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2025-07-30
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2025-08-05
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A Dangerous Game

Summary:

When Hook breaks into the Dark One's castle, finally ready to skin his crocodile, he finds it empty except for a mysterious woman who offers her help in getting his revenge.

Notes:

This story popped into my head, and I went into a writing flurry and finished it in just a few days. I just need to make some edits on the other chapters, so I should have them out in a few days.

(See the end of the work for more notes.)

Chapter Text

The woman almost glows, a beacon amidst the darkness. Silvery hair cascades down her shoulders, and her white dress pools around her feet, dragging further on the filthy prison floor with every move she makes.

Under any other circumstances, Killian would love finding himself alone with such a beautiful woman, but standing in the Dark One's castle, with his hook dipped in dreamshade and a vial of squid ink to ensure his victory, all he feels is anger.

"Where is he?"

She steps forward slowly, watching him as though he might vanish any second. He's sure he's doing the same to her. In a place like this, nothing is as it seems. "They--they left."

"They?" The Rumplestiltskin has no companions, not since he gave up his son and sent away his housekeeper.

"Rumplestiltskin and the little boy." Her tone is matter-of-fact, as though that should explain it all. His expression must tell her otherwise, because she frowns. "Were--were you not looking for the boy? I thought you were here to kill Rumplestiltskin."

"I am. What does a boy have to do with that?" He's fast losing patience. The Dark One should be dead by now--blackened corpse lying at his feet, finally fulfilling the revenge he's sought for so long. But the crocodile is cunning, slipping through his fingers once again.

He tried to keep his voice calm, catching more flies with honey and all that, but he mustn't have succeeded, because she flinches. "I don't know. Rumplestiltskin just brought him here and was talking about a prophesy and the boy being his undoing, and--and then you showed up after they left, so I thought you were trying to find him so he could kill Rumplestiltskin."

A prophesy.

He may be a sea-faring man, but he's never considered himself particularly superstitious, especially compared to others in his crew, but he's spent too much time surrounded by magic to discount it entirely. Could this be why everything he's done to defeat the Dark One has failed? Could it truly be so simple?

He smiles, some of the urgency he's felt since stepping into these miserable halls finally drifting away. "And what, exactly, did the Dark One say about this prophesy?"

She bites her lower lip, drawing his attention there, even though he really doesn't need the distraction. "I don't remember exactly. It was a few days ago, and--" She cuts off with a small inhale, then her eyes dart away. "I'm not sure."

"No, you know something." He leans closer, wrapping his hand around one of the bars. "And I suggest you remember that you're the one still stuck in this prison, and I'm the one with the ability to get you out."

She hesitates for only a second, glancing longingly at the little bit of sunlight coming through the tiny window in her cell. "Fine." She turns back to him, the light catching in her green eyes just for a moment, and the sight nearly takes his breath away. "He has something upstairs. A magical object that can show a person's memories. It might show more than I can think of."

He grins. "And let me guess, you need me to free you in order to find and use it?"

She shrugs. "I'm guessing you don't know much about magic, and you have no idea what it is."

He leans on the bars, watching her for another moment, and she keeps her gaze fixed on his until the lock clicks. He swings the door open, grabbing her arm before she has a chance to dart away, and pulling her against him. "Very well." He keeps his voice low. "But you'll be sticking very close until I get what I need."

She presses her hand against his chest, just over his heart, to keep herself steady, and her gaze dips low before snapping back up to his eyes. "What a hardship," she murmurs, tongue darting out to wet her lips.

He smiles.


The room she leads him to is nearly empty of furniture, just a long table in the center of the room with a small chair. The table is littered with wooden rings, balls of colored string, and piles of small objects. It would be a curious collection if it weren't for the room's unique decor.

Twine-covered circles hang from every inch of the ceiling, each containing its own personal web, dotted with beads, seashells, and feathers, seemingly at random. It's far more beautiful than anything he would have expected from Rumplestiltskin.

He knocks into several of them, hitting one with his head or shoulder every time he tries to avoid another, and the clatter of twine-softened wood fills the room within seconds. Somehow, the woman walks straight through without touching a single one.

The woman stops at the chair, picking up another finished circlet waiting on the table. "It's not hanging up. Hopefully it hasn't been used yet."

He turns around, bewildered by the sheer number of circlets hanging around him. "These are the magical objects you referred to? Are they all full of memories?"

He reaches out to touch one, but the woman catches his hand. "Don't." She shudders. "His memories aren't pleasant."

She lets go of his hand, and he resists the urge to reach for her own again. Her skin is smooth and soft as a noblewoman's, but for small callouses on her fingertips, and he wonders where they came from.

She holds up the circlet so he can see her face through the woven web, and she frowns in concentration.

"Are you sure you can use this?" he asks. It doesn't seems like the usual sort of enchanted object. More like a tool one would use for a spell.

"It's simple enough." She closes her eyes, and it's only then that he comes to the obvious conclusion.

"You have magic." He had wondered what she was doing in Rumplestiltskin's prison.

"A bit." Her lips purse into a frown. "I never learned how to use it. My parents were too afraid of it. But I think I can figure out this."

Sure enough, the crocodile himself appears amidst the web of twine, holding tightly to a young boy fighting to get away.

"Ah ah, not so fast dearie!" The voice, still so familiar after these centuries, sets his teeth on edge. "You and I are going on a little trip. After all, you can't be my undoing if you're dead!"

The boy looks directly at Killian, sending a chill down his spine--until he remembers this is the woman's memory, and likely the boy was looking at her. "Help! Help me--"

The memory cuts off abruptly, the woman's blank face now all he can see though the wooden ring.

It's true.

It's all true. This boy is Rumplestiltskin's downfall, and if he can just find him--

"I can help you find him."

He looks up at the woman, startled.

"I have magic," she reminds him. "I can do a tracking spell."

He raises an eyebrow. "And what would you get out of this arrangement?"

"You take me with you. I don't want to stick around waiting for Rumplestiltskin to find me again."

He's just about to say no--he can find someone else with a tracking spell or track the boy himself, and he doesn't want to bother with having a strange woman aboard his ship when he's so close to getting his revenge--when she shifts, her necklace glinting in the light. He hadn't noticed it in the dim cell, but now he sees a swan etched into the metal.

He knows that swan, knows that crest, and he's sure the woman before him is the princess of Misthaven. The beloved princess the kingdom has been searching desperately for.

A smirk curls his lips. "Aye, milady. Let's see if we can help one other."

Chapter Text

He takes the princess back to his ship, much to the displeasure of his crew. The last time he brought someone back for more than a night was Milah, but this--this isn't that. The princess is going to get him his revenge, and then she's going to get him as much gold as her parents are willing to pay in ransom, and he along with his crew can live out the rest of their lives in luxury. They'll thank him in the end.

He hesitates just outside his cabin, hand on the doorknob. He could swear he hears her voice, but there shouldn't be anyone else in there. He only left her for a moment to clean the dreamshade off his hook.

He pushes open the door to find the cabin just as empty as he expected. She sits on the edge of his bed, dressed only in a thin shift she must have had under her dress, and he makes no effort to hide the fact that he's admiring her figure. She watches him just as intently, eyes tracking him across the narrow room though she never moves.

"Who were you talking to?"

Her eyebrows draw together slightly. "You. I told you to come in."

He arches an eyebrow, smirking. "Did you now? Invited me into my own cabin. How kind of you."

A pretty blush creeps down her neck, but she doesn't look away. "I thought you knocked."

It doesn't sound quite right, but he didn't hear her clearly enough to dispute it, and it's not like there was anyone else in the room for her to be speaking to.

He takes off his coat, hanging it beside the door, then pulls the hammock from a chest. He strings it across the room, pretending he doesn't feel her gaze on him.

"You're sleeping there?"

"Aye. As I said before, it is my cabin."

"I meant you're not taking the bed."

"It would be bad form to take the bed and relegate you to the hammock. Unless you're proposing we share?"

He turns and is surprised to find her sitting on his desk. He hadn't heard her move.

She levels him with a hard jade stare. "You know that's not what I meant."

He smirks. "You can't blame a man for trying, Swan."

She jerks back slightly, clearly startled by the nickname, then her hand comes out to find her necklace. She tilts her head, watching him carefully. "And what am I supposed to call you?"

He sweeps his hook out, bending into a deep bow. "Most call me Hook."

"Well, Hook, I never did thank you. For saving me."

He takes a step closer, tapping his lower lip. "Perhaps some gratitude is in order."

One corner of her lips twitches up. "Yeah, that's what the 'thank you' was for."

He raises an eyebrow. "Is that all your freedom is worth to you?"

Her grin widens, showing just the glimmer of teeth, before a mask descends, wiping her expression carefully blank. Her eyes drift off, staring at something just over his shoulder. He looks back, but can't tell what she's looking at.

"Swan?"

Her eyes snap back to his, and she smirks. "Please, you couldn't handle it."

He leans close enough to hear her breath catch. "Maybe you're the one who couldn't handle it."

He doesn't really expect it.

He's been flirting with her all day, and she's been giving it right back, but he assumed that was where she would stay--safe, on the verge of something, but never crossing the line.

He doesn't expect her to hook her fingers around the back of his neck and drag his mouth to hers, and for a moment, he's frozen. Then her hands slide down to his chest, fingers slipping into the neck of his vest and running down bare skin, and that jolts him into moving because he's been drawn to this woman since he first saw her, and he'll be damned if he misses kissing her.

Her lips are hesitant and careful against his, but when he runs his tongue along the seam and she lets him in, she responds just as enthusiastically as he does. She moans when he tangles his fingers in her hair, tugging gently, and shivers in his arms when he runs the sharp point of his hook lightly down her spine.

He's kissed plenty of women in his overly-long life, seeking a numbing distraction from his ghosts and revenge, and that's all he was expecting from this, but her fingers trail sparks along every bit of skin she can find, making him feel alive for the first time in decades.

She pulls back, but tightens her grip, keeping him close, and he takes the moment to catch his breath. He hears her breath catch, but doesn't think much of it, until she whispers, "he's gone."

"What?" But her lips are on his again, and nothing else seems nearly so important.

He realizes he's tangled in her when they finally part, her legs twined around his waist, hiking her skirt up past her knees, and one of her hands running through his hair, the other tucked into his vest--

She grins triumphantly as she lets go of him, displaying the flask she somehow lifted off him.

He feels like he's been doused in cold water.

Because somehow he managed to forget what sort of game they're playing. That they're both just using each other to get what they need, and then they'll go their separate ways.

She lifts the flask to her lips and raises her eyebrows, clearly expecting him to make some sort of comment, but he still feels too dumbstruck to think of anything to say.

He staggers back a step, hoping he managed to say something to excuse himself, before fleeing above deck. He takes over at the wheel, needing something to do to keep his thoughts away from the woman sitting alone in his cabin. But every time he finds himself touching his lips as though he can still feel her warmth there, he wonders if it's a fruitless endeavor.


He wakes with his head pounding, and he wonders just how much he had to drink last night. It's difficult to recall, which is unusual. He's usually rather conscious of his limits.

The second thing he notices after his pounding head is how quiet the ship is, and a sudden certainty fills him that something is wrong.

He scrambles up, ignoring how the sudden movement makes his head even worse, and throws on his coat, dashing up the stairs.

It's darker than he expects, nowhere near morning, and he looks up, automatically trying to gain his bearings through the stars. But these aren't the stars he grew up learning. Instead, horribly familiar constellations take form over his head, rooting him in place with panic.

Neverland, a place he vowed never to return to. Twice.

And he has no idea how he got here.

His crew works silently, hunched and tense, like mice believing they can hide from a hawk, and it feels like they never left.

Did they?

The thought claws its way up his throat, choking him with the idea that maybe their escape, all these months they've been free, have all been a dream, torn away with the coming day. He realizes--they're going to die here. There's no way out, never was, and without the passage of time, they're just targets for Pan to pick off one by one for his own amusement.

"Hook?"

He whirls around and sees her.

Standing limned in the moonlight, she looks like an angel, a savior, and he's moving before he realizes it. He leads her back to his cabin, but they don't even make it through the door.

"Hoo--"

His name ends on a gasp when he crushes his mouth against hers, and he takes the opening. It's desperate and frantic, and when he backs her into the wall, she hooks her fingers in his belt and pulls him against her. She breaks away, tilting her head back to catch her breath, but he doesn't stop, mouth running along her jaw and down her neck. He needs to touch her, needs to taste her to prove to himself that she's not just an apparition, and he tells himself that it's because she's the only evidence he has that he hasn't gone mad.

Chapter 3

Notes:

(See the end of the chapter for notes.)

Chapter Text

The boy is in Neverland, according to her tracking spell.

He hadn't thought he it was possible to get drunk enough to willingly come back, but for his revenge, he's done far worse.


It takes several days to circle the island to the place her spell indicated, sailing wide enough to hopefully discourage the Lost Ones from trying to reach them. (Yet.)

The princess spends the first two avoiding him entirely, either hiding away in his cabin (he assumes she's sleeping since she doesn't seem to do so at night), or mingling with the rest of the crew. He tells himself it's not jealousy that coils in his chest every time she comes up on deck, seeking company that isn't his.

Anderson seems to be her favorite, the cabin boy who's closer to man than boy by now, and in terms of years in this world is certainly far older than her, but she sits with him, laughing and talking in a way that, if Killian didn't know better, would make him think she has children of her own.


The attack comes at night.

It seems it only took a few months of freedom to let his guard down, and the Lost Ones are climbing over the sides of the ship before he realizes it.

There's no time to send her to his cabin before she grabs a sword (Baelfire's sword, a small voice says, and he wonders how she found it), and leaps into the fray. He only has time for a quick glance to make sure she knows what she's doing before he turns back to the boys surrounding him.

When her scream comes, his heart stops, and he can't explain away the panic that drives him to her side.

But when he finds her, kneeling beside Anderson's fallen form, it takes only a glance to realize the blood covering her dress is not her own. Steel-colored smoke trails from her hands, drifting over the boy's prone form, but for someone so inexperienced in magic, he's sure healing this is beyond her capabilities.

Felix stands above them, blood dripping from his sword, and Killian steps in just in time to disarm him before he runs it through the princess as well.

She turns, eyes flashing, and too quickly for either of them to react, thrusts her hand into Felix's chest, pulling out his heart. In one swift motion, she crushes it. He's dead before he hits the ground.

She freezes, as though surprised by her own actions, then looks up at Killian with black eyes. He blinks, and they're back to green, making him wonder if he imagined it.


The Lost Ones scatter after that, though he doesn't know if it's the knowledge that Felix is dead, or how he died that chases them away.

The princess vanishes soon after. He wants to follow her, but there's too much to take care of. Like Anderson, who should be dead, but instead is scurrying around the ship like usual. He sends him to the surgeon to be checked over, just in case, but he suspects whatever the princess did truly managed to heal him. Several of his other men go to get their injuries checked as well, and he sends Felix's body into the sea.

When he finally goes down to his cabin, he finds her sitting stiffly on his bead, something he can't read on her face.

"Thank you," he says, and she jerks back as though he slapped her.

It's only then that he realizes she was expecting his fear, like her parents who refused to let her train her magic. And perhaps he should be afraid, after watching her kill someone the same way Milah died, but he watched her desperate, panicked healing of Anderson, a boy she barely knows, and he can't be afraid of her.

"For saving Anderson," he explains. "Thank you."

She closes her eyes, her mask cracking enough to reveal something so raw he fells guilty looking, so he turns away to remove his coat and hook, preparing to sleep. Just as he's about to go to the hammock, she catches his wrist.

"Please," she whispers, tugging him back to the bed. "Please, Hook. I can't hear them when I'm with you."

He knows he shouldn't, but he's all too familiar with ghosts, so he climbs in beside her, putting out the lamp.

"Killian," he says softly into the dark. "My name is Killian."

She's quiet for a moment, and then, "Emma."


His men come to him the next day, begging him to send her away.

"That white hair is unnatural for someone as young as she is," See insists. He appears to be the chosen spokesman, and Killian wonders if he's been too soft with him. "And she's always talking to herself like she's possessed. How do you know she isn't an evil sorceress who brought us here for some dark reason?"

Killian grits his teeth. "Enough of this. I'm not sending her to her death on Neverland." He pushes through the group, glad to see that Anderson, at least, is not present.

He understands their fear of magic, but really, evil sorceress is quite a leap, and, despite their claims, he's never seen any sign of possession.

"But Captain--"

"I don't want to hear it!"

He walks away to their whispers about what sort of enchantment she has him under.


When she pulls him into bed that night, curling into his arms in a way that feels far more intimate than any lover he's taken for a night, he thinks perhaps his men are right about one thing: perhaps she has bewitched him.

The thought doesn't frighten him like it should. It's far better to drown in her than any of the substitutes he's found over the years.


She sticks close by his side the rest of their time aboard the ship, and he finds himself relearning the pleasures of a life at sea. She asks questions about his ship, and he teaches her about sailing and tells stories about his travels.

She lures him into bed every night, pressing kisses into his skin until he can't keep his eyes open any longer and drifts into sleep. She never tries to take things any further, and he thinks that's probably wise. She ruined him with a single kiss, and he's sure it will break him when they go their separate ways.

"I don't want to lose you," she whispers into his mouth one night.

He wants to say, you won't, but he can't, so he buries his hand in her hair, kissing her back with every bit of desperation he feels.

Later, as he's drifting off, he could almost swear he feels her fingers run down his face as she says, "I don't want you to hate me."


They reach land far too soon, and he decides to look for the boy alone. He never should have brought his crew back here, and their best chance is to stay together on the ship.

He really shouldn't be surprised when Emma insists on coming.

"I don't want to just wait for you to get back," she says. "Besides, you can't find him without me."

"I can, if you just give me the spell."

She shakes her head. "You don't have magic. You won't be able to read it." It seems odd for a tracking spell, but her magic is limited, and she might not know how to perform the common types.

He doesn't like it, but he can't hold up against her arguments, and the two of them set off into the jungle.


Their trek is too quiet.

Nothing about Neverland is safe, of course, but every moment they don't come across wild beasts, traps, or Lost Ones has Killian more and more convinced that they're playing right into one of Pan's games.

Every few minutes, Emma checks the handkerchief she put the spell on. It doesn't glow or float like he expects, doesn't seem to do anything, really, but she seems confident every time they change direction.

When he finally hears footsteps running toward them, it's almost a relief to finally have something to fight. But the figure that crashes through the brush and almost runs into them is too tall, too old. A grown man on an island of children.

The man's eyes widen as he stares at Killian. "Hook?"

Killian blinks several times, wondering how the man knows him, until he realizes why those eyes look so familiar. "Bae?"

But Baelfire is already looking past him, and the blood drains from his face. "E--Emma?"

Killian turns, a sudden certainty that something is wrong filling him, and he finds Emma, face hard, with a sword in her hands.

It's Bae's sword, he realizes, the one she used during the Lost One's attack, glowing as it points at its former owner, like a tracking spell would.

Baelfire takes a staggering step back, holding up his hands in surrender. "Emma, I--"

She ignores his words. "Where is my son?"

Notes:

Just one chapter left! I hope you enjoyed!

Chapter 4

Notes:

Last chapter!!!

I hope you enjoy :)

Chapter Text

"Hook," Baelfire says, "I don't know what she told you, but you can't trust anything she--"

Emma lunges forward, stopping just before the tip of the sword touches his throat. Where is he?" Her eyes scan the brush around them. "Why isn't he with you?"

Baelfire still doesn't look at her. "Hook, please."

Hook draws his own sword. There's a lot he doesn't understand, and he's quite sure he's missing most of the story, but that can be sorted out later. For now, her son (her son?) is lost, alone on Neverland, and he knows exactly how dangerous that is.

He lets his voice drop low and dangerous. "I suggest you answer the lady's question."

Baelfire's eyes widen. "Seriously? You're helping her? I thought you of all people wouldn't want anything to do with her."

"Why?"

Emma's eyes dart over to him, pain evident in them, but it only lasts a moment before she's turning back to Baelfire.

Baelfire laughs incredulously. "Oh, so you didn't tell him. I shouldn't be surprised, because Dark Ones always lie, don't they?"

Emma gritted her teeth. "I don't have time for--"

But Baelfire wasn't finished. "She's the Dark One, Hook! She killed my father and became just like him!"

For a moment, the only thought echoing through his mind is that Rumplestiltskin is dead. Two hundred years, working toward his revenge, all for nothing, because Rumplestiltskin is dead and now--now he truly has nothing.

"And so you decided to steal my child?" Emma shouts, drawing his attention back to the conversation.

Baelfire straightens slightly, though he keeps a wary eye on her blade. "He's my son too."

"Then where is he? Why isn't he here with you?"

Baelfire swallows. "He's--he's with Pan."

"What have you done?"

But he doesn't answer her, instead turning to Killian, as though pleading to him for mercy. "I had to! You know what the Dark Ones are like, and I knew she'd never stop following me."

Horror washes over Killian as it all clicks into place. "So you sold your own son over to Pan?"

Baelfire flinches back, but then anger twists his face. "You know, I thought you at least would understand since you did the same thing to me."

Killian opens his mouth, but nothing comes out, because he did do the same thing to Baelfire, and he's regretted it every moment since. And if that is why--if he is why Emma's son has been handed over to Pan . . . .

Dark, steely tendrils of magic leap from Emma's fingertips, wrapping around Baelfire and dragging him closer. She turns her sword, leaning in close as she presses the blade against his throat. "You should have known I would find him. I will always find him, and I will kill you for trying to take him away."

"Emma, no." Killian steps as close to between them as he can, resting his hand and hook on her shoulders. "No, you can't kill him."

She glares up at him, black nearly overtaking the green of her eyes the same way it did after she killed Felix. "Why shouldn't I?"

"For your son," he says gently, squeezing her shoulder. "He needs his mother, not the Dark One."

Because Baelfire is wrong. Emma is nothing like Rumplestiltskin, and, though he didn't realize it before, he's been watching her fight against the darkness this entire time.

She turns away, looking past him to Baelfire, but he cups his hand under her jaw, turning her gently back to him. "He's not worth it. Trust me, love. I've given into the darkness because I have nothing to live for, but you? You have your son. Hold on for him."

Tears stream down her cheeks when she closes her eyes, and, with trembling hands, she slowly lowers her sword.

"Oh, boo, Captain!"

Killian flinches at the all-too-familiar young voice as its owner steps through the trees. An even younger boy thrashes in his grip, until he sees them, eyes growing wide. "Mom!"

"Henry!" Emma shouts. Her hand slides into her cloak and pulls out a small round box. "Let him go."

Pan ignores her, still watching Killian. "I mean, I couldn't let her actually kill Baelfire--a deal's a deal, after all--but you didn't have to ruin the fun quite so soon. Where's that ruthless pirate when I need him?"

Emma waves her hand, and grey smoke swirls around Pan and her son. She aims the box in their direction, clearly ready to use it as a weapon of some sort, but when the smoke clears, nothing has changed.

"No," she mutters, waving her hand again, but still, nothing happens. "No, why isn't it working?"

"Oh," Pan drawls, voice dripping with false sympathy. "Are you missing something? You know, you should really keep a closer eye on your things."

He pulls a crooked dagger from behind his back, and Killian sucks in a sharp breath. He knows that dagger, has searched for the Dark One's weaknesses for centuries, and there, plain as day, a name etched across it.

Emma.

The boy stops thrashing when he sees it, tears running down his cheeks. "Mom." It's no longer a cry for help, instead a whimper of defeat.

"Henry," Emma sobs, frozen and completely at the mercy of the demon standing before them. "I'm so sorry."

Killian realizes none of them are paying him any attention now, and he carefully reaches into his coat for a small vial, carefully creeping in a wide arc toward Pan and the boy.

"Oh, yes," Pan says, turning back to Baelfire. "I can't forget. Thank you for bringing me your son's heart. You're free to go."

Stiffly, Emma waves her hand, and the smoky binds vanish. Baelfire stumbles forward. "His--his what? I thought you just wanted him."

Pan flashes a cruel smile. "What does it matter? You brought him to me, and now you're free to go. So go."

Baelfire flinches, but takes a staggering step back--then turns and runs.

"Well, this has been fun," Pan says cheerfully, "but my time is running out, and I really need your son's heart." He pauses, as if a thought has just occurred to him. "Oh, but you're welcome to watch, of course."

He turns back to the boy, and Killian realizes he's out of time. He can't let this boy--Emma's son, Milah's grandson--die. He dashes forward, shoving the boy to the ground. Before Pan can think to command Emma to kill him, he thrusts his hook into Pan's chest.

Pan's eyes flash as he jerks it out, clicking it out of the brace and tossing it into the jungle. "Did you really think that could stop--"

He cuts off abruptly, eyes bulging as he chokes, and black spreads down his arms and up his face. "No! What did you do?"

"What I should have done a long time ago," Killian says, tossing aside the now-empty vial of dreamshade.

Pan's face twists in rage, and before Killian realizes what he's doing, he grabs his jacket and drags him closer. "If I'm going, I'm taking you with me."

Searing, white-hot pain radiates from Killian's chest, and he can't help but cry out. Spots dot his vision, and then--

His heart, glowing in Pan's hand.

He hasn't feared death in centuries, had even expected it to come with his revenge. What he told Emma is true--he has nothing to live for, and a few days ago, he might even have welcomed the idea, but now--

He looks back over his shoulder, and finds Emma with her son in her arms.

He thinks he could have lived for her--lived for them both--if he'd have the chance.

Then Pan squeezes, his heart crumbling to dust.


Henry is in her arms.

For the first time since Rumplestiltskin kidnapped him, her son is in her arms, and for a moment, she forgets everything else--Neverland, Pan, Baelfire, the dagger--and just holds him.

Then Killian screams, and her heart stops as she pulls Henry even closer. She looks up, just in time to see Pan crush a heart in his hands, then they both fall.

Pan still holds the dagger, but she feels the moment he dies, the moment he loses his hold over, and she scrambles to her feet, dragging Henry along with her.

"Is--is he dead?" Henry whispers.

"Pan's dead." She refuses to think he might have been talking about Killian.

Henry tugs his hand out of hers, running over the two fallen figures, and she follows, heart pounding a desperate please, please, please. She drops to her knees beside Killian, hands frantically searching for a pulse, but she can't find anything.

"Here. Now no one can control you again." Henry drops the dagger beside her, but she can't look at it, knowing it took Killian from her.

The darkness churns inside her, urging her after Baelfire, pleading death and revenge and pain, but she clings to Henry beside her, and to Killian's words, pushing it back.

"Killian," she begs, "Come back to me."

She can't do this without him. Even when she was lying to him, even without knowing the truth, he's helped her, holding the darkness at bay simply with his presence, and she knows it will be all too easy to give in without him.

Henry lays his hand on her shoulder. "He doesn't have a heart. He can't live without one."

She gasps, the sound coming out almost as a sob. A heart. He needs a heart.

She reaches into her chest, holding back a cry of pain as she pulls out her own. She closes her eyes and tries to remember her mother's usual speeches about hope and belief as she tears it in two.

"Mom!" Henry cries.

Her eyes shoot open, and she thrusts one half of her heart back into her chest so she has a hand free to cradle his face. "It's okay. It's okay, I promise. It can't kill me. I'm immortal, remember?"

Then, holding tightly to her last shred of hope, she shoves the other half of her heart into Killian's chest.

He gasps, eyes flying open.

"Killian!" she cries, and Henry's eyes grow wide.

"It worked," he whispers.

Killian sits up, searching all around them until he finds Pan's corpse. His shoulders sag slightly in relief, then he turns to Emma, and he breathes, "How?"

She throws her arms around his neck, and his arms come up around her almost automatically. "I gave you part of my heart. I--I wasn't sure it would work."

His hand spasms against her back. "You--you what?"

She pulls back enough to see the bewildered look on his face, and cups his face in her hands. "I couldn't lose you."

His lips are on hers before she realizes he's moved, and she slides her hand around to the back of his head as she kisses him right back.

Henry gasps, startling them both apart. "Mom, your hair! It's back to normal!"

"What?" She pulls a lock over her shoulder, and finds it back to its usual golden-blonde. Eyes widening, she reaches for the dagger where Henry left it, and finds smooth metal staring back at her where her name was a moment before.

"The darkness is gone," she realizes. She can't feel it anymore, and she looks back up at Killian to find him staring at her in wonder.

"But how?"

She smiles, thinking of her parents making it back to each other through every obstacle. "True Love's Kiss."


She stands at the bow of his ship, a magic bean in her hand.

Henry darts all over the deck, much to the amusement of the crew, who are much more accepting of Emma now that she's free of the Dark One's power. She holds out her other hand to take his.

"Ready to go home?" she asks.

"Aye, love. Let's go home."

She smiles and throws the bean.

Notes:

I hope you enjoyed, and I'd love to hear your thoughts!