held tight. And her other hand began to glow that awful garish green, now held outstretched in front of her.

“What are you doing?” he asked, suddenly worried.

“What we just agreed on,” she answered, her eyes wide and seeming slightly unhinged. “Using you to get what I need.”

Then she swiftly stepped forward and shoved the ball of magic into his stomach. He hunched over for a moment, a slight cramping taking over, but then it dissipated, merely leaving him slightly sore. “What did you do?” he demanded, slightly out of breath.

“I still need a baby,” she said matter-of-factly. “So now you’re going to provide it.”

He wasn’t sure he’d heard her right. “That’s impossible,” he breathed, though his hand immediately flew to his stomach once she let go. “I’m—I’m a man.”

“Anything’s possible with magic,” she sing-songed.

His insides certainly felt different; that could be anything, though. “But won’t that take a while?” he asked, trying to call her bluff. “You’ve always struck me as the impatient type.”

“I am. Which is why this is going to go just a bit faster than usual. You only have to keep that under wraps for about 10 days.”

Shit—he’d already forgotten about that part, he’d been so distracted by the absolute insanity of what she’d apparently done. “How the bloody hell am I supposed to keep something like that hidden?” His mind immediately went to Snow and the very obvious protrusion of her stomach.

“You’re resourceful; you’ll figure it out.”

“Where did it even come from?” he nearly shouted, incredulous.

“The same place they all do,” she shrugged, but there was a glint of something else in her eye. “See you soon!” she farewelled, then disappeared in a cloud of green smoke, leaving him alone to figure out just what he’d gotten himself into—and what to do next.

——————————-

Part of Killian was convinced Zelena had been lying, playing some kind of cruel trick on him. Magic aside, it just didn’t seem possible. He fell into a deep slumber that night in his rented room, and the following morning, just chalked it up to an incredibly vivid dream, or perhaps the result of too much rum.

But at some point that day, he noticed a bit of nausea settle over him. He wanted to attribute it to something slightly off in Granny’s seafood special, especially when he found himself making a mad dash for the toilet around midday (making sure to take his meals at off times—hours he knew he wouldn’t see Emma there, mainly to avoid both her ire and his shame). But he’d been through his fair share of food poisoning—and this wasn’t it.

For starters, food poisoning usually ended. This, however, kept going. All that night and into the next morning. He left his room long enough to try to get something simple from Granny’s—just some bread or oatmeal—but even that wouldn’t stay down. Oddly, the only thing that sounded even vaguely palatable was sardines, of all things; he thought longingly back to the store of them on the Jolly Roger, but they were obviously inaccessible at the moment.

(He did manage to keep his stomach calm enough to run out to the convenience store and purchase some, as well as some ginger tea—and took a long, hard look at the devices that apparently verified pregnancy. However, he moved on from them; time would surely tell.)

The nausea continued to follow him through the afternoon, but the ginger tea helped a bit. Still, though, he was surprised by the urgent knock at his door that evening—the end of the second day of the 10 that Zelena had foretold—as he flushed the latest bit of bile down the toilet.

“Hook? What’s wrong?”

He blinked and stared at the door before he answered; it was Emma—and she sounded concerned. That was a far cry from their last interaction.

Slowly, he opened the door; she looked like she’d been about to knock again, and indeed, there was a worried furrow to her brow. “‘M fine, love,” he told her, though his voice tiredly betrayed him.

“Please; I’ve heard you puking all day. These walls are thin. What’s up?”

“Just drank a bit too much,” he lied, staring at the floor. (Even the thought of rum made his stomach churn.)

“You know I know that’s not true.” He had no counter to that. “Well, whatever you have going on, just—take care of yourself, okay?”

“I always do,” he threw back.

“I know.” It looked like there were a multitude of things on the tip of her tongue, but she hesitated too long to say them. “Get some rest, okay? Have a good night.”

“You too, Swan.”

She headed back into her room across the hall, but he closed his door before she went away. He didn’t know how to interpret her care versus her statements to the contrary the other day.

Besides, his stomach turned again, so he had to make another mad dash off.

Not much later, another knock came to his door; Ruby had brought him some soup. “Heard you might need it,” she said; he had to wonder whether that was her own preternaturally strong hearing or some other voice whispering in her ear, but he was just grateful for the gesture.

Amazingly, it finally stayed down, and though the nausea lingered, he at least didn’t find himself losing anything else in the toilet.

His sleep that night was the deepest it had been since he had arrived back in Storybrooke.

————————————-

He felt surprisingly well rested the next morning—almost normal, though there seemed to be a weight that had settled in his stomach deep within, not unlike the guilty feeling he was used to carrying around for all these centuries. Perhaps the previous days had merely been an anomaly? A stomach illness?

David stopped by during the morning and invited him out on some rounds. He had no reason to refuse, regardless of whatever Zelena may or may not have done to him, so he joined in—especially because he could see it for the olive branch it was, even if it was never specifically stated as one.

David did seem a bit lighter than he had in days past; he said Snow and the baby were still doing well, and the fact that no one had seen the witch had them somewhat worried, but also finally felt like they could breathe for a bit.

If that was the case, then Killian had few regrets in his deal with the witch—though he hadn’t yet figured out a way to thwart her plans, especially without seeking help.

If he still needed to, at least. He wasn’t wholly convinced that she’d actually done anything to him. The only real difference he noticed in anything that day was the return of his appetite, in dramatic fashion; he was never one for gluttony, and propriety (as well as manners lessons back in the naval academy) demanded he never overindulge and eat politely, but he devoured his breakfast and lunch in record time. He was getting over a stomach bug, though—right?

Were it not for that, and the persistent dense feeling in his gut, he’d still think Zelena was messing with his head. A man giving birth? Preposterous.

However, after bathing that night, he caught something in his reflection that likely confirmed he was with child: it wasn’t significantly noticeable, but when viewed in profile, there was a curve to his belly that hadn’t been there earlier, just behind his navel. And while he could partly attribute it to the copious french fries with his dinner, the very tiny wiggles he felt inside were definitely not from digestion.

“Fuck,” he cursed. He gently traced it, knowing that this was only the beginning of what was to come. But—it would still be worth it if it meant Emma’s family was left alone.

———————————

The next morning, after another rather large breakfast, he headed to the library; Belle was still doing research on ways to thwart Zelena’s plans, so he decided to offer his aid. They’d come to a tenuous peace in the time since Neal had passed away—and, really, it was his only plan so far towards defeating the witch without revealing the reason for her sudden pause in assault.

(He may have had to loosen the laces of his vest a bit in order to avoid revealing it in other ways; his stomach was somewhat larger in the morning, but one would still have to look very closely to notice the difference.)

Belle did seem a bit surprised at his offer of help when he arrived—she said she assumed he’d be out doing reconnaissance with the Charmings—but seemed glad to have another set of eyes on the ancient tomes she’d been poring through.

After a couple hours of fruitless searching—having no particular theory on how to stop the spell, they were casting a wider net when it came to neutralizing magic—he got up to stretch his legs (and ease the bit of ache that had settled in his hips). He wandered the stacks a bit, the naval officer in him still in awe of all the knowledge they held. Perhaps someday, he’d have the time to more thoroughly peruse their contents, but he did have a somewhat ulterior motive for heading to the library today.

“The pregnancy books?” He jumped when Belle found him skimming a volume entitled What to Expect When You’re Expecting; shit.

“I’ve been…curious, is all,” he replied, quickly and bashfully. “We never had this kind of information in our realm, and with Snow…”

“I get it,” Belle replied, thankfully. “It’s overwhelming how much more they know here, isn’t it?”

“Aye,” he sighed, glad she believed his quick cover.

She just smiled when he brought it back to the table. He didn’t read it too in-depth—gods only knew he was about to devour it later, probably far too late into the night—but he did skim it and—oh no.

It just got worse and worse. He finally got to the chapter on labor, and all it entailed; all he could say was “bloody hell.” Oh, he was in for it.

Belle was reshelving books and glanced over his shoulder—and laughed. “Yeah, that was my reaction the first time I looked through it,” she told him. “What? I was curious too,” she added when he raised an eyebrow at her in question. “Good thing you won’t ever be pregnant, eh?”

He swallowed, and paused for probably too long a moment before muttering out a “Yeah, thank goodness.” Then quickly reached for another magic book and shoved the medical manual aside.

(He didn’t see Belle’s furrowed brow at the delay in his answer—or the sidelong glances at how quickly he ate his lunch.)

Sometime that afternoon, Henry popped in, inviting him to join in a sparring session with him and David out behind Granny’s. Again, he was touched, and hoped the lad didn’t notice the sudden wetness of his eyes. Were it not for that book, he’d wonder where that had come from, but apparently heightened emotions were a thing he had to look forward to.

It felt nice to get a workout, and the verbal battle between him and David as they taught Henry differing styles of fighting was just as entertaining. They were sharing a laugh when they were suddenly asked, “What’s so funny?”

He stiffened and turned, to see Emma standing off to the side, smiling at them—though it didn’t fully reach her eyes.

“David’s idea of properly blocking a parry,” he replied. “It works fine if you’re fighting someone who plays by the rules.”

“Which I’m guessing you don’t?”

“What fun is that?” he flirted back.

Her subsequent smile (and blush) was genuine. The sudden southward rush of his blood, though, was caused by something far different—and he just hoped no one noticed it.

They put away the practice weapons and headed into the diner, but Emma grabbed his arm and held him back. “Hey, I just wanted to say—I’m sorry for what I said the other day.”

He tilted his head, confused. “Beg your pardon?”

“About not trusting you,” she clarified. “I was upset at what had just happened. You haven’t really given us any reason to doubt you; I was just jarred by everything that had happened with the witch there, and you were an easy target. But you didn’t deserve that.”

“I…” he started, but found himself speechless—and attempting to hold back tears once more. “Thank you, love,” he finally said, sounding a bit more emotional than he’d like. “I’m…I’m glad to hear that, and I hope you never have reason to doubt my intentions again.”

“I know I won’t,” she said confidently, and there was a confidence to that statement that had him in awe.

Which made it all the worse that he was holding in—quite literally—an actual, fairly large secret.

(Well, only about the size of a grapefruit yet, according to the book, but—semantics.)

They invited him to dine with him—not taking his weak excuse at being tired—and conversation over their meal seemed to focus on future plans, even though Snow’s imminent birth still loomed. The oddest part, though, was they seemed to automatically include him in these plans. Gods above, he appreciated it, but hopefully they wouldn’t think it too odd when he had to inevitably bow out in a couple days, if not sooner.

He decided to get some practice in that by making an early exit from dinner. “You okay?” Emma asked, seemingly worried.

“What, is that tap Henry gave you on the shoulder acting up?” David joked.

“Indeed,” he played along, rubbing his left bicep in feigned emphasis. “Best rest it up.” (In truth, he was sore, but not there—more around his midsection—and he needed to get back to the book to find out why).

“See you tomorrow,” Emma said with a soft smile; he could only nod back.

Guilt was yet again plaguing him when he returned to his room. That didn’t stop his sigh of relief, though, when he undid his vest; he felt around his stomach, and it was definitely bigger than it was this morning, though still fairly small (and therefore easy to hide).

Perhaps he had indeed been too rash when he made this deal with Zelena. As much as Emma and her family had written him off in the moment, he too had underestimated their capacity for forgiveness. But no—anything that kept them out of danger was worth it, even if he still wasn’t wholly confident in what lay ahead of him, or how to ensure the witch didn’t succeed.

As if sensing his worries, the small life within gave a strong kick, one he could almost feel from the outside. It was a solid reminder that there was no going back on this.

He just hoped he could get through it with little issue.

—————————————————–

thank you so much for reading! tagging a few: @wyntereyez @jennjenn615 @superadam54 @ashley-knightingale @justsomewhump @teamhook @mathiaskejseren @88infinity88

#cs ff #killian mpreg #expecting a secret #my ff

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chess-blackmyre · 1 year

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Okay top five plot points I would have to change about Once Upon a Time:

—Keep Marian alive. Look I love Zelena as a character but when she came back in season 4 it felt forced and not a great plot twist overall. (Not to mention another character of color completely screwed over.) A more interesting story would have been to have Marian AND Robin figure out that they’re not the same people they once were and while they do still love and care for each other, they’re not IN love and trying to force a marriage that isn’t working isn’t good for Roland.

—Have Lancelot get the attention and story focus Merida did in season 5A. Seriously why’d they even bring him back if they weren’t going to do anything with him?? Including an explanation for how the heck he tricked Cora, a sorceress so powerful and scary that even Rumple didn’t like messing with her???

—In season 6 reveal instead of the Black Fairy, have the Blue Fairy revealed to be actual villain. She’s had shady vibes for seasons now, and it would have been a HELL of a reveal. SHE designed the curse, and she gave Baelfire the bean knowing the Dark One wouldn’t go through on it.

—NOT KILLING OFF ROBIN HOOD

—Instead of Regina doing the whole Jekyll and Hyde thing which was fun but we’d already had PLENTY of Evil Queen content, how about Killian splitting himself? Baby boy has the self loathing for it and All I can think about is a Barn Cat Feral Captain Hook that is DESPERATELY in love with Emma but also REALLY REALLY wants his revenge against Rumplestiltskin and it’s so neat <3

#once upon a time #ouat #Robin hood #regina mills #maid marian #outlaw queen #roland hood #ouat lancelot #Killian jones #captain hook #captain swan

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snowbellewells · 4 months

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Self Promo Sunday: "Darkness Before Dawn (Leave Hope's Light On)"

This week's Self Promo fic is another older chaptered CS story that I am bringing back “out of the vault” lol ;p. Though there will certainly be some angst this time around, there is also a happy ending - I promise. This one is a post-Christmas/New Year's themed one, and it takes place between the 4a and 4b timelines of the show (i.e. after the defeat of the Snow Queen, but before Gold returns with the Queens of Darkness) and diverges from there.

Summary: A lovely holiday season has come and gone, and Emma hates to see it end. However, much more pressing concerns quickly take precedence when she and Henry are in a wreck. Now the Savior is fighting for her life, and those who love her can only hope she'll find her way out of the darkness one more time...

*Also available on AO3 and ff.net, if you would prefer...

(I've posted all five parts in this Tumblr post for ease of reading)

by: @snowbellewells

i. prologue

Only three days after Christmas, and Emma Swan finds herself driving Henry back to Regina's where he will stay until New Year's Day. She can't help but feel that the holiday has passed her by in a flash, and she is loath to give up the sense of her first real Christmas with her family, and especially her son, around her. Though she is ridiculously grateful that she and Regina have worked out a schedule agreeable to both of them and Henry; now she is afraid that with Henry gone for several days, all the leftover bits of holiday magic, pure, innocent joy, and the light that might still be lingering, will go with him.

Shaking her head, Emma sighs as she glances across at her son in the passenger seat, lost to the newest app on his iPhone and luckily oblivious to her gloomy thoughts. There is no doubt in her mind that she is being more than a bit silly, but that doesn't make the feeling disappear. Realistically she knows that Regina truly needs Henry right now; he is the one bright spot in a horrible time of loss for the formerly Evil Queen. Emma doesn't want to begrudge the other woman what little joy she can find. Yes, Henry needs to spend the time with his adoptive mother, but Emma still hates to see him go, even for a few days. So much of Emma's life has been spent alone, with no one to care about her, much less be there to share Christmas traditions, and she feels a near-insatiable need to horde the precious moments now that she has them.

It has been more fun that she could have guessed taking Henry to her mom and dad's to help them trim the tree, watching F rosty the Snowman and How the Grinch Stole Christmas , helping Snow bake dozens and dozens of sugar cookies, both to decorate and eat themselves, and then passing the rest out to seemingly everyone in town. She wants to make the warm and jolly December evenings they've spent laughing cozily together last forever, so she will never lose the feeling of being curled up between Killian, whose arm stretches lazily along the back of the couch and over her, and her father, chuckling at Henry as he makes faces to entertain his baby uncle and exclaims over his presents. Emma knows they all felt similar emotions at times, like when her watery eyes met her mother's over the boys' heads and a lump rose in her throat. This year has brought her more of a holiday that she could have ever imagined having a part in as a cynical, unwanted foster child years ago. Killian's arms have tightened around her numerous times in the last few days, and she has known that he understands all too well from the life he had lived. Her father seems to find every possible moment to squeeze her hand in his, as if reminding her that they had always wanted her with them like this.

Without realizing it, Emma lets her mind wander and loses focus for the briefest of instants. It happens so quickly that cause or fault will never be clear. Emma only glances at Henry beside her for a moment; takes her glance off the road no longer that she would need to adjust the heat or the radio volume. Yet, somehow, they hit an unseen patch of black ice on the wintry road, going at full travel speed. The Bug skids, back end fishtailing out one way, and then almost up even with the front, putting the vehicle perpendicular to its original path on the pavement. Emma scrambles to right them, and Henry calls out a warning, but it happens too slowly and isn't enough. Their little yellow car shoots offcourse, seemingly flying from the road and directly into a pole at the shoulder.

Mother's instinct makes Emma's arm dart out in a desperate effort to shield her son, and she feels – with both hope and fear – some of her magical energy leaving her fingertips almost like second nature, in an attempt to protect him. It is the last thing she feels before impact, and then her world goes dark.

ii. the call

"Mom! Mom!" Henry snaps out of the daze he hovered in after the sudden stop and the settling of the car. He can see snowflakes falling thickly through the cracked windshield, and bitterly cold air is filtering in, though he doesn't remember it snowing before they skidded. If his mom had not told him the Snow Queen was dead, and actually hadn't been evil, he would blame the unseen ice and strange drop in temperature while they were vulnerable on her. It doesn't really matter now, but he is still trying to get his bearings and stop his head from spinning. For an odd second or two, it’s like he is in a vacuum; roaring in his ears and dizziness makes him off balance and sluggish, but when his mind clears and he sees his birth mother slumped over the steering wheel, a thin line of blood trickling down the side of her face, eyes closed, not moving, his concern bursts through the haze.

Henry realizes that she must have used her magic to cushion him somehow and didn't have time to do the same for herself. Yet, even as he registers what she has done, the air around him seems to waiver, flicker, and whatever shield she put in place weakens and fades, allowing him to reach beyond it and touch her carefully, worriedly, enough to see that she makes no response.

"Mom…can you hear me?" he tries again. When he still gets no movement or reaction, Henry begins scrabbling around in the seat, then on the floor, until he finds his phone where it has fallen in the confusion. Swiping the screen quickly, Henry calls his other mom, then his Gramps, in rapid succession – once he has gotten an ambulance on its way.

As far as the teen can tell, nothing seems to hurt and he is completely uninjured. The car is caved in clear to the windshield from where it smashed into the pole head-on, but his door isn't blocked. He can get out, but is determined not to leave his mom until help arrives. Whatever Emma did to shield him came at the expense of her own safety, and Henry swallows back both guilt and fear for her at that knowledge. He is momentarily glad to be alone when he feels tears welling in his eyes.

Reaching over the console to grasp his mom's fingers in his, Henry threads them together and forces himself to hope it will all be fine. Her skin feels cold to the touch, and his brow furrows in concern. "Come on, Mom. Hang in there," he murmurs to her fervently, leaning in as though he can assure that she will hear him. "Please."

For some reason, as the silence stretches on and Henry worries more the longer she remains still, he realizes who he has forgotten to call in his anxiety. Killian will have to be told and will be crazed with worry for his mom. How he didn't think to call his mom's boyfriend until now baffles him. Killian will be frantic to get to Emma, to help, to see that she is okay, and he deserves to be with her. Henry genuinely likes the reformed pirate. He has more than earned his place at Emma's side. Hating what he knows it will do to the Captain, Henry also can't put this call off. Dialing once more, the young man waits as he hears the phone ring two, then three, times before Killian Jones picks up, sounding half-confused, half-exasperated at the modern contraption in his hand.

His accent is clear through the wire as he asks, "Henry? What is it, lad? Are you alright?"

"Yes, Captain, I'm fine. Just listen to me, okay?" Henry swallows hard, not sure what to say, how to deliver what he knows will be an awful blow. Yet, one glance at his mom's still, expressionless face, and he knows he has no choice … Killian might even be able to reach her. Henry is no fool. Both sets of his grandparents are True Loves – and he sees something just as deep and strong, if not as clearly understood, between his mom and Killian.

"Aye, lad," the Captain's voice breaks back in to agree. "My apologies. I will simply listen then."

Henry draws in a deep breath. He hates having to put this into words, but then blurts it out in a pained rush, not trailing off until the end. "Mom and I had a wreck. The ambulance is on its way, and they'll help, but Mom hasn't woken up yet. She's hurt, and I thought you should know what was happening. …I'm sorry…"

Drawing in such a sharp breath it sounds like he has taken a physical blow, Killian is stunned by the news. His chest tightens at the mere thought of Emma and Henry in pain or danger, and his mind is already racing to where she is and how quickly he can get there, what he can do. Yet, in the next moment, he knows there is something else he must take care of first. He can tell immediately by the lad's tone that he is already feeling guilt at being alright when Emma is not, and also at having to be the bearer of such awful news. He speaks firmly, and with intent when he responds. "No, lad, none of that. You need not apologize. You did not cause this, and you should not feel sorry at being unharmed. I have no doubt that is how Emma wanted it. Understood?"

Henry nods reluctantly before realizing that Killian can't see him, then manages a begrudging, "Understood."

"Where are you?" Killian asks, already moving around his rented room at Granny's to throw on his coat and grab the grey knitted scarf that Emma had brought him just a few days ago with a gentle smile and concern that he would take a chill. He is already reaching for the door as he adds, "I'm on my way to you, just tell me the direction."

"Head to the hospital – that's where we'll be."

"I will see you there, lad. I'm starting off as we speak."

"Killian," Henry breaks in again, strangely sounding as if he wants to reassure his mom's boyfriend, even though he is the one who has been in the wreck and is sitting beside his unconscious mother, "I know you were there once. Remember, they patched you up, even though you'd been hit by a car. They kept my gramps alive when he would have died for sure in the Enchanted Forest. They kept me stable when I ate the poisoned apple. They'll help Emma too. They have to! She's going to be alright. Just…I'll see you there, okay?"

"Aye, of course, lad," Killian assures, hearing both the pleading note in the boy's voice and the need to have his hope confirmed. The pirate already feels himself growing more frantic every second, wondering just how bad it is, but he can still try to give her boy a bit of comfort before he gives into his own fear. Though he speaks calmly to Henry, the desperate thoughts are already swirling inside his head. 'What if she doesn't wake? ' His beautiful, blunt, brave sheriff-princess, and he might never speak to her again, nor see her lovely green eyes sparkle with mischief. Killian shakes his head roughly, forcing that line of thought away. 'Not again. Not this time. Swan is strong. She will come back to me.' Killian has to believe that he will not suffer the loss of someone else he loves; even his life cannot be so cruel. "I'll be there as fast as I possibly can," he finishes saying to Henry, hoping the boy will be somewhat appeased; it’s all he has to offer.

"Good. Come find Gramps and me when you do, alright? ... And Killian?" Henry's voice fades for a moment, then adds, "You be careful. Mom will need you when she wakes up."

~~~~~000~~~~~~~~000~~~~~~~~~000~~~~~~~~~000~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

After hanging up the phone, Henry lets out a breath of relief. Things aren't really any better, but the part he had been dreading is done. He looks back over to Emma, covering her hand with his own still-growing one, trying not to dwell on the chill to her skin. "Killian's on his way. Neither one of us want to lose you, Mom. I know you've had to do it a lot, but keep fighting. Stay with us."

Soon he hears sirens blaring, and then his grandpa peals up behind them in the town's outdated patrol car and runs to the Bug, ambulance wheeling in right behind him. Next thing Henry knows, David is jerking open the door and crushing his grandson to his chest. "Henry! Are you alright?!" he asks, drawing in a sharp breath as he sees his injured daughter over Henry's head. The EMTs are already easing her out of the car and onto a backboard for the trip to the hospital, and all he can really do is clasp Henry to him more tightly and watch. He feels the boy shaking slightly, even as he tries so hard to be strong. As a father, he wants to ask so many questions about his daughter. 'Has she spoken at all?' 'Opened her eyes?' 'What made her lose control of the car?' But he holds back, comforting his daughter's child instead. There is nothing he can do to help beyond that anyway.

Easing Henry out and guiding him with a hand around his shoulders, David ushers his grandson into the cruiser, studiously ignoring the sniffles the teen is trying to hide. He rounds the front of the vehicle, sliding behind the wheel and immediately turning it around to follow the ambulance. Still, he brakes for a moment, making eye contact with Henry and holding it determinedly. "She’s going to be fine. Trust me," he vows, knowing he shouldn't make such a promise, but unable to believe anything else. His daughter has been through so much to find her happy ending; it cannot be taken from her now. He hears Snow's eternally optimistic voice in his head, telling them to keep hoping, and he will not do anything less.

Henry merely nods in acceptance of his words though, and silence settles over them again as they make their way to the hospital.

iii. keeping vigil

Killian Jones cannot turn off the fear that has overtaken his mind – the worries for her, and the feelings of helplessness, that there is nothing he can do for Emma. He spends the whole walk – more run really – to the hospital with his heart in his throat, feeling it trying to choke him, in almost as much agony as when the Crocodile had held the organ and squeezed it in torture. His heart might as well be ash without her.

Unwanted visions of Emma lying pale and cold, as Milah had in death so long ago on the deck of his ship, flit across his brain – vicious waking nightmares that he cannot seem to banish. It pains him that he is already thinking the worst, when he knows he should not. Just as he once told Emma himself, his Swan too is a survivor. She has been proving so her entire life, and certainly as long as he has known her. Still, Killian cannot quell the near-paralyzing fear; he has lost everyone he ever loved, and he will not survive the loss of Emma as well, nor does he wish to.

Upon reaching Storybrooke General, Killian barrels into the ER, searching for Henry and David anxiously, and finding them in hard, plastic chairs in the waiting room to the right. "Henry! Dave!" he calls out, rushing toward them even as he gets their attention. "Have you had any news? How is she? Can we see her?" He does not mean to deluge them with questions, or to seem frantic in front of her worried son and her father, but he must know.

"Easy, Hook," David cautions, reaching out to place a steadying hand on his shoulder, "take a breath. We'll tell you what we know, but it isn't much at this point. We're going to have to wait."

Killian gives a curt nod and does try to draw in a deep, centering breath. He dearly wants to yell at the Prince, to rail at him for his seeming composure and for telling him to wait on word. Emma cannot wait; he needs to reach her. Instead, he forces the words down, blowing out a tense breath, reminding himself that David loves Emma as well, and is trying to help. "Fine," he grits, making his voice as controlled as possible, though still aching for something to hold onto, practically trembling with the effort of holding his body still, to appear calm. "Just please tell me what you know."

David nods, motioning for Killian to take the empty seat between himself and Henry, after moving their coats off it. "Emma's car hit a patch of ice. There didn't seem to be any others on the route they were traveling; it was just a freak chance of nature as far as anyone can tell. It was cold and starting to snow, and it just happened. They were traveling at road speed, so it's really a miracle Henry isn't in worse shape too."

"No miracle," Henry mutters, looking at his shoes forlornly, bitterness in his tone as he interrupts. "She threw her hand up, used her magic on instinct somehow to protect me, and she let herself get hurt."

Realization dawns on the Prince's face, as if he completely understands something that had been puzzling him. He doesn't comment on his thoughts though, instead moves as if to get up and embrace Henry. Killian jumps in first, getting Henry's attention and making sure the teen is looking at him. "Henry, what did I tell you on the phone? You can't blame yourself. Emma loves you more than anyone else in this world. She would never want to see you hurt if she could prevent it. There is no shame in that. She is your mother and will feel that way whether you are 13 or 33. She would not want you burdened by this, that I know."

"Hook's right," David seconds, making sure that his grandson knows no one believes Henry could or should have done anything more than he has.

Henry doesn't speak to agree or argue, but he seems less angry at any rate, and Killian's worry finally urges him to ask David to continue with his news of Emma.

Sighing, David does as he requests. "Regardless, Emma sustained a serious blow to the head, most probably from the dashboard, on impact. She almost certainly has a concussion, and she hasn't shown any signs of regaining consciousness. They have her in a private room under observation, monitoring to make sure she doesn't develop any subdural hematoma that puts undue pressure on the brain. If that happens, they will have to go in to surgically relieve it…" The Prince's face is grim as he tries to explain what he has been told, and Killian does not like the troubled expression the royal's eyes take on.

"Let us hope it does not come to that, mate," he offers awkwardly, not sure how else to provide comfort.

They sit in silence for a time, until Regina arrives. She and Henry leave to walk elsewhere in the hospital for a bit. Killian is honestly glad that Queen is here; she loves Henry dearly, and has raised him. She knows as well as anyone could what to do for him and what to say to him in this situation.

He clears his throat once they are alone and asks, "Is anything else being done for her? Can we see her? Sit with her? Anything?"

David shakes his head, trying to dissuade Killian before he goes up against the doctors and the hospital itself. "Right now, they aren't letting anyone in. She needs to be in a quiet, non-stimulating environment. When the doctor spoke to me, they didn't even want her to have visitors. After that, Dr. Whale assured me he would see what they could do. He said that her pulse was slow and a bit thready, while her blood pressure was up, and that her pupils were somewhat unequal in size. Both are concerns if she doesn't wake soon, and could indicate her unconsciousness deepening."

Thankfully, David pauses to draw breath and let that much settle in. Killian honestly does not know how much more he can stand, picturing Emma alone and helpless in such a fragile state. He wishes to be at her side, even if merely to hold her hand. She might have no awareness of him at all, but if there is any part of her which senses that she is alone, he would rather believe that she could sense if he were near as well. Killian knows that Emma's father is about to finish giving him what information he has, and is steeling himself for it, when they are interrupted by Regina and Henry's return and the arrival a few moments later of a harried-looking Dr. Whale.

"Any news on Miss Swan?" Regina asks brusquely of the doctor, cutting across both Emma's love and her father. Her voice sounds sharp and matter of fact, but Killian senses more care under the surface than he imagines Regina intends to show. She may be here for Henry's benefit most, but over time the Captain has seen her come to hold a grudging respect for his tough, no-nonsense Swan. They are qualities the former mayor has as well, and appreciates in others.

Whale looks startled by this new person firing questions at him, but as the prince does not seem to object, he answers anyway. "Not much has changed since I spoke with you last. Ms. Swan has withstood a significant blow to the head and is dealing with a concussion as a result. Her unconsciousness is a serious issue and must be monitored, but is not uncommon with this sort of injury. As long as her pulse returns to normal and her other vital signs remain stable, we are cautiously optimistic that she will wake once her body has had time to recover. If she remains unconscious through the night, we will make sure she is equipped to receive adequate nutrition intravenously in the morning. She will also need to be watched for respiratory difficulty or inability to swallow. However, we will deal with those issues if they arise. In the meantime, I am prepared to allow one visitor at a time, as long as each visitor remains quiet and calm."

Emma's four gathered visitors assure him that they understand all he has said and will abide by his orders; then they are led to the room where Emma rests. Killian is more than willing to allow Swan's father and her boy to each take their turns before him; he is so relieved to see her at all. Besides, once he reaches her side again, he has no intention of leaving.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~000~~~~~~~~~~~~~~000~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~000~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Nearly two hours have passed when Killian Jones is finally allowed to slip into the silent room Emma occupies and be near her at last. It is nearing 9 o'clock in the evening, and he knows he could not have stood being kept from her much longer. David has gone home to update and reassure Snow, who had stayed with the baby, and all three of them will be back bright and early in the morning. Henry has left as well, with Regina only minutes ago, surprising Killian by wrapping his skinny arms around the pirate's waist in a tight, wordless grasp and furtively wiping a silent tear from his face as he pulled away. "Take care of her, Captain," he had murmured lowly, making Killian aware that the lad knew his intention not to leave her.

"Aye, lad," he had responded in a voice equally low. "Have no doubt of that."

Moving across the room dimly washed in the moon's glow through the blinds, he tentatively reaches Emma and looks down on her before sinking into the chair nearby. For a moment, words are lost to him as he wonders how to reach her. He studies her beautiful, pale features, unable to stop gazing on her as his hand comes up to lightly trace over her cheek.

Speech seems pointless in the stillness of the room and her unflinching slumber. He only wants Emma to know that she is not alone, that she is loved, that he would do anything to bring her back. Bending to place a kiss upon her brow, Killian only whispers, "Darling, if you can hear me…please come back to us, Love. I need you. Your boy needs you. I promise…I will be right here when you wake." He threads his fingers with hers, leaning over the bed rail to keep his face even with hers, to watch in hopes of seeing her eyes flutter open again.

And so he begins the vigil he will keep, no matter how long, until she returns to him.

iv. drifting

Unbeknownst to Emma Swan, New Year's Eve dawns clear and bright, a brittle chill in the air, but a piercing sunlit sky overhead as well. Her son, her family, and her devoted pirate captain have all been waiting, watching, hoping she will wake, wishing each time a new sun rises that her eyes will open to see it and return to them. With a little one at home, David and Snow take turns visiting the hospital in the morning and afternoon while the other stays home with the young prince. As they do everything, the two royals work it out seamlessly between them, an unbreakable team. They set a routine of arriving at 7:00 a.m. – coffee and doughnut in hand for Killian – and never fail to carry on hoping, letting not a single moment of weakness show or a second of doubt that any day now their daughter will be awake to return their morning greeting.

Killian has not left Emma's side since he was allowed in her room that first night. One determined night shift nurse had attempted to shoo him out at midnight, but the words had died on her lips as she entered to find him seated at the sheriff's bedside – silent as stone, fingers of his one good hand tangled with hers, hook resting on the covers where the metal gleamed sharply in the dim light. He had raised a dark brow in questioning challenge, but had not moved or made a sound. No direct threat had been uttered, but it was clear he was not going anywhere without a fight, and from then on they had allowed him to remain.

Regina brings Henry faithfully as well, timing it so that Emma and Killian are not alone long after whichever of her parents has made the afternoon visit is gone. In truth, Killian is grateful for the company. He can only sit so long talking to Emma with no response – no twinkle of her laughing eyes, no sassy comebacks for his best witty flirtations – without wanting to beg her to return, to collapse to his knees, to give into the tide of despair he feels hovering in the back of his consciousness as each day and then night goes by with no change in her.

An IV has been put in, to get fluids and nutrients to her, and though he knows it was necessary, Killian feels a sense of nausea climb up his throat at the thought of her being so helpless, how much she would hate not even being able to feed herself or take a drink of water. His Swan is stubborn to a fault, not willing to give up an inch, wanting to handle all that life throws at her with her own strength and her own two hands. If she were aware of what was going on around her, it would be driving her mad. What really sends him over the edge though is the confirmation that she truly is not present with him; she doesn't know what is happening around her and she can't do it for herself. He continually has to push down the fear that she will not ever again.

After the first two days, it is determined that there is no further swelling or dangerous intracranial pressure. Continued observation reveals Emma's pulse and blood pressure regulating back to normal and her pupils' return to near equal size. Each note is received gratefully by her loved ones, but Emma remains in her distant, suspended state. Dr. Whale tries to caution them all that the brain has its own way and time frame for healing. They need to stay positive, keep visiting and talking to her. He assures them that he has no indication she will not come out of her coma once her body is fully healed and ready, but he also cannot explain to them why it has not already occurred.

A feeding tube is mentioned on the night Emma has been in the hospital a week, and Killian is more relieved than words can say when her father protests rather strongly, asking them to give her a day or two more to wake up before taking that step. The process would not have driven Killian away; he would have been there at her side, squeezing her hand in his, trying to offer her comfort whether Emma was aware of it or not, but seeing plastic tubing forced down his love's throat while she is unaware and can't fight back or speak for herself on the matter – even if it is meant to help her – seems somehow cruel and barbaric to him. Killian honestly is not sure he has the resolve to stand by and allow it without falling apart, much less to be present and watch.

Gradually, with his extended constant presence, the former pirate has grown on Emma's two regular nurses. Though both the day and night nurses had been disapproving at first of this dark, forbidding man disregarding all their rules and haunting their halls, his obvious devotion, his desire to do anything he could to help, and his charming nature had won them over. The day nurse now greets him as she arrives each morning, giving him a maternal smile and encouraging his hope by asking if there has been any change in Emma over the night. The night nurse has more than once covered him with a blanket upon her arrival, finding him asleep in the chair right next to Emma's bed. She cannot help but admire a man who loves that deeply and holds on so tightly; she finds herself anxiously awaiting their little town's sheriff waking to see who she has in her corner.

As Emma's unconsciousness stretches beyond a week, and then two, the hospital staff watches more carefully than ever for respiratory distress. Due to her inability to swallow, they begin suctioning her mouth and trachea when necessary, wanting to prevent any chance of aspiration. After failing to get Killian to leave while the procedure is accomplished, they show him how Emma must first be turned to lie on her side, and he then gently holds her in place while they carry out their task. Emma's pirate remains undeterred by anything she needs from him, only wanting to aid in her comfort, to do anything that might help, might keep her safe until she returns to them. His hands are steadying on her shoulders; he can tell that even unawares the suctioning must cause discomfort from the crinkle that forms between her brows, which he lovingly smoothes with a tender touch. He aches to take the distress from her, and so he watches over her religiously, brushing her hair back from her clammy forehead, watching for even the tiniest hint of movement.

Once all visitors and staff have cleared out for the night and they are alone again, that is when Killian Jones can do nothing more than pull the blankets back over her, take her hand once more, kiss her palm, and whisper to her. "Come, Love, surely you've had more than enough of this. Open your eyes, Darling…please. I am not giving up on you. I know you can find your way back. You are too stubborn by half to let this beat you. This…cannot…be your end."

It is only then, as darkness falls in the middle of the night, the halls are quiet, and Killian is sure no one will see, that he lets his strength crumble. His weeping is silent and fleeting, but his shoulders shake, unable to throw off the fear that his princess has finally gone where he cannot follow.

~~~~~~000~~~~~~~000~~~~~~~~~~~000~~~~~~~~~~0000~~~~~~~~~~~~

Emma feels as though she is swimming through a hazy dream world, floating unaware and unconcerned by any of the worries, any of the cares that normally tie her down. She feels no pressure, no impending doom from some new villain, no worry over whether she is doing right by her son, spending enough time with her new baby brother and her parents, serving her newfound home as both sheriff and princess the way all expect of her. No sounds disturb the easy quiet surrounding her, wrapping her up like a warm, soft blanket. It almost feels as though she could close her eyes and sleep for hours, days even, and it wouldn't matter at all. There would be nothing to stop her.

As quickly as that thought comes though, her calm is somehow shaken by a tremor of fear. Sleep for days? No one there to notice or worry about her? No sounds, nothing to see, nothing to do? Something isn't right, and on the heels of that realization comes the awareness that she cannot seem to open her eyes to see where she is or what is happening. She cannot make her arms and legs move or respond to her gradually growing distress. Emma wants to open her mouth to cry out, but her lips don't part and no sound escapes. The cozy grey haze that had seemed so comforting mere moments ago has become a thickening fog strangling her and pulling her down into its depths.

A soothing croon breaks through the darkness surrounding her. Emma cannot immediately place the speaker, but she knows instinctively that this is a voice she loves, a voice she feels comforted by amidst the nothingness surrounding her. "Open your eyes, Darling…please…" the lilting voice pleads, and desperately, painstakingly, with every bit of determination and energy she came muster, Emma moves toward that sound – or at least she attempts to. She surfaces from the sea of swirling fog and finally opens her eyes.

v. welcome back, love

Joyous pandemonium is not an exaggeration for the scene in Emma's room just an hour after her waking. Despite Dr. Whale and the nurses' repeated cautions that they are still in a hospital, that the other patients should not be disturbed, and that Emma should not be overexcited after being unconscious for so long, Emma's family can't help their enthusiasm and relief. Henry is unable to cease motion; one moment he practically bounces on the balls of his feet at the foot of her bed, and the next he shuttles forward to hug her again, as tightly as he dares, and then backs away as if afraid he will break her.

For her own part, Emma never wants her son to let go, but she is still dazed and can barely speak around the lump in her throat, so she wordlessly lets him do as he will. She catches Regina's eye over his head more than once, and though the queen only gives her a silent nod of understanding, Emma senses that even her former adversary is relieved at her return. David keeps bringing her water, trying to smuggle snacks to her, and pestering her for anything else she might need which he can fetch. Snow simply stands at her shoulder, looking at her with a teary smile, and bouncing Emma's baby brother gently in her arms. It is more than a bit chaotic after the absolute peace and quiet Emma has been stuck in for so long…and she loves it.

It had been a different matter when she first opened her eyes an hour ago. Relief had flooded through her upon finding Killian there, fingers of his good hand wound up with hers, speaking to her through the quiet dark. Emma had been so glad she was not irrevocably lost in the grey vacuum of her subconscious that it had taken her a few stunned, blinking moments before registering her sailor's motionless shock, and how he could not cease staring at her with wide, disbelieving eyes over tear-streaked, unshaven cheeks - drinking her in as though she might vanish from his sight once more and trying several times to speak before finally stuttering out her name. "Em – Emma? You can hear me?"

She wanted to tease him, to break the tense emotional stakes and make him laugh the hearty, uninhibited guffaw she had only recently learned he possessed. Instinctively though – knowing what he must have gone through if he was sitting there looking as bedraggled as he did while she found herself in a hospital bed – Emma bit back any smart retort on the tip of her tongue and squeezed Killian's hand gently, merely nodding her head in response to his question. She realized just how dry and unused her throat felt anyway; speech seemed a bit more of a challenge than she had expected.

Killian had not seemed at all disappointed by her stillness. The smile that crept over his face at her barest of responses was near blinding and adorably accented by the laugh lines crinkling at the corners of his eyes. Leaning over her, he delicately cradled Emma's face in hand and hook, then kissed her forehead. It might have appeared awkward to an outside observer, but Emma found the gesture immensely comforting. Still gaining her bearings, she swallowed hard, looking up to him for answers.

Her captain seemed to understand, as he always did, what she was thinking. "You've been out for more than two weeks, Swan. And…I will admit…you had me worried." He paused, seeming to need a moment to rein in his own reaction, brushing his fingers through her hair as he did. When he continued, his voice was suspiciously husky. "I must go find your doctor. He will no doubt want to check you over now that you're awake. I shall call your boy and your parents too; they have missed you tremendously."

She nodded her agreement, sensing that Killian hesitated to leave her alone, and gave him an encouraging smile. Secretly, she was thinking how good it felt to wake up to someone looking on her with such love. It was something she had been missing her entire life, and with him, it had been there the whole time – she had only needed to finally see. Twice in the last month, she had nearly lost this; first to Gold's attempt to crush Killian's heart, and now to her accident. Suddenly, Emma was clear on just how much she would be missing without this man in her life, how much she wanted to rest in his adoring gaze every night and wake up to it each morning.

His small upturn of the mouth showed once again that Killian possessed the ability to read at least some small portion of what was on her mind. "I will be but a moment," he assured her as he stood, then leaned back in with a whisper in her ear and teasing glint of white teeth in a happy grin. "Welcome back, Love."

Now, in the midst of the rest of her loved ones, and the night nurse who Emma can immediately see has fallen right under the spell of her pirate's irresistible charm, hugs are flying non-stop, and everyone seems to chatter and laugh at once, both in trying to fill her in on all that she has missed, and back and forth with each other. Emma feels wrapped in a warm, noisy nest of chatter and touch and genuine belonging, and instead of feeling smothered or pressured to respond in the right way, she simply feels happy and grateful to be back.

Killian is still hovering at her elbow. He smiles and nods along with what is said, responds when he is spoken to, but she can tell he is still shaken, still anxiously watching her, making sure she is alright. It is as though he had sat beside her standing guard for so long, fearing she was about to be snatched away from him, that he cannot yet relax and believe the ordeal is over.

As their miniature party breaks up and the rest of the group files out with embraces and promises to return in the morning when she is at last released to go home, Emma finds herself wondering how to comfort him. It was not so long ago that she had been standing frozen in the clock tower, powerless to do anything but watch as the Dark One prepared to kill her pirate. The anguish on his face when their eyes had met in that terrible moment; the corresponding pressure gripping her own chest as his heart was squeezed, and the irrevocable knowledge that Killian was slipping away from her against her will, were still incredibly fresh. The memory haunted her in ways she did not know how to express or assuage. Emma was all too well acquainted with how Killian might be feeling now, but what she didn't know was if she could provide any comfort when she had been the reason for his pain.

"Hey," she whispers, holding out a hand to him, urging her pirate closer to where the bed was raised for her to mostly sit up and interact with her guests more easily, "come here, Captain." Her voice is still a bit hoarse and strained from disuse, but Killian hears it immediately and is at her side almost before she has finished speaking. He had still been at the door from seeing everyone off, but upon her request, he is with her in an instant.

"What is it, Love? Are you in pain? Do you need something?" His hand hovers over her anxiously, smoothing back her hair and brushing over her shoulder, not sure where to settle.

If she doesn't stop him, Emma is pretty sure he will dart away again, off to fetch her something she doesn't even want, when all she needs is him – to draw him close and let him hold her. She isn't sure which one of them needs the contact more, but it has become a desperate necessity. "No! Killian, wait…" she swallows and licks her lips, trying to make her voice sound less scratchy and to gather her nerve. It may be the lingering weakness in her system, leaving her feeling raw and vulnerable, but she finds herself needing to take the leap, to let Killian know he is as important to her as she is to him. "I'm fine. It's just…I just…I need you."

His gaze, as deep and blue as the ocean he loves, depthless and encompassing, warms her as he takes her in, almost as though he cannot believe her confession. "Of course…Emma. Anything you want, I will do. I promise, Darling."

Emma's throat nearly closes up at the glassiness of his eyes and the way his voice goes raspy with feeling. She knows by now that Killian Jones does not make a vow lightly, and her yearning surges even higher at his words. Biting her lip, she reaches to take his hand once more, tugs gently, and pats the space beside her on the mattress, before whispering, "Then come here…please…I need you to hold me. I…I th-thought you were gone…"

The hesitant look on her pirate's face is so worried and careful that it makes Emma want to giggle. If anyone who had known him as the fearsome Captain Hook could see him now, it would be hard to believe he was the same man. Yet, Emma can see the truth; his strength and daring have never faded, nor his dashing looks and unwavering air of command, but the drive and determination which had twisted into hatred and pursuit of revenge were once again fixed on heroism – and his commitment to her. "I don't want to unknowingly do you harm," he says anxiously, while refusing to meet her eyes.

"You won't," she breathes, pleading in her gaze when he finally meets it again, "unless you don't get in here." She gives him a playful wink as further reassurance and scoots over until she lies on her side, facing him with her back against the bedrail. She moves the IV so he won't pull it from her arm accidentally and then watches him and waits.

Heaving a sigh, Killian acquiesces, and though he wants to be sure not to hurt her, she knows he is craving the closeness as well. After shrugging out of his jacket and dropping it on the nearby chair and removing his shoes, he finally clambers gingerly up onto the bed next to her. Stretching full length on his side facing her, Killian leans in, nuzzling his nose gently over hers and kissing her lightly, still chaste and soft, but full of intense care. "Alright now, Swan?" he asks.

"Nearly," she responds a bit breathlessly. She reaches out to curl her fingers around the metal curve of his hook, taking this moment to make clear something he should already know. She is not repulsed by or fearful of his appendage – it is merely an extension of him. Pulling the blunted limb toward her body, Emma rests the arm on her hip, letting the hook wrap around her back. Then, she snuggles closer, fisting her hand in his shirt and burying her face in his warm chest.

They lie together like that for some time, comforted by the quiet closeness, heartbeats fitting to one another's rhythm. Finally, she pulls away just far enough to look him in the eye. Her words are fierce with passion when she speaks again. "I love you, Killian Jones. Don't you ever doubt that again."

He pulls her back, fervently ghosting his response with his lips at her temple. "You must know I feel the same, Emma. My love for you will never change – as long as either of us live."

The kiss that follows soothes both their fraught, churning hearts and finally brings the peace that both of them seek. Emma's hand finds the short hair at the nape of Killian's neck and begins to stroke through the dark strands. Killian's fear and sleepless vigil catch up to him in her embrace, and he soon drifts off to sleep. It isn't long before his warm, solid presence curled around her protectively does the same thing for Emma and she follows him into slumber.

Anyone else in Storybrooke General that night who peeks into Emma Swan's room cannot help but be touched by the sight of the lost princess- savior and her pirate prince finally at home…with each other. Right there for all to see is a vision of two healing souls finally granted a miracle.

Tagging a few who might enjoy (or have never seen this oldie!) : @jennjenn615 @kmomof4 @searchingwardrobes @laschatzi @whimsicallyenchantedrose @jrob64 @apiratewhopines @drowned-dreamer @xarandomdreamx @teamhook @revanmeetra87 @gingerchangeling @gingerpolyglot @tiganasummertree @optomisticgirl @spartanguard @therooksshiningknight @xsajx @bluewildcatfanatic @stahlop @motherkatereloyshipper @statustemporary @booksteaandtoomuchtv @kazoosandfannypacks @zaharadessert @lfh1226-linda @wefoundloveunderthelight @mie779 @winterbaby89 @hollyethecurious @bdevereaux @justanother-unluckysoul @elizabeethan @the-darkdragonfly @donteattheappleshook @ilovemesomekillianjones @thislassishooked @grimmswan

#self promo sunday #cs canon divergent ff #wintry cs angst #darkness before dawn (leave hopes light on)#ouat s4 canon divergent ff #cs five part mc ff #ouat ff

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the-chickenshit-oddity · 5 months

Text

10 characters 10 fandoms

thanks @birdkeeperklink !

you'll notice a trend quickly here, is that i love characters for one of two reasons : the first is i wanna be them, the second is i already am them.

start with :

Mondler (if we keep joanlock together, mondler should be too)

i am self-depricating and sarcastic, i am chandler. i am a control freak who needs to be best at everything otherwise i'm depressed, i am monica. (i am also loyal and caring and a neat freak with some very messy cupboards, i am also both of them)

2) Joanlock

i wish i were brave and smart and daring, they both are (also, i wish i had someone i loved as much as they love each other)

3) Elliot Stabler

I too do stupid shit, realise i did a stupid shit, flounder as to what the fuck i'm supposed to do about it, come up empty, decide to just stick with it because it can't get any more shitted, play it off like nothing ever happened, and, yeah well, we are both idiots lol

4) Tony Stark

does this one need to be explained? it's both

5) Killian Jones

both again. i wish i had as strong feelings as he does, i wish i were brave enough to do something about them, and i too will hold a grudge for centuries :)

6) the Halliwell sisters

i love them. i wanna date them, i wanna be them, i wanna be their best friend, their neighbour, their plumber.

I'm runnin' outta steam, people. hang on, i'm thinking.

7) Fitzsimmons

okay so there is a third trend. i wish i were part of a duo/trio/whatever that cares so much about each other and does crazy shit about it lol

8) Nabrielise

here's the /trio/whatever portion of this post. this is all three trends all at once, i wanna be part of the group, i wanna be annalise really bad (i also wanna date annalise really bad :)) and i too am a sarcastic little shit that's just tryna not be killed by circumstances and evil people at every turn

9) Mycroft Holmes

the epitome of "not really fitting in but somehow both trying to and not". also, he's got a SWORD!!!

wait i need another think lol

10) House

self-loathing, check. shitty habits that fuck with my life but that i can't live without, check. really shit social skills, CHECK CHECK CHECK.

real smart, i wish. pretty successful, i wish. great friend, kinda, i wish.

I DID IT. FUCK THAT WAS HARD. i don't have enough brain left to remember who's on here, so, if you wanna play, i'm inviting you. i'm serious, tag me in the "xxx tagged me for this" section, i wanna play with you

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donteattheappleshook · 4 months

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For the “That Scene” ask game, what was the scene for “Stone Hearts”, “Give Me My Yeaterdays” and for “Some Fairytale Bliss”?

Sorry this is late but thanks for the ask @snowbellewells 🥰🥰🥰

Stone Hearts

This one had two scenes! The first was the one where Killian saves her in the hospital when she's being swarmed by all the baddies - weirdly I dreamed this scene and it birthed the premise of the fic 😅

The second is the scene where they dance in the kitchen because I heard Hozier's Work Song and thought it was the most CS song ever and then my muse made it angsty as hell and I wrote the fic so I could hurt yall 😝

Give Me My Yesterdays

Keanu Reeves. Wait no, that's not a scene - but him in The Private Lives of Pippa Lee is what set off the whole idea of Silver Emma.

"The scene" though was them getting high together on his living room floor and not kissing -- they were going to at first but then I decided to change it at the last minute (sorry!)

Some Fairytale Bliss

This one's kind of hard because the entire fic is technically one scene 😅😅 So I guess Emma deflowering deckhand Killian is "the scene" but also the entire story lol

Instead of a scene it was more sad, self-loathing, touch-starved Killian being shown kindness for the first time in his life that made me have to write this one 🥺

Drop one of my fic titles in an Ask and I'll tell you 'the scene' for it!

#ask game #captain swan #cs fanfic

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pirateswhore · 10 months

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ypu mentioned thinking that hook has ptsd or cptsd. what makes you think this? And would you say it would affect his relationship with anyone or with situations?

so ! personally leaning towards c-ptsd for him.

c-ptsd or complex PTSD differs from PTSD in that its caused by a continous traumatic event or multiple traumatic events in succession (whereas regular ptsd is caused by a single traumatic event).

now for killian's trauma.. let's see:

lost his mother

sold into servitude by his father

spent his entire childhood and teenhood as a slave

been to the navy (with mentions of an ongoing war)

lost his brother

lost his wife AND hand

so I'd say he has the "multiple traumatic events" requirement checked. now for symptoms:

- difficulty controlling your emotions: we see him often be impulsive and snapping at others; we witnessed multiple knee-jerk reactions from him (pulling a gun on ursula in 4b, wanting to burn his emotions in 6b)

- feeling as if you are permanently damaged or worthless - he struggled with self-loathing and resentment throughout the series, and often felt like his past actions were too evil to ever be forgiven or redeemed. we can see he feels unworthy of love and support (like when he tells Emma "I'm not sure I deserve saving" in s5b)

feeling like nobody can understand what happened to you - I feel like until he met Emma (and her infamous "you and I, we understand each other" quote), he probably felt like he was alone in his feelings and experiences

- feeling very angry or distrustful towards the world, avoiding friendships and relationships, or finding them very difficult - "love brings nothing but wasted years and endless torment" straight from his mouth. when we first met him, his relationships boiled down to superficial allyships to aid his cause.

constant feelings of emptiness or hopelessness, regular suicidal feelings - for someone who calls himself a survivor, he sure as hell had a lot of suicidal thoughts and tendencies. from going on what was essentially a suicide mission to kill the Crocodile, to talking about how he would join Milah once he avenged her. he was also... very quick to jump and sacrifice himself (call it selfless, I call it "doesn't care if he dies")

other symptoms can include losing hope and positive world views ("I'd hate to be the one to offer optimism", constant dismissal of heroes' remarks about hope and happy endings) as well as substance abuse and addiction. which. yeah, I can bet he abused more than just rum, considering that opioid misuse goes back to the 17th century (golden age of piracy) as well as tobacco and other recreational drugs. we see him struggling with addiction all his life and its a running theme for the character (with parallels between addiction and darkness)

as for affection his relationships, most definitely. people with cptsd are very often untrusting of others. when we met him, his walls were as high as Emma's when it came to opening up to people, he simply had a more playful, flirty persona he put on for th3 world to mask it. and for situations, cptsd causes someone to be in a state of survival at all times ("I'm a survivor" yea I wonder why) and be hyper aware of their surroundings ("I'm quite perceptive" again I wonder why)

overall, while I don't think this (or his possible BPD and ADHD, both of which go with cptsd often, bpd especially) were intentional by the writers, I do believe that once you compare his behaviour to the behaviour of people diagnosed, there are some clear similarities too large to ignore. I don't think he really understood the concept of mental health before coming to storybrooke (I'm unsure if the concept even existed in people's minds in the EF). but yea. it goes with his character and backstory I think.

#tw suicidal thoughts #tw abuse #tw trauma #killian jones #headcanons

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thiefbird · 1 year

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For the DADWC: "Brushing your lover's shoulder/waist as they walk past," for Killian Amell x Loghain Mac Tir?

Oooooh we're having Misunderstandings today!Set the morning after the first time they sleep together, for @dadrunkwriting

Loghain cursed his luck, not for the first time this morning, and likely not for the last. The Seneschal of Vigil’s Keep had cornered him, once again, to simultaneously complain about his presence there and ask for assistance in its running. His presence there was, apparently, a poor reflection politically on Warden Commander Amell, while also of great help.

The man had a point, of course. A known maleficar, associating with a publicly vilified traitor to the throne was a poor look, especially with his Commander's.... fraught relationship with Loghain's new son-in-law. And with reassignment from Weisshaupt due any day, Loghain ought to be spending his time at the compound in Denerim, with Anora. Killi- Warden-Commander Amell -would have problems enough without his presence to complicate things. There had already been one assassination attempt. He did not wish to be the cause of another.

And yet he remained, pacing around the boundaries of Amell's life like a hopeless mongrel begging for scraps. Pathetic.

It had been week, now, of glances, and of passing too close for comfort and yet still too far. Until last night's feasting, too much wine and merriment for anyone's sake, even before Amell had brought out the cask of West Hill brandy.

Maker, he was an old fool. Glances had become a hand on an arm, an arm around a shoulder had become, somehow, drunken fumblings in his sparse quarters.

He wished he could remember it more than as a blurry, frantic need. He wanted to commit the whole night to memory, to page, yet it was lost to him almost completely, other than the knowledge that it had happened. How cruel a twist of Fate, to grant him his secret, loathsome wish, yet deny his memory.

He'd awoken late, alone and miserably hungover, and stumbled through bathing and dressing in a miasma of self-loathing. He'd been accosted in the hall by Varel before he'd even made it to the great hall for breakfast.

And in a final, hateful twist of Fate's knife, Varel's various complaints and requests had yet to end, despite the distinct sounds of Amell and Mistress Woolsey approaching from breakfast, deep in discussion about some detail of the arling. Loghain turned towards them, despite himself, and immediately regretted it.

Even clearly exhausted and hungover, Killian was... Maker, he was beautiful. Captivating, in the same way Maric had been, though near his opposite in looks. An Archdemon could have fallen through the Vigil in that moment, and Loghain would have scarce noticed.

Finally, he forced himself to look away, turning back to Varel instead of staring at Amell. He stepped a little to the side to make space for them to pass, and as he did, he felt something brush his waist and side, the oddly familiar tug of magic arcing to kiss flesh through his tunic. Amell's hand, cupping his hip ever so briefly. The gentle caress was so outside of anything he'd expected after waking alone the way he had, and in its unexpectedness, he flinched away.

The tingling of residual magic on his skin drained him of his wits for precious moments, and by the time he had regained himself, Killian was turning the corner. Loghain craned his neck just in time to catch Amell's green, green eyes staring at him in - hurt?

Void take his soul, what had he done?

#ah the agonies #angst day today with a cliffhanger #killian amell #loghain mac tir #loghain x warden #thiefbird writes #dadwc #dragon age

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whimsicallyenchantedrose · 4 months

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Season 3 Rewatch Drabbles: 3x7 Dark Hollow

Summary: A series of 100-500 word drabbles to accompany my rewatch of season 3 of Once Upon a Time. There will be a drabble–either a deleted scene, a “fix it” fic or a character musing for each episode of the season. Focus will be on Emma, Henry, the Charmings and Killian–with an emphasis on Captain Swan’s epic love story.

Word Count: 856

Other Chapters: (1) (2) (3) (4) (5) (6) (8) (9) (10) (11) (12) (13) (14) (15) (16) (17) (18) (19) (20) (21) (22) (23) (24) (25) (26) (27) (28)

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

Killian stalked away, anger bubbling up inside him.

You want me to choose? I choose Henry. He’s the only love I have room for in my heart.

It had been like a slap in the face–a slap he clearly desperately needed.

Stupid, bloody love-sick simpleton!

His anger flared even hotter. He wished for something, anything to skewer with his hook. Oh his anger wasn’t directed at her. It wasn’t even directed at Baelfire. No, he was bloody furious with himself alone.

Swan had been entirely correct to call the both of them out for their childish tactics. Fighting over a lighter like a pair of churlish school boys! Doing so as a proxy for the woman they both truly wanted to fight over! It was utterly disgraceful.

She’d reacted as he would have expected her to if he’d had his wits about him, but clearly he’d lost them entirely sometime over the course of the last day.

He hadn’t felt so awkward and off-balance around a woman he fancied since he was a green youth in the navy. At the risk of sounding unbearably vain, he’d never had to. He’d had to do little more than smile devilishly at a lady, and she’d be ready to swoon right into his arms.

Not Swan, though, never Swan. She was made of stronger stuff than that, and it was one of many reasons he loved her.

He snorted. He had quite a way of showing it, didn’t he? Acting like a jealous nitwit, and in the process jeopardizing their entire reason for being on this terrible island. Jeopardizing the safety of Swan’s lad. Forget requiting his love; he’d be lucky if she didn’t skewer him with Baelfire’s cutlass. It would be no more than he deserved!

Killian let out a long breath. He’d have to rejoin them in a moment. With the shadow in tow, it was time to execute their plan to rescue Henry, and there wasn’t a second to lose. He had to get a hold of himself and fast.

What meant something was you telling us about Neal. Thank you.

It had hurt to see the surprise in her eyes at that, to hear her half-teasing “well you are a pirate”. Aye he was, and he’d been so for centuries, but he’d hoped, especially after that kiss, that she’d begun to see him differently, begun to see him as a man of honor. That she’d ever, for a moment, think he’d allow Baelfire to rot in Pan’s custody, simply because he was a rival, cut him to the quick.

And yet…and yet, she’d likely never know just how hard it had been to take that information immediately to her parents.

He thought back to Echo Cave, to his secret and the look on her face when he’d laid his heart out before her. She had been surprised, aye, but she hadn’t been disgusted. Indeed, she’d taken a small step toward him, her hand slightly outstretched, her mouth opening as if to speak…before she was interrupted by her father’s confession.

He wondered what she would have said. Not confessed her love in return, to be sure. He wasn’t so self-deluded as to expect that, but perhaps give him a glimmer of hope?

There’d not been time to delve deeper into the mystery, as her parents in turn shared their secrets and then Swan had crossed the bridge to her erstwhile lover.

Killian had been too far away to hear the secret she’d shared to dissolve Bae’s cage, but the quick, fervent hug they’d shared afterwards had spoken volumes.

As had Bae’s own confession to her outside of the cave. I’ll never stop fighting for you.

Killian little knew what had transpired between the two of them in the past, aside from the obvious which had led to Henry’s creation–an act he very definitely did not wish to dwell upon–but when she’d spoken of Neal in the past, there had always been a shadow behind her eyes, a pain so deep it could never be fully concealed behind the walls she set up around her heart.

Killian wanted Emma, wanted her more than he’d ever wanted another woman, at least since Milah, but even more than that, he wanted that pain erased from her eyes. He wanted her happy and at peace. If that meant a reconciliation with Bae, he’d accept it; he’d have to.

Oh he wouldn’t give up on her without a fight; he still intended to win her heart should she be amenable, but as he’d told her, he wouldn’t do so through trickery. After the debacle that had been this afternoon, he was determined he also wouldn’t attempt to do so through the childish, neanderthal tactics of fighting with his rival as though she was some sort of spoil of war.

At any rate, now was not the time to focus on his love life. Now was the time to get her son back, and until that objective was achieved, he’d remain laser focused.

It was the very least he owed her.

With one more deep breath he headed back to the camp.

NEXT CHAPTER->

#season 3 rewatch drabbles #cs fanfiction #ouat fanfiction #my fanfiction #3x7 dark hollow #broody self loathing killian

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piraticalwit · 11 months

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I’M HOOKED ON A FEELING

hey, @sinfyre, hope you like my newest work!

summary: killian jones meets aegon targaryen who helps him become something other than a self loathing pirate. Will Killian's new calling as a tattoo artist impress the dragon riding prince? Or will his plans (and hope for a romantic future) go up in smoke?

tags: killian jones, aegon targaryen , killian jones / aegon targaryen . ink as a metaphor, dragon riding , angry men , pirates , midlife crisis, fluff, shameless daydreaming , self insert , sunfyre becomes a cat

#literally came on here to make a post about how i realized i needed more confrontation on hook bc i miss it #and this is the first thing i see lmAOOOOO

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wyntereyez · 1 year

Text

Okay, here’s what I have so far of the starfish story. If you have any title suggestions, lemme know!

Starfish story

The months following Milah’s death were the darkest in Killian Jones’ life. Mad with pain and grief, he’d done Pan’s bidding in the most brutal ways, earning the moniker of “Hook” as he sliced his bloody path across the seas.

Over time, though his rage never burned out, it did burn cooler. He didn’t feel remorse for his brutality, but he knew he was no longer the man he’d been. He’d been vicious before, but now he was becoming cruel. His self-loathing grew each time he’d buried his hook in someone’s guts.

Captain Hook was a monster.

And the bloody thing taunted him. The hook was an efficient weapon, but it came at a cost. His arm had never healed properly beneath the brace, and it was prone to pains that shouldn’t exist.

The pains were worse than normal tonight. He’d blocked a cudgel with his brace, and the blow caused a sharp pain to shoot through his arm, from his elbow to the tips of the fingers he no longer possessed, and the pain had only worsened since.

He could feel those missing fingers spasm, and there was no way to soothe the pain except oblivion.

He sent his crew on shore leave for the next few days so he could brood alone in his cabin, watching the shadows lengthen as the sun sank below the horizon, not feeling in any hurry to light his lamp. He had his brace off, and he didn’t want to see the scarred mass of tissue.

In the dark, with this pain, he could pretend he still had his hand.

“I have a gift for you.”

Hook took a swig of his rum and glared at the boy who had appeared in the chair across him. He had no idea if Pan had simply appeared, or if he’d been too inebriated to notice, and he didn’t care. “Go away,” he growled.

Pan held up an elegant glass vial swinging on a silver chain. The contents glowed orange, casting an eerie glow in the Jolly Roger’s darkened cabin. The boy’s face looked demonic in the infernal light.

“All right. But it seems like the kind of magic that would interest you.” Pan studied the glowing vial in his hand. Hook scoffed. “It’s called the Starfish Elixir,” Pan said. “Silly name, I know, but appropriate. One sip of this, and you’ll never have to worry about lost limbs again.”

Hook remembered a beach, long ago, his hand held by a tall, barely-remembered woman with fiery hair. He’d laughed whenever the waves swept past his feet, splashing his legs, tickling him. A flash of orange had caught his attention: an uneven starfish had ridden the wave, two of its arms merely little nubs. Killian had expressed his sadness at the creature’s deformity, but his mother had smiled and told him that it was the starfish’s gift, to regrow what had been cut away. Soon, she’d told him, it would have five strong arms again.

He was intrigued in spite of himself. “It regrows lost limbs,” Hook said hoarsely.

“And other parts, yes. Except for heads, of course.” Pan let the vial dangle between them. “I imagine it would be very useful to a pirate.”

“What’s the price?” Hook asked warily. Pan, he’d learned quickly, gave nothing without strings attached.

“No price,” Pan said. “You’ve served me well this past year. Consider this an award for going above and beyond your duties, and the promise of more riches to come.”

Decision made, Hook snatched the vial from Pan, popped the cork, and downed the contents.

“I said a sip,” Pan yelled, yanking the vial from Hook’s hand. He scowled at the half-empty vial. “I have no idea what too much of this will do. I guess we’ll find out.” He met Hook’s gaze. “You should probably lay down. You’re in for a really rough night. Or five.”

Hook’s vision had started to swim, and when he tried to stand, the room began to spin around him. His last memory was of Pan shoving him towards his bed, then everything went black.

-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-

Hook awoke from what felt at first like the worst hangover he’d ever experienced. He groaned and forced his eyes to open, then closed them again as the sun hit him in the face. The light seared through his lids, and he threw his hand up to cover his face.

His beard, he noticed, seemed longer than it should have been after one night of growth. Confused, he ran his fingers through the coarse hair, estimating that he’d somehow acquired a week’s worth of growth.

Which must be why his belly was growling more fiercely than an ogre.

How long had he been out? He’d had some bad reactions to drink before, but he’d never lost an entire week to it! What had -

The elixir! Hook’s eyes shot open, and he sat up, ignoring his head’s protest. He lifted his arms, hardly daring to hope.

And he was still disappointed.

One hand. He still only had one hand.

He examined the scarred flesh of his stump in confusion, looking for any sign of new growth beneath the heavy calluses from his brace. But there was nothing.

“Bloody child,” he snarled as he staggered to his feet. “You lied.”

“I would never.” Pan’s voice came from above him, and Hook turned towards the windows. The boy was lounging in the centermost window, lips tipped up in amusement.

Hook held up his stump. “Does it look like it worked?” he snarled. His other hand reached for the cutlass leaning against his desk.

In one smooth motion, Pan flipped off the window ledge, his sword flashing out and down through Hook’s right wrist like a hot knife through butter.

His hand fell to the floor with a wet thump, and Hook could only stare in shock as blood fountained up, and then he started to scream.

“Would you shut up?” Pan scowled. “You’ll be fine in a moment.”

“Fine?! I don’t have any bloody hands!”

The blood stopped dripping from his wrist, and the flesh began to writhe, bubbling outward.

“I told you, it regrows lost limbs - but only the limbs lost after drinking the elixir.” Seeing Hook’s stricken look, Pan taunted, “Oh, did you think you’d get that hand back, Captain Hook? Why would I want that? ‘Captain Hook’ is so much more evocative than ‘Captain Jones,’ don’t you think?”

The lump on his arm was vaguely hand-shaped now, but the flesh was pebbly, and a brilliant red-orange in hue.

“You said -”

“I told you no such thing - you assumed your hand would grow back.” He rolled his eyes at Hook’s fury. “This is a good thing, Hook. You’re much harder to kill now. Now you can’t die and leave me with no one to play with.”

Pan flashed him a grin with far too many teeth. “Just think of all the fun we can have with this,” he laughed. Then, with a triumphant crow, he scooped up Hook’s hand and launched himself skyward.

Hook’s gaze dropped to the slowly expanding stump, which now had rudimentary fingers. The brilliant orange color had given way to his normal skin pigmentation. He’d have his hand again, but was this worth the price? He’d become a toy that Pan could break over and over again.

Bloody hell…what had he done to himself?

-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-

#wip #cw blood #blood #amputation

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justanother-unluckysoul · 2 years

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CSSNS 2022: “The Devil Within”

Rated: T

Summary: Newly-turned vampire Killian struggles to overcome his bloodlust and self-loathing, seeking revenge against the man that ruined his life, and trying not to fall in love with the woman that saved him.

For Captain Swan Supernatural Summer 2022 (@cssns).

A/N: A big thanks to @zaharadessert, my beta for this fic, and to @caught-in-the-filter who created the beautiful art!

The Devil Within

Killian awoke with a reflexive gasp for air he didn't need. He couldn’t see anything - feeling around with his hand revealed solid wood on all sides. A coffin? Killian pushed down the panic, and memories filtered back in slowly; falling out of favour with his boss, the resulting punishment, and his smart mouth getting him into further trouble. Lying on the concrete floor, blood spilling freely from his severed wrist and the world going dark.

“I’m sorry, Killian,” Robin said, his voice hushed and broken, “Please forgive me.”

Robin Locksley. His friend, and the only person Killian trusted in this godforsaken nightmare world he’d been dragged into. But Robin had not helped him this time. Killian had weakly reached for him and seized his sleeve, too far gone to say anything, in one last moment of primal panic as death came for him.

“This is the only way,” Robin whispered, sounding distant and hollow like Killian was hearing him from underwater, “You must survive.”

Killian’s eyes slipped closed of their own accord before he felt something being pressed to his lips. Robin’s voice was muffled as a liquid entered his mouth - swallow it. He obeyed on instinct and then his awareness imploded, his world shrinking around him, knowing nothing but the rush of his blood in his veins turning first to flames and then to ice. If he’d still been able to breathe he would have screamed.

And now he had woken up in a coffin. Killian grit his teeth.

Bloody vampires.

Read the rest on AO3

TAG LIST: @teamhook - @klynn-stormz - @xarandomdreamx - @zaharadessert - @kmomof4 - @therooksshiningknight - @batana54 - @ultraluckycatnd - @anothersworld - @tiganasummertree - @jonesfandomfanatic - @the-darkdragonfly - @jrob64 - @hollyethecurious - @lfh1226-linda - @elizabeethan - @moviequeen51 - @onceratheart18 - @cosette141 - @fleurdepetite - @itsfabianadocarmo

#cssns #cssns22 #vampire!killian #angst #hurt/comfort #captain swan #cs ff #cs au #my fics

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camelotroses · 2 years

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"It was Gold, not you" - Emma Swan

Emma is the fighter against Killian Jones' self loathing & guilt & savior of his heart & soul. Her gentle touch of reassurance doesn't erase the guilt or remorse but it does remind him that he's still capable of finding redemption

#emma swan #killian jones #captain swan #small captainswan moments

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snowbellewells · 2 years

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Fic Update: “The Lawman, the Thief, and the Outlaw” {Chapter Five}

Wow, I can really only apologize for taking so long between updates. It certainly isn’t intentional, and I hope to do better in the future, but all the same I appreciate the enthusiasm and continued loyalty from those reading this. If it’s any consolation, I already have the next chapter started as well, so hopefully it will be on its way to you in much shorter order. In the meantime, I hope you enjoy chapter five!

**Many thanks once again to @searchingwardrobes for the wonderful cover art she gifted me for this story!

Summary: Sheriff Killian Jones has done his best to leave behind a troubled past and bring law and order to the town of Blanchard Ridge. However, when he upholds his duty in the face of the most feared and dangerous outlaw gang in the area, allies are few and he dreads trapping them in the same situation he finds himself. The small Western town is about to become a powder keg, and one lawman, his deputies, and a resourceful woman too stubborn for her own good are all that stand in the way of bloodshed and lawlessness... {A Rio Bravo movie AU}

Previous Chapters: Chapter One Chapter Two Chapter Three Chapter Four

And this chapter also available on AO3

Chapter Five

After Pan Malcolm’s visit to the jail, what little ease and certainty in his actions which Killian had managed to gather was more or less shattered. He could gamble with his own life in pursuit of upholding the law; he’d known that was part of the job signing on, and a part of him had felt he had little to lose in those early days when he washed up in Blanchard Ridge, alone, disillusioned, self-loathing and lost. But now? A town full of people looked to him for safety and guidance, and he had deputies under him who merely wanted honest work and fair wages, not working to right past wrongs or atone for mistakes with their own lives and limbs. Truth be told, he wasn’t at all sure that Smee didn’t largely stay out of some misplaced sense of loyalty and an old outcast’s need for companionship. If Malcolm and his gang attacked before the Marshalls arrived, if they already had emissaries stationed secretly in town biding their time - and Killian would bet money that Pan had done just that; the outlaw was crafty and it was only smart strategizing, it’s what he would do himself were their roles reversed - when the onslaught came, innocent people would be hurt, or even killed. He wasn’t sure how he’d settle with others paying for his determination to see through the letter of the law. Stubbornness, more like, he could practically hear an echo of Liam’s voice chiding ruefully in his ear. ‘You let him goad you with my name, little brother,’ the inner voice seemed to chide. Shaking his head as if to rid it of the beloved timbre reminding him of truth he would rather not admit, Killian hissed a curse and began to pace agitatedly in the narrow alley running behind the jail, out of sight. He had let the villain’s mention of his sibling, and how he had been lost, get to him. He’d shown his opponent just how tender that wound still was, even after all the time gone by.

Blowing out a long breath and redetermining to maintain a cool head, Killian squared his shoulders and strode purposefully back into the jail. Taking stock of things, all seemed quiet on the surface, but he shot a rapid, quelling glance toward Nightshade’s cell, just in case the deviant decided to comment or mock with the bravado his boss had no doubt aimed to instill. He’d have no more of it, and the two-bit hood might as well know that right off. Nightshade, however, seemed - at present anyway - to know what was good for him. He was already slouched in the back corner of his bunk, looking up to meet the Sheriff’s eyes only briefly before he dropped his own gaze once more in seeming disinterest. The prisoner spoke not a word, and Jones counted himself lucky. Will was still out on morning sentry duty, and Smee had finished clearing up from breakfast and was seated at the somewhat rickety table in the center of the room, perusing the latest copy of the Ridge’s weekly gazette.

“Keep an eye on things for a bit, aye?” Killian murmured to his compatriot lowly as he headed to the door. “Probably about time I made a bit of a lap around the square. Make certain our visitor didn’t leave anyone behind to cause trouble.”

“Yep,” Smee agreed simply, knowing his boss didn’t want to say too much in front of their jailed guest, who was almost certainly listening and taking in every word no matter how unconcerned he might appear. “You got it, Boss.”

Once out on the wooden porch at the jail’s entrance, Killian felt a crest of morning breeze on his face. The day was shaping up to be a hot one, but the humidity wasn’t in full force yet, and the air moving over his skin was a refreshing change after the tense air and volatile emotions in the enclosed space he’d just vacated. It was hard to believe it was still mid-morning after all that had already occurred. Proceeding down the steps, Killian turned right and proceeded at the edge of the dirt street in the direction of the blacksmith at the far end of the main thoroughfare; then, he’d work his way back along the other side of the street all the way up to where Will stood guard at the town’s main gate, then back to the boardinghouse across from his starting point. Once he’d made a circuit of the shops, businesses and bars to see that nothing was amiss or that no one suspicious was lingering around. He’d stop in for some of Margaret Nolan’s exemplary vittles for lunch, before taking some to Will and trading places with his deputy for the afternoon.

That decided, Killian moved forward with a bit more ease and assurance, keeping his attention sharp and eyes peeled all the while. Other than the scare when Robin’s cattle drive had rolled into town and the rancher had taken the bullet to his shoulder, the town had been quiet. More quiet than usual even, and it had never been a social hub by any stretch. Now though, the stillness in Blanchard Ridge’s deserted streets was unsettling; as if everyone around were holding their breath, looking over their shoulders so trouble couldn’t get a jump on them.

Killian hated to see such trepidation upsetting the daily life of good, hard-working people who’d given a purpose to his aimless, drifting life once more. As the law in the area, he couldn’t help but feel he had failed them with the threat hanging so low over their heads. He’d upheld the law, stuck to his guns, and refused to let Malcolm bully him - but were his citizenry paying the price if they were afraid to come into town to trade their wares, buy supplies, and gab with their neighbors for a spell on the boardwalk?

These heavy thoughts weighing on his mind, Killian had passed the livery and blacksmith, with only a small startle to rattle his nerves from a loose shutter swinging wide in the breeze and a donkey braying loudly in alarm. He peeked into the mercantile and the dry good store to see those few who were about quietly browsing and selecting their purchases. He was nearly at the head of the street, tipping his hat by way of acknowledgement to Scarlet; a gesture the younger man returned with ease - signaling all was well for the moment. Then, Killian swung wide to head back in the direction he’d come on the other side of the street.

Passing by the swinging door of the saloon, Jones frowned to notice that even the revelry from that sordid establishment was much muted, though he could hear the tinkling of the old piano from inside, occasionally joined by the jovial bellow of some inebriated warbler who thought he could carry a tune. He heard a strident voice calling out drinks from the bar and the rise and fall of a few voices in raucous laughter, but it was nothing like the hullabaloo that generally resounded from the place night and day, and even spilled out onto the street quite frequently.

Still, despite the easy view and general peace that would have made troublemakers stand out plainly, Killian could find nothing amiss - only felt it in his bones. By the time he had passed Dr. Hopper’s small clinic and Miss French’s tiny lending library within the entry of the schoolhouse during the summer months, he was nearing Nolan’s boardinghouse once again with little to show for his diligent patrolling efforts. Not that he wanted a shootout or any such violence to erupt in the middle of town where far too many innocents could be hurt - but at the same time, this stalemate had to break. The tension was crawling under his skin, and waiting for the strike he knew must be coming was slowing driving him crazy.

In an attempt to put from his mind what couldn’t be changed, Killian entered the boardinghouse doors and made his way to Margaret’s bustling restaurant. Her noon meal was a well-known treat, and the place was still well filled, even at well past noon. Thankfully, Jones found his preferred table in the back corner, where he had a good view of the entire dining area and clear into the parlor as well. Even if it meant he rarely found himself able to fully relax, he dreaded letting his guard down - needing to be ready for any eventuality.

A bit of the weight on his shoulders lightened when he saw Margaret Nolan herself, deep black hair piled high on her head as she worked right alongside her cooks and waitresses. A few strands escaped to lay in dark ringlets against her pale alabaster skin, and she moved with a cultured grace which made her appear to fairly float from one table to another as she checked on each of her guests. Busy as she was however, a fresh baked pie balanced in each hand, she beamed when she caught sight of him with a bright smile and warm friendliness he was not sure what he had done to deserve. Before he even seemed to blink, she was bustling over with a piece of fresh strawberry pie on a plate for him. Placing it in front of him, she fussed. “Afternoon, Killian. We’re hopping in here as always, but someone will take your order shortly. You look famished though, and I know strawberry is your favorite, so you go ahead and enjoy this while you wait.”

Nodding in pleased satisfaction when he dutifully picked up his fork, took a bite, and closed his eyes to savor the tart-sweet flavor on his tongue, she looked pleased as punch with his reaction before patting him on the shoulder at his “much obliged” and then hurrying on to her next customer.

He waited a few minutes, taking in the clientele and nodding to those he knew scattered about the large, bustling room. He had a bit of sweet tooth that he tried not to overindulge, so he was quite enjoyed his homemade dessert first until he could be served his lunch. And then he received a gift in gilded lighting, for who but Emma Swan should come to take his order?

“Well,” she drawled, her look rather sardonic as she angled her chin toward his pie, already half-devoured before him, “it would seem you hardly need me to take your order, Sheriff.” Despite her playfully scolding tone, Killian noticed that she held a small pad of paper and pencil in her hand, ready to take down what he needed.

“Mrs. Nolan takes good care of me, I’ll admit to that, Lass,” he dipped his head in agreement, “but I was hoping to have more than pie for my noon meal. It’ll be late before I’m off guard duty at the gates this evening.”

Miss Swan seemed unable to remain completely unmoved, her eyelashes fluttered slightly as she smiled at him with genuine encouragement. “It sounds like you have some long, boring hours before you. You had better get yourself something with substance.”

Killian hummed a mild sort of agreement in his throat before ordering his favorite - fried chicken with green beans and some of Mrs. Nolan’s fragrantly warm and fresh baked bread on the side. It was a good thing he rode, patrolled, and generally got as much exercise as he did in his job - the juicy, tender, fried poultry that Margaret Nolan could make to practically meet in a man’s mouth, would have been showing on him by now in most unflattering ways otherwise.

“Wise choice,” Emma nodded, giving him a wink as if it were some understanding between them rather than the most popular dish in the place - and the day’s posted special.

He couldn’t fight the lopsided grin he returned at her sass, before thanking her and watching her begin to move off toward the kitchens. Happily, he was just pondering how she seemed to be warming to him a bit, at least enough to show a more playful side, when he saw movement off to the edge of his vision. Instantly on alert, his eyes narrowed at the rather large and unfamiliar looking man seated at a table right in Emma’s path back to the kitchen. The stranger clearly had his eye on Miss Swan, and though it was a free country and Swan was a grown woman at liberty to interact with whomsoever she chose, Killian didn’t like the hungry attention being leveled at her just then as the ruffian leaned back in his chair, effectively blocking Emma’s walkway with a sly grin. That look spoke less of choice and more of a predator sizing up his prey.

Killian found himself already rising to his feet, even as the man reached out a hand to catch Emma’s elbow when she attempted to squeeze by him. His jaw clenched at the sound of the obviously inebriated and lecherous taunt which met his ears as the cowboy spoke laconically. “Hey, hey, there, Missy, what’s your hurry? I don’t believe I’ve seen you before, and I sure wouldn’t mind a second look.”

His buddies around the table guffawed and hooted loudly at his sorry excuse for humor, egging him on in his ribald introduction.

Hesitating only a moment to see what Emma’s response might be, making sure not to step in where he wasn’t needed, Killian clenched his jaw tightly to hold back from calling out a warning across the crowded cafe. His hand hovered warily over the gun holstered at his hip, despite knowing that Margaret Nolan would have his head if he was the catalyst for shots flying in her establishment. He was also the sheriff and in charge of protecting the citizenry, particularly innocent young women from the unwanted attentions of troublesome rogues.

For a second, he wanted to laugh aloud at the huff of indignation Emma Swan released at the man’s brash forwardness. He should have known she would be more than capable of making her mind clear on matters without his assistance. A wiser suitor would have seen from the way she looked down her nose at him, clearly annoyed at his halting her progress while working, and more than a bit repulsed by his belittling address and unwanted grasp on her arm, that she was uninterested in his attentions and let the matter drop. Killian could have laughed aloud, when she replied tartly. “My name isn’t Missy. And while you are correct, we haven’t met, I’m working right now, you’re in my way, and I think I’ll survive remaining unacquainted to one so free with his hands.” She shrugged him off firmly with a push to get free, and in doing so, unbalanced the cad’s chair, which clattered over, depositing him on the floor in an undignified heap.

His companions laughed good naturedly, echoing that she’d sure told him and wishing better luck next time, while Emma turned and started back on her way with a deep cleansing breath and squared shoulders. Killian was beginning to relax and gladly thinking that she hadn’t needed his intervention at all - that she’d saved herself quite handily - when the ruffian righted himself and leapt to his feet with an angered roar, knife in his hand pulled from somewhere, and starting after Emma with a shout.

Killian was on his feet in an instant, long-dormant but still present reflexes of a less savory life, where one lived or died by swift reactions and skill with a gun. Before most others in the room registered that the drama was still ongoing, or could have made a move to aid the young woman being threatened, he was across the crowded dining room and wrenching the other man’s arm back as he came up on his unguarded flank. Further uproar rose all around them, as the stranger’s table companions called out in affront, several locals at nearby tables called out in alarm or stood to move closer in trying to help or see what was happening. Miss Swan meanwhile, having heard the first shout, then a scuffle and uproar, had turned to see what was happening, only to glimpse her unwanted admirer whirling to slash at Sheriff Jones, who had hold of him by one arm, with the knife he held in the other.

Adeptly dodging the strike, which came at him wild in the heat of anger rather than any sort of skilled precision, Killian met her wide eyes briefly and gave a curt shake of his head to warn her back, almost as if he could sense without a word passing between them that her fiery temper was returning to her and she was considering diving into the fray herself. While by some miracle those around them seemed to have gathered their best move was to stay back and allow the lawman and his challenger to fight things out, it was still a fraught situation with far too many changing variables for Killian’s liking. Gritting his teeth, he struggled to bring the other man under control - to secure the arm he gripped behind the man’s back and knock the blade from the offender’s grasp. However, though slighter than Jones, his opponent was tall and wiry and flailing wildly - seeming almost frenzied with both anger and now wounded pride as well. When, one of his fellows at the table called out, “Hey Vic, you need a hand?” Killian wanted to dismiss it as a buddy giving a hard time, maybe even an attempt at defusing the situation, but he couldn’t bank on it.

A hurried glance over his shoulder revealed the other members of the unfamiliar group still seated rigidly, tense, and apparently unsure how to proceed, he could only feel a momentary relief that he was not in immediate danger of being swarmed by the whole gang. Unfortunately, even that second’s shift in focus allowed his slippery opponent to get a clear shot and dive in for brutal attack. Swift as a breath, the knife slipped between Killian’s arms, grappling to regain firmer hold, and sliced through shirt and skin both on his left side, under his ribs.

It was enough to steal his breath, the slash and ensuing fiery pain knocking him back on his heels, a frightening pounding agony seeming to radiate in his gut. He’d been hurt, both on the job and in his checkered past, multiples times - and bore the scars to prove it, but that didn’t make the vicious and sudden cut any less staggering. He could tell without looking that the man, through sheer luck or more skill than he’d reckoned, had made a long and deep enough gash to prove serious if he had to keep fighting much longer. He could already feel blood beginning to leak down his side, wetting his shirt with a sticky, unmistakable warmth.

“Jones!” he heard Emma Swan cry out in distress, as he stumbled, but managed to keep his feet. He’d be suffering much worse if his attacker struck again. Chaos seemed to ensue from all sides - people screaming, yelling, shouting out orders, some running away and others pressing forward. His senses nearly reeled, leaving him vaguely dizzy, but Killian managed with some last herculean and desperate burst of strength, to swing a punch that struck his assailant square on the chin and stunned the other man in return. Shoulders fairly slumping in relief, Killian managed to at last pry the knife from loosened fingers and kick it away once it hit the floor. The stranger was still struggling against him, but they both were moving with less force and grace than they had been. He was finally able to wrangle both the man’s hands behind his back and reach for his handcuffs when he heard a frightened shout ring on the air. “Sheriff Jones! Behind you!”

He ducked and veered to the side on instinct, taking his prisoner to the floor with him, and therefore feeling only a glancing blow to his shoulder as he fell. More shifting and shuffling, murmurs and exclamations, and a gruff, “Enough! We’d better clear out of here. Get him, he’s already made too much of a fuss for the boss!”

Though he could feel his prisoner being pried from his grip, Killian was struggling at the moment to keep his eyes open, not quite able to get his feet under himself and rise from the floor, with the way the room seemed to be careening around him. The frighteningly moist press of his own blood through his shirt felt as though it were drenching much of his side, a frightening amount in so short a time if he were blatantly honest.

His hand fumbled weakly to the site of his injury as if trying to hold the blood in and press the two ragged edges of his wound together. When his clumsy fingers met others there, gently reaching out to hold a compress of some sort to his side, his gaze fluttered up in bleary surprise to meet that of Miss Emma Swan’s. Concerned green orbs peered down at him anxiously, and he would swear she brushed his hair up off his clammy brow with her fingertips in anxious concern. He tried to stay with her as she called out for help, then turned back to him, her lips moving as she spoke, but sounds unintelligible and fading away. He had no further reserves to fight with. Letting out an exhale of frustration and pain, Killian surrendered and closed his eyes.

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