Important Author's Notes: There's necessary alterations to backstories/experiences, which are mostly evident with Henry and his character. This is slow-burn Captain Swan, with some Snowing, but you won't see Emma for a few chapters. There's a tribute video made for this story - link is in my profile. Note for those reading my other fic, there's also an explanation regarding it in my profile.
Caution: this story deals with adoption/foster care, abandonment, alcoholism (not frequently), character death (no one who hasn't already died on the show at some point), and moments of unrestrained cuteness.
~ The Lost Boy ~
The rumble of storm clouds were drowned by the sea of beeping traffic and raised voices flowing through Killian's window. The noise carried dread with it each morning he spent there, but was now a welcome tune. After weeks of pacing the rented city apartment, months of filling out paperwork, and years of forced patience – he finally received the call that they'd found him a child.
He'd barely remembered to speak, and collapsed onto the sunken couch immediately afterwards. Killian stayed there, listening to the city bustle beyond his glass window, trying to compose the strength needed to accept he was about to become a father. His emotions were at war, torn between excitement and fear, like a ship battling raging waves.
Being freed from delays endured over the years, constantly having to prove his suitability to raise a child on his own, did little to ensure his early arrival to the final meeting.
'Keys...' Killian turned on the spot, glaring at the paint-peeled room as if it could be accused of swallowing his belongings. 'Where's the bloody keys?'
Digging them out of couch cushions was a task made harder by his trembling hands. Killian paused, heart racing faster, in consideration if he was actually capable of driving in such a state. He wanted to laugh, cry, and scream, but there wasn't time for any of it. He'd been through far worse than a simple meeting with those who've made it a hobby to reject him, yet his nervousness remained.
He changed his shirt five times, forgot his wallet twice, conducted arguments in his head about what would be the fastest way to bond with a child, and demonstrated rare gratitude for slow traffic. He forced himself to focus on the meeting instead of the crippling fact he could still ruin everything. It was a habit he was yet break.
Looking up the tall building, Killian exhaled the longest breath his lungs would allow. Checking his pocket for the truck's keys, he berated himself under breath from cement curb to office door. His watch indicated he'd barely made it on time, and Killian hoped no one else could hear the heart pounding his ribcage. He willed his hands to still, afraid of being labelled drug-addict and sent back to the beginning of his agonising application process.
The dark-skinned, balding adoption agent in the office wasn't familiar, but greeted Killian with a warm smile.
'Killian Jones?' the man asked, offering his hand.
'Aye.' Killian shook hands, ignoring the dryness of his throat. 'I mean, yes. Yes,' he stuttered, fighting a grimace.
The loud city was blocked by dutiful windows, as Killian sat in the room's only other chair. It was the silence that almost caused surrender. The man behind the desk shuffled papers, humming every few pages, and sighed often. Killian was usually good at reading people, but the agent would no doubt destroy him in poker.
'This has been quite a process for you,' the agent finally said.
'Yes.' Killian grit his teeth.
Regina's repeated warning to keep comments to himself had ingrained itself in his brain. Killian's rough social skills and opinions where, in her words, rarely welcomed by any outsider who didn't know him well enough not take them personally. Regina said it as if believing Killian didn't mean every blunt word that left his mouth, and he spared himself the trouble of correcting her.
Pages turned, another hum, and the adoption agent looked up.
'Well, everything is in order,' the man said. 'You have impeccable references.'
Killian smiled. Mary and David worked through many nights to perfect every detail for him when his previous application progress fell through. Regina tossed him advice for hours throughout months spent preparing for this moment. She'd bullied extra help from others when needed, but Killian knew her heart was in the right place.
Shifting in the too-straight chair, Killian briefly wondered what merciless Hell Regina would raise upon the world if his application received yet another delay.
'You're aware of your rights and responsibilities,' the agent continued, checking the final paperwork. 'Let's talk about your son.'
Son.
That one word hit Killian with the force of a runaway carriage. He leaned forward, pushing aside his nerves in eagerness to learn about the boy who was to be his son. His yearning to be a father, and grow his family, was all that got Killian through his life's darkness when rum failed him. There were many times he'd nearly lost hope, but his family simply wouldn't allowed it. Killian knew he'd be nowhere and nothing without them.
'His name is Henry and he's 10-years-old.' The agent watched him closely. 'He was placed for adoption at birth.'
Killian nodded, inhaling. He'd never indicated preferences, thinking he'd be lucky to get any kid at all, but still his stomach dropped. Ten years in the foster system was not how a child should begin their life.
'There's one item I'd like to go over in detail,' the agent said. 'This is a closed adoption, which means you'll never be able to contact your child's birth parents. It's a complete information blackout. Parents' names, ethnicity, genealogical records – you won't have access to any of it.'
Killian nodded, remembering Regina's coaching. She'd thought of everything he'd need to conduct himself properly in that office, if only his nerves weren't just below the surface and muddling his concentration.
'I'm concerned with my son's future, not his past,' Killian said, straightening. He mentally cursed the chair pressed hard against his back.
There was bitter irony in his statement, considering how interested the agency were in his past. Even Regina, who had some experience with the process, believed it unreasonably excessive. The agency refused to proceed until he proved in triplicate that his past was behind him. Killian pretended for years that it was, denying nightmares of the crash or rare moments when he sold himself to rum.
Only David knew the truth, but that's how it'd always been.
'Well, then, congratulations!' the agent smiled, pressing a call button on his desk phone. 'You ready to meet your son?'
'Yes,' Killian gasped, instantly standing.
He wasn't ready; he was terrified. His heart danced in sync to the ticking swan clock on the wall, as Killian fixed his gaze on the door until it opened.
A woman entered, then stepped aside to reveal a brown-haired ten-year-old. Though mostly hidden under a thick jacket, the boy's clothes were in okay condition – a good sign, according to Mary's endless research.
'So, you're my dad?' The boy stood in front of him, green eyes travelling from Killian's boots to dark hair. 'I'm Henry.'
Killian smiled, swallowing to remind himself the adoption agent and social worker remained observant. He wanted to hug his new son and never let him go, but even without Regina he knew that would be too big a step so soon.
Collapsing in a heap of emotions wasn't going to help his case or dignity either.
'Nice to meet you, Henry,' Killian said, nodding.
Whatever happened next was a blur.
Killian signed paperwork and shook hands with Henry's social worker, Diane. Leaving with his son, Killian resisted glancing over his shoulder every few steps to check the boy was still there.
This was real.
Relief washed away anticipation and dread, paving room for new fears and insecurities. He had no idea what to say to the boy, and suddenly envied every parent who met their child as an infant yet to comprehend social exchanges.
They got in the brown truck, Henry holding a trash bag of belongings on his lap, and returned among familiar traffic. Slowing behind a red van, Killian risked a glance. Henry sat still, head turned to the window, watching a yellow car.
Was he supposed to say something to the boy or give him space?
Sighing, Killian returned his focus to the road and hoped fatherly-stuff would come naturally once they'd settled. In a single day, both his and Henry's lives have not only changed but merged. There was lots of adjustment ahead.
Silence stretched on yet again. Killian was actually pleased to see the apartment he'd spent weeks loathing.
'This...Is where you live?' Henry frowned, entering the large room.
'What?' Killian glanced at the crooked fridge and flickering overhead light, offended. 'Not at all, lad. We've a long drive home; we'll stay here tonight and head off in the morning.'
'Okay.' Henry nodded, looking at his harshly-worn shoes.
'Is that all you have?' Killian eyed the black trash bag.
'Don't need much.' The boy shrugged, keeping eyes low as he clutched the bag.
Killian understood; he'd arrived at Ruth Nolan's farm with even less. He doubted any parent could surpass Ruth's spirited kindness and infallible patience, but he intended to follow her example the best he was capable of.
His secret stash of rum and regrets would have to go.
'I uh...' Killian quickly invented an excuse. 'I almost forgot, there's things I need to pick up before the trip. Perhaps we can add to your belongings as well?'
'Really?' Henry lifted his chin. 'I'll work for it, of course. I can-'
'No, no – none of that.' Killian turned, leading them back downstairs and to the truck. 'Those days are over, Henry. You have a family and a home now. It's my job to make sure you have everything you need.'
Henry's smile was genuine, but he hardly said a word the rest of the afternoon.
They drove around the city, shopping for hours and discovering how tricky shopping really was. It wasn't as if Killian had never bought clothes before, though he did avoid the task where possible, but the children's clothing range opened his eyes to true horrors of the ordeal.
He tried to ignore price tags, but Henry insisted they check each one. Killian marvelled at a mother blindly picking a handful of clothes for her young daughter, while he had one of Henry's old shirts as an improvised size guide. The boy wasn't much help either, as most of his clothes were from donations.
Of all places, it was in the shoe store that Killian almost spiralled his final descent into madness.
~ H ~
Nightfall found the pair on the sunken apartment couch with pizza.
Killian was optimistic about fatherhood, while Henry expressed enthusiasm for his new hoodie by hiding his face in it like a stereotypical hoodlum. Full of cheesy crust and pepperoni, the boy jumped up to fill his new backpack with their purchases. He threw in new clothes and a handful of books, then dug through his soon-to-be-discarded trash bag for a stuffed toy that was probably many shades lighter when he first got it.
'That's filthy,' Killian frowned, halting the boy's intentions to pack it with his new stuff. 'We could have bought a-'
'No!' Henry tugged the neck of his hoodie, dropping the toy duck underneath. He held it there, out of sight, and hurried backwards. 'Don't take it!' Eyes widening, his chest heaved with panic.
'Whoa, whoa – hey, Henry...' Killian held up his hands, resisting the flush of guilt. 'My apologies, lad. I didn't realise its value. I won't take it, I promise.'
Henry fixed him with a stern stare, hugging his lumpy hoodie.
'It's in quite a state,' Killian tried again. 'What if I prepare a bath – clean it up a bit?'
Henry glanced at the coffee table between them as if looking for something to retaliate with.
Killian slowly stood and headed to the kitchen area. Pouring soap and warm water into the sink, he pretended not to notice his son sneaking beside him. Watching Henry scrub the duck clean, standing on a chair for better access, Killian mentally berated his own foolishness. He, of all people, should have known anything non-practical the boy held onto was obviously treasured.
His optimistic plunge into fatherhood began to drop rather rapidly like a stone finishing its skip across a lake.
'Does he have a name?' Killian asked.
'Swan,' Henry answered, topping the toy's yellow head with soapsuds. 'It's from my mother.'
Killian contemplated those words later that night.
The duck, dried with a pink hair-dryer Killian would deny existence of if David ever found out, remained squished under the boy's arm. Henry didn't let it out of sight or grip once. Climbing into bed, he snuggled Swan while watching Killian fold sheets up to his chin.
'Goodnight, son,' Killian said.
He'd waited a lifetime to say those words. Henry's response was a tiny smile, as the boy switched off the bedside lamp and tugged his sheets higher.
Half the apartment cloaked in shadows, Killian stretched across the couch with a heavy sight. He didn't back down from challenges and wasn't about to start now. Resting an arm over his eyes, Killian scoffed quietly to clear his throat choked with emotion. Tucking his son into bed for the first time had unravelled him.
Quickly sitting, Killian tossed aside the empty pizza box to locate his phone. He'd neglected to update his family on his extraordinary day. Even now, after all those years, it was a strange concept to accept he had a family who readily loved and supported him. With everything he put them through, from being an angry orphan to the dark times he'd only barely begun to crawl out of, still they remained. Regina had to, but Mary and David held no such obligation.
They were the role models his son could aspire to and needed in his life.
[Killian] – Got the call today. I have a son!
[David] – What?
[David] - I'm so happy for you mate! What's his name? How old?
[Killian] – Will call you tomorrow before we leave.
[Killian] - His name is Henry.
[David] – I'll hold you to that. Congrats, man. Can't wait to meet him.
Killian leaned back, a smile on his face as he listened to screeching brakes and wailing sirens flowing through the open window. He had a son.
Henry was hidden under the sheets, revealing only a mop of brown hair. Killian ached to go to the roof and declare to the world that he finally had a child of his own. Unconvinced the boy was actually asleep, Killian couldn't even lock himself in the cramped bathroom to cry himself raw in relief and whatever else his tangle of emotions could be defined as.
He had no idea how to be a good dad – or a dad at all, in fact. But his first day as a father was already enough motivation to commit himself to overcoming his habits and the pain that plagued him since the accident. Sighing, rubbing hands over his face, Killian's optimism sunk into a watery grave. He could barely take care of himself and now he had Henry to consider. He could do it, Killian knew, or else he'd never have made it this far, but it was still a lot to take in.
His excitement from earlier was like adrenaline – a momentary boost to help him forget how terrified he was underneath.
Henry was quiet and distant during breakfast.
Killian had impatiently spent years reading every cheap parenting book he could get his hands on. He'd quizzed Regina, who had a young stepson she'd adopted three years ago, until he ran out of questions and she out of patience. Ten-year-old Henry sitting across from him at the rounded table made fatherhood more real and challenging than Killian ever braced himself for.
Henry gulped spoonfuls of soggy cereal, and Killian ducked into the hallway outside to call David.
It hardly rung once.
'Finally!' was the greeting he received.
'It's barely seven, mate.' Killian rolled his eyes. 'What did you-'
'What's Henry like?' David rushed. 'Tell me everything. How old is he?'
'Uh...' Killian moved further from the ajar door. 'He's ten. Likes books, from what I gather.'
'He's ten?' David paused. 'That's older than we hoped for.'
'I was fourteen when Ruth took me in,' Killian reminded him. 'Age doesn't matter. Henry's my son.'
The creaking door gave Henry away, and Killian smiled at the boy's hasty retreat.
'I didn't mean...' David sighed.
'I know.' Killian checked his pockets, frowning.
'Rough night?'
'Aye, barely slept a wink,' he said, traces of his grin remaining. 'But I'm fine. We've a long journey home.'
'We've prepared the farmhouse. You can stay as long as you need. We might be late home, but you know how to get in,' David said. 'I'm so happy for you, Killian. This is incredible! I can't believe it finally happened.'
He stared at his phone when David hung up.
His son was a miracle, but Killian's whirlwind of emotions had to be put to rest. He had a job to do – starting with driving all the way to Maine where they'd build their new life. David and Mary eagerly offered their spare rooms until Killian could get his own place sorted out, and he wanted to stabilise Henry's living situation as soon as possible.
'Ready to go?' Killian pat himself down for his keys and wallet.
The boy nodded, slipping on his new backpack. Swan was safely burrowed in the jacket Henry insisted on keeping and burying at the bottom of his bag. He stayed close to Killian's side when visiting the landlord, and quickly hopped into the truck to begin their journey home.
Passing cars and tall buildings, Killian didn't bother thinking of conversation topics to pass the time. He hadn't been in the city for a long time, preferring to avoid skeletons of memories it held. He took the longer route out, refusing to pass the park where he and Milah camped at a music festival or docks Liam helped him steal an overnight boat from.
No, his past was far from left behind.
'Can we stop for snacks?' Henry's curiosity broke his dad's dwelling as they left the city.
'Of course.' Killian chuckled. 'It's a road trip, lad. Snacks are required.'
'Absolutely.' The boy smiled, watching him drive.
Stopping at a gas station for fuel and snacks only reminded Killian he had no idea what his son liked. In effort to seem like he had everything under control, he bought as much variety as possible without risking a sugar-high. Regina would faint if she saw the pile, but luckily his life would be spared by removing every coloured wrapper before reaching Storybrooke.
He did, however, learn about Henry's love of playgrounds. It wasn't an odd interest for a child his age, but the boy earnestly requested they stop at every one. Killian, despite the detours added to their travel, obliged each time. There was something very reassuring about seeing his son run, climb, and swing like a regular ten-year-old boy.
'There's a great castle playground near home,' he said, as Henry crawled across the back of the truck to get his bag from under a tarp.
'What's this?' The boy held up a thick book.
'I forgot that was there.' Killian's eyebrows creased. 'It's been...Uh, a boy created a project to re-invent fairytales and put them together in a book. Your aunt and her class helped.'
'I love fairytales.' Henry flipped to a picture of the blue fairy. Sighing, he put it back and grabbed his hoodie.
'They won't mind you reading it,' Killian said, glancing at park trees swaying in the strong wind. 'Go ahead, lad.'
Grinning, Henry snatched the book. Caught off-guard by the boy's lunge to the ground, Killian instinctively raised his arms in case he had to catch him, but his son landed easily on two feet. Henry got into the passenger side of the truck, oblivious to Killian's three-second heart-attack.
'The boy was hardly in any danger,' Killian scolded himself, fishing in his pockets for keys.
'What's your favourite fairytale?' Henry asked, as they drove late into the afternoon. He held the storybook open on his lap, pausing often to look at his dad with renewed interest.
'Favourite fairytale?' Killian frowned, thinking. 'Snow White, I'd say.'
'Mine's The Ugly Duckling.' Henry looked down. 'Or Peter Pan.'
Killian shuddered at the mention of Peter Pan. He'd almost lost his hand in the crash; thoughts of Captain Hook haunted him with that tragic night.
'Where're we going?' Henry wondered. 'What's your house like?'
'A town called Storybrooke. We'll be passing the sign any moment now,' Killian said, nerves building and memories relentless. 'Our home is a small farm close to town. Lots of open space.'
'There it is!' Henry pointed.
Eyes wide and wary, the boy shrank against his seat and fell silent. The new, green "Welcome to Storybrooke" sign blurred in and out of view as the truck passed by.
The real journey ahead for Killian and Henry had only just begun.
Author's Notes: Review? Your feedback means a lot to me and will help the story, but regardless thank you so much for reading and I hope you're enjoying it so far.
Please also let me know your thoughts on the style I chose for text messaging. It's something that occurs often enough that I needed a (hopefully) natural/realistic way of displaying it. Additionally, I'm curious if anyone knows why Snow White might be Killian's favourite fairytale.
