#i write thangs

Killian grunted, the quick and abrupt movements making him dizzy. "What are you doing?!"

Gold didn't reply; he only leaned forward and undid Killian's leather pants, lowering them down to his knees.

That was enough of an answer.

"No! Stop!" Killian said, squirming under Gold's weight over him.

Gold also seemed to be struggling, still breathing hard.

His face pressed against the bottom of the truck, Killian couldn't turn his head enough to see, though he knew very well what was coming.

There was no preparation though. He could have sworn that Gold had just stabbed him.

It took him a few seconds to be able to hear anything but his own wails, to feel anything but Gold's hard cock slamming inside him. The edge of the truck was pushing down on his stomach, and his restrained arms were being squeezed between his and Gold's bodies.

And Gold was moaning hard above him, but not in a way Killian would imagine as pleasant. If anything, Gold sounded to be in pain himself.

Gold raised up a little, alleviating the pressure on Killian's back, but allowing himself to go deeper, and Killian's breath was cut short by gasps of pain. Tears filled his eyes, and by now the side of his face was rubbing against the hard surface of the bottom.

In the absolute chaos, a memory of something Swan had told him during their road trip from New York City to Storybrooke entered his consciousness, about time feeling relative.

It couldn't have been hours, then, that he'd been like this. It only felt like it.

His face felt raw, and probably bleeding, but that was the least of his worries by the time Gold finally gasped and finished inside him.

Very few things could have given him the strength to turn around and look at Gold right then. He hadn't expected the sound of Gold sobbing being one of them.

Gasping himself, he lifted his head, ignoring the spots of blood where it had just been laying, and he turned as much as he could.

Gold was still inside him, still grabbing his hips, but his face was down and shaking with sobs.

Killian was speechless.

Gasping hard and without raising his head, Gold pulled away and simply collapsed next to one of the car's wheels. Killian bent his knees, using his own weight to drag himself out of the trunk, and rested his head against the back of the car as he looked at him, still speechless. Something wet and hot was running down his cheek, but even if his hand wasn't restrained he wouldn't care enough to check if it was tears or blood.

Killian was slightly shaking himself, his quick gasps forming condensation on the metal.

Gold was full-on crying; he only covered his exposed crotch with his hands, seemingly too upset to be able to dress himself. Tears were dropping down to his lap as his shoulders were still shaking.

For one single moment, Killian allowed himself a moment to feel sympathy, being surprised at how less it hurt than hating the man, even after he'd just... done that.

Feeling too tired already, he closed his eyes and waited. His backside was still exposed, and he was getting cold. Then Gold, he assumed, grabbed him and carelessly pushed him back into the trunk, putting Killian's pants back on.

Killian opened his eyes and looked at him. Gold still looked upset and shaken, his eyes red from crying, but his face quickly turned cold. His hand took on a purple glow as he put it over Killian's face, and he felt the sting from the scrapes there disappear. Then an object appeared in Gold's hand and started to glow with magic too.

A single train of magic flowed from Killian towards the object, then darkness.

~

Killian stood frozen, looking at the dreamcatcher in his hand, but this time knowing the shock was different than the one he usually had while watching these.

He examined the dreamcatcher's condition as his senses slowly came back. It looked brand new, the feathers clean, the wood shining, not a single thread jumping out from the thread woven around the wooden circle.

He swallowed hard. Gold probably hadn't watched this one much, if at all. No surprise there, considering it contained such a vulnerable moment for himself.

Then why the hell keep it?

Killian sighed deeply and threw it away, not caring where it landed. He rested his arms on his knees and dropped his head. Part of him hated that Gold still kept this souvenir, that he still wanted to remember this moment even though he did not wish to relive it. The other part was glad, because if Gold had kept that one, everything that Gold had done to him had been recorded. Killian wouldn't have to lose sleep wondering if there had been any dreamcatchers Gold had destroyed for whatever reason.

But still, he wondered what the point was. Even if he had watched it at least once, all he would see-

He froze again when he realized; the dreamcatchers were from Killian's point of view, and there was always an indescribable... aura of emotions while watching them. It was always like living them all over again, not like simply watching a film.

At the point Gold made this dreamcatcher, he had already made about three more. At least, he thought with a shiver and casting a glance at the box of unwatched dreamcatchers. If he'd known they worked that way... if when watching them he also got an impression of Killian's feelings and emotions...

A small sob escaped his mouth and he brought his arms closer to his chest. It was like a new way that Gold had violated his body and mind.

Was that another reason why he'd apparently enjoyed the dreamcatcher from Neverland?

He closed his eyes and shrunk into himself, feeling bile raise in his throat.

Still, he tried to put the pieces together to understand why Gold had kept this specific memory. Killian remembered a wide array of emotions he'd felt in each one; hate, disgust, self-loathing, pain, fear, shame, even that bloody arousal... but this was the one and only time he'd felt sympathy.

Where Gold had just raped him bloody and all Killian thought was how much pain he must have been in after losing his son. Where Killian couldn't even think of the word rape.

Killian sighed again; it would be an endless mystery, much like his inability to accuse the one responsible because he was lucky enough to have died already. But as his mind begged him for an explanation, all Killian could give was that Gold had simply wanted a reminder that, for once, his nemesis had felt sympathy for him, even - or especially - after the pain Gold had caused him.

He looked at the discarded dreamcatcher. Gold had died quickly, but had formed a bond of sorts with the other Killian by then, enough to sacrifice his own life to save him. Would he have done something with those dreamcatchers, had he had the time to prepare himself for his demise? Would he have done something with him? Would he apologize? If Killian feeling sympathy for him once was enough to hold onto a memory - or a souvenir, at least - that was vulnerable for Gold as well, what could his relationship with the other Killian have lead him to?

A tear fell from his eye. Was this the time to come clean to his other self?

~

Note: Most of y’all have already left kudos and comments on AO3, and I appreciate them still, but I’d be lying if I said new ones don’t make my day so if you feel inclined to, hop over to AO3 as well :)

Hopelessly, Killian looked around for anything that could hold a fire. He could ignite a fire with his hook and a rock, but there was nothing dry enough to stay lit. His stomach rumbled, but he closed his eyes and shook his head at himself. He'd gone days without food before. He could handle it again, until Emma found him... or he became desperate enough to eat raw fish. He rolled himself onto his stomach and raised to his elbows, wincing as his left wrist protested.

His eyes widened at the sight of his skin. He was covered in marks from suction cups, and there was a tiny spot of blood close to his right shoulder.

The squeezing, he thought. The hook must've injured him, and he probably was too shocked by the lack of breathing to notice the pricking.

He wrapped his hand around his brace. It was a poor excuse for protection, but it was his only one. A sob left him as he considered his options. Even if he had any chance of injuring the beast with it, he had no idea how much damage he could cause, or when the opportunity for it would arise. He held on tighter, as he thought that it probably wasn't worth the dangers of keeping it.

Otherwise, by the time they'd find him, they'd probably have to amputate his entire arm.

Letting out another sob, he undid the buckles of the brace slowly, then whimpered when it slipped from his arm. The tissue was definitely irritated; nothing that should worry him, but it only confirmed his fears that the brace was more dangerous than useful to him right now. Grunting sadly, he turned and crawled, one-handed, to the edge of the rock, and dipped his left arm into the cold, salty water. He shivered, but sighed at the eventual relief.

Emma, Emma, he thought. She was coming for him. He had to stay alive.

His stomach rumbled again, and he looked at the fresh fish with disdain, then back at the kraken, which seemed to be watching him closely. There was no use in throwing the fish away; it would still keep bringing him fresh ones until he ate them. Then he looked at the rusty buckets, feeling his empty stomach turn.

Pulling his arm back, he chanced standing up. His entire body hurt from being immobilized the entire night, and his backside hurt from... that, but once again, he was determined. He put his one foot down and started, but the second he put his weight on it he fell forward, barely managing to stop his fall with his hand. A weak groan left him, then he put his foot down again.

Come on! It shouldn't be this hard...

Though his knees trembled, he managed to stay upright. He walked to the buckets, every single step hurting. The mud seemed to have sat to the bottom, a layer of cleaner-looking water at the top. His tongue and throat felt dry as sandpaper, and water was something he needed for sure if he was to survive. And considering how long the water had been allowed to separate from the mud, it was as clean as it would get. He doubted the kraken would search for a pure spring.

He had to clean his hand first. There was more than enough water in the one bucket for today - if he even managed to drink any amount - so he knelt down, carefully, and dipped his hand into the other bucket to rinse it off the salt and blood from yesterday. He closed his eyes and took a deep breath.

He'd done this before. In desperate times, but he didn't have much of a choice now.

No.

He shook his head and opened his eyes. This was his choice. His choice to survive.

Bracing himself, he took a handful of water from the other bucket and, ignoring its slight brown tint, he gulped it down.

He moaned through his nose. It tasted horrible. He opened his mouth in a desperate attempt to get rid of the taste, somehow. It didn't feel as if his throat felt any better - though, considering his screaming from the previous day, was that really a surprise? He clenched his jaw, took a few breaths, then gulped another handful of water.

He only managed five gulps in total before he felt bile rise in his throat. He put his fist against his closed mouth and breathed hard through his nose, a few whimpers escaping in the attempt to keep himself from throwing up. A fear started creeping in him, that he was doing more damage than good drinking that water, but he had no other option at the moment. His jaw clenched again, he grabbed the buckets and emptied them, hoping the kraken would get the message and go fill them again soon, so that the new batch would have enough time to sit.

He sighed and slowly settled back on his shins, wincing as the pain in his backside spiked again. Though if he were honest, it wasn't the worst he'd had.

A shiver ran down his spine at that thought. Just how much was he supposed to endure? He had been violated by that beast, and yet there he was, thinking that he had had worse.

He wrapped his arms around his torso and curled inwards. His lip started trembling, and for the first time he didn't feel he had any reason to hold back. Maybe it was that his assailant wasn't human; maybe it was his past with it; maybe he was just too tired of it all by now. He started crying softly, keeping his arms tight around him. He winced, almost jolted back when he saw two tentacles raise from the water, but they only picked up the buckets, then the kraken left.

Killian rolled into a tighter ball and allowed himself to weep.

~

The kraken didn't take long, but by the time it returned Killian had dragged himself to the wall, resting his side on it. He watched it pick up the buckets from the opening above, then bring them to him.

How did it know? How did it know he needed water, and specifically not sea water? How did it know to make sure the water from the buckets didn't mix with the sea water...

Closing his eyes, already feeling exhausted, his thoughts trailed off. Then he felt something cold and smelly touch his lips and he gasped, opening his eyes and trying to bat whatever it was away.

The kraken had picked up one of the fish, and was now, again, trying to push it to his mouth.

Killian pushed the fish away, but the kraken seemed to insist. He managed to grab it and he threw it back in the water.

"I don't know if you understand me," he said, more dejected than angry, "but I need real food. I can't eat that. If I had a fire..."

He dropped his head. What the bloody hell was he doing?

His hand clenched into a fist as the waters shook with a deep rumbling from the kraken. It raised its tentacles and wrapped one around each of his ankles with force.

"No..." Killian whimpered. Instinctively he tried to crawl away, but yet another tentacle wrapped around his torso, leaving his arms free. He closed his eyes when the kraken forced his legs apart, and resorted himself to preparing for the attack.

It still wasn't enough. A scream tore through his throat, grating on the irritated tissue and echoing through the cave. His hand found a protruding rock on the ground and grabbed it as the tentacle inside him started thrusting. It went harsher this time, and faster. Killian couldn't manage one breath between thrusts. His body jerked forward with every one, his face approaching the ground dangerously. He grabbed at the rock harder, trying to keep whatever resistance he could to avoid having his face scrape against the harsh floor.

He saw tears drop down, leaving small stains on the rock, but he was barely conscious of his own crying. He grunted and whimpered with every thrust. The rock was coming closer and he could see himself collapse on it as it tore and scraped at the skin of his face. Terror rushed through him, keeping his eyes wide open.

The kraken was done quickly. It let go of Killian, who fell down, whimpering and trembling, eyes still wide open. He struggled to take a normal breath; he could feel wetness on his face, but it hadn't been wounded, had it? He reached out with a shaking hand, touching his wet cheeks, but there was no blood. Just then he remembered the tears that were falling from his eyes, he was probably still crying, his mind too focused on other pains to register that.

That time he didn't have the strength to check his backside for blood. He was sure there was, anyway.

He was so tired...

~

He opened his eyes, not realizing he had closed them. His body felt stiff again. He was in the fetal position, his head lain uncomfortably on the rock, pulling at the muscles on his neck. Breathing hard, he looked around the cave. The kraken was resting on the rocks close to him, its tentacles relaxed in the water.

Was it sleeping?

He had no way of knowing.

His eyes then turned to a spot of light; as they focused he saw that there was a rock bathed in sunlight, and Killian shivered lightly. He wasn't feeling cold, yet, but the mere need of feeling the sun's warmth on his skin pulled him onto his knees and elbows. Moaning with each crawl-step, he reached the edge of his rock, then gracelessly plopped into the water.

He hissed, struggling to keep his head out of the water, as the salt stung at the hook puncture on his chest and the wounds on his backside. He grabbed the rock, clenching his jaw and breathing hard, trying to console himself with the thought that the sea water was probably good for his injuries.

Keeping his jaw tight to stop himself from making more sounds and waking up the kraken, he turned and swam, using mostly his arms, towards the sunlit rock. Its surface was coarse, with countless small protruding rocks that could likely slice his skin open if he wasn't careful. He climbed up slowly, wincing every time he pushed himself forward with his feet, until he was lying on it, right under the sun's rays.

He closed his eyes.

A few times, he and Emma had lain on the grass of their garden, enjoying the sun, nearly falling asleep next to each other. The grass had been softer, and he had been clothed and able to hear Emma's calm breathing.

It could have been it, couldn't it? Perhaps there were just too many tiny rocks under him. Perhaps it was too hot a day and, after conjuring a protective shield around their house so they wouldn't be seen, they stripped and lay bare on the grass, which dried up under the sun's heat – another reason why it wasn't that soft to lie on. Perhaps he could imagine the sound of the waves as Emma's breathing...

Yet he couldn't find a place to fit his aching body, nothing to explain the pain, serving only to remind him of his reality.

"Where are you?" he whispered as a tear slipped through his closed eyelids.

~

~

~

So Killian's backstory is when he’s ten years old, a bit after his mom dies, he's taken away by his father. Liam has just left home to go to college, but Brennan and Killian disappear so quickly he doesn’t have the time to react to it or actually have any idea what happened. Brennan starts grooming Killian and some years later sells him as a prostitute and leaves him.

The story starts when Killian has already been forced into prostitution for years, but because of Brennan's grooming and his own trauma he doesn't know any better. At first I thought of Gold being his master but then it looked better for Silver to be his master and for Gold to be one of his regular (and the most violent) clients. I do have a penchant for Silver to fuck him up in general... I just haven’t showed it much.

Emma is an undercover cop who wants to take out their human trafficking con, but for that she needs to tap the place and her inside info tells her the best place to tap is Killian's bathroom because of a vent or whatever (explaining this whole plot is one of the reasons I’m not going to write this). So, undercover, she books a night with him, and to avoid any suspicion she sleeps with him but to her it feels like raping him, because she knows he's an unwilling prostitute despite there being no physical coercion and Killian not exhibiting any trauma afterwards. What’s going on inside his mind, however, is another issue.

The microphone thing needs to have its batteries changed once a week, so Emma visits and has sex with him every week. One of my favourite scenes I'll never write is her listening in, trying to get info but Gold comes and has his way with Killian, and Emma can't do anything but sit and listen to him scream and beg Gold to stop, then cry helplessly after Gold leaves. Maybe she cries with him too, and though she’s used to violence because of her job this time she wishes so hard she could comfort him.

Eventually Killian accidentally discovers the microphone. To her shock though, he crumbles before her and begs her to help him, promises he'll do everything that can help her take his captors down. He completely opens up to her about being sold into them by his father and taken away from his family, about how he barely remembers his own name (bc Brennan changed it when he took him away plus Silver treated him as a piece of meat so he didn't use names).

Emma manages to bring them down, but they discover Killian's involvement and manage to beat him up badly before getting arrested. Killian ends up in the hospital, and the police locate Liam and inform him about Killian. He comes to see him, but Killian is under deep trauma and shock especially after the last beating so he's actually scared of Liam. His therapist concludes that Killian subconsciously blames Liam for leaving him with their psycho of a father, and even though he knows it's not really his fault Killian is still having a hard time being calm in Liam's presence and learning to trust him again. And of course he would try to bond with Emma but Emma on the other hand blames herself for what she had to do with him for the operation. He doesn’t blame her but she knows he’d been forced into all of this, but since it makes him feel better she keeps him company.

There would be a lot of angst especially since Liam wants to reconnect with his brother and would eventually learn about Emma’s involvement and would be pissed and there would be drama between the three of them, with Killian trusting Emma more than he does Liam and Liam thinking it’s all because of his grooming and Emma caring deeply for Killian and wanting him to reconnect with Liam...

~

~

When the kraken left, Killian finally allowed himself a shiver that rocked his entire body.

What had happened? What did it want with him? Was that the same kraken that... ?

No. He didn't have time to think about that. Killian threw one last look at the fish the kraken had discarded next to him - why, Killian had no idea - and dived in the water. The cave was a bit dark; there was an opening high above that allowed for some light to come in, but the waters were too dark for him to search for his clothes. What he really needed had been thrown away in the Storybrooke harbor, anyway. His only hope was finding someone and calling for help, but even without that, he wasn't simply going to stay in that cave.

He reached the end of it, where he'd seen the kraken submerge, and tried to look for any exit. There must have been one. The water was stark clear, enough for Killian to see the bottom, but it was too dark to make out any significant difference in the rock formation.

Deciding he'd rather die from drowning trying to get away, than from whatever the kraken had in mind for him, he took a deep breath and dived in.

Even after eight unsuccessful dives, Killian couldn't find any opening. He was tired, he couldn't hold his breath too long now. The water seemed too deep, too; even if he had the breath to find an opening, considering its possible depth, he might not have the time to get to the surface before he ran out.

He looked back at the rock surface he'd been placed upon. What other choices did he have?

Not many, was his last thought before he felt the waters move. Quicker than he had expected, the kraken was back. It turned to him, let out what Killian interpreted as a growl, then grabbed him and put him back on the rocks. By now Killian was too tired to fight back. He was surprised, however, to see the kraken move towards the high opening and reach out with its tentacles. It came back, apparently holding... two buckets? It placed them on the rock surface, close to Killian, and he couldn't help himself; he walked forward to see what it was in there.

He frowned when he realized it was just water. Plain water - why would the kraken bring them from above instead of under-

A shiver ran down Killian's spine at a thought, as he looked at the discarded fish as well. It couldn't be...

Not knowing exactly what to expect, Killian knelt and sniffed the water. A faint scent of mud seemed to come from it, but there was only one way for him to be sure. Shaking his hand to dry it from the sea water, he took a handful of water from the bucket. It had a light but miserable tint of brown.

Deciding that the day was already too crazy to handle, Killian sipped the water. He coughed, shock both from the dirty water and of the realization creeping in. Sure, it wasn’t too salty to drink. But was he expected to drink muddy water brought in in rusty old buckets?!

Yelling in anger, Killian pushed both buckets in the sea, then kicked the dead fish in as well.

The kraken seemed to be looking at him, but it was silent. A tentacle rose and struck him, knocking him to the side. Killian gasped as he raised himself on his elbows, shocked by the sudden attack. Two more tentacles appeared and dropped two new, fresh fish on the rock. Before they had time to suffocate, Killian kicked them in as well.

Was the kraken trying to provide... sustenance? Was it trying to keep him alive? What for?

The kraken stayed silent. It fished out the two buckets, threw one single fish on the rock, then left.

Killian shivered, sitting down, looking at the fish in front of him flop and flail, until it stopped moving too.

The kraken wanted to keep him fed and hydrated. In a poor way, but still. Killian looked around the cave. It might be the kraken's home, but it was in no way hospitable to a human. And the kraken knew that, and... Killian bit his lip, tasting the salt left on it, remembering of the time he had allowed the kraken to... do what it did; it had never brought him to such an uncomfortable for him place. Nor had it kept him truly a prisoner... not like that, anyway. And now it was trying to make sure he would survive?

Killian looked at the dead fish, and thought of how the water had tasted. He'd had a hard life, but he hadn't had to resort to eating raw fish and drinking muddy water. Not in centuries, anyway.

The kraken wanted him to survive.

But under such circumstances, how long was Killian going to?

~

It didn't take long for the kraken to come back. However, this time, it didn't seem to waste any time.

Killian first saw the surface of the water move; seconds after, the kraken emerged. It put the buckets down on the rock, then wrapped a big tentacle around Killian's torso, and one around each of his ankles, pulling his legs apart.

Killian groaned, writhing in the tight hold of the tentacles, but the kraken didn't wait. One smooth, thin tentacle slipped inside him. Killian's agonized cry echoed in the vast cave.

It kept him immobilized on the ground, keeping his legs apart as it violated him. Waves swayed the surface as the kraken moved and... moaned.

Killian managed to keep himself from screaming, though not from sobbing softly; besides the first penetration, the pain was... measurable. He kept his head down, feeling tears fall from his eyes to the cold, rough rock under him.

He thought of Emma. She had seen the kraken take him away. Though it had thrown her away with force, she seemed to have landed safely on the pier. She hadn't known of his past with it - despite all the secrets he had revealed to her, this one was not one he ever thought he'd have the courage to share - but she would be coming for him. But how long would it take her? The kraken had seemed to travel fast. They'd need a locator spell, with one of his belongings...

He closed his eyes. His rings. His wedding ring, and the one Emma had enchanted so he could call her whenever or wherever he needed her, sunk to the bottom of Storybrooke's harbor. Despite the tentacle that shook inside him, he could still feel the weight of those material losses.

A shaky sob escaped him. He had to get out.

That thought echoed in his head immediately, as the kraken let out a loud moan, and finally let him go. The hold had been useless anyway; he was in too much pain and shock, and was frankly too weak compared to the beast to actually do it any damage, or resist, or run away. Slowly, the kraken took its tentacle out of him. Killian whimpered in pain, trying to move his hand to assess the damage. Sure enough, his fingers came back bloody. He sighed shakily and turned to his side, facing the cave. The dead fish and the buckets were still there; the kraken seemed to be floating, calm, satisfied.

It wasn't going to leave, Killian realized with a shiver.

He crossed his arms in front of his chest, suddenly aware of his brace. It was currently the only semblance of clothing he had, too tight wound around his arm for the kraken to bother taking off. He loathed to part with it, but he'd soon have to, to allow the scar tissue to breathe. Otherwise, he'd have to add gangrene to the pile of threats to his life.

Later, he thought, as he closed his eyes. He was so tired, but the cave was too cold and the kraken's presence there kept him too alert to allow him any sleep. Maybe if he showed it he was cooperating? But how? Eat the raw fish and drink the dirty water?

Another shiver ran down his spine as he thought how desperate he'd have to become for food and water to resort to consuming those... and how the kraken seemed prepared to wait until he reached that point.

Time seemed to pass. It had been early afternoon when he'd last been in Storybrooke, and as he dared open his eyes a little, he saw the sky getting darker. It would soon get even colder... was the kraken prepared for that?

Killian closed his eyes and tried to focus on calming thoughts. Emma, coming for him. Him waking up and realizing it was all just another nightmare. Yes, that helped. He would soon wake up in the comfort of his soft, warm bed, Emma's arm wrapping around him as she would whisper sweet words to help him go back to a calmer sleep.

His eyelids were still closed, but he could feel the light slowly fade away. Soon enough, his teeth started chattering. He chanced a look; all of his body hair were raised, shivers starting to spread through his body. He rubbed his only hand against his shoulder, feeling completely helpless.

A sudden move from the corner where the kraken was resting made him jolt. He gasped and moved back, standing up on shaky legs and limping to the rock wall of the cave. Too many tentacles emerged from the water, too many... Killian couldn't bite back a terrified sob, freezing against the wall as his legs finally gave up and he fell awkwardly to the ground.

One tentacle wrapped around his shins, locking them together. Another around his thighs. His hips, his waist, his chest, even bringing his arms close to be wrapped under it, against his chest. Killian started sobbing; it might as well squeeze the air out of him now.

Instead, the kraken spread one tentacle on the rock, then moved the rest to make him lie on his side, his head resting on the soft but firm tissue.

Killian looked at it, sobs still shaking his body and tears still falling from his eyes. The kraken simply seemed to be relaxing back on another rock, now closer to him.

The shock and fear disoriented him for a bit; he felt as if he'd pass out, but eventually he felt his body stop shaking - from the cold, at least. His teeth stopped chattering, and despite the pain those tentacles had caused him, they were kind of comfortable to lie on.

Yet another shaky sigh escaped him. It was keeping him warm?

Killian tried to swallow against the unexpected lump in his throat. It took him some long moments to finally breathe normally again, though deeper sobs came this time.

The kraken was... making him comfortable. After kidnapping him, hitting him, violating him, keeping him a prisoner, it was now holding him with what felt like a twisted, fucked-up version of intimacy. The hold was tight enough to keep him from slipping off, but relaxed enough for him to move his arms under him. The sobs felt to be scratching his already irritated throat as he brought his arms to cross over his chest again; he felt a tiny prick of fear at how hard his chest shook.

The kraken didn't seem to react to his outburst. Yet, its mere presence there terrified him even more; he just wanted to be alone, preferred to die of exposure that stay wrapped in the life-saving embrace of that despicable monster.

He pushed his arms against his chest, felt the prick of his hook against his skin, and reminded himself of one name: Emma.

She would be searching. She wouldn't give up. She would save him.

He had to stay alive.

~

He awoke in total darkness.

The very first indication that reminded him of his condition, the reality and not the nightmare he'd hoped against hope it would've been, was his aching throat.

The next was the feeling of being trapped. He wasn't suffocating, but he couldn't move, nor turn, anything. He felt frozen in place. He could still drag his arms across his chest, but they stayed stuck to his body, and he suddenly became aware of how stiff he felt.

He took in a shivering breath; for all its efforts, the kraken couldn't warm the air around the cave. It was still damp and cold, especially grating on his sore throat. His lower lip trembled. He was scared of waking the monster up, but if he didn't fall back asleep - he was still surprised he'd managed to the first time - what was he supposed to do?

If the violation, isolation, horrible conditions, possible starvation or dehydration weren't the things that would drive him crazy, the feeling of being trapped in the sleeping kraken's tentacles would. He still felt tired, and several parts of his body hurt, but as his eyes adjusted to the dark, the reflection of the moon from somewhere outside being the only, tiny source of light, he felt more and more vigilant of the kraken. He couldn't close his eyes. He was suddenly reminded of some horror movies he'd watched with Emma; it felt that, if he stopped looking at the monster for one single second, or if he allowed himself one single moment to relax in the dark, it would consume him.

He slowly became aware of his aching muscles, which protested against the confinement. He tried wiggling, regretting it immediately. His whole body seemed to respond to the movement, each separate muscle waking up and complaining after being immobile for who knew how long.

How long had it been? How long did he have until the sun rose... until the kraken woke up... until it violated him again?

A small sob escaped him, and with wide eyes he stared at the kraken, terrified that that small sound had woken it up.

It hadn't, but Killian could not allow himself any sigh of relief. He bit down on his lip, still tasting of salt, and brought his aching arms to push against his chest again. His heart was beating fast.

Killian stared. And stared. And stared.

Until he was certain the light shade on his view of the sky wasn't just in his imagination.

~

~

Note: The story is written to its end (I know, I’m shocked too), I plan on having posted the rest of the chapters by the end of next week.

As Lucas prepared himself - for an exorcism - Michael looked at himself in the mirror next to him. It wasn't just the wet, dishevelled and tired look on him. It was the unshaven stubble, a cat on his lap, and a freaking bump growing from his stomach. He looked alien to his own self.

"Come," Lucas said, grabbing Hermione from the back of her neck and getting her out.

Michael shivered. Since when did he feel lonely without a cat by his side?

They walked upstairs slowly, to the exorcism room. Michael felt something stir inside him again and his hand twitched, as if it wanted to reach out and rub... or scratch, something.

"Have you had crises?" Lucas asked. "Have you been violent, anything? Do I need to tie you up?"

Michael shook his head.

"Sit. Take my hand and pray with me."

He did as he was told, reciting the prayer with Lucas even as more and more shivers ran down his spine. His voice strained, sounding breathless and pained as he started sweating, and it took him some long seconds to realize Lucas had stopped praying with him. Michael looked at him through tear-glazed eyes.

"Keep praying," Lucas said.

Michael crossed his hands and closed his eyes, continuing his prayer in a voice that almost didn't want to be used, as Lucas recited his own prayer.

"In the name of our Lord Jesus Christ, I command you to reveal yourself. In the name of the Father, the Son, and the Holy Spirit, reveal yourself! Speak your name, demon!"

Michael felt as if fire was being pushed down his throat. He yelped in pain and doubled over himself.

"Reveal yourself! Your God commands you! Speak your name!"

Michael screamed, grabbing on the chair's arms tightly, as if wanting to break them. As if he wanted to tear them apart and impale the stupid priest with the splintered wood-

"No!" Michael screamed, shaking whole.

He felt a hand on his shoulder and he looked up, eyes wide, on father Lucas. He was still praying, asking for the demon inside him to be revealed. One hand went for Lucas' hand, wanting to keep it in place, to help keep himself steady, to help... him. The other stayed on the arm of the chair, still wanting to rip it off.

"Reveal yourself!"

Michael's head shook from one side to the other.

You're not ready for me, priest.

"Speak your name!"

Don't you already know it.

The hand holding onto Lucas' hand slipped, falling softly on the other arm of the chair. Michael's face and body relaxed.

Michael had stopped praying.

He wasn't much of Michael Kovak anymore.

"What do you want?" Lucas said.

"Oh, do we really have to always want for something?" Michael's voice said. "Can't we just have some fun?"

"Weird idea of fun you have."

A laugh left Michael's mouth. "Would you look at that? Our priest now turned sassy." His body sat back on the chair and his fingers tapped softly on the wooden arms.

"I know what you're doing," Lucas said, looking confident.

"Oh, you smug bitch."

"You're taunting us. We didn't save Rosaria-"

"You didn't save her." Michael's head lolled to the side. "You failed her, and you failed yourself, you would have almost died if it weren't for his hot stuff right here." His head lolled to the other side. "I've got to give it to him, though. He's strong. Took me months to finally grasp on him."

"By giving him a fake belly?"

"Oh, I assure you the baby is as real as you and I." A hand went to rest on said belly, fingers tapping on it. "Come on then. I know you have a stethoscope. See for yourself how that thing has a heartbeat."

Lucas placed his hand softly on Michael's head. A hiss left Michael's mouth, but his voice said, "Enough, you filthy preacher. You couldn't save yourself from me, d'you think you can save this man?" His head started moving from one side to the other. "Stop touching me. Let me go! Go away!"

"Baal."

Michael's head leaned back, eyes wide as a hiss left him again.

"Leave this man's body. In the name of the Father, the Son, and the Holy Spirit, I command you to leave this man's body!"

"You can try," Michael's voice whispered.

"Leave, Baal. Your God commands you! I exorcise you, spirit! Leave this man's body!"

"You can beg all you want."

With a deep inhale, Michael's head leaned forward again, and he finally blinked. He looked up. "Father?"

Lucas knelt in front of him. "Michael."

Tears started falling from his eyes. "It's real. It is. The baby. It's real."

Lucas shook his head. "It's just an illusion-"

"No! It's real! It's growing and moving inside of me!"

Lucas looked at him, then at his stomach.

"Please. You're a doctor. Check it."

"It's all a lie."

"Please! Please, I need to know. He- he knows so much, he knows everything, I need to know something..." He leaned forward, covering his face with his hands.

Lucas sighed. "Stay here. I'll be right back."

In the short time it took for Lucas to come back, Michael was overwhelmed with images of a small child running on a field, playing, smiling, laughing. It felt as if he couldn't escape them, as if whatever he tried, the images still taunted and tormented him-

"Michael, wake up."

He jumped and looked up, realizing he'd fallen asleep.

The images had been a dream?

"Sit back. Try and relax."

"That's easy to say."

Lucas leaned down and lifted Michael's shirt, putting the cold end of the stethoscope on the bump. Michael stared at him, holding his breath for a reaction. For a moment, there was none. Then Lucas' eyes widened and he froze, looking dumb-founded on Michael's stomach.

"Father?" Michael said.

Lucas blinked, took away the stethoscope, then crossed himself.

"Father?!"

"It's real. I can hear its heartbeat."

They kept silent for a minute, Lucas holding his fist over his mouth. "Right," he said finally, standing up. "I know a doctor, she'll be discreet, though panicked, probably..."

"For what?"

Lucas looked at him. "To take it out of you, of course."

"No!"

Lucas froze.

The voice hadn't been Michael's. It hadn't even sounded human.

"You fucking priests," the voice went on. "You preach about how abortion is murder, even if the pregnancy's harmful to the mother, and yet..."

"I don't know what you did to him," Lucas said. "But this thing? It's unholy."

"It's just an innocent baby!" the voice said with mock innocence. Michael's hand rubbed at the bare stomach. "You're going to kill a helpless, innocent soul?"

"It's not innocent. It doesn't belong there."

"Oh, it didn't belong in Rosaria's body either. Don't you remember?" Michael's head lolled to the side again. "She didn't want the baby. Why is it a shame that it died then, but it's unholy when it comes back now?"

"It's unnatural."

A laugh left Michael's mouth. "I admit, I had to torture his body a bit, or, stretch the limits, if you'd rather, to bring the baby to the stage it was when you let it die."

"You killed it. You took Rosaria's life."

"And the birth will be a bitch, I won't lie." His head lolled to the other side. "But it's as normal a baby as any other."

"Why? Why a baby?"

"Oh. I took his father." His eyes looked down at the bump. "I thought it would be beautifully ironic to make him a father." After a moment of silence, the voice said again, "Make him feel the pain his father felt when he left him behind, abandoned him to die alone and miserable."

"So you're doing it to taunt him?"

"He's been resisting me, Lucas. All this time, without even realizing it... he's strong. Stronger than you thought he was... stronger than you've ever been."

"And you had to beat him."

A smile crept up Michael's lips. "If you take this baby out before its time, I'll kill him."

Lucas shrugged. "You just said he's too strong. Strong enough to resist you when I couldn't."

The smile dropped. "Do not test me."

Then everything became a blur of pain and torture. Michael faintly felt Lucas pick him up and set him softly on the floor, though every part of his body screamed in pain - as did he. His head burned, heavy with screams from the demon himself. His stomach rolled, kicks and punches from inside hurting him in all directions.

"Michael! Michael!"

He wanted to shout for help. To tell Lucas to do anything, to kill the creature, even if the demon would kill him afterwards.

But the pain was too much, he could barely open his eyes and look at Lucas through his tears.

"I'm here, Michael. You'll be alright."

Another kick from his stomach, and this time he felt its meager contents rise up. He was too weak to even roll to his side, but luckily Lucas caught up and helped him. Michael threw up weakly, whimpering in pain between bouts of vomit.

"Michael, it's growing."

He didn't have the strength to look at it.

"You belly, it's getting- I'll be right here, Michael. Stay with me."

Yes. Stay with the priest. Who caused this to you. He couldn't even protect himself, how will he protect you?

The demon's taunts kept on as Michael heard, faintly, Lucas talk to... himself? The demon's voice was too loud in his head to understand what Lucas was saying.

Minutes passed, and the kicks kept on even after Michael had nothing else to throw up. He felt wet down there - probably had emptied his bladder without realizing it... or he was bleeding profusely. He couldn't know, nor did he have the strength to check. His throat was raw from his screaming, not that he had much energy to scream anymore. The demon kept taunting him, now simply resorting to telling him what damage he'd already caused him, rendering him incapacitated, mute and senseless from the pain.

That's exactly how your father felt, right before I killed him. After you had left him behind.

Something changed. The room felt empty.

See? Even the priest left you. You have no-one.

A shadow appeared somewhere in his vision. He moved his aching head and tried to focus.

Up on the window, high on the wall... he could see a cat. Hermione, standing in the rain, looking at him through the window.

He heard Lucas speak in Italian as he came up the stairs.

Lucas walked in and knelt by his side again. He spoke again, and a woman appeared in Michael's vision.

She asked Lucas something, he replied, then she crossed herself. She looked panicked as she also knelt down and got out a stethoscope, then put its end on Michael's stomach. Her eyes widened as she also saw the creature move under the skin of his stomach.

She leaned towards Lucas and they exchanged some words, both sounding frantic and scared.

The woman ran off as Lucas leaned a bit towards Michael.

"Michael? Can you hear me?"

He nodded. It was all he could do to reply.

"We have to take it out now. We don't have time for a hospital. The creature may grow and rip you apart, or start rotting inside you if it dies. Okay?"

Tears fell from his eyes. What was happening?

"I'm afraid we don't have time for a sedation. Stay with me, Michael, okay?"

"You try and test me again, priest," Michael's voice said.

Lucas' face crumbled. "I'm so sorry, Michael."

The woman appeared again, holding a bunch of towels and a bottle of pure alcohol. Michael winced and whimpered.

"It's going to be alright, son. Just stay with me."

The two of them spread towels on the floor next to him then rolled him to rest his back on them. The woman looked at his stomach with wide eyes, and seemed to be mouthing something to herself. Then she looked at him. "I'm sorry," she said in a thick accent, and reached to pick up a scalpel.

The demon laughed in his head.

Michael closed his eyes and sobbed.

"I'm here, Michael," Lucas said.

No-one's presence would be enough to dull this moment, though. The scalpel cut through him as he screamed and tried to twist under Lucas' firm hold.

Rotten piece of shit. First he lets me possess you, now he does this to you.

Michael screamed, and shook, and cried. Scalpel cutting, hands reaching in, limbs moving inside him...

Then another cry pierced through the room, soon the only cry as he was too exhausted by now to keep at it.

He opened his eyes. The woman was looking at the creature in her blood-stained hands. It looked too much like a baby, but... the pain was too much, and he was so tired, and he was bleeding out...

He could hear conversations, which he was sure he wouldn't be able to understand even if they'd been in English. The cries became muted, as if from far away, then he felt a series of pinches across his wide-open stomach.

His vision faded. His head turned towards the window...

Hermione was still there.

~

He woke up among bright light.

He was sure he was done for. It felt soft, and bright, and it didn't hurt anymore - not that much, at least.

Then he heard a deep snore beside him.

He opened his eyes. The room was so different from Lucas' attic. It was bright, with white walls, yet that snore-

He turned his head to the side. A hospital room, of course, and Lucas was asleep in the chair beside his bed.

He looked tired, but Michael needed answers. "Father?" he said.

Still snoring.

"Father!"

Lucas' head jumped up, and he blinked a few times before he focused on him. "Michael! How are you feeling?"

Michael just sighed.

"You're gonna be okay." He rubbed at his face. "The doctor had to weave a whole tale to manage to bring you in and... clean you up." He looked at Michael's stomach, still with a small leftover bump. "Of course, not that she had any idea what a standard procedure for such a case would be... but she said you'll recover."

"Except for one thing," Michael whispered and touched where he felt a wide bandage across his stomach. "What the fuck just happened?"

Lucas just shook his head. "The baby is as normal and as healthy as it could be. I wasn't sure if it would be wise to ask around if anyone had ever heard of a similar case."

"The case of a man carrying and giving birth to a demon spawn?"

Lucas looked at him. "Right when you came to my house, you seemed to be at the same pregnancy stage that Rosaria was in before she died. The doctor had special tests run for the baby. They didn't show anything abnormal."

"What are you saying?"

"The demon didn't stay long inside me, Michael."

Michael shivered, then he scoffed. He shook his head. "No. No."

"I'm not saying you should care for the baby. We'll find a family, a place for her to grow up."

Her. Somehow not referring to the... creature as "it" shook him.

"You're saying you want to let it grow up?"

Lucas looked down. "It's not in my nature to kill a newborn baby, Michael."

"The demon left."

He looked up again.

"He said that's all he wanted from me. What if it's inside that baby now?"

"When did he say that?"

Michael sighed. "Right before I passed out."

Lucas rubbed at his face again. "You can stay with me, if you fear he may come back for you. Not that... not that I helped much." He looked at him apologetically.

"It wasn't your fault."

"I taunted him. I spoke to him."

"He did this to me. And I was the one who'd come uninvited, and if it weren't for you... I might have been locked up in a cage, with federal agents guarding me all day long. Are you sure the doctor won't say anything?"

"She's close to me. If the memories get too much for her, she knows she can talk about it with me."

Michael nodded and sighed in relief. "What will you do if the baby... ever..."

Lucas sighed. "I can probably get her to a family, or a group home that I can watch over the years."

"And what if something happens to you?"

"Give me a break, Michael. You think I'm all that prepared to deal with this? I'm trying to work it all out."

A wave of nausea and guilt washed over Michael; Lucas had no obligation to help cover it all up. Perhaps he still felt guilty, but Michael didn't blame him.

"Unless you want to strangle the baby you just gave birth to yourself," Lucas added.

A shiver ran down Michael's spine. Lucas seemed too eager to protect a baby who came out of literally anywhere - but he was on the outside of it all.

Well, almost. He'd known Rosaria, had been devastated upon her and her unborn child's deaths, gotten possessed himself, then watched those literally impossible events happen in the span of, what, an hour or so?

And he didn't want the baby dead.

"If she ever comes back to haunt, possess, or kill you, it's on you," Michael said, struggling to make it humorous among the devastating memories of this experience.

Lucas smiled, however.

~

Before Michael was even discharged from the hospital, Lucas had already found a family to adopt the baby. He'd be the godfather - despite how some fellow priests might not approve of that - and watch over the child in the years to come.

Despite seeing it as his duty to guide and aid any of God's children, Michael didn't want anything to do with this particular baby. Lucas understood, and told him he'd make sure one of his closest confidants would know about it in case something happened to him.

He couldn't shake off the guilt, however. His own father had... not set the best examples in him, nor inspired him to actually want to raise a child of his own. Still, right before he walked through the gate to the plane back to the States, he couldn't stop himself from looking back and wondering how the child he'd... helped, bring into life - who, according to Lucas' theory, might not even share any DNA with him at all - would fare in this world.

~

He tried to shake his hand off the material around his wrist, but it seemed unyielding, and he swallowed hard. If he stayed for far too long there he was running a great risk of losing his only hand.

U ok?

He raised his thumb and picked up her hand again.

He then raised his hook in front of him and gasped when he realized that the wall that was in front of him before was now gone. He waved at the air with his arm and legs but he didn’t hit anything.

A shiver ran down his spine but he had the strangest feeling it wasn’t because of fear.

Emma started tracing letters on his palm again.

Well yet u out

“We’ll get you out,” he told himself. He turned his hand to grab hers tightly. When he felt it was warmer than his he finally realized why he’d shivered before. His toes were starting to get cold, and when he touched his hook gently on his skin, the metal was growing cold as well.

It gave him the motivation to trace the word Hurry on her hand before letting go. Emma kissed his hand and then she was gone. He felt a soft rumbling around his wrist, probably magic trying to work its way through, but nothing happened. Emma’s hands touched his again.

U ok?

He raised his thumb again.

We’ll try again

He nodded without thinking and shivered. It was getting really cold really fast. He tried to rub his arm on his side to warm himself a little, but when it did nothing he started walking on the spot. He moved his head around, trying to catch anything, but he indeed was in complete darkness. No matter how much he stayed there his eyes couldn’t adapt. He shivered again and tried to remember what he could about hypothermia. He knew that exhaustion and lack of coordination would come soon, so he kept moving as much as he could to stay warm.

Then he remembered the flashlight he had in an inner pocket. With a shiver, he put his hook in it and slowly dragged the flashlight out, bracing it against his body. With slow, careful movements - he couldn’t see a thing and more cold was already settling in - he grabbed it with his teeth.

Good. Now what? He felt more rumbling from above and his hand slightly going numb.

Biting down on the flashlight hard enough to keep it in place but not damage it, he felt around with his hook for the switch.

More rumbling, but still nothing.

He found the switch, and desperately fumbled with his hook in effort to turn the flashlight on. He was starting to shiver whole now, the worst symptoms wouldn’t take too long to come. It was so bloody cold…

Then his hook finally pressed on the switch.

And the ground outright disappeared from beneath him.

Killian screamed as he fell slightly, the flashlight slipping from his mouth and falling, falling, falling... until its light disappeared into nothing. He didn't hear the sound of it dropping.

He started panting, the freezing air making his throat hurt as he pointlessly looked up to see nothing. He was literally hanging from his only hand, stuck inside the ceiling. His wrist was hurting even more now as it supported his full weight, and he felt stings of pain travel up his arm, or down, to be more specific.

He felt panic claw its way in. He’d seen, heard about torture techniques that included such suspension… and he knew his time was very limited if he wanted to get out of there safe. It would take less than half an hour for his hand to start rotting from cut circulation.

“Help!” he cried desperately. His voice was broken from the cold and the shivering.

He tried to take normal breaths, but they were becoming too shallow, and every time he breathed it felt like freezing knives were going down his throat. Exhaustion was making his limbs feel even heavier…

No. He wouldn’t go down like this. He moved his free arm, trying to stick his hook in the ceiling. The ceiling was hard, unyielding, but he tried as much as he could until he collapsed, too weak and cold to do anything else.

The tears in his eyes were starting to freeze before they even fell. He thought he felt someone touch his hand, but it was too numb for him to be sure. Emma was maybe trying to communicate with him again, but even if he had the energy to, he didn't have the will to lie to her that he's okay.

By now he’d stopped shivering and the only thing he could think was that it was a bad sign. And if the cold didn’t kill him right then, he would probably lose his only hand. If only the others saved him in time…

It made no difference, but he still closed his eyes.

He was glad he did, as a few seconds later a bright fire appeared in front of him. He couldn’t understand what it was, but it circled around him, then disappeared, and then they were pulling him up.

Grunting weakly, he squeezed his eyes shut when the bright light from above entered his vision.

~

“Oh my God! Killian!”

“Come on, pull him up. We have to take that thing off from around his wrist.”

Emma touched Killian’s face. “He’s cold as ice!” His face was pale, lips and ears had turned blue and he looked dizzy, his eyes closed tight.

“Emma? I need your help to remove the… whatever that is from his wrist,” Regina said.

Emma looked at the big circle of concrete, or whatever, around Killian's wrist. She’d set David’s sword on fire and he’d cut a big circle around Killian's hand, so now they were dealing with a huge bracelet that was possibly cutting off his circulation.

It seemed that once off its source it was weak, because with one flick of her wrist it broke in pieces, releasing Killian’s hand.

“Killian? Can you hear me?”

Killian only mumbled nonsense.

“He’s hypothermic. He needs to go to the hospital,” David said.

Emma simply took Killian in her arms and held him close, trying to warm him with her body heat. She shivered at the cold feel but sighed when she saw the awful redness in his hand recede.

“I can’t heal that much. Do you think you can?” Regina said.

Emma shook her head. She was too upset to focus on her magic now anyway.

“We have to use the bean. This place is a nightmare. We didn't get any closer to defeating our guy, and we’re lucky Hook didn’t get any worse.”

“Don’t just think about Storybrooke. Think about the hospital. We don’t have much time,” Emma said right before they jumped in the portal.

Nurses were all over them only seconds after they arrived. They took him away on a gurney covered in blankets. Emma stood where she was in shock.

It was too much of a reminder of him being taken away in a similar way, only that time the blanket had been completely covering his lifeless body…

David understood and approached her, offering a hug and she took it.

They didn’t wait long. Whale appeared only minutes later.

“He’ll be fine. He’s on warm fluids and under lots of blankets. His arm may hurt for a few days but he will recover fully.”

“Can I see him?”

“He’s only slightly disoriented, so it’s better if he stays for the night but you can stay with him.”

She couldn’t stop thinking about warming him with her body heat again - for strictly health reasons, of course - as they walked to his room. She sighed in relief when she saw him again. He looked weak, yes, but most of the colour had returned to his face, his lips and ears now a simple pale instead of blue.

“S-Swan,” he said softly as he saw her.

“Hey. You’re gonna be okay.” She touched his face, shivering at the still cold feel.

“I know. They t-told me. I’m sorry you h-had to b-bring me h-h-here.”

“Hey, it wasn’t your fault. That place was hell.”

“Quite a c-cold one, th-then,” Killian said with a smile.

Without a second thought, Emma took off her coat and slipped under the covers, touching her body to his as much as she could. She shivered.

“That’s not n-neces-ssary, l-love. The doc-ctor said-”

“That I can stay here with you. I was only seeing your hand for what felt like hours. I want to feel as much of you as possible, and if that helps get you warmer sooner that’s even better. So shush. I can hear the innuendo coming from miles away.”