Hi everyone!

All Killian's POV in this first chapter. This story is not going to be a oneshot, as originally planned. I just have so many ideas for this story, I could never do it just with one meager chapter.

Now, everyone will be confused and maybe even slightly angry with me when you finish this chapter, but I promise and remind you, everything is going to be explained in the course of the story :D

In the mean time, I'd love to hear your guesses on what happened.

Reviews feed my muse!

Xx Annaelle

PART I

KPOV

When he awoke, his dizziness and disorientation reached unknown levels. Before, he had always been able to identify where he was—the floor, the bed, even chained to the wall on one occasion—but for once, he seemed to be somewhere he had not yet been before.

Though slight fear was lingering in the back of his mind, he refused to let it take hold of him—he needed to know where the others were. Where Cora was—where Emma was.

Emma.

Gods. There was another complication—he had no idea how to respond to her anymore; and it seemed she shared his reluctance to discuss whatever had happened in the cell.

He swallowed—she wouldn't have left him, would she? He was well aware that she wished to be reunited with her son more than anything; but would she go as far as to betray him? Leave him?

He did not understand the ache the mere idea caused—nor did he want to; True Love's kiss or not; if she had betrayed him…

He would make her regret it.

And much as he wanted to be understanding and caring for her plight, it was as though the thought of her betrayal—even though he had no concrete evidence that she had left him—struck all over again, ripping its claws deep into him and leaving scars deeper than even Milah's death and Penelope's disappearance had left.

He attempted to focus—tried to get an idea of his surroundings; but all he could hear was complete and utter silence. And for the first time, the silence scared him greatly.
His memories were... Foggy, to say the least. He had difficulties with pinning down voices and faces—he simply was not sure what had transpired after he had lost consciousness.

The events before he passed out were… strangely foggy too.

He strained his mind, attempting desperately to recall what exactly had caused him to end up on the flat of his back in the middle of nowhere, but came up empty-handed.
He didn't have a bloody clue—his best guess was that Cora had thrown some sort of curse at him—she had been rather cross to find out he preferred Emma's company over hers—but he found himself desperately hoping Emma was safe.

No matter the thoughts of betrayal that were still searing through him, the thought of Emma being hurt or in danger or even—he nearly choked at the thought—dead tore into him in a way that made him feel incapable of recovering from.

He sucked in a deep breath, trying to alleviate the dizziness and the pounding in his head that haunted him.

Laying on the ground was not going to help him figure out what was going on—he needed to get up and find out where the bloody hell he was; and then where the bloody crocodile was.

He let out a deep breath, gathered all his courage and blinked.

Once. Twice.

Slowly, his surroundings came into focus, though the throbbing in his head and the stinging in his jaw made it hard to focus on anything. He was surrounded by thick oak trees, and he briefly wondered how far from Lake Nostos he was, exactly. He couldn't quite place the feeling, but the woods felt eerily familiar, somehow.

Snapping from his thoughts, he focused on his surroundings again. In front of his, a large tree had fallen on the leaf-covered forest floor. The silence that hung in the forest seemed unnatural, and fear settled once again in the pit of his stomach. Soft light seeped through the roof of the woods, making the forest look almost magical.

He swallowed and sat up, wincing when a sharp pain erupted from his left shoulder—bloody hell. He sincerely hoped he hadn't dislocated his shoulder; it was a pain to pop it back in on his own.
Moving slowly, he managed to shed his shirt and vest to expose his shoulder, so he could gingerly run his fingers over the injury—he groaned and cursed under his breath when his fingers hit the small bump at the back of his shoulder, noting in the dim light that his skin was starting to discolour—blue, black and purple were fighting their way onto his bruised skin.

'Damn it,' he groaned, unsteadily getting to his feet, 'I hate this.'

He winced again as he leaned forward, relaxing the muscles in his left arm, slowly rotating his shoulder, gritting his teeth at the strain that grew as he continued twisting his shoulder, hoping the bloody thing would pop in already, so he could figure out where the hell he was.

Usually, rotating would work—it hurt like hell and it sure as hell wasn't a reliable way—but it was the best he could do, since he was still on his own in the middle of fucking nowhere.

Just when he was about to give up, his shoulder cracked loudly as the joint popped back in—he couldn't suppress the loud cry that fell from his lips, nor could he stop his knees from buckling at the sheer intensity of the pain for a few seconds.

He gritted his teeth, but withstood the waves of pain, ignoring the lesser ache that now occupied his bruised shoulder as he shrugged his clothes back into place, stumbling to his feet, and examining his surroundings once again.

He really didn't know where he was, or how he got there in the first place—and it terrified him slightly.

The woods seemed to be never-ending in whichever direction he looked; which was not an improvement to his already sour mood.

Being an experienced pirate, he would easily be able to navigate his way anywhere—if only he could see the sky clearly; but it seemed he would have to stumble through these woods until he found a clearing or a road that would lead him… Well, somewhere.

He sighed once again and tried to remember how he managed to get knocked out—but the last thing he remembers is running to Lake Nostos with Emma, hoping Snow and the others would still be there, and if so, out of Cora's claws.

After that, it almost feels as though everything had been erased, leaving nothing but a big, black, blank space in his mind.

It's odd—like nothing he has ever encountered or heard of in his three hundred years of life, and it's enough to scare the living crap out of him—what if he'd never catch up with Emma?

He grew nauseous at the mere thought of never getting to explore what he might or not feel for the blonde, beautiful, infuriating little imp of a woman—and as terrifying as the thought of loving someone else again was, it was the only thing he could think of to keep going.

Not because he needed to avenge Milah and skin his crocodile, not because he needed to find Penelope, but because he needed to find Emma—he knew it was horrible to think he needed Emma more than he needed his daughter, but after believing for so long that he was too late to find her, it felt almost as though he had given up on ever finding her alive.

As much as the possibility of finding his sweet Penelope in Storybrooke was what kept him going most of the time, even though he was quite fearful to actually believe it to be a viable possibility, the need to find Emma was stronger—something he couldn't fight, nor truly wanted to fight.

With a deep, disgruntled sigh, he started walking, trudging through the woods, holding his left arm stiffly against his torso, thanking the Gods for not injuring his good arm—or hand—growling at the fact that he still didn't know where he was—or where he was heading, for that record—and that he had no idea how long it would take to find out where he was.

He walked for what felt like hours, the light—that was already dimmed through the thick leaf roof—slowly diminishing more and more with every step he took.

And quite suddenly, the trees ended, and he found himself in the middle of a road, startled slightly by the sudden appearance of what appeared to be some kind of hardened road, leading over a hill—where he could see lots of lights—a town.

Thank the Gods.

He looked around once again, looking for a clue—any clue at all—that might prepare him for the kind of town he was about to walk into.

His eye fell upon some large green sign, placed neatly on a thick, red, painted line that lead across the road—an enigma he did not have the time to contemplate. His gaze travelled over the large, white lettering on the sign, and an involuntary smile spread across his lips.

STORYBROOKE.

He'd made it.

They had made it.

He was in Emma's realm—he was no less clueless about how he had ended up here, but the fact that he was, in fact, there was enough for him to rejoice.

Now he needed to find his Swan girl and her mother.

Or his crocodile.

Preferably not both at the same time—he knew Emma did not approve of his plans to kill Rumpelstiltskin—so he'd rather do it without her knowledge.

He was broken from his thoughts quite abruptly and suddenly, by a loud hooting sound that made him jump—and he only just managed to look up into two bright, yellow lights, before something hit him with incredible speed, sending him flying—he didn't even think about containing his cry of pain as he felt multiple bones snap at the collision, nor when he landed hard on the road with a sickening smack, his head bouncing against the stone.

Emma, he thought, before everything starting darkening, his consciousness slipping away faster than he could comprehend.

'Emma,' he breathed, unable to keep his eyes open anymore. He thought of nothing more when he felt as though cold enveloped him like a thick blanket when he finally closed his eyes and wheezed out the deep breath he'd been holding.

And then all went black.

R&R, people!

Follow me on Twitter: Annaelle_P