Disclaimer: I don't own Once Upon a Time, nor am I affiliated with Adam Horowitz or Eddy Kitsis. Title of the story is taken from a song by Carina Round. For the hat-trick of things I do not own, see basically everything.

A/N: Sorry it's been awhile my loves, university deadlines have been kicking me in the face but I finally got my dissertation on fairytales handed in! (if you follow me on tumblr and facebook then this is the third time you're reading about this and I'm sorry). Again, I'm completely screwing with the original sources and their timelines for my own entertainment (and hopefully yours). I was hoping that the seminar I took on Dracula would be useful, but unless you want me to relate the novel in terms of capitalism (…?) it's pretty useless. This chapter is heavy on exposition, apologies but it's necessary. Thank you so much for your reviews/favourites/follows, they boost me up! Enjoy the chapter!

The gypsy men stirred as Hook stormed past them. A young Indian man gripped a cricket bat and watched the pirate pass with cautious eyes. Hook ignored them all, focusing only on getting as far away from that witch and her damned lies as he could.

He would not allow anyone to use his love's memory as a tool for manipulation. Milah deserved more than that. Hook should go back there and cut the witch's tongue out and make sure she could never disrespect the dead again.

The trees remained in color as he strode further and further into the forest, marking this area as under the gypsy enchantment. He knew that Emma was following him and hoped that she wasn't attempting to be subtle about it. If she was, she was failing miserably.

Ornaments chimed in the breeze as they hung from low branches. The trees thinned out into a small clearing, in which stood a well made of pale stone. He told himself he would stop there and collect his thoughts but Emma shouted out before he could reach it.

"Hook, wait! We need Mother Elena-"

"We don't need anything," he cut across sharply, still marching forwards. "We can just go back through the hat."

"Right into the hands of the Queen of Diamonds." With an unexpected burst of speed, Emma passed him and came to an abrupt halt in his path, forcing him to stop. He glared at her but she held her ground. "Remember that really big diamond that you stole from her? She does, and she'll execute the both of us if we go back to Wonderland."

"Better an enemy we know than one we don't," he growled, side-stepping her and striding ahead so that Emma had to almost jog to keep up. "Who knows what the gypsy witch has planned for us?"

"First off, I'm pretty sure the term 'gypsy' is offensive," Emma said, as though this would be the type of thing that would bother a pirate. Hook reached the well and stopped. Now that he didn't have walking to distract him he felt anger rise. "Second," Emma continued, oblivious, "after everything you've seen, what makes you so sure that ghosts don't exit?"

"Because she would have come back to me by now!"

Although the dull thud of his palm against stone well quickly faded, his voice rang through the trees. In the distance, a bird took flight. He knew that Emma was staring at him but he kept his eyes fixed inside the well. He would not show weakness in front of anybody. A useless emotion was threatening to escape in form of a cracked voice or a tear and he bit the inside of his cheeks to focus himself.

"She wouldn't have just left me here by myself," he said, steadier and certain in his heartbreak. "She would have found some way to come back. Milah was many things, but she wasn't cruel." His eyelids flickered and he looked away for the briefest of moments. "At least," he amended, "not to me."

Emma remained silent as she struggled for something to say. He knew how she hated revealing the chinks in her armor and offering comfort to someone carried the danger of admitting that she had been through something similar. He knew this, and so it surprised him when her voice wavered.

"Hook, I…"

"I don't want your pity," he warned, risking a glance up at her.

"It isn't pity," Emma said, though the sadness in her eyes said otherwise. "It's sympathy. I know what it's like."

The impenetrable Emma Swan, admitting that she hurt. Hook wouldn't have believed it if she wasn't stood in front of him, fingers fidgeting with the sleeve of her jacket in subconscious vulnerability. She didn't attempt any empty condolences and he didn't ask about her past.

"I suppose you want me to go back there and apologize to the witch," he said, the lift of his eyebrow suggesting he had some choice suggestions of his own.

Emma shook her head. "No. She shouldn't have told you those things if you didn't want to hear them. She should've asked first."

Hook felt himself relax. He didn't need anyone to validate his anger but it was a relief to be understood, to be spared the condescending words that Cora or Regina would have offered. In the wake of his anger there was a deep, bone-aching weariness. Only half-conscious of what he was doing, he sat down on the grass and leant back against the well for support. He looked up at Emma and by way of a nod indicated that he wanted her to sit beside him.

"What, we're having a heart to heart now?" she asked, a little sceptical but not unkind.

Hook managed a slight smile. "If that's the only body contact you'll give me."

"I'm pretty sure a punch to the face qualifies as body contact," Emma said, but sat down all the same.

Her eyes took in the forest around them, lingering on the charms in the trees, and Hook had to remind himself that she was not from a world where magic was commonplace. Once they were back in Storybrooke and he had finally killed Rumplestiltskin and avenged Milah, Hook would like to explore the world. He would like very much for Emma to be the one to show it to him, though he would never admit this is any other form than a teasing throwaway comment.

"You lost someone, too," he noted, remembering Emma's earnest sorrow in the wagon at the old gypsy's "contact" with the other side.

"I've lost a lot of people," Emma replied, her tone hard. "I was even lucky enough to find some of them again."

The walls were firmly back in place. Hook didn't let it deter him.

"The man the gypsy claimed to speak to…was he your son's father?"

Emma took a minute to decide whether to answer. Hook could see indecision fight across her features, whispering all the reasons she should not open her heart and trust this man, this pirate. Eventually something other than common sense won out, and she shook her head.

"No. No, it was someone else. Henry's dad isn't…"

She did not finish her thought and it seemed to Hook that there was a lot that Henry's father was not. Not terribly bright, would be his first sin. Anyone who would let Emma Swan go without a fight had to be missing a significantly large piece of their brain.

"But he was the one you loved?"

Pride could mask much if it was fierce enough. Emma looked at him in such a way that a lesser man would miss her vulnerability, her fear and a memory too painful to share. Any man other than Hook would not have been able to see how her romantic entanglement with this man had broken her.

Anger, swift and unexpected, rose up in his chest. On the beanstalk he had been naïve and arrogant enough to assume that Emma's barriers were hastily scraped together, as thin as paper. An annoyance but no real problem to anyone determined enough to breach them. The more time they spent together the more he realized that Emma had reinforced her walls with several layers of steel. Something terrible had happened to her to make her this way, and he could only hope that it was not the one thing that no woman deserved.

There were not many values that Captain Hook had taken from his life as Killian Jones, but respecting a woman's right to choose who she would take to bed was instilled deeply into his heart. In his early days as Captain he had killed more than one of his crew who had disobeyed this fundamental rule. If he discovered that anyone had so much as thought about touching Emma like that then Hook would make sure, one piece at a time, that the man would never be able to act on his sick impulse.

"He was the one I loved," Emma confirmed after a few more moments of silence. She would not look at him, she would not let her voice waver, but Hook understood the sadness there all the same. He knew how much it must have taken for her to admit that to him but he couldn't stop himself from prying further.

"He hurt you."

It wasn't a question, not exactly, but for the longest time Emma did not answer. Hook wasn't asking out of idle curiosity; he was trying to understand her, trying to establish a cause-and-effect in this madly infuriating woman who was never too far from his thoughts.

"He left. People let you down," was all she said. Her softness had been replaced by a stern certainty. "Love hurts like a bitch." She wrapped strands of grass around her finger and twisted them until they broke. "Funny how they kind of gloss over that in the fairytales."

Hook scoffed. "Of course it hurts. How else are you meant to know it's love? The more it hurts, the more it's worth it in the end."

Emma tugged at the grass. "Sometimes the only reason it hurts so much is because you're holding onto something that isn't meant to be."

Hook knew that she was speaking from her own experience and nothing more, but in a few careless words it felt like she had managed to completely dismiss his drive to avenge Milah, the one he was still holding onto with everything he had. She had been his reason to wake up, his reason to continue living for centuries longer than nature intended. He couldn't just let her go…what would his purpose in life be if he didn't have revenge?

He hated to admit it but it perturbed him that she had made him question so much in so few words. Her unique way of getting under his skin was a distraction that he didn't need. Anything other than finding a way to kill Rumplestiltskin was a distraction that he didn't need. He repeated this to himself in the fading afternoon light, so many times that he whole-heartedly believed it. Then he happened to glance over at Emma, whose strands of blonde hair picked up in the breeze, drifted across her closed eyelids and cheeks and then rested on her lips, and his resolve faded. She may have been a distraction, but she was a distraction that he wanted around. He wouldn't look too closely at the reasons why.

Sensing that she was being watched, Emma opened her eyes. She looked over at him, her eyebrows drawing together in an unspoken question.

"Just wondering if you'd fallen asleep," Hook lied.

"No." She tilted her neck from side to side, trying to ease its soreness. "Come on, we can at least hear Mother Elena out," she said, getting to her feet. "If she's full of crap, we'll just find our own way out."

She stuck out her hand awkwardly, offering a solidarity that it was clear that she was unsure if Hook would actually accept. Hook took her hand without second thought, rewarding her kindness with one of the only genuine smiles he had had cause to give in centuries. As sorely tempted as he was to 'accidentally' bump into her as she helped him to his feet, he settled for the feel of her hand in his.

It was a different kind of intimacy than the one he had been so accustomed to. Nameless girls and debauched acts that happened so frequently they lost their shock value. Before Milah there had been no one he felt something other than fleeting desire for, and after Milah's death there had been no one at all. And now…well, now were all sorts of confusing.

Emma smiled too tightly to suggest that she was entirely comfortable with the situation, and made to leave, letting go of his hand in the process. But Hook grinned; he would not let her go that easily.

"Ah, hold on," he said, gently pulling her back. "You can't just walk away from a wishing well."

Emma's look questioned his mental faculties. "Sure I can. Apparently it's you I can't just walk away from."

They both knew that that wasn't true. Rather than ruin their camaraderie, Hook grinned.

"I'm flattered, love." He released her and fished around in one of his pockets, withdrawing a small drawstring bag. "I thought we might try our luck and throw a coin in. "

"You're going to rob this town dry," Emma muttered even as she held out her palm for the money.

Upon receiving it, she held the coin so tightly that it was certain to leave an indent in her hand. Her face fell from its carefully constructed mask in the seconds before she tossed the coin over the edge and into the water with a careless attitude that Hook didn't buy for a second. She was desperate for a miracle. He followed her lead and threw a coin into the well, hearing a faint splash far below.

The forest was still as Hook and Emma waited for something to happen. The seconds ticked by and it became more and more apparent that there was no magic in the well. Emma scoffed as though she had known all along that the vague plan would fail.

"Your wish come true?" she asked, deadpan.

Hook's heavy sigh countered the glint in his eyes. "You're still in possession of all your clothes, so I'm going to have to say no."

"That was your wish?" Emma raised an eyebrow. "You're going to need a lot more pennies."

"Luckily for you, I'm a thief."

Emma shook her head, half-amused. His innuendos and quips had not been appreciated by the other women in her group but he knew that Emma found them endearing. Or perhaps she found them easier to deal with than the quiet intensity that came over him whenever their skin touched. At any rate, he knew that if he ever went too far she would have zero problems with punching him.

Emma felt a curious sense of pride that Hook was putting aside his anger to meet with Mother Elena again. He was nothing if not determined in his goals, and that was a quality she had always admired. Well, except for when it left her stranded in a cage.

"I knew you would come back," Mother Elena said, her lips lifting upwards as Emma and Hook climbed into the wagon. They did not sit down and no seat was offered.

"Did the spirits tell you?" Hook asked, bitingly sarcastic despite Emma's warning glance.

Mother Elena's smile did not waver. "All arrogant men believe they can subdue the demon. You are no different."

"I believe she just called you an arrogant man," Hook murmured, raising an eyebrow at Emma, who shrugged.

"I've been called worse."

When Mother Elena looked up, her dark eyes sought out Emma's. "You have many names."

"Well, that wasn't really where I was going with that-"

"They call you Princess. Savior. Titles to live up to."

Emma sobered at the reminders of the woman that others wanted (expected) her to be. They bestowed roles on her like they were nothing, but the responsibility weighed down on Emma's shoulders more and more with every wrong move she made. And she had made a lot of wrong moves.

"I'm trying," she said. It was an excuse, a justification, and a plea to be understood all in two simple words.

Mother Elena's withered hands gripped the edge of the table. "Now you must try harder. Free us from this curse and I will grant you the means to leave this realm."

Emma nodded. At least they were getting straight to the point; neither side had time to waste. She drew out the wooden stool and sat down, leaning forward intently towards the old woman.

"How do we break the curse?"

"The Count's life force is tied to something other than his body," Mother Elena began, speaking slowly in her accented voice. "In England, there are whispers of a portrait that bore the weight of its subject's sin. Every scratch that the subject received, the portrait would absorb. Age left its mark upon the painting rather than the man."

"Making him immortal," Hook said, his tone somewhere between sceptical and impressed.

"In theory." Mother Elena's intuitive eyes rose to meet Hook's. "But no one can live a life of sin and expect to escape its consequences. The man was driven mad, and when he destroyed the painting he died along with it. We believe that the Count made a similar deal with the imp that visited here."

Emma frowned, processing this. "You think Dracula has a magic painting that keeps him alive?"

This had not even featured on Emma's list of reasons that Dracula could cheat death and she wasn't entirely sure how to react to it. Incredulous laughter seemed a good option, but then so did panic.

"I've heard of the man," Hook said slowly, trying to recall a memory long since past. "Met him, if the rumors were true. His name was Gray." Then, with grudging respect, "Hell of a drinker."

"You have the weirdest drinking buddies," Emma muttered, temporarily forgetting the situation.

Mother Elena brought her straight back. "It is not exactly the same. Dark forces keep the demon in his Undead state, and this magic interferes with the power of the painting. Whereas Gray's portrait absorbed everything about the man, Dracula's painting can only preserve his life force, not his physical body"

"Which is why he can be killed in the first place," Emma said, nodding in understanding. "His body is still vulnerable."

Mother Elena smiled, pleased that Emma had caught on. "Yes. His essence lives on even while his body is incapacitated. Time resets so that the demon's body can be restored."

"Because what's the point of living forever if you've got no head," Emma supplied. She really, really wanted a drink.

"Why would Dracula make a deal where his only weakness is something as easily destroyed as a painting?" Hook asked, his tone suggesting that he had better find the answer satisfactory.

"The Count did not craft the deal," Mother Elena said, pointing a finger upwards in correction. "The imp did, and he did this so that he could have an escape clause. Making the Count immortal without exception would be a very foolish thing to do. If the demon crossed the imp, the imp had a way of revoking the deal. Besides," she added, plucking bottles from the shelves around her seemingly at random and placing them on the table, "the painting is not as accessible as you believe."

Emma scoffed. Of course. The task hadn't been too difficult up until now - immortal bloodsucking demon, the usual - so why not throw in a little more difficulty?

"Let me guess," she said flatly, "it's hidden in the tallest room in the tallest tower, right?"

Mother Elena uncorked the bottles in front of her and poured their dusty contents onto the table. "The painting is guarded by the three sisters of Dracula," she said, making patterns in the brightly colored dust without looking up.

"He has sisters?"

Hook's sudden interest irked Emma. Did he really think he'd be able to flirt his way out of death?

"Don't get your hopes up," she said, trying to keep the annoyance from her voice. "They're man-eaters in the worst way."

Hook's smile bordered on suggestive. "Jealous, love? Don't worry, I only have eyes for you."

"Dracula ensured that they too are protected from eternal death." Mother Elena said, bringing the conversation back to relevancy. "They share his blood, and blood is life."

"Got to love a guy who takes care of his family," Emma muttered, trying not to sound bitter. She watched as Mother Elena picked up pinches of different piles of dust and dropped them back into one small vial. "So, how do we kill him?"

"That is not what is required of you," the old woman said, re-corking the vial and holding it out to Emma, who took it warily. "There are already men on the way to deal with the demon and his sisters. You need to find and destroy the painting."

Emma did not know why she was holding a vial of dust and the situation did not seem about to be explained. She added it to her long list of questions and let Mother Elena finish the current topic.

"Who are the men?" Hook asked. Just from those scornful words, Emma knew that no matter what the answer was, the Captain would attempt to pull rank.

"Ones who have had dealings with the Count in the past, the men who originally defeated him."

Emma blinked. Let that sink in. And then: "You're sending us off with the guys who have already failed to kill Dracula?" She exchanged an incredulous glance with Hook. "I don't think the 'if at first you don't succeed' thing should really apply in these kinds of situations."

"No, my dear, they killed him," Mother Elena assured her. "He just did not stay dead."

Emma brushed off the semantics. "So we're going after him again with the exact same guys using the exact same method? What happens if we don't find the painting in time and Dracula wakes up?"

"I think we would suddenly find ourselves in dire need of a magic painting of our own," Hook said, as unperturbed as always by the notion of death. He grinned at Emma, smug despite the circumstances. "The Queen of Diamonds is starting to look like a quite a good option, hm?"

Emma hoped that her glare was a sufficient answer.