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The trip to the hospital was a blur. First his grandmother on the phone, her serene expression shifting to worry in an instant. Then a hurried conversation between David and Mary Margaret, a negotiation of who would stay home with Neal and who would take Henry to meet his mom. A rush to the pickup truck, Henry climbing into the passenger seat and pulling hard to get the heavy rusting door closed as his grandfather turned the key and the engine roared to life. Questions unanswered, or answered in vague generalities that gave him no information: trouble with Mr. Hyde, and some kind of fight, and “I’m sure Hook’s fine.”
The next thing Henry knew, they were in the ER, the bright fluorescent lights making him squint. His mom’s long, blonde hair was pulled back in a ponytail, her leather jacket discarded on a nearby chair while she sat on the edge of the sterile hospital bed, one hand clasping the metal hook of the bed’s occupant. The angry red line of a cut ran across her cheek from her temple to her jaw, and Henry wondered if she was even aware of it.
Dr. Whale, his stupid bleached hair practically radioactive under the harsh lighting, was saying something about broken ribs and a concussion, but no one seemed concerned. Hook looked pale, but he was smiling, talking to Henry’s mom as if they were at home on the sofa and not in a hospital where people die.
“You’ve gotta stop trying to take that guy on, Killian,” his grandfather said as they joined Emma by Hook’s bedside, and his laughing tone made Henry furious. “At least not when I’m not there to pry his fingers off your neck.”
Hook nodded. “Quite right, mate.” He winced as if talking were painful. “I’ll keep that in mind from now on.”
“Also,” David went on, “are there any ribs left that you haven’t gotten broken in Storybrooke?”
“Can’t you heal him, Mom?” Henry interrupted.
Emma gave him a wan smile. “I’m spent, kid. It took everything I had to hold off Hyde long enough for us to get away.”
David finally looked concerned. “I thought he could absorb magic.”
“Not Emma’s magic, fortunately,” Hook said.
“Yeah, but he was still almost too strong for me.” She absently pushed a loose strand of hair behind her ear. “And besides, I can’t do anything for a concussion; messing around in someone’s brain is too risky.”
David snorted. “Aww, I doubt you can do much more damage to his brain than he’s already done himself.” Emma reached up and absently shoved her father while Killian smirked. “Do you think we’re in danger from Hyde now?” David said, back to business.
Emma shook her head. “Gold showed up, so I think Hyde is back on his leash for now.” Hook started to protest but Emma barreled over him, her hand up to stop him from interrupting. “And while I know none of us love that scenario, at least it keeps us out of open warfare.”
“So what now?” David asked.
“Dr. Whale is going to keep Killian here overnight,” Emma said.
“I told you, Swan, I don’t—”
“Yes, you do.” She leaned over and gave him a peck on the cheek. “I’ll come back in the morning and bust you out, I promise. With any luck my magic will have recovered enough to take care of your broken ribs by then.” She turned to Henry, and his eyes were drawn again to the bloody cut on her cheek. “Come on, I’ll take you home.”
“I’d rather stay at Regina’s.” He felt sweaty and angry and wrong-footed, and the urge to push back against something was impossible to resist.
Emma raised her eyebrows but didn’t argue. “Okay, I’ll call her and make sure she’s home.”
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Henry’s coat was too warm under the bright sun of early afternoon as he walked from one mother’s house to the other’s. In his rush to get away from Emma the night before, he’d forgotten that all of his school books and computer were at Emma and Hook’s house, and here it was Sunday and his essay on Romeo and Juliet wasn’t even started. Not for the first time, he wished that the Author’s pen worked for school assignments.
Unlatching the gate, Henry pushed inward to open it. The gate to the white-picket fence around the property was slightly uneven, and the bottom of it scraped along the concrete on warm days, making it harder to move. Henry gave it a furious shove, and it yielded with a gravel-crunching protest.
He thumbed through the keys on his keyring: Regina’s house, Snow and Charming’s loft, his father’s old New York apartment, the library (thanks to Belle for that one), a key to the cells in the Sheriff’s office that he’d secretly made a copy of in case it came in handy, and finally, the key to the gray, Queen Anne-style house he'd helped Hook pick out for his mom, and which he now shared with them when he wasn't at his other mother’s place. He stuck the key in the lock and turned it, letting the front door swing open.
Hook was stretched out of in the sofa in the front room, reading, but he put the book down as soon as Henry came in.
“Hello, lad. Wasn't sure if you’d be back this afternoon.”
Henry dropped his coat on a chair and scowled at him. “I left my schoolwork here.”
“Ah, and how is the Shakespeare paper coming? Anything you need me to read over?”
“No.” Henry headed toward the dining room where his belongings were spread over half of the large table. “How're your ribs?”
“Perfect, thanks to your mother. But she's forcing me to rest, on account of—” He knocked on his head to indicate his concussion.
Henry felt a shiver starting to creep up his spine, making his heart race and his breathing come quicker. “Where's Mom?”
“At the market,” Hook said, swinging his legs to the floor in defiance of the aforementioned order to rest. “If you need anything, I'm sure you can just text her.”
“Yeah.” He fell heavily into a dining room chair, shuffling his papers around.
Hook walked over, looming in the doorway. “You all right?”
Henry didn't look at him. “Professional football players get concussions, you know, and it gives them brain damage. Sometimes they commit suicide.”
“Is that the game with the round ball or the egg-shaped one?”
Henry ignored the question, jerking his laptop open. His hands were visibly shaking now, and he felt a trickle of sweat slide down his back.
“I'm fine, Henry. I've had plenty of knocks on the head and it hasn't stopped me.”
Henry slammed his computer closed and shoved it halfway across the table. “Hasn't stopped you? You've died like four times!”
Hook gaped at him for a beat. “Not from head injuries, and not four—”
The sensation of panic was getting worse. “The point is you've died. You've died and I watched and it almost destroyed my mom, and you can't just…” His voice hitched. “You can't just act like it’s nothing. You can't act like it’s a joke,” he spat.
Hook was regarding him with soft eyes that made Henry want to punch his face. “You watched,” he murmured, approaching with his hand outstretched. “Henry—”
“NO.” Henry stood from the table, stumbling as his chair tipped over. “You don't get to do that. You don't get to come in here and act like my dad.” He could tell he’d scored a blow with that one, based on Hook’s expression.
“I’m not trying to act like anyone, Henry.”
“Whatever.”
“And I’m sorry that you had to witness…” He sighed. “A lot of the things you witnessed.”
“Like you being the Dark One and trying to kill us all?” He felt a sharp pain in his chest, and in that instant all he wanted to do was hurt Hook the way he himself was hurting.
“Yes, like that.” Henry could tell that Hook was working to be calm, could see the muscle in his clenched jaw twitching, and it just made him angrier.
“Like my mom having to run a sword through your chest? Like her mourning you so much that she barely remembered I was there?”
“Lad, you know that’s not true—”
“Fuck off, Killian.” The words seemed to just hang there for a long time in the silence.
“I never imagined that you hated me so much,” Hook said in a deceptively mild voice, his eyes never leaving Henry’s face. He wanted to deny it, to tell Hook the truth, to tell him that he was more of a father than anyone in his life ever had been, but the words just stuck in his throat. Tears sprang to Henry’s eyes. “I guess I had it wrong,” Hook continued. “I thought we were doing a pretty decent job of being a family, the three of us.”
Henry laughed bitterly. “Please. I’m just some inconvenient third wheel in your fairy tale house.”
“You are not that,” Hook said sharply. “Emma loves you more than anything. I lo—”
“Bullshit.” Henry felt a tear spill onto his cheek and he swiped it away angrily. “I'm the Author, remember? I wrote the whole thing down, about the scales and the test of true love and the elevator and Zeus … You're the most important person in her life, she's shown that over and over again.”
For the first time, Hook raised his voice. “Do you really think,” he said, gesturing with an upraised palm, “that if it came down to a choice between the two of us, that Emma wouldn't choose you every time?” He clamped his hand around Henry’s shoulder, pulling him around so that they were face-to-face. “She may not have raised you from birth, but the love your mother has for you outshines the sun. These past few months were bad, and I’m so sorry for that, and I’m more sorry that you ever felt neglected because of what was happening between your mother and me. But we’re going to keep doing our best to make it up to you. And do you know what else?” Henry didn’t react, but Hook answered the question anyway. “You may not want me as a father, but just know that I do want you as a son. And if that’s not possible, then I want to have any role in your life that you’ll permit me.”
Henry deflated, his anger melting away as quickly as it had come. He let himself get pulled into a hug, standing stiffly and trying not to think about how comforting it felt. Finally, he gave in, hugging Hook back and letting his tears flow freely.
“Also, I’m sorry I died in front of you,” Hook finally said after a long silence, his voice suspiciously raspy. Henry laughed in spite of himself.
Pulling out of the hug, a little uncomfortable with the display of affection, Henry said, “It was definitely three times. And if you count the fact that we had to leave you behind in the Underworld, then it was four.”
“Okay, four times,” Hook agreed.
“Like, seriously, how did you stay alive for hundreds of years before?”
“Dumb luck, probably.”
“I’m sorry I told you to fuck off,” Henry said.
“Ehh, I imagine I deserved it, I usually do. But don’t let me catch you talking to your mother like that.”
“Either of them.”
“Too right, lad.” Hook reached down and righted the chair that had fallen over.
They both heard the sound of the Volkswagen pulling up out front. “Quick, you’re supposed to be resting, she’ll be mad if she catches you up,” Henry said, gesturing for Hook to return to the sofa, a directive that he quickly obeyed.
“Go help her with the groceries, then.”
“Aye aye, Captain.” Henry said with a salute as he headed for the front door.
As he stepped out onto the front porch, he heard Hook call out, “And don’t think you’ve fooled me into thinking you’ve written that essay yet, Henry!”