#certain punch dedicated to jarienn972 xd
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Tagging@ouatwinterwhump,@killian-whump,@sancocnutclub,@killianjonesownsmyheart1,@courtorderedcake,@facesiousbutton82<3
***THE MOST WONDERFUL, HEARTBREAKING, and BEAUTIFULLY WHUMPY COVER ART BY @cocohook38HEREandHERE!!!!!!!!!*************
***Chapter 12 animationandart that will absolutely astound you!!!!!!!!!**********
***LETHALChapter 19 art in all of its BLOODSTAINED GLORY!!!!************
**POOR STABBED KILLIAN falling into the sheriff station! Ch. 7 & 23 art!!**
****KILLIAN AND HIS MASTER IN THE GORGEOUS CATHEDRAL!!!!!!!!!!!! CHAPTER 1 ART THAT KILLS ME EVERY TIME I SEE IT!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!*********
*CH 34 ART! A DEFEATED KILLIAN, HEAD BOWED BEFORE HIS MASTER!!*
***CH 36 ART! DETECTIVE JONES BOWS BEFORE HIS NEW MASTER!!!!!!***
***AAAAHHHH!!! THANK YOU MY WONDERFUL COCONUT FRIEND!!!!!!***
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Present (Monday)…
“Wellthat doesn’t make any sense.”
Being startled by argumentative voices at his bedside was not the most pleasant way to wake up… but it was better than the nightmares.
“Regina, I’m telling you, that’s how Gold said to interpret it.” At least Emma was trying to keep her tone quiet. “The darker the colors, the stronger the shielding.”
“It started at the compound and spread to Storybrooke. How is it suddenly concentrated here?”
Killian slitted his eyes open, hoping to catch a glimpse of what it was they were bickering over. Emma sighed.
“How would I know? We all thought it would dissipate once the monster was dead, but if anything, it’s still getting stronger.”
Wearing her coldest scowl, Regina resumed studying the tablet device in her hands. Finally, she relented, somewhat bitterly if the drugs weren’t messing with Killian’s interpretation.
“Fine. We’ll pull people from the cleanup of the compound to take a look around the park. But this had better not be another waste of town resources.”
Emma did not flinch, at least not outwardly. But she did reach for the tablet, appearing confused. “Park? I thought it was strongest near City Hall.”
Impatiently, Regina tilted the screen in her direction. “That’s clearly the park, Sheriff Swan.”
Emma’s only response was a thoughtful, “Huh.”
Slamming the protective case closed, Regina noted Killian watching with tired eyes, but simply shot him an icy glare before turning and marching toward the door.
“I’ll call you,” she told Emma. And then she was gone.
Emma moved closer to Killian’s bedside.
“Sorry. I would have met her outside, but there’s a surgeon coming to take a look at your hand any minute.” She gently caressed his cheek. “Think you want them to knock you out for that?”
Grimacing, Killian shook his head once. The thought of more surgery was a lot to stomach just then–although the alternative was the possibility of permanent reduction in function, which was obviously worse–and he didn’t want to add post-anesthesia effects into the mix if it wasn’t absolutely necessary. Besides, it couldn’t be much worse than the multiple daily nursing visits he’d been enduring, where they forced him through breathing exercises and coughing, leaving him nauseated with pain by the time they were finished.
“Shielding?” he croaked. His voice still sounded like the warm-up grunts of a wall-eyed seagull just before it let loose with a full-on cackle. Whether that was due to vocal strain or the breathing tube he’d had down his throat was not something he wanted to dwell on. At least the claustrophobic oxygen mask had been traded for the somewhat-less-annoying nasal prongs during the day, which helped the communication issue.
Emma fished an ice chip from the cup on the bedside table and popped it into his mouth. They never helped much but were better than nothing.
“Yeah. Whatever is preventing the use of magic,” Emma explained. “Rumplestiltskin helped figure out a way to show it on a map. We were hoping to pinpoint its source so we can shut it off.”
“Croc…?” he managed around the soothing ice shard. Emma made a face.
“When I went to go punch him in the… I mean, went to go get Hope, remember?”
Hope dead.
His eyes were open. All the details of the hospital room, his wife at his side, all plainly visible. Yet all he could see was the gruesome conjured figure of a corpse. A tiny, bloodied body. Meant as protection, intended to haunt him for only a fleeting, temporary span of time, yet necessary for so much longer and now much too close to the surface. Too detailed. Too real. Tainting all of his memories from before.
On instinct, Killian began to reach for his face, as if by digging his fingers into his eyes or even gouging them out could erase that image, but he was thwarted by tandem, grating pains in shoulder joint and daggered ribs. Momentarily overwhelmed, he squeezed his eyes shut, but that only served to bring the nightmare images back into full focus. Emma saw his torment and placed a gentle hand on his forearm.
“Killian?”
“I need… to see her…” he gritted out, one growling word at a time.
“I know you do,” soothed Emma. Hope kidnapped. “I just wasn’t sure about having her see you like this…” Hope tortured. “And I don’t think she’s allowed in here, anyway.” Hope dead.
Hope dead.
Hope DEAD.
Killian hiccuped a sob and again started to reach for his eyes, despite his damaged shoulder, despite the torn hand and shattered, spiked wrist. Hope dead. SCREAM FOR ME, TRIPOD. Dead… I REQUIRE YOUR SCREAMS.
Emma had a firm grip on both of Killian’s arms, but he was struggling to free himself, compelled to scrabble the graphic pictures from his mind, welcoming the pain as a desperate alternative to the voices persecuting him.
“Killian! Killian!” Emma was shouting. She probably only had trouble containing his flailing limbs due to not wanting to squeeze him too hard, but a part of him craved that. The machines monitoring his condition began chiming their various alarms as his vitals went haywire, responding to the struggle taking place.
“She’s fine, Killian; I swear to you! She got to spend a single exciting day with Belle and now is getting spoiled rotten by her grandparents. Look, I’ll show you, but you’ve gotta stop this! You’re hurting yourself!”
With difficulty, Killian reigned in the impulses driving the thrashing, pressing both arms hard into the mattress underneath him as his fisted hand pulsed with blazing fire. Shuddering, he panted through clenched teeth and tried to focus on his wife. Seeing him settling, Emma fumbled her phone from a pocket and trembled her way through the process of unlocking the screen and navigating to the photo gallery.
“Here, see?” She sounded frantic, her voice thin and high. “This was this morning, while you were down in Radiology.” She thrust the phone at him, too close to properly see even if her hands weren’t shaking and his eyes blurred with tears. Before Killian had time to try and focus on the image, Emma was swiping to the next picture.
There was a small form, dressed in familiar colors and radiating an apparent happiness as she was enfolded tightly in strong, masculine arms. The next blur was zoomed out to show a man’s face, a hand cradling soft curls against his chest. Killian blinked, tears running freely now, and caught a quick glimpse of an emotional David before the obscuring haze was back. Emma flipped through more images, sniffling as well at the memory of her parents’ reunion with Hope. Killian’s pulse and blood pressure had calmed slightly as his mind focused on the sight in front of him.
“They were happy to see her,” she said softly, then laughed once. “And Hope was totally oblivious to how much they had missed her. She would only tolerate so much cuddling before it was time to play.”
Killian’s tearful grimace was almost a smile, picturing the scene as Emma had described it. Little Hope was only ever snuggly when tired; at all other times it was go, go, go.
A stark contrast to the motionless corpse of his visions.
Hope kidnapped, Hope–
Killian scowled at the phone, trying to drive false images away with the truth. This morning, Emma had said. This morning, Hope had been swept up in her grandfather’s arms, had planted a sticky kiss on her grandmother’s cheek, had run off to play with uncle Neal, every moment captured in loving detail by her mother’s phone and laid out plain for him to see…
A single glint of red wormed its way among the blur. Perhaps a ribbon, perhaps a sports ball, a cardinal’s wing or even Swan’s leather jacket caught somehow in frame. Whatever the culprit, it was enough.
Crimson spread from that single point, blending with his tears to engulf happy, innocent pictures in vivid blood. Blood, on the grass, in the sky, blood on David’s hands and on Snow’s cheek, in Wilby’s fur. Blood. Hope was bathed in blood, drowning in it, tortured, cold and dead, her loved ones grieving and painted with her blood.
With a horrified cry, Killian grabbed at his face, and this time, Emma was too slow. Over-stretched tendons groaned within his shoulder, severed flesh inside his hand combusting along the way, but Killian ignored it all. The pointed end of the wrist ring left a shallow gouge beneath his eye, even through the layers of gauze surrounding it, and as Emma dropped her phone, Killian moaned,
“It’s not enough. Not…” A sob caught in his throat. He heard Emma pleading with him, felt her hands on his wrists, but all he could see was the blood. “Swan… please…!”
“You’ll see her!” Emma cried, near hysteria. “I’ll bring her, sneak her past the nurses and Whale; to hell with their rules! But I need you to calm down!”
Whimpering, Killian continued digging both wrists into his eye sockets, shaking with horror and anguish. Emma managed to yank his now-bleeding hand away, but it took both of her own to do it. Practically kneeling on the pinioned arm, she cursed and hit the nurse call button.
NO HOPE, TRIPOD.
Maybe his Master was right, thought Killian as twisting, cramping pain invaded his fragile lung. Maybe he would never be free of the horrific images. Maybe all hope really was lost.
Perhaps he should have never stopped praying for death to claim him.
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