It's here! Dark Hook is here! Alright, alright, he never actually left, since, well, this is a fic about Dark Killian. Duh. But this is absolute darkness™, my friends. This is a gift for the wonderful hollyethecurious who, not only helped me with it, but also involuntarily prompted it back when I posted chapter one. Apparently, I could just see Killian go into full Dark One mode just because you read it, Hollye. So, thank you.
This takes place way before the last sections of the first one shot, but after the stargazing one shot.
As you probably understood, this is pretty dark, and it's mostly emotional whump. I think. Basically, Killian's level of self-loathing is over 9000. The one shot is just level 5000. Ah well.
Hope you enjoy and, if you want, come say hi at darkcolinodonorgasm on tumblr :3
She knows something's wrong the moment her feet touch the ground. Lily knows that, too, fire literally coiling in her chest, ready to incinerate whatever threat has found its way inside the castle.
Emma halts her with a hand on her scales, warning her to stay away, to even flee if it becomes too dangerous.
Her light magic buzzes beneath her dermis, her palms glowing at the intensity. There could be only one explanation to the desolation that has descended on the valley, almost killing everything around the castle. The building, though, the beautiful, massive, memories-holding palace is wrapped in a net of darkness mere eyes can't see whereas hers can. Her heart breaks as the almost tangible pitch black tendrils stroke the stones, almost sneering at her as it claims the man inside the castle as its own.
No, her mind wants to shout, he's mine.
Clenching her fists so tightly her knuckles turn a snowy shade of white, Emma stalks towards the castle.
Oh, but the darkness is vicious, knowing what she can do. Whilst she has no desire of getting rid of the magic inside of Killian, Emma knows it comes with a price, like al magic does. For many years, he confided her in the dead of the night when she was woken up by his screams, his mind trying to rest but failing because of choirs of voices haunting his nightmares, Killian has been prey of a magic he never wanted but found himself unable to live without. Magic corrupted him, hence why he's reluctant to use it, even when she's started to banish those demons with her proximity, even if he can find the light inside of him on his own.
Today is ten times worse than when she saw shadows cross his face and shut her out for the umpteenth time, much like she used to do. They're good at what people refer as a relationship, but they ain't perfect, far from it, but they try, and that's what matters.
Right now, however, Emma feels her heart beat painfully in her chest, hoping she can breach through the darkness and show him there's light beyond all the pain he must be feeling. Just like she knows his body, she knows his heart: albeit darkened, it's bright red. It's not a rider's perk, being able to see how a heart truly is without taking it out of one's chest, it's something every partner, every… lover, can see, if their feelings are true. The realization doesn't scare her as it used to, it fuels her magic instead, determination oozing off her as she finally reaches the castle.
Above her head, she knows, clouds are swirling, gathering thunders in the dark blue sky. It looks as if night has fallen – or rather, as if it never ended.
The black tendrils, the darkness hisses at her approach, retreating slightly against the cold stones like a serpent about to attack. Again, Emma never faced such uncontrolled darkness, pure darkness in need of more light to snuff out, and what better light than a rider's, especially one born out of True Love?
She tilts her head, almost sensing a weakness in that barrier, as if… Her eyes narrow slightly. All she has is a theory, one she came up with mere seconds ago, but it's more than a theory, it's instinct.
Everyone, including magical users – especially them, actually – have always thought of the darkness as its own entity, as something able of controlling a man's will. And it does, but never unwillingly. No, no, the darkness is dangerous because it brings its host's deepest desire to light, uncovering every agonizing need they have. As much as it wears out the host, it's the host itself to act, to succumb the darkness, to murder or do unspeakable things.
Emma hopes it's not come to that.
She's never been so close to the darkness as she is now, not even whenever she's around Killian as it is. He's always been good at drowning it deep inside him, yet Emma never understood how much it consumed in from the inside-out.
A deep intake of a breath and she pushes the main door open. The darkness recoils at her passage at first, it knows she's pure light. It doesn't surprise her that darkness and light seek each other out, that they're drawn to each other, just like it doesn't surprise her the tendrils reaching out to graze her skin, to taste light. They don't recoil, some stroke her skin, languidly, and she'd be lying if she said she doesn't enjoy that sublime sensation. It's the fascination of the darkness, Emma won't deny it's fascinating, it'd be denying she-
Suddenly, as her thoughts focus on a particular sensation, one she knows the name though won't speak aloud, the darkness recoils as if burnt by her light magic flaring up like dragon fire inside her. A smirk appears on her lips: the darkness my taunt her, try to lure her into madness, but it's been her fire that drew Killian to her, and he doesn't flinch away from her. He never did.
Inside the castle there was no light, no candle aflame, not even ignis fatui he conjures just for her so she can easily find him in the maze that is his castle, even if she could use her own magic to track him, even if she now knows the palace like the back of her hand.
Faint whispers fill her ears, voices attempting to seduce her. Little do they know she's already succumbed to the darkness in her own way by allowing Killian inside her and her heart, by allowing the darkness in him inside, too. Their hearts may be dark, their thoughts may not be innocent, yet they are not pure evil.
A sphere of light forms on her palm, its light making the darkness hiss and retreat. A few beats, and some of the curiouser tendrils reach out in wonder. Emma smirk grows wider.
There's only one place Killian could hide, a room she never step foot in: as he never entered her little cottage without being allowed inside first, she knows better than not to do the same with what she calls his sanctuary.
It's not the highest tower, nor in what once were the dungeons, nor a crypt in the depths of the castle. Instead, it's a ballroom, or what used to be a ballroom, at least. Emma suspects why he sometimes barricades himself there, if the telescope out on the wide terrace is any indication. It saddens her, and the spark of an idea lights up in the back of her mind. Part of her worries about how he would react, but one look at the corridors surrounding her makes those thoughts disappear. She needs to find Killian.
Slowly, knowing the darkness still has a hold on him and it surely has informed him of her arrival, Emma climbs the huge marble staircase. Beneath her heeled leather boots, the darkness shies away, clearing her path both out of fear and amazement.
Her steps echo on the high walls, filling the emptiness and warning Killian she's coming, that she's almost there, that soon there will be light again.
Emma's heart beats fast, blood pulsing in her ears, almost deafening her, because she's terrified. Dread is worse than darkness, it's more difficult to swallow, to drown: denying its existence won't make it disappear, it'll only fuel it to the point the consequences of its explosion will be catastrophic. So Emma doesn't deny she's afraid of what she'll find behind the high doors, but for Killian's sake, because he's way more important than her own fear, she's not letting it take control of her, much like he never let the darkness win, for her and for himself.
The pitch black tentacles open the door for her, inviting her in. But Emma's astute like a fox, and closes her eyes. Beneath the slightly louder murmurs, the silence is broken by quiet whimpers, muffled sounds of pain she knows belong to Killian. He's not crying, but he's suffering.
Raising her right hand, Emma knocks lightly, knuckles rasping gently against the doorframe. «Killian?» she asks, addressing the man, not the darkness, «may I enter?»
Her knees almost give out from under her at the sound of his voice.
«You didn't ask permission to enter my castle.»
Killian's voice has never sounded like that, low and gruffy, not even during sex, not even when he managed to bring her to the highest peaks just with his own voice. That's not his voice, yet it is. A lump forms in her throat: not only his voice is unrecognizable, but his words cut deep. It may be the darkness speaking, but the words come from deep within the man.
«Killian,» she speaks again, gently firm, «may I enter?»
It's strange, but it seems to her the darkness let out a surprised gasp. Emma doesn't think much of it, she needs to focus on Killian and Killian alone.
A long silence follows, not even the darkness speaks anymore, awaiting for its host to take a decision. She wonders if the demons inside his mind are silent, too.
«Aye.»
Relief washes over her, threatening to overcome her. Before stepping inside, Emma dares to open her eyes. She wishes she never did.
There's no light if not the one coming from the sphere next to her head, a tent of darkness has fallen over the doors leading to the balcony and all over the windows: the stars can't reach him anymore, nor can the sight of the sea calm him.
But when her eyes fall on the Killian, Emma's heart breaks. Nothing ever hurt like the sight of the man she's fallen in love with in such a wrecked state.
He's not curled up in a ball, no, he's just standing there, in the middle of the dancefloor as she can see from the threshold. Around him, scattered on the floor, memories of his life before the darkness, what little he owns from happier times. No, not happier, but times in which he found the courage to seek that happiness, to seek the light in the darkness. Now, Emma only needs to remember him that he can find it again, even now.
The sphere swirls around her head before swaying in front of her, lighting her path down the staircase, the long leather coat she wears, one of the many gifts Killian gave her and which she treasures, swirls around her ankles. It's not a gown, what she's wearing looks more like a pirate attire, and yet she wonders how it would feel if there was soft music and she was-
A dark chuckle fills the ballroom. He's never read her thoughts, and she doubts very much he is now, but the darkness never promised not to.
«Ah, I should've known,» Killian begins, a laugh in his tone, one that's not full or mirthful, «the Princess has fantasies. I wonder, will you ever have the courage to take your kingdom back? Or you'd only like the perks of being a royal? Riches? Titles? Suitors? Is that what you truly desire, love?»
Killian stalks closer, his coat swinging at his swagger, but keeps away from the faint light of the sphere. He doesn't want to be seen, somehow, the shame of himself has still a hold on him. Impossibly, the fragments her heart's already in shatter.
«My kingdom is lost,» she declares, and she knows it is, she doesn't want the throne, she doesn't want the life of a princess, she just wants to be Emma. And with Killian, she's been more Emma than she's ever been before. «I am no princess, Killian. I'm only me.»
He snorts. «But there's more to only you, isn't it, dragon rider?» he laughs, loudly clapping his hands before finally stepping into the light.
A gasp leaves her lips. The first thought that crosses her mind is how beautiful he is. It's a dark beauty, but beauty nonetheless. The soft edges of his face, the ones that harden when he's angry, are sharp and tempting, more than they usually are already. But it's not just darkness that swirls inside his beautiful, bright blue eyes, no, there's more, nothing she ever saw. It looks a lot like madness.
His entire appearance is rougher, unkept, one she wouldn't mind seeing both in and out of a bedroom were it been caused by her.
Sensing her feelings and, she doubts not, even her arousal, the darkness giggles. It's proud of itself, Emma can feel that, but while it wants to seduce her, the man wants to hurt her just like he's hurting right now. Emma needs to know what happened, she needs Killian to speak. She only hopes she's ready to face whatever he'll say to her.
She squares her shoulder. «You're right, there's more to me than a title or two. I thought you understood me.»
A snort escapes Killian's mouth. She focuses on his lips, the way his scruff frames them making the breath catch in her throat. «Of course, of course I do, love,» he sneers, waiting for her to reach the dance floor before almost staggering towards her with graceful steps, «who else can understand an orphan if not another orphan?»
Emma's eyebrows knit together in a frown. If there's anything Killian never spoke about so openly, is his past, especially the feeling of abandonment he's carried within himself all his life. After Liam, he felt even more lost, but what made him an orphan is-
It can't be, Emma thinks, confused and worried. His… that man surely died, more than two hundred years have passed since that night, that much she knows.
The jab at her own condition, at her own fears is overlooked: despite the pain making her heart throb, she knows it's not her agony she needs to focus on, it's not her life at stake.
«Killian,» she tries gently, not daring to move, «what happened?»
For a moment, he seems astonished by her question, as if he didn't think she could care. Emma would smile, stating she's not easily pushed away, not after what she's realized – or rather, accepted – but doesn't. That expression is gone in a blink. «Why, I didn't know you cared.» Killian is still trying to push her away, and it's not just the darkness. Unfortunately for him, Emma knows that modus operandi. Not only that, she knows how much regret they'll both feel if she let herself being pushed away, if she chooses to leave him.
«Of course I care, Killian,» she rebuts, paying attention at how he reacts with a slight wince every time she pronounces his name. She attempts a step forward. «Please, tell me what happened.»
It takes him quite a lot to answer. Emma knows he's listening to the darkness, its voice like a siren's. He squares his shoulders, his jaw pulled so tightly a muscle pulses in his jaw. «You really want to know, Emma?» he hisses.
A sure nod is all she needs, Emma knows he'll tell her what happened to him, because deep down, he still needs her to listen to him, because no one understands him like she does.
Killian glances to his side, towards an object on the floor she cannot see, on of the very few belongings he carried with himself all his life. «My-» His voice wavers beneath the darkness that tinges it. «I found my father.»
Astonishment washes over her, incredulity makes blink several times as she takes in that information. She knows he's not found his grave, but the man who abandoned him in flesh and bones.
At his words, Emma dares stepping forward, a hand raised in front of her. She's stepping into the darkness, leaving the light orb behind. All the light Killian needs right now is the one coming from her.
«My love,» the words escape her lips, and Killian flinches backwards, as if burnt by her words. That hurts her, but Emma doesn't stop, she almost reaches him, not touching him yet. «How do you feel?»
In all his life, Killian has never known someone to care about his feelings aside from Liam. Not even Milah, only his mother, his brother and… Emma. He shakes his head, a mask of dark amusement covering his face now. «I'm perfectly fine, Emma,» he shrugs, a lopsided smile twisting his beautiful mouth, and she doesn't need her superpower to know it's a lie. What he says next makes the blood in her veins run cold as never before. «Besides, there's no need to worry about him, he's found his place inside Davy Jones' locker now.»
It doesn't take her long to understand the implications of his words, to understand that Killian's father is dead and that- «Why?» Emma asks in a suffocated murmur, not chastising him, preoccupied for him instead.
The darkness and the man don't seem to understand what hides beneath her words. Killian leans forward, darkness oozing off of him as he looks her down, her heels nothing compared to his height. He's not even an inch, just a breath away from her. The intensity of his gaze seems to want to burn her, to incinerate her, turn her to dust like a raging dragon would. She wouldn't care if only he was in control. «Why, Emma? Why did I kill my father, you ask?» His voice grows louder and louder, like a storm approaching. Her hair is tied in a braid gathered at the base of her head, but she can feel the breeze on her skin.
The storm is real and is almost upon them.
«Is the fact that he abandoned, nay, sold me and my brother on a ship in the dead of the night not enough for you?» he states calmly, too calmly, and Emma's pulse quickens. His eyebrows shoot upwards, almost comically, and his eyes widen. Gods, his irises are so blue lighten up with madness, they are almost as beautiful as they usually are when darkened by lust.
The wind picks up around them, the curtains of darkness letting it in but keeping the light out still. Beneath her feet, Emma senses the castle start to tremble, the windows' rattle fills her ears. Soon they will break; she just hopes neither her or Killian will.
He bends back a little, mocking her with his own expression. «Of course you didn't know that, of course. It's my fault, right, I never told you about that, only tiny bits, inklings of my life.» He shakes his head, turning his back on Emma.
Against her better judgment, Emma steps forward, and places a hand between the shoulder blades, feeling the buttery softness of the coat beneath her fingertips. It lasts for a moment, a brief contact Killian cuts off, his ringed fingers wrapping tightly around her wrists, his strength digging her bracelet into her flesh. Soon, blood starts dripping onto the floor. Emma doesn't care. All she cares about is Killian.
«Don't.»
His voice is broken, and Emma knows it's her Killian talking, begging her to leave him because he's not worthy of her light. Oh, how wrong he is.
It lasts only a moment more, the wind now penetrating through her clothes. Soon, his voice returns, icy as the coldest winter with no fire to survive it. The expression he wears grows even darker as he's swallowed by the shadows around them. «I bet you wonder how he still is-» Killian laughs, a bitter sound that makes tears pool in Emma's eyes. «Well, how he was still alive until I met him, don't you?» He doesn't wait for her answer, they both know she is; he's only acting to favour the darkness, to amuse it. «Ah, Brennan Jones, always a bastard. Apparently, he crossed a witch, who in return put him after a sleeping curse.» He lets her go, blood still running down her fingers and coating his. He wiggles his index fingers, pulling his lower lip between his teeth. «You know, Emma, I've been stupid. Even if he abandoned us, I thought Brennan loved my mother. How foolish of me, to think his True Love could be her when he couldn't even love their own children.»
A tear falls on the floor, splashing into a puddle of blood. The wind cools her flesh there, where the tears have traced paths down her cheeks.
«I was willing to let him go,» Killian admits weakly; the darkness hisses in disappointment, «I was willing to let him go on with his life. The woman-» he breathes in shakily, «his True Love is dead, that's torture enough, isn't it?» Oh, the glance Killian casts her, one that lets a sob escape her lips. Emma knows what he means, what the man drowning beneath the darkness feels. «But then I followed him, and what I found was even worse.»
Emma wants to comfort him, to wraps her arms around him and keep him close like he needs, like he deserves to be held, to be loved.
Alas, Killian's too lost in his mind and to the darkness to allow her to comfort him. «He lived in a cottage by the sea, but he wasn't alone. There was a boy with him, and Brennan… he was repeating what he said to me the very night he disappeared.» A wave of his hand he is holding something that glints even in the darkness. It's some nautical instrument, Emma knows only that.
«He named his son Liam.»
It's barely a whisper, the cacophony of an upcoming natural disaster trying to drown those words, but Emma hears the words anyway. It's then that her heart turns to ash.
Killian then turns to her, eyes dark with fury. Thunders break the silence and the rattling sounds grow louder. «I killed him in cold blood, Emma, I turned my own brother into an orphan, and all you can ask his why I did that?» The peals of thunder are nothing compared to his voice, her eardrums pulse painfully. «You don't know how it feels like to be abandoned by choice and then find out the man who sold you into slavery has had the chance to find his own True Love. Not only that, but that he had another child, a son he named after his firstborn.»
As his voice echoes around them, so does the shattering of glass, sharp shards exploding towards them. Many clatter on the floor or against the stairs and its railing, others pierce Killian's leather coat. Emma feels the warmth of blood slowly tracing a path down her right cheek before the pain registers. It's faint, it's mostly given by the constant throbbing of her blood vessels, but it doesn't hurt as much as her soul is hurting now.
Another sound, the sound of metal breaking, echoes in her mind. The last memory he has of Liam, that's what Killian is holding.
Wetting her lips and tasting her own tears, Emma steps towards him, her hand raised, the sphere of light now vanished after broken glass pierced through it. Beneath her boots, shards creak and fracture just like her heart did moments before.
Her fingertips touch his cheek and Killian shies away. She doesn't care, he needs her, so she cups his jaw, thumb brushing the tender skin under his eye.
His Adam's apple bobs as he gulps, eyelids fluttering close as he leans into her touch, lost, seeking refuge in her.
«I would've done the same.»
Killian's eyes snap open. It's not a shock for her, the way she grew, up, what she is and what she had to endure through battles and tortures, Emma knows she would've done the same had Brennan Jones been her own father, and she's not the Dark One. Killian needs not to be treated like a monster, he needs and deserves to be treated like a human being.
With her other hand, Emma reaches towards his clenched one, the one holding the golden instrument Killian clearly cares a lot about. Her fingers curl around his, her own rings clinking against Killian's.
Slowly, Emma trails her hand down his neck, at last settling it over his heart, fingers slipping beneath his shirt. A hiss slips between Killian's parted lips, warming Emma's skin, almost burning her given how chilly it's become.
«You are not a monster, Killian Jones, and you're not nothing. You are-» Emma licks her lips, not wanting to turn it on herself, wanting him to fight for himself. «You are one of the best men I've ever known. You are not the darkness you carry inside. You are a good man with a good heart.»
A tear drops onto her wrist. Emma smiles weakly.
«Don't listen to the darkness, Killian, I beg you. Don't.» She inhales, knowing without actually seeing them, that Killian's eyes are still on her. «Listen to your heart. What is it telling you?»
Several heartbeats pass before he says, voice thick with self-loathing: «That what I did was wrong, that L-Liam didn't deserve to become an orphan.»
«And what about yo- Brennan? Did he deserve to die?»
Slowly, the wind starts to calm as does Killian's soul, the thundering heartbeat beneath Emma's palm now slower.
«Aye,» Killian spits out, «he did.»
Emma knows better than to ask about his little brother, to doubt about what Brennan would've done had he still been alive: that, they can discuss later.
Yes, Brennan Jones deserved to die, to pay for what he did for his children: as much as Emma believes in redemption, there's much a human being can't atone for.
In her hand, Killian's is trembling. Carefully, as if not to startle him, she brings their joined hands between them. He tries to yank it away, but Emma doesn't yield, and her nails find the tender skin just above the maze of blue veins on his wrist.
A growl fills the air, and a thunder roars right above the castle. «Don't,» Killian hisses, «it's broken, useless, just like everything I touch.»
The breath she takes is painful, burning her lungs. «That's not true, my love,» Emma retorts, «you can fix it.»
When he opens his mouth next, he sounds so lost she wonders how he could ever escape Neverland's demons. «I don't know how.»
Although he did some spells as a Dark One, Killian never once tried to fix something, to repair a damage, preferring to conjure something new altogether rather than witnessing his own failure.
Emma's lips are inches away from his, her forehead pressing against his. «Listen to your heart, Killian, not the darkness. Focus on your heartbeat, feel the magic within you and will it to save one of your fondest memories.» To save you.
One, two, three and countless heartbeats go by as Emma waits for him to find the light within the darkness, to see that the magic he possesses is not completely evil, that Killian Jones is not evil.
At last, when nothing can be heard, light starts to spread from Killian's palm, increasing in brightness so much Emma has to close her eyes, not before catching a glimpse of Killian's face, his eyes still boring into hers as if he couldn't look in another direction.
Behind her eyelids the light slowly fades back into darkness; beneath her palm, the metal has shifted, the sullied memory a happy one once again.
Before she can open her eyes, Emma feels a hand on her cheek, cold rings brushing against her skin as something warm penetrates under her dermis, healing the wound. The dried blood on her pearly skin disappears.
In front of her, the man she loves is still looking at her, eyes now filled with regret and sorrow. He doesn't speak, not yet, simply contemplating the light she's emanating from within, the light that just guided him home.
It lasts a blink before Killian collapses in her arms and she's dragged down onto the floor with him. Emma doesn't let him go, not even for a moment.
His voice wavers and breaks when he finally decides to use it. «Emma,» is the first thing that comes out of his lips, «please forgive me.»
Emma shakes her head, the man covering his coming up to cup his face. «Don't apologize, Killian. Until today I didn't realize how much the darkness was eating you alive.» She smiles, tracing the scar she's grown fond of. «A friend once told me in her culture there can't be light without darkness and darkness without light. It took me long to understand what she truly meant, and now you know it, too. You are the light in the darkness, Killian, much like I have darkness in my light. The other can't exist without the other. You just needed to be reminded of that.»
The emotion shining in Killian's eyes, eyes she can finally see thanks to the starlight shining through the broken windows, is something she never saw before, yet one her heart knows the name and the meaning of. Tonight's not the night of confessions, but she hopes he can see his feelings mirrored in her own eyes.
«I just needed my Northern star,» he murmurs, and Emma can't take it anymore, she needs to show Killian he's the light she needs to find her own, too.
Bending her neck, she searches his mouth for the most tender kiss they ever exchanged, the gentle brushing of lips enough to sate their need to feel the other as Emma's hand cradle Killian's head and his fingers caress her cheek, removing the phantom memory of the tears she's spilled.
Emma sighs against him, the stars outside twinkle brightly.
The storm has passed for now, and just like any other, it will return, but now they know: as sailors joins forces to face it, they'll battle theirs just like a crew does. Together.