I really shouldn't be starting this right now, not when I have Tattoo to finish (We're only mostly halfway through that, if I'm being honest…). This idea just wouldn't leave me alone after I learned 1. they were casting for Hook's dad and 2. The name of the 100th episode and the theoretical 5b spoilers that come with it. So here's my inevitably cannon-divergent take on 5b.

This is going to alternate between Killian's and Emma's POV, and the overall writing/update is probably going to be slow as molasses at first (I wanna prioritize Tattoo, but this will still be worked on.) so bear with me and let me know what you think!

Warnings: This first chapter will deal with a major character 'death' as well as depression and anxiety from those still living in the aftermath. Death is in quotes because it's only the beginning of the story.

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Everything hurt. His body, his face, Killian was almost sure that even his hair hurt. Why that was, he couldn't seem to remember. The last thing he could recall was standing on the deck of the Jolly Roger in anguish amid a rising storm. David and Mary Margaret had been there, and so were Henry, Regina, and Robin. His Swan had been there too.

No, that wasn't right. Not his Swan. The Dark One was there, the Dark Swan. She had been doing something horrifying and unspeakable, but what was it? Part of Killian warned him he wouldn't like remembering, so why try to remember at all? He pushed aside that nagging voice, strangely sweet and lulling, and forced himself to remember as much as he could. He remembered the smell and spray of the sea, salty and cool on his face and normally such a comfort to him, but at that moment only leaving him clammy and raw. He remembered screams, his own, he thought. And also running, yes, he had been running toward someone. To Henry? Had the lad been in danger?

The rolling dread in his stomach told Killian that yes, Henry had been in danger from the Dark Swan. She wanted him to join her, to be a dark one alongside her so they could be together. She wanted to transfer her darkness to Henry through Excalibur. Another wave of pain ripped through Killian as the memory came back into focus, replaying in his mind as if it were one of those moving pictures he'd been shown in Storybrooke. The group of them on his ship, all pleading with the Dark Swan to stop, that there was another way and she could still come back and be Emma despite everything she had done. But she'd told them no, her voice icy and harsh, so unlike the Emma that he loved. She'd told them that it was all for the best. And then she'd raised the re-forged Excalibur high over her head, curved tip practically glowing with power, and brought it down on Henry who lay flat on the deck.

But she hadn't struck Henry. Killian remembered that distinctly, the flood of relief that came over him as he realized he'd made it in time, and then the agony in his chest when he realized he'd been struck instead. But that was all right; because Henry the son was safe and that was what Emma Swan the mother would want. Killian wasn't anyone's son; he was the expendable one. If anyone were to go, it ought to be him.

"I love you," He told Emma, the light fading from his eyes while tears began to fall from hers, color returning to her once pale face and icy blonde hair.

"Killian," She whispered in a sob. It was the last thing he heard before the world went almost black.

Almost being the word of importance. In the last moment before the light of the setting sun faded into a storm Killian swore he saw a flash of green streak across the sky, but his eyelids felt too heavy to keep open and follow the light, and they slid shut. What felt like an instant later, his eyes blew open and he heaved in air desperately, his entire body rolling with pain. There was only sensation and jumbled memories, a mess of disorientation that had Killian feeling like a dying fish on deck. Something hard kicked him in the stomach and Killian twisted in further agony.

"Got us a lively one, eh?" Someone chortled above him.

"What's wrong with 'im?" Someone else asked. "He don't look right."

The world slowly came into focus, revealing the wooden deck of a ship that wasn't the Jolly Roger beneath him. Killian groaned and flopped onto his back, eyes widening in surprise as he took in the cloudy but day-lit sky above him. It was sunset before, he was certain of that. And if this wasn't the Jolly Roger, then where the bloody hell was he and how had he gotten here?

His stomach and heart twisted as a thought came to him. Was he truly dead? Was this the afterlife?

Several pairs of hands yanked him upright until he was standing and a brief wave of dizziness and nausea came over him. Once he found his feet he angrily shoved off whoever was holding him up, his hook making contact with what felt like someone's flesh. There were gasps and a pained groan, and Killian glanced around to see a crew of unfamiliar men staring at him in disbelief and fear. More specifically, they were staring at his hook and whispering his moniker in dread. Killian growled in anger at their reaction. It seemed even in the afterlife he was something to be feared.

His heart twisted again. It felt heavier than before, if that were possible, and colder too, as if an icy blanket were wrapping around him, dulling his senses to the colors of the world, and making him just a bit angry. He lifted his hand to his heart, rubbing it in hopes of alleviating the strange and unwelcome sensations but finding no relief.

He looked around the ship again, trying to get his bearings. The ragtag and listless crew had stepped away from him, leaving a circle of space between them and Killian, something he certainly didn't object to. From the way they were all dressed he assumed he was in the Enchanted Forest, or that at least they were from his home realm. If this truly was the afterlife then perhaps his soul had simply been taken to a realm of death associated with his place of birth? Killian frowned at that. Did that mean spirits could cross realms?

The mystery ship was unfortunately larger than the Jolly, with masts that made the tallest trees feel small and several cannons on deck that had Killian questioning how the ship could stay afloat under their combined weight. Killian was still dressed in his clothes from Storybrooke, and desperately wishing his talking phone was a cutlass or a gun instead. There would be no fighting his way out of this, and no where to go even if he could fight the crew off. Out at sea in an unknown realm and no way to navigate or sail through possibly treacherous waters. Such a fight would be truly pointless. And besides, he needed answers.

"What ship is this?" Killian demanded. Not surprisingly, no one answered him but the murmuring continued. Still a little disoriented and more than a little angry Killian addressed the crew again in the same booming voice that once held his old crews in check. "You know who I am," He said, lifting his hook for effect and hating when several of the men flinched backward. "You all know my reputation and you know nothing in the last world or this one will stop me once I've set myself to something. Now tell me, what ship is this and why am I here?"

More silence, but this time several of the crew glanced around warily, as if they were expecting someone or something to show up. Fine. He'd make an example of one of them. Hook reached for a crewman, hauling the man forward by the collar and holding his hook under the man's throat. "I'll ask again, what ship is this and why am I here?" He let the tip of his hook scratch at the man's throat and was surprised to find that while the man flinched in pain, no blood came from the wound.

Of course. He couldn't kill what was already dead, but apparently he could make them suffer if need be.

Killian was ready to dig the hook just a little deeper into the man's neck in his search for answers, the darkness around his heart egging him on, when the distinctive thumps of heavy footsteps on deck halted him. The steps grew closer and the eyes of the remaining crew widened in fear. All of the men lowered their eyes and stepped back. The man in Killian's hold also tried to lower his eyes, inadvertently pushing the hook a little deeper into his neck. Killian let him go, wondering who was so terrifying that a man would forget he had a hook to his neck. Was the approaching man the captain, or some kind of demon? The answer came when the owner of the thumping boots came to a stop several feet behind Killian, and spoke.

"It's about bloody time you showed up. I've been waiting nigh on three hundred years for you," A raspy voice greeted Killian, sending pained shivers down his spine. Three hundred years was a long time, but by a cruel twist of fate Killian had never managed to forget the sound of this man's voice, of his father's voice. "Welcome aboard the Flying Dutchman, son."

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Time was a pained blur for Emma Swan, who was now newly purged of the darkness as well as a sizable chunk of her humanity.

Killian Jones was gone. The man she loved was gone and it was her fault. The darkness had well and truly taken hold of her, and she was so far gone that she had tried to turn Henry dark too, thinking it was the only way she could be with her son and for him to forgive what she had done as the Dark Swan. But in the final moment Killian pushed Henry aside and took the blade himself. Emma had felt the darkness seeping out of her, through the sword, and into him. She felt the emptiness and hollow void in her heart begin to consume her as she realized what she had done, and regret crept its way into her psyche for the first time since she had taken on the darkness weeks before.

"I love you," He'd whispered, an undying truth in his fading eyes and she could only sob his name once in reply.

And then he was gone. Literally gone. His body taken in a flash of green light and Emma had been left holding nothing but air as she collapsed onto the deck, sobs wracking her body. Excalibur lay to the side untouched by all, the name Killian Jones adorning its blade. She felt empty. The darkness was definitely gone, but now there was nothing there at all. No light and no dark. Only a black void with the life sucked out of it.

Emma didn't remember much after that. There were her parents' tentative arms around her, and Regina with her arms around a conflicted but uninjured Henry. There were whispered and meaningless words spoken into her ears and hair, and eventually arms pulling her upright and forward to stumble off the ship when the weather began to clear.

The next time she was aware she was lying in her bed at the loft, blankets pulled up by her head and a plate of once warm grilled cheese and onion rings on the bedside table next to her phone. Emma took one nauseous look at the offerings, rolled over, and went back to sleep.

When Emma woke a second time the sun was just beginning to peek through the window blinds. She looked over at the table where her phone remained, but the food had been replaced with a once steaming mug of hot chocolate and an unopened bottle of rum. Her thoughts inevitably turned to memories of Killian at the sight and tears sprang to her eyes. Being rid of the darkness was supposed to make things better, not lead to even more misery. Her throat was too raw to cry anymore so she let the tears fall silently, and let herself stare at the bottle and the mug in punishment.

Hours passed and the waves of guilt and loneliness and shame washed over her, drowning her in further agony. Drowning in agony, now there was a thought. Maybe Killian had been onto something all those years when he drowned himself in rum. It would definitely help dull the pain, if nothing else. Emma reached for the bottle, but hesitated. Somehow the thought of drinking generic, store bought rum unsettled her. Emma managed to snort at the realization that maybe Killian had been able to change her taste in booze after all. Actually, he would probably call it 'refining' her taste…

Thinking of him started up a fresh round of tears. She needed to see him, or at least something of his. She couldn't mourn or even bury Killian's actual body so drowning herself in his personal cache of rum would have to do, and that meant leaving the loft for his ship.

Emma's wrist began to flick out of habit; ready to magic herself to the Jolly Roger, but her other hand grabbed it in a death grip. No, she couldn't use magic. It was too dangerous. What if she used dark magic by accident? Magic had done enough to hurt the people she loved, she couldn't risk using it again, not until she knew it was safe to do so. She would just have to find the energy to walk instead.

She struggled to sit upright, the world spinning for only a moment before righting itself. Pulling herself from the bed to stand, the floorboards creaked under her feet, echoing too loudly and she flinched, hoping no one heard her. The last thing she wanted right then was to see anyone or to have anyone see her. When silence met her ears, she moved again. Emma managed to sneak out of the loft unnoticed, most likely because it was now the middle of the night and everyone was likely asleep. It made moving around the town easier too, easier to avoid people and hide away in the shadows when the occasional townsperson waltzed by unknowingly.

A small part of Emma's mind recalled sneaking around like that with Killian while they were searching for Henry in Neverland, days and nights spent in a treacherous jungle with an impish demon out for blood. Killian had been the one to bring them there and home…

Reaching the docks, a chilled Emma approached the Jolly Roger with movements that were sluggish and uncoordinated, her energy sapped from just a simple walk. She was forced to steady herself with her hands on the ships rails and various crates and barrels, but otherwise managed to make her way down the ladder and into the captain's cabin. Emma stepped off the ladder and was assaulted by the memory of Killian's presence in the small room. The scent of him, leather and sea and musk, permeated the very air and Emma had a hard time not breathing in shallow gasps as she took in the state of the room. There was his desk, clean of loose papers but not the ink stains that bled into the wood from centuries of recordings. The shelves were full of stolen goods from countless realms and encounters, jewels and books, maps and journals. There was even the compass from their adventure up the beanstalk, lying innocently next to a half empty bottle of rum.

She recalled their teamwork and the deal he'd tried to offer her to align against Cora. She also recalled the betrayal in his eyes when she'd handcuffed him to the rubble.

Emma took hold of the compass with one shaky hand, fingers caressing the edges and tracing nonsense on its face. She reached for a chair, wanting to sit down, but instead of meeting wood her fingers met soft leather. It was his old jacket, the long overcoat that only he could look good in. With tentative fingers she pulled the jacket from the back of the chair, bringing it close to her face and breathing in Killian's lingering scent from the material. Pain washed over her once again and, deciding being in his cabin was too much too soon, she shot out her other hand for the bottle and took all three items with her while she scrambled back up the ladder and onto the deck. The late night was cool and even though the earlier storm had long since cleared there was still a chilled breeze in the air. Emma shivered and pulled Killian's overcoat over her shoulders, fighting back another sob as his scent reached her nose again. She collapsed in front of a barrel with a view of the east, and pulled several throat-fuls of rum down her throat, the liquid warming her and burning blessedly down the sensitive flesh, giving her another pain to focus on.

Another memory came to her, this one of the two of them in front of Granny's, recently back from their foray into the past. He had just told her how he traded the Jolly Roger for the magic bean to get to her in New York.

"You traded your ship for me?" She had asked, and when he'd answered 'aye', she kissed him in admiration for his resolve, and in apology for his sacrifice, and in love for the incredible man he was.

Emma stayed out on the deck for hours, drinking and remembering and watching the stars twinkle above as their light broke through the fading clouds. Eventually the light of the stars began to fade, and Emma's view was replaced with the rays of the sun fighting to brighten the dark sky. Her thoughts turned to the stories Killian had told her, the little snippets and tales that made their way into their talks.

She recalled the morning they shared a sunrise on the deck of the Jolly Roger months before, coffees in hand and wrapped up in each other's arms. Killian had told her tales of sea monsters and ghost ships, those he'd somehow participated in getting extra embellishment, much to Emma's delight. And then the sun had begun to break the night, rays of pink outshining the stars, and Killian had pointed to the horizon and told her to look for a green flash.

"It means the Flying Dutchman has just passed from the world of the living to the realm of the dead," He'd explained, voice catching in mock suspense. "The Dutchman carries the souls of those lost at sea to the afterlife. Seeing the green flash is supposed to be an omen. Not that I've managed to see it."

"Three hundred years on the water and there's something you haven't seen? I don't buy it," Emma had chuckled at the time, laughing at the false severity of his words.

Now she just wished she could hear his voice again. Talk with him again. But that was impossible. Now she could only remember him and his words.

Emma let her mind mull over everything Killian had ever told her, from the flirty and overtly sexual to the hopeful and inspiring. She tried to recall the exact inflection with which he had said it, the exact color of his eyes, and the curve of his lips as they had formed the words. And most of all, she tried to recall each of his feelings behind the words.

"I was hoping it'd be you." A little lascivious but otherwise open.

"I've yet to see you fail." Genuinely honest with a touch of encouragement.

"Perhaps there's another attachment you'd prefer?" Flirty and evasive, and trying to get a rise out of her.

"A man unwilling to fight for what he wants deserves what he gets." Determined, resolute, and believing.

A spark lit in Emma at that last memory, and at all the memories of the two of them together. She remembered the beanstalk, Killian's vengeful arrival in Storybrooke, and their time in Neverland. Fighting Zelena and the Snow Queen and all of the villains that came after them. She remembered doing it all with him, together, and how he always encouraged and believed in her. If he were here with her now he would put his arm around her and remind her what she was capable of, and that nothing was impossible for her or them. She just had to have hope.

He would also remind her to not waste the quiet moments, so as the sun finally began to rise in earnest Emma stood up on shaky legs and leaned against the railing for a better view. She was just in time to see the fiery sphere briefly overtaken by a flash of green light.

A flash of green… Emma's mouth fell open in realization and awe, and the rum in her hand dropped to the deck. It was the exact same flash of green that had taken Killian only the day before. The only difference between now and yesterday was that now she remembered where she had heard about that flash. Killian had told her about it. It had to be a sign. It had to be him. Killian was aboard the Flying Dutchman and probably being taken to the afterlife.

Her heart pounded and her mind raced. Emma remembered every time Killian had fought for her, everything he had sacrificed for her, and it broke her heart again. How could she have been so selfish toward the man she loved? Her fears and insecurities had put everyone in danger, Killian had paid the ultimate price for it, and she was left clutching a few precious pieces of him to her in the aftermath. But now she had hope, she had a flash of green to keep her going. Killian Jones had crossed realms for her, gone to the ends of the world and time for her; it was about time she fought for him, death be damned.

Feeling just a little stronger than before, Emma pushed back from the railing and pulled Killian's jacket tighter to her. She put the compass in her pocket and ran off the Jolly Roger, making her way back toward town, decision made. She was going to bring Killian Jones back from the dead, and to do that she was going to need some help.

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