Chapter Text
For all Killian knew, Deacon had led every goddamn soldier in Valencia to that cave in Cool Ranch, since the clockworks just kept coming. Their blank faced masks and the barrels of their guns stared Killian and his crew in the face in an all out brawl. In spite of this, the young captain had one goal, and one goal alone.
Kill Deacon.
Once again he was meeting the eyes of the man that shot his parents four years ago. The gold of his pistol shone as threateningly as it did on that day. Killian’s instinct was to flinch every time it was brought out. He couldn’t. He was stronger now. He had to get to the coward slinking in the back of the cave. His ivory mask kept flashing against the light of Killian’s spells and the sparks flying from Bonnie Anne’s rifle. Taunting. Begging Killian to face him down.
Killian lunged below the blade of a halberd, side stepping a bullet and ending up back to back with Bonnie herself. She was forced to fire shots faster than she could reload, and the vixen was panting from exertion.
“We can’t keep this up, Captain, there’s just too many of them!” She glanced over her shoulder, sweat beading down her forehead.
“I know,” Killian replied, eyes scanning the battlefield. He winced at the trail of blood flowing from Ratbeard’s nose; the rat was caught in an intense stalemate with his cutlass parrying a large blade. El Toro was thoroughly surrounded with weapons pointed at him from all angles.
This had to stop. Fast.
“Clear me a path to Deacon,” Killian said, running through a last minute plan in his head. “We get him, the others go down. They’re nothing without their orders. Then get them off El Toro’s back.”
“What?! You’re going to-“ Bonnie cut herself off to duck another bullet, “-face him yourself?!”
“Trust me,” Killian urged. “It’s the only way.”
Bonnie flipped her rifle up over her shoulder, aiming it at the soldiers shielding Deacon. “I just hope you know what you’re doing, Captain,” was all she said before she fired. The scattered blast of chaotic bullets was the only opening Killian needed. With the aid from the magic crackling at his fingertips, he slipped through the barricade. He could hear the whirring and clicking of Deacon’s joints swerving towards him. All his crew knew was that his parents were dead by the Armada. They had no clue they were battling the man that took their lives. They had no idea his mask flashed behind Killian’s eyes every night. The battlefield noise faded to a silent standoff. Deacon’s pistol was drawn, held right between Killian’s eyes.
“Come to meet the same fate as your-“
Killian never let him finish. Deacon drew an involuntary gasp through his mechanical lungs when the spectral sword Killian brandished cut the clockwork clean in half. The Armada’s spymaster fell to a knee, Killian’s sword still impaling his thin body. The whole Spiral could have heard the crack of Deacon’s mask when Killian struck it with his staff.
No villainous monologue. No confrontation from the wronged party. He didn’t want to hear it. He just wanted Deacon to pay.
The mechanical soldiers assaulting Killian’s crew all came to a halt when their master crumpled to the ground in a heap of nuts and bolts. In that instant the battlefield cleared, the robots either retreating or short circuiting where they stood.
It was over. It only took one strike.
“Why didn’t we do that before?” Bonnie Anne questioned, after catching her breath. “Can’t believe the Armada was so close behind us. Who was that anyway?”
Her question went unanswered. Killian stood over Deacon’s body, rigid as a statue.
“An old enemy,” Kan Po finally said, clutching his staff like a crutch. His ankle would need a splint when they returned to the ship. “The Captain and I faced him aboard an Armada battleship…”
The chatter of Killian’s crew faded to white noise as his silver eyes glazed over every broken piece of the former Armada spymaster. He was dead. Gone. Killed by his own hand. This was the man who killed his parents, who died in one good swing. He fell apart just like any other human being, even though he was far from human. The Armada all died the same way. It should give him hope. It should make him feel triumphant and powerful - he can kill the Armada leaders.
He doesn’t feel that.
He feels nothing but tortured agony.
Deacon’s death changes nothing. His parents are still gone. Deacon still killed them. The Armada still had four more leaders that they would undoubtedly have to deal with before his quest for vengeance was over. This one tiny victory in what was going to become a full blown war felt like a single drop of water in the stormy ocean of the skyway. Killian should be happy. He should be ready to celebrate with his crew. They won, didn’t they? The map was theirs. Captain Blood’s treasure was theirs. They won, but it just didn’t matter. None of it did. None of it…
“Cap’n?” It was the hand on his shoulder and a voice that dragged him out of his spiraling mind. “With that slash ya gave him, he’s not gettin’ back up. We should be gettin’ outta here before more of ‘em show up.” When Killian didn’t move or respond, the voice - he thought it was Ratbeard, but he can’t really tell - got more urgent. “Captain? Are ya alright? Didn’t get hit or anything?”
“What’s wrong with the Captain?” Another voice. They were all the same to him. The hand on his shoulder braced and a second hand clamped around his waist as Killian dropped to his knees. His weapons clattered to the floor around him. His vision was already wavering, but now it swam like a raging torrent. Choked, ugly sobs hacked up his throat; Killian had not cried like this since his parents died. He couldn’t move or speak. All he could do was stammer “sorry, I’m sorry,” over and over.
Killian probably should have told them about Deacon. His current breakdown would make a lot more sense if he had. His throat became raw and scratchy from crying, and his eyes soon ran dry from tears. He felt as if his soul wasn’t even in his own body, completely out of his control. Voices were swimming in and out of clarity, though one stuck closer than the rest.
“Killian, I need you to listen to us. In and out, easy.” Whoever it was, they were right, he really did need to get a grip. A sharp intake of breath cut through his tears. “Slowly, now.”
Killian blinked the blurriness from his eyes, inhaling and exhaling as best he could. When the world became clear before him again, he realized he’d been moved away from the clockwork corpses and closer to the darker walls of the cave. He wasn’t even aware that it happened. Exhaustion hit him like a train now that the adrenaline from the fight was gone.
“There he is! Back with us, Cap’n?” He recognized the voice this time as Ratbeard. He was the one with his arm braced on Killian’s shoulder, the pressure helpful in grounding him back in reality.
“You don’t have to answer,” Killian lifted his eyes to look in Bonnie Anne’s direction, “but what happened?”
Killian swallowed, knowing he owed the crew an explanation. He wasn’t sure how much he could speak, but he’d try. “A-Armada,” he managed, wincing at how his throat scratched. Huffing with frustration, Killian instead lifted his arm and gestured at Deacon’s body across the cave. He then mimed a gunshot.
“What’s he trying to say?” he heard El Toro whisper.
“Give him a moment,” Bonnie Anne responded. “Armada. Something to do with Deacon. Gunshot?” Killian nodded. He gave another vague gesture towards himself. “Shot you?” Bonnie Anne asked. Killian shrugged, then shook his head. She wasn’t wrong, he had been grazed by one of the Armada’s bullets the day his parents died, but it wasn’t what he was trying to get at.
“Parents,” He coughed. He heard Ratbeard suck in air through his teeth behind him, and Bonnie Anne’s eyes widened. Understanding seemed to wash between everyone present.
“Deacon shot your parents,” Bonnie whispered. Killian nodded, lowering his gaze to the ground. “Holy…holy shit, Killian.”
“‘S fine,” Killian stammered, then tried to pull himself up. “Let’s get the gold and get out of here.”
“Woah, woah, we don’t need to-“ Bonnie began.
“Let’s get out of here.” Killian stressed, taking his staff back from Kan Po. “Please.”
“Aye, Captain,” Ratbeard muttered, lifting his hand once Killian was standing upright.
Killian knew they needed to talk about this again. He knew this conversation wasn’t over, and he would address it soon. He didn’t want to think about it anymore, it was all too much. Right now, though, they needed to claim their winnings. He felt the sorrowful gazes of his crew as they looted the cave. The gold was nice, and so was the piece of the map. They should be joyfully celebrating after what they’d won, but all that followed them was melancholy.
Killian clutched the photo of his mother like a stuffed toy. Sometimes the crew forgot how young he was and how much he’d suffered. Twelve when he lost his parents. Sixteen when he became a captain. Only a few months older when he got a taste vengeance he’d been chasing for four years.
Killian feared that he would never stop running.