Chapter Text
Henry’s hand pushed the front door to Granny’s Diner open, his left arm full of books, his eyes sparkling with new-found determination and purpose. It had been two months since Emma had died, and this was the first time since the tragedy that Henry felt alive. He was going to bring her back, and he’d do everything in his power to do it.
He remembered the Final Battle like it was yesterday. The night was devoid of stars, which was strange since Storybrooke's sky was always littered with the incandescent bodies. He remembered Gideon’s soulless, black eyes and how his movements had been robotic, as if he were a toy soldier controlled by an unforgiving puppeteer. He could recall how Emma looked back at him, her teal blue eyes shimmery with unshed tears, and how her lips formed what could only be the words ‘I’m sorry’, before she discarded her blade. The distinct clang of the mental hitting the floor was a sound that Henry could never forget. He remembered the sword piercing through his mother’s abdomen and Gideon withdrawing the long, metal knife with little effort. The blade was clean of blood, and he remembered how it still gleamed and reflected under the streetlamp. He remembered the blinding lights, Gideon’s body disintegrating under its power, and how Emma lay on the cold, wet pavement.
He could never forget how he begged Regina to heal her, to save her life, and how he kissed her forehead, hoping that maybe, just maybe, a true love kiss would work to bring her back. Could there be no truer love between a mother and her son? He could recall the disappointment and dread that settled in the bottom of his stomach when reality clobbered him over his head when Emma hadn’t healed. He remembered the way her last breath escaped past her chapped lips. He remembered his grandmother’s wail and his grandfather’s stifled cry and how Emma’s head lay on her husband’s lap, her body so still, her eyes wide open and glassy staring up at the sky. He remembered the way his tears clung to her hair and the way he kissed and caressed her cheeks, which were slowly becoming frigid and hard. He remembered thinking this wasn’t how it was supposed to end. Where was the life she fought so hard to have? Emma was never meant to die. Where was her happy beginning?
It was six pm in Storybrooke, and stepping into the warm and inviting restaurant, Henry’s gaze locked with deep cerulean blue eyes, recognition flashing. The man already had a drink in front of him, a small teacup possibly filled with tea or coffee or even water. But Henry knew better. It was most likely filled with the man’s favourite beverage, rum. The man’s arm rested awkwardly on the back of the booth, and where a hand would normally be extending from his wrist, a stainless-steel hook protruded from the end. Henry had been summoned here by his stepfather, Killian Jones. But could he even refer to him as his stepfather anymore, with his mother now dead? Most people still knew him as his pirate counterpart, Captain Hook, the most dangerous rapscallion pirate ever sailing the Enchanted seas. He was known for his piracy, villainy, lack of mercy, excellent swordsmanship, cunning smile, and smouldering stare. However, to Henry, all he saw was Hook. The man who fell in love with his mother, the man who played video games with him (although rather poorly) and made him breakfast. The man who was teaching him how to swordfight and sail a ship and the man who fought every day to ensure he was safe and protected. Henry knew that his title, Captain Hook, was slowly becoming nothing but an antique, slipping into oblivion like Killian’s nefarious character.
Henry nodded in acknowledgment, rushing to the table to deliver his ground-breaking and exciting news. He dropped the books onto the table, frantically flipping through the pages. “Henry, I’m glad you came. I’ve got something important to tell you-“Hook trailed off, watching the boy turn page after page. “What are you doing?”
“I’ve found something that can bring Emma back! I’ve been reading some of Regina’s spell books and…” Henry didn’t notice how Hook’s eyes cast down to his mug, his face washing over with sorrow. He babbled under his breath, his page-turning becoming increasingly erratic and crazed. “Henry…” Hook spoke, trying to break the boy out of his frenzy. Page after page, he tossed one book aside and opened another. When that one proved to be insufficient, he’d open another one. “Henry, stop!” Hook said firmly, placing his hand on Henry’s wrist to cease his search. Henry’s gaze snapped up in confusion, “What? I almost have it!”
“I’m not… we’re not bringing her back.” Hook said with such finality.
“Why?” Henry’s voice quivered, confused by Hook’s words. “Because this isn’t what she would want. She died so that we could have our happy endings. She knew her fate. You and I know we can’t undo the greatest magic of all… destiny.”
Annoyance flared inside Henry, Hook more than anyone knows that destinies can be rewritten, changed! “So what, you’re just going to give up!?” His tone accusing. Hook laughed sadly, “I’d give anything to have her back. I’d give my life if I knew she would be alive and happy. Hell, I’ve already done it before. But this… I cannot change. You cannot change it.”
Henry’s eyes began to glisten, the tip of his nose reddening, the harsh reality of it all, and the pessimism he was not accustomed to settling in. “You were my last hope, Regina... my grandparents… they would’ve said no without your help.” He’d been optimistic. They’d brought Hook back from the dead, and both of his grandfathers had died and risen again, so what difference would it make if it was Emma? He knew Regina would take some convincing; she never was much of a team player, and his grandparents, the forever starry-eyed and hopeful, would jump at any opportunity to revive what was lost. But Henry had barely seen them in the passing weeks, not since Emma’s funeral six weeks ago. He simply couldn’t face them yet, at least without the backing of someone they’d be more likely listen to. So that’s how Hook factored into all of this. If he had accepted Henry’s plan, everything else would fall into place.
“Why am I here Hook?” Henry spoke softly, wiping his nose. Hook says it with such finality, “I’m leaving Storybrooke.” Henry couldn’t hide his astonishment. This was his news? “You’re leaving? What do you mean, where are you going?”
“I’m returning to the Enchanted Forest. There’s...” he pauses, struggling to continue, “there’s nothing more for me here. I need a fresh start. To find my own peace.” Henry’s heart sinks, and soon enough, he’s unable to hide the tears that were already threatening to fall. “I’ve gathered a small crew who also miss the Enchanted Forest. Like me, they don’t have family here-” Henry tried not to let Hook’s comment sting “-trying to cease that happy ending Emma fought so hard for,” Hook finished.
“When will you leave?”
“Tonight at dusk, we want to be there by sun up.” Henry was floored again. “So this is you saying goodbye then?” He surmised. “Aye,” Hook nodded glumly. A single tear fell down Henry’s cheek, his voice small, “I’ll be alone.”
***
Killian was suddenly struck by how small Henry was. Although he was a boy of fifteen, he had yet to lose his round face and full cheeks – retaining his baby fat. He had yet to adopt the sharp, angular features of someone older. He still hadn’t even had his growth spurt; his build was skinny and lanky. Because of Henry’s maturity and resilience throughout all the tragedy he’s experienced, and the fact that Henry had come out of the other side unscathed and triumphant, Killian sometimes forgot that despite it all, Henry was just a child. A child who needed guidance, but what did Killian know about guidance? His father had abandoned him, and he lived recklessly, he didn’t know the first thing about taking care of a child. He would be ill-suited to mentor a boy like Henry. It would be best for everyone, especially Henry if he wasn’t around to get in the way.
“You have your friends, your family here. You don’t need a dirty pirate-“ Killian smiled ruefully, making reference to a comment Henry had previous made, “-like me disturbing you.”
***
Henry wanted to open his mouth in protest. While he and Hook may not have started out on the best terms, with Henry viewing him as nothing but a villain, his impression has since changed. He’d witnessed first-hand the lengths he’d gone to protect his mother and his love and admiration for her. He even extended that same duty and care to him when he didn’t have to, which was a far cry from the criminal he was painted as in the Storybook. But words failed to escape his lips to reassure Hook that he would never be a burden in his life but a welcome addition. He couldn’t force someone to stay for him. If the Storybook had taught him anything, it only led to resentment. Henry couldn’t be the cause of anyone’s misery, even Hook’s. So Henry pressed his lips closed and nodded solemnly.
A question burned in the back of Henry’s mind, “Will you ever come back?”
Hook blinked slowly as if analysing the question. Henry knew travel between realms was difficult before the Final Battle but damn near impossible now that magic has been reset. Hook had one magic bean left, and who knew if there’d be another in the Enchanted Forrest. Or another enchanted tree or another Mad Hatter. Henry’s naïve optimism made him believe that Hook might find a way. Hook’s frown told him otherwise, and Henry felt another blow to the chest at his response. This move would have to be for good. Henry wanted to whine about how this wasn’t fair, how Hook just up and leaving with barely any notice was unacceptable and that he was wanted here, no, needed here by him. He wanted to yell and scream at him, demanding he stay and that he didn’t want to be a scared kid anymore. But the same point still stood: you can’t force someone to stay.
***
Killian watched as the boy stuffed his bag with his scattered books, his movements slow, his eyes still rimmed in red. Killian touched Henry’s backpack, “You don’t have to leave. We can get something to eat or drink.”
“We can even order your favourite hot chocolate with whipped cream and cinnamon,” remembering the iconic Charming family specialty. Killian flagged over Granny, who began approaching, eyes shimmery from tears refusing to fall and nose sniffling. What was her problem? Henry offered a slight shake of his head and a sad smile. “I have dinner with Regina in ten minutes anyway. I don’t want to spoil it.” Killian hid his disappointment, “Oh,” he simply muttered, lips downturned. “So this is it?” It was a question, an all too real one. Prolonging the goodbye would only make it worse. Best to rip the band-aid off.
Henry hoisted his bag over his shoulder. Killian stood and wrapped him in a scathing, fatherly embrace. Henry’s arms unconsciously tightened, drawing Killian closer, possibly a little scared to let go. Killian thought he’d already lost so many people, and it still hasn’t stopped. Killian inhaled, attempting to swallow the emotions threatening to choke him. He had grown fond of the boy. He admired his optimism, resilience, his unwavering belief, and faith. He was the living extension of Emma, and every day Killian saw more of her in him, especially in his smile and tenacity. Killian may not be the boy’s father, but he was beginning to view him as a son.