New fic!
Rumplestiltskin fans beware - we are killing the Crocodile for good in this one.
CS fans - hurt/comfort and fluff ahead. (And some Emma whump, sorry Emma. She'll thank me later though.)
~cosette141
Emma was frozen in the middle of Neal's apartment, holding what she never thought she'd see again.
The dreamcatcher.
"Let's keep it. They're supposed to chase away the nightmares."
"And hang it where? The car?"
"No. Close your eyes and point."
"Tallahassee."
Neal.
Neal.
Emma felt like she couldn't breathe.
Neal was Gold's son?
Neal was Baelfire?
All this time, she'd been in love with Gold's son.
She couldn't even wrap her head around it.
"So, Neal. What's your story?"
"Hm, funny you should say that. Let's just say I left a really messed up situation. And it kinda messed me up."
Baelfire.
He was Baelfire.
"What's your story?"
Emma tried to put both stories together—the one she knew of Neal, and the one she knew of Baelfire. For, she still couldn't quite grasp, they were the same person.
Neal, who would never speak of his messed up childhood, the family he'd once had, the life he'd once lived.
And Baelfire, whom Emma had gleaned from both Henry and Gold, had been abandoned by Gold when he chose power over him. And, evidently, had been running from his father ever since.
"You brought him to me?!"
He left her in prison, alone, for something he did, and he had the audacity to be angry?
With her?
Emma had envisioned seeing Neal again.
Many, many times.
Sometimes she'd imagine it was a mistake, an accident, that he was kidnapped or something had happened to prevent him from coming back to her, and he was spending every waking minute trying to find her.
She'd imagine the moment of seeing him again.
He'd run to her, he'd apologize, over and over and over, crushing her in a hug so tight, the safe embrace she's missed for so long, the one she cried herself to sleep behind prison bars wishing for. Waiting all eleven months of her sentence for her thief, the only one she ever loved, to break her out, to save her, to come back for her like no one ever did before.
And yet, this… reality, of seeing Neal again…
There was no embrace.
There was no apology.
There was no love.
Had there ever been?
He had purposefully left her.
And he was never going to come back.
"I was trying to… help you. To help you get home."
Neal hardly looked at her through those words, but Emma read his eyes clear as day.
It was only half the truth.
He left her out of the fear that if he stayed with her, he would somehow be reunited with his father.
And she, apparently, was not worth such a risk.
"Why do you still wear that keychain I got you?"
Emma had touched it at his inquiry, an old instinct she'd had over all these years. One of fear, uncertainty, and the rare emotion.
Because I loved you.
Because I missed you.
Because it was all I had left of you.
With a thin, age-old thread of anger and pain, Emma wrapped her fingers around the necklace, snapping the chain. And she put it firmly next to her untouched beer, holding his gaze when she gave him the true answer, the deepest reason.
"To remind myself never to trust someone again."
He didn't even ask if she was okay.
She went to jail for him, and he didn't even care?
"I loved you!"
Her eyes had burned at her own words, at her admission.
There was nothing in his.
Had he ever?
The very day she told him she loved him, the one and only time she told anyone in her life she loved them, was the day she was arrested.
She had always wondered if that was simply the moment he realized that he had her right where he wanted her.
But, in the end, no matter how Neal phrased it, if he had loved her at all, he didn't love her enough to stay.
"Find something, dearie?"
Emma jumped a mile in her skin, her eyes tearing from the dreamcatcher in her hands. She blinked a few times, seeing Gold's hawk-like eyes on her.
Emma shook herself. "Nothing. It just looks like a dreamcatcher."
"Well if it's nothing," said Gold slowly, voice laced with suspicion, "then why are you still holding it?"
Emma hesitated, trying to think of a reason. But her mind was too overloaded, too overwhelmed.
Gold's eyes narrowed. "You're lying to me," he hissed.
Something in his voice, in his presence, was suddenly sinister. It was like a change in the air. It was as if he felt somehow… unstable.
Swallowing, because Emma Swan will not be afraid of a non-magical man with a cane, she said, "Just get back to looking, okay?" She hung the dreamcatcher back up.
Like she and Neal had planned to do in a house, in Tallahassee.
Together.
She shook herself again.
"No, no, no," said Gold, taking a step toward her, and Emma felt the hair rise on the back of her neck. "You saw something," he said firmly. "Tell me."
It wasn't a request, and it felt laced with a threat.
Emma swallowed, trying, "You don't know what you're—"
"Tell me!"
Emma flinched. Gold's voice practically shook the apartment. The man was mortal, was normal in this world, and yet he still radiated danger.
He held his glare on her hard gaze, and Emma knew he wasn't going to be fooled. She was going to have to tell him something.
Henry was next to her, watching their conversation attentively. But he was too trusting, too innocent to feel the danger rolling off the man before them, and Emma was suddenly not sure just how safe they were with him.
"Henry, go wait in the bathroom," she said quietly.
"But I can help…"
"Henry, go!" she yelled, voice hard and sharp, and backed with the fear that was creeping up her spine.
Henry hesitantly acquiesced, going into the bathroom and quietly closing the door.
It was silent for a half of a second, but the air felt suffocating. Gold's glare pinned her to the floor.
"There's nothing here, the guy's a ghost." said Emma, swallowing, trying one last time.
"What, you think me a fool?" snapped Gold. "You're holding back. I want to know what and why." The words were ground out between his teeth.
"I'm not holding back!"
"Did he tell you something?" growled Gold, taking another step toward her.
"Gold…" said Emma quietly, feeling that fear in her chest rising.
"Did he tell you something?" roared Gold, and this time Emma practically felt it shake the apartment.
She flinched visibly, words tumbling out, "Nothing! He didn't say anything!"
Something changed in Gold's eyes, a small glint of victory that didn't even look like a human emotion. "But you talked to him," he said, and Emma cursed herself.
"Don't put words in my mouth!" But she's lost, she knew it. She was hiding something from him, information about his son, and now he had proof that she knew something he didn't.
His son, whom he's been searching for, for centuries.
He wasn't buying her flimsy lies, and even harsher, he demanded, "Tell me!" When Emma said nothing, he took another dangerous step toward her. "You tell me," he said slowly, "or I'm gonna make you tell me."
The threat in his words stopped her heart.
All this time, she's been surrounded by people in Storybrooke who were afraid of this man, who would travel far and wide out of their way to avoid this man—this man who really wasn't a man at all.
But seeing him look like any other person, only having seen him wield small uses of magic, knowing him to be quiet, not deadly…
She almost forgot he was the demon—the Dark One—that scared even Regina.
And here she was, all alone, his glare pinning her to the floor, facing his wrath on her own.
And Emma was suddenly scared.
"You don't have magic here," she reminded him in a whisper, feeling her own panic touch her words, taking the strength from them. She almost wondered if she was telling the words to herself, as if to feel that maybe his threat wasn't as heavy as he made it seem.
But the smile that grew on his face, into an expression that made Emma suddenly realize why Hook referred to him as a crocodile, sent a shiver down her spine. "Oh, I don't need magic," he snarled, his words so sure of that fact, that Emma stumbled back a step, and she suddenly realized how stupid she was to think she could lie to him without repercussions.
"We had a deal!" shouted Gold. "A deal! No one, no one breaks deals with me!"
Gold shoved a shelf to the side, loudly crashing it against the wall, clattering things everywhere.
Emma flinched badly, frozen in fear and shock. She was seeing the monster in him for the first time, his eyes ablaze in something almost inhuman, an evil darkness that shouldn't exist in this world, but somehow still did.
"Mom?"
Henry's tiny voice suddenly spoke.
He had come out of the bathroom, and was staring at her with big, terrified eyes.
"Henry, get out of here," she said quickly. "Run!"
Gold was blocking her from the door, but not Henry.
Henry hesitated, more terror in his eyes. "M-Mom," he whispered.
"Henry, go!" she shouted, just as Gold took a swing at her head with the cane.
Hook didn't have time to balk at the utter chaos of this realm, and this town in particular, New York City.
He was on a bloody mission.
The same desperate mission he's been on for two hundred years, that was finally about to come to a successful, and so long overdue end.
Cora and Regina supplied him with the location of the Crocodile, and pushing through a group of strangely-dressed people who gave him even stranger looks, he smiled grimly to himself as he kicked open the doors to the structure where his prey was.
He'd dipped the very tip of his hook in the concentrated dose of Dreamshade back at the ship, and has been careful not to touch it.
Today, the Crocodile was to die.
And Hook could already taste his victory.
But what he wasn't expecting was to see a child running down the hall toward him, screaming for help.
"Help!" he cried, knocking on nearly every door in the corridor. "Someone, help! Please open up! Help!"
Hook suddenly froze.
That wasn't just any child.
That was Emma's child.
Somehow the name clicked—Henry.
He was suddenly near enough to Hook to notice him, and he looked relieved to see another person. He began, "Sir! I need—" But he froze, recognizing him.
But only for half a second.
"Captain Hook!" he cried. He ran to him, and Hook suddenly realized the boy was crying. "I need you to help me," he choked out.
Hook was shocked the lad dared even speaking to him, knowing his reputation. He had only seen the boy a few times in the town, but being as close to Emma as he was, Hook was sure the boy was told to avoid him at all costs.
"Apologies, lad," said Hook, aiming to move past him, shoving down the strange sense of guilt for ignoring an obviously panicking child. "I'm not the helpful sort."
And his mission was more important than anything.
"But h-he's gonna h-hurt her!"
And something made Hook stop, and ask in a clipped voice, "What?"
"M-Mr. Gold, Rumplestiltskin—he's mad at my mom and she told me to run away but he's throwing things and I think he's gonna h-hurt her," he sobbed, tears streaming down his face.
Hook's chest tightened.
Emma was here?
With the Crocodile?
Why was she bloody—
A horrible feeling filled his chest.
The thought of her hurt, or—or worse sent cold trailing through him.
And the thought of the Crocodile—
He has never wanted to kill Rumplestiltskin more in his life.
"I know you're a v-villain," Henry choked out. "But please, Captain, I don't know what to do and—"
"Take me to them," he barked immediately. "Now!"
Henry looked half-shocked that Hook acquiesced, and nodded fast, turning and running back down the corridor to the stairs.
Hook matched his pace, an age-old sense of fear creeping up his spine.
The cane flew for her head, but Emma ducked just in time, and it swung into the window, shattering it with a growl from Gold. Glass rained down on her, hard enough she felt it cut.
She didn't have the chance to see if Henry listened to her and ran, because the second swing of the cane caught her in the stomach, cracking ribs with one strike, throwing her back against a bookshelf, knocking her to her knees. Books fell on her back, and she coughed, winded, her midsection radiating pain.
"Tell me what you know!" growled Gold. "Where is my son?! Tell me!"
Dammit, this wasn't worth it.
And where was her gun when she needed it?!
"He didn't want to see you!" Emma choked out.
He looked shocked for a moment, at the admission that she did find his son.
Emma took the chance to try to run for the window.
She jumped to her feet and made it three steps before she was grabbed around the waist, and thrown hard against the wall, pinning her to it. He shoved the cane hard against her throat, his inhuman eyes filled with rage. "Tell me where he went!"
"I—" gasped Emma, and damn it, she's stronger than this. She struggled against the cane, wondering how the hell he had so much strength, gasping. He pinned her harshly to the wall with his other arm, making the broken bones kill. Swallowing a cry, Emma tried reaching her fingers for the end of the scarf around his neck. If she could just take it off him, his memories would disappear with it.
When he saw her try, another growl burst from him. He shoved her again with the cane, so hard she lost her breath. "Tell me!"
Tears stung her eyes, her voice cracking, because he was fricken terrifying. "I don't—know," she coughed out. "I tried to—to convince him—but he ran—" she gasped.
He growled aloud, cutting her off with another shove of the cane. Emma kicked out desperately, but his hold didn't even loosen. "No one breaks deals with me!" he roared. He yanked back the cane enough to swing it again at her head, this time connecting with her temple. She'd gasped in air only to cry out, pain exploding, and she fell, hitting the ground hard. Something hot trailed down her face, and Emma's chest heaved with an involuntary sob.
Gold swung the cane again, and Emma's voice broke when it struck her shoulder. Emma curled in on herself, not having resorted to such a thing since the foster homes, and something instinctual made her whisper brokenly, "Neal," like a plea, like a wish to suddenly see him appear, having decided to come back for her like he didn't the last time.
But he didn't.
He wouldn't.
Because, just like last time…
Neal has proven to her that she simply wasn't worth saving.
Hook's heart pounded, and it had nothing to do with the three flights of stairs.
He would not watch another woman he cared for—as it was impossible to deny that he did care for Emma Swan—die at the Crocodile's hand.
At anyone's hand.
He would not.
If the bloody imp even touched her…
"In here!" shouted Henry, pointing with a shaking finger to an apartment door that was still creaked open.
And the closer they got, the more they heard the crash of something falling to the ground, and something that chilled Hook to the core.
A voice cried out.
Emma.
Hook wasted no time.
He kicked open the door, letting it slam against the wall, irrationally terrified to see the demon's hand ripping her heart from her chest.
For half a second, he froze.
Emma was on the ground, curled into a tiny ball, her shoulders shaking. Just at first glance he could see she was hurt. There was blood on her face, and some on her clothes. The way she held herself screamed of pain.
Molten rage lit up every nerve in his body.
And the Crocodile was standing over her, cane raised, about to strike her again.
Hook launched himself into the room, making it to Emma half a second before the cane struck her. Hook caught it deftly with his hook, shaking with the effort of holding back the Crocodile's strength. He'd already had the pleasure of being on the receiving end of that damn cane, and the fact that Emma has filled his being with loathing so strong it consumed him.
The Crocodile's eyes widened at the sight of him, and Hook used the momentary shock to shove the demon away from him, from Emma, with enough strength to send the imp staggering back.
Hook stood firmly between the Crocodile and Emma, his heart twisting at the gasping breaths from Emma that were laced with pain.
She was hurt.
He bloody hurt her.
The Crocodile recovered from his shock, and suddenly smiled, and it was something almost mad. "Oh," said the Crocodile, drawling it out. "If it isn't the Captain." His eyes narrowing, he held the cane out, threatening it like a sword, and snarled, "Step aside."
Hook's eyes narrowed to slits, and he stood his ground. "You hurt her." he said darkly, voice heavy with fury. "How bloody dare you." he growled.
But something changed in the Crocodile's face then, something almost like unhinged glee. "Ah. You care for Miss. Swan, do you?" That wicked grin grew. "Well, now you get to watch me kill her. Just like Milah."
Horrible, horrible pain mixed with his fury into an emotion so strong Hook felt like he would explode.
Gold swung the cane for Hook's head, but Hook managed to catch it with his hook once again. His whole body shook with the strength of holding him back.
His wicked face inches from Hook's, the Crocodile snarled, "Don't worry, Captain. Her death will be far slower than dear Milah."
Hook's fury exploded.
Using every ounce of his strength, Hook shoved the Crocodile back off him, so hard he knocked the cane from his grip and it clattered to the ground, and the imp staggered back.
And not a moment later, Hook plunged his very namesake straight into the Crocodile's chest.
For a moment, Hook and the Crocodile stood frozen.
The Crocodile looked down at the hook in his chest, then back up at Hook.
He laughed.
"This again?" he drawled, face tight with pain but eyes still holding an unholy arrogance. "I thought you—"
But his voice cut off into a choked sound.
He stumbled, and looked down.
The skin of his chest was turning a stark black.
The Crocodile fell to his knees, and Hook followed, only stabbing his hook further into the demon's chest, eliciting an agonized groan from the man. The dying man's hands scrabbled for the hook inside his chest, but Hook pinned him to the ground, as the Crocodile gasped for breath.
"How bloody dare you touch her," snarled Hook over the Crocodile's hitched breaths, his weak writhing. "Rot in Hell, Crocodile," hissed Hook.
The Crocodile was still feebly trying to get free from Hook's hold, a slight panicked note in his voice, sounding like the coward he was.
The poison took hold of the demon, the hook driven into the man's heart, though it was hard to believe he had one at all.
The Crocodile's eyes fell shut, his struggles ceased, and the man went still.
The demon was dead.
Hook didn't revel in the victory.
He quickly detached his hook, leaving it in the dead man's chest just in bloody case the poison wasn't finished.
Then, he ran to Emma, all-too-familiar desperation tightening his chest.
"Swan," he gasped. He reached her side, kneeling where she was still curled up, shaking with pain or fear or both. "Emma," he whispered. He touched her shoulder, but she flinched away with a little cry, curling in on herself even more.
He has never seen Emma anything less than combat-ready.
Seeing her like this…
It was wrong.
And seeing her hurt—
He hasn't felt this angry in centuries.
The only silver lining was, as far as Hook could tell, her life wasn't in any immediate danger. There was a gash on the side of her face, bleeding down her cheek, the gruesomeness contrasting so sharply, so wrongly with her beauty. His chest hurt.
The demon had tried to beat her to death. If he hadn't come when he did….
He couldn't even imagine a world where he didn't.
Because he knew exactly how that felt.
Tied to the mast, unable to free himself, forced to watch…
She's alive.
She's alive.
"Emma," said Hook gently. "It's all right. You're safe, love," he whispered, a touch of anxiety in his own words. It took a few repetitions of the words for Emma to slowly uncurl herself at his voice, and she opened her eyes.
Pain and fear shone bright in them.
He has never seen her afraid before.
He hated it.
"Hook?" she breathed, eyes going wide and scooching back toward the wall with a little more fear, like she couldn't tell whether or not if she could trust him right now. And he has never hated himself more for being someone who scared her.
"It's all right," he said softly, in a voice he hasn't used in centuries. He lifted his hand and hookless arm in surrender. "Emma, I'm not going to hurt you. I swear to you, I will not hurt you." She hesitated, eyes searching his, perhaps for a lie, like she's been given that promise before, and it had been broken.
"Where is he?" she suddenly gasped, eyes scanning the room, landing on the Crocodile's unmoving form. Her eyes widened. "Is he…?"
"Dead?" asked Hook, looking at the demon. "Very." Softer, he said, "He will never hurt you again." I will never let anyone hurt you again.
Emma stared at the monster.
As they did, something dark shimmered from the Crocodile's body, like black dust, and with a tightness in his chest, Hook realized it was the very Darkness itself. They both watched as the Crocodile slowly turned to the ash, the blackness burning off into air that had no magic to keep it alive.
They watched until all that was left was his own hook, clattering to the floor.
Hook managed to tear his eyes away, looking back at Emma, whose eyes were burned to the floor where the Crocodile disappeared. A horribly lost and fearful glint still shone brightly in her eyes.
"Emma?" said Hook gently.
She turned her gaze to his.
And all at once, she cried.
Tears fell down her cheeks, a sob breaking out of her chest.
Hook acted on instinct, grabbing her as gently as he could and pulling her to his chest.
And Emma clung to him, every wall of hers seeming to crumble as she cried into his chest. She was shaking, from pain as much as fear, and Hook shut his eyes, trying to remind himself the demon was dead.
Hook held her tightly, running his hand over her hair, whispering soothingly into her ear, "It's all right, love. Shh. You're safe now."
Hook was suddenly reminded of the last time he held a woman in his arms like this.
Milah.
She had died in his arms.
He turned to look back where the Crocodile had perished. He was suddenly seeing the parallel.
Back then, he hadn't been able to save Milah.
But he saved Emma.
And, shockingly, it wasn't Milah he was thinking about when he killed the Crocodile. It wasn't his revenge.
It was Emma.
A surge of desperate panic that he couldn't lose her.
He'd always felt a connection with Emma, a something, but she'd apparently found a way into his heart when he wasn't paying attention.
He smiled a little, holding Emma tighter.
He saved her.
Inadvertently, he had gotten his revenge, in the end.
But revenge is the ghost of a victory.
For the prize was already dead.
But this, feeling Emma alive in his arms…
Tears stung his own eyes, as he felt for the first time in two hundred numb years.
Emma didn't know how long she cried.
Everything hurt. Her head pounded with the threat of a concussion, and she could still feel the blood wet on her cheek. She knew some bones were broken and they hurt with every sob.
Bones weren't the only things that had broken, however.
She was only half-aware that she was clinging to Hook, pressed so tightly to his chest, feeling his arm wrapped tightly, safely, around her waist, his hand running over her hair. He was whispering sweet things to her over and over, in a voice she never thought he could possess. Walls, armor that should have had her pulling away—running away—didn't.
She hadn't been that scared in ages.
Emma couldn't hold back the tears, the sobs.
She knew it was Hook holding her and she knew she shouldn't be letting him because it was Hook and he shot Belle and he was a villain but right now he didn't feel like a villain.
He felt like a damn hero.
Her hero.
His arms suddenly felt like the safest place in the world.
So she let herself cling to him, let herself cry into him, let him hold her together. For once, she just couldn't hold it together anymore and couldn't manage to patch walls that had just been completely, forcibly shattered.
And there, in his arms, she realized that something about Hook and his reputation didn't add up. It was the something she heard in his voice and felt in his embrace.
There was so much more to the man holding her now, and her heart seemed to recognize it before she did.
Emma was not someone who felt safe anywhere or with anyone but she felt safe with him, despite all rationality.
The only person Emma had ever felt safe with was Neal.
And he had left her, purposefully, not once, but twice.
And this time, he left her to his father's wrath, and dammit that hurt more than the injuries Gold had given her.
It just made her cry harder.
"Emma, love," came a hoarse whisper in her ear, a voice worn with emotion and pain. "It's all right."
She didn't know what made her respond with her next words, but she couldn't help them. "Don't leave," she whispered, a desperation in them she couldn't dilute.
She couldn't handle it.
She simply couldn't handle one more person leaving.
She just felt him hold her even tighter, whispering back, "I promise you, Emma. I am not going anywhere."
It made her smile brokenly through the tears, her arms still wrapped around him, and she shut her eyes. Everything hurt, and Hook's embrace didn't help the physical pain but somehow it felt like cool water over the emotional agony.
So she buried her head in his chest, letting herself be broken in every way.
And for the first time, she didn't have to do it alone.
a/n: I'll be continuing this one at least another chapter or so I think. :)
(also I had Gold turn to dust Voldemort-style to avoid traumatizing little Henry with a dead body in the next chapter lol.)
~cosette141
