#witch!emma

Lounging against the mast with arms and ankles crossed was a boy not much older than her son. Although there did not appear to be anything remarkable about the adolescent youth, his mere presence had prompted the man beside her to draw his sword and ready his stance; his expression wary as the muscle in his jaw pulsed over clenched teeth.

“Surely you must have felt it,” the boy continued. “I would be disappointed if you hadn’t. I spent so much time curating it thus.”

Emma took a tentative step forward, but was stopped by Hook’s sharp tone.

“Swan, don’t.”

“Why?” she asked, though her senses were on high alert as well. “Who is he?”

“Oh, did I forget to introduce myself?” The boy straightened his posture. His stance was wide and his hands were braced on his hips as he proudly declared, “I'm Peter. Peter Pan.”

Fury erupted within her and out of some primal instinct she flung her hands out towards the smug-faced boy and shot a bolt of magic square at his chest.

“No!” Hook cried as Pan deflected the burst, sending it straight back at her. He was too late to take the jolt himself, but bodily put himself between her and Pan as she recovered from the blast of her own making.

“You've got fire. I like fire,” Pan crowed. “Well done, Captain.”

An icy flow of foreboding flooded Emma’s veins, freezing her to the marrow. “What… What does he mean by that?”

“Nothing,” Hook snapped, his attention focused on the boy whose gloating radiated across the deck. “Don’t listen to him, Swan.”

“Come, come, Captain,” Pan tutted. “We both know she is no fool. Do you really expect her to believe it was a coincidence that you, a pirate in my employ, tethered to do my bidding, would just happen to seek out the one witch whose child my shadow took flight with?”

“So, that’s your game,” Hook shot back. “Well, joke’s on you, mate. Emma is more than capable of sussing out the truth from lies.” Relaxing his stance, he sheathed his sword and tucked his thumb in his belt before casting a bored expression Pan’s way. “Neither of us are in a playing mood, so let’s save time shall we? Where’s the boy? Why the hell did you take him if it was your son she was indebted to?”

“He's a very special boy,” Pan replied with a shrug of his shoulders.

“Of that I have no doubt,” Hook remarked sincerely, then hardened his tone once more. “That doesn't answer my question. What do you want with him?”

“That’s for me to know,” Pan taunted in a grating sing-song voice.

“Then why come here?” Emma demanded. “What do you want from me?”

“I came here to see who I was up against. The Witch of the Wood. Gotta say,” he drawled, looking her up and down and making her skin crawl. “I'm not disappointed.” His attention snapped back to Hook whose shoulders had remained tight, and his demeanor, though appearing to be at ease, held an anticipatory guard. “I’ll go for now. Leave the two of you to clear up a few things.” His eyes shifted back to Emma, a smirk lifting the corner of his mouth - his very punchable mouth. “I imagine she has questions regarding your true intentions, Captain. I do hope they don’t get in the way of any… budding romance between you.”

Emma balked. How did he…

She blinked and he was gone, startling her once more. Her eyes darted about the ship, ensuring Pan had indeed left, then settled on the pirate who was turning towards her with a sigh on his lips as he rolled his eyes in exasperation.

“He does so enjoy his games,” Hook grumbled.

Trepidation shook its way through her body as she recalled Pan’s words and insinuations.

“You… Why did you seek me out? Of all the practitioners of magic… Why me?”

Hook’s eyes snapped to hers, a surprised expression blanching through his features. “I… I assure you, love,” he began, his voice soft and earnest though she could detect a distressed sort of anxiousness in the delivery. “Finding my way to your doorstep was a coincidence. I had no prior knowledge of who you were, nor your connection to Pan or any of his kin.”

Emma swallowed hard. She wanted to believe him. Was desperate to believe him, but…

“Use your magic,” he urged, gesturing towards her bodice and the enchanted pendant that lay beneath. “See that I am telling you the truth.”

She didn’t need to. “I know there is truth in what you say, but…”

“But… what?”

“But what if…” Running her tongue over her lips, she swallowed again in an attempt to combat the choked feeling in her throat. “Why were you in the village? What brought you to that specific shore?”

“I was sent there on orders from--” His words fell away as realization dawned. “Pan sent me there to deliver something to one of the merchants. As is my custom, I made inquiries about any purveyors of magic who might be able to help me with my binding.”

“And those inquiries led you to me.”

“Aye,” he replied on a grieved exhale. His eyes slipped shut and his jaw clenched, the deep bob of his Adam’s apple preceded the solemnness that shone from his forget-me-not gaze. “I suppose it is possible that Pan orchestrated our meeting, but if so, I had no knowledge of it. You must believe me.”

“I do,” she assured him, causing a premature rush of relief to escape his lungs. “But that doesn’t change the fact that I am here because Pan wants me to be, and you…” She paused, glancing past the confines of the ship and honing in on the high peak that was barely visible over the jungle canopy. “You work for Pan, and I… I can’t take the chance that I am wrong about you.”

“Swan, don’t,” Hook pleaded, desperately. “Please, don’t.”

“I’m sorry,” she said, raising her hand and hoping her magic would be able to navigate her. With a flick of her wrist white mist began to swirl and the corrupted power of the island gave way, allowing her to leave the deck of the ship with Hook’s final plea ringing in her ears.

“Swan!”

The thing is, she wasn’t raised as a witch, and she didn’t really actively seek it out either. She just went into the second-hand bookstore looking for a birthday present for Mary Margaret, and the old, leather-bound tome had just seemed like it was calling to her – like it was there for her and her alone. Like it wanted her more than anyone (with the exception of her best friend) ever had. So she had bought it for nearly obscenely cheap and brought it home.

(She learns later it’s technically called a grimoire, but when she first found it on the shelf, it was just a weird looking old book with a lot of funny illustrations.)

It was just messing around at first. It was pretty obvious the book was about some sort of magic, filled with discussions about the pros and cons of using wands and short biographies of famous wizards (hello, Merlin and da Vinci) and the importance of using as fresh of snake scales as possible for maximum potion efficacity. Emma didn’t take it too seriously right away, but she was finally bored enough to look through it one day, and shocked to find most of the instructions actually worked. At first, it was just little things – seeing if she could turn on the lights (she could), make a grilled cheese appear (she couldn’t, but that’s apparently less about ability and more about obscure laws of witchcraft), clean her dishes (and oh fuck yes she could, this was the best book ever; her apartment would finally be clean and Mary Margaret would get off her back). So spells go pretty well.

And then she got into potions because her cramps were fucking awful one month and she never wanted to go through that again. So she looked through the book and found a potion for curing muscle aches and made up a batch to keep on hand. And the next month, when her uterus tried to kill her again, she tried it as practically a last resort, and it worked. It worked even better the next month when combined with the potion for “intestinal distress” that she found and thought might be good for the bloating (and hot damn, it was).

So Emma Swan, who can barely feed herself, is suddenly using her stove to cook up all kinds of potions – mostly the frivolous ones for, like, shiny hair or ‘an aura of confidence’ or whatever, but still. It counts. The massive soup pot Mary Margaret got her years ago has never seen so much use in its short, somewhat sad life.

And she kind of thought that’d be it – Emma Swan gains a weird hobby, keeps Mary Margaret stocked with all the aphrodisiacs she and David could ever hope to go through. But she’s out and about at a little café one day, and that same sixth sense that led her to the book starts going off again, and that’s how she meets Belle – librarian by day, witch and magical researcher by night.

And then Mary Margaret gets her a fish and calls it her familiar as a joke, and she and Belle keep meeting to try new spells, and it sneaks up on her, just like that, that oh my God she’s totally a witch. Even if Harold the goldfish doesn’t do much more than placidly putter about his bowl instead of helping Emma channel her magic, like she thinks a familiar is supposed to (that is the idea, right? The book wasn’t particularly helpful on that subject).

Things kind of spiral from there. It’s just her and Belle for a while, until Emma has to swing by the library to print stuff one day and finds a woman in there about to hyperventilate because she accidentally froze someone’s water bottle. And even if they haven’t noticed, the woman is still standing there shaking and muttering about this being why she can’t leave the house, and Emma can’t just let that go. So Emma manages to calm the woman down enough to get her into the Bug and back to her tiny apartment, and goes about plying her with hot chocolate made with magically operating equipment (à la Mrs. Weasley, if Emma’s being very honest about how this all looks) in an effort to show her that magic can be controlled and is actually a good thing. And that person is Elsa. Emma and Belle do a lot of research and invite Elsa to all their meetings, and are generally able to help Elsa get her powers under control – especially since so much of the problem was that Elsa thought she was the only person in the world who could do magic and everyone would hate her if they learned of her abilities. In time, Elsa becomes a regular member of their little social/research group.

(It’s especially nice when, after Elsa pulls her life together, she offers to let Emma live in one of the rooms of her old Tudor-style home and just pitch in on the utilities and groceries.)

(Anna still likes to periodically send Emma fruit baskets as a thank you for coaxing her older sister out of her shell, and Emma has never been one to turn down free food, even if the whole thing makes her somewhat uncomfortable. Emma Swan is not great at thanks, ok?)

Belle is the one who meets Regina at an old bookshop, when she actually has to fight her over an old spellbook (a fight that Regina wins because Belle is a total pushover, but what are you going to do). Regina is looking for a new circle after a whole debacle with her previous group – “My batshit crazy sister turned it into some sort of power-hungry coven, and I was not there for that” – and Belle is, again, too kind to say no.

(Never mind the fact that they’re practically becoming their own little coven after Belle moves in to one of the other rooms at Elsa’s, and shit, they really are becoming witches, aren’t they? Clichés and all.)

And they’re good, the four of them. Regina may want them to stretch their wings a bit, get out there and use their magic to effect small changes in the world, but Emma is more than happy with the way things are right now, searching out new texts and comparing notes with other local witches, and finding the perfect spell to extend their rooms to include an ensuite bathroom because that is a priority if Emma’s ever seen one.

But they’re not a coven. They’re just a group of mutual friends - or acquaintances, as the case may be with Regina - who all practice magic, and sometimes get together to do some research. That’s it. It’s like… a weird book club or something. And so what if they sometimes test out some of the more intriguing spells in the house or back yard? It’s not that unusual. And honestly, some of these spell names are so smudged they have to test them somewhere just to figure out what the hell they do.

(Oh fuck, they’re totally a coven.)

Honestly, Emma tries to keep her magic inside the house. That’s not everyone’s strategy; Elsa in particular uses hers out in the world, now that she’s opened an ice cream parlor, which makes sense given where her magical strengths lie. Belle sometimes uses her magic as a research tool at the library, Emma knows, especially when she needs that one specific book that has been reshelved in the wrong place (she’s actually fashioned this impressive computer application that will give her a map showing exactly where it is, which is hella impressive and something Emma thinks they could totally capitalize upon if the magic thing becomes common knowledge). Emma really doesn’t want to know if lawyer Regina is using magic in her profession because that seems pretty unethical. And Emma doesn’t want to be in the middle of it if it’s happening. Better for her to just… not know.

So she tries to keep the magic inside the house, but sometimes, exceptions have to be made. Like when she breaks a heel while chasing one of her skips and it just seems more efficient to create something magical for him to trip over than to keep chasing. Or when the horrible ancient computer in the bail bonds office freezes up again, and she sends a little spark into its ancient guts just to encourage any kind of action. Or any of the multiple things that go wrong with her Bug.

Like now. Standing on the street, staring at a dead battery.

And yes, eventually she will have to get that new battery, but it has been a Long Day, and Emma is tired, and she just wants to get home, dammit, without calling Belle or Elsa to come pick her up. And hey, she does have a way to fix this, doesn’t she?

So Emma metaphorically winds up and lets loose a little burst of magic, just enough to get the old girl running.

Unfortunately, when she steps back, satisfied with the now rumbling engine, she notices she has an audience.

Fuck.

She should have paid more attention, checked the area, but she was so damn tired, and now some dark-haired dude is staring at her with his mouth wide open. Which, granted, is warranted, since Emma just started her car with magic.

As Emma makes eye contact, his jaw snaps shut, and she throws him a look she hopes conveys “Don’t you dare tell anyone, idiot.” It must work, because he nods frantically with wide eyes. She’ll have to take his word for it; lord knows she’s not marching over there to demand a promise and even debating a memory spell feels far too Regina for Emma’s liking.

So with a final look, Emma gets into her car and drives away, trying to forget the whole debacle.

------

The problem is, she can’t just forget it, though not for lack of trying. After taking down her latest skip, Emma gets a few days off of work, finally getting the chance to replace her damn battery and even have a little downtime. But the afternoon of her first day back, when she’s just ready to get into her car and go back home to the creaky Tudor and maybe talk her roommates into takeout, he’s there, waiting for her to show up. The guy from the other day - the guy who saw her do magic, the guy who could probably expose her secret to the world if he felt like it - standing, just leaning against a streetlight right next to her car. And it’s fucking creepy, but Emma can handle herself. She’s got her gun at her hip and a switchblade in her boot and a whole encyclopedia in her head of ways to hit a man and make it hurt.

She’s just paging through her mental catalog for precisely which move she should use to get him to hit the road when he opens his mouth and shocks her.

“Can you teach me magic?” he demands, leaving Emma somewhat startled.

“Excuse me?”

“Magic,” the man repeats. “You have magic, right? Can you teach me?”

He may not actively be a threat, but he has now been reclassified as an annoyance in Emma’s book, which is almost worse. Threats? Emma can deal with threats: shoot them, punch them, kick them in the balls. An annoyance? Well, she still wants to do all that, but can’t find any justification to act on those impulses.

So again, Emma just rolls her eyes, climbs in her car, and drives away.

------

This continues for a week.

Emma will walk out of her building to find the dark-haired nuisance waiting and ready to beg. He always keeps his distance, never makes her feel unsafe, but is a near-constant irritation that she just can’t shake, dammit.

Her week goes something like this:

Monday: Tall, dark, and irritating flashes a grin he must think is flirtatious or disarming or something, starts to say “Excuse me, Miss, if I could just ask you a few questions…” and earns a car door slammed in his face for his trouble.

Tuesday: The annoying bastard comes with bribery this time in the form of a cup of coffee and that same charming smile. Emma gives him another look and drives away without words.

Wednesday: The persistent son of a bitch tries to get personal. “Hi there,” he starts, “my name is Killian Jones, and I was hoping we could talk -”

“Still nope!” Emma tosses over her shoulder before driving away.

Thursday: Emma doesn’t go in because she has an overnight stakeout that evening. It’s a nice break from Killian(noying) Jones.

Friday: He starts to seem a little desperate. He shows up with an honest-to-god hot chocolate and one of those packaged chocolate chip muffins she loves and tries to convince her (“The lady at the cafe said this is your order, and I was hoping to have a word with you…”).

Emma is not convinced, but she does take the muffin and tries to ignore the way his face falls in disappointment that her reaction hasn’t changed. (Even if she is starting to feel a bit bad, there’s no way in hell she’s taking an open beverage from a stranger. She’s not interested in becoming the next installment of Dateline, thank you very much.)

By the time the next Tuesday rolls around, he’s resorted to outright pleading.

“Please, Miss, I am begging you, teach me something about magic.”

Even Emma and her prickly heart are a little moved and intrigued by his desperation and persistence. A little. But the thing is, even if Emma wanted to teach him magic, she can’t. It’s not something he’d be able to just… pick up. You’re either born with the ability or you’re not, and Emma’s been able to tell which, ever since she first picked up the grimoire. It’s like a magic sixth sense or something, an itch under her skin that says all is not as it seems. It’s an itch she’s probably always had - come to think of it, that might have something to do with her lie detector and uncanny talent for tracking down people who don’t want to be found - but ever since she had found the book and delved into the study of magic, she’s suddenly and acutely been aware of that instinct. It’s how she met Belle, it’s how she met Elsa, it’s how she knows that her favorite waitress at the local diner isn’t just what she appears (and why Emma tries to tip extra well at the full moon, because if working with PMS is a bitch, working before you turn into a freaking wolf has to be equally awful). But this guy? This Killian Jones? Emma’s not getting any of her little mental alerts. There’s not a magic bone in his body. And Tuesday is the day she finally snaps and tells him as such.

“I can’t, alright?” she snaps. “Sorry to disappoint.”

But of course, a man as inexplicably desperate as he just has to push, to prod, to refuse to accept her damn answer.

“Well why not?” he demands. “Too busy? Just give me an hour, I’m sure we can figure something out - ”

“Because I can’t teach people who don’t already have magic, you idiot!”

His entire body practically collapses in on itself as he registers her words, and Emma almost feels bad. Almost. Except for the part where he’s been pestering her for a week now.

“You’re a muggle, Jones,” she chuckles humorlessly, before a thought catches her. “Why the hell is it so important that you learn magic, anyways?”

------

She feels like a total ass when he tells her.

Killian Jones, she learns, has an older brother, who is his entire world.

“He’s all I have left,” he chokes out through the tears. Because Liam Jones, beloved older brother of one Killian Jones, has been in the hospital ever since a drunk driver plowed into his car a month ago. There’d been a convenient bus stop nearby with a bench on which they could sit and talk, but Emma finds that he’s having trouble meeting her eye, as if fully facing the woman he’s begging for help means facing the reality of his brother’s situation. “The doctors were able to set the broken bones and fix the internal bleeding, but he won’t wake up. They’re saying things about brain damage…” the sad, dark-haired man in front of her trails off, running a hand through his hair. Emma can’t decide whether the gesture is more absent-minded or distressed. “He’s everything to me. And they’re saying it will take a miracle for him to ever be alright again.” His back straightens, as if with new resolve, and finally fully turns to face her. “Well, I don’t have a miracle. But you have magic, and I thought if you could teach me, that might be enough.” As the memory of her earlier words catches up, he slumps again. “But if you can’t teach me…”

“I can’t,” she interrupts, hating herself for the abruptness as new tears spring to his eyes. “Doesn’t mean I won’t help.”

For the first time, she sees a flicker of hope cross his face. “Yeah?”

Emma nods, once, definitively. “Yeah. Hop in.”

------

“Dinner will be ready soon!” Belle chirps as Killian and Emma walk through the front door of the old Tudor. “I found this mac and cheese recipe in one of the new cookbooks. It’ll probably be our cause of death, but hey, what a way to go - ”

“We’ve got company,” Emma finally cuts in, trying not to chuckle as Killian looks around the entryway with eyes comically wide, like he’s expecting a stack of broomsticks in a corner or something.

(To be fair, there is currently a broom in the corner where the stairs meet the wall, but it’s one of the plastic ones and there because Emma’s a bit of a slacker when it comes to cleaning.)

Belle rushes into the living room a moment later as Emma is still trying to motion to Killian to take off his shoes (technically, she could do it for him, but using magic on unsuspecting people who don’t deserve it is rude). She looks like some picture out of a misogynistic 1950’s Betty Crocker advertisement, with her heels and carefully coiffed hair and a damn apron, for fuck’s sake.

“Company?” she asks a little breathlessly - probably what running around in platform heels will do to you - “You didn’t mention company this morning.” And then, not nearly far enough under her breath to disguise the words, “You never have company.” It earns her a glare from Emma and an even more bewildered look from Killian.

“Yeah, well this wasn’t exactly planned.” Gesturing to the man in question, Emma continues into the introductions.  “Killian Jones, my roommate Belle. Belle French, Killian Jones. We’re helping him.”

Belle furrows her brow. “We? I’d love to help, Emma, but I’m not sure how much I can do to help find your skips -”

“No, not that. Magic. We’re helping him with magic.”

That catches Belle off guard, sending them into several moments of shocked silence, only broken when Killian quietly offers, “If that’s okay with you…”

Belle finally snaps back to attention. “Oh! Yes, of course! Oh Emma, this will be such a good opportunity to finally use these powers to make a difference…”

And they’re off.

------

Elsa reacts similarly to Emma’s sudden pronouncement, and Regina is practically giddy over the phone at the opportunity to finally fucking do something (and someone really needs to talk to her about interacting with people, because this is not the way to go about it). By the time Belle has the goopy macaroni spooned into bowls, they’ve brought down every spell book they own and spread them across the kitchen table.

Belle full-out cries when Killian tells the story again, and Emma knows she’ll do anything to help, what with her tender Disney Princess heart. Elsa’s already pulled out a legal pad to write down all their ideas, and Emma’s actually feeling really confident about this. Regina’s proved particularly good at locating sleeping curses and antidotes (which is, frankly, a little alarming), so that’s what they decide to try first. They all agree to meet at the hospital two days later to test their first batch of potential solutions.

“I can’t tell you how much this means to me,” Killian tells Emma quietly before he leaves, standing by the door and trying clumsily to put his shoes back on while juggling the Tupperware containers of chocolate chip cookies and macaroni that Belle insisted on sending home with him.

It’s the wrong thing to say, at least if he wants a real answer, because Emma Swan has spent her life looking out for herself and never really learned how to react to others’ thanks. She thinks she manages to mutter out something along the lines of, “Yeah, whatever, no problem,” but honestly there’s no telling - she’s too busy shuffling her feet and not making eye contact to really pay attention. He must sense it, because his words change from sentimental to almost business-like.

“I’ll see you Thursday, then? The main lobby at City Hospital, 6pm?”

Emma nods, grateful for the change in subject. “We’ll be there.”

He almost manages a smile. “Wonderful.” And then he’s gone.

(It’s not quite relief that Emma feels at his departure, but Killian Jones just makes her feel off balance, so it’s not sorrow either.)

------

Liam Jones looks rough.

Emma isn’t quite sure what she expected—she is coming to see a comatose hospital patient, after all - but it’s shocking all the same. She can see such a strong resemblance between the two brothers, but his frame looks diminished from a month hooked up to wires and fed through tubes, cheeks hollow and frame slim with an unhealthy, sallow tint to his skin. She can see the hint of a curl in his sandy brown hair, but it’s lank and slicked back. Overall he has the look of a man barely clinging to life, a barely breathing corpse, and it brings what two days ago in the kitchen was a theoretical problem into horrifying reality.

Maybe it’s just the harsh fluorescent lighting inside the hospital, but Emma Swan can suddenly see how awful Killian looks too. There are faint shadows under his eyes, and his cheekbones stand out in stark relief, more gaunt than they ought to be (though Emma does suspect that he always has those handsome, defined cheekbones, but this seems excessive and unnatural). Clearly, the worry over his brother is taking its toll on him.

Killian still tries to stay cheerful, plumping the pillows of a man who can’t tell one way or another and chattering away about “all these lovely ladies come to see you, you lucky bastard!”, but Emma can tell his confidence is wavering.

It’s only now, here at the hospital, that Emma realizes exactly how out of their depth they all are, how out of place to boot. They’re all here at the behest of a man they barely know, trying to help a man they’ve never met. No matter how Emma looks at it, she feels like an imposter, and even worse, a bearer of false hope for a man they may already be too late to help. Killian is trying as hard as he can to bring normalcy to this situation by making one-sided introductions, but there’s an awkward and heavy cloud that hangs over the whole situation.

It’s Elsa who’s the ice breaker, surprisingly, walking up and taking Liam’s hand like he’s anyone else she’d greet  in a meeting or on the street. Emma may have helped Elsa out into the world, but she’s still a retiring sort, shy and nervous about meeting new people. But she’s the one able to take the human, compassionate approach where the rest of them have fallen into the mistake of looking at Liam as a problem to be solved.

“It’s very nice to meet you, Liam,” she says in her soft, matter-of-fact voice. “We’re going to do everything we can to help you.”

And that’s enough to focus their attention and get everyone started.

Emma’s the first up, which is nerve wracking, but she’s the best at healing spells (way too much practice on herself), and they collectively decided that would be the first theory to try. Maybe, if they’re very lucky, this can be an easy fix, and Emma can sort out whatever is wrong with Liam’s brain the same way she would deal with a sprained ankle or broken ribs. Emma isn’t particularly hopeful, but looking over and seeing the trusting look in Killian’s eyes helps.

So she holds her hand over Liam’s forehead, gathers every ounce of concentration she possesses to collect the necessary magic from that well deep inside her, and releases it all at once. And yeah, it creates a nice little glow, but Emma can tell right away that it’s not going to work. She can already feel with her magic that there’s nothing to fix. She’s sure there’s better medical terms the doctors would use, but the closest she can describe it as is a feeling that his brain is stalled, or hibernating. She can help with some of the swelling, but Emma just knows, in a way that she can’t describe, that she can’t make him wake up.

Thankfully, she doesn’t have to tell Killian with words about how she’s just failed; one look at her face, and what must be an incredibly guilty look, and he nods resignedly. “Thank you for trying,” he tells her, and that hurts almost as bad as her failure itself - the way he isn’t blaming her.

“We’ve got other things to try,” she adds, whether to remind him or herself still unclear.

And they do. Regina is already stepping forward with a list of spells to reverse sleeping curses, and Emma willingly passes the proverbial baton to allow the other woman a chance to try her solutions. A concentrated blast like she had just attempted is a pure burst of energy, and Emma welcomes the chance to slump into the nearby chair, no matter how uncomfortable, and take a moment to recuperate.

Emma has to admit - Regina is good at these complex spells, where each and every word has to be pronounced just so or it all goes awry. She’s also surprisingly gentle with their patient, brushing his hair back where a gust of magic must have tousled it, and Emma is surprised and gratified to realize that Regina must actually have a heart underneath that terrifying shell.

But even her skilled spellwork doesn’t do it. Liam Jones is still resolutely unconscious.

Back to the drawing board.

------

“I know technically it’s not a sleeping curse, but it’s not like magic is the most exact thing in the world,” Regina says, pacing the front room and blatantly contradicting her many soapbox speeches about how exact you have to be in magic and spellwork. “I was so sure it would work.”

She’s disappointed. They’re all disappointed. It had been heartbreaking to leave Killian with what was still only a shell of his brother, but they’d filed out one by one, Emma the last to leave.

“We’ll find something else that will work,” she says as confidently as she can muster.

“I believe in you,” he says. It’s funny how just those four words warm her heart. “But even if you can’t, I just want to thank you for everything you’ve tried. It’s a lot more than most would have done.”

(And damn if that doesn’t make her all the more determined to find a way to fix this.)

So they’re paging through the books again.

“There’s one here for ‘opening the mind’…” Belle uncertainly offers.

Emma shrugs in return. “Worth a shot. Can’t be any worse than that thing Elsa found about reversing a soul being trapped in the wrong body.”

They’ve made it through the obvious options - healing magic, sleeping curses - so the evening has been taken up by more outlandish suggestions. Light magic used in the wrong context doesn’t backfire, thankfully, so even their more absurd ideas won’t negatively impact Liam.

Emma has just shut one book and is about to open another when there’s a knock on the door. It’s late, nearly 9:30, and as far as Emma’s aware, they’re not expecting anyone (she’d been counting on it, actually, when she’d pulled on her fleece Mario pajama pants and an old t-shirt). But none of them are in the habit of just ignoring the door, so she hauls herself up off the old couch to find out what the hell this mystery person wants.

And (of fucking course) it’s Killian, standing there on the front porch holding a collection of Granny’s takeout bags like some sort of fried food fairy. And of course he looks bashful and adorable, while Emma’s in sloppy clothes and the glasses she never lets anyone see if she can help it. Fan-fucking-tastic.

“I, uh…” She can see his hand moving like he wants to scratch behind his ear, but he’s got too many bags and a tray of drinks to actually manage the maneuver. “I thought I’d buy you all some dinner as thanks for what you’re doing.”

Oh. That’s unexpected. Very sweet, but unexpected. “That’s, uh.... thanks. That’s nice of you.” She moves to take some of his load, and he gratefully hands her one of the stuffed bags. Emma can already smell the fried goodness, and she is so ready to eat (she may have forgotten to do so in the middle of all this research, a fact Killian undoubtedly knows somehow). Holding half the haul, she stands there, confused and with raised eyebrow, as the man on her porch makes no move to hand over the other half, and then some, of her dinner.

Seeing her questioning look, he smiles sheepishly. “I was hoping to maybe come in? Eat with you? I picked up something for myself as well.”

And suddenly, it clicks. He’s lonely, just like Emma used to be before witchcraft brought so many people into her life. He’d already said it; Liam is his entire world. And without Liam, he’s probably wondering what to do with himself. So she steps aside and lets him in the door.

“I hope it’s alright,” he says, “but I just went to the place down the street. They seemed to know everyone’s orders, so there wasn’t any guesswork.”

It’s more than alright. In fact, Emma’s switched her opinion and he’s clearly some sort of food bearing angel. The other ladies are in similar states of surprise and gratefulness - Regina earns a particularly baleful look for saying “Why are you here?” instead of a proper greeting - but dinner is a welcome distraction from their hours of research, and Emma is even convinced to give up part of her sprawl on the couch so the bearer of diner food can actually sit down. And then Granny is the saint, because the bags contain everyone’s favorites - some sort of salad and an iced tea for grease-phobic Regina; lasagna and a Reese’s milkshake for Elsa; a burger, loaded fries, and strawberry milkshake for Belle; and Emma’s classic grilled cheese, onion rings, and butterscotch shake. It’s just what they need to refresh their depleted energy, and offers a chance to step away for a few minutes and come back looking at things from a new perspective.

“Can I help?” he asks, halfway through his own bacon cheeseburger, and Emma can’t find any reason to say no. Especially not after he adds, “I’m surprisingly good at research.” This is an all hands on deck type of situation; another pair of eyes would be more than welcome for wading through stacks of dense text and Regina’s weird internet research.

He actually is pretty good at it, they find out. Killian Jones may not have a lick of magic in his entire body, but he’s got a knack for recognizing when some of the weirder wording might be applicable to their goal, like the “cleansing of the mind spell” that’s probably meant as a forgetting tactic or the “jolt of wakefulness” potion they could probably feed into his IV (and that Emma definitely wants to try on some of her stakeouts).

“Thank you for letting me be a part of something,” he tells her at the end of the night, his eyes hinting at meanings she’s not yet ready to understand. So she shrugs it off.

“We’re the ones who should be thanking you. You’re the one who brought us dinner, after all, and then stayed to keep looking at spellbooks. That’s not everyone’s idea of a good time.”

He smiles, a sad little thing. “Maybe not, but it’s an awful lot better than sitting at home, worrying about Liam and unable to do a damn thing.”

And she hates the confirmation that her suspicions were correct, that he’s lonely. But the good thing is, they can do something about the loneliness, because if Emma never had to be alone again after meeting her collection of witches, Killian won’t have to be either. Still, she tries to keep her words as nonchalant as possible. “Well, you’re welcome any time. Belle’s always looking for someone else to fuss over.”

He still smiles, like he can see right through her and knows Emma likes his presence too. “I’ll keep that in mind.” Then, in a final maneuver she thinks must be unplanned, if the way his ears turn bright red is anything to go by, he grabs her hand to press a kiss to its back. “Goodnight, Emma.”

And then he’s gone into the night, leaving Emma wondering what the hell just happened.

------

They’re back in the hospital again on Saturday, this time at a more decent hour. Liam Jones doesn’t look any better in the full light of day, and it’s with some alarm that Emma thinks he might be looking worse. She hopes it’s all in her head, that her eye has been prejudiced by the sight of all the hospital equipment, but she can’t help but remember what Killian had said - that the doctors decreed Liam would need a miracle. It’s absolutely crucial, imperative, that one of their attempts work.

Killian is still trying to keep the positive attitude on in front of Liam, but Emma can almost physically see the frayed edges of his optimism. “The lovely ladies are going to try a few more things, Liam,” he says, adjusting blankets. “So hold still, would you?”

There is some progress. The wakefulness potion is a dud, but the spell for opening the mind does increase brain activity, so Emma’s counting it as a slight victory. Even if Liam is still firmly unconscious, Killian is thrilled to see any change in his status. But unfortunately, they still end up having to leave again without finding a real solution.

It’s a pattern that continues over the next two and a half weeks. Emma, Elsa, Belle, and Regina spend every spare moment researching, and Killian will bring them food from various local restaurants or, on a few memorable nights, cook a meal (and Emma doesn’t even really like fish but damn if that baked whatever with the lemon sauce wasn’t the best thing she’s had all year). Schedule permitting, they visit Liam in the hospital every two or three days to test out new potential cures, some with more success than others - the potion for “opening one’s eyes” turned out to do literally that, which resulted in a still unconscious Liam staring at them with unseeing eyes until Killian carefully lowered his lids again.

Killian tries so hard to hold on to hope, but Emma can see the toll this has taken on him. He’s gotten progressively quieter, his shoulders more slumped, the determined fire in his eyes becoming dimmer and dimmer. The more she sees his optimism fade, the more her own determination grows, until she finds herself pushing to try some of the more risky solutions that the other women are hesitant about, because anything has got to be better than making Killian just watch his brother slip away.

“I don’t understand why you won’t try these things!” she argues one night.

“Well, we’re trying to cure Liam, not cause his demise,” Regina drawls, and somehow that only makes Emma’s anger burn hotter.

“And this is better?” she demands. “Sitting around, just hoping the right solution will fall into our laps? When it hasn’t in the past three weeks?”

Belle, as always, is a voice of reason. “I think if we end up moving into the riskier options, that’s a decision Killian should make, not you, Emma. If that’s what he wants, I’ll be more than happy to try.”

All eyes turn to Killian. He’s been especially quiet and downcast today, only picking at his sandwich and fries. That’s part of the reason Emma’s pushing especially hard for a change in tactics today - it hurts in a way she can’t explain to see Killian like this. But even with so many eyes on him, he just sits there quietly, rolling a French fry back and forth between his fingers and not responding.

“Well?” Emma prods. “What do you think?” If she can just sway him to give it a try, maybe they can make this better, and maybe she can put that smile back on his face, the one he gave her when they first started this endeavor and he was still excited and hopeful…

But something within Killian must break, as he stands up and mumbles something about needing fresh air before he stalks out of the room, the front door banging shut in the distance.

Regina offers her a disapproving look that is, honestly, probably deserved for her actions. “Great job, Emma. I’m sure it was absolutely helpful to piss off Jones when he’s the one whose favor you needed to win.”

Emma glares right back before exiting the room herself, following Killian out to the front stoop and sitting down at his side. He looks a mess, honestly; his hair is all mussed from running his hands through it, and she now finds him clutching his head like he’s trying to block out everything else that’s going on. They sit there for a few moments in silence - Emma gathering her thoughts, Killian seemingly suppressing them - before she finally finds her words.

“I’m sorry for pushing,” she says quietly into the night. “I know this is all your decision, and you shouldn’t do anything that you think isn’t what’s best for Liam -”

“It’s not that,” he says, flapping a hand to wave off her concerns. “I appreciate all you’re doing, really. It’s just…” He trails off, head dropping again before he finally turns back to her and completes his sentence, so quiet she has to strain to hear. “The doctors told me today that if Liam doesn’t show marked improvement by the two month mark, the middle of next week, that he probably won’t ever. And then, I’ll have to seriously consider letting him go.”

Killian’s quiet explanation leaves Emma feeling like there’s suddenly ice running through her veins instead of blood. It’s been obvious from day one how important this is, but now they will have to contend with the fact that they’re running out of time. There’s no words she can say to fix the situation; she can’t even begin to imagine what Killian is going through. All Emma can offer is to take his hand and squeeze it gently, simply offering the comfort of not being alone.

“I don’t know what to do, Swan,” he murmurs. “I don’t want to lose him, but if we don’t do anything, it’ll still happen.” There’s a heavy pause, as he once again stares off into the darkness, lost in his thoughts, before he finds the words to continue. “I trust you, Emma, and I trust your magic. Do you think the best chance to save Liam is in some of these riskier options?”

She’d suggested it out of desperation, but the truth is, she does. They’ve gone through all the obvious and safe answers, so if they’re going to save Killian’s brother, they’re going to have to step outside their comfort zone, try other options.

So she takes a deep breath, gathers all her courage, and replies in as confident a voice as she can muster:

“I do.”

------

Regina and the others take the new direction somewhat better when the marching orders are coming from the man any issues would most affect. There’s still quite a few mentions of “If you’re sure…” but that’s more or less expected, and they continue on all the same.

They’ve really had to get creative now. It’s not entirely unexpected that they start looking for spell combinations that might work in tandem where they’d be ineffective alone, but Belle also starts dabbling in writing new ones herself, taking the useful parts of several different incantations and somehow mashing them together. It takes a skill with languages that Emma frankly doesn’t possess, but she thinks the results ought to be effective, and Belle gets excited talking about the potential for publication if any of them work.

Each of their next several tries is still woefully ineffective. Liam is stubbornly unresponsive, and all the attempts just result in utter exhaustion on everyone’s part. Killian tells Emma over and over how much he appreciates their efforts, her efforts, that he’ll remember that regardless, but they’re all tired and desperate and it’s not working.

Until it does.

It works. It finally all works. Emma is so relieved, she doesn’t have the words to properly describe it. Killian’s belief in her may never have wavered, but Emma’s faith in herself certainly had, and the last days had been plagued with the panic that maybe she wouldn’t be able to save Liam Jones after all, that she’d be forced to disappoint Killian and his beautiful hope. But they succeed.

She’s right, too; solution that ultimately works is so far outside the box that it’s a miracle in itself that they were able to devise its steps. The easiest way Emma can think of it is as the human equivalent of turning the computer off and then back on again: Elsa freezes his brain in stasis for protection, Belle enacts a complicated spell for removing the soul from the body in a shining ball of light before reaffixing it as Regina shocks his heart with a burst of magic like defibrillator paddles. Then Emma’s left to send another glow of healing magic as Elsa removes the freeze, the whole thing topped by a kiss from Killian to his brother’s sleeping forehead - a True Love’s Kiss. It’s a cheesy measure, one that makes Regina roll her eyes, but Belle had argued that it couldn’t hurt.

And it hadn’t. There’s not some ridiculous blast of rainbow light or anything, but the moment Killian’s lips touch Liam’s brow, Emma feels the world settle in a way she can’t quite explain but attributes to magic, to things setting to rights again, to a sleeping soul breathing a sigh of relief.

It’s not like the movies. Liam doesn’t gasp and sit up in bed, eyes flying open in a cinematically dramatic moment. But he squeezes Killian’s hand where it clasps his, and that’s enough to signify drastic improvement.

“Liam?” he asks, so hopefully, and while the elder Jones may still be unconscious, they all watch as his hand tightens around Killian’s. It’s conscious movement at last, and with that realization, the room becomes jubilant, exploding in a chorus of cheers.

There’s hugging and smiling and they may all be tired but Elsa lets out a little joyful screech, and it’s probably a miracle they’re not all kicked out. Somehow, Emma finds herself in Killian’s arms, and he’s smiling that smile again and there are tears in both their eyes and his face is just so close—

—and she kisses him.

It’s not planned, not at all, but her lips meet his and he’s kissing her right back, and God, she could get lost in this if not for the fact—

—if not for the fact that he’s only doing this because she saved his brother.

It’s like a bucket of cold water, that realization, and Emma steps back with wide, horrified eyes to find Killian looking at her with an unfocused gaze.

“Swan—” he begins, but Emma’s not willing to hear where that sentence ends - hear the excuses and the apologies and the buts. Almost before she knows it, she’s backing away until she’s out the door and into the hallway.

And then, Emma Swan runs.

------

She knows she’s really fucked up when even Elsa comments about her desperate exit.

“I know I’m not one to comment on others’ love lives,” she says, “but that was quite harsh, Emma. We might know about all your… let’s say struggles with dating, but the poor boy was just left there in a daze without any idea why you had booked it out of there.”

Emma really hates the picture that puts in her head, of a sad Killian just standing there with that stunned look on his face melting into confusion and disappointment. There’s a shock of guilt that accompanies that vision, but she does her best to push it aside. It was a moment of weakness on both their parts; it didn’t actually mean anything. Killian was undoubtedly just so happy that something had finally worked, which led him to reciprocate… whatever Emma’s excuse is. She’s still not entirely sure. Anyways, it was surely just a one-time thing. Her usefulness to him is effectively over, now that Liam is firmly on the road to recovery; they likely won’t ever cross paths again, now that there’s not any real reason for them to.

Of course, that’s not strictly true. Emma may not be having anything to do with the Jones brothers, and Regina is not enough of a people person to willingly pursue any further friendship without measurable advantage to herself, but Elsa and Belle are much better people who still stop by the hospital with dinner and check up on how both men are doing. It’s how Emma gets updates on Liam’s condition - how he finally opened his eyes and properly woke up two days after their breakthrough, how he’s still tired and healing and a bit out of it, but how the doctors expect him to make a full recovery, against all odds. By all accounts, he’s starting to get antsy, and Emma hopes he’ll be allowed home soon for both men’s sake.

“He asks about you, you know,” Belle contributes, and Emma can’t even pretend to not know who she’s talking about. “Whenever we walk in the room, he perks up for a moment until he realizes you haven’t come with us. Really, Emma, you’re being ridiculous.”

And she probably is. She definitely is. But she can’t get over the fear that Killian isn’t really interested in her, just in what she can do.

The weeks pass by. Elsa and Belle keep inviting her to the hospital, insisting Liam wants to meet her and Killian would just love to see her, but Emma dodges and avoids and works more hours, just to have an excuse not to go.

(She’d tried Mary Margaret at first, who had relished spending more time with Emma until she realized it was an emotional avoidance ploy. And then she’d flatly refused to be a part of it.)

At the end of the month, Liam gets to go home to the apartment he and Killian apparently share, and Emma gets to hear all about it. Elsa and Liam have apparently taken a liking to one another, which has resulted in even more visits and even more updates on all things Jones Brothers and the promise of an actual date once Liam’s well enough to drive them both to a nice restaurant. Emma’s happy for her friend, she truly is - Elsa deserves the world, after everything she’s been through - but it really throws a wrench in Emma’s plans to just never see Killian Jones again. If his brother and her roommate start dating, it’s a little inevitable that their paths will cross eventually, for better or worse.

Their latest ploy - ok, it’s not a ploy, but each invite Emma has to dodge feels like an individual attack on her resolve in some larger evil plan, so she’s sticking with ploy - is a welcome home party for Liam. Emma declines, almost out of habit now - she’ll find work or something to occupy herself, give herself a plausible excuse. The thing is, if she was to show up, it probably wouldn’t be that big a deal. They’d all talk and laugh and have a good time. Elsa’s trying to figure out what flavors of ice cream she’ll bring, and there’s sure to be cake. But Emma’s a wuss, and she might have feelings for Jones, hesitant as she is to admit it. She’s not sure she could take it if she spends an entire night in his company where he treats her as nothing more than a friend or, even worse, some sort of business associate. So she’ll stay home instead, thank you very much.

And she does have plans. They just involve executing a honeytrap on the latest jumper instead of socializing at some party. The problem is, those plans don’t last nearly as long as she anticipates, and Emma finds herself back home at the Tudor much sooner than she planned, sporting a number of scrapes from where she had to tackle her man to the ground outside the coffee shop. She’s barely limped inside and taken off her shoes, flipping through the mail in the kitchen, before she hears the awful dramatic doorbell that some relative of Elsa’s had installed God-only-knows when. Groaning audibly, she hauls herself downstairs again and throws the door open much more forcibly than she really needs to. “Look, I’m really not in the mood for whatever pitch this is,” she begins, fully ready to give whatever door-to-door salesman is bothering her a piece of her mind—

—only to find one Killian Jones standing on her doorstep.

The guilt hits her immediately as his face shifts through sheepishness to shock and then on to anger.

“You are avoiding me!” he accuses, and it takes every bit of willpower Emma possesses not to physically flinch at the words. Even if they are true. “I thought I’d come check on you tonight when you didn’t show, and thought I’d find you sick or working, or any reasonable excuse, but you’re flat-out avoiding me!”

His anger hurts, somewhat, and makes her feel guilty, but at the same time, those are fighting words. And Emma Swan has never been one to back down from a fight. Defenses raised, she shoots back with all the vitriol she can muster, “So what if I am? Most people would get the hint, or figure there’s a reason.”

“Well, as the one being avoided, I think I have a right to know the reason!” he demands, before softening once again, seemingly suddenly aware of his tone. “Look, Emma, it’s just… we kissed. And I thought it was a pretty good kiss,” he adds bashfully, scratching behind his ear in that way Emma has always secretly found adorable. “But then you just… ran off. And have conveniently not shown hide nor hair ever since. Did I do something wrong?” By the end, he’s almost painfully earnest, and Emma feels that knife of guilt dig just that little bit deeper. She still needs to stand strong, to protect herself from heartbreak, but there’s no reason for her to hurt him in the process, so she finally shakes her head, all the while avoiding his eyes.

“What then?” he asks, as gently as the situation allows. “Because I’m observant, Swan, and this? This is avoiding me.”

There’s a pause. A great, big, heavy pause. How do you tell a person the fears of your heart, when the greatest fear in your heart is letting anyone in?

He plows on, nonetheless, in the face of her silence. “I like you, you know?” he says softly, scratching behind his ear again, a tell-tale nervous tic. “I don’t know if that kiss meant something to you, but it did to me. Because I think you’re brilliant and fierce and… I like you.”

“You just like the magic,” Emma mutters. She can tell the moment her words process in his mind because he suddenly stares at her like she’s grown a second head.

“You think I just like you because you can wield magic?” he asks incredulously. He almost looks insulted, oddly enough, and it takes Emma somewhat aback. “Emma, that’s… that’s ridiculous, really. You really thought I only valued your company for what you can do, and not who you are? I mean, maybe at first…” he runs his hand through his hair in frustration, and she’d almost think it was cute, if she wasn’t anxiously waiting for his next words. “But then I got to know you, Swan, and you were much more than that. So brave, and determined, and… honestly, anyone who’s only interested in you for your magic is an idiot, love. You’re so much more than that. Well, and you treat it like some kind of bloody ridiculous hobby instead of the power it probably could be.” Killian laughs at his own joke, and Emma cracks into a slight smile too, unable to resist the sound. “But no, Swan, I find you fascinating for many, many reasons, and your magic is the very least of them.”

Tentatively, Emma meets his eyes, seeking confirmation. “Yeah?”

He doesn’t disappoint, smiling and nodding back at her with a chuckle. “Aye. You’re a marvel, Emma Swan.” His smile is so wide, so full of hope and truth, that try as she might, Emma can’t find a reason to doubt him.

She’s never been good at this part of relationships - making the first move when things are still so tentative and unsure. But she can sense that Killian’s nervous too, can practically feel it rolling off him in waves, and that gives her an unexpected boost of confidence. This doesn’t have to be like magic, be precise and exact or the whole thing will fall apart and your nose probably will turn green. It doesn’t matter how either one of them approaches this, just that they do.

So Emma gathers all the courage she can muster, and steps forward to catch his lips with hers, creating a different kind of magic altogether.

It’s a little bit fanciful (okay, a lot a bit fanciful), but Emma can’t help but feel like there’s an energy that flows between her body and his, between her soul and his, as their lips move together - at first softly and gently, but then deeper, stronger, more passionate as lips open and tongues caress and they both lose themselves in the special magic of a first kiss. Some might call it fate, or soulmates; Emma’s not quite ready to call it anything yet.

(But she very well might be some day, perhaps sooner than she thinks.)

They’re both breathing heavily when they finally separate, foreheads still touching as if connected by invisible threads.

“That was…” he begins, a smile creeping over his face.

Emma quickly interrupts. “If you say magical, I swear to God, I’ll smack you, don’t think I won’t.” She tries to look stern, but honestly, her kiss-swollen lips and mussed hair from where Killian had slipped his hand into her curls probably ruin that illusion.

“Of course not, darling,” he good-naturedly replies with a smile and what she suspects is a suppressed laugh. “Who am I to challenge a witch?”

------

Killian Jones has no magic to speak of.

But he’s a great cook and patient with all the chaos only a house full of witches can conjure up - not to mention, a damn good kisser - so Emma’s more than willing to overlook that fact.

Magic and Killian don’t always mix - he’s particularly not a fan of how Emma sets off the magical equivalent of firecrackers under their bed for April Fool’s Day - but overall, he’s so casual about the whole topic that Emma wants to laugh at herself for believing even for a second that he’d have a problem with any of it.

Things change, of course. Their relationship strengthens and solidifies and eventually relocates to their own place when Elsa decides they could all use a bit more privacy (especially since things have gotten serious between the elder Jones and herself), but their relationship is the constant. That little corner within Emma that hosts her magic simultaneously boils and settles every time she and Killian are together.

Killian Jones couldn’t perform a spell if he tried. But sometimes, curled into his side in bed and feeling her heart glow with happiness as he pulls her just that little bit closer, Emma Swan thinks he possesses his own magic all the same, one born of the feelings they share for one another.

“Not exact details, but we need to corner him and disable him. We haven’t made any moves because the first part of the prophecy only came to pass a month ago,” David tells them. The pack waits patiently for someone to explain.

“The prophecy stated I wouldn’t defeat the dark one until I was twenty-eight, which I turned a month ago. We’ve been planning for sometime now. We have squid ink to immobilize him and then I come in to end him. What we lack is ever knowing where he is or having a sufficient enough distraction,” Emma tells them.

“We could set a trap and lure him out,” Robin suggests, looking around the table.

“We decided against that because we want to catch him unaware,” Regina says.

“If you set up a trap you can control the situation. He seems blood thirsty enough to be fooled into any trap you set,” Killian tells them.

“What did you have in mind exactly?” Snow asks him, pointedly.

“It would be helpful to know all of your abilities exactly. In order to know what kind of trap we can set,” Killian says looking at each of them.

“I’ll start, I’m an empath, I can sense someone’s emotions. I can’t imagine I’ll be much use to you,” Anna shrugs.

“Not so sure about that, can you control emotions of a person?” Liam asks.

“Well yes I can do that. Although it is frowned upon to do so,” she nods. Liam nods exchanging a look with Killian.

“It’s easier to show you what I can do,” Elsa says. She simply raises her hand and faces her palm toward the ceiling, snowflakes start falling from it. When the pack doesn’t look impressed Elsa creates a shard of ice and throws it just to the left of Liam’s head straight into the wall. Ruby laughs at Liam’s shocked expression.

“Oh yeah, we can use that,” Ruby chuckles. Regina creates a fireball and Robin’s eyes widen.

“I won’t throw this it will be a little too destructive,” Regina says with a smirk, “Emma and I can also transport ourselves from one location to the next.”

“Interesting and we can definitely use that,” Killian says. Snow sweeps her hand from left to right, brings forth a wine bottle and enough glasses for them.

“I have healing abilities as well. Should this turn ugly as we think it will,” Snow says, using her abilities to pour them all a glass of wine.

“I have a natural ability with animals, it’s how we’ve been so lucky with getting food even in the dead of winter. Other than that I’m rather good at hand to hand combat,” David tells the group. The pack nods. Emma emits some of her white light.

“Looks pretty, but it can hurt when I want it to,” Emma says, the light dissipating.

“You know what to do when you confront him?” Liam asks her.

“I know exactly what to do. Don’t worry about me,” she tells them. A somber tone falls over the room. Killian’s gaze is glued to Emma. He knows she’s holding something back, but doesn’t know what it is. Regina looks to Liam.

“You know what we can do now, so what’s your plan?” she asks him.  

“We’ll need to scout an ideal location, somewhere away from any unsuspecting people,” Liam answers her.

“We still need a good distraction, something to draw him out,” Ruby comments.

“I think that should be something to ponder on for tonight. It’s been a long day and we still have a lot of work to do. We all need a good night’s sleep,” Snow declares standing up, her husband grasps her hand. They all agree with the exhaustion weighing on them. Snow leaves and David follows behind her. Regina looks like she wants to say something, but she shakes her head, leaving as well. Emma finishes her glass of wine in one swift motion, wishing it was something stronger.

“Did we miss something?” Killian asks looking at the cousins remaining at the table.

“We have devoted so much of our lives to this fight and to have it be so close to the end well it’s difficult for everyone to process,” Elsa comments.

“Not to mention the moral implications,” Anna contributes.

“Good thing you won’t be killing him then,” Emma snaps, irritated by Anna’s innocence.

“Emma, you have light magic that’s meant for good. How is what we’re doing good?” Anna asks her, getting upset.

“You don’t think this is worth it? Don’t you want to go home? Aren’t you tired of living on the run? Aren’t you tired of him murdering us out of some misguided vengeance? We are getting rid of a great evil, what isn’t good about that?” Emma says getting angry, her hands starting to glow. The pack realizes what an important fight this is for everyone in this house, what they have all sacrificed to be here.

“Emma,” Elsa says looking at her cousin’s hands. Emma curses before shaking out her hands, the glowing stops.

“I make no apologies for what has to be done,” Emma says before leaving the room. Anna looks to Elsa.

“I’m going to bed, good night,” she tells the room before leaving. Elsa looks as if she doesn’t know what to do anymore.

“I’m sorry you all had to see that, tensions have been running high lately,” Elsa tells the room, cleaning up the glasses that everyone left behind.

“No worries, these things happen. Especially within families,” Liam says, jumping to help Elsa collect the glasses and follows her out of the room.

“Anyone have the feeling what we jumped into is much larger than what we thought it was,” Ruby muses out loud.

“Definitely, but that’s what makes it interesting,” Robin says with a smirk. Killian nods and tells them goodnight. He wants to find Emma, he knows she’s upset. While searching the rooms on the ground floor of the house Killian spots Emma in the garden looking over forest. He makes his way outside to stand next to her.

“Are you alright, love?” he asks her, wanting to reach out to touch her, but he stops himself.

“Anna has morality issues with this and it’s hard for her to accept that,” Emma says, not looking at him.

“I gathered as much, but I asked about you,” he says pointedly.

“I’m fine. I’ve prepared myself for this for a long time,” she says finally looking at him, with something akin to sadness in her eyes.

“Well, if you ever need to talk about it. I’m here,” he tells her. He’s not entirely sure why, but that pull he feels when she’s around is undeniable.

“I’ll keep that in mind,” she says a smile on her face.

“Ah that’s much better,” he says and she raises an eyebrow.

“What is?” she asks, curious.

“Your smile, much better than the frown that was masking your face,” he tells her. He desperately wants to reach out, place a hand on her cheek, and pull her in for a kiss. He stops himself, now isn’t the time for that.

She can’t stop thinking about him and his stupid lips. How soft and supple they look. How she wants them on hers so desperately. She never felt like this with Neal, not even once. She’s fighting so hard to deny this attraction, but in this moment she wants him.

“You don’t know me all that well how can you say that?” she says shaking her head.

“I don’t have to know you well to see you look much more beautiful with a smile,” he tells her.

“You seem like quite the charmer, I bet you say that to all the women you meet,” she says with a smirk.

“Ah yes all the many women I meet as a wolf in the forest,” he teases her. The moonlight shining down on them, providing dim lighting in the garden.

“You never know who you’ll find in the forest,” she smiles at him.

“You never do. I feel quite lucky to have met you,” he tells her his hand brushing hers.

“It does feel quite fortunate, something about fate and all that,” she says, blushing. He can no longer help it and his hand brushes her cheek. She closes her eyes and leans into his touch. He brings her closer until his lips brush against hers. Once then twice. She surges forward and captures his lips with hers. Gods he’s never had a kiss like this. He imagined kissing her all day, but this is something else. Emma’s hands grasp the lapels of his jacket. One of his hands tangles in her hair.

My god Emma has never had a kiss like this. A kiss full of passion and longing. She never knew a kiss could feel this good. She knows she should distance herself away from him, but my god kissing him shouldn’t feel as good as this. She’s entirely selfish in this moment. She wants this and him, even though it’s not fair to him at all.

When they pull apart and come up for air and rest their foreheads on each other. Emma realizes what a huge mistake she has made. She can’t kiss him. She can’t lead him on like this. He should kiss women who aren’t fated to die at the hands of the great evil.

“That was…” he says trailing off. She pulls away from him, shaking her head.

“I can’t, I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have..” she says backing away.

“Emma?” he says confused. He knows she felt what he did. If she didn’t she would’ve stopped the kiss. She would’ve said something or shouted at him. She’s running because she’s scared.

“I can’t. Please wait five minutes until you go back inside the house,” she says all the while continuing to back up.

“As you wish,” he says briskly, he can’t stop her from running. No matter how badly he wants to. Emma turns around and runs into the house. She definitely shouldn’t have kissed him. That was a huge mistake. How could she do that to someone who wasn’t born into this hellish mess? Emma barrels into a room she’s sharing with Elsa and Anna. Elsa looks up from her bed and Anna does too.

“Are you okay?” Elsa asks. Emma just shakes her head.

“Nope, I’m definitely not,” Emma says her hand shaking as she runs it through her hair.

“I can feel the guilt and regret rolling off you. You want to talk about it?” Anna asks her. Emma shakes her head.

“Not yet,” she mumbles. The sisters nod, they’re used to waiting for Emma to open up to them. They’ve learned not to push her.

“We’re here when you’re ready,” Elsa tells her as Emma gets ready for bed. Emma just nods not knowing what to say. How to explain her terrible actions. She wouldn’t drag a good man down with her. It took awhile, but Emma eventually faded into sleep.

In the morning thankfully Henry is quite attached to her and requires a lot of her attention. She’s so distracted she misses how Killian is still gazing longing at Emma. How he’s not mad, just confused as to what went wrong. Liam and Elsa keep looking at each other then hurriedly looking away when they catch each other’s gaze. Robin gazing at Regina when he knows she’s not looking. Regina who is making a show of not looking at Robin.

“Is it me or do we have a bunch of love sick fools in here?” Snow says to David, who looks shocked by this.

“Who are you talking about?” he asks looking around the room.

“Oh you can be so dense sometimes,” Snow sighs, “When you see it you’ll know.” David looks confused, but glances around the table.

After breakfast Anna volunteers to distract the kids for the day, saying she’ll support any plan they come up with. That’s when things get hard for Emma because then she notices how Killian is looking at her and it breaks her heart. He’s not mad or angry, he’s still gazing at her like he always has with maybe a tinge of sadness.

“I’ve been thinking about the distraction and I think it should be me,” Regina tells the room.

“Why you?” Robin asks, curious.

“The Dark One and I have a little history. He knew my mother, he killed her. He would be able to trace my magic if we left a convincing trail,” Regina says.

“He can trace magic?” Ruby asks looking around.

“Why do you think we walked here? We could transport from place to place, but that’s how he tracked us at first. He came so close getting us a few times,” Snow tells them.

“When do we want to set this trap?” Emma asks the room, changing the subject.

“It should be the day of the full moon. We will be at our strongest and the most helpful to you then,” Killian answers her question forcing her to look at him finally. He’s more hurt then he cares to admit. Most of all curious as to what happened last night. What caused the change in Emma. It’s not hard to see she’s an strong, powerful, and beautiful women, but he doubts she sees that in herself. He wants to talk, but she’s avoiding his gaze.

“When is the full moon?” Emma asks him, trying to not let his gaze get to her. She knows there are things unsaid between them. There are questions he’s dying to ask her and she doesn’t want to give him the answers. He’s better off without her in his life. He’s better off with her at a distance.

“Two weeks,” he tells her. She finally breaks his gaze to look at Regina.

“Will that be enough time to set up a convincing trail?” she asks Regina.

“Yes, I’ll leave the week before. The trail will be small and hard to follow. He’ll need to believe that he was the only one who could pick up on it,” Regina says.

“So we have a week to scout out a good location to have this fight,” Liam says and David nods.

“We’ll start today then,” Killian says and Liam agrees. The meeting breaks up, the wolves shifting in the yard before they set off. Killian walks out the room without as much as a goodbye. Maybe he’s finally upset with Emma, but that’s good it’s how it should be.

Regina heads to their library to do some more research. Emma glares out of the window in the parlor. Elsa strides up next to her.

“I know you’re not ready to talk about whatever happened, but I need to talk to you,” Elsa says quietly. Emma turns to her concerned.

“What’s wrong?” Emma asks, placing a hand on her shoulder.

“I think you’re right. I think he’s my true love,” is all she says at first. Emma smirks.

“You say that like it’s a bad thing,” Emma comments.

“Witches, we’re more intune with ourselves, with our bodies. We know when a change occurs, we can sense it. What if he doesn’t feel what I feel or he doesn’t know what it means?” Elsa asks quickly her panic causing snow to fall. Emma takes her hand and the snow stops.

“He may have not accepted it yet or he doesn’t know what it is. I doubt either one of those things changes how he feels about you. What caused this panic in you?” Emma asks skeptical.

“Nothing really. He helped me clean up last night and we were talking then at some point we started holding hands as he walked me to my room. He said he wanted to get to know me and kissed my hand before walking away. All rather tame I’m afraid,” she shrugs.

“It can’t be that tame if you’re panicking, what else happened?” Emma asked again, knowing her cousin was holding back. Elsa takes her time before answering.

“Something snapped into place or perhaps the pull between us was so strong, but all I know he’s the only one for me,” she tells Emma, who smiles.

“When you know you know. Men are usually the last to know when a woman wants them, so give him time to catch up,” She comforts Elsa. They look over the view that the house provides for a few minutes pondering everything happening in their lives.

“I’ve made a mistake,” Emma almost whispers.

“What?” Elsa asks, wondering if she heard her cousin correctly.

“I’ve made a mistake,” Emma repeats herself.

“What happened?” Elsa asks, calmly.

“I kissed Killian,” she says quietly.

“I knew I wasn’t the only one who was interested in a Jones brother. Why would-” Elsa’s train of thought stops and catches up to Emma’s, “Oh no, Emma. I’m so sorry.”

“It was impulsive and in the moment. I just got swept away. I feel like he sees me and understands me. It’s never been like that with anyone outside the coven. He does it with such ease. Elsa, the kiss… there is nothing that can compare,” Emma tells her tears in her eyes.

“They don’t know about your fate,” Elsa says, unsure. Emma shakes her head.

“I shouldn’t have kissed him. It was reckless. I can’t lead him on knowing that I’ll die. It wouldn’t be fair to him,” she whispers.

“Maybe he should get to decide. Maybe to him loving you would be worth it. They should know the truth anyway with this plan of ours,” she tells her cousin. Her words may not be what Emma wants to hear, but they are what she needs to hear. Emma wipes away the single tear the has fallen down her face.

“Thank you. I’ll have to think about it,” Emma nods. She makes sure she is presentable before going in to see Henry and Roland. She helps Anna out with their lesson for the day. Spending time with Henry is her greatest joy. She wants to create good moments with him because soon she’ll be gone and he will only have those moments to remember her by.

It felt as though an age had passed before his shadow returned, beckoning his master to follow. Hook grabbed a line and kicked the release, allowing the rope to carry him to the ground where he landed with a heavy yet agile thud. Racing after the outline of his own form, he attempted to map out their destination, yet with each landmark left in his wake, foreboding began to seep into his bones.

Hook’s dread fully materialized when his shadow stopped at the very last place he’d ever wish to find himself. Even after all the years he’d spent in Neverland, he’d managed to avoid it. Dark Hollow. The darkest spot on the entire island. A spot where any light that made its way in was inevitably snuffed out by the shadows that called it home. Shadows of Pan’s victims who were trapped and tormented by the entity Pan called his own. Though Hook knew that Shadow did not actually belong to the demon brat in the same way the dark spectre floating in front of him belonged to the pirate. It was a being unto itself. Yet, like all others under Pan’s rule, it served its master and did Pan’s bidding from miles, even whole realms, away.

Knowing it would be useless to him, Hook hung his lantern on a nearby branch then began rifling through the many pockets of his great coat. He pulled a glass vial from one of their depths and gave it a gentle shake. A soft, blue glow began to radiate from the crushed remnants within: shells from a variety of marine life species that lived within one of the grottos of Mermaid Lagoon. Their bioluminescence was revered by the merpeople, and Hook had paid a heavy price for the desecration he’d committed when collecting them. A price that would be worth the sacrifice if it meant reaching Emma before any harm could befall her.

With a command to his shadow to lead the way, Hook hurried through the underbrush as quickly as he could. The oppressive darkness squeezed at him from all sides, attempting to snuff out the shells’ luminescence and leaving him with only a glimmer of their aura to see by. After several minutes, he heard a succession of snapping tree branches, then a soft, whimpering curse of pain.

“Swan?” Hook called out, squinting into the haze of shadows. A relieved exhale whooshed from his lungs when he caught a glimpse of Emma’s hair.

“Killian!” she exclaimed, and another round of snaps, crunches, and curses filled the air.

“Stay where you are,” he commanded. “I’m coming to you.”

The woman would find herself in the most dense area of the hollow. Brambles and roots threatened to trip him at every turn. At one point he had to abandon his great coat which had become hopelessly snagged in a thicket of thorns. Fortunately, not the deadly kind that were rather prevalent in other parts of the island.

When he finally reached the woman, she flung herself into his arms, nearly knocking him off balance with the unexpected action.

“Easy, love,” he crooned against the crown of her hair while his arms circled and tightened around her. “I’ve got you.”

“I-I didn’t mean to end up here,” she muffled against his waistcoat. “I intended to transport myself to that tall peak I could see from your ship, but…”

“Magic works differently here,” he said, begrudgingly parroting Pan’s words.

Emma sniffled and pulled back. Reluctantly, Hook released her, allowing her to step away as she swiped an errant tear from her cheek. “Where are we? What is this place?”

“Dark Hollow,” he told her, relaying all he knew of the place while wishing she’d let him hold her again, and not simply because she had started to shiver from the cold that was seeping in.

Night must have fallen. Of course, it was always night in Neverland - or void of daylight anyway. However, small fluctuations could still be observed that spoke to the fact that it was not always thus. Another bit of information he shared as they made their way out of the patch of brambles and into more of a clearing within a grove of trees.

Blowing out a steady breath, Swan stared up at him when they halted their steps so he could ascertain in which direction they should proceed. Hook met her gaze, his head cocked to one side and his brows slightly raised in anticipation. It was clear there was something more on her mind.

“Killian, I…” Her words trailed off, her eyes flicking to a space over his shoulders where she obviously saw something. Something that, at first, made her brows scrunched together, then raised in alarm. “A shadow!” she cried, pointing in the direction of her focus.

“Relax, love,” he replied. “It’s mine.”

“No. Not that one,” she said, gesturing to where he now realized his shadow had been lurking, then back to the area of concern. “That one!”

Hook turned to look and was immediately met with a concussive force that took his feet out from under him. It wasn’t until his back hit a nearby tree that he realized the force had not knocked him down, but had literally swept him off his feet.

“Killian!”

Emma’s scream forced his eyes to open. In front of him was The Shadow, eyes glowing white and hollow. Glancing down, Hook saw Swan using the jar of shells he must have dropped to swat away another shadow. Behind her was his own shadow, being restrained by two others.

His eyes snapped back to the spectre holding him hostage, and with a low growl he commanded, “Let me go.”

The Shadow slowly shook his head.

“What do you want?” Hook demanded, then rephrased the question, knowing who was really behind this assault. “What does Pan want?”

Without easing up, The Shadow shifted its focus from the pirate to the floor of the hollow. There was no mistaking where its empty gaze was trained, and that knowledge sent a jolt of terror through the fearsome pirate.

“Emma!” Hook shouted. “Run! Just go! Get out of here!”

“Not without you!” she cried out, stubbornly.

The Shadow shifted its attention again and gave an unspoken signal to the shadows holding back his own. Each grabbed an arm of his silhouette and began to pull. Searing pain, as though he were being torn asunder, ripped through Hook and he could not hold back the screams of anguish.

“Killian!”

Emma’s voice made its way past the pain. Past the cries of torment. Past the fear that this might be the end of him.

Without warning, a wave of blinding light swept through the Hollow, and Hook found himself crashing back to the floor of the grove with no time to brace his fall. Groaning, he rolled over onto his back, aches and pains rising to the forefront of his consciousness; fortunately, none of them appeared to be serious.

A fresh grunt rumbled from his chest when a soft yet solid body landed on top of his. Swan’s hands ran over his chest, up his neck, then cradled the sides of his head, her thumbs brushing his cheeks as she implored him to open his eyes.

“Killian!” she said, frantically. “Killian! Please! Killian, come back to me.”

His bearings finally returning to him, Hook opened his eyes and a relieved expression washed over the woman crouched over him.

“What… What happened?” he croaked, allowing her to help him sit up.

“I, uh… I’m not sure,” she replied, sheepishly. “I think I may have--”

“Freed us.”

The declaration snapped their attention in the direction of the voice and both shot to their feet when its owner made its way into view.

“Please,” the spectre said, holding his hands up in supplication. “Please. I mean you no harm.”

“Recent events would suggest otherwise,” Hook grit out between his teeth while angling his body in a way that positioned himself between The Shadow and Swan.

“For which, I am most aggrieved," The Shadow replied. “Like you, I have been bound to do his bidding for longer than any other creature on this island. Pan took everything from me. My magic. My position. My freewill… Even my voice.”

Hook balked, realizing this was, indeed, the first time he’d ever heard the entity speak.

“But now,” The Shadow continued, his hollow eyes looking past the pirate and falling onto the woman beside him. “Thanks to you, I am free. We are free. Your magic removed our bindings. We are no longer enslaved.”

Movement caught Hook’s attention, and both he and Emma scanned their surroundings. Dozens, if not hundreds, of shadows hovered at the edge of the clearing, each no longer a threat. Each expressing their gratitude with silent gestures that spoke volumes.

“Including you, Captain,” the spectre stated, causing a gasp to fall from Emma’s lips.

Glancing over his shoulder, Hook met Emma’s wide-eyed stare with his own. “You removed my binding?”

He never doubted that she could, nor that she would. It was why he’d sought her out after all. It was the bargain they had made. The fact that she’d done it now, while he was being tortured and in danger of being killed was what confounded him.

“I-I,” she stammered. “I was determined to save you. I focused my magic with the intent of saving you.”

“And you did,” The Shadow confirmed. “You saved all of us.”

Hook smiled down at her, marveling at the woman. “Thank you, love,” he murmured. He took in a shaky breath, forcing back the emotions that were bubbling up from his chest. They still had work to do. She may have released him from his binding, but their bargain was far from met.

“We thank you as well,” The Shadow said, gesturing towards his brethren. “And to demonstrate our appreciation, we will aid you in rescuing your son from Pan.”

Emma stepped forward, closing the space between them and The Shadow. “You will?”

“Indeed,” he affirmed. “However…”

“However, what?” Hook inquired, wary of the spectre’s intentions. He may no longer be bound to do Pan’s bidding, but that did not mean he was a benevolent spirit in his own right.

The Shadow drifted closer to Emma. Perhaps sensing Hook’s unease, she held out a hand towards him, staying his approach and waited for the spectre to continue.

“You can feel it, can’t you?” The Shadow inquired, low and soft. “The wounds? The corruption? The abomination he’s created?”

“Yes,” she answered on a pained breath.

“Neverland was once a place where dreams were born. Where children visited. Played. Explored. Delayed the inevitable for one more night, embracing childhood and staving off the pressures of growing up.” Emma and The Shadow were now eye to eye as he imparted, “It could be that again, but not with Pan at the helm. He must be stopped. His plan cannot succeed or there will never be hope for the island.”

“What plan?” Hook asked, making his way forward to join them. “Does it have anything to do with Swan’s son?”

“I’m afraid so,” The Shadow replied. “Pan wishes for immortality. He thought he had achieved it once, when he traded his son for youth, but he burned his way through that magic over the centuries with his vile deeds, and he nearly stripped the island clean in an effort to maintain his youth.”

“What has that got to do with Henry?” Emma demanded. “My deal was never with him.”

“Not at first, perhaps,” The Shadow supplied in a forlorn tone.

“What does that mean?” Hook demanded, growing weary of The Shadow’s vague and cagey answers.

“Deals are currency to those like The Dark One and Pan. They are bartered and sold, exchanging hands in pursuit of greater power, greater riches, or even desires. The Dark One traded the deal he made with you to Pan in exchange for his son,” The Shadow informed them.

“Why?” Emma asked, her tone expressing her own agitation at the spectre’s inability to get to the point. “Wait. I thought Baelfire and Rumplestiltskin only enlisted Pan’s help after I had evaded them for so long. You’re saying, he was involved from the beginning?”

“Not the very beginning,” The Shadow replied, finally revealing truths Swan had not been privy to. “The Dark One often made deals such as yours in order to supply the Black Fairy with children whom she would raise to work her mines. However, knowing his desperation to be reunited with his son, Pan offered to release the boy from Neverland if Rumplstiltskin agreed to surrender your first born to him in exchange. What the Dark One did not know was that Pan promised to send the lad to a realm where his father would never find him, so long as he was the one who fathered the child.”

Again, both Hook and Emma opened their mouths to demand why, but The Shadow cut them off and continued on.

“Neverland was built upon three magical components: faith, trust, and pixie dust. Pan’s original pursuit of immortality required a sacrifice of trust. A son’s trust in a father to always protect him, to love him, to put that son’s happiness and well-being above his own. As mentioned, Pan gained his eternal youth through this sacrifice and has amassed power through the use and abuse of pixie dust. This leaves only faith, or belief, but his corruption of the island caused such belief to wither and die in the imaginations of children. For centuries, they have no longer come of their own free will, nor have they been allowed to leave at dawn because dawn no longer exists.”

The Shadow glanced up at the canopy, seemingly looking past the branches to the endless night sky above and heaved a heavy sigh.

“He needed a new source of belief and through his searching, discovered a prophecy. Two, actually.”

“What prophecies?” Hook demanded. “From whom did he hear them?”

“A young seer,” The Shadow replied. “I brought her here myself, many, many centuries ago. She told Pan that the belief he sought must come from within. At first, he thought that meant he could force immortality into existence by the might of his will, but later she revealed that the belief was in his blood, not his will. His bloodline, to be more specific. Childlife faith comes from children, and despite outward appearances, Pan is no child. Neither was his son. The boy he’d abandoned had long grown into a man. Which meant--”

“Pan needed a descendant.”

“I don’t understand why that means he needs Henry,” Emma stated. “Baelfire was here as a child for more years than he could remember.”

“The prophecy also came with a drawing,” The shadow informed her. “A likeness of the boy who would provide him with the necessary belief. It wasn’t until after Baelfire arrived here that Pan realized he was not the boy from the prophecy. I believe he kept him here as a punishment, to Rumplestiltskin, whom he always blamed for the loss of his wife, and to Baelfire for not being the boy he needed.”

“And you are sure that Henry is the boy he needs?” Emma inquired with a slight tremble in her voice.

“I am afraid so,” The Shadow responded with soft empathy.

“And what exactly does Pan need from the boy?” Hook asked. Although he was rather certain he did not wish to know.

And he was right.

“His heart,” The Shadow answered heavily.

“No!” Emma cried out, turning to Hook and grabbing onto his arms for support. “We have to stop him! We have to--”

“We will, love. I promise you we will,” Hook vowed, pulling her into him and wrapping his arms around her.

His vehemence was echoed by the spectre. “We will not allow it to come to pass. The shadows and I will do whatever is necessary to save your son and see to it that Pan’s reign of tyranny comes to an end.”

“How?” Emma muffled against his waistcoat. “We don’t even know where Pan is keeping him.”

“True,” The Shadow affirmed. “But I know where he’ll be.”

“What do you mean?”

“I was sent here to collect you,” The Shadow told Emma, then glanced at Hook as he added, “Both of you. Though Pan did command that you be weakened before delivery, Captain.”

“Delivery where?”

“Skull Rock.”

Hook should have known. “Of course. His own little throne room.”

“Once I have delivered you, he will send me to collect Henry. I’m afraid I do not have the knowledge of his whereabouts, and there are many places within the island that Pan’s Lost Boys could have hid him without my knowing.”

“So,” Emma sniffled, pulling back but not out of Hook’s arms. “We need to play along in order to give you an opportunity to free Henry.”

“Yes. But we must still contend with Pan and The Dark One. None of us will be truly free until Neverland is rid of them.”

“The Dark One?” Hook growled. “He’s here?”

“Indeed. Pan kept his end of the bargain with Baelfire and sent him to a far off land not long after Henry arrived. The Dark One refuses to leave until Pan tells him where his son has gone.”

“So we have to come up with a way to defeat both of them?”

Hook’s inner turmoil matched Swan’s incredulousness. He’d spent more than a century trying to best Pan so he could finally be free to exact his revenge on Rumplestiltskin. How would they achieve in the next hour that which he’d failed to do for decades?

The Shadow began to respond, but something he had said earlier sparked in Hook’s mind, prompting him to ask, “What was the other one?”

“The other what?”

“The other prophecy,” Hook clarified. “You said earlier that the young seer gave him two prophecies. You’ve only told us the one. What was the other?”

“It was about Rumplestiltskin,” The Shadow informed him, his cocked head suddenly straightening with realization. “About The Dark One’s demise! She said, a boy would lead him to his son. But that boy would be more than he appears. She said finding his son would come with a price and the boy would be his undoing.”

“Henry will be The Dark One’s undoing?” Emma peered up at Hook, concern and disbelief etching her features. It was clear that she did not think her son capable of such a thing, and though Hook had yet to meet the lad, neither did he.

However, another possibly began to form in his mind. A possibility and…

“I think I have a plan.”