(inspired by a prompt in the tag, I rewrote an old drabble of mine. Very short, but I like it. Takes place 2x12)
the reason i didn't post this before was because i didn't want to break up the order of operation kraken, but i've written a few oneshots since then so i decided to hell with it. the part 3 of operation kraken IS coming, but after i get a few other muses off my chest.
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The forest is howling, he notes numbly. His ribs are on fire and but he feels as cold as glass. Where the crocodile had held his cane moments before, a new bruise blooms on his neck.
He is alone.
It feels as though as soon as she had arrived at his side, she was gone again, running off at the sound of the wailing beasts. The canopy of the forest blinks white and red as his vision blurs. Another wave of pain washes over him, a lump rising in his throat. He should've known Emma planned to leave him here, to bleed out like a sodding fool; fit the pattern. Bloody lass had a knack for it leaving him high and dry, after all.
Then, suddenly, he hears her. His eyes fly open to see Emma leaning over him again, her golden hair almost a halo against the darkness of the forest. A rough, choked laugh escapes his lips at the thought of attempting to tell Emma Swan she looks angelic.
Emma blinks down at him again, either confused or amused. Nay, worried? He immediately dismisses the thought. Immobilized by the pain, his attempts to reach for her hair are paralyzed.
"I don't know why you keep laughing," she mutters under her breath before calling out loudly, "Okay, now him!"
Her voice is now an echo, his consciousness fading in and out.
Next he knows, Hook is being lifted and carried towards one of the metal contraptions, voices filtering through his ears. The words "broken" and "ribcage" and "stable" pass through his mind. Abruptly, he is thrust into a blindingly sterile white light, and his eyes shut instinctively.
What happens quite next, he can't be sure. An odd beeping sounds dazedly, he feels people moving around him, laying a blanket over him, strapping him down. A low rumbling and the swinging of a door fills his ears just before someone calls out once more.
"Wait! I'll ride with you." It is Emma's voice, unmistakably, but there's an edge to it. Panic, he realizes dimly. He doesn't feel so much pain anymore. He doesn't feel any, actually.
Rather, what he does feel like is tired, as if 300 years of festering wrath has finally caught up to him. Exhaustion hits like a cool breeze on a hot night, but he senses Emma's presence at his side, so he staves sleep off, if only for a moment.
He exhales, quietly, pretending to be unconscious as Emma's fingers ghost from his shoulders to his face. They graze the skin like the heart of a wild rabbit, darting from danger while looking for a home to hide in.
Perhaps he isn't alone, after all. At least, not for now—and that is enough.
By the time he truly does lose consciousness, Emma has tucked his hair behind his ear, shaking her head to herself in a mix of disbelief and an odd shock of pride. Bloody, beaten, and out cold—and the pirate is still smiling.