A/N: I'll keep it short and sweet since it took me FOREVER to get this bad boy up. Between work and the thirty times I rewrote the Emma/Hook scene which I'm still not totally in love with but is finally passable, its been crazy. Reviews always welcome as well as constructive criticism and thoughts! Thanks!
There is some profanity in this and per usual character deaths in the original timeline.
Disclaimer: I don't own OUAT.
Now let's go!
Chapter Three: All Jacked Up
[Storybrooke, Maine]
-Present Day-
Down Main Street our not so merry band of heroes walked deciding it best not to discuss the book in Granny's and cause a panic among its patrons. They'd already caused enough of a ruckus between Belle bursting into the place and Emma trying to chase down the man they only knew as Jack like he were one of her bail jumpers. They'd tabled the conversation long enough to get to-go boxes and do as the stranger advised and put in an order for Belle despite her protests saying that she wasn't hungry. Snow was never one to let any of them neglect their basic needs no matter how chaotic things were and her insistence that the bookish brunette at least try to eat something had won out in the end.
"Jac the giant slayer maybe," Emma heard Charming propose. They'd been walking two by two down the sidewalk for a bit, her father and Henry leading the charge discussing which Jack the apparent time traveler could be. Killian followed with Belle, his concern for the woman he'd started to consider his best friend despite their rocky beginnings made obvious by the wary glances he'd steal her way every now and then. He wanted so badly to give her comfort but had received enough platitudes and promises everything would be okay since his return to know they did little to help. Even if he could find the perfect words, he wasn't sure she'd even register them. Belle had checked out mentally, her body moving along with them on autopilot while she looked ahead numbly holding the book tightly to her chest.
Emma hung back with her mom as Snow pushed the stroller with a now sleeping Neal. Despite it being early spring, night still had remnants of a winter chill causing a shiver to skitter through Emma or at least she told herself that was why she shivered. Not the way the image from the book of her mother being mauled by something she could only describe as a monster kept popping into her head. The idea of losing her mom, even if it's some distant event that they'll assuredly stop- like they have every other crisis and threat-,made her heart constrict painfully in her chest. It had taken years for her to let her parents be her parents. Now that she had, she couldn't imagine life without either of them.
Giving her head a quick shake as if trying to derail her train of thought, Emma reminded herself that she was probably getting all worked up for nothing. Because the book was a book of lies fabricated by some new evil in an elaborate mind game. Wasn't it?
"Fraid that particular Jac got a taste of their own medicine," Hook dismissed causing Charming to crane his neck to look back at him and a look that told Hook that the prince wanted him to elaborate. "Swan and I came across Jac's bones during our little trip up the beanstalk."
Hearing her pirate say her name drew Emma from her thoughts and back into the conversation. "True and besides, Tiny told us Jac was actually short for Jacqueline."
"Maybe Jack Frost," Snow theorized thoughtfully.
It wasn't the craziest theory they'd had so far. Emma mentally compiled everything she knew about the fabled spirit and compared it to the limited information they had about the man. It didn't really feel like a good fit, other than his mischievous nature. It wasn't impossible though, which didn't settle well with Emma who'd subconsciously inched closer to her mom. The idea that they may have to stop Hades, a freaking God, was intimidating enough without adding another immortal to the mix.
"I don't care if he's Jack the Ripper," Emma replied a little more forcefully than intended, overcompensating to cover the fear she felt. In a more controlled voice, she adds, "we should be out looking for him not playing a game of guess who."
Though Emma used the word we, Snow knew her daughter well enough by now to know she was about to fall back into old habits and try to go galivanting off to tackle the latest crisis on her own. She hated that after everything, that was still her daughter's first instinct but she knew that she had nobody to blame but herself. She could tell and assure her daughter that she didn't have to go at it alone until she was blue in the face but she knew she'd never be able to heal every scar that growing up an orphan had given Emma. It doesn't stop her from trying to though.
"Emma, slow down," she responded soft but firmly, a hand leaving the stroller and finding her daughters back as if she's gently trying to push Emma along with them and keep her from veering off their original plan. "For all we know, that could be exactly what he wants. He could have been baiting us at the diner so that we would play right into his hands."
"I don't think Jack is the enemy here. I think he's trying to help us and just going about it the wrong way," Belle stated, finding her voice for the first time since they'd left Granny's.
"What makes you say that?" Hook asked curiously willing to listen though he had his reservations.
"I-I can't really explain it. It's just a gut feeling," Belle said, her face scrunched up in thought. She thought back on her interaction with him at the library. Originally, she too wanted to vilify the bearer of bad news angered he'd darkened their doorsteps with impending doom, but the more she thought back to their brief interaction, she wasn't so sure.
There was something about the way he'd looked at her when he caught her, the look of concern on his features and the way he waited on bated breath for her to confirm she was okay, that she couldn't help but feel he'd genuinely cared. And his note? What kind of villain makes sure you eat? The more she thought about it, the more convinced she was but she'd also been convinced that Rumple was a reformed villain. Before anyone really had a chance to consider what she said, she added sadly, "though I'm not exactly the best judge of character, am I?"
At this, Henry adjusted his stride so that he could fall back and walk beside her on the opposite side of Killian, guilt written all over his face as he turned his head to look at her. Seeing the sheen of unshed tears in his grandma's eyes, Henry can't help but feel a hair responsible for her pain. If he'd never called her and told her of his grandfather's selfless act, she'd be off seeing the world and not caught up in this mess. "I'm so sorry. I'd really thought he'd changed this time. If I hadn't of—"
"Never apologize for trying to see the best in someone," Belle dismissed reaching a hand down and taking his into hers giving it a small squeeze. The thought of blaming him for bringing her back to Storybrooke had not once crossed her mind and she certainly held no ill will towards him. Her voice trembles a bit with the overload of varied emotion, but she adds, "there's no way you could've known he was the Dark One again."
Henry nods his understanding and returns her reassuring squeeze before letting go and sliding his back into the pockets of his peacoat, cheeks reddening slightly as he realized that their little moment had a captive audience. Remembering what they'd all been talking about, Henry circled back to the topic and put in his two cents. "I do think we're wasting time worrying about Jack and focus on the book. Can I see it?"
Henry held out his hand to take the book and Belle dropped the arm holding it to her other side subconsciously wanting the book as far away from her grandson as possible. Her mind races as she tries to think of an excuse that he'd accept when she felt Emma gently pulling on the book. Sensing Emma had the same thoughts as her, she lets her take it. "Not so fast, kid," Emma said tucking the book under her arm. "We really should wait until we get back to the loft."
A protest was mounting in Henry's throat knowing it was just her trying to safeguard him again but it wasn't fair. The traveler had insinuated he'd written it so technically it was his book but a way to appease both mother and son had struck Belle.
"But maybe we could go over my list for now," she proposed, remembering that despite her portion of the list, one of them could be wrong. It also gave her an opportunity to make sure Emma was the one reading it just in case the ones about her were true as well. She didn't want her blindsided when they read the book like she'd been. "It's tucked inside the cover."
Emma pulled the list from the book and gave it a quick once over, ready to ask her dad about the first possible inconsistency but then she realizes what the one beneath it said and stopped dead in her tracks. She'd planned on keeping her secret until the time was right, but seeing it written in Belle's feminine script, she knew it wasn't going to be a secret much longer.
xXx
[Storybrooke, Maine]
-Five Years into the Unchanged Future-
Hope was certainly as stubborn as her mother, thought Killian Jones as he threw the tiny tot over his shoulder and carried her back to her room for the third time that evening. She squealed and giggled, the little wiggle worm squirming until he flopped her down onto her bed.
"Come now, lass. Time for bed is time for bed." he gently chided as he tucked her in again. Letting out a sigh, she brought her favorite stuffed animal- a teddy bear that had a princess dress on she'd made at a place called build-a-bear when Henry and Violet had taken her for her third birthday- into her chest as Killian shoved the edges of her covers under the mattress to cocoon the little escape artist. "Now go to sleep. Tomorrow's Neal's birthday party. Your mum has told me there's going to be cake, face painting, and a bouncy house."
"Is Ryan going to be there?" she asked, catching her dad's attention.
"Ryan as in Katheryn and Jim's boy?" her father asked quirking an eyebrow in interest.
"Yep," she said popping the p at the end of the word. "He's my friend."
"Your boy-friend?" Killian teasingly enquired. She'd mentioned a lot of kids since starting kindergarten, the outgoing little ray of sunshine made friends everywhere they went. But this was the first time he'd heard her mention the son of Midas's daughter and Jim the gym teacher.
"No!" she exclaimed quickly, her little cheeks turning red.
"Good, I'd hate to have to make the lad walk the plank," Killian joked with a waggle of his brow.
"Alex says boys have cooties and you get them if they kiss you."
"Does that mean I have cooties?" he questioned, trying not to laugh.
She narrowed her hazel eyes in a way that made him see a mini version of Emma apart from her raven locks. "Maybe."
Killian pouted his lip and sat on the edge of his princess's bed before saying in the most melancholy tone he could muster, "So daddy doesn't get a kiss goodnight?"
She seemed to think hard about the question, before answering, "Daddy's don't have them. Only boys do. You're all growed up."
Killian let out a faux sigh of relief and gave her a big smile before leaning in and kissing her cheek, waiting until he felt her kiss his back before standing up and pausing in the doorway to flip the switch. "Goodnight, trouble. I'll see you in the morning and not a moment before. Understood?"
"Okay," she said snuggling deeper beneath the covers. "Night, daddy."
He waited until she turned over onto her side and tucked her bear beneath her chin before stepping out of the room and closing the door behind him. He lingered a moment outside her door until he was certain she'd stayed in bed then made his way back downstairs and into the kitchen. Emma was standing at the counter going through the kid's take-home folders, her hair no longer up in a ponytail and a wine glass in hand.
"Think she'll stay down this time?" Emma asked eyes not leaving the piece of paper she had been reading.
Killian joined his wife at the counter, sliding his arms around her waist and resting his chin on her shoulder, hugging her to him before responding, "Aye, was no easy feat though. She's as stubborn as her mum."
His response received a playful elbow and a little chuckle. "Speaking of the apples not falling far from the tree, look at what your son did at school."
He shifted his gaze to the page she held in her hands. On it was a crayon drawing. While most kids his age were having difficulty coloring inside the lines and drawing rudimentary shapes, Ian was able to draw a ship. A ship Killian was able to distinguish as the Jolly Roger due to Ian's use of brown, blue, maroon, and yellow on the hull. His handwriting though, could use some work. His brows pinched together in concentration as he struggled to read the boy's chicken scratch. Sensing his dilemma, Emma read, "I want to be a pirate when I grow up just like my dad."
Visions of future sailing around the world and across realms going on adventures with his boy danced in Hook's head ending with him old and gray, turning over the Jolly Roger to him bestowing the honor of the title Captain. Beaming with fatherly pride he responds, "that's my boy."
xXx
[Storybrooke, Maine]
-Present Day-
They'd finally made it to Snow's building, having checked off quite a few things on the list along the way. Little things like Charming having Marco craft swords for his children and Henry to bestow upon them if they ever returned to the enchanted forest to big things like the fact that Hook had not only a brother named Liam but also a half-brother donning the same name. Though she wanted to expand on the topic of the Liam she'd never known about, Emma decided to add it to the list of things that they needed to talk about later.
It was then that she realized just how long that list had become. They'd spent the last couple weeks since their return enveloped in a honeymoon phase of sorts, both dancing around the elephants in the room just happy to have each other back and not wanting to risk it all crashing down around them again. But there was no avoiding this one. She could no longer wait until Hook was back to his old self, and everything was solid. As the rest of the family shuffled into the building Emma grabbed Killian by his hook, the pull causing him to turn and see she had stopped following.
"Can I- uh-" she stumbles on the question as if it was caught in her throat. Swallowing, she continued. "Can I talk to you for a minute?"
She tried to keep her voice level, but he knew her well enough to know something was weighing on her, worrying her noticeably. She was putting on a brave face, putting up walls- walls he could've sworn he'd painstakingly torn down. He nodded and let her pull him back outside, sadness washing over the pirate as the realization that had been before. Before taking on the mantle of the Dark One, before she infected him with the darkness to save his life, before the hurt they inflicted on each other while being possessed by it, before she'd had to run him through with Excalibur and followed him down to the Underworld to save him. They'd not dealt with any of it choosing to just gloss over it instead. Both so determined to keep moving forward that she fell back into old habits He'd been so consumed with convincing himself and others that he was fine, that he failed to see she wasn't.
When she stops leading him by the hook and turns back to him she raises her shoulders- a defense mechanism he'd not seen in a long time rearing its ugly head- causing him to instinctively reach forward and taking her hand into his. Her eyes flicker down to their joined hands, the feeling of his thumb absentmindedly running back and forth over her knuckles. When he sees the tension ease the slightest bit, her shoulders, he couldn't help the way the corner of his lip twitched with a hint of a smile.
He always took pride in being able to read her like a book, but there were so many tense topics they'd been dancing around that it very well could have been any of them. So, he started with the most recent offence: Liam. It wasn't that Hook was necessarily hiding Liam; though he wasn't eager to divulge it either. It was another horrible example of the long gone villainy of a man that he'd worked so hard to distance himself from. Why let the ghosts of the past haunt his present and especially now when there's a book upstairs predicting the end of days.
"I know I should've told you about my half-brother-and I promise we can hash out all the sordid details later- but surely we have more pressing matters to attend to. It can wait."
"This can't," she choked out, shifting her weight nervously from one foot to the other. He gave her hand a reassuring squeeze silently encouraging her to talk to him and it gives her just enough comfort to find her voice, though it trembled and was a bit quieter than intended. "Belle's not the only one who's pregnant."
His mouth falls open in disbelief and those expressive eyebrows raise in shock, because of course he's aware of the meaning of her words. An intermingled mess of shock, fear, uncertainty, and joy pierced his chest in equal measures and nearly stole his breath; they are a physical ache which pulls him back on his heels for a moment or two while he focused on gathering deep breaths in and out, grounding himself until the immediate shock would settle down.
She dipped her head to avoid his searching gaze, biting her lips as she tried to will herself to spell it out- more so for herself than him. "I'm pregnant."
In all their talks about the future, another child hadn't come up once. She had her doubts about even wanting another kid- partially because of her mixed feelings when she'd first found out that her parents were going to have another kid. She was happy for them but she couldn't deny the hurt of knowing that he'd get the childhood she'd been robbed of being raised by them. But the moment she said the words out loud, she understood and realized how bad she wanted it. She wanted to experience all the wonders and joys coming with a child's first smile, the first step, the first word, being there from day one. She wanted this baby.
But the lost little girl from a long time ago that still lived somewhere deep inside her soul that had encountered nothing but rejection and loneliness in her life, seemed to sneak up on her. Those damn fears of abandonment she thought she'd overcome, they raised their ugly head and- despite knowing that he'd never abandon her- she untangled her hand from his and words tumbled out of her mouth.
"It was my secret on the list and I didn't want you to find out when everyone else did. I know it's a lot to take in and I don't expect you to-"
He didn't even let her finish, reaching forward, and pulling her fully into an embrace. He held her so close, so tightly to his chest that not a breath of air could pass between them. He pressed a lingering kiss atop her head and after a moment, he found his voice. Emma felt more than heard the next words he whispered against her hair, a steadfast certainty in his tone that soothes her soul, "Unexpected as it may be, this child, our child is a blessing."
xXx
[Storybrooke, Maine]
-Eleven Years Later-
It was hard to believe a week ago, ten-year-old Ian Jones' biggest problem was a tutor that reminded him of Professor McGonagle from the Harry Potter books Henry used to read him- a woman who was tough but fair and only wanted him to reach his full potential. What he wouldn't give to hear her go 'Pay attention, Mr. Jones' one more time. What he wouldn't give to turn back the clock and appreciate the things he took for granted.
There was a time when he hated Arendelle and wanted nothing more than to return to his family in Storybrooke. But now that he sat on the steps leading up to the quarterdeck of the Jolly Roger, Ian wanted nothing more than to return. Angrily he blinked back tears and tried like hell to focus on the piece of literature in his lap but it didn't stop a renegade one from escaping and dripping down onto the page every now and then. He knew soon enough they'd pour if he couldn't keep his mind from the place he'd called home for almost four years.
Pressing his casted arm down harder across the book, Ian tried to keep the wind from flapping the pages so he could focus on the text, but it seemed as fruitless as his efforts to not think about what had happened. Every time he closed his eyes, he relived the events that had drove them from Arendelle and through the portal to Storybrooke. If he didn't see Kristoff- his father figure during his time there- sacrificing himself so Ian could take his daughter Indy and make a break for the castle, he seen the kingdom freezing over, or the look of barely tamped emotion on Elsa's face as she destroyed the portal before he could set Indy down and return to the fight.
He heard the agonized cry of Anna rip through the castle and was reminded that the woman who'd loved and cared for him and his sister as if they were her own children probably perished as well. Heard the cries of people Hades and his horde considered nothing more than collateral damage in his attempt to kill him and his sister. His broken arm, that was snapped by a demigod soldier to prevent him from using his magic, and the discomfort he felt every time he even breathed due to the large stab wound on his ribs he'd received when Panic stabbed around the hay Kristoff had told him to take Indy and hide in painful reminders of his failure.
He was the son of the Savior, heroism was practically imbedded in his DNA, and he had run. He told himself it was because he had to make sure Indy and Hope got to safety but then he'd remember how relieved he felt when the option of going back and fighting was taken from him or the way he felt his whole body quake with fear when he heard Hades calling their names in a sing-song tone as he searched for them. Letting out a growl of frustration, Ian took the book in his good hand and chucked it across the deck before burying his face in his hands. He heard it tap against the wooden planks and only sliding a second before it was stopped, entirely too quickly for it to have gone the full length of the deck. Lifting his head, he saw none other than his father and namesake standing before him bending down to pick up the book.
"Not a good read I take it," Killian quipped, as he returned to his standing position, an eyebrow arched and a warm smile on his features. Ian didn't respond though or return his father's smile, just dropped his gaze back down to the black fabric of Roland's old jogger sweats he wore and clenched his jaw. Killian seemed to pay no mind to the boy's determination to ignore him, bridging the distance between them and taking a seat on the steps beside him, leaving just enough space between them to set down the book. For a few minutes the only sounds around them were the whip of the wind and the sound of waves gently lapping against the docked Roger as Killian studied his son.
This was the second time in the week, he had been searching for his son, the first being when one of the outside world refugees from the Sorcerer's mansion reported three children had burst through a door that had appeared out of nowhere and took off into the woods. The sight of Ian rolled on his side using his body as a shield in a last-ditch effort to protect the small child cuddled up to him was seared into his brain and fueled the current frantic search amongst his family.
In the aftermath, Hope seemed to be coping quite well all things considered. She leaned into the support her family gave her and found comfort in being close to them again. Ian was a different story. Emma had tried to heal his side. But when the glowing light emanating from her hands met Ian's flesh, it had sent the magical equivalent of sparks flying, his wound still wide open when they cleared. Charming had proposed the possibility of a magical blade that was resistant to healing but the same happened when she tried it on his arm as well. Hook had his suspicions that this was due to the boy simply not wanting to be healed but he didn't dare say the word aloud. Luckily Whale was able to work some magic of his own and set the boy's arm and stitched up his side. Eventually those wounds would heal but the emotional ones Killian wasn't so sure about.
"You gave us all quite a scare disappearing from the hospital like that. Your Mom's got half the town out looking for you," Killian finally said breaking the silence.
"You people do know there's a happy medium between abandoning and smothering, right?" Ian responded the scathing words laced with a venom that seemed to surprise Ian more than Hook. He knew that he'd never been abandoned by his family and hadn't ever felt that way. There was a shell between his and Hope's bed at the palace and every single night there was a voice on the other end- the same time every night for years- whether it was his parents, Henry with a story, or any of the other dozen people that they called family letting them know they were loved. "'M sorry. I don't even know why I said that."
Killian did and it hurt more than the words ever could- though he was thankful the outburst had happened with him and not Emma. One of her worst fears were her children feeling she'd abandoned them and whether he meant it or not, the dig would've been devastating. Reaching over for the first time Hook rested his hand on his son's upper back in what he hoped would translate as a supportive gesture.
"I do," he responded, and Ian craned his neck to look at him, eyes almost imploring Killian to explain it to him.
Killian knew the sting of survivor's guilt better than anyone- the pain of simply living whilst others were not as fortunate combined with the weight of feeling responsible for the actions of the sadistic God. The knowledge that the plight that was Hades had been released upon the world because they freed him had nearly destroyed the pirate. At first he'd simply tried to turn his back on it, but it trickled slowly into his head and then throughout his blood, spreading underneath every inch of his skin.
He'd been familiar with guilt- felt it too often over the man he'd been before he'd fallen for Emma- but this was something else entirely. An unfamiliar parasite he had to spend years learning how to live with. He'd managed to learn to wield it as a weapon, taught himself how to use it to guide him forward and fuel his actions and not let the things he had no control over control him.
How was he supposed to explain to his ten-year-old that the longer he battled his guilt, the more it would taint his thoughts and actions? That he needed to learn to control it, or it would continue to control him, and it would keep coming out in tremulous waves crashing into those he loved until its current pushed them away or pulled them down with him.
"You feel guilty about Arendelle, and I can tell you none of it was your fault- that you had no control over the actions of that monster and didn't choose to be hunted merely because some bloody prophecy said you're a threat- until my lungs give out but it's not going to make it go away. Only you can decide what to do with it and- though I hope you either find a way to let it go or make peace with it- I can't do it for you."
Ian took a deep breath as if he were inhaling his father's statement, letting it bounce around in his mind and trying to figure out what to do with it. Killian wasn't the first one to realize his son felt guilty, but he was the first one who didn't try to chase it away or dismiss it. He found himself nodding in understanding and once Killian was sure Ian understood what he was saying, he found himself adding, "If it gets to be too much though, come to me and I'll help you in any way that I can. Understood?"
"Aye," Ian responded before looking away and wiping a tear from his cheek with the sleeve of his shirt.
Killian sensed that the moment of nearness was over; all the important things had been said and was convinced his son would go back with him willingly now and scooped up the book between them before climbing to his feet. "Ready?" Nodding, Ian climbed to his feet and reached to take the book from his father's hand. Seeing an expression cross his father's face as he looked at the books cover caused in to hesitate in taking it and eye him curiously. Letting out a scoff, Hook looked more intently at the cover reading its title in disbelief. "Jack Sparrow: The Coming Storm? Unbelievable. I get vilified and Sparrow got a book series?"
Ian laughed at his father's reaction and the indignation on his features before it dawned on him the weight of what he said. "Wait, Jack Sparrow's real?"
Ian pulled the book from his father's hand but he didn't break eye-contact with his dad as he waited for him to respond. "Aye," he responded not entirely sure why that little piece of information had his son so interested. "I never had the displeasure of crossing paths with him but we picked up a couple of his crewmembers when the bloody fool tried to welch on a deal with Davy Jones and got himself eaten by a Leviathan."
Lifting the book towards his dad with the back facing upright and a finger barely peeking out past the clunky cast pointed at one of the books on the back. "Dad, look," Ian said, voice ripe with excitement. "There's a book in the series about Poseidon's trident. If he was real maybe his adventures were too and it could guide us to it. It's worth a shot, right?"
Ian looked up at him with the first spark of hope he'd seen in him waiting for his reply. It wasn't likely. Hook doubted that Hades would have been searching other realms for weapons and potential wielders if there were any left here but couldn't bring himself to tell him. "Certainly, worth looking into. But right now, we best be getting back to tell your mother to call off the search."
Ian let his father usher him across the gangway and onto the docks, stumbling a bit due to the change of terrain and his eyes still transfixed on the book. His mind swam with possibilities. The whole reason he was even tracking the siblings was because Hades felt threatened by them because they were amongst the limited number of people that could wield the weapons of the Gods and now Ian might actually have a way to make good on it… all thanks to Captain Jack Sparrow.
xXx
[Storybrooke, Maine]
-Present Day-
Hope was a fickle mistress, that seemed to have a knack for taunting him; constantly shining before him, but the harder he tried to run towards it, the farther away it would be. But as of late, it was exceptionally cruel. He'd been hopeful that they could take away the darkness from Emma, and became afflicted with it himself. He'd hoped to go down like a hero taking that darkness into death with him, and the bloody crocodile made his sacrifice a waste. He'd hoped for his misery in the River Acheron- to end his eternal misery, and for once hope didn't seem to maliciously strike him down.
Nightmares and PTSD aside, it seemed Killian Jones had everything he could've ever hoped for; the love of his life, a place to call home, and a family that would literally go to hell and back for him. Just when he thought his heart couldn't get any fuller, Emma told him the best news he'd gotten in three hundred years; he was going to be a father. He should've known that it was all too good to be true, that his hopes to break the laws of nature cheating death itself without repercussions was foolish. All hopes to the contrary were dashed the moment he opened the accursed book.
Snow had convinced Henry to go with her to Regina's to show her the list and probably bring them back to the loft- a stall tactic to keep Henry away from the book no doubt. Meanwhile, Charming was finding some clothes of Snow's that Belle could sleep in after promising her that they'd accompany her to get her things in the morning and insisting that she'd stay with them for as long as she needed. Emma and Belle were in the kitchen heating up leftovers, and having a whispered conversation. Hook could only assume it was Emma thanking her for being discrete with her secret and giving her the chance to get out in front of it.
The book was just sitting on the kitchen table daring him to take a peek and he'd foolishly obliged. An image of Hades standing beside the river watching them as they exited the Underworld, the first image portrayed in the book. Scanning the text, the words cut him to the marrow. Picking the book up and steadying it on his forearm and Hook, he thumbed through the pages, taking in gory image after gory image of familiar faces meeting their end, hesitating every now and then when he saw an unfamiliar face to consult the text in order to put a name to it.
He'd managed to get about part of the way through the book when he caught sight of an image that almost made him drop it. In the foreground, two teenagers on the dirt floor of a cavern; the boy holding the prone form of the girl close to his chest. The girl wearing a painfully familiar red jacket. Behind them was Regina and three men- one Charming, one he assumed to be Henry, and the third he guessed was Neal- the conclusion drawn due to the resemblance of his father except for black locks and the same chin he, his mother, and sister all shared. Swallowing thickly, Hook shifted his gaze to the text beside it scanning it and catching familiar names.
Not even her own twin had realized the lengths Hope Jones was willing to go to stop Hades once and for all. But the spell she'd convinced her family to go along with- the spell she'd led them to believe was their salvation was truly their damnation. All magic comes with a price, and the price of giving Emma enough power to go toe to toe with the God of Death himself was their lifeforces. She willingly paid it the thoughts of losing her true love- another of the endless casualties she'd witnessed in the war- and being reunited with him bringing a smile to her lips as she drew in her last breath. Moments later, her grandfather followed in suit, dying in the arms of his son while his grandsons and Regina looked on helplessly.
Henry felt the effects taking hold next, his legs giving out beneath him and crumpling into a heap onto the ground. Refusing to lose her son, or let Ian and Neal meet the same fate, Regina had no choice but to stop the spell at the source the only way she knew how. Emma Swan had to die.
Not even a half hour ago, Killian Jones was riding the highest of highs- the knowledge he was going to be a dad warming his heart in a way he'd never known possible- only to plummet to the lowest of lows. In the same instant he found out that he had twins on the way, he lost hope- both his daughter and hope of a bright future for his children.
"Snow just called, and Regina did confirm all the spells and her ability to cast them. Robin also admitted that he was planning on naming his daughter Millie as a play on Regina's surname," Charming explained as he returned to the kitchen and set the change of clothes and the cell phone onto the counter. Gripping its edges, David let out a deep breath before addressing the rooms occupants once all eyes were on him. "I hate to say it, but we should at least entertain the idea that everything in the book is a possible future."
"The hell it is," Hook all but growled out dropping the book onto the table with a resounding thud clearly riled up. All eyes darted to him, concern evident in their faces. "That bloody death book is full of lies and I intend to prove it!"
A darkness swept over his features and murderous intent flashed in his eyes making him look so much like the dark version of himself that it causes Emma to flinch- the horrible things they said and did to each other while under the influence of darkness racing to the forefront of her mind practically paralyzing her in place and giving Killian a head start as he charged out of the loft. The door slams behind him, the loud crash snapping her out of the terrifying thoughts.
"What the hell was that about?" Charming asked, brow furrowed as he turned his attention to Belle and his daughter.
"I don't know, but I'm going after him," Emma says barely above a whisper, shifting her weight and readying herself to chase after him, but Belle catches her by her arm, stopping her in place.
"Emma wait," Belle said, eyes brimming with tears and fighting the lump that had formed in her throat. "I know why. There's something you should know…"
xXx
A shop filled with treasures should have been the happiest place on dry land for a pirate, a looter's paradise. He imagined under different circumstances, he'd want to explore the shops every nook and cranny, take in all the items and find their value. Instead, he was stuck in a race against time trying to win the world's worst game of I Spy. Smacking an open hand against the wall, he let out a frustrated growl. There was no method to the madness in this place, no pattern for placement that he could figure out to aid him in his search.
"Probably should have waited until he helped you gather the ingredients before getting rid of the Dark One," pointed out a voice that he couldn't possibly be hearing.
Turning his head towards it he confirmed that the impossible was leaning against the doorframe, arms crossed over her chest clearly amused by the situation he'd put himself in. She looked exactly as she had the last time he saw her nearly a decade ago, from her wavy raven locks just barely kissing her shoulders down to the brown military boots with the faded heart containing hers and her lost loves initials towards the heel. His Adam's apple bobbed as he tried to swallow the fact he may have actually lost his bloody mind.
"I don't understand," he breathes before taking cautious steps towards her similar to the way one would approach an injured wild animal. He was terrified that one false move and she'd disappear. Finally face to face with the girl that was his other half, he stopped. His hand trembled as he moved it towards her needing to be certain. "How are you here Hope?"
When she breaks eye contact, his hand goes to her cheek to guide it back to him but his fingers sink into it never touching anything solid. To drive home the point that she wasn't corporeal she walked right through him. "I'm not. I died, remember?"
How could he ever forget? That day changed him in ways he couldn't even fathom. From day one he'd been one of the twins. They were a unit. A combined entity. It didn't matter that other than sharing the same birthday and last name they didn't really have anything in common or that they disagreed on everything except how much they loved each other. They were as symbiotic as they were chaotic and when he lost her, he lost a big piece of himself. Turning sharply, he watched her leisurely stroll around the shop with a furrowed brow.
"So what? You're a ghost?" he asked. His hands swept through his thick mane of blonde locks and interlocked on the back of his head determined to figure out this mystery. "Are you a hallucination from sleep deprivation?" She continued to move about the shop showing no sign of even hearing him causing him to ask louder, "Or, I don't know, did I touch something in here that's causing me to hallucinate? Let me know if I'm getting close."
Shrugging her shoulders, she ran her fingers the length of her lips as if zipping them shut then continued to throw away the invisible key with an overexaggerated flick of her wrist. The playful smirk he knew all too well shown on her features. Hallucination or not she was definitely as maddening as his sister striking a nerve only she could.
Like Ian had done mere hours before, she gravitated towards their mother's mobile looking it over thoughtfully. He wanted to ask her if she remembered the last time she'd seen it or if she could remember it hanging above her own crib but stops himself. He didn't have time to take a trip down memory lane. He needed to continue his search, had to keep moving. Her life depended on it.
He opened his mouth to ask her to stop with the games but stopped the moment she moved a muscle. Sliding her hands into the pockets of her mom's red leather jacket she pulled herself from the mobile and continued her little stroll around the shop as if she didn't have a care in the world or notice that the future, her future, hung in the balance.
"I think you should worry less about the how and focus on the why," she advised without looking at him.
He took a deep breath and began walking the store alongside her, eyes occasionally glancing a shelf hoping to catch sight of what he'd been searching for. The task already seemed daunting when it had his undivided attention. Now it was starting to feel impossible, but he couldn't bring himself to let her go. Even if she was a figment of his imagination, this was the least alone he'd felt in so long. "That's easy to say when you're not the one that's probably gone mad, but I'll bite. Why are you here? And please no more cryptic crap."
"Because I'm the only one that will call you on your shit and tell you how badly you're screwing all this up," she said making sure there was no ambiguity in her response. She stopped perusing the shops items and looked up at him taking note of his flaring nostrils and clenched jaw but pressing on just the same. She had to state her case. "I mean, seriously, Ian. Altering the book, mind game with the crocodile, and now this spell: you're making one stupid mistake after another."
"Stupid," he repeated, the word inexplicably having the same sting it did when they were children and it was the worst word allowed in their vocabulary. It was a shot across the bow and before he could stop himself, he fired back a retort of his own. "At least my plan isn't going to kill a third of our bloodline."
It was obvious he hated she had heard those words from his lips the moment they left them but there was no taking them back. He shuddered as they hit, and her eyes- those haunting hazel green eyes that were exact copies of their mom's- flashed with hurt. He instantly dropped his gaze, guilt weighing down his heart like an anchor. He opens his mouth to speak, prepared to give her a weak apology but nothing came out. He floundered for a second before she gave him a sad smile. He hated seeing he caused her an ounce of sadness despite everything and the fact that he was probably imagining her.
"It's alright, Ian. Really," she assures her instinct to place a comforting hand on his shoulder stopped mid reach and dropped helplessly back down to her side as if even she'd forgotten she wasn't really there for the briefest of moments. Letting out a sigh, she continued. "If I had it to do all over again, I'd still make the same choices because I did what I thought was right. Can you honestly say the same?"
His lips parted and face scrunched up in her admittance of no remorse for her actions. A mix of hurt and anger evident in his expression but he's quick to quell it. There's no point in fighting over something that may never even happen now that he was altering the timeline. Besides, he didn't know how much fight he had left in him after this roller coaster of a day.
Biting his lip, Ian battled with himself a moment before clearing his throat and answering, "I do. I believe in the plan. I might not like it. There's some of it you can say I even hate," he starts, hesitating a moment when a tick of emotion found its way into his voice. "But it's the best shot we have at stopping Hades. It's everyone's best chance and that's what our family does, right? We give those we love their best chances. First our grandparents did it for Mom and then she did for Henry and then for us. I need to do this for them. It's just—"
"Just what, Ian," she asks the moment he dropped, his gaze. Hope's throat narrows sharply as he looks back up at her the wash of raw emotion in her twin's eyes overwhelming. Ian had been alone for so long that he'd almost forgotten what emotions even were let alone how to feel them, and now he was thrown back in the deep end, clearly drowning.
"Just not as simple. Don't get me wrong, I'm not trying to belittle their sacrifices," he begins, backtracking and clearly irritated with his choice of words. He'd spent the better part of his life hating the phrase 'best chance' because he was on the receiving end. Now that he was in the position to give it to the people he loved, he understood the weight of the sacrifice and wanted her to know he had abandoned his former stance on the subject. He just couldn't seem to word it properly. "They had to make a heartbreaking, terrible decision but took one moment of having to be strong and selfless. One impossible choice that was made one time. It's going to be a constant for me. I'm going to have to make that decision every day. Every day I'm here, every step of the way, I'm going to have to actively make that choice and I'm going to have to watch them suffer just hoping one day it will all be worth it."
"And you can do that? You can hurt them to save them?" she asks already knowing the answer before he even did.
He shook his head gently and began blinking rapidly fighting back tears, letting out a deep breath. He thought back on the day's events. The hurt in Henry's eyes, the dried tracks of tears on Belle's cheeks, starting a game of cat and mouse with his mom. He was as exhausted mentally as he was physically, and this was just the beginning. "Today I could. Maybe even tomorrow and the day after that too. But eventually, no. That's why I need to do this spell, Hope. That's why I have to be someone else. Someone better."
Hope bites back the protest that rises in her throat and nods her acceptance as a film of unshed tears swim blearily across her vision. If he was dead set on sticking to the plan, there was no changing her brother's mind. She also knew that if he had to fight himself every step of the way, he wouldn't have any fight left in him by the time he got to Hades. Whether she liked it or not, the curse was his best chance. With a watery smile, she gazed fondly at her brother and replied, "For the record, I'd choose Ian Jones over Jack Sparrow even on his worst day. But I get it."
A light chuckle danced through the air as a genuine smile slipped onto his face. If she were corporeal, he'd of wrapped his sister into the fiercest of hugs. He searched his mind to figure out the best way to articulate his appreciation when he realized she wasn't looking at him anymore but past him. Confused, he turned to try and see where her gaze led but all he sees is a couple shelves overcrowded with clutter.
"What are you—" he begins shooting his gaze back to where she'd stood to find she was gone. "Hope?"
He felt it in his soul that the apparition of his sister was gone but that didn't stop his searching gaze from taking in the shop around him hoping to catch a glimpse of her. He considers racing around the shop and retracing his steps touching everything he had before in the hopes of bringing her back but decided against it. He closed his eyes tightly and took a few breaths to recenter himself. He felt so drained, but there was so much more left to do. He had no choice but to keep moving forward.
He began to move about the shop, scanning another shelf and opening the cabinet beneath before he decided to circle back to where Hope's gaze had trailed off to before she left him again. His boots clunked across the wooden floor as he made his way over, a little more force than necessary behind each step due to the urgency of completing his task. He took in the Victorian wallpaper and miscellaneous pieces of artwork hung above. The shelves were lined with miscellaneous brass pieces including a sextant and a little statue of a mermaid. Sensing there may actually be a theme to the shelf peeks his interest and he eagerly takes in the other items on it: a couple miscellaneous compasses, a brass handheld telescope, a small wooden box about the size of his hand filled with Aztec gold…. Aztec gold! His hand snatched the box with such urgency that some of the pieces spilled out and he continued pushing them out as he dove his hand into it fighting the impulse to go for the shiny pieces of gold instead of the aged copper he searched for. His finger looped around a texture he felt was different from the hard metals.
Fishing it out, Ian could hardly contain his excitement, tossing the box back onto the shelf and dangling the string of Moroccan beads at eye level to inspect them and the Siamese coin. It wasn't the most valuable of treasures in the shop but to him Jack Sparrow's Pieces of Eight might as well have been the Holy Grail. Like his grandparents, dad, and most of the population of Storybrooke, Jack Sparrow was thought to be a character in stories but Ian knew that wasn't the case. Like his father, Jack traveled across the realms searching for treasures and adventures.
What had been his boyhood obsession, researching the pirate and tracking his timeline to find out to find Poseidon's Trident would now be his saving grace. When he'd decided to take inspiration from the Dark Curse- to rewrite himself and change his memories- he had to find someone to become that would be brave enough to take on Hades that hadn't crossed paths with his family- which was easier said than done considering they seemed to have history with everyone in some way, shape or form.
Taking his treasure into the back room, Ian glanced down at the bubbling cauldron of inky black liquid and smiled widely at its progress. It'd been years since Ian had gotten to go back to his magical roots, and he couldn't help but let his mind go back to days spent in Regina's vault under her tutelage with Millie and Hope at his side. He doubted she'd approve of his use of her teachings- realized that she'd probably smack him upside the head and lecture him about using magic for personal gain- but it didn't weaken his resolve. Pushing forward, he moved to the desk where he had written the modifications to the memories the Pieces Of Eight would give him. Afterall, it'd been centuries since the pirate had met his demise and he had to have an airtight story if he was going to pull the wool over their eyes.
Picking up the parchment his eyes scanned the words written in squid ink critically, searching for any last minute edits needed to guarantee he'd be able to get past the human lie detector that was his mother and make sure that he'd still have determination to stick to the plan. Once sure, he laid the parchment back on the table and rolled it around the Pieces of Eight twisting the ends of it closed to make sure it wasn't going to come unraveled.
Once secured he dropped it into the cauldron, a dense billow of smoke rocketed up to the ceiling upon contact and the sulfuric stench slapped him in the face. His arm goes up to shield his nose from the offending stench but he doesn't dare look away knowing he needs to see the chemical reaction to be certain it worked. Sure enough, the smoke flashed a sickly green for the time it would take to blink and then dissipated into the air.
"Still got it," he whispered congratulating himself on his first potion in a decade. Grabbing a vial from behind him, Ian quickly ladled the liquid into it making sure he'd hit the desired measurement before tossing the it onto the counter and turning from the cauldron almost tripping over his own feet as he rushed over to the cot and took a seat. "Here goes nothing."
Tipping the vial back like a shot he downed the contents in a single gulp. Seconds ticked by and he didn't feel any effects. Had he forgotten something or messed up a measurement? Pushing off the edge of the cot, Ian went to stand up and inspect his notes when he dropped to the floor like a sack of bricks hitting the hardwood with a resounding thud.
A searing pain shot through his mind, white hot in its intensity, causing him to cry out and clutch either side of his head. Images danced behind heavy lids, memories in the deepest depths of the catacombs of his mind being scraped away and replaced with a white nothingness. So stark and glaring, he felt purged and cleansed, everything as monumental as core memories and insignificant as his siblings' favorite colors pulled away until he was a blank slate.
Echoes reached across the white expanse of oblivion, calling to him to succumb and let it in. He tried to trace its origins but a sea of nothingness was all he could see. Until it wasn't. New memories came flooding in and he watched them in his mind's eye, a lifetime piling up and forging connections and transforming the information that felt secondhand into first-person memories. When his eyes reemerged from beneath heavy lids- eyes that were now a dark grey instead of their usual blue- he was a new man.
A searing pain radiated from his forearm causing him to pull up the sleeve of his jacket. He looked down at the swirling black ink on his forearm forming into the tattoo of a sparrow over the water with a sun setting behind it. As soon as the image was formed, its last line completed, it flashed a bright white locking the memories the curse had given him in place. He was Captain Jack Sparrow, the last pirate, and was about to go on his greatest adventure yet… after he procured some rum and raided that lovely safe he remembered seeing on the wall on his way in that is.
xXx
Killian Jones had enough blood on his hands for a lifetime, if not two or three. Villainous deeds and thirst for revenge marred his past. It wasn't that he made the conscious choice to become that man, but a series of unfortunate circumstances— his father selling him into servitude, unanswered prayers for a better life where he wasn't scrubbing decks for scraps, and even the verbal and sometimes physical abuse meant to be reprimands—hadn't exactly done him any favors.
Truth be told, the fact that he went as long as he did before becoming a villain was remarkable; though he firmly believed that was because of the guiding hand of his brother. That is why Liam's death was the straw that broke the camels back. Joining the King's navy was supposed to be the turning point of their lives, not the end of his brothers. What's the point of being good if you only had heartache to show for it?
So he dove headlong into the darkness, pillaging and plundering until his heart's content striking down anyone who stood in his way. He'd even found love along the way. Being bad got him farther than any of the good he'd done so he continued down that path and sought his revenge on Rumpelstiltskin. Even in his darkest places, Killian felt justified in his actions that is until he came across a certain Savior that turned his world upside down and made him want better… wanted to be better.
Of course, there was no changing the past he now thought as shameful- no way to ever truly wash his hands of his villainous past—but he could strive to make amends and not repeat past mistakes. He was determined to make his future better than his past but now he knew that future, his second chance, came at a price. An unfathomably steep one that the entire world would have to pay. Reason told him it wasn't his fault. They didn't know but the image of his children was seared into his brain and there every moment he closed his eyes. He'd do anything to get rid of it, to change their fates and in turn the rest of the worlds. He had no idea where to even begin looking for a God, let alone how to stop him.
The search parameters for the man who'd dropped this fate in his lap made for a much more attainable goal so that's where he decided to focus his efforts. He was going to find the harbinger of death and get answers by any means necessary. Returning the Jolly Roger, Killian Jones sought out his sword- missing the days he'd carried it with him and had it at the ready. Below deck, he quickly found his scabbard and sword belt and began to ready himself for battle. The motions of putting the sword belt around his waist attaching the scabbard to the bridge were as familiar to him as putting on his brace for his hook. Centuries of his sword being an extension of himself made the move as familiar as attaching his hook and the time spent in his modern drab didn't seem to affect the muscle memory of the action.
There was a hint of a hesitation in him though when he'd caught a glance at the silver of the sword's blade, the sight taking him back to Excalibur and the way the ancient blade slicing through him like butter. He's quick to push the thought aside and refocused on the pursuit of Jack. He'd started his way topside- one booted for on the ladder back up when the thump of someone landing above.
Slipping his hand beneath the guard and around the grip of the sword, Killian listened intently as the trespasser moved across the deck. His first thought was that Emma or David were above but the footfalls were too heavy to be Swan's lithe form and too inconsistent to match Charming's stride. As they drew near, he realized that not only did someone have the audacity to trespass on the Roger, but were going to come below deck and violate his inner sanctum.
Carefully, Killian Jones took his foot from the ladder and pivoted to the side, readying his blade in the same fluid motion. He waited on bated breath as the intruder came stumbling down the ladder. He only made it a few steps into the room before Killian pressed the blade between the man's shoulder blades freezing him in his tracks.
"Put up your hands and turn around slowly or I'll cut ye down where ye stand," Killian growled in a low, menacing tone. The man did what he was asked and Killian was tempted to still do as he'd promised. "You? Either you're mad or just plain stupid coming here."
Before him stood none other than the man he'd intended to hunt down. Jack raised his eyebrow and tilted his head slightly seeming more curious than surprised by his presence. Coal black eyes flickered down to the blade then back up to its wielder, a grin pulling at the edge of his lips. "Easy, mate. There's no need to get all stabby now. Though I have to ask why you're here and not with the other members of the Justice League trying to devise a plan. Or are they still on the whole it's-a-book-of-lies kick?"
Raising the blade so that it rest directly on Jack's throat and applying a little pressure, Killian stopped another question that was on the tip of his tongue so that he could speak. "I'll be the one asking the questions. Now, pray tell where did you get that bloody death book and who the hell are you."
Hook shifted his weight back enough so that the blade no longer rest on Jack's throat but could easily be remedied but thrusting forward so he could speak. "Slow on the uptake are we?" he bated getting the blade shifted down and against his chest as a response telling him to tread lightly and that this was his final warning. "From Henry. Your boy gave me the book and sent me on my merry way to the past, or well to your present. And as for who I am… why I'm Captain Jack Sparrow."
"No, you're not. The fool crossed Davy Jones and got swallowed whole by his pet."
"Aye," Jack agreed offended by Hook calling him a fool but deciding better to get even than mad. "And I don't recommend it. Lucky for me, some fool released Hades who in turn killed dear Davy and I was able to make my escape."
"Even if I believed you, which I have my reservations, why the devil would Henry send you?" Killian asked, his desire for answers momentarily quelling his rage enough to stop him from running the smart-mouthed pirate through.
"Well he couldn't very well do it himself. Not with Hades hot on his tail. I just happen to be the right man for the job—someone not on Hades radar that could sneak on back with him none the wiser. And now that you're all caught up and I held up my end of the bargain, I'll leave you heroic types to fix your mess."
"Not quite," Killian said, murderous intent blazing behind his eyes again. "That may explain why you're in this time, but not why you're on my ship."
"Ok, I confess it was my intention to take this here ship, find a crew of likeminded individuals, then raid pillage plunder and otherwise pilfer my way across realms. Savvy?"
"Aye," Killian acknowledged, knowing that was all the reason he needed to do what he'd been wanting to do the moment Jack opened his mouth.
Lunging forward, he jabbed the sword where Jack stood, but Jack saw the blow coming. People always shot- or in this case stabbed- the messenger. He dropped down to the ground and swept his leg into Hook's, taking the pirate off his feet. Before he could hit the ground a puff of navy smoke enveloped the two and they were transported topside. Hook crashed hard into the deck but didn't relinquish his grip on his sword and was back to his feet in an instant. Jack took advantage of Hook's momentary condition and drew his own cutlass in a fluid sweep leveling the playing field. He supposed he could have just sent Hook away with the mere flick of his wrist or hit him with a magical blast and sent him careening over the side of the ship and into the dark water beneath them, but where was the fun in that?
"It's not too late to turn tail and run," Jack noted as they circled each other in a standoff that certainly wouldn't last.
"Can't say the same for you," Killian growled with a quick mele of strikes in succession.
Sparrow managed to parry the attacks and planted a booted foot into Hook's chest to impede the assault. Duels were never taken on by two people who loved each other, but Killian loathed this man and Jack was determined to use Hook's malice against him.
"Not bad, not bad," Jack appraised smugly. "I'll admit I thought this fight was going to be one-sided given your track record and all. Tell me, how many times have you met your fate at the end of a blade?"
His taunt proved fruitful, Killian's rage causing his form to suffer. He thrusted forward and Jack side stepped, hitting Hook in the back with the pummel of his sword as he thrusted past. It was then that Killian realized what Sparrow was attempting to do, and now that Killian understood his game, he knew Jack's exploitable weakness. Regaining his footing and turning back to his opponent, he readied himself for defense and let Jack go on the attack.
Like he'd assumed, the cocky git attacked with flourish. Hook bided his time and waited for his opening which came when Jack flicked his wrist between strikes and his blade sliced through the air dramatically between strikes. He quickly thrusted his blade forward, slashing across Jack's chest before he even knew what hit him. Jack flung himself over the rail of the upper deck in a last ditch effort to avoid what he was sure would be a lethal blow. He managed to hit the deck in a roll making the landing less devastating. That was where his luck ran out, he came to a stop by crashing into the mast, head smacking with enough force to knock him out cold ending both the fight and Jack's night.