At this point, I think you've all realized that this is rated mature for a reason. Still, this chapter is really mature for reasons of violence. Again, not overly graphic because that's not really my sort of thing, but I just thought I'd provide a warning. There are also references to some mature subject matter. If you've gotten this far, I imagine you're okay, though!

The Past

It was as he dangled from his wrists in pitch blackness that Killian regretted never asking his parents about being in prison. True, he'd been young. True, his parents did not seem eager to broach the subject. It seemed like the fact that his parents had been in prison was something he'd always known growing up, perhaps because Uncle Gavin kept mentioning it. He'd laugh about the times he'd spent with Christine as next-door-cell-neighbours, or mention how Martha had moved up in the world now that she'd gone from living in a prison to living in a real house, or talk about how he first fell in love with Sari when she brought him food and they exchanged hushed words through the bars. Sari would then retort that his stomach had fallen in love with her, not Gavin himself, and then Gavin would laugh a hearty laugh and go on to list everything he loved about his wife. Yes, Killian had initially pictured prison as a sort of living room with bars, based on all of the fun that seemed to have happened there. Really, it just sounded like a place for young people to meet and become friends, parents, or lovers.

His parents had done little to contradict this idea. Neither Christine nor Edward ever really talked about the subject willingly or in any great detail. When the subject came up, his parents followed a familiar pattern; his father looked angry and ashamed, and his mother would shoot her husband a look before quickly changing the subject. Killian had imagined that it was became both were good people who tended to obey the law; prison was likely a sore point for them if it blackened their record.

However, Killian had eventually grown up, and his views had changed with his life experience. He'd also caught snippets about prison while frantically flipping through his mother's journal. He'd never looked at it closely, though, as his mission was to find out about whether or not Lord Alasdair had truly slept with his mother and not to learn about Christine's time in prison. It was a shame, because perhaps reading it would have been good preparation. As it was, to Killian's knowledge, the journal was still in his and Liam's old lodgings (assuming Lord Alasdair hadn't done anything to them) and was useless to him now.

Of course, it was really too late to prepare. He hadn't been this hungry or thirsty since he'd been a starving child on the streets, waiting for his father to come home. He hadn't been this sore since Uncle Connor's last beating. And he couldn't remember ever being anywhere so dark. Water dripped steadily from the ceiling, which made Killian wonder if he was under the castle's moat. He heard some rats squeaking, but it was too dark to see them. He was glad that he hadn't worn his new clothes to kill Lord Alasdair. He'd decided to wear his old spare navy uniform to get into the castle more easily. That uniform was now mostly in pieces, or at least the shirt was. Killian would guess he was wearing perhaps half of it, at most, and it was mostly hanging off of his body, leaving him to shiver against the cold chains that held his wrists firmly above his head, sending excruciating pain through his arms, shoulders, and back.

As expected, Lord Alasdair himself hadn't come. Killian knew that his grandfather hated getting his hands dirty. He was expecting that he would be executed quite soon, probably boiled alive, but that hadn't happened at all. He'd been questioned about the plant and the pegasus sail instead. When he'd told them with little prodding and a great deal of satisfaction that both were utterly out of reach, they had proceeded to question him on the whereabouts of the Jewel of the Realm. His ship was currently docked a good distance away from the city in a hidden little cove to the south, and he had no intentions of telling them that. He'd told his first mate that if he wasn't back within two weeks, that the man could assume the worst and take the ship for himself. He would be a terrible captain if he set these royal buffoons upon his crew and his ship. So, of course, he remained silent and endured whatever torture was used on him.

It helped that his mind was kept plenty busy. He tried to guess the amount of days he'd been down here. Since he hadn't had much to eat or drink, he assumed that he was not on any set schedule. Time passed differently here. But, if he had to guess, he'd assume that he'd been down here for four days. It had taken three to travel to the city from the ship's docking point, which meant that he had about a week to get back to his ship before it was gone. He wasn't really expecting to get back, though, so keeping track was more a way to keep his mind busy than an actual necessity. He also thought about Giselle, how stupid he'd been to trust her, and how much he hated his grandfather. Mostly, he thought of Liam. He was grateful that he'd been feeling numb since Liam's passing, because he thought that nothing hurt as much now as it would have in the past. No physical pain compared to the pain of losing his brother.

When all of that failed, he thought of creative ways to kill his grandfather.

The whip would crack.

He could push him out the window. Then carry him back up and throw him out again. And again and again. Until he was dead.

It would crack again.

Or maybe that would cause him to pass out. He really wanted the pain to linger. Maybe he could keelhaul him?

Crack.

No, still too quick.

And things would continue that way, until Killian came up with the most grisly ways to dispatch his enemy.

The Present

"But I won't disclose them. You wouldn't be able to handle it," Killian said, eyes lighting up teasingly in spite of the subject matter.

Emma imagined that it was more likely that he was just afraid of what she would think if he told her the darkest parts of his heart, but she played along. "Oh, please. We both know that I can handle anything you come up with."

Of course, it was only then that Emma realized how closely this conversation was beginning to mirror another they'd had. Her heart started to pound. Had he worded it that way deliberately, perhaps hoping for a repeat of the kiss that resulted from last time? She risked a quick sideways glance at him. From the slightly pained look on his face, she guessed that he hadn't, but the parallels were not lost on him either. The worst part was that, in a way, she wanted to repeat what had happened last time. She was attracted to him without a doubt, and she always had been. Still, it was one thing to feel a physical attraction, and another to trust someone enough to have a relationship. She was leaving. She was only thinking such ridiculous things because he was baring his soul to her. This was clearly some stupid subconscious need to give something in return. Had he planned it that way? That was a new level of manipulative, if so, and she certainly wasn't going to fall for it.

Still, a part of her seemed to know that this wasn't a result of any manipulation by him, and that was beginning to frighten her.

"What happened next?" Emma demanded, changing the subject quickly.

Killian looked almost relieved.

The Past

Killian knew what was coming next: the rack. He wondered if playing this mind game on him was part of the torture; the anticipation of it would probably be worse than the torture itself. Killian knew that he couldn't give them any information, because that would be terrible form on his part. Still, the refusal of information meant that he would probably die, or at least be permanently crippled. On the plus side, he would get to join his family, if an afterlife did exist (which he wasn't betting on, based on his luck thus far).

He was so consumed by his thoughts and the various aches and pains throughout his body that he almost missed the quiet approaching footsteps, so different from the stomping steps of his torturer.

With great effort, he lifted his head slightly to view his unexpected visitor. His eyes narrowed at the sight.

"Giselle! How are you feeling?" He asked sarcastically.

"What?" She asked incredulously, her voice slightly hoarse as she folded around her body in a strangely childlike, protective gesture.

"Isn't that a common query for women in your condition? I imagine I would have asked Ciarra that quite frequently if you hadn't had her murdered," drawled Killian, eyes flashing.

"Please, for the love of God, stop talking before I regret this," she snapped, reaching for his right wrist.

"What-"

He cut himself off with a quiet yell of pain as his right wrist was released, putting all of the pressure on his left.

"Be quiet!" She hissed.

"What the bloody hell are you doing?" Killian groaned, feeling sweat drip down his face from the pain.

"You poor thing. They must have hit you in the head too many times."

Killian fell heavily to the floor, unable to stand as his left wrist was released.

"Get up!" Giselle prompted irritably, grabbing one of his arms.

Killian cried out, and Giselle let out a long-suffering sigh. She dropped to a crouch and grabbed his chin.

"Listen. I'm getting you out of here, but that's it. I'm doing this for Liam, and then we're done, understand? I never want to see your face again. Now, be quiet, and get up."

"If this is to make up for killing him, you can't," Killian retorted through gritted teeth.

Giselle raised a hand as if to slap him, but then dropped it, trembling, running a hand through her unusually messy brown hair. Even in the dim light from the torch she had brought, Killian could see that her eyes were red and bloodshot.

"I'm not doing this to make anything up to you. I did what I did because it was the right thing to do at the time. I'm doing it for Liam. Now, stop being selfish, you ingrate, and get the hell off the floor."

Giselle stood back up, letting out a small noise of disgust. "There's blood on my dress."

"Forgive me. If I'd known you were coming, I would have made an effort to tidy things up, but you know how it is," Killian said with a groan, slowly picking himself up to lean heavily against the wall.

"Come on," Giselle prompted, prodding him impatiently in the back. Killian had to stifle a scream.

"Would you please stop touching me?" He hissed.

Throwing her hands up in the air, Giselle stepped back, muttering angrily to herself.

Killian took several unsteady steps forward, seeing Giselle shaking her head in disapproval in his peripheral vision. Rage flooded his heart once again, especially now that the surprise of seeing his brother's former lover had passed. Before she could react, Killian had her pinned against the wall with a blood-stained hand around her throat.

"I should kill you," he murmured into her ear softly. He felt her shiver. "You're a murderer who's only attempting to appease her own conscience."

In spite of the situation, Giselle stayed incredibly calm, her dark eyes narrowing in on his face with disdain. "That would be a fine way to thank me for saving your life."

"I spared yours, and you took two away from me: Liam and Ciarra. You're two lives in debt," Killian reminded her softly, emphasizing each word.

"You're just looking for someone to blame to avoid blaming yourself. You left Ciarra, and you failed to save Liam," Giselle replied with a steely gaze. "I should be the one killing you for taking my love away from me."

"Lord Alasdair did, if anyone did," Killian replied, tightening his grip slightly.

"Exactly," Giselle said.

Killian released her in surprise, and she backed away quickly.

"You want me to kill him. This isn't just about Liam after all," he realized.

"It's partly about Liam, but, yes, I expect that you will rid us of him once and for all. He's in his study, and I drugged the guards. He's a manipulator and a snake. Go kill the bastard," Giselle agreed, eyes flashing. A lone tear slipped down her porcelain cheek as she handed him a knife hilt-first, confirming how serious she was.

"Shouldn't I kill you first?" Killian growled.

"If I were pregnant out of wedlock, I wouldn't have told Lord Alasdair," Giselle pointed out. "The same reasons for not killing me before still apply. I know you won't hurt me, because I'm carrying Liam's child."

Killian shook his head angrily, tired of being out-manipulated time and time again and never knowing what the truth was.

"Perhaps the child deserves to die, if it's yours," Killian thought out loud.

Giselle froze in surprise, eyes wide as tears fell freely from them.

A new wave of anger flooded Killian. "What? Surprised that you can't manipulate me again?"

She shook her head slowly, face drawn and sad. "Liam would be ashamed of you."

Killian recoiled as if slapped. Any torture he'd had was nothing compared to those words. His heart was pounding angrily in his ears, and he felt almost as if he were floating away. It was a strange, horrible feeling.

Shaking his head, he turned away, and half-ran out of the cell.

"Goodbye, Killian," Giselle called after him.

Then she sank to the floor of the cell again and cried.

True to her word for once, Killian didn't see a single guard as he limped his way up to Lord Alasdair's study, thanks to Giselle.

He paused outside the heavy wooden door. For all he knew, it was another trap. Still, he couldn't quite bring himself to care. He would be okay with going back to prison and torture so long as he got his knife into Lord Alasdair first.

The door opened with a quiet creak, letting out a strong wave of lavender. Killian hated lavender with a passion.

Lord Alasdair was sitting quietly at his desk, dressed as richly as ever in a white shirt and a purple doublet. He had a glass of wine in his hand that he drank from, leaving a small rim of red around his mouth. Heavy rings adorned his fingers. His silvery hair caught the torchlight, and Killian found himself feeling surprised that the the man looked so old. Wrinkles were lining his face and his neck, perhaps even his fingers that grasped the golden cup of wine. With that thought came the reminder that because of this man, his entire family would never live to such an old age. Lord Alasdair had outlived them all, wallowing in decadence and power.

"Are you going to come in, or just linger around the door?" Lord Aladair's voice cut into his fantasy, surprisingly deep.

He signed a paper with a flourish, before finally lifting his dead eyes to the figure at the door. No surprise passed over his calm features. Killian wanted to watch that calmness break into a million pieces and scatter them into the wind.

"So you've returned to try again. Remarkable. Looking quite awful, though, and smelling awful too." With those words, Lord Alasdair reached into a desk drawer for a sack of dried lavender and lifted it to his nose to cover the scent of blood and sweat. "Please, sit down."

"No," Killian shook his head, shutting the door with a soft click and leaning against it.

"Can't make it to the chair? Pity. I was so looking forward to getting to know my remaining grandson," Lord Alasdair taunted, leaning back in his chair lazily.

Rage once again flowed through Killian's veins, tinting the room red. Stiffly, he limped over to the plush chair and sat in it gingerly. He was lifting his head to look at Lord Alasdair, but all he saw was a flash of silver. With a small cry, Killian leaned to the side in an attempt to dodge the knife. It was semi-successful; the knife that was destined for his heart instead pierced his shoulder.

"Yes, it seems I already know you." Lord Alasdair yanked the knife from Killian's body, eliciting another quiet cry. "You're predictable, gullible, and easily manipulated. Much like your mother, actually. It's really quite lovely that you look like her. I got to fuck her, but I never got to watch her die. Watching you die will be second best, of course, but a man has to take what he can."

"You won't get anything," Killian groaned, pressing his hand firmly over his shoulder. "You'll die alone and terrified, and then you'll burn in the fires of hell for eternity."

Lord Alasdair chuckled, leaning backwards once again. "You really don't know when to give up, do you, boy? I would say that you'll reach the fires of hell first at this rate."

With great effort, Killian pushed himself to his feet again, staggering back a few steps and drawing his knife.

His grandfather chuckled. "You still think that you can kill me? Very persistent. Just like your mother. I'm so glad I got to know her so... intimately." He studied Killian's face in amusement.

"You're a monster," Killian panted, feeling sick. Whether it was from pain, blood-loss, the smell of lavender, or just his grandfather's presence, Killian wasn't sure.

"Monsters win," Lord Alasdair said with a shrug and a smirk.

"How the hell did you get like this?" Killian snapped.

Lord Alasdair smiled again, a feral smile. "There was a woman once. A gorgeous woman. I saw her first when she was a beautiful child, then later when she tried to kill the king and I stopped her. I restrained her as she tried to plunge her knife into his heart, and I felt how she felt against me, and suddenly, I was a different man. I was alive. I went to see her every day in prison, although she hardly ever saw me. I just wanted to study her; she was so beautiful. I dreamed about her every night. I dreamed of taking her and then ruling the kingdom together. She was the key to everything, to my dreams of love and to my dreams of power. But then, a foolish man freed her, ran off with her, and married her, when she was mine. I was the one who worked with the king to spare her for so long, insisting that she could be useful. I was the one who risked my life and my position in court just so that I could continue to look upon her face. I only spoke to her once, to offer her freedom if she would be mine. She refused and spat in my face. She was a fiery woman. Oddly, that made me love her even more. She told me that a princess could never lie with a snake. So, instead, she lay with that great oaf Jonathan Daaé and conceived your mother and that drunk."

Killian stared at his grandfather, taking in this new information in a daze.

"Then I killed her. I personally left court just so that I could watch her die. I took her body back with me," he added dreamily. "I buried it in a place that only I know, so that I could visit her as often as I wished."

"Y-you're insane," Killian stammered, feeling even more nauseated with each word.

"Before her, I only had power. My father told me that a man was nothing without it, so I yearned for it above else. She changed that and made me alive. Then, all I had left was power again. I've maintained it well, have I not? And now, I've completely exterminated Katherine's bloodline. Or, I will, as soon as you die. I should've had her and you shouldn't have existed. I'm remedying that mistake very well, aren't I? And soon, I'll take the throne, and I'll take her place, and she'll regret the day she rejected me."

"I don't think she can regret anything now that you've murdered her. That seems like a slight loophole in your great plan," Killian snorted.

"She can," Lord Alasdair replied confidently with another smile, folding his hands together lazily at his chest.

Killian felt as though everything had fit into place. This missing piece of information seemed to explain everything; all of the misfortune, all of the death, his grandfather's strange obsession with his mother. It was sickening and terrifying, but it made sense.

The Present

"And that was why he hated your father too, even though he was his own son," Emma realized, clapping her hands to her mouth. "I was wondering how any parent could hate their child and want him dead, but now I understand. Your father got what Lord Alasdair wanted and could never have."

"Probably because my mother was kind and my father wasn't quite as much as a mad, obsessive rapist," Killian commented drily. "But yes, I would assume as much."

Emma shook her head in amazement. "That is so screwed up."

Killian smiled ruefully. "Exactly my thoughts when I heard."

The Past

"Well, now that we've established that you're certifiably mad," Killian groaned, lifting his left hand and the knife shakily. "Perhaps I can right some of the wrongs you've done to my family. That was as good of a confession as I shall ever receive, I imagine. If I ever needed more justification for executing you for murder and corruption, you've just supplied it. Thank you for saving me from any qualms I might have had in dispatching you."

"Good luck," Lord Alasdair challenged, picking up his own knife.

Before Killian could react, Lord Alasdair was up and slashing at him. Killian barely dodged the knife. Lord Alasdair was fast for an old madman, and Killian was certainly not in his best shape after days of torture.

"You killed my entire family," he said out loud, hoping that the words would give him strength. He slashed at his grandfather. "My grandmother." He blocked another hit. "My grandfather." This hit sliced into his side, if only by a millimetre. Still, with all of his other injuries, it was hardly a helpful addition. "My father." Killian winced. "My mother." This attack connected with Lord Alasdair, creating a long slice through his eyebrow and cheek. "My Aunt and Uncle. And they weren't even biologically related to us." Killian picked up the pace, ignoring the ache in his body. "My other aunt and uncle. I have to give you credit for that one, because I hear Uncle Connor was actually a halfway decent bloke before you got your hands on him." Lord Alasdair was starting to struggle. "And that killed Lyanna." His voice vibrated with fury at this point. He sent his grandfather's knife skittering across the floor. "Then you killed Sari." Killian sliced his other cheek, mirroring the scar on his own, also grace à Lord Alasdair. "And my child." He plunged the his knife into Lord Alasdair's shoulder. "And Liam." He plunged the knife into his other shoulder, feeling a strange delight in his grandfather's screams.

"So..." Killian stood over his grandfather, considering. "What should I cut next? Or would you like to beg?"

Lord Alasdair started to laugh, a deep belly laugh. "You're a Larkin after all, boy. I should have given you a chance. You could be just like me."

Killian growled. "Never."

"You'd really kill your own grandfather?" Lord Alasdair asked, eyes glistening with plots and plans that Killian could almost read. "You never seemed the type to murder an old man, never mind your own blood. Your mother certainly wasn't."

"You killed your son, his wife, her brother, your grandson-" Killian lifted his knife, readying himself for the death blow. "And the next time you mention my mother, I'll cut your tongue out. There was a time when I wouldn't have killed you. In fact, if you recall, I convinced my father to spare your life. If I can't do that anymore, you have only yourself to blame."

For the first time, Killian saw some suppressed panic in his grandfather's usually dead eyes. "Wait! What would you like? A lordship? To be my heir?"

Killian plunged his knife into his grandfather's heart, watching as the life drained out of his grandfather's pale eyes. He fell to the floor with a thump, leaving Killian standing over him with grim satisfaction.

"No. I want my family," he whispered, tears welling up in his eyes. He felt like a child again, back when his father had abandoned him. All he wanted was to go home. He wanted this to be a dream. He wanted to wake up again at seven years old, to crawl into his parents' bed and snuggle against them and have this nightmare end.

Unfortunately, Killian knew that his body could never hurt this much in a dream.

With a final withering glare at the still form of his grandfather, Killian spat on the body. After a moment's hesitation, he also took one of his grandfather's rings.

"I will never be like you," he swore softly.

Then he limped out of the castle. He was only a few streets away when he collapsed and fell into darkness.

As always, thanks for reading. I went a little bit Princess Bride-ish there, I'll admit, but it was worth it. Please leave a review if you enjoyed! I'm not quite done. I know this has turned into quite the beast, but I'm going to cover up to Milah's death in the past and Emma and Killian's return to the present in the present. I had a question messaged to me about that, and I just thought I'd let you all know! If I do Neverland, it would likely be a sequel. I have no plans for that right now, and I know that if it took me 31 chapters to get this far, it would probably take me two hundred years to cover two hundred more years of Killian's life. Anyway, thanks for your support!