A/N: Sorry this chapter took so long. Halfway through we decided to change the entire direction of the rest of the fic. #YOLO and then sissy got sick.

And I've lost who I am, and I can't understand.
Why my heart is so broken, rejecting your love, without, love gone wrong, lifeless words carry on.
But I know, all I know, is that the end's beginning.
Who I am from the start, take me home to my heart.

Her tremors are masked with the nod of her head as she falls into him, his reassurances- It's okay, love, you're home. You're safe now- falling on deaf ears. Without warning, her body is racked with coughing, jerking back with tautly shut eyes. He's staring at her with wonder and trepidation braided into his expression. And though their location has changed, it does not ease her breathing nor the ache, the gaping hole, in her chest. Killian walks them over to a nearby chair and she spots Regina leaving, the dulled click of the door that no one else seems to notice. Before she can ponder why the Queen has left so abruptly, her parents are hovering, repeated whispers of her name over and over and over, sucking the oxygen from the air as they hug her too tightly and talk too much. It's overwhelming and conflicting with what she's come to know of them, come to believe. It makes her home feel more foreign than the undiscovered realms. She grips Killian's hand with all her remaining strength and she feels him tense in her hold, a silent understanding passing between them. "Killian?"

"Are you alright?" He crouches lower to the ground and she appreciates the gesture. His tone gentle and timid as he brings their coupled hands up to her face, fingers softly brushing across her cheek and tucking the thick strands behind her ears. Killian lets his hand linger there, rubbing soothing circles at her temple with his thumb.

"I just want to go home." She can feel the weakness in her own voice, how her eyes leave his as her head falls into his shoulder. He can't see her expression here and maybe if he can't see her, he can't see how much she needs him, even if she doesn't want to need him. "Please, Killian. Take me home."

He offers his hook for balance as they rise and she accepts with wobbly legs, letting her weight slump into his arms. David is by her side within seconds and she repeats in her mental fog that it's okay, trust him Emma, it's okay before releasing the cool metal in exchange for her father's hand. She continues to careen towards Killian as they walk, hips bumping while make their way to the car.

The door startles her. Every noise startles, every knob turn and indistinct hum of the radio. Initially, her muscles stiffen at Killian's touch, her body still in fight or flight as she silently talks herself down. But then, she curls into him, placing her head on his chest and drowning herself in his heartbeat, pleading with her mind to quiet.

She's ushered inside like a child in trouble, their hands grabbing at the back of her shirt as they all but force her to advance forward into the too bright loft. Hook leads her to the kitchen stool and she sits, his arms wrapping around her, trying to anchor her back in reality, fingers caressing the fabric of her sweater from behind. "Thank you." Emma mutters to her parents, the upward turn of her lips not meeting her eyes.

"I'll make some hot cocoa," Mary Margaret offers, the soft motherly caress of her hand feeling foreign to this new version of herself.

David sets a glass of water on the tabletop, the liquid cooling her hoarse throat as she reaches for another, consumed with a thirst she hadn't noticed until now. She assumes that whatever magic was in the Underworld sustained her in that matter. Snow sets a mug topped with sprinkles of cinnamon in front of her and she accepts, gingerly sipping the hot beverage. Her mind slips back to Hades and she lets it stay there, too exhausted to fight the demons that plague her for-

"Mom!"

Henry dives through the loft, the door slamming hard against the wall reminding her of Hades' clap of thunder upon his arrival to her corner of hell. She jumps in her seat, the mug breaking to pieces as it hits the floor. Emma can feel the room's eyes on her as she stares blankly at the ground, apprehensive and concerned faces peering through her. Through her walls and into her brokenness. "I don't...I'm sorry. I didn't mean-"

"It's okay, love. It was an accident." Killian's voice cuts her off and he stoops to the ground, gathering the pieces in a pile with the inside curve of his hook.

"Mom, I missed you." Now even her son is hesitant to speak to her as he not-so-subtly analyzes the situation. "Are you okay?"

She hears the words tumble out of her mouth before she processes them, an age old guard rising up before he, or anyone, can delve any further. "I'm fine, Henry I..." Her tongue skids across her upper lip as she searches for the right words, loathing her own uncertainty in her feelings. Behind him she can see Regina looking on with leering eyes. "I missed you too."

There's another collective moment of unsettled tension, eyes watching for her next move. She knows what she would have done before her time in The Underworld - she would have pulled her son into her arms and held him tight, press her hand to his head, relish in the warmth that floods her heart when she embraces her baby boy. But now, as Henry shuffles towards her and presses his chin atop her shoulder, there is no warmth. Only a shadow of a voice in her mind, repeating tiny falsities that she has come to believe as truths. The longer he clings, the harder it gets to breath - a sharp thumping in the place where her heart should be, a crater formed by words that bellowed out of a rugged mirror.

Emma lifts her eyes from the rivets in the floorboards to Killian - her lungs protesting, still too weak to take a decent breath - hoping he can still read her as well as he had always claimed and that it wasn't a lie he would whisper in her ear at night.

"Henry, why don't we give your mother a minute to catch her breath? She's still a little weak from our travels." Emma doesn't miss the distress that rolls through the blue of Killian's eyes like a tidal wave, the way her silent Thank You makes his jaw tick.

"Yeah, okay." Henry gives her shoulders one final squeeze before backing away - the look on his face breaking her heart for reasons she can't quite understand.

The boy in the mirror resembles nothing of this Henry, the sadness that washes over his face a total contrast to the happiness that oozed from the one behind the glass. It sends her mind into a frenzy of thoughts, making her doubt what is real and what is not. Whether she can trust any of them.

"Henry, you can stay with me tonight." Regina's voice is oddly heartening, not marred by the darkness of the Underworld, no self-doubt linking itself to her words. It's a friendship formed of circumstance - although mostly rocky at times.

"That sounds like a great idea. It's been a long day as it is, we should all get some rest." The prospect of rest, at Mary Margaret's insistence, causes another boulder of panic to mould in an already empty chest. Even if she's closed off, the idea of being left alone to scrap up the fragments in the aftermath, if only for a night, terrifies her. To feel Killian's fingers, gaze, presence, all slip away once more in exchange for something else seems all too much (too similar to the magic produced clone that crushed her heart).

But when she glances over to him, his every feature outlined in worry and telltale jaw clench, she begins questioning the merit of these fears, further blurring the lines between reality and delusion.

"Emma, honey why don't you go get cleaned up? Take a hot shower?"

It is a great idea - she can feel the dirt coating her skin and matted, clumped hair that falls around her shoulders. A part of her wants to stay fantasizing in this skewed cosmos where they pretend to love, with genuine care reflecting in their eyes instead of facing her first moment back alone. But she knows it will make her feel at least a little bit better to have the faucet wash the remnants of her stay in the Underworld away. Maybe being clean will help her think straight, maybe it will start to heal.

Emma looks to Killian, eyes flooded with too many emotions she can't name. His grip on her hand, hook resting against her hip, anchoring her in a way that is both calming and oppressive.

"I'll be right here, go."

The exertion that seizes her during her small trek to to the bathroom is visible in the slight quiver of her legs. It's degrading, her inability to do the simplest of tasks as she leans against the wall for balance, door now concealing her from their concerned faces. Hidden away with the faucet to drown out the noise, she can stop pretending and just feel. She sinks to the ground, watching as the dirt circles the drain and stains the water gray. The heat and pressure is soothing to her muscles as she tries to scrub the pain away. It doesn't work, each memory on a loop as she pictures Hook's face full of contempt, Henry smiling as he proclaims he's happier without her, her parents saying that her job is done, no one needs her anymore...

She listens instead, cracking the curtain open to clarify the words from behind the closed door. She's not herself. Give it time, we only got a glimpse of what she's been through in that bloody inferno. Their voices quiet and she closes her eyes, daring her emotions to spew over as she pictures Hades. It sends chills down her spine and she increases the temperature, slinking back so that she is completely submerged in the downpour. It's an hour before she turns the water off, wrapping a towel around herself and settling on the edge of the tub.

There's footsteps and three gentle knocks on the door - she can hear the clank of metal rings against the wood and she sighs, relief engulfing her lungs.

"Emma, love. Can I come in? I have your clothes."

"Yeah, one second." She tucks the corner of the towel in and opens the door to invite him inside, shutting it behind them. "Thank you."

Emma's fiddling with her hands when he gasps, throwing the clothes to the side and rushing to her, hand reaching out to touch before pulling away. "Bloody hell, Emma. What happened?" Her wrists are blood red, scabs mounting the surface where soft skin should be and arms tainted in discolored spots of yellow, purple and red. Instinctively she reaches to cover them, stroking it with pruny fingers on damp skin.

"Hades." The weakness in her voice is echoed throughout her bones as she averts his gaze, staring instead at the tile that litters the floor. His anger radiates into the small, enclosed space. "Hey," Emma steps forward and links her hand in his. "It's okay. It's over now."

He doesn't hold back this time, pulling her into his arms, his hand sifting through the wet tangles. "I'm so sorry. I'm so sorry I didn't get to you sooner."

Emma shuts her eyes as she hugs him tighter, relishing in the warmth of his embrace. It's easy here, falling back into a rhythm long established. "It's okay. I'm okay now. You came and you tried and that's all that matters." He presses his lips against her head and she flinches. It feels familiar but wrong, his voice and touch tainted by manifestations of her deepest fears. A conundrum of confliction that's too exhausting to sort through. And he can sense the change, his small steps backwards extenuated by a weak smile, his thumb tracing her jawline.

"I'll let you dress now."

Emma can only nod, crossing her arms as goosebumps rise to the surface, body adjusting to the cool that he absorbed, frigid air and feelings she can neither name nor comprehend that eat away.

-/-/-

He glances back at her before shutting the door, leaning against it as another wave of anger soars through his veins. Killian closes his eyes, breathing heavily as he anchors himself to the present. There is nothing he can do now about what Swan has went through, no possible way to change it no matter how much he wants too. He pushes himself off the old wood, shuffling back to the kitchen where her parents wait for him with expectant eyes.

"How is she?" Snow offers a soft expression, the corners of her mouth twitching up in a poor attempt at smile.

"I should've run that bloody demon through with my sword." The words taste like venom against his tongue - hissing out through clenched teeth as the need to break bones rattles through his own.

Charming looks strained, his hand reaching out to grab Mary Margaret's. "What did she tell you?"

"She didn't have to tell me anything. She has bruises up and down her arms, across her chest. Her wrists, where the chains were…" His words trail off in a whisper, hand running roughly through his hair. He can't stop the images that rumble through his mind - his Swan being manhandled like a ragdoll, tossed about like she is nothing more than someone's play thing. "It's not enough to try and crush her heart, he had hurt her physically, as well?" Killian sighs loudly, arms coming to rest against the cool countertop as he ducks his head down.

He can feel his emotions rising to the surface once more, overtaken with misplaced guilt and unbearable sorrow. It swirls in him, heavy like lead in his blood and rocks in his gut. His cheeks flame red and his eyes burn from unshed tears. He wishes he could take all the bruises marring her body and decorate himself with them; make the choking anguish in his throat more visceral.

The sound of the bathroom door opening forces him upright. She looks like a small child; her hair falling in wet clumps against her shoulders, arms tucked securely around her chest, eyes downcast and dull. It's clearer now, how weak she is - her body barely carrying her to where he stands, her breath shallow, her skin pale. His worry bubbles back to the surface to lodge itself between his lungs.

"Sorry, I didn't mean to be in there so long."

"It's alright, love." He tries desperately to keep his eyes focused on hers and not the contusions that are littered across her skin. "Do you feel any better?"

Her motions, unsteady feet tripping over each other, betray the nod of her head that answers yes.

"I've got you." Killian's arms envelop her quickly, his hand coming up to cradle her head as she careens into him. He feels her jaw extend in a yawn across his shoulder, the vibration ricocheting through her frail form. The look he exchanges with the prince is one of deep concern at Emma's current state. He briefly wonders when the last time she got any real sleep was, the stress of the day's (months) events ebbing away from the surface, sanctioning the exhaustion - feeble muscles and tired eyes - to take her captive.

"Snow and I are going to go to bed, you two should do the same." David says with a squeeze to his wife's shoulder. Killian swoops his hooked arm under Emma's knees, picking her up and carrying her bridal style up the stairs.

"I can walk, you know." Emma mumbles.

"But that wouldn't be any fun, Swan." The sadness gleaming in his eyes give way to the otherwise playful words and he wonders if she knows how much it breaks him to see her hurt. He sets her on the bed, cocooning her in the sheets that had already been pulled down in anticipation for her arrival, before turning to leave.

"Don't go." There's a gentle tug on his hand that anchors him back to her side, desperate eyes searching, reading, deciphering hers.

"I'm just going to sleep on the couch. I thought-"

"Stay."

Relief rolls through him as he leans down to kiss her head, walking to the opposite end of the room and trading in his clothing for a comfier choice. When he climbs in bed, she curls into him, relaxing into his shoulder and wrapping her arms around him. It's different than normal - the same actions, same positioning, but they are not the same. He can feel her slipping away the closer she gets, can see the reflection of a lost girl in her bloodshot eyes, the heartbeat that once lulled her to sleep making her jump. The exhaustion that rumbles throughout her is more than just a temporary depression and he longs to know what the deity did to make her question her rescue earlier in the day.

She falls asleep easily, but it is not restful. She tosses and turns, incoherent noises occasionally filling the quiet loft as he tries to whisper promises - truths in her ear to silence the demons that still plague her, his stub rubbing soothing circles in her back as he contemplates waking her. Before, Emma Swan slept through anything, even the cries from the baby downstairs.

He has to remind himself that this isn't like before and not everything has a magical solution. Killian kisses her head again, letting his lips linger on the damp hair that tickles when she moves, letting a teardrop fall onto his pillow as he closes his eyes. And though they shut, sleep does not come. So he waits for her to wake, hoping that his presence will be of comfort to her.

-/-/-

It feels like a laying on a cloud, hair slicked back haphazardly behind her lightly brushing the pillow that supports her head, her body sinking further into the softness beneath her. There's a warmth snaking around her waist that tugs her closer and an ease that coils in her stomach at his breath on the back of her neck.

She bolts up with a sharp inhale, frantic eyes surveying the room that is a perfect imitation of her own as she awaits laughter from above to taunt her. Waiting for everything to fade back into the darkness that is supposed to surround her.

"Emma? Emma, what's wrong?" Killian's sitting up with her, hand reaching out to grip her arm and lull her back down.

"No, no this isn't funny." She throws the sheets off, a confused twinge that hurtles through her at the tangibility of it all; the coolness that cloaks her fingers, the scent of perfume and rum on her bedspread, the small ship that rests on her armour, his clothes folded neatly in a corner. "You're not really here. This...No he's playing with me, Hades. It's just another one of his tricks."

"Emma, this isn't a trick. You're home. We brought you home." He brings his hand to her cheek, forcing her frenzied expression to meet his - full of concern and tenderness. "I know you're scared, you have every right to be, but I promise you, love, this is real. You are safe now."

Bundled up anxiety is released with the deep exhale that ensue his words. She nods, slinking back down and burying herself in his chest, allowing his touch to calm her, to try and chase the fears away.

Her limbs feel even heavier than they did before, eliciting a soreness that adds to the singe that still burns where her heart should be. When he holds her, however, the singe lessens, transforming instead into more of distant throbbing. It's what coaxes her to stay despite the voices screaming inside her to run, repeating the last few months in her head.

Emma's almost asleep when she feels the mattress shift, his quiet footsteps only noticeable because she had been listening for them. It's like earlier, the comfort and oppression that logically should clash. But they don't. They collide and they mingle, reaping a discomforting relief at his both his absence and his presence. The same is reciprocated with how she feels around Henry and her parents.

"How is she?" She can hear her father's words from below. His tone is so dissimilar from what she heard in the Underworld.

"I stayed up all night. She slept, but not very well. I can't even begin to imagine what she must have been dreaming about. I wish I could take this pain away from her, do something more than just hold her all night."

Yesterday she would have believed Hook did not care for her, that she was another challenge, or conquest rather, that could be won over. But this Killian is not him. He is everything she had always believed before. Before visions that haunt her every breath distorted him into a version that only exists in the darkest depths of her unconscious, created by insecurities and failed past relationships. Hades had called him the catalyst to her demise, using love in all of it's forms, to break her and leave her more heartbroken than she has ever felt. She wishes she could erase that man, the fake Killian, from her mind and return the love she sees shining in his eyes.