The sound of approaching footsteps found Killian pacing aimlessly in circles around the office serving as his temporary prison. Zelena hadn't been gone long - so little time had elapsed, in fact, that he found himself wondering if the guards had already been waiting outside - before the vicious clicking of her heels mixed with the heavy thumping of multiple other boots heralded her return. In what little time he'd had, he'd tried everything - slamming against the door hard enough that his shoulder would soon be bruised, rifling through the desks and tables for anything of use, trying to pick the door and window locks - but to no avail.
The lock clicked sharply as a key turned, the grating of metal on metal sounding stridently into the rest of the room. Killian leaped to his feet; just because he was confused and frightened didn't mean he had to show it, and a show of (admittedly, false) courage was better than nothing. Zelena maintained her self-satisfied smirk from earlier, but he didn't give her any satisfaction, keeping his chin up and face carefully blank even as the guards swarmed the room, cuffed his hands behind his back once more, and grabbed him roughly by the arms and shoulders. It didn't take long for her smirk to turn sour and her eyes to flash, but he didn't revel in it long before - almost literally - being dragged away. He could hear Zelena snarling at one of the guards and he twisted his head for a look, but he caught little more than a flash of color.
They didn't take the same path through the town that he'd taken before. Instead, they veered behind the house to where a carriage stood, devoid of any decoration save for the metal bars adorning the windows. Killian felt himself instinctively gulp at the sight, jerking slightly in a futile attempt to break free once more. It was no surprise that he didn't escape, and he quickly found himself flung into the back of the carriage, landing in an awkward sprawl on the floor, four well-armed guards sitting between him and the exit.
It was in this position that he finally got a look at the main guard sitting before him. Most wore helmets of black metal, every feature save their eyes hidden from view, but the main one - the man Killian was now sure he'd seen Zelena dealing with as he'd been dragged away - had his face in full view, and Killian recognized him easily; for many years, he'd spent much of his time at the docks, splitting his time between flirting with Zelena and walking the beat there. It took a few more mental gymnastics to remember his name.
"Walsh." He looked up suddenly, and a slight burst of encouragement filled Killian at the sight. "That's your name, isn't it? Walsh?"
The man looked surprised and hesitant as he broke his silence. "Yeah."
"Might I inquire as to our destination?"
Walsh looked out the window towards the carriage driver, tilting his head hesitantly. His hair - a shaggy dirty blonde mop - fell into his eyes, his appearance almost simian for a few long seconds before he spoke again. "Neverland."
The carriage seemed to be filled with a sudden chill, but Killian knew that the external temperature hadn't changed. For the first time in an extremely long time - maybe for his whole life - Killian Jones felt true fear. More than just anxiety or nervousness or adrenaline, he found himself suddenly fighting the urge to fight back and flee.
The name was a familiar one, of course; almost everyone in Storybrooke knew of the infamous Neverland. The moniker had long since replaced the prison's real name - long since lost to the sands of time - for one very simple reason; nothing save prisoner transport ships ever landed there. The place was a no-sail zone, with rumors of sea monsters and vicious pirates clearing the waters. Add to that the frigid water temperatures and, of course, the violent leaning of the island's inhabitants (both the prisoners and the guards), and escape was nearly impossible unless the warden saw fit to grant a release. The prison was intended only for the worst of criminals, each of which were kept in complete isolation for the duration of their stay. Killian couldn't suppress the shudder that ran through him at the thought of his destination, his body betraying him with an outward manifestation of the terror gripping him.
Killian still hadn't spoken since hearing that name, his eyes focused somewhere in the space just outside of one of the carriage windows. Eventually, he came back to reality, looking over at Walsh with a scrutinizing glare, "Why? Chief Prosecutor Miller sai-"
Wales interrupted, eyes turning harsh. "Hush, now."
Killian ignored him, well aware that he was tempting fate, but equally aware that he couldn't lose much more. "She knows I'm innoce-"
"HUSH." Walsh had completely shut down, any trace of emotion in his eyes turning cold and shuttered even as he shouted. "Don't speak again." Killian almost spoke again, but decided against, settling back as comfortably as possible against the wooden walls and waiting for the jolting carriage to slow.
The journey was fast, with mere minutes passing before they reached the docks again. The guards were no longer as lax as they had been before; in addition to once again shackling his arms around the mast, they lashed him to it with rope, tying it tightly across his chest in a motion that brought back memories of Milah that he desperately pushed away. It became easier to stay grounded as the men surrounding him jostled his arm in the process of attaching the newest piece of rope, and, for once, he was grateful for the pain pulling him from his own head.
Killian contemplated fighting against the guards pulling him from the carriage for all of two seconds before deciding it was useless. Instead, he walked - not quite willingly, but not resisting every step of the way, either - with them, looking around at what little he could see of his surroundings.
Neverland lived up to its infamy, that was for sure. The prison was barely visible, swarmed by thick, lush vegetation that seemed impenetrable even after minutes of close examination. Several of the plants held thickets of some kind of thorned plant, the barbs positively dripping with a viscous and dangerous-looking black liquid that he was careful to avoid as he stumbled past. Killian tried to look around further, to keep track of how to get from the coastline to the prison, but he quickly lost track of any kind of landmark.
The journey wasn't exactly long, but it definitely wasn't short either. By the time they reached the entrance to the prison - an imposing stone building towering over them - Killian was almost glad for the cool respite it represented. The prison had other plans in mind; instead of a comfortable chill, the room was absolutely freezing, and even the guards shifted uncomfortably at the temperature change as they marched through the wide foyer.
In the end, Killian found himself in a small room that he'd almost term cozy if not for the fact that it was part of the prison. Rich-looking furniture - a couch, coffee tables, some lush armchairs, and bookshelves were visible at first glance - lined the walls, the entire room designed to lead the attention of whoever entered to the figure seated at the ornate desk in the center of the room.
"Welcome to Neverland." The man - more a boy, really - wore a cocky smirk, his eyes merry as he looked over, and his stare made Killian's skin crawl. "I'm Peter. Peter Pan."