There was a deep ache somewhere past his neck, pulling at him, a slowly spreading pain that flowed over him like water, threatening to drag him back into darkness. There was yelling, a face looming over him, his shirt covered in blood, smoke all around. Gradually he felt himself slow, as if time were relaxing as he faded away from himself, sighing as the last of his breath left his body leaving only a tight coil pressing onto his lungs. And then everything moved sideways in a most unpleasant manner, jerking him out of unconsciousness. He blinked slowly, frowning in confusion as he saw a small metal statue hanging above him. Disoriented and groggy, he tried to swallow when he tasted blood in his mouth. But his throat was painfully dry, his tongue like a foreign object in his mouth.

He struggled to sit up, only to find he was restrained, strapped down in fact to some sort of table. Shifting in his bonds he felt a burst of pain in his chest and it all came rushing back: the fight, the witch, the wound. Groaning in discomfort he looked around to try and identify where he'd ended up. The room was a mess, with odd contraptions scattered about and a variety of drawings peppering the walls. Pieces of wood and leather lay haphazardly about, likely half-finished projects gathering dust and he could have sworn he saw a mouse run underneath one of the tables lining the wall. Strange shadows stretched across the floor, emanating from a dying fire in a stone hearth. The room smelled of smoke and blood, a pungent and raw odour that filled his senses.

He knew it wasn't safe. Considering the situation he was likely within the witch's castle or at least it seemed, at her mercy. Beyond falling to the ground in the courtyard, he could remember nothing. He wasn't even sure how much time had passed since then, though his shoulder felt markedly better. He pulled at his bonds again, testing them, checking for weaknesses but it was all for naught, only bringing on a fresh wave of agony. Tears formed at the corner of his eyes as he tried to breathe through the pain, frustrated and gasping as the feeling pulsed in time with his heartbeat. His ribs, broken or bruised, were still healing and he didn't dare think about his chest wound, though it wouldn't have mattered. He couldn't even lift his head to check the damage.

A loud snort startled him, his eyes widening in the gloom. Turning back towards the fire he saw a face leaning over the side of a chair, staring at him. The play of light and shadow distorted the features; a downturned mouth and a set of beady eyes staring over glasses were an unnerving sight.

"Wondering if you were going to wake up. Trust your sleep was uncomfortable."

The man unfolded himself from the chair, stretching as he stood, hands brushing the ceiling. He stumbled towards Hook, stepping over random bits and pieces strewn across the floor. His apron was covered in a number of mysterious stains, one of which Hook imagined was probably blood. He yawned as he leaned down over the pirate, pulling back the leather vest to check his work, poking at the finely stitched wound, causing Hook to flinch, jaw clenched, stifling a myriad of curses he wanted to shout at the man.

"Looks to be taking. Never expected you to live if I'm being honest."

Hook narrowed his eyes.

"Your confidence in my resilience is inspiring," he bit back.

"A talker are you? Won't like that. Prefers you nod and bow. Have to practice if you want to live. I'll go inform her you're awake."

The man turned to go, shuffling towards the door, muttering to himself in a hushed tone. And with him went a chance to escape, possibly Hook's last chance if the Witch was on her way. There was no telling if he would help but there was every reason to try.

"Wait!"

The man turned, a tired expression hiding behind his glasses.

"No use asking for favours. Her reach is farther than you can see." He continued on out the door, sure to shut it tightly behind him, the lock clicking into place.

Hook struggled against his restraints, more angry than anything. He wrenched at the straps until he thought he'd pass out, all the while aware of the stitches. He could feel them, taut against his skin, an unnatural feeling knowing they were tied into him yet not really a part of him. Minutes passed and the man did not return. At one point Hook must have dozed off for he woke, still alone, noting that the fire had faded to embers. And all the while the pain was pulling at him, hovering in the background of his thoughts, threatening to take over unless he remained motionless.

So instead he lay there, hand and jaw clenched, breath stuttering with every intake. He jerked against his bonds in surprise when the door banged open. The Witch waltzed in, a cruel smile pasted on her face as she came to stand over him and played her hand along his vest before pulling it aside to gaze at the former gash in his chest.

"Tinker's done his work well. You'll have a lovely scar from this."

Her fingers reached down to trace the line of stitching, her nails purposely digging into his skin. Hook flinched remembering the wand, how she'd driven it home, the feel of something foreign digging inside him. He stilled, doing his best to ignore her unwanted touch, staring at the ceiling avoiding her gaze. Frowning she grabbed his chin and wrenched his neck to the side, forcing him to face her.

"You're lucky I decided your life was worth sparing pirate."

He couldn't help it. It wasn't within his nature to stay quiet.

"Forgive me if I don't consider myself grateful for your interference on my behalf."

He spat out the words, glaring up at her. It wasn't the first time he'd been close to death. And perhaps this time oblivion would have been preferable to being in the Witch's clutches. She sneered, a quick snap of her hand across his face, leaving red lines of blood behind.

"You will be!"

With the threat hanging over his head she swept out of the room, leaving two guards to walk in and unstrap him. It was only then he noticed that his hook had been removed. Strangely though they'd left the brace. He had little time to look where it might be as the guards roughly pulled him from the table to his feet whereupon he instantly became aware of how full his bladder was. He blinked away a wave of dizziness, bit down on the pain in his chest and tried his best to grin.

The Tinker walked in, shoulders hunched, staring at the floor. This was an unwelcome intrusion that always felt more like a violation when she was around. His only solace being that his experiment had worked. Of course future complications were to be expected but for an untested idea it had gone remarkably well. His test subject was awake and breathing, although looking more pallid by the minute.

"I'm afraid I've need of your facilities. Do be a dear and point me to the nearest one." Hook tried his best to grin and failed.

The Tinker frowned.

"Best keep your tongue in your head. She's like to cut it off."

Before he could get the last word in Hook was rudely shoved out of the room with a guard to either side, gripping tight to his arms. As they marched him down a maze of corridors he could feel the sweat on his neck, at his temple. He was wobbly and nearly fell over more than once. He panted his way up a staircase and almost fainted when they reach the top. By the time they arrived at a large door, they were practically dragging him along. One unlocked the door with an unwieldy key while the other held onto the sagging prisoner, half conscious and very pale. They dumped him in the room, body slumping to the floor before they locked him in. Hook only had a moment to gaze at his new surroundings before he blacked out, hand stretched out on cold stone.

All was dark. He could hear muted yelling surrounding him, a clash of bodies, screaming. And then she appeared before him. Her mouth moved but the sound never seemed to reach his ears. The only important part, the part where everything came clear was when she raised her arm and impaled him, driving the wand into his chest. For a moment she laughed her voice high pitched, face triumphant in victory. And then she grew or perhaps he shrank but before long she was leaning over him, smiling. And no matter how hard he tried he couldn't move, couldn't wake up until she reached down and gave the sharp metal a hard twist, bringing him back to reality, unsettled and shaking.

Looking around for a moment he couldn't remember where he was. There was a vague remembrance of being thrown on the floor but his journey to the room was rather fuzzy. Grimacing he pulled himself up and half crawled over to the bucket in the corner, before relieving himself. Small victories. The room was empty, save the bucket, with no windows to speak of. It was small, likely only several paces wide but he wasn't yet up to standing, let alone walking to truly take the measure of the floor. He sat against one of the walls, trying to stem the ache in his chest. Movement was an aggravation so he stilled himself, trying to breathe as shallowly as he dared. It was no use though. Every beat of his heart was a pulse of pain, rhythmic and unrelenting. Slowly he reached up and pulled aside his vest to observe the wound, having been unable to do so before. His stiches were leaking. A trail of blood meandered down his torso, matting in his chest hair. He sighed and leaned his head back against the wall, closing his eyes. Just bloody perfect.

He thought back to the battle, back to when all the trouble started. He had been alone, separated from the others when she'd arrived. The original plan had been to dog Emma as she dove headlong into danger. Emma. For the first time since waking he thought of her. But when he conjured her in his mind, everything was muted, as if a frosted pane of glass had been set between them. He hadn't forgotten what she looked like or their adventures together but it was rather more like the haze of waking up after a dream or trying to recall memories from a lifetime ago.

For a long stretch he merely sat, his only focus on breathing and thoughts of escape. The door was solid and master masons had constructed a solid room, with no foreseeable weaknesses to exploit. It was all rather pointless though if he couldn't even walk straight. After some time he heard a key rattle in the lock and a guard stepped in to set down a cup of water and a heel of bread. If he'd been hungry he would have smiled. What might have seemed like prison food was nothing to someone who'd had to contend with maggoty biscuits and salted fish for months on end. In comparison this fare was practically a luxury. Later when he did think of eating, an upsurge of nausea convinced him otherwise. Instead he was reduced to soaking the bread and absently sucking on the softened pieces. By no means did he feel full but any thought of hunger was banished for the moment.

He measured his time in meals, forced down the stale bread and tried to make himself stumble around the perimeter of the cell, trying to regain his strength, often collapsing against the door winded, listening for the footsteps of guards, imagining how he would jump them if they came inside. Then the pain would lead him to staring at the walls of his cell, counting the stones, then naming every port he'd ever visited in order, then trying to picture how Emma would look in various states of undress. That last one made him smile, despite the ache in his chest.

He did his best to stay awake, softly whistling dirty sea shanties until he realized no one was coming and proceeded to belt out the bawdiest songs he knew. Voice hoarse he resorted to whispering, fighting until sleep claimed him.

And then the dream began. It always started the same. He couldn't move until she stabbed him and then he fell. He fell and fell and fell with her face always looking down at him, smiling, laughing. Sometimes he would land in a pit of knives, impaled on their sharp, thin points. Sometimes he would land in a pool of blood, warm and all his. And it was deep and viscous and unforgiving, pulling, always pulling at him, pulling him under until he couldn't breathe, until he choked. And he always woke with a start, hand going to his stitches, feeling for a phantom wound, blinking against the fear.

As time passed though, the jaunts around his cell grew shorter. The skin around his wound started to itch, overwarm and uncomfortable. This continued until one day he couldn't stand, until he left his food uneaten, simply sitting slumped against the wall, his breathing laboured and sluggish. Infection and fever. He knew the symptoms. Had witnessed them more than once onboard the Jewel. But there was no doctor here. No man with funny tablets in a bottle. He was alone.

He was busy contemplating that very aloneness when the door unlocked and she walked in, flanked by a pair of guards. He thought the dream had started again when he looked up at her, his eyes half-lidded in exhaustion.

"Come to say final rites over my corpse?" He croaked at her.

She rolled her eyes. Always so melodramatic.

"Now where would be the fun in that? No I plan on keeping you for an unnaturally long time." She smirked. "Besides, there's something I want to show you."

She swished out of the cell and the guards hoisted him up behind her, dragging him when he wasn't fast enough to catch his feet. The sudden jolt sparked a flash of pain that ran the length of him. He groaned but held his tongue, not having the stomach to argue at this point, accepting that this was in fact happening. They pulled him down so many flights of stairs he lost count, descending so deep into the castle that the walls wept moisture and were peppered with the growings of tiny roots. Even the air changed, from a stale to a musty smell, like a damp cloth left out in the rain.

When they finally reached the lowest level Zelena swayed down a corridor lined with heavy doors, stopping in front of one near the end. Zelena waved a hand, the lock vanishing in a poof of green smoke. She grabbed a low burning torch off a nearby brazier and stepped inside, the guards shoving Killian in after. He fell to the ground at her feet, seeing nothing outside the tight circle of light, the earth under his knees hard and cold. He shivered against the heat burning under his skin.

Zelena held out a hand as if to cup the flame and slowly blew on it until light filled the room, revealing groups of people chained to the walls. Men, women and children, disheveled and dirty, their clothing once been yellow, now dulled to a muted mustard grey. They stared at him with sunken eyes, faces filled with fear.

"You're looking at my new army. And I have you to thank for it." She stared down at him, eyes flashing with something he'd qualify as zeal.

"Whatever your plans I request you leave me out of them."

"Your opinion is irrelevant."

And then she smiled, revealing a row of perfect white teeth and walked to the closest prisoner, a man with a glazed look in his eyes, his face gaunt with hunger. She grabbed a fistful of his clothes and yanked him to his feet. He swayed in her grip, not fully focusing on her, the surrounding prisoners moving away as far as their bonds would allow. She raised one hand before plunging it into the man's chest, ripping out his heart, small and red in her palm. In a poof of green smoke she materialized a dagger. Hook stared at her with a sick sense of déjà vu before watching her hand the blade over, all the while squeezing the man's heart.

"Kill the prisoner next to you," she ordered.

The man frowned in confusion but as his hand closed over the dagger he turned to the woman standing next to him. She only had time to open her mouth before he stabbed her, an empty scream turned to gurgles as she fell to the ground, bleeding. The others around her began to scream and yell, pulling at their chains, pushing to put bodies between themselves and the newly minted murderer. The man for his part looked down at his hand after the deed and dropped the dagger to the floor, shock playing across his face.

Tossing the heart in one hand, Zelena thanked the man for his 'services' and turned to Hook.

"Obedient as a dog wouldn't you say? And utterly heartless!"

She laughed and Hook could only stare, his vision wavering as he tried to focus on her face. She walked over and gripped his chin, tilting his head up towards hers.

"These are the people who are going to kill your friends."