It had to be hours before Killian moved.
Time had no meaning in here; there was no change in the light, nothing so much as moved other than a few shadows dancing across the wall outside the bars of his cell, mirrors of the flames licking from torches.
The pain from Hades' onslaught had died down, making Killian finally capable of sitting up.
He had to bite back a groan, clenching his teeth as he pulled himself upright, breathing hard once his back was against the wall.
The God hit him twice.
And yet it felt like being hit by one of Storybrooke's driving vessels. And Killian knew how that felt all too well.
"Hey, beautiful."
"Looks like you broke some ribs."
Killian's eyes snapped open.
Something suddenly hurt far worse than the physical injuries.
"Wait… if you're afraid of losing it, that means you already have your happy ending. What is it?"
"Don't you know? It's you."
Killian screwed his eyes shut, feeling them burn.
How could it have gone so wrong?
How could it have gone from having someone he loved more than he had loved Milah, if by the slightest bit, to sitting here, in a cell in the Underworld, dead?
"I don't understand why you're pushing me away—"
"Because everyone I've ever been with is dead! I can't lose you too."
"You don't have to worry about me. If there's anything I'm good at, it's surviving."
A dry sob caught in his throat.
The image of Emma's face as he died, the pain-pure, raw, pain-in her eyes, the same pain that stared at him in every mirror after Milah died in his arms-gods-the thought of Emma living with that pain… After he promised her she'd never lose him.
She'll get through it, a voice in the very back of his mind, the darkest of recesses, told him. But that voice shook. Killian knew what it was like to lose love. To think that Emma had lost Baelfire, and now him…
Perhaps it wasn't true love. Perhaps he was just a love to open her heart, to hack away some of her armor, to ready her for another love. Someone else to make her happy. More happy. Perhaps… his passing was what she needed to find happiness beyond what he could give her.
The tears burning in his eyes and slipping down his cheeks weren't as confident.
And suddenly Killian was cursing himself, cursing his bloody self for being just another crack in her shattered heart. And for his own, for letting himself fall back in love, after his father left, after Liam, after Milah…
And now Emma...
He's never felt so much like the heartbroken child he used to be.
A thousand scenarios rushed through his mind. A thousand ways it could have all been avoided. How he could have-should have-found some way to destroy the Crocodile once and for all, ending the Darkness before it had ever reached him or Emma.
But after having lost Milah, playing the what if I had just... game, going over every moment of that fateful day…
It didn't change anything.
She was still dead.
No amount of regret had changed that.
And none would change the fact that he was.
Killian opened his eyes, pressing his shaking hand to his abdomen in an attempt to quell the pain.
He had eternity to torture himself over Emma.
He at least didn't have to spend it at Hades' mercy. Or lack thereof.
Standing proved slightly easier than sitting up. His hand to his ribs, Killian used the wall at his back, clawing at it with his hook to help him to his feet. He quickly approached the cell bars. He'd been in his fair share of brigs, all right, and not every captor knew how to prevent a prison break.
Except, after inspecting nearly every inch of the cell, this was no ordinary prison. Every part of the cell was concrete except the bars themselves. No lock was evident, no door even. Bloody magic, Killian found himself thinking, reaching his hand to grab a bar of the cell, intending to yank regardless of how fruitless it probably was.
What he hadn't been expecting was for the bar to be scorching hot.
He let out a yelp, snatching back his hand at once, stumbling back as he clutched his hand to his chest. He hit the back wall of the cell, tears springing to his eyes once again, this time from what felt like his hand burning from the inside out. Carefully, he looked at his hand, seeing his palm with a scorch mark, red and swollen. Killian shut his eyes, breathing harshly through the pain, sinking down the wall to the ground, holding his hand-his bloody only hand-to his chest.
He shut his eyes, defeat rolling over him like a tidal wave taking a ship down in the sea, drowning hope beneath inky black waters.