Sins Remembered

Disclaimer: Not mine. Just borrowing.

Killian repeatedly saying that Emma should have stayed in Storybrooke, she should go back without him, etc, resulted in this little one-shot about an Underworld run in with a fellow Killian mentioned a few episodes earlier…

Nymph, in thy orisons

Be all my sins remembered.

Hamlet Act 3, Scene 1

"Well, look who it is. One Hand Jones."

Killian's heart stuttered painfully. He knew that voice. In all his long years, only one man had ever dared call him that, at least in his hearing, and Killian had made him pay dearly for it.

"Barnaby." He looked just like the day Hook had killed him: tall, wiry, with hair so matted and dirty it was hard to tell the color. Just the sight of the man made the ever-widening hole in Killian's chest crack open a little more. The guilt, the weight of what he'd done burned through him.

"Still wearing my ring, too," the man spat.

Killian had taken the ring from Barnaby's hand, making sure the fallen, dying man saw him place it on his own finger. "Only needed one hand to gut you, you whoreson dog." He remembered wearing a furious grin as he taunted him. "And I'll only need one hand to please your lady wife once you're gone."

Barnaby's horrified eyes had locked on his wife who stood nearby, equally horrified, her gaze flitting back and forth between her dying husband and his murderer. Barnaby had expired quickly and Killian had tossed a pouch of gold to the new widow. "For your trouble, ma'am."

Killian had worn that ring ever since, a trophy for all the realms to see. In quieter moments though, he had remembered the man's wife, the tears on her cheeks and the disgust on her face as she looked at him. Now, as he had told Emma, he wore it to remind him that love could forgive those past transgressions. He doubted, however, Barnaby would go along with that.

"What's the matter, Jones?" Barnaby snapped. "Nothing to say for yourself?"

Barnaby wasn't Killian's first visitor. It seemed all of Hook's sins had come back to haunt him. The past days, weeks, months, he hardly knew anymore, had been a near constant parade of his failures and his cruelty, his impatience, his wicked temper, and his drunken stupidity. On and on, hundreds of years of villainous choices and deeds leading to men and women lost with unfinished business, all of it his fault. If ever anyone deserved to be punished, he knew it was him.

Some of his visitors cried. Others raged. They spat, struck, shouted, accused. Some demanded answers he didn't have. Some brought weapons to drive their lessons home.

Killian wasn't exactly sure where he was. It was an unidentifiable room, windowless, dank, and dark with bars making up one wall. There was a torch attached to a column outside the bars giving the only light. He'd occasionally been allowed to rest on a bit of straw in the corner, but most of the time he'd been chained to the wall, or tied to a chair, or something similar. It seemed to vary depending on what visitor Hades had allowed to drop by. Killian had a sinking feeling Hades had been personally handing out invitations.

Killian was sitting on the stone floor, his wrists in manacles chained to the wall above his head. Hades had taken great pleasure in informing him that just because he only had one hand that didn't mean he could slip out of his fetters. Hades specialized in creative confinement for those needing his personal attention, and the cuff had angled spikes, digging in tightly above Killian's missing hand. The more he tried to pull it off, the more the spikes dug into his arm.

Barnaby stepped closer and kicked him solidly in his ribs. They were already broken from the lesson he'd been taught earlier in the day… or the day before… He couldn't remember. They were all running together at this point. Nevertheless, he felt another rib, one that had still been intact give way. He supposed that had he been alive, his lung would have long collapsed by now and he'd have suffocated.

"I'm sorry," Killian gasped out, fighting through the agony. He'd lost count of how many times he'd said it now, to how many people. There was nothing else he could say really. He could make a snide remark, or offer some quip. These people, however, didn't deserve a flippant response. They had every right to be angry with him and he knew it. He had wronged this man, and there was no way to alter such a deed.

He could tell Barnaby that the day he'd killed him, he'd been so blind with pain and fury, he'd lashed out at the first person who'd crossed him. The loss of Milah had been too fresh in his mind, the loss of his hand, the physical pain from that loss, had been too fresh. The frustration of dealing with Pan, of running his errands, with no means of skinning the Crocodile in sight…

He'd still been Jones then. He hadn't quite graduated to Hook. Barnaby's death, though, right in the middle of the tavern in front of his wife, his friends, the crew… It had made sure that his fame spread. If any of his men had thought being one-handed meant he was easy pickings, they learned differently that day. They met Captain Hook and were reminded that whether Hook or Jones, he wasn't a man to be trifled with.

"You're sorry?" Barnaby said through gritted teeth. "You spill my guts on the floor, you take my wife and you're sorry?"

He kicked him again and again, his pointed boots digging into Killian's hip, his leg, his ribs until he couldn't think beyond the pain. He was chained and had no way to protect himself, which he supposed was the point Hades was trying to drive home. Killian, Hook, had spent centuries being a villain. He'd had countless victims, all at his mercy, and far too often he'd been merciless. He'd given no quarter. He'd been a pirate and he hadn't remained Captain all those years through kindness and camaraderie, more like camaraderie combined with sheer brutality.

"I… I didn't… Your wife… Never…" Killian tried to tell him. Barnaby had died thinking Hook had his sights set on her next, and sad to say, Hook couldn't have cared less about her in that moment. He'd only wanted to make Barnaby suffer. He'd thrown the coins at her and never seen her again.

"What?"

The blows stopped and Killian sagged against the chains holding him. His leg… something had cracked in his leg, he was sure of it. How was he supposed to run when he got the chance if he couldn't bloody walk?

"Never… touched her," Killian gasped.

"Shut your mouth." Barnaby followed the order with a furious punch to Killian's jaw to ensure he did. "You have no right to speak of her. None."

Killian let his head fall back against the cell wall. He was seeing stars, and he could taste the blood in his mouth. He didn't remember Barnaby being so strong.

"Doesn't matter. You finally got what you deserve, Jones." Barnaby kicked him again, his pointed boot connecting a well-aimed shot at Killian's knee. "I only wish I could shake the hand of the lass who finally did you in." Barnaby leaned down, close enough that Killian could smell his fetid breath, and see his rotten teeth as he smiled. "I even heard she loved you once. So much the better. She wised up and killed you before you could do any more damage."

Emma always said it didn't matter what he'd done before, that he was a different man now, but he knew. Killian knew the things he'd done. He knew what he was still capable of under the right circumstances. What he'd done as the Dark one was evidence of that.

He'd begged Emma not to make him a Dark One, because he knew just how weak he was, how easily he fell back into the darkness. Even during his pirating days, there had been moments of light, moments when he'd remembered to do the right thing, to do what Liam would have wanted him to do, but then something would happen, and he would tumble right back into the gutter. It was simply too easy for him to fall back into those habits. He'd been an angry young man after their father sold them, and he'd grown into an angry, villainous old man.

Emma might say it didn't matter what he'd done, but Killian's current predicament proved otherwise. He'd earned his place in the Underworld a thousand times over. He'd had a blessed reprieve during his time with Emma, a few moments in the sun. He'd been allowed to bask in the light she brought into his life, the goodness. He still loved her with every fiber of his being. Yet he knew, he'd seen, that within seconds of becoming the Dark One, he hadn't just been led astray. He'd leapt into that darkness headlong, reveled in it. He'd nearly destroyed everything he loved. That, more than all of his dark deeds, was why he was damned to remain in this place.

Barnaby didn't know how right he was about Emma stopping him from doing more damage. Emma had fought the darkness tooth and nail, while he'd bathed in it and let it take him, body and soul. The things he'd said to Emma… The things he'd done… It was only right that she of all people had stopped him. She'd had the strength all along.

Barnaby continued, unaware of Killian's wandering thoughts. "For years I've seen damned soul after damned soul come here with your name still a curse on their lips when they arrive. I've waited, we've all waited, for another chance at you."

"Well, aren't I the lucky one to be so warmly welcomed," he muttered. He couldn't help it. He was too tired, too hurt to manage his mouth and he's never been all that good at it to begin with. He bit his lip to keep from saying anything else, then realized his lip was split again and grimaced.

Barnaby raised his arm and delivered a crushing backhand. Well, that, Killian knew was definitely going to do some damage. He could almost immediately feel his eye beginning to swell.

"Time's up." Killian's jailer was standing at the door, holding it open. Killian had long since learned there was no negotiation with the guards, no conversation at all really.

Barnaby walked toward the door, but stopped and half-turned back toward him. "I think I'll ask for an audience with Lord Hades. Perhaps he'll allow me to make this a weekly visit."

"I said time's up," the guard snapped.

Barnaby stalked out of the cell without another backward glance and Killian sagged against his chains. His side was on fire, but in truth, everything hurt, including his weary, blackened heart.

"Rough day?"

Killian huffed out a mockery of a laugh. Wonderful. Hades had decided to drop by.

"I've had worse," Killian replied. "The day Grumpy made a concoction called bubble gum salad." He gave a fake shudder that hurt so badly he started wheezing. Nevertheless, he forced himself to continue. "Now that you've arrived, I'll admit I feel a bit of hope beginning to bubble up, or perhaps it's anticipation. You somehow bring it out in me."

Hades' lips twitched in the barest sketch of a smile. He stepped closer and used his heavy boots to kick Killian's legs to one side. He cried out involuntarily as Hades bent down on his haunches so that they were at eye level.

"For your sake, let's… hope… that's not true. Hope isn't allowed here as you are well aware."

"Why are you here?"

Hades grabbed the front of Killian's shirt and dragged him to his feet in one motion. With a wave of his hand, the chains fell away. Killian bent forward, his hand trying to brace his broken ribs, while the rest of his body screamed in agony at the movement. His eyes watered and his ears buzzed, shutting out everything else until he felt Hades slam him back against the wall, forcing him to stand upright.

Killian's eyes slowly focused, or rather eye. His left one was definitely swelling closed.

Hades cocked his head to one side. "I am here to… remind you… why you are here. To remind you that there is no reprieve… no way out… your soul is mine to do what I see fit. I will beat you, torture you, crush you… until every last bit of that famous defiance has been broken."

"Well," Killian panted, "I'll be sure to mark that on my schedule." He shifted off his bad leg. "How does Monday sound?"

"It sounds fine," Hades replied smoothly. "We'll have this Monday, and the Monday after that, and the Monday after that. We have an eternity of Monday's. Because one thing is certain. You. Cannot. Leave." He gave him a half-smile. "Ever. Our actions have consequences, don't they, Captain?" Hades tapped Killian's leather brace.

Killian gritted his teeth and remained steadfastly silent. Never let it be said he didn't learn from past mistakes. He hadn't killed Regina or any of the others for their cavalier remarks, and fighting Hades would do even less good. That didn't mean he didn't wish them both to the bottom of the sea when they made snide comments.

Hades backed away. "I think that's enough for now. Enjoy your evening. We'll do this… or maybe something a little more interesting… again tomorrow."

Hades and the guard left the room, and Killian knew he only had to remain standing long enough for them to be out of earshot. His vision was already blurring. He was going to pass out and he welcomed the reprieve, but his pride kept him upright until they were gone.

It was like a vision.

Emma.

It couldn't be.

She was calling to him. But his mind… he couldn't focus... he couldn't… he hurt so badly…

As quickly as it had come, it was gone again.

Emma. Surely, she had more sense than to try to save him this time. Surely, she knew it was impossible. Yet, something inside him said it was true, that she was in the Underworld.

Killian sank to the floor and toppled to one side. He was where he deserved to be. He'd given into the darkness again and nearly killed her and her whole family. He had killed… so, so many… ruined as many more. But Emma… she couldn't be here. She couldn't stay.

Killian smiled, a real smile, for the first time in what felt like ages. Emma Swan never ceased to amaze him. He had to get to her. When he woke, he would. It was as simple as that.

Allrighty then… Thanks for reading. Hope you enjoyed it. Now let's get this poor guy out of the Underworld, shall we? It's been awful hard on him.