A/N: Canon-divergence is coming, as promised. I apologize for taking so long, unfortunately writing Killian's death did not come easily until last week's episode re-inspired me. But here you go! Hurt/Comfort on the horizon, fair warning.

Disclaimer: I don't own OUAT, or the characters, or the locations, but they are a lot of fun to play with.

Chapter Four

They made good time getting back to the Enchanted Forest, with Henry at the helm the whole way, Killian making minor course corrections as they went. Emma had found some spare clothes from one of the crew members and changed – a far more practical outfit, in his opinion. She helped him on deck as well, adjusting ropes and sails as needed. He was too stiff and sore to do major lifting and pulling but she seemed to sense when something would be too much for him and easily slipped in to take over. They travelled mostly in silence and, though he still couldn't control the blush that crept up to his ears when he was close to her, it was far from awkward. Just the opposite – it was that eerie sort of familiarity that came along with spending time with Henry and his mother.

They made port and then went off in search of food, Henry complaining the loudest about his empty stomach. Killian nervously scoured the harbour as they left the ship for signs of his former crew, certain they'd spot him and come after him for mutiny. There was no sign of them, just the normal goings-on of the waterfront town.

"I'm going to see if I can find something that looks like food," Henry called as he ran ahead. "I'll be careful, I know," he added quickly before Emma could answer. She looked worried as he rounded a corner, but she slowly relaxed and smiled up at him. "He'll be fine," she said, for him as much as for herself, he figured. "A few hours in this place, he thinks he knows his way around."

"I'm sure he'll be alright," Killian agreed, nervously fiddling with the uncomfortable sword belt around his waist. She had handed it to him before they docked, saying they needed to practice his swordsmanship skills, get him up to par with his 'other self', whatever that meant. He couldn't seem to get the hang of moving with it, the sword banging against his legs as he walked and the weight felt so strange at his side.

Emma stopped then and turned to face him, the people of the market paying them no mind as they hustled around them going about their business. "Here's as good a spot as any," she smiled. "Shall we begin?"

He gulped nervously, hoping she couldn't hear how loud it sounded in his own ears. His fingers twisted on the sword strapped to his body. "So, you're telling me," he said shyly, "in this other reality, I'm an expert with such a weapon?"

She smiled, arms crossed over her chest. "You're a regular Jack Sparrow."

"Is that good?" he asked.

Her grin widened. "Here," she said, stepping behind him. "Let me show you how to use it."

She reached around him and grasped his hand, her body right alongside his. He couldn't help the "oh" of surprise from leaving his lips as she pressed herself close to him. In one smooth motion, she guided his arm as they drew the sword together, lifting it up and outward.

"They say," she said, her voice in his ear, breath hot against his neck, "once you become an expert –" they lowered the sword together, her hand still wrapped tightly around his hand "– your subconscious takes over." She nudged his arm in an arc in front of them. "Back in my world, that's what we call muscle memory." She guided his hand once more and slid the sword slowly back into its sheath at his side.

He was intoxicated. He hadn't had a drop of rum in years, but he could remember the spinning in his head, the dizziness, the feeling of power, the rush of his blood racing through his veins. This was the same. He leaned back into her as the sword was returned to its place and closed his eyes, just breathing her in. She was so close that he could smell her – old leather and cinnamon – and he didn't want to break whatever spell she had certainly cast over him. His throat was dry, but he had to ask, he had to know.

"Tell me more about this reality you want to return to," he rasped. "Us, for example. I sense that we, uh, we may be close." She pulled away, turning to face him. Oh no, he thought, I've said the wrong thing. But she was smiling, in that sad, familiar sort of way he'd gotten used to over the last few hours.

"Very."

He laughed. "Really?" He couldn't believe it. Some version of himself, somewhere, was with this woman. What on earth had he done to deserve her? "Well, I'm starting to get jealous of the other me."

Still smiling, she replied, "Let's see what food Henry's discovered. I'm starving."

Just then, the crash of metal footsteps sounded in his periphery. He turned, quickly drawing the unfamiliar sword, as a handful of black knights and the Queen herself sauntered into the marketplace. The villagers cleared out faster than he'd seen anyone move in a long time, and in seconds they were alone with the guards.

The guard from the tower, the dragon, drew her sword. "There they are," she indicated to the Queen. "It was as I told you, my Queen. The one-handed pirate was helping them, and the boy was with them as well."

A short, angry-looking man jumped forward, his sword at the ready. "Tell us where the child is hiding!" In his fear, Killian dropped the sword, scurrying backward. Emma stepped up at that moment, her sword swinging in the angry one's face.

"Hey, back off, dwarf," she shouted, "or I'll change your name to Stumpy."

Killian had never felt weaker. Here was his chance, to protect the women who wanted him to help, to stand up for them, to use whatever meager skills he had acquired or could remember. And he was hiding behind her, like a child, his sword on the ground at his feet. What would Emma do? he wondered. She's strong, he thought. Strong no matter what. He inched forward, grabbing the fallen blade and readied it for whatever battle may come.

The Queen spoke, softly but with an air of command that silenced every noise around her.

"I know you," she said, looking at the pair of them with such disdain he could almost feel her loathing. "You're Emma, the mad hag who was locked in the tower. I almost didn't recognize you out of your chains."

"You're the one that's hard to recognize," Emma answered, her voice suddenly filled with an emotion he couldn't understand. "Both of you." She indicated to the guard on the Queen's right, the head of her black knight guards, her second in command. "This isn't who you are." Killian was surprised to hear a note of pleading in Emma's voice. Who are they to her, he wondered silently.

The Queen didn't seem to know either. "Tell me, who are we?" she asked.

Emma visibly swallowed hard. "You're my parents," she said, her voice soft. "I'm the product of your true love. You taught me how to be a hero, how to believe in hope, and I do. And now I need you to believe in it, too."

The Queen's expression changed then, from disgust to almost compassion. She replied just as softly as Emma, just as tenderly. "You're right. Emma, hope is a very powerful thing. Which is why I'm going to have to snuff it out of you and that awful son of yours." She straightened just then, all traces of care gone from her voice and posture. "Kill them."

This is it, Killian thought, nerves tingling almost painfully in his belly. He held the sword tight, ready.

"Wait!" called the head of the guards. "There he is."

He pointed behind them. Killian and Emma both turned to look as Henry – oh, gods, no – walked down the alley toward them. He knew there was no way they could fight off all the guards, even together. There were too many, and he was too inexperienced, regardless of what muscle memory she claimed he had.

The Queen spoke, her smile filled with malice. "My my, I am going to enjoy watching him die in front of his mother."

Killian turned to Emma, to the first person who believed in him since his brother, who trusted him to be more than what he appeared. He swallowed hard, tongue catching on his dry mouth. "Save Henry," he all but whispered to her.

She looked up at him in surprise. "Killian, you can't beat them."

I know. I know I can't. But I can save you.

"If I can help return things to how they were meant to be," he said, his voice gaining strength as he spoke, "then what happens to me here won't matter, will it?" He could feel the change come over him, he knew he was now fighting for her and Henry, they were all that mattered, and he would do anything to protect that. For the first time in a long time, he felt purpose, he had something to fight for, and by the gods, he was going to fight.

He smiled, knowing it would probably be the last time he saw her, and said gently, "Now go, save your boy."

Her eyes held the promise of a thousand thank you's, though she didn't say a word as she turned back to gather her son. He took a deep breath, then kicked out quickly, knocking over the stand he had noticed earlier. Heavy sandbags rained down on the guards, covering them in filth and incapacitating them.

All but the lead knight.

The knight known as Charming spun his sword expertly as he circled closer, preparing to fight. Killian didn't stand a chance, he knew that, as he weakly held the sword in front of him, trying to force his body to remember what his mind could not.

"Is she worth your life, pirate?" taunted the black knight.

He steeled himself, ready, no matter what happened. "I'm willing to find out."

The knight came at him quickly with a series of blows meant to scare him into dropping his weapon. He blocked each one, somehow, gasping each time the metal blades rang together, the reverberations traveling up his arm uncomfortably. He brought up his hook to block an attack, then used it to help swing the blade in a circle, leaving the knight's face unprotected. Without thinking, he lashed out with an elbow, cracking the black knight across the face. The knight stumbled backward, his sword clattering uselessly to the ground beside him.

Shocked, Killian could only stand there, sword dipping to the ground. "What do you know," he whispered to himself. "I'm a natural."

He caught sight of the Queen moving around him. He turned, blade raised once more, aimed at her neck. Behind Her Majesty, he saw Emma and Henry standing, watching, worry evident on their faces. Why hadn't they left yet? "What about you, Your Majesty?" Killian asked, trying to determine the best course of action in dealing with the Queen. "Shall I make quick work-"

Just then, ice erupted in his back, catching his words in his throat. He couldn't breathe, couldn't scream, but he knew, he knew what happened. The knight. He could feel the blade of the dagger, no longer than a few inches, as it pierced through his chest. A numbness was beginning to spread from his back outward, and he knew he didn't have much time left.

As if underwater, he barely heard Emma cry out, "No!" but he couldn't make a sound, couldn't draw breath. He could only watch as her face registered horror and surprise. He wanted to tell her it was all right, he wanted to scream to her to get away, to get out of there, but nothing came out. He staggered backward, his own weight too much to hold up anymore, as he fell back against his attacker. "I never did like pirates," the black knight whispered in his ear.

Pain exploded in him as the knight twisted the blade to one side and then yanked it from his back. By now, the icy numbness had spread down his arms and legs, dark spots were filling his vision, and all he could see was her face as a tear slipped down her cheek. Live, he wanted to shout to her. Run from here and live. He felt himself slipping to the ground, blackness claiming the edges of his vision as he fell to the cobblestone, and then he knew no more.

The man and woman watched the scene from the shadows in horror.

"That's him, right?" she asked, anxiety written on her face.

"Yeah," he sighed. "Wait a few minutes and then we'll get him. Maybe Whale…"

She knew it wasn't good, they needed him – both of them – alive if the plan was going to work. But now, his body lying so still on the ground, they might have no plan after all.

They watched as the blonde woman and her son quickly escaped the scene, chased by a fireball thrown by the Evil Queen. The black knights were untangling themselves from beneath the wood and sand that had rained down on them a few minutes before. Soon, they had gone, not a single knight remained, and not a single villager deemed it safe enough to come into the narrow alley. It was quiet, silent, empty, save the dead man on the ground.

"Get the wagon," he said to her as he slipped from their hiding place toward him. She ran around the corner and grabbed the small wooden wagon, that would have been just big enough to hide the three of them, and coaxed the horse to drag it back toward the two men. He sat beside the still pirate, fingertips at his neck. She could smell the blood, the sweat, the… wait.

A wheeze. She heard it, faintly, but it was definitely there. "He's trying to breathe," she whispered excitedly. He nodded, expression grim. "He's alive, for now," he replied, positioning the wagon closer. "But we have to move quickly. He won't be for long."

Together, they dragged his still body gently onto the bed of the wagon. She thought he woke at some point, his hand opening and closing reflexively, but he made no sound, his eyes remained closed. The man climbed up to the top of the wagon and held the reigns, urging the horses onward, toward his home.

She stayed beside him as he lay unconscious on the light wood. She kept one hand on his back and put pressure on the wound, ignoring the feeling of warm blood that slipped between her fingers as she tried to stop the bleeding. Her other hand rested on his arm, listening, feeling, as he struggled to draw breath. Each time he paused, she could feel her heart stop for a moment, waiting until he managed to pull in another agonizingly shallow breath. "Hold on," she whispered. "Please don't die. We need you."

They drove away from the docks, back toward the Enchanted Forest.