When Regina the-monster-you-made-me Mills sets up yet another plan to kill Henry's entire family and the whole town of Storybrooke to have him for herself, and that by her own free will, then has a last-minute change of hearts and tries to stop that from happening, she's the most selfless hero the world has ever seen.
But when Killian is infected with the darkness against his will, falls prey to it for a day, does everything wicked to get his revenge against his foe of 300 years, but then realizes that's not who he actually is, eradicates the entire darkness itself and sacrifices his life for that, then it's suddenly "just cleaning up his own mess and far from heroic".
life was a willow and it bent right to your wind (CS Halloweek 1/7)
Summary: Samhain brings a turning point for witch Emma and pirate beau Killian, in both their lives and their relationship. Gods willing, what they've built is strong enough to resist the temptations of darkness—but the only way to find out is to move forward.
A/N: Welcome to Halloweek! Many thanks to the organizers of @cshalloweek ! They've provided an excellent prompt list, and my plan is to share just a bit of this story each day, each entry fitting the theme. Hope you enjoy it! [tags are below cut]
October 25: Treats / orange | pumpkin spice | witch in the woods | “get off me” | fiery
800 words | rated T-M | AO3
part 1: I’m like the water when your ship rolled in that night
Leaves and pine needles crunched under foot as Emma strode through the woods. The harvest moon streaming through the increasingly bare trees was nothing short of cliche, but also appropriate, she figured; they were on the cusp of Samhain, and for a witch like her, it was one of the most important—and magical—times of the year.
There were other celebrations, rituals, and traditions she’d be attending with her coven over the next day or so, but she was out here taking care of one of her own. She could probably find the hollowed-out tree with the perfect view of the ocean without sight by now, she’d visited so often.
As she’d done so many times, she stood in front of the gaping hole in the long-dead tree. The aroma of pumpkin spice lingered, mixed with the ever-present smell of rotting wood; she’d brought some cake with her when she came up last week on her birthday, as something of an offering. It had been over twenty-eight years since she her parents found her in this stump as an infant; they still didn’t know how she got there—whether she’d been left, or somehow spawned from the woods itself in response to their prayers for a child—but it had nevertheless become something of a refuge, a spot for meditation.
(Especially now; she’d yet to break the curse of the poisoned heart that not only kept her from her parents, but kept them apart, too. But maybe Samhain would bring a revelation there.)
Nothing lingered of the cake—either the tree had liked it, or some forest creature had made off with it—but the scent remained strong as ever; or maybe it was just her. He always said she smelled (and tasted) like that—sweet and spicy and delicious; a welcome chill went up her spine at the memory of the last time he’d told her that.
She supposed there were worse things for her pheromones to mimic. His were equally divine, but of a different sort—still spicy, but with a crisp, almost briny edge to it that was simultaneously warm and energizing.
She breathed deep as she watched the amber-colored ripples of moonlight reflecting on the water and a breeze picked up, making her cloak flutter around her and—if she wasn’t mistaken—carrying that familiar scent on it. She’d seen the familiar sails of his ship as it cut across the waves not long ago, at the start of her hike.
But then another, very different chill went through her, and she pulled her cloak tight; there was something else on the air tonight—something heavier, possibly malevolent.
Before she had a chance to discern what she was feeling, or even mutter a protective spell, a warm body was on top of her, pressing her against the tree from behind.
“Hello, love,” he purred, and began pressing kisses against her neck. She shivered for a different reason now; his soft lips felt amazing against her skin and the brush of his beard always tickled her in the best way. But still—something didn’t feel right.
“Get off of me,” she said, teasingly, as she rolled her shoulder to press him away—but only enough to turn and face him while staying in his embrace.
And there he was: Killian Jones, in all his pirate glory, mischief sparkling in his bright blue eyes like it always did—ever since the day she’d met him.
“Miss me?” he asked, pressing close again.
“Always,” she answered, then brushed his fringe—a bit longer than the last time she saw him—off his face.
To her shock, though, she was—well, shocked. Her own inherent light magic sparked against his skin when she grazed his forehead; that had never happened before. Her magic usually caressed him the same way she did, and though he was no stranger to witchcraft, he didn’t have any powers of his own.
It seemed to reverberate in the air around them, like tiny fireworks popping all over. Odder still, he didn’t notice; he continued to stare at her like he wanted to eat her alive. That in itself wasn’t out of the ordinary, but he didn’t work his way to captain by being inobservant. And there was just enough of a wicked tilt to his smirk that she knew—something happened to him.
“Killian, what’s going on?” she asked, concerned. “Something isn’t right.”
“I’m perfectly fine, Swan,” he countered, his grin turning devilish. “Better than I’ve ever been, in fact.”
A warm glow overtook his features, somehow making their sharp edges seem menacing. Fear rose in her core, a sharp contrast to the more pleasurable feelings she’d been expecting.
And it all turned into a solid lump in her stomach when she realized where the light was coming from—the fireball in the palm of Killian’s hand.
Notes: I have three prompts for Little Pirates, a chapter of Once and Future Thing to work on and not to mention cleaning up my Law School AU but what the fuck do I do? I make this little one-shot because I’m a cranky bitch and having a terrible day. This was actually inspired by @katie-dub when we met up and had a chat last week about how everyone seems to forget that Killian was once a villain and a very violent man and while he might be sweet and act all lovely with Emma, if his family was threatened, he would literally burn an entire city to the ground and kill everyone without so much as blinking an eye. I think it’s very easy forget that so we, as Captain Swan shippers, tend to focus more on the more heroic elements of his character and completely ignore that he’s done some pretty shitty and horrible things. I love Killian as much as the next person. He’s my favorite character but I also think it’s important to address he’s got quite the dark side and I don’t think that just went away post-Dark One saga.
Summary: Killian always knew it to be true. He knew it the moment they placed his newborn son in his arms, a suspicion that he had since he found out Emma was pregnant but had solidified when Harrison was alive, red, screaming and still covered in vernix. He knew that he would snap a man’s neck with his bare hand if anyone so much looked at his son the wrong way. And he would do it without a second thought or a hint of remorse.
Word Count: 2,500+
Rating: T+
It is only upon feeling the gentle weight of his son’s body in his arms that Killian feels a sense of calm. He cradles the infant close, a steady relaxed breath leaving his chest as Harrison nuzzles his face into his father’s neck. The riot in his brain that had been buzzing since his son was taken quiets now that he’s back in his father’s arms, safe and unharmed.
He’s mindful to keep his hand directly on the blanket Harrison is swaddled in, knowing that his mother-in-law will be less than keen if the cute duck onesie she bought gets smeared with blood. It’s something that’s special to Snow in a way that Killian can’t fathom, he doesn’t quite get some of the niceties that his mother-in-law follows. However, Emma humors her and always put their son in that particular onesie whenever they see her parents and Killian isn’t going to let the shenanigans of the day get in the way of that tradition if he can help it. The fuzzy blanket that was a gift from Ruby, however, is a lost cause at this point, dirtied beyond recognition and ruddy smears stretched across the pale blue material.
(Not his son though. His boy is clean.
Frightened perhaps. But clean and untouched.
And that’s all that matters.)
Harrison’s small whimpers threaten to turn into full out cries as he starts squirming in his arms. Killian makes soft shushing noises, bracing him tighter against his chest as he attempts to make his way through the obstacle course of slick blood, corpses and uneven floorboards.
He only pauses for a moment by the door, squatting down slowly and attempting to hold Harrison while pulling his favorite dagger out of some poor bastard’s chest. The slain pirate is young, more boy than man like most of this crew, and Killian wagers he’s not much older than Henry but none of this garners the dead much sympathy.
His death warrant was signed the second he agreed to help kidnap his son on Blackbeard’s behalf.
As Killian pulls the dagger out of the man’s sternum, there’s a cough behind him. He turns in surprise. He didn’t think he had left any survivors.
One of the men by the makeshift cradle is still alive, pulling himself up and clutching his still bleeding side. A sense of dissatisfaction fills Killian as he turns to face him. Holding his son tighter against his body, he walks towards the wounded man with his hook raised. It’s only when he gets closer that he realizes it’s yet another young boy, but this time no older than thirteen or fourteen. A cabin boy by the looks of it.
“You will pay for this...” he coughs.
“Highly unlikely,” Killian replies lightly, surveying the remnants of his bloodbath. “As you can see, boy, there isn’t a soul left but you and me and judging by that wound, probably not you for much longer…”
“Captain Blackbeard will make sure you pay for this.”
“Old Eddie isn’t going be living much longer than you. You see, the second you took my son, each and every single one of you were marked for death.”
“We weren’t going to hurt him. We would have given him back to you if you had given us the ship. That’s all we wanted. It’s not like you’re even using her. You’re supposed to have gone soft.” His words are petulant, almost whiney. It’s a childish argument and Killian finds himself even more annoyed.
“Do I look like I’ve gone soft to you?”
“You’re supposed to be a family man. Captain Blackbeard said so. Said you had a woman who made you weak. And that you gave up your ship for her twice. He thought you would do the same for the baby.”
“That was never going to happen,” Killian replies, tone growing hard. “You didn’t threaten to take my ship. If you had gone just for the Jolly, maybe, just maybe, your crew would still be breathing but you didn’t do that. You didn’t threaten my ship. You didn’t even threat me. That would be almost forgivable. No. Oh no. You didn’t do that. You threatened my son. That’s not forgivable. That’s death…”
The boy looks up at him, pale faced from blood loss or terror Killian doesn’t know nor does he care. Harrison starts whimpering again and he runs his hook gently down the boy’s back in hopes of soothing him. He quiets after a moment and Killian licks his lips before he speaks again.
“Being a family man doesn’t make you soft. If anything, it makes you even more dangerous…you see, if anyone so much as touched him, I would slaughter them and their entire family. I would burn this realm and any other realm, entire civilizations, men, women and children alike for just looking in his general direction…”
The boy swallows, Adam’s apple bobbing. “I’m sorry. We didn’t know.”
“You should have. I am not a man to be trifled with. Just because I’m retired, doesn’t mean I’m less dangerous…less of a terror…less Captain Hook. I should gut you like a fish, take your innards and use them to string you up by your balls and leave your corpse as an example of why you should never cross me. But I’m not going to do that.”
“What are you going to do to me?” He whimpers, and the familiar pungent smell of piss fills the air. Killian doesn’t even need to look down to know it’s the cabin boy and not his five-month old son who has made a mess of himself.
A dark smile crosses Killian’s lips and he draws his hook against the boy’s cheek, scraping just hard enough to split the skin, blood blooming and beading almost immediately from the fresh cut. Another pathetic whimper leaves him.
“What’s your name, boy?”
“Israel, sir. Israel Hands.”
“Captain,” he corrects, holding the hook just under his jaw. “You will address me as Captain, Israel.”
“Yes…Captain…”
“Good. You’re a good listener. This is good…Now listen to me carefully, Israel. I’m going to let you live, that is if you survive the blood loss…you should probably put some pressure on that... Not because I feel sorry for you or because you’re a pathetic dumb slip of a boy, the second you joined this crew you forfeited your right to my generosity…No, I’m going to let you live because I need a messenger…You see, sooner or later, Old Eddie Teach is going to find you after this debacle and he’s going to see the lovely mess of bodies I left behind for him…and when he does, I need him to know that he’s dead. I have no black spot to give, but he can consider himself marked…I was entirely happy to stay out of the game and leave you lot be so I could live a happy and fruitful life with my wife and our children, but really you left me no choice…you see, I will not stand for threats against my family, you so much as even think about my wife and our offspring, including my wife’s oldest boy who I consider to be like my own blood, I will not just take your life…I will do more than that…I will do every depraved thing that can be done to humiliate your corpse before bleaching your skull and drinking from it like the days of old….do I make myself clear?”
Israel nods his head fervently, looking like he might piss himself again.
“I’m going to need you to speak, lad.”
“Yes.”
“Yes, what?”
“Yes…Captain.”
“Good lad,” Killian replies with a razor-sharp grin and a brush of his hook against the boy’s cheek again before pulling himself up and turning on his heel. He doesn’t bother to look back at Israel. As far as he’s concerned, the boy doesn’t exist now that he’s out of Killian’s line of sight. He’s more focused on getting off this blasted ship and getting his son back home to Storybrooke and back to Emma where he belongs.
Harrison starts a round of crying, and Killian immediately lifts the boy higher, unafraid to give the boy’s bottom a good sniff. He breathes a sigh of relief when he smells none of the foul signs of a soiled diaper. He’s not sure what he would have been able to clean himself well enough to handle a diaper changing situation. His blood on his hands is dried, but it’s thick layer that’s also made its way until his fingernails. It will be a bitch to get rid of.
(His wife is going to murder him.
He can’t bring himself to care.
Harrison is safe.)
Killian always knew this would happen. He knew this simple truth to be true the moment they placed his newborn son in his arms. It had been a suspicion that he had since he found out Emma was pregnant but it had solidified as soon as Harrison was alive, red, screaming and still covered in vernix.
The simple truth was, is and would always be that he would snap a man’s neck with his bare hand if anyone so much looked at his son the wrong way. And he would do it without a second thought or a hint of remorse.
He places a kiss across Harrison’s forehead, closing his eyes and breathing in the boy’s scent in attempt to drown out the smell of death that surrounds them. An itch of violence crawls underneath his skin, still riled and unsatisfied.
(It’s been awhile since Killian has let loose and ran his sword through another human being. He’s forgotten that all human beings are is walking bags of meat and liquid; easily broken, easily killed. He’s forgotten the rush that comes with ending another human being’s life; the ultimate permanent act of destruction.
He’s been on the side of angels long enough to have forgotten just how dark he truly is.)
David and Snow’s faces go pale as they make their way onto the ship, horrified by the carnage they find on deck. They relax only slightly when they catch sight of him with his son. David reaches forward to touch Killian’s shoulder but almost immediately he recoils, his fingers pulling away red. He stares hard at Killian, taking in the blood soaked hands, the rips and stains in the leather as well as the dark purple bruise forming high on his cheek. He knows he looks what like - a man who just cut down thirty men on his own.
“Harrison okay?” He asks quietly.
“Cranky but relatively unharmed. He’s okay. They can’t hurt him or anyone else anymore.”
“I can see that...” David’s eyes scan across the ship, drinking in the massacre. “You certainly went out of your way to ensure it.”
“They took my boy. The punishment fits the crime.”
“No, no, no, I understand,” David responds quickly. “I get it. In your position, I would have done the same.”
Killian presses his lips to his son’s dark-haired crown in order to fight the sneering question of “Would you?” that threatens to leave his lips. It’s not his fault. David is a hero, a good person, someone who feels remorse when taking a life, someone who has completely forgiven a litany of people who have wronged him and his family including Killian himself.
But Killian isn’t David. He isn’t...domesticated. David’s a sheepdog, a herder of people, a source of guidance and civility. Killian is a wild thing. He was raised in darkness. It took root in him young, when his father sold him and Liam into slavery and grew inside him with each lash of a whip, each time he was denied food, each time someone was taken from him. It’s a part of him, always has been and always will be. He’s a wolf that’s joined a pack of dogs, pretending he’s one of them.
But Killian isn’t docile.
Not by a long shot.
He’s merely been humoring his in-laws, playing the part of a good man while the savage violence inside of him still lingers just underneath the surface. And it’s this very moment that makes this even more apparent.
Because the truth is while the kidnapping of his son was catalyst of the slaughtering of Blackbeard’s crew, it’s merely an excuse. And if he’s honest with himself, an excuse he really doesn’t need but he’s no longer a pirate captain who pillages and plunders as he so chooses. He no longer, by his own violation mind you, plays by his own rules.
He’s a husband, a father, a deputy on the side of the law. Some might even think he’s a hero, but he will never be a saint.
(He wonders about the boy in his arms, still developing, still a pup. Will Harrison be more wolf or more dog? He hopes beyond hope that its dog; Emma’s goodness and light trumping his wild darkness.)
“Killian?”
Emma’s voice pulls him from his reverie and suddenly his wife is in front of him, looking as frazzled and out of her mind as Killian had been when he discovered Harrison had been taken. There are tears in her eyes as she approaches him, trying very hard not to run over the bodies littering the deck. She throws her arms around him and Killian can feel her entire body shake against his, from relief or hysteria he’s not quite sure.
Harrison lets out a loud squeal of protest at being squished between his parents, plumb fists swinging wildly in the air. Emma pulls him out of Killian’s arms and into her own, raining down a shower of kisses upon his crown. Killian’s not quite prepared to let them both go however. He wraps his arms loosely around her waist, pulling her to stand between his legs and leaning forward so his forehead is pressed against hers. He moves his hand gently up and down her back in hopes of soothing her. She hums in response.
“Is he alright?” He doesn’t miss the slight fear in her voice.
“I think he’s going to be okay. I got to them before they do anything.”
“Fuck them,” she spits, holding Harrison so tightly to her chest that Killian’s almost afraid she’ll squeeze him in half. “Fuck Blackbeard and every single one of his crew.”
“Well, I’m ahead of you darling,” he replies quietly, taking a lock of her hair and twirling it absently around his fingers.
“You killed them all, didn’t you?” It’s not really question.
Killian squeezes his eyes shut. He doesn’t want to see the look of horror on her face, the same look that David and Snow had given him when they had seen the carnage that he left in his wake. He doesn’t want to see the same judgment and fear in her eyes.
“Aye, love. I did.”
Just as everyone seems to forget that he’s Captain Hook, the villainous terror of the high seas, Killian sometimes forgets that Emma isn’t nearly as domesticated as everyone else. Like him, she’s lived in the darkness, held it inside of her. She’s got some wolf in her too. She’s just better at hiding it than he is.
Which is why he nearly jumps out of his skin when it isn’t fear in her voice but steel when she responds with just one single word that sends a shiver down his spine.
