Disclaimer: I mean, honestly...
Triggers: Some suicidal ideation
This City Has Ten Million Souls
Some of the happiest looking people in the world are probably also the loneliest. The intensity of their enthusiasm, the length of their smiles, the depth of their feigned joy mirrors the true extent of their loneliness. They are so often devoid of an outlet for their emotions that when something is able to stir any semblance of feeling it is as if they give into everything all at once in fear that it will be the last time, the last opportunity to lose themselves in a moment.
Killian Jones didn't realize he had been rereading page 20 for the past five minutes until a loud laugh from the other side of the room shook him from his reverie. Blonde hair tousled lightly in the air as another hiss of laughter unceremoniously erupted from the opposite corner. He would never admit it to anyone, but he actually found Emma Swan rather enchanting at times. His friends (are they still his friends?) would probably go off about how "fucking weird" she was and how she was "so anorexic that she could pass for a Holocaust survivor" before one of them would retell that same story about what she supposedly did in middle school that everyone already knows, but will still sit in silence to hear retold. And although 90% of the time they're hidden behind her oversized glasses, there was something magical about how the green in her eyes sparkled and the seemingly never fading optimism that lived behind them. Despite all the horrifying things that have supposedly happened to her, despite all the shit that people say about her, she was able to smile and giggle through it all and there was something very beautiful about that.
The rest of the class shifted noisily as they turned to not so subtly shoot glares at the mousy blonde still oblivious to the attention she'd caused.
"How are you laughing at anything that's happening in this book?" Ariel angrily waved her copy of The Handmaid's Tale in the air as if by doing so she could shake out all of the story's tragedies, horrors, and injustices and use them to physically wipe the grin off of Emma Swan's face.
"Seriously, how messed up are you anyway." Tink swiveled dramatically in her seat before quietly mumbling the words "foster care freak" as she returned to her reading.
Killian watched Emma look up and around, the room filling with exaggerated exasperated sighs and almost theatrical groans of frustration. They acted as if she forcibly dragged them from some magical reading haze when in reality they were all looking for an excuse to distract themselves from a novel they neither understood nor appreciated. The whole time, her smile never faltered. It's almost unnatural in its tenacity.
"That's enough." Mr. Gold, no longer attempting to restrain his frustration with the unwelcome noises beginning to simmer in his classroom, shot pointed looks at Ariel and Tink, a silent warning to both of them that it was his responsibility to police any wrongdoing in his class.
"Ms. Swan, I would so appreciate it if next time you would be so kind to keep your reactions to yourself." There is an almost imperceptible softening of his expression as the soft lilt of the final f rolled off his tongue.
The two maintained eye contact just long enough to suggest something more than a simple reprimand. She nodded solemnly before returning to her book, her steady expression deftly concealing the embarrassment she must have felt as she pushed her glasses up just in time to hide the darkening in her eyes.
To Killian's disappointment, there were no more interruptions during English class. The occasional sound of pages being flipped sliced through the silence like a knife, the sound echoing through the air before reverberating in his ear. Each frantic pencil scratch seemed to get sharper and sharper until the sounds morphed into a screech that vibrated through his core. Metal was crunching around him and he was trying to grasp onto something, anything, but everything around him was suddenly too hot to touch. Crimson stickiness ran through his hands as he reached for his brother, who turned into ash and slipped through the cracks, dissolving into dark nothingness. The wail of sirens cut through the air as he tried trying to scream, but his mouth filled with cotton. Each lungful of air was becoming harder and hotter and God it was just so hot and everything was just too-
"Killian, right?" The voice was like a small stream cutting through his body, cooling it as it smoothly glided through his burning soul, touching all the corners in such a way that the fire was contained to nothing more than dancing flames. He heard his name again, a little louder, a little stronger, but just as sweet and restorative as the heat dissipated even more. "You're going to be late to your next class." Soft hands, gently coaxing him to close the book, danced on his arm. Delicate fingers adorned with various knuckle rings swim into his line of vision. He took two deep breaths to steady his breathing before looking up.
"For what it's worth, the book gets a lot better. The first 20 pages is a total drag. In any case, you better head out. Wouldn't want to be seen chatting with me for too long." That trademark smile is still etched on her face, not a hint of self-deprecation lingering in her final statement.
"Right, of course. I mean… I didn't mean" His face flushed with embarrassment as he attempts to make a hasty escape.
"I know what you meant."
"Right, of course you did."
She closed with a final giggle and a "right" before floating through the door, her old sneakers squeaking on the linoleum floor.
The halls of Storybrooke High, usually buzzing with untethered hormones, were comfortably quiet the minute before the late bell rings. Contrary to popular belief, most people didn't actually want to be late to class (the detentions with Gold aren't worth it) and those who have decided to skip were already halfway down the football field.
"Oie, Jones. Jones!" Will Scarlet's barreled down the opposite end of the English wing like a newborn bull, heavy footsteps shaking the ground beneath him, bag swinging wildly and assaulting the metal lockers on either side.
"Scarlet." Killian, still reeling from his panic attack in English, breathed the name out like a curse through gritted teeth.
"Didn't you hear?"
"Obviously not, mate." He tried to sound curious, but the irritation he was feeling manages to squeeze through, the final t hitting his teeth harshly.
"Jeez bro, calm down. It's good news. Great news! I just ran into coach and he said that you got chosen as regional QB!"
A month ago Killian Jones would have been ecstatic. Regional quarter back meant being in the running for player of the year, which not only meant college scholarships but it would also firmly solidify his spot in high school royalty (not that his current popularity status was an issue).
"We're celebrating you and your kick assness tonight. No, shut up. Before you even try to say no. We're going to Granny's Diner tonight and Ruby Lucas is going to wear that slutty number she always wears and sneak us beers and shots in those to go cups like she did after the playoff game. Afterwards you and Milah are going to make out in your truck as usual while Belle and I pretend we don't like each other, but secretly both want to bone super hard and that's final. It'll be awesome. You need to unwind, especially after…"
Will's rant was dizzying in its enthusiasm. His words muddled together until they eventually fused, becoming nothing more than static thrown carelessly in the ether. He was too excited, too happy, too light and free and too fucking happy. The vapidness of it all made Killian angry. The girls, the drinking, the celebrating of some stupid shitty title that was more of a popularity contest than a merit award pissed him off. Everything pissed him off now, but he couldn't tell him that. He wondered what Will would do if he just told him to fuck off. He wondered what they would all do if they knew.
But they don't know. They can't. So he pushed out the most enthusiastic smile he could muster. "Sure! That sounds great."
"Hell. Fucking. Yes! Awesome! Don't even worry, leave all the planning to me. You just need to get your ass to Granny's at 7 tonight. Any special wardrobe requests you'd like me to pass on to the always charming Milah Cassidy?"
The first time Killian Jones kissed Milah Cassidy was two years ago during the homecoming game freshman year. She was dating some big, hulking mess of a senior, but Killian Jones didn't care. He had just helped score the winning touchdown (as a freshman). In high school world, that was the equivalent of climbing a beanstalk, slaying a dragon, killing a giant, and stealing all of the riches of the world. She was one of the cheerleaders who ran over to him first. It had been raining during the final quarter and her hair was tousled and damp. Like all hot girls, her smile was seductively muted. She was perfect and by then he had her memorized. He engulfed her in what was meant to be a simple hug, but found himself twirling her in the air in celebration. Someone from the sidelines dumped a cooler of yellow Gatorade on them and suddenly everyone was trying to catch stray droplets of the sugary drink. Somewhere in all of that Killian's tongue found itself in Milah's mouth.
Around them there was the noise of shouting and then something breaking. Celebration sounds. Her hands found their way under his uniform. He remembered how cool they were. There was more shouting and some wolf whistles before he felt the hearty claps of Will, Arthur, and Jefferson on his back. It was exactly as how he imagined it would be.
Snapping out of the memory, Killian found himself wishing he had a photograph of his face in that exact instant so he could remember himself the way he used to be.
"Just tell her whatever she's comfortable in. Anyway, thanks for planning this tonight. I've got to run though. I have approximately 15 seconds to get to chemistry before Whale kills me."
"Like coach would let Dr. Frankenstein give you detention after all of this."
"I guess, but still." Knowing better than to push, Will simply shrugged before bulldozing down the hall, presumably to find the rest of the football crew.
Killian groaned as the final late bell shrieked just as Will disappeared around the corner. There was no use in hurrying now.
He decided to stroll through the art corridor. No one, not even Milah, knew, but he actually liked looking at the paintings. Most of them were horrendous, half assed shitty attempts at a fruit basket from kids who wanted an easy A, but every once in awhile there was something that made him want to stop and stare forever. He dragged his fingers across the cloth canvasses, a guilty pleasure of his as he feels the hills and valleys created by the layers of paint, before he stops.
I Have No Mouth, And I Must Scream: An Homage
by Emma Swan
From afar, it looked like nothing more than a black canvass. Upon closer inspection, he saw the sinister lines that crossed each other in rage and horror. A tree branch, or was it a hand, seemed to leap from the page, an attempt to not only grab him, but also trap him in whatever terror lay beneath the dark surface. It was as if the contrasts of chiaroscuro had somehow combined with the movement of impressionism to create something hauntingly beautiful. Every turn of the head revealed another layer, another creature, another terrifying memory. He could spend the whole day there, tilting and turning his head, contorting his body, squinting his eyes in his quest to discover every aspect of the painting.
"Mr. Jones. What brings you down this way?" Mr. Hopper's tranquil voice floated through the air, breaking the painting's spell.
"I… um… this painting is…" Hopper laughed.
"I know the feeling. I had it hung up in my living room for hours when I was trying to grade it. It's something, and while I sympathize with your fascination with it, you know you can't be in the hall without a pass. Where are you supposed to be?"
"Chemistry with Whale upstairs. I guess I just got… uh… distracted on my way up."
"Tell you what, I'll write you a pass to chemistry if you promise to come to a one-on-one meeting tomorrow morning before school. You're long overdue for one."
The latest round of budget cuts the school board made it so Storybrooke High almost lost the art program, but Hopper, the guidance counselor, offered to double as both the GC and the art teacher. His new responsibilities allowed Killian to get away with not having to do the mandatory "bereavement visit." Until now, it seemed. What was worse? An hour with Gold after school or an hour with Hopper before school?
He let out a frustrated sigh. "Fine, but I'm not talking about what happened."
"We can talk about whatever you want to talk about."
He watched wordlessly as Hopper scribbled a pass to class on the back of an old handout. He grabbed it with a curt nod before slowly making his way toward the stairwell.
"I'll see you tomorrow morning!"
Killian didn't say anything back, but rather let the slamming door speak for itself.
To his chagrin, word about Killian's newest achievement spread through the halls like wildfire. The excitement was oppressive. All the guys wanted to throw in their "congrats bro!" and all the girls wanted to give him a congratulatory hug that lingered just a little too long for his liking. Throughout the day he would catch little snippets of "I'm so glad he got it, especially with what happened with Liam," or "I'm so glad his luck is turning around," or the most infuriating "Liam would have been so proud! He was All State a few years back if I remember correctly." Everyone was talking about him, again, and everytime he heard his name he fought the urge to scream. Liam was no one's memory but his own. He didn't want to, wasn't ready to, share him with anyone, especially some social climbing, gossip whores.
"Yo Jones, ready to party?" Jefferson nearly tackled him to the ground as he jumped on him from behind.
"Yeah, of course. Let me just drop some of my stuff off at home and change." He plastered a smile on his face again, and couldn't help but feel a pang of jealousy when he thought about Emma Swan and her meticulously kept expression of happiness. Fuck her and her optimism and her bright green eyes.
Granny's was usually a short drive from the Jones', but it took Killian a solid fifteen extra minutes to get there now. He had to avoid the bridge, which meant he had to go around the lake before cutting through two residential neighborhoods. The backroads were comforting in their desolation. He pushed the old Chevy truck to ninety-five, easing off when he sees the needle hit one hundred. The car floated at one hundred. There was no control at one hundred, but at ninety-nine he could still fly. It was like waking up from a bad dream and he was feeling more awake by the second. The speed was like a rush, and then some. Trees, houses, and other cars flew by and it is almost as if he could somehow feel everything around him and in him working all at once. His heart was beating into his throat and his blood was flowing like the winding road in front of him, and any minute he could end in a valiant acclamation of crushed metal and explosive fire. He hurtled through space and time and he couldn't stop now because now he was faster than anything and nothing matters and maybe he was already dead.
The car skidded to a stop as it slid into an empty parking spot in front of the diner. Autopilot was one hell of a place to be.
Killian forced himself go in. Before he could even take a seat, Jefferson handed him a white to go cup. "Ruby Red's got all the booze in the corner in those Coke bottles. Make sure you keep the cap on so Grandma Lucas doesn't bust us."
Will, Arthur, and all the other football players had taken over a table with some of the varsity cheerleaders. Everyone was talking a little too loudly as the girls shrieked about tying cherry stems with their mouth and the guys made bets on who could do it fastest.
"Well… well… well if it isn't the man of the hour. It's your boy, Killian Jones."
He wasn't sure who made the announcement, but the whole restaurant erupted in cheers. There was a chorus of laughter as Will stumbled over his feet as he went in to give Killian a hug.
"Ey, can someone clean this puddle up." Will shouted obnoxiously at the mess he just made.
Emma Swan supposed that she should consider herself lucky. She was working the night of the biggest party of the semester. Being there was sort of like being invited, but in a way better. She always thought that things were the most beautiful when they weren't quite real. Being able to look upon a scene as an outsider, and come to possess it in its entirety was so much more satisfying than living a fraction of it. When you're in it, you're constantly worrying about making a connection with someone, anyone. When you're watching it, the world is somehow deeper and it becomes art.
She grabbed the mop from the corner and dragged it over the now sticky puddle.
"You missed a spot." Milah tsked before dumping another cup full of booze onto the floor. Another round of laughter bubbled up from various corners of the room. Killian watched in amazement as Emma moved the mop over the new mess without so much as a glare. Just when he thought the whole ordeal was over, she looked up with a grin on her face. She tossed a glance at Milah, eyeing her up and down once before letting out a light chuckle.
"Now that is a mess that I couldn't clean up even if I tried."
Milah didn't even have time to register before Emma disappeared through the kitchen doors, the room filling with a chorus of "ohhhhhhhhs," this time, at Milah's expense.
"I'm going to kill that bitch." Milah muttered as she flops down next to Killian.
"You know, she's kinda hot."
"Who? Emma? Are you fucking blind? She's a pole." Tink wrinkled her nose in disgust.
"Ehhh, I have to agree Jeff. She's hot in that androgynous kind of way. Plus, she's got that look in her eye that tells me she's a total freak in bed." Arthur threw Jefferson a wink.
"So true. She'd probably be down to do some wild, kinky shit" The two boys laughed.
"Why would that matter to you? You only ever last two minutes anyway." Tink's voice rose at least three octaves as she shrieks at Jefferson.
"It's just because you're so hot Tink." Killian tried to join in the laughter, but everything just seemed so hollow.
"You don't want to get involved with her anyway. I heard she like, killed her ex-boyfriend. He was a baseball player at her last school," Ariel exclaimed as she popped up from behind a row of chairs.
"Oh, yeah! Graham Humbert or Humphrey or something like that. He was perfectly healthy and just dropped dead after a game one day. They're totally convinced she poisoned him because he was about to break up with her, but they don't have any proof." Milah continued the story excitedly. "Oh, that's on top of that sketchy thing with her old foster dad."
"Right! She's lucky her sister's 'found her' and got her out because she'd totally be in juvie by now." Tink's voice had somehow managed to return to it's normal pitch as the three girls talked animatedly about Emma Swan's "torrid" past.
They kept chatting and soon the gossip turned into farfetched stories about how Emma's probably a witch and how she casts spells on people and watch out she'll probably kill your cat. All of the bullshit was becoming too much for Killian. Was this how other people talk about the accident with Liam? What were people saying about him?
"Jesus Christ Milah, do you ever stop with the gossip? It's none of our business."
"What the fuck, Killian? Why are you standing up for her?"
He slammed his drink down, liquid sloshing everywhere. "I'm not standing up for her, I'm just over everyone gossiping about all this random crap that doesn't matter. Can we just stop talking about other people? Agh, forget this, I need some air."
The bell on top of Granny's door rang loudly as he forced the front door shut. Stuffing his hands in his coat pocket, he made his way to the town clock. He didn't remember the climb up the tower and he definitely didn't remember scaling the railing, but minutes later he found himself staring hard at the ground below him. The sound of the wind was shockingly loud on top of the bell tower and all he could hear was the rustle of his jacket in his ears.
"If I didn't know better, I'd say you were stalking me." The voice seemed to appear out of nowhere. He looked around, but saw no one and for a second he thought he was imagining things. That is, until he spotted her about ten feet above him. She had somehow climbed over the metal barrier and was sitting on the ledge right above the twelve on the town clock. The hem of her skirt blew upwards like a parachute. Her arms were linked around the railing as she leaned and pulled in a rocking motion. When she outstretched her arms, she hung just far enough that were she to slip, she'd fall all the way to the bottom.
"It's going to rain soon, you should probably go inside. It is your party after all. Besides, this is my spot and you're sort of ruining my moment." Her eyes were fixed on the sky. She wondered what would happen if she just gave herself up to the stars. Would they take her without resistance or would they fight against her the same way everything else did?
His heart beat wildly in his chest as he scrambled over his railing and ran up the steps to the very top tower. Images of blonde hair dyed orange by blood on the pavement filled his mind.
Blood.
There would be so much blood.
There was so much blood.
His hair didn't even look blonde anymore.
By the time he's standing behind her, he was panting heavily and trembling slightly. He grasped onto her wrists firmly, pressing so hard that he could feel her pulse thumping slowly against his palm.
"Okay, now you're really ruining my moment." He had never known a more inappropriate time for someone to laugh.
"What the fuck are you even doing up here?" The question is laced with equal parts anger and fear.
"I could ask you the same question." The levity of her tone was both comforting and frightening. She was too… okay with this level of danger.
"Emma... just… come back over to this side. Please. You're freaking me out." Because if she died now it would be his fault. He was literally holding her life in his hands.
"Then go." She tilted her head toward the diner, squirming slightly under his grip.
"No, I can't."
"Why?"
There would be so much blood.
I don't want to kill you.
I already killed him.
"Because you're here." He knew that his response didn't make sense, but in that moment nothing made sense to him.
"I know. You're here too."
"Please, you're really freaking me out." His voice raised a pitch as he felt her hands loosen their grip on the railing.
"How many people do you think live in this city? One million? Ten million?" She flexed her fingers experimentally on the rails again.
"What?"
"How many souls do you think there are in this city?" One less because of him.
"I don't know. Does it matter?"
"I guess it doesn't. I guess it's just weird that in a city of at least a million people, there are still lonely people out there. What's weirder yet, is that these lonely people still fight to be here in this shitty, messed-up world." It was as if she was spinning these sad thoughts into a fine melody. There was no anger or frustration or even sorrow in her tone, but rather, her words were filled with wonder.
He thought about the sound of crunching metal, the constriction of the seat belt as it forced him into the seat when gravity wanted to pull him head first into the ground. The blood was so sticky.
"I thought about letting go." The words slipped out before he had time to catch them.
"I do too. Every day. All the time." The grip he had on her wrists unconsciously tightened. A low chuckle gathered in her throat. "Yet, here I am. Still standing here. And if I, Emma "foster freak" Swan, can figure out how to not let go. So can you, Killian Jones."
She jerked her wrists out of his grasp and for just a second his heart stopped because he's convinced she's jumped and he has to watch another person die. But, no. In a blink, she was standing in front of him, smoothing her skirt out.
The ground rumbled beneath them as the minute hand shifted under their feet, and as time literally moved a notch in front of their eyes, Killian was reminded of how vulnerable they were to time.
"A tip, Killian Jones. Stay away from high places."
And with a flash of blonde, she was gone, the soft clicking of her boots bounding down the steps the only proof that she had been there at all.
A/N: Just an idea that's been running through my head for a while. There's definitely some Killian/Milah in the early bits of this story, but it is 100% CaptainSwan. Let me know what you think so far and if I should keep on with this.
I was in the process of writing chapter 4 and the story just felt better in past tense as I got to a place where I was doing some heavy character development. I went through and switched up the tense in this chapter (please let me know if I missed anything) and the one after it, since they were posted in present as well as added a few lines here and there. Nothing is really that different, but if you want to go back and give it a reread by all means