It made sense, really. After Killian's explanation that the Sandman is a character in her dream and therefore could only be defeated from within it. They were still struggling, though, with questions of how and why, especially because the sandman's powers blurred the line between reality and hallucination.

(Especially because the information came from a page randomly appearing in a book.)

Someone was helping them, or relenting in their torture to give Emma a leg up for once. Although, there was always the creeping fear that the intel was false, an answer that leads them into a trap. Her gut says it isn't, to trust that this is real, but-

"It's a sleeping curse." Regina chimes in. They're all sitting around Emma's living room - her parents and baby brother, Regina, Henry, Violet, and Killian. Emma's never had her house as a meeting place to plan their operations before. Even throughout this, they met at Granny's, or the library, the loft, or the station. It's a weird feeling, having a home she can share like this. She thinks she wouldn't mind it if she didn't feel like she belonged in an episode of The Walking Dead, her brain fried and body slug from sleep deprivation and nightmares that leave her injured without physical proof. "Not like the one I cast. This one's specific to the sandman. There's different dream realms too."

"So we find how to get to the sandman's dream realm and what? Diplomatically ask him to stop torturing my daughter?" Charming asks.

"Not exactly. See, the realm is specific to Emma and what haunts her. The Sandman is powerful; he can play on the problems in your subconscious. Originally, this was used for good, to give people good dreams and hope. There's only one other recorded case of a sandman, or sandwoman, using their powers for evil." Regina pauses, making sure she has her audience's full attention. "I think I figured out how to get to him though."

"No."

Killian frowns at his Swan's protest. "Emma, love. Someone has to go."

"No one is going through this, but me. I can fix it. I can defeat him."

"No offense, Emma, but you've had your chance to fix it and you haven't. You need our help. You can't do this alone." Regina says.

"And what happens if one of you gets hurt or killed in this dream realm? I can't let you do this. You're not under the curse. It could hurt you beyond what it does to me." Poorly veiled panic rises in her voice, the caring words escaping harsh as the pieces of Regina's plan click. Nightly, she's suffered the pain of what it feels like to almost die, floating on a line so close she thought she had more than once. A line sewn with pain and adrenaline, regrets, and the overwhelming sensation of burning, sharp and aching in its pursuit to torment her. There were too many unknowns, anyway.

Her eyes find Killian's, fierce determination masking their brooding anger, and she knows that he will be the one to go under. Unwelcome flashbacks of his demise reappear, the real version and that of her dream; she's seen him in this realm before and she longs to never experience it again. True love's kiss has yet to break the Sandman's grip. What if it's the same for him? If he doesn't wake up, or suffers the same fate as she. . .No. This is supposed to be her job - she's the savior. They can't come running to her rescue because she's too damn weak to do what she was made for. "No. Please, Killian."

"Swan, you would do the same. Watching you suffer has been the hardest thing I've had to face. I'm going under the sleeping curse and you're going to wake me. And do you know why you're going to wake me?"

She smiles at him then, lashes fluttering up to meet the blue of his eyes, no longer hooded in anger, but shining with something lighter, happier. "Because we're true love."

"Aye. That we are. And true love is the most powerful magic of all."

Regina pulls a strand of Emma's hair without warning - earning the Queen a grumbled What the hell - that she laces through one of Mary Margaret's sewing needles. "I need this to get Hook there. This and the sand that's in your eyes when you wake up. When you fall asleep, Hook will gather the sand and tether it to this needle. Once he pricks himself with it, he should appear in your dream."

So they wait. Emma lays her head on the cushion of the couch, face turned away from her expectant audience. They're hovering, consuming oxygen and producing a sweltering heat. A week ago, she'd have been able to easily fall into sleep's embrace, but now. . .

Now her heartbeat quickens, smothering her in doubts and fears, while they watch on.

She's grateful when Snow notices. "Why don't you go and try to sleep in your bed upstairs? It might be easier."

"Yeah, good idea. Thanks mom."

Killian follows her with soft steps and a gentle hand that guides her up to their bed. He pulls her shoes from her feet, working his way up to her sweater. "Relax, Swan. This will all be over soon."

"I can't relax."

"Okay, don't relax. Just...close your eyes."

She complies, listening to the shuffle of denim and leather as it falls to the floor. She feels the mattress shift with the weight of his body, hand curling around her shoulders as he massages them. It feels nice, to be cherished like this. It grounds her, if only a little.

"The ocean is very treacherous being, " Killian begins. Of course he'd tell her about his time at sea, the place that calms his soul and now hers. She smiles up at him, resting her head on his chest. He knows her, truly knows her in a way that no one has before. His voice is a lighthouse as if she were lost in the sea he speaks of. "testing your will and determination as it throws you against the wood," he continues. "But not always. Oftentimes it's calm, the colors of the sunset or sunrise reflecting off it's waves. And beneath that there are fish, mermaids and creatures of the sea, treasures beyond a man's greatest imagination. Can you picture it Swan?"

"I can."

"You're quite like her."

"Hm?"

"The ocean, love. You're equally fierce and beautiful, with the strength to take out fleets of sailors."

"Shut up, Casanova." She laughs through her words - the laugh that comes in bursts, radiant and unbidden, showcasing her dimples - before nuzzling closer.

(She didn't know she was still capable of such a laugh, muscles feeling weak and dying for rest.)

There's an irony, she supposes, that something created to pull one into eternal sleep, is now a barrier to any sleep. Her body fights against the maddening exhaustion. She's just so tired, so fucking tired and she can't keep going like this. She wants -

She wants it to be over. His hand feels nice, massaging the knots in her shoulder and down her back, nails lightly scratching at her hair.

It's not instantaneous, her descent into slumber. Though the vibration of his voice against her skin calmed her anxious heart, settled her into a place of home, it wasn't a magical cure. She tossed and turned, grunts of frustration that preceded reassurances and kisses to her head filling the space between them. But it did come, and once it did, a world opened up before her eyes.

-/-/-

He finds her in a castle, walls lined with sharp rock. It has grooves and crevices that form at points and claw marks ravaging every surface. There's a panic sitting in the air; he can feel it stiffening his muscles and quickening his heart. It reminds him of Neverland - as if there's another layer of magic laced within this curse. Different hues of blue and black wash the stone. The rooms are emptied of furniture and light, a giant abandoned maze that has his eyes searching for something, anything he can find. Her name escapes his lips, once, twice, three times, each echoing off the walls in dismayed return.

Minutes pass before he gets a response that is not his own. "Killian, get out of here! Run." He can hear her as if she's surrounding him at all sides, strained and exhausted; the epitome of the panicked ambiance that lies within this dream.

So he runs.

He runs and fights against the delusions of a sleeping mind. He runs and runs, feet pounding against the pavement never fast or quick enough as he winds through corners, each one feeling the same. The deja vu alone is enough to drive him insane. That is, until he sees her. She's lying against a pillar, blood seeping from her arm.

"When I said run, I meant away from him," she points to the beast that's roaring back to life behind them. He had been so focused on her, he hadn't noticed the cause of the pain - the dragon eyeing its newest victim. But Emma's black sweater is torn, patches of yellow and purple skin replacing the fabric, dark enough to match the scales of the beast behind them. Her head bears the worst of what he can discern from his limited view, a small gash opening around a knot that's already formed and blood slowly making its way to her lap.

"Emma." Her name is a whisper, a prayer to whatever god can help them leave this hell. He had only seen the aftermath, the glassy fatigued eyes and agonized screams as she curled into herself. Not until now was he able to see the wounds of what she felt. Her reality of what was happening. This was the invisible pain that stole her sleep and tormented her psychologically, physically, emotionally, now in all its glory. He feels sick to his stomach, the knot that forms no less painful than a punch to the gut. But he pushes it down. He can deal with his guilt later. Now he has to help her, to rescue them both from these demented dreams. "I had no idea, Em." Killian uses the curve of his hook to brush her matted hair behind her ear, making no effort to conceal the tears that slip down his cheek.

"You need to get out of here. Killian, please. Now. Get out-"

He ignores her protests, sweeping her crippled form into his arms. But it's too late. And he watches as the dragon engulfs the castle in flames.

-/-/-

They land outside the gate of their house. To her surprise, she feels no fire, but the ache from her earlier battle remains.

"How?" Emma asks. She falters as she tries to stand, leaning against the fence for support.

"I don't know, love." Killian responds. His eyes go wide as he stands to meet her. The bruises from earlier have turned darker, with more appearing in the exposed areas of skin. She tries to magic it away, her blood tasting of metallic as it drips down her forehead, but she's pretty sure her wrist is broken and body too weak to support her supernatural attempts at healing. Everything in her aches, mingling with the sharp pain of her open wounds. Feeling like hell is an understatement, but it's the nausea overtaking her that's winning her attention.

Killian reaches her in one long stride, standing at her front catch her should she fall. While he bears no physical injuries, his eyes are as pained at the sight as she feels. But there's something else too, something she can't quite place in the way he looks at her. (She thinks it might be a glimmer of hope, but for what, she's not sure.) He pulls her into his chest and she relishes in his gentle touch. If magic can't heal her, she's pretty sure this could. In the distance, she can hear glass shatter. It's muffled by his hug and maybe a concussion, so she ignores it and runs her fingers through the hair at the nape of his neck.

"This was too easy." He says, stepping back to look into her eyes.

"What was too easy?"

"Your dream. This is your dream realm, love. We aren't safe here."

"Killian, that's insane. This isn't-"

Immediately, she knows it's Henry's scream that cuts her off. Suddenly, he appears on the porch with his neck strained and head lifted up as he is strangled by an unknown force. Emma starts to run to him, but Killian's arm pulls her back. Delirious with confusion, she pushes him away, the force of it causing her to stumble back into him. It only enrages her further. She has a mind to sweep his leg Karate Kid style, knock him to the ground, but this is Killian. Her Killian. It doesn't make sense. He would help her. Help Henry. He loves Henry and it just doesn't add up -

"This must be it, this must be the test." Killian says.

"Let me get my son!" She tries to free herself, throwing her beaten body forward with all her weight. "Henry!" she calls. It's a tired, angry cry that coils with the panic in her stomach.

"Emma," he takes her wrist and turns her toward him. Wild eyed desperation is what meets his eyes as she tries to understand. Why isn't he helping? Henry needs them, needs her. Henry-

"This is a dream. Just like the ones you've been having."

"No, no this is real. Henry - Henry's-"

"Henry is back at home with your family. You're sleeping. If this were real, I would be doing everything in my power to rescue your boy. Look at me, Swan."

She listens, tearing her eyes away from the scene playing out in front of her, if only for a moment. While she's felt her heart literally split in half, there is no pain that can compare to this. Like glass cutting into the arteries as it flattens under the pressure of a lifetime's worth of love and loss. There's a part of her, as subtle as a ticking clock in a loud room, that's something close to believing her teary eyed true love. Killian's eyes plead with hers, desperation in the furrow of his brow. She wants to believe it and maybe, believing it is what will make it true. Henry told her that and it saved him the first time.

"Do you trust me?" Killian asks. In any other situation, she'd chastise his question, but this. . .

She nods, tears streaming down her face. "What do I do?"

"This is a dream, the only real thing in it is you and me. Fight against it, fight against the pain that's the only way this is gonna end."

She can't see what's choking him, only watch as he struggles to breathe and the lack of oxygen threatens to take his life. "This isn't real, this isn't real" she repeats over and over, hoping that each tear stained word becomes more convincing. Afraid that looking away will show she's fallen into the trap of this false reality, she watches on. Killian's rings leave marks against her fingers as she holds his hand in a death grip, his hooked arm around her middle. She can feel her chest constrict, heart shattering into a million pieces as each second passes. "This isn't real, this isn't. . ." Her voice breaks on a sob as Henry's body falls to the ground. It wasn't real.

And then her son disappears in a puff of smoke, black and cruel and screaming of death. In his place stands a man, tanned and mystical, with brown curls that reach his shoulders. He's donning a hooded robe, intricate designs made of black and gold sand weaving their way through the fabric. With his appearance, Emma can feel the pain of her wounds evaporate, bruises vanish into the paleness of her skin and sticky, dried blood lift away as open wounds close. It's instant relief and she sighs as the alleviation soothes her muscles. And though his presence brings a physical healing, she doesn't dare trust it. She doesn't dare let go of Killian until her foe speaks.

"Congratulations, Miss Swan. You broke my spell."

"Go to hell."

"I think we'd both agree this is worse than hell. At least for you. You are a brave one though."

"Why did you do this to me?" There's a desperation she lets escape from beneath the anger that's boiling over. She needs to wake up, needs to see Henry alive and well and smiling. But she also needs answers.

"Me? I'm just a hired hand. You have no idea how lonely it can be when you're cursed to the realm of dream until death. Sometimes I like to play games, it keeps me entertained."

"Who hired you?"

"Well, I suppose the game is over." Killian tenses behind her, jaw clenching as he balls his hand into a fist. He's as ready, if not more, to kill the son of a bitch who has put them through this. She clasps her hand over the clenched fist, the small gesture not necessarily meaning stop, but rather wait.

"Spit it out, Sandy." Emma says.

"Jafar."

"What did-"

"Your loverboy here stole his true love. But that's his story to tell, not mine. This has been fun, Emma. I must now bid you both goodbye." The Sandman throws a handful of sand in her direction and before she can protest, she awakes.

-/-/-

She had almost forgotten what it felt like to awaken in a better reality - that dreams are simply dreams that haunt, pleasure, or bewilder you in the waking hours - and not a physical ache, not always. There's an emotional tear though, still pressing on the corners of her heart, that has her running down the stairs in search of her son. She finds him at the kitchen table, along with the rest of her family, and wraps him in a hug. It wasn't real.

"Woah, mom. Everything okay? What happened? Is the curse over?" She laughs at the bombardment of her son's questions, ruffling his hair in response.

"Yeah, kid. It's over."

"Where's Killian?" Henry asks. She can't help the upward tilt of her lips at this being one of the first thing he notices, her heart warming at the thought.

"I haven't woke him yet. I just needed to see you."

Henry accepts her answer without a reply, instead squeezing her tighter. While it may have not been reality, she knows watching him die will not easily be forgotten. For now, this hug is enough, his voice deeper than it used to be reassuring her of his presence and his life. So she lets go and kisses his forehead before turning back to wake her other true love.

Since living together, Emma hasn't gotten the chance to truly enjoy the nauseating couple-y things that her and Killian should be doing. Between dying and curses, Dark Ones and nightmares depriving them both of sleep (albeit in different ways), she hasn't soaked in this happiness. But as she winds the corner to their bedroom and finds him sleeping, arm draped over the side of the bed, she can't help but smile. He looks so peaceful, snuggled into a mountain of pillows and blankets. Her thumb traces his forehead, pushing stray hairs out of his face. Threats still loom, but with Killian by her side, she's ready to start their happy beginning. She leans down and kisses him, prepared to battle whatever demons from his past have reemerged.

"Swan," he whispers in awe, rainbow light sweeping over the house, making their hearts light and full. It's a magic that leaves them in pure bliss with it's power and light. She pulls him up to a sitting position, a soft smile to challenge his grimace.

"Smile, Captain. Most people do when their true love wakes them from a curse." She punctuates her words with a light shove. He listens, but it doesn't quite meet his eyes. Emma turns her head, inspecting him, while her thumb traces his jaw. "It's over, you know."

"All of that pain, it was because of me. Of what I did. The man I was. . ."

"Killian, I don't care. It wasn't your fault, you can't put that on yourself. But now we have the chance to right a wrong, to apologize for whatever happened." She pauses, lacing her fingers with his. " I need to know what you did but if you think I didn't go into this relationship knowing that there were many things in your past that you aren't proud of, you're wrong. I know the man you are and I love that man, no matter what it is he used to do."

Killian sighed, leaning into her touch as his strength. "Jafar had a very powerful scepter. It hypnotizes people and I wanted to use it on the Crocodile. But before I could use it, I met Cora and eventually forgot about it. And then I met you. . ." He gives her a melancholy smile. "He begged me not to take it, said his true love was stuck inside the scepter. All I cared about was my revenge, I had already lost Milah, so if I couldn't have love then no one could. I'm so sorry, Emma."

His skin is rough beneath her fingers as she caresses his face, gently outlining his silhouette. He looks so crushed, broken from the weight of sins he now regrets (she knows the feeling), and she wants to wash it all away. Erase the pain and heartbreak. "I know you are. Let's go meet Jafar, see if we can give him his true love back. Do you still have the scepter?"

"It's hidden in the Jolly Rodger."

Emma shoots him a small smile, tugging at his arm. "Get dressed and we'll go get it."

-/-/-

Emma stares at the hand lettering on Granny's guestbook, thumb tracing the curves and indentations of names she's grown up hearing, seeing, without truly knowing they were real. But they're all here, sleeping on the same crappy mattresses she once had, all with a variation of a familiarity in their stories. Their life had paused, stuck in a land where their narratives would no longer play out, but now it was time for the clock to start ticking again.

She stops when she sees his name, Jafar, room 221. There's a hesitance as she grips his scepter, Killian's hand at her back urging her forward. "Thank you, Granny!" Emma offers.

"You're welcome, honey. Go do what you need and get some rest. Let me know if there's anything else I can do."

Emma nods in the widow's direction and continues on her way. She can feel Killian's nervous energy from behind her. He's staring a little too intensely at the door, clenching and unclenching his fist. As Emma raises her own fist to knock, they're enveloped in thick red smoke, transported next to the pond.

"What the hell?" Emma mutters, more to herself than anyone. As many times as she's used her own magic to teleport herself from one place to another, it's always disorienting when you're not expecting it. She's grateful for the familiarity of where they are, though she hasn't ventured back to this particular location since going to the Underworld. At the edge of the water, she sees Jafar smirking in their direction, his new scepter glowing bright.

"I heard you were looking for me. You're looking awfully tired, Savior, Hook."

"We broke your curse!" Emma shouts, but it's too weak, too tired to be anything close to intimidating.

"Ah, so it would seem."

"We've got it, your scepter. Isn't that what this whole thing was about?"

"Oh Emma, I truly thought you were smarter than that. It must be the lack of sleep getting to you. Let me lay it out in black and white. This was about revenge. Hook took my love, so I vowed to take his."

"What if we can give her back to you?" Killian interjects. "What if Emma can free her from the scepter?" Looking to the ground and back up with a dramatic roll of his head, Killian lets out a sigh of frustration. He pauses, then collects himself, his anger, and softens his voice. "I'm sorry, mate. I'm sorry I took her. Let me, let us do this for you."

"You can't give me back the years I lost with her."

"No, and I'm sorry for that." This time it's Emma that answers. She's proud, so proud of Killian for facing this, for the man he's become since she found him under a pile of dead bodies in the Enchanted Forest. And now, he doesn't have to face these mistakes alone. "But I can give you a future. Let me fix it. I'm the savior, my magic, it can free her."

"Do you think me an imbecile? Do you not think I would have tried that?"

"You haven't tried it with my magic." she reaffirms him, voice firmer despite her current state.

"You don't look very powerful to me."

"Let her try." Killian growls. "Let her try and if it works, just let us be. What do you have to lose?"

Hook sets the original scepter on the ground, stepping back. Emma waits for Jafar's nod of approval before conjuring up the little strength she has toward the golden staff. Her limbs feel weak, and for the first time, she thinks the magic hurts, unnatural to her frail hands and restless body. So she falls down with it, knees hitting the wet grass with a thud.

And then she sees a tall, brunette haired woman appear in front of them. Emma's chest feels full as she watches the couple reunite. She thinks she sees Jafar cry as he holds her and she thinks she knows the feeling. (It wasn't long ago that her and Killian had a similar reunion, though it was death and not enchantment that separated them.) The memory has her rising to her feet, hand settling over Killian's heart, head resting on his shoulder.

It's beautiful, the happiness she sees on Jafar and the unknown woman's faces. Emma wonders who she is - what fairy tale, folklore, or book, bares her name and her story. But she doesn't dare interrupt.

After the elation and shock has worn down slightly, the woman turns her attention to Emma, taking Jafar's hand to walk towards them.

"Thank you, Emma. Hook. I apologize for what I've put you through." Jafar says.

"Join the list," Emma smiles, extending her hand to Storybrooke's newest resident. "Welcome to Storybrooke. . ."

"Amara."

"It's nice to meet you, Amara. I hate to cut this short, but I really, really need to get some sleep. We'll see you around though."

"Of course! Thank you again."

They're already walking away from each other, Emma leaning her weight almost entirely against her lover, when Jafar calls for them.

"Captain?" he pauses, turning around to take a step in Killian and Emma's direction. "You really have changed. I didn't know such change was possible for hearts so cruel."

Killian looks to Emma with a small smile and love gleaming in his eyes. "This town will do that for you. These people will change you for the better."

-/-/-

She falls asleep with Killian pressing soft kisses to her shoulder, and groggy reassurances of I love you, I've got you and There will be no nightmares tonight, It's over, love, mumbled against her skin every so often. His arms are home, holding her together. His voice is safety. HIs kiss is love. She means to tell him, show him, all these things and more, but there will be time for that tomorrow. There's other battles to conquer still - Mr. Hyde, a celebration dinner at Granny's, and copious amounts of new residents to be getting into mischief soon if not already - but it's about living in between the chaos. Right now, that means sleep. Tomorrow, it means making sure Killian is taken care of, that he feels as loved and cherished as she does in this moment. After that, who knows what life will bring. Whatever it is, she knows for sure, they'll win.