Summary: Ill-begotten gains reveal a hard-to-swallow aspect of Killian's plans for revenge on Rumplestiltskin.
Words: Roughly 900.
A/N: I wrote this for lillpon. Lil, you've definitely been having a rough few days from just the worst people on Twitter, so I wanted to write something that would hopefully cheer you up…or given the mood of the piece, at least help you forget all the shit you've had to endure recently. Yeah, it is pretty dark (I know Golden Hook is your FoeTP, so I tried to make something pretty brutal), but goes somewhere at least a little pleasant at the end! How appropriate that this is being posted during the Write Your Weird Week, becuase I've never gone dark like this. So I hope I did my job and this somehow lifts your spirit by crushing you with feels! And for everyone else, enjoy too, though due to the setting and the POV, please be warned that it's anti-Rumple, something I try not to write, but it was unavoidable here. Also, thanks to fraddit for doing some really last second beta work!
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Killian sneered.
Neverland didn't have much in terms of a library, but odds and ends occasionally popped up. Some kids that were brought to Pan were stolen with satchels at their sides, coming home after long days in town. Often, those bags were filled with food, but on the rare occasion, a book or two were inside.
One of them just happened to have some information about the Dark One.
Pan brought the book to Killian's attention two months ago and gave it a hefty price if he wanted it to come into his possession.
And damn it all, he wanted it in his possession.
So Killian did what Pan asked, every terrible errand.
After a rather brutal murder – one that would wreak havoc on Killian's sleep for years, though he'd deny it of anyone were ever foolish enough to ask – he completed just hours ago, the book appeared in his quarters, alongside a note attached that read 'Good job' wedged in what turned out to be the sole couple of pages about The Dark One that the book contained.
It was then that he saw the very thing that made him sneer.
A drawing of Rumplestiltskin's face.
It was the first time Killian had seen his face since the day his world, his Milah died.
And it brought with it just as much fury as it had when it had last disappeared from his view.
The drawing was crude. It didn't capture the twinkle in his eyes – the twinkle of a man who not only committed murder, but had the audacity to be proud of it. There were scales, but they were more fish-like than crocodile-like. He was also taller than Killian knew him to be. But it was accurate enough to reignite the already burning candle that was his ire.
However, that wasn't all there was to be seen in the small entry.
There was also a brief, yet poignant caption on the other side of the drawing.
"THE ALL-POWERFUL DARK ONE PUT A STOP TO THE FIRST OGRES WARS."
It was one sentence, but it felt like the first bolt of lightning of a storm from inside Killian's gut.
Killian took a closer look at the book. There were different bits of handwriting scattered all around the text and the paper itself looked quite old.
It didn't take Killian long to connect the dots.
This book had been used by at least two generations thus far.
That one entry, that one drawing, was Rumplestiltskin's legacy.
As far as society knew, Rumplestitlskin ended the First Ogres Wars.
It was the work of a hero, something to be praised or even honored.
And everything else? His cowardice? His deals? His murders?
Milah?
For all Killian could be sure of, they were secrets to the world at large, obscured to all but perhaps the rare victim that escaped his clutches.
Killian punched the free desk space beside him. His hand – his only hand, as he reminded himself – splintered, but the sparks of pain now embedded into his knuckles from the wood was nothing compared to the ache in his chest.
Was it right bringing himself here, to a place where he'd condemned himself to silence while his crocodile had been able to make whatever name for himself that he pleased for over seventy years now?
He couldn't say he was sure..
Thoughts began to drift inside his head. What would happen when he finally killed Rumplestiltskin (for that was the one fact Killian remained confident would happen)? Would it matter to anyone besides him if his enemy was mourned as a martyr by the unknowing masses?
And should that matter at all?
Again, Killian wasn't sure. It was on a night like tonight that he craved Milah's voice. She'd have told him what to do. She always did.
Milah always knew best. She was the greatest woman Killian had ever known.
It was that thought that allowed for Killian to push the issue of legacy to the side.
The only voice he cared about was Milah's.
So he got to writing. Killian knew he didn't look it, but he was quite the wordsmith, especially when he had something worth writing about.
And naught deserved his attention or his skills better than the four-worded title he'd started to pen.
THE STORY OF MILAH.
On this parchment, Killian planned to record everything he knew about Milah, from her humble beginnings to her hardest times, to their love story. He knew with enough work and time – something that was allotted to him indefinitely – her story would be an epic that would transcend death and cause those reading to weep and curse the Dark One's name with all they had.
When Killian had at last left this accursed island and his revenge was finally fulfilled, he'd resolve to pay off teachers across the realms of magic with every last bit of his gold so they would share her tale.
Killian would ensure that his love, his Milah would shroud the Dark One and his legacy, both in hand and in hook.