Hi! Hope you dont mind the dm, kindly tell me to piss off if you do, I won't be offended haha
I just wondered if you did commissions? I absolutely LOVE your work, your art is stunning, and I would absolutely love to have a piece for an angsty fic I wrote where basically I wasnt really very nice to a certain pirate for a while.
Absolutely no worries if not, I just thought i'd ask on the off chance!
Will continue to love your work, always 💙
Flynn
Well, as long as you're not a scam and only talks in cripto money, it is with grand pleasure to tell you that yes, i do take commissions haha And you've come to the good place when it comes to poor pirate Killian...we do take great care of that boy... haha
thx for your kind comments, glad you liked my art :3
also you can drop more about what you'd like on the dm, i'll do my best not to miss tumlr notifications ^^'
Summary: Killian thought the only thing he was left with after Milah’s death was a broken heart and a thirst for vengeance. It’s not until he gets to Storybrooke, after so many years spent in stasis, that he discovers something else: he’s carrying her child. How does this new, tiny blessing change his path? (Canon-divergent from 2x12.)
rated T | 1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7 | 8 | 9 | 10 | 11 | 12 | part 13 | AO3 | 3.5k
a/n: Well I didn't MEAN for it to be over a year in between updates, but here we are. I've also been working on yet another story, but figured it was high time to update this one! Hope it was worth the wait!
The mood in the cemetery was appropriately somber, even if what everyone was mourning had yet to happen. Killian, for his part, was receiving some comfort from the constant wiggles in his belly—but if Pan did manage to cast the Dark Curse, just what kind of future lay ahead for his child?
“Gold, this curse,” Emma asked. “Is it going to work like the last one?” He could tell Emma was just as worried about the news as the rest of them, but true to form, was trying to take the lead and make a plan.
“The last one was created to service the Queen's wishes. This will be done per Pan's desire,” the Crocodile explained. “I would count on something hellish.” On that, Killian agreed with him.
“The curse was built to be unstoppable,” Regina added. “There's nothing that can be done.” If even the Evil Queen was losing her motivation to fight, they were all doomed.
Until Rumpelstiltskin told them that it was indeed possible to stop it—if they had the scroll the curse was written on—but that only Regina could do it, and there would be a price—because of bloody course there was.
But it was a chance, and they’d all be fools not to take it. Quickly, a plan was hatched; Killian was going to go to the convent with David, Neal, and Tink to retrieve the wand of the Black Fairy, which would then be used to switch Henry and Pan back to their respective bodies, thus giving Henry possession of the scroll. It was a solid scheme—as long as nothing interfered; he hadn’t lived this long by only expecting the optimal outcome.
Across the group, Emma gave him a tight-lipped nod that seemed to say “good luck”; he returned the gesture before running off, hopefully not into (too much) danger.
———————
Things were equally solemn in the convent—and the fairies didn’t even know about the curse yet. The Blue Fairy was laid out in a coffin at the altar, or whatever religious centerpiece it was, with other fairies gathered around in mourning.
Tink charged ahead. “Sorry to interrupt, but we need your help.”
“With what?” one of the fairies asked.
Neal quickly said, “The Black Fairy's wand is here. We need it.”
The fairy began to step back. “We can never…”
“Yeah, yeah. It's a terrible thing,” Tink interrupted. “But what's coming is worse. Where is it?”
Before the fairy could answer, a pounding noise sounded outside, somewhere above them. All eyes darted up to windows at the roofline, where something dark—and familiar—was flying around.
“What the hell was that?” David yelped.
“Pan's shadow,” Killian answered, knowingly. That—that was the danger he’d been worried about, especially once it became apparent that the Shadow was trying to get in.
“What does it want?” another fairy wondered.
But Killian knew. “The wand.” It wasn’t a stretch to believe the Shadow had overheard their conversation back in the cemetery—and was here to foil their plans.
One of the stained glass windows was partly open; the Shadow effortlessly slipped in. David shouted for everyone to run; the fairies all but disappeared, but the four of them stayed in the sanctuary, hiding behind the pews. (He knew nothing of this realm’s religions but some things apparently transcended worlds, including the setup of worship spaces. He’d never been much for organized religion, but if they escaped this unscathed, he’d throw up some prayers to the gods in thanks.)
“So all we have to do is light the candle, right? That's how you trapped it in Neverland?” David panted.
“Yeah,” Neal confirmed. “This time I say we get rid of it for good.”
Killian agreed. “I'll draw its ire.”
He began to move when Tink put her hand on his arm. “You sure you want to do this?” The others were looking at him concernedly as well.
His hand rested on his belly; yes, logically, he shouldn’t be throwing himself into the line of fire like so. But he also knew—based on past experience—that the odds of the Shadow being able to hurt him were minimal compared to the others, and there was no way he could sit idly by and do nothing to help. “If it's the only way to prevent this bloody curse from obliterating us all, then it's a risk I'm willing to take.”
Tink squeezed his arm and smiled. “You’ve come a long way from only risking your life for love or revenge.”
He blushed a bit. “This is still within those categories,” he replied, nodding towards his stomach—but they both knew it wasn’t just the babe.
The Shadow had been circling overhead, but was darting lower; it was now or never.
“Hey!” he shouted, slipping out from the benches into the aisle. Not his most original quip, but it worked—the Shadow’s focus was on him, and it dove.
Killian crouched and easily evaded it; hopefully, he could keep that up. “That the best you got?” he taunted; attacking its pride was a sure fire way to keep it close enough to capture.
However, it was indeed not its best; on its next swoop, it managed to knock Killian off his feet, sending him sliding across the floor. He at least managed to fall on his side and curl up, protecting the babe from impact.
Hands were on his shoulders almost immediately. “You alright?” David asked, brow furrowed in assessment, helping him back to the benches.
“I think so,” he breathed; the wind had been knocked out of him a bit but the baby seemed to me kicking away as consistently as ever.
In that time, the Shadow had flown back up to the eaves, far out of reach.
“Too bad I can't fly up there,” Neal joked—but then realized: “Tink.”
It took some encouragement, but they managed to convince her that she could do it—they all had faith in her; she just needed to have it in herself.
He watched with pride as she was able to activate her vial of pixie dust and float up. It took even less effort for her to light the flame in the coconut, easily trapping the Shadow. He felt no sympathy as the creature, if it could be called that, writhed as it was sucked into the flame.
He only felt relief at the small hiss of a scream when Tink tossed it in an open brazier back on the ground.
“Look who's still a fairy,” he teased, sauntering towards her, but his genuine grin probably belied the sarcasm.
“Look who's still a pirate,” she tossed back. “You all right?”
“Aye; we’re fine.”
“Good. I wish you had a bit more self-preservation, you know? If not just for your kid, then for Emma, too,” she added on a whisper.
Before he could comment either way, the apparently resurrected Blue Fairy interrupted them—not just to welcome Tink back into the folds of fairy-dom, but also to give them the Black Fairy’s wand. “Go—save us all,” she commanded, somewhat melodramatically, but the situation was that dire. Neal took the wand and they wasted no further time.
Back at the pawn shop, everyone else was waiting; the wand was all they needed. Emma looked tense, understandably; he hoped his nod was an encouraging one (and hoped they’d get time at some point here for more communication than glances and gestures).
Later, though; now, Gold was performing the spell, and then they had to find Henry.
After confirmation—so much as they could tell—that it worked, they all headed out into town to track down Henry, led by Granny and her keen sense of smell. But the lad ended up finding them first, sprinting out of the library, curse in hand.
It was hard not to get a little emotional at the reunion with Henry and his mothers (Killian’s own heightened hormones notwithstanding), but that quickly gave way to confusion when, upon being handed the curse scroll from the boy, Regina collapsed on the pavement accompanied by a flash of purple light.
She recovered, but when asked what happened, only cryptically said that she “saw what needed to be done.” He didn’t like the sound of that.
“Mom, are you going to be okay?” Henry asked, worried.
Regina placed her hand under Henry's chin. “The important thing is you will be.” That didn’t fully assuage Killian’s concern, though it was definitely important. His hand drifted to his waist, protecting his babe (and drawing comfort from them, too—this whole thing wasn’t done yet).
“No, he won’t actually.” They all turned at the unwelcome voice—Pan, somehow free, and suddenly holding the scroll in his hand.
“He has the—!” Killian started to say, but was frozen in place before he could finish his warning; even the babe within him had stopped moving, which was even more unnerving.
“Curse?” Pan finished, smirking. “That I do.”
He started to monologue, debating which of his captives he would murder first; honestly, it was a bit cliche, but Killian knew well what the demon child was capable of.
Pan had just rounded on Belle and Neal when Gold appeared behind him; took him long enough (though it wasn’t a stretch to think Pan had incapacitated him, given that Pan himself should have still been imprisoned).
Pan teased his son. "You're here to protect your loved ones, eh?”
“I'm not gonna let you touch either one of them.” If Killian weren’t frozen, he would have arched an eyebrow, impressed; it only took the Crocodile two centuries to learn how to stand up for his family, but better late than never.
Should have expected it would be in dramatic fashion, too. After some repartee, Gold’s shadow appeared—carrying the dagger. Which he used to kill both Pan…and himself.
Regardless of their broken history, this was not the end he expected for the Dark One. Perhaps in a normal situation, he wouldn’t feel the rush of emotion he did now; but as it was, he felt tears well in his eyes and a surge of oddly-placed pride.
That also meant they were free from Pan’s spell, with the demon’s demise; that brought the strongest sense of relief of all. All the decades of serving that arse were permanently done, thank the gods.
But seeing Belle collapse on the ground in tears brought any elation back to the ground; he slowly moved behind her and placed what he hoped was a comforting hand on her shoulder, even though they also had a rocky past. To his surprise, she reached up and squeezed his hand, but he stepped aside when Neal came forward to pull her into an embrace. Over his would-be stepmother’s shoulder, Neal found Killian’s gaze; they didn’t even exchange a nod, but a look of understanding and sympathy was obvious.
Others gathered around the two of them to offer their condolences, including Emma, but Regina was drawn to the fallen scroll once more. And then all eyes were on her.
“My father did what he had to do. He saved us,” Neal said, voice thick. “Regina, don't let him die for nothing.” His plea seemed to fall on deaf ears, though. “Regina?”
“What?” she asked, looking up from the scroll and blinking.
“We're here for a reason, love. Pan,” Killian reminded her.
“He’s dead,” she said quickly.
“His curse remains,” he countered. “Can you stop it, or shall we all start preparing our souls? 'Cause mine is gonna take some time,” he added, hoping a moment of levity might help.
On cue, one of the dwarves came up screaming about the curse’s imminent arrival.
“We can still stop it, right?” David asked, ever hopeful; Regina confirmed it, but still seemed reluctant.
“W-what's the price?” Emma was clearly distraught; he wanted to hold her, assure her it would be fine, but now was not the time. “Gold said there is a price. What is our price?”
Regina turned to face the group. “It's not our price. It's mine. I have to say goodbye to the thing I love most.”
They all knew who that meant: Henry.
The lad in question moved closer to his mothers, confusion and worry on his face.
“I can never see him again,” Regina went on. “I have no choice.” It made sense, but gods was it cruel. Killian barely even knew the little life within him yet already couldn’t imagine being parted from them like so; but with a hold you’ve held, raised, loved? He couldn’t imagine.
“I have to undo what I started,” she added sadly.
“The curse that brought us to Storybrooke?” Snow realized, on a gasp.
“That created Storybrooke,” Regina emphasized. “It doesn't belong here, and neither do any of us.”
Just when he was starting to find a reason to stay; he cast a brief glance at Emma, but then focused on the pavement. He had a bad feeling in his gut where this was going.
“Breaking the curse destroys the town,” David said, breathlessly—and throwing half a dirty look at Killian; he deserved it though, given his hand in the town’s first near-destruction.
But what Regina said next was worse.
“It will wipe it out of existence as though it were never here. And everyone will go back to where they are from. Prevented from ever returning.”
That part—that would make this awfully difficult. But…when she said “from,” did she mean…?
“We'll go back to the Enchanted Forest?” Emma seemed to be putting the pieces together at the same time.
“All of us,” Regina nodded, “Except Henry. He will stay here because... he was born here.”
“Alone?” Emma’s voice cracked.
No—that…couldn’t be; it was too awful. Impending parenthood was absolutely making Killian a sap, but he knew a thing or two about being abandoned, and few things were more awful; Henry didn’t deserve that, especially after what he’d just been through—especially when both his parents knew what it was like too.
He could see remnants of the little lost girl Emma had once been starting to show on her face, and longed to clear them away somehow—assure her it’d be alright. He was too far away though, so he settled with reaching out to squeeze Neal’s shoulder, knowing he was likely having similar flashbacks.
“No,” Regina countered, thankfully. “You will take him. Because you're the Savior. And you were created to break the curse. And once again, you can escape it.”
Emma’s eyes weren’t the only ones starting to brim with tears, but hers were the ones he was focused on. “I-I don't want to. We'll both go back with everyone.”
“That's not an option,” Regina said, equally emotional. “I can't be with him. If I don't pay the price, none of this will work.”
Ominously, thunder sounded in the distance, indicating the curse’s proximity. They were running out of time. He loathed to say it, but Regina was right: Emma had to go.
Heartbreakingly, her mother agreed.
“I just found you,” Emma protested, every inch the lost girl.
“And now it's time for you to leave us again,” Snow told her, obviously working hard to hold it together. “For your best chance. For his.”
She continued to fight it—to hypothesize a way to win—but he could feel it in the wind: they had to act fast, and this was the only way to not leave Henry by himself. But if they didn’t move quickly, they’d all get wrapped up in whatever sick plan Pan enacted before his death.
Emma looked across the crowd and found his eyes. No doubt she saw sadness in them. But he swallowed and gave her what he hoped was a confident, encouraging nod. Selfishly, he wished she could go with all of them, but she’d never be able to live with herself if she had to leave Henry behind—nor would he expect her to.
She pursed her lips and gave a tiny nod in response. “Okay,” she finally said, albeit reluctantly.
Killian directed the group to the farthest town line—the spot that gave them the most time before the curse overtook them. All too soon, everyone was gathered around Emma’s yellow vehicle in a series of tearful goodbyes that were wreaking havoc on his heightened emotions.
Henry clung to Regina while Emma bade farewell to her parents and Neal, then turned to face him.
“That's quite a vessel you captain there, Swan,” he teased, trying to lighten the moment a bit for both their sakes. She smiled—something he vowed to sear into his memory. But then he couldn’t hold back anymore—he had to be sincere. “There's not a day that won't go by that I won't think of you,” he added, perhaps a bit dramatically but it was the honest truth.
“Good,” Emma said—then, to his shock, she quickly gripped his lapels and placed an insistent kiss on his lips.
He didn’t hesitate to reciprocate, knowing it would likely be the last.
It was all too brief, but she stayed in his space one more moment. “Take care of yourself, okay? And good luck.”
“You too,” he replied, voice suddenly thick with emotion—but who could blame him?
He stepped aside and pulled himself together as they made the final preparations to leave; he could see the sky darkening as the curse approached. He heard something about them losing their memories—or getting new ones from Regina—something like that, which was probably a blessing but sounded cruel in the moment. They wouldn't remember them—all the things that had happened in the last months, especially Emma finding her family. But it was probably for the best.
Snow was giving Emma one last embrace goodbye and placing a kiss on her forehead when he turned back around. He placed his hand, as he did so often, on his belly, praying to the gods that they would never be faced with such a prospect.
Then Emma and Henry were in her car and it was roaring to life, just as Regina enacted the counter curse.
As the storm clouds rolled over him, he watched Emma drive over the town line—into safety.
What lay ahead for both of them was unknown, but they at least had their children; what else did they need?
—--------------------------------------
One year later
Killian knew he was in the right spot—portals were generally accurate—but as he stood outside the door, he was nervous. A lot had changed in his world in the past year; he had to assume the same could be said here.
But he was on a mission. So he swallowed his nerves and knocked.
He could hear voices inside—they were definitely there; but there was no answer, so he knocked again, urgently.
Finally, he heard footsteps approach. The door swung open, and there she was: Emma, in all her glory, blonde hair hanging loose around her face. She looked good.
He was so relieved; he grinned and stepped forward. “Swan. At last—”
But she stopped him from moving any farther forward with a hand on his chest. Her brow furrowed and she cut him off. “Woah, do I know you?”
Oh, right—in his eagerness, he’d nearly forgotten about the spell that replaced their memories. Good to know it had held.
“Look, I need your help,” he charged on, though. “Something's happened. Something terrible. Your family is in trouble.”
“My family's right here,” she countered. “Who are you?”
“An old friend,” was the best he could come up with; he was starting to feel desperate. “Look, I know you can't remember me, but... I can make you.”
Much like their parting, but with the roles reversed, he did step into her space—and found her lips, thinking fervently of all the feelings he’d been holding onto for her over the past year.
He really should have expected the subsequent knee in his groin, though; thank goodness he wasn’t still feeling (too) tender down there.
“The hell are you doing?” she demanded, shoving him back to the opposite wall.
He groaned and tried to catch his breath. “A long-shot,” he admitted. “I had to try. I was… hoping you felt as I did.” Which sounded ridiculous as soon as he said it; how could she feel anything when she clearly didn’t remember him?
“What you'll feel is the handcuffs when I call the cops.” Well, that was in-character.
But he didn’t come here to fail. “Look, I know this seems crazy, but you have to listen to me. You have to remem—”
But the door slammed in his face.
Bloody hell; that hadn’t gone to plan. But he was a captain for a reason; he’d just have to rely on his backup.
He'd do whatever it took—he’d promised. So many people were relying on him, but more so on Emma. It wasn’t his intention to drag her back into that part of her life, but he’d seen her with her parents before they left—she deserved to be reunited with them.
And he wouldn’t be reunited with his own child until he did.
—————————————
thanks for reading! tagging (if any of you are still interested)
Well well well....how to explain to your boyfriend that accidentally end up hearing the world "Whump" and that yes you might like it, BUT no it doesn't mean you're a sadist or a masochist ?!?
bc I barely manage to describe it to myself (apart from the good all "well it's like hurt/comfort fic and art...with sometimes accent on the hurt??") so How am I supposed to explain to someone else???
so yeah....if any fellow fan wanna help with that 😅 (absolutely not looking at you @killian-whump... or maybe @piracytheorist?)
Mac is utterly terrifying, and this image was captured by a Techpriest before the connection was severed- it is believed however to only be one of mac's scout copies, and not the true noosphere entity
Ya walking in the forest late in the day and encounter whatever the hell my mind manifested. Congratulation.
If I where given the opportunity to wear a uniform like this i absolutely wood.
My exclamation when I saw the guns option. Also I had to pick between pistol or sword. Why can’t I have both.
Teeth (both mouth and earrings) for caine (blog banner),green worm plants and camellias for leshy (also blog banner),science for mad science posts,freaky flower antlers for my url,and all the purple stuff is just me lol plus i forgot the eye color rip.
Tags: @decaying-faggot @angst-is-love-angst-is-life @randomlettrrsqqssfxwcvhxnqbwriro @midnights-dragon @i-eat-grease @confusion-personified etc (i forgot a few cause i don't have my ping list rn)
May have given her (or them. Not sure) the white hair I kinda want but am way too nervous to do (also. Expensive.) Got that anxious/insecure energy, fun earrings, Flash colors all around, yellow glowy parts for the speedforce (background for negative speedforce), some butterflies because they felt right, and ofc a dagger.
And did the whump account too cause why not @whump-is-love-whump-is-life
Blue hair just felt right, black eyes too (also matches the Zoom theme I got rn. Same with the background), roses with thorns for the vibe, outfit felt right, knife earrings and actual knife because ofc, evil grin with black lipstick (more vibes), and there should be more blood but this girl doesn’t bleed; she makes people bleed. Oh and a crown because she’s a queen of whump and she knows it
Tagging: @negative-speedforce @vexic929 @kindestwalkingmentalbreakdown @shrinkthisviolet @the-feral-gremlin @practically-an-x-man @june-rambles @fantasy-things-and-such @frosty-the-killer-doll @leatafandom @alittleflashvibe and anyone else; sry this was really really fun and I wanted to share it with everyone lol
Ooo! Thank you for the tag! This is a fun idea and so many choices! I tried to capture the positive vibes, horror filled, tired chaos of my main blog... It was a challenge, a fun one 🤣
No pressure tags: @incorrectcoldflashblog @fantasticstoryteller @lucathepanman @idabbleincrazy @heavenssexiestangel @captainkatya @huntressandlioness1 @maggot-monger and anyone else who would like to it's super fun!
When you got visit of Dream!Colin and he plays Killian and we all end up in the dongons and whump (a cinema version so like no actual whump was made on dream!colin lol) happen and colin as usual just nails his acting...
Summary: After the events of 3x19, Killian is at his lowest after being rejected by Emma. When Snow’s labor turns out to be a false alarm, Zelena offers Killian a deal: she’ll leave the Charmings alone…if he gives her the baby she needs for her spell instead. There’s just one hitch: he has to keep it a secret. At least it will only take 10 days, right?
a/n: Here's the second part of my bday fic for @sancocnutclub !!! This is the full fic from the manip I posted last week. Last chapter should go up on Friday!
rated T | AO3 | 3.8k | part 1 |
Based on what Killian was feeling and seeing, the next morning found him roughly at the 23-week mark (as expected, he’d spent most of the night studying his borrowed book—and was feeling thoroughly overwhelmed). His stomach looked yet larger, but his vest still had plenty of room, even if the laces on the side were let out a bit more.
He also found himself resting his hand on his belt to further hide the increasingly obvious curve of his midsection (at least, it appeared so to him, given all the decades that his form had remained unchanged). It seemed to work, thankfully, but he also made an effort to not be too social; he took lunch with Emma and Henry, at their request, but had to pass on their invite to dine at the loft that night. He cited his desire to avoid the extra burden on Snow—who it was implied could go into labor at any moment, though he had (good) reason to believe they had a bit more time, assuming Zelena’s implication that she had control over Snow’s pregnancy was true—but in reality, he knew his ravenous appetite would be nigh impossible to hide in such close quarters. (Granny was far less discerning, especially with with her approving comments about “putting some meat on his bones.”)
“We’ll miss you,” Henry told him as he and Emma left the diner that afternoon; Killian wasn’t sure if what he felt at that was his heart skipping a beat, or yet another kick from the little one, which were happening with increasing frequency and strength.
He tried his damnedest to swallow his emotions and looked up at Emma, who was giving him a similar gentle look. “I, uh, I’ll miss you too—lad,” he added quickly. “Until next time.”
He was glad he’d left things vague when he yet again felt immediate relief at unclasping his vest once back in his room. The odds of it fitting even later that day were slim to none, which would no doubt draw Emma’s attention. No, he’d do best to avoid her the next several days, until this whole thing was done.
That was something else he’d noticed—his conscious effort to put distance between him and this child, even if it obviously was more emotional than physical. His paternal side would find it far too easy to start considering names for the wee one, to caress his growing stomach and maybe even serenade the baby, to start preparing for the future. He wasn’t even sure the babe was his—but that had never stopped him before.
Until he knew how to keep them safe from Zelena’s clutches, though, he didn’t dare; that might only lead to heartbreak, and he’d known enough of that for a few lifetimes.
He did ask Emma, during a moment when Henry stepped away to the restroom, if any progress had been made regarding the witch problem, given that his attempt at research was fruitless.
“Nothing yet,” she sighed. “Unless we can somehow steal the items back before my mom goes into labor, our only hope is my magic.” Her eyes briefly darted to his lips; he leaned away from her.
“I’d say both are good plans,” he assured her. “Especially the second one.”
She rolled her eyes, but blushed. “I think you’re the only person confident in that.”
“Well, take some of mine, then. Remember: I have yet to see you fail,” he reminded her, and placed his hand over hers on the diner table.
The look she gave him was heavy; she still wasn’t used to people having that kind of faith in her, he knew. But if this was his only way of thwarting the witch—of keeping two infants safe—he’d give her as much support as he could.
The moment was simultaneously interrupted by Henry’s return, and a strong kick from his passenger—as if to remind him that at some point here (sooner than he’d care to admit), he’d have to go into hiding. He’d have to figure out a way to offer his support from afar.
But until there was a definite plan, he was going to keep things as impersonal as possible, merely trying to make sure he complied with Zelena’s rules and did whatever he needed to remain something resembling comfortable. The babe seemed to be growing just fine; his stomach was maybe a touch smaller than average, but that could be attributed to him also being taller than the typical expectant parent, as well as a life at sea demanding denser core muscles.
Hopefully, that remained the trend; he’d read the section about what happened after birth in more detail and…it wasn’t pretty. And he was still a rather vain man, with a woman to woo, if she’d still have him.
(He hadn’t given much thought as to how he might explain this to Emma after the fact, if at all; he hoped the simple fact that Zelena was no longer going after the Charmings would be enough that they wouldn’t even need to have the conversation. However, he wasn’t naive enough to count on it.)
—----------------------------------------------
When he woke the next morning, his hand was instinctively resting atop the bare curve of his belly. (That didn’t bode well for his plans of detachment.)
He also found it difficult to sit up in his normal manner; after much rolling around and repositioning, he finally managed to get upright—only to see that his stomach had popped out a fair bit overnight. It most definitely resembled a bump now; after using the lavatory, he traced the curve of it in the mirror, equal parts astounded and horrified. He was also surprised at how firm it was—it wasn’t just softness; there was definitely something there. (Something that was repeatedly kicking at his liver, it felt like.)
His tunic was plenty roomy, but the vest would no longer clasp over his gravid form, no matter how much he let out the laces. He huffed as he cast it aside; he knew it was inevitable, but it was depressing all the same. At least his pants still fit, but barely—and likely not for much longer.
If no one looked closely, and he didn’t tuck in his shirt, it wasn’t all that noticeable. But there would be no hiding it from those even reasonably close to him. Now he understood why the upper-class women referred to this time as “confinement”—because in order to keep this hidden, he’d have to stay in his room.
Not for the first time, he wished he had his ship; it would have been far easier to hide out there, away from prying eyes. Or if only there were another inn in town, but it would likely draw more attention if he were to relocate.
While he still had a semblance of normalcy to his appearance, he decided he should seek out provisions to get him through the next several days. By his math, he’d only just crossed the halfway mark in the time frame Zelena gave him, but was more than halfway through the pregnancy—so it was likely slowing down in speed, meaning he’d be spending the bulk of it during the most uncomfortable parts. Not only would he need food, he’d need other supplies as well.
He’d jotted down a list and slipped it into the pocket of his greatcoat, next to the fair amount of gold he’d stashed before leaving the Jolly Roger. His jacket hung loose enough that it hid his belly, but only just.
Cautiously, he poked his head out in the hall before heading out; even if he was reasonably covered up, the more inconspicuous he could be, the better. The coast was clear, so he slipped out and locked up—but then he heard a similar sound from behind him.
“Oh, hey—I was just about to come over,” Emma said from across the way. “I’ve got a magic lesson this afternoon, but do you want to get lunch before it?”
He was still facing the door. Given the state of things, Emma was the last person he’d wanted to run into. Traitorously, the baby chose then to give him a sharp thump in the stomach, as if telling him to get a move on.
So he did his best to suck in a breath—to minimize his bump’s profile—before turning around. He plastered on his best flirtatious look and avoided the urge to place his hand on his belt. “Is that your way of asking me out on a date?” he teased, hoping the obvious come-on would prevent her from suspecting anything was awry.
As predicted, she rolled her eyes. “If I was asking you on a date, it wouldn’t be to Granny’s,” she countered.
“Duly noted,” he quipped back (and saved for future reference). “But unfortunately, I have to decline the invitation; I’m afraid I have some errands to run that I’ve been putting off too long.”
“Oh.” Her face fell, and he tried to make sure his heart didn’t follow it. “Well, I could go with you, if you wanted.”
He did—so much. But then how would he explain the copious amounts of food he was about to buy? “I appreciate the offer, but I don’t know how long it will take—and I know that Her Majesty can’t be kept waiting.”
Emma huffed, but he saw acceptance across her face. “Yeah, you’re right. But I’m absolutely not seeing her on an empty stomach.”
“Nor should you,” he agreed, smiling—though hopefully it didn’t look too pained, because his attempts at holding in his belly were beginning to strain. As such, he started to turn away to leave, but she wasn’t done.
“Hey, where’s your vest? Is that one of your errands?”
Dammit; should have known she’d notice. But her gaze seemed to be focused on his chest and not any lower; normally, he’d comment on her leering but he was just relieved. “Aye; damaged it with my hook last night, and the laces need repair.” (That part was true—some of them had gotten a bit stretched.)
“Darn; I thought maybe you were actually going to join the modern world and get some new clothes,” she teased.
“Not yet,” he countered, but it wasn’t a bad idea—not a total wardrobe change, but perhaps something a bit…roomier, or more forgiving. “I should get to it, though.”
Emma blinked and looked back up at him, having seemingly been lost in a daydream. (Perhaps buying modern clothes did need to be added to his docket at some point; just not today.) “Yeah, and I need to get moving. Have fun.”
“Thanks, and good luck,” he farewelled; Emma headed the opposite way down the hall with a casual wave.
He waited until she was out of sight and then relaxed with a sigh; he could feel his belly press against the laces of his trousers as soon as he did, and indulged in a brief massage of his lower abdominal muscles. At least the ruse had worked—but he was definitely seeking out pants with an elastic waist.
The supermarket was aptly named; it was indeed massive and overwhelming. But it had everything—fresh vegetables and meat, bulk rations, even perishables and fresh-baked goods. It was astounding. He was easily able to gather enough provisions (healthy ones at that) for the next several days. He also grabbed some items at random that simply sounded appealing—mostly sweets, but he’d learned that cravings were a customary part of the process and this little one certainly had a sweet tooth.
(Thankfully, he also found the section with flexible clothing with ease. He purchased a couple pairs of what were labeled “sweatpants” and a few long-sleeved tops in varying sizes and colors; he just hoped he’d selected ones big enough.)
Odds were he overpaid for the lot of goods, given that the lad working the checkout didn’t know the gold conversion rate offhand, but he didn’t rightly care if it also bought the boy’s discretion. Thankfully, he also had his enchanted tote bag with him—the one with the hidden expansion charm he’d picked up…gods, he couldn’t even remember where anymore, it’d been so long—so he wasn’t spotted carrying half a dozen overladen sacks into Granny’s.
He spent the rest of the afternoon unpacking his newfound treasures, grateful to finally have a use for the seemingly magical ice box in his room. He stashed the nonperishables on his small table, and his new clothing in a dresser drawer.
One last thing remained, and admittedly, he hadn’t paid for it: a tiny outfit intended for a baby, covered with illustrations of sailboats. He’d slipped it into a pocket before paying for everything else, not wanting to draw the raised eyebrows such a purchase would attract, even if he could have passed it off as being for the Charming’s infant.
He held it up with just his thumb and forefinger; the label on it suggested it was sized for a newborn, but it still seemed impossibly small. At least, until he laid it atop the steadily increasing curve of his belly; then he wondered if it would even be large enough (though the books told him the babe was only yet the size of an aubergine, which he had stared at in the produce section for an extended period of time).
Bloody hell, what was he doing? He couldn’t get attached; if he failed to help Emma and the others defeat Zelena, it would spell doom for this child. And given that he was increasingly running out of ideas, it seemed imminent. He’d already suffered two terrible heartbreaks in his life; he wasn’t sure he could survive another (which would undoubtedly be harsher).
He yanked open an empty drawer and threw the onesie inside, then shoved it shut. Best not to continue that train of thought; only if they actually managed to defeat the witch.
Sighing, he plopped down in the dining chair and tore (literally) into a package of something called Oreos. They were delicious, but did nothing to assuage his fears or guilt. For the umpteenth time, his hand instinctively drifted to his stomach, as if his touch alone could protect the babe.
Hopefully that, and his trust in the heroes, would be enough.
Killian awoke the next day to something touching him. In his sleep-addled mind, he lashed out towards whatever it was, fully intending to let it (or them) get acquainted with the sharp end of his hook.
However, he’d taken his prosthesis off last night, lest he do anything to injure his ever-expanding midsection, so all he did was hit it away with his brace. An annoyed yelp followed his impact.
“Bloody hell, I was just checking on the baby,” Zelena scolded. He blinked a few times, urging the sleep away from his eyes, to see the witch standing over him, scowling.
“What the hell do you want?” he demanded as he tried (and failed) to sit up, eventually settling for propping himself on his elbows.
“I’m simply making sure that my investment is paying off. I’ve kept up my part of the deal—those sickly-sweet Charmings are just fine. But I’ve got to make sure everything is going well here, too; pregnancy is tricky business, you know.” She turned her gaze to his exposed belly; despite the shirt he’d worn to bed, it had ridden up overnight. “Oh, is that a stretch mark I see?” she declared, leaning back towards him.
He yanked the hem of his shirt down, both to cut off her view and at the wound to his vanity.
“You’re no fun,” she pouted. “I thought most expectant parents were basking in the glow of creating life, or whatever?”
“When it’s something they’ve wanted, aye; not when it’s been forced on them,” he spat. He hadn’t truly understood the concept of glowing until his time spent with Snow lately; however, he felt more washed out than anything incandescent.
But speaking of glowing—as she stood upright and folded her arms, light from the window glinted off the jewel at her neck. He remembered what the Charmings had been told about it being the source of her power, and without any further thought (moving faster than he thought he could), he lunged for the pendant, hoping that it might be just that simple to defeat her.
No sooner had his fingers brushed the surface of the gem than he was thrown back forcefully against the headboard; he groaned in pain. Bollocks.
“Ah-ah-ah,” she chastised. “Did you really think it’d be that easy? Especially when you’ve been touched not once, but twice by my own magic?”
“Had to try,” he panted out as he tried to catch his breath. His hand flew to his stomach as its inhabitant also protested the blow.
“You really ought to be more careful; a fall like that isn’t good for the little one,” she warned.
“Why do I give a shit what happens to your demon offspring?” he countered.
She scoffed. “Oh, it’s not mine. The spell would never work with my own blood. But,” she started, coming closer and leaning over him again. “It is yours.”
“What?” he gasped. He’d certainly wondered, but hadn’t expected that it was actually his child. How could she expect him to hand over his own flesh and blood? What he did to Bae all those years ago still haunted him; this would be even worse.
“Indeed. All the more reason for you to be careful, hm?” The way she caressed his bump again felt more like a threat than any sort of endearment. “If this child doesn’t survive, our deal is off. And maybe you should read the part of that book over there on just what that will do to you.”
(He swallowed, because he already had, of course; he couldn’t imagine anything more traumatic than carrying a child that didn’t survive—especially now knowing this one was truly his.)
“Then who’s the mum?” he asked, trying to distract himself. He needed to know that, too, especially if it wasn’t Zelena. “Is there one?” (Biologically, he knew there should be…but, biologically, she would be the one with child.)
“There is. Magic can’t circumvent that,” she confirmed as she set herself to rights. “But as for who…I’ll tell you when it’s all said and done.”
“You’re a bastard,” he growled.
“Something me and that baby will have in common,” she laughed.
She abruptly moved away and turned around, so he closed his eyes and took another deep breath to recover, at least physically, while she was distracted. He hadn’t realized how much the babe was pressing on his lungs until now.
“Oh, isn’t this sweet?” Zelena cooed. He opened his eyes to see her holding up the onesie. “Not my color scheme, but it certainly suits your aesthetic. Too bad they won’t get to wear it.”
Angrily, he stood from his bed to rush at her—he didn’t know why, exactly, just that he was suddenly filled with rage—but it was for nought, as she merely threw the garment at him before disappearing in her signature green smoke.
He caught it against his chest and sighed. He’d failed, hadn’t he? There was no way he could do anything to keep this child from Zelena’s clutches now, unless Emma managed to defeat her in the next few days. He sniffled, suddenly overcome by emotion—because wasn’t this so typical for him? To lose the things he loved?
(Because, much as he had tried not to, he did love the babe—even before he knew it was his; that was just his nature. But as with all things he loved, it was going to be taken from him—and their mum likely had no clue. Shit.)
His gaze was still on the outfit, vision blurring with tears, when a knock rapped at his door. He froze, hoping whoever it was would go away, but it sounded again. “Hook? Are you there?”
Of course it was Emma. Despite everything, he couldn’t say no to her. “Coming,” he called out, and quickly tossed the onesie aside, wiped his eyes, and strode to the door.
But then he glanced down; there was no hiding his belly, especially while wearing just the shirt and sweatpants he’d changed into (which, while exceedingly comfortable, did nothing to disguise the curve of his waistline). So he awkwardly angled himself, and opened the door just enough to peek his upper body around.
“Morning, Swan,” he greeted, though it was nowhere near as smooth as he usually was. “To what do I owe the pleasure?”
Her brow furrowed as she looked him over, then tried to look past him into his room. “I thought I heard something weird; is everything okay?”
“Right as rain,” he lied. “I did have a run-in with my bed frame, though,” he said, hoping she would believe him if he at least partially told the truth.
“What, stub your toe?” she teased.
“Aye, something like that,” he agreed.
She briefly narrowed her gaze, but seemed to accept his answer. “Well, do you want to get breakfast? Henry was asking if you wanted to spar again, too; I think he’s gunning to be your first mate.”
He had to smile at that, but it didn’t hold. “Ah, I’m dealing with a fair bit of fatigue at the moment; can I take a rain bill?”
Emma tilted her head. “You mean a rain check?”
“That, yes.”
“I suppose, but that’s only going to mean he’ll want more later.”
“I endeavor to make it up to him in full.”
She grinned, but hers too didn’t last. “Are you sure you’re okay?”
“I just haven’t been sleeping well,” he told her—which was true, given that the babe was treating his internal organs as playthings.
“Alright, well, rest up; you’ve been missed around here.” There was a steadiness in her gaze that suggested she was speaking personally rather than generally.
“I’ll try,” he said, though his voice was almost a whisper.
“See you,” she farewelled; he repeated it and shut the door, perhaps a bit too forcefully.
The next few days were going to be interminable, weren’t they?
The lone blessing was that Belle had lent him a few books from the library, so he had the means of entertainment, and obviously had bought more than enough food. (Those Pop-Tart pastries that Emma seemed to favor were indeed delicious.)
He felt like an arse when he had to feign sleep during Emma’s next attempt to drag him from his room, around dinner time. The woman was bloody stubborn. But, as he was being reminded by the insistent little foot digging into his ribs, there was truly nothing to be done until they were out. He’d extend his apologies then—once they’d defeated the witch.
-----------------------------------
thanks for reading! tagging a few: @wyntereyez @jennjenn615 @superadam54 @ashley-knightingale @justsomewhump @teamhook @mathiaskejseren @88infinity88
BUT WHEN YOU'LL HAVE TO BE IN NOTHING BUT BOXER THEY'LL NOTICE
bwahaha and heeeeere we gooo!! weeeeeee !! Angst costeeeeeeer !! 😂😭😭😭😭
HERMIONEEEEE SOMEONE STOLE YA BAAAAAAAG
looool... she should be glad he did not punch her in the face... that would have been funny heeheeheee also creepy Zelena Cullen way of looking at sleeping people 👀
I SHALL LIE STILL WITH HIM N THE BED TILL HE SURVIVE THE BIRTH TIME AND WE BLOODY KNOW THE MOMY BC I COULD BE EMMA BUT ALSO MAYBE NOT BUT WHO KNOWS WELL @walviemort KNOWS
Summary: After the events of 3x19, Killian is at his lowest after being rejected by Emma. When Snow's labor turns out to be a false alarm, Zelena offers Killian a deal: she'll leave the Charmings alone…if he gives her the baby she needs for her spell instead. There's just one hitch: he has to keep it a secret. At least it will only take 10 days, right?
a/n: (slightly belated) HAPPY BIRTHDAY TO MY SWEET FRIEND @sancocnutclub !!! This is the full fic from the manip I posted last week. I meant to get this done in time for you bday, but it kind of ran away from me…and ended up being a three-parter instead of the one-shot I thought it would be! Hope you (and everyone else) likes it! I just really liked the idea of him trying to keep a whole entire pregnancy hidden.
rated T | AO3 | 3.1k
Killian left the hospital feeling—-well, the worst he had in a long while. Perhaps he’d been rash in trying to get Henry out of town without his mother’s permission, but it was the only way he could think of to get around Zelena’s curse on his lips.
Worse, though, was the fact that he’d lost the trust of not just Emma, but her family. It wasn’t entirely his fault—but some of it was.
It’d been clear he wasn’t needed or wanted at the hospital after it appeared Snow was going into labor, but it ended up being a false alarm; thank goodness, as they were far from prepared to protect the babe from the witch.
After a rather long moment of self-flagellation—in the form of watching the family take a well-deserved breath together in Snow’s hospital room, something he’d never be part of now—he shuffled off without goodbye, into the night.
His feet found him instinctively wandering toward the docks—further reminder of his shame, but he wanted to wallow in it tonight, punish himself further; it was what he deserved.
The vacant berth that had once held his ship was a fairly accurate metaphor for how he felt: empty, adrift, far from port, with only the churning sea to match his jumbled emotional state. He took a swig of rum, but the familiar burn did nothing for him.
“I warned you.”
He didn’t even flinch when he heard Zelena’s voice behind him; honestly, he expected it.
“It was pure luck they all showed up when they did. Otherwise, you’d have some more blood on your hands,” she went on, heeled footsteps sounding as she approached his side.
“The bloody hell do you want?” He was annoyed, but his reply had none of its usual bite.
“I want what I came here for. But now that you’ve told all the Charmings what my intention for you was, and now that they have their memories back, that’s all been dashed. Highly doubt the Savior is letting you get anywhere near her now.”
His heart somehow fell further, and it had already been near his feet. “No, I don’t imagine she will,” he concurred; were he and Emma’s situations reversed, he couldn’t say he wouldn’t do the same.
“That said, I still need your help to continue my plans.”
“Like hell,” he spat, then began to walk away—but she was suddenly in his path.
“Let me put it this way, Captain—you have two choices,” Zelena told him. “Either you can help me, and I leave Emma’s family alone,” she started, holding up one hand, “or I continue to go after all of them, no holds barred,” she finished, holding up the other. “It’s entirely your choice.”
Neither option was ideal. Knowing that Zelena basically wanted to wipe out the existence of Regina and Snow (and, consequently, Emma and Henry), he was loath to aid her in any way, shape, or form—especially considering she had no leverage anymore.
But perhaps, if he did take her offer, he’d be able to find a way to subvert it—and redeem himself in their eyes.
“Fine,” he replied, albeit reluctantly. “I’ll help. Do whatever you need with me. But you must leave Snow, Emma, and their family alone.”
The wicked grin that took over her face should have been his warning. “Then we have a deal, contingent on one thing: you’re to actually keep it a secret this time.”
“Done.” It’s not like they’d listen to him, anyway.
She offered her hand to him to shake on it; he moved closer and took it. “It’ll be a pleasure doing business with you, Captain,” she said slyly.
He tried to let go of her hand, but she held tight. And her other hand began to glow that awful garish green, now held outstretched in front of her.
“What are you doing?” he asked, suddenly worried.
“What we just agreed on,” she answered, her eyes wide and seeming slightly unhinged. “Using you to get what I need.”
Then she swiftly stepped forward and shoved the ball of magic into his stomach. He hunched over for a moment, a slight cramping taking over, but then it dissipated, merely leaving him slightly sore. “What did you do?” he demanded, slightly out of breath.
“I still need a baby,” she said matter-of-factly. “So now you’re going to provide it.”
He wasn’t sure he’d heard her right. “That’s impossible,” he breathed, though his hand immediately flew to his stomach once she let go. “I’m—I’m a man.”
“Anything’s possible with magic,” she sing-songed.
His insides certainly felt different; that could be anything, though. “But won’t that take a while?” he asked, trying to call her bluff. “You’ve always struck me as the impatient type.”
“I am. Which is why this is going to go just a bit faster than usual. You only have to keep that under wraps for about 10 days.”
Shit—he’d already forgotten about that part, he’d been so distracted by the absolute insanity of what she’d apparently done. “How the bloody hell am I supposed to keep something like that hidden?” His mind immediately went to Snow and the very obvious protrusion of her stomach.
“You’re resourceful; you’ll figure it out.”
“Where did it even come from?” he nearly shouted, incredulous.
“The same place they all do,” she shrugged, but there was a glint of something else in her eye. “See you soon!” she farewelled, then disappeared in a cloud of green smoke, leaving him alone to figure out just what he’d gotten himself into—and what to do next.
——————————-
Part of Killian was convinced Zelena had been lying, playing some kind of cruel trick on him. Magic aside, it just didn’t seem possible. He fell into a deep slumber that night in his rented room, and the following morning, just chalked it up to an incredibly vivid dream, or perhaps the result of too much rum.
But at some point that day, he noticed a bit of nausea settle over him. He wanted to attribute it to something slightly off in Granny’s seafood special, especially when he found himself making a mad dash for the toilet around midday (making sure to take his meals at off times—hours he knew he wouldn’t see Emma there, mainly to avoid both her ire and his shame). But he’d been through his fair share of food poisoning—and this wasn’t it.
For starters, food poisoning usually ended. This, however, kept going. All that night and into the next morning. He left his room long enough to try to get something simple from Granny’s—just some bread or oatmeal—but even that wouldn’t stay down. Oddly, the only thing that sounded even vaguely palatable was sardines, of all things; he thought longingly back to the store of them on the Jolly Roger, but they were obviously inaccessible at the moment.
(He did manage to keep his stomach calm enough to run out to the convenience store and purchase some, as well as some ginger tea—and took a long, hard look at the devices that apparently verified pregnancy. However, he moved on from them; time would surely tell.)
The nausea continued to follow him through the afternoon, but the ginger tea helped a bit. Still, though, he was surprised by the urgent knock at his door that evening—the end of the second day of the 10 that Zelena had foretold—as he flushed the latest bit of bile down the toilet.
“Hook? What’s wrong?”
He blinked and stared at the door before he answered; it was Emma—and she sounded concerned. That was a far cry from their last interaction.
Slowly, he opened the door; she looked like she’d been about to knock again, and indeed, there was a worried furrow to her brow. “‘M fine, love,” he told her, though his voice tiredly betrayed him.
“Please; I’ve heard you puking all day. These walls are thin. What’s up?”
“Just drank a bit too much,” he lied, staring at the floor. (Even the thought of rum made his stomach churn.)
“You know I know that’s not true.” He had no counter to that. “Well, whatever you have going on, just—take care of yourself, okay?”
“I always do,” he threw back.
“I know.” It looked like there were a multitude of things on the tip of her tongue, but she hesitated too long to say them. “Get some rest, okay? Have a good night.”
“You too, Swan.”
She headed back into her room across the hall, but he closed his door before she went away. He didn’t know how to interpret her care versus her statements to the contrary the other day.
Besides, his stomach turned again, so he had to make another mad dash off.
Not much later, another knock came to his door; Ruby had brought him some soup. “Heard you might need it,” she said; he had to wonder whether that was her own preternaturally strong hearing or some other voice whispering in her ear, but he was just grateful for the gesture.
Amazingly, it finally stayed down, and though the nausea lingered, he at least didn’t find himself losing anything else in the toilet.
His sleep that night was the deepest it had been since he had arrived back in Storybrooke.
————————————-
He felt surprisingly well rested the next morning—almost normal, though there seemed to be a weight that had settled in his stomach deep within, not unlike the guilty feeling he was used to carrying around for all these centuries. Perhaps the previous days had merely been an anomaly? A stomach illness?
David stopped by during the morning and invited him out on some rounds. He had no reason to refuse, regardless of whatever Zelena may or may not have done to him, so he joined in—especially because he could see it for the olive branch it was, even if it was never specifically stated as one.
David did seem a bit lighter than he had in days past; he said Snow and the baby were still doing well, and the fact that no one had seen the witch had them somewhat worried, but also finally felt like they could breathe for a bit.
If that was the case, then Killian had few regrets in his deal with the witch—though he hadn’t yet figured out a way to thwart her plans, especially without seeking help.
If he still needed to, at least. He wasn’t wholly convinced that she’d actually done anything to him. The only real difference he noticed in anything that day was the return of his appetite, in dramatic fashion; he was never one for gluttony, and propriety (as well as manners lessons back in the naval academy) demanded he never overindulge and eat politely, but he devoured his breakfast and lunch in record time. He was getting over a stomach bug, though—right?
Were it not for that, and the persistent dense feeling in his gut, he’d still think Zelena was messing with his head. A man giving birth? Preposterous.
However, after bathing that night, he caught something in his reflection that likely confirmed he was with child: it wasn’t significantly noticeable, but when viewed in profile, there was a curve to his belly that hadn’t been there earlier, just behind his navel. And while he could partly attribute it to the copious french fries with his dinner, the very tiny wiggles he felt inside were definitely not from digestion.
“Fuck,” he cursed. He gently traced it, knowing that this was only the beginning of what was to come. But—it would still be worth it if it meant Emma’s family was left alone.
———————————
The next morning, after another rather large breakfast, he headed to the library; Belle was still doing research on ways to thwart Zelena’s plans, so he decided to offer his aid. They’d come to a tenuous peace in the time since Neal had passed away—and, really, it was his only plan so far towards defeating the witch without revealing the reason for her sudden pause in assault.
(He may have had to loosen the laces of his vest a bit in order to avoid revealing it in other ways; his stomach was somewhat larger in the morning, but one would still have to look very closely to notice the difference.)
Belle did seem a bit surprised at his offer of help when he arrived—she said she assumed he’d be out doing reconnaissance with the Charmings—but seemed glad to have another set of eyes on the ancient tomes she’d been poring through.
After a couple hours of fruitless searching—having no particular theory on how to stop the spell, they were casting a wider net when it came to neutralizing magic—he got up to stretch his legs (and ease the bit of ache that had settled in his hips). He wandered the stacks a bit, the naval officer in him still in awe of all the knowledge they held. Perhaps someday, he’d have the time to more thoroughly peruse their contents, but he did have a somewhat ulterior motive for heading to the library today.
“The pregnancy books?” He jumped when Belle found him skimming a volume entitled What to Expect When You’re Expecting; shit.
“I’ve been…curious, is all,” he replied, quickly and bashfully. “We never had this kind of information in our realm, and with Snow…”
“I get it,” Belle replied, thankfully. “It’s overwhelming how much more they know here, isn’t it?”
“Aye,” he sighed, glad she believed his quick cover.
She just smiled when he brought it back to the table. He didn’t read it too in-depth—gods only knew he was about to devour it later, probably far too late into the night—but he did skim it and—oh no.
It just got worse and worse. He finally got to the chapter on labor, and all it entailed; all he could say was “bloody hell.” Oh, he was in for it.
Belle was reshelving books and glanced over his shoulder—and laughed. “Yeah, that was my reaction the first time I looked through it,” she told him. “What? I was curious too,” she added when he raised an eyebrow at her in question. “Good thing you won’t ever be pregnant, eh?”
He swallowed, and paused for probably too long a moment before muttering out a “Yeah, thank goodness.” Then quickly reached for another magic book and shoved the medical manual aside.
(He didn’t see Belle’s furrowed brow at the delay in his answer—or the sidelong glances at how quickly he ate his lunch.)
Sometime that afternoon, Henry popped in, inviting him to join in a sparring session with him and David out behind Granny’s. Again, he was touched, and hoped the lad didn’t notice the sudden wetness of his eyes. Were it not for that book, he’d wonder where that had come from, but apparently heightened emotions were a thing he had to look forward to.
It felt nice to get a workout, and the verbal battle between him and David as they taught Henry differing styles of fighting was just as entertaining. They were sharing a laugh when they were suddenly asked, “What’s so funny?”
He stiffened and turned, to see Emma standing off to the side, smiling at them—though it didn’t fully reach her eyes.
“David’s idea of properly blocking a parry,” he replied. “It works fine if you’re fighting someone who plays by the rules.”
“Which I’m guessing you don’t?”
“What fun is that?” he flirted back.
Her subsequent smile (and blush) was genuine. The sudden southward rush of his blood, though, was caused by something far different—and he just hoped no one noticed it.
They put away the practice weapons and headed into the diner, but Emma grabbed his arm and held him back. “Hey, I just wanted to say—I’m sorry for what I said the other day.”
He tilted his head, confused. “Beg your pardon?”
“About not trusting you,” she clarified. “I was upset at what had just happened. You haven’t really given us any reason to doubt you; I was just jarred by everything that had happened with the witch there, and you were an easy target. But you didn’t deserve that.”
“I…” he started, but found himself speechless—and attempting to hold back tears once more. “Thank you, love,” he finally said, sounding a bit more emotional than he’d like. “I’m…I’m glad to hear that, and I hope you never have reason to doubt my intentions again.”
“I know I won’t,” she said confidently, and there was a confidence to that statement that had him in awe.
Which made it all the worse that he was holding in—quite literally—an actual, fairly large secret.
(Well, only about the size of a grapefruit yet, according to the book, but—semantics.)
They invited him to dine with him—not taking his weak excuse at being tired—and conversation over their meal seemed to focus on future plans, even though Snow’s imminent birth still loomed. The oddest part, though, was they seemed to automatically include him in these plans. Gods above, he appreciated it, but hopefully they wouldn’t think it too odd when he had to inevitably bow out in a couple days, if not sooner.
He decided to get some practice in that by making an early exit from dinner. “You okay?” Emma asked, seemingly worried.
“What, is that tap Henry gave you on the shoulder acting up?” David joked.
“Indeed,” he played along, rubbing his left bicep in feigned emphasis. “Best rest it up.” (In truth, he was sore, but not there—more around his midsection—and he needed to get back to the book to find out why).
“See you tomorrow,” Emma said with a soft smile; he could only nod back.
Guilt was yet again plaguing him when he returned to his room. That didn’t stop his sigh of relief, though, when he undid his vest; he felt around his stomach, and it was definitely bigger than it was this morning, though still fairly small (and therefore easy to hide).
Perhaps he had indeed been too rash when he made this deal with Zelena. As much as Emma and her family had written him off in the moment, he too had underestimated their capacity for forgiveness. But no—anything that kept them out of danger was worth it, even if he still wasn’t wholly confident in what lay ahead of him, or how to ensure the witch didn’t succeed.
As if sensing his worries, the small life within gave a strong kick, one he could almost feel from the outside. It was a solid reminder that there was no going back on this.
He just hoped he could get through it with little issue.
—————————————————–
thank you so much for reading! tagging a few: @wyntereyez @jennjenn615 @superadam54 @ashley-knightingale @justsomewhump @teamhook @mathiaskejseren @88infinity88
The baby kicked against his side, and his hand flew to the spot without thought. The more time he spent with this little passenger, the more he also was determined to save them. He wasn’t sure he was prepared to be a father, given the low success rate of his past attempts at it, but he’d be damned if he let any harm befall his own flesh and blood. “I don’t know what lays ahead, little one, but I’m going to do my best to keep you safe, too,” he murmured to the bump—and just hoped he hadn’t told yet another lie.
the fic that goes with this isn't quite done, but I couldn't let @sancocnutclub's birthday pass without anything!! Hope you're enjoying your day so much, friend!!
Summary: Killian thought the only thing he was left with after Milah’s death was a broken heart and a thirst for vengeance. It’s not until he gets to Storybrooke, after so many years spent in stasis, that he discovers something else: he’s carrying her child. How does this new, tiny blessing change his path? (Canon-divergent from 2x12.)
rated T | 1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7 | 8 | 9 | 10 | 11 | part 12 | AO3 | 3.9k
a/n: And we're back! I still have the next few chapters done, and the rest of 3B plotted. Thanks for not giving up on this!
Killian was surprised at how much relief he felt when the Storybrooke harbor came into sight. Being safely out of Neverland was certainly part of it, but seeing that quaint little town that was apparently working its way into his heart was its own kind of soothing.
If he had to guess, the gentle but persistent kicking he was feeling from his baby echoed his own joy.
That said—he did have to bite back a pang of loneliness at watching the reception his allies were given upon disembarking the ship; even Regina was hailed as a hero by the townsfolk that, he had thought, were generally distrustful of her. He stood on the gangplank watching the reunions and feeling very much like an outsider again.
It wasn’t that he wanted attention or gratitude; he had just apparently come to enjoy the feeling of being included.
(He was at least assuaged by the fact that Emma looked equally uncomfortable with all eyes on her and her family; the somewhat panicked look she shot his way once he eventually disembarked was met with a knowing nod.)
After confirming that the waters of Neverland were working on David for the moment, everyone began to dissipate and move back toward the center of town. He hung back, though, citing a need to fully secure the ship—and, frankly, he needed a moment alone to continue to convince himself that the babe was all he needed; that they were family enough (and more than he’d had in decades).
(He did, however, miss the longing glance Emma gave him as she was ushered back into town by her parents and son. But as long as he wasn’t going anywhere, she’d have time to talk to him later. And maybe more.)
—---------------------
Later that day, after wrapping up on the ship and running another errand, he found himself with the rest of the crowd in Granny’s. As soon as he’d walked in the door, every single craving he’d had on the island came back to him at full force; he didn’t even know what to order. Granny chuckled when he explained the situation and told him she’d take care of it. He honestly didn’t recognize half the foods she gave him—some kind of fish, and perhaps some bacon?—but it was divine. (He couldn’t blame the sudden snugness of his vest on the babe alone.)
He was sipping on some ginger tea afterwards (lest that amazing meal come back up) when he cast a glance across the diner—and noticed Emma sitting there, with Henry. Much as he longed to join them, it was a stark reminder, as had been everything since they landed: his focus needed to be on his child, and nothing else, much as hers was likely on getting Henry settled back into his life here.
A presence was suddenly in his space, and Neal was sliding onto the stool next to him.
“Didn’t know you drank anything but rum,” he teased, nodding at the mug and then taking a sip of his own ale.
“As I understand, that wouldn’t be ideal for a fetus,” he replied. “And don't worry, I'm not here to pursue the Lady Swan.”
“Yeah, you're just here to enjoy Granny’s excellent cooking.”
“I am, actually. And I've made a decision when it comes to Emma: I'm gonna back off.
“Back off?” Neal sounded surprised.
“I have enough to focus on with impending parenthood; I don’t need to actively be throwing romance into that equation. Which I suppose lets you have a fair shot at her, without a devilishly handsome pirate standing in the way,” he winked, then finished his tea.
“You're serious?” He seemed genuinely touched.
“Yeah. I am devilishly handsome.”
Neal at least chuckled at that, and offered his glass in cheers. Killian obliged, but didn’t add on what he was really thinking: even if he wasn’t actively going to seek Emma out, he had no plans on going anywhere or leaving her presence. His priorities might lay elsewhere, but he was in this for the long haul; given the previous demise of Emma and Bae’s relationship, he wasn’t optimistic about a reunion.
But that was for the future. At present, he looked up to check the time on the clock—and cursed. “Damn; I’ve got to get to an appointment.”
“What, like a doctor appointment?”
“Yeah; is that odd?” He’d gone to Doc’s office earlier to enquire if he had any availability to see Killian and was told to come back later—not long from now.
“You just don’t strike me as the type to seek out professionals.”
“No, not usually, but it’s not for me—it’s for this one,” he said, nodding at his belly. “Can’t be too careful when Neverland is involved.”
Neal winced. “Yeah, good plan. Hope it goes well, then,” he said, surprisingly sincere.
“Thanks,” Killian replied as he hopped off the stool and threw some gold on the counter. “Until later.”
He’d hardly gotten outside Granny’s front gate and down the sidewalk when a familiar voice was calling for him.
“Hook!” Emma shouted, then jogged to keep up when he paused. “Where are you going?”
“Nowhere exciting,” he answered. “Just the obstetrician.”
“Oh!” she exclaimed. “Oh, okay, then; just wanted to make sure you weren’t skipping town or anything.”
“What, afraid I’d leave without saying goodbye?” He felt slightly guilty for flirting after the conversation he’d just had with Bae, but he couldn’t help it if Emma was the one seeking him out. “Don’t worry—I would never.”
“You better not,” she said, and held his gaze. She wasn’t saying it verbally, but he understood the subtext clearly: she wanted him to stay—here, near her. And that meant more than he could express.
Her eyes darted to his lips, despite there being several feet between them; gods how he wanted to follow that train of thought, but perhaps making out in front of the diner where her ex (and the rest of her family) still sat wasn’t the greatest idea, especially since he still had somewhere to be.
“Right, well, I don’t want to be late,” he finally said to break the silence and took a step in the direction of the doctor’s office, if only to break the tension between them.
“Yeah, yeah,” she said quickly, shaking her head as if to clear it. “Uh, wait—do you want some company? At your appointment?”
He blinked; now he was truly surprised. “Why would you want to go to that?” he blurted out.
“I mean, most people usually have someone with them at those—their partner, y’know, or a friend.”
Unable to resist the setup, he asked, “And which do you consider yourself, Swan?”
The subsequent eye roll was expected, but her sincerity wasn’t. “Look, I had to go through all of that with Henry on my own, and I always wished I had someone there with me. So, if you want someone, I’ll gladly go with you.”
He opened his mouth to reply, but he simply didn’t have one. But the way he was suddenly holding back tears probably said enough. “I, uh,” he stammered. “I’d like that, if—if you’re sure.”
She gave him a small smile, then walked forward. “Well, come on; we don’t wanna be late.”
He watched her walk past him, still in awe, but finally came back to his senses when she yelled at him to hurry up.
The entire concept of the “waiting room” at the doctor’s office was foreign to him, and frankly seemed unnecessary; it just gave him more time to worry about what the doctor might find. It was all he could do not to bounce his leg nervously as he sat in an uncomfortable chair next to Emma, who seemed to be reading a periodical.
But when he glanced over at her, her eyes were anything but focused on the pages. “Not a fan of the physician, eh?” he said, trying to refocus his nervous energy elsewhere.
She blinked and looked up at him, then chuckled half-heartedly. “No, it’s not that—although, yes,” she conceded. “I’m just worried about Henry.”
That, he understood. “He’s been through something traumatic; it likely takes some time to settle after that.”
She huffed a bit. “That’s what everyone keeps saying, but it’s not that. There’s something else…off, I guess.” Then she shrugged. “Or maybe I’m just imagining it.”
“Or maybe you’re not,” he countered. “Your instincts tend to be fairly solid, Swan; don’t ignore them if you think something is truly wrong.”
“Thanks,” she answered, giving him a small smile in return. “I just don’t know what it could be.”
“Perhaps—” he started, trying to help her brainstorm, but then his name was called out to go back to the exam room. Alas; they’d have to continue that train of thought later.
Having someone with him in the exam room was a completely different experience than his last couple of visits, and definitely for the better. If Doc was surprised by the change, he didn’t comment on it, and even though Emma politely averted her gaze during certain parts of the checkup, she was able to help answer some questions—like just how long they’d been in Neverland.
“Just shy of three weeks,” she was answered confidently. “And you were at 16 when we left, right?”
“Yeah,” he confirmed, astonished she remembered. “But I think Pan may have accelerated it a bit, at one point.”
“You didn’t tell me that!” she hissed, but still sat next to him during the sonogram; she’d already seen his belly at the lagoon, so he didn’t mind that exposure, but he wondered if she might get weirded out seeing the image of his insides.
But then Doc said “huh” while he was scanning, and Killians heart stuttered.
“What?”
“I can’t—find—“ Doc said while continuing to move the probe around.
Killians breath hitched as he stared at the screen, waiting for something to appear. The babe couldn’t be gone—he could feel them still—no, please, no—
Then he jumped a mile when something touched his hand; he turned his head to see Emma slipping her hand around his and giving an encouraging smile. He couldn’t return it, but he took hold of hers and squeezed.
“There they are!” His eyes darted back to the screen and he sighed; there it was—his babe. “They were hiding on us!” Doc said, chuckling, “but everything is looking good.”
What Pan said he’d done was accurate—he was around 18 weeks now—but they were there and they were healthy and that was all that mattered.
He felt somewhat drained as he and Emma left the office, but ultimately relieved. “Thank you for coming, Emma; I’m...I can’t say how much it means that you were there,” he told her outside the office.
“Like I said—no one should have to do that alone,” she said. “And honestly, it’s the least I can do. I’m glad I was there, too.”
“Would, uh,” he started, not sure how to ask the question he wanted to ask. “Do you want to…” How on earth did one ask the object of their affections to join them at the rest of their appointments to track the growth of the child they were having as a product of his relationship with said love interest’s would-be-mother-in-law?
“I will gladly go to the rest of them, if you want me there,” she said, smiling.
Thank gods she figured it out. “Yeah, I would. Please.”
She just laughed at him and started to lead the way back into town. They were silent, but it was a comfortable quiet—although he did keep stealing glances her way, something she was apparently doing as well because they broke into a fit of juvenile giggles when they caught the other’s eye.
The turnoff came to head to the marina, and sleep was calling his name again. “I’m afraid this is where we part,” he said. “Seriously—thank you.”
She waved it off. “It was my pleasure. But now that I’ve seen that kid, I’m gonna be making sure you’re taking care of them.”
“With my life.”
“That’s what worries me,” she teased, albeit with a serious edge. “Especially after Dark Hollow. Take care of yourself, too.”
“You have my word.” (She could have whatever of his words she wanted, if he was being honest.)
“Well, I’d like to make sure you are. Like, tomorrow, around lunch time, at Granny’s.”
“Why, Swan, are you asking me on a date?”
“No. I’m making sure you get decent food. Especially now that I know you’ve been craving grilled cheese.”
She had him there. “Alright, I will see you then. And maybe we can continue the earlier conversation, about Henry?”
“Yeah,” she said softly. “See you then,” she farewelled with a grin.
He started to walk away, but a crazy idea came over him. “Wait, Emma,” he called out, then jogged over to her as he fished out the envelope Doc had given him from his jacket. “Do, ah, do you want one?” he offered, holding it out to her.
Now was her turn to be speechless; she blinked and stared at it in awe for a second. “An ultrasound picture? You’re asking if I want one?”
“Aye.”
She stared in shock for another moment, until a smile that was usually reserved for Henry took over. “Sure.”
He let her pick which of the few she wanted; she chose one with the baby’s fist extended. “Looks like they want to party,” she giggled.
“Well, they’re all pirate,” he agreed, grinning.
They parted for real then, with a promise to meet the next day. Apologies to Neal, but he couldn’t deny Emma anything.
(He didn’t see it, but when Emma got in her Bug, she smiled at the sonogram, even giving it a little fist bump. “You’re gonna have a great daddy, kiddo,” she told it, “and I hope I’m a part of your life, too.”)
—-------------------------------------------
The next day, right around the time Emma had requested his presence, he slipped in the back door at Granny’s to meet her in the diner. But before he got that far, he ran into someone else—almost literally. “Oof—sorry; my apologies, Lady Bell,” he said, steadying her with his hand and hook.
The fairy didn’t seem too bothered, though. “I’m alright; are you?”
“I’m fine, love,” he assured her. “Just need to pay more attention to what’s in front of me, apparently.”
“Daydreaming, huh?” she assessed, crossing her arms and smirking. “About the little one…or about Emma?”
How was she always able to read him so well? Was that a fairy thing? “Bit of both, I suppose,” he acknowledged, and told her about the appointment yesterday—both Emma’s presence at it, and the reassuring news he received.
“That’s fantastic!” Tink gushed. “So do you think you’ll stay on the ship, or try to find some place to stay in town?”
The vision of Emma’s family’s flat swam into his mind; the Jolly Roger had long been his home, but he had to admit it wasn’t always the safest (or warmest) place. Perhaps he did need to find a more permanent mooring? (Maybe even in proximity to Emma’s home?) “I suppose I should start looking—”
He was interrupted by a most blood-curdling scream coming from outside. Bloody hell—they’d hardly been back a day; were crises this common here? “Then again, maybe not,” he quipped, and they quickly ran outside to see what was happening.
Emma and her father were getting out of the prince’s truck (who, he had heard, was successfully cured of the dreamshade; Gold had held to his word, incredibly) as he and Tink emerged from the diner.
“The hell was that?” she exclaimed as she walked over; he didn’t miss her glance between them, a curious look on her face, but hopefully she noticed the subtle shake of his head.
“I have the same question,” he did add, though.
The screaming occurred again, only louder.
“There,” David shouted, pointing in the direction of the sound, and took off running; the rest of them immediately followed (even though Killian had a feeling that exertion on an empty stomach was not going to be great for his nausea).
The sight that followed certainly didn’t help: near the steps of the convent, the mother superior was making a mad dash to get away from Pan’s Shadow. She nearly got inside, but the Shadow got there first—and wasted no time in tearing away her own shadow.
Immediately, the nun collapsed on the sidewalk. David knelt down, looking for a pulse, but— “She's gone,” he said, aghast. (Killian began searching for the nearest bush to retch into; Doc said the nausea should be ending soon, but apparently not yet.)
“Why would the Shadow kill her?” Tink wondered aloud for all of them.
“No idea, love,” he answered. “But I do know the Shadow only takes orders from one person.” That fact was also causing the twist in his gut.
Emma found his eyes; her own were wide in shock. “Pan,” she said, confidently and horrified.
While he was busy losing what little remained of his breakfast in the shrubbery, the rest of their little band arrived, no doubt also noticing the ruckus. Regina was understandably confused as to how the shadow could have broken free; Henry looked downright terrified. Neal was at least being pragmatic.
“Look, let's go back to the ship and get the candle. If it strikes again, we need to be able to capture it,” he said authoritatively, then turned to Killian. “Where’d you stash it?”
“I’ll show you,” he said, and threw an apologetic look at Emma as he left; he didn’t dare mention their abandoned date in front of Neal.
Tink tagged along as well. “Didn’t we just do all this?” she complained.
“From what I’ve gathered, Storybrooke is just…like this,” he supplied.
“Sounds exhausting. Are you sure about staying, then?”
“Do you know of anywhere better?” he quipped back.
“You’re staying?” Neal asked as they approached the marina.
“Aye; is that so surprising?”
If he wasn’t mistaken, Neal was pouting. “I just figured it’d be back to the high seas.”
“With an infant on the way?” Tink interjected. “Are you daft?”
“I mean, houseboats are a thing,” he said quietly, but it was clear he wasn’t enthused by that news. Ah well—that was his issue to deal with, not Killian’s. Just because he wasn’t going to actively pursue Emma didn’t mean he was going to stop talking to her altogether. (And it really wasn’t his fault if that fact alone was threatening to Neal.)
It was both a comfort and a worry that the previously dark sail was back to its normal crisp white. All the more reason to track the shadow down again.
“I know where the coconut is below deck; cover for me?” Tink asked. They obviously obliged.
Both paced the deck, keeping an awkwardly safe distance between them. Killian took a moment to stop at the dockside railing, scanning both the sky and the skyline.
As much as she’d been teasing, Tink’s comment was lingering. Did he truly want to settle down and raise a child in a place that seemed to attract danger?
Or did he want to fight to make it a safe place not just for his babe, but for everyone else here?
“When’d you do this?” Neal’s voice pulled him from his meditation; he stood on the quarterdeck, running his fingers along the wood behind the helm.
Killian moved closer, ascending the steps. Neal was tracing the well-worn indentation behind the wheel—particularly, the lines he’d angrily dashed through the port and starboard symbols he drew for Bae all those years ago.
“Right after the Lost Boys took you,” he said solemnly.
“Trying to erase what you did?” There was an edge of venom in his voice.
“Trying to erase my own hope,” he confessed. “Nothing excuses what I did—you suffered the most from my brash action—but I had been sincere in my desire to keep you here. I was angry at myself for destroying it; thus…” He waved his hook over the carvings.
“I know,” Neal said, tracing the P. “I probably would have calmed down eventually, you know; I was an irrational teenager,” he chuckled. “But you were the adult.”
“Aye; right on all counts.”
“At least you get a second chance now. Don’t mess it up.”
“I don’t intend to.”
A look of understanding passed between them, despite the tension just a bit ago, and they nodded at each other.
A moment later, Tink emerged with the coconut, just as Neal’s talking device went off. (Perhaps Killian needed to get his hands on one of those? They seemed to be rather useful.)
“Okay; we’ll be right there,” Neal said, then pocketed the object. “Everyone’s meeting at Regina’s vault. We good to go?”
“I certainly am,” Tink said, raising the coconut.
“Aye; let’s get this over with once and for all,” Killian agreed, and they set back off across town. (He’d read that continued activity was good for the baby; with the number of times he’d traversed the town, they were sure to be in good health.)
His blood nearly froze in his veins, though—despite the exertion—once they reached the cemetery. He expected to see the usual band of heroes, and the Crocodile, but—what the bloody hell was Pan doing there?
And, even worse—why was Neal running towards him?
Killian’s hand instinctively drifted to his sword, convinced they were running headlong into a trap.
“Is it really you?” he heard Neal say from afar.
“Dad,” Pan said—though, it evidently was not the demon child. Killian looked towards Emma, hoping she could read the look of confusion that was surely on his face. Her mouth was a thin line but she nodded; they were good enough at nonverbal communication at this point that he could tell: somehow, Pan and Henry had switched bodies.
(He could wait until later to congratulate her on knowing something was off; but first, they had to get through this.)
David asked if they’d found the Shadow; they showed him the empty coconut in response. The fact that it was still on the loose—paired with the realization that Regina’s vault was magically locked, with both her and Pan-as-Henry inside—was more than his uneasy stomach could take, and he had to step aside to retch again, though little came up.
As he was hunched over behind a random headstone, he felt a caress on his back; Emma gave him a consolatory rub, before seeking her own solitude further away (though her parents were quick to follow).
Everyone’s nerves were palpable as they waited for the Dark One to gain entrance to the vault—then even more on edge once he got through and headed in, with Emma and her parents in tow. He tried to give her an encouraging nod when she looked back over her shoulder at him before descending, but doubted it was convincing.
He paced; Tink perched on a stone; and Neal looked after Henry-as-Pan while they waited for news.
Finally, the others returned, Regina in tow, with the worst news possible:
Pan had escaped—and he’d taken the Dark Curse with him.
Fear like he hadn’t known yet immediately ran through Killian’s body, and his hand rushed to cover the spot where he could feel his babe’s equally nervous wiggles. For the first time, he was genuinely frightened they might fail. Gods above, what was happening?
—------------------------------------
thanks for reading! tagging @cocohook38 @wyntereyez @jennjenn615 @superadam54 @ashley-knightingale @justsomewhump @teamhook (let me know if you want a tag!)
WHAT DO YOU MEAN WE DON'T GET TO SEE THE SHADOW CAPTURED???
but then wait, that means... maybe more of it is planned next chapter... mmmh gooood, goood goood.
also I couldn't help my "wait, he knows what a fœtus is now ?!?!?", aka, I'm too used to Killian referring his little one as well, little one or babe lol
“You’re gonna have a great daddy, kiddo,” she told it, “and I hope I’m a part of your life, too.”
Summary: Killian thought the only thing he was left with after Milah’s death was a broken heart and a thirst for vengeance. It’s not until he gets to Storybrooke, after so many years spent in stasis, that he discovers something else: he’s carrying her child. How does this new, tiny blessing change his path? (Canon-divergent from 2x12.)
rated T | 1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7 | 8 | 9 | 10 | part 11 | AO3 | 3.5k
a/n: So sorry for the long posting delay (again)! But on the bright side--I have a few more chapters ready :) Hope you enjoy this one!
Killian was jolted from sleep by a sharp pain in his stomach. His eyes fluttered open as he yelped and his hand immediately rushed to the spot the pain was coming from—but something didn’t feel right.
He looked down—and gasped: his belly was much larger than it had been when he fell asleep; it looked like he was about to give birth, and he could feel his babe squirming around impatiently inside.
“No, no, no—what’s happening?” he murmured, hoping he didn’t wake anyone else. Then he hissed as another jolt of pain hit him, under his palm.
“Tick tock, tick tock—looks like someone’s about to pop.”
His eyes darted to the side, where Pan was smirking and staring at his round bump.
“What the hell did you do?” Killian demanded, then groaned again as another contraction came, even stronger than the last.
“Did you really think you and that babe would get out of this scot-free?” he taunted. “I thought you knew me better than that.”
“No, no—you can’t—ahh!” he tried to beg, but it was cut off as his contractions came even closer together.
“Push, Hook,” Pan told him, now below him—waiting to catch the babe, as it were. “You don’t want something bad to happen to them because you didn’t, do you?”
“I won’t,” he panted, even as the pain and pressure increased.
“Oh, but you have to,” Pan said, almost teasing. “Or I’ll take them myself.”
Killian’s body betrayed him and he felt himself bearing down on the next contraction, just like he’d read in his pregnancy books. But it was the last thing he wanted to do.
And then, suddenly, Pan was standing over him with an infant in his arms. They were wrapped in a blanket so he couldn’t see their face, but he could hear them crying—and his heart broke. “Please, Pan—have some humanity; give them back,” he cried, reaching for them.
Pan just stepped back and laughed. “No; they’re mine now.” And disappeared.
“No, no, no!” he screamed, and tried to get up to make chase, but he didn’t get very far when—
—When Emma was whisper-yelling his name, gently shaking him awake. “Hook! Are you okay?”
He was panting and looking around; he was at the camp still, everyone else was still asleep, and, blessedly, his babe was still growing within him, wiggling around in his womb.
He sighed in relief and fell back against his bedroll. “A terrible dream,” he replied. “Pardon me, but I just need to…” he started, trailing off as he undid the buckle of the belt around his vest, then pressed his palm against the still-small bump. Thank the gods; everything was still as it was supposed to be.
“I take it your dream was about the baby?” she asked quietly, taking a seat next to him.
“Aye,” he nodded, and gave her the run-down of it. Saying it out loud helped calm him, somehow.
When he was done, to his shock, Emma reached for his hand where it still sat on his stomach and squeezed it. “I’ve had a few of those, too, since we got here. Honestly, I’ve had them ever since Henry was under that sleeping curse, but now, I just keep seeing him being taken—by Pan, Regina, Neal. The sooner we get out of here, the better.”
“Indeed,” he agreed as he sat up—and caught her hand in his as he moved. “And Swan—we will save him; we’ve come too far not to at this point.”
“I know,” she said, though she didn’t sound confident. “I’m just not the most optimistic person by nature.”
“Then it’s a good thing your parents have enough of that to spare, eh?” he joked. “As does Baelfire.”
She’d been smirking, but it fell at the mention of her former lover. “He might have too much,” she complained.
“I take it you two didn’t end on good terms?”
She shifted uncomfortably; now it was his turn to squeeze her hand in encouragement. He certainly didn’t expect her to reveal anything she didn’t want to, but he had been curious about the demise of their relationship. “Remember how I said I was pregnant in jail?” He nodded. “He let me take the fall for a theft; I got caught, he got away.”
A pit formed in his stomach. “He did what?” he growled.
She waved him off. “It’s in the past; nothing to be done for it now. And, y’know, there’s a part of me that still loves him—and probably always will. But I can’t forget the pain, either.”
He longed desperately to punch Bae—or worse—for doing that to Emma, but given his own indiscretions against the lad, he didn’t have much of a moral high ground. (It would mean more if Emma were to do it, anyway.) “It’s understandable that you’d have complicated feelings towards him, then,” he offered instead. “And you are the only one who gets to decide what to do about them.”
“Thanks,” she said sincerely, a small smile coming back to her face.
They simply sat for a moment, still holding hands, as the weight of their conversation settled around them. He figured he should probably add to that, though. “Also, I need to apologize for my behavior earlier, back in the Hollow. I can’t fully blame it on my hormones, but I definitely gave into some baser instincts that nearly cost us the mission—and our lives. I’m so sorry.”
She opened her mouth to speak, but then seemed to lack the words to say in response. He didn’t need one, really; it was more important that he say it than she accept.
But then she leaned in towards him and pressed her lips to his—firmly, but briefly.
She pulled away quickly and stood, dropping his hand as she did. “Go back to sleep; we need our rest for tomorrow,” she said—nay, commanded—then headed back to her own bedroll.
He stared as she walked away, then slowly laid back down. How could she do that and then expect him to simply fall back asleep and not be left with a tempest of emotions to deal with?
(Likely, she presumed he was pregnant and fatigued—which was an accurate assumption, and he did drift back off much sooner than he thought—but bloody hell; he wasn’t sure what was going to be harder to survive: their impending confrontation with Pan, or the emotional whiplash she was inducing.)
—----------------------------------------
In truth, Killian had no idea how much time passed during the events that followed. That was one of the odd things about Neverland—the vagueness of the passage of time; it could have been a couple days or only a couple hours. (It certainly felt like the former.)
That morning, they packed up camp and followed Tink’s lead to Pan’s hideout. After stepping aside to (urgently) relieve himself (one of the many side effects of pregnancy he was discovering), he came back to see Snow and David being far more affectionate than they had been over the last…however long. Something must have changed while he was on his little adventure yesterday.
On their hike, he found himself in stride with David as the fairy set the path. “So, you and the missus seem to be back on good terms,” he observed.
“Yeah,” David said, smiling a bit, but not fully. “We’re, uh, we’re gonna stay.”
“Stay?”
“Here, in Neverland. Since I can’t leave.”
“Seriously?” He was aghast that anyone would willingly live here, but David just nodded. “Well, it’s…romantic, I guess. I wish you the best of luck.”
Any response David was about to give was interrupted by an unwelcome rustle in the jungle ahead; they were both quick with their blades, as were Tinkerbelle and Neal. But it was just Regina and Rumpelstiltskin, joining back up with them, apparently. Much as he loathed to admit it, it was good timing, too; they had come with a better tool to aid in their fight against Pan.
“Pandora's box,” Regina said, explaining the odd cube Rumple held. “It could trap Pan for eternity simply by opening the lid.” He rather liked the sound of that.
Neal, however, did not—or rather, didn’t like any idea that came from his father (of that, they were generally in agreement).
But Neal’s explanation of a prophecy stating that Henry might be the Dark One’s undoing turned everyone’s head—and then, all of them against Rumpelstiltskin.
Given the man’s reputation, no one quite believed him when he said he wasn’t going to do anything to hurt Henry—not until he offered Pandora’s box to Neal, in exchange promising he wouldn’t use magic.
Killian wasn’t sure if it was due to that revelation or the general weight of what they were about to take on, but tension settled over the group as they continued on; even his babe’s movements were a bit more stuttered, it seemed. But at least now, he felt comfortable enough to rest his hand on his belly around the others; he wasn’t sure if the sense of comfort he was trying to pass to his child was felt by the little one, but it at least was by him.
A bit later, Emma came up alongside him with a canteen. But after he’d had a few sips, she asked, “Hey, can we talk?”
“I've found when a woman says that, I'm rarely in for pleasant conversation,” he teased, but obviously he wouldn’t deny a reason to chat with her.
“There has to be a way for David to leave the island—right?”
His heart fell; the one time she was trying to find a bright side, and he had none to offer. “I wish there was, love, but there isn't.”
She (adorably) chewed her bottom lip. “That water—it’s connected to the island, right? What if we take some of it with us? That way he can stay alive in Storybrooke.”
Gods, he hated to be the bearer of bad news. “In theory, yes, but for how long? Once the water runs out, the dreamshade will take his life.”
“Unless there was another cure.” The Crocodile had apparently been eavesdropping, but everyone stopped when he spoke. “Oh, you’re suddenly interested in what I have to say? Thought I wasn't to be trusted,” he sneered.
“You're not, but I'll take my chances,” Emma snapped; Killian wasn’t so sure.
But apparently the Dark One had been working on an antidote to the poison ever since Killian’s attempt to murder him with it hadn’t worked out (alas—though he supposed, for Henry’s sake, it was a good thing it hadn’t).
“What's your price?” Emma asked, perhaps a bit too earnestly—but he knew she could handle a deal with the Dark One.
“Well, this is quite the favor. I'd expect one of equal weight in return,” Gold answered, far too happy.
“No,” Neal countered. “When we get back to Storybrooke, you're gonna save David because it's the right thing to do. No deals, no favors, understand?”
Killian turned away and brushed a tear from his eye; he was so proud of the lad (even if they were effectively the same age, he’d always think of him as that boy on his ship) (although he was still angry at him for what Emma had told him; gods, these emotional swings were annoying).
And, amazingly, Gold agreed. Emma, excitedly, ran to tell her father. (Killian had a few more tears to secretly brush away; damned hormones.)
He was able to pull it together by the time they got to the perimeter of Pan’s camp (although he nearly boiled over again when the Dark One “borrowed” his sword—without permission; at least David had an extra).
Despite all their mental preparedness, they hadn’t anticipated finding a nearly empty camp, save for—of all things—a girl.
Wendy was her name, apparently; he’d heard it in passing in his centuries here before, though was unaware she had shared history with Bae. But their brief happy reunion was cut short when she revealed the reality of the situation: that Pan was dying, and he needed Henry’s heart to survive—but they had already left for Skull Rock.
A new plan was quickly hashed out that, unfortunately, had the group splitting up—the idea made him nervous, even though tactically, he knew it was necessary. As such, he and Tink made their way back to his ship to prep it for departure; if all went well, as soon as Emma had retrieved her son, they’d be able to immediately disembark and get the hell out of this cursed realm.
“Good luck, Swan,” he told her, being so bold as to reach for her hand before everyone went their separate ways. “Like I said—I’ve yet to see you fail.”
She gave him half of a smile and squeezed his hand back. “Thanks; you too. See you soon?”
“I look forward to it.”
He and Tink then headed toward where they’d docked the ship, but if he wasn’t mistaken, she was being weird—constantly sending him sideways glances with a smirk on her lips.
“What?” he finally asked her. “Something is on your mind; spit it out, fairy.”
“Someone’s got a crush on Em-ma,” she sing-songed in reply.
He scoffed. “You’ve really been here too long; I think the immaturity of the Lost Boys has rubbed off on you.”
“Oh, come on; it’s nothing to be embarrassed about.”
“I didn’t say that I was—or that I was trying to hide it. She’s quite aware.”
“Wait!” she said urgently, then jumped in front of him and grabbed his chin. She turned his face side to side, then grinned. “Oh, there it is!”
“What?” he asked, pulling his head back and out of her grasp.
“Emma’s kiss,” she answered, winking.
“You can see that?” he hissed, then nervously scratched behind an ear. “Is it that obvious?”
“Only to fairies,” she tossed back, then started their trek again. “Does she know about the little one?”
“Aye; everyone does,” he confirmed. “Not like I’ll be able to hide it a whole lot longer.” He cupped his still-small bump, but knew it was only a matter of time before it was obvious. (And also made a mental note to visit the doctor as soon as they docked in Storybrooke.)
“No, probably not,” she laughed. She looked over her shoulder to say something else, but then a blast of energy emanated from across the island, knocking them both down.
While not as dramatic as his fall in Dark Hollow, he still took a minute to check on his babe before rising to his feet and helping Tink up. “The bloody hell was that?”
Any humor she’d had in her expression had disappeared. “No idea, but I think it came from Skull Rock.”
Oh no; that couldn’t mean anything good.
And without any further discussion, they both started to run back in the direction they’d come—back to the others. Something told him that the plans had just changed drastically.
He just prayed it wouldn’t hinder them leaving.
—---------------------------------
Killian’s stomach was not presently strong enough for the sight that greeted him upon their return to Pan’s camp: not only was the Dark One nowhere to be seen, but Henry lay on a pallet, pale and lifeless.
He had to excuse himself to retch; gods forbid anything like that ever happened to his child.
Regina quickly told everyone what had happened—the other groups had arrived at roughly the same time: how Henry had been tricked to giving Pan his heart (who had subsequently ran off with it—as well as Pandora’s box, but not before trapping Rumpelstiltskin inside it), and if they weren’t able to get it back within the next hour, the boy would die—and Pan would win.
The Lost Boys had returned, but most were holding loyal to Pan and refusing to reveal where he’d gone. At least, they were until Emma began to talk to them—and offered the one thing so many of them wanted: a home.
(Killian’s tears returned.)
And finally, one boy told them what they needed to know: Pan had gone to his thinking tree in the Pixie Woods. He knew exactly where that was.
Quickly, they hashed together a new plan from the old one: while the ladies took on Pan, everyone else would head back to the ship to make a hasty exit.
There was no time for a sentimental farewell this time, but hopefully the knowing nod he gave Emma would suffice. And then they were off.
Neal turned to him. “Let's gather up the Lost Boys and get 'em aboard the Jolly Roger, then get it ready to fly.”
He bit back the initial annoyance that anyone was giving commands for his ship, but that was beside the point right now. Fly? “Let's hope you have a Pegasus sail. Otherwise, we're at the mercy of the trade winds.”
Neal held up the coconut. “Pan's Shadow. It'll get us home, as long as your ship holds together.”
He couldn’t hold back any indignation at the insult towards his ship, though. “As long as your plan holds together, she will,” he snapped back.
He felt a bit guilty for the attitude, even if he had an excuse at the ready for being short with…well, anyone, but thankfully Neal just smirked and shoved the coconut back in his bag, then shouldered it before doing the same to Henry’s prone form.
Tink and the Charmings led the way to the ship, while he and Neal brought up the rear, making sure none of the Lost Boys got, er, more lost.
Also—they were definitely the slowest of the group. Killian was slogging after his restless night, while Neal obviously had a heavy load.
“Are you alright with him, mate?” Killian asked Neal. “Do you need any help?”
“Nah, I got him,” came the strained answer. “Besides, you shouldn’t be doing any heavy lifting, should you?”
“Ah, probably not,” he agreed, vaguely recalling something about that in a book. Then he chuckled. “In a way, we’re both carrying our children at the moment, eh?”
Neal laughed. “Honestly, think I prefer this way. Might not be as small but I dunno if I could handle birth.”
“I’ve been trying not to think about it,” he admitted in reply. “But I suppose it can’t be that much worse than losing a hand—right?”
“I guess you’ll find out,” Neal answered. Then he added, “This is still really weird for me, you know; not how I ever thought I’d get a sibling.”
“Aye, I imagine so. But the fact you’re at least acknowledging it is appreciated, rather than running off screaming.”
“It is what it is; but we can figure out the family dynamics when we’re home, okay?”
“Okay,” he laughed in agreement.
But then he mused on what Neal said: “home.” Obviously, their next destination was Storybrooke; that was home port for most of this little band. But…could it be his?
He thought about it as they reached the ship and readied it for travel. There was no sense trying to go back to the Enchanted Forest; there was nothing left for him there anymore. And Neverland was the only other realm he’d spent much time in; like hell would he attempt to raise a child here.
So Storybrooke seemed as good a place as any. (And its proximity to Emma was certainly a plus.)
He was perhaps getting lost in daydreams of a potential life in that small town adjacent to its blonde sheriff when she arrived, stomping up to the deck with Regina and Snow in tow—but most importantly, Henry’s heart.
With not a minute to spare, Regina restored the boy’s heart. There was a tense moment waiting to see what would happen, but then Henry gasped and opened his eyes, a collective sigh of relief sounding from the adults in response.
The lad was mildly confused by what had happened but just happy to be okay, and obviously tired. “Well then—only the best for our guest of honor. Captain's quarters,” Killian offered, and Regina ushered him below deck.
As everyone got settled, Neal freed Rumpelstiltskin from Pandora’s box. While he wasn’t thrilled to see his foe again, it did mean that David could be cured—and that did bring a happy tear to his eye.
He wanted to go to Emma and share a bit of that joy, but Neal moved into her space. So instead, he mounted the quarter deck and took a moment alone—well, he and the babe. “We’re almost through this, little one,” he whispered, cupping his belly. “Then smooth sailing until you arrive.”
Once Regina had returned to the deck, she and Emma went about manipulating Pan’s shadow into a more usable form—particularly, trapping it in the jib sail. It made him sick, on top of the usual wave of nausea he was dealing with, but what other option was there?
“You think it'll fly?” Emma wondered, staring at the eerily dark sail.
“It has no choice,” Regina confirmed.
“Then let's get the hell out of Neverland.”
That was his cue. “As you wish, m'lady,” and gave the command to weigh anchor.
Finally—they were leaving this accursed realm. And as he felt his baby kicking within, he smiled, looking forward to the future for the first time in so long.
————————————-
thanks for reading! tagging @cocohook38 @wyntereyez @jennjenn615 @superadam54 @ashley-knightingale @justsomewhump @teamhook (let me know if you want a tag!)
I'm curious to see at what age y'all had your first whump thoughts, even if it was before you learned what whump even is. AKA your whump awakening. For me it was watching a show, getting a blorbo from it, and almost immediately after putting him in SituationsTM. It could be something like that, or coming up with random fantasies, or a dramatic drawing you did as a toddler. It could be anything, really, and from any age, as long as it can fall under the whump description in any way.
Note: It's not when you realized what whump is and that you're a whumper! It's how old you remember being when you first had whump thoughts!
Summary: Killian thought the only thing he was left with after Milah’s death was a broken heart and a thirst for vengeance. It’s not until he gets to Storybrooke, after so many years spent in stasis, that he discovers something else: he’s carrying her child. How does this new, tiny blessing change his path? (Canon-divergent from 2x12.)
rated T | part 1 | part 2 | part 3 | part 4 | part 5 | part 6 | part 7 | part 8 | part 9 | part 10 | AO3 | 4k
a/n: We’re back! And should have a few more updates for you in the next few weeks! Hope you like this one!
After the general discomfort of the revelations in the Echo Caves, Killian found himself dealing with unpleasantness of a different kind—nausea again. Just before they made it back to camp, he had to duck behind a tree to deal with that; he couldn’t wait to get back to Storybrooke and talk to Doc to find out just when that was supposed to go away.
He swished his mouth out with some rum, then spat it out before strolling back into camp. The rest of the group was gathered around Bae in conversation; as he approached, he heard him saying, “I know how to navigate the stars, but I can’t fly.” Killian ducked his head to hide his smirk at that; he was glad to hear the now-grown lad hadn’t forgotten the skills he’d taught him, but it wasn’t the time to gloat about that.
“I’m guessing that’s where the Shadow comes in,” Snow said—and, to his surprise, passed a canteen to him, despite David standing in between them. He nodded his thanks and took a long drag.
“That’s why we have to capture it,” Bae replied—to which Killian nearly choked on his water. Was he mad?
“Capture it?” Emma exclaimed, in line with Killian’s own disbelief. “We’ve never been within 10 feet of Pan unless he wanted us to be. Sneaking up on him to steal his shadow? That seems insane.”
He was still in agreement that going after the shadow was insane, but at least had to clarify some facts for Emma. “Except that Pan’s Shadow is rarely with him. It’s an entity unto itself. It can carry out his will from miles away.”
David asked, “So what does that mean for us?”
“It means we can get his shadow without having to be anywhere near Pan—as long as we know where to look,” Neal clarified. “And I know where to look.”
Killian shuddered—he did, too, and he didn’t like it one bit, even if (as he’d gathered) it was their best way off the island.
“Ok, you and I are on shadow duty,” Emma told Neal, and they moved to start to head out.
It might be foolish, but Killian sure as hell wasn’t letting them go alone. “As am I,” he interjected. “This trek won’t be easy. You could use another veteran of the island.”
Neal nodded and gave him a casual smile that reminded him distinctly of Milah. “Thanks, man.”
A quick plan was hashed out for after their mission—to meet up at Tink’s with Emma’s parents, and then (finally) make a move for Henry—and then everyone set about what they needed to do.
At least—he was about to, but Snow intercepted him before he got too far (brushing past David to do so—pointedly, it seemed, as well). “I just wanted to say—congratulations,” she effused, grabbing his hand. “I wish you’d told us sooner; how are you feeling?”
“Uh, I’m fine, luv—thank you,” he replied, trying to make sure his appreciation at the sentiment came through even though David was staring somewhat dejectedly at their exchange.
She continued to pepper him with questions—how far along he was, symptoms, and so on; he was touched she was so interested but was also fairly certain it was just a distraction. (One he didn’t mind indulging, but he had to prepare to leave, too.)
She thankfully picked up on his desire to get a move on. “Sorry, sorry; I just…have had that kind of stuff on my mind lately,” she said; that was rather obvious. “Just—be safe. All of you.”
“We’ll do our best,” he answered, then she stepped away to prepare for their own trek. He did catch David’s hurt gaze as she walked away, though, and tried to give an encouraging nod as the prince hurried after his wife.
While Killian was glad he no longer had to hide his expectant state, he hoped he didn’t have too many more exchanges like that; the attention, while appreciated, was somewhat embarrassing.
But when he walked into Bae’s cave to see what he could assist him and Emma with, he realized: he still had one more person to tell. (Well, and Rumpelstiltskin, wherever the bastard had wandered off to, but that was a low priority.)
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