Thanks to the folks who checked out this story's short little prologue, now we're going to dive into the real bulk of the plotline. I hope more readers will join us with this one! Things are definitely going to get worse before they get better for our characters, but I hope you'll hang in there and enjoy reading.
I still don't own them!
Villain's Happy Ending
Chapter One: Realization
When Killian's eyes flickered open sometime later, he didn't know where he was. It was cold, dark, and utterly, eerily silent. He pushed himself up to a crouch from the crumpled heap he had been lying in on what felt like a cold, stone floor. He glanced around quickly, surreptitiously; eyes darting from side to side, alert and knowing something was lurking nearby. The short hairs at the nape of his neck prickled and stood on end; Killian was sure he was not truly alone.
Feeling vulnerable in the dark and confusion, he went to stand and encountered chains arresting his movement. Glancing down, Killian wondered how he had missed feeling the manacles around his ankles and his one whole wrist, securing him to the wall behind. It must have been the heavy, lethargic dullness weighing his limbs from the convulsions before he lost consciousness. He could feel sensation still returning to his body gradually. Rather than fruitlessly fighting restraints that felt too sturdy to break, the pirate furrowed his brow, considering his next move.
Where was he? He could not see much, but he knew he was somewhere secure and fortified, because no sound penetrated. It was so strangely, completely quiet that it gave the sensation he had either gone deaf or was suddenly the one person yet remaining in the world. He wondered briefly if he was somewhere underground, some hidden lair their foe had which they did not know about. The seemingly stone walls and floor, cool temperature, and dim surroundings all hinted at that conclusion.
Since he clearly was not dead yet, Killian was immediately plotting, preparing himself for when the maniacal green harpy returned and how he was going to figure a way out of his predicament. Granted, he might not stand much of a chance, but he was not going to give the Witch the satisfaction of being an easy kill.
He wished he knew if he had managed to shield Henry completely from the curse. With all that the lad had seen and survived in Neverland, then New York, then back in Storybrooke, he had certainly been through enough. The boy had Emma's pluck and determination, but no one wanted to see him hurt any farther, Killian included. He could only hope that Henry, Emma, David, Snow, and the others were safe and unharmed; he had not seen any of them since jumping into the line of fire during their last skirmish. Whatever their green-skinned opponent had done, it had taken him elsewhere and he did not have any way to know what was happening back at their home base or if the rest of them had survived to regroup.
Oddly, he chose to believe they had. In this dark, silent prison, shackled, trapped, and vulnerable, Killian Jones found that there was hope in him that the rest of them would carry on and win this fight. Those bloody Charmings had somehow managed to give him back the faith he had possessed lifetimes ago as a young man; naïve as it might have seemed in his current position, hope glimmered within his soul all the same.
Time seemed to stretch on interminably; it might have been only minutes since he had opened his eyes and regained awareness, but it felt much longer. If that villainess was watching, biding her time, he only wished she would hurry up and show herself, then get on with whatever it was she had planned. Killian was no fool. He knew what this sorceress had in mind would not be pleasant for him. In the weeks since he had helped Emma and Henry regain their memories and return to their loved ones, he had seen the pain and destruction this new foe had wrought. However, he felt he could withstand anything better than waiting and imagining the very worst.
Still nothing happened, and Killian gingerly attempted to stand again, this time moving backwards to lean against the wall he was secured to, taking stock of the damages to his well-being. The dazed heaviness was finally beginning to wear off, but all of his muscles felt stiff and ill-used, bringing to mind the painful contortions that had come along with being picked up by the Witch's blasted curse. It could have been much worse though, he finally decided, after ascertaining that nothing seemed broken, and he wasn't bleeding, nauseous, or dizzy. He could move reasonably well, at least to the extent that his restraints allowed, with near his usual grace and only the already noted mild discomfort. He felt he could at least put up a fight or attempt an escape if the opportunity presented itself. So, with a sigh, he finally sat again, this time with his back against the solid stone wall behind him to wait. He did not know where he was or what exactly was in store for him, but at least it couldn't sneak up on him unseen.
Finally, he heard the scrape of stone on stone and saw a bit more light creeping into his prison as a door in the wall which had not even been visible slowly slid open. He stood to his feet, ready to fight, not wanting to appear weak or defeated. Instinct had him reaching for the sword at his hip, only to find it missing. It wasn't until he saw who entered the room, however, that he wished to go back to his monotonous ignorance. Yes, the witch was here to torment him at last, just as he had expected. What curdled his blood was the person she had brought with her. The high-pitched cackle of pleasure she let out as someone else was shoved in ahead of her could freeze the breath in the bravest hero's lungs. The person's head was covered with a hood, but Killian would have known that lithe, wiry frame and those knee-high boots anywhere. Emma, his soul clenched at the realization. How had she been taken?
Even unable to see, she was squirming and fighting, but when the witch pulled the hood off, the cascade of her golden hair confirmed what Killian had already known. Shoved into the room with supernatural force, Emma skidded and stumbled across the floor and fell hard in front of him without the ability to use her hands to cushion her landing.
Killian lurched forward to catch her, but was pulled up short, her name coming out in a strangled exclamation as he watched her hit the floor heavily and grunt in pain. Their enemy chortled with barely restrained evil glee at the scene, and then called out, "I'll leave you two to catch up…before the games truly begin!" Then the door closed, darkness descended once more, and she was gone.
Emma let out a soft moan, but he could hear her shuffling around, getting to her feet no doubt and trying to adjust to the very small amount of light. She wasn't saying anything, and he couldn't really tell if she was standing again or not, so he tried speaking to her softly, hoping she could follow his voice. "Are you alright, Love? Nothing broken, I hope?" He tried to inject his accustomed levity into the question, to put her at ease, even as he panicked on the inside that she was there, captured as well, then he held his breath, awaiting her response. Their opponent knew them better than he had reckoned, Killian realized with a sinking heart; he could have withstood anything she doled out to him, but if she planned to use Emma against him, to hurt the lass until he surrendered whatever it was she wanted, she would break him. It was an uncomfortable truth, and it settled like lead in his gut. He swallowed hard, not sure what to expect, when Emma finally answered him.
"Hook? Is that you?" she whispered, and he could finally hear her light footsteps drawing closer to him. "We thought you were dead! Are you alright? Do you know where we are?"
He smirked in spite of himself, letting out a relieved, humored breath. She was already puzzling this out, wondering where they were and how to proceed. It was in times such as these that he was reminded again how similar to one another they truly were. All he said though was, "Come here, Swan. I can't get any further from the wall. Just keep walking toward my voice…There you are. That's right, Lass."
The relief he felt when she was near enough to touch, for him to feel the warmth of her presence, almost stole his breath. "Are you hurt?" he murmured hoarsely, voice catching with emotion. "That was quite a fall you took."
"Scratched up my hands and knocked the wind out of me, that's all." He could practically feel her shrug her shoulders, playing it off, and he knew she would be fine. She was a tough lass, just as he had noted and marveled at long ago, on their first adventure together. He fell for her just a little more at that moment while reveling in her calm in the face of danger, and lightly reached out to catch her bound wrists in his good hand.
"Let's see if we can get you out of this, shall we?" he quipped, wanting to keep her spirits up, keep her brave and feisty as long as possible while he did all the dreading of what awaited them. In a moment oddly charged and reminiscent of that time long ago in the giant's castle, he held her wrist in his hand, and brought their joined hands up to his mouth, where he could pull the loose end of the knot tying her bindings free. He heard her exhale shakily, obviously remembering that past moment as well. Somehow, even in the near complete darkness, their eyes finally met unerringly and held.
Emma's now free hand came up to stroke the side of his face. "I'm glad you're still alive," she whispered, her voice quavering and as tentative as he had ever heard it. "I thought you were gone, and I had…I'd never…" she trailed off, wetting her lips and looking down, clearly struggling to steel herself for some sort of admission.
For a moment, where they were and what they were facing vanished. All Killian could see was Emma, and his heart was racing at what she seemed to be implying. He wanted to soothe her, to tell her he understood, and that she did not need to make any declaration she was not prepared for.
However, that was when the door grated open again. With a sinister giggle, their captor rejoined them. Rather than trying to say anything else, Killian simply pulled Emma behind him, hoping to shield her as long as he could. Trying to gather their exchange around himself for strength, the pirate readied for the worst, knowing neither of them would leave this meeting unscathed. If he had anything to do with it though – if any of what happened next remained in his power – he would suffer the brunt of the Witch's wrath himself. He would not let this fiend hurt his Swan if he could stop it. He would fight to protect Emma to his last breath; she had restored his honor to him, reminded him of the man he truly was, and he was not willing to lose that again.
"Ooh, so brave," the Wicked Witch simpered at his action, almost as if he had made some sort of joke, "the pirate trying to protect the princess." Her cold, cruel eyes glinted maliciously in her chartreuse face, and she studied them for a moment, as if relishing their tense unease and gloating over it before she sprang into action.
Without warning, she flicked her wrist. Killian flew one way, slamming into the wall, while the chains, which had allowed some slack, constricted to hold him tightly against the unyielding stone. Emma was flung across the space as well, against the opposite wall, her eyes flying to him uncertainly, panic that she would never express out loud flaring in her gaze and pulling at him, though there was nothing he could do. She was not restrained in the same way he was, but by whatever power their monster wielded, Emma was just as surely immobilized.
Strangely, Killian noticed that he could suddenly see much more clearly and found that the sorceress had also lit torches held in wall sconces all around their stone dungeon. He could see Emma struggling to move, to cry out, but no sound came from her lips and though he could see her grit her teeth at the effort, she did not seem able to move a single muscle of her own volition. She appeared to be frozen in place against the wall.
He yearned to go to her, to swear he would never allow harm to come to her – his brave, beautiful lass who had already suffered so much – but the chill in his gut, the fear that twisted his insides, told him that might be a vow he could not keep.