- The Mumble: Whumpee is semi-lucid at best, so close to being unconscious and pain free but oh, it hurts, and they groan and mumble nonsense under their breath as the pain keeps them from passing out
- The Fight or Flight: whumpee is definitely out but is dreaming about the fight/injury/event; twitchy fingers and tossing their head because the danger is gone but the trauma continues to play out in their head
- The Lazarus: Whumpee is finally safe and on a whole lot of drugs (the good stuff) and manages to wake up from their heavy sedation. Caretaker, baffled, tells them to sleep. whumpee basically goes ‘alright peace’ and immediately passes out again
- The Park and Fly: whumpee gets whacked across the head, sits down to recover thinking its fine, promptly passes out without warning
- The Good Stuff: “Hey did you say there was a sedative in this? I don’t think its-”
- The Blink and You’ll Miss It: Whumpee gets clocked and wakes up what feels like seconds later having missed the entire fight
- The “I Got This” : whumpee does not have this
- The “Oops” : well that was stupid but there they go
Request: Anon- I have been sick with COVID . But reading your stories has helped. Wondering if you could write a story about yelenax reader (romantic or platonic) where Yelena is worried as the reader is in the hospital sick. Thanks!
Word Count: 444
Author: Charlotte
“You can see her for a second, but she does need to rest.”
The nurse tried to speak calmly to Yelena, but she didn’t listen. All that Yelena cared about was getting into the room to see you, having already threatened to end the life of several medical professionals when they refused to let her see you earlier. She barged into the room rushing over to your hospital bed, not caring for anything that got into her way.
She leant down towards you, clasping one of your hands in hers making sure to miss the cannula that was taped down to the reverse of that hand.
“Are you okay?” Yelena asked. “They wouldn’t tell me anything.”
“Have you been causing trouble?” You said with a pained smile causing yourself to cough, sending pain through your body.
You peered over to the nurse, whose face provided you more than enough information on how your girlfriend had reacted in you time since you’d been admitted to the hospital.
“They claim I am not family, but they are able to be persuaded,” she frowned. “I wasn’t going to leave you in this place on your own, especially not without knowing what was going on.”
You mustered up as much energy as you could to squeeze Yelena’s hand to try and reassure her.
“There’s not much to tell yet. They think that it’s to do with my lungs but until I can get in for a scan in the morning, they won’t know. They’ve started running tests so who knows what they’ll find.”
It was annoying to not know what was going on but you already had tubes and wires coming out of everywhere, so you had to trust your doctors and nurses in doing the best for you.
“You were unconscious,” she huffed. “I thought you died.”
“I’m sorry that I scared you-“
“I wasn’t scared.”
Yelena cut you off to correct you, still not capable of accepting any form of weakness about her.
“Sorry,” you said. “I didn’t mean to worry you. I don’t know what happened but thank you for getting me to the hospital so quickly.”
Yelena rolled her eyes. “I wasn’t going to just leave you on the floor.
You attempted to shoot Yelena an unimpressed look but the nasal cannula limited your ability to move your nose.
“Well depending on what it is, I could have died, so I appreciate you saving me and also staying by my side.”
“I’m not going anywhere, no matter what those people say.”
The nurse in the doorway let out a sign, knowing that even if you were an easy patient, Yelena would make things difficult.
fun alternative: cruise ships. cruise ships exploit workers and can pollute as much as a million cars on a daily basis while dumping endless shit into the ocean and endangering all passengers on board because the on board air quality rivals some of the most polluted cities in the world while being a breeding ground for disease. cruise ships deserve to have negativity associated with them
also all crimes commited aboard a cruise ship is under the juristiction of whichever country they’re registered to once they’re a certain distance away from land so you have the added bonus of the crimes being very unlikely to be properly investigated (due to usually being physically so very far from the actual police whose juristiction they’re under)
terrifying!
On top of THAT cruise ships tend to have their own morgue, as people tend to die on ships all the time. Good for those spooky scenes.
plus u can just like…leave a hospital. good luck escaping a killer or a monster or a curse or w/e in the middle of the fucking ocean
As an ex cruise ship employee, let me give you some stuff to work with!
Water tight doors! You get a special training video on interacting with these correctly because they will literally cut you in half if you try and go through them while they’re closing!
Freezer vaults for food in the sub decks - you can only get into these with the correct code and they have very thick walls. Good luck if you get shut in one of these just after the last round of checks bucko
There are cameras everywhere…except in the crew cabin corridors. Also there are no windows down there because unless you’re an officer, you live below the waterline. Day and night have no meaning because everything is in the same slightly unsettling yellow light.
Don’t piss off the guys who deal with the rubbish. They have machines down there that can crush metal barrels
As well as morgues, cruise ships usually have one basic operating theatre with all the attendant horrifying equipment in it
One cigarette thrown carelessly in the wrong place WILL start a fire that will gut half the ship.
When we’re pitching side to side, the anchor swings out and then back in, striking the metal outer shell with a noise that shakes half the ship
People disappear overboard more often than you’d really want to be a thing
A lot of cruise ships now have theatres on board (usually towards the front) with all the potential for dark corners, creepy costumes and electrical calamities you could want.
And as op says, you can’t really escape a ship in the middle of the ocean. Particularly during a storm, as then you can’t even evacuate to lifeboats unless the whole ship is going down. On the upside being on board during a storm means most guests hide in their cabins and the staff walk around like drunks, which would likely throw off a skilled murderer’s plans.
Takes notes
You also have the bonus of a corporate overlord who doesn’t give a shit about anything but profits and can be reliably counted on to downplay any disaster in an attempt to avoid publicity.
Fic Summary: While in the middle of an assignment, Bucciarati gets a call from his mother about a possible Stand attack at her workplace. La Squadra Guardie del Corpo drives over to help her find the cause, but the mafiosi get snagged in the mysterious web as well.
God is good…even in the darkest of places and times..He is there..in hospital now..critical until a short time ago…my recovery is being called a miracle…yep..our God is an AWESOME God!
Vuelvo con nuevo nombre, con el mismo tipo de contenido de antes y ahora uno nuevo. Me gustaría compartir con ustedes algunas reseñas literarias y escritos. Me basta con que solo una persona me lea. Con eso sería feliz.
Los dejo en compañia de esta imagen. Se trata de un ánime que aún esta en transmisión y que sinceramente amo. Shigatsu Wa Kimi No Uso
Sum’:Once again trouble fall upon the peaceful coven, spreading its darkness on each Hook. Only this time only one will remain and with the help of the Savior, will decide the fate of the rest of their secret family…
Note: Man, I’m getting emo at the fact there’s only 2 chapters left!! It was so fast yet it’s been such a long time since the start of that fic! Thank you all for staying and I hope you’ll like that one! I really enjoyed writing the part with Killian and Archie so I hope I did good ^^’ .
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Three days had passed, and Killian was still trapped in the tiny, horribly uncomfortable hospital bed. All because Dr. bloody Whale insisted that he stay for further exams. Hell, Killian knew he was fine; he knew Emma had made sure of it! But no. He was stuck inside his damn room until Whale decided there was no more trace of repercussion on his heath from his misadventure inside the cave. Killian really tried to behave for the duration of his stay in the hospital, but it was starting to be impossible, and if it weren’t for Emma’s daily visit, he would have at least attempted to escape the damn place and give Whale his right hook.
Sum’:Once again trouble fall upon the peaceful coven, spreading its darkness on each Hook. Only this time only one will remain and with the help of the Savior, will decide the fate of the rest of their secret family…
Note:Shorty chapter but after all the emotion our heroes had, it was time for a short break before things get tense once again…
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When Killian could finally open his eyes, he was met with the same white wall. Same annoying beeping echoing inside the room, seeping into his skull. Same antiseptic smell mixed with ether, same coldness, same cumbersome wires around his arms and glued to his chest, same… Killian froze in his bed, holding his breath, realizing where he was and what it meant: had everything just been a dream?
Sum’:Once again trouble fall upon the peaceful coven, spreading its darkness on each Hook. Only this time only one will remain and with the help of the Savior, will decide the fate of the rest of their secret family…
Notes: That’s it! First big chapter (or at least it looks like that on my google doc haha). And to be honest things gonna get fun now :D And a lot of thing will happens lol but umh first another terrible ending lies ahead…
(PS to @kmomof4, just stay in your grave okay? don’t try to come out, you’ll probablyend up in your cozy hole anyway…)
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After finding all her strength back from her emotional rollercoaster, Emma had been walking down the halls, looking for Whale as she texted her father to meet her by Killian’s chamber as soon as he could. It had been hard, but she’d found her loophole, and Emma was happy to finally have the end in sight with the healing of her pirate. She had almost reached the reception hall when she heard someone running behind her.
“Miss Swan. Miss Swan!!” the voice she recognized as belonging to Dr. Whale called out.
Sum’:Once again trouble fall upon the peaceful coven, spreading its darkness on each Hook. Only this time only one will remain and with the help of the Savior, will decide the fate of the rest of their secret family…
Note: here we are in the middle! But there’s still a LOT of fun ahead! Things are going to move and soon Killian will finally see the end of the new hell he has found himself trapped in…
—————————————–
Emma had waited a whole day before she was allowed to be at Killian’s side again. A whole new day to think about everything she’d done, everything he’d said, everything she’d seen or heard, everything she had fucked up.
Sum’:Once again trouble fall upon the peaceful coven, spreading its darkness on each Hook. Only this time only one will remain and with the help of the Savior, will decide the fate of the rest of their secret family…
Emma was still looking at the machine in front of her while the nurse was still taking in the situation. A cardiac arrest. The green line on the black monitor would go flat in the next seconds. Meaning his heart had stopped beating. Killian was fucking dying in front of her eyes and she was paralysed.
Sum’:Once again trouble fall upon the peaceful coven, spreading its darkness on each Hook. Only this time only one will remain and with the help of the Savior, will decide the fate of the rest of their secret family…
Note: Some DadyCharming feels planned, and well a terrible ending…*fly away*
——————–
Everyone had been trying to reach her for the rest of the day, but they didn’t know her phone was still scattered on the floor while she was sitting on the bed, her leg folded against her as she hugged herself. Every now and then, she could hear Killian’s voice, and each time she thought back to what Whale had told her and she cursed herself more than the crazy bitches that had first harmed Killian.
Killian had only to close his eyes to be transported back there. That dreadful hovel with its table of pain. Those callous hands dragging a dull-edged blade along his jaw. And nothing ahead of him but more suffering. No hope.
Focus on the differences. Warm, soft bed, no splintered, uncomfortable wood. Blankets and a gown instead of cold nudity. The din of automation replacing the scratchy ring of imprecise steel. Similar pungent disinfectant but less decay, less blood and pain and fear. And, most important, gentle touch. No intent to hurt or degrade. Only meticulous, loving care from the one person on Earth he trusted without reservation.
“Holy crap,” teased Emma, “I think we need to get Whale to put a sign on your door warning that there’s a handsome pirate inside.”
Knowing that he still looked like a wreck despite a neatly trimmed beard, he played along for her sake. “And what would its purpose be, to entice eligible nurses inside, or warn them away from his jealous bride?”
“I don’t mind them looking,” smiled Emma. “What’s the point of having a gorgeous husband if a girl doesn’t show him off every once in awhile?”
Killian clenched his teeth as a wave of violent shivering overtook him; to a casual observer it would have appeared as if he were suddenly chilled to the bone despite climate-controlled surroundings and the layer of blankets draped atop him. Through nauseating pain, he heard Emma lay aside the razor and felt her grip his elbow in solidarity.
Whale remained hesitant to classify them as seizures, stating that the corresponding brain activity did not match any known convulsive disorder and responded to none of the anticonvulsant drugs they’d tried. Of course, that didn’t rule out the possibility of eventual development into actual seizures, as most of the slave fatalities had experienced just before their deaths.
Killian had managed to catch snippets of conversations, grave tones and sobering words that betrayed what they seemed to be trying to hide from him. He would probably have guessed on his own, anyway, with his worsening state mirroring the course of the slaves who had preceded him in death. Sometimes he was able to comprehend what a shame it was, for him to have survived so long only to succumb now, when peace had returned to his home. In those moments he tried to take solace in the thought that he’d been granted more cherished memories with his wife and daughter, without a threat hanging over them, when he could focus on lavishing them both with the fierce love he felt for them. Emma would remember. Hope… he liked to think she would.
None of that mattered in the moment, though, as quivering muscles shocked every single inflamed nerve ending into high gear, enveloping him in a fog of inescapable agony.
Emma met his watery gaze with a sad, stiffly calm smile, and he read the desolate grief in her forged reassurance even as he realized that the attack was finally subsiding.
“Morphine?” she asked quietly, but he shook his head. Hope would be coming by for a visit soon, and he wanted a clear mind for her.
Her grip on him relaxed by degrees as some of the tension drained away from his body.
“I’m so sorry, Killian,” she whispered. “If only we could somehow bring magic back. I might not be able to stop these attacks, but I could at least heal your wounds and prevent some of this pain.”
She sniffled and before Killian could summon the breath to respond, she continued,
“It doesn’t make any sense; I mean, we thought it was related to the Vocivore, but maybe we’re wrong, ‘cuz it seems like we should have found something by now…”
“I have something to report about that,” came Regina’s voice from the doorway. “But you’re not going to like it.”
Emma turned with a weary expectancy, and Regina stepped inside. She was the very picture of classic irritated aloofness, but she did glance at Killian and say,
“Sorry for barging in like this.”
“You found something?” demanded Emma, and Regina stopped at the foot of the bed. Her scowl could whither the blossoms off an apple tree.
“It’s those damn pigeons.”
“The… pigeons,” repeated Emma slowly. In his mind’s eye, Killian saw a ragged pink feather coated in slime; white, powdery droppings splattered on chancel cobbles; black and amber irises reflecting nothing but pure animal instinct. He heard the trilling cooing that had been the quiet backdrop for many a scream, memories as clear as if the blasted birds were right there in the room with him.
“Those ridiculous pink pigeons, Sheriff Swan,” Regina confirmed, completely oblivious to Killian’s uneasiness. “I cannot fathom how, but they’re the ones responsible for the magical shielding. Pesky vermin.”
Emma looked unconvinced, and Killian wanted to agree, but considering how the birds seemed inextricably linked to the Vocivore’s presence, perhaps the idea wasn’t so farfetched.
“Regina, are you sure? They’re just dumb birds. How can they possibly block magic?”
“I’m… still working on that,” admitted the queen. “But I know I’m right. Did you hear about those hooligans who set off the fireworks in front of City Hall this morning? Right in the middle of an inter-realm council meeting?”
“David filled me in, yeah; said he thought it was some Lost Boys from the Wish Realm.”
“Well, as disruptive as it was to the meeting, it was a hundred times worse for our feathered friends. They took off like their tails were on fire and made for the Enchanted Forest or… Madagascar or somewhere; trouble was, they’re too stupid to remember that for long, and they were back within 10 minutes. But in that time, there was a brief window in which I could almost access my power; it was there, just on the edge of awareness, just out of reach.” She made a growl of frustration, both hands tightly fisted. “I thought for a second that the shield was collapsing for good, without us having to do anything about it, but wouldn’t you know, we’re stuck with our usual luck again.”
Regina looked like she’d rinsed her mouth with lemon juice as she continued ranting. “The first bird to come back, while we were still searching the area for any unexploded fireworks? A pigeon. A fat, iridescent pink pigeon. And that’s when I made the connection.”
“Well, I’ve been saying we needed to get an exterminator, but just because you saw one doesn’t necessarily prove that they’re the culprits.”
“I think she may be right,” Killian said with another shiver. “They were… fairly strongly bonded with the Master. Sometimes would even ride on its shoulders.” He cringed as the haunting outline of the beast filled his imagination, complete with winged companions, its tentacles pulsating as they reached toward him….
“And we have only recently started noticing them around Storybrooke,” added Regina. “Just about the same time as magic failed. They’re remarkably distinctive, and I remember being surprised the first time I saw one.”
“I don’t see the connection,” Emma began, still doubtful. “But it can’t hurt to check it out. So say it is the pigeons. What’s the next step?”
“That’s the bad news.” Regina glanced at Killian in apology. “It won’t be a quick fix. Short of poisoning them, or making the town somehow inhospitable to birds in general–both of which are options that I can’t see our critter-loving neighbors approving of–we’re down to trapping and relocating each one individually, or trying to figure out what exactly gives them the ability to block magic. And either way, it’s going to take time.” She folded her arms, waiting for questions, but Emma and Killian were quiet, mulling over the situation. “I’ve tasked Robin with the job of bringing one to me for study. Don’t tell your mother.”
Killian was only half listening as a whole movie’s worth of scenes replayed in his head. Pigeons, pigeons everywhere. He felt foolish for not noticing their conspicuousness before, but, of course, he did have other things to worry about at the time.
He felt his spirits sinking impossibly lower as the consequences of the news took shape. No quick solution would mean no magical healing. He’d be stuck in this infernal hospital, recuperating in the conventional way, spending whatever time he had left uncomfortable and in pain. Somehow, the Master had managed to orchestrate continued torture for him; even in death, it was having the last laugh at his expense.
“Pigeons,” scoffed Emma. “Pigeons and a crab. Who would have guessed?” Seeming to sense Killian’s dark musings, she stroked his cheek with her thumb. “Sorry, Killian. This sucks.”
“They must have evolved together,” muttered Regina absently. “Developed some kind of symbiosis; they shield the Vocivore, and it gives them, what, shelter? Protection from predators?”
“Blood,” realized Killian suddenly. The inspiration had come out of nowhere, a thought buried deep within his subconscious that had burst unbidden into full awareness. He’d only ever seen it out of the corner of his eye, with no attention to spare, his own misery and how long he’d been given before the next Session at the forefront, always. But there they were. Pink bodies fluttering to earth, a writhing mass behind him as he left the church, squabbling among sticky smears and warm pools, dipping dainty beaks, plunging belly-first in some macabre bathing ritual…
Then outside. They would be strutting through the gutters, congregating near fresh corpses while his tunnel vision kept him limping in the direction of Z’s cottage, never truly seeing how beady little eyes sized him up even as blood-crusted heads burrowed into decaying flesh in search of more nourishment.
“Um… what?!”
Killian returned to reality to find Emma and Regina staring at him with matching expressions of revulsion.
“The pigeons, they… they seemed to fear the noise and, f-for the most part, remained in the rafters… during…” He hesitated, winced, then carried on with great effort. “But afterward… the Master didn’t care about the stains on the floor, yet I never saw fresh blood when I first arrived. I… I think the pigeons… consumed it.”
Killian thought he might vomit. Both of his visitors seemed to share the feeling.
“Okay, that’s… disgusting.”
Regina gulped and plastered on a weak smirk. “So. ‘Carrion’ pigeons. I wonder if their feathers are just stained, then, or if they turn pink from some substance in the blood they eat, similar to flamingos.”
“Gross,” moaned Emma. She took a sip of her bottled water. “But hold on a sec. If they’re so fond of… that… then why did they make their way all the way to Storybrooke? There’s way less… that… around here.”
“Guess they can do without it. Or maybe they live off roadkill out here.”
“Overcrowding?” suggested Emma, answering her own question. “Better nesting sites?”
“Would have made an intriguing Exchanges topic.” Killian cringed at the thought. “Had I known to ask.”
An uncomfortable silence descended upon the trio, until finally, Regina grunted her irritation at the whole thing.
“Well, I can try to confirm all of this once I get my hands on one of those little pests. Guess it’s good to finally be getting some answ-”
“Mr. and Mrs. Hook, get your Thank-You cards ready; I’ve just-” Dr. Whale paused when he noticed Regina in the room. “Oh. Your Highness.”
“Victor.”
Whale caught Killian’s glower and smirked. “What’s that look for?”
“I’d explain but I’m still recovering from that utter shipwreck of a salutation.”
“Sounds like you’re feeling better. Guess I’m wasting my time, then, working around the clock?”
“Did you have something to tell us, Whale?” Emma’s feigned irritation fooled no one–it was obvious she anticipated more important news.
“We’ve had a bit of a breakthrough, thanks to the data gleaned from you and Detective Jones.” The physician held up a cautionary hand. “Results look promising, but this is by no means a sure thing, and there’s no guarantee of long-term success. We’ll of course continue to tweak it as we go along, but for now I think Killian could benefit from an initial dose as soon as possible.”
“You think you’ve found a cure, then?” clarified Regina.
“A therapy,” he corrected. “To slow the degeneration and maybe, eventually, reverse it. Tested on some lab animals, then this morning on two rescued slaves who were near death. They seem to be doing better.” He pulled a hand-labeled vial from his pocket and set it on a table with a flourish. “The FDA would burn my license and probably toss me into prison for this. Good thing none of us officially exist.”
As Killian stared at the little container of clear fluid onto which, suddenly, all of their hopes were pinned, he was struck with unexpected anxiety. It was all well and good when there was nothing that could be done, his fate seemingly sealed. Now that there was a reported chance, he wanted nothing more than for it to work. He wanted to live, to be a husband and father, to watch Hope grow and be there for her. The vial represented that future… and what if it didn’t work?
Whale took Killian’s silence as reluctance, and he sighed. “Yeah, I can’t guarantee its safety either, or provide you with a list of possible side effects. Just that for you, with your weird, extra barrier that we still don’t entirely understand, I’d like at least the first few doses to be administered directly into the CSF, and we do know the risks and side effects of lumbar puncture. But, well… listen, if it were me or a loved one in your position, I would still say that we need to try something, because the risks don’t matter once the condition becomes terminal. Make sense?”
“None of that is in question,” said Killian slowly. Then he flashed a short, tired smile at the physician, radiating self-deprecation. “Believe it or not, I actually do trust your medical expertise. I was only… praying for its success, I suppose.”
Whale looked genuinely touched, for a fleeting instant. But soon enough his cocky demeanor was back. “You’re right: I’m not sure I do believe it. I’m gonna take that admission as another symptom and then we can just carry on the way we always do.”
He tossed some forms at Emma, ordering,
“Read and sign for him. Assuming you want to go through with it, we’ll be back shortly to perform the procedure.”
He left in a swirl of white lapels, muttering a polite farewell to Regina on his way. The queen turned back to Killian and Emma, wearing a slightly uncomfortable grin.
“Well. Good news, then. Or, a seed of hope, at least.” She brushed invisible dust off her jacket and made other I’m-about-to-leavecues.
“Yeah. Thanks for filling us in about the pigeons.” Emma glanced down at her phone, and a tiny frown creased her forehead. “Although you could have just called me.”
Squirming, Regina blustered,
“I… thought the news would be better delivered in person. And… well… maybe there’s a… small part of me that wanted to see how Killian was doing.”
“That’s most appreciated,” said Killian. “Thank you.”
Regina nodded stiffly, shot an, “I’ll keep you informed,” then exited.
Killian gritted his teeth through another bout of shivers–thankfully shorter this time–and when he could open his eyes again it was to find Emma watching in sympathy.
“Hope that’s over with for now. You don’t wanna be doing that while they’re trying to stick a needle into your spine.”
Throbbing and aching, Killian grimaced. He needed a distraction. “Everything okay, love?” he growled. “You were rather tight-lipped toward the end there.”
It was then that he noticed the tear tracks staining her face.
“Emma?”
She lay aside the consent forms and wiped at her cheeks. “I’ve been so scared, Killian. Starting a month ago, but it hasn’t stopped even with your rescue. I… well, Whale’s been pretty pragmatic about your condition, and… truth is… I was starting to prepare myself to lose you.” She caught two droplets before they had a chance to fall. “I mean, how horrible is that? You aren’t even gone yet and I’m coaching myself to start saying goodbye.”
She started to reach for his hand but stopped and gripped his wrist instead.
“That’s human nature,” he pointed out. “I’ve been doing it, too.”
Her eyes glistened with sad questions. “We didn’t… I mean, Whale thought that…”
“No, no one’s told me anything; not before now at any rate. No one had to.”
Emma leaned forward to kiss his cheek gently, brushing back some stray hair as she murmured,
“I’m sorry, Killian. Shoulda known better than to give up so soon.”
His eyes found the vial, which Dr. Whale had left on the table. “Do you think it will work?”
“It has to,” she said simply. “If nothing else, to give us more time. And you know… Whale’s kinda the expert at this sort of thing, even if his attitude leaves something to be desired.”
Killian was tiring rapidly; it had been one hell of an afternoon, and this was the most he’d participated in a conversation since his rescue, if not longer. But he still had one final question before hopefully catching a nap between interruptions.
“Whale mentioned ‘data,’ gleaned from you and Jones. Did I hear that correctly?”
Emma waved a dismissive hand. “Just a couple of tests he did on us; no big deal.”
“You subjected yourselves to becoming his laboratory animals, all on my account?”
“And to help the other rescued slaves.” She flashed him a twinkling grin, which softened into loving fondness. “But… yeah, mostly for you.”
“Thank you, Emma, truly.”
She graced him with a quick kiss, saying,
“You’re welcome, and like I said, no big deal, and that’s all we’re gonna say about that.” Noticing his heavy eyelids, she smoothed an eyebrow and then sat back. “We better do that paperwork before you fall asleep. Want me to hold it up so you can read it, or I could read it aloud to you…”
“Don’t bother about it, love,” he murmured. “You can read them yourself if you’d like, but I think we both know that there isn’t much they could say that would change our views on the matter.”
Killian cast his eyes on Hope’s artwork once more before succumbing to his weariness. Perhaps it would guard his dreams and bring positive thoughts from here on out. Because now that he had a fighting chance at survival, healing his psyche had suddenly become that much more important, and it would most definitely be a longer road than the not-insignificant path to physical health.
AN: Well, obviously I failed to get this posted quickly enough. Blame @cocohook38 and @lillpon for killing me in their own wonderful ways :) Less than 36 hours til I’m on the plane to Ireland!!! Sorry to make you wait for the conclusion! It’s really not that long of a trip, though. I should be back to somewhat functional by July 10 :D
I’m looking for some milestone that gives me an excuse for “Winter Whump” to have lasted this long… XD The closest I’ve come is that I probably had the first inklings of what the premise would be sometime last summer, as sign-ups for the event closed June 30, 2018. So the final chapter will be released approximately 1 year later. *Shrug* Best I can do.
Detective Jones’ first impression, as Regina pushed his wheelchair into Killian’s room, was that his twin looked markedly worse than when he’d last seen him. Not that he’d expected a miraculous recovery–magic was still being suppressed somehow, so any healing would have to be done in a conventional manner–but Jones would have thought that a few days of intensive medical care might afford him some measure of regained strength. Instead, he appeared even more gaunt then before, and very little color could be seen on his skin, apart from the purplish black where bruising still had a gruesome foothold. His eyes were closed, lids brushed with dusky shadows, and he wore a barely discernible frown, as if suffering from pain even in sleep. Emma was at his bedside, of course, resting one hand over his bandaged arm where it lay atop his blanket. Henry was there too, sitting in a chair in an out-of-the-way corner of the room. He was the first to notice the new arrivals, and he greeted them with a wan smile.
Jones had a fairly good poker face and thus could be confident his shock would not be apparent to Emma. Which, upon reflection, served little purpose anyway; she knew how bad her husband looked, no doubt about that. Jones nodded a somber hello as Regina rolled him to a stop near the foot of the bed.
“Hey. You outta here?” murmured Emma, setting her phone on the table so she could have both hands free.
“At last,” he replied, matching her volume. “Just thought we’d stop by first and see how things are coming along.”
Emma looked slightly evasive as she said,
“Improving, slowly… his visit with Hope seems to have really made a difference.”
“I imagine so,” Jones said with a grin. He saw the framed artwork on the table and thought fondly of similar creations by his own daughter. If that didn’t help Killian to feel better, then nothing would.
Emma ran a finger gently along Killian’s cheek. “Hey. Want to say hello to Killian and Regina?”
“It’s okay,” Jones assured her quickly, “you can let him sleep.” But Emma persisted with her caresses.
“No, I think he’ll want to see you.”
Slowly and with obvious reluctance, Killian opened his eyes, struggling to focus; first on the frame at his bedside, then on his wife. Finally, he looked in Jones’ direction. An unnerving, dull sort of vacancy colored his stare, which Jones uneasily attributed to whatever strong pain medications were keeping him somewhat comfortable.
“Ahoy, mate. You’re looking significantly more chipper then the last time I saw you,” Jones lied. “Guess that git Whale has his uses, after all.”
Killian might have been trying to smile; Jones couldn’t be sure. His lips were quivering, their movements jerky and barely controlled, mirroring other small but noticeable tremors disturbing his person.
“I’m glad you came,” said Killian in a voice tremulous and feeble enough to be a perfect match for his outward appearance. He took a moment to catch his breath and then added, “I wanted to thank you for coming after me.”
He did not elaborate, but Jones knew the words were heartfelt.
“I only did what I felt I must,” responded the detective humbly. “Just as you did.”
The following moment of awkward silence was eventually broken by Emma.
“How’s the shoulder?”
“On the mend. I’ve been assured I’ll make a full recovery.”
“And… your heart?”
Jones glanced in Regina’s direction; had she explained her theory to Emma? “Back to normal. Alice and the second Jolly Roger cruise are scheduled to return to port this afternoon; with any luck, I’ll be capable of meeting her there.”
“You’ll be able to meet her there and give her a one-armed hug hello,” Regina told him impatiently.
“So you really think the monster absorbed the curse, and that’s what weakened it enough for Mom to blow its brains out?” Henry asked of Regina, confirming that she’d at least shared the idea with those currently in attendance.
“Yes, I do. I wouldn’t have said it if I didn’t.”
“Even with the shield against magic, though?”
That was a valid point, though Jones was certain he’d felt the same symptoms as the too-familiar curse, and Emma had mentioned seeing the telltale green light. He’d been too preoccupied to notice that detail himself.
“There had to have been some magic allowed,” reasoned Emma. “Unless you’re telling me the Vocivore could convert…” She paused abruptly as if realizing at the last second what she had been about to say so casually in Killian’s presence. “Well…” she stammered, “get its energy the way it did and… have the control it did… all with purely natural processes.”
Killian was staring resolutely at Hope’s artwork as if it were a lifeline cast into a roiling sea. In apology, Emma began running her fingers through his scalp, gently massaging the tension away.
“It very well could have been,” shrugged Regina. “We might know more once the necropsy is completed. The other possibility is that the shield isn’t 100% effective, or allows certain types of magic through, or something. The bottom line is, yes, I believe that’s what happened, and yes, I think the poison is gone for good now.”
Jones felt a stab of uneasiness as he pictured the unlikely chance that Regina was mistaken. Alice would appear on the gangplank, all smiles at the news of the monster’s defeat, but before she could take a second step toward him, a wrenching pain in his chest would throw him backwards, out of her reach, forever…
“It was all for nothing, then,” came Killian’s halting voice, breaking into the terrifying daydream, and it took Jones a moment to connect back to the previous conversation.
Emma’s “Oh, Killian…” mingled with Regina’s, “What was?” and Jones’ double winced as he clarified,
“All we needed was for Jones to get close, and we could have slaughtered that demon months ago.”
On the one hand, it was heartening to hear Killian following the train of thought with such lucidity. But the audible bitterness in the words tempered any possible lifting of spirits.
“We… we couldn’t have known that,” murmured Emma as she stroked him for all she was worth, desperate to soothe. “Of all the ideas, the infinite number of things we could have thrown at it, how could we have expected that to be the one thing, even if we had known about the residual poison…”
Killian did not appear mollified in the slightest, and Jones could easily sympathize. It wasn’t that Killian would begrudge anyone their collateral freedom or safety after his hard-won victory, or even expect gratitude for his sacrifice. But to think that there had been an easier way would have made anyone a little bit resentful that they’d been subjected to such torture for no reason. There were limits to what a person would willingly suffer, after all, even in the name of love…
Jones was voicing his objection even before it had taken solid form in his mind. “Actually, mate, I’m not so sure about that.”
All eyes were upon him now. He offered an apologetic smile before continuing.
“That curse… it didn’t work on just anyone. Or I would have been cut off from any human contact for the span of decades. But that isn’t the way it happened.” He drew a breath, considering. It wouldn’t be a comfortable truth, what he was about to share, and there was no guarantee it would help Killian feel any better about the whole thing. But it would justify the struggle, and as far as Jones knew, it was accurate.
“The poison was enacted to separate me from the one I loved. It only affected me in proximity to Alice. And from the admittedly brief impression I got of the monster… there wasn’t a lot that it truly loved.”
Killian looked away as the words sank in, a flash of nauseated loathing crossing his face, followed by humiliated shame. Emma swore under her breath and rubbed one hand across her eyes. But Regina appeared taken by the idea.
“Huh. And Killian’s immunity, granted by way of being a former Dark One, meant that he was in the Master’s presence for far longer than the rest, making it possible for it to grow fonder of him than usual. It makes sense.”
Though she seemed reluctant to cause her husband further distress, Emma added her own evidence in a low, almost angry tone. “Those last few minutes… It did seem to get weaker the closer it got to… to Killian.”
“So really,” concluded Regina, “everything had to happen the way that it did. We’ve learned that it did not care for female voices, so that rules out Emma as a possibility. You were the only one who could have done this. Or, at least, the only one who would have been successful. Sounds like a one-in-a-million chance, everything lined up the way it needed to: your resistance, the way you were able to hide your true purpose from the monster, even the length of time you spent there. A week earlier, and maybe the Vocivore would not have had the time to develop a strong enough bond to be affected by the curse. We got lucky.”
Silence reigned in the room for several long moments as everyone thought of countless ways the scenario could have fallen apart and led to a more dire outcome. Killian lay with his eyes closed, but Jones knew he was not asleep. His forehead creased in an uncomfortable scowl, and every so often, his jaw muscles would jump as he clenched his teeth. Emma continued to play with his hair, probably hoping that the gesture would keep him grounded in reality.
Rapid footsteps sounded in the hallway, bringing with them a sense of purpose as they drew closer. Then Dr. Whale rounded the corner, wearing a grim expression. He hesitated for an instant when he noticed the somber crowd in the room, then focused on Jones, of all people.
“Detective, good; I’m glad I caught you. Care to join me out in the hall for a minute?”
Somewhat nonplussed, Jones glanced at Regina, then said,
“Aye, of course.” He turned his attention back to Killian, who was listlessly watching the exchange. “Take care.” He smirked as he added, “Don’t let this bully drive you too hard.”
Killian answered with a weary nod of acknowledgement but did not seem to derive much humor from the jibe. Regina once again took over escort duty, and Henry got up to exit with them both.
“I’ll be back to see you again soon,” promised Henry.
Just before following the rest out the door, Whale held up an admonishing finger toward his patient.
“Stay put, Hook,” he commanded, as if Killian could do anything else. “I’ll be right back in to take a look at you.”
Regina paused outside of the exit but Whale gestured toward a window further down the hall.
“Over there.”
When they reached the desired rendezvous, Whale positioned himself in front of Jones so that he could look him squarely in the face. Without any need to be prompted, the physician made a blunt statement.
“Hook isn’t doing well; I’m sure I don’t really need to tell you that.”
Jones couldn’t see Regina’s face, but Henry was in view, and his closed off expression mirrored the wary anticipation with which Jones awaited further explanation.
“We performed another MRI this morning, and the neural deterioration is continuing at an alarming rate despite his being away from whatever caused it in the first place. I’ve got people searching the compound for clues, and we’re awaiting any information the dissection of the monster might provide, but if something doesn’t change soon, I wouldn’t expect him to last another week.”
Their little corner of the hospital seemed to go deathly silent for a moment, as if even the plumbing within the walls had paused out of respect. Jones’ heart went out to Emma, keeping vigil over her weakening husband and unable to provide much more in the way of assistance. To lose him now, after what they’d both been through…
“Bloody hell.”
“What about the treatments you were working on with the other slaves?” Henry sounded slightly panicked, and rightfully so.
“And I thought he had better protection then the others,” added Regina, icy cold in her own way of dealing with emotion.
“What was a benefit to him before is now a definite disadvantage. For whatever reason, the protection also is making him more resistant to all attempts to slow the progression. Like some extra blood-brain barrier or something, but nothing that we can obviously see from his scans. That’s where you come in, Detective.”
Whale’s eyes bored into Jones’ as the physician attempted to drill into him the seriousness of his next words. “Emma has already agreed to allow us to study her, the only other example of a former Dark One that we have easy access to. But we’d like to run a few tests on you, too, as a sort of control subject, since your biology is basically the same as his except for the Dark One-ness. Would you be willing?”
“No question,” Jones agreed without hesitation. “Whatever I can do to help.”
Whale looked relieved, as if he had truly doubted whether Jones would agree. “Great. Thank you.” He drew a big breath, clapped Jones on the uninjured shoulder–which still wasn’t the most comfortable gesture he could have made–and added, “I’ll take a look at tomorrow’s schedule and give you a call with instructions later this afternoon.”
With that, he whisked away, headed for Killian’s room.
Henry ran a hand through his hair, looking shell-shocked. “Man, I… I mean, I knew it was pretty bad, but… not thatbad.”
Regina briskly aimed the wheelchair toward the elevator, practically marching down the hall. “He’ll be all right, Henry. Whale’s pretty smart, despite his looks, and don’t forget, we’re still working on getting magic back, too. We’ll figure something out.”
No one brought up the fact that magic had been unable to help the victims brought in before its disappearance. The prognosis was grim enough as it was.
AN: HUGE thank you to @justsomewhump, who unknowingly helped to make the resolution to this story so much better! The original thought was to have the poison defeat the Master no matter how it tried to escape, because it only loved itself. But justsomewhump’s amazing (and detailed!) comments helped highlight how it felt about Killian. One of the weaknesses of the original plot line was exactly what Killian brought up in this chapter: all of the suffering could have been avoided if only Jones had gone into the Vocivore’s presence earlier. But having its love focused on Killian gave his sacrifice a deeper meaning and meant that no one else could have done what he did. Which is much more satisfying, in my opinion :) So THANK YOU, friend (and happy belated birthday)!
Note: I hope it doesn’t feel like I’m rushing these final updates, but I kind of am :D Now that the story is pretty much complete, I don’t need as much time between chapters. But the real reason is that I’m going on a band trip to Ireland on the 30th (!!!) and was hoping to finish posting before I leave. Both to avoid keeping you in suspense and so that Winter(/Spring/early Summer) Whump doesn’t become Midsummer Whump! XD
A little voice sang, high and sweet, while a tiny body wandered the periphery of the darkened cathedral, perfect miniature fingers trailing sanded oak walls, touching each crack where the boards were joined, sometimes slapping them with a giggle. Killian lay flat on his back, completely immobile, straining to protect his daughter. He needed to get her away from there somehow, before his Master noticed her, before she was caught up in its tortures, her body broken and cast aside like a rag doll.
His words came out silent. And she continued to sing.
“Donkey named Eeyore, little friend… Kanga, Roo, Curious George, tee-hee-hee…”
Killian could feel his heart pounding with the terror of Hope’s imminent discovery and violent death, all of his nightmare scenarios coming true before his eyes. Still, voice and movement remained out of reach. And the waves of pain accompanying the effort only convinced him of the reality of the situation. But then came another voice that did not belong in that sanctuary of horrors.
“Shhh, baby; Papa is trying to sleep, remember?”
Killian’s eyes snapped open and before anything had a chance to register–his surroundings, who was with him, even the throbbing pain in shoulder, chest, and hand–he was scrambling to push himself up to his elbows. Anguish tore through his upper body as he heard Hope squeal,
“Oh! Papa waked up!”
Killian fell back against the mattress, panting a grimace and still in the throes of dream disorientation. There was a commotion, Emma speaking quietly and urgently to someone else nearby, and then he felt her at his side, resting her hand on his upper arm.
“Shh, Killian, settle down. Lemme help you.”
The bed shifted suddenly beneath him, the quiet grumble of a motor sending vibrations through his chest and shoulder as the top half of the mattress slowly elevated. The movement made him dizzy, but his eyes were glued on the angelic face in the corner. She was in the arms of someone, being gazed upon by someone else, but it was like the radiance of her sharp outlines blasted away every other detail and left the rest of the scene in smeared, muted watercolor. Eerie prickles blanketed his face as jagged cracks begin to form in the crystalline layers of falsehood within his mind.
“Breathe, Killian,” pleaded a worried voice beside him. A chiming machine nearby seemed to second the request. But Killian wasn’t sure he even remembered how, until he suddenly realized he wanted nothing more than to greet the daughter the fates had restored to him. His chest expanded, filling him with life and light and longing.
“Hope,” he whispered, the name as much a plea to hold her close as it was an expression of unbridled joy and near-disbelief all rolled into one. The bed stopped moving, and though the change in position had intensified his pain, Killian did not comment; he was too caught up in the moment to pay it much heed. In fact, he even started reaching for the grinning toddler, until his blazing shoulder reminded him why that was a bad idea.
The two observers moved closer, and enough orientation had returned for him to identify them as David and Snow White, yet still, he only had eyes for Hope. Wearing a watery smile, Snow passed her granddaughter to Emma and then stepped back. Seeing the desperate look on her husband’s face, Emma gently spoke to their wriggly daughter.
“I think Papa wants a hug. Do you want to give him a hug?”
“I want a hug too, Mama.”
“Okay, just remember Papa’s owies, okay? You need to be very soft and still by him.”
Hope looked a little bit intimidated at first by her mother’s somber tone, but soon enough she was reaching both arms out toward Killian. After double-checking Killian’s expression for permission, which was unnecessary and they both knew it, Emma settled her carefully against his right side, between flank and forearm, where a toddler’s lack of caution might not result in serious harm. As Emma settled into a nearby chair, keeping a hand on her daughter just in case, Hope hunched over and laid her head on Killian’s chest. Maybe slightly closer to the sore shoulder than would have been comfortable in other circumstances, but the undeniable magic of the moment washed away such petty concerns.
Again rendered breathless, feeling as if he could stop time by remaining completely motionless, Killian’s surge of uncontainable joy triggered the response that had grown so automatic the past month, back when such feelings would lead to certain doom. The vision, and the mantra, both so at odds with what his senses were telling him was true but inescapable nonetheless. Desperate to override the mental reflex, Killian curled a trembling forearm around the tiny body, tentatively resting his splinted, bandaged hand on silken locks as he silently quarreled with his internal voice.
Hope was not kidnapped; she was here, snuggled against him, delicate fingers patting him in imitation of what she’d observed in adult hugs. Tangible, indisputable proof, tapping a sweet, sweet rhythm next to his vulnerable heart.
Nottortured.No. He could hear her even breaths, contented sighs with no trace of pain or fear. Nothing in her tiny wiggles suggested any distress, merely a toddler’s natural restlessness and the drive to remain always on the move.
Hope was alive. So very, very much alive. Not dead. Not dead. As Killian tried to clear blurred vision, he could hear muffled sniffling sounds echoing in every corner of the room, and he was pretty sure that they weren’t all coming from him. Not that it mattered. She was alive, she was safe,NOT DEAD, and his sore shoulder could not stop him from squeezing her tightly against his ribs, long enough that she grew bored and started to squirm. Bursting with energy, with life.
Emma carefully steered miniature knuckles away from the central line tunneled within Killian’s chest. Reluctant to release his hold on his precious child, Killian kept his arm around her lower back as she sat up. Her beaming face could have lit the entire world, and lingering shades of grisly thought fled before the onslaught. Even should he have wanted to do otherwise, for some unfathomable reason, Killian would have been helpless to resist: he grinned back, tears and all, as the ocean reflects the sun’s glory. Sobbing one last time, his expression wobbling only briefly in the direction of pain, he whispered,
“Thank you, love.”
Adorable concern darkened Hope’s features, and she glanced from her father’s face to her mother’s and back again.
“Papa is crying, Mama,” she said, and she touched a faded diamond printed on his gown. Barely able to form words herself, Emma managed,
“He missed you, baby.”
Hope turned unsure eyes on her father, who nodded in earnest agreement. That may have been one of the biggest understatements he’d ever heard, but it was no less true for it.
“Why?”
Emma rested one hand on Killian’s elbow and used the other to rub small circles on Hope’s upper back. “Because he loves you a lot.”
“Why?”
Before Emma could answer–or direct the conversation away from the endless spiral of repetitive questioning–Hope spotted a familiar item lying forgotten on the bedside table. “I want Oreo, Mama!”
She leaned forward, stretching her arms toward the stuffed animal, though she really had no chance of even coming close to retrieving it on her own.
“Please?” prompted Emma, and she waited for Hope to repeat the word before grabbing Eeyore from the table. And Killian was struck by the utter normalcy of the scenario he’d just witnessed. Hope was alive and Emma was still teaching her manners as if she would need them in the future, because she would need them in the future, because she had a future, because she was not dead. Tears filled his eyes yet again.
“Oreooooo!” sang Hope gleefully, oblivious. She’d been unable to pronounce the donkey’s name when first receiving him as a gift. Since then, she had learned the words to the song, sort of, and knew that ‘Eeyore’ referred to her favorite plush toy. But ‘Oreo’ he would forever remain.
“Do you want to show Papa your story?” asked Emma as Hope squeezed the donkey around his fluffy neck.
“Happy Bear!” she cried, nearly leaping to her feet in excitement and causing a definite jolt in Killian’s shoulder. Emma caught her arm and helped her to settle down.
“Okay, but you have to sit quietly, remember?”
David stepped closer and handed Emma a thin stack of papers sandwiched between two pieces of decorated cardstock and tied at one end with colorful yarn. As Emma accepted the homemade storybook, Killian could just make out Belle’s fanciful script gracing the cover, which read, The Happy Bear.
Half in explanation, Emma asked,
“Auntie Belle helped you to make this, didn’t she?”
“Yeah,” answered Hope, already entranced by her creation.
Careful not to rip the pages, Emma opened the cover and began to read.
“Once upon a time, there was a very happy bear.”
She held the book up so that both Killian and Hope could see the illustration on the facing page. The crayon sketch was hardly recognizable, least of all as a bear; it was a simple, somewhat circular shape with two eyes of unequal sizes and a wide smile stretching from the corner of one eye to the other. In that moment, Killian would have gladly classified it as the most beautiful art he’d ever seen.
“It’s lovely, darling,” said Killian in a gravelly voice, and Hope smiled and smiled.
Happy Bear went on to have several pages of disjointed adventures, appearing mostly the same on each one. When they came to the part where the wind blew all of the bear’s hair off, and a scribble at the edge of the page represented the wayward pelt, Killian startled himself with a genuine laugh, the first he had uttered in who-knew-how-many weeks. Emma had to stop and wipe away a tear from her cheek before turning to the next page.
It was a different type of paper, and Killian immediately recognized Emma’s handwriting taking the place of Belle’s.
“One day,” read Emma in a quavering voice, “a very naughty bear came and was mean to the Happy Bear and all of her friends.”
More circles filled the page, each wearing a frown, and it was difficult to tell which was the offending Naughty Bear. The next page had one giant, oblong shape towering over another half its size, and the smaller one wore a surprisingly recognizable expression of fear.
“Happy Bear’s papa came and told the Naughty Bear to go away.”
They had reached the final page. Emma’s voice was thick as she read,
“Happy Bear loved her papa very, very much.”
The giant circle was joined by a smaller one with the distinctive, wide smile representing the story’s protagonist. Even without appreciable arms, they were clearly locked in an embrace, celebrating the villain’s defeat. And Killian’s eyes were once again too flooded by tears to determine whether the back cover declaring The End contained an illustration.
Suddenly, what he had been through and accomplished had taken on just a bit more meaning. To think that his three-year-old, with the help of her mother, understood and appreciated the victory, could feel safe under his protection and might one day learn to follow his example was at once humbling and reassuring. Everything had been for her, whether he’d realized it or not. His Papa Bear’s instinct to defend his little one. And she was safe.
“Again, again!” begged Hope. Her excited squirming was causing Killian’s shoulder to throb, but he kept a tight hold on her anyway. The tormenting mental images could not compete with the truth on display, observable by all of his senses. And even the pain was preferable to what lay just beneath the surface of his consciousness.
Emma shut the homemade book, saying
“We can read it again the next time we visit, but right now Papa needs to rest.”
“No!” whined the toddler, but Emma was ready for this reaction. She got to her feet and, in an excited tone, said,
“We need to go meet Henry now, remember? Ice cream time?”
“H'ice cream!!“ Forgetting all about her Happy Bear story, Hope began bouncing in anticipation. Emma quickly lifted her up before she could do Killian any harm, in the same motion snatching up Eeyore, who was lying facedown on Killian’s abdomen. Whispers of panic flooded his mind at the sudden loss of proximity, and he gulped a breath that burned in his chest.
"Give Papa a nice goodnight kiss, okay?” Emma stooped to bring Hope within a cautious distance from Killian’s face. Restricted movement meant he could not reach up to caress her, but he savored the sloppy smooch she placed on his forehead.
“Ni-night, Papa.”
Killian could barely force sound through his throat, and the process was made that much harder by the fact that all he really wanted to do was ask her to stay.
“Good night, my happy bear,” he murmured, sure that the desperation in his smile would frighten or upset her. But she merely giggled, pleased by the nickname, and thrust Eeyore in his face so he could bestow a kiss on a fuzzy ear.
As Hope began to sing loudly about ice cream, Emma straightened, shifted her grasp on the three-year-old, and brushed a gentle hand along his face, promising,
“I’ll be back in maybe half an hour. 50 percent chance I’ll be painted with hot fudge, though.”
Killian nodded with a small wince. He was nowhere near ready for solid food yet; the longing he felt was for the company and, of course, the bliss of watching his little treasure enjoy herself with Henry and his family.
As Emma headed for the door, directing Hope to call out a “Bye-bye, Papa” as they went, David and Snow stepped forward to take her place. Tearing his eyes away from the retreating form of his daughter, Killian was, for the first time, forced into the realization that he had other visitors. That perhaps they had come to see him, not just to tag along with Emma and Hope. And he was suddenly struck with the reminder of what he had done to them both. All words of apology felt inadequate and stuck in his throat, and he was left helplessly staring, wondering if they would ever find it in their hearts to forgive.
Snow White was wearing a gentle, sad smile as she dug in a bag at her side.
“We should be going, too,” she told him. “But… we thought this might be helpful.”
She seemed a bit timid about the suggestion, as if it were in response to some information she was afraid he wouldn’t want her to know. From her bag, she produced a plain, brown frame and rotated it so he could see its contents: a color photocopy of the last page of Hope’s book, the Happy Bear embracing her papa, both of their smiles as wide as could be. In a blank corner, she had pasted a photograph portraying a real life hug between father and daughter, from before any of this had started.
“Emma mentioned that you were having some nightmares,” continued Snow in the same hesitant tone. “I thought, if it happens again, that you could look at this when you wake up and be reminded that she’s okay and that she’s thinking about you.”
She placed it on his bedside table, then adjusted everything so it was within effortless view, and he managed one strangled “thank you” before overpowering shame made him avert his eyes. The room’s outside window had the shades drawn, blocking out the daylight in the same way as the pall of trauma, physical and mental, fogged his thoughts and prevented optimism.
“I’m sorry,” he said suddenly, a bit too loudly, trying to drown out the returning words and images worming their insidious pathways back into the spotlight. “For what we… whatI…”
His lungs seemed to be shrinking, a great weight pressing down in increments, and he shifted his bandaged, useless hand toward the line of sutures between his ribs, all to no avail. He could hear the desperate grief that had colored the words of both of these dear people beside him, saw himself driving the sword point into David’s flesh, remembered the lies and heartache, and then the torture and the helplessness as his control gradually waned. Hope dead, no hope, no hope…
“Killian. It’s okay,” David was saying, his good hand wrapped carefully around Killian’s twitching forearm. “Killian, look at us.”
He sought the framed drawing first. His link to the new reality, a mild balm for his soul, not yet corrupted by doubts. Snow White’s hand joined her husband’s, warm and soft upon his arm.
“We’re just glad you’re back,” she soothed. “It’s all over… and you’ve suffered enough.”
Happy Bear hugged Papa Bear. Hope hugged Killian. Snow’s words, forgiveness implied, blanketed his guilt-ridden heart. He could not understand.
Killian looked up, first at Snow, then at David. Both were watery-eyed but relaxed, wearing honest and compassionate expressions. He could read their sincerity, bewildering as it was. He had perpetuated the worst of all lies, and perhaps they would never trust his word in the same way again… but they were willing to move past it and bestow upon him a mercy he did not deserve. Even if he’d had the breath for thanks, Killian lacked the words.
David must have sensed how overwhelmed he was, for his eyes took on a twinkle of levity as he added,
“You’re even off the hook for this.” He carefully lifted his wrist a fraction to call attention to the sling he still wore, and Killian found himself raising an eyebrow in response, more in bemusement than anything else. David sighed, looking off into the distance as he feigned annoyance. “I sort of… owed you that one.”
Before Killian could protest–that wasn’treal,though, and anyway, ancient history had been the last thing on his mind when he’d been forced to stab David–Snow White interjected,
“And actually, Killian… we wanted to thank you for what you did. You made the Realms safe again, for us, for Neal… I don’t think we can ever truly repay you for that.”
She bent and placed a soft kiss on his tousled hair, then stepped back to allow David access. He took an awkward look at his injured son-in-law, possibly trying to figure out a way to shake hands or pat him on the back without hurting him. Finally settling for a light squeeze of his mostly intact forearm, he smirked,
“Seconded. But I’m not kissing you.”
Killian came perilously close to laughing for the second time that day, and only stopped because of the threat of unbearable pain from the required muscles. He caught himself with a grimace; when he opened his eyes again, David was just hiding a wince of contrition.
“Get better soon.”
Finally finding his voice, Killian met each of their gazes in turn as he breathed,
“Thank you.”
A sudden, overpowering weariness washed over Killian as his visitors took their leave, and though he still feared what his dreams would bring, he was better equipped this time to meet twisted memory in battle. He had his family’s thanks and forgiveness, the promise of future encouragement, and most importantly, the lingering feeling of Hope’s touch, real and solid against the threat of ethereal phantoms. Perhaps it would be enough this time.
AN: Shout-out to my best friend’s little girl, who is a few years older now, but memories of visiting her at that age provided much of the inspiration for toddler Hope. The story book was based on one by baby Hookaroo, though, and I have to wonder if the poor hairless bear was an early stage of my metamorphosis into a whumper! XD
