#demon!killian

To say that the Jones 'Brothers' had been fighting since time began, was not an understatement, but also not exactly truthful. They had actually been fighting before recorded time, and before there was even a concept of the perception of anything besides the aether or eternity.

That's why he'd fallen, actually. Loss was a powerful motivation, enough even to question the utmost Authority - and the Authority despised questioning. Fighting was in the nature of the divine Celestials, as it seemed, and in Her infinite curiosity that She defined as 'Wisdom', God had let Lucifer burn too brightly. Their war was a lover's jealous quarrel turned violent. 

Although Liam was created moments before Killian, they were brothers (as it were) even amongst a host of angels, and they were close regardless of their stubborn spats. They fought over the world and its workings, Liam given a flaming sword while Killian was given books. They fought over knowledge of the divine arts, arguing whether humans were worthy of the Arcane. They fought over Killian's love of a mortal woman, and his questioning of commandments. 

They fought over Killian standing behind Lucifer, and Liam fought Killian right before he fell. In some ways, it was Liam's own hand that pushed Killian, but in his last angelic act, Killian forgave his brother. 

While Earthborne and some remnant Angels believed Demons were not capable of love, they were of course wrong. Demons loved, lost, and forgave just as any others. Even after the schism, even after years of passive aggressive pettiness between both sides, Demons were still seen as wayward, dark, demented creatures. Angels had done little to fight this stereotype, instead reveling in their continued status as goodwill ambassadors. 

Even their name amongst mortals was a cosmic joke, the Creator and her lover-made-antagonist too long gone to bother with proper names. They were Angels or Demons to some cultures as humans grew on God's abandoned project, while others called them by their new names. 

The Angel Diana was called a Goddess alongside Hecate, Freya, Gabriel, Uriel, and many others. The Demons Zeus, Odin, Loki, Hades, and Poseidon happily took on roles that suited their carnal needs. Angels mixed with mortals along with Demons, God's secret seeds of elemental magics taking life along beside them as Druids, Fae, and Elementals.  Some of the Celestials even birthed life as their lost parents had, Demons begetting Demons, Angels begetting Angels, and everything or anything in between. 

Humans gained magical prowess as the world changed, Witches, Druids, Warlocks, Mortismals, and Mesmerels becoming the norm for human bloodlines. 

Still, Demons were given less, all because God had cursed them irrevocably before disappearing with Lucifer into the abyss. They were cellularly different now than any of the Angels they had once been, a yoke around their neck that they could be forced to obey. Like Angels, they could be worshipped, called, trapped, or contracted even as their powers and bodies twisted into the curse stained strangeness God graced them with. They were looked on with disgust, pity, horror, and anger for it despite their best attempts.

Which was why his sodding Ponce of a brother working as an Angel ambassador for a Prince of Hell was so important - and so bloody frustrating. 

It wasn't as if being a Prince of Hell wasn't stressful enough - his people always under siege or afraid of some Witch summoning them to place a brand, then using them as a charcuterie board - no. It was that his brother was a baked potato when it came to convincing the public they were not what millennia of ingrained hatred had established Demons as. 

Bosch had died before Killian could uppercut him, regardless of his depiction of Liam as a trumpeting ferret bird or the even less flattering version of Killian. Dante had been another great PR stunt his brother had botched miserably. The Rings of Hell weren't even used, Lucifer gone before he could put God's plans for punishment into place. Now as a museum and reenactment park, it was a popular attraction that helped generate funds for the denizens that lived in the spacial plane that surrounded it, but Dante's review had been swayed by Liam taking him into The Kingdom right after. How could Hell ever live up to the paradise God herself had planned for humans? Only Cedar Point, Busch Gardens, Disney, or Universal Studios could come close as far as themed parks. It was a complete disaster. 

This newest idea of Killian sitting on the board of Hyperion Heights to work with the world's premier intersectional coven, 'StoryBrooke', was another terrible idea in the making, and Killian had no qualms letting his brother know it.

"This is absolutely ridiculous Liam," Killian gritted out, itching under the glamor that made him look mortal. Being confined in a skin suit had his molecules vibrating so loudly he could hear his canines, starlight and cosmic fire sending pinpricks of goose flesh down the dark hairs of his arms and legs. Wearing this was torture enough without Liam staring at him in disdain, his own heavenly image unblemished. Even his halo was a polished gold around his fat head. "While I am a dashing rapscallion in my original skin, don't you think it's bad form for them to see me like this instead of how I actually look? Isn't the point of this to show that even if we're not as pretty as your lot, we're still beings that deserve respect?"

Liam grunted, rolling his eyes. Blue fire from explosions of stars and galaxies lit in mirrors of Killian's own, but framed by rosy cheeks and tawny curls instead of moving shadow, a ghoulish pallor, and dark hair the color of ink or raven's feather. The Angelic glamor contained the haze of darkness that moved like smoke around him, the length of his fingers and claws, and made his flesh look pale but not tinted the color of the universe's light. It did not hide his horns (remnants of shattered halo) or his twitching tail if someone chose to leave eyes on him too long, but that was another Demonic burden to bear. 

"First impressions, little brother. Even the most progressive Witch is still a Witch. I'd rather them see you like this instead of wondering if you truly need all your giblets."

Killian swallowed hard, nodding once before grumbling, "Younger brother. Younger."

"Go over your notes again. You'll need to be your nauseatingly charming self for this, especially if they bring the males in their midst," Liam asked of him, and Killian looked out the dark windows of the car as his tail moved in agitation. 

"Regina. Head of the Coven, Witch and Mortismal that inherited her throne from her mother. Began the integration method and broke away from the Misthaven Coven to create the StoryBrooke one," Killian intoned. 

"Right. She's a tough nut too, and her ghosts do the most of her dirty work. She's not someone to cross unless you want your chairs stacked to the ceiling every morning by some bloody poltergeist." 

"Aw, well, I'm unfortunately haunted by you already, I doubt a poltergeist could do more damage." Killian slanted a look at his brother, who gave an annoyed huff as his pure white feathers ruffled. Killian was thankful in part that he did not have wings at all times, even if the trade off was painful. "While Regina is the head of the Coven, the head of the Council is Elsa Frost of the Frost twins. She's a direct descendant of the Giant Ice Sorceresses with powerful magic, but her passion is creating legislation for Hyperion Heights. Her sister Anna is the family's public relations face, and runs their fashion empire, Arendelle Designs with her Druid husband."

"Good. Good, tell me about Ariel Poisson."

"Siren and Mermaid, with four years on the council. Made history as the first water Elemental to sit on the council, beating the long seated Witch, Ursula, by a large margin. Opponents argue that her father's position as King of the seas and his dominion over fair weather and fishing made voters nervous to not cast ballots for her. Her campaign slogan was 'Part of your World', which could be beneficial to my campaign." 

"Right. Snow Blanchard?" 

"Would-be heir to the Misthaven Coven who ended its elitist reign by breaking tradition and leaving, sending them into chaos." Killian smirked. "She sounds like someone who I could get along with."

"She gets along with everyone except her family, which is more than normal it would seem," Liam replied back, and Killian snorted out a chuckle. 

"Druid, Elf, and Green Witch. Runs a high profile herbal apothecary chain Enchanted Forest Supplies, focused on holistic medicinals, herbs, and spices. Nolan Farms is a subsidiary that sells produce to the Heights, which is her husband's 'pet' project."

"Watch yourself, brother," Liam warned. "While you might get away with that if it's just the Witches, if David and Ruby sit in today you'll find that will not stand."

"Ah, yes. Ruby Reddings and David 'Charming' Nolan. You only circled that they are Werewolves in red ink everywhere you could. David is Snow's husband, and her lead farm hand. Ruby is Snow's cousin who introduced the two. Ruby is currently in a high profile relationship with your colleague, Inspector Wolfe, and they both are very active in pack politics. Many are betting they will create their own pack if the current Alphas do not abandon some of the more ancient doctrines. Nothing new there."

"Don't forget Livre and Fa."

"Belle Livre, Witch turned Vampire, runs a community literacy foundation and bookstore chain. Known ally to Demon rights. Soft spoken but brutally intelligent. Introduced a synthetic blood that allows for daytime living via plant cells collaborating with Enchanted Forest, which made history 6 years ago," Killian listed. "Mulan Fa, Vampire. Cultural Development head of the Heights, and curator of The Hyperion Heights Museum of Art, History, Science, and Culture. Teaches part time at Hyperion Heights University as an adjunct professor. Fa is married to a Fae Elf, Merida Ursa."

"Good. That's as far as we know besides the whole Swan fiasco, which is not to be brought up."

"What Swan fiasco?" 

"Oh, little brother. If you had done your research outside of the profiles I gave you, you would know all about the criminal history of the black and heartless sheep within the Misthaven and StoryBrooke covens. It's better off that you don't know."

"Er. Well. Alright. I didn't look into them because I don't bloody well care about their lots as long as we get protection. There was another slaying this weekend. A Lower Demon."

"I'm aware. Did you know her?" 

"Not really, but that's not enough either. I owe my people more. The other Lords of Hell are fine telling Demons to stay below and never use their name, which is fine for the new blood. It's the old, the weak, and the abused that are at risk."

"Careful, Killian. Your lust for vengeance will never be welcomed by mortals."

"I'm well aware Liam. They like my kind for an entirely different kind of lust."

"Could you please not." Liam sighed, sitting back against the seat. After a moment, his brother spoke quietly. "There was another attack as well, this time in broad daylight in Camelot Town. The Anti-Integration Movement has claimed responsibility."

"Of bloody course they have!" Killian hissed, clenching his fists. He pinched the bridge of his nose, grimacing. "Brilliant. Just absolutely marvelous -" 

"They were going to run a story in the Times. I managed to block it for now, but we need a sympathetic writer on the inside, or we risk them running another story with their bias."

"I have a guy. I'll reach out, he's an old school Warlock who I've worked with in the past on push back. What's their excuse this time?" 

"They said that the Succubus was, quote, 'asking for it by the way she was dressed'."

Nausea rose in Killian's throat, and he swallowed it down with bitter practice. "I wasn't aware that how someone dressed meant their lives were not only void, but taking pieces of them was fine as well."

"We know they're being funded well, and we will get arrests as soon as possible. This won't be forever, Killian."

"That's easy for you to promise when this has been my - our forever." Killian bit out, glaring at his feet.

The car came to a stop, the driver opening the door to let them out. Killian moved briskly up the steps of the council building, as Liam followed behind. They moved through the lobby with an easy flash of Liam's ID that Killian scoffed at, moving into the elevator. 

"After that display, I'm going drinking after this," Killian gritted through his teeth. 

Liam blinked, straightening his tie in the door's polished reflection. "What display? They were nice."

"Exactly. If I came here alone, I would have been in that security line for an hour." 

Liam rolled his eyes, taking down his halo to polish the golden ring. "You absolutely exaggerate how you're treated. Not everyone is out to get you, especially when you look like this. Give others a break."

"I'll give myself a break after this with as much rum as I can safely consume, instead."

The doors pinged open to reveal a small atrium, dark wood flooring in stark contrast to the birch tree covered walls. A secretary stood behind a rounded desk against the far wall, motioning for them to sit. 

"They'll be with you in a moment," she offered, glancing at them with a thin smile. Killian could practically taste her distrust as he scratched behind his ear. Liam swatted at him lightly in a bid to get him to stop, both of them tense when the doors finally opened to reveal a petite woman dressed in a powder blue skirt and blazer. 

"Come in gentleman. The council will see you now." She smiled icily. His brother stood, his feathers slightly puffed in an indication of his own nervousness. 

Killian followed a second later, walking with them as they made forced, but pleasant conversation all the way into the boardroom. 

Women sat at a long table that curved slightly, facing their own small table similar to a courtroom. He was reminded of the tribunals in the old days when law had begun, but the courtiers were far different than the strange group of women scrutinizing them. 

To his surprise, the majority of them seemed actually curious instead of repulsed or bored. 

"The council recognizes Liam Jones and Killian… Jones. These are your chosen surnames, correct? And you identify as… brothers?" 

"Yes," Liam stated firmly with a curt nod. Killian watched from his peripheral as his shoulder muscles twitched, his wings held stiffly upright to keep them from the floor. 

Killian nodded, careful to keep his tail curled around his legs. The skin suit itched as it clung to him, not abated by his attempt to sit more casually. 

"Interesting," remarked the dark haired witch at the far right. A nameplate sat in front of her, marking her as Regina. He wondered idly if her stare was due to the blood on his hands only an eternal existence could bring. 

"You are here to ask for help in creating safety measures and a potential council commitment to Demon rights, correct?" Ariel, a fiery haired lass with a heart face, asked. 

"Our major point of concern is the influx of hate groups that seem to fall in line with smuggling operations and planned violence," Killian said slowly. Attention snapped to him, and he brought up the slide presentation he had prepared. "We have had some luck stopping shipments and arresting bit players, but we can't find the heads of these operations."

"You can't find them, or you are barred from digging deeper?" Mulan asked, and he chuckled darkly. 

"The latter, I'm afraid. We have consistently come to the same dead end again and again. I'm sure I don't have to explain to you ladies how difficult a foe powerful covens behind corporate entities are." He let a grimace creep onto his face, and saw the majority of the women nod in acknowledgement. 

"This could make many enemies for us, if approached in the wrong way." Belle stated quietly. "Specifically with our good friends in the Storybrooke Coven."

Snow nodded, exchanging a bitter look with her. "We may need a professional from our coven, but she's unable to get clearance without special notation."

"Oh? Who is this?" Liam asked. 

Elsa and the rest of the coven smiled in varying degrees of fondness. "The best in the business, and in my Coven. If you need to find someone, Emma Swan can always find them, and she's good at criminal magical activities. She knows the system, knows how and where to hide, and where to seek."

They'd found what the coven wanted, and their stake in the venture. Killian caught Liam's face falling, his eyes narrowing into slits. 

"You can't be serious. Involving Swan in this after -" 

"That was all a misunderstanding, and was blown completely out of proportion. We have long held up our end of the blame and accountability, while Misthaven has shirked theirs in the name of slandering her." Elsa steepled her fingers. "If you desire the best, which I assume is why you are here, you need to rehab not only Demons’ image, but hers as well. She should be sitting here with us."

Liam tried in vain to tip the scale back in their favor, his face going red. "We'll consider this as part of our negotiations."

"Negotiations? Liam, you are a detective. You should have deduced by now that you have no leverage. You have only decisions to make." Regina closed her planner, regarding them with her dark gaze. "So, make them quickly, before our patience wanes."

Killian bit back a laugh at Liam’s sudden blustered stuttering. These witches were good, and as the meeting ran on for hours he realized just how much liquor he would need to recover. 

 "Well that went well." 

Liam’s sour expression and slumped shoulders were just visible in his peripheral, even as his feathers were still quite literally ruffled. He huffed out a noise of disapproval, too vexed to even reply back. 

"Aye to that, brother." Licking his lips, they stepped into the cool dusk air. "I'm going for that drink, are you…?" Killian glanced at Liam, who shook his head with annoyance. 

"Seriously? You really -" 

"Really shouldn't what Liam?" Killian smiled, venom leaking into his tone. "Go get drunk in a town that would rather pretend I don't exist or sell me in a fine powder to the nearest bidder? I think I'll be okay, although the concern is duly noted."

He turned on his heel, his glamor falling away in a puff of smoke. The air hit his itchy, overheated skin, his tail whipping around in sharp, agitated flicks. 

"Take care of yourself, little brother! No need to be a self destructive bastard. We lost a battle, not the war!" Liam called after him, stepping into his sleek car. Killian snorted. 

Hailing a cab with some difficulty, the driver asked where he was headed with the same slight resignation he was used to for his kind. 

"A bar, Demon friendly please. Some place without swill."

The driver nodded, dropping him at a dimly lit corner of the city. A red neon sign spread crimson light along the sidewalk, soft light also spilling out the doors accompanied by loud guitar. Looking up, the looping, swirled lettering made him smirk. 'The Jealous Flask' was as good a place as any in his neck of the underworld woods. 

The inside was smoky, deep red damask wallpaper paired with dark, pitch stained wood panels, booths, and bartop. The liquor selection was displayed neatly, unlike the few early patrons sitting scattered around. The jukebox played warbly rock music, some punchy chords and an easy to memorize refrain. 

'one two three four, can I have a little more, five six seven eight nine ten, I love you' 

The bar stools were empty, and Killian slung himself onto one, the bartender nodding his head by way of a greeting. 

"Rum, neat," Killian stated, pointing to his preferred vice. The bartender did not stop polishing the glass in his hand, but the bottle floated down gently, pouring itself into a tumbler before the glass set itself down in front of Killian. "Thanks, mate."

The bartender nodded again, continuing his work with the aid of his magic. People began to trickle in as the time ticked forward, a witch or two eyeing him suspiciously, vampires playing pool in the front, a group of young werewolves forcing change into the jukebox to get edgier music playing through the speaker system. The Clash crooned out words against the Fae Queen ruling over greater Eld, the pack jumping around excitedly and thrashing their heads back and forth. By this time Killian had moved to the far curve of the bar, his glass refilled to the point of the bottle sitting next to him like a patient date. There were still no other Demons in his presence. It shouldn't have surprised him, shouldn't have even made him angry with the amount of violence they were privy to, but he burned away the emotions with the alcohol flowing down his throat. 

A soft touch on his shoulder caught his attention, and he turned with a growl. It died in his throat when large eyes met his, blonde curls falling in front of her eyes in loose tendrils. 

"I'm so sorry, I didn't mean to bother you," she stammered, biting her lip. Pointing to a drink that was clearly not his, umbrella and all, she continued. "I was trying to reach my drink. It’s gotten crowded and I thought, I mean, I am sorry I wasn't trying to -" 

"Aye." He nodded, throwing back his drink. "S'alright lass. I'm sorry, I s'pose I'm just a bit out of place here."

She smiled, blushing. "Yeah, I uh, I get that. I haven't seen you around before."

"First time here. I was in the neighborhood for business." He poured himself more, and to his surprise she pushed and elbowed her way to sit next to him. 

"Business?" Her eyes were curious while her fingers toyed with the umbrella in her drink. "Should I be concerned?" 

It was clearly teasing, and Killian felt himself loosening up around her. She seemed to read him well, or at least the alcohol was working. "Not any of the good kind, I'm afraid." He grinned with a wink. 

"Ah, so we're just ships passing in the night?" She leaned in and he could smell the floral and herbal scent of her, her eyelashes batting coquettishly as she sipped her drink in his space. 

"Passing closely, I hope," he murmured. His heart raced; it had been ages since any mortal had shown interest in him that was mutual. 

His head spun as she met him drink for drink, hand unsubtly creeping higher up his hip. 

"Would you be opposed to… Maybe, I don't know… getting out of here?" 

"Are you saying you would fancy a nightcap, lass?" She smiled from under her lashes while biting her lip, and his heated blood grew hotter. 

"Perhaps." She stood with grace as she extended a hand to him. "My place is a quick and easy teleportation spell away from here, and my bed doesn't require any sort of magic outside of what I can do with my tongue." 

Killian hesitated, her golden hair in the glow of the lights making her seem to shimmer. "I don't even know your name -" 

"Eloise. It's Eloise." She pulled him up, letting him stumble into her body. Her lips met his, and soon he was pulling her closer as their mouths slanted across one another's in hunger. She bit his lip and he felt the tightness that had bloomed in his belly spread fire down his spine. 

"Lead the way, love," he whispered huskily, grinding into her. 

She smiled broadly, the world shifting until he was in her dimly lit home. A lone window twinkled starlight, moon huge outside as it hung in the sky. Her tongue slid past his lips, the bitter herbal taste overwhelming while the world shifted again, this time pulling him apart. 

 In a perfect world, Emma Swan would not be doing anything remotely close to what she was currently debating doing. It truly wasn't her fault; it fell on Neal and his stupid family if anyone was to blame, and his stupid coven with their stupid leader. She should have known back then it had been a set up, should have known that Neal was a fucking liar. How many times did the same drawn out plot have to play out? Apparently, too many, considering she had still warmed his bed until a week ago. 

This time it was final. Emma wouldn't accept him back when Neal slithered out from under the rock he had his affair in. She wouldn't be charmed by his smooth talking silver tongue, and if he so much as breathed near her, she would take another five years for breaking his smarmy Fae nose. Final. It had to be final. 

But finality meant certain conditions had to be met, especially if she was to ward him away. For one, the beautiful loft that belonged to Neal in the Heights downtown could definitely not be her base of operations any more. Neither could the various in between places she found where Emma could grieve until he took her back, damaged goods and all. No more hotel rooms, no more abandoned apartments, no more warehouses, vacation rentals, or quiet empty offices. She had to get her own place, and it had to be able to handle her particularly finicky magic. Neal's place wasn't great for her particular practice, but the view had been killer enough to ignore it. Neal's fortune had meant she didn't need to work, and with her record (or, as his coven would sneer, 'notoriety') that was just as well. 

Working added a wrinkle to her life; she would have to find somewhere that allowed her enough space for her magic to keep her employed. That would require a hefty chunk of gold - if she was lucky. The prices in the downtown area were steep, only high profile Witches, Warlocks, Fae, and Celestials could afford accommodation that close to the capitol buildings and Ley Lines. Initially when Emma had glanced through the apartment listings on the bulletin board, she had almost had a panic attack at the amount of gold they demanded. 

Her brother David, blessings be, had been her knight in shining armor. There was a large Victorian home that lay in shambles at the edge of their farm lands, its beautiful scalloped details in need of paint, and the gutters growing weeds as thick as her forearm. But, it was within her budget if she could get the down payment placed before the scheduled demolition. She put what she had down to stall as much as she could, but it was not enough in the least. 

One big job was all she needed. One big job that she could cash out on. A dip of her toes back into the waters of peddling illegal magic, just quickly in and out without a splash. 

She didn't need any more jail time, that was for certain. 

Putting out the word she was available in the whisper market was always dangerous, but listening in was free and without a snag if you were smart. 

Emma heard tell of a desperate woman willing to give a truckload full of gold to the right Witch who could perform delicate, esoteric, deeply Arcane and forbidden magics. Luckily for both of them, that's what Emma excelled at. 

She had always been good at her craft, and her magical workings were beyond powerful. She could do things that other practitioners only dared to dream of, if they could even conceive it. It was why Neal had kept her around, and why his coven's dislike would melt away if she said she would consider joining. 

(If she did that around Yulesmas for better gifts, was it really so bad?) 

The request itself was intriguing, the woman herself a Witch that could not do the spell alone. She wanted an equivalent exchange of unbreakable magical bonds, which while tricky, was not forbidden in most circumstances. The offer was too good to pass up on, but Emma didn't like leaving things to complete chance. 

Cue her sister-in-law, Snow. If anyone could throw runes, read the winds, divine from the mundane, and not keep any of it a fucking secret, it was Snow. 

Emma knocked on their cheery red door in the early morning, which must have been a surprise to Snow considering she was half dressed in business wear. She pulled up her stockings in a one footed hop, motioning for Emma to come in as she balanced the phone receiver against her neck. The coiled cord spun around her, and she groaned loudly. 

"Yes, Regina, I know. I'll be there, I'm literally - it's 2 hours away. I will be there in thirty minutes at latest, but - Well, yes, Emma just walked in." Snow gestured at a chair, and Emma sat, looking at her with an eyebrow raised. "Yes, I know it's early for her. I know. Uh huh. Yes. We will definitely put her on the table; it's absurd not to, considering - yes, I would love to talk to you about this in person as I've said - alright. Yes. Okay then, buh-bye." 

Sighing, Snow twirled, untwisting herself from the phone cord. She smoothed down her pencil skirt and blouse before looking straight at Emma with a curious stare. Her mouth twitched with annoyance as she spoke. 

"Now. To what do I owe the pleasure? I have a meeting with Celestials shortly, so." She waved a hand indicating the clock in the background. Turning to the counter, she opened up a cookie jar and removed a rolled cannabis cigarette, putting it between her lips and lighting it. 

Emma swallowed, watching the petite woman slide the purple lighter back in its space on their counter. "I just need you to divine something for me. A situation, with a woman who wants me to… to uh, do something."

Snow rolled her eyes, narrowing them to glare at Emma. "We are bringing you up as collateral in our meeting today, trying to get you a seat where you belong - on the council," Snow hissed. She pinched the bridge of her nose, taking a breath. 

"Please?" Emma asked innocently, batting her eyelashes for good measure. 

Snow sighed. "Alright. Picture the situation and the woman."

Emma focused on the description, the spellwork requested, the woman's pleas. She could feel Snow's magic engulf her, and the fuzziness that came with it as she wove threads out into the natural universe, time and space sending her back answers. 

A moment passed, and the feeling abruptly stopped as Snow shook her head. 

"This doesn't feel right," Snow said, taking a drag of her blunt. She exhaled, the thick smoke swirling into the shape of birds that dove through the air. Emma coughed, waving a hand in front of her face. "That woman… I don't know. She feels off."

Emma frowned, petulant that the answer was negative. "She's a Witch, and in trouble." 

"Have you rolled your runes?" Snow began to pull on her loafers, gathering her things. 

Emma chewed her lip. She had divined, or tried to, but had not found a concrete result. "Yeah, and they said it's… Questionable, but the end result leaves all parties happy. Tarot said basically the same thing."

Snow let out a little twittering laugh, pulling her purse up on her shoulder. "And how does Neal feel about it?"

"Neal doesn't need to feel any way about it. I… We… I broke it off." Emma looked at her shoes, then idly inspected the counters formica. "Forever this time." 

"Oh. Is that why you're here so early?" Snow's eyes went wide, a hand covering her mouth. "Oh, Emma, honey. I'm so sorry, I've just been under so much stress with Regina and this council. Wait, where are you staying? Oh no - are you homeless!? You mean it, you're never going back to that creep?"

"Never," Emma said firmly, even as her voice caught. "I'll find a place though, Snow. Don't worry." 

"So you are homeless, oh Emma, if I wasn't late - no. No. You know, I'll call Regina and cancel it, you need me more than -" 

"No, well, I mean -" Emma shook her head. "No. I'll stay here tonight if I have to, but you need to get to your meeting. I don't need Regina's wrath on top of everything else."

"You know you can stay here with us as long as you need, oh, Emma, I wish you had told me -" 

"I don't want to stay here. I can't work here, and I love you guys but you both are gross with your lovey dovey hippie -" 

"I get it, I get it." Snow grimaced. 

"So yeah, I need the money. I can't stay here, I need my own place… I put a tiny deposit on that Victorian down the road, but I need the full down payment to keep it." Emma shrugged. 

"The house at the --- Emma, that place is a breeze away from being condemned!" 

"No it's not," Emma groaned, rubbing her temple. "It's got good bones, and character. It just needs some… help."

"Well. I mean…" Snow hesitated, heading towards the door, as Emma followed. "Alright then. I'm just warning you, I get a terrible vibe from that woman and I could cancel this today, we could work out a plan. We have the money from the harvest. You could work for us or with David and help us with the roll outs in exchange for a loan. I'm organized, but the help would be appreciated if you're living so close… especially since I'm making sure that house is safely remodeled for you. I don't want you to end up with the roof falling on you or some gas line exploding." 

"You worry way too much, Snow."

"I hear the future through nature, and it's generally terrifying. Nature is terrifying. Excuse me for being cautious, and wanting to help you out."

Emma laughed as they walked out the door together, Snow rummaging in her bag for lipstick which she quickly applied. "Yeah well, you're also smoking weed so potent it could put an elephant to sleep. I don't want a loan from you."

"I'm not an elephant, Em. I'm an Elf. It'll take more than this to knock me on my ass." She smiled, extending a hand to squeeze Emma's shoulder. "Be careful, okay? No repeats."

"That wasn't -" Emma protested, but Snow cut her off with a sharp look. "Yeah, alright. 

"Good. I'll see you tonight, you're coming for dinner. No buts." Snow grinned, before disappearing with a puff of periwinkle smoke. 

Emma groaned, kicking dirt as she stalked away towards her new potential home. 

 In the final days before moving from the small basement apartment Emma rented, the dingy, unused, bare studio finally found some decoration in chalk outlines, herbs, and a large bubbling cauldron. It hadn't ever been a home or remotely close to one when Neal presented a better option, the bed untouched and unmade. It reminded Emma more of her prison cell than anything else, which offered a strange duality of comfort mixed with dread. It was fitting that she would meet to do this ritual here. 

Gothel arrived promptly for their 10 am arranged meeting in a well worn taupe cloak. She looked as desperate as the correspondences between them indicated, but Emma resolved to get this over with as quickly as possible. They shared a nod in the form of hellos, then Emma pointed to the cauldron.

"Let's begin, shall we?" Emma asked, and Gothel drew back her cloak to reveal her tired and gaunt looking face. 

"Yes. Let's. Your payment, with more upon completion." Gothel dropped a large purse on the counter, Emma immediately grabbing it and checking the contents. It was real, her heart soaring as she shoved it in her bag. 

"So, you are to give me a token of your will, usually blood, an animal you raised, or something that's valuable to you . Something you care about, that you are tied to that a severing will make you -"

"I give you the life of my first child," Gothel interrupted. 

Emma's eyes widened in surprise. "Oh." Biting her lip, she brushed back her braid. "That's… That's super Illegal. I…" 

"You wanted something heavy, you got it. There's a reason why I came to you; you have a reputation for doing things quietly. The reason you chose me is because you need the coin. Now, my terms. I know you provide healing. I want to keep myself young and strong - youthful immortality. Grant me this." The grin on her face unsettled Emma, Snow's warning in her mind. Nevertheless, the satchel of gold meant a secured home.

"Um. Alright. Are you sure, the life of your firstborn? That's a ways off, and the strength won't happen until -" 

"Do it. Do it now, I know the spell will be enacted when payment is due. I'm well studied - Breaking a bond with a child, specifically your first, will grant me the power I need. I know that I can't do this spell myself either, so here I am."

Emma gulped. "Okay. Let me get the texts."

Emma returned with her copper cauldron, pile of books, and spell components. Gothel's grin grew wider, her eyes gleaming at the sight of the tongues, eyes, crushed butterflies, and other more macabre ingredients the spell required. 

Feeling a low tug in her gut that something was wrong, Emma backed away from the altar. The other Witch seemed to shimmer, slightly in alarm, a glamor of some sort possibly covering her skin. Feeling even more unsettled, Emma shook her head. 

"I can't do this, listen -" 

"Please. Please you must, I need this to escape a curse. It's blood magic, almost unbreakable and impossible to escape on my own. Please." Emma heard no lies in her speech. "I admit that I have not been entirely truthful. While I was able to send you the gold easily, I am trapped, held against my will. I can only project myself to you. I was afraid to tell you, because I am desperate to rid myself of this curse." When no lies continued to register, Emma felt a deep sense of pity for the other witch. A blood magic binding was no joke; someone truly must have hated the poor woman. 

"Fine," Emma said, throwing her hands up. Gothel perked up slightly, hope in her eyes. Throwing the ingredients in the cauldron, a shimmering mist roiled over the edge as she spoke ancient words and stirred in the shape of long unused runes. Adding bones that melted in soapy bubbles and stirring with a long Pegasus feather that gradually turned to ash, she looked up at Gothel, who was wringing her hands anxiously.

"Your tokens?" Emma asked. 

Gothel waved a hand over the stained cloth; several of the woman's teeth, a long braid of her hair, and a large chunk of skin fell into the cauldron. The cauldron's contents began to boil, smoke curling in darkened serpentine tangles. 

Emma began the words, Latin, Arameric, the old tongue of the Pagans, Celtic, remnants of Gaul, flowing them together until speaking plainly to her own magic. 

"Blood of one that is two, child, mother, 

Blood of my own, tear them asunder, 

Thicker than wine, thicker than water, 

Ties that bind, bound to another, 

The womb that grows life, 

Kin cared for in kind, 

A payment for power, 

Remake the ties, lift, and unbind."

Scraping her hand against a dagger, Emma let her blood drop slowly into the brew, the words flowing out in the crimson rivulets. As she pulled away the wound closed from her own healing energy. 

"Cradle of moon within flesh, 

Remake that which is to be made, 

Your reflection removed, 

Mine in its stead.

Your burden is mine, 

Carried and held as your first, 

Blood of the two, child, mother, 

As they are born, you are cursed."

She looked at Gothel, who was still wringing her hands, long nails cutting into her palms. This magic was hopefully worth the price the woman had so freely paid. Breaking an infant and mother's bond to give to another was a great sacrifice, the magic comparable to true love, if not greater. The power the Witch would receive would hopefully free her from the curse, but also give her the strength she desired.

"It's done. You must cast your brand over the cauldron, and when you, you know," Emma turned around, holding herself tightly. Caught up in the thought of what she, Emma Swan, would even do with a child, she was unaware of the other Witch behind her scrambling to the cauldron or her deep disregard for anything she was saying. "Get pregnant, let me know. I'll handle that - Wait, what are you -" 

Gothel chuckled lowly, her brand in its arcane circle around the cauldron, neon lines of electricity like power that sparked and crackled. Emma felt her hair stand on end, small pebbles lifting off the stone floor as the cauldron shook. Smoke rose in heavy plumes, purple and a noxious mauve that made the air feel sticky, her lungs not able to fill all the way. Gothel's chuckle had turned into a wild cackle, her braided and matted hair like vines or a visage of Medusa. 

Gothel's voice was crazed, shrill as she pointed a gnarled finger at Emma. "This is it. This is it! I've done it, I'm free! Oh, you silly, stupid girl. Now nothing will ever stop me again!" 

Her laugh grew into a shriek of triumph as magic swirled around them, Emma watching as the woman in front of her disappeared. Gaping at what happened, Emma checked herself for any signs of curses or hexes, unsure of what had just taken place. 

To her surprise, no sign of magic lay on her that she could see. She wasn't cursed, the room wasn't jinxed, and the second payment… Emma quickly checked her purse, finding the large satchel of gold easily. The second sat where Gothel had discarded it without looking twice, and she picked it up hesitantly. It was heavy in her hands as she checked it again and again, realizing that for once in her life, everything was going right. 

 Three hours later, she owned the Victorian home down the road from her brother's farm, the first home she had ever truly called hers. 

 Living near her brother's home had its perks, and disadvantages, as Snow had hinted. For one, Snow was cooking for her every day, and Emma was positive she was going to gain several dress sizes if she didn't stop gorging on various pasta dishes while pouring her magic into restoring the wooden floor. 

A major downside was having her brother constantly fixing her house without her being aware. She'd been woken by him cleaning the gutters, fixing her porch, and of all things, roofing. It had only been a few days, but between his insistence on the outside being presentable and her own work inside, the house was coming along faster than she ever dreamed. It was frightening, and David kept her on edge with his very obvious attempts at snooping around. 

"So, you're done with Neal for good," he said, startling her as she sat out on a newly hung porch swing. She wrinkled her nose at him in protest, and he grinned. "And… You're making doors again."

She froze, panic gripping her. 

"It's alright, I'm not mad. I'm just - just be careful. I trust you, but I know that before -" 

"I made a mistake. I know it, you know it, the Coven knows it, and so does everyone else in the Heights that saw me fall from grace." Emma curled her arms around her knees, bitterly forcing out words. "I won't make the same mistake again. I am on the straight and narrow; these doors are for commuting and hunting skips only." 

David laughed, poking her in the side. "Back to hunting skips, huh? Damn. Don't you ever settle down and enjoy the simple life?" 

Emma laughed, shaking her head. "What the hell is the simple life? Nothing is simple."

"Well, yeah, but… I mean the simple life." He brushed a hand through his hair, looking at her with a gentleness that she instantly felt uneasy with. "House, a pet maybe, hobbies, a partner, kids -" 

"If you are trying to set me up again -" 

"Not me," David raised his hands defensively. "No, I was just -" 

"I don't deserve that life," Emma stated, shrugging. The sun was sinking lower, crickets singing in the cool air. "That life isn't for me. That life is for people like you and Snow, people that are worth something."

"Oh, Emma. You know that's not -" 

"Don't you have somewhere to be?" Emma snapped, standing with a start. David looked at her with a hurt expression, and she felt pure rage. "Goodnight."

She stepped back into the house, letting the screen door slam shut behind her. 

"Emma, come on," David called from the porch, but Emma wasn't listening to him as she fought the immediate urge to be ill. The sudden nausea ripped through her, and despite her attempts, vomit burst from her throat. 

She panted, holding on to the wall with one hand. The other hand gripped her side, fierce cramping making her double over in a scream of agony. She lurched forward, unable to breathe as pressure rose in her stomach. To her terror, her skin grew taut and she seemed to bloat, the pain of it ripping through her. 

David splintered the door, his arms around her as she lost consciousness. 

She woke in an ambulance, David holding her hand like he'd done when they were children. He was always the best big brother she could have asked for, always protective of her, and always pushing her to be better. He had convinced her to trust Ruth, convinced her to take a chance with the older woman who was willing to adopt both of them, and they had found another home together. When she was scared or sick, he was right there to hold her hand. Even now as pain ripped through her, he was there. She tried to understand, but her body burned until the flame became too much to bear. 

She woke again to the beeping of machines and David's yelling, her body aching but no longer in the same searing pain. Lifting herself up to try and hear what David was saying, she struggled to make out more than just fragments. 

"I'm not leaving, that's my sister ---- How did -- she wasn't, she --- I don't know, she never said anything ----- A WHAT? No! I'm --- not leaving!" 

Emma's stomach lurched, and she shifted to get out of bed. The sheets slid from her middle, and she gasped. Her middle was rounded, as if she was pregnant. But that was impossible, that was absolutely and completely impossible. 

A knock sounded, a petite woman entering. 

"I'm Doctor Mullins, Emma. I know that this may take some time to fully process, but… you're pregnant."

Emma hissed out a breath into a hysterical laugh. "What? No. No. This is not how babies work, or pregnancy, or even - I haven't even had sex since - "

"I know, and I understand that you must be frightened." The doctor attempted to console her, but Emma could not stop her rising panic. She touched the rounded skin of her stomach, the firm smoothness lined with stretch marks. Letting out a low wail, the doctor tried to speak over her still. "It's some ancient and dark magic, but it's very real. We have an inspector on the way to take your statement, and we performed a few tests -" 

"No. No, this is a bad dream, this isn't real, this isn't happening to me!" Emma closed her eyes, trying to focus. 

" - most concerning of which is the results on paternity, which indicate that the father has non-human presenting DNA. Normally that's not terribly unusual, but this is clearly not a planned pregnancy considering your… your conception being, well, this, and the genomic markers show that the parentage is half Celestial. I need to ask, have you had any relationships with an Angel?"

Emma shook her head, trying to understand what the doctor was asking. 

"Alright, what about anyone with proximity to dark, Arcane, or Demonic magics? Anyone who associates with Demons? Do you associate with them?" The doctor eyed her curiously, and Emma shook her head again. 

"I don't know any Demons, Angels, or Celestials." Emma bit her lip, frustrated at the question. Rolling it between her teeth, she murmured a thought out loud. "I did recently perform a ritual that was older. It didn't call for this though, I don't know anything about this…" 

"Well, it doesn't just happen." Emma looked at the doctor with enough venom in her stare to curdle milk. The doctor laughed nervously. "I mean, it did but -" 

"This cannot be happening," Emma moaned, throwing her head back against the hospital bed's pillow. "This has to be a bad dream."

"I'm afraid it is all very real. Considering the circumstances, an inspector of magical law will be assigned to question you regarding the situation. Because of the issues of legality, you may not leave or have visitors until then." The doctor stood, brushing her hands on her slacks. "Baby looks healthy despite wanting to grow at an accelerated rate, and we have slowed that as much as we can. Welcome to motherhood Miss Swan, and, er… Congratulations." Giving a last placid smile, she left the room, leaving Emma alone. 

Emma sat stunned, unable to do anything but focus on her steady breathing. 

(Fuck)

The single word came to mind again and again, escaping from her lips as her breath finally began to turn into sobs. 

This is my first solo art piece for CSSNS 2020, inspired by the “never run faster than your guardian angel can fly” photo I used in the aesthetic. Emma’s glowing blue eyes and Killian’s black eyes are inspired by the angel and demon eyes in Supernatural, but it’s not really an AU of the show (though I guess it could be).

They get a taste of each other’s worlds, and demon!Killian walks through clouds while angel!Emma breathes fire. The sneaky snake has a tint of blue while the winged one has warmer tones.

‘In the Arms of an Angel’ by itrustyoutokillme / @artistic-writer

[full resolution]

This is one of my favourite moments in the Between Heaven & Hell verse by the forever talented @alexandralyman so as soon as I read it, I put this scene on my list of fanart to make!

Please do not crop/edit/claim as your own!  There have been MANY fantastic artworks based on this fic, so i’m sure SOMEONE will catch you out!

That was his name, he remembered that. He looked for the source of it, straining against the bonds that held him, trying to see. Trying to hear.

Killian Jones, just talk to me, damn you!

He knew that tone. He knew that voice. He thought, Emma.

She wanted to see him. She worried. What kind of fool would give that up?

The shadows whispered around him. If she cared, why wasn’t she here? Why did she leave him here all alone? Nobody cared. Nobody would come.

But they were lies, he reminded himself fiercely. She’d be here if she could, he knew that. She’d done it before. She’d sacrificed so much for him.

He didn’t want her here, though. He didn’t want her to give up any more. He didn’t want the shadows anywhere near her.

The shadows grew more insistent, and Killian noted something new. A frantic note. A hint of desperation.

Something was going on. He felt the shift all around him, even chained as he was in the cell. Distant screams, crashes, clangs, a familiar cacophony that meant battle.

And he knew what that meant. Emma had broken the curse. Pan’s power was waning, and Tink was taking advantage of it as planned.

He had to get out.

He’d been here before, and his rage had carried him through it. But he’d already lost everything back then. He hadn’t had anything left to fight for, other than himself. And it had been enough to get through it, to keep his will and his mind, but now… now he had more.

You don’t deserve it.

He sneered at the voice—whether it was the shadows’ or his own, he couldn’t tell. He’d believed that for too long, and it had held him back. Stuck down here, with a duty he hated, his soul leashed.

It wasn’t a matter of deserving anything. It was a matter of fighting for what he wanted. And Killian wanted freedom.

A shadow reached for him—and Killian reached back.

He encountered nothing, of course; shadows were intangible. But he leaned into it, darkness surrounding him, cold and empty. It was almost like a mirror; he could feel an echo of his own loss, his own loneliness. The shadows sought warmth, just like he did.

For the first time, Killian wondered why. For the first time, he thought that perhaps they were leashed just as he was. Trapped and abandoned, with no recourse but to steal what they craved.

But not from him. He knew the weapon that could keep them at bay, but the only defence he knew was attack. What he needed was a shield. He took a deep breath, and thought of everything he had lost, everything he still wanted, and anger boiled back up.

It was different than the white-hot rage he’d all but drowned in for years. This was cold, calm, determined. He wrapped it around himself like armour, driving the shadows back.

And when he felt an opening, a lull in their attention, a weakening—he pushed.

The chains burst. Metal links sprayed across the room, pinging off the walls. The shadows reached for him, but Killian staggered to his feet and lunged for the door. It was locked, but he was no longer shackled, the magic that had bound him so weak that it was no match for his. He slashed at the lock with his hook, and the door sprang open.

He slipped through it. There was no sign of any guards, but the sounds of battle were louder now, echoing along the hallway. He ran towards it. Someone met him at the foot of the stairs, one of Pan’s boys; he caught the sword blow on his hook and wrenched the blade from the bastard’s hand. It clanged to the ground, and Killian slashed his hook across the demon’s neck.

Then he summoned his cutlass, and ran to join the battle for Neverland.

 *  *  *

 He found Tinkerbell and several others in a hallway near the tall, heavy doors that led up to Pan’s inner sanctum, locked in a fight with a group of Pan’s lads who were defending it. Evidently he’d been right: he and Tink were not the only ones dissatisfied with Pan’s rule. The others had just needed a little push, and he had known that Tink could give them that push. That independent streak of hers made her charismatic in a way he didn’t think she was even aware of.

Tink hurled her opponent against the wall, which he slid down, boneless, and turned to Killian. Her eyes were bright and wild, her grin deadly.

“Took you long enough.”

“My hosts were loathe to let me go,” he said, joining her as a pair of demons moved to attack. “I have that effect on people. They get attached.”

Tink snorted, and aimed a magic blast at the nearest attacker; he deflected it, but Killian used the momentary distraction to stab him.  The second one swung at him and he parried the blow, and Tink sent the lad flying.

“Pan?” Killian asked.

“Up there.” Tink motioned. “You coming?”

He smirked. “You were waiting for me, weren’t you?”

“Well, it was your harebrained idea,” she shot back as she moved to the door. “Figured you should take point.”

“Gladly.” In truth, he was primed for battle, his blood singing. After centuries of sly deals and manipulation, it felt good just to wield a blade. It was honest. Clean.

Well, not in the physical sense. By the time they reached the top of the curving stairs, Killian’s blade and clothes were covered in blood, very little of it his.

The chamber that Pan had retreated to was expansive and imposing. The last time Killian had been here, it had been lit by a soft golden glow from the giant magical hourglass that floated in the middle of it, the source of Neverland’s power. Now, the light had turned deep red, as if the magic had died down to embers—and indeed, the swirling sand in the hourglass looked more like glowing ash than sand now.

Killian strode into the chamber, blood dripping from his sword and fury blazing in his eyes. Pan was standing in the centre of it, flanked by Felix and four others, a sword in his hand.

“Hook.” He spat the word. “You’ll die for this.”

“Let’s not jump to conclusions,” Killian said lightly. “One of us will die.”

He let his eyes sweep over the others, a menacing look. “Well. Perhaps more.”

“You’re outnumbered, Captain,” Pan said softly.

“Is he?” Tinkerbell stepped up next to Killian, a cheerful smile on her face—free from bloodstains, Killian couldn’t help but notice. Tink had never shared his preference for up-close combat.

Others followed her—enough to match Pan’s little group. Enough to out-match them.

Pan smiled back, arrogant as ever. “So Tinkerbell finally makes her move. I suppose she told you all some grand tale about vengeance, and justice, and how my death will make everything so much better. Be honest, Tink. You’ve always been jealous of me. You’ve always wanted my power for your own.”

Killian glanced at the others, saw some doubt sneak into their eyes, but not as much as Pan probably hoped for. “Trying to sow mistrust and discord, how predictable. Anyway, no one could possibly be worse than you.”

A new sort of calm settled over him with the words. He had to kill Pan, so that was what he would do. There was no choice. No question. No room for doubt.

He gathered his magic to him. It had never quite felt like his—in truth, it had never really been his—but for once, it felt almost natural. Strong. Like he was finally using it right.

“Oh, I promise you, I am not the villain here,” Pan said darkly. Killian waited, letting him get into the flow of his little speech. “You’ll find out soon enough, when—”

Killian attacked.

Pan reacted in time, of course, bringing his blade up to block Killian’s. But Killian had speed and weight on his side, and the force of the impact made Pan take a step back. Killian pressed the advantage, even though he knew it would come to nothing. He couldn’t take Pan by surprise, or simply overwhelm him.

At least, not yet.

They traded blows as the others erupted into battle around them. Sword clanged, and magic singed the air. Killian ignored the chaos around him, focused on his prey. He had to kill Pan.

He’d never been a match for the demon before, ancient and powerful as he was. But the Dark Curse breaking had weakened him, and Killian thought that the shock of this rebellion might have added to it. Pan thrived on others’ fear and self-doubt; his belief in himself was absolute.

And for once, Killian’s trumped his. It was not belief, it was knowledge. He could win this. He would win this. There was simply no other alternative.

Pan cheated, of course; he used magic to dodge out of the way, to appear suddenly at Killian’s back or shove him away, but it was nothing compared to the aura of power he’d had before. He still had his devious tactics, but Killian had centuries of experience with those. He stayed purposely aggressive, letting anger twist his face and make his movements stronger, as though barely in control. Pan parried his blows easily, though strain was beginning to show on his face.

“All this over one woman,” Pan said as he danced back. “You know you’ll never see her again.”

Killian glared at him. “It doesn’t matter.”

“Of course it does.” Pan was watching him, that calculating look Killian hated so much. “You want her. Don’t pretend otherwise, it’s written all over your face. You want her, and I can give her to you.”

“No, you can’t.”

“I have something of hers, remember?” Pan asked. “I’m sure there’s a bargain to be struck.”

Killian made no effort to hide his disgust at that. “People aren’t property to be bargained over.”

Pan scoffed. “Oh, please, spare me your pretence of morality, pirate.”

But Killian had already seized on the word, and realised something: Pan was bargaining.

And Pan did not bargain when he had the upper hand.

Killian smiled, and struck again. Pan dodged, but it was a close thing, and Killian pressed the advantage. Again and again he attacked, his blade striking sparks off Pan’s as he drove the bastard back.

Pan countered Killian’s overhead swipe, and Killian narrowly avoided catching his blade with his hip. “Ooh,” he said as he danced lightly back, out of reach. “There was a time you’d have landed that.”

“There was a time you knew better than to challenge me,” Pan retorted.

Killian sneered. “I think you’re just getting old.”

Pan’s next parry was angrier, and Killian flashed his cockiest grin. He’d never beat Pan by making him angry, the bastard was too clever for that, but if he could get him to think that Killian was caught up in fury and arrogance, he might get overconfident.

“You are a fool,” Pan said, and Killian was pleased to hear the note of breathlessness in his voice.  “You think she’ll reward you for what you’ve done? She’s using you. She just wants my power for her own.”

He was talking about Tink. Killian shot him a cold smirk. “As long as you die for it, I don’t care.”

“You always were naive,” Pan taunted. “And pathetic. Throwing yourself at this person or that, so desperate for someone to love you, to chain you. You’re never going to be free. You aren’t built for it.”

It was hard, then, not to let the rage take over. Killian knew his eyes would be flashing, knew that Pan could see it.

“Desperate,” he echoed. “I suppose you’d recognise that. All you have are words, old man. You’re scared. Nothing but a coward at heart.”

Pan parried the cut that accompanied Killian’s words, sneered, opened his mouth to say something—and disappeared.

Killian turned with easy grace to catch the blade aimed at his back with his hook. “And predictable.”

And before Pan could react, he twisted, levering the sword out of Pan’s hand.

It fell with a clatter, and Killian threw himself forward, knocking Pan to the ground and summoning his own magic to keep him there. It wasn’t easy; even now, Pan’s power rivalled his own, but Killian no longer cared, caught up on a wave of fury that swept away everything in its path. He drove his sword into Pan’s chest—and twisted.

Pan let out a pained grunt, his eyes wide and scared now. “No.”

A good man might have let up. Perhaps honour would call for mercy, for trial or imprisonment, but Killian was beyond that now. He looked into the eyes of the demon who’d tormented him, and sneered. “I want to draw it out,” he said in a low voice. “I want to pay you back for every—” he twisted the blade again “—single—” and again “—time. But I know you’d only weasel out of it if I let you live.”

Pan tried to shake his head, his throat convulsing. “Captain,” he managed.

Killian smiled at him, a predator’s smile. “I’m going to kill you,” he said, needing Pan to know, to feel every bit of that terror. He’d taken Killian’s freedom. He’d tortured him, tried to kill him. Threatened Emma. He deserved every bit of hell Killian could give him, and Killian’s only regret was that he couldn’t give him more.

He leaned closer, hissing the words. “And there’s nothing you can do.”

He stabbed him again. And again. Pan screamed, a sound more of fear than pain, and then he made a sick, gurgling sound, and then he did nothing at all.

Killian stared into his lifeless eyes, and something in him seemed to snap, like a bowstring cut. His shoulders slumped, and he closed his eyes as his body began to shake.

“Hook!” Tink’s voice, above and to his right. “He’s dead?”

It took immense effort to look up at her. She was blood-spattered now, her eyes still wild as she looked from him to Pan’s corpse and back.

Killian said nothing, but she read the answer in the scene before her. She closed her eyes briefly, and when she opened them again, they were bright. “You did it.”

She dropped to her knees beside him and did something she’d never done before: she hugged him. He felt her shoulders shake, felt tears falling from his own eyes, felt a weight lift from him even as he cried.

Pan was dead.

And Killian was finally, finally, free.

 *  *  *

 For her entire life, as far back as she could remember, Emma had dreamed about having her parents back. Now she did, and it was an adjustment. They were renting the apartment across the hall from her, and she saw them every day. It was nice... and it was a lot.

They talked a lot. Mostly about Emma, and all the parts of her life that they had missed. Snow cried over the photo albums that showed Emma as a child, and David kept hugging her to him like he’d done when she was little. Catching up on a lifetime, or half a lifetime, of love and affection was... a lot.

But it was nice.

David kept bringing up that he was older than Snow now; she, in turn, ran her hand over his temples and the grey beginning to show there, a gleam in her eyes.

Emma knew she was supposed to be grossed out—that was what you did as a kid, wrinkle your nose when your parents kissed or got sappy. But she was still too damn happy to have them both back, and that they had each other back. The love they had for each other showed in every look, every teasing comment, every casual touch.

It didn’t gross her out. It just made her feel... wistful. And maybe a little empty. She would never have that.

None of her attempts at contacting Killian had worked so far, and if it hadn’t been for her mother, she would have given up before now. After all her time in Neverland, Snow knew quite a bit about summoning and messaging spells, though eventually she confirmed what Regina had said: the way was blocked.

Emma found herself glaring at nothing, calling his name, telling him to just pick up the damn phone already.

But there was no response, and she was coming to realise that there might never be one.

Snow and David both came with her to Zelena’s trial. It was a short affair; the evidence was clear, and Zelena had no defence.

Emma tried not to be disappointed when none of the Coven called for Killian. It was a good thing, she told herself. It spared him the ordeal of being called to a trial like a criminal, and it wasn’t like she’d be able to talk to him.

But a small, selfish part of her wanted to see him. Just once, just for a minute, to see if he was okay.

Of course, if he wasn’t okay, that wouldn’t help. But not knowing was even worse.

When Regina got to her feet, Emma’s heart lurched. “Zelena West, we find you guilty—” Regina began, but before she could continue, Zelena let out a shriek.

“You bitch!” she yelled. “I knew it! You always had it in for me! It’s not fair. I should be in your seat. This is your fault, you—”

One of the other Coven members waved a hand, and Zelena fell silent, her eyes flashing furiously at the woman. The woman—Ursula, Emma remembered—gave a superior little smirk, which only infuriated Zelena more.

“On all charges,” Regina finished calmly, as though there had been no interruption. “You will be stripped of your powers and rank, and serve three years in the Academy to give you an opportunity to do something decent with your life, at the end of which the Academy council will advise the Coven on your status.”

Regina delivered the verdict with something close to relish, and Emma felt her eyes widen. She’d expected prison; she hadn’t expected Zelena to lose her powers completely. The Academy was a place for magical learning, staffed in part by people like her father who knew about the existence of magic but had none of their own.

It was both a harsher and a kinder sentence than Emma had expected.

Snow was smiling. “She really has changed,” she said in a whisper. “Regina, I mean.”

“Yeah,” David said, voice just as low. “Sure glad she’d on our side now.”

Snow turned to Emma as everyone got up to leave the Coven’s court room. “You okay?”

Emma nodded. David put an arm around her, tugging her against his side. “You did good,” he said. “Proud of you, kiddo.”

“I didn’t do this,” Emma said. But Zelena had turned too, and spotted her, glaring daggers at her. Emma raised her chin and smiled, giving a little wave that made Zelena bare her teeth in impotent fury. She was beaten, and she knew it. She’d never threaten or hurt anyone again.

Snow stepped slightly in front of Emma, and Emma swore she saw her mother’s eyes glow briefly red as she glared at Zelena. Zelena’s fury slid off her face as she paled, eyes widening in sudden fear.

“Mom?” Emma muttered as one of the Coven’s sheriffs, Graham, stepped up to Zelena. He shot Emma a brief smile and a nod, which she returned, and then he took Zelena away.

Snow’s smile was an odd mix of apologetic and defiant. “I didn’t like how she looked at you. Nobody threatens my daughter.”

Emma swallowed back the emotion that rose at those words. “What’s with the eye thing?”

Snow shrugged, looking a little embarrassed. “I guess Neverland leaves its marks. I know it’s a bit… dark, and normally I wouldn’t, but I figured I could use it to scare her a little—”

Emma grinned. “That’s badass.”

David nodded. He was grinning too, and shot a wink at his wife. “And kinda hot.”

Emma rolled her eyes.

“Come on, you two,” Snow said, shooting David a quelling look, though she was smiling. “Let’s go home.”

 *  *  *

 The next day, Snow suggested trying another summoning. Emma looked at her, feeling like a sulky teenager as she shook her head. It wasn’t like she didn’t appreciate her mother trying. But it was getting harder to face the failure every time; every one felt like one more nail in the coffin of her hope.

“What’s the point?” she asked, frustrating bubbling over into annoyance. “It’s not like it matters. It’s not like he’d be able to stay.”

Snow’s eyebrows rose. “You want him to stay?”

Emma felt herself blush. She hadn’t told her parents any of the details of her time with Killian, nor what she really wanted. It was pointless. And anyway, she didn’t think either of her parents would be very happy at the idea of their daughter with a demon.

“Well… it’s not… it’s just…” she floundered.

Snow smiled, a slightly sad, understanding smile. “Oh, Emma.”

“I know,” Emma said, chopping a hand through the air. “I know. He’s a demon. Blah, blah. Like I said, it doesn’t matter.”

“Of course it matters,” Snow exclaimed. “I didn’t know—well, I guess it makes sense,” she interrupted herself, looking suddenly thoughtful.

“What makes sense?”

“That you’d fall for him.”

“I didn’t fall for him,” Emma snapped. “I can’t fall for him, remember?”

She regretted the outburst at once as a shadow passed over Snow’s face. “Right. I just meant, the way he was looking at you, the way you looked at each other, it… oh, Emma. Come on. We’ll try it again. We’ll keep trying.”

Emma let out a sigh, still a little mortified at her mother knowing about her… feelings. For a demon. For Hook. Oh, hell.

Before she could say anything, there came a distinct knock, as if on a door.

Emma looked around. It hadn’t come from the door.

The knock came again.

Snow gasped, and looked down at the floor. There, on the lino, glowed the outline of a summoning circle.

“Hello?” Emma said, and then, “... come in?”

Smoke rose, but it was immediately apparent that it wasn’t Killian. This figure was lithe, and blond, and smiling.

“Tinkerbell,” Emma said blankly.

“Tinkerbell!” Snow exclaimed, delighted.

“Hello again.” Tinkerbell looked paler than the last time Emma had seen her, with a bruise on her left cheek, but there was a light in her eyes that hadn’t been there before. “I heard you broke the curse. Congratulations.”

“Thanks,” Emma said carefully. She still wasn’t sure what to make of the other woman—Tinkerbell had wanted to help her, but she’d also turned her over to Pan, so overall… “Is that why you’re here?”

Tinkerbell grinned. “Straight to the point? Okay. Long story short, there’s been a change in leadership around here. Pan’s gone.”

Snow’s eyes widened. Emma felt hers do the same.

“And given your role in making that happen,” Tink went on, “I figured I owed you a visit.”

“My role?”

“You broke the curse,” Tinkerbell said again. “Without that, Pan lost most of his power, and we took over.”

“Oh,” Emma said, and then, “Who’s ‘we’? What happened to Killian?”

Tinkerbell shook her head, looking amused. “Figures. He’s okay. Actually, he killed Pan, and it’s been… intense. Busy. Regime changes, you know.”

“Right,” Emma said automatically, a bit stunned. He’d killed Pan? Hell, she hadn’t thought that was even possible.

“Can we talk to him?” Snow asked.

Tinkerbell hesitated. “Like I said, it’s been busy. And he’s still technically barred. We’re working on undoing all of Pan’s mischief, but it’s a lot of work, and since Killian’s still persona non grata with the Coven, I thought it’s best if he stays out of sight.”

“Oh,” Emma said again. “Yeah.”

“Anyway, that’s not why I’m here,” Tinkerbell said. “Regina called me yesterday, and reminded me I’ve still got business with you.”

“Regina?” Snow echoed in disbelief.

A disbelief that Emma shared completely. “Regina called you?”

Oh, she was so bringing that up next time Regina tried to admonish her about summoning demons.

“Yeah. She offered me a deal.” Tinkerbell raised her eyebrows. “Your ability to fall in love in exchange for hers.”

That stopped Emma cold. Surely she’d heard that wrong.

“What?!” Snow burst out.

“I know.” Tinkerbell shrugged. “Woman has a conscience, who knew?” She scowled. “’Course, it’s not only altruism. I know what she’s about, and if she thinks I went to all that effort to find the guy only for her to pull this, she has another think coming...”

Emma frowned. “What?”

Tinkerbell shook her head. “Never mind. Point is, she offered. I turned her down, of course. But I thought you should know.”

“Oh.” Despite her best efforts, Emma felt disappointed. It wasn’t like she wanted Regina to give up love, but on a very mean, selfish level… “Right.”

“And it did remind me,” Tinkerbell went on, “that I owe you. And deal or not, I honour my debts. So if you want it back, you can have it back, since I owe you for breaking the curse.”

“Oh.” The conversation was moving a bit too fast for Emma’s liking. Tinkerbell just waited, evidently of the opinion that now the offer had been made, it was Emma’s turn to talk.

For a moment, Emma debated saying no. Did she want to be able to fall in love? It hadn’t exactly worked out for her so far.

But then she remembered the look on her mother’s face when she gave it up. The way Killian had looked at her, held her. She might never have that again… but if she said no, that maybe would be a definitely. “Uhm. Yeah. Okay. Yes, I do want it back. Please.”

Tinkerbell beamed at her, and waved a hand. Emma felt nothing, but then, she hadn’t felt the loss of it either.

“Okay, that’s that,” she said. “Anything else? And before you answer that, you should know that I can’t give you Hook. I don’t trade in people.”

Emma felt her jaw drop. “I don’t—I wouldn’t—”

“You wouldn’t want him here because he has to be here,” Tinkerbell finished for her, openly grinning now. “Yeah. Sorry, centuries of dealing with Pan, you know, you kind of forget that most people are decent…”

Emma thought of asking to see him—not now, but maybe someday, when things had calmed down—but she suddenly wasn’t sure she wanted to. She knew that he was okay now. Would seeing him really help? Or would it just make it worse, having to say goodbye again? She was so sick of goodbyes.

“Well, if that’s all,” Tinkerbell said, “I’m off. Like I said, busy, busy. Snow… good to see you again. I’m glad you got out, and not just because it helped me.”

Snow smiled at her. “Me too. And I’m glad it helped you.”

“Peace.” Tinkerbell disappeared before Emma could decide whether or not to give her a message for Killian.

Probably, she decided, for the best.

“Emma?” Snow said quietly. She looked both pleased and a little worried, like she wasn’t sure how Emma would take all of this.

Emma managed a smile. “Yeah.”

“That’s good news, right?” Snow said. “Maybe when they’ve figured it all out—it must have been chaos since Pan died, so—maybe that’s why he hasn’t been answering.”

“Yeah,” Emma said again, but she knew, suddenly, that it didn’t matter.

He was okay. He was no longer under Pan’s control, no longer in danger of being shackled and tortured. He was safe. She could live with that.

It was like the last piece of the puzzle had slotted into place, and the picture was complete. She felt a peace settle over her.

He’d fought for her, defied Pan for her. He’d taken down Zelena for her. He’d loved her, shown her affection like she’d never known, and he’d done it knowing that she couldn’t love him. He’d done it unselfishly, for her, because she was worth it.

There was nothing wrong with her. She’d just chosen the wrong guys in the past. She was worth loving. She’d thought that love was not for her, but she’d been wrong.

Killian had given her that. And she would honour that gift. If she ever had a chance to love again, she would take it, now that she could again.

Losing Killian hurt, but she knew that she’d survive it. She felt whole in a way she hadn’t felt in years, not since Neal had broken her heart. It was just a memory now; it no longer held power over her.

She was whole. And she was free. And she was going to be okay.

 *  *  *

 It took days to restore order after the battle; Killian knew it would take longer than that still to restore everything to how it should be. The shadows had escaped after Pan had died, back to their original roles as guardians of Dark Hollow. Neverland was changing, the sky no longer dark at all times, the cries of the lost no longer overwhelming.

Tink had taken charge, and Killian was content to follow her lead. It felt good to clean up and restore order, to remove piece after piece of Pan’s corrupting influence.

They were sitting in her tree house, sharing a drink and a well-earned break, when she turned to him and said, “I’ve been meaning to ask. What are you going to do?”

He frowned. “What?”

“Pan’s gone,” Tink said. “None of us are chained anymore, and I thought… well, I got the impression that you didn’t much want to stay.”

“Here?” he asked. “No, but what choice do I have?”

She rolled her eyes. “Of course you have a choice.” At his expression, she went on, “Hook, I’m pretty sure you’ve proven yourself. Pan wouldn’t let you go, but… your deal should be fulfilled. You should be free to go.”

Killian had thought so too, but he didn’t feel free to go. The deal that had trapped him here still held. “I’m not.”

Tink gave him an impatient look. “Hook, you have got to get over this… this self-flagellation of yours. The only thing holding you here is you.”

“That’s not—”

“Oh, yes, it’s true,” she snapped. “All those years, you did a duty you hated because you thought you deserved it. Then you finally fought back, and you won, and you still think you need to be punished. Well, I’m not bloody punishing you.”

“I don’t want to be punished!” he snapped. She was wrong. She had to be. He wasn’t keeping himself here, damn it. He didn’t want to be here. He wanted his freedom. He wanted his life back.

You don’t deserve it.

He gritted his teeth. Damn it.

“I went to see her, you know,” Tinkerbell said after another moment. “Just some unfinished business. She’s okay.”

“Oh.” He swallowed. “Good.”

“Got her parents back, and Zelena locked up,” Tink said. “Ready to move on.”

He was glad of that, even as he felt like a knife stabbed his chest. “Good.”

Tink rolled her eyes. “She asked about you.”

“Oh?”

“I told her you were safe. Didn’t want to put pressure on you to choose one way or another. Free will, you know.”

It was the opposite of what Pan would have done. Tink would lead Neverland the way it was meant to be led. The time of sly deals and loopholes and manipulation was over.

“Besides,” Tink went on, “it didn’t seem right to tell her about this and get her hopes up before you made your choice.”

Killian thought of Emma, of seeing her, of finally having a chance to court her and convince her to give him a chance. Of disturbing her life even more than he already had. Of what she had given up for him. What he had done—for her, and for himself. The sins he carried with him, and the acceptance he’d found with her. The knife in his chest twisted. He felt tears prick his eyes.

He’d fought Pan and won because he finally had something to fight for. And if he had to fight himself next... The prospect of being stuck in Neverland because of himself was infuriating. Completely unacceptable.

He felt a wistful smile twist his lips. “Not much of a choice,” he said.

And, in the end, it really wasn’t.

*  *  *